#Doctor Marketing in New York

[mariacallous]

American Jewish food is most typically defined as pastrami sandwiches, chocolate babka, or bagels and lox. But I am here to argue that the greatest American Jewish food may actually be the humble hot dog. No dish better embodies the totality of the American Jewish experience.

What’s that you say? You didn’t know that hot dogs were a Jewish food? Well, that’s part of the story, too.

Sausages of many varieties have existed since antiquity. The closest relatives of the hot dog are the frankfurter and the wiener, both American terms based on their cities of origin (Frankfurt and Vienna respectively). So what differentiates a hot dog from other sausages? The story begins in 19th century New York, with two German-Jewish immigrants.

In 1870, Charles Feltman sold Frankfurt-style pork-and-beef sausages out of a pushcart in Coney Island, Brooklyn. Sausages not being the neatest street food, Feltman inserted them into soft buns. This innovative sausage/bun combo grew to be known as a hot dog (though Feltman called them Coney Island Red Hots).

Two years later, Isaac Gellis opened a kosher butcher shop on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. He soon began selling all-beef versions of German-style sausages. Beef hot dogs grew into an all-purpose replacement for pork products in kosher homes, leading to such classic dishes as Franks & Beans or split pea soup with hot dogs. Though unknown whether Gellis was the originator of this important shift, he certainly became one of the most successful purveyors.

Like American Jews, the hot dog was an immigrant itself that quickly changed and adapted to life in the U.S. As American Jewry further integrated into society, the hot dog followed.

In 1916, Polish-Jewish immigrant Nathan Handwerker opened a hotdog stand to compete with Charles Feltman, his former employer. Feltman’s had grown into a large sit-down restaurant, and Handwerker charged half the price by making his eatery a “grab joint.” (The term fast food hadn’t yet been invented, but it was arguably Handwerker who created that ultra-American culinary institution.)

Nathan’s Famous conquered the hot dog world. Like so many of his American Jewish contemporaries, Handwerker succeeded via entrepreneurship and hard work. His innovative marketing stunts included hiring people to eat his hot dogs while dressed as doctors, overcoming public fears about low-quality ingredients. While his all-beef dogs were not made with kosher meat, he called them “kosher-style,” thus underscoring that they contained no horse meat. Gross.

The “kosher-style” moniker was another American invention. American Jewish history, in part, is the story of a secular populace that embraced Jewish culture while rejecting traditional religious practices. All-beef hotdogs with Ashkenazi-style spicing, yet made from meat that was not traditionally slaughtered or “kosher”, sum up the new Judaism of Handwerker and his contemporaries.

Furthermore, American Jewry came of age alongside the industrial food industry. The hot dog also highlights the explosive growth of the kosher supervision industry (“industrial kashrut”).

Hebrew National began producing hot dogs in 1905. Their production methods met higher standards than were required by law, leading to their famous advertising slogan, “We Answer to a Higher Authority.”

While the majority of Americans may be surprised to hear this, Hebrew National’s self-supervised kosher-ness was not actually accepted by more stringent Orthodox and even Conservative Jews at the time. But non-Jews, believing kosher dogs were inherently better, became the company’s primary market. Eventually, Hebrew National received the more established Triangle-K kashrut supervision, convincing the Conservative Movement to accept their products. Most Orthodox Jews, however, still don’t accept these hot dogs as kosher.

But over the last quarter of the 20th century in America, the Orthodox community has gained prominence and their opinions, and food preferences, hold more weight in the food industry.

The community’s stricter kashrut demands and sizable purchasing power created a viable market, and glatt kosher hot dogs hit the scene. Abeles & Heymann, in business since 1954, was purchased in 1997 by current owner Seth Leavitt. Meeting the demands of the Orthodox community’s increasingly sophisticated palate, their hot dogs are gluten-free with no filler. Recently, they’ve begun producing a line of uncured sausages, and the first glatt hot dogs using collagen casing.

Glatt kosher dogs can now be purchased in nearly thirty different sports arenas and stadiums. American Jews have successfully integrated into their society more than any other in history. So too, the hot dog has transcended its humble New York Jewish immigrant roots to enter the pantheon of true American icons. So when you bite into your hot dog this summer, you are really getting a bite of American Jewish history, and the great American Jewish food.

[swissboyhisch]

MASTERLIST

JAMIE DRYSDALE

Last Call Inspired by "Last Call" by Will Linley.

NIKITA ZADOROV

My Jersey After a little rain comes sun... And thunder. Thunder in the form of a six-foot five Russian defenseman.

That Scar Hurt By The Way In a world where everyone has a soulmate link, you happened to luck out with a pain link.

NATHAN MACKINNON

Lost In Japan Inspired by "Lost In Japan" by Shawn Mendes.

TYLER SEGUIN

Picasso The perfect family... Mum. Dad. And three dogs. With a touch of fluff and uninformed comment.

DYLAN LARKIN

You know I love you right? After bad game, what more could you ask for? Maybe just chinese, Netflix and some good old cuddling.

CONNOR MCDAVID

I’m Your Favourite, Eh? An All-Star Competition and a married couple with a kiddo. What more could you ask for?

I Brought Too Many Sorry Female issues are always a fun time of month. Even worse... running out of pads in a time of need. Luckily someone comes to the rescue, a little too well.

MATTHEW TKACHUK

Surprise Cheerleader Surprises from one party to another during a big Volleyball game.

All-Star Love The NHL All Star weekend is always fun. But bring in a romance… Then that's when it becomes interesting.

GUSTAV NYQUIST

Hey There Delilah Inspired by "Hey There Delilah" by Plain White T's.

NICO HISCHIER

Thanks For The 20 Kiddos Hosting hockey players was normal. Guys that would become brothers. Until him.

Cupid Cousin First game against his old team for your cousin and he wants you there. Luckily some of his ex-teammates are cute.

The Aussie BBQ Experience You finally got to take Nico home to Australia. He got the true experience of an Aussie BBQ.

The Aussie Easter Experience Nico gets to experience an Aussie Easter after being not making the playoffs.

The Aussie Snack Experience As a marketing idea, you get to feature in a video with Nico trying snacks from your home country.

The Aussie Chrissie Experience Since Nico is injured just before Christmas, you head back to Australia for Nico to experience an Aussie Chrissie.

Sorry But I Really Like Her You head to Newark to see your parents new place after avoiding it like the plague. Maybe this time, something with make you want to come back.

We're Not Naked You just wanted some time alone with your partner. Sadly, your brothers are clingy.

Hughes Siblings Acquired (Part 1) Somehow, the New Jersey Devils acquire a player who will fit in well on the team.

Welcome to New Jersey (Part 2) Quinn arrives to New Jersey and has his first training with his brothers and new team.

The Sugar Fix After opening your cafe and bar, a familiar hockey player comes in opening day. Seems like he remembers you too.

JACK HUGHES

Prom Queen Inspired by "Prom Queen" by Molly Kate Kestner.

LUKE HUGHES

Don't Want to Lose You (Part 1) You notice something is wrong with your body. A wrong diagnosis then something you never wanna hear.

Will You Be There When I Wake Up? (Part 2) Two weeks pass and it's time for surgery.

I'd Marry You Tomorrow (Part 3) As a precautionary measure, you follow through with the doctor suggestion to collect eggs. It wasn't as an easy process as you thought.

MACKENZIE BLACKWOOD

Home Inspired by "Home" by Phillip Phillips.

MAT BARZAL

Opening Night For once Mat is your pretty accessory for your big night. Instead of the other way round.

Drunken Mistakes (Part 1) After receiving some bad news, you just wanted to not be alone. After a couple drinks, what most likely is a bad decision, starts to sound too good to miss.

New York Luck (Part 2) After a lovely holiday, your partner breaks up with you and so you turn to your only friend in the city.

CARTER HART

Something In The Orange Inspired by the song "Something In The Orange" by Zach Bryan. Little Miss Klutz Despite you hating your pain link to your soulmate, he had a tendency to look on the brighter side.

BRAYDEN POINT

You’re Not Useless Broken bones and being bed bound can affect you more than physically. Fighting words are thrown between the pair.

STEVEN STAMKOS

WAG Meetings After it's confirmed that the boys will go to playoffs for another season, the WAGs have a meeting to discuss the most exciting part. WAG Jackets.

AUSTON MATTHEWS

My Family A pair of friends reunite with a surprise in store for one of them. Oops, it's a baby.

Bad Day = Cuddles After the worst day you have had in a long time, your boyfriend at home was ready to take care of you.

You're My Favouite A visit to your family goes wrong when Auston meets your Aunt.

MATTHEW KNIES

Halloween Surprise The team's Halloween party seemed like the perfect time to reveal to everyone who you were dating.

MITCH MARNER

God, You’re Amazing A championship game ends up being the best day for multiple people's lives.

Stop Flirting With Marner! A few Leafs spy a figure skater practicing on the ice of the All-Star Arena. After persistent bugging from his friends, one finds himself embarrassing himself to try score a date.

WILLIAM NYLANDER

Flirt With Her Tomorrow A day spent at a stable as a team bonding exercise turns out to be a great place to meet people for some.

Never Letting You Go Again Bumping into exes are always fun. But with a little meddling from a sweet cafe owner who's missed her favourite regulars, some truths are revealed.

ANTHONY BEAUVILLIER

Baking Antics A rainy day means baking and dancing in the kitchen.

Kick Ass Your first time back in a competition and your luck charm definitely helped.

QUINN HUGHES

Support My Girl The final dance concert comes around and you're lucky to have such a supportive family.

SOCIAL MEDIA FIC MASTERLIST

ALL WRITING AND GRAPHICS USED ON THIS POST IS MINE. I CREATED THE VISUALS FOR THIS ON CANVA.

UPDATED: 9/11/23

[rmoonstoner]

Kinktober 2023

***

Theme:

4 - Incubus Sex (Monster fucker)

***

Warnings:

18+, darkish setting (surviving zombie apocalypse), angst, fluff, smut, vampires (oppressive dominate species and blood drinking is mentioned a lot), a monster with a hero complex (Stephen coming to save you), monster fucker smut, sex with monster style Stephen, oral (sucking tentacles), tentacle sex, p in v sex, cream pie, oral, size kink, vibrating tentacles, anal play, double penetration, come shower

***

Pairing:

Doctor Stephen Strange x Fem!Mystic!Reader 

(Past relationship mentioned)

Watcher/Eldritch Being Doctor Stephen Strange Supreme x Fem!Mystic!Reader

(Current relationship)

***

Please note:

Writing this made me both cry and very horny. I love writing about evil monster men that get redemption and now act like soft and gentle golden retrievers.

I did not have a proofreader.

***

Summary:

Your husband died a long time ago, during the outbreak. There was never a cure found, but a vaccine was made with Doctor Morbius's blood. Unfortunately, instead of a world of humans being eaten by zombies, it's now a world of humans being eaten by vampires. You're one of the few uninfected left, and a terrible fate is heading your way.

Until a familiar looking man comes to make a bargain with you, offering you salvation, but at the cost of leaving your universe forever.

***

Surviving this horrible hellscape was tough, but you managed to do it just fine, all by yourself, without your husband's help. Zombies had rolled through, covering half of the earth in just under a month. The great Doctor Morbius had discovered a vaccine to stop the spread of the virus, but that still meant people would be turning into monsters. Instead of zombies, they'd be vampires. Still, it was better than turning into a mindless decomposing corpse, so what did your people have to lose?

It had been years since that incident, and you had been lucky enough to avoid being bitten by a zombie, and contracting the virus. You were also lucky enough that you didn't turn into a vampire when you got the vaccine, but it did seem to stop allowing you to age. Apparently your blood was unique, and you wouldn't have been able to turn into a zombie either, if bitten.

You made a lot of money by selling your blood weekly at the local blood bank, and soon the vampiric citizens of New York were paying you top dollar for your blood. You were also an avid pot smoker, and that contributed to the price that your blood was worth.

But still, you missed your husband dearly, wishing he never died during the pandemic. You dreamt of him almost every night and when you didn't, you dreamt of your own death in so many horrifying and gruesome ways.

You grew tired as the weeks passed into months, and then into years. The people buying your blood started asking you to come in twice a week, to deal with the high demand, then three. You knew if you didn't, you'd be hunted down and forced to do it against your will. It was bad enough that the vampires kept harassing you to breed with other uninfected humans, just so they could have more livestock.

You sat at home, watching television and seeing a commercial about the company that marketed your blood. They advertised it like it was various soft drink brands, with yours being a luxury item like fine alcohol once was. You scowled and leaned back against your bed. You felt so fucking tired recently. You just wanted to hide away and not be bothered by anyone anymore.

You wanted your husband back so fucking badly.

You didn't want to be used as food any more, and since you stopped ageing, that was just going to be your life now.

Forever.

Eventually, you knew they'd stop being so nice in asking you to pick a partner and reproduce. You almost would have rather died when the zombies showed up. You sighed and laid down, closing your eyes and trying to think of a plan to get away.

***

A man dressed in an expensive suit greeted you with a wide smile and twinkling blue eyes. His hair was combed and gold back, just the way you liked it, and his goatee was freshly trimmed, allowing you to see his full and luscious lips.

It was your husband.

"Hello again, my dear. I am pleased you've come for another visit." He said smoothly as he produced a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He made them float all around you, with them morphing into glowing butterflies and bubbles.

"Hello, Stephen… I… I can't remember why I came here." You said softly, almost remembering that you were dreaming, when he chuckled. Stephen spread his arms out and engulfed you in an embrace. He felt warm and safe  The next moment, he was dancing with you in a large empty ballroom. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered sweetly.

"Does it really matter? We both know what's going to happen."

