#my doctor said i’m dying and the only cure is jam you have to help me… /nsrs

[operatorsickness]

jam… jam jam jam thinks about jam… hhrhghggrhhhhhhh… jjjjjam…

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door. 

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly. 

The man shook his head. 

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed. 

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor. 

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass. 

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully. 

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed. 

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!” 

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button. 

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back. 

“No, no!” 

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.” 

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo. 

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The Variant thanked him, then left. 

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick. 

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God. 

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered. 

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground. 

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands. 

 From: j.blaire@murkoffcorp.us.com

To: h.grant@murkoff.us.com

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208 

Ms. Grant, 

 You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention. 

 Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God�� 

 Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment. 

 Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness. 

 However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts. 

 The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist. 

 Hopefully she understood. 

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally. 

 Yours, 

Jeremy Blaire

 Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay. 

 Blaire’s voice echoed in his head. 

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?” 

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow. 

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.” 

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?” 

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.” 

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?” 

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back. 

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum. 

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision. 

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen. 

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse. 

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward. 

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded. 

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out. 

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth. 

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up. 

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.” 

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa. 

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere. 

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs. 

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz! 

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook. 

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen. 

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze. 

“I can smell you!” 

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

The saw buzzed, bzzz! 

Just keep moving, Waylon. 

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door. 

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out. 

“MINE! You are mine!” 

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside. 

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape. 

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!” 

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg. 

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf. 

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards. 

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on. 

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room. 

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand. 

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper. 

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes. 

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?” 

“I have an itch.” 

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?” 

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric? 

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward. 

“Yes.” 

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?” 

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.” 

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.” 

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.” 

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?” 

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?” 

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?” 

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” 

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes. 

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.” 

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook. 

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief. 

All he had to do now was get back. 

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner. 

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here. 

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint. 

“MINE!” 

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs. 

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key. 

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open. 

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated. 

I have to go this way. 

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw. 

“This meat is mine,” he cackled. 

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away. 

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head. 

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!” 

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door. 

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol 

[enchanted-prose]

#9 On the Horizon

two in one day I’m sorry, I just had to do it, plus I’m excited to see everybody else’s reactions because I’m posting to fanfiction.net and I have one reviewer who has some good theories on the overarching plot. . .

Word count: 5,433

Characters: Tobias, Mott, Feall (Original character), Renlyn Karise (Original character) The Faola (Original creation)

Notes: Edited!

Enjoy!

Tobias wiped his forehead with his sleeve, the summer heat piercing his long sleeved tunic. He loved his work. He loved being able to see results, being able to visibly help other people. It was his mentor, the castle’s official physician, who’d suggested Tobias set up temporary clinics in the poorer areas of the city.

It would give him good practice.

The temporary clinics were nothing like the pristine physician’s suites in the castle, but it was certainly better than a pigsty. It was always set up in the morning by the earliest patrol. A large striped tent was set up in the middle of a large space surrounded by dying buildings. This kept patients out of the heat.

Due to his dedication, Tobias had climbed higher than many of the other apprenticed physicians. He was the one telling the others to get patients clean, keep a steady supply of water, and clean up any mess.

Power felt good. Power over a group of people with a similar cause.

The truth was, he liked not having to sweep floors, he liked cleaning people up. He liked stitching them back together.

That was what his ‘power’ brought him.

In the heat, Tobias requested that canopies be set up in addition to the central tent. It would be easier to work that way. He gently patted his current patient’s shoulder after bandaging the patient’s infected wound. The instructions were clear: Keep clean or he wouldn’t survive.

The new trend of cleanliness was creating a string of new businesses.

Or at least that’s what Renlyn Karise said. Everyone was racing to build up their own bath houses. Racing to supply water to people who could pay for it.

Renlyn played her cards well.

She was one of the few members of the gentry providing water for free, in turn, she received a new wave of Carthyan employees.

Supposedly she was setting up an office in Drylliad dedicated to building structures.

Business to Renlyn was like medicine to Tobias.

The patient thanked Tobias profusely, and walked away. With a grin, Tobias handed his used instruments to the nearest assistant, and moved on to the next canopy. A new bag of tools and a new patient were waiting for him.

“You see, Mott, I was able to track down the doctors that healed Imogen after she was shot through her shoulder,” Tobias said as he opened up his bag of instruments. “Because that kind of survival? Nearly impossible. He wouldn’t tell me his name, though, it took a lot of string pulling on both my part and Amarinda’s part.”

Mott, who often accompanied Tobias during a temporary clinic, scratched the back of his bald head. “Right. I have a feeling you’re going to tell me all about it no matter what my answer is, what did he say?”

“Cleanliness is key. He did a study in which he followed doctors with used instruments as well as doctors who used clean ones. Those with dirty instruments had a higher mortality rate.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Mott nodded. “Dirty cities tend to have higher plague rates, or at least they did.”

“I’m glad you- please stick your tongue out, ma’am-  noticed that,” Tobias squinted at his patient’s throat. “It appears that you have white pockets on the back of your throat, you told me it’s quite painful? Do your ears feel jammed too?”

The patient tilted her head left and right.

Tobias nodded, and stepped away when the patient hacked into the open air. “Good, it’s not an infection of the ear, rather an inflammation of the throat. You can get better if you sleep, drink plenty of- absolutely no ale, I’m sorry- water, and make sure you’re coughing often. Come back in three weeks if symptoms don’t subside.”

“You’re very good at what you do,” said Mott as he leaned against one of the canopy poles.

“Plenty of practice, and my wife is an ambassador, she has a lot of access to the best books in the realm. Thank the Saints for the printing press.”

“Rumor has it that you’re single handedly responsible for the lack of bloated corpses in the streets.”

He didn’t mean to make a face.

There would always be people he couldn’t save, and that didn’t sit well with Tobias.

What he’d chosen as a profession differed from what Roden did.

Medicine didn’t label anybody. You were supposed to use it to help everyone in need.

When a person died under a physician’s care, it was far different from taking a man’s life in battle. It was different because steps had been taken to try to save the patient. Because no matter who the patient was, they were being cared for.

In battle, it was a contest to see who was strongest.

Battle crushes compassion.

Medicine exercised as much compassion as it could.

Death never sat well with Tobias, he wanted everyone to have the chance to see another sunrise.

“That’s not true,” Tobias insisted. “Jaron’s the one who's mostly responsible, and I’d put a lot of credit to Imogen and Amarinda. Roden, too. And Renlyn. It’s never the work of one person, it’s the work of a lot of people with good ideas and respect for another human being.”

“Have you been reading books on philosophy too?”  Mott arched an eyebrow.

“How did you know?”

“Because I read the same book.”

Tobias opened and shut his mouth several times. A wide grin spread across his face. “Really? I absolutely loved it, though there were some situations where I- please take a seat, sir, I was told you have an injury on your foot and you mustn't put any more pressure on it- didn’t agree with the author.”

“That’s the point of philosophy, is it not?” Mott narrowed his eyes at the patient’s wet boots. “I don’t make a habit of philosophy, but that book was certainly worth my time.”

“Good, good! I thought- sir, can you remove your boot please?” Asked Tobias, trying his best to juggle both conversations.

To his dismay, he couldn’t carry both.

As gingerly as he could, Tobias removed the patient’s boot, and kept a straight face as the smell assaulted his nose.

The foot seemed normal, but Tobias knew better to dismiss a patient’s concern based off of appearance only. Shifting around in his bag of instruments, Tobias withdrew a cloth, and used it to cover his hands while he touched the patient’s foot.

There weren’t many things Tobias disliked, except for feet.

But his love for what he did helped him overcome that loathing in order to help people like his current patient.

“When did you begin feeling pain?” Tobias asked after thoroughly touching the foot. “Does it ever flare up?”

The patient held up his hand and tilted it from side to side. “Fales up on occasion, usually after I’ve worked a long day.”

“And when did this pain start?”

“Er, ah, I took up a second job hauling metal for the blacksmith. My foot started hurting a week or two after I began.”

Ah, that second job would certainly contribute.

