#it just seemed clear to me that this was the doctor acknowledging that they use more than the usual set. and that’s why im petition for

[quietwingsinthesky]

can we talk about the meep’s pronouns moment in the star beast again? i want to talk about the way it’s set up. in any other show, this would have been a joke. it would have been, “oh, look at this trans person getting so up in arms about the doctor assuming this alien’s pronouns. isn’t that an insane thing to care about?” and then that would be where it ended, the entire point being that asking for pronouns is ridiculous, that a trans person pointing it out is ridiculous, and we should be laughing at Rose for bringing it up.

but. it’s not. Rose says, “You’re assuming he as a pronoun?” in a tone of voice that, to me, at least, reads as someone who has been in this situation many, many times before and been laughed at for caring. who has been the butt of that joke. who starts this dialogue off from a defensive position because every time before she’s ever asked in earnest, she’s been shut down.

and then the Doctor says, “True. Yes. Sorry. Good point. Are you he or she or they?” The Doctor acknowledges Rose’s point, apologizes for glossing over it, and makes an effort to ask. Hell, the moment is even used to set up the Doctor connecting to the Meep more like he will when the Meep mentions having two hearts; they both share “the” as a pronoun as a pronoun.

(and I’m reading through the transcript right now to check, but as far as I can tell, yeah. The Doctor does then use “The Meep” to refer to the Meep for the rest of the episode, not any other pronoun.)

It’s a very brief moment, but it feels intentionally made to invoke those jokes, to take them and say, ‘no, why would this be a joke, we’ll take it seriously.’ Expectations subverted brilliantly. The Doctor says trans rights.

[moonstruckme]

hi, loveyy. if you'd like, would you write for reader x dr!remus where she's really sick and tries to hide it from him so he doesn't worry?

Thanks for requesting!

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus keeps your apartment torturously cold. Normally you don’t mind it, but today you’re achy enough without the chill. The first thing you do when you get home is crank up the thermostat, then take a steamy shower and start warming the kettle. Proactive measures. 

You’re taking better care of yourself than you possibly ever have, all to the end of eluding your boyfriend. 

When Remus comes home, you’re sitting on the couch in your cozies waiting for your thoroughly honeyed tea to cool. You’re quick to remove the warm cloth from your sinuses before he can see. You make sure your throat is clear before you speak. 

“Hi, how was work?” 

“Swamped.” Remus bends over the back of the couch to kiss your hair. “Everyone has the flu, strep, or both. Every year, no one gets their flu jabs, and every year they’re shocked when they catch it.” He comes to sit by you, smiling tiredly. “I’d want to throttle all of them if they weren’t already so miserable.” 

It’s an effort to keep your shame from showing as you return his smile. Remus starts to lean toward you, but you back away, keeping your mouth a safe distance from his. 

At his questioning look, you say feebly, “You smell like your office.” 

He lets out a breath of laughter but moves away. “Alright. I’ll change.” 

You send him a guilty look as he goes that he doesn’t know the half of, but Remus only smiles indulgently back at you. 

From down the hall, you hear, “Dovey, did you change the thermostat?” 

Shit, you forgot to switch it back. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was chilly when I got home.” 

“It’s fine. Do you…want me to leave it like this? It’s set fairly high.” 

“Um…” Honestly, yes. “That’s okay. I’m good now, you can set it back.” 

“Alright.” 

You hear the ticks of the thermostat being turned down, and you grab a throw from across the back of the couch, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders. 

“Do you want some tea?” you ask him after a minute. “I’ve just made myself a cup.” 

“That’s okay, sweetheart, stay where you are.” Remus emerges from the bedroom in his own house clothes, looking painfully snuggly. He heads for the kitchen. “You left the honey out. Do you still need it?” 

You wince. “No, I’m alright.” 

When Remus rejoins you in the sitting room, you pretend to be busy with your book. He sits back in his spot, and you cozy up to him before he can try to kiss you again, your head on his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, adjusting the throw over you. 

You hum a lie. 

Remus seems satisfied with that. He tucks you under an arm and picks up his own book. 

You’re a few pages in when your nose starts to tickle. You try to breathe through it, hoping it will go away, but it’s no use. You’re hardly able to pinch your nose shut before a sneeze pitches out of you, violent and head-throbbing. 

“Bless you.” Remus rubs your back. “You okay?” 

You sniffle. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“No reason to be sorry, lovely girl,” he chides gently. You feel his lips touch down on your head. 

You soak up the comfort like warmth on a wintry day. Miraculously, Remus doesn’t question you any further, and eventually you lay your head back on his shoulder. You flip pages without truly reading them, your mind fuzzy and your body exhausted, until your eyes grow heavy and you forget to flip them at all. At some point, Remus’ head tilts so it’s resting atop yours. When he starts massaging the back of your neck, it feels so nice you don’t even really register it. 

“Dove,” he murmurs. 

You hum in pleased, half-asleep acknowledgement. 

“You need to stay home from work tomorrow, sweet girl.” 

You blink your eyes open slowly. Pick your head up off Remus’ shoulder, and look at him in confusion. “What?”

He looks back at you patiently. “Your fever’s gotten worse, and you’re contagious. It’s not good for you or anyone if you go in.” 

“But…” Your brow furrows. You feel like you’ve missed a chapter. “How did you know?” 

Remus gives you an amused look. “I see sick people all day long. You thought I wouldn’t notice?” You frown. He chuckles and cups your face in his hand, thumbing over your cheek consolingly. “You were clearing your throat all evening yesterday. But it didn’t seem bad yet, and you didn’t seem to want to tell me, so…” He shrugs. “But now it’s time to let me take care of you, okay?” 

You rub your lips together. You think you’re waiting for him to be angry with you, but your boyfriend seems only sympathetic. And a bit smug. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t wanna be another thing for you to deal with.” 

“Oh, hush.” Remus tsks, shifting so he can wrap his arms around you. “I like dealing with you, have I not been clear about that?” 

“You don’t want to throttle me because I’m another idiot who didn’t get the flu jab?” 

You feel the reverberations of his quiet chuckle in his chest. “First of all, I said I would want to throttle them. I’m a doctor, I can’t just be contemplating throttling my patients. And no, sweetheart.” He slips his hand from your shoulder down the length of your back, rubbing through your blanket. “I don’t think that about you. I wish you’d gotten it, but there’s nothing to be done now. You’re sick, and I only want to look after you.” 

The onslaught of tenderness melts you. You let your face slip down to his shoulder, nose pushing into his neck. “My head hurts,” you mumble. 

“Awe, dovey.” Remus brings his other hand to your nape, massaging the achy muscles there again. “Have you had paracetamol since you’ve been home?” 

You shake your head mutely. 

“I’ll get you some in a minute, then. And we can have soup for dinner, yeah?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You feel frighteningly teary. “Will you stay here for a while with me first, though? Please?”

Remus’ lips press softly to your forehead. “Sure, of course.” 

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Brief mentions of pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms

A/N: Not quite as long as previous chapters but I digress.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

You heard voices surrounding you, some loud and urgent while others almost whispered. You knew them, that was for certain but the stygian fog shrouding your consciousness forbade you from seeking information you knew you had. You were too tired to care, never even opening your eyes before you once again surrendered to oblivion. 

The second time you became aware, it was quick. Your eyes opened, a reflex to the fear that immediately took hold and had you trying to sit up. You didn’t get far. You were so weak; your arms refused to hold your weight. When you collapsed back onto the soft pillow, something in your right arm pinched. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it did draw your attention to the tubing running from the crook of your elbow up to a clear bag hanging from the bedpost. 

“You’re awake.”

Your head rolled to the left, wide eyes meeting the soft gaze of an older gentleman. The first thing you noticed was that he was so clean, dressed in a nice button-up and black trousers. His white hair was neatly combed and clearly cared after. Your confusion must have been distinctly written across your face because he went on with providing a little more detail. 

“My name is Hershel. You were brought here in quite the state, young lady. You were severely dehydrated. Quite honestly, I still fear that there may be some damage to your kidneys but we will just need to wait and see.”

You were still so tired. “Where the hell am I?” The man—- Hershel —-pinned you with a chastising stare but it disappeared just as quickly. 

“You’re in my home.”

You didn’t acknowledge the reply, adjusting your gaze to the ceiling. You didn’t remember much aside from the pain. 

And Daryl. 

Those eyes—blue like a mountain lake—had been brimming with concern; and then determination. He had brought you there. You knew he had to be terrified for—

“The baby!” You suddenly gasped, palms pressed hard over your stomach. “Is my baby okay?!”

Hershel was already holding up his hands in a placating gesture, nodding slowly. “I’m aware. Your husband filled me in on everything. Quite crudely, I might add.” 

You snorted weakly. “He’s not my husband.” 

Hershel’s gaze wandered over to the far side of the room, a low, steady hum emitting from behind closed lips. “I see. Well, in any case, I happen to have a POCUS machine here for use on the springing heifers. Now, I’m no medical doctor, but I was able to locate the fetus and a strong heartbeat. Your baby seems to be healthy, though I can make no guarantees.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, fingertips absently brushing back and forth over your abdomen. “You said you’re not a medical doctor.”

“That’s correct.”

You pulled a face, willing your tired brain to fill in the blanks before Hershel could simply tell you. A lightbulb sparked to life. “You’re a vet.”

“I am.” He moved around the bed, carefully eyeing the tubing connected to your arm and then the bag. He seemed concerned but said nothing. “You need to rest. We’re going to try to get some bland food in you along with some water. Of course, I’ve never had to treat hyperemesis gravidarum but I have medical journals that will help.”

You raised your head slightly, an inquisitive eyebrow arched. “Hyper who the what?”

He chuckled, making his way toward the door. “That’s exactly what your—whatever your relationship is. Anyway, that’s exactly what he said.” He motioned toward the far corner of the room, where his gaze had ventured moments before. Curiosity got the better of you and you forced yourself up, one arm at a time to rest on your elbows. Your arms trembled with the effort. It didn't matter because you were too overwhelmed by the warm feeling stirring in your chest. 

Daryl was slumped in a chair, chin on his chest, and fast asleep. 

“He hasn’t left this room.” The veterinarian offered, turning toward the door. “The condition is severe nausea and vomiting. From my reading, it’s hard to control even with medication. You’ll likely need fluids periodically throughout your pregnancy. We’ll discuss this more once you’ve regained some strength. For now, rest, sips of water, and small, bland meals.”

Your stomach churned at just the thought. “I’ll just throw it all up.”

He nodded in agreement, but didn’t seem pessimistic. “I’ve discussed this with him,” Hershel tilted his head toward the sleeping hunter. “My daughter has a list and will be leaving tomorrow morning to gather what we need. The Korean boy will be accompanying her.” He nodded and stepped over the threshold before you called out. 

“Is Carl okay?”

“He’s not completely out of the woods but I expect he’ll make a full recovery.” 

That made you smile. At least one of the children would be okay. With the information you were just given, you still worried for your own baby. “Thank you, Hershel.”

With a tight smile, he nodded and closed the door. 

You laid back and let everything digest. You were going to have 7 months or so of what sounded like pure hell. You’d need access to constant medication. And the man couldn’t even guarantee that the baby in your belly was indeed healthy. If ever you felt like a burden to the group, it was at that moment. 

Would they even allow you to stay?

You placed both hands on your belly and rubbed in soft circles. “You’ve decided to start giving me hell early, huh, little thumper?”

“Lil’ thumper?” 

You raised your head as far as you could, finding Daryl sitting on the edge of the chair with his elbows on his knees while he wiped the sleep from his eyes. He looked exhausted despite having just been asleep. 

He hasn’t left this room. 

“Hey.” Your smile was feeble at best. Your body felt heavy and it ached, but the cramping had mercifully stopped. The hunter gave a slight nod to greet you just before he stood to stretch, his joints protesting. “How long have I been here?”

“Just over a day.” Your eyes tracked him crossing the room. When he was close enough, he snatched up the unused pillow. Leaning forward with one knee on the mattress, he slid a hand under the back of your head to assist you with sitting up. The second pillow was placed behind you and left you at least elevated enough to hold a conversation in relative comfort. 

Your eyes downcast, you muttered a quiet thank you. Daryl simply nodded, shifting from foot to foot in a nervous cadence, likely unsure of what to do. 

He suddenly cleared his throat. “Think ya can drink some water?” 

Until that moment, you hadn’t paid any mind to how dry your mouth was. “Yeah. Yeah, I can try.” 

The archer nodded, bringing his thumb to his mouth to chew on the side all the way around the bed where a glass of water was sitting on a bedside table. He removed the digit from his mouth in favor of fetching the drink. 

Daryl held it out to you, eyeing your trembling hand lifting to accept it. “Wait.” He settled his hip on the edge of the mattress and brought the glass to your lips. “You’re gonna spill it if ya try by yourself.” With an aggrieved whine, you parted your lips so he could tip the glass. When he tried to take it away after a mere two sips, you brought your hand up to hold it in place, yearning for just a little more. ��Nuh uh. Can’t have too much. Tryin’ ta keep it all on the inside.” 

Bottom lip jutted out, you decided you weren’t beyond begging—until you realized your hand was covering his on the glass. Your need was promptly forgotten. You watched Daryl’s gaze follow your appendage but he placed the glass back on the table without commenting.

Probably for the best. 

He didn’t remain on the bed long after that. Rubbing his palms over his thighs, he stood and walked over to the window, pushing the curtain aside.  

“Did you, uh, get to see it?” You asked, needlessly smoothing the blankets over your lap. Daryl looked at you questioningly. “The baby. Did you get to see?”

“Mhm.” He looked back out the window. “Didn’t really know what I’s s’posed ta be looking at. There was this lil’—” he made a gesture with his hand that you weren’t sure how to interpret, “I dunno, like a flashing. He said it was the heartbeat.”

You hummed and brushed your fingers over your belly again. “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Mhm.” He nodded but kept his eyes on whatever he was watching outside, if there really was anything there at all. There was a sudden discontent in the air; the same thick tension you had felt in the truck that first day after he found you. 

“He said you stayed the whole time.”

“Course I did.” His voice had lowered to a point where you were surprised you could hear him. “S’my kid in there. Needed to make sure ev’rything was okay. We don’t know these people.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. You had been telling yourself all along that the baby was all Daryl cared about. He’d almost made that perfectly clear, until the forest. Something in his eyes had shifted, and the way he spoke to you. He had been so coarse up until you admitted that you had been wrong. Then his touches were gentle, his voice even more so. 

But now, you wondered if maybe you had imagined it. You chewed on your lip, glancing up at him every few seconds. It might finally be the right time. You had no doubt that he would stop you if it wasn’t. 

“I’m really sorry, Daryl.” You willed him to look at you; it was imperative that he actually witnessed your sincerity. You had never meant to hurt him. 

“‘Bout what?” He asked, just before he obliged your unspoken request. He started to turn back to the window but it appeared he thought better of it and held your gaze. 

“I only knew for less than a day.” You waited to be dismissed; for him to snap at you and stomp out of the room. 

He did neither. 

You slowly repositioned yourself, suddenly uncomfortable under his stare. He was giving you his attention; finally hearing what you had to say, only for you to be terrified to continue. 

“I, um—I found out from the blood test. I went to see Jenner after supper. I came to tell you that night but—I got scared and then you kissed me and I—” you lowered your head, the stark white sheet suddenly very interesting. “I’m just sorry. I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did. I should have told you.”

The silence carried on, suffocating and loud. You were certain he could hear the intensity of your thundering heart from across the room. A tear tickled your skin as it cascaded down your cheek, almost conjuring a laugh when you realized you were hydrated enough to actually cry. 

“S’okay.” Your wet, shining eyes locked on him immediately. He was looking out the window again, but somehow looked calmer. That tenseness in his stance had softened. “I shouldn’a been such a asshole.”

You gave a wet laugh, the acceptance of your apology having more of an effect on you than you could have imagined. Naturally, Daryl was looking at you with an inquisitive brow arched. “I’m not laughing at you.” You assured him with a useless gesture, waving your hands. “Hormones, I guess?”

There was a very slow nod that meant I have no idea what that means but I’ll take your word for it. He watched you nervously until the waterworks dried up, seemingly afraid to approach while you were having your moment. You were still sniffling when he sat down on the edge of the mattress again and grabbed the water glass. “A lil’ more an’ I’ll go down to see what we can do ‘bout some food for ya.”

And right on cue, your stomach rumbled while your cheeks reddened. 

Hershel had discovered some Odansetron in his supplies and was able to work out a safe dose for you with the help of the medical journals. It had made you a little drowsy but not so much so that you didn’t laugh and smile broadly when the waves of nausea all but ceased for the first time in days! 

Daryl brought you one scrambled egg and half a piece of toast with no butter. He was forced to snatch away your fork when you almost crammed the entirety of the egg in your mouth in one bite. 

