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#look me in the eyes. travel back in time to like. i dunno. 2012
generallynerdy · 5 years
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Seeing Ghosts (Stephen Strange X F!Reader)
Summary: Thrown off course en route to 2012, (Y/N) finds herself in a hospital. More specifically, the hospital where Stephen Strange, a long dead ghost to her, haunts the halls.
Requested by @cairo0003: Heya! Can I please request a Stephen Strange x reader? This takes part in Endgame? Maybe the reader has gone back in time to find one of the stones and sees Stephen. She forgets where she is and hugs him or something, i dunno lol. Then reader confesses she is also a sorcerer and that he’ll know more later on? I dunno, but something cute please!
Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death, Endgame spoilers, pre Dr Strange Stephen Strange Word Count: 868
Note: BEGONE WRITERS BLOCK
    Damn it! Of all things to happen today, (Y/N) didn’t expect to be thrown off course mid-time travel. Leave it to Bruce and Tony to put everyone in their perfect place except her. While the others were near Stark Tower in downtown Manhattan, (Y/N) appeared right in the middle of a hospital. What help would that be in getting the infinity stones?
    The worst part was probably the fact that she’d ended up on the roof and now had to descend the seemingly endless staircase. Three floors down, she found herself short of breath and numb in the legs. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, she slammed into someone.
    (Y/N) yelped and jumped back. “Sorry!”
    The other person didn’t reply and when she met his gaze, her heart dropped. That salt and pepper hair and stubborn eyes were features she recognised all too well.
    Before she could stop herself, she launched herself at him in a hug. “Stephen,” she gasped out.
    “Uh...do I know you?” He asked, not bothering to reciprocate the hug.
    (Y/N) stepped back, face contorted into one of pain. “Sorry. 2012. No, you don’t. Not yet.”
    He didn’t have the chance to ask her what she meant before a slam sounded from upstairs. Footsteps echoed and a nasty Chitauri, hissing and growling, leapt at them with ferocious intent.
    “Look out!” Stephen cried, trying to push (Y/N) behind him.
    She got there first, clapping her hands together to spawn a whip of bright orange light. She swung it at the creature, wrapped it around its neck, and slammed it against the wall, leaving it limp on the floor.
    Lungs aching, she let the whip disappear and looked back to Stephen. That was when she realised she still had her white and red uniform on, meant for quantum travel. She probably looked very, very weird, at least to a pre-sorcerer Stephen.
    “Okay…” he mumbled. “You’re the weirdest thing I’ve seen today and there are aliens outside.”
    “You should probably get out of here,” (Y/N) told him. “Definitely not safe downtown.”
    Stephen snorted. “Not safe to drive home.” He looked her up and down. “Do you expect me to believe you’re a time-traveller?”
    “You’re Stephen Strange,” she laughed. “I don’t expect you to believe anything.”
    He frowned, eyeing her with curiosity and questioning. “Who are you?”
    “Spoilers, sweetie, I can’t,” she replied.
    (Y/N) went to descend the stairs further, to find her friends, and help them find the infinity stones. It killed her to leave Stephen behind, but she reminded herself that there wouldn’t be a Stephen to return to if they didn’t get the stones. The feeling of his ashes sifting through her fingers sent a chill down her spine.
    As she went to leave, however, Stephen grabbed her arm, stopping her.
    “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
    (Y/N) refused to meet his gaze. “Like what?”
    He raised an eyebrow. “Like a kicked puppy. Now you won’t even look at me.”
    Out of stubbornness, she met his gaze, instantly regretting it. This was a Stephen Strange she didn’t know, one that had yet to become a sorcerer, to shed his pride. He kind of terrified her.
    “You said I don’t know you yet. Who are you? Who are you to me?” He questioned.
    (Y/N) opened her mouth to speak, but shut it. In truth, she didn’t know. Things had been weird before the snap. Even after his death, it was weird. All of Stephen’s stuff went to her, because she was...his girlfriend? Not really. They’d never talked about it. She was something to him, something important.
    “Nothing, not anymore,” she whispered. “In my time, my future, you’re…”
    His eyes softened in realisation. “Dead? I’m dead?”
    “Yeah,” she managed. “But that’s why I’m here. To fix that.”
    “You came back to an alien invasion to save me?” He asked, finally letting go of her arm.
    Her lips curled into a teasing smile. “Among others.” She went serious for a brief moment. “I have to save you. I have nothing otherwise.”
    “Who am I to you?” Stephen whispered firmly.
    Hesitantly, (Y/N) let her hand move instinctively to cup his cheek, her thumb ghosting his lips. “I don’t know,” she replied in a hushed tone.
    He shook his head. “I think you do.”
    “I’m here to find out.” After a moment, she pulled her hand away and started down the stairs, but not before turning to look at him once more. “Be safe. Be kind. Be brave. You’ll need that more than anything.”
    “Why?” He shouted after her as she descended the stairs, ignoring him. “What’s coming?”
    Though (Y/N) would never admit it, she wiped away a few stray tears as she left the building. Her uniform disappeared and she continued onward, finding Tony, Steve, and Scott on a street corner.
    “Hey, you good? Where have you been?” Cap asked of her instantly.
    She shook her head. “Seeing ghosts. Do you have the stone?”
    “Not exactly…” Scott muttered. He then saw the red around her eyes and frowned. “Are you okay?”
    “I will be when we fix this,” she spat. “Let’s go.”
Part 2
Masterlist
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spacetimeconundrum · 4 years
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For the fanfic ask jawn, let's get some writer commentary on a paragraph from Knots in Time that you're particularly fond of. :D
Oh hey, the Metacrisis/Rose wedding fic! Sure, we can talk about that one. :)
I dunno that there’s one particular paragraph that stands out, so you’re gonna get a few highlights and behind the scenes thoughts, bearing in mind that I wrote this story in (checks publication date on ff.net) 2012, so it’s been a solid 8 years since then. (Actually had to do a quick re-read and poke through my files for a bit to refresh my memory to answer this.)
Popping the rest behind a ‘read more’ because it got long and also, spoilers?
There was a sharp "CRACK", a brilliant flash, and the scent of ozone in the air. The Doctor stood stupefied, part-Time Lord senses tingling, staring at the empty space where Rose had been standing.
"What?"
He blinked. "What!"
The guests looked as shocked as he was. But they weren't left staring with him for long; they were interrupted by a distinctly curious wheezing sound. The Doctor's eyes raised in disbelief in time to see a very familiar, very blue police box appear at the back.
"What?"
Ah yes, I thought I was very clever here, with this call-back to Ten’s favorite reaction to anything unexpected happening / Donna’s first appearance on DW. Feels a little too cutesy-clever now, but maybe it’s fine and I’m just being hard on my old writing.
Also! Why does it matter that the police box is blue here? Of course the Doctor’s TARDIS is always blue, you say, what other color would it be? This is actually because of a different story I hadn’t actually written yet at the time, Unsinkable (and later And Then There Was One), wherein I posit that the Pete’s World Universe actually does have its own Doctor, and his TARDIS is red, because in this parallel universe, most police boxes came in red instead of blue.
(Incidentally, there ARE in fact real red police boxes in the UK, or there were, see proof here.)
I had originally intended (spoilers for a long unfinished/abandoned fic) to have Rose and the Metacrisis Doctor meet the Pete’s World Doctor in Parallel Adventures, which takes place chronologically before Knots in Time, and thus, they’d recognise the red TARDIS if it showed up unexpectedly, so having a blue one pop up means Something is Definitely Up. Well, okay, since I hadn’t actually written those other stories yet, when I did go to write them, I realised I needed a reason why the TARDIS appearing here would be so shocking to everyone, thus the color change for Pete’s World Doctor’s TARDIS. (Overthinking details, in MY fic writing? It’s more likely than you think.)
Other fun things - at the time I actually did some little sketches of a few scenes / bits from this fic, and this is one of them:
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Next!
Rose dug through her skirt until she found the hidden pocket she'd had sewn into the dress. Her mother had protested, telling her it was her wedding gown, why would she want to risk spoiling the lines of the skirt with pockets? What could she possibly need to be carrying anyway? Rose was glad she'd insisted. Grinning, she pulled out the two items she never left home without: her Torchwood communicator and the sonic screwdriver the Doctor had made for her as a surprise when he'd recreated his own.
Turning on the communicator, she wasn't exactly surprised to find it was out of range of the Torchwood network. Brilliant. She keyed in the code for the 'Agent in Distress' locator beacon and was rewarded for her efforts by the lights in the room flashing green and a mechanical voice announcing what could only be some sort of warning or displeasure at her actions.
"Didn't like that, did you?" She grinned up at the ceiling, tongue between her teeth. "Just wait for my next trick."
So, I may have a thing for competent!Rose. It was important to me that she not end up the generic ‘helpless companion in need of rescue’, even though, yes, she does need a little help getting back to her wedding from the space ship she’s been teleported to, because plot, but Rose has agency here beyond plot McGuffin, dammit!
See also, Rose engaging in diplomatic relations (good grief those aliens look lame, what the hell, 2012-me) with her captors:
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And...
Rose stared at her, struggling to think of something to say as the pieces slowly came together in her mind. The girl had a soft London accent and her mannerisms felt so like someone she knew, it was unsettling. It wasn't until she looked down and noticed the scuffed blue Converse trainers that it finally clicked. She couldn't be.
As if to confirm her suspicions, a familiar voice called out and Rose looked up from what could only be her daughter to see the Doctor come jogging around the corner.
"Jane! How many times have I told you not to wander off? If you're not going to listen then you can go back to wait in the Tar-" He paused mid-sentence when he saw who she was standing next to. "-dis. Hello, Rose."
Fun with time travel! You never know when you’re going to run into your own future, whoops. :)
Sudden, unexpected kid!fic! Because if you’re going to write a ‘happily ever after’ fic, might as well go all-in, right? Not that everyone’s happily-ever-after should or would involve marriage and kids, but it seemed like the sort of future the non-Metacrisis Doctor very specifically can’t have, so why not give it to his half-human double? I dunno.
Upon reflection, this might be the fluffiest thing I’ve ever written, I think.
Future Metacrisis!Doc and kiddos:
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-
That’s probably way more information than you wanted or expected about this story, huh? Hope it was entertaining at least!
PS - still kinda proud of myself for the terrible pun in the title of this story
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writeanapocalae · 5 years
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NaNo Last Updated 12/11/2012
Had a compulsion to post all of my writing so here’s something I don’t know. I do not remember the characters, plot or anything of this story. I wonder if I finished it. 
Cedar and wood smoke, lager and meat, these are what taverns are supposed to smell like. If he paid close enough attention to the smell, he could also smell iron and blood and sweat and dirt. These were things he smelled in all places, but to lesser degrees. Taverns and drink seemed to draw those things out of people, make it easier to find and to smell.
He sat in the back, his hands behind his head, as he sat, legs outstretched before him, in a leather bound chair. It was faded in places, where his back and buttocks rubbed the color away, but it was comfortable. It was pretty much his chair, his sitting in it for so long and so often that it had molded its shape to his muscular frame.
As he sat, his hood pulled over his face even though this pace was already so dark and smoky it would be close to impossible to see his features, he watched. There were the regulars, laughing and joking as they drank at the long wooden tables, as opposed to the others which sat at the bar drinking until they could no longer remember their woes.  There were those just passing through, which stayed together, quiet and a little bit afraid, keeping an eye on the regulars who looked more like hardened criminals than anything else.
There was only one newcomer at the bar and he was wearing a hood much like the watchers. He found this customer more enthralling than all of the others. His shoulders were hunched and he seemed to be cradling his pint to his chest, as if afraid someone may poison it. He kept jumping and turning, a young thief new to the job, maybe, thinking that the police would show up at any time. He knew that wasn’t it though. His hood was high quality and seemed new, pale furs wrapping him warmly. He was wearing his armor, even though he wasn’t in a dangerous area and it was too highly detailed, too attractive and well kept to be the armor of a common guard. It was tawny brown leathers, layered upon one another, shapes like wings cascading down the corseted back.
This was the dress of a noble, or one who had stolen from a noble, and thieves don’t show off their finds so readily.
“Who do you think he is?” asked Pip, turning to one of his friends. He was bald and ugly but his blue eyes twinkled with the mischievous nature of a young child.
“I dunno.” Boulder replied, taking a swig of his beer. He was twice his friend’s size, both in height and in girth, and smelled a bit like last week’s sandwich. “Just got here today, didn’t he? Prolly just a squire with a bit o’ money.”
“Nah, look at him! Squires don’t travel alone, they travel with knights! And they’re dressed like stable hands, not princes!” Niles glares at the other two. His ears were pointed slightly and there was a scar over one eye. He was always smiling and that made the man in his chair uncomfortable, “I’m gonna say he’s a merchant’s boy, out for a bit o’ rebellion.”
“We should, y’know, y’know?” Pip smiled, his teeth black and some of them missing.
“What?” Niles glared at him. It may have just been his face, but he always looked like he was glaring, “Nick it? You want us to steal from a merchant’s boy? You an idiot? The NHPF and the merchant’s guild would be down our throats. Nah, we leave him.”
The other two nodded at him but there was an evil little smile on Pip’s face that made the observer shiver. They were going to rob him, probably on his way home, probably slit his naïve little throat while they were at it. What they had said, well, that was just a cover up. If they were caught they’d have a bar full of witnesses saying that they said they wouldn’t do that. They’d have a small but useful little alibi. Especially if only one went out and took care of it and they did so quickly.
He stood then, his legs croaking with misuse and walked over to their table. His hood stayed down and he moved like a shadow, his leather barely squeaking, his footsteps barely thumping, and he was there, standing behind Niles. Boulder and Pip were staring up at him, their eyes filled with fear. They saw his mark, the one on his chest and it gave him power. To a human it was only so much metal, but here, in front of this troll and the two ugly little gremlins, it meant a lot. It meant never dying or again, it meant power they could never imagine, it meant strength and intelligence and a hunger; a deep, inhuman hunger that would never be sated. The silent watcher was always just a step away from making everyone I his path a meal.
When Niles realized that they were staring at something, not just being idiots like usual, he slowly turned around. His gash of a mouth was grinning around some insult that he was going to throw at whoever had tried to sneak up on him. When he saw who it was though, the look fell and his eyes rose. The color drained from his face, quickly replaced with fear. Even he didn’t want to mess with this.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He said, his voice quiet and booming at the same time, like a gale of wind. It was raspy and harsh, as if the stubble on his chin was also coating the inside of his throat, but it gave him power too. People were afraid of a voice like that. “I’d hate to hear if anything came of you for doing something to that young man. He can probably hear every word you say as well. You should steer clear. He isn’t a merchant’s boy.”
Niles stared at him, mouth dropped open and remaining eye wide. “I wasn’t gonna do anything, sir, swear it. Me and my boys? We’re good, won’t hurt no one.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” It was true. He knew what Niles and his boys were, they were the dredges of society, pickpockets and burglars in a tiny town where there was nothing to steal. They resorted to those passing through, never getting above a petty crime even though they always spoke of it, “I’ve been watching you Niles Tromer. I‘ve been watching and I don’t like what I’ve seen. You enjoy tonight in my tavern, have a merry time, but I hope you are gone and out of here by the morning. You and your boys could make a much better living somewhere else.”
It may not have sounded like one, but it was a threat and it went right into Niles’ thick skull. He swallowed, hard, and his hands were shaking. The man took his beer from him and set it on the table so that it wouldn’t spill and Niles looked like he was about to either piss himself or scream. The rest of him started shaking as soon as the hooded figure was within half a foot of him.
He left them there to stare after him, the dark brown of his cloak obscuring him from their view. He could still feel their eyes on him and as he walked he could feel even more than that. Everyone at the bar, everyone with a mark was staring at him and inching slowly towards the door. Most of them were also regulars and had been there many times with him always in the back, but he hardly moved. He sat in the dark corner and watched them, learned them, knew all of their names and faces and species. None of them knew him and they all feared him. They hadn’t noticed him sitting and watching from the darkness.
The tourists were right with them, not knowing what he was but feeling the death and destruction in his wake, intimidated into hiding behind their friends and becoming silent.
Abel was the only one who didn’t stare, who didn’t act like he was about to dash out the door the moment he had a chance. He smiled around his handlebar mustache instead and welcomed him as he sat at the bar beside the young man in the fur hood.
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ragwitch · 6 years
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First of all I love your writing so, so much. I hope that every time you have a doubt about your talent you think of the fact that I've reread the mermaid prompt you just wrote like FIVE TIMES and at least three were at work. Second, a prompt? Since you're still open to them maybe, if it tickles your fancy? Darcy/Bucky or Darcy/Steve (or hey I'd take all three): what these hands can do/Mr. or Ms. Fix-It
Thank you so, so, so much for this. It has been a weird week and I’ve been feeling funky through it and seeing this really brightened my mood
This fic went wildly awry from the prompt and I hope you forgive me/enjoy it all the same! (Most of these dates were rough guesses of mine for when things happened so if they aren’t right just blame time travel.)
Paring: Darcy Lewis/James Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Rating: G 
“Darcy, you can’t,” Jane whispered, grabbing at her friend’s arm. She paused and then stared in the same direction Darcy’s eyes were fixed on. “Can you?”
“I dunno if I can fix it,” Darcy whispered, still staring at where Steve was ushering his skittish, solemn friend around the camp of hero outcasts Laura Barton had set up with them earlier in the spring. Bucky Barnes looked halfway between some poor abused animal just waiting to be struck, and an amnesiac. And the fact that neither of those were so far from the truth made Darcy’s heart ache.
“I don’t know if it will be perfect,” Darcy said. “But at least I can do something.”
“Is this even safe?” Jane asked.
“Umm no, Janie, it’s not safe,” Darcy said, huffing and finally turning to meet Jane’s eyes. She shrugged. “It’s time travel. I’m probably gonna mess a bunch of stuff up. But, I mean…ehnnnnn…I’ll fix that too. I just…I’m gonna do it, okay baiiiiii.”
Jane gasped and stumbled forward as Darcy vanished out of her hands. She looked up and there was Captain America and The Winter Soldier, gaping at her.
January 8th 1945, on a train over the Danube River
“Bucky, hang on! Bucky! Bucky NOOO!!”
Steve’s hands were grasping at air and there was a chorus of shouting. His own. Bucky’s. Something had gone still and dead in his chest. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.
“I just wanna say, I am so super sorry about this.”
He whipped around and there was a small, beautiful woman behind him. She was wearing glasses and odd, soft looking clothes and her hair was whipping in the air. She shrugged softly at him, sweet face scrunched with worry.
“Who-?” he started and then she kicked him, squarely in the gut and he slid out the open door of the train and into the frigid, empty air. A moment later, and what felt like miles of falling, his shield was spinning above him, following closely after.
March 4th 1945, on a plane over the Arctic
“Ahh!! You’re both still here, it worked!!”
Bucky spun and leveled his gun squarely into the face of the small, beautiful girl who was wearing glasses and the ugliest sweater he had ever seen.
“You!” Steve shouted, twisting in his seat as he tried to pilot the quickly failing plane.
“Who is she? Hydra? One of Peggy’s?” Bucky asked as the girl raised her arms sheepishly over her head.
“Ooohhh, you still have your arm!” she cooed, rising up on her tip toes and staring avidly at his left hand.
He shifted to block her view and tried not to find her so adorable or terrifying.
“She pushed me off the train after you,” Steve said.
“Hydra,” Bucky snarled. Adorable or not, he knocked a bullet into place on his gun.
“No, nononono,” she said, taking quick short steps back until he had her pressed between the nose of his weapon and the wall. She stared up at him with huge blue eyes and a trembling smile. “I’m not Hydra, I swear. I only wanted you guys to save each other. I figured you had a better chance of getting free of Hydra if he was with you. So I time traveled. And then, yeah, I pushed Captain America off a train car. But only with the best of intentions.”
His head was spinning. Steve had pulled him out of the water before Hydra arrived at the river. He had reset his arm. He had saved his life. If Steve hadn’t been there…
But he was and she couldn’t just take credit for it like she’d done them both a favor by kicking a man out of a train. Could she?
“Bucky,” Steve murmured as the girl chewed at her lip. “Shit. Bucky there’s nothing I can do. We can’t fly this plane to New York. Everyone there…”
“Aim for the ocean,” the girl said, throwing the words to Steve over Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s is….really everyone’s best option.”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. Jesus, she was crazy. And they were crashing. And Steve was on the other side of this cockpit so what the hell was he bothering with her for?
“You looking forward to a long cold death, doll?” He asked, stepping back. Her shoulders eased as he lowered the gun, as if he couldn’t have killed her with a twist of his arm. It was some strange kind of innocence and it made his chest squeeze.
“Oh,” she frowned and shook her head, soft hair flicking over her shoulders. “No, sorry. I’m gonna skip that part.”
And then she just wavered and…vanished.
“Bucky,” Steve said, as the plane started to nose dive.
He blinked at the space where a girl had been a moment ago. A girl Steve had seen too, he wasn’t crazy. And then he turned and went to kiss the love his life before they crashed a plane into the bitter, unforgiving water.
April 3rd 2012, New York City
“Can’t believe we spent seventy years in ice to wake up to this,” Bucky’s voice growled in his ear and then there was a wet splat and a Chitauri warrior who had been sneaking up on Steve’s flank wilted to the ground, bullet hole square between his eyes.
“Thought you liked it exciting,” Steve said and Bucky huffed.
And then Steve heard, fuzzy and distant, “Ohmigod, yay!! Hi! You’re alive.”
“Jesus, it’s her,” Bucky said.
“Grab her!” Steve snapped, slamming his shield against another alien.
He wanted answers. He wanted to know what she knew. Why she had chosen them. Chosen Bucky.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he heard her over Bucky’s comm. “No, now, don’t get fresh, soldier! I just came to check on you. Make sure you made it through the ice!”
“Doll, you got a lotta explaining to do,” Bucky muttered.
She giggled and Steve nearly fell over his own feet at the bright sound, ringing over the roar of violence around him.
“That’s funny, you’re cute like this,” she said.
Oh Christ, they were flirting. Of course they were. He left Bucky alone for all of ten minutes after SHIELD resurrected them and he found a dame to chat up. All Steve managed to feel was light jealousy, that he wasn’t on the roof with them. Watching Bucky at his best kind of sparring. Seeing that pout of the girl’s again. Those hips. Something whizzed past his head and Steve shook the thoughts off, tried to focus on the city falling apart around them.
“I got her- shit! She just…I had her. She’s gone. She disappeared again.”
“Next time,” Steve said. And somehow he felt certain there would be a next time.
March 6th 2014, Washington D.C.
“Stevie, look at this,” Bucky whispered, pulling up the file on the holo-screen, and nudging it closer to Steve who was trying to nap next to him on their couch.
They were catching their first rest in weeks, back at Avengers Tower.
SHIELD had fallen, Hydra hadn’t died despite everything they’d been through. Their secrets were everywhere. And this secret too.
“It’s her,” Steve said, blinking at the picture and sitting up from the cushions. He read her name on the screen. “Darcy Lewis.”
Darcy Lewis. Political Science Degree. Associate of renowned astrophysicist Jane Foster. Affiliated with Thor. Red lips, blue eyes, gap-toothed grin. Prettier than Steve remembered, although he’d never really gotten a good look at her. Not like Bucky who had no qualms about bragging the fact.
“She’s real,” Bucky said, sounding surprised.
“Doesn’t say anything about the…you know…” Steve almost couldn’t say it. It was too ridiculous.
“Time travel,” Bucky said, with that awed and gleeful smile he got anytime someone showed him an especially innovative piece of technology.
Nerd, Steve thought fondly. “We could find her,” he suggested.
Bucky frowned at that, “I dunno, punk. In books…there are always rules. We might find her and she might not know what we’re talking about. If she hasn’t done it yet, we shouldn’t say anything to her about what she will do. She might not do it…But if she didn’t we wouldn’t be here so-”
“Okay,” Steve said, smirking and raising a hand. “I get it.” He didn’t, really. “We wait till next time.”
(There wasn’t a next time. Steve kept waiting through every disaster. Ultron, the Accords, the Avengers scattering apart to avoid detection, Tony playing the game with Ross to cover everyone’s tracks. Nothing. No sign of Darcy Lewis until…)
Now
“You made it!!”
Steve and Bucky had barely stepped foot onto Canadian soil when a small, beautiful, bouncing brunette ran up to them.
“You!” Bucky and Steve shouted together.
“Hi,” she said, and her grin was so wide it made even Bucky’s cheeks hurt. It flickered and then settled. “Umm…you’re not still mad about the train thing, are you?”
Steve stiffened at Bucky’s side and then gathered himself up to straighten and stare down at the girl. “I’m not mad,” he said, sober and even. “Just disappointed.”
Darcy Lewis broke out into cackling laughter. “Lulzzz, Captain America is a troll. What about you, Smooth Operator. You mad at me for not getting to keep that fancy metal arm of yours?”
Bucky blinked and turned to stare at Steve, who shrugged, equally clueless.
Darcy leaned in and raised her hand to the side of her lips to whisper to them. “It was sexy, but I don’t think you liked it very much.”
“I have a lot of questions,” Bucky said, frowning and trying to find some even footing in the conversation.
“Well I’d tell you to buy me dinner first, but we can’t go out to dinner around here,” she started, waving a hand behind her to where familiar faces were starting to appear out of little houses in the old ghost town.
“We’ll make you dinner,” Bucky said. They’d catch the damn animal and cook it if they had to. If it got this strange, lovely girl to sit down with them for a few minutes.
“Oh yeah?” Darcy asked, and there was pink on her cheeks and she started to shift in step, taking quick glances between the both of them.
“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning at Bucky and then at Darcy, that devastating wholesome smile that Bucky knew for a fact hid all sorts of wonderful sins.
“Well alright then,” she said, and the shyness that was starting to build in place of all her bravado had Bucky itching to chase her, tease her. “Janie!” she said brightening and greeting someone behind them.
There was another, smaller, brunette behind them. Jane Foster, Bucky remembered from the files.
“Look,” Darcy said, gesturing to the two men. “I did it! I fixed-it!”
Jane blinked and took a noisy slurp from her coffee mug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have my spectrometer?”
“Oh pffft, time travel,” Darcy muttered, flapping her hands at Jane who was already wandering away. She whispered up to Bucky conspiratorially, “You never get any credit for all the cool stuff you do cause nobody remembers how it was before it changed.”
“Tell us about it,” Bucky suggested, sliding a hand behind her shoulder. “We’ll believe you, right punk?”
Steve flanked Darcy on the other side. “Course we will.”
Darcy flustered between them and blushed again and Steve winked at him over the top of her head. “Well, maybe just parts,” she said, sort of leaning back and forth between them. “It’s a sad story, and anyways it’s all this way now.”
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spectrumscribe · 6 years
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Three times Leo was there for his brothers (and the time when they were there for him.)
commissioned by a lovely fan, a TMNT 2012 AU where Leo actually acts like a good older brother and is there for his siblings when they need him. (and in turn, his brothers are there for him when he needs them.)
AO3 version.
Leo finds Mikey, some days after their misadventure in Dimension-X, staring upwards at the night sky with an oddly contemplative expression.
Usually, Mikey would be the first to have gone inside Murakami’s. He’d even broken off from patrol earlier and said he’d meet them here. Leo’s brother never misses a chance to snag the bulk of their order, or at least be the one to make his order first. Sitting outside on a clear night, perched on the edge of the roof and absolutely quiet, is out of the ordinary for Mikey’s behavior. He doesn’t even have his headphones on at the moment.
Of course… Mikey has been a little off in general the last while, in small moments here and there. But none of them have been too big- just Mikey being quiet for a while, or staring at everyone during training for a few more seconds than he normally would. Leo hasn’t worried, not until now.
Food is important to Mikey, since it can sometimes be hard to get good sorts on the table and their ingredients often end up limited to non-perishables. Mikey holding off getting food that’s fresh and hot and made by someone who accepts them for who they are is definitively weird.
So Leo, changing course from beating Raph and Donnie down to Murakami’s, hops up to the roof in silent bounds. Mikey still hears him, somehow, and twitches all over; turning his head and casting a guarded look over his shoulder at Leo’s feet hitting the rooftop.
When Mikey sees its just Leo, he relaxes subtly and returns to looking up at the sky. Leo frowns, because that’s new, too. Out of all of them, Mikey used to have the hardest time keeping track of his surroundings when he zoned out. Leo dislikes that he can’t remember when that stopped being a thing.
“Hey,” Leo says, walking over towards his brother. “How come you’re not inside already? You ditched us like, a full hour ago.”
Mikey shrugs, keeping his eyes on the dim stars of the NYC skyline. “Dunno, just thought I’d wait for you guys or something. It’s not so bad just hanging out, you know?”
Maybe so, but coming from his brother, who some nights can’t sit still even if and when his life depended on it, it sounds out of character. Leo sits down on the ledge with Mikey, hanging his legs over free air and knowing they’re both hidden by the glare of the sign below them.
Leo looks up at the sky Mikey is so intent on studying, picking out what faint constellations will show. He used to dream about going up there someday, meeting aliens and having his own space cruiser- until he figured out that turtles aren’t really allowed to do that, and lightspeed travel hasn’t been invented yet. The thought is still nice, though. The idea of populated worlds out there and the potential of contacting them.
“The stars are nice tonight,” Leo offers casually, finding the big dipper. Mikey hums in agreement.
“Yeah, they’re pretty,” He replies. Then he adds, “Dimension-X didn’t have a night sky. Or a real sky at all, actually.”
Leo glances over at Mikey. His little brother isn’t looking anywhere but upwards, still with that weird contemplativeness.
“…yeah, I noticed something like that,” Leo says slowly, watching Mikey. “Though I guess I wasn’t there long enough to know if it had a nighttime.”
“It doesn’t,” Mikey says. “It’s bright as hell all day every day. And pretty much everything is the sky? I- I wandered pretty far, a few times. Hopped downwards on those island thingies as far as I could. I don’t think they have solid land there. Just… sky.”
Leo notices that the more Mikey talks, the farther off his gaze gets. He touches Mikey’s shoulder and his brother blinks, coming back to himself. Mikey turns his head towards Leo, questioning.
“Are you okay?” Leo asks, feeling a squirm of worry in his gut. Mikey, as far as he knows, hasn’t actually… talked to any of them about Dimension-X, or anything he experienced there. There wasn’t time when they were rescuing him, and Mikey didn’t seem like he had anything to say other than how cool it’d been, knowing what was what when no one else did.
“Who, me? Yeah, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” Mikey asks, eyes leaving Leo’s and looking away again. Avoiding eye contact is a classic trick Mikey pulls when he’s hiding something, so Leo pushes.
“Mikey, is there something that happened in Dimension-X you didn’t tell us about? You’ve been acting weird lately, and…” Leo puts a hand on Mikey’s, curling his fingers under his brother’s. “you’re kind of worrying me right now, honestly. Is there something you wanna talk about?”
Mikey looks down at their hands, and then back up at the sky. “It’s just…” His mouth goes tight around the edges. “D-X kinda felt endless sometimes, and there wasn’t ever really somewhere I could stay more than a few hours? I mean, half of the time it was really fucking cool- way more interesting than runnin’ the same patrol route the millionth time, right? But it… never stopped?” Mikey turns his hand over in Leo’s, not holding on, but not pulling away, either. “I got energy to burn, man, but… sometimes felt like you guys weren’t ever gonna get there. It got tiring, some days.”
Mikey’s eyes don’t stray from the sky the whole time he speaks, and stay there even after he stops. Leo’s squirm of worry becomes a weight of concern in his chest, and his eyes skitter across Mikey’s hand and arm.
There are scars there that hadn’t been, prior to Dimension-X. Some still partly pink, others healed over completely and silver-green, now. That’s at least two months of healing right there, if not more. There’s one right along Mikey’s jaw, straying a little too close to his throat for comfort, and that. That makes Leo feel unsettled all the way through.
Leo looks at Mikey, and finally, it slots into place why Mikey seems off in moments and a little more than different in others. Because he is. Mikey is different. There’s time between them now; time that felt like mere minutes to Leo, but were months for Mikey.
Without anyone to see and share it, Mikey grew up a little more without Leo or any of their brothers. And he spent that whole time wondering if anyone was ever going to come find him.
Leo grips his little brother’s hand- and Mikey is his little brother, whether he’s a few months older than Leo or not- and it draws Mikey’s attention back to him.
“We were coming to find you the second you went through the portal, Mikey,” Leo says, trying to be firm and feeling a little off-kilter as he does. “It’s the time dilation’s fault. We were always going to get you out of there, okay?”
Leo will die before he ever leaves one of his brothers behind; he knows that as clearly and intrinsically as he knows any one of them could die each night they go out. A few seconds or a few years- it doesn’t matter. Leo would have gone to find Mikey, no matter how long it took. He would have found his brother and brought him home.
He wishes all the jargon of physics and alter-dimensions hadn’t made it take so long, this time around. For Mikey’s sake.
Mikey squeezes Leo’s hand, tight and reassuring.
“I know,” Mikey says, and smiles like he wasn’t alone for all that time; bright as before Dimension-X, scars or no. “Loneliness just makes you think dumb things sometimes. I knew you guys would show up eventually, whenever you got your lazy butts in gear.”
The humor doesn’t completely cover the vulnerability there, and that hurts Leo, somewhere deep inside. That even for a second, Mikey might of have doubted his own family would rescue him.
So Leo draws Mikey close, and hugs him; tucking Mikey up against himself and trying to undo those months of loneliness with a single gesture.
“We wouldn’t have left you there, I swear,” Leo whispers, repeating his first word’s meanings. Mikey has to know that, he has to.
Mikey’s arms come up around Leo’s shell, clutching him back with a sudden grip.
“I know,” Mikey whispers back, small and young. “I know. Thanks.”
Leo keeps hugging Mikey until his brother draws away, covering the emotional moment with a joke about all their food being nicked by Raph and Donnie before they even get a crack at it. Leo lets Mikey go only because he knows his brother isn’t going anywhere far.
He makes a silent promise to hug his brother more often, and to spend time with Mikey that’s not just patrol and training.
Leo grabs Mikey’s shoulders as they head into the restaurant; giving his brother an affectionate noogie as Raph and Donnie tease them about missing the chance to weigh in on the order. Mikey fends Leo off as their brothers welcome them, and Leo makes sure Mikey gets sat right between Donnie and Raph; safe and happy and back where he belongs.
 --/--
 Months later, Leo wakes up and finds again he’s missed Mikey growing up a little more. He’s missed all of his brothers growing up a little more, and their friends as well.
The world kept moving along while he was in his coma, and for the first while Leo just doesn’t know what to do with that. New York is sealed off from the rest of the world, their father is missing, possibly dead, and Leo-
Leo can’t walk at the moment. Not on his own.
He can’t lead while his legs give out under him without warning, and his voice sometimes cracks and won’t come back for hours. Leo is healing, but as he is… he can’t be the leader of his team. Who can follow a leader that can’t even walk with his own strength?
Donnie, who is gaunt and exhausted in little ways, tells him it’ll take time. That Leo needs to be patient and let them take care of him. Leo wants to fight that, protest and keep trying to force himself back to wellness, but he reluctantly agrees in the end to take it easy. If only because he can see in Donnie’s eyes, every time they sit down for daily physical therapy, that Leo’s brother blames himself, for whatever reason, that Leo isn’t at full health already.
Leo lets Donnie fuss about treatments, trying to ease that guilt, and swallows his wounded pride that he’s so useless like this.
He’s always been the leader, always been someone to depend on. He’d always tried his best to be that, and because of a failure and trauma that’s left him crippled, he can’t be anymore. Not for a long while yet.
It hurts, having to admit he’s not fit to lead at the moment. It hurts worse that he feels like he’s let down his team, his family, and will keep letting them down so long as he’s stuck with crutches and a gravelly voice.
Nothing he can do about that, though. Not as he is.
So Leo rises in the mornings, and helps Mikey prepare at least a little of the breakfast for Casey and April before they go to their part-time jobs. He washes dishes as long as his leg will hold out, and then he goes to find wherever Donnie’s collapsed this time. Leo sets a mug of hot coffee beside Donnie’s slumped form at his desk, wakes him gently, and obediently follows Donnie through therapy exercises once he’s fully conscious again. Lunch is just the four of them, Leo and his brothers, and he attempts to help coach them all through training when April gets home. He can’t join in more than gentle stretches on the sidelines, unfortunately.
It’s not much, but he tries to keep positive. Leo can’t be a leader right now, but he can at least be a brother.
Though he wonders. While he was in his coma, who’d been leading in his place? Who’s still leading in his place, while he finishes healing? He doesn’t doubt that they can all handle themselves on their own, his family, but this many people can’t be coordinated effectively without at least one person guiding. Someone has to have been doing that for things to be running this smoothly.
It takes an embarrassingly long time to notice who has been and still is leading in his place. Leo blames the fact that he’s still only a week and a half out of his coma.
Its little things that, in the end, tip him off. Maybe his brother doesn’t even notice he’s doing it, since unlike a year prior, Raph isn’t advertising his spot at the helm of their team.
Leo knew it’d been Raph who’d sat beside his bedside every day and nearly every night, monitoring his condition in case it took a turn for the worse, or for the better. But he hadn’t known until he really looked that Raph has been doing much more than just playing sentry.
It’s in how Raph is just present, even just in the periphery. Sometimes closer in, talking low and steady to whomever he’s with at the moment. Grounding, solidly there. Finishing the dishes Leo can’t and not saying a word about it, putting away leftover food before Mikey can even reach for the saranwrap and playing any videogame their brother wants; leaving a blanket on Donnie’s shoulders when he finally collapses from lack of sleep and putting a plate of food within reach during the day, encouraging April with curt words as she builds strength and stamina in training and watching her so she doesn’t get hurt; catching Casey’s attention before he can think too hard about his missing family and never leaving him or any of them truly alone.
Being there for them all.
Leo’s missed a lot, including Raph maturing enough to be capable of holding the fort down like this. In a way he still feels ashamed he was gone so long, that he’s still unable to be a dependable support, but more so he’s proud.
Maybe a year ago, he would have felt jealous that Raph is holding a position Leo always has. Now though… maybe he’s matured some, too.
Not more than a day after he arrives to that conclusion, Leo finds Raph sitting by himself on the back porch steps. It’s late at night, and as much as Leo would rather be asleep, the taint of nightmares is already too much for him to handle. So he chose to come outside; see the clear night sky and remind himself he’s not alone in that construction site anymore.
The unexpected company isn’t unwelcome. Seeing his family, talking and interacting with them, it makes it all the easier to wash away the residual terror of a bad dream. As his crutches’ thuds against the wood draw Raph’s attention, Leo sees in his brother’s expression that company to him might not be so unwelcome either.
Raph’s mask is hanging around his neck, and even with just the dim porchlight to see by, Leo notes there are dark circles under his brother’s eyes. None of them sleep too well anymore, but the dark shade of Raph’s bags is a little worse than normal. Leo wonders if Raph has also been suffering nightmares. He wouldn’t blame his brother for it.
“Evening,” Leo croaks, then wincing at his voice’s struggle. He clears it discreetly as he can. “You mind if I join you?”
Raph nods mutely. Leo sits down as his brother moves over on the step; easing his bad leg out and sighing under his breath at being off his feet.
“Is it bothering you?” Raph asks, eyeing the leg as Leo rubs his knee. “You want me to get your pain meds?”
Leo waves him off. “No, no it’s fine. I already had my dose at dinner.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I’m okay.”
“…hrm,” is all Raph replies with. Leo ignores his brother’s disbelief and looks out at the wide lawn of the farmhouse. The trees in the distance are a formless bulk of black, full of far off animal noises. The sky above them is not full of stars, but certainly peppered with a gracious amount.
It’s beautiful, and nothing like they’ve ever gotten to see in the city or sewers. Even with the circumstances, Leo feels lucky to be here. He’s never seen so much green in his life, or stars.
Towards the edge of the wide lawn, the lights of the barn are still on, spilling through the cracks that riddle it. Leo doesn’t even have to guess why, though he does wonder why Raph is out here so late.
“Are you waiting on Donnie for something?” Leo asks Raph. He shrugs.
“No,” Raph replies, and then pauses. “Well, sort of. He’s been at it since early morning. He’s gonna fall asleep sooner or later.”
Leo then sees the blanket on Raph’s lap, mostly concealed by his arms as he leans on it. Leo smiles fondly.
“You’re tucking him in?” Leo says, keeping a laugh out of his hoarse voice. “Why not just get him into an actual bed, jeez.”
Raph rolls his eyes. “’cause then he’d wake up and go “oh no my science experiments shit” and find caffeine to inject himself with. Which would put us at square one again. Trust me, this is the only way he’ll get sleep these days. I had Mikey hide the coffeemaker halfway through the afternoon today; he can’t last much longer.”
Leo does laugh at that, because it’s true. The only way to get Donnie to rest up is to let him wind down, and then keep him asleep as long as possible. Leo’s noticed though that that habit of Donnie’s is much worse now. Usually, he’d only do it during really stressful periods of time.
Leo supposes this still counts as that, their situation being stuck on the farm and Leo stuck with his bum leg. They can’t leave until he’s fully healed.
The fact that he’s causing Donnie this stress, even just indirectly, is an unpleasant one that sits sickly in Leo’s stomach. He moves away from it by focusing on what Raph is doing right now, which is a considerably nicer thing to think on.
“Do you do this every night?” Leo asks softly, though he has his own suspicions already.
“…no,” Raph says, a beat too late to be believable. Leo gives his brother a look, and points at his eyes.
“The bags say otherwise.”
Raph frowns/grimaces, which is his default expression whenever he doesn’t know how to respond. Or how to admit he’s having feelings.
“Sometimes.” Raph allows, and Leo rolls his eyes. “Just when I got time.”
“Well, we definitely have plenty of that,” Leo says wryly, rubbing his sore leg again. “That’s good, though. Good that you’re keeping an eye on him. Donnie always runs himself into the ground when he’s left to his own devices,” Leo shakes his head. “Don’t know what we’d do without you right now, bro.”
“Hn, you’d get by, somehow,” Raph says curtly. “You’re all not that stupid.”
“You sure? ‘cause last I looked, you’ve been doing a lot around here lately,” Leo smiles, feeling that gentle touch of pride in his chest again. “I actually wanted to say thanks for that, properly. The way things are… I can’t do much for anyone. So, thanks for filling for me. Makes it easier for me to rest up knowing you’ve got things under control.”
He expects Raph to preen, or at least puff up a little under the praise, but his brother just hunches his shoulders and won’t look at him.
“I’m not… actually doing anything, though,” Raph says, eyes on the treeline instead of Leo. “I mean- come on. Anyone can do this stuff. The others… they got something to contribute. Donnie- Donnie saved your life, and Mike’s the only one who can actually cook anything decent, and April and Casey are the ones doing the real work bringing money in and keepin’ the lights on. I can’t do any of that, all I’ve been doing is-”
“Holding down the fort,” Leo interrupts, not letting Raph keep on. He lowers his voice, making it gentler. “I’ve only been awake a little over a week, Raph, but I can already see how much you do. You’re their rock. You’re always there when they need you, no matter what time of day. Being that for them… that’s more than enough, especially considering I can’t even try to be that right now.”
Raph sits silent, still not looking at him. Leo reaches out, putting a hand on Raph’s shoulder, drawing his brother’s attention onto him. Raph finally meets his eyes, and Leo smiles warmly.
“You kept them together, Raph,” Leo says sincerely. “and you’re still keeping them together. I can’t even imagine how hard that’s been- I know it would have been so, so difficult for me to watch one of you go through what- what I did.” Phantom pain laces through him, and then fades. Leo doesn’t dwell on that nightmare longer than a second. “You might not think so, but you’ve done amazing. And I’m really proud of you for that.”
Raph stares at him for a long moment, and then lets out a small chuckle. He scrubs roughly at his nose, covering a soft sniffle, and turns away again. “Shut up, you sound like Sensei. It’s weird for my brother to say that.”
“I am basically your older brother though, so. Not so weird,” Leo points out, teasing just a little.
“None of us knows who’s actually older,” Raph says in a mumble, a fight they’ve all had multiple times over the years. Tonight though, it doesn’t become that. It’s just a welcome familiarity.
Leo gently moves himself closer to Raph, getting close enough he can sling an arm around his brother’s wide shoulders and give him a sideways hug. It only takes a second for Raph’s to wind around the back of Leo’s shell, hugging back.
“Dunno how you do this stuff all the time,” Raph says with a tired huff. “It’s exhausting being the responsible one.”
“After years of practice dealing with you assholes, I got the hang of it,” Leo replies, only fondness in his words.
“Yeah, well. Good to have you back, then,” Raph says, clearing his throat. It hardly hides the emotion there. “I was getting bored of being the stick in the mud anyway.”
Leo laughs quietly, feeling touched. “Good to be back.”
Raph hugs Leo to his side a moment longer, and then lets go. He doesn’t make any move to put space back between them after that. So they sit in relative silence on the steps, waiting for Donnie to finally be ready to sleep, and remain shoulder to shoulder the whole while.
After everything they’ve both been through the last months, it’s a welcome lull of peace.
 --/--
 Peace never seems to last long for them, not with how many enemies they’ve made and how often they get themselves into trouble. Leo regrets that this case happens to be caused by both at the same time; an enemy… coming from inside of them.
He’s failed a number of times over the years. Failed to have the strength to stop Shredder in that construction site that still haunts his nightmares, failed to stop him again from murdering Splinter at the worst possible time, and failed to save an entire world from oblivion. Thankfully, that was all undone for the most part, even if he still carries thick scarring up and down his leg and around his throat.
Donnie’s death was undone, too, but not really. Something like that can’t be taken back, not completely. An experience that traumatic doesn’t go away; Leo knows that too well.
Leo failed to see one of his team members, one of his family members, falling under the influence of something horrible, and both Donnie and April paid for it. Leo’s been on the receiving end of near death more than once, but never at the hands of one of their own. He can’t imagine being hurt like that, or hurting like that.
April says she’s fine, that she just needs time to recover, but the hollowness to her is clear as she leaves. Like a shell of herself, emptied out of what makes her shine so bright. A part of Leo wants to reach out and pull her back into his home- which hers too, after all this time- but he knows she won’t be open to comfort. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.
And besides. There’s a larger part of him that’s instinctively defensive. Defensive of his family, as much as April is a part of that. She’s still his friend, and he knows this wasn’t her fault, that they were the ones who hadn’t seen she wasn’t herself the past weeks-
But she hurt his brother. And that’s not something he can forgive easily.
They all need time apart, he thinks. Their whole team. When the wounds are less fresh, they’ll talk about it. Try to mend things between them all; give apologies for mistakes and figure out where they go from there. For now though, they go their separate ways.
In the end, Leo and his brothers do the same. Drifting to their individual rooms for restless sleep now that the immediate drama is over. Casey limped off into the early dawn not long after April did, and Splinter has already turned off his light by the time Leo and his siblings are closing their doors. Donnie shuts his first; making his point again that he’s not in the headspace to interact with anyone, much as they’ve all tried to.
Leo respects that sometimes, especially when bad things happen, you need time to collect yourself. He has moments like that still, more often now days when Karai wears the Kuro Kabuto around her base, less often than the months after his coma. He’ll give Donnie space until he’s ready to talk.
Though he should have expected, Donnie will never be ready to talk. The four of them are all repeat offenders for internalizing things and avoiding actual confrontation; Leo should have known that Donnie would lock himself inside his lab and skirt the subject of temporarily dying like it’s the plague.
Leo is familiar with bad coping mechanisms, and his family has rarely let him get away with them for long. Donnie was there for him after the fall of New York. Leo in turn is going to be there for him now.
And maybe Donnie wants that, however much he’s been shutting them out, because the lab doors aren’t locked when Leo tries to open them a week after the Za’naron Incident.
Donnie is bent over a lab table in the middle of the room, hunched around some fiddly bit of technology connected to… something. It’s in too many pieces for Leo to even try to figure out its purpose or use.
He crosses the room with a calm stride, approaching the table with as little intention to startle as possible. Not that its needed; his brother doesn’t even notice him directly on the other side of the table. Donnie only looks up when Leo clears his throat; eyes hidden by his black goggles and a distinct bleariness to his, “-whuh?”
Leo holds out one of the two cups of tea he’s brought. Donnie doesn’t need any more caffeine than he’s already doped himself on.
“Hi,” Leo says, smiling comfortingly. “feel like talking?”
Even with the goggles in place, Leo can see Donnie blink in confusion.
“’bout what?” He asks with a slight slur, scrutinizing Leo. The amount of sleep deprivation he must have hit by now is really starting to show. Leo sighs.
“You’re the genius here, Donnie. You know what about.”
A grimace tugs at Donnie’s mouth.
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I give a sternly disapproving glare and ask again later.”
“…and if I say I don’t want to, again?”
“Rinse and repeat.” Leo won’t stop coming back until they do this, just like his brothers didn’t stop until he actually talked about what happened in that construction site with the Shredder.
Talking about things like that hurts, but sometimes you need to hurt a little more before it gets better. Leo knows that. Donnie knows that, too.
Which is likely why Donnie sighs, putting down the soldering iron in his hands and pushing up his goggles to rub his eyes. They’ve got dark bags under them, and Leo ventures Donnie has scarcely gotten a full day’s sleep all week.
“Okay, let’s talk,” Donnie says quietly and holds out his hand for the tea. Leo gently presses it into his grasp, pulling up a seat to the table.
It’s probably only because Donnie’s been worn down over a whole week by all of them, trying at different times to get him to talk about his recent trauma, that Leo gets him to talk at all. It’s slow going, words coming in soft fits as Donnie fidgets with his tea and tools both. Leo is patient though, listening all the way through about Donnie’s early suspicions about April’s mental sanctity. Like he should have, right back at the beginning when Donnie first starting voicing concerns.
This could have been prevented. That is a stark and painful regret in Leo’s mind. But it wasn’t, so now they just have to pick up the pieces and put them back together best they can.
Leo doesn’t want this to have lasting damage on Donnie, or April, or their friendship. It probably will anyways. That may be the saddest fallout of this whole mess.
Leo listens to Donnie talk about how he started noticing irregularities in April’s behavior, little ticks that appeared or disappeared, and how he’d seen the obsessiveness she started about the crystal. Leo listens to his brother talk about the few times he tried to confront her about it, to try mitigating a possible disaster he suspected was budding, and how April had shut him out time and again. Leo has to hold his cup a little tighter when Donnie gets to the part that no one listened to him, and how that led to the Incident happening.
His voice gets very, very quiet as he talks about the moment he’d been suspended in the air. Leo hadn’t been able to hear anything of the exchange between April and his brother from below, but the conversation has clearly left its mark on Donnie.
It’s hard to listen to. There’s a long pause of silence when Donnie trails off, full of regrets and still sharply fresh memories.
“…I know it wasn’t her,” Donnie says eventually, voice nearly whisper quiet, “but I just… can’t get my head around the fact she. She knew me, still. At the last second, she talked to me. And then…” He swallows. “still did it anyway.”
Donnie’s eyes lift from his hands around his tea, giving Leo a look of guilt and deep pain. “Does it… does it make me a bad person?” He asks, voice wavering. “To feel mad at her for that, even though it’s not her fault?”
Leo tries to find something wise to say, something to heal that hurt with a single sentence, but he comes up empty. All he can say is, “No. No I don’t think it does. I think that’s… normal to feel.”
Donnie closes his eyes, takes a slow, shuddering breath, and opens his eyes again. They’re glossy under the lab lights, but Leo doesn’t say anything about that.
“It’s not her fault,” Donnie says again, like he’s been saying since the night happened. His voice is hoarse as he does. “I should have done something sooner. It’s not her fault this happened.”
“It’s not yours either,” Leo says gently, even as Donnie looks away from him. “We should have listened- all of us should have listened. You knew something was wrong and we ignored it. It’s not her fault, and it’s not yours. Okay? You did your best, Donnie.” His brother still won’t look at him, and the way Donnie’s jaw clenches is painful to watch.
“It wasn’t enough,” Donnie whispers tightly, eyes hard and bright. “It wasn’t enough and she. She.”
Killed me, hangs in the air. Bitter and heavy as it’d been the first night after.
“…she wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, Donnie. Not in her right mind,” Leo says, and it makes Donnie take a harsh breath in. “April wouldn’t do that to any of us. I’ve… talked with her, a few times. She feels awful about this. But it’s neither of your faults. It’s Za’naron’s, okay? Don’t take blame for something you shouldn’t.”
Donnie shakes his head mutely, and they lapse into silence again. The longer it stretches, the worse Leo feels about having nothing to really fix this. He understands now how Donnie must have felt, the months it took for Leo to recover from his coma. The wanting to say a few words and make his brother feel better, to understand it’s not his fault, that April wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, that he shouldn’t feel so badly for resenting her just a little for doing so…
That brings a thought to Leo’s mind. Accidental hurts.
“…Karai’s rebuilding the Foot clan,” Leo says, which is enough a topic change that Donnie finally looks at him again.
“…so?” Donnie asks. “She’s been doing that for months.”
Leo nods once. “She wears the Kuro Kabuto most nights, too.”
Donnie keeps giving him a look of blank confusion, obviously wondering why Leo’s brought this up right now. Leo keeps talking. “She uses his throne, too, you know. You’ve seen her in it. And they kept the same uniform dress code for the Foot soldiers. Even the same insignia.”
Donnie clearly doesn’t see Leo’s point yet. “And?”
“She’s taking his place, Donnie,” Leo says plainly. The shadowy form of Shredder looming over him plays in his memory, like it often does on bad nights. “He’s still out there, and she’s already decided she wants to put things back to how they’d been before. Except she’s the master of the clan this time around.” He laughs without humor. “It’s a little hard to see her walking around with that helmet on, you know?”
Donnie keeps staring in confusion until finally, it clicks.
“Oh. Oh, Leo,” Donnie’s expression morphs into sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t even- I never even thought of that. God.”
Leo nods, giving a wry smile. “I haven’t said anything, and I don’t plan to, but it’s… difficult to swallow. Spending years trying to dismantle the Foot and its control of New York, and having our own sister start building it right back up.” He gives himself a small shake, brushing off the old and new nightmares that follow him. “Look. Point is, Karai doesn’t even know she’s doing it and I doubt she’d mean to give me flashbacks on bad nights. And I know it’s not the same thing- not anywhere near the same thing, but… I just want you to know. I kind of get it. What it feels like to get hurt unintentionally by someone you care about.”
Donnie looks at him for a long moment, and then smiles wetly.
“It sucks a lot, doesn’t it?” He says, and then covers his mouth; hunching on himself. Leo is already coming around the table when Donnie let out the first muffled cry.
Leo is taller than his brother like this, him standing and Donnie sitting. He takes advantage of it to tuck his brother’s head under his chin while he hugs Donnie; holding onto his brother until he can pull himself back together. Donnie clutches Leo tightly, and barely lets out any sound as his breathing falters, then unsteadily continues. Growing stronger with each intake.
It won’t fix anything immediately, but it’s a good step towards fixing things eventually.
It’s as much a comfort to Donnie as it is to Leo; holding onto each other like this. Donnie had been outside anyone’s reach for help that night, but he’s here now. Tangible and alive.
A long time ago, Leo told himself he’d die before he let one of his brothers do so. He failed that promise. He makes a new one that he will never, ever, fail like this again. He couldn’t take the experience twice, he just couldn’t.
When Leo and Donnie finally emerge from the lab, cups empty and hearts at least a fraction lighter, they’re welcomed back by Raph and Mikey, who are none too subtly waiting on the couches for them. They take Donnie and set him in the middle of everything, surrounded on all sides by sympathy, comfort, and listening ears.
Donnie’s voice doesn’t waver so badly, now. Encircled and protected. It’s a small victory, but Leo will take it.
It’s not fixed with a single evening of sharing empathy, the broken and battered state of Donnie and April, of their relationship and minds, but it’s a start. And they- the two of them, Leo, their whole family- are all willing to work towards the better future lying ahead.
It’s Leo’s job, officially and unofficially, to make sure his brothers are okay. They’re not little kids anymore, but that doesn’t mean the gut reaction to keep them safe, to make them happy, has gone away. And so long as Leo has them by his side, it never will.
 --/--
 He fails his promise a second time.
Splinter dies, and Leo.
He.
Becomes lost.
The night it happens, everything burns. He cuts away the drowning grief and turns his blades on the source. He marches them into battle and refuses to let himself stop moving, one foot in front of the other, his bad leg be damned- until it’s over.
And then it is, and he.
He doesn’t know what to do.
Leo washes off the spray of mutant green blood on his hands, cleans his swords and gear, and then just. Sits. Stops thinking.
He sinks. Silently. Into himself, his mind, the black ocean that’d claimed him on and off, after the Shredder broke him the first time. He sinks, and he can’t even wonder if he’s drowning. He just knows he is.
Leo has always guided his brothers, but he has always been guided in turn. By their father, by the only source of parental love they’ve ever had. The first person to ever love them. Shells and all, unconditionally.
And now Splinter is gone, and Leo. Leo needs to.
Lead them. Protect them. His brothers, he has to keep them safe in place of their father. That’s his job. But.
He can’t. Not like this.
There’s no do-over this time. No time travel, no psychic power. Just. Finality.
Leo feels like he’s dying as he kneels in front of the dojo tree. He almost wishes he was. It would be escape from a grief that’s swallowing him up and leaving nothing behind. Only emptiness.
He doesn’t know which way to go, how to move forwards. Leo’s eyes burn, like he’s been trying to do to everything poisoning him through. It hurts, but not nearly as much as his heart does. Splinter is dead. He’s dead and never coming back. There’s no one left to lead him, no one left to tell Leo that it will be alright, even in the worst moments when he’s too weak to say it himself. How could he move forwards from this, how could he ever move past it-
How is he supposed to-
-live like this, missing such a huge chunk of himself and- and-
-he’s all alone, in charge and bearing a mantle that’s still decades too big for him to hope to handle. He’s not ready, he can’t be the Sensei, he doesn’t want to be a Sensei, he just wants to be a son and be held, be quieted and told it’s okay, it’ll all be okay, eventually, don’t worry, you’re not-
“-alone, Leo,” Mikey whispers, arms tight around Leo’s back. His voice is hoarse, but firm. “You got us. It’s gonna be okay, you got us. We got you.”
Leo comes back from the suffocating depths, where his worst fears and memories hold him in night terrors and flashbacks, and takes in a shuddering breath. His face is wet, and everything hurts, but Mikey is here. He’s not alone.
A second set, stronger and broader, wrap around them both from the side. Raph’s forehead is laid on Leo’s shoulder, hiding the struggle Raph hates to show, but comforting. Saying he’s here, too, for Leo. On the opposite side, the way only lanky arms can, Donnie encircles all three of them in his grasp. Adding his tireless support, the way he always gives it whenever one of them is in need. Leo is wrapped up in a group hug and he’s no longer alone.
He was never alone. He’ll never be alone.
Not so long as he has his brothers.
Leo sobs hoarsely, but he doesn’t fall any further. He’s drawn up and away, kept from the ocean of despair by three pairs of arms that would never leave him there. Supporting and grounding, keeping him present and together. Holding onto him until he can hold himself up again.
And they need him, too. They’re broken, but they’re together. Their father is gone but they’re all still here, the four of them. Like it’s always been.
Leo raises his hands, gripping Donnie and Raph and Mikey’s arms, and holds onto them just as tightly.
Leo can’t be their Sensei, no matter what their father wanted, but he. He can be this. He can be their brother.
And maybe that’s enough.
 --/--
 They move forwards. They move on. They mend the hole that Splinter left, but they don’t close it over. It’s there, and always will be, but it fades to an old scar like the many others covering their bodies. It becomes bearable.
Leo leans on his brothers until he can stand again, and then they walk forwards together. Supporting and being supported.
Their father is gone, but like they always have, right from the start.
They have each other. They have their brothers.
For Leo, that will always be enough.
Commission info & Kofi link.
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Brought To Justice: Chapter 4
Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.
Ao3 link. Steve Rogers/Loki. Slowburn. 25k. Rated M. WIP.
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June 3rd, 2012
“C’mere,” Tony murmurs, and Pepper leans in, smiling as she leans her hands against the table between them, her breath warm and scented with coffee where she puts her mouth over his. Pepper kisses him, and Tony tastes the caramel shot she took in her drink, cupping her cheek and smiling at her with all the warmth in the world. It’s a great morning, the sun shining brightly in through the window, and in front of him Tony has a spread of folders, all focused on the Avengers Initiative.
SHIELD has been into him today, with Fury talking to him about taking over the Initiative from SHIELD… Fury had been more than reluctant to let Tony just take up the Initiative for the team, but with Steve pushing it through, it’s down to him, now.
And Coulson…
He’d sent flowers to the cellist, offered to fly her in, but she’d said no. Poor girl.
“How’s business?” Tony asks, his hands on Pepper’s hips, and she smiles at him, her lips plump and glossy. She’s using some kind of new stuff – gloss, lipstick, Tony doesn’t know – and it makes her even more beautiful than usual.
“How’s heroism?” she replies, and Tony groans, gesturing to the folders.
“It’s a lot like business.” Pepper laughs, patting his cheek and taking up her own spread of folders, her coffee in her hand. “You got meetings?”
“Until four. How about you?”
“I’m driving out to X-Mansion today, probably gonna take the wunderkind with me. And I think Clint and Nat are coming, too,” Tony murmurs, running his palm over his beard as he thinks about it. Pepper frowns, tilting her head slightly.
“Clint and Nat? Why?”
“I think ‘cause there’s space in the car,” Tony says, and Pepper lets out a short, huffed laugh before he continues, “I dunno. They’re kinda up in the air at the moment – they don’t want to take their normal jobs ‘cause they’re both into the routine of the Avengers thing, I think. Neither of ‘em has ever been part of a team like this one before, and they’re excited to get into it.”
“That’s good,” Pepper says, and Tony nods his head, slowly.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it is. I’m just worried about two hours in a car with Loki on one side and them on the other.”
“He’s not going to say anything,” Pepper murmurs, and Tony sighs.
“It’s the silence I’m dreading.” Pepper pats his shoulder, leans and presses a kiss to his head, and then she walks away, running to catch her eight o’clock. Tony sighs, pushing his meeting notes together, and he glances at his phone.
Henry McCoy, 07:25 Mr Stark, you’re new to running a heroes team. Please, don’t worry about the meeting at all – we’ll talk you through it and get you up to speed, and we even have some resources from older iterations of the Avengers. None of us is expecting you to have the whole world planned to the letter.
They’re not expecting to see Loki exactly either, Tony thinks, but hey. Coming from a guy who’s worked on and off with Magneto, Loki almost seems like a walk in the park.
-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----
“So you can speak any language, pretty much ever, and read any language, but you can’t sign?” Barton demands, and Loki stares at him from the other side of the limousine. Why, precisely, Stark insisted on this method of travel, Loki is uncertain – it strikes him as mildly obscene, particularly when they’re going to a boarding school of all places, but then, Loki doubts Stark has spent much time in a normal automobile.
“Why would I be able to speak any Midgardian sign languages?” Loki asks, arching his eyebrows. “It’s called the Allspeak, Mr Barton, not the Allsign.” All of them are rather dressed up for this occasion: Romanov wears a black dress that clings to the lines of her waist and chest, accentuating an easy hourglass figure; Stark wears a pressed suit, and Barton wears a purple shirt that has a collar and everything. Loki hadn’t known the man had it in him. Loki himself wears a lilac shirt tucked into white trousers, a floral tie around his neck, and Stark had groaned when he had seen the outfit, but then complimented Loki thrice, so he would guess it’s fine enough.
“Yeah, but if it’s magic—”
“What about languages with clicks and whistles?” Romanov breaks in.
“They translate just fine. Some words don’t, of course – words for specific fruits or vegetables, materials, et cetera. But the Allspeak… It translates the meaning more so than it rewrites the words as I’m hearing them. When I hear any of you speak, I hear English, but the meaning is translated in my own head, I suppose. Which means I can still be aware of connotations, names, et cetera – it’s a sort of telepathic magic. If someone talks about, say, finar in the Fon System, even though I’m not familiar with finar itself, I would get the impression of the scent, the sight, of the grain.”
“If that’s the case, then you should be able to understand sign languages just fine,” Romanov says, slowly. “Loads of languages include gestures as part of them, and if it’s a telepathic element, an impression, then sign language should be no different.”
Loki brings his index finger up to his chin, then brings it outward: True.
Barton nearly yells, burying his face in his hands and letting out a garbled sound of frustration, and when Loki grins, he shows all of his teeth, laughing. Romanov is shaking her head, letting out short chuckles, and Loki glances to Stark. Stark is looking between the three of him, his lips quirked into a smile between his obscene patches of sculpted facial hair.
“You spoke ASL this whole time, huh?”
“It’s called the Allspeak,” Loki says, not unreasonably, and Barton groans incoherently in his direction. Loki had been worried the journey would be much more uncomfortable than it is, but Romanov has been making polite, measured conversation with Loki, and it is Barton that has brought the levity in the situation with his humorous over-reactions.
“Why do you lie?” Barton demands. “There’s no reason to! We don’t speak sign language in front of you anyway, so we wouldn’t risk it – there was nothing to gain! You just, you just lied, for no reason!”
“I didn’t lie for no reason,” Loki replies. “I lied so you could enjoy unravelling my deception. Through logic alone.”
“But that’s— Why that? We could just play a game!” Loki clucks his tongue, disapproving, and Barton looks askance to Romanov, now speechless, but Romanov just smiles, shoving the archer in the side.
“I don’t play games.” Loki leans back in his seat, turning to look at Stark once more, and Stark leans in toward him.
“Here,” he says, holding something out, and Loki takes it, staring down at it. It’s a mobile telephone, much like Stark’s own, and Loki stares down at his reflection in the polished, black glass. “So your cell number is on the card stuck to the back, and this is yours now. It’s charged, and I’ll give you the charger when you’re back at the building – it’s a pretty standard smartphone, texting, calls, internet, camera. I think you should start an Instagram or something.”
“Instagram?” Loki repeats, and he frowns, staring at the screen. “Mr Stark, that hardly seems very secretive.”
“Well, we’re ironing out your paperwork now. Soon, SWORD is gonna give you your alien-on-earth papers, and you’re gonna be a real, fake citizen of the US of A. Besides, Loki,” Stark murmurs quietly, “It’ll look better if you’re… You know. Integrating. It’s great to do like, Wikipedia stuff—”
“So many of the articles are so badly written—”
“It’s a community encyclopaedia, your highness, I don’t know what you expect,” Stark says, shaking his hand for Loki to close his mouth, and Loki does, feeling the weight of the phone in his hand. “But you know, even just Facebook, or Twitter… Shit, even if you made some kinda weird blogging site or something.”
“If there’s some sort of injunction,” Loki murmurs, holding the phone in his hand, “You want there to be tangible, documentable proof that I’m accepting my place on Earth.” It makes complete sense to Loki, and yet the social media of Earth… It is not something he is entirely comfortable focusing upon, not something he thinks he would be naturally inclined to. Perhaps merely something private – that is an option, isn’t it?
“Exactly. It’s not an order – me and Steve talked about it, and we’re not gonna like, make you do social media or anything. Hell, Cap won’t even let me give him a phone yet. But you need to make some kinda presence. Loki, there’s a reason we’re taking you with us to the Mansion – people are gonna find out eventually that you’re one of us now, and we can’t really risk trying to keep it a secret.” Loki draws his thumb over the phone’s smooth, cool touch screen, and he looks at the screen that comes up.
“I’m going to have to take this apart,” Loki murmurs. “Make some improvements.”
“I slaved over that phone for you, Loki—”
“Interesting choice of words.” Stark’s eyes widen, his lips parting for a second, and Loki smiles before pointing out, “I did it to the laptop.” Something changes in Stark’s expression, some sort of irritation bubbling to the top – he doesn’t like the implication that he may not be the most competent engineer in the room, Loki thinks, and it might amuse him were it not so patronising.
“You took my laptop apart?” Stark asks, lowly, and Loki raises his eyebrows.
“You said it was my laptop,” he says mildly, and Stark presses his lips together, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning away from him.
“Look, Loki, no offence, but you’re not exactly an engineer. You can’t—” Loki turns away from Stark, looking to Romanov and Barton. He meets Romanov’s gaze, looking into her deep eyes.
“Is this mansplaining?” Loki asks. Beside him, Stark splutters, irritated and indignant, but Romanov just slowly nods her head. The limousine comes to a stop, revealing the open grounds of the manor, and Loki reaches for the door, sliding out. “Read my file, Stark,” Loki advises, and he holds the door open for Barton and Romanov.
It is a beautiful summer’s day, shining down upon the green grasses and the gravel road, and when Loki looks up to the windows of the mansion, he can see that the children who are meant to be in their classes are all pressed up, looking down to see what the visitors might possibly be here for.
When Stark exits the vehicle, many of them get very excited indeed, hopping up and down, and Loki smiles slightly, pushing the limousine closed. There are a group of people gathered before the doors of the house: Charles Xavier, Ororo Munroe, Henry McCoy and Scott Summers. Loki recognizes them all, at a glance.
“Professor Xavier,” Stark says, taking a few steps toward the house’s doors, and Xavier, an older gentleman in a wheelchair, shakes Stark’s hand. Loki has read about him and these marvellous X-Men, of course, and he looks at Xavier where he sits in his wheelchair, looking anything but infirm. His eyes are alight with intelligence, and Loki is almost wary to come forward and shake the man’s hand himself, so he hangs back as Romanov and Barton step up, with Stark introducing them. “What, you shy?”
“No,” Loki says, and he steps forward, coming away from the car and coming closer. As he does, he can see the beast-like blue figure’s yellow eyes widen, see Munroe’s expression turn cold, but Xavier’s remains quietly paternal, a slight smile on his face.
“Loki, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, Professor Xavier,” Loki says politely, putting out his hand to shake: the others make no movement to reach for his hand as they did for the others, but Loki says nothing.
“How are you settling in?” Loki can feel the impact of his telepathic energy against his magic. I wouldn’t advise that, Loki presses onto the air itself, and Xavier’s lips quirk into a deeper smile, his old face a map of wrinkles, showing the years that have passed him by. The depths of Loki’s mind are not easy for telepaths to grasp at, as a rule, so full to the brim are the banks of Loki’s memories, so strongly felt are his emotions, and he feels Xavier draw back.
Wouldn’t you? he replies.
“Quite well, thank you,” Loki says aloud. “Of course, I have a debt to repay.”
“You’re damned right,” says Summers, and Loki looks at him. The sun shines off the plastic-rimmed glasses he wears over his dangerous gaze, as Medusa with her bloodied blindfold, and Loki smiles, wanly, before giving a polite bow.
The others begin to make their way inside, Xavier moving up the ramp at the side of the trio of steps as the others move up into the house, but McCoy remains. He steps forward, and he puts out his right hand to shake: the hand is brightly blue, the palm rubbery and soft, and the back of his hand is thick with fur. Loki takes it, surprised, and shakes it well. McCoy’s hand is warm, surprisingly so, but Loki’s impassive expression as he surveys McCoy’s waistcoat and patterned trousers must unsettle him somewhat.
“What? Never seen a man like me before?” Loki looks at him for a long few moments, then allows the glamour over his skin to fall. Of course, he keeps the eternal masking over the scars on his mouth, his eyes, and around his neck, but he feels the tingle over his flesh as his skin turns as blue as McCoy’s own, showing the rough indentations on his skin, the redness of his eyes.
“I’ve seen something like him,” Loki replies, aware that his Jötunn voice has a breathier, raspier element to it, as the tongue itself is longer than that of the Æsir, and thicker. McCoy’s yellow eyes flit downward, taking Loki in from head to foot, and then he smiles, genuinely. He has sharp teeth, Loki can see, feline in their make-up.
“Welcome,” McCoy murmurs, nodding toward the steps, and Loki falls into step beside him. McCoy does not wear shoes, instead leaving his fur-covered, hand-like feet to tread upon the ground. As feline as McCoy’s face is, his hands and feet resemble – in shape – the chimpanzee, and Loki notes this with curiosity, resisting the natural urge to reach out with his magic and feel for McCoy’s biology. “Stark didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“This is something of a trial run, if my information is correct,” Loki murmurs, walking alongside McCoy into the house. “My… Service to the Avengers is not yet public knowledge.” A few children pass them by, peering up at Loki and McCoy with evident curiosity, but none of them stop to speak, and of course, none of them recognizes Loki.
“The people are going to hate it,” McCoy says outright, turning left and coming down a corridor, and Loki nods his head, slowly. “What was it? Mind control? Debt? Villainy?” Loki inhales, slowly, and then says,
“Desperation.” McCoy hums.
“Yes, that’ll about do it,” he says. The man has a pleasant voice, sounding like a kindly, American academic, and Loki doesn’t say anything when he realises they are going down corridors they oughtn’t – when he realises the others are on the other side of mansion, some way away. McCoy leads him down a set of stairs, then opens the door inward, revealing… Quarters.
Loki glances about the humble living room, and when McCoy gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table, Loki does. There are windows allowing in bright light despite the fact that this level of the mansion is subterranean, and when McCoy holds up a kettle, Loki nods his head to the offer of coffee.
“You know why you’re here?” McCoy asks, lowly, as he presses the mug toward Loki’s hands. He knows, instinctively perhaps, that Loki doesn’t take sugar or milk, or perhaps he simply doesn’t care.
“You don’t want me near the children,” Loki murmurs. “I understand. I didn’t realize Stark hadn’t told you until I exited his ridiculous limousine.” He brings the steaming brew up to his lips, and he feels it settle on his tongue, bitter and dark. It’s a rich blend, Moroccan in its origin, and he lets out a quiet sigh. He doesn’t often drink coffee, unwilling to allow himself the treat every day as many of the Avengers seem to – the caffeine content is simply not something Loki is used to, and he prefers to stay away from even the mildest of chemical imbalances.
(“I didn’t realise you were gonna be so… Fastidious,” Rogers had said, paging through the list Barton had compiled of things Loki refused to eat, and Loki had stood there, embarrassed, until he realised every refusal was being taken into account, and added to a file to keep him from being served that which he wouldn’t eat.
“So you’ve said before,” Loki had replied. He had known not what else to say.)
“You have children?” McCoy asks, and Loki inclines his head. It is strange, to look down at his hands and see that his fingers are blue, his fingernails hard and silver-tipped, circular markings coming down even to his wrists and the backs of his hands.
“I used to,” he says. “You’ve read the mythology, I take it, Doctor McCoy?”
“We read all sorts to the children here,” McCoy answers, finally settling down at the table himself, and he puts a set of biscuits upon the table, but all of them are sugary-sweet, and Loki politely keeps his hands to himself. “I’ve read a few versions of most of the world’s myths at this point.”
“Some of it is more correct, some of it is less so,” Loki says. “Six children. All mine. I wouldn’t hurt them, Doctor McCoy – but then, my assurances don’t mean much.”
“You know the death toll for New York, Loki?” McCoy asks.
“Thousands,” Loki murmurs.
“You feel guilty?” Loki smiles, looking at McCoy and examining him, his head tilting to the side. McCoy is a kindly gentleman, from what Loki has learned in reading about him – kind, and warm, and firm, when needs be.
“The blame is upon me, Doctor McCoy,” Loki says delicately. The coffee is hot in his throat, so strange in this skin he is ill-used to, and he feels it bubbling in his belly, at odds with the natural homeostasis of the Jötunn form. “The deaths that occurred, occurred. The horrors I caused, I have caused. This link with the Avengers… I believe Captain Rogers has called it a rehabilitation. I will do what I can.”
“You think people will forgive you?” McCoy asks.
“No,” Loki replies. “Not unless the peoples of this planet are more foolish than once I thought.” McCoy opens his mouth to go on, but there is a knock at his door, and McCoy moves to open it, standing in the doorway.
“Professor Xavier said to come get you,” says a quiet voice. “And the other guy. Who is he?”
“Thank you, Mr Jenkins,” McCoy replies mildly.
“Yeah but—”
“Goodbye, Harry,” McCoy murmurs, and he turns to look to Loki. “We should—” Loki stands, and the light bleeds from his body all at once, leaving him entirely invisible. “Oh. That is convenient.”
“I do try,” Loki replies, and he sets his mug down on the ground. McCoy touches his shoulder as he comes closer, rather surprising Loki with how comfortable he is navigating invisibility. “You believe in redemption, Doctor McCoy?”
“I’m afraid I do,” he replies quietly, and allows Loki to follow him out into the hallway.
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Tony taps his nail against the desk. He sits with Clint on his right, Natasha to his left: across the table, Scott Summers stares him down. “You wanna tell me where my guy is?”
“Henry has taken him aside,” Xavier says, quietly. “I thought we’d discuss a few things without him in the room. For example – why is he here?”
“He’s one of us now,” Tony says breezily. “What, you got a problem?”
“With someone who killed a thousand people in three days? Yeah,” Munroe says, smacking her palm against the table. “We have a problem.”
“Isn’t your guys’ whole thing about rehabilitating super villains?” Clint asks, arching his eyebrows and looking smoothly between Summers, Munroe and Xavier. “’Cause no offence, I know he doesn’t live here, but Magneto—”
“That’s complicated, and you know it,” Summers says, bitingly. Tony knows without knowing that he says it just to protect Xavier, whose lips are quirked into an infuriatingly knowing smile.
“This is complicated too,” Tony replies. Xavier looks at him for a long few moments, and Tony wonders if this, this is what telepathy feels like, if Xavier is reading his mind right now and it doesn’t feel like anything at all. “He won’t hurt anybody – he can’t. There’s, uh, a Harry Potter life debt situation kinda going on. Magic, shmagic, whatever. But Loki isn’t why we’re here: we’re here to talk about sharing resources, and mobilising teams. And I want him here, at this table, or we’re leaving right now.”
“Have one of the students collect Hank, Scott,” Xavier says mildly. “He’s in his quarters.”
“You can send a message, Prof, just—”
“Scott,” Xavier says delicately, and Summers turns on his heel, stalking from the room and out into the corridor, the door slamming behind him. Xavier wheels over to the table, leaning back in his chair to look at Tony from across the table, and he says, “We’re more than willing to share resources with you. It’s useful for there to be a network between teams. Is this new initiative still headed by SHIELD?” Tony frowns, looking between Xavier and Munroe, but both of their expressions are completely impassive, and he slowly shakes his head.
“No,” Tony says. “No, they’re not. The initiative is under my management now, and Captain Rogers is gonna lead the team in the field.” Xavier and Munroe share a small glance, and then Xavier nods, setting out a few files upon the table.
“Very well,” he says. “Let us negotiate, then.” Tony frowns, trying to put the SHIELD thing into context in his head, but it doesn’t come.
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“Jesus Christ,” Clint says beside him, and Tony turns to look at Clint at first, then follows his gaze. Beside Henry McCoy, there’s a tall man with shining black hair, loosely tied at the nape of his neck, and his skin is soft blue, his eyes thick with a protective, red lens. There are even horns growing from beneath his hair, just beginning, and it isn’t until Tony’s gaze drops lower, taking in the white pants, the tie decorated with flowers, that he realises what he’s looking at – who he’s looking at.
“My apologies,” Loki says, his skin already turning back to pale white as he takes his seat beside Natasha, his hands neatly folded in his lap. “Doctor McCoy and I were bonding over our shared aesthetics.”
“Colour schemes,” Xavier says warmly, seeming full of humour. “What a thing to bond over.”
They return to negotiations, discussions. Loki remains in place, utterly silent, and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the time they’re there.
-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----
“Best that I take on the Jötunn form, whilst I am here,” Loki murmurs in Stark’s ear, and Stark turns to glance at him. Is it fear on his face, Loki wonders? Is it disgust? Throughout the discussions, Loki had remained quiet, and despite Stark’s words – that the word must get out somehow, that Loki’s status cannot remain secret, he feels vulnerable, and uncomfortable, with showing his face about children who might know to be frightened of him. It is weak of him, perhaps. Certainly, it is.
“That— That’s real?” Stark asks.
“That’s what I look like, yes,” Loki murmurs. “For a shapeshifter, Mr Stark, the reality of one’s true form is ever debatable, but that is my base form, if you will. It unnerves you… You thought the Jötnar were as the Æsir and Vanir, outwardly resembling humanity.” Loki’s illusion bleeds away once again, leaving him as what he is, with some small adjustments. “I hate to disappoint you.”
“It’s not that,” Stark murmurs. “It’s not that you look like an alien, just— You said you didn’t know you were a Jotunn, not until a few years ago. So, what, you didn’t know you looked like that?”
“Odin’s magic sealed it from my knowledge,” Loki murmurs. “I knew so much as suspected.” There is disgust on Stark’s face, now, curling his lip and twisting his nose, and he puts his hand on Loki’s shoulder: his hand is warm.
“You take whatever form you want,” he murmurs, tone firm. “And Odin— God, what a fucking monster.” He spits out the words, astounding venom crossing over his lips, and Loki finds himself staring at him for the longest few moments, astonished. Never has someone criticized Odin so freely to him, so easily – and with such language…
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and he follows Stark as they make their way into the main part of the building, taking the seats in the living room. Stark takes a seat in a winged armchair, ever needing to put across control, and Loki settles on the lefthand arm, his back straight, one ankle crossed over the other. Romanov is speaking with two younger mutants Loki recognizes not – an extremely tall man, seemingly crafted of steel, and a smaller, dark haired girl that leans against him as they speak – and Barton is speaking in rapid, easy sign with Xavier, who is nodding and speaking occasionally. Even Stark looks at home in the strange room, lazily sending a few texts before engaging McCoy in conversation, and Loki stands, quietly excusing himself before moving outside.
His hands in his pockets, Loki takes a slow, easy walk down the path of the Westchester grounds, reaching up and drawing the ribbon out of his hair, so that it settles loosely on his shoulders, brushing against his upper arms.
(“You don’t braid it,” Rogers had said. “Isn’t that a big thing, for vikings?” Loki had considered correcting him, but Rogers had a little smirk on his face, and it was plain he was jesting.
“I never liked braiding my hair,” Loki had replied. “The Jötnar don’t, you know. It is considered bad for the growth and shine of one’s hair to tie it up in knots, and they hate the idea of looking like the Æsir in any way.”
“Huh,” Rogers had murmured, and then nodded his head.)
Loki rolls the shirt sleeves up to his elbow, feeling the heat of the waning sun on his skin. They had arrived some time past one o’clock, and it is now late in the day – the traffic had been rather bad today, and he supposes it will be somewhat better on the way back… He hopes, at least. He walks at least a mile over the lightly sloping fields of green, green grass, and it feels… Freeing.
When he reaches the treeline, Loki stops, glancing over the grounds the X-Mansion is settled on, farther up the hill. Paths run off in each direction, and Loki knows there are miles upon miles of grounds for the young children to play on, and for X-Men to train upon, but he hardly wishes to explore. He had merely wished to be outside.
There is something cathartic about being out in the dying sun, feeling the evening breeze upon his skin: Loki smells summer blooms and wild fruits on the air, and the scent of freshly mowed grass is thick in his nose and upon his tongue. Being here, amongst nature, is so much more comfortable than the bustling cities of New York, and for a second – a bare second, that is all he will allow himself – Loki  lets himself imagine he is back in Asgard, out at the edge of the great wood in which he and Thor had played as children.
There is a vibration in his pocket, and Loki removes the phone.
UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:16 its tony. u okay?
LOKI, 19:16 Yes. I am out upon the grounds – my apologies, I merely needed the air.
UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:18 dw abt it. We r heading out in like, t-10
LOKI, 19:18 Very well. I’ll begin my return.
Out here, in Westchester County, there is hardly any worry about being seen, and so to speed his promenade he takes upon the air, his footsteps touching upon it as easily as they might ground or stair. Loki has Skywalked since he was a child, and it is his most basic, intrinsic magic, even before his illusions and his shapeshifting – strange, that this should equally be the magic he finds the most exciting.
He climbs the invisible stairway up into the air, until he is surveying the X-Mansion’s sprawling grounds from far above, taking the bird’s eye view. The grounds are beautiful, and Loki even sees a lake on the other side—
(“Skywalking, huh? What’s that?”
“Like flight, but more controlled. I walk upon the air, as it were.”
“Huh.” Rogers had murmured, and made a note on the page.)
He begins his descent, and when he comes into sight of the entrance hall, everyone is gathered on the steps once more.
“You can fly?” Summers barks out.
“As well as you can see, I should wager,” Loki replies. “I might not see your eyes, Mr Summers, but that does not mean I disbelieve their existence.”
“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Summers,” Loki says, taking Summers by the left shoulder and forcing his hand into his, shaking it firmly. Summers seems surprised at having someone come so easily into his space, leaning back, but loosely shaking Loki’s hand nonetheless. Munroe is watching him, her dark eyes focused on him, and Loki gives a low and princely bow, his posture perfect – isn’t it always? To think, that there is so much royalty to be found in this strange city, and yet—
Perhaps she embraces her blood. Perhaps not. Who is to say?
“A pleasure to meet you, your highness,” he murmurs, and Munroe’s lip twitches before she offers him her hand. He takes it, feeling the warmth of it, and most of all, feeling the storm within her – her energy is not dissimilar to Thor’s, and for a second, Loki’s very heart leaps in his chest.
“Good to meet you too,” Munroe murmurs. “You going to be good?”
“I’m going to try,” Loki says.
“Tony tells me you’re going to make a Facebook,” McCoy murmurs, taking Loki’s hand in each of his own, and he says, “You should add me.”
“Should I?” Loki asks, surprised by how so insignificant a gesture should mean to him, and he inclines his head. “I will, Doctor McCoy.”
“Call me Hank.”
“Henry,” Loki assents, and McCoy’s laugh is low and resonant. His hands are so warm on Loki’s own, and yet it is nothing to the genuine warmth the other man radiates, wave by wave, easily. “Thank you,” he says, surprised by the genuine feeling in his own words, and Henry pats him on the shoulder before turning and making his way into the house.
We should have a talk, says a voice at the edge of Loki’s mind, and he turns to Xavier, meeting his gaze. You sure you don’t wish to stay the night?
Is that a proposition? Loki replies, and he moves, snakelike, toward Xavier’s chair, leaning and putting one hand over each of Xavier’s, his head tilting.
“Hey!” Summers says, but Xavier laughs, and he reaches up, patting Loki’s cheek. Henry is already drawing Summers away, clucking his tongue and shaking his head: for an old man, growing infirm in his age, Xavier doesn’t seem upset by Loki’s mockery.
“You know very well what it was,” Xavier replies, and Loki chuckles himself, leaning back and standing properly before Xavier.
“I do,” Loki says. “You are hungry for knowledge, Professor, that you do not have. You have touched the minds of ancients and immortals alike, and yet you crave more. Easily might I comprehend a feeling I have long-since nursed within me. You know as well as I do what would happen if I gave you what you wanted – your mind would turn to slurry, and bleed from those ears as liquid.”
We should have a talk regardless, Xavier says, his lips smiling, and unmoving. You’ll give Henry your phone number? Loki nods his head, slowly, and he reaches out, taking Xavier’s hand once more.
You and Henry share a fatal flaw, Loki thinks, even as he turns away from Xavier and holds the door open for Barton, Romanov and Stark, allowing each of them to get in before himself. Xavier’s gaze remains on Loki, his intelligent eyes unblinking.
Oh?
You know the truth, and yet you choose to hope instead. Why is that? Loki slips into the limousine, closing the door shut behind him, and yet he feels Xavier’s presence there beside him nonetheless, feels his energy, hears his voice.
Because we’re human, Loki. Will you join us in that, I wonder? Loki closes off his mind, the energy at the edge of it clouding over, and he looks out of the frosted glass of the window as the Westchester countryside passes them by.
“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, looking at Stark, and Stark nods his head.
“Did you?” The question confuses him, annoys him, and so he ignores it. Stark lets him.
-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----
“May I?”
The words play in Steve’s head like a litany, and he feels the heat in his arms as he brings himself down to the ground again and again, pushing up and away from it. Jesus Christ, it’s been two fucking months of being alive again, and his girl is dying in a hospital bed, stuck with IVs, dying of old age; all of Steve’s friends are dead, and the city itself is different around him, and he says May I?
He’s in the same boat as you, you know, says a low voice in the back of his head, a voice of reason: it sounds like Abraham Erskine, accent and everything, and Steve feels a burning nausea settle in the belly. No? You don’t think so? Alone in a foreign city, deaths behind him, regrets?
Our situations aren’t the same.
No, they aren’t. You can choose to leave: he can’t. Steve jumps up from the ground, and he begins to rail punches down on the steel-reinforced punching bag Nick Fury had sent over: he’s replaced the chain twice today already, and soon, he’ll need to replace it again. Steve punches it again and again and again, feeling the sick burn in his knuckles, feeling the bile in the back of his throat.
Loki’s lips, freezing cold against Steve’s own, and Steve remembering the cold again, the ice! He punches the bag so hard that the casement bursts, and bent steel cuts the back of his fingers to the bone, making him hiss out a sound and come away from the punching bag, reaching for some kitchen towel to stem the bleeding.
He shakes his head, walking up the stairs toward the main halls, and it’s just as Tony’s returning from Westchester.
“What’d you do to your hand?” Tony asks, and Steve just groans, shaking his head.
“Got a bit aggressive with that punching bag. Punched straight through the steel. Loki!” he calls down the hall, gripping his torn fingers a little tighter and ignoring the pain. “How were the X-Men?”
“They were great,” Tony admits, shrugging his shoulders. “A little, uh, apprehensive about him at first, but— You haven’t met Henry McCoy, but the guy’s got a soft spot for people like Loki. And Xavier…”
“I know Xavier,” Steve says lowly, and he turns to Loki, who is looking at him with uncertainty on his marble features. “Can you heal this?” Loki looks down at Steve’s hand, and for a second Steve thinks he’s going to try to refuse, say something like I can, and try to walk away, but he takes Steve’s hand in his palm, magic tingling over his flesh and repairing the cuts.
“You should let me make a punching bag,” Loki says softly. “One you can use – one I could use. It would take me some time, but I—”
“Do it,” Steve says, nodding his head. “That everything?” A shadow passes over Loki’s face. Turning on his heel, he walks away without another word, and Steve watches him go, his lips pressed together. Tony is staring at him like he just kicked a damn puppy, and Steve says, “What?”
“Steve,” Tony says, “You can’t just do that. You didn’t even thank the guy.”
“I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” Steve says, crumpling up the towel and throwing it into the trashcan at the side of the kitchen. “Tell me about the meeting.” Tony seems hesitant, as if he wants to chew Steve out for not wanting Loki near him right now, but he backs down, and he talks shop.
It’s great stuff, all of it, even if Steve doesn’t trust Charles Xavier, but Tony seems unwilling to ask about that either, and Steve wonders if he’s really that much more perceptive than his father, or if he trusts Steve that little. They talk for an hour or so, and Steve knows there’s a lot more to go over, but for now…
The X-Men are gonna give them resources, government contacts, links to other superhero teams, even trade-offs when teams don’t work out. It’s all good, and yet… It doesn’t feel like enough. As Steve walks away, he thinks about the punching bag downstairs, thinks of the blood on the leather.
He’s knocking on Loki’s door before he knows it, and the door opens. Loki looks at him, his expression completely impassive, expectantly. After a long pause, he says, “No orders, Captain?”
“What happened to Steve?” he asks, and Loki moves to shut the door in his face, but Steve’s hand catches it before he can close it shut. “Can I come in?”
“I don’t know,” Loki says archly. “It’s hardly my decision, is it? Mr Stark owns what paltry possessions I might foolishly lay claim to, and you possess me. Why should you ask me such a question as can you when you know that you can?” Loki walks away from Steve, moving into his rooms, and Steve shuts the door behind him as he follows Loki in.
“That’s what it was about, huh?” Steve asks, “What, you try to mount a seduction so that I’ll order you around less? That what you want?”
“No,” Loki says. He says it emphatically, singularly, and says nothing else.
“Did you think I wanted it? Was your magic trying to get you to anticipate some—”
“No.” Loki is holding his hands in front of him, and his thumb and forefinger rub into the muscle packed onto his slim hands, the anxious movement serving to send blood flush into the pale skin.
“Did—”
“Please,” Loki says. “Stop it. I was wrong to make such an advance: you soundly rejected it. Let us move on.” He looks like an animal, trapped in a cage, and Steve takes a slow, careful step forward: Loki steps away from him. Steve takes another step forward, and another, until Loki is backed right against the fake window of his bedroom, and he is trying to keep his gaze on the ground, trying to ignore Steve’s stare, until Steve pushes him in the chest and Loki has to look up.
“You can’t do that,” Steve says, very quietly, and then says, “Do you know why? Do you need me to tell you why?” Steve doesn’t wait for Loki to reply, and he says, “Because you can’t really say yes, or no, to me. Because if you don’t want something, you couldn’t say no.”
“So?”
“What the Hell do you mean, so? You want me to make you do things you don’t wanna do?”
“You already do,” Loki says. “What’s the difference?” Steve stares at him, stares at him, and he sees only genuine confusion, bafflement, hurt in Loki’s face, and Christ, that’s just not normal. He turns away, putting his hand on his head, and he swallows the bile that rises all the faster in his throat.
“They’re different, Loki,” Steve murmurs. “Me making you save lives, be an Avenger – that’s for a greater good. I’m not ordering you around because I like it, or because I want it: I’m doing it because it’s what I have to do. “I don’t want to order you to…” he trails off, shaking his head.
“I believe the point is that you’re not ordering me,” Loki murmurs. “Others in your position would jump at the chance to—”
“Yeah, well others aren’t in my position,” Steve snaps, and Loki stares at him. His fingernails are digging the meat of his hand, now, so deeply they leave crescent marks in the skin, and Steve reaches out to pull his hands apart before he can draw blood. Loki lets him, his wrists limp in Steve’s hands. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Steve murmurs. “Don’t do that, Loki.”
“Captain Rogers—”
“Loki,” Steve interrupts him, emphatically. “You can call me Steve, if you want.” Loki’s Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.
“Captain Rogers,” Loki continues in the smallest of voices. “They’re all just so young. But you—”
“What?” Loki’s lips part, his eyes shining for the barest second, and then the illusion comes right back, and Loki pulls his arms protectively over his chest. “What?”
“I don’t belong here,” Loki murmurs. “Much as you are unwilling to admit it, Captain Rogers, nor do you. They waited until they needed you, and they broke you out of that ice, to use you as a tool – as much as me.” Steve sets his jaw, staring down at Loki. It’s surprisingly perceptive, some of the shit he says, and especially given that it’s coming out now, when Steve knows he isn’t saying it to manipulate him. “How does it feel?”
“Shitty,” Steve replies. “How about yourself?”
“Much the same.”
“I can walk away, Loki,” Steve murmurs. “You can’t.” Loki laughs, shaking his head.
“Of course you can’t. Just because there isn’t magic binding you doesn’t mean you truly have a choice. You are in the debt of a Cold War operative who has yet to realise his war is over; you are in the lap of a new century. You are a soldier for a country that no longer exists, not as it once did. If you think you have any more choice than I do, you are a fool as much as you are a patriot.” It should piss Steve off, to hear Loki talk like this, to hear him take him to pieces just to lay him out with labels on the page, like a diagram in Loki’s stupid notebook, and yet… “And even if you had a choice before, you don’t any more. Here I am: your final shackle.” Loki reaches up, and his hand touches Steve’s cheek. His hand is freezing cold, as if a statue has touched him, but before Steve can say anything, Loki draws his hand away, and Steve’s face is cool on one side, flushed with heat on the other.
“It’s different, Loki,” he repeats.
“I believe you,” Loki says, and he begins to undo his tie. “Good night— Steven.”
“Nobody calls me that.”
“I do,” Loki replies evenly, and Steve stares at him for a second, then smiles, grimly. “Mr Stark says I’ll get my papers this week.”
“So?”
“I don’t know what name to write on the form.”
“Loki?”
“They want a surname. I have two to choose from: Odinson, Laufeyson. Which brush do I tar myself with?” Steve frowns, pressing his lips together, then takes a few steps back, moving toward the door.
“Pick something new. It’s your name, after all.”
“Really? I believe someone informed me my name belonged to him.” He’s asking me permission, Steve realizes, all at once, and he feels guilt churn in his chest – hasn’t he got enough guilt to deal with? Does he really need more?
“Sounds like he was just pissed he’d been backed into a corner,” Steve replies. “Real dick, that guy.”
“Oh, I agree,” Loki says, carefully undoing the cuffs of his shirt. “Good night, Steven.”
“Good night, Loki,” Steve replies, and he pulls the door shut behind him – and promptly presses his face against the cool wood, smelling the varnish, smelling the new paint, now dried against the door. He takes out the phone he’d taken from Pepper that morning, and he types in a text.
Steve Rogers, 21:43 You wanna go for a drink?
Sam, 21:43 Thought you’d never ask.
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ten/rose. adult this ch. my gift to you guys after taking so long to update last time! unbeta’d so go easy on me. only 4 chapters left - ahhh!!! summary: as the doctor and rose traverse time and space looking for adventure, they slowly fall victim to a mysterious energy that can manipulate their emotions. though confused and unnerved by the cerebral affliction, neither of them understands its cause, or realizes that it could jeopardize their friendship. what will it take for them to discover the truth? this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3
By the fourth night of their stay in 2012 London, the Doctor has truly run out of TARDIS maintenance to keep himself busy. Until they’re actively travelling again, there simply aren’t many means of wearing down any of her systems. She’s a bit low on oil, but if her engines aren’t turning over, she won’t run dry anytime soon.
So, on their fifth morning of the games, the Doctor finds himself leaning back against a pillow he’s propped against the headboard of his bed, poring over a thick volume of computer engineering. Since he still has so much time to kill while Rose sleeps every night, he’s considering making a few upgrades to the console room’s user interfaces. In the wee hours of the night, he’d finally decided to start brushing up. But despite this being the most advanced text on the subject that the library has stocked, he hasn’t yet come across anything he’s not familiar with.
He’s just about to close it and trek back to the library to find something more intellectually stimulating when Rose begins to stir next to him.
He looks down at her, smiling when he sees her eyes are finally open.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs.
“Mornin’,” she grumbles back, thick with sleep.
He continues scanning through his book, giving her the time he knows she needs to stretch and toss and groan while she wakes properly.
“What new events are today?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Let’s see...” he reaches for the pamphlet on his nightstand, unfolding it over his book. “Canoeing, sailing, water polo, annnd.... field hockey.”
Rose makes a face.
“Bored of the games already?” he asks, surprised.
“I dunno... how would you feel about just... stayin’ in instead?”
He crosses his arms on his chest, contemplating that for a moment. They’d agreed to stay put for a while, and he still has no intention of trying to talk her out of that, but... if they don’t even leave the TARDIS, he fails to see how boredom won’t set in. He’s already a bit bored right now, and the day has hardly begun.
Still, he doesn’t want Rose to know any of that. After what she’s been through, she deserves to get her way for a while, whatever it may be.
“Sure.” He shrugs. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, good,” she breathes, stretching out beneath the covers again.
“What do you want to do, then?”
She glances up at him, letting her eyes linger on his bare chest.
“Don’t move,” she says, sliding out of the covers and running into the loo.
The Doctor sighs.
Well, all right.
Humans always do need a frustrating amount of time in the bathroom. He should expect that by now.
He finally comes to a chapter about touchscreens, and is a bit intrigued. He’s never tried to install one himself before...
Before he can get a chance to read properly into it, Rose emerges from the loo, and climbs up onto the bed with purpose. Without explanation, she lifts the book out of his hands, closes it and sets it down on her side of the bed. He’s about to ask what’s so urgent that she felt the need to do that, when she takes the book’s place on his lap, her legs straddling his waist.
Oh.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brings her mouth down to his. It is not the lazy morning sort of kiss he might have expected, if he’d been giving any warning as to her intentions. Her lips are gentle as ever but demanding, moving against his almost too fast for him to keep up. Using much of her body weight, she crushes him back into his pillow, subtly rolling her hips against his as she does. Her tongue swipes over his bottom lip as she nibbles it between her teeth, and ohh... that’s minty. So that’s why she’d gone to the loo. Her hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging impatiently, and he realizes she is not attempting even a smidge of subtlety this morning. The passion in her kiss, the sensual determination of her whole body... it’s like they haven’t shagged in a month.
It’s true they had skipped their usual late night romp last night, got home too late and spent too long after that binge-watching FRIENDS. It’s one of few sitcoms they both enjoy; the Doctor has always felt it has a sort of universal appeal (no pun intended).
But it seems to have caught up with Rose now. Asking his silent permission, she quietly opens their link on her own. As is usually the case, feeling for himself just how randy she is speeds up his physiological response to an extreme degree. Her intense desire bursts through the dams his mind, flowing hotly through his veins, carrying arousal wherever it’s needed. He’s swollen and throbbing beneath his blanket in a short matter of seconds.
Feeling him hard beneath her, her kisses become rougher, to the point that she accidentally knocks his glasses askew as she shifts her hands from his hair to his face.
His hands closing over hers, he gently pulls them away and separates their mouths. She’s immediately frustrated that he’s forced them to part, so he gets right to the point, moving to take the glasses off.
To his surprise, Rose’s hand shoots up to stop him. “Leave ‘em on,” she pleads.
The Doctor’s eyes widen. “Yeah?” he asks.
She barely has time to mumble an affirmative before she crushes her lips to his once more.
They manage to part for long enough for Rose to lift off her shirt, and when she rocks against him again, it’s to slowly rub her chest against his, stimulating herself. Pleasure rockets through their link with every rise and fall of her body, and soon even the Doctor is losing patience.
Sensing he’s finally caught up to her, she briefly dismounts him to wrestle off her knickers, and he does the same, kicking off his blanket and wriggling out of his boxers.
Rose doesn’t waste any more time, climbing back onto his lap and sinking down onto his length in one fluid motion. His fingernails dig into her hips as she slowly settles onto him, and he groans out her name against her shoulder when he’s fully sheathed inside her heat.
Her thrusts are much quicker than his are when he’s on top, but more graceful. There’s a curve and rhythm to every move she makes that his long and angular body can’t emulate. It’s too much for him to watch, so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on what she’s feeling. The desperation, the power, the satisfaction. Her gaze is fixed on him, his face contorting, the condensation on his glasses.
As soon as she’s found the rhythm and angle she likes, she’s gasping with every thrust. Barely thinking of anything but racing to the finish, her mind empty of everything except the way he’s filling her on each quick fall of her hips.
Though he has two sets of nerve endings, it’s beginning to remind him of when they made love before they fully united mentally. He never wanted to go back to those days, now that they have this connection. What she’s doing feels wonderful, and in all likelihood she’s going to drag him over the edge with her momentarily. But so much sensory overload without enough mental stimulation is beginning to squash his own physiology’s response. Basically all the pleasure saturating their link is now coming from Rose.
Resigned, he tries to focus on what she’s feeling, to spur her to her climax even faster, hoping she’ll let him take the lead next time.
But Rose detects his discomfort immediately.
Her hips completely still.
“Doctor, I’m sorry, I got...” she pants, breathless. “Caught up. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Rose.” He shakes his head. He rubs his hands on her back as he sends her a rush of reassurance, emphasising his desire to please her however he can. “I want you to finish. I like making you feel good.”
“I like making you feel good,” she counters.
“Trust me, Rose, it feels very good.”
“But you want more, up here.” She lightly strokes his temple.
He doesn’t answer out loud, but knows she’s extracting the affirmative from his mind.
Without warning, she starts moving again, much slower than before, holding on to his shoulders for support.
Know how many times… I thought about doing this?
The Doctor gasps as her memories suddenly flood through him.
He watches himself through Rose’s eyes, sitting on the jumpseat fiddling with a small TARDIS part. Tinkering with that king’s watch in the cupboard they were crammed in together. Reading ancient books in that Scottish castle’s library, trying to figure out how to defeat the lupine wavelength haemovariform. In every instance, he had these glasses on while he worked and, lives in danger or not, it never failed to made Rose want to crawl onto his lap and shag him senseless. Each image kindles a potent flare of arousal from a past Rose that sizzles through their link. Understanding her desperation, that it’s fulfilling a longstanding fantasy, makes it so much sweeter, so much more immersive for him. And he is endlessly happy to be able to help her fulfil it.
Suddenly, he’s just as desperate to finish as she is, and it pushes Rose over the edge.
She comes hard and fast, smearing an unintentional kiss onto his cheek with a cry of his name. He goes right with her, helping her with the last few weak, shaky thrusts as he releases inside her, groaning low next to her ear.
Even when he opens his eyes, he can hardly see anymore – his glasses are completely fogged up. He takes them off, rubbing sweat from where they were perched on his nose and beneath his eyes. They smile at one another before sharing a slow, messy kiss.
“That was…” He trails off, unable to locate the right words. He brings his mouth back to hers instead, a messy kiss that they’re both too breathless to make last. “You should play out another one of your fantasies sometime.”
“What makes you think I’ve got any more?”
“Easy way to find out.”
She giggles as she rolls off of him.
“So what else is on the agenda today then, Miss Tyler?” he asks when they’ve had a few minutes to clean up and collect themselves.
“I’m up for more telepathy practice,” she suggests.
“Yeah? At this rate it won’t be long before you’ve mastered the basics.”
“Pfft.”
“I’m serious. You’re not picking it up like a normal telepath. You’ve just got this… innate knack for it like I’ve never seen. Your defences are stronger every day.”
She tries to hold back a smile. “Still, there must be something we haven’t done?”
“Hmm.”
When he spends too long mulling it over, Rose breaks the silence and volunteers an idea of her own.
“Could you show me something from your past?”
It’s not exactly what he expected to hear. But she has shown him a bit from her past already, and he does have eight other lives she knows nothing about.
“I suppose that’s fair.”
He sits up, rubbing his chin, quietly browsing through a millennium of memories to try to find something to show her that she’d find remotely interesting.
“What is it?” she asks, sounding worried.
“Just thinking.”
“’Bout what to show me?”
“Mmm.” He nods.
“I didn’t mean for it to be a stressful thing. Just curious, y’know?”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t even have to be a memory really. A place, a person. An old face.”
He tilts his head to the side, pondering that. After a while, he nods.
“Okay.” A pause. “I could show you my home? If you want.”
“I’d like that!” she exclaims, sitting up next to him. But then her face falls. “As long as it’s not, I mean, if it won’t be too hard for you or anything?”
The Doctor takes a few minutes to consider that possibility. To determine whether he’s prepared to show this to Rose. He doesn’t let himself think about his home planet often, and he’s never voluntarily visited it in his memories since the Time War. To the best of his ability, he’d severed those neural connections in his previous incarnation, trying to protect himself from the pain. But Rose has a knack for making troubling, painful things completely tolerable. He’s certain having her there will brighten his perspective. Perhaps he can even find some degree of closure that he never got.
“You’ll be there. I’ll be all right.”
He decides to take them to one of many secluded homes he’d lived in earlier in his life: a cosy town in the mountains where he’d lived while he was in the Gallifreyan equivalent of university.
Like he’d done for Rose’s garden, he makes sure to clear any existing people from the scene before they arrive. Not just because he can’t bear the thought of running into someone he knows, but because like he’s told Rose, people are distracting.
Much to the Doctor’s relief, the scenery taking shape around them doesn’t fill him with dread, or trigger traumatic memories.
In his waking nightmares, smoke and Daleks filled the sky, lethal lasers and cries of death filled his ears. But the skies here are clear, the only sounds those of nature. It’s the way the planet was before the Time War began, the way it should be: perfectly preserved in serenity deep in his memories.
They’ve arrived on the edge of the little town, dozens of quaint wooden buildings tucked in between a forest of silver trees, the grasses and soil beneath it all a dark rust colour. Looking up, the higher elevations of the mountain range are blanketed with snow. Based on the flowers peppering the ground and the trees, it’s the middle of spring, but the Doctor knows the peaks never warm enough in the summer to completely melt the winter frost, so the caps stay white year-round.
A light breeze whispers through his hair, and in the distance, he can just hear the steady trickle of the waterfall he spent so many afternoons studying beside. The scents of schlenk blossoms and sarlains and arid soil fill his nose with every breath. Gazing down the slopes into the valley far below, miles of red desert stretches all the way to the horizon, save for a narrow patch of lush vegetation following the path of the river Lethe.
He’d forgotten how much drier Gallifrey is than Earth, or most life-sustaining planets, for that matter. There’s not a single cloud in the dim orange sky, a clear view of the giant red sun and two small grey moons. As though on cue, a falling star shoots through the sky, a bright white speck barely visible against the rusty backdrop. Though he’s seen a million of them, he follows it until it’s out of sight, strangely mesmerised by it.
This is how he wants to remember Gallifrey – how it deserves to be remembered – a masterpiece of cosmic creation, its residents peaceful, its ecosystems undisturbed by battle.
“’S beautiful,” whispers Rose from beside him, squeezing his hand.
It pulls him out of his trance.
“It is, isn’t it?” he replies.
He tugs her hand and leads her into the rows of homes and shops.
“Are all the trees silver like this?” she asks.
“Not all of them. But a lot of them, yeah.”
“And the grass, it’s always red?”
“There are some species of green grasses, but yeah, most are reddish.”
“What about the sky, is it sunset or is it always orange like that?”
“Only at night.”
“It’s night!?” she exclaims, turning back to stare at the red sun in the sky. “But the sun’s out.”
“Gallifrey is in a binary star system. At night, the red star makes the sky appear orange, but during the day, the other sun takes its place, and the sky turns blue, a lot like Earth’s.”
“So it never gets dark?”
“Not as dark as it does on Earth, no. But it’s also not all that bright at night, as you can see.”
It is reminiscent of a sunset, the reduced intensity of the red sun. It’s dim enough that he can stare at it without hurting his eyes, and the light it emits is almost soft, like the orange glow of candlelight. Having lived here for centuries before taking off to explore the universe, something deep in his biology is still tuned to this solar system. The colour is starting to make him feel sleepy, even now.  
“Here, I’ll show you the daytime,” he suggests to Rose, not wanting to get drowsy when they’ve just arrived.
With a few moments of concentration, he fast forwards time to the stars’ shift change, speeding up time so they can watch the sky slowly lighten from orange to blue, passing through every hue in between. In only a few seconds, the small yellow sun has replaced the large red one, shining brightly in a blue sky. Birds tweet happy waking songs from the trees.
“Woah,” murmurs Rose, staring up at the sky, then scanning their surroundings again.
Everything around them is illuminated differently in the daylight. The metallic leaves on the trees glisten, their branches resembling white hot flames as they sway in the wind. The dull reds of the landscape have become bright and vivid.
“This is where I lived, when I was in school,” he gestures to a cabin at the edge of the street they’re on. “I was so young back then...”
“It’s so quaint...” she trails off, stepping closer to admire the structure. “Can’t imagine you bein’ domestic, though.”
“I wasn’t home a lot.” He shrugs.
A tafelshrew hops past a few feet away, interrupting him.
“There are rabbits!?” Rose says, sounding excited at the prospect.
“Not rabbits, exactly. But there’s definitely a resemblance, isn’t there?”
“It’s even got the fluffy round tail!” She points at it excitedly.
The rodent has stopped at the edge of the forest, rising on its hind legs as it sniffs for predators, its nose twitching up and down much like an Earth rabbit. Aside from the speckled rust-and-salmon colour scheme of its fur and tail, and the triangular shape of its ears, it really does resemble one.
Before they can admire it much longer, it bounds away, disappearing between the trees.
“Aw,” Rose laments.
“C’mon,” the Doctor says, tugging Rose’s hand and leading her in the same path the tafelshrew had taken.
“Is that a waterfall?” Rose asks, when her less acute human ears finally detect the sound they’re heading for.
“One of the only ones on the planet,” he affirms. “The river we saw, down in the valley, is fed by the snowpack from these mountains. So there’s a handful of waterfalls along the slopes, but the one near this village is one of the best.”
“One of the only ones on the whole planet?” Rose asks.
“Mhm. Gallifrey is rather dry. It snows a bit during winter, but there isn’t much precipitation the rest of the year. Most of the planet is a desert wasteland compared to Earth. The Lethe is the only river.”
“The Lethe?” she repeats, a teasing smile on her lips “Like in hell?”
He chuckles. “Gallifrey came before Greece, I’m afraid.”
“You got lucky then, huh? Livin’ next to it.”
“Suppose I did. I used to come out here to study a lot,” he explains.
With a couple more careful hops over some rocks and bulging tree roots, they reach the clearing in the forest he’s been waiting for.
“I can see why,” Rose breathes, taking in the sight.
It’s calming; not the roaring white rapids of many tall waterfalls on Earth, but clear streams of water gently trickling down over a steep, jagged staircase of stone. White, pink, and yellow flowers poke boldly out of tall red grasses and dark rocks encroaching on both sides of the river.
After a short, careful hike down to the bottom, they sit down on the very same welcoming boulder next to the stream the Doctor often sat eight-odd centuries ago. They both take off their shoes and let their feet swish in the freshly melted stream, leaning back on their hands as they admire the view. Listening to the trickle and churn of the water, the songs of birds and rustle of animals in the foliage nearby.
“’M sorry ‘s all gone,” Rose says, breaking a long silence.
The Doctor takes a deep breath.
“I am too,” he admits.
Rose sits up straighter and holds out her hand for his, an invitation he gladly accepts. The vivid nostalgia that their surroundings conjures does make his hearts ache, but with Rose’s mind wrapped around his, and their fingers intertwined, they are protected from breaking completely. For the first time since the war, he gazes upon his memories of this place with soft, sombre reminiscence, rather than horror and intense guilt.
And that, he thinks, is progress.
His thoughts are interrupted when Rose’s stomach growls audibly next to him, and they both burst into giggles at the unexpected interruption.
“Think my brain’s tryin’ to tell me something.”
“Breakfast!” he announces, standing up and holding out his hands for hers. “I almost forgot. What are you in the mood for?”
“Could do with some pancakes,” she says, taking his hands and letting him lift her up.
“Pancakes it is.”
Still holding her hands, he slowly eases them out of Gallifrey, then out of their connection completely.
They both put on the bare minimum of clothes – their underwear and one of his t-shirts for the both of them, and head straight for the kitchen.
Rose mixes the dry ingredients while he gathers the wet ones. While she finishes the batter, he fetches some blueberries and butter from the fridge and some linschenberry syrup from the pantry.
He volunteers to do the flipping, insisting he has loads of practice. But he tries to do two at once, and ends up flipping one right off the edge of the pan, half of it falling to gooey pieces onto the stove.
“Oops.” He cringes, rubbing the back of his neck.
Rose confiscates the spatula and forcibly trades places with him.
The pancakes fry up pretty quickly, and the Doctor pours them both some orange juice before they sit down to eat.
Rose is fairly quiet once she digs in. She tears through her stack pretty quickly, in fact, and the Doctor wonders if they’ve been accidentally replacing meals with sex too often. Or perhaps her metabolism has just picked up temporarily to heal the injuries she’d sustained last week. Or maybe it’ll be permanent, her cells having to work harder to maintain their newly immortal state.
“Thank you, by the way.” She pauses halfway through her stack of three, making a point of not having her mouth full when she says it. “For sharing your home with me.”
The Doctor nods through a mouthful of pancake. “Of course,” he says once he’s swallowed it down.
“What d’you think?” she asks, nodding down to his plate.
He’s thankful she’s not dwelling on the subject. Thinking of Gallifrey in the abstract tends to be quite different: unsavoury images of power-hungry Time Lords and bloodshed tend to dominate his memory when he and Rose aren’t tightly controlling the experience.
“They’re delicious,” he says through his own bite, a bit of syrup spraying out of his mouth.
“Remind me why this syrup’s green?” she asks.
“Interestingly enough, not from chlorophyll,” he explains. “Which is good, because generally, the presence of too much chlorophyll usually indicates a fruit isn’t ripe. But these berries get their colour from pigments involved in photosynthesis, the same as fruits on Earth. It has a unique combination. The berries themselves are actually yellowish-orange, because the skins contain lutein, the same thing that makes bananas yellow. But the flesh inside has just a hint of oenin, which is blue at neutral pH. When they’re all mashed up and blended together, they make a wonderfully green syrup.” He says ‘green’ with pronounced gusto. After his monologue, he’s already a bit more animated than before. Talking chemistry: always a good way to keep his spirits up. Rose knows him too well.
Rose smiles as she pops in yet another bite.
“Fascinatin’.”
“Isn’t it?” he holds up his fork, watching the green stuff pour off the bite and back onto his plate in a squiggle. “Plant chemistry. Just brilliant.” He grins as he shovels in the bite. Brilliant. Reminiscent of the earth boysenberry, but a touch sweeter. With just the teeniest hint of spice. Like cardamom. They really should make pancakes more often.
He’s full sooner than she is, and leaves about a third of his stack uneaten in favour of watching Rose finish off her plate with enthusiasm. There’s a tiny bit of green smeared on her nose she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Wha’?” she asks, noticing him staring.
“C’mere, and I’ll tell you.” She’s sitting at the chair next to his, and doesn’t seem to understand.
“I am here.”
He scoots his chair away from the table, and pats his thigh.
She smiles, but it’s the kind of smile like he’s done something worthy of rebuking. Still, she stands up and does what he asked, circling her arms around his neck as she swings a leg over his chair and lowers herself onto his lap.
Wrapping his arms around her back, he can’t hold back a hum of contentment. Partly to have her arms around him again, and partly because she purposely sat close enough that she grazed his crotch on the way down.
“Had no idea you’d like this so much,” she murmurs with a sly smile. “Might’ve done it sooner if I’d known.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” he lies. “You just had some syrup on your nose.”
Before she can react, he leans up and closes his lips around the tip of her nose, quickly swiping the sugary stuff off with his tongue.
“Gross!” she says through a giggle, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Gross?” he asks. He smacks his tongue. “Tastes good to me.”
“You’ve got some on your lip now.”
“Then get it.”
Rose’s lips usually taste fairly good on their own, salt and flavoured lip gloss and oestrogen, but this one takes it to a whole new level. Linschenberry syrup, blueberries, and butter – the key to one delicious snog. It doesn’t take long before they’re both sighing into the kiss, Rose’s hands are buried in his hair, and their link is flaring to life.
I do enjoy it, he says, not wanting to sow any seeds of doubt. A lot.
I know. Rose rocks gently against him, finding him hard as ever.
He breaks the kiss for a moment, letting out a breathy chuckle. She really knows how to turn him to clay in her hands.
Neither of them can manage to stop, for a while, the kiss or the rhythm they’ve built grinding against one another. Rose can’t get enough leverage, with her legs hanging off the chair, and with all her weight on his lap, it’s hard for him to get much, either. Very pleasurable, but not really taking them anywhere. But they both seem content with that, taking their time, given how quickly their first encounter of the day was over. But merely by thinking in unison that they’d like it to last forever, a surge of arousal rushes through them both that ironically whittles down their patience.
“Want to go back to our room?” he gasps out.
“Was thinkin’ about the table,” she says, biting down on his neck.
He gasps, freezing in place. Will she ever stop surprising him?
“’Nother one of my fantasies,” she whispers against his ear.
Without further prodding, he reaches back and shoves his plate out of the way, then hooks his arms beneath her thighs and stands up, taking her with him. He sets her down on the table gently, and helps her wriggle her knickers out from under her. She shoves his pants down and he leans forward, forcing her to lie back until she’s resting on the table. He doesn’t waste any time finding her entrance, but pushes inside slowly, savouring every inch.
“When?” he asks at her ear. Her heels dig into his back, locking him in place.
“It was…” she starts, but he cuts her off.
“Show me,” he says, slowly starting to move.
It was at the primary school, when she was working as a dinner lady. The entire time he was in the cafeteria for lunch, her eyes wandered over to him every second she had to spare. On more than one occasion, she had fantasized about marching up to him, grabbing him by his tie and snogging that smug smile off his face. Then, too impatient to relocate anywhere more comfortable, slowly divesting him of his many layers of clothes, sprawling on the cafeteria table, and shagging right there in the school. (It is, of course, emptied of children in the fictitious scenario, and for that he’s grateful.)
“Have fancied me a long time,” he huffs out.
“So I’ve been… tryin’ to tell you,” her words are broken up by a moan.
He breathes out her name, overwhelmed by months of tension like it’s their first time again.
There was the alternate universe. He was wearing a tux. Looked so smart, Rose thought. Jealous of Lucy and emotionally raw from confronting her weird alt-parents, every time Rose looked at the Doctor, she wanted to drag him out of the thick of the celebration and have her way with him. Most of the fantasies flickering through her head involved the countertop in the kitchen. As it was a staging area of sorts, people were moving in and out of the room constantly, but in Rose’s imagination, there were several minute blocks when it was empty. Just enough time for what she had planned, with how far gone she was.
Suddenly it’s as though they’re back there, her legs hanging off the counter and he’s holding up her black skirt and white apron as he delves deep inside her… Rose whispers in his ear to go faster, because they’re so close but there’s someone approaching the door…
With a curse, they both hurtle over the edge. Overwhelmed by the present and the past melding together, the Doctor freezes up as the climax washes over him, gripping onto both Rose and the table to try to tie himself to sanity. Rose rocks her hips back and forth beneath him, eking out every last drop of pleasure she can as they soar together, pulsing and clenching in harmony.
Completely spent, Rose goes slack against the table and the Doctor slumps against her, their skin slick with sweat everywhere it touches.
Without thinking, he breathes out a word in his native tongue.
It’s one he’s already taught Rose, and she’s instantly curious.
“Magnificent,” he translates quietly.
“It was,” she grins. She takes a few more deep breaths, then winces. “But this table’s really hurtin’ my back.”
“Oh! Right!” He pulls out of her, taking her hands to help her sit up. “Sorry.”
“’S all right.” She wraps her arms around his neck again, pulling him in for a kiss.
He walks over to get her a towel from the drawer to clean up, but on the way, he realizes they’d somehow managed to knocked Rose’s plate and cup of orange juice onto the floor. He hands her the towel to clean herself, and Rose gestures down to the mess.
“Really soiled the kitchen now, haven’t we?” Rose teases.
“Oops,” he agrees, blushing a bit.
They put back on the few items of clothing they had on, and she cleans up the mess on the floor and wipes down the table while he does the dishes.  
When he’s finished with those, he dries off his hands and stands in the middle of the now-spotless kitchen. Swinging his arms back and forth, he blows out a breath. “What now?”
She walks up to meet him, puts her arms around his waist.
“You’re antsy already.”
“I haven’t stayed in one place so long in a while,” he admits.
“Well, where to?” she asks, drawing random circles on his chest.
“Still not all that comfortable leaving the TARDIS yet.”
“Trouble tends to find us, no matter where we are. Remember when the TARDIS fell right out of the Vortex into a parallel world?”
“Point taken.” He nods, frowning. “Still, I’m not letting you out of my sight for the foreseeable future.”
“Fair enough. Have anywhere in mind?”
“Well,” he thinks a moment. “The TARDIS’s oil is low.”
“The TARDIS needs oil?”
“Pretty much anything that’s got engines needs oil. Mind you, it’s not nearly the same kind of oil you’d put in a car in the 21st century, but any moving metal parts need lubrication.
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, I always go the same place to get it. Bazar Almasil. It’s Arabic for ‘market of destiny.’ It’s got basically anything you can think of. And the best part is, it’s on an asteroid belt.”
“Shut up.” She smacks his arm playfully. “How’s that work?”
“Big asteroids.” He shrugs, grinning down at her. “It’s in a beautiful galaxy. You’ll love it.”
“Not a dangerous one though, is it?”
“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been there at least a hundred times now without incident. Safest place I can think of, actually.”
“All right then. Market it is.”
“Perfect. Come on.” They break out of their loose embrace, but he holds onto her hand. “Let’s get some proper clothes on.”
“What, we can’t go like this?” she asks playfully as they head down the hall.
“Well, we could. But probably just the one time. And I’d rather not have to find someplace else to buy oil.”
---
Their first couple hours at the market are spent browsing around. Rose finding the occasional item of clothing or jewellery to try on, and he finds the occasional tool or part to add to his inventory. Any time walking in between the numerous shops is spent admiring the scenery.
It’s a beautiful bazaar spread across five different asteroids, oxygenated and gravitated with technology. Designed purely for fun. A giant purple planet looms in the sky, orbited by two moons, and further away there’s an orangey sun, but otherwise the sky is just a giant black canvas flecked with stars. Most of the light around them comes from the vendors and lamps along the pathways, artificially yellow to perpetually emulate daylight.
They make the space travel vendor that sells the special TARDIS oil their last stop.
His usual merchant, Taranbir, is having a promotion: a free weather stone for every customer with a qualifying purchase. And as it happens, the oil qualifies.
“What do you think, dears?” Taranbir asks in his soft, wispy voice. Age has really gotten to him the last decade or so. “Predicts the weather. One hundred percent accurate.” He holds up the circular trinket, but it doesn’t look valuable on the surface.
“Predicts the weather?” the Doctor asks, pulling a face. “What’s it made of?”
“Bazoolium,” Taranbir responds.
“Ah.” He’s heard of it before, a rare alloy from a nearby planet. Only to the extent that it measures humidity, ultraviolet light scattering, and static discharge, it can predict rain. “Uhm…” he turns to Rose, lowering his voice. “Don’t think we really need that. We can basically choose the weather we want.”
“Well, he’s so nice,” Rose murmurs. “I don’t want to turn him down.”
Taranbir is a delightfully polite man: barely five feet tall, his short beard grizzled with grey, a tight white turban on his head that makes him look even smaller. His smile is as contagious as any he’s ever seen. At least this once, he understands Rose not wanting to disappoint someone.
“Let’s take it,” says Rose. “I can give it to mum, gotta be somethin’ she can use it for.”
“Fair enough.” He turns back to the merchant. “We’ll take it, Taranbir.”
“Yes, excellent.” He hands the Doctor the device, then turns to Rose. “One of my best customers, your Doctor.” He reaches both hands out and clasps one of Rose’s between them. The Doctor stashes the device in his pocket, and Taranbir takes his hand too. It’s something he does for every customer: not so much a handshake, as a way to physically communicate gratitude and respect. It gives a strong impression the salesman cares about his customers’ wellbeing, whether or not it’s true.
“One of the best merchants, if you ask me.” The Doctor smiles, and Taranbir grins ever wider.
“Thank you.” He gives them a shallow bow.
The Doctor scoops up the jug of oil with a few fingers, and raises his other hand in farewell.
“Thank you.”
“Nice to meet ya,” Rose adds, giving Taranbir a wave, too.
“Hope to see you again.” Taranbir waves back. “Take care, dears.”
Rose takes his free hand in her own as they make their way down the crowded street.
“A quick stop home, then?” he asks. “Deliver your mum’s gift?”
Rose sighs. “I’m a bit knackered. First thing tomorrow, maybe?”
He nods, swinging their linked arms. “Deal.”
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littledreamybeth · 7 years
Text
Me & Harry Styles (personal story)
First of all, I want to start with a point that is about Dunkirk. I watched it today and I really enjoyed the movie! Harry's acting was quite impressive and he almost made me hate his character, but almost. I'm not only proud of him but also very proud of the whole crew. I grew to like Gorge a lot, played by Barry Keoghan, and I think he's a very cute guy. The movie was exciting and intense. You'll definitely won't be disappointed. Go watch it Now... Since I watched Dunkirk, I feel and immense pain enveloping my heart and I cried a lot today. Not because of the movie. No, because of Harry. I used to do this quite a lot in the past. But I'll mention it again later. I want to share my little history with you, how I fell in love with Harry Styles and all the things that happened in the last couple of years... Enjoy! I have to admit that I wasn't in the 1D fandom from the very beginning. I didn't even know that the boyband even existed. (OMG!) I joined the fandom and became a Directioner at the end of 2012, like November or December. I was 14 years old, hitting to my 15th and I was in 9th grade. I made a work experience together with my friends and we used to sing 'What makes you beautiful' a little bit, I heard about that song but never knew who it belonged to really. We just sang this line over and over again, nothing more. That's how I came in contact with the band. I started to hear the song, asking my friend to send it to me and continued listening to it up and down. I started to create my personal music video to it, me being a princess and the boys trying to impress me and later me running away with them. I slowly developed some feelings for our curly haired boy then. The first four songs I listened to were 'What makes you beautiful', 'One Thing', 'Live while we young' and 'Little Things'. I really enjoyed these songs. My feelings for Harry grew more but then the first shock came: Harry dating Taylor Swift! Just for your information I never liked Haylor nor Hendall, and I don't like these persons either. (Don't argue with me on that, I will not change my mind) I was beyond heartbroken and instantly wanted them to break up. I hoped they would break up as soon as possible. I started to read articles about them which made me want to puke. It was horrible. But then, relief came back into my life: Haylor broke up! Honestly, I wasn't sorry for that! I was just like 'Taylor, you are never ever ever ever getting back together!" :D Then 2013 came, starting with 'Kiss you', then 'One way or another', 'Best Song Ever' and 'Story of my life'. At the same time I began to love one of my old classmates and 1D accompanied me through this whole year with their music. When I started to love somebody else, I slightly shoved Harry into the back of my head but he was still there, waiting to be reminded. At the same year 'This is us' was going to be published and I know how much excited I was to watch it but I never made it. When I saw 'Best Song Ever' for the first time, I couldn't stop but laughing. The entire video was so funny and so cool, the boys were absolutely amazing. Later that year, I started to feel depressed because me and my crush wouldn't get together, I told him about my feelings but he never gave me a response to it. 1D saved me from going insane. Then 2014 came and I have to say, I left the fandom a little bit. I still listened to their music but not too much anymore. I was busy with personal stuff and so on. Besides I had another celebrity crushes like James Maslow that I started to feel interested to. With 'Night Changes' I found my way back to One Direction (Winter 2014). However, my feelings for Harry didn't came back as quickly as possible. First of all, I fell in love with Luke Evans after rewatching the Hobbit again. But before that happened, I bought 'After' by Anna Tood without even knowing that this was based on One Direction. By coincidence I searched for it on Instagram and found out about it. As I read the story, of course picturing Hardin Scott as Harry, my feelings for him took control again. Harry Styles kicked Luke Evans out of my mind. The whole summer 2015 I was only thinking about Harry. When we drove to my home country in August (holidays), I couldn't stop but imagining little scenes about me and Harry and even Marcel the marketing guy. How we were a couple, loving, holding and kissing each other and a lot more. By the time I listened to '18', 'Strong' and 'Rock me', creating my own little films again. When you read my imagine 'Lost Angel', this idea came up in my mind while I was travelling in the night through a foreign country. So the idea is two years old. After my holidays school started again and also I fell in love for another celebrity who's also a reason why I created my blog: Rami Malek. Harry was forgotten quickly, waiting somewhere in the back of my head. I still listened to 1D songs, I was still in the fandom.Until 2016, it was all about Rami, but in summer '16 I found my way back to Harry again. Reading fanfictions about him and all the stuff. When I heard about Dunkirk the first time I knew I was going to watch this movie. I was so excited to see it! Then we come to the year 2017 where we are now. I didn't stopped loving, Harry, I think I never stopped loving him even though I had so many celebrity crushes. Back in February I was all for Bruno Mars but when I saw the promo clip for 'Sign of the Times', Harry's green eyes at the end of that clip, I immediatly was out of that phase. I was soooo excited and I couldn't wait for the song and the album to be out. Honestly, I feel like I had and on-off-relationship with Harry. I dunno why. He always knew how to find back to me and into my heart, kicking away the other celebs off my head. Loving Harry is not simple, it really isn't. I had a time where I cried because I knew and I still know that I will never ever meet him. I will never find out how he looks in person, not only on Tv, I will never know how it feels to have him in my arms, I will never hear his voice in real. I know that all. And if you're asking me where I do, I just know. I have no chance in things like that, never will. I think I'm not the only one who wants this whole-heartedly but I wish I could be a part of his life. A friend he would talk to. Somebody he'd grow to love. You know what hurts too much? That Harry doesn't even know that I exist. He doesn't know that there is a girl out there, who's loving him and caring for him so much. He will never know. And if I'd meet him one day, which I quite doubt, he would forget me anyway, as soon as possible and I don't want that! I want him to remember me, like I always did. Still do. I hate that I fall in love with somebody that I can't even have. We're all in the same boat, we all share the same feeling for that handsome, kind, loving, genuine, green-eyed young man: LOVE! I will never love anybody as much as I love Harry. I'm still hoping that one day I will be able to run a converstion with him, but there is still doubt following me, making me pessimistic instead of optimistic. If Harry is somewhere out there, having a secret Tumblr account and if he stumbles across this post, I just want him to know that I love him endlessly. I will support and care for him as much as I can. I think he deserves the world, he really does. I never met anyone like Harry Styles. Thank you for everything, Harry!❤ So that's it actually my personal story. Hope you enjoyed reading and maybe you can share your experiences with me. Just tagg me on it, if you decide to write it. Thanks for reading! All the love...
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littlekatlizzy · 7 years
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IM SO LATE IM SORRY BUT AHAHA ALL OF THEM. For the EXO and cafe asks. ALL OF THEM. Have fun 💕
Thats over a houndred......Okay!
Exo asks:1: Whats your favourite album? : Exology chapter 1: The lost planet2: Favourite title song? : For life3: Best Era?: OVERDOSE4: Favourite b-side song?: Playboy5: Who’s your bias?: .......KimJongKai6: Who’s your bias wrecker?: Byun Baekhyun7: Favourite choreo?: Christmas Day or The star tbh8: Favourite MV?: Call me baby9: Favourite EXO Showtime episode?: CHANYEOLS BIRTHDAY 10: EXO K or EXO M?:  EXO.11: OT12 or OT9?: OT12 forever12: Dance line or Vocal line?: ....EXO.13: Vocal line or Rap line?: *sweats nervously* EXO?14: Favourite vocalist?: probably Jongdae15: Favourite dancer?: UHM KAI??? And Luhan tho16: Favourite rapper?: Chanyeol17: EXO first Box or EXO second box?: Second box18: Miracles in December or Sing for you?: Sing for you19: Wolf or Growl?: Growl20: Is EXO your bias group: Yep21: MAMA superpowers or WOLF werewolves?: MAMA22: Favourite Friendship?: Kai&Luhan and Lay&Luhan23: Favourite ship?: Chanbaek all the way24: Favourite China-line member?: Luhan25: Aegyo Xiumin or Abs Xiumin?: Aegyo Xiu26: Do you own the EXO Lightstick?: Nope27: Lucky one or Monster?: Monster28: XOXO or EXODUS?: EXODUS29: EXODUS or EX’ACT?: EXODUS30: Favourite OT12 moment?: The one where they were at the beach in EXO Showtime31: Call me baby or Love me right?: Call me baby32: Favourite EXODUS song?: HURT33: Favourite Beagle-line member?: Byun Baek34: Favourite EXO Superpower?: Telekinesis (Luhan)35: As vocalists, Luhan or Chen?: Chen36: Drop that or Lightsaber?: (*is a starwars fan*) LIGHTSABER37: EXOLU’XION or The lost Planet?: THE LOST PLANET OMG38: How long did it take you to learn all their names?: .....excluding real names maybe 2 days?39: Favourite ballad?: Promise40: El Dorado or Black Pearl?: Black Pearl41: Least favourite ship?: uhhhhh...idk...KrisKai? Is that a thing?42: Kai or Jongin?: OH BOI Jongin of course c:43: Favourite EXOMENTARY Video?: BOWLING44: Favourite EXO-K Member?: Kai45: Favourite EXO-M Member? Luhan46: As vocalists, D.O or Baekhyun?: D.O47: As rappers, Sehun or Tao?: Uffffff.....Tao?48: Do you actually like wolf?: Depends on my mood49: Favourite OTP moment?: That one time when Sehun made Chanbaek hug during a concert :,)50: Have you ever seen EXO live?: Yeah! Live on V-Live...ahaha...51: Moment that made you cry?: Promise live performances where EXO cries :,)52: Most handsome member?: ......KIMJONGIN53: Do you still watch EXO Showtime occasionally?: Not really don’t wanna cry54: Cutest Member?: ZHANG YIXING55: First Bias?: Kai56: Favourite XOXO song?: Don’t go57: Favourite Baekhyun era?: Call me baby/Exodus era58: Satansoo or Squishysoo?: Satansoo cuz he’s ma bro59: Xiuhan or HunHan?: Xiuhan60: Favourite EXO Photocard: idk tbh61:Sehun’s eyebrows or Sehun’s legs?: Legs62: Favourite EXO pet?: Monggu, Jjangu and Jjangah63: Hyung-line or Maknae line?: EXO64: Favourite EXODUS song?: still Hurt65: Favourite movie with an EXO member in it?: Pure love with D.O66: How did you get into EXO?: Through friends67: Mom!Suho or Sexy!Suho?: Suho68: Promise or Heaven?: Heaven because this doesn’t make me cry69: Tao’s Z.Tao or Luhans Reloaded?: (I’m a Luhoe sorry Tao) Reloaded70: Favourite EX’ACT song?:  White noise, Artificial love & Heaven71: Xiumin bun or Luhan bun?: Xiubun72: Have you ever not liked a member?: I had a love-hate relationship with Kai for w long time73: Favourite Chen solo song?: Lucky!!!74: Baekyeol or Baekyeon?: :)))) BAEKYEOL75: Cold city gguy Kris or dorky Kris?: Dorky papa pls76: Favourite EXO cover song?: Does Chenbaeks ‘I really didn’t know’ count?77: Did you cry when listening to Promise?: still do78: EXO song that you do not like?: uhmmm... What is Love I think?79: Favourite couple talk (from exo first box)?: I dunno80: Favourite Kai era?: Overdose81: As dancers, Kai, Sehun or Lay?: Kai82: Baekhyun(ft.Suzy) Dream or Baekhyun8ft K.Will) The day?: Dream83: Favourite EXO Member IG account?: Baekhyun84: Favourite Awardshow performance?: I liked a lot so idk85: If you could get any of the MIC gifts, what would you get?: Chanyeols ring86: Kaisoo or TaeKai?: Both af87: Favourite Chanyeol gif?: Idk 88: MAMA or History?: MAMA89: Favourite lyrics?: You even liked my clumsy moments. But I wonder if I even deserve that love(Promise)90: Favourite Suho Era?: EX’ACT91: Red haired D.O yes or no?: HELL TO THE YES92: Favourite Chanyeol rap?: Black Pearl93: Favourite Fanfiction?: Read too many but probably I Give Up by @soobadnoonecanstopher94: Lay’s go fighting or Luhan’s Running Man?: Go fighting is one of my fave shows not gonna lie95: Pathcodes or Wolf Drama?: Pathcodes96: Taohun or Taoris?: Taoris97: EXO Showtime or EXO next door?: Showtime98: Most significant song for you?: Don’t go99: Who are your top 3 Members?: Kai, Luhan, Baekhyun100: Why do you like EXO?: Exo (Korean: 엑소; stylized as EXO) is a South Korean-Chinese boy group based in Seoul. Formed by S.M. Entertainment in 2011, the group debuted in 2012 with twelve members separated into two subgro-
CAFE ASKSVanilla Chai Latte: Are you in love?: Not really?Flat White: Coffe or tea?: bothCappuccino: What’s your middle name?: don’t have oneMocha: Dream Job?: No idea actuallyPumpkin spice: Dream Car?: Don’t have oneJasmine Tea: If you could go anywhere in the world, where and why?: Japan because I love animeOld english: You’re stranded on an island, who comes along?: My Phone so that I can have everyone somewhat with meIced chocolate: Do you have a crush on someone?: YeahCaramel Frappe: Favourite videogame?: Kingdom  HeartsIced Lemon Tea: Favourite Song/Band?: EXO & Don’t goIced Cafe Mocha: Favourite thing to do on rainy days?: Sleep and readHot chocolate: Are you an affectionate person?: sometimesCaramel Macchiato: You’re traveling the entire world but you can only take one person with you, who?: I don’t knowGreen Tea: How tall are you?: 5′1...Earl Grey Tea: The Zombie Apocalypse is coming! Wha’ts your plan?:Mint Tea: How do you relax?: I’m the first to die probsVanilla Latte: Board games or drinking games?: Video gamesIced coffee: Do you like reading, if so, which book is your favourite?: Milk&Honey by Rupi KaurItalian soda: Describe your dream date: A dateSparkling water: Describe what qualities you look for in a person: Accepting, nice, laid back, soft voice and gentle smilesOrange juice: Have you ever had a Valentine?: @bts-exo-seouls Rose Hip Tea: describe your first kiss: Yet to comeHerbal Tea: You’re at a candle shop, what candle do you buy?: If it smells and looks good, mine.
PS: Fuck you Sam my eyes burn
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schrodingers-rufus · 7 years
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Even later late-night stream-of-consciousness Marble Hornets time-travel fic, sequel to Last Chance. [AO3 link]
“Hey, Alex, do you have Tim’s number? Oh. Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I must’ve forgotten to transfer the numbers to my phone. I’m not really by a computer right now. No, I swear, I’m fine, I just--Thanks. Thanks, I definitely owe you one.”
---
“Hi, I’m--can you transfer me to the electronics department? I’m uh, looking for a camera, and I thought I’d call around and ask about prices.”
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“Mom? No, no reason. Just thought I’d, I dunno, check in.”
---
Jay pulled the thin sweatshirt tighter around himself, hand shaking as he locked the car door behind him. The wind was picking up, and with what little sunlight was left, he could see thick, black clouds rolling in. It was summer--he knew it was supposed to be summer--but a chill had still managed to seep into his bones, one he couldn’t completely attribute to the oncoming storm. His mind flicked back--Entry #17, Entry #20--the strange comments about the cold, wearing jackets in the middle of the afternoon. It was only the beginning of June; things shouldn’t have been moving this fast.
He pushed open the door of the McDonald's and slid into a booth, the brightly-colored pleather seats snagging on his jeans. He’d order later.
He tried calling Tim earlier in the evening, asking to meet--well, he tried texting first, but Tim’s phone rejected it. Tim’s response was short, blunt; he was staying with Brian, so he wouldn’t be able to just get up and leave. Jay, making a split-second decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret, told Tim that Brian was welcome to come along, and that it was really important, and that he’d pay for their food if that helped any. (Apparently, it did.)
Jay checked his watch. The rain started coming down.
Jay checked his watch again. With some effort, he slid back out of the booth and ordered a small box of fries.
Jay checked his watch again. He flipped his phone open to check for messages. He missed Twitter.
There was a clatter at the door, the loud roar of rain-on-pavement, and Jay jerked upright to look. Two figures, half-soaked and dripping, one holding his jacket closed in shaking fists and the other pulling the hood down from over his head and no, no, no, that wasn’t right.
The hooded figure--Brian, he knew that was Brian--scanned the crowd, spotting Jay and waving, and Jay managed a half-wave back, but he couldn’t meet his eyes, too busy staring at his sweatshirt. (Had he ever worn that in the tapes? He couldn’t have--if Jay hadn’t caught it, the viewers would, right?)
“Hey.” Brian slid into the booth across from Jay, and Tim followed, making one last glance at the door. Leaning forward onto his elbows with a wry smile, Brian continued, “How’d the doctor’s appointment go?”
“Fine,” Jay managed, still dazed, still processing. He tried to pull himself together. “I’m fine, just--just dehydrated, that’s all. Low blood sugar, too--maybe I skipped lunch or something. They just had me drink some water and orange juice and let me go.”
Brian raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Tim spoke up then, eyes cast down at the table. “What’s with the camera?”
“Cam--? Oh. That’s just for--” Jay mentally flicked through a list of excuses, none of them good. Thinking back to the ribbing his viewers gave him after “a documentary on hotels”, he cringed inwardly. Jay guessed honesty was the best policy, though given who he’d just realized he was dealing with, he could never be sure. “That’s...sort of related to what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Tim fixed Jay with an unreadable look, reaching out to gently turn the camera lens away.
He didn’t turn it off, though, so Jay counted it as a win.
Brian sat back, grinning. “Well, before we get down to anything serious, I’d say dinner is in order.”
“We already had dinner,” Tim mumbled.
“Second dinner, then.” Brian nudged Tim with an elbow. “Get out, I’m being summoned by the siren-song of free food.”
Tim obliged, snickering under his breath. “Does this count as ‘carbo-loading’?”
“God, it still sounds like a foreign language when you say it.” Brian made a show of stretching his leg. “And as the only one here who is a newly-minted second-year member of the most renowned university cross-country team in the county, I say yes. Yes it does.”
Tim rolled his eyes, muttering about it being the only university team in the county, and Jay followed them silently, listening to their banter with the camera held low. He ordered last, indulging in a fried chicken sandwich--a dollar more than a regular burger, but he didn’t have to pay for a hotel room that night, so he could afford to splurge a bit, even with the cost of Brian and Tim’s food factored in.
Soon they were back at the booth, trays in hand, and Jay could feel the time he had left to put off the conversation running out. He took a bite of his sandwich.
“So,” Brian said through a mouthful of reconstituted beef, “What’s up?”
Jay forced himself to finish chewing and swallow, feeling Brian and Tim’s eyes boring into his skull the longer he took. “It’s, uh. About today.”
Brian nodded, waiting for him to continue. Tim’s eyes flickered to the window before settling back on Jay, and Jay had to resist the urge to turn his head to see what he’d been looking at.
Jay took a deep breath. “So, I did see something, out at Rosswood. That wasn’t some joke, that was. That was real.” Jay rubbed at his eyes before continuing. “And that thing that I saw, it was dangerous. I know it’s dangerous, but if you asked me how I knew, you’d probably call me...y’know, crazy or something.”
Tim’s mouth constricted in a thin line, and Brian leaned back, crossing his arms. “Try me.”
“That’s--that’s why I called you guys here, I guess.” Jay drummed his fingers gently against the top of the camera, now sitting back on the table. “Well, Tim, specifically. Because I, uh, I know you’d know what I’m talking about, for the same reason why I know that thing’s dangerous.”
Tim pulled his hand off the table, but for a second Jay thought he saw it shaking. “We’ve only seen each other once, maybe twice before today. What the hell makes you ’know I’d know’?”
“Because--” Jay didn’t have a good answer, and he knew it. He sank down to the table, hands gripping his hair and pulling.
“What’d you see out there?” Brian asked, more gently than Jay deserved.
Jay forced himself to sit back up, to let go of his head. Instead he gripped the handle of the camera, still stiff from disuse. “I saw...well, it looks sort of human, but it’s really clearly not. It’s like a man, but the arms and legs are too long, and the face is--”
Jay barely had time to notice the sound of a tray hitting the floor before Tim’s fists were clenched in his shirt, yanking him up and out of the booth.
“Who put you up to this?” Tim was wild-eyed, feral. “Alex?”
Jay tried to push back, mind still reeling too hard to put up a decent fight. “I--nobody, I--”
“Bullshit.” Tim’s face was close, too close, and Jay winced as saliva hit his cheek. “I don’t know who told you, but it’s not funny--”
And then Brian was there, looping his arms under Tim’s, pulling him back and away and forcing him to lose his grip on Jay’s shirt. Jay scrambled backwards just as Tim escaped, turning to face Brian with a wide-eyed, painful expression Jay finally pegged as betrayal.
“It was you, wasn’t it.” Tim spoke softly, voice shaking. “I know I had one of those--those episodes when I was staying at your house. You told me I did. You said I didn’t say any--anything about what I saw, but how am I supposed to believe that?” Tim reeled back, and though Jay looked away when his fist connected, he kept the camera steady.
Brian started to stammer an explanation, an apology, maybe something else, when a woman in a uniform rounded the counter, shouting at the three of them to get out and threatening to call the police.
They found themselves cowering under the narrow overhang, backs against the wall of the restaurant. Tim was still shaking, and Jay knew he should wait until Tim cooled off, but he had to say something.    
“Nobody told me but you, Tim,” Jay started to pace, limited by the narrow strip of dry sidewalk. “But you don’t remember. Nobody remembers. I know things from--I just know things, alright? And I know you think that thing’s not real, but I swear, Tim, it is, and if we don’t keep it away from everybody, people are going to end up dead.”
Tim stared.
“I’m--I��m from the future, I guess--Iike, like one of those movies, where time resets, but only one person remembers, and I don’t know how many more chances I get, but we have to fix this, or what’s the point?” Jay covered his face with his free hand, taking a deep breath. “And I guess that’s. The truth,” he finished haltingly, afraid to look up and see disbelief.
“Prove it.” Tim’s voice was hard.
Brian spoke up more quietly, and when Jay finally looked up, he could see that he was nursing a black eye. His posture was unusually hunched, withdrawn. “Tell us something you...couldn’t know.”
A hundred thousand ideas flashed through Jay’s mind, none of them good, but he’d already started talking, “Okay, that site where we had to host our post-production projects last semester? YouTube? That gets...really big. And there’s this place where--where people post really short messages, like ‘microblogging’, I think they call it, and that--everybody uses that, and--and--” Stupid, stupid. He needed to say something they could verify. “Tim, I’ve--I’ve seen your medical records. Somebody--” Brian, but he couldn’t very well say that. “--Somebody steals them from your doctor’s office, in 2012, and gives them to me. You used to be a patient at--at that hospital that burned down, near Rosswood, and you’ve got these pills, anticonvulsants, I think, and they don’t fix everything, but they help, because that thing, when it’s nearby, people start having seizures, and--” Jay could hear his voice climbing, becoming more hysterical, but he couldn’t stop it. “--you gave them to me, once, and I told you to cut it out, because they were just a band-aid, they couldn’t actually fix anything, but--”
“Shut up,” Tim cut him off, voice rough.
Jay shut up.
“Say you’re right,” Tim started, warily. “Say that thing’s real. And it’s been real. And you’re from the future. What next?”
Jay leaned heavily against the wall. “Well, first thing’s first: We stop Alex’s movie.”
Brian snorted quietly. “I think we can call that a mercy killing.”
Jay grimaced. “More than you know.”
Tim whirled on him, eyes wide. “We’re not gonna--”
“No!” Jay waved his hands in surrender. “But if we don’t get Alex away from Rosswood and that thing, he...might. With the, uh, killing.” One hand absent-mindedly rubbed at his side.
Tim and Brian were silent at that. Jay didn’t mind; it gave him more time to think.
Finally, Brian spoke up. “So, what is with the camera?”
“A few things.” Jay held it higher. “It’s mostly for--for memory. I--well, all of us, really--started losing memory, so I kept the tapes around so I could look back and see what happened. I also had--had to show people. Warn them, and stuff. It shows up on the tapes, so that’s proof. Last thing was sort of a bonus: it messes with electronics, so sometimes you can pick up on the camera when it’s around. I mean, usually at that point, it’s too late, but it’s still useful sometimes.” Jay cut himself off. He’d put too much thought into this. Granted, that camera was probably the only thing that kept him alive for four years and seventy-nine entries, so he guessed he owed it the time.
“Sorry I asked,” Brian said, grimacing.
“Sorry I punched you in the face,” Tim said quickly. At Brian’s raised eyebrow, he kept going. “Sorry, I was just thinking about it, and I...” Jay could see the lighter in his hand, though he didn’t take out a cigarette. “But if this turns out to be some Candid Camera bullshit, you are getting another black eye.”
Brian shot Jay a look, and with a start, Jay lowered the camera.
Brian turned to Tim, though Tim’s eyes were still locked on the pavement. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, almost too quietly for Jay to hear. Jay hoped the microphone was strong enough to pick it up. “If it helps back up his story, I...think I’ve seen it. Out the window, last time you slept over.”
Tim stared. Jay did too, for that matter.
“Tall guy, no face?” Brian mimed as he spoke. “Wearing a suit?”
“Holy shit,” Tim whispered.
“I thought I was just misremembering what I saw, but, uh.” Brian scratched at the back of his head. “Guess not.”
“Guess not,” Tim agreed, still wearing that thousand-yard stare.
The rain started to let up.
“Now that you’ve been...warned and all, I guess I should head back.” Jay tried to remember the address of the apartment he’d rented that summer. It was fuzzy, but he could probably get there on his own. He hid his camera under his sweatshirt. “I got your numbers from Alex, so it shouldn’t be too hard to keep in touch.”  
Brian stepped forward. “No.”
Jay turned on his heel, already halfway into the rain. “No, what?”
“No, we’re not splitting up.” Tim answered for him.
“If we’re in a horror movie, we’re not breaking rule number one.” He paused. “I mean, rule number two is ‘don’t have sex,’ but I don’t think we’ve got a problem there.”
Tim shoved him, and he snickered triumphantly.     
Jay sidled back under the overhang, hesitant. “Then what? You all come over to my place? Crash on the floor of my studio apartment?”
“Au contraire,” Brian raised a finger. “My parents were already expecting one friend to sleep over. I doubt they’d mind two.”
Jay’s mind locked up on ‘friend’, and he could feel himself smiling, despite efforts to the contrary. “Okay. Alright. That’s not how I expected tonight ending at all, but, that makes. A lot of sense.”
“Of course it does.” Brian slung an arm around Jay’s shoulder, and Jay stiffened with surprise. “Existential terror sleepover.”
“Let’s, uh, try to not die,” Tim added.
Jay let himself be herded to Brian’s car. “Yeah, let’s...not do that this time.”
Brian stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“Nothing!”
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emeraldsorcerer · 7 years
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Repost, don’t reblog! Tag 6 muns you would like to get to know better when done!
TAGGED BY: Swiped from @culpritouswildcat​ TAGGING: You want it? TAKE IT OFF OF MY COLD DEAD BLOG. but for real yeah if you want it go for it lol
NAME: Fish NICKNAME: Fish, also emerald-mun seems to be what most default to if they don’t know Fish. AGE: 23 FACECLAIM: A color-edited Konata Izumi from Lucky Star PRONOUNS: He/him HEIGHT: like aaaaaaaaalmost 5′11″, like, I’m literally 1/4th of an inch a way from 5′11″ BIRTHDAY: March 8th AESTHETIC:  Fuckin’ gREEEEEEEEEN LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO: uhhh technically Super Mario Bros 2 Overworld Theme
FAVOURITE MUSE(S) YOU’VE WRITTEN: Look, I’m gonna be real biased towards mah boi Sakana, who I’ve worked on for 5 years now. He was my first Tumblr roleplay character! Although I have to admit, running the askbernkastel account all those years ago was really fun. I’m still super proud of that gif I managed to make with Kinzo getting hit by a pokeball thrown by Bern. And in all honesty, Tomoko’s really fun to write too, I get to channel a lot of me through her since we’re pretty similar.
WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON YOUR CURRENT MUSE: So, when I was running my very first Tumblr account ever, askbernkastel, I ran across a very new concept to me at the time: roleplaying on Tumblr. The very first one I encountered was a talented Bernkastel RPer (shout out to @plumfragments​), and upon following I really liked their writing and thought, “Hey, I wanna get in on this it looks super fun!” Having played Ib recently, and enjoyed Garry as a character, I just took images of him, recolored his hair to match my blonde, gave him my favorite color, and voila! I had an extremely thinly veiled self-insert for my very first Tumblr RP experience.
honestly in retrospect i’m kind of shocked people didn’t get really sick of just how cringe my writing and character was back then in 2012. it was so obvious, i didn’t even try to hide it at first. it was only around the beginning of 2013 that i actually gave him his own backstory and plots. but, somehow, with what must have been an astounding amount of grace to muster to be patient with me back then, Plum and others helped me learn the vocab of the Tumblr RP community and how it tended to work, and five years later he’s a very different being from the shitty self-insert it started out as.
WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE: Maaaaaan, the guy is such a dork honestly, especially in comparison to basically every other witch. I made him intentionally way younger than Bernkastel and Lambdadelta. Honestly? I think I like his potential most of all. It’s a muse I don’t really run out of ideas for, but unfortunately I have issues communicating said ideas to people, so I end up putting myself into a no-win situation. 
But the way that I don’t have to keep him static over time is nice, because he’s already an Alternate Universe character, I can develop him according to the things he experiences, and build from past thread experiences. I feel zero pressure to keep his personality static, unlike most canon muses I’ve played. Developing a character long-term through play and letting it stick through other RPs is pretty much my favorite reason for roleplaying, and I feel I can do that more freely with Sakana in particular.
WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING: Uuuh honestly? It just comes down to someone else responding or making a starter for me. There was a really bad dry spell early this year I didn’t know how to deal with. Without someone else to bounce off of, I really don’t have much motivation at all.
FAVORITE TYPES OF THREADS: On the one hand, I’m down with whatevs honestly. I don’t think I’d refuse much, with the exception of smut, which is just like...I dunno, I gotta feel it?
On the other hand, I do tend to get far more enthusiastic when I’m roleplaying a situation I haven’t roleplayed before. Like, take the one I just did right earlier with grey!Erika, I’ve never RPd an unrequited crush explicitly, the closest that’s ever gotten is subtext at best. And I was super down with that to the point that I stayed up till past 7am and am still awake now holy shit, because I’d never done it before, it’s a new thaaaang.
BIGGEST STRUGGLE IN REGARDS TO YOUR CURRENT MUSE: Mmmmm. I think I have a prominent paranoia that I’m still, even after all this time and all the events that have transpired, that I’m still not doing enough to separate myself from Sakana in the eyes of others, and that other new folks who come along will just assume he’s a thinly veiled shitty self-insert and not give it a chance at all. And that, consequently, tends to make me question myself a lot - is it still just boiled down to that even after all this effort and time? Bleh. It’s not a fun spiral to travel down.
Another big issue I have is finding out where he might fit in other people’s worlds. Often times I’ll secure an RP, and it’ll turn out kind of samey as a lot of my other RPs. There’s, like, a pattern, where it goes| they introduce themselves>they chat for a couple replies smalltalk>fucking nowhere to go afterwards because plot’s apparently not a thing. Like, I don’t remember having this issue a few years ago; entire full on plots were commonly improvised and they were exciting and cool! But nowadays it’s like...naw. Gotta plot or else it just goes nowhere for some reason. I don’t know if it’s because of a Tumblr culture change due to the introduction of the IM system, or if it’s because I just have lost my improvisational skills, but shit just goes nowhere after a few replies and after having that happen on so many occasions, it’s just kinda discouraging for me in general.
It probably wouldn’t be as much of an issue if I knew how to plot with others. That’s the other thing. I don’t know how to plot with muns. It’s just something I’ve barely ever done before. Like, I don’t even know how it works, is it just like, blurt out an idea to the other person and hope to god the other person is down for it? because that sounds goddamn anxiety-spiking-ly terrifying to me. Is there like, a system for it, like a rulebook or guideline list I can go off of? honestly plotting with other muns is one of the most anxiety-filled things i can possibly do in relation to Tumblr RPs and i don’t get how most people not only can do it, but nearly expect it from others nowadays.
I mean, it’s not like I’m unwilling to try. I just have...no...fuducking...clue...how...and like, why be patient and try to learn me a thing or two when you could just find someone else to plot with just as fast and easily? unless it can’t be learned and it just comes innately to everyone except me?
eeeeeh this isn’t really the note I would have liked to end this post on but I’m getting real tired so yeah that’s all about Fish have a good munday y’all.
0 notes
ayz8yf9q-blog · 5 years
Text
Help please with health insurance?
Help please with health insurance?
I am new resident in usa and I am 25 y.old.I have valicocele problems and its already 7years that i still have it . It didnt heart before but now my pain increasing. I dont know where to go and what to do becouse I dont have any insurance yet and I dont know will insurance cover my sergery if need sergery. Please give some information what kind of insurance do I need . I also heard about colorado indigent care program(cicp) . And I dont know will it cover to go to doctor or to have sergery. I will really presuate if you can help me . Thanks
BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare free quotes :car4insurance.xyz
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