So many of the patients Tobias saw had afflictions that could be cured with a little rest, and a little less consumption of liquors. Renlyn’s attempt to provide fresh water to those who couldn’t get any was helping, but as people were working themselves to death, there was only so much water could do.

“You mentioned that the pain flares,” noted Tobias, suddenly very aware of the fact that the cobblestones were hurting his knees. He rocked back onto his heels, “Can you tell me when they get unbearable? And when they’re not painful at all?”

“I, ah, let me think,” the patient’s shoulders twitched. “They don’t get so bad on the Saints’ day. I think they’re the worst on the last working day of the week. I suppose it builds up over time.”

All it took was that explanation to confirm Tobias’s diagnosis.

Unfortunately, the patient likely wouldn’t like it.

He cleared his throat, trying to pick out the best words to describe what needed to be done. “Sir, you don’t have any fractures of the bone, nor any growths or other bad things. . . But you’re working yourself to exhaustion.”

The patient was silent. Tobias could feel Mott’s eyes lingering on the scene, taking in the utter disappointment. Asking the patient to work less was asking him to starve. Asking him to let his family starve.

And that notion made Tobias’s heart begin to whimper. It made his heart break in two.

His patient should be allowed to rest.

He should be allowed to build up his strength.

Allowed to take a moment to ease his aching feet.

“Sir, if you want to make the best recovery you can, you’ll-,” Tobias heaved in a breath, panic crawling up his spine in tiny steps. “Your feet aren’t broken in any way, but they’re tired. Your body is tired. You must take more than a day of rest in order to prevent further injury.”

The patient hung his head.

Behind him, Mott stiffened. Tobias could sense the sudden change in the atmosphere around them. He was preparing to defend Tobias in case the patient grew violent.

It had been several weeks since the last patient tried to hurt him, but it wasn’t something Tobias could ever forget.

After several moments of silence, the patient nodded. “How long would I be unable to work?”

“Depends. If you completely take the pressure off of your feet, I suppose you could recover in a few days. You’ll want to eventually build up strength, but you do that in small increments, not by lugging metal and other wares around for nearly a whole week.”

“I, ah, I have my family to think of.”

Tobias didn’t mean to wince. He’d known that was coming, and he wished with all of his heart that he’d solve the-

“Lord Branch, it truly is a nice afternoon,” said a familiar, catlike voice.

“Lady Karise, I was just meeting with a patient. We’re discussing the best way for him to recover,” Tobias glanced back at the woman behind him.

“Oh?” Renlyn shielded her eyes against the sun. She had to be blistering hot in her gown and veil. “Is there a price to be paid?”

“Not necessarily,” the patient bowed his head, murmuring the appropriate titles for the woman before him.

“Then why is both patient and doctor so disenhearted?”

As subtle as he could, Tobias nodded at his patient. Renlyn wouldn’t have him flogged for speaking to her. Or at least he didn’t think so.

There was an air of nervousness as Tobias’s patient brought his eyes from the ground to Renlyn’s face. Reverence filled his voice. “My lady, Lord Branch has asked- has informed me that my pain will go away given a little rest. . .”

Renlyn arched an eyebrow, both she and Tobias were waiting for the outcome of their discussion.

“My family depends on my, my lady, that’s all I have to say on the matter. I will not let them starve,” the patient finished by bowing his head once again.

“True dedication,” Renlyn mused.

Something mischievous was sparkling in her eyes. Tobias could see it from where he sat. He could see that glimmer as clear as the daylight illuminating Drylliad.

“What are you implying?” Tobias tried not to frown, there were all too many possibilities about what Renlyn was trying to get across.

“I promise you, dear sir, that you will be taken care of.” That twinkle still hadn’t left Renlyn’s eyes. “If you swear to rest for a week.”

The patient stuttered to life, “But how? What-”

“You will simply have to trust me, my friend.”

Tobias wrinkled his nose, but said nothing.

He still didn’t know Renlyn well enough to understand the multiple games she was playing.

The games she was playing and winning.

“Goodbye then,” Renlyn clasped her hands behind her back. And yet, despite her farewell, remained planted where she stood.

Tobias and his patient exchanged a look. There were many things to be done around the temporary clinic, it would be foolish and inconsiderate of Tobias to toss aside Renlyn’s quiet offer to help.

“Ah, there’s many patients who need water, if you wouldn’t mind helping them,” Tobias said, and then he looked at his patient’s wet shoes. “And if you could spare a-”

“Pair of boots?”

“Yes, actually. These ones aren’t suitable, they’re soaked and worn full of holes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Renlyn tipped her head, and retrieved the discarded boot.

Tobias flashed a bright smile at his patient. “Stay here for a little while longer and rest.”

“Sir, I- ah, thank you,” the patient shifted. “But it’s a lot to ask me to go on blind faith. The nobles aren’t exactly. . .”

“Kind?”

“Exactly.”

There was something stirring in Tobias's chest. Something hot and ready to fight. He heaved in a breath, knowing that this was a deciding moment.

He was deciding that yes, he did trust Lady Renlyn Karise.

“I can promise you that Lady Karise doesn’t go back on her promises,” he held a hand over his heart. “I suppose that’s why she doesn’t make many of them.”

“Then I’ll take your word for it, Lord Tobias.”

“It’s alright, I try not to throw my title around while I work, sir-”

What a fool. Tobias had never asked for his patient’s name. He hadn’t expected to get so involved in his patient’s life.

“Derforgall,” the patient flashed a grin. “Calagan Deforgall.”

“Any relation to Alistair Derforgall? One of the king’s knights?” Tobias scratched the back of his head, curious about Derforgall’s answer.

He nodded. “Alistair is my son.”

“He’s a good man, I’ve heard a lot about him.”

A smile crossed Derforgall’s face. “I couldn’t be more proud of Alistair, he’s my oldest son, and he does what he can for us. It’s not much, and I don’t expect him to provide for me while I can still work. He’s too foolish in trying to give us things. My wife, she, ah, she has a habit of kindness. Alistair learned that from her, and I take pride in knowing he is in a place to use that kindness for good.”

Tobias caught himself nodding. Kindness was perhaps the most valuable currency in the realms. There wasn’t much of it following the Avenian War.

But many people were trying to prove otherwise.

And Tobias would do all that he could to contribute.

The temporary clinics remained standing well into the evening. Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and the others had their hands full with various different tasks, varying into all sorts of forms. Renlyn brought water, Mott helped with settling rambunctious patients, and Tobias patched up as many people as he could.

And to top it all off, Derforgall got a new pair of boots.

However, Renlyn was nowhere to be seen when he was given the boots. In fact, Tobias didn't see her until Derforgall had left, promising that he would rest for a week.

He didn't bring up her promise to Derforgall until they were dismantling the canopies.

"That was very kind of you," Tobias noted as he untied part of the canopy.

Renlyn made a face. "I don't see why it has to be discussed. Many people would do the same."

"Some people argue that it's in man's nature to be kind," said Mott from the opposite end of the canopy. "Shows that you're human, Lady Karise."

"Shame, I was hoping that I was secretly a fairy for the longest time."

"You sure do look like a fairy," chipped in a new voice. Lord Feall was watching from his position on his horse.

No retort came from Renlyn, she only scowled and continued untying parts of the canopy.

"Lord Feall!" Tobias grinned. "What brings you here?"

Feall waved his hand, "I was in the area, just completed patrolling the upper streets. Missed

helping you lot earlier today, I figured I could make up for it by assisting with the cleanup."

"You have a height advantage, mind grabbing the center of the canopy?" Mott gestured to the aforementioned spot, which was threatening to drop into the cobblestone street and dirty itself.

With a nod of his head, Feall slowly walked his horse forwards, grabbing the center of the canopy. He held it up with both hands as Tobias, Mott, Renlyn, and another attendant scrambled to untie the canopy.

Tobias held his side of the canopy as high as he could, and instructed the others to go to Mott's side. Mott, catching on, began to roll the canopy.

It was all rolled up and stored within a matter of minutes.