He spun you around and the scenery changed to a backdrop of stars. The floor was gone, leaving you both alone in the vastness of space as you kept dancing with him. It didn't feel scary, far from it. Your heart was pounding, stomach full of butterflies as he gazed into your eyes.

Gods, you missed this.

You missed him.

"No, I guess it does not." You murmured back. He drew you close and stuck his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply as his hands smoothed up your sides.

"It does not. What matters, is that you're here, safe, with me." He husked and nipped your ear lobe. You moaned as he kissed down your neck to your shoulder.

"Yes. I'm safe. With you." You softly replied as his kisses became needy and his hands got more adventurous. You felt him grab at your ass and push you up close to him so you could feel his desire for you. You whined at the hardness of his body while you grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.

He groaned, his free hand gliding up your back and into your hair. Stephen gripped your locks and pulled your head back as he placed open mouthed kisses and licks to your skin. Stephen hummed and dragged his teeth along your most sensitive areas, effectively turning your legs to jelly and making it hard to stand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing your face into his shoulder and groaned as he started to suck on your skin. 

You could hear a deep rumbling noise coming from him, a gentle sounding growl as his hand moved from your ass and he pushed you backwards. You landed on something soft as kept his mouth on you, moving down your chest.

"This dress needs to go." He rumbled, and in an instant your dress was gone. He took his time with you, sucking purple marks into your skin at every sensitive spot you had along the way. You gripped his hair, whimpering and squirming for him as he gave each breast a good squeeze and a tantalizing lick to both nipples.

He moved down, bringing a hand to your wet pussy and slid a finger along your seam. You keened for him and lifted your hips, trying to encourage him to put it inside.

"Stephen… More, please?"

"I'll give you more, baby, but first, I need you to wake up and answer the door." He murmured softly and kissed your head.

"What? Why?"

"Because the real thing is so much better, don't you think? Now, wake up!"

***

You heard knocking at your door, and you huffed and rolled out of bed. It was still early, around 3:00am. Who the fuck would be bugging you at this hour? You really hoped it wasn't the security guard, coming to ask you if you had any spare bags of blood in your freezer again. You sighed and got up, going to answer the door, and finding no one there.

"What the fuck? Stop with your stupid games, and just come in already." You snapped and waited a moment as air rushed past you and towards the curtains in the living room. You closed and locked the door. After, you turned towards your freezer and grabbed a pack of blood.

"For fuck's sake, Carl. You don't have to do the super speed ghostly bullshit. I used to be married to the spookiest man alive, so cut the crap. If you wanted a bag of blood, you could have just asked-" You stopped talking when you turned around to see a tall dark figure looking out your window.

That did not look like Carl at all.

Carl was a short, round man with the best sense of humor. He looked and acted exactly like Danny Devito. It was really a shame he was a vampire.

But this guy…

This guy was not Carl.

This guy was over six foot tall, and was quite slender. Most of him was covered by a long black cloak with a very pointy collar. It threw you off, because it reminded you of your long dead love.

"Thank you for inviting me in." His voice was raspy, and you placed the bag of blood onto your counter as you processed the sound of his voice. He sounded strikingly familiar, but people had been known to fuck around and tease you for your past.

Fucking vampires. 

"Look, buddy. I don't know who you think you are, but this is private property. I don't take kindly to pranks." You said firmly as you grabbed a knife and held it calmly. The man turned to look at you, his yellow eyes twinkling as he chuckled softly.

"Knives aren't going to hurt me. Not ones made of Earthen Steel, anyways." He said as he took a slow step towards you. You found the knife was no longer in your hand, and now back in the block again. In its place was your favorite flower.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your body trembling in fear. You hadn't seen actual magic in a long time, and it frightened you.

"I'm here to remove you from this world." He continued with a sly smile. His voice was sounding more and more like Stephen's, and the simple magic trick was hitting you hard in the chest, like a knife.

"Okay, that's a fucking threat, isn't it?" Your voice cracked as if you tried not to cry.

"No, it's not. I'm not here to kill you, darling. I'm here to liberate you. No harm shall come to you, if you come with me. I want to keep you safe." He calmly replied as he lifted his hand in the air, showing off the strappy leather and cloth of his bracers, and flicked his wrist. The bag of blood in front of you floated up into the air, and to the open freezer, then the door shut with a gentle thud. For some reason, the tone in his voice was calming you down fairly quickly.  

"What? What does that even mean?" You asked.

"Silly girl. I feel great sadness within you. You miss your husband dearly, and wish he didn't die. You also wish to join him, but know he'd never want you to end your life to be with him. You wish to leave this world behind, but you don't want to die, correct?" His baritone voice was silky smooth, and you could feel your body react to it. Your skin was heating up at the way he was looking at you, hunger clearly evident in his amber eyes. It was still too dark to see his face very well.

"How… How did you know that?" Your voice cracked again, and he stepped into the light of the kitchen. You gasped when you recognized his face, your chest tightening as you tried to stay calm.

It was your husband, but that was impossible. He died a long time ago, and you missed him so much.

"I've been watching you, my dear. I've seen what you've been through, and managed to do here. While at first, I thought it was a noble sacrifice. You, willing to make such a commitment for your people to keep them alive, but your people quickly took you for granted and started asking too much of you. They have forgotten who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone, except Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, and he is dead." You remarked as a tear rolled down your face.

"Oh, I know. I've seen your entire life. The past, present, and all the future possibilities. I was very shocked to find you were linked to my variant. How very fitting, though, that one of me should hoarde such a beautiful and powerful magical energy source." He said and he leaned against the counter, flashing that signature trademark smirk your husband always wore.

"But you're not my husband, are you?" You asked, but he chuckled and changed the subject.

"That big pharmaceutical company that sells your blood… I am concerned for your well being. They want to breed you against your will, and feed off of your children the moment they come out of you. I find that disgusting." The pale man leaned lazily around your apartment and frowned. He turned back to you and pressed his hands against the counter. He didn't have any scars on his hands like your husband did. He quickly conjured up some documents and slid them towards you, and you looked down at them.

They were papers that showed the blood bank was going to acquire you as an object, with you losing your independence and autonomy. You would lose the right to choose what you did with your life. Even the plans for the next fifty years were clearly laid out a schedule for you to remain constantly pregnant with various sperm donors. You grimaced and shoved the papers off the counter in disgust.

"That's no life for a beautiful immortal such as yourself. I can offer you so much more. Something better, something brighter. A chance to do more with your life, instead of being a glorified cow. I won't ask for much in return, except to feed from you once a month, and for you to assist me while I watch over the Multiverse." The doctor explained as he conjured up a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"That sounds too good to be true. I have a hard time trusting vampires. Let alone ones that look exactly like my dead husband."

"I'm not the same kind of vampire, my dear." He laughed as he shrugged off his cloak and it wandered off to look out the window. It was different than the one you were used to seeing on him, which now belonged to Spider-Man.

"But you're… I watched you die, Stephen. Before they came out with the vampire vaccine." You pointed out. Again he snickered and poured some wine in both glasses.

"I am a variant of your dead doctor. I am an Eldritch being, not a vampire. I've absorbed so much magic, that my body has changed. I'm more like… A demonic God now, but I'm not evil." The doctor handed you a glass and he sat down on one of the barstools you had.

"How's that anything like a vampire?" You asked

"Do you know what an incubus is?"

"Yes… Wait… Oh my God."

"Ah, there we go. It's finally sinking in, isn't it?"

"So, you feed off of sex?"

"Yes, but also no. I need to eat, and I don't eat food much these days. What I do enjoy consuming, is raw energy or magic, which you are just dripping with, my dear. I can smell you all the way across the Multiverse."

"So… Does that mean… I have to…"

"Nothing. You just let me drain some of your magic, and I don't even have to touch you."

"Forgive me, Doctor, but I'm really confused."

"What's there to be confused about? You let me feed off your magic, and I take you away from this universe where they want much worse out of you. If not, you can stay here. It is your choice."

"But you mentioned you are like an incubus?"

"Oh, yes. That. If you allowed me to make love to you, I'd be sharing my powers with you, without the adverse effects that I suffer. But, I'm not going to ask that of you, since that might be cruel, given your-"

"Okay. Fine. Deal. Take me away. I don't want to be here any more. This place sucks, and you're hot." Uou said, and he looked very surprised.

"What?"

"You heard me, old man. Take me away, and you can incu my pussy as much as you want. I don't care that you're not my Stephen."

The doctor's face melted into a wicked smile and he raised his glass in a toast. You grabbed the other glass and tinked it against his, then had a sip of the wine. The liquid didn't taste at all like wine, so you coughed as you set the glass down.

"What was that? That wasn't red wine!"

You were panicking, because it tasted exactly like antifreeze with blood in it.

"No. It wasn't. It is my blood." He said calmly, his smirk growing wider. Your eyes went wide, and you made a disgusted face.

"Ugh, why? I'm not a fucking vampire. Blood doesn't taste good to me. Why does it taste like antifreeze?"

"Haha. My dear, I'm an abomination of nature and magic that exists outside of time and space. I shouldn't exist at all, yet I do. I exist, and I watch over all universes. In all of my years of witnessing millions of realities grow and perish, I have never once seen someone that should be up with me in the Watcher's area. Not even any of my variants. You don't belong down here, and you don't belong in any other universe."

"Okay, but that's not explaining exactly why you just tried to pass your blood off as wine."

"I need you to have some of my essence in you, otherwise the process will be painful. If you won't drink the blood, we have other ways to make the transfer."

"You've done this before?"

"Yes, but also, no." He said in that annoyingly self assured tone of his. Apparently this Stephen was much the same as yours once was.

"I'm starting to hate that phrase." You muttered and he chuckled as he stood up and conjured up a viewing orb, showing a woman with red hair.

The orb cycled through hundreds of ways that she died, with over half of them being accompanied by a younger looking and cleanly shaven version of Strange. You covered your mouth at the horrible ways she perished, and you felt tears forming when you saw his sorrowful reaction each time.

You knew the woman in question. Your Stephen had once been engaged to the one in this world, but they broke up swiftly after his accident. You had replaced her as the love of his life, until the day he died from being bitten by Christine. This variant of Stephen could sense your sorrow, and he placed a hand to your shoulder.

"I tried to save her, many times. I wasn't as wise back then, as I am now."

"Then you did end up saving her?"

"No. I destroyed my world for her, and when I did save her, she rejected the horrible creature I had become. I frightened her so much, she died again, and the look on her face told me I needed to stop. So, I did. I stopped. I became a Watcher, and I learned many new skills. I got over her, moved on, then I finally figured out how I can stop a Nexus event quite easily, without tearing a reality apart and corrupting it." He explained as he showed you on the orb what he really looked like. You crouched down and looked at his demonic form, sighing as you felt your heart ache for him.

"You're the only person I've ever done this to. I am hoping this time, you'll be better prepared, and there will be less complications down the line."

"This time?"

"Yes. Fear not, for I won't make the same mistakes I did last time. I've figured out that it's just easier to remove a person from a universe altogether, before their Nexus event can occur to kill them, instead of trying to stop the event by any other means. Then, I just simply don't return them to that universe. They will exist outside of their time and space."

"... You've done this before, and I died? But I'm… I am supposed to be immortal."

"You weren't the first go around. I figured changing your fate, and having Doctor Morbius be able to get his vaccine out would work much better. You see, I am able to twist time in any universe. I can look into the future, but when I do, I actually live through it, before deciding to go back. It's a standard feature on most Doctor Stranges."

"So is being frustratingly cryptic. How did I die?"

"The first time? My dear… I've seen thousands of possible futures for you."

"Ugh, tell me the first time that you actually had to interfere."

"Oh, well, I'd rather not. It was really quite gruesome. That's why I showed you the paperwork. That's exactly what happened to you. In fact, they are due in just a few hours to come and collect you. I turned the clock back, and now I am here to take you away. This world doesn't have anyone capable of coming to find you once I remove you from it."

You sat there quietly and fidgeted with your hands as you glanced at the door and then back at him. You thought back to the many dreams you kept having, and how they all involved your death, or this man. Most recently, they had become very dark and debauched fantasies of him fucking you in various ways, and less about you dying. When given the choice of being stuck here as a glorified farm animal, or going with another variant of your dearly departed husband to see the wonders of the Multiverse, you definitely were choosing the doctor.

Besides, even after seeing what he looked like in the orb compared to how his form was now… Both were very tempting. It was even more tempting he was a variant of your dead lover. You felt your face grow hotter as you thought about those very sexual dreams. Yes, that would be a much better future for you.

"Take me now. I trust you." You finally said while reaching out to grab his hand. His face softened, eye turning that soft baby blue you missed, and he gave you a warm smile, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"Good. Do you need to bring anything?"

"No."

***

The place he brought you to was very Strange, pun intended. It was a building in the middle of what looked to be a cluster of bright twinkling lights in outer space.

"That looks like home, the Sanctum Sanctorum…" You said softly, and Stephen placed a hand to your lower back 

"It is. I've replicated it perfectly to be my home, with much needed improvements." He whispered into your ear as his hand moved just slightly lower.

"It's way more beautiful than the one I've seen "

"Ah, yes, well… Better materials do go a long way. I've used a lot of rare metals and wood from across the Multiverse. Let me show you the inside."

***

He showed off the entire place, and as the tour progressed, you started to feel off. It wasn't in a bad way, but you found that you felt hot.

Down there.

He was just as much of a talker as your husband was, full of both useful and useless facts. You noticed the artifacts he had were very much different then the ones your Stephen had in his Sanctum, and he enjoyed telling you about any item you pointed at. He was nice about it, much nicer than your husband was. This one kept checking to see if you knew what things were, before offering the information up. He finally brought you to a large room that looked like an old English pub inside, and he sat you down at the bar, with him going behind it.

