#thank you for the fun ask! I am sorry I take roughly a billion years to answer them!

[mothwingwritings]

Your writing is so painful (in the good way) and comforting at the same time, i come with a smol req :> btd has been a new fixation and i REALLY like how you write ren and strade, and a thought popped to mind for something that if youd like you could take credit for and publish :> /nf

CW: suicide attempt, violence, the typical stuff to expect

Reader has been pushed to the breaking point. If they go out, it needs to be on THEIR terms. Something fully theirs, something relatively peaceful, something neither of them can take away or ruin, something they both have to stumble upon.

It was a breach of the rules, to go into the basement. But at this point, who cares? It was an easy out and in, grabbing rope and sneaking back upstairs. Ren was cooped up in a room, and Strade was busy elsewhere, probably preparing for another night out to find a playmate for the next day.

The hallway. It was lit enough, high enough, and the hole in the cieling from a leaking pipe that barely showed through was comically perfect. Grabbing a chair, they managed to tie it the best they could around the pipe. It was thick, but old...it should be good enough. It would be.

Tying the noose was easy enough. Some weird spiritual interference perhaps, aiding reader in knowing how to tie it, easier than tying their shoes or anything else.

They put their head in, and letting out a final breath, kicked the chair far back into the livingroom.

The clatter was enough to make Ren's head peek out, and he, being the sweetheart he is, screamed and immediately went to grab their legs and add whatever support he can as they tried to kick him away. He called for Strade, the most terrified he's ever sounded, pleading, sobbing as he tried to offer whatever support he could.

Strade came running, and it didn't take long for him to act fast either. Grabbing the chair, using it to stand on and cut the rope, letting them fall limply onto Ren. They were alive, just...dissociated. Staring blankly at the floor, tears making a pool beneath them.

Whatever happens next up to you :P

Thank you so much for you kind words darling! <3

I really love this, and love thinking about what Strade would do in this kind of situation. He would DEFINITELY be pissed off- but he would be conflicted on how to channel his rage.

If you were to die, it was going to be HIM that killed you. How fucking dare you try and take the easy way out and rob him of potentially the best time of his life? You were so much fun and such a delightful source of entertainment for him that he decided to break his own rules and go against his entire nature to keep you around for the long run, and THIS is how you repay him? Unforgivable, truly.

The whole reason he kept you alive was because his desire to keep you outweighed his desire to end you. He knew that the fleeting pleasure he felt in your death would pale in comparison to the elongated bliss he would experience were he to preserve your existence and keep you in his 'care', always near by as a source of stress relief or amusement should the need arise. In the long run he knew keeping you would be the correct choice, and you proved that to be true when your continued presence in his life had been worth it thus far. You and Ren were the icing on the cake to his perfect little secret fantasy life, and he wanted to keep basking in that ideal world for a long long long time.

You couldn't die-not without his permission, not without it being by his hand. And you wouldn't die- he would not allow it, at least not yet.

But that did not mean that you wouldn't be punished for this transgression against him. Long, torturous, horrendous, nightmarish hours awaited you in that hell pit of a basement. A long, drawn out one on one session, just you and him, so he could take the time to really and truly show you what your purpose was, what your lot in life had become, and who decided your very fate.

You fucked up bad schatz, and by the time he is done with you you are going to REALLY regret being unsuccessful in your attempt. He would say better luck next time, but you will never be getting that again. :)

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 5)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: nearly 2.5k

warnings: vague description of a wet dream, some sensual implied stuff (??), 

moodboard and inspiration credit to @evnscvll​

In all your life, you’d never had a wet dream.  Not even in high school when so many of your peers were coping with puberty and budding sexuality in similar ways— not even when you’d wanted to have one about David Kapoor, the cutest guy in senior year who didn’t even know you existed but that you were somehow convinced was going to fall madly in love with you one day.  

It never did work out for you two, but you’d finally managed to have a wet dream.  This one, though, was about Sebastian.