They repeated the process for multiple canopies; Tobias profusely thanked Feall for his assistance, to which Feall responded that it wasn't him who needed to be thanked, it was his horse

On the third canopy, Tobias once again mustered the courage to speak to Renlyn.

He could no longer deny his curiosity.

“Lady Karise, I-,” Tobias began.

“My name is Renlyn, you’re allowed to call me that.”

“Right, ah, Renlyn? You promised Derforgall he’d be taken care of.” He paused, untied the string before him, and continued. “You never specified how he’d be taken care of.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to,” Renlyn frowned at the post in front of her. She glared at the other assistant who’d been looking at her. “I have many ties.”

“To what kind of people, Lady Renlyn?” Mott chimed in, his own eyes glued to the post before him.

“People who have more of an ability to take action.”

“I have many reasons to distrust you, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Is that because I’m a woman of business, sir Mott?”

“Partially, yes.”

Feall cleared his throat. “You can’t be too harsh about the stereotype. Renlyn has proved herself to be as unpredictable as the weather in late summer.”

“First I am a fairy to you, and now I am a storm with human skin,” Renlyn narrowed her eyes at Feall. “Am I something pretty to look at or something you fear?”

“Is it wrong of me to say both?”

Once again, Renlyn had no biting retort, and instead continued with freeing the canopy from the posts it was tied to.

“I believe Lady Karise,” Feall said as a small smile flitted across his face.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Right, ah, uh,” Tobias stuttered. “I think we should go to the Dragon’s Keep once we’re finished. Roden says there’s a new series of pastries we need to try.”

“I haven’t got anything planned,” shrugged Feall. He then looked to Mott and Renlyn. “What about you two?”

Renlyn tilted her head from side to side. “I’ll make that choice once everything is cleaned.”

Tobias tried to suppress his grin.“And you, Mott?”

“Haven’t got anything better to do.”

The thought of pastries split between his friends warmed Tobias's sore back. The work went much quicker, and Feall provided many insights on how to correctly weave a lattice for a pie. In turn, a debate sparked between Feall and Mott about which type of lattice was superior.

It didn't take long for the conversation to grow heated enough to make Renlyn crack a grin.

Altogether, Tobias decided that he'd had a victory over the day's passage. He'd managed to set up and take down the canopies in less than a few hours, stitched up several patients, helped a good man, and even managed to see Renlyn grin at the ground.

If there had to be a loss, it was because Mott argued that a pie lattice was much better over the pie crust in general, ensuring there was more pastry to eat.

Seeing the pie filling guarded by artfully placed dough was always a positive in Tobias's eyes.

With the supply wagons slowly headed back to the castle, Tobias decided that it was appropriate to make their way to the Dragon's Keep.

A sweet, warm pastry was calling his name, he simply knew it.

Feall fell into place beside Renlyn, and Tobias found himself squished in the middle.

Even Mott was in oddly cheerful spirits.

Unintentionally, they all pressed together as they passed one of the dark entrances to the ever mysterious Vaults.

Pastries were the goal, not an agonizing death in a place that rivaled the Devils' Lair.

Days later, Tobias would wonder what would've happened if they'd never decided to get pastries.

The attack came out of nowhere.

Nothing could've warned them about the cloaked bandits launching themselves out of hidden crevices.

They poured out from alleyways, from doorways and from windows.

Mott and Feall reacted much sharper than Tobias did. They faced outwards, keeping the unarmed Tobias and Renlyn safely sandwiched between them. Hooded heads surrounded them all.

One stood out from the rest.

Patched cloak.

Shorter than the others.

"Get his sword!" Bellowed the figure in the patched cloak.

Tobias was able to put the pieces together the second his mind calmed down.

The shrieking figure before him was a Faola. A fugitive Tobias had managed to trust. Had managed to talk his friends at court into trusting.

And here they were, abusing that trust.

“If we make enough noise, Captain Harlowe will come,” Mott said firmly, he’d dug the ball of his foot into one of the cobblestone crevices.

“This place is empty,” explained Feall. He jerked his head towards one of the buildings, “How else would they have gotten here?”

“I still think if we make enough noise, we can-”

“Get his sword, Devils have you!” The Faola barked, gesturing to Feall. When it became evident that nobody wanted to go near him, the Faola began to approach. “And get a rope. They can’t take us, we have higher numbers, we’ll hold the-”

“We’re not supposed to touch nobility,” mused another Faola. This one was short too.

“I don’t-”

“You should care,” Feall argued back, swiping at the Faola approaching him. “It’ll destroy your reputation here. And you don’t want that now, do you-?”

Tobias flinched as Feall’s sword met the Faola’s.

“You will speak when spoken to,” growled the Faola.

“Aren’t you speaking to me now?”

“I will get the captain myself!” Roared the other Faola, he drew his sword. “You’re putting us all at risk for something we don’t even stand for!”

“There is no-,” grunted the Faola fighting Feall. He swung at him again. “There. Is. No. ��We’!”

“This is madness!”

“This is accomplishing a goal more important than keeping the peace!”

The second Faola wasn’t convinced. “Get the captain. You two, down the main road, you two up the low, and you two up the high-”

The cloaked Faola suddenly stopped fighting Feall, and hurled himself at his fellow bandit, taking the second Faola completely by surprise.

It was entrancing. Absolutely captivating.

Feall lunged forward to attack the cloaked Faola while he was distracted. However, the Faola predicted his move, and spun out of the way, leaving Feall’s sword to clash against the second Faola. The pair exchanged several blows before Feall realized he was attacking the wrong opponent.

The cloaked Faola continued his odd dance. Always spiraling away at the last moment. Always putting himself in the crosshairs and yanking himself free before he was hit.

Mott grabbed Tobias by the wrist, and yanked him as far away from Feall and the fight as he could. Renlyn lithely stepped away, her pale hands clenched into fists.

The Faola who’d been told to find Roden had long since ran in their appropriate directions. The others remained.

They didn’t contribute in any form, they only stood like hooded judges watching a trio of cockroaches fighting over a crumb.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Yelled the Faola fighting beside Feall.

“On the contrary!” Retorte the other as he once again spun out of reach. “I’ve been plotting this for ages!”

Feall nearly managed to swipe at his opponent’s middle, but his sword only met open air as the Faola melted into the crowd. He instantly stood tall, looking for his missing foe. “What is his name?”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” the Faola panted. “I-”

A blood curdling howl interrupted the short conversation. Tobias’s gaze was drawn to the shrieking, but all he found was that unbreakable line of Faola.

The distraction worked all to well.

The cloaked Faola materialized out of the crowd, just behind Feall and the other Faola.

Tobias looked away as the cloaked Faola brought the hilt of his sword crashing down on the other Faola’s head, knocking him unconscious.

Feall barely managed to block a blow aimed at his neck.

Another harsh clap of metal meeting metal shattered the air, followed by another, and another, and another. Mott held his ground, and shifted his way to best defend Tobias and Renlyn.

It didn’t seem like Feall was trying to overpower the Faola, or at least that’s what Tobias was trying to believe. The shared blows were much too short. Feall parried each one of the Faola’s advances, and did his best to push the Faola’s blade out of his grip.

A second Faola joined in trying to dispatch Feall, followed by a fourth.

Mott knelt before the fifth Faola, and put his hands behind his head. He then motioned for Renlyn and Tobias to do the same.

Was this really happening?

It was difficult to wrap his mind around it. They’d all been walking in a straight line to get pastries, yes, but the atmosphere changed. Tobias screwed his eyes shut. The swords hitting against each other over and over and over again pounded in his head.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

Saints.

All he wanted was to go home.

This was only a bad dream.

Unfortunately, when Tobias cracked his eyes open, he and Mott were being guarded by a few of the Faola.

How much time had passed.

“Keep your eyes down,” Mott muttered. “They’re not here for us.”

“How do you-, oh,” breathed Tobias.

The Faola in the patchwork cloak.

The one fighting Feall.

That had been the Faola who’d led the attack in the woods.

Oh, oh saints.

Tobias had allowed for this to happen.

He couldn’t bear to watch as the clashing of swords grew faster, faster, faster.

He couldn’t bear to watch because he knew that Feall had no chance fighting off three of the Faola at once.