"I'm sure you'd like some real alcohol, now. I can assure you I have the finest you'll ever find anywhere." He declared happily while grabbing a fancy bottle of Kree Whiskey in one hand, and very elegant looking Asgardian Wine in the other.

"Sure. I want a slushed Bellini with raspberries in it."

He stared at you for a long moment, then slowly put both bottles down.

"You want prosecco?"

"Uh, well, no. I mostly just want a fancy, tangy peach and raspberry slushie, with booze in it."

"Ah, so may I put a different kind of alcohol in it?"

"Sure, why not? Give me something strong." You said firmly, and he went about making you a drink the old fashioned way, without magic.

"So, tell me more about this deal." You asked. He handed you the drink and you took it, smelling it and taking a sip. It tasted exactly how Stephen used to make them and you felt a pang of guilt as you sat here with some copy of your spouse.

"I need an assistant. Not a secretary type, but a partner to help me with overseeing and managing the Multiverse. My friend can only do so much by himself, and he's not allowed to interfere with any of the worlds he watches, but I am, and so are any I bring up here." He casually explained while pouring himself some of the wine.

"There are others here?"

"Just you, me, and Uatu. Uatu has his own area. You'll know him when you see him. Really big bald head, hates my jokes…" Stephen chuckled. The sound was like music to your ears.

"Tell me about you being an Incubus. I remember those dreams. Was that actually you, or was it my brain processing the world around me, because I miss my husband?"

"Oh, that was me."

"Go on."

"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid. I can feed in various ways. I can drain the life force from someone and leave a husk behind. I could straight up devour the entire being, leaving nothing left, or… Or I could use the pleasures of the flesh, and not harm the person I am feeding off of." He sounded quite honest, and that's when you realized you had already been having sex with this man, but in your dreams.

Those overly vivid and realistic dreams that left your panties soaked when you woke up.

A sinful throb beat between your thighs at the thought, and you gave him a playful grin as you reached out and placed your hand on his.

"Oh… Well I don't think I want to be a husk, or eaten. You know, unless my pussy is the one being drained and eaten." You said in a sultry voice. His eyes flashed a dark amber.

"I'd rather fill you up after I eat you."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." You drank the rest of the Bellini and made a pleased sigh.

"My dear, I don't make threats anymore. I just do it."

"Then stop talking already, and show me what you can do."

Stephen grinned wickedly and snapped his fingers. Everything was replaced by a nicer looking version of your old bedroom that you used to share with Stephen in the Sanctum. You gasped as he pushed you down to the bed and kissed you passionately.

You moaned into his mouth as your tongues danced, and his hands tore your clothes away from your body, almost violently. His hands grabbed at your hips as he chuckled and banished his clothing away. Stephen was nudging himself between your legs, when you put a hand to his chest and stopped him. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Wait…"

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked, a look of hurt flashing through his eyes.

"No… But I want to see you for what you really are when we do this." You said and his face fell into surprise.

"I don't think you'd like that very much." He finally said, his mouth turning into a doubtful frown.

"I saw you in the orb. You don't scare me."

"I only showed you the tamest part of my true form." He muttered bitterly. You reached up and grabbed his face, bringing him down so you were nose to nose.

"I loved my husband with all of my heart. I was devastated when he died. I know you are not him, but I still feel that same connection of love in your presence, like he never left me…" You begged him as you kissed his lips gently.

"But-"

"Please, Stephen?" Again you begged, kissing his cheek and along his neck. He groaned and reared back to look at you.

"Alright. I will show you. I'll understand if you wish to leave. I can put you somewhere nice that I know you'll like and-"

"Stephen. Shut the fuck up and show me what you look like."

He huffed and nodded while his skin darkened slowly. Bit by bit, it became a deep ashy purple, with a sheen of glittery red on it. His eyes went back to being that slitted, dark sunset orange, and he started to grow several multicolored eyes on his forehead and the side of his face. Large horns protruded from his head, and his cloak melted into his back, becoming large leathery wings.

But the most striking thing about him, were all the fucking tentacles.

"You hate it, don't you?" He asked, his voice laced with shame.

"You're beautiful." You breathed back and smiled brightly at him.

"What? No, that's not… I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. That's amazing… Are they… Dangerous?" You asked as you sat up and reached out to grab one of his tentacles. The one you tried to touch, recoiled away from you.

"Sometimes, if I need them to be."

"May I… May I touch it? Please?"

"If that is what you want." He sounded very unsure as the appendage unfurled and rested on your palm. You stared at it and reached up to touch it with your other hand.

It was soft, and not at all slimey, like you thought it would be. Your fingers gently ran over the length of what you could reach. The skin there felt a bit rough, but the underside with the suckers was soft, and very much felt like…

"Oh… Careful now. If you keep that up, I won't be able to stop myself."

You felt your face heat right up at the statement. You looked at his main two eyes as you stroked around each sucker, watching him twitch and grunt. You grinned at him, and decided to see what he would do if you licked it. The impulse was too much to hold on to, and you leaned forward, eyes still locked with his, and gave the girthy appendage a long lick. Stephen groaned, all of his eyes closing halfway as he watched you suck the tip into your mouth.

"Fuck…"

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling every little circle, dip, curve, and edge. He groaned and leaned forward, caging you in with both hands as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I've never… No one has touched me like this before…" He growled, his voice beginning to warp and sound more like the deep echoing of Eldritch voices you used to hear when your husband cast spells. Your heart fluttered, and your pussy throbbed from the nostalgia.

You took him deeper into your mouth, tongue rolling over his skin as you reached out and grabbed another tentacle. He curled that one around your wrist as you gave it a gentle squeeze, drawing forth another deep moan from him. Your hand left the one at your mouth, going to grab yet another, but this time you placed it between your legs.

He almost wanted to ask what you were doing, when you leaned back and pulled on him. He moved with you, hovering over your body as you spread your legs for him. Stephen hummed as he looked down, another deep rumbling noise emanating from him while he watched you rub him against your wet entrance.

"You're so wet…"

Stephen twitched, but he didn't dare prod you with it. The tentacles that weren't on your body were coiling in anticipation as you took the one in your mouth out with a loud slurp. You gave him a sultry look and placed the wet appendage to your breast.

"Don't be scared, Stephen. I am not as fragile as you'd think." You said, and pressed him against your breast, squeezing softly to encourage him to move it by himself. Your hand pushed the tip of his other tentacle to your clit and you rubbed it in circles. He let out multiple groans and purring noises.

"It's hard not to be, my dear. I could snap you in half with just a thought."

"You sound like my husband." You teased him in a breathy whisper, hands still trying to encourage him to touch you.

"I am your husband…" He groaned and before you could register what he had said, or the meaning behind it, he brought a few more tentacles down to touch you experimentally. You felt two of them curl around your ankles, slowly spreading them farther apart as the one on your breast squeezed and wrapped the tip around your nipple. 

"Ohhh… Stephen… Just like that." You murmured softly as one of the suckers melded over your nipple, perfectly covering it, before it started to pulse. Another one curled around your other breast, giving it the same attention and working them in a good rhythm. You whined and pushed your hips up while rubbing him against your clit. More tentacles crept out, one wrapping around your other wrist, snaking its way up your arm and cupping your chin. Stephen leaned down, almost close enough to kiss.

"You're so soft… And warm…" Stephen hummed as he coiled more and more of his tentacles up and around your limbs and torso. He brought a large hand to your back, pulling you closer as he looked into your eyes.

He saw how they shined for him, even half lidded as he slowly pushed into your pussy. Your breathing quickened as he pushed deeper and deeper, slowly pushing the thicker parts in,  while the tip slipped back out to curl over your clit. You keened and he kissed you, groaning into your mouth as he slithered all over you.

"Stephen…" You breathed his name, causing him to grunt as a tentacle slowly snaked up your leg and cupped your ass. You felt more, pulling and tugging at your cheeks, with one going to catch the slick that dripped from your pussy, before probing your backdoor.

"Sweet girl… Fuck… How are you this wet?"

"Because of you, Stephen. Because it's you." You murmured back as you felt him move, sliding his thick muscle in more, stretching you wider as another one slipped inside to find your gspot. It felt amazing, feeling two of them writhe inside of you.

"May I… May I put one in your ass?" He growled while rubbing your tight ring of muscle.

"Please." You answered softly. Your hands came up to his face again, fingers gliding up to his horns. He let out another deep sounding growl and shut his eyes.

You felt your asshole slowly being dipped into, then with a sudden sensation of liquid being applied, he pushed in easily. Your head went back as you gasped and panted, feeling three tentacles wiggling inside of you.

"Fuck… You're something else, you know that right? Anyone else would be terrified right now…"

"Th-that's what my h-husband used to saaay- Oh fuck! W-when he used sex magic on meee..." You sassed back as you licked his cheek.

"Shit… What… What sort of things did he used to do to you?" Stephen asked, his mind already spinning a million images as to what his variant did to you.

"Sensory intensifying spells, lubricating spells, g-ghostly touches, mag-gic vibratory aids…" You started to list some things off, and when you mentioned the last one, you suddenly felt intense vibrations coming from each one of his limbs.

"Oh… Gods… Fuck… That feels so g-good!" Your breath came out rushed as he pushed in deeper with all three of them. The way he throbbed and pulsed was amazing, like a designer toy made just to make you come. You felt so full, and it was glorious.

"So pretty… So divine… How could such a beautiful angel like you, let a monster like me do this to you…? You dirty little thing… Fuck…" Stephen husked and slowly put more pressure on each of your sweet spots. You yelped and thrashed, feeling your pussy clench the closer you got to your release.

"I bet you let him double team you with himself, yeah?" He asked, his voice rough and deep as he started to thrust his tentacles in and out of you.

"Y-yes!" You whined back, feeling yourself get to the edge, but not quite able to jump off yet.

"Did you let him fuck you raw, and come inside you?" He asked, and again you whined.

So close…

"Fuck, yeah…"

"How about the multiple arms spell?" He asked as a tentacle slowly wrapped around your throat.

"Yeah… That was always a favorite of mine…" You sighed when he rubbed your cheek. That sigh quickly turned into a debauched moan as he jerked your body flush against his and started to fuck into you faster, the tentacles rubbing you just right.

"Fuck… You feel so wet… Your walls are clenching so tightly around me. I want to see you come." Stephen licked his lips as he turned the vibrations up.

You howled and felt your nerves snap, and you shook violently in his grasp as you came hard. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he grunted in pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm. Stephen rumbled and leaned in, forehead pressed to yours as he watched you writhe and moan. The tentacles in your cunt slowed in their movements, and he slowly pulled them from your dripping hole. You stared at him as he brought them up to his mouth, his very long tongue coming out to lick your juices off of them.

"Fuck, that's hot…" You breathed as you tried to catch your breath. He glanced at you and grinned.

"Naughty girl…" Stephen hummed and slowly moved your legs, bringing your feet up high into the air as he positioned himself between them. You glanced down and gasped, eyes going wide like saucers when you saw just how big his cock was.

"Do you like what you see?" His voice was raspy as he made that purring sound. You shivered and stared at his dick. It was dark red, the bulbous head almost a royal purple as it oozed precome. He had thick veins running all over it, and it looked like he was ribbed! 

"Do you think it'll fit? I can make it smaller, more the size you're used to." Stephen asked in that teasing tone you missed so much.

How dare he think you couldn't handle that monster of a cock after he just had two thick tentacles in there!

"I can take it."

"Are you certain? I'll ruin you for anyone else."

"I don't want anyone else. I want you. Now please, Stephen, shut your big mouth and fuck me already!"

"So much confidence… That's hot…" Stephen remarked as he brought you closer, resting the large head of cock on your seam. He gently rubbed you, teasing you as he spread your lips with the tips of his tentacles. With a grunt and a gentle push, he nudged the head of his cock into you. You gasped, feeling him push inside, his girth stretching you far more than his tentacles had.

"Shit… Sssooo… So b-big…" Your voice cracked as he shoved in deeper while he carefully watched your reaction. You began to pant and squirm, fingers digging in harder into the meat of his shoulders 

"I can stop if-"

"No! Don't stop!"

You struggled to breathe as he pulled you closer, pushing his throbbing member in as deeply as he could. You whined as you felt his hips kiss yours, his cock bottoming out and pulsing. You felt his heavy balls resting flush against your ass.

"You're doing so well, my little minx. You've taken every last inch of me. Can you feel me deep inside of you? Can feel it throbbing, just for you?" He waited for a moment, allowing you to adjust and get used to his size as he cupped your face and kissed your forehead.

"Oh… Gods, y-yes… You feel so good…"

"As do you…" Stephen murmured back, then started whispering a spell into your ear. You felt pleasure tingle all over your body, nerves sparking with fire. Your eyes rolled back, back arching as he began to move his hips.

"Gods be damned… You feel absolutely heavenly…" Stephen growled as his tentacles squeezed and slithered all over your body. He sighed as he sped up, his hips slapping away at yours as he fucked you hard.

"St-stephen!" You called his name and tugged him closer to kiss him. He groaned and stuck his long tongue into your mouth, it sliding around and down your throat. You made small grunting noises as you breathed through your nose, the sensations overwhelming you, and you came.

He pinned you to the bed and pressed you down, his hips fucking up into your tight cavern over and over, sending your senses into overdrive as he pulled another orgasm from your body so quickly after the last. You would have screamed if he wasn't tongue fucking your mouth.

Your nipples suddenly surged with pleasure, and then the suckers on your clit started to send harsh vibrations to it. You gurgled and shook, feeling him draw yet another orgasm from your body. You felt his cock pulse and throb along with every tentacle he had wrapped around you. The one in your ass was purposely pushing against the thin wall between it and his cock, making your eyes roll back as you drooled excessively.