In your dream he had cornered you in the kitchen, kissing you deeply before tossing you onto the table and— well, the rest doesn’t bear repeating.  It was all very ‘discount bin romance novel’ wasn’t it?  The exotic, rugged farm boy roughly taking the formerly-prudish businesswoman in the middle of the house, too deep in the throes of passion to care if someone walking by saw them.

You didn’t find it all that sexy by the time you woke up; moreso just humorous.  That’s preposterous, you thought to yourself, nobody’s ever gonna love me like that.

It was something your husband had said to you once.  You couldn’t even remember what the context was anymore, but clearly it had had an impact on you to be repeating it internally now.  Just last week, Mrs. Alberti had gotten on your case for speaking poorly of yourself.  Clearly, the things you said about yourself to others were nothing against what you said about yourself to yourself.

Your papers had only taken a day to dry, but the ink was pretty severely smudged.  Knowing your publisher wouldn’t accept them in a manuscript, you resolved to retyping the most damaged ones— a good mindless task to do while you pondered your next steps plot-wise.  You’d seen Sebastian less for the past week, and it was no accident; you’d been avoiding him because you were trying to nip this in the bud before it got any worse.  Your divorce isn’t final yet, you need to heal.  This is fantasy, not reality.  You barely know each other.  Your divorce isn’t final.  Your divorce.  Isn’t.  Final.

That was the mantra you found yourself repeating as you retyped the waterlogged sheets; so much for the plot-pondering plan, eh?

You heard someone coming up the stairs, and you knew it was him because the steps were coming too quickly to be Mrs. Alberti.  “Come in,” you instructed before he’d even knocked.  

“Bună ziua,” he greeted as he opened the door, leaning inside.  “Am pregătit cina, ai vrea să mănânci?”

“Hm?” you asked as you turned around in your chair, adjusting your reading glasses.  However, his question became more obvious through context when you saw he had oven mitts and an apron on, and was holding a wooden spoon.  “Oh, um, I’ll be down for dinner in a minute.  Soon.”  You held up a few fingers, hoping he would successfully interpret them into minutes.

“Arăți bine în ochelarii aceia,” he motioned, pointing towards you.

“I’m sorry… what?” you asked, not sure at all what he could be talking about.

“Ochelari. Sunt drăguți,” he re-emphasized, but it was useless as you gave him another confused look.  He sighed, straightening up a bit as he began a new method: “Îmi plac,” he said, pointing to himself and then giving a thumbs up, “ochelarii tăi,” he pointed to you, and then made circles with his fingers and brought them up to his eyes.  

You laughed a little, but you were pretty sure you got what he meant.  “You like my glasses?” you clarified, reaching up to wiggle them on your face a bit.

“Da,” he grinned.  “Pari inteligent.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, and he nodded back as he shut the door and his footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

Once a few more pages had been redone, you gave your hair a quick combing before heading down for dinner with Sebastian.  It smelled a little strange by the time you went downstairs, but when you swung open the door to the kitchen, you were instantly hit with a wave of acidic air, forcing you to wince and cough.  Even that didn’t help much, and you forced your eyes shut as they stung.

“Jesus Christ,” you yelped, “the fuck are you cooking?  Tear gas?!”

“Oțetul te irită?” he asked, not sounding as concerned as you would’ve hoped considering your obvious pain.  It was like you could taste it in the air, and it wasn’t until you managed to open your burning eyes again that you realized what it was: vinegar, in a huge jug right next to the pot he was boiling it in.

“You’re boiling vinegar?” you realized incredulously.  “God, Europeans are fucking weird.”

He just looked back at you with bewildered bemusement.

“In America,” you tried to explain, “we don’t eat vinegar.  We clean our floors with it.”  You pointed to the jug and made a motion meant to indicate scrubbing a surface, and he laughed a little.

“Americanii sunt prea sensibili,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning back to the stove to stir his pot of disinfectant which he apparently planned to serve you as a meal.  “Am avut ciorbă de oțet de când eram copil.”