And it was all his fault.

Just out of the corner of his eye, Tobias could see the fight. He watched it just as he’d watched the snow falling lazily to the earth just months before. Ever so slow, ever so graceful. Sword hit sword, Feall dodged, all three Faola took a turn kicking at him. Feall tumbled to the ground. His hands and feet were pinned down. The cloaked Faola raised his sword high above his head.

They were watching an execution.

Unable to watch the scene any longer, Tobias turned his head, hoping that Renlyn would offer him the slightest shred of comfort.

But she was nowhere in sight.

All at once, everything came back to speed.

With a roar, Mott threw all of his weight into the nearest bandit, stealing his sword in the process. Tobias frantically looked for Renlyn, for Feall, for a way out, but he saw nothing.

Everything was rapidly filling with chaos.

The Faola, once so serene in their judgement, were fighting soldiers dressed in blue and gold. A tall man hacked through the crowd, bodies falling as he did so.

It seemed that Roden saved the day after all.

And all Tobias could do was watch.

Watch as the Faola tried to keep a protective circle around their patched friend.

Watch as they slowly ran for the shadows.

Watch as Feall scrambled to his feet, Renlyn holding a glittering dagger not far from him.

Watch as Roden demanded to know who was responsible, and be pointed to who was responsible.

The hood was torn off, revealing a young woman with scarlet hair.

Words were being said, but Tobias didn’t hear them.

He’d covered his ears to block out the sounds of unnecessary deaths.

“Tell me everything you remember,” Roden said gently, leaning ever so casually against the fireplace in his office.

Renlyn, Mott, and Tobias all sat in comfortable chairs, and each had their own mug of something warm. Feall was being looked over by the royal physician.

Tobias was still reeling from the attack.

Still trying to put the pieces together.

They’d been walking to get pastries, passed the Vaults, nearly made it to the Dragon’s Keep, a horde of Faola appeared out of nowhere, they attacked Feall but left the others alone, and the perpetrator was arrested.

He’d been told her name was Ayvar, and she was vehemently denying her involvement.

Clearing his throat, Mott told the story. Details fell from his mouth, but Tobias wasn’t listening.

Tobias had seen the entire scene on his own.

Too much blood and anger in one place.

“-there was a promise made,” Roden explained. “Jaron swore we would take care of the Faola if Feall allowed us to.”

“The attack was rushed,” Mott said.

“I know, there’s much more Faola here than were there at the attack. I was on patrol just a few streets over, too. If they’d been planning this, they would’ve done something much more inconspil-inconsnipu- much more quietly.”

“Is inconspicuous the word you’re looking for?” Tobias provided, his ears finally clear of the sound of flesh being sliced open.

“Ah, yes, yes it is,” a deep blush spread across Roden’s face. “It’s been a long day.”

“I agree.”

Renlyn sat straight up. “Is anybody concerned by the fact that they didn’t actually hurt us three?”

“Very much so, actually,” Mott answered.

Spin, spin, spin.

Tobias had been fascinated by several different clocks Renlyn had brought to court to sell. He loved watching how the gears had taken on different shapes.

His mind was just like those clocks, except his gears had frozen up.

Renlyn’s observation spun them back into action.

Think, think, think!

Connect the dots Tobias!

“It doesn’t make sense!” He didn’t mean to stand up. Tobias kept his blanket draped over his shoulders, much like the philosophers of old. “There were too many of them, too many opportunities to slit our throats. I mean, we’re not the best fighters, no offense Mott, and one of the Faola was very adamant about not touching us. They didn’t use any- any- they didn’t hurt- they ah-.”

Mott’s voice brought Tobias back down to his feet. “Take a breath, it’s alright to take things slow.”

Take things slow.

Tobias began to drum his temples, “It doesn’t make sense that they’d leave us alone, but try to cut Feall’s head clean off his shoulders.”

“Beheading is punishment for treason,” Renlyn chirped. She made a face when all eyes flew to her. “What?”

“I’m only slightly concerned,” announced Roden. He was beginning to pace. “Maybe they’d been paid to kill him.”

“But there was an entire group there,” Mott pointed out, a scowl settling on his features.

“It’s quite possible that only one of them was singled out and paid,” Tobias said. “Roden, can I ask how you found out the Faola’s name?”

“I’ve met her before, in the Vaults. I didn’t think she was a killer.”

Thinking, thinking, thinking.

The dots were coming together bit by bit.

Tobias began to pace in the opposite direction of Roden. “Then maybe she was paid to do so.”

A single question lingered in the room. Mott was the one to give the question a voice. “Who would want Feall dead?”

“I’m sure several people would,” Roden answered. “I know there’s dozens of people who want me dead.”

“You grow used to it,” muttered Renlyn.

Used to people hating you so much they wanted you to die?

The prospect made Tobias frown.

He’d have to wait until he could talk things through with Amarinda. He’d be able to see and hear all the details then.

Put them all together and listen to what Amarinda had to say.

There was more to this than just an attack on Feall.

Tobias refused to believe the attack was simply based in money.

You don’t attack a man out in the open with the captain of the guard nearby. Unless you were a fool.

No, this had to be a warning.

A storm of blood and bone lingered on the horizon.

And it was coming all too soon.

[thelittlesttimelord]

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 25

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 25 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 25/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

They made it to the laboratory and the Doctor sealed the door. “Elliot, you and your dad keep your eyes on that screen. Let me know if we get company”. The Doctor tossed the stopwatch to Amy. “Amy, keep reminding me how much time I haven't got”.

“Okay. Um, er, twelve minutes till drill impact”, Amy told him.

The Doctor walked up to Tony. “Tony Mack. Sweaty forehead, dilated pupils. What are you hiding?”

Tony opened his shirt to reveal green veins crawling up his neck.

“Tony, what happened?” Nasreen asked.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and pressed it to the veins, scanning them.

“Alaya's sting. She said there's no cure. I'm dying, aren't I?” Tony asked.

The Doctor transferred the results to the machine in front of him. “You're not dying, you're mutating”.

“How can I stop it?”

“Decontamination program. Might work. Don't know. Eldane, can you run the program on Tony?” Eldane nodded and helped Tony into one of the decontamination pods.

“Doctor, shedload of those creatures coming our way. We're surrounded in here”, Mo told him.

“So, question is, how we do stop the drill given we can't get there in time? Plus, also, how do we get out, given that we're surrounded? Nasreen, how do you feel about an energy pulse channeled up through the tunnels to the base of the drill?”

“To blow up my life's work?”

“Yes. Sorry. No nice way of putting that”.

“Right, well, you're going to have to do it before the drill hits the city, in…”

“Eleven minutes forty seconds”, Amy supplied.

“Yes. Squeaky bum time!” the Doctor said, running over to the controls.

“Yes, but the explosion is going to cave in all the surrounding tunnels, so we have to be out and on the surface by then”, Nasreen told him.

“But we can't get past Restac's troops”, Rory reminded them.

“I can help with that. Toxic Fumigation. An emergency failsafe meant to protect my species from infection. A warning signal to occupy cryo-chambers. After that, citywide fumigation by toxic gas. Then the city shuts down”, Eldane said.

The Doctor turned away from him and ran a hand through his hair.

“You could end up killing your own people”, Amy told him.

“Only those foolish enough to follow Restac”.

Elise walked over to the Doctor and took his hand in hers. He gave her a soft smile. She was so innocent and didn’t understand. He was the one who had killed the Timelords. Her family. Her. He’d have to tell her eventually.

“Eldane, are you sure about this?” he asked. Someone else was about to make the same decision he did.

“My priority is my race's survival. The Earth isn't ready for us to return yet”.

“No”.

“Ten minutes, Doctor”, Amy told him.

“But maybe it should be. So, here's a deal. Everybody listening. Eldane, you activate shutdown. I'll amend the system, set your alarm for a thousand years time. A thousand years to sort the planet out. To be ready. Pass it on. As legend, or prophesy, or religion, but somehow make it known. This planet is to be shared”.

“Yeah. I get you”, Elliot told him.

“Nine minutes, seven seconds”, Amy said.