'I'm going to fill you so full…'

You heard his voice in your mind, and all you could do was take his harsh thrusts as he moved in and out of your holes.

You felt his cock throb, and a moment later, he was growling as you felt him spurt the first rope into you. You moaned, feeling more and more fill your womb directly, his come forcing its way out from the side of his cock, and dripping down your ass cheeks.

His come was so warm, and it sent tingles of pleasure through you as you felt the tentacle in your ass begin to fill you like his cock did. You felt warm and sticky, all the other limbs releasing gobs of come all over you. You felt him draw his tongue from your mouth, and he watched as you twitched and thrashed from overstimulation.

His hips slowed down, and then he finally stopped moving altogether, just resting inside of you as he rolled over with you in his arms. You laid on his chest, panting and huffing as his wings slowly wrapped around you, covering you in a warm embrace.

"Stephen..?" You gently asked as you stroked his chest.

"Yes?"

"I missed this so much…" You softly murmured. You felt him kiss the top of your head.

"And I missed you more." He replied as he stroked your shoulder and back with a few tentacles. He had one hand on your ass, the other holding your left hand, his thumb slowly stroking the wedding band that your husband had given to you. You hadn't taken it off since he died.

"Stephen..?" You asked again.

"Yeah?"

"Did you absorb my husband?" You suddenly asked. You felt him still and his hand gripped yours a bit tighter. You heard him swallow, and he took a deep breath.

"Would you be upset if I said yes?" His voice trembled as did his hands. You looked down and noticed the one you were holding had deep dark lines etched into skin.

"No." You sighed happily and nuzzled your face into his chest.

"Then yes."

"Okay. I thought so. I love you." You cooed and kissed his shoulder. He sighed back and held you a bit tighter.

"I love you, too, my dear. Thank you for waiting for me."

"Thank you for coming back to me."

***

@jumpdingus @ashreblogsnow

Tags:

[haggishlyhagging]

"I did it for me," reads the plaque held by the woman in a Botox ad. There's a sense that she's presenting the plaque to us, the audience, and it's kind of unnerving. The makers of the ad are conversant in the basic language of both body acceptance and choice feminism, and this ad is an attempt to make an end-run around any existing skepticism about cosmetic surgery, by appealing to free, market-savvy choice and its result, empowerment. This woman who paid a tidy sum of money for a smooth forehead and nonexistent nasolabial folds is not a dupe of the patriarchy, dammit! She's not doing it for a man; she's not doing it for a woman; she's doing it for herself, and those are the magic words. Variations on “I did it for me” appear and reappear in ads for Botox and breast implants; they're present when Vogue suggests—you know, just puts it out there—that you could shorten your toes in order to better fit them into Jimmy Choos; they exist whenever morning talk-radio hosts give away free breast implants to the woman with the best small-boobs sob story. "I did it for me," "I did it to feel better about myself," and, "I'm not doing it for anyone else" are defensive reflexes that acknowledge an imagined feminist disapproval and impatiently brush it away.

It's been twenty-five years since Naomi Wolf wrote, in her bestselling book The Beauty Myth, that "The ideology of beauty is the last one remaining of the old feminine ideologies that still has the power to control those women whom second-wave feminism would have otherwise made relatively uncontrollable." For all the gains that various women's movements have made possible, rigidly prescribed, predominantly white beauty standards are one site where time has not revolutionized our thinking. Concurrently, it's also where the expansion of consumer choice has made it possible to bow to such standards in countless new ways.

Choice has become the primary way to talk about looks, a phenomenon that journalist Alex Kuczynski called "an activism of aesthetics" in her 2006 book Beauty Junkies. In the book, the cosmetic surgery industry in particular is portrayed as a kind of Thunderdome where the waiting lists for a new injectable climb into the double digits, impeccably spray-tanned celebrity doctors jostle for prime soundbite space in women's magazines, and speakers at surgeons' conventions end their speeches with a call to "Push plastic surgery." With a rise in options—more doctors, more competing pharmaceutical brands, the rise of cosmetic-surgery tourism that promises cheap procedures in tropical locations—the landscape of sculpted noses and liposuctioned abs has been defined by choice. The "activism," too, is one of individual choice—it refers to being proactive about one's own appearance, vigilant enough to be able to head off wrinkles, droops, and sags at the pass. Framed within our neoliberal discourse, an activism of aesthetics doesn't dismantle the beauty standards that telegraph worth and status, but advocates for everyone's right to purchase whatever interventions are necessary to achieve those standards. The individual world shrinks to the size of a doctor's office; other people exist only as points of physical comparison.

Though we often think of beauty and body imperatives in their prefeminist form—the hobbling footbinding, the lead whitening powders, the tapeworm diet—the ostensibly consciousness-raised decades since the 1970s have brought a mind-boggling array of dictates, standards, and trends to all genders, but most forcefully to women. When capri pants were the move of the moment in the 1990s, Vogue was there to suggest quick surgical fixes for knobby knees and undefined calves. Less than ten years later, the clavicle was the body part du jour, balancing the trend of voluminous clothing with reassuring proof that, under all that material, the wearer was appropriately thin. (One clavicle-boasting woman stated to The New York Times that the clavicle was the "easiest and least controversial expression of a kind of sex appeal"—not as obviously sexy as breasts, but evidence of a physical discipline coveted among the fashion set.) A handful of years after that, the focus moved south again, to the "thigh gap" coveted by a largely young audience, some of whom blogged about their pursuit of the gap with diet journals and process photos.

Though certain types of bodies have historically come in and out of fashion—the flapper dresses of the 1920s required a boyish, hipless figure, while the tight angora sweaters of the '50s demanded breasts, or at least the padded semblance of them—the pace with which bodies are presented as the "right" ones to have has quickened. The beachy girls-next-door of the 1970s were elbowed out by the Amazonion supermodels of the 1980s, who gave way to the heroin-chic waifs of the '90s, who were knocked off the editorial pages of the early 2000s by the Brazilian bombshells, who were then edged out by the doll-eyed British blondes. Meanwhile, the fashion industry selectively co-opts whatever "ethnic" attributes can be appropriated in the service of a trend. Black and Latina women with junk in the trunk who have been erased by mainstream glossies, overlooked as runway models, and ill-served by pants designed for comparatively fat rears were rightly annoyed to hear from Vogue, in 2014, that "We're Officially in the Era of the Big Booty" thanks to stars like Iggy Azalea, Miley Cyrus, and Kim Kardashian. There is no wrong way to have a body" wrote author and size-positive sage Hanne Blank, but that sentiment will always be contradicted by a market, and a media, that depends on people not believing it.

-Andi Zeisler, We Were Feminists Once

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 3 [Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol

Chapter summary: Olive and Bradley flirt; Bob leaves the bar with a local, sparking an interesting conversation about his love life; Olive goes to meet Dr. Floyd Sr

WC: 3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

In New York, you had been somebody. A flashy doctor at a world renowned hospital. 

Perhaps more impressively: you had been Peter’s fiancé. That was the golden ticket to popularity in the hospital. And the hospital was your world. There wasn’t time for anything else. 

Willow was more of a shock than you had expected. In every way. 

It wasn’t just that there was only one restaurant and one supermarket that also doubled as the tailor. It wasn’t that you couldn’t walk everywhere easily the way you had in the city, or that DoorDash was an unheard of phenomenon or that the closest thing you could get to Blue Bottle coffee was a canned tea at the Piggy Wiggly forty minutes away. 

It was the fact that people were friendly. Well, to each other. You were still the outsider that they were wary of. 

Everyone except Bradley Bradshaw. 

Ever since that night at the market, Bradley had been popping into the clinic, bringing a second iced tea with him or complaining of a headache. He had long been a patient of Bob’s, but he switched to you without a second thought. 

“I’m going to have to report you to the Georgia Board of Law Examiners,” you said as Bradley sat up, buttoning his shirt. You sat on a rolling stool at his feet wearing a pair of dauntingly tall heels, a black sheath dress and your white lab coat. 

“Oh yeah?” he said, smirking. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure you’re lying about being sick to have an excuse to see me,” you countered. “And I thought that would be against your oath as an attorney.” 

“Joke is on you because we don’t take an oath.” Bradley finished buttoning his shirt and tucking it into his gray slacks. You didn’t allow yourself to look too long. He looked too good in his outfit and you had a reason for turning him down. You had to get over Peter, and despite what some of your college roommates used to say, the best way to get over someone was in fact not to get under someone else. 

You shook your head, trying to toss the image of being under Bradley out of your mind. “Well, counselor, you are, unfortunately, perfectly healthy. No risk of alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. By the way, how did you self diagnose that?” 

“The internet is more than just good porn now,” he replied. 

You looked up with amusement. “Don’t you have clients to tend to?” 

Bradley shifted forward, long legs brushing the ground. You could practically feel the heat from his leg and he was only a few inches away from where you sat on your stool. “What are they gonna do?” he asked. “Sue me? I’m the only lawyer in town.” 

You laughed, standing up and shaking your head. “Come on, Bradshaw. I have other patients to see. Should I have Molly book you for an appointment tomorrow, say three pm? Something about the bubonic plague?” 

You opened the door, sliding one hand over it, standing halfway through the doorway. Bradley grinned, stepping forward until the two of you were chest to chest in the doorway. His brown eyes locked on yours and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at you so intensely it felt like your skin was going to melt off. 

And then there was a cough. You both looked up. Bob stood holding a paper chart in his hand, a look of disappointment across his slender face. Bradley took another step out into the hall, running his hand over his hair. 

“Floyd,” he said. “How’s it going?” 

“Bradley,” Bob replied coldly. “Are you ill? I didn’t see you on my schedule.” 

“No, I, uh—”

“He has the plague,” you chipped in. 

Bob frowned. “He what?” 

Bradley hid a laugh and you couldn’t help but crack a grin. The crabby look on Bob’s face made it all worth it. “Ice it for ten minutes and then one pint of ice cream before bed, not a third like the package instructs.” 

Bradley raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“For your broken heart,” you added and his eyes widened with realization and mirth. “Since, you know, you’re in love with me and all.” 

“See you later, doc.” He ambled down the hallway and out the front door. You watched him appreciatively, the way he moved was like a slow dance to no music. 

When the door shut, you turned around, Bob’s eyes hot on you. He scowled and ducked into his office. You caught Molly’s eye from the desk. She shook her head, lips pressed into a tight frown, and sat down. You sighed. “Mrs. Meyer,” you called out, looking at the name from the next chart in the hanging cabinet next to your door. “Please come on back.” 

***

At night, Breakers Cafe turned into a bar. It made sense, it was the only place in the entire town, although unlike everything else that was so central to town, including the office, Breakers was out in the woods down a dirt road. 

You sat at the bar, sipping a glass of really terrible Chardonnay. 

“Bad?” Phoenix leaned one tanned elbow on the counter. 

“Awful,” you replied. 

“You’ll drink it and you’ll like it,” she said with a smirk and you shook your head, grinning, taking another sip. It had been two weeks in Willow, and Phoenix was growing on you. You ate breakfast at the main house with her every day before she left for Breakers and you made your way to the office. 

You were even falling into place with the practice. Molly’s chill had worn off a little and you had helped a few patients in a pinch. Some trusted you from the flu epidemic where Bob had been absent. 

Bob was the only person still giving you the big freeze. 

“Vodka soda!” 

You turned automatically toward the drunk, shrill voice. Macy, the girl from your first morning in Willow. Then, you had felt on edge. An outsider with no understanding of what you were doing. Now, you had the upper hand. Macy’s blonde bangs were sticking to her forehead with sweat and her dress clung to her body tightly but in a haphazard way that you knew she was drunk. 

After a moment, she realized you were sitting next to her at the bar. “Oh my Lord, Dr. James?” 

You smiled. “Olive, please.” 

Phoenix set a fresh vodka soda down in front of her. “Bless you, Natasha!” 

You looked over. “Natasha?” 

“Don’t get me started.” 

Macy took a sip, pivoting her body to face you. “Dr. James, the big New York doctor. I didn’t think you’d last a week let alone two.” 

“How kind of you.” 

She tipped her head back in a laugh. “I’m drunk.” 

“I noticed.” 

She squinted. “What is this I hear about you and Bradley Bradshaw?” 

You frowned. “What?” 

“Oh, honey, the whole town is talking up a storm that apparently Bradley comes to your office three times a week.” 

“Well he’s a hypochondriac,” you replied, taking another sip of wine and wincing. “Besides, why does the town care?” 

Macy tossed her head back in a laugh. A huge, rolling laugh that filled the space around both of your bodies. “This is a small town, Dr. James.” Her eyes were glassy from alcohol. “Everyone is watching you. Just you wait.” 

“For what?” you asked, just as the doors whipped open. To your shock, Bob Floyd entered the room, turning almost instinctively toward where you and Macy sat at the bar. He caught your eye immediately, holding it for a few seconds as he crossed the room. 

But then Macy trapped him. She had her ass and back pressed against the wooden bar, arms spread wide on either side of her, lips twisted up in a pout. They were far enough away that you couldn’t hear what Bob said to her as he looked down, whispering. Macy reached up one hand, gripping his tie, tugging him in closer, until they were boxed in on each other, one of Bob’s hands on the bar behind Macy, his eyes staring into hers deeply. 

“What are they saying?” you whispered to Phoenix who also had her eyes glued on Bob and Macy at the end of the bar. But the music was loud enough and there were a few bodies milling around the bar that you couldn’t make out a single word they said. 

She shrugged. “Who knows?” 