You’d typically considered yourself an adventurous eater— even with vinegar-pickled things, like kim chi which you’d learned to acquire a taste for— but this one put you to the test.  Considering the smell alone had singed your sinuses, you were nervous what would become of your innocent tastebuds.  But after he served the soup (a dark orange color, so apparently it wasn’t just the boiled vinegar) into a bowl for you and another for himself, you found the taste of it oddly pleasant when you sipped it gently from your hesitant little spoon.

“Vezi, nu e așa de rău,” he smiled gently as he watched you fail to recoil in disgust from the flavor.

“Just like ma used to make, huh?” you chuckled as he ate the soup with incredible speed, even going as far as to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the last few sips that way.

Eating dinner in silence with him was unexpectedly comfortable.  “You wanna know something funny?” you found yourself mumbling aloud.  “I enjoy talking to you more than anyone I ever did back home, and you can’t even understand me.”

His smile softened as he stared back at you, apparently sensing the change in your tone as you spoke.

“See, right there, that’s it: you’re listening to me.  You know it’s useless, you know you won’t be able to tell what I’m talking about, but you’re listening anyways.  Over two billion English speakers on the planet and none of them have listened to me like you do.”

Then you heard yourself, and it was so heart-breaking that you had no choice but to laugh.  It was just a chuckle at first, but then you couldn’t stop it, even when you realized how confused Sebastian would be.  Everything is funnier when you know you shouldn’t laugh, and soon you could barely breathe as tears warmed your eyes from the force of it.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to spit out between your fits of laughter, but it was barely comprehensible anyways.  Sebastian began to laugh with you, if hesitantly and with a hint of confusion.

“De ce râdem?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, calming down a bit, “I’m sorry I just… I was just imagining what my husband would say, if he knew I was here…” you trailed off as you laughed again, starting over.  “If he knew I was here, falling for someone I’ve never even spoken with.”  You shook your head, resting your face in your hands as you chuckled lightly.  “Oh, he’d hate this.  He’d tell me I was out of my mind.”

With a slow sigh, your laughter subsided as you wiped the wetness from your eyes.  

“He’d be right, but… I don’t really care,” you decided.  “He’s not here.  If he wanted to find me, he would.  And maybe it’s because he’d hate this that I’m having so much goddamn fun doing it.”

When you looked at Sebastian again, his face was serious, yet anything but stern.  Suddenly, you weren’t thinking about your husband anymore.  Of course you logically understood how odd this all was, how impossible it was for you to be slowly finding yourself in love with someone like him, but it felt right, and true, and real.  It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense in every way that mattered.  

“I’ll help you clean,” you offered as you stood up, realizing you’d gotten lost in your train of thought and probably stared at him for a bit too long.  He stood up with you, helping you gather the used dishes and letting you wash them in the sink while he put the remaining soup in the refrigerator as leftovers for another time.  “I’ll cook for you tomorrow,” you promised, “something real bland, like the English cook.”

“Sper că nu intenționați să gătiți pentru mine cândva, nu suport mâncarea occidentală,” he mumbled as he continued to wipe down the countertop with a damp towel.

With the kitchen clean, you knew you should get back to writing your book, but you were compelled instead to read somebody else’s— so, as you slipped onto the couch with one of a few of your favorites that you’d brought with you, Sebastian summoned the same copy of Dracula you’d seen him reading a few times and took the loveseat.  Not much else happened after that, save for you shivering from a draft and him tossing a throw blanket on you.  

“Ce carte citești?” he asked you eventually, breaking the silence.  When you looked up, he was pointing at your book.  “Book?”

“Right,” you laughed, “I taught you that.  My book, uh, it’s good.”  You closed it, leaving your finger inside to mark your place as you showed him the front cover.  “On the Road?  Ever heard of it?”

He just cocked his head to the side.