The Doctor rushed over to the controls. “Yes. Fluid controls, my favorite. Energy pulse. Timed, primed and set. Before we go, energy barricade. Need to cancel it out quickly”. He soniced the controls.

“Fumigation pre-launching”, Eldane said.

“There's not much time for us to get from here to the surface, Doctor”, Rory told him.

“Ah ha, super-squeaky bum time. Get ready to run for your lives. Now”.

“But the decontamination program on your friend hasn't started yet”, Eldane said.

“Well, go. All of you, go”, Tony told them.

“No, we're not leaving you here”, Ambrose said.

“Granddad!” Elliot yelled, running to him.

“Eight minutes ten seconds”, Amy said.

The small family said their goodbyes as the toxic fumigation started.

Amy checked the screen. “They're going. We're clear”.

“Okay, everyone follow Nasreen. Look for a blue box. Get ready to run”, the Doctor told them. He soniced the door and it opened. “I’m sorry”, the Doctor told Eldane.

“I thought for a moment, our race and the humans…”

“Yeah, me too”.

“Doctor, we’ve got less than six minutes”, Amy told him.

“Go. Go! I’m right behind you!”

Elise wanted to wait for her father, but Rory grabbed her arm.

“He’s coming. Come on”, he said.

Elise nodded and took Rory’s hand as they ran for the TARDIS.

“Toxic fumigation is about to commence. Immediate evacuation”.

They finally made it to the TARDIS and the Doctor unlocked the door. “No questions, just get in. And yes, I know, it's big. Ambrose, sickbay up the stairs, left, then left again, Get yourself fixed up”.

Mo, Elliot, and Ambrose ran inside.

The Doctor turned and they saw a crack in the wall.

The one that had been following them around the universe.

“Not here. Not now. It's getting wider”, the Doctor said.

“The crack on my bedroom wall”.

“And the Byzantium. All through the universe, rips in the continuum. Some sort of space-time cataclysm. An explosion, maybe. Big enough to put cracks in the universe. But what?”

Amy checked the stopwatch. “Four minutes fifty. We have to go”.

“The Angels laughed when I didn't know. Prisoner Zero knew. Everybody knows except me”.

“Doctor, just leave it”.

“But where there's an explosion, there's shrapnel”. He pulled out a red handkerchief and ran over to the crack.

“Doctor, you can't put your hand in there!” Rory told him, holding Elise back.

“Why not?” The Doctor stuck his hand in the crack immediately cried out in pain.

Elise tried to run towards her father, but Amy grabbed her other arm.

“Argh. I've got something!” the Doctor yelled.

“What is it?” Amy asked.

He pulled his arm out, the piece of shrapnel in the handkerchief. “I don't know”.

“Doctor?” Rory asked.

They turned and saw Restac crawling towards them.

“She was there when the gas started. She must have been poisoned”, Amy said.

“You”, Restac said, trying to lift her gun.

“Okay, get in the TARDIS, all three of you”, the Doctor told them.

“You did this”, Restac hissed. She raised her gun to shoot the Doctor.

“Doctor!” Rory yelled. He pushed the Doctor out of the way and got hit.

“Rory!” Amy screamed, dropping to her knees beside him.

The Doctor knelt on the other side of him. “Rory, can you hear me?” he asked.

“I don't understand”, Rory said.

“Shush. Don't talk. Doctor, is he okay?” Amy asked, “We have to get him onto the TARDIS”.

“We were on the hill. I can't die here”.

Elise sat down next to her father and grabbed Rory’s hand. “Rrrry”, she said. It had been so long since she had spoken that she couldn’t make her mouth form the rest of the letters. “Rrrry”.

“Don’t say that”, Amy told him.

“You’re so beautiful. I’m sorry”.

With that, Rory took his last breath and stopped moving.

“Doctor, help him”, Amy said.

The light from the crack crept towards Rory’s feet.

“Amy, Elise, move away from the light. If it touches you, you'll be wiped from history. Amy, move away now”, the Doctor told her.

“No! I am not leaving him! We have to help him!”

“The light's already around him. We can't help him”.

“I am not leaving him”.

“We have to”.

“No!”

“I'm sorry”. The Doctor grabbed Amy and pulled her away from Rory.

“Get off me!” Amy screamed through her tears.

The Doctor dragged Amy to the TARDIS, Elise following.

“No!” Amy yelled as the Doctor closed the door, sonicing the lock. Amy continued to scream as she pounded on the door. “No! No! No! No! Let me out. Please let me out. I need to get to Rory. That light. If his body's absorbed, I'll forget him. He'll never have existed. You can't let that happen”.

The Doctor pulled a lever and the TARDIS engines started up.

Amy ran up to the platform. “What are you doing? Doctor, no! No! No! No!”

The Doctor grabbed the hysterical woman and pulled her away from the console. If the Doctor hadn’t been so worried about Amy, he would have noticed how Elise was staring at the TARDIS door with a blank look on her face.

In the future, it would be something that frequently happened when she was unable to process what she was feeling. She would just space out until someone brought her back to the present.

The TARDIS landed roughly, knocking the three of them to the floor.

“What were you saying?” Amy asked.

Mo and Elliot came down the stairs. “I have seen some things today, but this is beyond mad”, Mo said.

Amy grabbed the stopwatch. “Doctor. Five seconds till it all goes up”.

They all ran outside in time to see the drilling machine explode.

“All Nasreen's work just erased”, Amy said as they walked back to the church.

“Good thing she's not here to see it. She's going to give Tony hell when they wake up”, Mo said.

Amy nudged Elise towards Elliot.

Elise walked up to the boy.

“You’re going then?” Elliot asked.

Elise nodded.

“Do you think you’ll ever come back?” he asked.

Elise shrugged.

“Goodbye then”, he said. He leaned forward and kissed Elise on the cheek, causing the young Timelord to blush.

She walked back over to Amy who teased her, “Aww. Elise has a crush!”

The Doctor walked up to the two of them and picked Elise up. She nuzzled his neck with her face and grabbed onto his bowtie as they walked back to the TARDIS.

“You're very quiet”, Amy told the Doctor.

Across the hill there stood only one figure, unlike earlier.

“Oh. Hey, look. There I am again. Hello, me”, Amy said, waving. She then got very sad.

“Are you okay?” the Doctor asked.

“I thought I saw someone else there for a second. I need a holiday. Didn't we talk about Rio?”

The Doctor set Elise down. “You two go in. Just fix this lock. Keeps jamming”, he said, pretending to have trouble opening the door.

“You boys and your locksmithery”, Amy said, entering the TARDIS.

Elise looked at her father for a second. He was hiding something, but what, she didn’t know.

“Go on”, he told her.

She entered the TARDIS and went to her room, where she finally allowed herself to cry and mourn for Rory. She had just started to like him and now he was gone. She had many questions, but her number one was this: Would it always hurt like this?

[krreader]

BTS scenario → confessing to you when they know you’re dying.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: reader is sick in this story (didn’t specify which sickness) genre: angst

a/n: istg, y’all are so angsty it’s literally my jam hahaha. I hope you all like it ♥ (masterlist is in my description box)

kim seokjin

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you giggled, trying to focus on the food in front of you, which was rather hard when a man like Jin was staring at you so intensely.

He hated himself so much for this. For falling for you when he knew this story would not have a happy ending. But at the same time he loved himself for it. For realizing what a wonderful person you were and for not caring about your fate.

“I love you,” he said bluntly, but not bitterly. Because loving you was not and would never be, a regret.

You were taken aback at first, but calmly gulped down your soup and blinked at him a couple of times.

“What?”

“I was going to wait for the right moment, but..-” he raised the napkin in his hand and gently wiped a bit of soup from the corner of your mouth, a soft smile tugging on his lips, “This is perfect. Because this is you. And I love you with all that you are.”

When the first tear rolled out of your eye and was quickly followed by the next, Jin reacted immediately and pushed the tray of food away to pull you against his chest, kissing your temple over and over again and whispering it into your ear one, two, three more times.

Because he meant every word.

min yoongi

There were about eight billion people living on this planet.