The two of you watched as Macy ran her hands up Bob’s tie, his grip on the bar tightening. He spoke to her quietly, her eyes never leaving his, until he straightened himself, pushing off of the bar. Macy dropped her hand and Bob placed one hand on her mid back, steering her toward the door. He opened the door and led her out, but not before turning around and catching your eye. There was something in the way he looked at you. 

Almost like regret. 

And then he was gone, the two of them swallowed by the darkness outside Breakers. 

You grabbed your glass and drained it. “What the fuck was that?” 

“Macy has had a thing for Bob since we were kids,” Phoenix explained.”Also she drinks.” 

You laughed. “That explains it then.” 

Phoenix studied you. After a moment she added, “He’ll warm up to you.” 

“Doubtful,” you replied, pushing the glass toward her. “He likes me as much as people from Queens like the Yankees.” 

“You’re losing me, babe.” 

“He hates me,” you clarified. 

Phoenix tipped more wine into your empty glass. “Bob doesn’t hate anyone,” she said. “Besides, you work together. He’ll have to get used to you, one day.” 

You lifted the glass to your lips. “Sooner rather than later,” you huffed. “I’m tired of him stabbing me with his eyes every time I go out into the waiting room.” 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Wear longer skirts and maybe he won’t feel so self-conscious that you’re going to steal his patients.” 

You laughed and Phoenix sauntered away, headed down the bar toward another customer. You turned and gazed out the door where Bob and Macy had disappeared only minutes before. There was a sourness on your tongue that you couldn’t place. 

***

You knocked a second time, shifting from foot to foot, trying to balance in your tall heels with an arm full of flowers and a pastry bag. 

Finally, the door swung open. You were surprised to see Bob Floyd standing in the doorway, but he looked more than surprised. 

“Dr. James,” he said gruffly, eyebrows raised. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m here to see Dr. Floyd,” you replied. “Wanted to thank him for hiring me. And since I’ve been here for almost a month I thought it was time I stopped by.” 

“My father is quite sick,” Bob said quietly. “Not sure if he’s up for company.” 

“Oh,” you said awkwardly. “Can I at least drop these off for him?” you asked, looking down at the flowers in your hand, and a bag of black and white cookies you had ordered from New York. 

“Bobby, don’t be rude.” A voice emerged from the shadows and you laid your eyes on Dr. Robert Floyd Sr. for the first time. He was tall, but thin, white hair swept back and a smile on his face that dimpled his cheeks. “Dr. James, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Please, come in. Ignore my son, he’s being a bit of a putz.” 

You laughed. 

“Bobby,” Dr. Floyd said, “help the girl out, will you?” 

Bob stepped forward, accepting the flowers into his hands. His fingertips brushed your bare arm and you looked up. His blue eyes were hard, but they were locked in on you. “Thanks,” you whispered as Bob scooped the flowers out of your arms. He held out his free hand for the cookie bag and you handed it over. 

“No problem,” Bob said, turning and disappearing down the hallway. 

You stood in the entryway with a cautious smile. 

Dr. Floyd waved one wrinkled hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Bobby will grab us some iced tea. Close the door, will you?” 

You shut the front door, following Dr. Floyd down the hallway and into the back sunroom. The house was beautiful, all dark wood and lined with pictures from national parks. You spotted at least five photos of a young Bob Floyd, including one of him in his medical school graduation robes next to what you could only assume were his parents. 

“My wife Celine,” Dr. Floyd Sr. said when he caught you staring at the photo. “She died a year after that. I never remarried.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you replied. 

“We had forty seven great years together,” he said with a smile. “It wasn’t enough, but it’ll do. Here, take a seat.” 

He pointed to a sofa against the far wall and you sat down as Dr. Floyd settled into a chair opposite you. 

“How is Willow treating you so far?” 

You sighed. How to answer that question? In the kitchen, Bob was fussing with the flowers and cookies. “It’s an adjustment,” you said finally. 

He laughed. It was deep and throaty and it made you smile. You liked him immediately. 

You leaned forward. “Dr. Floyd. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Please, call me Robert.” 

You smiled. “Robert. Why did you hire me?

He looked you up and down and then his gaze tipped over to the adjacent room where Bob was still puttering on the other side of the wall. “Because I knew you’d bring something we’ve been missing all this time. This town, our practice. And him.” He smiled. “I know my son. He has many strengths. But he has flaws, too.” 

“And what do I bring to this?” you asked, curious. “Besides a lot of opinions on the right way to make a bagel.” 

Robert leaned back. “Life, Dr. James,” he said softly. “For too long there’s been a shadow hanging above us. We needed someone fresh to breathe some life into things. To bring a new perspective.” He looked at the doorway where Bob was gathering a tray with iced tea. “He needs someone to push him.” 

You frowned. “Push him?” 

“He’s heartbroken,” Robert said quietly. “And it’s affecting his work. He has to figure out what brought him to medicine in the first place or else he’ll never truly love it again. He thinks life is only going to let him down.”

You opened your mouth to ask another question but Bob entered the room and you clammed up immediately. He put the tray down on the wooden coffee table. “What did I miss?” 

“Nothing, son,” Robert said, leaning forward and Bob pressed a sweating glass of iced tea into his wrinkled palm. “Just catching up with the new doctor. She’s quite a spitfire, might give you a run for your money.” 

“She is.” It came out so quiet and immediate that you couldn’t help but turn in shock. Bob took a sip of iced tea without looking at you. “Bradshaw already switched to her as his primary care physician.” 

Robert laughed. “Now that is no surprise.” 

You watched the easy interaction between father and son. It was clear how much Bob loved his father. He was always there, preempting Robert’s movements: putting a coaster down before his glass could hit the table, angling the fan so it perfectly drifted in his father’s direction, even spotting when Robert had yawned two times before making a polite suggestion that it was getting late. 

You held out a hand at the door. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Dr. Floyd,” you said and you meant it. 

“Robert,” he replied. 

“Olive.” 

Robert smiled. “Well, Olive, I look forward to seeing what you do with my office. No funny movie posters, I hope. That Woody Allen shit.” 

“No guarantees, sir.” 

He grinned, patting Bob on the back as he drifted back into the house. It was just you and Bob standing in the doorway. The sun had drifted beyond the tree line, leaving the sky tinted pink. 

“Thank you,” you said. “For letting me in, even when you didn’t want to.” 

“I didn’t not want to, Olive,” Bob said. It was perhaps the first time he said your name unprompted. Not Dr. James, but Olive. “I just worry about him.” 

“He’s stronger than you think.” 

“He’s stubborn is what he is.”

“Well don’t you wonder where you got it from?” That elicited the smallest upturn in Bob’s lips. You grinned. “Anyways, I should get going.” 

“Do you need me to walk you to your car?” 

You laughed. “Oh wait, were you serious?” You pointed to the BMW parked twenty feet away. “That’s me.” 

“It’s good manners, Olive.” 

You shook your head. “I’ve ridden a bike through Alphabet City in the middle of the night,” you said. “I’m not scared of fifteen feet of sidewalk in Willow.” 

“Well then.” Bob placed one hand against the doorframe. “Goodnight.” 

You nodded. “Goodnight, Bob.” 

He watched as you slid into the seat of your car, turning the ignition and backing down the driveway. 

Bob watched as you slipped down the road, toward the horizon. Even long after he was out of your rearview mirror, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his eyes were still on you, waiting until you were home safe to finally go inside, lock his door, turn off the porch lamp. 

The next morning, you woke up excited to go to work, for the first time since you moved to Willow. Maybe you were finally getting somewhere with Dr. Bob Floyd. 

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[alpaca-clouds]

Electric Cars Suck

There is some irony in how things turned out, right? Like eight years ago or so it was mostly the left who was like: "We need more electro mobility!" And the people on the right were like: "Noooo! We need our gas guzzlers that go VROOOOOM!" And somehow now the people on the right buy their stupid cybertrucks, while the people on the left have in large numbers converted to: "Actually, all cars fucking suck."

And hey, that's me. I am in that story. Because actually, all cars fucking suck!

But let's be a bit more serious: The main issue with cars is not even the CO2, the fine particles, or the microplastics they generate. (Yes, most microplastics in the environment originate with cars!) The main issue is, that we live in a car-centric society, that is so very much inaccessible for anyone who does not have a car.

And let's be honest here: In this regard I am complaining as someone with a lot of things going for me: I live in Germany and I live in a city here. We have actually somewhat working public transport, and even my physically disabled ass is capable of reaching the next super market, pharmacy, doctor's office and library within 5 minutes on foot. Sure, due to a lack of bus drivers (which again is due to a lack of proper payment for said bus drivers) they cut some of the bus lines here, making the time I need to get to the next hospital go up by a good chunk, but... What I am saying is: Hey, I am at least not living in the USA, where it is basically impossible to get around in a lot of places when you have no car, because the infrastructure is just so bloody car-centric.

And that is the reason why cars just suck so darn much. Because they need all that infrastructure that makes it harder for everyone to get around.

And the double issue with that is, that some people will still need cars no matter what, even if we try to improve that. I spoke about it before: Some disabled people will always need cars to get around, because they just do not have an alternative due to a variety of reasons. And some services (like ambulances, fire fighters and so on) will also just need cars. Which taken together means that we need to maintain some infrastructure.

Generally speaking I feel, a lot of folks within the Solarpunk scene do underestimate this issue, too. Especially in concern to the USA, Canada and some other colonizer cities in the global south, that have been created very much with cars in mind.

In Europe, most cities have been created with horse drawn carriages in mind and people who walk on foot. Sure, they have been retrofitted to allow for cars, but that retrofitting can easily be toned down in a way that would allow those cars that are needed to pass through, but allow the areas to be used otherwise. (I mean, we have several cities here were you can still see that the city originally has been build by Romans some 2000 years ago, because the city map features certain Roman city planning styles.) It is not really so hard to turn those cities into 15-minute-cities again.

But in the US? In the US a lot of the cities have always been constructed with the car in mind, and the entire street plan is organized around the car. Lots of wide streets. Lots of parking lots. Lots of other facilities that are needed for cars. Sure, you can reuse some of the space. But that does not negate the fact that everything has this wide sprawl that makes it a lot harder to get around. And that really is a problem if someone tried to make 15-minute-cities here. Because frankly... In some areas there just would not be another way but to just tear it all down to rethink city planning once more.

Like, sure, in the city cores it is not that much of an issue. Turning Manhatten into a 15-minute-city is not the issue. But the wider area of New York city? Eh... And in other cities it is worse, of course.

And yeah, those issues - the stupid infrastructure cars need... It is still the same, no matter whether the car goes VROOOOOOM or BZZZT.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 1

You're successful, you're independent, and you pride yourself in both. But your friends think you could do with a man.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking wine. Reader is a bit of a workaholic. Like, one swear word. Proofread but probably a mistake or two in there somewhere. Word count: 2,031 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Welcome to the re-write! I wanted to write this last year, around the same time as my Doctor Steven Grant, PhD series, but it got put on hiatus due to some not nice real life stuff, but it's back! I hope you enjoy it!

These are your texts. These are Santi's texts.

Series Masterlist ● Part 2

You had the tendency to prove people wrong. Only when they had negative connotations of you, of course. You didn’t do it to be an obnoxious know-it-all.

For instance, you stuck it to your family when your parents scoffed at your idea of going into marketing instead of medical, like your sisters. You’d worked your ass off at college and graduated top of your class, those naysay comments from your parents in the front of your mind as you tossed your cap at your ceremony. Because of your hard work, you had moved to Florida for an amazing job opportunity. Granted, it wasn’t New York (which is the end goal for you jobwise), but you were the head of your very successful team, and it gave you the chance to separate yourself from your hometown (and therefore, your judgemental parents).

Let’s not forget the time you bought your apartment. Your friends had laughed at the size of it, claiming that you would want more space eventually, but it was yours, and you made it your own. Now your friends had decided your apartment was the best for your wine nights (which used to be bi-weekly, but plans changed when kids were coming into the picture), because it was the most quiet and you had the comfiest couch.

And lastly, you had proven than you didn’t need a man. Sure, it would be a nice perk to have, but you were happy being single. Whilst your friends were settling down and looking to move to nice neighbourhoods with good schools, you were dating around. Your love life was mostly filled with a few dates and one-night stands. You had dabbled in online dating every now and then, but that usually fizzled out after a few weeks. It didn’t bother you, you enjoyed meeting so many new people and having all these experiences to share.

Your dating life was a common topic of conversation between your peers. Your friends frequently teased you over it, wondering when you were going to ‘settle down’ yourself. You usually laughed it off. It never bothered you, why would it? You were a full-grown adult who could make decisions for herself, and it wasn’t any of their business at the end of the day. You’ve come to embrace being ‘that friend’ who was perpetually single.

It made sense that they would tease you about it, you were nearly thirty (not like there was a deadline or anything, you had plenty of time to ‘find’ someone). You weren’t even sure if you wanted kids, or to settle down. It may have worked out for others, who was to say it would work out just the same for you? You were perfectly happy focusing on yourself and your career.

Your day started out like any other. You woke up early, already sweating, huffing at the hot air of Florida. Your AC conked out last week, and you hadn’t found the time to get someone out to look at it. Your biggest client is launching their brand in a month’s time, so you and your team had been working aggressively hard to make sure you were meeting your deadlines and that your effort was up to par and more.

Which meant you’d been spending your weekday evenings mostly at the office than in your own apartment.

Answering a few morning emails and eating your breakfast before getting ready for work, you sent a quick text in your group chat to confirm that wine night was still good to go for later that night, since it was unusual to have your girl nights on a Monday (but it was the only time anyone had free, and it had been a long time since any of you were free at the same time). The evening was planned out perfectly, you’d even treated yourself and your friends to some decent wine, since this was the first wine night in months. You were truly happy for your friends, and you still saw each other every now and then, but God, there was nothing like your wine nights.