“Jack Kerouac?” you continued.  “It’s about going on a long journey in search of… freedom.”

“Acesta este cel despre zombi?” he asked.

“Sure,” you nodded, wishing more than ever that you could know what he was saying.  He smiled and got back to his own reading.  Indulging yourself for a moment, you watched his face as it fell into a neutral expression while he read, his eyes trailing along the page as he continued to read.  You didn’t realize it, but when you returned to reading your own book, he got his chance to look at you.

A long day of writing meant you had more than earned an evening to relax by the fire; late summer became early fall, and early fall turned into the need for a fireplace so much faster than you’d anticipated.  The days were temperate, sure, but as the sun began to sink lower, so did the warmth.  You started your evening with a hot shower, though you didn’t let yourself get too greedy with the limited supply of hot water, knowing Sebastian relied on the same supply for his own baths.  When you finished, you dressed yourself in a fluffy lavender robe, feeling especially pampered when you put on a little moisturizer before heading downstairs to cozy up with the fire.  You were already getting chilly, the heat from the shower fading as your wet hair and bare feet cooled you quickly.  Therefore, it was more of a scurry to the fireplace, which you hadn’t expected Sebastian to be tending or you wouldn’t have come down in a robe.  He’d seen you in less (namely, his shirt and nothing else, which was horrifically embarrassing) but something about this felt more intimate, like all your defenses had been washed away in the shower, too.  Didn’t help that he was shirtless, again.  Wasn’t he cold in this weather?!  Must be all that muscle keeping him warm.

“Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you returned.  Stepping closer, you rubbed your hands together as you felt the hot air radiate towards you.  “It’s nice,” you sighed contentedly.

He smiled back at you, moving the logs slightly with the iron poker.  Sparks jumped and fell off as he shifted them, joining the ashes below— you’d always thought fire was so beautiful, even if it was dangerous, and you took in a long breath through your nose to smell the tinge of smokiness in the air.

“Te încălzești?” he asked quietly as he set the poker aside and stood beside you.  You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing through the fabric of the robe to try to warm up a little faster.  Seeing you shiver, he reached out and rubbed your arms for you, which made you tense up slightly before relaxing and breathing out.  “Mai bine?”

You nodded a little, your gaze drifting slightly.  

“Warm?” he asked, making your eyes jump back up to his.  You swallowed dryly as he looked back at you.

“Warm,” you repeated, “yeah.  Good job… when’d you learn that?”

He didn’t answer, watching your hands as they reached out for his arms, finally making delicate contact with his tanned skin before drifting up to his biceps, his shoulders, and finally his chest.  He put his own hands on top of yours and held them there, looking back at you as your heart started to beat rapidly and with no signs of slowing down.  “Warm,” he repeated, only slightly above a whisper.

“Oh yeah,” you agreed hoarsely, “very, very warm…”

He smiled a little; it wasn’t mischievous, it wasn’t conniving or predatory or malicious.  It was subtle but gentle in a way you had absolutely no plan to save yourself from, no protection, no armor, no neutral territory.  There was only heat, so strong that your toes weren’t cold anymore and you didn’t even remember that your hair was still damp.  Not only did you let his heat consume you, but you didn’t even think to stop it, to swallow your desire down, to run away and say goodnight and hide in bed from the icky scary feelings.  No, you looked right back at him and let those eyes pierce right through you, that cold blue changed entirely with the warm firelight reflecting in them.  

“Do you want to come to my room?” you asked slowly.  The words were useless, but a glance back to the stairs that led to your door and back at him asked the same question with much more efficacy.  

He nodded, and you stepped backwards as he followed you: across the house, up the stairs, and to your room.  You opened the door.  He shut it behind you. 

[shawtygonemad]

What Is This Feeling: Chapter 3

Fem!9th Doctor x Male!Rose Tyler

WITF Masterlist

The room was lit green from the time rotor.

"Right then, Ross Tyler, you tell me. Where do you want to go? Backwards or forwards in time? It's your choice. What's it going to be?" The Doctor smirked.