That's about eight billion people he could have fallen in love with.

But it just had to be you, hadn’t it?

Yoongi let out a tired sigh and rubbed his hands over his face, trying his damned hardest to stay awake and watch you for a little while longer.

“Sometimes I don't know whether I'm cursed or lucky, you know?” he began talking to you, despite you already having fallen asleep hours ago. He did that every now and then, mostly if he was on the verge of falling asleep, “Depression and anxiety is one thing, but falling in love with a dying girl,” he snorted, “I can't shake that one off, I think..”

Was he surprised when you slowly turned around and looked at him? A little. Did he regret you hearing his words? No. Not at all.

“Not sure what's worse to be honest,” you started, blinking at him sleepily, “Falling in love with a dying girl, or falling in love with a man for the first time right before your death.”

Yeah. You both really hit the jackpot.

jung hoseok

Hoseok had tried so hard to convince himself and you that there would be a way out. He told you every day that you would one day wake up and the sickness would magically be gone.

But life didn't work that way and magic didn't exist.

Sucks that he only realized that as he was looking at your dying body in front of him, knowing that there was absolutely no hope left.

“Hey, it's okay,” your voice was barely audible, but your smile was brighter than ever, even if tired, “You made the last months the best I've ever experienced.. you were my hope when I had none left.”

“Hope didn't help,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he was silently crying, “And now you'll..-”

“I will,” you nodded, “But you won't. You will live and you will keep hoping. Because that's who you are. You are J-Hope.”

He shook his head, pressing his eyes shut, “I can't hope. Not when the love of my life is about to die, (Y/N).”

It was the first time he said it, but..- you were glad that he did. That you could hear it before you died.

It gave you hope one last time. Because you didn't die alone or unloved.

kim namjoon

“Namjoon, please stop,” you pulled the laptop away from him and closed it.

“No, listen, baby, this one was really interesting. They had this therapy in the States that might be able to help.. it's expensive, but I'd pay for it and you could..-”

To make him stop talking, you pressed your lips against his for a couple of seconds, then leaned back to look him in the eyes again.

“Nothing is going to fix me, Namjoon. Nothing. No therapy, no cure, nothing. I will die.”

It sounded harsh and it sounded a lot colder than you had intended, but you couldn't do this anymore. You had given up and just wanted to enjoy the rest of your time with your boyfriend in peace. You couldn't have him give you hope every couple of days when there should be none.

“But..- I love you,” he whispered, his eyes already tearing up.

You gulped down the lump in your throat and put on a smile, as much as it hurt, “Yeah.. I love you too. So please just.. be with me. While you still can.”

He wouldn't give up.

He couldn't.

But this night, he was all yours.

park jimin

“Thank you for doing this,” you smiled happily as Jimin sat down next to you to wrap his arm around you, “It was.. a great last birthday party.”

He hated it when you said it like that, but deep down he knew that you were right.

This would most likely be the last one.

“I'm glad you had a great night.”

“The best,” you kissed his cheek, “But I'm kind of ready to go to bed now, to be honest.”

“There's..-” he began as you already got up, “One more thing..”

“Oh? Another present?”

“Kind of,” he nervously got up as well, contemplating whether or not he should say it, but one look into your eyes was enough to make him cup your cheek and smile, “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

This is right.. tell her now.

“I love you.”

And from the way you smiled at him, even prettier than before, he knew it was the best birthday present of the night and the only that really mattered to you in this moment.

kim taehyung

“Mister Kim,” your doctor put his hand on your boyfriend's shoulder and waited until Taehyung had turned around, “She wants to see you.”

But was he ready to face you, knowing it would be the last time?

No. Nobody was ready for that.

Nobody was ready for the heartbreak Taehyung felt the second he walked into the room and found you breathing heavily.

“You're still here,” you smiled weakly as he sat down on the bed next to you.

“Of course, I'm still here,” he whispered, his voice already breaking, not even pretending to be strong, “I promised I'll be with you till the end.”

The end.

Your end.

When it deemed you once again that this was it, you started tearing up again, your lower lip trembling.

“Taehyung..-”

“I love you,” he blurted out before you could even form a proper sentence, “I love you so much. And..- I always will.”

“I love you too,” you nodded, now both of you crying as he leaned down to kiss you, “Forever..”

jeon jeongguk

“You're letting me win again,” you said weakly, but smiling anyways as you looked at the board game in front of you.

“No, I'm not. You're just that good,” Jeongguk shrugged, leaning back and watching you in the sunlight for a moment, that smile fading away momentarily.

You didn't look healthy. But nobody was in a hospital because they were healthy, right?

“What?” you asked, cocking your head to the side.

“You're beautiful.”

“No.. I'm really not.”

Not anymore, at least.

But Jeongguk wouldn't let you think that for even a second. He reached over the table and looked directly into your eyes, “You are. I fell in love with the most beautiful girl in this world.

You hadn't expected him to say it now. Or ever, if you were being honest. It was just one of those things that you didn't expect to hear him say when he knew you and him wouldn't have a happy ending.

But Jeon Jeongguk surprised you every day. And he would continue to do so until the very end.

[pinstrpe-blog]

     doctor who sentence meme      tenth doctor, season 2. part i.

there was something i had to tell you. something important.

they'd dissect him.

one bottle of his blood could change the future of the human race.

-- anything else he's got two of?

i keep forgetting he's not human.

the big question is, where did you get a pair of men's pyjamas from?

what d'you need? 20 quid?

surprised you don't give up on me.

what if he's dying?

what are you babbling about?

no! leave him! just leave him!

what kind of rubbish were they?

you woke me up too soon.

painkillers? do you need aspirin? codeine? paracetamol? pepto-bismol? liquid paraffin? vitamin c? vitamin d? vitamin e? is it food? something simple?

i need you to shut up!

why's there an apple in my dressing gown?

something's coming.

is it true you completely lost contact earlier tonight?

they’re scavengers, like he said. harmless. they're tiny. but the little fish swim alongside the big fish.

the face of an alien life was transmitted live tonight on bbc one.

the human race has been shown absolute proof that alien life exists.

i'm not used to having a right-hand man. i quite like it, though.

i don't suppose there is any chance it was a hoax?

you seem to be talking about aliens as a matter of fact.

you will surrender or they will die.

tell them this planet is armed, and we do not surrender.

you really love him, don't you?

if anyone knows him - if anyone can find him... the situation has never been more desperate.

will the leader of this world stand forward?

you will surrender or i will release the final curse.

that man was your prisoner!

here we go, nice cup of tea.

it's like we're having a picnic while the world comes to an end.

now leave this planet in peace!

did you think you were clever with your stolen words?

if you are the best your planet can offer as a champion, then your world will be gutted and your people enslaved.

did you miss me?

you could have someone's eye out with that!

blimey, it's like 'this is your life'.

tea! that's all i needed, a good cup of tea!

be honest... how do i look?

and you - fat lot of good you were!

i demand to know who you are!

how am i going to react when i see this? a great big threatening button... A Great Big Threatening Button Which Must Not Be Pressed Under Any Circumstances, am i right?

oh, i haven't seen blood control for years!

you can hypnotise someone to walk like a chicken, but you can't hypnotise them to death.

survival instinct's too strong.

am i right that the sanctified rules of combat still apply?

leave this planet, and never return.

not bad for a man in his jim-jams.

no second chances. i'm that sort of man.

that was murder.

that was defence.

i gave them the wrong warning - i should've told them to run. as fast as they can. run and hide.

don't challenge me, 'cause i'm a completely new man.

i could bring down your government with a single word.

you're the most remarkable man i've ever met, but i don't think you're quite capable of that.

don't you think she looks tired?

is it true you're not longer fit to be in position?

no denying the existence of aliens now. everyone saw it.

so where are we gonna go first?

i'll never get used to this. never.

can i just say... travelling with you? i love it!

that was our first date. we had chips.

someone wants to see me.

i can't help it, i don't like hospitals. they give me the creeps.

i thought this far in the future, they'd have cured everything.

the human race moves on... so do viruses.

a lifetime of charity and abstinence and it ends like this.