You weren’t expecting a text back from anyone until later in the day, so you continued with your morning. You made it into work with the usual traffic, a coffee in your hands from the local Starbucks. You sat at your desk and booted up your computer, checking your voicemails in the meantime.

“Good morning!”

You held back a grimace as you greet your desk mate.

Emily is nice enough, but overly chipper. She was blonde, bubbly, and always wore bright clothing. She was young, straight out of college and had joined the team a few months ago. She was still trying to find her feet in the company, and tried hard to make friends, something that she had frequently come to you about. Recently, she’d been hanging out with George and Juliet in accounts since they were of a similar age.

You suspected she had a thing for George.

“How was your weekend?” Emily asked, throwing her pink handbag to the floor and sitting in her chair.

“It was good. How was yours?” you ask.

“It was fine, thanks. Our new roommate moved in.”

Emily had been living with her sister and her sister’s boyfriend. Turned out the boyfriend had been sleeping around with some of the girls and guys from his gym and Emily and her sister had kicked him out. Last you heard he’d moved back in with his parents out of town.

“How’s that going?”

“Good, so far! Think Becca is just glad to have all his stuff gone and have her own space back.” Emily shook her head with wide eyes as she logged into her computer. “But she’s panicking now, because she wants to settle down. She’s nearly twenty-six, she thought she would be married by now. She was even talking about kids with this guy, so she’s feeling a little nervy about being on her own. Oh! That reminds me…”

Emily turned to look back at you, a grin on her face. You raise an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“There’s someone I think you should meet.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at your co-worker. One, because Emily had linked her sister’s ‘impending doom’ at being single with you, and two, it was the same story every time. Someone knows someone you should meet, and you go out on a date, but nothing ever comes of it. “Who do I need to meet, Emily?”

“My neighbour,” she replied, smiling widely. “His name is Santiago. He’s great, he was in the army for a while, but he’s retired now.”

“Retired?” you pulled a face. Trust Emily to try and set you up with an old fogey.

Emily shook her head quickly at you, almost as if she’d read your mind. “No, not retired like you think, he’s not old. He’s barely forty. And he’s really good looking, and nice.”

You shook your head at her. “I don’t know, Emily, work is busy, and the launch is soon…I don’t even have time to fix my AC at home, never mind go on a date.”

Emily pulls a face and makes a noise that reminds you of a toddler not getting their own way. “Come on, he’s funny and charming, and he might be ‘the one’!”

You had never believed in that kind of stuff; ‘the one’ and ‘soulmates’ and all that. You believed that there were so many people in the world, that you can (and will) fall in love multiple times throughout your life. Sure, sometimes people do just find one person who they are happy with and choose to be with for the rest of their lives, but that just wasn’t you.

But – saying that - it had been a while since you went out on a proper date. You could do with having a bit of fun and getting out the office and your apartment. And Emily liked to think she was some sort of match maker, so you’d like to humour her, just this once. “Okay, fine.”

Emily smiled widely as she excitedly gave you Santiago’s number, telling you that he was already expecting a text from you. You pull a face at her at the fact she had already anticipated you would say yes (or were you just that predictable?) and had given Santiago the heads up. You saved his number quickly before throwing your phone in your desk drawer and turning back to Emily. “Let’s finish up these mock ups and get them sent out. If we get these out of the way, we can focus on looking into finalising the merchandise.”

Your day was filled with multiple phone calls, plenty of meetings, and regular catch ups with your clients. You had hit a few snags, which could potentially delay the launch, but you were determined not to get to that point, already setting up possible plans and sending them to your client for approval. You finally sat down for your lunch when everyone was readying up for leaving for the day and going home.

You scrolled through your phone as you ate your lunch (which might as well be your dinner at this point). You caught up on your texts (wine night was still on!) and scrolling through what you’d missed on the client's social media (not much). You suddenly remembered about Santiago, who Emily had decided to set you up with. You grinned as you found his number and started a new text chain.

Hi, you introduce yourself. I’m Emily’s co-worker, she might have mentioned I would text you today?

It was a few minutes later when you received a reply.

Hey. Emily did mention you’d message. I’m Santiago. Have you thought about where you'd like to go for our date? Any preference on food?

Oh, okay, straight to the point.

I'm open to suggestions. I like pretty much anything, do you have any recommendations?

There’s this little Italian restaurant called Bella Cucina. The food is amazing, and it has a cosy atmosphere. It's not too far from where I live.

Italian sounds perfect! What day works for you?

How about Saturday? We could aim for a 7:30pm reservation if that suits you? Emily mentioned you’d been spending a lot of time at the office.

And considerate.

Saturday sounds great. 7:30pm works well for me. I'm really looking forward to it. Just to be sure, Bella Cucina is on Main Street, right?

Bella Cucina is on Main Street. I'll make the reservation for two under my name.

That’s great, I’ll put it in my schedule. I look forward to meeting you!

See you then, have a great rest of your week.

He seemed nice enough. A little stiff, maybe, but that might be due to his army background. You wondered what he looked like. You could look him up on social media if you wanted to, but you barely used the accounts you had; mainly you updated your client’s posts as requested. You imagined Santiago to be a stereotypical, muscled man with a buzzcut and lots of tattoos. One who was stoic and stern, very set in his ways.

You’d definitely dated that guy in the past.

You placed your phone back into your bag before gathering the packages of your lunch/dinner. The office was quiet, meaning everyone had probably gone home. You threw away your rubbish, walking back towards your desk to finish up a few more emails and shut down your computer. Your friends would be arriving at your place in just over an hour, so you had to make a move.

You lock up the office and make your way out of the building, making your way to your car in it’s usual parking space in the lot next door. Luckily traffic didn’t look too bad, so you should have enough time to get home and quickly and shower before setting up for wine night for when your friends arrived.

You knew you’d be fine. You could do it. You were you, and you get shit down. Apart from fixing your AC. You really needed to call someone about that.

[she-is-ovarit]

Trans History (long post sorry)

This post uses "transsexual" in place of "transgender" as this was the widespread accepted terminology until fairly recently and is what was used in the original source for this information.

In 1885 the Criminal Law Act was passed which made homosexual behavior illegal in the UK. Transvestites within the gay movement were easier to identify publicly and became easy targets.

Ernest "Stella" Boulton and Fred "Franny" Park were arrested in 1870 for indecent behavior and attempted to be persecuted on the grounds of cross dressing instead of sodomy. They were let go.

Because of these laws, homosexual transvestites began to seek out doctors to "cure" them. These doctors and researchers were called sexologists. Krafft-Ebbing (1840-1902), professor of psychiatry at Vienna was one of the first to be interested in transvestitic behavior.

Magnus Hirschfeld was another, a Germon sexologist, and his works were considered groundbreaking during the times.

At Hirschfeld's clinic, Dr. Felix Abraham performed the first transsexual operations in 1926 on an unnamed trans man, penectomy on his domestic servant Dora in 1930, and vaginoplasty on Lili Elbe who would die from complications from the procedure.

Christine Jorgeson, former American GI, underwent several transsexual operations and drew attention from the media. The media immediately focused on the appearance of Christine, "Ex-GI Becomes Blonde Beauty". This essentially was effective marketing and brought transsexualism into the public eye. Jorgeson's psychiatrist, Dr. Hamburger (yes really) began to receive a ton of letters from people wanting to change their sex because they wanted to escape homophobia or live in/be associated with the gender roles associated with the other sex.

This caused a bunch of doctors to start their own clinics because they smelled money, such as endocrinologist Harry Benjamin (who trained at Hirschfield's clinic). He went on to publish the first medical textbook on transsexuality called the Transsexual Phenomenon in 1966 and personally began training a bunch of other doctors in the subject. His clinic was based in New York. Dr. Elmer Belt opened up clinics in Los Angeles. Dr. Georges Burou specialized in penicile skin inversion vaginoplasty in Casablanca.

Janice Irvine wrote of transsexualism's "widespread public and professional acceptance" as early as the 1970s. While gay men and women practicing transvestitism were originally criticized (because it was essentially homosexual people defying gender norms associated with their sex), transsexuality on the other hand was almost immediately accepted. Transsexualist origins lie in doctors attempting to "correct" the genitalia of people with disorders of sex development, homosexual people fearing for their lives and attempting to escape incarceration for being homosexual, and (mostly homosexual) people feeling wrong for not conforming to the mannerisms, expressions, and style associated with their sex, culturally.

While the beginnings of transsexual medicine began in the 1950s, with interest in the subject by psychiatrists dating back since the early 1900s, most "treatment facilities" for homosexuality, paraphilias, and gender nonconformity transsexuals became widespread in the 1960s and 1970s. Ira Pauly in 1965 who was a professor of psychiatry at the University of Oregon counted a total of 603 "male to female" transsexuals and 162 "female to male" transsexuals. He then reported on post-operative adjustment of 121 of these people, describing it as successful. He voiced a cautious psychiatric support for transsexualism based on this, stating that since psychology seems to have failures in reverting it and until alternative procedures or treatments are discovered, it was the best approach society had for this demographic.

I mentioned disorders of sex development (DSDs, commonly called "intersex conditions") above. Transsexualism has been closely associated with people with DSDs. In the 1950s, protocols were established for doctors to determine the sex of infants with DSDs, which was a rare anomaly. These infants bodies would then be modified to "correctly" correspond with whatever sex they were assigned by doctors. Transsexualism and the correction of "intersexualism" overlapped because doctors studying transsexualism borrowed procedures used to "correct" infants with DSDs.

Robert Stoller, a professor of psychiatry in California and considered to be a famous transsexual expert by the 1970s, began to focus on badly constructed genetalia. John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore became a headquarters for "treating" both "intersexuality" and "transsexuality". More texts were published: Transsexual Sex Reassignment (1969) by Richard Green and John Money, and The Transsexual Experiment (1975) by Robert Stoller. French psychoanalyst Catherine Millot commented, "there was a sense in which there was no transsexuality before experts like Benjamin and Stoller 'invented it'." There was rare support for transsexuality in 1965, but by 1975 about twenty major medical centers were offering treatment to thousands of transsexual people.

It took until 1977 for transsexual surgeries to be presented to the American Psychiatric Association. By that time "normalization of sex reassignment" was institutionalized and thus "assumed" by John K. Meyer and Donna J. Reter of the APA.

However, when Reter and Meyer by their very forced hands assumed the "normalization" of sex reassignment, they at the same time cast public doubt on it and it's "almost routine acceptance".

While medical doctors and psychiatrists pushed sex reassignment surgery, psycho-analysts almost always remained doubtful of it. A well-known psychoanalyst from New York, Lawrence S. Kubie, publicly rejected and renounced the term "transsexual" completely, suggesting "genital transmutation" was a more accurate fit. He criticized the term "transsexual" stating that the word was too simple for such a complex phenomenon, and falsely alluded that problems had been solved when in reality, they weren't. He illuminated that there were many men at this time that wish to appear as women but to consider themselves and be considered as men who "simulate women", but needed to present themselves as "textbook transsexuals" in order for physicians to agree to alter them. So, these transvestites fell under pressure to conform as transsexuals.

Kubie and his co-author James B. Mackie argued that the concept of transsexualism was a combination of both false diagnoses and lack of clarity on patients, with "emotionally charged" and "dramatic" medical intervention.

Even Robert Stoller in 1973 voiced his own unease in an article he wrote for the American Journal of Psychiatry, describing a "carnival atmosphere that prevails in the management of male transsexualism". Just the patient's request for sex reassignment brought immediate acceptance. By this point, many homosexual transvestites were educating themselves on SRS and HRT to have their sex modified to avoid homophobic persecution, and many even knew more about these procedures than their doctors. Stoller went on to write:

The conservative view among medical professionals at this time was to convince transsexual people/transvestites that they were really the other sex.

Homosexual sociologist Edward Sagarin wrote in a book on "deviants" in 1969 that male-to-female transsexuals suffered from "doubly unacceptable" self-imagery in being both homosexual and feminine, and that the solution was to convince them that they were really women and not men.

Additionally, there were striking observations made of the behaviors of a subset of people seeking sex-reassignment surgeries and hormone treatments:

John Money, the sexologist who infamously forcibly transitioned an intersex child by the name of David Reimer, also described transsexual male people as "devious, demanding, and manipulative"

Meanwhile, L.M. Lothstein who pioneered a study on female-to-male transsexuals in the 1970s and 1980s diagnosed FTM transsexuality as a "profound psychological disorder", describing most as having personality disorders and while not psychotic, having thought disorders that affect their ability to relate to others and sense their reality. Lothstein felt that the solution to help transsexual people didn't lie in surgeries or hormone treatments, but in psychotherapy. He hesitantly felt that it was possible SRS and HRT was needed before psychotherapy to "disrupt their rigid defensive structure".

I'm writing a lot so I'll stop here. Sorry for the abrupt end. I might add more later as a reblog. But here is the primary source that I essentially heavily paraphrased.