"Uh…forwards."

The Doctor hit a button, and flipped a switch before turning back to Ross.

"How far?"

"One hundred years."

She turned to the console and rolled the time rotor one hundred years. She flipped a lever, and twister a knob, setting the TARDIS into motion. Once they've landed, she smiled and pointed to the door.

"There you go. Step outside those doors, it's the twenty second century."

Ross looked at her in amazement. "You're kidding."

"That's a bit boring though." She grinned at him. "Do you want to go further?"

"Fine by me."

The Doctor rolled the rotor once more, and they traveled through the time vortex. Seconds later the TARDIS stopped.

"Ten thousand years in the future. Step outside, it's the year 12005, the new roman empire."

"You think you're so impressive," he grinned at her.

"I am so impressive," she feigned being offended.

"You wish," he laughed.

"Right then, you asked for it. I know exactly where to go. Hold on!"

The TARDIS once again travelled through the vortex. Once they arrived, the Doctor dinged the bell for effect. She stood back smiling.

"Where are we? What's out there," he asked excitedly.

She just gestured to the door. Ross slowly walked over to the door, and stepped out. The Doctor followed him out and walked over to the wall. She soniced a panel causing the observation shield to lower. She stepped down to where Ross stood.

"You lot, you spend all your time thinking about dying, like you're going to get killed by eggs or beef or global warming or asteroids. But you never take time to imagine the impossible, that maybe you survive. This is the year five point five slash apple slash twenty six. Five billion years in your future and this is the day-" she looked at her wrist watch. "Hold on…" The sun suddenly flared and turned red.

"This is the day that the sun expands." She turned and looked at Ross. "Welcome to the end of the world." She bumped his shoulder with hers. "C'mon, let's go join the party."

The Doctor led him out of the door of the gallery, and into the hallway. They both began to walk towards the main area.

"Shuttles five and six are now docking. Guests are reminded that Platform One forbids the use of weapons, teleportation and religion. Earth death is scheduled for fifteen thirty nine, followed by drinks in the Manchester Suite," the computer announced.

They continued walking down the hallways.

"So, when it says guests, does that mean people," Ross asked.

"Depends on what you mean by people." The Doctor continued to walk without a care in the world.

"I mean people. What do you mean?"

"Aliens," She said, as if it was the most obvious thing.

They turned a corner. The Doctor stopped in front of a door, and took out her sonic.

"What are they doing on board this spaceship? What's it all for?" Ross continued to ask.

"It's not really a spaceship, more like an observation deck," she explained. "The great and the good are gathering to watch the planet burn."

She began to sonic the panel on the wall. She smiled to herself as the door opened.

"What for?"

"Fun."

They entered the observation gallery. A massive window stood at the other end of the room, displaying the Sun and Earth.

"Mind you, when I said the great and the good, what I mean is, the rich," the Time Lord informed her new companion.

"But, hold on. They did this once on Newsround Extra. The Sun expanding, that takes hundreds of years."

"Millions," she corrected. "But the planet's now property of the National Trust." She pointed to the satellites around the Earth. "See down there? Gravity satellites holding back the Sun."

Ross shook his head, confused. "The planet looks the same as ever. Thought the continents shifted and things."

"They did, and the Trust shifted them back. That's a classic Earth. But now the money's run out, nature takes over."

"How long's it got," Ross asked, sounding almost heartbroken.

The Doctor checked her wrist watch.

"About half an hour and the planet gets roasted."

Ross looked at the Doctor almost admiringly.

"Is that why we're here? I mean, is that what you do? Jump in at the last minute and save the Earth?"

"I'm not saving it. Time's up," she stated, and popped the 'p'.

"But what about the people," Ross asked concerned.

"Oh, it's empty." She reassured him. "They're all gone. No one left."

"Just me, then," he spoke quietly.

The Doctor was about to comfort him when a blue-skinned person with golden slit eyes strode towards them.