“Slow down. Ain’t nobody gonna take it from ya. Jesus.” He handed the utensil back after you promised to take your time. It was difficult but you managed to keep that promise. 

Now you were curled up under the sheets, eyes heavy and stomach full. You felt better than you had since first arriving into the small group. Sleepy, but better. The fluids would continue at least throughout the night, Hershel had said. He would give you another injection of the antiemetic when it was time, just to keep your symptoms under control until his daughter could hopefully find some in tablet form. 

The room was near silent, which didn’t bother you now that Daryl had heard your apology and accepted it. He may only be worrying about his baby but he at least wasn’t angry with you anymore. You still had a lot to talk about but it was more related to planning for childbirth and parenting during an apocalypse. So, for now, you melted into the bed and closed your eyes. 

Daryl yawned from the chair in the corner. Your eyes were quick to open. The hunter had protected you, had been protecting you from the moment he carried you out of the woods. How cruel was it for you, pregnant or not, to be in a nice, cozy bed while he was slumped in a very uncomfortable-looking chair. 

“Hey, Daryl?” You didn’t move from the comfortable position you had found but you were able to call out loud enough for him to hear. He grunted in reply, which you wanted to chuckle at for whatever reason. “Can you come over here for a sec?” 

There was a sigh before you heard the chair slightly shift when he rose from it. He actually approached the side your back was turned toward, probably assuming you wanted the water glass. You were able to roll onto your other side, careful of the IV. You were definitely improving. That movement alone would have been impossible when you had first awakened. 

Daryl actually looked tired. Worry and near sleepless nights had that effect, you supposed. His hand wrapped around the glass but you extended yours before he could pick it up. 

“Thank you, but that’s not what I needed.” You smiled gently. 

“What is it then? Gettin’ up early to look for the girl. Need to get some sleep.”

You were careful about scooting backwards, maneuvering the tubing so it was against the headboard and not across the mattress. Situated comfortably, you lifted the blankets on the other side. 

“Get in.”

He arched a brow, the question of are you serious needn’t have been spoken aloud. 

“Ugh, always thinking with your dick.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled lightly. “No, I just want you to sleep here. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Now his brow drew inward, skeptically. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m not sure I could even have sex right now—” 

“Not that.” He snorted and shook his head. “Why d’ya want me to sleep there?”

Did he just assume you didn’t want him near you because of everything? He never questioned any time you had wanted him buried inside you but looked honestly confused that you’d want him near you otherwise. “Because you need to rest too. It’s been crazy out there. But we’re safe right now—”

“Ain’t never safe.”

“Thanks, captain optimistic.” You deadpanned, releasing the sheets be keeping your hand splayed out on the mattress. “Seriously, whether or not it’s safe out there doesn’t matter. You make me feel safe. And I’d really like it if you’d sleep here.” When he didn’t answer immediately, you added a quiet please that seemed to break his resolve. 

"You’re ridiculous.” You were sure that was just the Daryl method of diffusing a situation that had become too uncomfortable for him to handle. Regardless, he sat down and began taking off his boots. You gave up the second pillow and snuggled back into your own, watching the soft light from the bedside lamp cause shadows to dance across him while he got comfortable. Of course, he opted to lie on his back on top of the blanket. 

“Better than the chair?” You were smiling smugly when he rolled his head toward you. He scoffed and returned his gaze to the ceiling. In seconds, his eyelids were drooping, along with your own. You took a deep, content breath and allowed yourself to relax and begin to give in to the call of sleep. 

Just as the last dregs of consciousness began to release their hold, you could have sworn you heard him say “much better than the chair.”

[pastanest]

Eleventh Doctor x she/her!reader

AN: this is an ANGSTY one which is usually not the vibe for me but I got lost in this idea and completely fell in love with it so I really hope you like it!! this is the ost piece I was listening to while writing -

Set Things Right

With a sigh, the Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places his palms flat against the console of the Tardis. She wheezes halfheartedly, seeming to wince in pain.

“Why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” The Time Lord pleads with her, desperate for any sign, any handy hint on what he can possibly do to help her. 

The two of them have been drifting aimlessly through deep space for a time that even a lord of such a thing has been unable to truly focus on. Hours, days, weeks - he doesn’t know, all of it has been lost to the worry over his oldest and truest companion. The one piece of home he has left. 

Closing his eyes tightly in a pained blink, the Doctor takes a deep breath in an attempt to tune himself into the Tardis further, to understand her, just enough to help. In focussing as hard as he possibly can, his subconscious grabs at the first sound it finds, no more than an unidentifiable flicker, but the Doctor hones his thoughts to the spark that the Tardis has sent him, whatever it may be. The very moment the sound becomes clear to him, though, the Doctor flinches away from the console, feeling a physical tear through his hearts and rubbing against his shirt to soothe the ache that resides there. Has resided there, and been ignored for another time that he dares not address.

“Don’t. Just…don’t, please. She’s….” The Doctor shakes his head, refusing to say the words as he falls against the railing, gripping it with one hand at his back while the other still holds his chest, as though shielding his hearts from another fatal blow. “She can’t help us, not anymore.”

And he feels it, the judgemental gaze of the Tardis on him at every angle, even in her weakened state. Loosening his bowtie to escape some of the pressure, the Doctor speeds from the control room, past a door that he knows was not previously so close to the main control room but he will not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it, past the swimming pool, and towards the library. There must be something in here, he thinks to himself, haphazardly throwing books from the shelves on which they previously sat and creating a disheveled pile in the center of the room behind him, hoping one of them may contain the secret to healing his sickly time machine.

Quite suddenly, the Tardis jolts to the right, sending the Doctor falling into the pile of books he had unintentionally used to form his own landing pad. Jumping back to his feet with a firm frown on his face, the Doctor straightens his shirt and huffs.

“Now, I know you aren’t very well, but there is no need-”

Interrupting him, the Tardis throws him back to the ground with another fierce jolt, and then she bursts to life in what the Doctor can only describe as a fit of rage. She is taking flight, furiously, to a destination of her own choosing, with no regard for the Time Lord that is crawling his way back to the main control room through corridors that she turns on their heads, walls that she shrinks and enlarges, floors that she shakes and cracks with the sheer force of her determination.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” The Doctor shouts into the main control room, over her screeches, as glass panels splinter at his feet.

Flinging himself at the console, he grabs the monitor with both hands and tries to read the Gallifreyan text, the co-ordinates, anything, but she is flying too fast for his eyes to keep up with her train of thought as it blazes across the screen.

And with a final, deafening crash that sends the Doctor hurtling into the railing, the Tardis halts to a sudden stop. She wheezes again, but this time it almost sounds…relieved? As though wherever she has landed, it has brought her a sense of peace. This place can heal her wounds, the Doctor recognises her feelings towards it, and his ever curious mind is buzzing with excitement at the thought of such an incredible, new place. 

“Oh, where have you brought me this time, old girl?” Having already forgiven her for the bumpy ride, the ancient god is giddy, rubbing his hands together and retying his bowtie, grabbing his tweed jacket as he races for the door. 

He braces himself as he reaches for the wooden panel, hand trembling with excitement. With a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and steps out into the brand new world. Except it isn’t, and it is. 

The street is one he would recognise even if he had never set foot there, because he knows this planet almost as well as he had known his own. Earth, the planet to have given him the greatest friends and adventures he’d ever known. But this street is not one he has never set foot on. The Doctor is a man who cannot look back because he dares not, there are many streets on this planet that he avoids for fear of the pain he would revisit on seeing them again, in the absence of those he once knew occupied them. And this street is no different, except in that it is the most recent of the streets he never wanted to see again, and in the way that he has been forced to do exactly that. He wants to run and hide, more than anything, but he is frozen to the spot, because something isn’t right. The air tastes different, the gravity feels slightly askew, and he can’t tell what year it is amidst the emotional tidal wave of it all. As fundamentally wrong as all of those aspects are, the Doctor cannot deny that they point to one possibility amongst a million others, but that one - regardless of the agony - he cannot live with the regret of denying. 

And then he hears it again. The same sound he had heard when inside the Tardis, the sound she had told him would help her, and now again, in the place she has taken him to heal her. Time seems to slow as the Doctor turns to his left, his eyes immediately locking onto and blurring a perfect vision he never thought he would see again. You.

Laughing so hard you are throwing your head back, eyes crinkled and tears spilling at their creases, your mobile phone to your ear only mildly distorting the view of you. Completely oblivious to the big, sad eyes that watch over you, a trembling smile of pure anguish choking out a disbelieving laugh with you, though he has no idea what you are laughing at. 

Clutching at his chest and feeling the world around him beginning to spin, the Time Lord stumbles back through the doors of his time machine and falls to the floor, pressing his back against the wooden panels in an effort to lock himself away. 

For the briefest second, all he feels is pain. Wound after wound tearing through his very being, bleeding him dry and crushing him into dust. And then that second ends, and the oncoming storm rises to his feet, a darkened frown etched into his brow.

“Why.” He mutters, approaching the console. “Why. WHY!” He throws his arms in the air and slams them against either side of the monitor, watching as you disappear down the street and then shoving the monitor away from him. “WHY would you bring me here?! What kind of cruel trick is this?! How DARE you! How…could you? How could you take me back to a time when she was…when you know that I can’t…” 

The Doctor trails off, defeated, and collapses onto the jump seat with his head in his hands.

Sensing his anguish, the Tardis groans at him, exasperated by the way in which he continues to miss the obvious. Sending the monitor flying back over to the side of the console that the Doctor is facing, the Tardis displays the exact time and date beyond her doors and waits. It takes the solemn, lonely man several seconds to lift his sorrowful gaze from his hands and read the Gallifreyan text she has written for him. 

He blinks, and blinks again. Then stands, closing the distance between himself and the monitor. 

“But, this can’t be right, that means…” The cogs begin to turn inside the mind of a genius, knowing for a reason he cannot come to terms with that he could not have possibly seen you on this date, in this time.

And as the realization hits him, his eyes widen, the Tardis seeming to screech in pure glee as her masterful plan is revealed to him. 

“You…” He whispers in disbelief. “You punctured a hole in the fabric of the universe…to bring us to a parallel world, where…” 

A soft knock at the door interrupts his bewildered and undecidedly disapproving train of thought. Leaning around the console, he frowns in confusion and, in a daze, strolls over to the door. Opening it just enough to show himself and not the bigger-on-the-inside majesty of his time machine, the Doctor unintentionally finds himself very nearly nose to nose, with you.

Jumping back in surprise, you chuckle. “Oh, hello! Blimey, talk about up close and personal!”

And the Doctor cannot say a word. In all his hundreds of years, you are the one thing to render him completely and utterly speechless. 

“Anyway, sorry to disturb you and your…policey business? I’m guessing this is a new thing or I just never noticed this blue box on the corner of my street, but, is this somewhere that I can raise concerns?” You ask him, staring up at him with the most clueless and curious expression. The pain caused by the lack of recognition in your eyes is nothing compared to the bliss of seeing the life within them.

Without a word, the Doctor nods.

“Oh, perfect! There’s this guy that’s been following me home from work in the evenings and it’s really starting to freak me out. I’m not sure if I just report it to you and you keep an eye out, since he hasn’t done anything and the law for creeps is lenient at the best of times, but if you’re stationed here I just wanted to give you a heads up, I guess.” You glance to either side, as though fearful the man you are reporting could overhear, but then your eyes meet the Doctor’s again and you smile so kindly. “Anyway, that was all. Hope you have a good night and don’t get too cramped in there! See ya!”

And, like what you’ve done hasn’t just altered the course of history, you spin on your heel and walk away without a care in the world. 

The Doctor closes the Tardis doors again and turns to face the console. 

“We can’t be here. She doesn’t recognise me, this version of her has never met me- well, she has now, I suppose, and that is entirely your fault! But she doesn’t know me, she’s lived the days on this planet that another version of her spent traveling through time and space with me, she has stayed safe here and I cannot do anything to jeopardize that, not again, so we have to-” He stops himself, mid-ramble and mid-walk to the center console.

“Except…the other version of her, the version that we knew, she mentioned a man that followed her home, just once.” His blood runs cold. “She said that had we not met when we did, she feared what he would have ended up doing to her, and in this timeline…” The Doctor’s fists clench at his sides as the reality of the situation dawns on him. “You have given me an impossible choice. To choose between the very fabric of the universe, and saving her just one more time.” He straightens his bowtie and heads for the door, casting a flirtatious smirk over his shoulder. 

“And you knew exactly what I would choose, you sexy thing.”

The next morning, you all but stumble into your office in a half-asleep state, having stayed awake far too late the previous night watching youtube videos about conspiracy theories to distract yourself from the curious, bowtie-wearing policeman you had met. Falling into the spinny chair behind your desk, you open your laptop and start tapping away to log yourself in for the day, tuning out the background noise of your coworkers doing the same. 

“Ahh, (Y/N)!” Your manager’s voice makes you jump, your life flashing before your suddenly wide eyes as you sit up straight and turn to face him.

“I wanted to introduce you to John Smith, he’s a detective in the area that’s been assigned to watch over this part of town due to some unsightly folks being reported on the streets!” He grimaces at the thought, but you hardly notice, your eyes having already gravitated towards the tall, slim man with the dopey smile on his face as he watches the tiniest spark of recognition ignite in your eyes. 

Standing from your chair, you hold a hand out to him. “We’ve met, actually, but I didn’t think it’d amount to this! Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”

If possible, the warm smile on his face brightens to challenge even the sun outside. “Duty calls! Pleasure’s all mine, but please, call me the Doctor.” He pretends to very dramatically whisper “It’s my code name.” 

Unable to stop yourself, you giggle and shake your head at his antics, making the young man with ancient eyes beam. 

“I’ll be surveying the area today, but this evening I wondered if you could take me on your route home, so that I can evaluate any…unsightly folks.” He says, referencing your report the day before and your manager’s choice of words.

You nod at him, smiling gratefully. “That’d be wonderful, thanks…Doctor.” 

And oh, how his hearts both skip a beat at hearing you say that.

For the rest of the day, you sit at your laptop and work away, while occasionally casting glances out of the window and at the carpark below, where the curious bowtie-wearing Doctor-policeman “surveys the area”. Now, you don’t pride yourself on being knowledgeable about police work, but you are quite confident that it doesn’t usually entail climbing trees simply to sit in them or getting bored enough to begin peeping in people’s parked cars and accidentally setting several car alarms off. All the same, every glance from the window leaves you with a smile that you truly struggle to wipe from your face, even in the wake of your desk job. 

At the end of your working day, you practically skip out of your office in search of the sweet fool that has offered to walk you home. You find him waiting beneath a streetlamp, surrounded by its golden glow, casting a halo over him that you can’t help to find somewhat metaphorical.

“Evening Doctor, had a good day?” You tease, knowing as well as he does that you have seen the majority of his antics.

“Good evening! I did have quite a good day, yes, did get a bit dull towards the middle, but as long as it helps keep the community safe, I will do it! How was your day?” He kindly returns your question, the two of you subconsciously starting to walk in step with each other.

“It was alright, bit dull, like you say, but we got through it!” You change the subject. “Before I entrust you with my route home, do you have a badge to prove your position, detective?”

Something twinkles in his eye at your sensibility, your desire to protect yourself, and the opportunity for him to show off one of his favorite party tricks. “Ah, of course! Here.” 

Digging into his tweed jacket, he retrieves a leather bound wallet and opens it out to you. The second you have digested the words on the small piece of paper within it, you are laughing so hard you are throwing your head back.

The Doctor, in a state of pure confusion, rapidly looks between you and the psychic paper. “What? What does it say?!”

Wiping your eyes, you try to calm yourself down. “It’s safe to say your flirting is much appreciated after a long day, Doctor.”

With wide eyes, the Time Lord reads over the piece of psychic paper that has never been more accurately named than when it answered your question of his professional title with a few, simple words. 

The love of your life.

And the Doctor has never flushed a more violent shade of red in all his years. With a disgruntled cough, he shoves the wallet back in his jacket.

“I am so sorry, that was not at all appropriate, please forgive-”

Nudging him playfully, you cut him off. “Nothing to forgive! As I said, I appreciated it. I know a creep when I see one, as proven, so I can tell when someone isn’t one. Translation: you can flirt with me as much as you like, pretty boy.”

He expects your flirting to fluster him even more, having not heard it in some time, but the sentiment is so familiar and by extension, comforting to him, the Doctor finds himself relaxing into your presence again, like nothing has changed.

“Pretty boy?” He chuckles.

You shrug. “Yeah, I’d definitely say you’re pretty. I suppose I’d have to, if you’re the love of my life.”

Playing along, the Doctor smiles at you, perhaps a little too adoringly. “Well, yes, it would be quite a shame if one of those statements were false.”

“Either one, in fact.” You give him a cheeky grin, the two of you sharing a comfortable laugh as you pass beneath another streetlight along your walk home that you have memorized so completely, you have all the time in the world to memorize an entirely new part of it.

By the time the Doctor walks you to your front door that evening, both of your faces ache from smiling as much as you have. 

“I regret to inform, I didn’t look behind us to see if we were being followed at any point.” You say, feigning disappointment in yourself that the Time Lord very quickly catches onto.

“Ah, well, in that case, I regret to inform the same- and it’s my job! I am rubbish at this.” 

His response brings another warm laugh from you. “I wouldn’t say you’re rubbish, but I think it is only fair we reconvene tomorrow evening and ensure we do keep our wits about us. What do you think?”

And the Doctor is grinning at you like you’re a tree with silver leaves, standing tall in deep red grass, beneath twin suns. A piece of home he truly never thought he would find again.

“I think I owe it to you, after my poor show today.”

With that, you’re smiling right back at him. “Wonderful! See you tomorrow then, Doctor.”

He raises his hand without really thinking about it and gives a very awkward wave, considering how close the two of you are standing, but it seems you are already accustomed to his clumsy social skills and have found the charm in them that speaks to your heart in the same way it does across every version of you. Sharing one final laugh, the two of you part ways, the Doctor beginning to retrace his steps from your house to his Tardis. 

When casting one last look over his shoulder, he sees you still standing in your half-open doorway, watching after him with a lingering smile that is so beautifully familiar to him. With a more socially acceptable distance now between you, he waves again, and you wave back, stepping into your house and closing your door behind you. And with a spring in his step that was previously long forgotten, the Doctor returns to his time machine.

She is in wonderful spirits, of course, seeing her Time Lord return with such a dopey smile plastered between rosey cheeks as he recounts the day he’s had, everything you said, everything you did. The Tardis makes what can only be described as mechanical noises of approval with every new piece of information about you. 

Knowing he can’t risk trying to time travel to the next morning when already breaking the rules by being in this parallel world to begin with, the Doctor decides to spend the rest of the evening and night tidying up. Something he doesn’t often do, as the Tardis will usually default to clean settings whenever he leaves a room in a mess, but she watches endearingly as he tidies away the books he’d thrown into to the library floor, polishes the railings of the main control room, and strangely, tidies away the fairy lights that you had wrapped around the bannister what feels like a lifetime ago, because you had insisted the Tardis could use a little more ‘dolling up’, as you put it. A classy girl, you had called her. No wonder she is still so fond of you.

But the Doctor had been unable to merely focus his gaze on the little glowing orbs that decorated the main control room, ever since you had last set foot in there. The reminder of your physical presence and the agony of the absence that followed was too much for him to confront, and yet here he is, wrapping them up and tidying them away like Christmas decorations that have been left up just a little too long. It is curious, the Tardis thinks. Does this mean he is ready to start processing his grief? Is he simply on an emotional high from seeing you again, to the point where he can touch the tangible reminders of you that were previously forbidden to trembling hands? Or, does he wish for you to set foot in here again and make the request for fairy lights that he will already have waiting for you? The Tardis does not know, but she knows very well what she hopes to be the truth.

The next morning, the Doctor actually decides to go on a stroll to the local shops. He had visited them only a handful of times with you before and often found them to be incredibly boring, which they once again proved themselves to be when he arrived at 5am to find none of them were open yet. Naturally, he spun around the carpark in shopping trolleys until the doors opened hours later. 

At work, you sit at your desk tapping your shoes against the carpet beneath it impatiently, glancing out of the window every few seconds with a frown that you truly cannot believe is there. Are you really this disturbed by the lack of presence of a man you have known no more than 48 hours?

But when he hobbles into the carpark, very awkwardly carrying a foldable ping-pong set, you struggle to contain the howling laughter that brings tears to your eyes. You watch in absolute wonder as the strange man sets the table up against a tree he had climbed the previous day, in perfect view of the window by your desk, and then turns to wave at you, ping-pong paddle in hand and a goofy grin on his face as he points at it and the table, in case you hadn’t noticed it. Waving back and miming that yes, you acknowledge the ping-pong table he has brought with him, you shake your head in disbelief and finally allow yourself to focus on your work. Meanwhile, in the distance there is the occasional, disdainful yell of a Time Lord playing ping-pong against a tree and losing.

That evening, the Doctor is once again waiting for you under the same streetlamp, illuminated by the same angelic glow as the evening before, and you can’t help feeling that each time you see him standing under it, that becomes more and more fitting.

“Evening Doctor, what’s the final score?” You ask, gesturing to the ping-pong table that he has left in the carpark.

Scoffing and pouting dramatically, the Doctor replies. “I don’t want to talk about it, but good evening.”

In an instant, the two of you are chuckling again, like old friends that have known each other far longer than you two have. Or rather, far longer than you have known him. The walk to your home continues in much the same way as it did the previous day, except the Doctor is more aware of your surroundings this time.

“So, I said to her, y’know, that’s totally unreasonable, and then she-”

The Doctor interrupts you by gently tapping your hand with his own as they swing between you. 

“I don’t want to alarm you, but we are being followed. Carry on as you were, I’ll keep watch.” He whispers, your arm immediately going rigid with fear beside him, but nodding along with his reassurances. “You are completely safe. I won’t let anything harm you.”

Clearing your throat, you continue. “Sorry, just remembered I forgot to save a file at work and made a mental note to sort that tomorrow. Anyway, as I was saying-”

Listening dutifully to your stories, as he always has, the Doctor only occasionally casts sideways glances to the opposite side of the street, where a shadowed figure is walking ever so slightly behind the two of you.

Once safely at your door, the two of you share a small smile, but your nervousness is obvious.

“Please, dont worry. After tonight, you won’t ever have to feel this way again. I will deal with him.” The Doctor tells you, voice soft but words firm in their meaning.

And you don’t know why, but you trust him completely. “Thank you. Goodnight, Doctor.”

With that, he gives you a warm smile, one that you will hold onto for the rest of the night. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

He waits until you have stepped inside your home, closed and locked the front door, before he takes his leave. There is no skip in his step this time, his shoes thud against the concrete road with a determination and fury like no other.

Walking over to his Tardis, the Doctor rests his back against the doors and crosses his arms. 

“I know you’re hiding over there, I know you like to follow her. Just tell me why.” He speaks into the street that appears empty, but in his peripheral vision, he can see the same hooded shadow that had been following you earlier, hiding around the corner of someone else’s house.

For a moment, the stalker says nothing and the Doctor is tempted to speak again, but then a voice greets him from the dark.

“None of your business.”

The Doctor laughs coldly. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. By choosing to subject her to the fear that you have, you have made this my business. So, I’ll ask again, just once: why?”

The hooded figure considers the words and the obvious confidence of the bowtie-wearing man that leans against a police box. Based on this, he evidently tries to choose his words carefully, but not carefully enough.

“I like the way she walks faster when she sees me behind her.”

The Doctor’s blood boils in his veins. “You like to scare her?”

When no voice replies to correct him, the Time Lord stands up from leaning against the Tardis and walks over to the monster of a man that thinks himself hidden. 

“Does it make you feel powerful, scaring her? Like you’re making some impact on the world?” The Doctor seethes. “Let me make myself very clear: she is one world that will forever be out of your reach, both in who she is and the fact I will make sure of it. She is under my protection, do you want to know what that means?”

Without giving the monster time to answer, the Doctor grabs him by a tuft of his hair and slams his forehead into his, sending him a shockwave compilation of the Time Lord’s most formidable and incredible moments. The paper man crumbles to the floor, a shaking mess, and the Doctor stands tall over him. 

“If I ever see your face again, it will be your last day on this planet.” The Doctor threatens, voice eerily soft given the weight of his words.

Nodding frantically, the stalker scrambles to his feet and sprints as fast as he can away from the ancient god. 

Rubbing his face tiredly, the Doctor returns to his time machine and collapses on the jump seat. 

“He won't bother her again, she’s safe now.” He tells his oldest companion.

She whirrs pleasantly at him, grateful for him having saved you, but reiterating a question that already nags at his mind.

“After seeing my list of atrocities, it’s highly likely he’ll ever come back. We should…” He trails off, exhausted by the task of sharing his own history with another mind in such a way. Sighing deeply, he sits back in the chair. “But highly likely still isn’t definite. I should probably stay, just one more day, to be certain.”

And the next day, after another wonderful walk home with you, the Time Lord comes skipping through the Tardis doors with another beaming grin. 

“Well, there’s no way he would come back the day after I threatened to remove him from the planet, and I can't leave her so suddenly without an explanation! I owe her that, at least.”

But he is only justifying the continuation down this path to himself, the Tardis holds no opposition to what would usually cause her and the fabric of reality a great deal of stress.

Before he knows it, the Doctor has done the impossible: he has lived a normal week in normal human time. He knows that without you, he never could have done such a thing. To be honest, even if he had been with you as he was before, he would have struggled with this. Having lost you and lived without you in the way that he has, he has never wished more for the most mundane parts of a life with you. All the time spent running with you at his side, facing varying degrees of danger head on, running on adrenaline and saving planet after planet - it was only when he lost you that he realized in doing all of that, he barely had the time to just walk with you. Talk about your day, the weather, your friends, the gossip about town, the slow passing of an evening instead of cramming a month’s worth of adventures into a week of traveling and then dropping you back into your normal life on the same day you’d left it. How you adjusted to both, how you effectively gave up on the life you had here, the one he has now been blessed enough to live with you, he will never know.

And on the last night of the working week, when the two of you share a look that acknowledges the fact you won’t see each other again until Monday, and you invite him into your home for a cup of tea, the Doctor feels a piece of his hearts slot back into place.

Stepping into your home, without the souvenirs and paintings from your travels with the Doctor filling every empty space, only seeing pieces of you everywhere, your ornaments and trinkets and chosen wall art - all of it sings your name to him like a prayer. It is strange, to step into someone’s home for the first time and feel a sense of nostalgia. Something feels wrong, still, but the Time Lord allows himself to be blinded by everything that feels right, the constant comfort that he feels in your presence, the peace you bring his ancient mind. Just once, he feels he is allowed to ignore the nagging in his brain. The universe can let him have this, just for a little while longer.

Having made the Doctor the best cup of tea he has ever had - simply because it is you that has made it - you inform him it is against your code of conduct to stay in your work clothes once you have returned home, and rapidly ascend the stairs, leaving the Time Lord sitting in your living room in a lovesick daze. And when you re-enter the room in the coziest looking pajamas he has ever seen, the Doctor is absolutely certain that the look in his eyes tells you loud and clear, he would do anything for you. 

Flopping down on the sofa beside him, you kick your feet up on the plush footstool ahead of you. “So, Friday night, what are we saying - takeaway and a film?”

You could have asked him to marry you and the question would have sounded just as heavenly. The Doctor nods frantically, grinning after you as you briefly exit the room again and return with a box full of paper menus for various takeaway places, asking him to pick while you choose a film that you say he has to see at least once in his life. He pretends to deliberate, his eyes fixed on you as you dig through your stacks of DVD’s, but he knows that he’s going to choose your favorite takeaway and you’re going to put on your favorite film, which he has watched with you a number of times before, but cannot wait to watch again for the first time.

In the post-takeaway bloat, the Doctor has discarded his tweed jacket and bowtie, and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, while you have simply shifted your position to be snuggled into his side with your head against his chest. The two of you are snuggled under a fluffy blanket, watching your favorite movie in silence, save for your choice commentary over your favorite scenes. With your ear pressed against his chest, the Doctor wonders how you haven’t made a point of his irregular sounding heartbeats. While you have acknowledged it in your own head, something about it feels normal to you, preventing you from having any kind of reaction beyond being comforted by its sound. 

And never before has the Time Lord wished to be stuck in a time loop more. If the only way he could live this day, everyday, for the rest of time, would be to play it out over and over again, he would never complain about a thing. If his moral compass had a gray area that was just a little larger, he could let his Tardis being here cause a fracture in the fabric of reality with any number of consequences, if it meant he could stay here with you. But above all else, the Doctor wishes he could have a silly little job to complain about, that everyday he could come home to your little house, cook and eat dinner with you at your dining table, laugh about the days you’ve had and yours plans for the next ones, then snuggle up on the sofa in your pajamas to watch your favorite shows until you were tired enough to go to sleep. And every night, he would carry you up to bed, looking down at your sleeping face and planning each and every night how he’d ask you to marry him someday soon.

It isn’t until you feel a droplet against your head and sit up to face him that the Doctor realizes he desires that life so strongly it has reduced him to tears. 

“Doctor? What’s wrong?!” 

The care in your voice, the way he can tell you already feel for him, the bond you have automatically slipped back into without even trying. He has made an imprint on your life again, he couldn’t help it. He was here to save you just one more time, to set things right so that he and his time machine could grieve and carry on, that was his purpose here, but he has gone too far. There is no logical way that he can leave unnoticed and in any which way he left you now, he would hurt you. While it would only be a fraction of the agony he has lived in without you, he cannot bring himself to hurt you in any capacity, not again. 

“I have to show you something.” The Doctor tells you, standing up from the sofa and taking your hand, grabbing his jacket with the other and leading you to your front door. 

It is silent as you step into a pair of slippers big enough to fit your fluffy socks in, staring up at the Doctor in confusion and concern, and it is silent as the two of you walk the short distance between your house and his police box. 

Taking a deep breath, the Doctor pushes open the door and gently tugs you inside. Your legs falter behind him and he turns to face you, seeing an exact replay of the shock and wonder in your eyes as he did on the first occasion he brought you here. But there isn’t time, not anymore.

“Not a policeman, a time traveller. This is my ship, it’s bigger on the inside.” With your hand still in his, the ancient god rushes through the necessary clarifications as he leads you through the main control room, down a flight of stairs, and to the door that he previously couldn’t bear looking at, that the Tardis had moved closer to the main control room than it had ever been before.

The Doctor’s other hand is shaking as he reaches for the handle, but he cannot delay this any longer. He has gone too far.

Turning the handle dowards, he pushes the door open, the gesture weak but taking everything from him, his arm falling limp at his side. The room glows at your arrival, the Tardis sensing your return and greeting you in a warm smile. And despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all, you manage a small smile back at her. 

The Doctor feels your hand slip away from his as you cautiously step into the room, while he feels an invisible barrier denying him entry. After everything, he does not deserve the right to stand in there with you.

“This universe is not the only one.” He begins, voice light as he focuses on telling you a story, providing an explanation of what came first, forcing himself to forget what came after until he has no choice but to tell you that, too. “There is an ever expanding number of galaxies and worlds out there in this universe and others, and time is like…a cabinet, with folders pressed together that are so similar, only those who know them well enough could tear them apart. Parallel worlds.” 

His eyes are fixed to you as you seem to glide around the room, gaze lingering on every trinket you see, until you reach the fireplace to the left of the door. It bursts to life at your presence, flames roaring and firewood crackling, warming your slippers, but you neglect to notice that, otherwise entranced by the photographs that decorate the mantelpiece. Frame after frame, all different sizes, some photographs not framed yet, but placed there still, waiting to be stood with pride amongst the rest. Your own face, and the Doctor’s, smiling back at you in each and every one, with backgrounds of countless different places.

“I was lucky enough to meet you in a world parallel to this one. We…traveled together.” He takes a deep breath, watching you pick up some of the photographs to examine them closer, a confused frown on your face as you stare at them with such intensity. “There are planets safe in the sky, stars that sing songs of that version of you for saving them, even just for visiting them. That version of you was like…a sun, to many a planet, spreading an infectious joy wherever you went…to none more than me.” With a sad smile, his gaze drops to the floor, the line of your doorway that he cannot cross. “I took you from the planet that created you, the stardust from which you were born, and because of me, that world is now without you.” All light drains from the Doctor’s voice then, the weight of his crimes crushing the flicker of his spirit that only you could bring back. “What should have been an easy pit stop on an asteroid became the worst day in existence. It was your birthday- not that you remembered, you hadn’t been living earth days for some time, but you had mentioned how much you enjoyed celebrating and I couldn’t strip you of that human right along with everything else.” As kind as his gesture had been at the time, on reflection it is morbid, cynical and cruel. Everything he did that led you there had grown sour in the absence of you. “I took you to the largest asteroid belt in history, so that we could have a picnic there and you could take another photograph for your collection. But when we arrived…” The Time Lord swallows the lump in his throat, remembering every agonizing second as though it was happening all over again. “Colonizers, that was what they called themselves. A disorganized group of criminals; a broken cyberman and discharged jadoon, among them. They had stolen a vortex tunnel, which in itself was a terrible crime- they thought they could control one but not even Time Lords managed to master them. My history and their anger towards me for it was waiting outside the Tardis doors but because it had been clear when I’d set the picnic up, I didn’t think to scan the perimeter again. I sent you out there first to surprise you, and they-” Trembling fists clench at his sides, closing his eyes in a pained blink before opening them to a grave frown. “They’d already grabbed you and before I could say anything, they’d thrown you inside.”

Having already placed the photographs back on the mantelpiece, you watch the wonder of a man you’ve come to know crumble with shame. 

“What does a vortex tunnel do?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper so as to not upset him further by verbalizing such painful memories for him too loudly.

“Vortex tunnels are a risky means of escape. They pluck you from where you’re standing and send you hurtling across space and time with no definite destination. They could send someone to random coordinates, floating in space, to certain death- there is no way to predict them.” The Doctor answers, keeping his words factual and objective to regain some composure.

“Why would anyone want to use one?” You question gently.

“Desperation. Based on their unpredictability, they are illegal and kept in stasis, but there have been cases of criminals that use them to avoid trial and execution.” He replies.

“Couldn’t outer space police track them down, or something?” You aren’t quite sure you understand the full extent of the events, feeling that certain aspects are missing and it is down to you to piece together what you can while trying to save the Doctor from reliving such pain.

“Vortex tunnels don’t just send you across time and space, they erase your mind entirely. In the highly unlikely case of someone being tracked to where the tunnel had spat them out, they have no memory of their crimes, so cannot be charged for them. The creature that they were, all but ceases to be.” His voice is light again, fragile this time at the thought of the person he had known being erased from existence and left stranded. “There was no way for me to trace you, not even with a psychic link in the Tardis, because the psychic link with you was gone, your mind as we knew it, was gone. The Colonizers jumped into it afterwards, of course, to escape me.” The Doctor rubs his face with his hands, then places a palm against the doorframe. “She’s the reason I’m here. She mourned you so deeply that she ripped a hole in the fabric of reality to bring me to a parallel world, just to save you one last time, to make our last memory something better.” His hand falls to his side. “But I went too far, again. I stayed too long, made too much of an impression on this version of you, your life here. Now, leaving will hurt you, but I can’t take you with me. Not only do I refuse to take you away from the world, the family that is yours a second time, but I cannot replace her. As similar as you are, you are not her, and I know it. Something has felt wrong from the moment I arrived and as much as I’ve tried to ignore it, I can’t anymore-“

“What family?” You interrupt him, stunning him into silence for a moment.

He is so shocked by your question, he manages to meet your eyes for the first time since opening your bedroom door. “Your family, your parents.”

Your brow furrows, expression lost. “I…don’t have parents, Doctor.”

The Time Lord stares at you, dumbfounded. 

And then he’s walking towards you, stepping across the invisible barrier and breaking the distance to stare into your eyes, read what lies beyond them, a stern frown etched in his features. “Yes, you do. As different as parallel worlds can be, if you did not have parents, you would be a very different person. Your mother picked out your living room curtains, your father built the coffee table in there-”

You shake your head, interrupting him again. “Those were both part of the house, they were there when I arrived.”

Too perplexed to continue this interrogation manually, the Doctor takes your hand and all but drags you back to the main control room. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, he scans your brain and then transfers the data to his monitor, eyes reading the Gallifreyan data displayed over and over again, trying to make sense of it.

“Is there something wrong with me, Doctor?” You ask, beginning to worry based on his expansive knowledge and lack of ability to give you an explanation.

Looking from his monitor to you, he scowls. “Arrived.”

“What?” You question.

“You didn’t say the furniture was there when you moved in, you said it was there when you arrived.” His eyes slowly start to widen. “You saw the Tardis. When we first landed here- she automatically blends in with the world around her, but you saw her. And when I told you to call me the Doctor, you didn’t question it, not once. Despite being introduced to you as John Smith, you never called me that, even in private.” Slow, hesitant steps towards you, as though he’s scared to approach what you could be. “You didn’t question anything, throughout my explanation. Not the time travel, not the Tardis or referring to her as ‘she’, not parallel worlds, not the alien species I referenced, not how we met, the places we’d been- you only started asking questions in the end, about the only things that - out of everything I told you - you didn’t already know.”

His words sink into your skin slowly, your mind finding it much more difficult to digest this information than it had everything else the Doctor has previously told you, and he’s right, all of that should have raised more questions from you.

The Doctor reaches for your hand so slowly, and you don’t know why, but you accept it, instinctively. A small smile blooms on his face, the tiniest glimmer of hope as he looks between you and the Tardis console.

“She wasn’t sick, oh, you sexy thing- that’s how she brought us here, she was tracking you across time and space, pinpointing the anomaly of you, thrown from your own timestream and into another.” He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to place a kiss against your knuckles. “If we fly away from here, if we go back to your Earth, the timeline will correct itself and you should remember everything- we can’t let this anomaly continue or it could tear apart time and space in some grandiose butterfly effect!” 

And he lets go of your hand to run around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers with an exhilarated grin on his face, the Tardis whirring with excitement, while you just stand there.

“All this time, I thought she couldn't find you, silly old Doctor! I was slow on the uptake, as usual- I hope the Shadow Proclamation can forgive any ripples in the continuum that follow this, but-”

“Doctor, wait.”

He stops suddenly, the wondrous time machine collapsing into silence. 

“The fact I already trust you as much as I do and don’t feel terrified by this frankly alarming turn of events, suggests you and the Tardis are right, but…remembering an entire life that, as of now, I don’t fully recognise I’ve lived, how will that feel?” For the first time since meeting the Doctor in this world, you are scared at the thought of what comes next.

Understanding your concern, the Doctor returns to you and takes your hands in his. “Quite honestly, I have no idea, I’ve never seen the recovery process from a vortex tunnel. I can only guess that it will feel overwhelming, it could send you to sleep, but whatever happens, I will be right here, and you will be fine. I promise you. I will never risk you again.”

He holds your face in his hands, gaze locked with yours.

Taking a deep breath, you nod. “Okay.”

The Doctor smiles at you. “Keep your eyes on me and reach for the lever on your left, you know the one.”

And like it’s second nature, your hand grabs the very lever he’s referring to, bringing a beaming grin from the Time Lord as you tug it down. 

With a wheeze and a groan, the wonderful time machine lifts into the sky and drags herself out of the parallel world, beginning the journey back to the one you came from. Through the time vortex, your knees buckle, winding you and forcing you to collapse into the Doctor, who holds you against him so tightly, slowly lowering the two of you to the floor to hold you on his lap, arms keeping your body safe as your mind races a mile a minute.

“You can do this, we’re almost there. Come on (Y/N), hold on, for me.” He murmurs into your ear, comforting you through the tears that wrack your body, memories attacking you from every angle. 

Regardless of how happy the majority of those memories are, to experience them all at once and at the same time as all of the sad ones, the painful ones; to feel every emotion you are capable of feeling simultaneously and remembering every instance in which you have felt every one, in a microsecond; a human mind can only cope with so much.

The memories of his smile and laugh overlay every flashing image of every place you’ve been together, every species you’ve encountered, friend you’ve made, planet you’ve explored, until it all fades to black and you are empty again.

Only this time, instead of waking up in a simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar house with a mental block on how you had arrived there and no understanding of who you were beyond the corporate life you led amongst billions of your kind, your eyes flutter open to your home. Sitting in a chair beside your bed, he watches over you, your guardian angel. The delirium with which you scan the room around you, acknowledging the crackling fire and the familiarity of your bedroom on the Tardis, makes you feel as though you have slept a thousand years.

“Doctor? What-”

He interrupts you, gently shushing you. “Rest, (Y/N), you need to rest, please. Recovering and reliving your entire life all at once and in under a minute is not a normal process for anyone, you need to let your mind recover.”

Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you nod at him. “How long have I slept for?”

“Three days.” 

With eyes like a deer in headlights, you sit bolt upright in bed, immediately starting to feel dizzy and the Doctor jumping from his chair to steady you, propping your pillows up behind you.

“Three days?!” 

The Doctor nods. “Yes. Had I thought about this recovery process, I probably would have picked a more comfortable chair.”

Your jaw drops. “Tell me you have not been sitting there for three days straight.”

And the ancient god is silent.

You sigh. “Doctor!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “If I told you I hadn’t been sitting here for three days, that would have been a lie, so I thought it best not to say anything!”

Shaking your head in disbelief at him, you shuffle to the side of your bed that is pressed against the wall. “For goodness’ sake, you ridiculous fool.” You pat the empty space beside you on your bed. “Get in here.”

The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Y-You need the space to rest!”

You hold his gaze. “Before getting to the parallel world, how long had it been since you last saw me?”

He avoids your eyes. “I wasn’t keeping count, we were just drifting while she tracked you- it doesn’t matter.”

Frowning, you look up at the ceiling. “Tardis? On the monitor above my bed, can you tell me how much time had passed between my disappearance and the two of you arriving on the parallel world, in Earth days?”

And as always, she is ever so happy to listen to you. The monitor above your bed flickers on, displaying a black screen with a single line of text. 

1096 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.

Having never been particularly mathematically gifted, you turn back to the Doctor. “...How many years is that?”

But he doesn’t have it in his hearts to tell you, to admit how long he was alone for, how long he and the Tardis grieved for, how long they drifted in space while she searched for you and he tortured himself with the guilt of losing you, the hopelessness of never being able to find you again. Retrieving his sonic screwdriver from his jacket again, he zaps the monitor above your bed and then returns the tool to his pocket, hanging his head.

Looking back up at the monitor, your eyes fill with tears at the change of text.

3 Years, 1 Day, 15 hours, 38 minutes, 4 seconds.

One hand lifts to cover your trembling bottom lip, while the other reaches for his hand.

“Three years?! Doctor, that’s-”

He cuts you off. “If the Tardis hadn't taken flight when she did, it would have been an eternity, I can assure you.”

The Doctor’s words hit you like a train, so suddenly and stopping your heart with a screech before it starts again, spluttering frantically in your chest at the impact. Sniffling and wiping your eyes, you chuckle, in complete disbelief.

“Well, daft old man, you know what that means, don’t you?”

Unable to resist the urge to lift his head and see your smile again, the Doctor meets your eyes. Without realizing it, he starts to smile back at you, silently asking you to continue.

And you do, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go of it to tap the empty space on the mattress beside you again, with a tearful smile that sets both his hearts ablaze.

“I think you need a cuddle just as much as I do.”

[cozzzynook]

Touya as a hero would probably still end up with his quirk hurting him so he keeps it low profile that it is hurting him even with the support gear.

In this au Touya never became Dabi and when he burned on Sekoto Peak he was found by people who lived in a nearby village. He didn’t tell them his identity when he came to and only went back home when he was fully healed.

He learns what his mother did to Shouto and sees that nothing changed while he was away.

It crushes him.

So much so he retreats into himself.

He doesn’t acknowledge the warm attempts of his siblings to reconnect. He remains polite and even tolerates Shouto being near him which was a surprise none of the todoroki children saw coming.

Nothing seemed to phase Touya not even his fathers attempts at asking him what happened. He simply blocked everything and everyone out.

He trained his power in secret and learned to build his flames to a manageable degree. He enrolls into U.A without his father knowing until he sees him leaving one morning for school. No amount of questions phase Touya as he simply locks his dad out his room.

That night Enji cried for the smile that died on Sekoto Peak.

If only he had come when he was wanted then things would be different.

Life was different when Touya came back. Shouto no longer lived a separate life from his siblings and Touya was top of his class. He was seen as remarkable for using so little of his quirk while training to become a pro hero.

He ended up spending every internship under the watchful gaze of best jeanist and Aizawa. He was aiming to be an underground hero like Aizawa but he needed Best Jeanist so he could receive the necessary credits.

Time flew by as he focused on his studies and soon he was a licensed hero.

He did it. He finally did it.

He wasn’t a failure, he was worth existing. He was worthy of being loved and alive.

So why didn’t he feel like it?

He was twenty three now in the top twenty. He preferred staying there even if he could aim higher. Even with his support gear after all these years his fire still took a toll on his health.

Touya kept that information between himself and a private doctor on the lower side of the city. He figured he’d be alright since most hero’s steered clear of the area but his luck ran short when he saw pro-hero Hawks.

Touya felt his chest tighten and his vision shake as he turned a bit too fast and started walking the other direction. He was halfway home when he felt the familiar pain. His vision blurred and his body grew painfully cold.

After the fire Touya was given medicine to keep his body from overheating, essentially bringing forth more of his mothers quirk causing his fire to shut down and let the ice in his veins run rampant. His body was suited for the cold so his organs wouldn’t shut down. But it did cause irreversible nerve damage and brought to light his weak immune system.

Trembling from the chill, Touya felt his hands shake and his fingers lock. He was still a crier at heart and right now he felt himself sniffle as the water curled his lashes. But before he could shed them his body gave out and the world grew red and gold then black.

He comes to in a bundle of blankets and with something soft tickling his cheek. With no energy to move Touya lays in the soft cocoon before a hand with sharp talons he notes, touches his forehead and he groans.

“Oh! Nova you’re awake. Don’t worry its me, Hawks. No one saw you I made sure of it. Oh wait hehe, sorry I forgot to mention I was following you..Not to be a stalker or anything! I just noticed you didn’t look well..”

“Not being a stalked I promise!”

Hawks looks even more nervous than before until he grabs a glass of water and helps Touya drink. He mumbles a weak, “thank you,” to the winged hero before shivering.

“Oh are you cold again? I hope you don’t mind but when I laid next to you it helped.”

Hawks laid next to him and his wings really did add to the winged mans already high temperature. “Its kinda funny. My quirk makes me hot but yours freezes you.”

Touya said nothing as he slowly warmed up. Hawks once again ruined the silence, “I saw the burns on your wrists and the quirk aides on your wrists..how long has your quirk hurt you?”

Touya held in a breath before trying to get up, Hawks was much stronger than he looked.

“You can’t keep going if this is what it does to you.”

“Fuck you.”

There was silence before Hawks pulled him closer, “is hurting your body really worth being a hero?”

“What else is there?”

Hawks said nothing as Touya stared into nothing, his chilling anger fading to empty sadness.

“I don’t have anything else..this is all I have to prove my creation wasn’t a mistake…”

“but it’s still not enough..i’m..its not enough.”

Hawks said nothing as he watched Nova silently cry with a broken smile.

He noticed Nova when he first debuted and since he’s had a crush on him. He knew from the beginning something wasn’t right but that didn’t stop his feelings. If anything it fueled them more.

Resting his forehead against Nova’s tear stained cheek Hawks wing presses further into Nova, “Find it with me.”

“Lets find our existence outside of hero work, together.”

The tears poured from Nova’s eyes faster and his smile slowly lowered until only his eyebrows were lifted as his head turned to the side of the pillow and cried.

For the first time in a long time, since the day he became a real pro to the fire on Sekoto Peak to the day he learned his body rejected his quirk.

𝘏𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘢����𝘮.

𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦.

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘦.

[gingiesworld]

9 Years Ago Today

Natasha Romanoff x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Death (Suicide), Unhappy Ending

18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1876

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad (if you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

There was a time where everything seemed okay, maybe better than okay, Y/N had a great group of friends even if one of them happened to be their ex. Although the two ended badly, constantly arguing about the minor things, they both managed to be amicable when they were amongst their friends. Y/N always kept stealing glances of her from across the room, always noting just how happy she seemed, how she seemed to forget that they ever even dated. Well there were times where Natasha would forget that they even existed, making their friends feel awkward. So they soon stopped hanging out with them as often as they used to, everyone else noticing their lack of appearance at their get togethers.

“You can’t keep hiding out here.” Steve stated in disgust, looking at all the dirty takeout containers before he grabbed an empty garbage bag. “I know it still hurts.”

“No, you really don’t.” They chuckled dryly as they took a sip from the half empty bottle of whiskey.

“I know you love her.” He said as he sat beside them on the sofa. “I see how you still steal glances at her, I can see it in your eyes, even the hurt when she barely acknowledges your existence.”

“I’m fine.” They told him as he shook his head. “I swear to fucking god Steve, if you even attempt to say that I’m not, I’m gonna finish this bottle and smash it over your head.” He sighed and stood up, finishing helping them with cleaning their apartment in silence.

“Just please don’t do anything stupid.” He spoke softly as Y/N shrugged.

“We never had a choice about being brought into this world, but we can have a choice on how we leave this life behind.” They told him. Steve stopped in his tracks as he turned to face them.

“Don’t.” He seethed as Y/N just returned to the bottle. “I refuse to lose one of my best friends.”

“But I’m not one of them.” They told him as they stood up and went to their bedroom, locking the door behind them, leaving Steve to finish what he had started. Even as the weeks turned into months, everyone seemed to miss Y/N at their gatherings, missing how they used to be playful and energetic before the break up.

“We should try and talk to them again.” Wanda spoke up, breaking everyone away from their previous conversation. “I’m worried about them.”

“Me too.” Steve whispered as the others agreed, Nat remaining quiet as she silently agreed with them. She soon decided that she would get up to leave, making everyone divert their attention to her. “Where are you going?” He questioned as she picked up her bag, making sure she had everything she needed.

“To see them.” She answered before she left the house, heading straight towards the all too familiar building she spent many nights in. Heading straight up to their floor, banging on their door, waiting for a moment before they answered the door, they were in their uniform with their bag ready. “Where are you going?” She questioned as she walked past them inside the apartment. “I thought you were on leave for a year? Especially after your injury.”

“Well I have been cleared for combat and called forward.” They answered her flatly.

“Have you really been cleared or have you paid a dodgy doctor to say that?” She questioned with her eyebrow raised.

“Why can’t you actually see that I am fine!” They yelled at her, their eyes burning into her own green orbs.

“With what I have heard says otherwise.” She remarked, making them scoff.

“I’m sorry I was going through a rough time.” They spoke sarcastically. “That’s just it with you, I can never do a single thing right for you! You’ve always brought me down whether it's about who I am or it’s my career choice.”

“I have never done that!” She defended herself, watching as Y/N shook their head.

“Look, I would love to continue our argument, for old times sake but I have to go soon.” They told her as they tried to usher her out of the apartment.

“I don’t want to argue.” She told them.

“That’s good, it will make leaving here much easier.” They told her sarcastically.

“This is always just like you.” She seethed. “You always run away from the problem, you never want to face it like.” She stopped herself before continuing, watching as all emotion drained from Y/N’s face.

“Go on.” They prompted. “Say it. Say I’m a coward.” They watched as she shook her head no. “You’ve already said it plenty of times before so why is now any different?”

“I don’t think that.” She told them as they laughed at her words.

“So let me guess, all those times you called me a coward was for kicks, just a little light bullying.” They queried as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for them to say what was on their mind. “I know you think that I’m a failure, that I always destroy whatever I touch or that I’m a coward. I know that you claim that you used to love me when in reality you never loved me, not as much as you made me believe.”

“Please can we just sort this out? Like adults.” She asked them quietly, watching as they shook their head.

“I’m done with talking to you.” They told her, throwing her their keys as they picked up their bag. “Have a nice life Natasha. I hope you get what you want in life.” They told her before leaving their apartment, Natasha remained glued to her spot as the door closed. Y/N got in the taxi and gave them their parents address, knowing that no one has used their house, not since they passed away. Y/N never had the heart to sell it nor did they feel comfortable living their themselves, not without their parents.

Once they were there, they headed straight up to their childhood room, sitting on their bed before they let the tears fall, completely breaking down before they let their anger get the better of them. Picking up ornaments and picture frames, throwing anything and everything they could before falling to their knees, clutching their chest before they fell back and leaned against the bed, putting their head in their hands as they let all of their emotions that they have drowned with alcohol out.

“They said they were called up.” Natasha informed the others, but that was when Bucky spoke up.

“They were dismissed last year.” He told them. “After the incident happened on their last tour they were medically discharged.”

“Why didn’t they say anything?” Nat asked him.

“They were embarrassed.” He told her. “They already felt like a failure and a disappointment, and you never really helped them either.”

“They wouldn’t talk to me.” She tried as Bucky shook his head.

“I saw how you was when you were together.” He told her. “You never really cared about them, just what they could do for you and when that changed you just discarded them like they were nothing.”

“Why did they tell you?” Steve asked as Bucky shrugged.

“Because I have been there myself.” He told him. “I’m the only one who really understands how they felt.”

“Do you think they would try and do something?” Nat questioned as she looked between the couple.

“Well, they have tried once before but their mom found them.” Bucky answered her. “She managed to get them to the hospital in time to get their stomach pumped.”

“Do you think they would try again?” She pressed on, watching as Bucky thought hard.

“It’s possible.” He told her. “None of us know what they witnessed on their last tour, and they already felt as though they weren’t enough their whole life thanks to their father.”

“Should we do something?” Natasha questioned as Steve was already on his phone, dialing their number. Y/N watched as the phone kept ringing as they held the pistol in their hand, their breathing the calmest it has been in a very long time. They waited until he tried to call them for the fifth time.

“Steve.” They said calmly as they answered the call.

“Please tell me you aren’t doing something stupid?” He pleaded as Y/N sighed. “Or can you please tell me where you are so I can come to you.”

“Do you know that it was nine years ago.” They started calmly. “Nine years ago I tried to make the right choice, I was failing college, I was a disappointment to my parents. My father barely ever talked to me, he was that disgusted by me.” Everyone listened as Steve had the call on loudspeaker. “But when I woke up after, did you know what he said to me? Maybe you can get it right next time. Who the hell says that to their own child huh? So that’s why I joined the military, I wanted a way to make my meaningless life mean something but I couldn’t even do that right either.”

“Please just tell me where you are?” He pressed again.

“We never had a choice about being brought into this world, but we can have a choice on how we leave this life behind.” They repeated their words from weeks ago. “I never liked this room, you know.” They wold them. “I always hated it. I tried so many times to escape it but I always seem to come back here. Maybe this is where it’s supposed to happen.”

“Please let us help you.” Bucky pleaded as the two followed Bucky to the car, knowing that he knew exactly where they are.

“It’s too late for me.” They whispered. “I can’t keep living like this, hell it's not really living, not with the constant thoughts and demons I have in my mind and I’m tired. I just want it to be over.”

“No!” Nat yelled from the back seat as Bucky drove as fast as he could. “Please don’t.”

“I’ve made up my mind.” They told them as they cocked the pistol, moving it to aim at their head. “I’m just being the coward you think I am. At least I won’t be there to ruin anything for you anymore.” Nat was shaking her head as Bucky turned down a road in their old high school district. “Just know that I tried, I really did but I can’t keep on going like this, the nightmares, the failures, everything is just, I feel like I’m drowning.” They spoke shakily. “I hope you guys understand.” Before anyone could answer, they hung up just as they pulled up in their old street, soon flinching as they heard a deafening gunshot, knowing exactly what they’re going to witness as soon as they walked inside Y/N’s childhood home. Their hearts breaking knowing that they wouldn’t see their friend anymore, all that they had were now memories, tainted with the knowledge that Y/N was never truly happy.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 58 (Adopted by Another Stray!)

On a rainy autumn night, Mayor Whiskers started scratching feverishly at the front door. Heather got up to let him out, but a small, soaked black cat raced through the opening and into the bedroom at the end of the hall.

This black cat was nervous and aloof, and it took several attempts to lure her from under the bed with treats. But she liked Buttercups as much as any pet, and Heather slowly earned her trust.

"She's cute," acknowledged Conrad. "But we've already got two cats and Gord!"

Heather smiled at the untrained stray. "She needs a good home, and she seems comfortable here," she said. "I know our life is always busy and our upstairs hallway looks like a cheap greenhouse right now, but one more cat won't hurt!"

Conrad wasn't going to seriously argue against adding another pet to their household, and Heather took their new black cat to her clinic next door for a check up. One x-ray made clear why she suddenly wanted a warm roof - she was expecting kittens. There was no way Heather would turn her out again in her condition.

"What we name her?" Ash wondered as he watched the cats play together outside.

"What do you think we should name her?"

"Cupcake!" he shouted. "I love cupcakes!"

Heather smiled. "Just Cupcake?"

Ash shook his head, grinning. "No, mommy. Queen Cupcake! Like King Tut!"

With that, Queen Cupcake had her name, and their new pet started to make herself at home. To celebrate, she picked a fight with Mayor Whiskers(!), but it wasn't long before Whiskers and Cupcake were nuzzling, as enamored with each other as Heather and Conrad! Heather was relieved the cat was already pregnant, but she made a note to have her spayed as soon as the kittens were born.

She was far more aggressive than any of her other pets, but Heather hoped this was a side-effect of her maternal instinct, hoping it might fade once she'd safely delivered.

"Training bad habits out of you might not be easy, huh?"

Queen Cupcake's responsive meow sounded distinctively like a 'yeah,' but cat-loving Heather was ready for the challenge.

Before long, Queen Cupcake delivered two small black kittens, the spitting image of their mother, named Duchess and Lady. Their house was overflowing with pets!

Heather's son was almost as friendly with cats as his mother, and loved spending time with Queen Cupcake's tiny new kittens.

"These kitties small like me, mommy." Ash could pick up Duchess and Lady, who fit in the crook of his small arm, to pet their fuzzy black fur. "They soft."

They bought a self-cleaning litter box to try to handle the influx of felines, but all five cats still preferred to use the old one that needed manual cleaning, much to their dismay.

"What if we just got rid of it?" suggested Conrad. "Then they'd have to use the new one, right?"

"I know we should," said Heather. "I have a feeling the Watcher keeps meaning to do that, but you and I are both neat so we just keep cleaning it and she forgets."

"Are we talking about the Watcher Watcher making changes while we sleep, or are you saying the Watcher made you forget to throw out the old one?"

"Maybe both?" She laughed as their conversation bordered on ridiculous. No one got her sense of humour as much as he did. "What if the cats are just attached to the old one?"

Conrad considered this. "The old one does have a certain smell... Should we be worried about a Watcher who's so disorganized?"

Heather shrugged. "She helped the doctors save my son, so I won't begrudge her one smelly litter box."

"Fair point," agreed Conrad with a smile. "I'll go get the scoop."

Active full-time jobs, five cats, a dog, and a toddler kept Heather and Conrad busy, but they still carved out every moment they could together - which usually meant crashing on the couch to watch their favourite shows until they fell asleep.

They worked hard, but their life together was a perfect fit. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Me, writing about how stressed and busy they are as a slightly meta dig at my own gameplay this gen, proceeding to add 3 cats. Honestly it's for Heather because more cats don't stress her out at all. She also always needs to have 2 cats per the challenge rules and Boomer is getting up there, so I'm game. I might not keep all five forever but Queen Cupcake is here to stay.

WCIF Sofa Pose? Cozy Couple by @toofcc. I really love it, and it's exactly what I was looking for! Thank you for sharing!

[reidholic]

i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows)

pairing: spencer reid x reader

wordcount: 1.4k

summary: sometimes, you take things a little too literally. this can be both a blessing and a curse. in terms of your first meeting with spencer reid, you're not sure what to call it.

notes: based on the prompt "give me Spencer Reid telling reader, who is very literal about most things, its safer to kiss on the lips than to shake hands while introducing themselves at the Bureau for his first day and Spencer gets so surprised when he does kiss him." the reader is not gendered specifically in the actual piece, though (no pronouns or gendered anatomical language), so read as you please! this is also my first reader-insert so if you could give me some feedback, i'd appreciate it greatly :)

read on ao3

“And here’s your desk,” Agent Hotchner finishes, stopping at an unoccupied seat, the only unoccupied seat, within a quad. Two of the three taken spaces are void of their people at the moment, but at the seat across from yours, you can just see the top of a head, bent over in concentration, peeking out from over the divider between the two workspaces.

“Got it,” you nod, setting down your armload of things. “Thank you, sir.”

Hotchner dips his chin in acknowledgement, and although he doesn’t smile, his voice isn’t unkind when he tells you, “You’re welcome. I’m happy to have you here with us, and I think I speak for my whole team when I say that we’re looking forward to seeing what you bring to the table.”

“Speaking of the rest of the team,” you start hesitantly before he turns to leave. He pauses, raising an eyebrow as he waits for you to finish. “Will I get a chance to meet them before our first case? I’m hoping to at least introduce myself before we see any dead bodies, no matter how interesting a first meeting that would make.” You wince and watch Agent Hotchner’s face carefully. The joke had just slipped out—you tend to run your mouth when you’re nervous, but the unit chief doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to appreciate your impulsive wit. 

To your relief, you aren’t kicked out of the building. You allow yourself a brief, silent exhale of the breath you’d been holding—you had not wanted a repeat of The Incident of 2006. Instead, your boss looks at you for a moment, considering, before his gaze flicks away to something behind you. “I’m sure you’ll see them around soon enough. In the meantime, why don’t you and Agent Reid get acquainted?”

Ah. So not something—someone. Agent Hotchner had been referring to the owner of the head you had seen a few moments earlier. The person in question doesn’t seem to have noticed that his boss is looking at him expectantly. He’s still bent down over something that you can’t see, deep in his own world. 

The unit chief clears his throat. “Reid?” he says again pointedly. Finally, the other man manages to tear himself away from his work, gaze leaving the papers he’s been writing on a split second after his head.

“Yeah?” he answers absentmindedly, eyes finally making their way up to see who’d been calling him. He’s young, mid-twenties at most, and lean, not built like many of the men you’ve worked with in the past. Curly chestnut hair sweeps across his forehead, a couple of the unruly strands sticking out at the nape of his neck. You resolutely ignore the urge to finger-comb the fluffy-looking locks. That would be absolutely inappropriate and more than unprofessional.

His eyes, the color of earl gray tea that’s been steeped until it’s just on the darker side, are warm when they lock on yours. He looks down hurriedly, hands twisting in his lap seemingly unconsciously. “Oh, hello. I assume you’re the new recruit? I’m Reid. Doctor Reid.” He’s speaking fast, clearly stumbling a little bit. “Um. Well, you don’t have to call me doctor. Agent Reid is fine. Or—or just Reid! Spencer Reid. Yeah, that’s me.” He looks up at you again for a second, an anxious twist to his mouth, and you feel simultaneously endeared and empathetic. You’ve been in his position all too many times before, tripping over your own words in front of a new acquaintance. In fact, you’d done that just this morning when you’d come face-to-face with Agent Hotchner, nearly dropping your box of things as you stammered out a greeting. In your defense, the man was intimidating. That was probably why he made such a good FBI agent.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. You smile at him, trying to put him at ease as you introduce yourself, giving Agent (Doctor?) Reid your name and holding out a hand over the divider. He’s stood up as well over the course of your short conversation so that the two of you are about a foot and a half apart, and you notice that he has a couple inches on you. It isn’t surprising—he looks the long and lanky type. 

However, Dr. Spencer Reid decidedly does not take your proffered hand, instead looking down at it, held in between the two of you, like you’ve just offered him a whole stick of butter. Not disgusted, per se, but hesitant and doubtful, like he’s figuring out how to politely reject the metaphorical dairy product. You lick your lips, a nervous tic. You’ve never been great at meeting new people, and this doesn’t seem to be heading in the right direction. With your luck, you’ve just made a grievous error in the Unspoken Code of Social Interaction and now your new colleague will never want to speak to you again.

Agent Reid clears his throat uncomfortably, bringing you out of your despairing rumination. Your hand is still hovering uncertainly in the space between the two of you. “Actually, did you know that the number of pathogens passed through a mere handshake is astonishing?” Evidently, he’s a hand-talker—his long-fingered hands have been brought up together, gesturing vaguely as he speaks to you.

“Um,” you put in, but he plows on.

“It’s technically safer to kiss someone,” he finishes, glancing at you again to see your reaction.

Oh. You furrow your eyebrows. Well, it’s not a conventional greeting, but to each their own. Hopefully this will make up for whatever faux pas you’ve committed. Shrugging internally, you step forward and press your mouth to Dr. Reid’s, eyes falling half-lidded. 

His lips are slightly chapped and taste faintly of coffee. You keep your tongue firmly to yourself—after all, this is just a greeting—but after half a second you realize that his mouth is hanging open, not to receive the kiss, but agape with shock. 

What?

Wait a minute. A terrible realization dawns on you and you stumble backward, breaking the very much one-sided kiss. Agent Reid—Spencer—is staring at you, doe eyes wide and face abloom with a fiery blush. 

You lick your lips again, but this time, you can taste the fading memory of your colleague’s mouth. Your voice is faint when you manage to speak again, low and husky with embarrassment. “Um. It just occurred to me that I may have taken that a little too literally.”

A wolf whistle breaks the stunned silence that ensues, and you whip your head around, feeling your face heat up. 

“First day here and you’re already pulling moves on our resident genius. Who would’ve guessed?” A group of three other people have just arrived in the bullpen: a muscular Black man, a blonde woman, and a woman dressed sharply in a dark-blue blazer. Fuck, you think, but the man, the one who’d spoken, is grinning gleefully as his eyes dart between you and your new…acquaintance. The two women behind him wear expressions of shock, amusement and disbelief warring on their faces. 

The dark-haired one raises an eyebrow. “Is that what the young people are doing these days? And here I was thinking I was still hip and cool.”

“It’s—it’s not—,” you stammer, not daring to look at Spencer.

“Welcome aboard, agent,” the man says, striding across the room. He looks you up and down, assessing you, before sticking out a hand. “I’d prefer a handshake, if that’s alright with you. My name’s Derek Morgan.”

Trying to regain your composure, you take his hand and let him shake it once, twice, in a firm grip. Unable to resist, you shoot a glance back at Reid. The other man is still standing stock-still where you’d left him, but he’s touching his lips with the fingertips of his right hand like he’s trying to ground himself. There’s no disgust or anger in his face; on the contrary, there’s a look of dizzy surprise, and somehow, he seems almost…pleased. Uncertainly so, but unless you’re mistaken, there’s a glimmer of delight in those big brown eyes.

It’s not real, you tell yourself, trying to focus on introducing yourself to Agents Morgan, Prentiss, and Jareau. You’re imagining things. That was completely unacceptable and you must apologize as soon as possible. 

But you can’t suppress the warmth bubbling up within your ribcage when you think back to Dr. Reid’s face when you’d stepped away, flushed and dazed, the way his head had cocked ever so slightly like a confused puppy.

Maybe you hadn’t made a complete mess of your first meeting with Spencer Reid after all.

[navi-in-disguise]

The sticky hand incident.

I hope you guys find this as funny as I did, I'd love to hear recommendations for the future too!

. ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' . ' .

You knew it was a bad idea, of course it was.

Messing with the Deja Blue team overall, was stupid and reckless. And yet here you were about to pull off the dumbest thing you could have ever even thought of.

You had been cleaning in your dorm a few days back, and you had come across a little box of goodies you had brought with you from earth. They were all silly little arcade trinkets, a few cheap plastic dinos, those little parachute guys that always got tangled up or broke, and a half a dozen of different colored, and sized, sticky hands. The remnants of the going away party your friends had thrown for you before you had been deployed as a biological scientist to help with awakening and caring for recoms here on pandora.

Of course once you found the little goody box, you had become too distracted to finish your cleaning and organizing, which admittedly you had barely done any of. You instead took time to clear a small spot on your shelf to set the little toys down, before gently grabbing one of the larger, pink sticky hands, still in its plastic case, and dear god did chaos ensue.

Over the next few days you had done nothing more but annoy the hell out of your colleagues, using the sticky hand to swipe papers from their desks, knocking over coffee cups, and the dull thud of the sticky silicone echoing around the room. Even now you sat in the mess hall with your scientist buddies, casually eating with your dominant hand, your other hand carefully squishing the pink sticky hand between your fingers. The bland mush of the RDA’s food was eaten without much complaint, and soft laughs echoed from the table. Half way across the room sat the recoms tables, the tables raised higher to accommodate the larger Na’vi forms of the resurrected soldiers.

They knew you, barely, but they still knew you, you had been one of the first faces they had seen when their new bodies had been awakened. You had also been kind enough to let them gain their bearings a little better before you had started shining lights in their eyes, and snapping your fingers by their ears.

Most of the Deja Blue team spoke about you, some were more.. Crude than others. Especially corporal Wainfleet. There was just something about you that really seemed to draw him in, and he spent his time trying to get to know you better, especially because you were technically the groups doctor, but nothing had been successful as of yet. You would only smile and nod at his flirting words before you would always go back to your work. Always crowded around by the other scientists he considered dull and useless.

Even now, as you sat there zoning out, Lyle couldn't help but shoot you glances, admiring the way your eyelashes framed your beautiful eyes, or the way you slowly chewed your food as you stared at nothing in particular. Of course Mansk would notice and elbow at him, making him roll his eyes and turn back to focus at his slightly different diet before him, his back now facing you once more. 

Ruby, a fellow scientist, and avatar user noticed Lyles' glance, and she smirked, looking back at you as you silently ate, still messing with the sticky hand between your fingers, and a dark look passed over her face. 

“(Y/N)..” Her speaking your name immediately snapped you out of your daze, and you hum in acknowledgement as you take another bite of your mushy peas. “(Y/N) i have a dare for you, if you do it, I’ll pay you fifty bucks.. If you don't, you owe me fifty, deal?” You couldn't help the way your eyes narrowed at the challenge, Ruby, and her close friend Kleine had a painful habit of pulling pranks, and getting in loads of trouble around the base.

“What's the dare..?” You questioned cautiously, and she shook her head, immediately shutting down the questions. “No, (Y/N), You know it doesn't work like that here, accept it or reject it, then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

You can't help but groan, wondering what you could possibly be getting yourself into, and Ruby snickered, taking a sip of her drink. “What? Too much of a pussy? If you don't think you can do it just hand over the fifty now and we’ll be fine yea?” With a quick shake of your head and a scoff, you fold your arms, your heart beginning to pump at the excitement of the secret. “Absolutely not Ruby, I accept your dare, what could you possibly have me do?”

Ruby’s eyes lit up as she leaned over the table, her soft brown eyes darting over to Lyles form, his back still facing your table. “Now we’re talking, ok listen close..” You leaned in to meet her gaze closely. “I want you to hit Lyles bald fucking head with your precious sticky hand, and dont say you cant, we’ve all seen your aim with that damn thing. Just one, solid hit.. Think you can manage..?”

Your eyes immediately widened as your eyes shot over to the Recom table, almost making eye contact with Z-Dog, and she seemed curious about whatever conversation the two of you could be having, but she quickly went back to minding her own business. “Ruby!” you hissed, making her chuckle. “Do you know how bad of an idea that is? If Lyle doesn’t get his hands on me, Quaritch fucking will! I don't want to run laps with Kleine again..”

With a roll of her eyes, Ruby held out her hand, sighing. “Pay up then princess..” You groaned again as you slowly stood up. “No.. no you know what.. I'm faster than them anyways, just watch Ruby, you’re gonna pay ME fifty, and an ice cream.” Ruby didn’t argue, elbowing the scientist next to her as you adjusted the grip on your sticky hand, and slowly began approaching the recom table.

You were small compared to the Na’vi bodied soldiers, so they really didn’t pay you much mind as you approached Lyle from behind. You could feel your heart in your throat, stomach heavy in anxiety at the stupid stunt you were about to pull. Z-Dog only looked up, barely seeing you reel your arm back, and you glancing back at Ruby's predatory smile, before there was a sharp-

 THWAP!

The sound echoed through the mess hall like a bullet, and all forms of conversation immediately went silent as wide eyes stared upon your form, arm slung forwards, and the bright pink stretchy hand pulled taught in a leading trail to the hand pressed against Lyles head, sticking to the bald dome of his head. 

The entirety of the Deja Blue team looked absolutely shocked, Quaritchs eyes wide, and Lopez holding back laughs. But you didn’t notice them, because Lyle was slowly turning to face you, with a downright stunned expression, and you felt antsy. You knew you had to run, like, right now, and you dropped your end of the sticky hand, watching as the offending pink toy snapped back towards him, and hit him in the face, making him jump, and soon he was leaping to his feet with a loud growl that rumbled through the air, tripping over his own feet as he struggled to escape the middle of the bench, falling to his knees as his foot caught caught on the bench. 

That seemed to snap you out of your own freeze response, and you shrieked as you began running as fast as your little legs would carry, hearing as Lyle took a deep breath from the mask around his neck, and began chasing you. “(Y/N) get your ass back here!” was his snarled response as his own feet thundered after you, leaving the entire mess hall with the image of Lyle, pink sticky hand hanging from the back of his head, chasing after your retreating form as you screamed in panic, “Wait! Lemme tell you something! Let me tell you something!! WAIT!”

[yannaryartside]

the payoff for this love triangle shit better be good

a Sydcarmy vs Claircarmy rant

So, to ramble here, I am starting to wonder what place romance has in the overall plot of The Bear as a show and, by that, what function it will execute. I am going to write about some alternatives that I can predict.

The overall purpose of the show is to heal Carmy, or to put Carmy on a path when self-healing is the only option. He is a sinking ship that has been treating his holes with tape instead of acknowledging the "bear" trauma. At the present of the show, the bear is still in a cage.

So, what paths of healing romance could offer Carmy? Love and loving others is essential to learning to be better versions of ourselves and achieve happiness.

Option one: ClaireCarmy

Yeah, we are here again. Stick with me after the next paragraph so I can dispute what I am about to write.

I must admit, if I take the most superficial parts of the show's structure so far, Claircarmy seems to be the clear endgame. What we are seeing with them could be categorized in one of the most used tropes in romance: the "I am not good enough to receive love" trope, in which a character is afraid of being loved, so they push away the romantic interest until they heal their wound, they make a love confession, and they get back together. I know a movie/show came to mind. We have seen it a dozen times. Even what Claire told Tiff "If something good happens to him, he would blame me." We see Carmy thinking about her and missing the relationship they had. He even declares her as his peace. It would make sense that this is a story about a girl who wanted to love a boy and a boy who was too wounded to accept that love. It would make a clean ending for Carmy to go to therapy, learn to accept love, and reconcile with Claire, who has all the attributes of someone who would fall in love with a broken person.

The grenades are in the way.

NOW, the show has been planting grenades for option one to feel like "the right one" even if our protagonist seems to think it is the case. There are Claire's obvious red flags of course, behavior that looks naive but has some manipulative undertones. The fact that she is written like a woman with no personality, or at least no personality outside helping people in pain (Carmy included). She still talks about her patients as subjects, and there is a theory in the sydcarmy fandom that she may feel powerful or valued only in a position of taking care of people who cannot fend for themselves. There is also the fact that she is not a good doctor (she almost killed a patient over a very preventable mistake). Her comments of setting things on fire being cool while Carmy is afraid of setting himself on fire is still, for me, the biggest red flag.

My theory is that Storer just didn't want to show people with depression to accept love but to be wary of the love we accept while we are still stuck in our old ways of thinking. It is true that even at your worst, you may find yourself in relationships that keep you that way, but the relationships may feel good, so we have a hard time moving away from them. If that is the case, Storer, I promise to never commit blasphemy on your church.

The SydCarmy option.

I am not going to repeat myself. They read each other's minds. They can actually give each other real advice and support (While Carmy kissed Claire after she admitted malpractice). They make each other better, while Claire keeps Carmy as broken as he is (never apologize, you can pretend to be someone else at a party).

Sydney brings him actual peace and self-understanding. It is actually very important to me that they made Sydney say she has difficulty keeping with Carmy at his worst because she is not a mind reader. But at this point, there is no doubt in my mind that she has feelings for Carmy, or that she at least has felt the sparkles of what it would be love in the future.

The payoff.

I swear to god, the next season better provide clarity on all of this because, at this point, it is too much. There is no way you give so many clues in the background for one ship and pursue the other in the front.

My worst fear, which is actually really possible, is that the show wants to concentrate on the "being stuck in the past" narrative so that all the elements for the future are there, but we won't act on them until the end of it. So Carmy can kill all his bad habits, the self-isolation, aggressiveness, depression, self-harming tendencies (fire), and Claire, and THEN, he can open his heart to Sydney. It is obviously not what many of us want to see; maybe this was never a love story, but an "unstuck yourself from the mud" story.

I wish the progress of the love story you actually want to tell (Sydcarmy) would progress with the show's actual plot (Carmy's mental health) a little more. Otherwise, the payoff is never going to feel quite like one. You may have done too much of a good job misguiding your audience, and then it will feel like a change of direction, like a plot twist at the end of a mystery novel, but that rarely works in romance subplots.

I know the clues were there, but your narrative seems to ignore them so far, making it feel more like gaslighting.

Anyhow, thank you for hearing me ramble.

[erikftglitter]

Ch 2 | The Piteous Life of Dr. Stevens’ New Wife

Killmonger AU

Created By: Erikftglitter

Kari thought that she had a lucrative imagination. There was no way those words just left Dr. Stevens mouth. The appellation confused Kari but it still seemed to affect her. She kind of liked the way that it rolled off of his tongue.

The thought of Dr. Stevens’ tongue was enough to neutralize Kari’s body. What was she doing? She felt crazy for being entranced by a man that she hardly even knew. However, Erik didn’t stop tracing the patterns on her. Kari remained inside of his arms for a few moments. The only other people that she got to hug were her middle schoolers. Who knows when she’d have the chance to be in Erik’s arms again?

In contrast, Erik wasn’t thinking about the same thing as Kari. He was curious about her reaction to his endearing pet name. He wanted to be certain that she definitely just purred at his words.

If the universe was trying to make a point then he’d be the one to test it out. Kari Evans has no clue just the things that Erik Stevens is capable of.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now?” Erik asked when he felt Kari pull away. It was the middle of a weekday and surely Kari belonged at Caber City Middle School.

“One of my students fell from a tree. She needs stitches. I’m sure she at least sprained her ankle as well.” Kari sighed as she thought about Nina. She still doesn’t know what enticed the girl to do such a foolish thing. Erik took note of how Kari looked everywhere but to his face when she spoke. He liked the silent confirmation that he was correct about her not being able to maintain eye contact.

“Is that what made you cry?” He just wanted to know why the beautiful woman was sobbing just a few moments ago.

“Y-yeah. I guess so.” Kari stammered. She wasn’t ready to discuss the matter with the fine gentleman yet. She was finally beginning to regulate and didn’t like the idea of crying again.

“Let me take you home.” Erik offered. His legs got cramped from sitting at his desk for most of the day. He was only outside to breathe in between completing paperwork. His schedule was clear for the day. He didn’t mind concluding his work to help the troubled educator.

It was evident that Kari had a panic attack. Her clothes were bloody and she looked like she could use a friend. If he was going to choose Kari to be the one then it would make sense to be kind to the girl. At least initially.

Kari didn’t say much on the way to her house. She actually hadn’t shifted since she assumed her position in the passenger seat. There seemed to be a lot on her mind so Erik granted her the silence. He was fine with that.

“You can pull in here.” She pointed to a warm brick exterior. If this was Kari’s home then she knew how to maintain its appearance. The home was lovely.

Erik was impressed as he walked up to Kari’s home. Kari was also a gardener. A woman who had domestic hobbies naturally attracted the doctor. He desired the ability to come home one day and acknowledge something that his wife had been working on while he was away.

Before he abandoned the thought of love, he always fancied the idea of domesticating his wife, and funding her lifestyle. He would make sure that she didn’t have to worry about anything. Kari was the closest thing that he would get to this dream. He’d be splurging soon. It was just his nature. He liked control.

He did note that Kari’s home was quite large for just one person. How didn’t she get lonely in such a house? Entering the home made Erik’s throat piquant. He had to muffle the growl that was forcibly released from his mouth. Kari’s compelling scent radiated throughout the home. Faint streams of warm vanilla assaulted his senses. No wonder why Kari smelled so great. He was almost afraid to be alone with the girl.

“I’m going to get out of these clothes.” Kari says after locking the front door behind Erik.

“Please feel free to help yourself to the baked goods on the kitchen table. They’re fresh.” She motioned to the kitchen before she disappeared up the stairs. Her footsteps hardly presented much noise to the floor.

Erik wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. He couldn’t keep being around her unexpectedly like this. He needed to get out of her house and put reasonable space in between them. But he did like opportunity to explore some areas of interest of the girl. If he was going to go for Kari then it would help to know everything about her. He studied the family portraits of Kari and what he assumes to her grandparents. He made note of the types of artists that she had vinyls of and what type of books decorated her bookshelf. Kari was quite interesting.

The distant sound of the shower turning on enticed Erik. What game was she playing? The thought of her rounded breasts and shapely ass being this accessible to him allured him. He could just chuck her across his lap for teasing him this way. He imagined how much he would love to bruise the woman’s ass and watch her body thrash. He would hate to make her cry

so soon.

Kari’s shower came to an end. She just needed to scrub her entire body. Some of Nina’s blood soaked through Kari’s clothes and she just felt unclean. She also didn’t want her face to be full of dried tears in front of the doctor. It was by pure fate that she managed to run into him again. Kari only had one chance to make herself memorable.

Erik followed the footsteps of Kari with curiosity from his place downstairs. He was directly beneath her bedroom. He wondered what she looked like right now. How the beads of water rushed down her legs and how relieved she looked now. The woman had no idea who she invited into her home.

The faint sound of glass breaking ceased Erik’s thoughts. His survival instincts quickly surveyed his surroundings. He moved to the source of the sound swiftly. Was Kari okay?

“Erik!” Kari was shocked to see the man on her staircase. She had been trying to change the flickering lightbulb that rested between her bedroom and hallway but was ultimately unsuccessful.

The look on his face was obscure. He moved past her began to clean up the assorted bits of glass.

Kari almost wished that he at least admired her frame for a little longer. However she was still grateful that he respected her enough to turn away.

The amount of self control was killing the doctor deep down inside. He had to ward off his own fantasies.

“I promise that I’m usually not a klutz. I’m just having an off day.” She was kind of grateful that Erik was here to change the lightbulb.

Erik chuckled before he walked into the bathroom to disregard the broken glass. The sight of Kari was enough to lure out the mischievous identity that impatiently waited for a chance to be free.

“How’s the contusion coming along?” He didn’t expect Kari to open her robe to show him the discolored bruise. The yellow push-up bra was enough to lure Erik to step closer.

His fingertips softly grazed Kari’s delicate skin. It was apparent that she bruised quite easily and he couldn’t deny the fact that he was attracted to that.

Kari fought the need to moan in front of Erik. His light touches were enough to intoxicate her. She couldn’t resist the urge to lean into his presence.

Erik was satisfied with the embrace. She was just as needy as he expected her to be. Between Kari’s bottom lip being sucked by her teeth and her breathing, she was definitely the type of submissive woman that Erik was waiting for.

That they were waiting for.

// @theesmartblonde @harleycativy @ziayamikaelson @ladymac82

[the-big-boss-of-hell]

Alastor's eyes flutter open, the sterile white lights of the hospital room coming into focus as he groggily pushes himself up. The steady beeping of a monitor and the faint ache in his limbs tell him that he’s not where he expected to be. His mind races, trying to recall what happened.

Then he notices Lucifer sitting beside his bed, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

Alastor: *grimacing, his voice weak but sharp* Lucifer… What am I doing here?

Lucifer: *calmly* You fainted in the hallway. And from the looks of it, you’ve been pushing yourself far harder than you should have been.

Alastor: *tense* I was managing just fine on my own. I didn’t need to be brought here. *attempts to sit up straighter, though it’s clear he’s drained*

Lucifer: Alastor, before you get defensive, you should know I had every reason to bring you in. It’s not just about fainting. The doctors ran tests. You’re… unwell.

Alastor: *laughs humorlessly, clearly irritated* Unwell, am I? A little dehydration, perhaps, nothing I can’t handle. Why bother with the theatrics?

Lucifer: *leaning in, his tone soft but firm* It’s more than dehydration, Alastor. You’re anemic, exhausted, and your magic levels are dangerously low. *pauses* And you’re definitely pregnant.

Alastor's face falls, his usual composure slipping as he stares at Lucifer, words failing him. He sits in stunned silence, absorbing the full weight of the statement.

Lucifer: It’s not a mistake either. The ultrasound confirmed it, and… *clears his throat* "…the DNA test did too. Alastor, the child is mine.

A thick, heavy silence hangs in the air, punctuated only by the quiet hum of hospital machines. Alastor stares at Lucifer, his expression a mix of disbelief, betrayal, and confusion. His mind scrambles for answers, for explanations that evade him.

Alastor: *clenching his jaw, barely containing his frustration* I did not agree to this. You… How could this even happen?

Lucifer: *sighs* You remember when I offered to heal your injury? It seems that in doing so, something of my magic… found a way to connect with you.

Alastor: *voice trembling, eyes blazing with fury* So you’re saying that your magic, without my consent, has… imposed this upon me?

Lucifer: I didn’t intend for this, Alastor. Truly. But it’s happened, and now… we have to decide what to do about it.

Alastor: *looking away, his hand unconsciously moving to rest over his stomach* You say it like there’s a ‘we’ in this decision. *his voice is tinged with bitterness* As if I owe you any involvement in my life—or in the life of… this child.

Lucifer: *softens, his gaze steady but respectful* Whether you acknowledge it or not, this child is part of both of us. And right now, given your health, I’m concerned about you as much as about them.

Alastor: *lets out a bitter laugh* Concerned, are you? How noble of you to feel concern after springing this… situation upon me.

Lucifer: *meets Alastor's gaze steadily* I’ll admit, my methods were… unconventional. But my intentions are sincere. And regardless of how you feel about me, Alastor, I want to help you. You can’t go through this alone—not safely.

Alastor: *sighing, visibly shaken* Help… help with what, exactly? The chaos that will no doubt erupt if anyone finds out? Or the little details of my life you think you’re entitled to now that there’s a child involved?

Lucifer: Help with the basics, for a start. Rest, nutrition, magic stability. You’re running on fumes, and this child is going to demand more from you than you’re prepared to give right now.

Alastor sits in silence, his hand still resting over his abdomen. He looks down, feeling a pang of something—he’s not sure if it’s fear, anger, or something softer, something he doesn’t want to name.

Alastor: *quietly* This was never supposed to happen.

Lucifer: *gently* Maybe not. But it has. And I want to be your support through this.

Alastor: *clearly exhausted* Can you go now…I…I just want to be alone with my thoughts.

Lucifer: Take all the time you need. But know that I’m here, Alastor. For whatever you decide.

As the door closes behind him, Alastor lets out a shuddering breath, his mind still reeling from the revelation. He stares down at his hands, at the slight swell beginning to form at his abdomen.

He was going to have a baby…Lucifer’s baby…

[tsvwords]

They tell me I’m in shock. No. 

First they tell me I’ve caused an international incident. Then they tell me I’m in shock.

This comes after:

some eight months of negotiating,

a temporary Peninsulan holding cell which begins to feel increasingly permanent over time,

a lawyer from my own country who holds his finger to his lips as if to indicate that our private interview room is not private,

a considerable amount of furious shouting,

assertions from Peninsulan policemen, policewomen and policepeople that I will never see my homeland again, and I should just come clean about my plot to destroy the town of Bellwethers with two servants of an illicit faith (and by the way, if it transpired that the Conclave of the Consolidated Linger Straits had funded or in any way enabled said plot, that would be useful information that would make things go a lot easier for me),

a final, frenzied agreement between nations,

a car to the border,

a hurried exchange,

and another holding cell on the CLS side of the border, with different flags hung over the supervising sergeant’s desk.

I’m interviewed by two detectives from the Nesh municipal force, as well as someone who introduces herself as a political attache and leans sourly against the corner of the cell when everyone else is talking.

You can see them frowning as they scribble on their notepads, trying to construct some, any kind of coherent narrative out of what I’m telling them.

Over time, they seem to acknowledge that I am probably not a covert member of the Parish of Tide and Flesh, but they continue to probe at me all the same, looking for other angles: what am I holding back from them? There has to be more to it than this, surely? Some final secret, some last revelation that makes sense of all this?

Eventually, they give up on me, and this is when the doctors come to run their tests, see if I’ve been brutalised or tortured in any way that could make for effective political capital.

And I begin to understand that there’s another, contradictory narrative emerging: that I’m in shock, a victim of horrific circumstance, and in some undefinable, whispered sense...a hero.

After all, nobody has forgotten the atrocities committed by the Peninsula in the last war. The disasters that transpire, year after year, when their gods go astray. The polluted islands, even now, that stand between our coastlines, a monument to their recklessness and callous disregard for our citizens.

It seems pretty clear to all concerned that Bellwethers was caused by one of their own experiments, and now they’re casting about for blame, trying to stir up trouble against us.

One of the doctors takes great care in smiling at me and squeezing my hand as he leaves. 

“I’m just glad we got you out of there in one piece,” he says.

And soon after that, the forms are signed, the doors open, and I stumble back out…home.

— Chapter 18: If My Hands Could Shape The Flow.

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- Out Of The Blue Pt3

Pt1

Tommy and his brothers walk into the Garrison pissed off, then again when isn't he. The Garrison is now empty other than Harry sat on the floor. That's when Tommy noticed the blood. Frowning he makes his way over to see YN lying lifeless on the floor with Harry holding a wound. Immediately Tommy is by YN's side listing for her breathing, its there but faint

"Stay with me YN" Tommy breaths out quietly. Gently he picks YN up in his arms and rushes her to his car out front, ordering his brothers to find the men that did this.

At the hospital Tommy paces back and forth covered in YNs blood. Arthur, John and Micheal walk over to him also covered in blood

"It's done. They're dead" Arthur lowly says. Tommy nods acknowledging what his older brother just said

"Hows YN doing?" John asks worriedly for his best friend

"Fuck knows. Because no fucking doctor will tell me!" he yells out of anger before sitting down on a seat with his head in his hands "they took her to surgery as soon as we got here" he sighs

"She's a fighter, she'll pull through" Arthur says patting John on the shoulder before sitting down.  All Tommy can think of is 'what if she dies?' 'What was the point in us hating each other?' this is the point he realises his feelings for YN. She's not just his brothers friend, she means something to him as well.

The Shelby's seem to be sitting in a waiting room for hours before a doctor finally comes over and tells them that YN is out of surgery and in her room. She was shot in her abdomen and lost a fair bit of blood, but luckily pulled through.

Tommy is by her side in an instant, taking her hand in his he places a kiss on her knuckles

"You can't leave me" he says quietly "I've been so stupid. I promise if you wake up, I'll give you whatever you want" Tommy looks at YN's sleeping face, moving a stay hair. He places a kiss on her forehead when John and Arthur walk in with Micheal. Tommy hears someone clear their throat and turns around

"So you finally admitting your feelings?" John smirks

"Shut up" Tommy replies looking back at YN.

It's a few hours later when YN finally wakes up to a bright light making her flinch. She notices the pain in her stomach when she tries to sit up a little

"Hey hey hey carful" YN then sees Tommy standing up and lowering her back down

"Tom?" she croaks

"Let me get you a drink" Tommy gets a glass of water for YN which she gladly drinks with the help of Tommy "do you remember what happened?" sadly Yn nods her head

"George?" she asks looking into Tommys eyes

"Dead"

"Look who's awake!" John shouts walking into the room with Arthur

"Hey John"

"Don't ever do that again, do you hear?" John points at YN who chuckles a little before wincing

"When your able to leave the hospital, your coming home with me" Tommy says "I need to make sure your safe" Tommy strokes the side of YNs face with his knuckles

"For fucks sake" John groans making YN and Tommy look at him "just fucking kiss already. You both obviously want to"

"I'm not having our first kiss in the hospital in front of you two. It will be special" Tommy says looking down at YN who smiles widely.

[eccentricgrace]

Howl, Talk, Scream || IronDad

summary: tony rescues him, he does, he always will. but he's never quick enough, and this time-- someone has sewn his kid's lips shut.

tags: peter parker whump, hurt/comfort, mentions of kidnapping, protective tony stark, peter is okay!!

wc: 1953

⚠️tw: needles, sutures/stitches, gross medical stuff

cross-posted to wattpad by the same name!

Tony doesn't think this part of the job ever gets easier.

He gets used to most of it, see; the racing heart, the ache in his bones that never seems to go away, the threats he sees in very dark corner of a room. A rush of adrenaline that fades to crushing lungs. You'd think that was the biggest hurdle. Tony thought that would be the biggest hurdle, too, back in 2007, back when the sound of his phone going off had him choking in gulps of air between bile, back when the dark of his room after a nightmare would have him stop breathing all together.

Miraculously, he did get used to it, and then he got used to it all over again, but this time it was worse. It was worse because then Pepper's right there holding his hand after every nightmare, and Rhodey's visiting almost every day to bully him into taking his stupid SSRIs, and Happy's dropping by with some five dollar cheeseburger every other week "just because", and suddenly— suddenly he realizes. For the first time in his life, he has something worse to lose than himself.

Nobody ever comes out of a life like this without getting used to it. There's no other way to survive.

And yet. And yet.

Moments like these.

The part of the job that never gets easier.

The aftermath, of course. Tony's never prepared for the aftermath of it. He's never had to be, before all of this. He's had to take a stabilizing breath before entering a room before, but never because he was afraid to see—

Well.

The kid got himself into some hot water again. These days, this has proven to be the number one cause of Tony's tachycardiac increase. It was horrible, the whole process of it, like it always was— realizing he never made it home, scrambling to find him, praying when they found him he wouldn't be...

But they did find him, because Tony wouldn't let himself fail with something so colossally as important as keeping Peter Parker safe and be able to live with himself afterwards, the only issue is that he just— he just wasn't fast enough.

On a paper passed in the quinjet, he wrote in shaky writing:

they didn't like how much i talked

Peter's in the med bay, and he's bruised to high heavens, a wild look in his eyes that sets all the nurses on high alert. He hasn't spoken in hours. This doesn't mean he hasn't tried.

He clearly has tried, actually. Torn skin and dried blood coating the entire bottom half of his face, all the way down his neck. Tony feels sick at the thought.

"We just need to remove the stitches," the doctor says calmly. Gloved hands hold scissors in one, tweezers in the other. She stands a safe distance away. "Okay? Nod yes if you can understand me."

Peter— Peter's shaking. His eyes don't leave the doctor's hands, and his whole body is strung as tight as a bow. His fists clench.

"Peter," Tony's voice cracks. He clears his throat, avoiding his eyes. Takes another deep breath, and then summons all his courage to look his kid in the eyes. He's already looking back, holding so much trust and terror in his panicked gaze. 

Tony swallows thickly and shifts his chair closer. He'd been trying to give the doctors the space they need to fix this, to make it better where he couldn't, but he doesn't give a shit now. He can't, not when Peter's looking at him like that.

"We need to get those off your mouth," Tony says, wincing, because just the acknowledgement of the current situation feels so heavy. He feels like he's being crushed. "We need to know happened, if you're okay, we can't do that if you can't talk to us."

Peter looks like he wants to open his mouth. His lips twitch, but are firmly held in place by the shoddy sutures. He shudders, looks back at the doctor, then back at Tony.

The doctor takes a step forward, and immediately Peter's neck snaps back over to her. His breathing becomes frantic, his nostrils flaring to compensate for the lack of oxygen. A panicked series of muffled noises comes tumbling from his lips, and blood drips down his chin as the slight movement tears further at the stitched skin.

"Hey, woah," Tony stands up, putting himself between Peter and the doctor. She has already taken several steps back, her arms raised in the air, her expression soaked in guilt. "Okay, easy. Let's take it easy."

He turns to Peter, bending his knees to look at him better. Reflexively, a hand reaches for Peter's knee, and he pats it in comfort. "You're okay, right? I won't let anyone hurt you, I've got you now. I'm not letting you out of my sight. You can trust me, can't you? Breathe, kiddo."

Peter nods quickly, forcing himself to slow the breaths his nose was rushing to take. He blinks furiously, and tears trail down and wash lines of blood away. It's horrific. Tony wants to sit very quietly and cry for a very long time. He wants different blood to be on his hands.

"Mr. Stark," the doctor says meekly. "Might I suggest you remove the stitches instead? It should be fairly simple to remove, it doesn't look like they even did it properly..."

"Yes. Thank God for that," Tony grits out dangerously. He exhales shakily and looks back at his kid. "What do you say, kid? Can you nod, if that's alright with you?"

Peter looks at him for a long moment, his teary eyes glassy in the white lights of the medical bay. He slowly, cautiously, nods.

"Okay," Tony says. He takes a moment to solidify himself, his arms, his legs, all the parts that have been more or less liquid since he's carried Peter in here, since he's stopped carding a hand through his sweaty, blood-matter hair.

He locks away the wildness in his chest, the paternal beast that cringes and cries at the thought of touching Peter's wounds with his own hands, being the reason he winces, being the source of his pain if even for a moment.

Peter's trusting him. He keeps that running through him like saline on an IV drip. Peter's trusting him. He's in pain, he's trusting you to fix it, so fix it.

Tony pulls gloves on, takes the tools from the doctor. He approaches Peter carefully, and keeps his face neutral. He hopes it's more comforting than the look of a doctor who keeps glancing at clenched fists with sweat on her brow.

Peter's still shaking. Marvelously, he blinks a few times, and then closes his eyes tightly, and Tony feels his entire heart clench in his chest. It seems like such a simple thing. So, so, simple. But Tony's been on the other side of the room, watching needles or what have you with that kind of terror, and the last thing he could think of doing would be to sacrifice his most valuable sensory input.

Tony doesn't know how, doesn't know what he did to deserve this kind of innocent all-forward trust, but he looks at Peter, trembling in his fear, his eyes clenched shut and his chin jutted out, and Tony swears by everything holy that he'll protect it with his life.

"Do you want me to talk to you while I work?" Tony says quietly, sitting down in front of him.

Peter takes a second, and then nods.

"Okay." Tony steels his gaze, taking in the work. Fishing line, maybe, or something just as crude, sewn in one uneven, messy, tight line of stitches across his kid's bloodied lips. His stomach turns. "I'm gonna start on the left, your left, and I'm going to use tweezers, okay? You feel metal, that's just tweezers. Nothing sharp."

Peter nods once, just to show he understands, and goes still. Tony takes it as permission. He moves carefully, picking at the loosest bit of the stitch he can find, which ironically is a knot tied at the edge of his mouth. He pokes at it with the tweezers and Peter flinches.

"Just tweezers," Tony reminds him, keeping his voice level. It's a miracle he isn't shaking like a leaf. "Little cold, nothing scary."

He pulls it up a little, and grimaces at the sight of it, the whole grisly thing. "Alright, Peter, you're going to hear the scissors, but they're not anywhere near you. I just want you to hear the sound."

Tony waits for another nod, and then lifts the scissors up. He snips them once, twice, a few more times, until Peter's flinches become less as jolting.

"Are you okay?" Tony checks in. Peter nods.

"Okay, I'm going to snip the thread," Tony says. "It'll be just like last time. You won't feel anything. You're just gonna hear the scissors, remember? Do you want me to count down?"

Peter hesitates, and then shakes his head.

"Alright." Tony pulls back again at the stitch. He holds his breath, and then snips it with the scissors. With the knot gone, tension goes immediately lack, and Peter's shoulders drop.

"We're almost done," Tony cheers weakly. His eyes are misty, and it's so, so hard to keep the cracks out of his voice. He's trying. He's trying, for Peter. "Good boy. We're almost done. Few more snips. It'll be way easier now."

He tugs at the middle of the line, it easily becoming loose. Peter shivers, his face curling in displeasure.

"Yeah, I bet that doesn't feel good," Tony tries lightly. "Okay, you're gonna hear the scissors again."

He pulls up the line with the tweezers, and another snip. With that, he's able to pull half of the thread out of his goddamn mouth. Halfway there. Halfway. Blood trickles from the open wounds.

"Okay, other side now," Tony continues. There's a waver in his tone this time, sneaking out before he can calm it. "You okay still?"

Peter doesn't move. He keeps his jaw clenched and just breathes, and Tony remains still until he's ready. After a minute, Peter nods again.

Tony pulls at the other knot, and snips it, and then quickly pulls the thread completely out, and drops both the tweezers and the scissors to the side with a shaky breath of relief.

He blinks and he has an armful of teenager, Peter's arms wrapped around his waist so tightly Tony struggles to breathe in. Tony welcomes the feeling, just grateful that Peter is feeling strong enough to do so in the first place.

All the while, Tony's smoothing out his hair, he's petting at his back, squeezing his shoulders, saying, "I've got you. Jesus. Never again. You're okay. You're okay. We're okay."

Tears drip down his cheek, fine, he wasn't strong enough to keep them at bay. None of it matters anymore. The only thing that matters is the kid, and he's right here, and Tony's right here, and it's all going to be fine.

"I knew you'd save me," is the first thing Peter says, all blubbery and snot-covered all over Tony's nice shirt, and he really shouldn't be speaking yet at all. Blood is trickling from his mouth. His voice is very clearly hoarse.

"Of course," Tony repeats, over and over and over. "Always. Every time. Any time. God, kid."

Because yes, he'll save Peter for as long as he can still breathe. Longer, if he's able. He's done it countless times already.

It's always the hardest part of a job that matters the most, even if it never gets easier.

[kk095]

Awake

Alice was 27 years old, standing at 5’4 with a slimmer build. She had shorter, dark brown hair with bangs that came just above her shoulders, and brown eyes that were normally behind a pair of glasses. Alice was the cute, shy, artsy, eccentric type, who was beautiful in a unique sort of way. She enjoyed and partook in pretty much any creative medium, and lived a more unconventional, bohemian type of lifestyle. Since Alice wasn’t quite like most girls, it isn’t a stretch of the imagination to believe that her time in our emergency department was quite unusual and memorable.

It all started last night. Alice was sitting on the trauma room table in the upright position, stripped down to just her bra and underwear. She had EKG electrodes stuck all over her chest, IV lines in both arms, and a nasal cannula in. She was breathing rapidly, taking deep, dramatic breaths, almost gasping at times. She had one hand on her chest, and a visibly pained, uncomfortable look was on her face. Alice squirmed around somewhat on the table, clearly distressed from the onslaught of symptoms that developed seemingly out of nowhere for her. She experienced shortness of breath, chest pains, heart palpitations, indigestion, and pain in her back between the shoulder blades. The heart monitors chirped and beeped loudly, displaying abnormal vital signs. Alice’s heart rate was in the 150s, her blood pressure was 80/45, and her oxygen saturation was surprisingly normal considering her most glaring, obvious symptom was shortness of breath.

“hi, I’m Dr Lindsay. What brings you to our emergency department tonight?” Dr Lindsay asks in a calm tone, entering the trauma room and approaching the table where Alice sat. Alice was wide eyed, trying everything she could to fight whatever was going on inside her body. She looked over at Dr Lindsay, and attempted to reply. “my… my…chest…” Alice told Dr Lindsay in a breathy, winded tone. “your chest hurts?” Lindsay asked, trying to confirm. Alice nodded. “it… it really hurts…” Alice said weakly. “I feel… I feel like….” Alice continued, but paused, feeling a bit lightheaded and dizzy. “you feel like what sweetie?” Dr Lindsay asked, wondering where she was trying to go with that statement. “like I’m going to die…” Alice replied, looking Lindsay right in the eye. “well, myself and our ER team are here to try our best and make sure that doesn’t happen, ok?” Lindsay said to Alice, to which she nodded in acknowledgement. “so can I ask a couple questions?” Dr Lindsay asks, to which Alice nods. “good! Let’s start off with an easy one. Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asks. “Alice…” she replies in a labored, weakened voice. “anna? That’s my girlfriend’s name.” Lindsay said. Alice was shaking her head no. “AHN. YUH.” Alice cleared up for Lindsay, still having a tough time breathing, let alone talking. “oh, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding! Alice. It’s nice to meet you! Just wish it wasn’t here in the ER of course. Anyways, how about I ask some other questions?” Lindsay continued, Alice nodding in response. “ok, great. So do you have a history of asthma, breathing problems, or lung problems?” Dr Lindsay asked. Alice shook her head, indicating she did not. “alright, good. What about any heart problems?” Lindsay asked. Again, Alice shook her head to tell the Dr no. “ok ok. What about blood clots?” asked Lindsay. Alice couldn’t muster up enough power to get the words out, but she mouthed “no” to Lindsay. The questions didn’t seem to get any tangible info the ER team could use. Lindsay asked more questions such as: “any medications?” “any allergies?” “any use of illegal drugs?” “any chance you’re pregnant?”. Even though Dr Lindsay didn’t get any helpful answers, she ordered the nurses to draw labs to be sent off to the lab for analysis. The tests she ordered were a CBC, BMP, toxicology screening, HCG, d-dimer, and a cardiac enzyme test. In the meantime, there was only so much that could be done. Nurses Heather, Lin, and Nancy stuck around to push meds to treat symptoms and keep an eye on the monitors to make sure there weren’t any changes to Alice’s vital signs.

A little while went by without any major changes or updates one way or the other. But then out of nowhere, things went completely sideways. Alice started gasping, her breaths becoming more shallow. Her eyes started to roll back, and she struggled to remain conscious. “Alice? Stay with us sweetie!” nurse Nancy shouted, doing a firm sternal run on Alice. The patient groaned in response, drifting in and out of consciousness. “I’m getting Dr Lindsay back in here.” Lin said, exiting the room with a pep in her step. The heart monitors showed more worrisome vital signs, showing that Alice’s heart rate was in the 180s, and her blood pressure was taking a nosedive. “P…please…” Alice uttered weakly to nurse Nancy and nurse heather. “d-don’t let me die…” Alice continued, having to put in maximum effort to get her words out. “it’s gonna be ok sweetie, we’re gonna take care of you.” Nurse Nancy told Alice in a calm, soothing, reassuring tone.

It didn’t take long for Dr Lindsay and nurse Lin to come back into the room. Everyone gave Dr Lindsay the update on what was taking place, and also explained that the labs hadn’t come back yet. While discussing what the next move would be, Alice’s eyes rolled back, and let out a calm exhale. Her tense, squirming body fell limp. Her rapidly rising and falling chest was completely motionless. “Alice? Alice?!” nurse heather asked anxiously, doing a sternal run that received no reaction from Alice. Nancy took a carotid pulse, placing 2 fingers on Alice’s neck. “no pulse Linds.” Nancy called out, shaking her head. Lindsay paused and looked up at the monitors. “pulseless v-tach. Lower the bed and start CPR! Get her intubated, then we’ll shock!” Lindsay barked, taking charge of the hectic situation that was developing.

The bed was lowered, and Alice’s bra was snipped off, allowing her perky b-cup tits with pierced nipples to spill out. Nurses Heather placed the heel of her hand on the middle of Alice’s chest, beginning to push down hard and fast repeatedly. At the head of the bed, nurse Nancy had a laryngoscope and 7.0 ET tube, which she carefully navigated into the young lady’s airway, securing it in place with a blue tube holder once she confirmed the correct placement. Lin got the defibs and meds from the crash cart set up for the doctor. But post intubation, a weird development occurred. Alice’s eyes opened slowly, then blinked a few times. Her eyes scanned the room, looking at the chaos unfold around her. She felt something on her chest and looked down, seeing Heather performing chest compressions. Alice moaned, horrified at this sight. “Huh?” Heather uttered, thinking she saw Alice blink and look around the room. “hey, let’s pulse check. I think I saw her blink.” Heather announced. “ok ok. Hold CPR.” Lindsay nodded in approval. CPR was halted, and Alice’s body went completely limp, her eyes wide open, completely glazed over and devoid of life. “no pulse, still v-tach on the monitors.” Nancy replied, taking a carotid pulse, also ambu bagging. “alright, let’s shock her. Charging paddles to 200. Everyone…CLEAR!” Lindsay ordered, readying the defibs paddles, pressing them up against Alice’s bare chest, sending the first shock of the night into her body. Alice grunted, her body tensing up and flopping on the table in response. The first shock didn’t eliminate v-tach, so the paddles were gelled, charged to 250 joules, and the next shock was delivered. KA-THUNK! Alice’s chest shot up, and her back arched, her eyes remaining wide open, staring helplessly above. “still nothing, resume CPR.” Ordered Dr Lindsay.

“…5…6…7…8…” heather counted out under her breath, getting the ball rolling on the next cycle of compressions. “MMMPH!!!” Alice tried to yell, one of her hands reaching towards her mouth to pull the tube out. Everyone was taken aback. “what the?!” nurse Lin said, not sure what to think of what she was looking at. “Calm down sweetie!” nurse Nancy told Alice, gently nudging her hand away from the breathing tube. “hold compressions!” Lindsay shouted. Heather promptly stopped CPR. And just like that, Alice’s muffled moans and shrieks stopped, her body falling limp again, the same deadly rhythm present on the monitor, along with no pulse. “let’s shock again. Charging to 300!” Lindsay shouted out. The paddles were gelled, charged, and pressed back up, another shock being delivered. Alice’s body was effortlessly thrown around on the table, the electricity running through her body in an instant. “damn it, she’s in v-fib now. Going again at 360. Everyone…CLEAR!” Lindsay commanded, shocking the patient again. Alice’s toes scrunched at the far end of the bed, showing off the matte black nail polish on her toes and the soft, delicate, velvety wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 7 feet. This shock failed to restore a heartbeat, so Lindsay delivered another shock immediately afterwards. “MMMMMPH!!!” Alice yelled, feeling every last bit of that shock. “still no pulse, resume compressions.” Lindsay ordered, placing the defbs back on the crash cart. Heather restarted CPR, and it didn’t take long for Alice to realize. Alice blinked a few times, her eyes scanning the room, watching the team work on her. She moaned and groaned, her eyes becoming teary. Alice’s eyes locked with Lindsay’s. The doctor was taken aback. “can you understand me?...” Lindsay asked a bit nervously. Alice held eye contact and nodded “yes”. Alice then reached out with one hand, holding onto Lindsay’s hand for dear life. “hmmmph….” Alice tried to say something to Lindsay. “we’re gonna do everything we can for you, ok?” Lindsay replied, holding the young lady’s hand. Alice nodded, still holding Lindsay’s hand and maintaining eye contact. Nancy gently stroked Alice’s hair. “it’s gonna be ok sweetie…you’re doing great.” Nancy said in a calm, reassuring voice.

After a few cycles of chest compressions and a dose of epinephrine and atropine, Dr Lindsay felt it was time to shock again. Compressions were held, and the right grip Alice had on Lindsay’s hand loosened, and Alice became unconscious once again. The paddles were charged to 360 joules, and she was defibbed again. THUNK! Alice’s torso bounced around on the table, her pretty brown eyes wide open. No change was noted, so Alice was defibbed again at 360 joules. Her shoulders shrugged and her body tensed up, before relaxing a split second later. Alice received another shock, but unfortunately she deteriorated into PEA, so CPR was resumed.

Heather had restarted chest compressions, and medications were injected into the IV line. Alice regained consciousness almost immediately after CPR resumed. Alice moaned, her arms flailed, freaking out at the sight of her own cardiac arrest. “stay still for us!” Lin stepped in, gently restraining Alice’s arms. Alice’s screams were muffled from the breathing tube, but the absolute terror she was experiencing was all over her face. Alice looked down, seeing Heather do CPR. Alice saw her chest cave in, her tits bounce around, and her belly ripple out. “mmmm!!!” Alice moaned, tears beginning to stream down her face. “it’s on sweetie…” Nancy told Alice, gently stroking her hair again. Alice cried hysterically, watching her chest get pumped violently.

Several minutes went by with no changes, and another dose of meds were pushed into the IV line. The tension was absolutely palpable in the room. The team had seen everything, but never this. “linds… I have a question…” heather asked, still pumping away vigorously. “go for it Heather.” Replied Lindsay. “with all due respect, what the hell is going on? She’s ya know… technically dead, but she’s looking right at me blinking…” heather asked, continuing CPR, Alice making eye contact, clearly listening to the conversation. “well, it’s something I only read about…” Lindsay said to heather. There was an awkward pause in the room, Alice’s eyes looking back and forth between Lindsay and heather, wanting to know the answer herself. “go on?...” heather asked in response, not satisfied with Lindsay’s incomplete answer. “I read a case report in Denmark or somewhere like that where a guy went into cardiac arrest and regained consciousness mid code. They said it was because the chest compressions created good enough perfusion and blood flow to the brain to restore consciousness.” Explained Dr Lindsay. “so how’d the guy in Denmark do? Did he make it?” heather asked, still going to town on Alice’s chest. There was pause. Lindsay sighed. “no. I think the guy died…” Lindsay reluctantly said. Alice’s eyes widened after hearing that, a look of fear all over her face. “it’s ok Alice! We’re gonna do everything we can for you!” Lindsay replied in a nervous, but somewhat reassuring tone.

The code continued with no progress whatsoever. Alice’s rhythm had deteriorated from PEA to agonal over the next little bit. She was still receiving chest compressions and wide awake during them. She had calmed down a bit, her crying stopped. She was holding Lindsay’s hand tightly, her eyes scanning around the room. Heather was absolutely gassed from all the CPR she performed, so she swapped with nurse Lin, hoping she had the magic touch. There wasn’t really a pause during the swap, and Alice never lost consciousness. “hmmp…” Alice tried to say something, looking up at Lin starting CPR. “it’s ok, Heather is just tired. Normally we switch who does CPR every now and then in situations like this. This is completely normal.” Lindsay explained, holding Alice’s hand, trying to keep her calm. Heather stood off to the side taking a breather. “man… they don’t teach you this shit in nursing school…” Heather said under her breath, referencing the events of Alice’s code up to that point.

A lot more time had went by, and Alice’s rhythm had deteriorated from agonal to asystole. Nonetheless, Alice stayed conscious the entire time. “meds in.” Heather called out, injecting another dose of epinephrine and atropine. “that’s the last dose of meds we can use. She’s maxed out on meds…” Lindsay explained. “what do we do?!” Lin asked, still doing CPR, Alice listening and watching. “let’s see if the meds kick in over the next little bit and go from there.” Lindsay replied, hoping and praying that these meds got a shockable rhythm back. But each minute ticked by, one more tense and anxious than the previous, asystole still on the monitors. The room was eerily quiet, Lin continuing chest compressions. Time continued to tick by with no change, and the team knew deep down they’ve done all they could, but there was a dilemma on what to do since Alice was still clearly conscious. Lindsay decided to break the silence. “Alice?” Lindsay asked. Alice looked over at Lindsay, making eye contact, her head bobbing gently from the force of the chest compressions she was receiving. “Alice… we’ve done everything we could for you. We’ve shocked your heart, given you the maximum amount of medications possible, and did CPR for almost 40 minutes, and your heart still isn’t beating. Unfortunately, there’s nothing more we can do…” Lindsay explained. Alice was terrified, beginning to cry and moan, shaking her head “NO!!!” at Dr Lindsay. “I know… I know…” Lindsay replied, trying to sympathize. “we’ll stop whenever you’re ready, ok?” Lindsay said, trying to offer some sort of compromise in the horrible situation. Alice cried hysterically, shaking her head passionately indicating “No!”.

Alice tried to buy herself as much time as possible, avoiding all eye contact with the members of the ER team. Alice cried, looking around the room trying to process the fact that she was experiencing her last moments. A teary eyed Alice regained some semblance of composure after several minutes, reestablishing eye contact with Dr Lindsay. Alice gently placed her hands on top of nurse Lin’s, nodding at Lindsay, indicating it was ok to stop CPR. Nurse Lin held CPR, and the monitors immediately went flat. Alice’s eyes glazed over completely, but still looked right into Lindsay’s. Nurse Nancy detached the ambu bag and turned off the heart monitors. Lindsay sighed. “time of death, 8:21pm.” Lindsay announced, stunned from the events she just witnessed. The EKG electrodes were then disconnected, and the defib gel was wiped off of Alice’s bruised, battered chest. The IV lines were taken out, and her body was covered up, hiding the haunting gaze on her face. A toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of her left foot. The tag dangled against Alice’s cute, wrinkly soles. Alice was a one in a million, unique girl, and unfortunately, she died an equally unique death in our emergency department.