[kraviolis]

me when im trying to talk to my mom about my current hyperfixation and explain it in ways they could understand, except my hyperfixation is centered on a specific group of a couple dozen characters within a giant grand theft auto 5 roleplay server that is extensively modded and includes a hunger/thirst system, a job market feat prestigious careers such as fireman or retail clerk, an actual democratic government, an extremely intricate and as-close-to-life-as-possible-without-subtracting-fun law and crime system, etc. and has an active community of many different streamers and funky roleplay characters, including but not limited to: an 82 year old man from new york looking for his nephew that has the highest permakill count on the server and always ends up in an ambulance and/or handcuffs every single day yet is somehow beloved by most of the city, a group of cuban revolutionaries that were forced into become the old man’s best friends and new family despite constantly getting fucked over by him on a daily basis, a completely batshit insane british ww2 veteran who loves stabbing people and being in gangs and also is best friends with the first old man, an angry and slightly corrupt cop with a grudge against the first old man who also has an australian accent despite the fact he’s from ohio, a fireman robot who is bigoted against russians and cubans and also the 82 year old’s nephew, a street gang full of clowns that hang out in a decrepit crack shack in the desert, a crazy but genius doctor who gives out prescriptions of guns and murder rather than drugs, and many many others (and also the 82 year old and insane ww2 veteran have a strong sexual/romantic tension) and also this server has been running for YEARS and all the story lines that have been going on for that long have become so convoluted it actually makes it easier to watch the videos and you dont have to worry about watching every single video or reading every single wiki page because no one would ever be able to hold that amount of information in their brain let alone expect anyone else to so you can literally just watch the funny clip compilations people make or the dramatic multi-pov sagas without having to commit at all

[racefortheironthrone]

Hello, I don't know if you saw, but yesterday on YouTube they released a video on the next series of X-Men comics (From The Ashes) that's coming out this summer. It looks like they're just going back to the classic storyline of the X-Men fighting to protect a world that hates and fears them. What I liked about Krakoa was that instead of mutants just struggling to survive, it gave them a place of their own where they could thrive and reach their full potential. However, it seems like no matter what they do, the X-Men always get kicked back to square one.

Yeah, I saw that. I think it's a bit more complicated than "going back to the classic storyline of the X-Men fighting to protect a world that hates and fears them." (To a significant extent, that's just describing the basic premise for the X-Men for most of their publication history.)

Rather, I would describe From the Ashes as evocative of the post-Outback, pre-Blue Team/Gold Team period at the tail end of the Claremont run, but with an aesthetic that's inspired by both the 90s comics (which makes sense, with X-Men '97 only days away) and the Bendis era.

For example, I would describe a scenario in which there is no Xavier School and there are multiple teams spread out from Alaska to Chicago to New Orleans to New York all pursuing different strategies for fighting for mutantkind as "back to basics."

Scott's team based out of Alaska is a more classic mutant rescue team, but it's being led by a visibly older Magneto in an Xavier-like chair, so there's definitely aspects of the "Revolutionary" Cyclops era there too. Kate and Emma's more youth-outreach team is somewhat evocative of the New Mutants or Generation X or Academy X, but the Chicago setting is more reminiscent of Claremont's somewhat controversial Mekanix book. And god only knows what NYX or X-Force or X-Factor are going to be about.

That being said, I am immensely excited about the new creative team. Marjorie Liu aside, women are almost never given the chance to write flagship X-books and here we have both the superb Gail Simone and the equally talented Eve Ewing (who is the first black woman to write a flagship X-book). And Jed MacKay has more than proven in his Black Cat and Moon Knight and Doctor Strange books that he's got an incredible knack for taking classic characters in compelling new directions.

I know you might be concerned about the marketing pitch, but this is not a team that's going to churn out meaningless nostalgia-bait fluff rather than tell real stories.

[tetw]

10 Great Essays about Music

Is Old Music Killing New Music? by Ted Gioia - Old songs now represent 70 percent of the U.S. music market. Even worse: The new-music market is actually shrinking.

The Dark Art of Mastering Music by Jordan Kisner - Shedding light on the elusive studio practice that’s all but necessary to make music sound great.

The Last Time New York Was Hardcore by Michael Stahl - In the ’90s, one high-octane underground music scene desperately held on to its rebellious roots of power chords, slam dancing and stage diving. What happened to hardcore?

Some Notes on Attunement by Zadie Smith - A voyage around Joni Mitchell

Is There Anything Left Of Hip Hop? by Jason England - Hip hop has reached its midlife crisis

The Problem With Saying Oontz Oontz by Spencer Kornhaber - The story of dance music in America is a story of boom and backlash. As Beyoncé and Drake turn to house-inspired sounds, will the cycle happen again?

Why Do We Even Listen to New Music? by Jeremy D. Larson - Our brains reward us for seeking out what we already know. So why should we reach to listen to something we don’t?

How Twitter Changed Music by Eric Harvey - Hashtag rap! Kanye rants! Terrifying stan pile-ons! For better and worse, Twitter has forever altered the music landscape.

What Will Happen When Machines Write Songs Just as Well as Your Favorite Musician? by Clive Thompson - Artificial intelligence tools will hurt some musicians and help others.

The Violin Doctor by Elly Fishman - He’s trusted to repair some of the world’s most fabled — and expensive — instruments. How does John Becker manage to unlock the sound of a Stradivarius?

[novemberthewriter]

good bones (or, an exercise in letting go) [1300 wds]

genre: literary/dramedy

[cw: surgery talk, body image, colorism, fatphobia, depression, negative self-talk, emotional neglect, strained relationships]

-

Mark ‘Mookie’ Simon, age 30, will break his first bones under the care of Doctor Armand in Tijuana, Mexico. He will have four osteotomies of the jaw over six months while Dodie plays caregiver (yes, paid). Dodie’s unbothered because it’s not skin bleaching or a black market butt lift or something else equally heinous, but also Very Bothered Enough to give Mookie another rendition of Why You Wanna Play With Your Face So Bad from the driver’s seat as they head to Hartsfield-Jackson Airport.

And yet again, Mookie tells her, We don’t all have good bones.

Dodie’s a good enough friend that she'll accept a half-story as long as she can monitor him. Mookie’s grateful. He’s still figuring out how to give her the whole truth. 

The PR reason is that he wants a competitive edge. Mookie is better known as Hennesse Williams, fast-growing queen of the Atlanta drag scene, and he wants to expand his horizons. He considered the staple practices: the buzzcuts for better wig placement, the spanx for a smoother look in skirts. What was wrong with something more permanent? He still can’t find an answer. Even little old ladies get chin lifts, tattooed brows. Gertrude can save at the Clinique counter and Mookie can save time contouring to look like he’s got a Disney Tarzan jaw. 

The true reason is a bit more involved.

It goes back decades.

The Weight had been the monkey on Mookie’s back (and belly, and hips, and arms, and everywhere) since birth. The Simons of Southern Georgia, USA were always markedly svelte; Mookie was nothing like them. Sure, he had the same twang and hazel eyes and tawny skin, but his facial features stretched wide, his frame and family bones buried deep under fat. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that whatever gene made the Simons energetic, ambitious, and burn off soul food like nothing had skipped him over. His childhood was spent in the solace of the N64 while Dorothy had the nerve to start singing and the gall to be good at it. 

[DOROTHY ANNE enters stage center. She is twelve years old. The stage is the Apollo, the Ole Opry, the hearts of most Simons and the world over. MOOKIE is her younger brother. He is eight years old. MOOKIE exits stage left and becomes a glass child.]

[MOOKIE wonders if there is such a thing as a glass parent. He lives with his folks yet he knows nothing about them.]

It had been many years of being grudgingly taken on tour when a blessing came to him in the form of vaudeville. (One can’t repeatedly visit New York without falling into its oldest theatre traditions.) Vaudeville became drag. Drag begot a creativity and athleticism he’d never known was possible for someone like him. Newly seventeen and now those bones that'd bent under the weight of himself and his sadness were suddenly carrying Mookie through a new chapter.  Gave strength to Hennessee, a larger-than-life character who was so very cathartic to become. Strength on his own small stages, performing for people of all ages who loved him. Strength in the streets to evade the people who sought to hurt him for finding himself. The biggest blessing: meeting Miss Dodie James.

[DODIE JAMES enters stage right. She is eighteen. She is a copper-skinned snark machine, a super-fan, and is more than happy to be Mookie’s right hand woman.]

But Dorothy was twenty and Nashville wanted her for good, so her managers  Mookie’s glass parents went with and sent him to stay with a half-dead great-aunt in ATL. He kept contact with Dodie, grew a name for himself in Georgia, kept his sights set on a forever home in New York one day. 

It was a letter from Dorothy that changed everything.

Mookie was blindsided. Her crooning and cowboy fringe had been so separate from his glitter and cocktail pantomime for so long. Read a few words with shaking hands, thought, You have everything. You don’t need me, too. Changed his address and his name and now he’s changing his face.

He’ll finally move to New York. If another Simon ever sees him again, their eyes will slide past him just as they’ve always done.

(He knows in his bones this is how it’s meant to be.)

The Tijuana condo has two bedrooms but Dodie’s bunking with him. Just for now - now that she knows everything. 

It’s the night before the first surgery. 

It starts with this, Dodie says from her side of the bed. Then you nip and tuck, nip and tuck till you’re the Black Ken Doll From Hell. What happens when we both die and they gotta identify you?

Mookie closes his eyes. They don’t know me for my smile. They can check my teeth. 

+++

[The stage is MOOKIE’S SKULL – pitch black, pain-free room. The buzz of a BONE SAW reverberates. MANDIBLE floor shudders and breaks under pressure.]

Recovery is this:

-A wired jaw

-Dodie doing all the talking in Tijuana (Mookie S.O.B.S., which means he Spares Others from his Broken Spanish)

-Dodie tending his wounds 

-Endless milkshakes and purees and Peridex mouthwash

-Extended time to shop floor show ideas

By night he falls asleep sweating under fans with 'novelas in one ear and a Bronx accent in the other (Dodie never moved into her own room).

When he gets onstage as Hennessee again he’ll have much to answer for. He deliberately kept the reason for his leave vague but he knows someone will put two and two together before he returns to American soil. (Queued media posts can only tide fans over for so long.) With this liquid diet he’s lightening up so much, too, and so having a snatched face and waist will make Hennessee the talk of Midtown. It’s all enough material for several shows over and Mookie’s pushing his pen overtime in this condo. (His jaw aches with the urge to practice aloud more than anything. Properly, not the ventriloquist dummy murmuring he can do through the wire right now.) He has way too many puns about mental gymnastics. 

[He, MOOKIE SIMON, grown-ass glass child, is she, HENNESSEE WILLIAMS, drag superstar and legendary gaywright of the 21st century. She is in Baja California with ten journals and a dry erase board and she’s not afraid to use them.]

The page on the bed between two friends comprises the scribblings of madmen. Mookie can’t tell where his ideas end and Dodie’s begin. He writes ‘Operation MB’, gives her room to work. Quickly gives her a metal grin – she’s just drawn Brain Surgery Cavity Sam instead of Full Body Cavity Sam.

Isolation got us on the same wavelength, Mookie writes.

Dodie shakes her head. We were already there. 

And that’s another thing to contend with: he's not sure when Dodie crossed over from best bud to collaborator – but he's not complaining. Who better to create with than someone who's supported him from jump? Something about her vagabond nature made her latch on.  Over the years he’s learned about her foster upbringing. How it'd hardened her in some ways, softened her in others. She doesn’t talk about her birth folks much like Mookie doesn't mention his family. Yet the whole of her has always seemed so transcendent. Mookie's trauma is written on his face when he's not on stage, and he's sure his friendship with her is predicated on her being the only one who can handle it. Maybe that's phrenology, that messy old way of thinking things are so set in bones. Maybe emotions are a bit malleable, like cartilage. Maybe Dodie just sees a person; a being made of ever-moving parts.

[The stage is MOOKIE’S SKULL. It’s newly renovated but it’s still not all that pretty. DODIE is strangely at home here.]

[soulless-angel25]

Riverrosetober 2023- Day 1, Prompt: Alternate Universe

When Rose first met River it was by accident, she was hoping through the dimensions- trying to find the Doctor. She landed in the right one, but not at the right time. It had been on an asteroid known for its wide market, she'd wandered around, following the device's beeping towards a two-hearted person.

Eventually she ran into them, literally. She ran into River, who she tentatively looked at, her voice wavering as his name slipped from her lips, "Doctor?"

Her voice had made River freeze, she looked at her, Rose Tyler-the Bad Wolf, the Woman The Doctor Loved, Defender of Earth, and many more titles. And a bittersweet smirk overtook River's face, "Sorry Sweetheart, I'm not him."

River's response had made Rose furrow her eyebrows as she looked between River and the device, she shook it- maybe it was malfunctioning? But nope, the reading was clear as daylight- HEARTS SEARCH: 2 | PEOPLE FOUND: 1 | DISTANCE: 2 ft RESPIRATORY BY-PASS: SEARCH | PEOPLE FOUND 1

"Are you a Timelord? But no- that wouldn't make any sense considering-" Rose's voice droned on, making River laugh.

She placed one hand on her shoulder, calming her down. Extending her hand Rose took it, "Professor River Song, Archeologist, Wife of The Doctor. And yes- I'm a Timelord, naturally born- mind you. Pleasure to meet you Rose Tyler. I do believe he'd hinted that I'd met you at some point but I thought he was simply joking. Never know with that man."

River said it all so easily, but Rose's mind was spinning. Focusing on one part of what she'd said, "...wife of the Doctor...?"

At that point Rose's recall had activated, pulling her back to Pete's World. And with her sudden disappearance, River cocked her head. A smirk spreading across her lips as she laughed, "Rose Tyler. How interesting," with that she continued forward to get the thing she'd been there for. The interaction lingering in her mind.

Then there'd been their second meet, several years had passed for River. But for Rose only 2 or so years, considering what River had said, they had the correct Dimension, just not the place or time. So when she jumped this time she was quick to look around, not quite sure when or where she was.

Finally her eyes landed on something that gave her an idea, "New York." she sighed, "At least it's Earth this time and-" she pulled out her phone, "April, 2012. Damn it."