"Who the hell are you," he asked rudely.

"Oh, that's nice, thanks," the Doctor shot.

"How did you get in? This is a maximum hospitality zone. The guests have disembarked. They're on their way any second now."

The Doctor took out her psychic paper, and showed the blue man.

"No, that's me. I'm a guest. Look, I've got an invitation. Look. There, you see? It's fine, you see? The Doctor plus one. I'm the Doctor, this is Ross Tyler. He's my plus one. Is that alright?" She placed the psychic paper back into her pocket.

"Well, obviously. Apologies et cetera. If you're on board, we'd better start. Enjoy."

The steward walked away and over to the lectern. The Doctor quietly spoke to Ross.

"The paper's slightly psychic. It shows them whatever I want them to see. Saves a lot of time."

"He's blue," Ross stated.

"Yeah."

"'Kay," Ross answered, accepting the fact.

"We have in attendance the Doctor and Ross Tyler. Thank you. All staff to their positions," the steward announced.

A bunch of tiny blue staff members hurried to their positions. The steward continued to announce names.

"And now, might I introduce the next honoured guest? Representing the Forest of Cheam, we have… trees. Namely Jabe, Lute, and Coffa."

A shorter bark skinned man entered the room with his two larger escorts. He was beautiful… in a manly tree way. They started to walk over toward the Doctor and Ross.

"The gift of Peace. I bring you a cutting of my grandfather." Jabe gently handed a potted twig to the Doctor. She grinned and handed it off to Ross.

"Thank you. Yes, gifts!" She patted herself down, quickly thinking.

'They're trees. They should like air, yeah?'

"Er, I give you in return air from my lungs."

She gently blew on Jabe's face.

"How intimate," Jabe spoke, slightly surprised.

"There's more where that came from," the Doctor grinned, internally laughing that that actually worked.

"I bet there is," Jabe smiled before continuing on.

This continued on for a bit. The Doctor couldn't help but laugh when Ross got spit in the face by the Moxx of Balhoon.

"And last but not least, our very special guest. Ladies and gentlemen, and trees and multiforms, consider the Earth below. In memory of this dying world, we call forth the last Human. The Lady Cassandra O'Brien Dot Delta Seventeen."

A face in piece of thin skin stretched in a rectangular frame was wheeled in. Her escorts were two men hidden in top-to-toe hospital whites. The Doctor grinned, silently laughing.

"Oh, now, don't stare. I know, I know it's shocking, isn't it? I've had my chin completely taken away and look at the difference. Look how thin I am! Thin and dainty. I don't look a day over two thousand. Moisturize me. Moisturize me." She spoke that last part quietly to her escorts. One of her them used a pump spray on her skin.

"Truly, I am the last Human. My father was a Texan; my mother was from the Arctic Desert. They were born on Earth and were the last to be buried in its soil. I have come to honour them and say goodbye. Oh, no tears, no tears. I'm sorry."

Ross slowly walked toward the 'last Human' to investigate more. The Doctor watched, slightly concerned. She hoped he wouldn't react badly.

"But behold, I bring gifts. From Earth itself, the last remaining Ostrich egg." One of the blue workers brought it out and presented it. "Legend says it had a wingspan of fifty feet and blew fire from its nostrils. Or was that my third husband?" The Doctor stifled a laugh.

"And here, another rarity." A 1950's juke box was wheeled in. "According to the archived, this was called an iPod. It stores classical music from humanity's greatest composers. Play on!"

One of the little attendants pressed a button, and a 45 was selected. The strains of Tainted Love by Soft Cell started to ring out. The Gallifreyan laughed and bobbed her head to the music.

"Refreshments will now be served. Earth death in thirty minutes," the steward announced.

The Doctor watched as Ross ran out of the gallery. She started to go after him, but was stopped.

"Doctor?"

She turned around to be flashed by a camera that Jabe was holding.

"Thank you."

The Doctor continued on. 'That was weird,' she thought to herself.

She was halfway down a hallway when an announcement was made.

"Would the owner of the blue box in private gallery fifteen please report to the steward's office, immediately. Guests are reminded that use of teleportation devices is strictly forbidden under Peace Treaty five point four slash cup slash sixteen. Thank you."

"Opps! That would be me. Better go make sure they don't break my TARDIS," she spoke to herself.

The Doctor went off towards private gallery fifteen to see the tiny attendants starting to lift the TARDIS onto a cart.

"Don't break it now! She's older than your entire race!"

One of the tiny attendants approached the Doctor with a clipboard.

"Name?" It asked in a high pitched voice.

"The Doctor."

"Your ship will be taken to Dock three."

The Doctor saw the attendants roughly wheel the TARDIS away.

"Oi, now, be careful with that. Park it properly. No scratches." The Doctor told them.

The attendant with the clipboard handed the Doctor a ticket that said 'Have a nice day'. She shoved it into her pocket, and continued back on her search for her pink and yellow human. She didn't have to go far. Ross was in the room they took the TARDIS out of.

"What'd you think, then?" She asked as she took a seat on the stairs.

"Good. Yeah, fine. Once you get passed the slightly psychic paper." There was a small awkward pause before Ross spoke again. "They're just so alien. The aliens are so alien. You look at 'em and they're alien."

'That's not racist at all,' she thought sarcastically.

"Good thing I didn't take you to the Deep South," she commented.

Ross leaned back and started to take in the Doctor.

"Where are you from," he asked.

"All over the place," She said quickly.

"They all speak English," Ross went on.

The Doctor relaxed a bit, knowing Ross didn't pry on where she was from. She wasn't ready for that.

"No, you just hear English. It's a gift of the TARDIS. The telepathic field gets inside your brain and translates."

"It's inside my brain," Ross asked, annoyed.

"Well, in a good way," she reassured.

"Your machine gets inside my head. It gets inside and it changes my mind and you didn't even ask," Ross fumed.

"I didn't think about it like that…"

"No, you were too busy thinking up cheap shots about the Deep South. Who are you, Doctor? What are you called? What sort of alien are you?"

'Not this again,' she internally groaned.

"I'm just the Doctor."

"From what planet?"

She scoffed, "Well, it's not as if you'll know where it is!"

"Where are you from," Ross demanded.

"Why does it matter," her voice started to rise.

"Tell me who you are," yelled the Human.

The Doctor was beyond livid at this point. "This is who I am, right here, right now, all right? All that counts is here and now, and this is me."

"Yeah, and I'm here too because you brought me here, so just tell me!"

The Time Lord quickly got up and descended down the steps to stand in front of the observation window. She needed a minute to breathe and control her emotions. The Time War was still fresh in her mind. Just thinking about it physically brings her pain. She wasn't ready to talk about it. Let alone to Ross who can hardly handle these prissy rich aliens.

Ross slowly stepped down beside the Doctor. He approached her like he would a frightened animal.

"All right. As my mate Shane says, don't argue with the designated driver." Ross then took out his phone.

"Can't exactly call a taxi. There's no signal. We're out of range. Just a bit."

The Doctor took a breath before turning towards him.

"Tell you what," she grabbed his phone, and began to take it apart. "With a bit of jiggery pokery…"

"Is that a technical term, jiggery pokery," Ross grinned.

"Yeah, I came first in jiggery pokery. What about you?" She gave him a small smile.

"No, I failed hullabaloo."

The Doctor placed a universal signal device into the back of the phone. She knew buying an extra one in the year 5023 would come in handy. She passed it back to the boy.

"There you go."

She watched as Ross stepped away to call his mum. She spoke again once their conversation was over.

"Think that's amazing, you want to see the bill."

"That was five billion years ago. So, she's dead now. Five billion years later, my mum's dead."

"Bundle of laughs, you are," she commented.

Just then the space station began to shake. Once it was over, the Doctor paused for a brief second before smiling.

"That's not supposed to happen."

She knew this wasn't going to be a vacation. Something dangerous and exciting seemed to happen everywhere she went. The Doctor absolutely loved it.

***

Thanks for reading! 💙

[livelovedolan-blog]

Long, Not So Lost, Love. Part 1.

Requested by: @kkswaggles

“Grayson is so beautiful,” You thought to yourself as put on his suit for the TCAs. The boys were up for the Social Media King award and they were leading as of right now - 3 hours before the show. They both decided to let you do their hair for the show and you had just finished Ethan’s. You guys had been friends for years. You grew up a few towns over from them and met at a state fair. You had kept in touch and quickly became best friends. Grayson walked towards you and sat in between your legs as laid his head against your lap, looking up at you with puppy eyes and a smile. You softly smiled back at him and ran your fingers through his tresses, starting to gel it up. He hummed in response. He always loved it when you played with his hair. You and him had always been closer than you and Ethan. Maybe it was because you were in love with him and would do practically anything he asked you to. As you put the finishing touches on his hair, Grayson got a text and his phone was laying beside you on the bed. You pick it up to hand it to him, but not before noticing that the person who texted him was put in his phone as “Babe” with two heart eye emojis. You had to admit, your heart kind of shattered as his face lit up with the phone in his hand.

———————-

The show ended with the boys winning an award, not the Social Media King, but Choice Web Star. You were tremendously happy for the both of them and couldn’t wait to congratulate them, so when you heard the door swing open, you ran down the hallway. Ethan came into your vision and you leaped into his arms, yelling “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!” As you returned your limbs to their normal places, you noticed that Grayson wasn’t with him. You looked at Ethan in confusion and he could tell what you were wondering. “Grayson left the awards with Cameron.” You mouthed an “Oh..” as a response. Nonetheless, there was still a celebration to take place. You smiled at him and raced to the kitchen to get the champagne you bought. The both of you popped it open and partied by yourselves. You rewatched the show to capture Ethan’s face and make fun of some other people. All harmless fun.

The time soon reached 3 A.M, Ethan’s head found your lap, and the gel from his hair was gone from your fingers twisting in his dark locks. You were scrolling through Instagram mindlessly when you saw a post from Grayson. Your phone slipped from your grasp and landed directly on Ethan’s face. “Ow! Y/N, what the hell?!” He exclaimed while rubbing his face roughly, trying to get the pain out. You didn’t answer him. You just stared at him, mouth gaping, and breath unable to reach your lungs fast enough. From the incident, the both of you were now standing and your phone was face up on the carpeted floor. You kept your eyes where Ethan was while he bent down to grab your phone. He looked from your phone back to you and gently approached you with open arms. When he reached you and his arms embraced yours, you collapsed into him. Sounds were escaping from you that you didn’t think were possible and you breath was nowhere to be found. Ethan was saying something, but you couldn’t make it out because everything was a blur and your head was spinning.

———————–

Your eyes burned from the tears that had flowed out of them two hours before and you felt nothing except for numbness in your heart. The photo of Grayson and his, apparent, girlfriend was etched into your brain. Ethan still had you in his arms, but now, you were both laying on the floor.  He was caressing your hair and you laid on him lifelessly. “Y/N, I am so sorry. I know how you feel about him.” You huffed, but said, “Thanks, E,” with a hoarse voice. The both of you remained this way for hours, dozing in and out of sleep when the front door creaked open. As you scrambled to your feet, the door closed and Grayson appeared in the doorway. If it hadn’t been horror before, it definitely was now. From the million pieces of your heart, then formed twenty billion more as you took in his state. Tired and roughed up from the previous night’s events, he still looked like an angel to you. For the second time in a day, tears streamed down your face. You ripped yourself from Ethan’s arms and bolted up the stairs to Ethan’s room before Grayson could tell, from your eyes, that you were broken inside.