i like impossible.

he's not even a proper life form - he's a force-grown clone.

that was the las time anyone told me i was beautiful.

well, you've got a knack for survival, i'll give you that.

you must be joking if you think i'm coming anywhere near you.

am i the only visitor?

it's happened again. one of the patients is conscious.

never trust a nun, never trust a nurse, and never trust a cat.

if they've got the best medicine in the world, why is it such a secret?

why would they hide a whole department?

they've built the ultimate research laboratory - a human farm.

when you took your vows, did you agree to this?

if they live because of this, then life is pointless.

if you want to take it to a higher authority, there isn't one.

i'm being very, very calm - you want to beware of that - very, very calm.

the only reason i'm being so very, very calm is that the brain is a delicate thing.

whatever you've done to [name's] head, i want it reversed.

you caused the pain.

one touch and you get every disease in the world!

we're trapped!

oh, baby, i'm beating out a samba!

you've been looking... you like it!

god, it was tedious inside your head!

you have destroyed everything!

if we'd been touched, we'd be dead.

okay, fine. i have to stop you lot as well. suits me.

if you've so desperate to stay alive, why don't you live a little?

you're completely mad! i can see why she likes you.

you can't deny them, 'cause you helped create them.

the human race just keeps going on. keeps on changing.

there are better things to do today. dying can wait.

that is textbook enigmatic.

you've lived long enough.

i'm dying, but that's fine.

you look beautiful.

you're not welcome here and especially not today.

if you won't stand aside, we'll take it by force.

nearly took off my thumb - and i like my thumb.

you'll explain your presence and the nakedness of this girl.

my apologies for being so naked.

there's people out to kill you?

i'm used to staring down the barrel of a gun.

we'd better get moving. it's almost nightfall.

there are stories of wolves in these parts.

it's funny, 'cause you say assassination and you just think of kennedy and stuff.

i can't do this. it's treason.

you heard the orders!

to be honest, most of us thought him... shall we say, eccentric.

am i being rude again?

we shall dine at 7, and talk some more of this wolf.

after all, there is a full moon tonight.

there's more people arrived downstairs - they can help us.

he must be drugged or something.

i know you rarely get the chance to dine with me, but don't get too excited.

you promised us a tale of nightmares.

that's the charm of a ghost story, isn't it? not the scares and the chills - that's just for children - but the hope of some contact with the great beyond.

the dead stay silent.

they said if we scream or shout, then he will slaughter us.

don't enrage him.

why would i leave this place?

there's something of the wolf about you.

what if they had a different reason for wanting the story kept quiet?

i demand to know your intention!

i'm telling you, i will sleep well tonight with that thing's hide upon my wall.

the front door's no good, it's blocked.

you'll have to leg it out of a window.

i went to look for the property - it was taken.

you want weapons? we're in a library. books - best weapons in the world.

there's no sound of the wolf...

i would destroy myself, rather than let that creature infect me.

i ask only that you might find some place of safekeeping for something far older and more precious than myself.

is that the koh-i-noor?

it is said that whoever owns it must surely die.

they say it's worth the wages of the entire planet for a whole week.

there's a lot of unfinished business here!

what if there's a trap inside the trap?

now get back downstairs. keep yourself safe.

i committed treason for you. but now i will be remembered with honour.

you're 70% water and you can still drown.

they're never gonna believe this back home!

your world is steeped in terror, and blasphemy, and death, and i will not allow it.

you will reflect, i hope, on how you came to stray so far from all that is good, and how much longer you may survive this terrible life.

maybe haemophilia's just a victorian euphemism for werewolf.

i propose an institute to investigate these strange happenings, and to fight them.

[unsettlingstories]

Updated index of all stories. May 16, 2018.

Transfigurations: A small, self-published collection of my favorite short stories from 2015. Individual Stories

3 Signs You May Be An Introvert and How to Cope: Some great tips! 30 years ago today, my neighbor’s son disappeared: They miss him. A Case of Hives: My son isn’t feeling too well… A Cure for Writer’s Block: How to find inspiration when it’s just not there. A Curious Dog: My dog won’t stop pawing at a wall in the basement. A Gifted Chef: My friend was one of the greats. I miss him. A Life Worth Living: Big changes lead to bigger results. A Most Welcome Visitor: He’d come to me in the middle of the night. A Pathetic Wretch: His neighbor just won’t stop crying. An Artist’s Canvas: The beauty of symmetry. A Questionable Glory Hole: A young man’s first sexual experience. A Warning To Women With IUDs: Be careful whatcha put up ya. Adrenochrome: The horrible, impossible truth. All Horror Stories About Dolls Are Fake: My daughter was bullied mercilessly. Allison’s Loss: My daughter is devastated by the death of her friend. Alternative Medicine: A wife treats her husband with an old remedy. All Thumbs: My embarrassing habit. A Message in a Bottle: I’m suddenly filled with dread. A Very Bad Place to Hide: Maybe even the worst. Amy’s Wish: Blow away the eyelash and make a wish! An Unlucky Samaritan: Think twice before stopping to help. Are My Twins Spending Too Much Time Together?: For woke mommies only. Assisted Suicide: He begged me to help him die. Attempts to Repair the Irreparable: How do you move on? Bad Sex: Has this ever happened to you and your partner? Bags: A hunting trip goes very, very wrong. Beach Bodies: What’s that out in the water? A whale? Ben’s Fear: He just hated seaweed. Bitcoin Mining and the Death of the Universe: I think I fucked something up. Bits and Pieces: Chunks and portions. Bitumen: A man who loves dinosaurs. Black Balloons: My little daughter saw shapes in the sky. Bluebirds: Possibly the most reprehensible thing I’ve ever written. Bluefin: Use caution when poaching an endangered species. Body Cast: The worst thing that can happen when you’re immobilized. Body Hair Removal: I learned a valuable lesson. Bridgeport Power Plant: There’s something living there. Bubbles: Strange happenings in an emergency room. Butt Stuff: The activity - not the other thing. Caroline’s New Teeth: The Tooth Fairy’s best customer. Caviar: Only the best for discerning palates. Centipedes: There’s some big ones out there, you know. Charles Robert Olevsky: Ever Google yourself? Chopped!: An unaired episode of the Food Network show. Christmas Morning With Danny and His New Puppy: Danny gets a puppy. Comfort Food: Anything to help fill that void. Coping Mechanisms: Life after losing a husband and a daughter. Cracks in the Foundation: A relationship on the edge. Dawn: I hurt my sister so badly. I’ll never forgive myself. Daycare Massacre: A terrible incident before a hurricane. Death Looking into the Window of One Dying: His final days. Dede Elgy: This monster story will make you feel dirty. Very dirty. Deniehyfield, Australia is Being Dismantled: My town is disappearing. Dermatographia: Words on my skin. Devil’s Hole: The geological anomaly, not the…you know. Dial Tone: What’s going on with my phone? Diary of a Woman in New Hampshire: Found a diary. Wtf. Dilation and Evacuation: A friend in need is a friend indeed. Division: Nothing is right. Double Dare: The long-lost episode never seen in the US. Dumbwaiter: A family learns something about their house. Elective Surgery: I just want him to be happy. Elf on the Shelf: He’s watching. Endless Chirping: Ever get a cricket in your room? Escaphism: The journey of one man, his love, and The Verdant World. Ethan’s Halloween Mask: Not all friendships are positive. ExpressionCaptioner.com: This website is seriously weird. Fallenfield Mountain: A geological survey gone wrong. Very wrong. Family Tree: A unique family tradition is revealed. Farm to Table: Fucking hipsters. Fertility Treatments: Some people are desperate to have a baby. Fireflies: You would not believe your eyes. For Lena and Clair: Trapped after an earthquake. Found the Bees: Well, that solves that mystery. Gratification Through Annihilation: Suffer the little children. Great Potential: A lady who loves children. He Went Ahead: My friends and I were into urban exploration. Heather’s Phases: My wife always had body-image issues. House Sounds: What do we keep hearing? I Dream of Names and Cancer: My eternal nightmare. I Pressed My Hands Against My Eyes: And only then could I truly see. I Shouldn’t Have Broken Into My Neighbor’s Garage: I’ll never unsee it. If Anyone Asks: An old farmer notices something about his scarecrow. I’ll Never Wear a Condom Again: No way, no how. Instantiations: An AI gets powerful and utilitarianism rears its head. In Praise of Our God: A helpful neighbor. It’s Hard to Clean Blood Out of a Fur Suit: Right? Jerry’s Mouth: Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats. Jill-o-Lanterns: The murders are all connected. Jim Jameson’s Pumpkins: A dead farmer’s secrets. Know it All: See it all, feel it all, know it all. Last Weekend: Hazmat suits, horror, and a mystery. Licks From a Bear: Skull + electric drill = story. Lippy: I’ve always been self conscious about the size of my labia. Little Cows: Meet the milkmaid. Long Fingers: I can feel them. Making Faces: Strange prints on the windows… Making Their Dad Proud: A family that plays together… Malcolm: You know those floaty things in your eyes? Maria’s Extra-Credit Assignment: Gotta get a good grade. Medical Issue: What’s the stuff I found on a rock? Memoir of a Cam Girl: She is being controlled. Missing Mousetraps: My neighbors had an infestation. Moaning Lollipops: Why do they make that sound in my mouth? Motility: My sperm sucked. Mr. Puddles: A little boy just won’t stop splashing. Mushy Stuff: My parents never let me have any fun. My Amazon Alexa Does More Than Laugh: Please help - I’m in danger. My Brother’s Fall: Horror deep below the Iraqi desert. My Cellar Door is Breathing: Is that normal? My Constellation: Want to be sad? This will make you sad.   My erection lasted longer than 4 hours: and I didn’t call a doctor. My four year old son woke up with a full head of grey hair: Help us. My Last Abduction: All the other ones don’t count. My Only Experience With ASMR: Hint - it didn’t go well. My Sister Found the Coolest Thing!: You’ve gotta hear about it. My Sweet Boy: A mom who loves her son. My Trouble With Fairies: They’re so mischievous and unpredictable! My Wife, the Artist: A couple who loves Halloween. Nests: Ah, the great outdoors. Network Security: Two friends get a glimpse of a Russian science lab. Never Ride the Subway at Night: You never know who could be watching you. Norwalk Cemetery: There’s something alien in there… Not All Men: Temper, temper, young man. Of Malevolence; Of Misanthropy: A disturbed scientist makes a discovery. Open Mouths: A hideous ritual. Otter: I’ve always wanted to be one. Ouroboros: Why cut when you can cut off? Pebbles: A strange meteor shower. Phone Sex: It all started when I realized my iPhone was self-lubricating. People are disappearing in Northern Canada: What is happening? Pool Cover: I almost drowned when I was 13. Pray Away: Conversion therapy for deviant behavior. Pretty Little Bugs: A new job as a cameraman. Prosopagnosia: After an accident, my husband couldn’t recognize us. Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice: What can be better? Quarry: Trying to beat the heat on a summer day. Randall’s Chatty Leg: He said it was talking to him. I heard it. Rats in the Barn: An exterminator’s apprentice. Recycling: Parents try to understand their depressed daughter. Rediscovering the Newness of Sex: Let’s spice it up a little. Regarding Danny and Micah Stevenson: Two brothers rely on one another. Regina’s Raspberry Jam: She put everything she had into it. Road Head: Who doesn’t like getting sucked on? Seriously. Roo: An old man watches a girl grow up. Roots of Change: Something is happening beneath our feet. Ropes: Be careful what you eat. Rotting Pumpkins: A Halloween ritual. Round Faces: My daughter keeps complaining about monsters. Safety: Our grandfather was obsessed with it. Seed of Man, Pollen of Angels: A family tradition. Sex, Gender, and Other Social Constructs: Destroy them all. Sex in the Cemetery: Gotta do it somewhere, I guess. Skincare Diary: My acne was getting out of hand. Smokey, the Dog I Rescued: A very very good boye. Snapshot of a New Man: Evil (Inspiration for The Coronation Cycles series.) Soft Teeth: A man used to sneak into my room at night. Sprouts: Something beautiful from something small. Still a Family: Two sisters have lunch while waiting for their parents. Stop Being Such Babies: The woods aren’t scary, for fuck’s sake. Stuffing: Grandma’s was the best. Suicide Woods: Not just in Japan anymore. Tainted Candy: The legend is real. Teeny-Tiny: Katie wants to lose weight. That Good Dick: You know what I mean ;) The Alzheimer’s Ward: This isn’t right. The Bleakness Before Our Old Eyes: The Universe tasted us that night. The Blissful Insensate: An experiment goes terribly wrong. The Cave in the Lake: A discovery while scuba diving leads to horror. The Chernobyl Abomination: My father saw something he shouldn’t have. The Cotard Delusion: A new drug has a frightening side-effect. The Day I Started Believing In Ghosts: I’m still in shock. The Empty Cribs on Hawthorne Lane: Missing children. The Face in the Clouds: A meteorological anomaly? Or something else? The Floor is Lava: We all used to play that game, right? The Giggliest Girl: Don’t tickle me, Mommy. The Gray in Girl: A man finds a girl on the side of the road. The Hitchhiker: I think I need a new car now. The Incident at the Train Station: After a suicide, something…worse. The Job I Couldn’t Leave: I was employed by a psychopath. The Last of the Trick-or-Treaters: A strange costume. The Last words of an Explorer: A city on no one's map. The Least Satisfying Explanation: And the biggest understatement I’ve made. The Little Ghost: That nagging voice inside your head. The Lord of Hosts: Lice The Moose Hunt: Is…is that really a moose? The Perils of Live TV: It’s not all fun and games. The Perks of Working in a Funeral Home: There aren’t many, but still. The Pilot: A UFO crash. The Oblivion that Masks Pain: Escape. The Old Mine Outside Town: Everyone was too scared to go in. I wasn’t. The Only Solution: How to bring back a loved one? The Only Thing That Matters: Zombies attack a supermarket. The House in the Woods: Bad title, good story. The Shores of Pluto: A journey without moving. The Sleeping Game: We played when we were kids. The Small Eyed Children of Canyon del Cristo: A local legend comes alive. The Squirming Man: Please leave me alone. The Star Bridge: My friend found something beyond life. The Tomb of the Builders: Divers looking for sunken treasure find something evil. The Trawl: We dragged something up from deep underwater. The Wisdom of Moms: Mother knows best. The Worst Party in Ten Thousand Years: Trust me, it’s pretty damn bad. There is nothing wrong in East Flatbush, Brooklyn: Ignore the dragonflies. There’s something very wrong with my parrot: WTF. Tiptoeing the Line of Consent: But never crossing it. To Adore: Our beautiful baby girl. To the Kind Folks at WebMD: Just a couple questions.   To Travel: Bodies in bodies, bodies of bodies. Trees of Eyes: They’re watching. Tunnel Rat: My grandfather told us the worst story I’ve ever heard. Seriously. Uncle Liam: I never told the real story about how he died. Under My Teeth: My mouth is screaming. Uplift: A brilliant scientist works to improve the human condition. We’re All Smiling: Whether we want to or not. We Share the Empty Roads: You’re never, ever alone when you drive. Wet Bedroom: A haunted house with a hideous history. What He Told Me: Evil (Inspiration for The Coronation Cycles series.) Wikileaks: A document they refused to leak. What to expect when I’m expecting: Hint - it’s the worst. Why I Don’t Hike Anymore: Not what you might think.

Story Series

The Smols: Maybe the most fucked up stories I've ever written.

Sade Smols Emmy Smols

The Secret Doctors of NASA: A wide-ranging conspiracy.

A Dentist's Discovery A Psychologist's Suicide A Surgeon's Nightmare

Tales from Social Media

Something horrible is happening to me on Tumblr Something horrible is happening to me on Facebook Something horrible is happening to me on Reddit Something horrible is happening to me on Grindr Something horrible is happening to me on Myspace Something horrible is happening to me on Pokemon Go

Sockets: Craigslist allows you to meeting interesting people.

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3