But it was close, closer and more accurate than some of the other jumps. They were getting better at making sure she landed in the correct dimension, and time was getting more and more accurate. And yet she still shook her head, turning to come face to face with a statue. It's styling was unique, reminding Rose of more Greek clothing, at least- Rose thinks Greek. It's been a while since she looked at their outfitting so she wasn't 100% sure.

And the wings, nicely carved- though she wasn't one able to truly judge, the Doctor would know though- reminiscent of angel wings. She shook her head as she turned her back. Her mind spinning as she suddenly fell, she looked around-still New York but... something was different. She pulled out her phone again, eyes balking, "1938?"

Pushing herself up Rose started walking, trying to restart or fix her communicator, she'd fallen on it.

Behind her, Rose heard a slightly familiar voice, "Rose Tyler? What're you doing here in 1938?"

Turning, her surprise colored her voice, "River? I suppose I could say the same to you."

"Angels." was River's only response.

"...angels?"

"Weeping Angels, nasty things. Sends people back in time with a touch then feeds off their time," River explained.

"oh"

"Yeah, well. Luckily I've got a Vortex Manipulator. Need a lift?"

Rose nodded, "April, 2012 if you could. It's when I landed. 'bout noon I think?"

River said nothing, just simply nodded before pulling Rose close. Her arm wrapped and Rose's waist, practically melding their bodies. She gave a wink before she hit a button, pulling them forward. Rose stumbled a bit.

"Not nearly as nice as the TARDIS I'm afraid. But, best I can do."

And before Rose could respond River stole a kiss, "Bye Sweetheart~" and she was gone.

Rose touched her lips, a flush rising up to her ears. "Rose- an---- us? Ag--- ---er, do you ---y?"

The static coming in from the communicator roused Rose out of the state she was in, she pressed her mic, switching it on. "This is Agent Tyler, requesting pull back."

And if anyone had been looking that way, they would see a blonde disappear as suddenly as she had appeared.

They met many more times, sometimes in order, sometimes not. But, it is one of these that is most important.

Rose Tyler had just been left on a beach in Norway, the Meta-Crisis Doctor stood beside her as they stared at the spot the TARDIS had been. Slowly the two of them began to turn away before that glorious sound came back.

Rose turned sharply, her eyes narrowing in on the TARDIS. Once the doors opened she was ready to start yelling yet she found her voice stolen from her once she saw who was in the doorway.

"Hey," River said casually, as though her being there wasn't the strangest thing in the universes.

"You two want a lift back to Universe Prime?" she looked between the two of them.

Rose looked at the Doctor, and he looked at her. Through their eyes an understanding passed, this was their only chance. And neither of them wanted to be here.

Running to her Mum quickly Rose hugged her, apologies spilling from her lips. Jackie looked at her, then at the Doctor, and then at the TARDIS and the strange women standing in its doors.

She whispered one word, "Go." though her eyes betrayed her, tears slipping down.

Rose smiled and said, "I love you Mum." for the last time. Turning she hurried back and grabbed the Doctor's hand hauling the two of them past River and on board the TARDIS.

And the doors slammed shut as River hurried over to the console, her eyes flickering over to the Doctor, "Mind giving me a hand Sweetie?"

Numbly he moved forward, helping her pilot the ship. Eventually they landed, the ship thudding against the ground. River opened the doors for them, "Maglia, 34th century. No wars or revolutions of any kind take place until the 37th if I'm recalling correctly. It's a planet many people migrate to, if only to see the beauty of it. Warm almost all year round 'cept in the far North were it's quite cold-"

Her explanation of where they where was cut of when Rose threw her arms around River. Pulling back she pulled River into a fervent kiss, "Thank you," her smile was like the sun.

"No problem Sweetheart, good luck." River pulled back, she tossed Rose something, "Credit Stick, unlimited. Maybe see you later." she closed the doors of the TARDIS.

Rose and the Doctor stood next to each other as the Old Girl vanished once more, "Together?" "Together."

451 YEARS LATER

Rose sat down, a smile on her lips, "You ever think we'll see her again dear? It's been quite a long time, I wonder how she's been." "Silent as always, huh? Fair enough, not sure what I expect."

Beside Rose is a gravestone with no body, once she'd asked him- when he was getting older. What funeral rites were customary for Timelords, and when he'd passed she had done just that. Set his body alight on a pyre. Staying until the flames died and his body was nothing more than ash, and then she'd gathered that ash, placed it in a box. And dug a small, but deep hole just in front of the gravestone.

She sat, 4 centuries later. She sat next to his grave on Maglia. Her eyes closed, before springing open when she heard someone walk up and sit next to her. She looked at the person sat next to her, it took her brain a moment to recognize them.

"River?"

"Rose."

They both sat, looking at one another before River extended her hand. "What'd you say to some adventures?"

"What kind?" for the first time in a while something more than dullness was in Rose's voice.

"Oh- just the running kind I do think. But, perhaps maybe some domestics too, Sweetheart?"

A grin broke out across Rose's face as she took River's hand and pulled her close, "Well, I'd never say no to an adventure. Darling."

A competitive gleam appeared in River's eyes, she pulled Rose closer. Kissing her, "Well then. I suppose we should get started then."

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

Hi :3 would've sent stuff in but was busy on school trip in New York City and I was busy (I walked so many miles I feel like dropping— but I saw Hamilton and The Play That Goes Wrong so that's something (both were really good))(time for fluffy projection)

Anyway

I feel like Remus would be really good at accommodating a medical condition. I'm just gonna use my own here— DOHS, it's similar to POTS (from as much research as I have and how often I've been asked if it's POTS). Anyway— Virgil with DOHS.

He gets up too quickly and his vision blacks out? Remus is right there to keep him steady until he can see again and doesn't feel like passing out, even if it's a whole minute.

He's going up stairs and has to take a second afterwards or halfway through because it takes more out of him than the average person? Remus is right there, cracking some joke about something probably wildly inappropriate.

His heart rate is taking x3 the average time to slow and it's making him anxious about having a heart attack (I'm guilty of this)? Remus has got so many fidget toys and apps and distractions so Virgil doesn't work himself into a panic attack over it.

Bro hasn't consumed enough salt? Remus has salt packets in his pocket (he probably steals so many of them from markets and restaurants). Hell, he'll take a salt shot with Virgil, he don't care.

Just entirely personal indulgence on this one: Virgil has to wear a heart monitor for a few weeks for the doctor? Remus learns all the rules and helps him with showering around it (can't get it wet) and he makes sure Virgil does everything correctly. Because Virgil can do it correctly but he can also get anxious. Also Remus wants to see him shirtless, you can't blame him (yes you can)

Anyway Remus would be very very good (like weirdly good) (also just weird) for accommodations. Because he's weird. And if someone else is "weird" in some way, that's his vibe. Also I like writing fluffy stuff of the sillies (and you can't sue me for projection)

— a really really really sleepy 👑

Heyo no worries you're good that sounds like a really fun trip and you can never go wrong with some projection :}3 Also Y E S Ree taking care of Vee is one of my absolute weaknesses I L O V E this S O fucking much P L E A S E!!! It's really sweet that he knows what to do and he's there for Vee and always has anything the Emo needs in case of emergencies <3 (He absolutely would be more than willing to take that salt shot with him XD)

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Alistair McKenzie Species: Spellcaster Occupation: Owner of The Sugar Pot Age: 53 Years Old (Appears 44) Played By: Caitlyn Face Claim: Cillian Murphy

"Everything has a price."

Alistair McKenzie came from a long line of necromancers in the Scottish Highlands. The McKenzie family, long feared and shunned by those who knew of their practices, was strict regarding the teachings of their craft to their children. Alistair, the middle child of seven, stuck out a bit among the rest of his siblings, excelling above the rest. It was a nasty craft, necromancy. His family wasn’t so much famous as they were infamous. Seldom did the family go out in public, and they did their best to keep their children hidden from the public eye. But Alistair wanted to know the outside, much to his siblings’ chagrin. So when he reached twelve, he’d begin to sneak out into town and catch glimpses of life outside the house, and he loved it. He met a little girl his age who liked to play doctor, which interested him greatly. Once he knew that he liked to help people, he wanted to know more about mending people. For several years, he would sneak into his father’s collection of tomes and find different ways that necromancers used their powers to heal.

From that moment, Alistair knew he wanted to heal instead of raise the dead. It didn’t sit right with him to bring back people who had already died. What business of his was it to bring them back? His eldest brother constantly reminded him that it was the family business. Still, he continued to learn more about healing methods and the sacrifices that went along with them. After lessons on magic with his family, he’d sneak off to his stolen book to learn more about healing. And as he got stronger, his conviction grew on not raising the dead. At twenty, he made his stance known to his family, much to their horror. His mother, however, decided they could work with it.

At twenty-two, Alistair healed his first person with success. It was shocking, it was inspiring, and it made all of it worth it. It hadn’t been a fatal injury, which certainly helped as to why he was successful, but he had still done it, and he ran to his mother to exclaim that he had healed someone. Ever since that moment, his parents had decided to market their son’s ability to heal. While his parents and older siblings raised the dead, he would sacrifice one’s life for another to heal them. Some of them were minor injuries, and some were more severe. Each was a constant morality equation that caused more stress than good. But even still, he loved it. At thirty, however, Alistair wanted to move on from more than just a necromantic healer. He wanted to heal in more ways than one. So, on a whim, he applied to a college in the States. To his surprise, he had been accepted. That’s how he ended up leaving his family for New York, where he set to attend university and study to become a pharmacist, much to his family’s ire.

After graduating with a bachelor's degree, Alistair attended pharmacy school and graduated with honors, successfully becoming Dr. Alistair McKenzie. It was there that he met the love of his life, Mikael. When it came time to move in together, Alistair had dropped the bombshell that he was not only a spellcaster but a necromancer. Instead of running away, Mikael had accepted him with open arms. He only did so under the stipulation that, under no circumstances, was Alistair to bring him back from the dead. Sticking true to his viewpoint on raising the dead, he had agreed, not knowing how dearly he would pay for doing so.

After eight years together, Mikael had been taken in the dead of night by a spellcaster hellbent on driving Alistair out of town for what he practiced to heal people. There was an altercation, and Mikael ended up getting wounded. While the spellcaster fled, Alistair ran to his partner, desperate to save them. No sacrifice lined up, Alistair decided to use himself—anything to save the person he loved. It didn’t work. Instead, it blinded him and left him holding the body of the one person that he loved most. He mourned for years but ultimately decided to move to a new town. That’s how he found himself in Wicked’s Rest, setting up a tea shop after meeting a woman who agreed to work with him and set up a business that would heal people on the side. Since the death of his partner, his interests shifted. Instead of requiring monetary payment for healing, he’s turned to taking something important from the person who requires the healing. After all, if he has to perform a sacrifice, so do they.

For years, they’d used the Good Neighbors as a source of fodder. Using the bodies of various prisoners, they’d heal those who came in needing help. But one day, the Good Neighbors operation was found out, and Alistair had to decide to be part of the winning side to keep themselves alive. They helped take it down from the inside but paid the price when they were killed. They’d thought ahead though, they cast a spell that would bring them back, but it went wrong. Alistair came back in the very body of the man who had killed him, Aleksander Nowak. 

Character Facts:

Personality: Sarcastic, charismatic, self-reliant, greedy, pompous, critical, solitary

Alistair has a black lab named Brutus, his service dog, who goes with them everywhere. Brutus is always in his harness at the shop, relaxing in his dog bed in the corner of The Sugar Pot.

Hailing from Scotland, Alistair has a slight Scottish accent that gets heavier when they’re emotional. 

Alistair owns The Sugar Pot, an apothecary-themed tea shop in Oldtown.

Alistair is known for requiring “special” payment for his healing. Instead of money, he takes something valuable to the person, whether a wedding ring, a beloved stuffed animal, or their pet rabbit.

He can no longer practice due to his eyesight, but Alistair was a pharmacist, though he tries not to let people know that he’s a doctor since it leads to questioning.

Those who have met Alistair in their previous body may find it strange that they suddenly have a completely new look. When that happens, Alistair is quick to lie and call themselves by a completely different name to keep people from wondering what happened.

[lboogie1906]

Ann Marie Brown Fudge (born April 23, 1951) in DC to Malcolm R. Brown, an administrator at the US Postal Service, and Bettye Lewis Brown, a manager at the National Security Agency.

She married Richard Fudge, Sr. (1971) an educational and training consultant. They have two sons. She received a BA in Retail Management from Simmons College and earned her MBA from Harvard University Business School.

She was the workforce specialist with the General Electric Company. he worked with General Mills Corporation in several leadership positions including marketing assistant, assistant product manager, product manager, and marketing director. She joined Kraft General Foods where she was associate director of strategic planning. She became vice president for marketing and development in the Dinners and Enhancers division at Kraft. She received the Black Achievers Award from the Harlem YMCA.

She was named by Kraft Foods president of the Maxwell House Coffee division, she became the first African American woman to head a corporate division. She was named by Fortune magazine as 30th on the 50 Most Influential Women in American Business. Adelphi University, Howard University, Marymount College, and Simmons College all awarded her an honorary Doctor of Humane Letters.

She was the chairman and CEO of Young and Rubicam Advertising in New York City. She became a member of the Board of Trustees at Morehouse College, as well as a Trustee with the Rockefeller Foundation.

She was a member of the Barack Obama presidential campaign’s finance committee and was named by President Obama to the 18-member National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform.

She joined the Committee for a Responsible Federal Budget. She served on the boards of directors of General Electric, Novartis, and Unilever. She served as chair of the US Programs Advisory Board of The Gates Foundation and as vice-chair of the Harvard Board of Overseers. She was installed in the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. She serves on the Advisory Board of the Smithsonian Museum of African American History and Culture in the District of Columbia. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence