#early pride piece but permanent mood

[doingartiguess]

And that’s that on that! Enjoy this free wallpaper my friends and comrades!

[robynchallinor]

How a Museum Art Program Benefits those with Alzheimers Disease

With the number of older people increasing steadily across the United States, approximately 10 percent of men and 17 percent of women will experience dementia. Affecting behavior and mood, the broad neurological condition also consists of confusion, memory loss, and challenges with language and problem-solving. Programming for those with Alzheimer’s disease and other forms of dementia takes a variety of forms, including art and visiting museums.

Since 2006, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York City has offered “Meet Me at MoMA.” The program makes art accessible for those with dementia and their family members and caregivers. Held regularly throughout the year, the interactive program is led by museum educators and highlights various galleries, from current exhibitions to the permanent collection.

As detailed in MoMA Alzheimer’s Project literature, engaging with art significantly benefits those with dementia and their caregivers. It provides intuitive and intellectual stimulation and allows for exchanging ideas about art and those who create it. Art's universality allows individuals to interpret it as they see it. The experience of viewing and discussing in a safe, supportive environment often triggers discussion of personal experiences among participants and unlocks suppressed memories and stories.

An Americans for the Arts report describes the unique MoMA program as one that came about at a time when few programs dedicated specifically to bringing those with Alzheimer’s disease into the broader community and encouraging them to participate in fun educational activities existed.

The Meet Me at MoMA events follow a standard pattern. Participants gather in the lobby before the mid-afternoon start time, “exchanging greetings, hugs, and stories.” This instills a sense of civic pride and becoming part of the group, encouraging therapeutically beneficial socialization. At 2:30 pm, the educator starts the event with a preamble that singles out the four to five artworks that participants will focus on. For example, in an early January event, the educator selected “New Beginnings” as the theme.

Next, the group moves to the appropriate gallery and views the first painting on their list. The educator asks questions to elicit answers, such as “What do you all see in this painting? What do you notice first?” The questions encourage participants to describe pointillism techniques and how the dots blend fractious elements of color and light into a cohesive whole. Afterward, the educator contextualizes the artwork in the broader story of Impressionism of the era and Seurat’s personal story.

Participants state that one of the hallmarks of Meet Me at MoMA is its inclusivity and welcomeness. Even when fielding queries on the phone, staff have a caring, participant-first attitude that sets the stage for receptivity during the event. MoMA staff print tags with first names, which allows for a back-and-forth familiarity between participants who have never met each other. With social barriers eased, participants walk from gallery to gallery at a comfortable pace. One participant said, “I find myself grinning with a strange feeling of joy. I love the Museum environment. Being there without the crowds is a gift.”

Another participant notes that much of the event's enjoyment comes from educators' enthusiasm: “Watching him and talking to him afterward about how much he got from it — and he was so excited about it — that just meant so much.” Finally, one participant noted that one of the hallmarks of Alzheimer’s is not knowing if one’s memory is correct. The program provides her confidence that she has retained a full appreciation of art and can zero in on important stylistic elements of the pieces presented, “verbalizing that perception.”

[queenxxxsupreme]

Hi babe 🥰

Happy Valentine’s Day! 💕

Si, i gotta ask. How do you think Dettlaff would celebrate Valentine’s Day with his SO/reader?

A/N: I saw my chance to answer another ask so I took it!

***

You gently tugged at the blankets that covered Dettlaff’s sleeping form. 

“Dettlaff.” You sing-songed his name, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

The Higher Vampire groaned, readjusting the pillows that he had stuffed beneath his head, and tucked his nose into their warmth. 

You pulled away three different blankets from him, pulling them down to expose his bare shoulders to the cold air of the room. You moved from the foot of the bed to his side, your fingers trailing like feathers along his spine. 

“Come on, darling. You’ve been sleeping for three hours.”

 He shivered beneath your touch, your warm fingers a stark contrast to his chilly skin. 

“Lay down with me for just a moment, my love.” His words were muffled by the pillows but you could understand him just fine. 

“Now you know that isn’t a good idea.” You propped one knee up on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss the space behind his ear. “Then we’d never get out of bed.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“No, but everyone will be here shortly for dinner.”

Finally understanding that he couldn’t stay in bed with you for the rest of the night, Dettlaff let out a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back. He looked up at you for a few moments, icy blue eyes inspecting your features. 

“How many of them are coming? Just Regis and Orianna, I hope.”

“Well, they are coming. But so is Geralt and Yennefer, and Lambert and Aiden. Eskel is bringing someone too, though I haven’t met them yet.”

“You know, I think it would’ve been lovely if we had just made plans for ourselves and no one else.” His hand came up to cup your face.

“We can make plans for ourselves any other night of the year. Tonight, we can spend time with friends.” You leaned down to kiss his chest just above his heart. 

“We can make plans for friends any other night of the year.” He muttered. His hand trailed around to the back of your head, long and slender fingers carding through your hair. 

“Dettlaff.” You sighed softly. “You were excited about it when we put the plans together two weeks ago.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“I should know better by now. My lovely introvert.” You teased as you leaned forward once more to kiss him. 

“You really should. You’d think you’d learn your lesson after spending half a decade with me.”

You were glad to see he was in a good mood. Hopefully that meant this evening would go over smoothly. 

“Come on.” You patted his chest and slipped out of the bed. “We’re going to go for a little walk before anyone gets here just so we can have some time to ourselves. I’ll be leaving a note on the table should anyone arrive early.”

“Regis.” Dettlaff grumbled as he sat up.

“He does like being punctual.”

***

The moon hung high in the sky, shining down through the thick tree canopies. 

Dettlaff walked alongside you, your arms woven together as you leaned into him. 

“I think it will be fun.” You thought out loud.

“What will?” He turned his head to look at you.

“Spending the night with friends. Well, they’re practically family, aren’t they?”

“You could say that.” Dettlaff nodded. “Though I think it would’ve been wiser to spend Valentine’s night with you alone in our home than crowded around a table with a bunch of loud dogs.”

“Hindsight is 20/20.” You giggled. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll have plenty of time after they leave to spend alone with me.”

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath. 

“I do appreciate you agreeing to this, Dettlaff.” You came to a stop and turned to face him. “I know crowds aren’t your favorite and you aren’t one for socializing. It means a lot to me that you suggested we do something like this tonight.”

His blue eyes stayed on you as his hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I know how much you enjoy their company. And I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity for a few hours to see you happy.”

You smiled.

“But that isn’t my only gift for you. I do have something else.” He dug his hand into the pocket of his coat. “Can I see your wrist please?”

“Which one?”

“Either one.”

You gave him your left, watching as he clasped a silver bracelet around your wrist. Before letting you go, he brought your wrist to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to the veins on the underside of your wrist. 

“It isn’t much, but it made me think of you when I saw it.” He explained, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, not exactly you. I-I thought that it would remind you of me. I know I’m not always around. Sometimes I’m gone with Regis and other times I’m just…. So I wanted you to have something that reminded you of me.”

You turned your wrist around, examining the piece of jewelry. There was a little bat charm on it that made you smile. 

“Dettlaff, it’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I do.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing him tightly. “Thank you.”

He hugged you back, tucking his nose into your shoulder. 

“I have something for you too.” You pulled away, keeping one hand on his shoulder. “But it’s back home.”

“Let’s finish our walk and we can go back.” 

***

You led the way down the hall towards your shared bedroom with Dettlaff. 

He listened to the way your heart picked up pace, the way it changed from that of the flap of a butterflies wings to something more akin to a hummingbird. You were excited. 

You guided him over to the bed and gestured for him to sit.

“Stay here and close your eyes. I’ll go grab it. It’s in my study.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes following you as you left the room. 

“Are your eyes shut, Dettlaff?”

“Of course, my heart.” He answered, closing his eyes.

“Will you keep them shut?”

“Do you not trust me?” He teased.

“Don’t use any of your vampiric magic either.”

He grinned a little. Though his eyes were shut, he could still tell exactly where you were in the house. You were in the closet in your study, moving things around. You cursed a little and muttered under your breath about how cluttered things were. After a few moments, however, you were making your way back towards the bedroom. 

Dettlaff couldn’t figure out what it was that you were gifting him. It had no smell, no taste that tainted the air. It emitted no sound. He listened more carefully, but was dumbfounded. All the ideas that had been forming in his head were disappearing. 

“Darling, can I open-,”

“No.” You answered quickly, your voice sounding strained. “Keep them shut just-just a moment longer.”

It took all of the Higher Vampire’s self control to not open his eyes and see what it was that you had. But he didn’t want to upset you. He didn’t want to ruin your surprise. 

You grunted a little and there was a deep thunk. 

“Damn.” You cursed quietly.

“Is all well, my love?”

“Yes, yes. Just fine. You can open your eyes now.”

Dettlaff opened his eyes and instantly found you standing in front of him with a wide smile on your lips. Your hands were clasped together in front of you and you were messing with your fingers. 

“I know how frustrated you get when you can’t find a mirror that works for you.” Your voice was quiet and timid. You stepped aside to reveal a large square mirror leaning against the dresser behind you. “The ones I have here, they are made with silver. So I had one specially made for you.”

Dettlaff’s lips parted as he looked at the mirror, seeing his own reflection in the surface. He couldn’t find the words to express what was going through his head. 

Being that you weren’t sure how to take his silence, you continued to talk, your nervous ramblings getting the best of you.

“I know you like to get ready in the mornings with me and it puts quite a damper on the mood when you can’t see yourself. And-And you do take pride in your looks. You’re a dashing man-,”

“My heart?”

“Yes?”

“Come here.” He held his hand out for you.

You moved towards him, settling between his parted knees with your hands in his. 

“Thank you.” He kissed your knuckles. “That was very kind of you. And very expensive, I presume.”

“That doesn’t matter.” You shook your head, reaching one hand around to place it on the back of Dettlaff’s head. You pulled his head into your chest and kissed his hair. “I wanted to do something for you.”

“And all I got you was a little bracelet.”

“It isn’t a competition of who gave the most expensive gift, Dettlaff.” You reminded him, pulling away so you could get a better look at him. “I’ve been planning this for a while, and it just happened that I had the means for now.”

His eyes lingered on you, a little smile on his lips. 

“I am the luckiest creature alive, you know that right?”

“Oh, perhaps.” You grinned, giving him a chaste kiss. “I should go start dinner. I’m surprised Regis and Orianna-,”

A knock from the other room cut you off.

“You spoke too soon.” Dettlaff sighed. “It’s only Regis and Orianna. Hopefully the wolves are late.”

“Knowing them, they probably will be.” You moved towards the bedroom door. But at the last minute, you turned to look back at him. “I love you, Dettlaff.”

“I love you more, my heart.” 

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[officialgomezaddams]

Morality

I honestly dk what this is but its set in AOTC kinda want to turn this into a little series $wag also shout out to my fellow nihilists this is for you bb

Palpatine had always kept watchful over her but never loomed. It would have been too obvious. When he met Anakin, it was like a breath of fresh air, a realization that this little boy was destined to restore the balance in the force and his daughter, Y/n, would be the one to defeat him. He had begun the idea of his daughter once he joined the Darkside, already knowing that the possibility to be overthrown was something he couldn’t let happen. The dark energy, the power, was simply too much to let go of. The moment he saw the nine-year-old boy, the lord was happy to know that the power would stay on the dark side. 

Dooku trained Y/n as a padawan, and when he left the order, he took Y/n with him, kidnapping her into the night. When she asked why they were leaving the temple as he dragged her into a ship, he simply replied, “Sometimes when politicians can’t do their job, we must do something ourselves.” Over the years together, he would open up more, telling Y/n about the death of Qui-Gon and every step that drove him to leave. 

“The Jedi rely on selflessness. To strip one’s ability to have connection and emotion. They lose themselves in conformity. We need to take control of the life we’re given. Emotion, passion, drive. Those are how we will be victorious. Corrupt politicians pull the Jedi around like kites on strings. You can not try and save a house that its lousy foundation has torn down. Tear it down and build a new one.” 

It was her job to ensure just that, a new foundation set within the heart of the Darkside. Relentless training to mentally and physically defeat the chosen one. Palpatine would often tell her that her destiny was a part of the Sith Two, that the strongest one of the two would survive, and it was to be her. Darth Sidious found comfort that his creation would take over the Darkside once she had killed him and the Count. The most decisive Jedi ruling on the side of the night. 

She didn’t quite understand it, but to stay on the Darkside made the most sense to her. It wasn’t about power. It was the lifestyle. Why be selfless if there was no personal gain? Why spend a life living for something else? Shouldn’t one live their life for themselves? Everyone, she determined, had to want something. As long as she did what she wanted, it was enough. It had to be. Because without drive and her idea of what was truly right and wrong, how would she get anything done? 

She rationed that it all didn’t matter. She would never know who was right because, in her mind, the concept of being right varied too much. The Jedi thought they were right, the sith thought they were right, the politicians who voted against their people’s needs thought they were right. She had to suffer through Palpatine’s long lectures about how awful the senate was and now terrible the Jedi Order is. But who was to say he was right? That was only his opinion. Who was to say the Jedi were right because a frog that was almost nine hundred years old said so? 

“I’m just…” Anakin went on, pulling a piece of grass out of the ground. “I mean, I don’t know. Padmè is beautiful and wonderful. She’s everything that could make someone perfect: marriage, it’s so permanent. I know I’m supposed to be excited, which I am, of course. But what if we were not supposed to be together.” 

His speech made her frown. “Sometimes, it’s better just to dive in and see where you land.” She offered. The dreams with Anakin were a peaceful escape to a Jedi’s life. Neither knew why their dreams brought them together or what they even meant. Neither of them bothered, living the same training life on opposite sides. A sweet dream was the perfect reward. “And who are you going to be with then, me?” She teased back. 

The setting of the dreams was in the meadows of Naboo. The pastel-colored flowers stood dim in the moonlight from the starry night above. Anakin laid with his head in her lap as they talked about their personal lives, never going in too deep about what their destinies were. Anakin no longer had the pressure of being the chosen one, and Y/n never had to admit she would kill the chosen one. 

“I wish,” Anakin admitted, now looking up at her. “I want so bad to meet you Y/n, not just in my dreams but in real life. If I could have you by my side, all of this would be less confusing. I’ve fallen in love with you, a woman in my dreams. Why can’t you be in my reality?”

“Don’t say that,” She whispered. Whenever Anakin talked about his little girl-thing, Y/n wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what their relationship was, and she always felt a slight nic in her heart. Y/n knew that she was in love with Anakin, but to hear about another woman making him the happiest he’s been in the majority of the years that she knew him, that it wasn’t her, the one sneaking in kisses with him in the shadows. It brought out an ugly feeling of jealousy and possessiveness to Y/n that she didn’t know she had. 

“I promise, one day, I’ll be with you in all the ways you want.” She spoke with a smile. She would often daydream about what life would be like to meet him real-time. They would run up to each other and crush each other in a hug. She imagined it all.

“Tell me about it,” Anakin edged on, closing his eyes as if it was going to play out in his head.

“Well, I want to go somewhere like D’Qar, somewhere quiet where I won’t have to worry about neighbors or anyone I don’t want finding me. Or us, because you’re coming with me no matter what your soon-to-be wife says,” You teased, making him laugh. “Maybe- Sometimes in my dreams, there’s no Padmè, it’s just us, and every so often there are kids, but it’s just us. Tucked away where we can be together, and nothing can bother us or stop us from being together.”

The silence that sat in between them began to scare Y/n, “Is that a future you would want with me?”

His eyes met hers, a peaceful moment in the chaos of their lives. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, behind her ear. “If I were able to, I would.”

“And why can’t you? Why can’t you have the things you want, Anakin? Is it wrong to be happy?” 

Waking up from the dreams was always the most challenging part, the reality of it not being a reality. Y/n woke up already in a bad mood, mentally kicking herself for pushing too far in. Of course, he wouldn’t want to. He’s getting married to someone else. You’re too late. It had always been Y/n’s plan to end up with Anakin in some way or another. From the first dream to now, she decided to leave the Sith once she had killed the chosen one. Somedays, she would pace around, impatiently waiting for whoever held the title to cross her path so she could just finish the job and take the next ship to wherever Anakin was. 

She tore the necklace he had given her off her neck, clutching the carven japor snippet in her hand with a grip so hard she could have cracked it if it wasn’t made out of stone. She was squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to cry. Anakin had given Y/n the good luck charm when they were at the age of thirteen. Y/n was upset that once everything was over that he may not want to be with her, the reputation of her choices would drive him away. 

“Well, you can’t be that bad,” He commented, pulling out the carved stone from his pocket and shyly handing it to her. “I made this for you,” Anakin explained as she put it around her neck, “So that when good things happen, you can think of me. It’ll be my way of keeping you safe, and in return, one day, you will come to me safely.”

She opened her eyes and stared at the carvings, remembering how Anakin said he made it just for her, so she better not lose it. Y/n wanted to break it, throw it away, and never see Anakin again. She wanted more than just the dreams. She wanted the sunsets and the early morning and the rainy days - all of it. Maybe they were wrong, they weren’t supposed to meet, and it was just a nice dream. 

She couldn’t do that. She at least owes him a simple greeting, and then she can get rid of him. Putting the necklace back on and wiping her face to make sure she wasn’t crying, Y/n walked out of the room, ready for whatever the sith wanted her to do. 

“Just be patient,” Her master told her as they waited outside the still open ship. Geonosis was overrun with battle, the sith fighting tooth and bone to claim the planet as its capital, the major droid foundries, and its Mandalorians. Nothing could be more perfect for the sith. The two force signatures caught Y/n’s attention. Looking up at Dooku, she told him, “Well, let’s make it quick then.” 

“The chosen one will be here,” he whispered back. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

“You’re gonna pay for all the Jedi you killed, Dooku,” A familiar voice said as you both turned around in unison. “Y/N?” A pit dropped in her stomach. It was him, Anakin. Anakin’s blue saber was pointed at the ground, more focused on her than the older man. 

The necklace he gave her burned her through her robes. Anakin was finally there in front of her. This Anakin was different from her dreams. He stood with more pride and confidence. He was also the chosen one. “I-I didn’t expect to meet you like this,” She told him, knowing full well once on the ship, she would be interrogated about her knowledge of the boy. 

“Why are you with him?” The venom in his voice almost made her feel guilty about being who she was. “Are you-? Don’t tell me Y/n-” He couldn’t find the words to express his confusion and disappointment, “You’re a Sith. How can you be with them? You lied to me! Can’t you see what they’re doing to you? Can’t you see what they’ve done!”

“The Jedi know no facts,” She spoke, looking over at the Count, waiting for his head nod and sign of approval to ignite her orange saber. The whole weapon was made for destruction, a perfect saber to kill the chosen one. Its orange glow was representing strength. The curved hilt that matched hers of her masters was perfect for duels and close fights. “Only assumptions.”

It hurt her to have him looking at her in disgust. As if she was suddenly less than him because of her beliefs. “Anakin, you need to calm down,” She warned him as he charged towards her, only for Dooku to step in front of her, raising his hand to send bolds of electricity into the boy’s body and fling him into a rock wall. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Her master spoke before walking up the platform of the ship. 

Y/n only had seconds to understand that not only her master had abandoned her, Anakin was also lying limp in a pile of rocks, and the other Jedi was making his way towards her. She pointed her saber straight ahead at him, taking careful steps around him, trying to think about how this all would end. Was this it? When is supposed to kill the chosen one who happened to be the boy Y/n had fallen in love with over the past ten years? She knew that once she killed Anakin, she would have to kill the two sith above her, starting the two over with her as a master. 

“I heard the little green guy talks highly of you, Kenobi. What a pity it will be when I kill his two strongest men.”

Obi-wan shook his head, “You’re not Dooku’s apprentice. You’re just an assassin to him. Y/n why would he elect a child to be his successor?” He spoke as if he could read her mind, his blue eyes pleading with her. 

“You don’t know anything!” Y/n yelled, making the first strike. His saber skills were advanced, but quickly she was able to disarm him and left two marks on him, one on his arm and one on his thigh. She walked up to him, the two staring at each other. Was she about to kill this man? She had never killed a human before. Taking down droids and other creatures were casual to her. Humans? This man was edging her on with his eyes, both understanding that she wasn’t able to drive her saber into his neck. She couldn’t just kill a man who had done nothing to her. That would be wrong, right? But if it was so bad, why was she encouraged to do it? 

Before she could thoroughly choose, Anakin came at full force again. This time his master had tossed him his saber, making the fight two against one. “Why won’t you join our site, the right side?” Anakin asked, swiftly dodging her but failing to make any advancements to disarming her. 

“I don’t believe in any right sides.” She told him, knocking the green lightsaber out of his hand, evening out the fight. “I believe in one thing. Power of human will.” 

She walked into the ship quietly, ignoring the little green Jedi behind her. She didn’t care about the older man, Yoda or Count Dooku. She walked past the sith and made her way right to the pilot’s seat before sitting down. 

Dooku followed her, giving her space as she sat down. Crossing his arms like a disappointed parent, he asked, “Well?”

“I cut his arm off,” Y/n spoke, taking out the necklace and looking at the charm in her hand. She left right after, watching him lay unconscious against his master, missing apart of his right arm. She had hurt him, and for a moment, when she was looking at the injured pair, the padawan’s master had the same look on his face as before. An eyebrow raised as if to say, Do it, kill us. I doubt you’ll do it. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” He said. Y/n could have done it. She would have just pictured them as droids and slice the two in half. It would have been quick and painless. She could have plaid her life out, kill the chosen one, rule the sith, and live her life. Why didn’t you? She kept thinking as she admired the gift. 

Looking at the charm, the future she talked about seemed too far away, especially now. The end with the boy she loved, Anakin, who also was the boy she was supposed to kill. But for right now, she thought to herself. She wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet, until she knew for sure that her fantasies with Anakin were just wild dreams. It was her own life. Why couldn’t she have the things she wanted? 

[morganas-pendragons]

A Grieving Man | 11

So, I haven’t gone back and rewatched Matt Smith’s era in years. I haven’t seen the entirety of the show since the first time I watched it back in 2013 and seeing as how we’re well into 13′s era now, there are things I’m noticing about 9-12 that I didn’t notice before. 

Here’s where this piece comes in. Eleven is angry. All the time. Angrier then I ever remember, and he was my first doctor! I haven’t written Doctor Who in a while, so here’s a piece. Let me know what you think!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

***

The anger of a good man is not absolute. Good men don’t need rules. 

There’s a man out there who roams the Universe in a blue box with a human by his side that calls himself The Doctor. He’s many things.. cruel but kind, brave but cowardly, and prides himself in never carrying a gun because his weapon is his mind and his tool of choice is the sonic screwdriver that never leaves his person. 

He’s ancient. Bright green eyes that seem to soften whenever they stare into yours, eyes that mirror the way the stars burn and the way civilizations have fallen at his hands; Eyes that shine as brightly as the sun and are so often able to hide the one thing he never allows you to see.  

Rage. 

You had the option to stay or go after you watched The Pond family break apart in front of his eyes and remained helpless to do anything about it. After that, you weren’t sure how to approach him no matter how much you wanted to. You had stayed because you thought you’d be a balm to the ache of his hearts. 

No matter how much you believe, there is not one thing that quells the rage of an immortal God with a fierce devotion to humanity. Not one thing. 

That doesn’t mean you won’t try though. No matter what you do, or how you feel, you can’t just blink away the complete and total adoration for the man with the flailing limbs and the stupidly sexy purple waist coat. 

So one day, you wake up extremely early and hobble out of your room to the kitchen where the TARDIS hums beneath your fingers and guides you on making The Doctor a breakfast he’ll actually eat. Contrary to popular belief, the Gallifreyan loves his tea and depending on his mood, he can eat like a racehorse. 

You find him talking to himself in the console room. Your eyes crinkle at the smile that turns your expression upward at the sight of his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, lips pursed in concentration and goggles veiling his eyes that are so intently concentrated on whatever he’s trying to fix inside the console. There’ve been many a nights you listen to the way he pounds that console until the TARDIS practically groans inside your head for relief from her thief. You’ve patched up wounded hands and coated him in antiseptic and ointment without so much as a word. 

He keeps his rage very carefully hidden behind quirky quips and a smile. A smile that could bring you to your knees if he so wanted. 

  “More pointless repairs, old man?” 

  “Oi!” The Doctor bangs his head on the metal as he whips around to meet your gaze. His eyes settle on the tray in your hands and your soft, warmed shape all wrapped up in a discarded bathrobe you’d taken as your own months beforehand. Before the Ponds, before Clara.. before it all became wrong. “There’s no such thing as a pointless repair. Anyway, what’s this?” 

  “Your breakfast.” You amble over to the front doors of the TARDIS and open them, peering out into the great beyond of the galaxy he’s settled you in. It’s deep and dark and lovely out there, colors swirling at your feet as stars are born and planets thrive in front of your eyes. “Come sit with me? I enjoy admiring the universe.” 

He doesn’t know that when he comes to sit by you, your attention is solely focused on him. 

  “Mmm. This is good. Really good.” 

  “Of course it is.” Your fingers dance along the outside of his thigh as he finishes his food and sips at the tea. “I made it. Don’t you pay attention?” Green eyes peer over the rim of his tea cup as you both stare out into the vast nothingness of space. “Or was it just your precious Ponds and the ever-so-interesting girl who died twice for you that you paid attention to?” 

The silence fills with a palpable rage. It’s only been a matter of weeks since The Governess died and he found modern Clara watching over two children for a family in London. You’ve always traveled on his heels - like a ghost from another life - but you’re done being a reminder of his pain. You’re done being ignored. You want him to break. You want him to shatter so that eons worth of rage dissipates and he’s finally yours. He doesn’t belong to his rage. You want him. 

The truth of it is this: Love should not be this painful. 

  “We’re not talking about this.” His voice is dark, flat as the tray slams against the floor and he storms back across the console room. He’s been hiding this rage from everyone he meets, including you, because no one should have to see the damage. If people see the damage then the man beneath is exposed and he does not want to hurt anyone else. He’s cried enough tears to last millennia. “We are not talking about this!” 

  “You barely talked about it when you spent all those months stuck on your cloud in Victorian London hiding from me! When no one else was there, I was! When your demons became too much to bear and the dark was suffocating you, I was there!” You are one of the few people who has never been afraid of what The Doctor is capable of. Even in the sight of centuries worth of rage and grief, you are unafraid. “You’ve been so consumed in your grief over things you can’t control that you’ve stopped seeing me!” 

Your hands find his chest and pound, pound, pound until they start aching. You can see them behind your eyes - River’s silence, Amy’s tears, The Doctor and his screaming - and for some reason you start pounding harder but it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed. 

His rage is still very carefully contained. 

  “I want you to break!” You’re yelling now. Weeks worth of unspoken words pour from your mouth and no matter how much you want to, you find you just can’t stop. “You’re not letting yourself feel it, Doctor! You’re not letting yourself grieve The Ponds, you’re not letting yourself grieve the first two versions of Clara that you lost because you feel like it’s all your fault and you could’ve prevented it, but you can't! You want to see the best of humanity?” You push yourself away from him. Tears streak openly down your face and the Timelord finds his hearts aching at the sight of you breaking. Not for yourself, but for him. “This is it, Doctor. Humans feel things: Love and joy and sadness and anger and heartbreak. Suffering is a part of the human condition. Our lives are so finite that nothing is permanent. People will be lost, people will die and people will leave you. But me? I..” You curl your hands at your side and swallow the knot in your throat. “I won’t leave you because..” 

I love you. It’s right there, right on the tip of your tongue, and you are absolutely terrified to say it. 

  “You should not be breaking because of me.” His voice is quiet, heavy with guilt as you open your eyes to meet his own. 

 “Oh..” You breathe. “Old man, I’ve been breaking because of you since the day we met. Now I’m always breaking because I-” He steps closer, eyes shining beneath the dimmed lights of the console room. There’s still no rage in his eyes. There’s something there you haven’t seen in weeks. Something that belongs solely to the Doctor: Hope. “I love you. I love you.”

His hearts drop into his stomach. The Doctor stands in front of you, expression vulnerable and hearts laid bare as this is the first time anyone has ever said that to him and he just doesn’t know what to do. 

  “And you won’t accept it because you feel like it’s undeserved.” Your fingers cradle his chin in your hands as you slowly ease him to his knees, afraid they’ll give out by the shock of your admission. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more deserving of love.” 

The rage of a grieving man is quiet. It boils beneath the skin and sinks deep into the bones, permeates the soul until it festers there and takes over the body. Grief is all-consuming. You cannot shake grief until you feel it. 

In the darkness of his console room, The Doctor sees the ghosts of his beloved Ponds - all three of them - and the Governess who’d stood in your very spot before she’d been dragged off his cloud and learned how to fly. He sees them, and he cries for the things he’s lost. 

Except this time he isn’t alone. 

The ancient man with the bright eyes and the bleeding hearts thrusts himself outward to pull you into his embrace, urging you into his lap to where you can wrap your legs around his torso and bury your face in his neck as he trembles beneath your touch. Your fingers dance up and down his spine, whispering words of comfort against the shell of his ear as he weeps. Centuries worth of grieving. 

Companions he’d lost. 

Companions who had died. 

Companions he’d never gotten the chance to have. People. They were all just people and oh if The Doctor did not love his humans. 

  “I love you.” You whisper. “I loved you as a girl loves the universe. Except the universe isn’t all the stars and planets and moons and infinity. The universe is you.” You take his hands in your own again and press his palms against your cheeks. “The sun is in your warmth and the stars are in your eyes. All the girls fall in love with the universe, but falling for the universe made me fall in love with you. The Doctor. Healer, wise man,” You lean forward to rest your forehead against his own. “Hero.” 

The Doctor licks at his lips. Red rimmed eyes flicker between yours eyes and your mouth, and he whispers, “Kiss me.” 

A supernova explodes between you two the moment his lips touch yours, and for a moment, you allow yourself to be enveloped by the sheer majesty of the universe. 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #331

my head hurts way too badly to think up some intro lyrics, so just g’night.

Have you ever become good friends with someone you never met in person? Oh yeah, I've had best friends over the Internet. Hell, I'm closer to many online friends than I am most irl ones. They know "the real me" more. What do you consider your default mood to be? Stressed, probably. Discontent. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive for? Not long. Proper goldfish husbandry is a very neglected topic, and I sure as hell never knew how to set up its tank adequately. Have you ever been paintballing? No, don't plan to. It looks like it hurts like a bitch. Do you want a large wedding? No. Did you ever collect any sort of cards? I had a very small collection of Pokemon cards. I didn't collect them avidly. What’re the best and worst books you ever had to read for a class? The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton was the best. The worst was some book we had to read in the 6th grade about a kid during some war that moved around a lot... I don't remember the name or who wrote it, but it sucked. What’s the best meal you had at an amusement park, or If you haven’t been to one, how about a good meal at another place like a zoo, aquarium or museum? I don't know. I haven't been to many. Who, whether a person or company, emails you the most? My PHP therapist emails me a check-in sheet and Zoom link every day there's a therapy session. What kind of sound or noise freaks you out the most and why do you think it scares you? Let's seeeee... I don't know if there's a sound that actually freaks me out. There are some I don't like, but none that like, frighten me. At least that I can think of. What’s the strangest art piece you’ve come across? Biiiitch there's a painting in Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs I'm not gonna go into, but shit fuckin wild. What’s the most clever or unique name you’ve come across for a business? I've definitely heard some cool ones, but I don't know about one that really stands out to answer this. If you had to name one of your hypothetical future children after a song, which song would you pick? Maybe like... okay, I'm blanking. Good thing I'm not having kids to name then, right? What’s the last song you heard? "Down in the Park" by Marilyn Manson is on atm. What is your favorite line from a TV show? *shrug* Any current family issues? No. How many hours do you spend online a day? How do you feel about that? I'm doing something on the computer pretty much... always. I hate it, and I hate it a lot. I don't want my life to be tied solely to the digital plane. I want to do more than bounce back and forth from website to website. Do you think that people have the power to make their own lives better? Absolutely, but there are some things they simply cannot change. It's about perspective and how you play the deck you're dealt. What is the biggest problem in your life right now? Right now, the most limiting thing is my physical health, probably. Just walking being torture affects my ability to exercise, and my body is a major reason - if not the biggest, at this current time - for my depression. This also plays a massive role in jobs I can handle. Not to sound like my emo self writing middle school poetry, but my body feels like a prison. Do you feel that you are loved? I know I am by some people, though I have a hard time understanding why a lot. What is the one thing you want most from life? Life satisfaction. Pride in what I've accomplished. A regular state of being content. Birthplace? I'm just gonna say in eastern NC. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, merely infatuation. Love is much too deep for that. Do you think dreams eventually come true? Some can, but usually only if you put effort into making that so. Favorite fictional character? like ummmmmmmm have you heard of this sassy bastard called Darkiplier- Go to the movies or rent? Before Covid, I loved going to the theater. It was something to do, plus a giant screen is nice. McDonalds or Burger King? McD's. I'm not a big BK fan. I only really went there during my vegetarian phase for the veggie burger. Current annoyance? This motherfucking headache. Last thing you ate? I have a meal replacement shake with me right now, if you consider that "eating." I didn't have a proper dinner. The last solid food I had though was some cookies and cream Greek yogurt. Last thing you bought? With my own money, I think I bought Mom and I some cheap McDonald's order semi-recently? Or maybe paying my $100 deposit for my tattoo was most recent, idk. Soonest thing you are looking forward to? For Mom to get her CT scan and find out what's going on in there. What did you do today? It was a pretty average day. I woke up way too early, though. The only thing even semi-unique about today was I played World of Warcraft for a few hours again; I've been quite unattached to it lately, but I went through an episode today of actually having fun playing. Oh, and I've been battling a migraine. It's more of a severe headache now, at least, but it still sucks big time. Do you like to see it snowing outside? Oh yes, absolutely! When you were in high school did you ever have bomb threats? I believe once we did from a very volatile student that honestly caused quite a lot of trouble. He's dead now. Who knows ALL of your secrets? Nobody. Did you have a job before you were in college? No. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a baby right now? That's a terrifying thought, no. Are you on birth control? Yeah, but just because it tames my menstrual cramps. Without it, they could be debilitating some days. Who is your last sent text to? My best fren. Have you ever eaten at Chipotle before? Possibly? Idr. Do you swear often? Excessively. I had a dirty mouth prior, but my swearing got really bad when I started staying at Jason's house a lot. He and especially his mother swear like mad. Do you own any shirts with a peace symbol on it? No. Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? Not at this house, no. Would you ever go to Japan? Oh, yes. I would love to. It's... very morbid, but I would really like to walk the (public) paths of Aokigahara Forest, nicknamed "Suicide Forest" for the horrible amount of, well, suicides that happen there via hanging. Like, you might just casually run into a dead body. I want to just... feel it there, walk in silence and empathize with people who didn't know what else to do and hope so deeply that those departed know they were never alone in their pain. I know with absolute certainty I'd probably be teary-eyed the whole time and cry a whoooole lot, but it's just an experience I want to have. What was the last thing you went to Walmart for? Some basic groceries. What should you be doing right now? Sleeping, given this headache... I just don't want to yet. Are you afraid of getting your heart broken? I'm fucking terrified of that ever happening again, far more than words can properly express. Have you ever been in a choir? Yes, actually; when I was a Catholic kid, my sisters and I were in the church choir for a year or so, idr. Do you have a Twitter? Yes, but only to like Mark's tweets, haha. Oh, and very rarely enter giveaways I'm interested in. Describe your retainers to me, if you have them, that is. I have a permanent metal one behind my front row of bottom teeth to keep those straight. My upper teeth had one of those normal retainers you take in and out, but I didn't wear it enough, so now it doesn't even fit. Would you like for someone to call you right now? No. I'm tired, my head hurts, and I'm enjoying the song I'm bingeing. It's so weird, I rarely ever go on music hunting trips (no real reason, I just... don't), but I've found great shit lately. Do you like to brush your teeth? No; it's a chore. I only do it because I don't want my teeth decaying, falling out, or getting too yellow, and the taste in your mouth and gritty texture on your teeth isn't exactly great when you don't brush. Have you ever had a surgery? Two. Give out your phone number over the internet? I have over private messages. Do you look older or younger than you actually are? Given my wardrobe (like graphic tees and band shirts), I probably look younger in the eyes of especially older people. I personally say I look my age, though. When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? I never plan to be again. What is the last show that you watched a full episode of? Some cooking show with Mom. Nailed It!, I think? Do you know anyone who lives in Utah? No. I love Utah, though; it's actually a place I'd be willing to live in with just how pretty it is and not super populated. Do you get your feelings hurt easily? VERY. I'm probably one of the most sensitive people you can meet. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? Yeah. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? First we took those nasty, chalky Flintstones kinds, but as time passed, Mom moved onto giving us gummy bear vitamins that were perfectly fine. Did you get any compliments today? No. Are you friends with your neighbors? Not "friends," no. What towns have you lived in? Three different ones. That's all you're getting. Have you ever thrown up from drinking? No. Done any illegal drugs? No. I mean I've had some alcohol underage, but I've never done anything remotely hardcore. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been on an airplane without changing flights? Idk. Who have you texted today? My mom and best friend. What time did you wake up this morning? Ugh, like five in the fucking morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. What is your favorite condiment to go with french fries? Ketchup. What do you have a habit of doing when engaging in a conversation with someone? Making shitty eye contact, and I'm one of those people who "talks with [their] hands." I also lose my train of thought a whoooole lot. Have you ever layed in a hammock? Yeah; we had one growing up. Have you ever lost a pet in a tragic way? How did you cope? Well yeah, I've had lots of pets, so thus lost some in particularly painful ways. The most scarring loss of a pet though is as follows: Teddy, my dog, picked up one of our cat's very young, wandering kittens in his jaws in a manner that looked as if he was trying to carry it like Aphrodite (the mother cat) does when she would bring them back behind the couch, where she gave birth/had her little "nest." I absolutely freaked and had to pry the kitten from his mouth, and it slowly died in my hands. I think Teddy accidentally crushed its ribs. I. Was. A. Mess. Then, there was Aphrodite herself. I've told the story before of our former neighbors calling animal control because our cats would wander through their yard, and all of our cats were taken away while I was unaware at school. Came home, and they were all gone. Aphrodite was my baby, so I was devastated. Screaming, sobbing, cursing on the porch for like 20 minutes... It was awful. What type of curtains do you like? I don't... know? I don't know the actual names of any types... What type of quality is a must-have in a friend? I absolutely cannot be friends with someone who thinks they're above everyone else. Are you any good at reading someone's body language? I think I am. What goes good with a nice cold glass of milk? Cookies! Especially Oreos. Dip it in there for around five seconds, and it's perfection. What fruit is too sweet to you? Grapefruit came to mind first. How did you feel after your first kiss? I had butterflies galore and was so giddy and smiley. After the first, I just wanted to kiss him a billion more times. What’s your favorite constellation and why? I don't have one. Shower curtain or door? Curtain. The glass doors are too revealing. Have you ever thought to yourself that you’re the luckiest person in the world? Most deeeeefinitely not. What time of day do you most enjoy looking at the sky? Sunset if there are clouds present, but sunrise if the sky is pretty clear.

[danetobelieve]

Fangs For The Memories || Ricky and Winston

Really, as far as roommates went, Winston was pretty much as good as one could get. Ricky liked having them around, and they got along well enough, but sometimes it was nice to have the house to himself. Winston had mentioned they were going to spend the night at their parents, so Ricky was enjoying the concept of some home-alone time which meant time he didn’t have to spend in hiding. Rifling through the refrigerator, Ricky decided it was as good a night as any to treat himself to the nice piece of salmon he’d bought the other day, and he was in the process of firing up the stove to sear it when he heard the front door slam open. Several things went through his mind in quick succession; one, that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and two, that his false teeth were in their case in his nightstand, and not in his mouth which was currently filled with very bright very sharp fangs that were on display for his very human roommate to see. He slammed the refrigerator shut and busied himself in the spice cabinet, keeping his back to Winston, “Oh hey dude…. You’re back early. Everything good?”

Winston was very wet still. After hanging out at their parents they’d been distracted by Pokemon Go and through a weird series of events with Skylar -- a girl they met through chance really -- they had been attacked by a gollum-esque creature and Skylar had revealed a rather sharp looking set of fangs. It was … well it was a lot to take in. Winston was trying to explain what they had seen just hours before, and on autopilot they had driven straight home to change. After all the Cave of Voices wasn’t the ideal place to go and fight weird animal things (which Winston was in the process of convincing themselves that’s what they must be) without getting a little wet. Brushing sand out of their hair, they slipped in the front door and pulled off their coat, hanging it to dry before heading towards the kitchen. “I had a very … weird experience.” Winston frowned gently as they strode into the kitchen. 

Ricky carefully kept his back to Winston, grabbing some spices from the cabinet and mixing them in a small bowl. Without turning he reached over and twisted the volume down on music he was listening to; he knew it was probably louder than was standard for a normal conversation. “A weird experience?” He called over his shoulder, patting the spice mixture into the large salmon filet. There was no easy way to exit the conversation and make his way upstairs to put the most crucial piece of his human disguise back on. He turned over his shoulder to look at Winston and furrowed his brow at their appearance, “why are you wet?” He kept his lips as close together as he could but knew it’d be a hard conversation to follow if he couldn’t read Winston’s lips as they were talking. His hearing wasn’t completely absent on land, but it was bad enough that he usually needed to supplement with lip reading “Didn’t think it was supposed to rain tonight?”

Winston had left a basket of clean laundry in the utility room, slipping in, they began to peel their now damp clothes off of their skinny body, throwing each item of clothing straight into the washing machine and stepping into a fresh, clean pair. “I am getting to why I am wet, but have you ever been to the Cave of Voices beneath the Hanging Rock?” Winston was sure that Ricky wouldn’t have been there, “I was up at mom and dad’s and they were boring so I was playing Pokemon Go and I wandered over there.” They paused as they pulled on a warm pair of joggers and zipped a hoodie snuggly around them, pulling the hood up and slipping their glasses back on before going to take a seat at the breakfast bar. “So I go in search of a Pokemon I want, I end up in this little sea cave, and there’s that girl who helped me at the internship with those hard of hearing kids, Skylar, I’m sure I mentioned her a few months ago.” They weren’t really paying attention to what Ricky was doing, focussed more on explaining their weird day. “But that’s not the weirdest part. There was something in there.”

Ricky stiffened slightly when Winston mentioned the Cave of Voices. As far as he knew it wasn’t the permanent home of anything dangerous but it definitely had enough supernatural visitors that it wasn’t a place humans should be hanging out regularly. “You went to the Cave of Voices for a Pokémon? That place is super dangerous, Win. The tides will drag you out to sea real easy if you’re not careful.” It was Winston’s mention of something else in the cave that really gave Ricky pause however. “what kind of something?” He turned to face his roommate, cupping his chin in such a way where his fingers obscured his mouth. He didn’t think anything had taken up residence in the Cave recently but if something had it was something that was going to have to be addressed sooner rather than later and he didn’t really feel in the mood to have a knock down drag out fight with yet another alghoul. “You want some dinner? I’ve got enough for two here.”

Raising an eyebrow gently, Winston couldn’t help but admit that they wished they had known that before hand. “Now you tell me that it is dangerous?!” Winston replied exasperatedly, “If I’d known about the tides I would never have gone there.” They were too nervous taking risks as it was already. Risk averse might as well be their double barrelled middle name. “But like I was saying, the tide was not the problem, the problem was this something, and what kind of something I couldn’t tell you. Maybe if a bat and orangutan had a baby then it would’ve looked like this, but it also just looked like a jacked Gollum.” Winston wanted to tell Ricky the whole story, to explain about Skylar’s veneers and everything with her mouthful of teeth, but they didn’t feel as if that was really their secret to share. “It came after me and Skylar…” they paused and shrugged, “I’ve called animal control and informed the sergeant at the office.” After all one of the perks of working at the police department was if anything went wrong then they would be able to talk to someone they knew personally. “They said they’d send someone down there to check it out, but I don’t know if they really believed me.” Pausing for a moment, they adjusted their glasses and nodded. “If you’ve got enough, I wouldn’t say no.” 

“Haven’t you lived here your whole life?! You should know that tidal caves are some bad news bears up in this bitch. I’m glad you two made it out okay but that shit coulda gone south if the tides were super strong.” Ricky grabbed a pan from the rack and lit the stove, listening to the click click click of the pilot before the burner caught and the flame whooshed to life. A pat of butter went in the pan as he carefully listened to Winston’s story, mentally trying to catalogue what it might be that was lurking down in the cave. “Did it hurt you guys? Wild……. animals can have all sorts of nasty diseases. We should get you to the hospital if you got bit or scratched.” He knew a lot of the lesser necrophages were disgusting disease vectors, and even a scratch from one of them could lead to a terrible infection. “Well. I believe you. The legends about that place” and the entire town, he thought silently to himself, “put some pretty gnarly shit down in there. I haven’t been in since I was a high schooler,” another convenient lie, “and I don’t plan on going back anytime soon.” Given the description Ricky thought it was probably a ghoul that had attacked them, which made him feel slightly better. Ghouls weren’t that terrible. “Two salmon dinners coming right up then.” 

“Hey,” Winston snapped back, shaking their head indignantly, “I know it was a bad decision, I don’t need you to call me out like that. Besides, I’m just fine at swimming, I’d have managed. I’m more concerned about the fact that Gollum is down there and apparently without the one ring.” Raising their palms, Winston showed Ricky their palms which were still grazed and raw from their fall in the cave. “I have a few bumps and bruises, it really went took it out on Skylar worse, she was in a worse state then me but we both made it out.” Winston was surprised that Ricky accepted their story so easily. “I can’t reconcile it within my own head, it was like something out of a game dude, there’s… there’s …. I just can’t get it straight. I know rationally that this makes no sense. But I saw what I saw.” Not to mention Skylar’s fangs. This town was getting weirder and weirder by the second. Picking at the drawstring  of their waist band, Winston smiled gratefully before taking their glasses and anxiously polishing them. “Thanks, I appreciate this dude.” They knew they must’ve interrupted a quiet night alone, which was a rarity for the both of them. 

“It’s literally your roommates job to call you out when you do dumb shit. It’s like in the roommate handbook. You need a beer to settle your nerves?” Ricky pulled two out of the fridge and popped the tops off, sliding one across the counter without waiting for a reply before turning back to the meal he was cooking. The kitchen was starting to fill with the smell of pungent spices as Ricky thought about his next move. He prided himself on being honest with the people around him; but there were some very specific loopholes to that policy and they all dealt with the supernatural. Which is why he was less than pleased with his choice to gaslight his roommate. “I’m sure Gollum himself wasn’t lurking in the Cave of Voices.” He kept his voice pitched light and breezy, “it’s dark, it’s cramped, and it’s more than a little creepy. The human brain likes to fill in all sorts of blanks with the insane when it’s confronted with something terrifying. You probably just startled some poor forest creature who got stuck in there by the tide. You’re lucky you don’t catch rabies.”

Winston was about to say that they didn’t want a beer, but Ricky put one in their hand anyway and the cold, malty liquid felt good. “Thanks dude, I know it is your job to make sure that I’m not doing anything that could potentially kill me.” Ricky was a good guy. He had done a lot for Winston in the small amount of time that they had been living together. Winston was distracted, otherwise they might have noticed that Ricky was keeping his back to Winston. They might have noticed that they weren’t directly addressing them and they hadn’t seen their teeth yet. But they were kind of preoccupied. “I don’t think it was Gollum either, probably an animal and a bump on the head or something, i know that your brain tries to turn everything into a narrative and the fear probably just y’know, changed my perception.” They had been convinced earlier that whatever it was hadn’t been an animal, but this was the real world. It had to be an animal. There was nothing else that it could be. “I know, I know,” Winston replied glumly, their left thumb picking at the corner of the label on the beer, rolling and unrolling it restlessly, “I just can’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it then a rabid animal.” It wasn’t really their problem. They weren’t a member of animal control.

“Your mother would kill me if I let anything happen to you and frankly I’m convinced that she could do it with little effort on her part.” Ricky plated the salmon and slid one of the plates across the counter to Winston, setting a fork down next to it. “Fear is a powerful thing. But I know deer and badgers and the sort go down there to forage at low tide and then get trapped in the cave. You might have just startled one of them that was already at the end of its rope and its fight or flight response kicked in.” He waved his own fork glibly as he laughed off Winston’s story, trying to put them at ease while pushing them towards believing they hadn’t seen a necrophage and instead had just seen a frightened animal. He realized too late, however, that between taking a bite of his salmon and laughing brightly he’d left his mouth open for far too long, and he no longer had his back to his roommate. He snapped it shut and took a sip of his beer, hoping that Winston has been too distracted by the delicious food to look at him.

Winston didn’t think that their mother would kill Ricky. They were certain that their fate would be far more gruesome then an easy death. “Well don’t worry because I won’t let anything happen to you, and my mother isn’t about to find out about this.” Turning the plate round, Winston scooped up their fork and picked at the slice of salmon that Ricky had cooked for them. Ricky didn’t seem to eat much other then fish and meat, but they knew how to cook it and they did a damn good job. Winston just assumed that Ricky was fussy and out of deference to their friend had elected not to bring the topic up, incase it embarrassed them. “Maybe, but I’ve got to admit that it didn’t look like any sort of deer or badger that I have ever seen before, this looked like a cross between a monkey and a bat.” Winston looked up just in time to see Ricky’s gleaming mouthful of fangs. Wait … fangs? Winston felt their eyes widen and realised that they had caught Ricky’s eye for a moment. A look of shock on their face before they looked at their plate and shovelled a huge mouthful of fish into their mouth. “Mmhmmm this is great fish dude,” they said inbetween bites, doing what they could to avoid admitting to what they had just seen. But they’d seen those very same teeth on Skylar, hours before. What the fuck was going on? 

Given the profound look of shock on their face and the renewed vigor with which they ate and commented on the fish, Ricky knew pretty immediately that the jig was up. “Winston…” he sighed wearily as he set down his fork and took a drink of his beer. “Yeah. I know it’s great fish. I can cook fish like a motherfucker. Because fish and meat are pretty much all I can eat. Listen. I know you saw and you can stop trying to hide that behind food comments and eating. Mostly because at the rate you’re going you’re gonna finish that fish in two bites. So. Yeah. Let’s talk.” He’d really planned on going a lot longer without having this conversation. But. Hopefully Winston’s cool head would prevail “if it makes you feel better… it definitely wasn’t a badger or a deer you saw.”

With a mouthful of fish, Winston looked up at Ricky and let out an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, I know you eat fish and meat, because you’re a giant baby living in a man’s body and you hate your veggies, you’re a fussy eater and you’ve probably got like a gluten intolerance right?!” They let out a high pitched anxious laugh and shoved more fish into their mouth. “But you’re right, really good fish, you did an amazing job, like you always did. HA ha what amazing fish.” They chewed extra slowly on the tiny amount of fish that they had left. “I’m sorry Ricky,” Winston said glancing at their wrist and realising they weren’t wearing a watch, “but I’ve got to dash, my parents are expecting me for dinner and they’ll be upset if I’m late…” they tried to force their heart to slow down, but it wasn’t working. They didn’t have time to focus on something else and just breath. “Anyway, I’ll catch you later.” They were standing and grabbing their rucksack and keys. They would stay at their parents house tonight. They would also be checking to see if they too had a mouthful of sharp teeth. “Thanks again for the fish dude.” 

It became readily apparent to Ricky that this was going to be at least a two part conversation, as Winston gathered their things and started to head towards the door. “Winston.” Ricky called out from where he was sitting picking at his fish, “my….. fussy eating” which seemed to be the terms they were going to couch this in for the moment, “Is a secret for a reason. There are people who would use that as an excuse to hunt me. Literally. So if we could keep this between us for the moment. I’d appreciate it.” He took another swig if beer and glanced down at his phone as Winston headed for the door, “also. It was probably a ghoul. Down in the cave. Sounds like one. Don’t go back there again. It’s not safe til that things been taken care of. Be careful.” All he could do was trust that he and Winston had enough of a bond that his roommate wouldn’t go blabbing to the whole town. 

Winston was pulling their rucksack onto their back and had their hand wrapped around the handle to the front door. “Ricky,” Winston said turning to face him, “Ghouls aren’t real. In the same way that ghosts, vampires, werewolves and magic aren’t real. This isn’t supernatural or the Witcher. None of these things exist in the real world. If they did exist, don’t you think that the internet would’ve spread the word about them? You think that a secret that big could be kept?!” They laughed nervously, suddenly unsure in everything that they had just asserted was the truth. “I won’t tell anyone about your fussy eating,” Winston said sourly, “I know how to keep a secret,” they pulled the front door open and felt a cold breeze roll into their house. “Besides, I’ve always got your back, even if you … are a fussy eater.” With that they were taking a step out of the front door and heading towards their car. They needed answers. They needed time to think and try and wrap their head around this. Ricky had used the words ghoul for fucksake?! 

[megalony]

Our boy- Part 7

Another part to my Roger Taylor series that I hope everyone is enjoying so far.

Permanent taglist: @marshmallowmae @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan

Series taglist: @bohemiansweede

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

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What were they meant to do?

Each of the three men had witnessed their drummer intoxicated before, that was clearly a given from the late night parties that could last a day that was thrown here, there and everywhere. Even when they were a small-time band playing gigs wherever they could get them, they had always seen one another drunk before.

But not like this.

Roger wasn't the usual kind of drunk they were used to, he wasn't giggling, he wasn't swaying or asking where he was. He wasn't shouting or talking too loud thinking he was being quiet. Roger wasn't staggering down the street in a fit of laughter unsure what he was even laughing about anymore. Their drummer was sitting on the blood red sofa with a bottle of beer in his hand and an empty glass of whiskey at his feet which showed only half the story of what he had taken that day. Their drummer had split knuckles on his right hand that were caked with dried blood and beginning to form bruises. Roger, who was each of their best friend had scratches running from his knuckles down his fingers that seemed like they had scraped against a brick wall.

Their Roger had eyes that were painted a navy blue that was mixing with a light purple, the kind of colours you would expect to see in a painting of the stars in the midnight or very early morning sky. He held blood vessels around his eyes that were so prominent each band member thought they were going to burst. The whites of his eyes were no longer white but glistening with the palest form of dusty rouge they had ever seen that was so subtle John wondered if it was even there.

Roger's face was no longer the usual pale colour it normally was, nor was it darker from a tan that he was always guaranteed to get when they went on tour or simply abroad. His skin was mixed like a canvas, his face was no longer pale but a burning red as if he was sitting in front of a large fire simply radiating heat. His cheeks flushed and dotted with darker colours of red that looked like blotches of ink dripped from a fountain pen. His neck seemed to fade to a different, more pinker shade of red as the artery in his neck made itself known, bulging through the skin determined to be noticed. The rest of his exposed skin seemed to turn almost grey which they guessed was due to the drummer drinking himself into oblivion instead of caring for himself and eating and sleeping properly.

This new version of Roger sitting in front of them was crying.

The drummer didn't cry in front of them, it just simply wasn't a reality for them all. He could shed happy tears, he could have one tear of frustration creeping up in the corner of his eye but never streams of tears like this. Roger never held the ability to cry for any reason other than happiness in front of them. He seemed to carefree for that.

To see him sobbing his heart out that was broken and shattered in his chest was horrifying to all of them. They had never seen his bottom lip quiver in such a way it was like a leaf in a tornado. They had never seen his face flush with salt water like this or his eyes completely swamped with water. Never having witnessed the broken sobs escaping his lips or the sniffs or hitches in his breath that showed he couldn't seem to breathe at a normal rate anymore.

This version of Roger was one that neither Freddie, Brian or John had encountered before. They were rendered useless because they didn't know what the protocol was to help him when he was like this.

"I think that might be enough now." John was the first to speak, his voice eerily quiet as he reached for the green bottle in the drummer's hand that was half full. Half a bottle of alcohol that would do nothing but aid the hangover Roger was clearly going to have in the morning and prompt him to be sick since they all knew he hadn't been eating properly, if at all. The bassist's attempt at taking the bottle from Roger was in vain, the drummer was drunk beyond belief but he was still quick to react. His arm quickly but clumsily moving out of John's reach, spilling the beer over his wrist.

"'M not dead yet." Roger sneered, wanting to drink himself into oblivion because he couldn't take being in the real world any longer than this. Being sober hurt so much, being drunk took some of that away but being unconscious would get rid of everything.

"And I'd like to keep it that way, I know it hurts-" John's efforts to help his friend were in vain.

Roger was each band member's best friend, he and Freddie had worked together on the market before being in the band. He and Brian met in university and were in their first proper band together. He and John were the younger ones of the band and got along like a house on fire. Roger was like the glue that kept them together, but he couldn't keep his broken pieces in tact anymore. When he was like this his friends weren't going to be enough to help him because there was nothing they could do.

John's kind words and his level of sympathy wasn't going to bring back Roger's son. It wasn't going to make today any easier for the drummer and the amount of love John held for his friend was never going to fill the void breaking Roger apart.

Roger's temper was being fueled by his pain and that made him crueller than he could ever be. He never wanted to be harsh to his friends because they were his family but he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't act okay in front of them like he had been doing for the past two weeks. Roger couldn't hold himself together and he couldn't continue to try and act like he was managing okay because he wasn't. Life wasn't fair and Roger had been shattered like a broken mirror that meant nothing to anyone. Fate didn't care if Roger broke down like this and it didn't care how he felt, so why should he care about anyone else?

"No you don't, Deaky!" Roger snapped, his eyes full of a venom that turned his iris' shades darker so his natural ocean blue eyes were now turning navy blue and verging on jet black. His body trembling like someone was shaking him vigourously as he stared at one of his beloved friends in so much turmoil John had to look away to save himself. "Four kids and you haven't lost one! How is that fucking fair? Why do you get three healthy boys but I have to put my only son in a grave? You haven't held your dead child Deaky and you never will but James is dead and gone. Why wasn't it you?!"

Freddie and Brian shared extremely worried looks, unsure of how John would react to that kind of comment.

Roger was hurting, if he was sober he would never have said such a rude and uncaring thing to John but the matter was, he said it. He implied that John should have lost a child by now and he implied he wished it was John instead of him. That wasn't fair.

The drummer felt that the odds were against him and he didn't like it. He saw John so happy every time he had a child and Roger had felt that the first time, he felt the pride and the love and the overwhelming feeling of protection he had seen John have. With James, all Roger felt was love and agony. He felt guilty because he was blaming himself for the way things had turned out. He saw John with four children and himself with two, one alive and the other now in the ground. Roger had one boy who was now dead but John had three who were all alive and well and Roger didn't like those odds. He didn't like the truth because the truth always hurts.

John felt his stomach churning at those words that were spat with poison intent to kill. He pressed a hand to his mouth, unsure if he was doing so to stop himself from snapping back at his friend or to stop a scream from escaping. His head turned away before his body followed in suit. His eyes trained on the floor, not one word passing through his lips nor one look being sent to any member of the band before he disappeared from sight.

It would do John no good to shout at Roger because it wouldn't impact the drummer at all like his words had impacted John. It also wouldn't be fair, Roger was lashing out because he had lost a child, John would be lashing out to defend his children against the rudeness Roger spouted from his drunken state. He couldn't do it, it was too much effort and pain to start an argument that Roger would make sure he won. Leaving was his only choice, he had turned up at seven in the evening to see if Roger was okay after the band got a call saying he had gone there when they were closing up and refused to leave. John saw Roger wasn't okay and he could do nothing for him, there was no point in him staying.

"Rog, don't do this. Let us take you back to Fred's for the night." Brian wasn't in the mood to argue with Roger. He was used to the petty squabbles they usually had, it was normal for them to clash horns but never on something like this. Brian wasn't fighting Roger when he was as shattered as this, it wasn't fair and it wasn't needed.

"I don't want your shitty sympathy Brian, I want my son back! Can you do that for me?" Part of Roger was pleading for Brian to do the ultimate impossible act, to bring the dead back to life. The other part of him was begging for his friend to stop trying to be nice he didn't want nor feel he deserved it.

The drummer would give and do anything in the entire world to bring James back. He would give all the money he had and was ever likely to have in order to get his son back. Roger would trade places with James if it would bring him back and let (Y/n) have her boy back. Roger would do anything, he would commit any sin he needed, he would do any number of good deeds if it would bring James back. But no one held the power to do that for Roger and the sad thing was Roger knew this. He knew there was no way in this universe that he was getting back the one person he desired the most and yet he still wanted to plead with anyone to do that one simple thing for him.

It was the only thing Roger wanted, like a child with one thing on their Christmas list. One thing that no one in the world was ever going to be able to give him.

"I'm not here to give you sympathy, I'm here to stop you drinking yourself into a coma. Let us take you back, this won't do you any good." If Roger didn't want sympathy Brian wouldn't give it to him. He would shout at his friend if need be just to get him to go back with Fred and get some sleep and something to eat when he was more sober than this. They weren't leaving Roger here and they weren't letting him go out and get even more plastered than he already was. They had all made the mistake of leaving him alone earlier today and they weren't doing that again.

Today had been the day of James' funeral and the boys had one along with Roger, wanting to be some kind of moral support. Freddie seemed to be the one who could get through to Roger the most. When the service had ended Roger wouldn't leave, he sat down in the mud with his legs crossed, simply staring down at the mud slowly beginning to be thrown over his boy. No one but Freddie had managed to get him to leave. He'd sat with the drummer next to the grave for a while, whispering things no one else could hear until Roger finally got to his feet, accepting a long-lasting hug from his friend before he disappeared. All now seeing he had gone to get drunk.

"Just piss off."

"I'm not leaving you like this-"

"I don't want your help Brian. How can you help me, hmm? Have you gone through this, no! You and John have all your kids intact tucked up in bed at home. I have Rosie but I lost James. You haven't paid for your sins Brian, you cheated more than once and you haven't lost a child. Why is it me?" Roger was helpless because he didn't want help. He didn't see how they could help him in the way that he wanted or needed. Brian had three children and all of them were perfectly fine and healthy, he hadn't lost one so he couldn't comfort Roger or tell him that things would get better with time.

Roger wondered if this was his sin for cheating on his wife, but Brian had cheated before and he hadn't lost a child because of it. Roger wondered if he lost James because he chose science over nature. He chose to have James early because he chose (Y/n) over his son and he had paid the ultimate price for that kind of betrayal.

He didn't deserve help.

"There is no reason for this Roger! Don't accept our help then, but think of (Y/n), you do this shit it affects her too. You're leaving her to deal with your mess because you won't let us help." Brian snapped back, choosing to ignore the comments about his own children like John did. If Roger pushed them all away he was going to hurt more people than just himself. If he didn't let them help he was leaving (Y/n) to pick up his broken pieces and she needed to hold herself together at the same time. This wasn't fair to anyone.

"James is dead because I thought of (Y/n) over him! I chose her and he fucking died. I deserve to die with him." The bottle in Roger's hand hit the glass window separating the room they were in with the recording room opposite. Shards of green glass splintering into the carpet and landing on the control panel beneath the window which would leave a tricky mess for someone to have to clean up later.

Roger's body shot up like a spring until he wobbled on shaking legs. His eyes turning to Freddie who had stayed silent this whole interaction. Roger was his best friend and seeing him this hurt made Freddie feel the same pain. He didn't have children, he didn't know what it was like to lose your flesh and blood in that way, he didn't know what it was like to have a child in the first place. But he felt something similar when Roger had Rosie, he felt that proud feeling and the overwhelming sense of love for his Goddaughter when he first laid eyes on her.

Freddie knew words were not what Roger needed at this moment. He didn't need sympathy or an argument that he wanted to win. Roger didn't need someone to tell him how his future was going to plan out, nor did he need someone to tell him that everything was going to be alright and that they would help him through it.

When the singer walked forward to stand in front of him, one simple look passed between them before Roger crumbled like a brick wall turned to dust. His knees caved in, his stomach tensed and his chest heaved as his head fell onto the singer's shoulder. His arms wrapping tightly around Freddie's neck to stop himself from crashing to the ground in a heap. He needed a hug from someone who knew him almost better than he knew himself. From someone who knew just how to help without needing to say anything at all.

Roger needed Freddie.

Freddie held the drummer up as if he weighed nothing. He wrapped his arms around his friend's torso and held him to his chest as if he were trying to stuff Roger right into his heart and keep him there until he was mended again. His love for his friend seemed to seep out and wrap around Roger like vines, and the drummer welcomed the feeling with open arms. He let the drummer cry into his shoulder, he held him as a guttural scream escaped his lips and vibrated through Freddie's system in the worst possible way.

He listened to the small remarks and pleas leaving Roger's lips about bringing James back, knowing full well no one could do that for Roger no matter how many times he pleaded and whoever he pleaded to.

"I want him back."

All Freddie could offer was to hold him up when he was about to fall down, and right now that was enough.

[goshiyachi]

In between the days

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Gen: Dabi & Todoroki Family; Dabi & Natsuo Todoroki Summary: He knew it took some time to fix everything. But honestly, Dabi wished his life hadn’t needed fixing in the first place. Rating: G Warnings: past/referenced trauma, referenced child abuse A/N: Written for @bnhaflashbang A/N: I want to thank jiinko from discord for being the beta to this story and @jiminie--crickets and @mageofspace924​ for being two lovely people that chose to make beautiful pieces of art for my story!   Word Count: 1,495 Read on ao3

Scarcely, he could recall the intangible bubbling sensation that had dropped when he felt his blood finally, and securely, bind itself with his own tight puffs of breath when he managed to right himself up. The bed, including the sheets and pillows, had been pushed away. His skin was warm, too warm, so he knew the fire he had used yesterday did not bode well for his sleep now. His room had been a testament of it when the cloak he wore had been left on the ground and the curtains had been pulled back. The city smog had won this round as he coughed with a little more gusto than he preferred. The loneliness from his apartment, however, had not been what he wanted. Strange. It had been so long ago when he mingled for cheap conversations that strangers could only give when he couldn’t stand the iciness in his own home, then.  

The insight that few could bring had been a rare taste, and Dabi, well, he had lived in a world where he had not liked company that bored him and chained him up.  

His family, then forgoing his memories that he could somewhat remember, had not been as kind as he used to make them out. Or rather, he knew the bitterness from his escape had done something to it. To them all. He had poisoned his own past that tied him with them.  

The only fault was that he had been just as proud as them—and as understandably and furiously like him. They couldn’t talk without urging the edges to start arguing. They couldn’t say two simple apologizes between them because they were themselves. Nothing more. Nothing less. A tradition in itself as it quickly went about in a roundabout circle. His own time on earth proved that. And it would never end.  

He himself had been hurt by his own words, his own actions that never gave him any less room to find a solution. He knew, though. It all could have been avoided if they all—if he had...

Dabi didn’t let his thoughts idle. No. The morning had started without him, luring his limbs to toss and turn as the sun hid the darkness. He had to get up. Had to wake up all his mind when his own body had betrayed him as it urged him to shower and eat a proper breakfast. Last night’s wandering had made his stomach much smaller that it cried for the meals he used to have. From his refrigerator the plastic container had been sitting there. Still would have, if not for his hunger winning him over with practicality over pride.

(He did his best to savor the meal while not thinking about how far his sister had come from when she first started steaming vegetables and seasoning the meat.)

He didn’t go back to those early mornings when he had watched and chopped his own plate while he tutored her. Or when his little brothers and mom would chatter or set up the table before it would all simmer out, as they were separated by duty and other obligations that weren’t as convincing to keep them apart. Nostalgia was terrible like that, grabbing somebody's soul ringing it out of all and any pieces that held such light and happiness until it withered into paler imitations.  

He hated it.  

But like how it went, Dabi had taken off and locked the apartment when he was full. The coat, always covering his arms, had become a status of him aimlessly finding something to do. Anything that could rein himself and find the freedom he won when he left. But, like other days where the streets were full of people, Dabi found himself even more wistful when he ran across a small family. A mother herding her own children on a local park. The smallest had been intrigued by his own clothing as he never fully looked away from him.  

The round eyes, chubby cheeks and the innocent that radiated off of him and his siblings—Dabi wished he had grown up knowing that feeling.

“You know if you keep scowling like that those wrinkles will stay permanent.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the comment as a reflex. There had been an eye roll in there too. He leaned back further into the bench as much as he had been able to as he stretched out his legs in a childish way, he could commit himself into when another body whose was taller and bulker (and it would always be very unfair, as genetics went that he had to look up to his younger brother now) sat down. His white had had been spiked up, and his eyes, the same shade of their mother’s, had glinted. No matter how much time passed, Dabi knew that he could never stop him from looking and finding him in the city. They never had been separated for long during their childhood.  

And now, with adulthood hanging over Dabi and his brother finishing high school, he saw it. The storm coming in larger waves. They knew why he looked for him. Why the stolen glances he received from his family had been getting frantic. His name, or lack of it, had been turning into a forum between the circles his family had been known for. Rumors came. His old acquaintances had texted him. But nothing came out of his own mouth or old social media accounts he used to maintain.  

It had been a long time since he wanted to go back into society. His brother knew that. Yet, it still seemed like he needed reminding when he fished out from his duffel bags another row of plastic containers. All filled completely with a variety of new dishes. No doubt a bribe for him to go back. If only he could do that.  

“And what? Ruin the brooding aesthetic I’ve got going on?”

Natsuo’s laugh lightened his lungs. “More like it would incite a certain birdy to come fly over.”

Neither missed the way Dabi’s blood ignited his skin as a flush colored any exposed skin, a terrible side effect of his skin and his quirk working against him when his emotions went up and down. Of course, Natsuo would learn to fuss like Fuyumi did when they heard and noticed the unfortunate luck he had when the new hero, Hawks, had barged into his life some time ago when he had been sitting alone at the edge of an old building. The idiot had thought that he wanted to jump, and he couldn’t let him do anything like that during his lunch break because then it would ruin the mood for his revered smoothie Saturdays.

They were all awful like that. Jumping into his life, always finding ways to stay connected into his own verse of adulthood and he tried to find meaning to it all. Natsuo, while being his younger brother, had often been the type to talk and interact with people that took interest in Dabi’s life. Whether from before in the prep and cram schools they attended, and especially now when he dropped college.

“Ha, ha.” Dabi took the containers and shoved some into his pockets (another reason why he liked his coat, deep pockets were awesome and practical). “Come on, what’s with the food fest?”

Fuyumi didn’t usually bombard Natsuo’s food run with millions of containers unless she wanted something. Natsuo didn’t exactly change his body language, not in an extreme way, but it had been enough for Dabi to see what would come out of his lips. “It's almost mom’s birthday.”  

Like that, Dabi’s teeth clenched. Naturally, it made sense why she would have Natsuo be the one to ask him politely. They had often been the closest.  

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Natsuo frowned. “It’s been six months.”

Six long months of not writing or seeing his mom or Shouto. The distance was working in some ways. It had made him see that his resolve needed to strengthen in some fashion.  

“And?”

Natsuo’s cheeks reddened in anger. “And she’s your mother! Shouto may not have been as vocal as before, but he still wants to know where his big brother is.”

Dabi couldn’t make himself look at Natsuo. Everything and everyone suddenly went duller. He didn’t remember what he said to him, but the cursing he received had said it all. Dabi was a horrible person.

The hardest part of it all was that he knew he could do better. On the eve of her birthday he couldn’t even knock on her door. He just stood there with one frozen hand outstretched before he left the facility.  

One day though, Dabi would find the answers to fix everything. To finally see her again and be around with all his siblings.  

Until then, he would keep on searching.

[my-honourable-barbarian]

I doubt nicknames will be necessary - Part 16

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

AO3 Link

One week and two days ago, Nikandros had received an interesting call. It had consisted of thumping and shrieking and a grunted laugh Nikandros very much never wanted to hear again.

As it had clearly been an accident, he had tactfully hung up the phone and then sent Damen a series of very annoyed texts telling him to keep his butt away from anything that could be dialled while having surprisingly enthusiastic sex with who Nikandros assumed to be the acidic slash deceptive neighbour.

He had received an image in return, and as he had been tapped into the work WIFI at the time, it had downloaded without his say-so. It had shown a kitchen – not Damen’s, but with a similar outlay – utterly wrecked with explosions of what appeared to be flour, splatters of dripping red Nikandros very much hoped was not blood, and balls of dough(?) stuck to the cabinets.

Before he had been able to translate this perplexing image into anything that made sense, Damen had sent a second one, of what looked to be a flawless pie with a couple of pieces missing. It had been followed by many exclamation marks.

Nikandros had… not asked. It stood to reason it meant Damen’s neighbour, fiend that he was, was becoming a permanent fixture and Nikandros would just have to get used to it.

But now Damen was sitting in his office pouting.

“You know,” Nikandros said, after knocking and hearing a muffled, ‘Come in,’ and pointedly pulling the door shut behind him again, “I remember the days when you proclaimed your door would never be closed to anyone.”

As expected, Damen was frowning and still giving his best impression of impeccable professionalism. “It’s not locked,” he pointed out, very likely only to piss Nikandros off.

“You know what I mean.”

Damen himself had implemented a literal open-door policy for his office, and had kept it in place all the years the company had existed. It had even survived the move to a bigger building. Before this week, the only time he had ever closed his door had been when someone had asked for a word in private.

Damen remained silent, and – as it often happened whenever he jutted his chin just so – Nikandros was the one to cave. Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled one of the extra chairs to the front of Damen’s desk and settled in for a longer conversation.  

“I realize I have not been very enthusiastic about your new relationship, but if something’s bothering you enough to affect your work ethic-…” Nikandros trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to approach this as Damen’s friend or his right-hand man at work. He settled on, “You can talk to me. I don’t have to like everything you say.”

Damen sank back in his chair and let out a long, frustrated groan.

While at the beginning of last week, he had shown up with a smile on his face that proclaimed he had definitely gotten laid after that food fight, his mood had gotten progressively worse the longer he had spent at work. Nikandros braced himself for the most logical explanation, which was a tale of unsatisfied libido.

Instead, Damen said, “I can’t look at Kastor right now without doing something I have been assured by at least two people and a snake I would come to regret.”

Perplexed, Nikandros took a piece of the pie on Damen’s desk and chewed on it while thinking things over.

Nikandros had, in fact, caught him glaring at Kastor on at least four different occasions. While the mutual avoidance was subtle enough to pass as coincidence, it was true that neither seemed particularly keen on talking to the other.

“Kastor, huh?” tried Nikandros between bites of (admittedly delicious if stress-baked) pie.

At least Kastor’s preference for submissive people (a role even Jokaste had often assumed in his presence, presumably to bait him) and Laurent’s supremely overwhelming personality (not to mention overall appearance of frigidity if not with Damen – yes, he had done a background check) did not add up to Damen once more getting cuckolded by his own brother.

“What did he do now?” Chewing.

“He’s plotting to ruin the company and then swoop in to save it from my incompetence.”

The last of the pie missed Nikandros’ mouth by a bit and smooshed against his cheek. Damen handed him a paper towel.

“And I’m not allowed to do anything. They won’t even tell me what they are planning because apparently I can’t be trusted to keep my cool.”

A fairly reasonable assessment if ever Nikandros had heard one. He asked, “And ‘they’ are?”

And Damen – as though unaware he was the sole reason Nikandros kept finding grey hairs in the mirror at the tender age of thirty – explained, “Laurent and Jokaste. And Berta, Jokaste’s snake.”

“Her what?” said Nikandros and massaged pie into his temples. Damen handed him another paper towel.

“Her snake. Laurent assured me she very much agrees.”

Nikandros rubbed the paper towel over his face and wondered if it could be justified for him to go on his honeymoon early.

“Uh huh. How exactly did your new boyfriend get involved in our company business?”

During the next paragraph, Damen seemed determined to cover a vast array of human emotion, beginning with fond pride, going on with genuine homicidal tendencies, and ending with determined contemplation.

“He discovered it, of course. And his uncle deserves to rot in jail for all eternity and then some. Possibly some dismemberment. We’re adopting a teenager, you know.”

Nikandros was not even going to poke at that with a ten-foot stick.  

“What,” he said, “are Laurent,” he said, “and Jokaste,” he said and realized this was the most unholy of combinations he had ever allowed to share a sentence out of his own mouth, “doing right now?”

Damen had the belated, appropriate and not at all sufficient grace to look sheepish.

“Well, currently they are planning your wedding.”

Nikandros let out a very long and very complicated curse in Greek.  

* * *

“They’ve assured me it’s not actually going to disrupt anything,” Damen said, meaning for it to come out a bit more convinced than it did.

Nikandros continued to look as though Damen had grown three heads, two of them belonging to people he really, really did not like, and the last quickly advancing to the same category.

“Whatever is supposed to go down to expose my brother’s intentions is meant to do so once you and Lykaios have already retreated.” As was their right. No newlyweds could be expected to entertain their families until even the last of them had passed out drunk. It was a two-day affair in a nice hotel for a reason.

“So all I will have to suffer is the fallout the next day?”

Most of what Laurent and Jokaste were discussing actually was about keeping the guests in good spirits, but that would probably not cheer Nikandros up. Understandable, really. While Jokaste might be trusted to at the very least display taste in her choices, Laurent’s mere presence would inevitably add an element of mischievous chaos that Damen knew for a fact no one in his family was prepared for.

“Nik,” he said, “you know our families. There hasn’t been a single gathering that didn’t end with at least one fistfight.” It was true. As dignified as they pretended to be while sober, between the inevitable havoc wreaked by a veritable mass of drunk Grecians and the usual sudden and intense feuds arising when spirits were elated, no one ever actually expected to get their security deposit back. “At least if we know which scandal is going to be exposed beforehand, we might be able to prevent anyone coming to blows.”

“I told you he was up to no good,” Nikandros said, with a deep sigh.

“Laurent?”

A scoff. “Him, too.”

Kastor, then. Damen had always assumed they simply did not like each other, but it would seem everyone around him had the decided advantage at not having been taught how to ride a bicycle by their very patient older brother.  

“I know you did. You were right, my friend.” Come to think of it, Kastor could have held the lessons at another place than a steep hill which had thoroughly skinned Damen’s knees. “Though I wish you weren’t.”

At long last, the air seemed to go out of Nikandros.

“He isn’t even invited,” he muttered with the deep resignation Damen with no small measure of guilt recognized from other such conversations. It wasn’t right. Nikandros was his oldest and most faithful friend.

But, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that since before I found out,” Damen said. “I am aware it’s your wedding, but it does not look very good to invite absolutely everyone working for us except for Kastor.”

“Jokaste isn’t invited either.”

Damen shut his mouth and tried not to look as though he was frowning. But he could feel his forehead creasing nonetheless. His hands wrapped around the stack of papers before him.

“I do know our families,” Nikandros said, “and I also know you.”

“You can have Ios,” said Damen and held out the manuscript.

Nikandros looked up sharply.

Delpha Ios was an author they had been courting for the last month or so. She had spent a long time deliberating offers from several publishers, which in their industry unfortunately not always meant someone was actually good. In her case, it was a well-deserved wooing. Damen had received the confirmation she was signing on with them the day before.

It had been Laurent’s idea to bribe Nikandros with something he really wanted. Damen had hoped he would not have to resort to it, but he was starting to feel bad enough about the job he was doing as both a best man and best friend to be more than willing to give Nik this, at least. Besides, he would do a phenomenal job with Delpha. It wasn’t simply good connections that had elevated Nikandros to the status of Damen’s right hand.  

“Fine,” Nik said now, and Damen could tell Laurent had been absolutely right. He was clearly already itching to get into the manuscript. “Play it out at my wedding. But be advised I will be on my honeymoon for the duration of the fall-out.”

He stood up, and took the loose pages out of Damen’s hand.

“I also uploaded the file for you,” Damen said, because he sometimes liked to work on things digitally. Nikandros merely grunted.

On his way out of the office, Damen held him back for a moment.

“I know you’ve never liked Jokaste, but she’s on our side. This is not the first attempt at overthrowing me my brother has made.”

“A curse on both their houses,” Nikandros said, with feeling.

Without Damen bidding him to do so, he closed the door on his way out.

* * *

Damen, meanwhile, sank back down onto his desk and into what even he had to admit was more brooding than he was used to. He did not like the inertia of waiting, and he liked it even less now that he had been made thoroughly aware of all that was amiss not only in his company, but also in the life of the person he most wished to know happy and safe.

Having passed on the Ios manuscript, he was fresh out of work he actually enjoyed. There was ‘A Rose and Nothing But(t)’, but(t) he really, really did not feel like justifying why everything about it was unsuitable for publishing. And this tremendous pile of idiocy deserved more than a standard letter of rejection. It would have been the perfect work for Jokaste, if it didn’t mean she would also have to suffer through even one paragraph of it.

He eyed what was left of the pie, but he always enjoyed the baking more than the intake of sugar.

According to his clock, he couldn’t even make his rounds yet, since it would take another hour for the chances he might run into his brother to be diminished by Kastor’s rigid lunch schedule. And he didn’t much feel like putting on a fake smile and pretending everything was going well when truly, the brother he had loved and looked up his entire life did not even remotely feel the same for him.

But he never had been very good at sitting still for a longer period of time for no reason. What he needed was something to do. What he needed was-…

The phone rang.

“Akielos Publishing, Damianos speaking,” he answered, perking up.

“I have been thinking,” said Laurent in French, “that there is something I might enjoy doing to you. If you’re amenable.”

Perking up a bit more.

“I’m pretty sure I’m amenable,” Damen said, leaning forward onto his desk. “You are aware you’re calling me at work?”

“Don’t make promises,” chided Laurent mildly. “You might not like the idea. And I’m perfectly aware where you are, thank you. You’re sitting in your office pouting because you’re left out of our planning and aren’t allowed to confront your brother with all the crude honesty you have in you.”

Trying not to smile too audibly, Damen asked, “Why are we speaking French?”

Not that he particularly minded. Both the exercise of little-practiced skills and the even more pronounced lilt of Laurent’s voice were a most welcome addition to his day.

“Because, Damen. I’m standing in front of Erasmus pretending to have very important business with the CEO of Akielos Publishing.”

A grin tugged at the left corner of Damen’s mouth as he said, “Come up.”

“Not yet,” said Laurent, “I am here for a reason.” And Damen grinned a little harder, resting his chin on his hand and feeling at least as wooed as the heroine in the latest instalment of their best-selling historical romance series. If this neither pertained to things he was not supposed to know about nor about an actual visit, Laurent was calling simply to cheer him up. Which was… sweet. He had been oh so sweet in the last few days. Unguarded and – if Damen could dare make the assumption – a little less burdened as well. And Damen loved him so very much.

Laurent continued, with an enormous amount of non-chalance, “I wonder what you would be like spreading your legs for me.”

Damen’s elbow slipped off the desk.

* * *

It would have been quite simple to revive his role as Charls Merchant in the same outfit as before. It was fairly believable for a literature hipster to wear the same utterly pretentious combination of oversized sweater and tight blue jeans as a repeat offense.

However, there was more to get out of this role than one bad fashion statement. In fact, it was a shame he had not been continuing the ruse all along. The opportunity for casual mayhem, spying, and driving Damen mad with exasperation and lust was simply too good.

So he had acquired a sheer white shirt with the incredibly bold rhinestone print saying ‘Bedazzled’ and a plain jean jacket – again oversized.

Jokaste had braided his hair. A strange experience for both of them, as Laurent was not used to being touched (by anyone other than Damen) and Jokaste clearly wasn’t one for casual affection and playfulness. Nevertheless, she had offered and he had agreed her hairdo prowess likely surpassed his own and they had gotten through a rather stilted eight minutes of elaborate braiding and pretending the situation was not awkward at all.

In truth, he was having fun with her. In the way anyone could have with someone whose only reason for not carrying a switchblade was that her words were more cutting anyways. He liked the constant battle of wits and the combination of their cunning and the mere fact that no matter how brilliant she was, Damen had chosen him over her.

Point in fact…  

“I would like to take you, I think. I’ve never done it that way with anyone,” he was telling Damen over the company phone, while innocently blinking at Erasmus.

Damen’s voice was gratifyingly hoarse. It was fairly easy to picture him. He would be sitting in his office, in that giant chair of his that was probably just normal-sized for him, and his eyes would have gone ever so slightly glassy by now. “I haven’t either,” he said.

“Interesting,” said Laurent. “Is the thought off-putting for you?”

“I’ve never seriously considered it,” said Damen. “I am now.”

Laurent casually put one hand onto the counter, then settled his weight onto it.

“Hm, good,” he said. “Tell me what position you’d like to be in.”

“I-…,” a rather charming sputter, “Laurent-… I can’t just-…”

Smiling his best innocent smile at a passing employee (an accountant, potentially interesting to follow later), Laurent decided to have mercy on Damen.

“Let us start with something easier then. I could describe to you, perhaps, what it would feel like for you. Have you ever used your fingers on yourself?”

The lobby emptied again. Erasmus was unnecessarily straightening the stack of business cards. Interestingly enough, his ears were rather red for someone who claimed not to understand French.

“Not that way,” Damen said, with a heavy breath Laurent was rather sorry not to be able to enjoy fully at the moment.

“Your fingers are rather large for it. Do you enjoy opening me to you?”

“I do. I do. Gods, you know I do.”

Kastor was late in his usual rounds. Laurent had only meant to tease Damen for a little bit before hanging up on him, but with the delay, he would have to improvise. Not that he minded.

“What moment do you like best? Never mind, I shall tell you what I like. It is difficult to choose.” He deliberated, glancing around the lobby at the same time. A group of chatting people had entered. One of them – blonde, female, relatively new to the company – had a milkshake. Laurent briefly wondered if this was due to having been on a date with Damen, then waved the thought of as both uncharitable and irrational.

“The beginning, perhaps, when I feel the impossibility of compatibility and yet know you will fit. When I am closed and panting with anticipation, and you don’t even begin to push in a single fingertip until you feel me wanting to open to you.”

On the other end of the line, there was a very gratifying choking sound. Laurent wondered if Damen’s open-door policy would proof to fuel the fun of the game or if his ridiculous inhibition about sex in public would be a hindrance.

“Or when I do open for you and the crook of your hand makes me feel the first two joints of your finger on my rim until you are knuckle-deep. It feels like a lot, when you are inside me like that. I always wonder how I can take more until I do. I like it when you stimulate me, but sometimes I prefer not to be distracted by it. Incidentally, have you closed your door yet?”

A beat.

“Huh?”

“The door to your office. Is it still open?” He added, belatedly and with a smile, “This is not a metaphor.”

“It’s closed. I haven’t wanted to see anyone all day. I want to see you. I very much want to see you, Laurent.”

Laurent, meanwhile, was rather tempted to temporarily abandon his mission and gently ride Damen until words and deeds combined drove both of them over the edge. But his current situation had its own charm.  

“Hmm, yes, thank you for reminding me. I also quite like the way you look at me. You can never seem to decide what part of me you want to look at most. But this is beside the point.”

The words came almost without effort; the thoughts behind them as familiar as they felt natural; his current removal from their content nothing more than circumstantial. Damen was sitting in his office, in that absolute beautiful state where confusion enhanced arousal, and Laurent was the cause of it.

And while Laurent did not wish to make a habit out of playing power games in their sex life, whatever advantage he was gaining by being the one to remain unaffected while driving Damen out of his mind was nicely negated by the very personal information he had already offered. It felt like a fair exchange, particularly with the blush spreading from Erasmus’ ears to the back of his neck.

“I believe you would be different. I believe you would enjoy being overwhelmed by the pleasure. Perhaps that is how I would make you come, the first time. Two fingers inside you until it overtakes you entirely. You would be on your side, and I would be kneeling in front of you. I would reach between your legs. You would not even have to spread them much, merely lay one knee down next to my hip. I would see you. See if it was good for you. I could have my other hand in your hair. Fingertips trailing over your open mouth in the imitation of kisses to follow. You would require more care than I do, I think. It goes against your instinct. It feels strange. When the pleasure comes, you might reject it. No, I believe I would not fuck you, that first time, even if I found myself wanting you. I want you to have the time to understand whether you actually liked it.”

And perhaps Laurent had been thinking about it for a while now, between planning and studying and fucking and trusting. Perhaps he had been thinking about it a lot.

“Gods, Laurent,” Damen was groaning, “this is insanity. I’m at work.”

“Hm, yes I know. Erasmus is staring at me with an open mouth. I may have underestimated his dirty vocabulary in French.”

Erasmus actually twitched at that, looking up with the most wonderfully apologetic look that made Laurent feel almost sorry for him, but more importantly, Kastor was finally returning from his cigarette break.

“Laurent, I-…”

“Later, Damianos. I need to go now.”

* * *

Laurent did not introduce himself (or rather Charls) to Kastor so much as simply wander around after him wondering how long it would take for Kastor to notice a bedazzled hipster with fake glasses was trailing him. So far, he was astoundingly self-absorbed.

Who did notice him was Nikandros, who shot him a rather unamused look. Laurent wondered if Damen had spoken to him yet. Then Laurent wondered if perhaps he should try to make good with Damen’s best friend rather than gleefully antagonize him. Even if it was fun.

At the wedding, he decided. He would behave at the wedding. And Jokaste and he truly had come up with some good, wholesome elements to entertain Nikandros’ guests.

For now, Laurent would take full advantage of being unknown and unnoticed to one, and well known and unwelcome to the other.

Nikandros’ look actually turned even more done with everything as he turned away from Laurent lurking in the background and focused on Damen’s brother. Yes, Laurent decided, Damen had spoken to him.

“Ah, Kastor,” said Nikandros and Laurent observed with some fascination and no small amount of amusement how stilted he sounded, “You are coming to the wedding, are you not? I noticed we haven’t gotten an RSVP from you yet.”

“What wedding,” said Kastor.

“Uhm mine,” said Nikandros.

“Who are you marrying?” said Kastor, clearly bemused by this.

“My fiancé. Lykaios. You’ve met four times,” said Nikandros, clearly bemused by this.

“Ah,” said Kastor, and the awkward pause that followed was one Laurent would cherish for a very long time. That vein on Nikandros’ forehead was particularly active once again.

“I don’t think I’ve received an invitation,” Kastor finally said, and, “It must have gotten lost in the mail,” Nikandros replied, far too quickly.

It was incredible, truly, that even Damen was turning out to be a better liar.

After another very long and uncomfortable silence, Nikandros managed a, “I’ll send you another copy.”

“Please do,” said Kastor. Nikandros nodded and Kastor nodded and then they both very gladly and disgruntledly parted ways. Truly, if Laurent could paint, he would dedicate an entire series of canvases to capturing this.

After a moment, Laurent melted out of the shadows of the oversized office ficus. Without so much as a comment he changed direction to keep up with Nikandros, who with a curse had turned on his heels the second he saw Laurent emerge.

After a moment of steaming silence, Nikandros hissed what Laurent could only barely understand to mean, “I hope you’re happy now,” in very bad French.

Who had taught him this? It couldn’t have been Damen. Damen’s French was near flawless. An online translator maybe? Had this been what he had spent the last fifteen minutes looking up on his phone?

“Overflowingly so,” said Laurent, with a beatific smile.

To his further gratification Nikandros’ new vocabulary still did not seem to allow him any more understanding of what Laurent was saying.

* * *

Jokaste, it turned out, was not to escape her own cunning even for a day. Even having agreed to helping them both devise a plan to trap Kastor into falling on his own sword, she had underestimated just how much of her time would be taken up by Laurent’s sheer tenacity.

She had figured preparing Laurent for his day of oh-so-sneakily gathering information about Damen’s company at Damen’s company would relieve her of his presence for the rest of it.

He had, after all, never even met Kastor, and would hardly rely on information given to him by Jokaste (whom he rightfully so did not deem fully trustworthy) and Damen (whom he rightfully did not deem fully capable of understanding who his brother truly was).

But this, she should have considered as well.

Apparently having decided against spending his time in the presence of his over-eager and rather offensively in love boyfriend, taking a break from innocently stalking Kastor and having exhausted the last of Nikandros’ impatience, he had now chosen to spend his time following Jokaste around, chatting amicably in French about croutons and occasionally dropping laser sharp insight into the inner workings of the various employees in the exact same tone.

Jokaste was quite aware he was observing her as much as anyone, of course. He would have been stupid to dismiss her, no matter how effective their combined minds were proving or how many napkin swans (and snakes) they had folded together.

Well, there was nothing to do about it now except to sufficiently distract him.

The business that led her to Damen’s interestingly closed door was not a pretence, at least, though did raise his unfortunately perfect eyebrows at her.

Damen sprang up from behind his desk, hit his elbow on a shelf in the process, absolutely did not seem to notice that he had hit his elbow on a shelf, and exclaimed, “Laurent!” as though Jokaste were entirely invisible.

“Why Damen,” said Laurent as Jokaste discretely rolled her eyes and put the USB drive onto the desk which also housed half-eaten pie, all crammed conveniently onto the same side as the closed laptop “a closed door?”

Damen… blushed.

Good gods.  

“As I am sure your pet snake cannot wait to tell you, Kastor has officially been invited to the wedding,” she said, mostly to hurry this particular interaction along as much as possible. “I have in the last few days established enough social pressure on him that he will not be able to decline.”

“Good,” said Damen, still looking rather exclusively at Laurent, whose eyes were… sparkling.

“Which brings me to a concern I have,” she went on, barely keeping from rolling her eyes. If she wished to observe a mating ritual, she’d introduce Berta to a nice snake of whatever gender she preferred.

“While there are enough contingency plans in place that it is not a necessity for him to take me as his date, we have established that we are all in agreement it leads to the most easily controlled outcome. I believe he might not even ask me.”

This, at last, seemed to sufficiently catch their attention.

“Why not?” asked Damen, frowning slightly, while Laurent’s eyes were already narrowing as though to precede Jokaste’s answer. She did not give him the chance.

“I doubt there is much incentive now. Our liaison was hardly about me; its sole purpose was to keep you distracted while his coup was to take place.”

With the kind of innocent deadliness that Jokaste had seen rather too much of in the last few days of scheming, Laurent insisted, “Oh, don’t undersell yourself. I’m sure taking you from Damen and being able to rub his nose in it also played its part.”

“Quite,” said Jokaste, who had opted for the more tactfully phrased version.

“I don’t see how this might not still apply,” Laurent went on. “Would he not proceed in the exact same vein if encouraged sufficiently? Stage a scene where it becomes clear Damen asked you to accompany him and you did not accept his invitation and Kastor should be all over trying to one-up Damen once again.”

In other circumstances – and ones that would rely entirely on Jokaste’s acting skills, while Damen would resume pouting in his office as he had been doing for days now – this would be a solid approach. But clearly, as clever as Laurent was, he was astoundingly oblivious to the effect he had on Damen.

Predictably, Damen merely frowned and shook his head. “No, provoking him like that won’t work. I told him to not hold back on dating Jokaste for my sake weeks ago. On account of my very happy relationship with you.”

Laurent… blinked rather fast.

“That does,” Laurent said and paused only slightly too long. Jokaste wondered if Damen noticed it as well. From the way his smile broadened, he did. “…put a damper on things,” Laurent finally finished. “I was rather counting on continued pettiness.”

Perhaps Jokaste should be insulted Damen had at no point insisted her womanly wiles would be enough to win over any man, otherwise motivated or not.

“Sorry,” said Damen and did not look it.

“No,” said Laurent, quite quickly, “we can use this. It’s better, actually.” He turned to Jokaste, flustered expression turning shrewd again quickly. “Let him take you to the wedding to prove that he is, in fact, not petty and never was. His affair with you has hardly endeared him to the people of this company, let alone to your family, I would assume. By bringing you after having received your blessing he will show that he was not motivated by being jealous of his younger brother’s shiny toy, but rather establish him as a man who simply and tragically fell in love with his brother’s girl. It will help him recover some much-needed ground.”

Jokaste also did not take offense to being called a shiny toy, nor the reminder that apparently neither brother had ever given much of a damn about her.

With an internal sigh, she conceded, “I’ll make it work,” which she would, and left them to their heart-eyes.

Perhaps, it turned out, she was rather uninterested in ever actually falling in love. How could she ever be taken seriously again?

* * *

As the door rather pointedly fell closed behind Jokaste, Laurent was already turning to Damen again. His eyes were exactly as dark as Laurent had pictured them, his look as intent, his physique as proud as he unceremoniously crowded Laurent against his own desk.

In a rather giddy way, Laurent realized he must have spent at least some time clearing it. The space empty on it was rather conspicuously large enough to make out on.

Unable to resist gaining the upper hand again, he smirked and very gently said against his own finger which he’d laid over Damen’s lips, “Sometimes when you fall asleep, I reach back into the gentle ache you have left behind, and I enjoy knowing you have had me. I wonder if you would be the same.”  

This time, he allowed the sound Damen made at that to affect him.

[wdgxster]

Name: Doctor W.D. Gaster. Nicknames... “Dings,” “G,” but only for a select few. Wouldn’t try it if you’re not close. Gender: technically sexless, identifies as male. Age? Looks and acts to be in his early 40s, perhaps a bit older. In reality? Well beyond 500. He’s seen the world change, perhaps more than he’d like. Stands at a solid six foot seven, though these days that seems to fluctuate. Depends on the day and the mood, how well his body wants to hold together. You understand.

Very skeletal in appearance --- literally, he’s a skeleton! --- though seems to have... melted over himself some. A by-product of having to manually hold oneself together from further splitting across the planes of existence. Two significant skull fractures present and visible: one which runs down to his right eye, the other from beneath his opposite eye down to his jaw. The former rendered him permanently blind in his right eye, the other caused significant speech difficulty for years.

A large hole in each palm to go along with the missing pieces of his soul, the result of creating the two most important monsters in the world to him, his pride and joys. The pain was --- and is --- worth it. He misses them dearly, but finds some peace in being able to watch them from afar from time to time.

Seems to be able to speak a variety of languages. The common language among monsterkind, of course, along with English and most forms of sign language. Has a language of his own. Wingdings. In symbols when written and when spoken, either haunting or hauntingly beautiful. These days, regardless of how he chooses to express himself, there is a distortion to his voice. An unsteady brokenness, a deep omnipresent echo, much like his existence.

There’s a frightening power in him, largely unseen. His focus has always been his work, used his magic only to enhance his science, his experiments, his creations. They all have ways to express themselves with their magic; this was his. When the war came he wanted no part in the fighting, wanted to remain helping from behind the scenes and not out on the front lines. Once he had no choice, what happened amazed and horrified both sides. The utter destruction his pent-up magic could create terrified him. He never wanted to use it that way. He hates using it this way.

Now it remains internalized, subconsciously repressed but bubbling within what’s left of him as he is, torn to pieces though time and space--- within a blinding darkness, a deafening silence, a constant, numbing pain. He is everything and nothing, everywhere and nowhere, alive and dead, existing in this nonexistence he’s fallen into, for eternity.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Five

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader

Summary: In which you have a break-up chat with Wanda and Peggy (and Jane).

Warnings: A little language, a lot of mildly depressing talk. Questioning your self-worth. Crying, crying and more crying - and angst, of course.

Notes: Fic was inspired by ‘Eyes Closed’ by Halsey. Jane as your wise little sister would be kick-ass, tbh.

IKTG Masterlist

The light drizzle has turned into a storm that is rapidly intensifying, sheets of rain sweeping across the streets. You’ve made it to your building in the nick of time and dash inside before you become completely soaked. You make a beeline through the lobby, heading straight for the elevators at the far end of the foyer. Stan, the elderly night guard, is reading comics behind his desk and tips his hat to you in greeting as you pass by.

Your hallway reeks of its usual rotten egg odour, which always seems to get a little stronger whenever it’s raining. You hold your breath and stride briskly to your apartment, fishing your keys out of your purse as you go. You let yourself in as quietly as possible — no simple task, given the fact that the front door squeaks loud enough to be heard from the floor below.

As expected, the apartment is mostly in darkness, save for the faint glow of the TV in the living room. As you shrug off your coat, you smile fondly when you catch sight of Wanda and Peggy. They are sprawled out on the couch, each occupying one end. Neither seems to have heard you coming in — which says something about how accustomed they’ve become to the squeaky door — utterly engrossed in whatever it is they’re watching. After you arrange your coat and shoes in the hallway closet, you pad into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water.

“Oh my god, Kim’s an idiot. Like, an actual idiot,” Wanda groans.

You snort, leaning against the kitchen counter, “What’d she do this time?”

Peggy lifts her head up, craning her neck around to look at you. “Y/N! You’re back!”

“How observant you are,” you remark dryly, shuffling over to the couch.

“You’re home early,” she continues, “It’s just turned half past nine, hasn’t it?”

“Again with the ‘stating the obvious’, Pegs,” you sigh. You climb over the back of the couch, glass of water balanced precariously in one hand, and sink into the space between them, crushing Wanda’s toes and Peggy’s calves in the process. The yelp in pain and grumble various curses under their breath as they shift around to make room for you.

Wanda extends her arms in a dramatic flourish. “Welcome to our crazy wild Friday night!” she says, “As you can see, things are going absolutely mad here. We’ve got pizza—,”

“She means ‘an empty pizza box’,” Peggy interrupts.

“—alcohol and the Kardashians, what more could you ask for?” Wanda finishes.

You snort and shake your head in amusement. “You’re a pair of old ladies, I tell you,” you mutter, taking in Wanda’s ratty t-shirt and messy bun, sharply contrasted to Peggy’s blue-and-white striped pyjama set. They’re about as opposite as night and day, those two, but somehow, they make things work.

“You look terrible,” Peggy informs you abruptly. Most times, you absolutely adores the way she cut straight to the point and never beats around the bush. Tonight, with you in your emotionally drained state, her words just make you feel that much more shitty.

“Gee, thanks,” you drawl, rolling your eyes with as much sarcasm as you can muster, “It’s so nice to be welcomed home by you lot,”.

“I thought you were staying at Loki’s for the night,” says Wanda, talking to you even though her eyes are back on the screen, watching the saucy, rich-bitch drama unfold.

“I thought that was the plan too,” you admit softly, settling back into the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. From the corner of your eye, you see Wanda redirecting her attention back to you when she notices your sorrowful tone. On your left, you feel Peggy’s stare practically boring a hole into the side of your skull.

“So what changed?” asks Peggy, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

You’re hesitate for a heartbeat before answering, and in that split-second, Wanda gets it. The girl can seriously read minds.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, putting a hand up to her mouth, “You guys broke up?”

You nod morosely, “Cheated on me with a girl called Sharon,”.

“Called it!” says Peggy, fist-punching the air triumphantly. The three of you tend to make bets over your love life — because let’s be honest, if you’re going to be such a train wreck when it comes to romance, a little bit of comic relief and lighthearted competition can’t hurt — placing wagers on how long you’d stay with a guy and the reason for your separation. You’re not in the mood for humour tonight, though, so you shoot her an unamused glare and she grimaces at her lack of tact, mouthing “Sorry,” at you.

“You okay? You wanna talk about it?” asks Wanda, sitting up and slinging her arm over your shoulder, “I would offer you pizza, but as you can see,” she gestures towards the empty box sitting on the coffee table, “It’s all gone,”.

You smile wryly and pat her thigh. “Nah, I’m good,”, you murmur, hoping to avoid getting dragged into a full-blown interrogation session with these two. After the events of today, you don’t think you have the inner strength to sit through one.

“You’re good as in…you’re good, or you’re good, you don’t want pizza?” Peggy asks, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms imperiously, because she’s known you long enough to know exactly what you say when you’re trying to skirt around an issue.

“The second one,” you sigh, conceding that she’s got you cornered. You know it’ll be easier to admit defeat.

“So you’re not good? What’s up, sweetie?” Wanda murmurs, immediately going all protective on you. “Upset about Loki?”

“Actually, no,” you reply. The conviction and clarity in your voice leaves them taken aback — in fact, you’re a little surprised yourself. But, as you turn over your answer in your head, you realise how true it really is. You’re not upset about Loki cheating on you. Well, not really. Sure, you’re pride’s been bruised, but it’s not torn to pieces, or anything. What you had with him was never going to be permanent, you knew that in your heart of hearts. If anything, you’re glad that it’s over.

Peggy seems to sense your weird mood. “You don’t seem too shaken up,” she says slowly, furrowing her brow as she appraises you.

“I—I am a little shaken up, but it’s not because of Loki,” you confess.

“What is it, then?” asks Wanda, a truly confused expression on her face.

“I—,” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “It’s a long story,”.

“Well, I’ve got no problem with you turning our wild Friday night into story time,” says Wanda, “You okay with that, Pegs?”

“I am rather curious to find out what’s up with Y/N,” she agrees.

You groan and bury your head in your hands. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” you tell them, voice coming out slightly muffled.

“Avoidance is not healthy, Y/N, you shouldn’t bottle up your emotions,” Peggy says, putting on the solemn voice she uses when you’re getting a talking-to.

You uncover your left eye and glare at her. “I should never have given you that line,” you mutter.

“You’re a therapist, Y/N! You know it’s—,”.

“Peggy!” you interrupt sharply, “Please, I—not tonight, alright? I’ve had a really long day and I just want to sleep,”.

“Okay honey,” Wanda soothes, gently rubbing her hand in wide, circular motions on your back, “Not tonight. But sometime?”

“But sometime,” you agree, nodding your head weakly.

“D’you wanna at least…tell us something? Put us out of our misery? I’m dying to know what’s got you so worked up,” Peggy pleads, half out of personal curiosity and half out of genuine concern for your wellbeing.

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and chew at it for a bit before replying. “I—I’ve been thinking about…them, and, specifically him a lot today. Well, mostly this evening. And—I don’t know. I’ve just been really reflective about things, tonight,”.

You sense Wanda and Peggy sharing a ‘look’, silently communicating above your head. You’re grateful that they don’t have to ask who ‘they’ are or who ‘he’ is. You’re not sure that you could keep it together if you had to say his name out loud.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it in the morning,” Wanda says softly.

“Whatever it is, you’ll get through this, Y/N. After what Barnes did to you, I think your heart can cope with anything,” Peggy assures you.

The three of you wince at the mention of his name.

“Yeah,” you murmur, moving to stand up, “Nothing can be as bad as losing him,”.

—————————————————

You remember stumbling into the empty apartment after going to see Pepper. Happy had dropped you and your things off with a stoic expression on his face, going through the motions with meticulous efficiency. You walked around in a daze as he brought your things in, flicking on light switches as you went, feeling like the darkness was trapping you in. You noted the changes that Wanda and Peggy had made since your last visit, like the new blue curtains and the fluffy pink sofa cushions. For the last two years, you’d been primarily living at the compound, as per your contract, only visiting the girls every now and then to catch up.

You’d been grateful to at last be on your own, after spending a whole afternoon forcing yourself to hold it together in front of people you once thought of as friends. Alone with your thoughts, you finally allowed the dam to burst and the emotions to overwhelm you, collapsing in a heap on the living room rug as you sobbed your heart out.

Wanda had come home first. She’d nearly had a heart attack when she found you sniffling on the floor, curled up into a tight little ball. Peggy had arrived not ten minutes later and together, she and Wanda coaxed you into your bed.

As Wanda fussed about with blankets and pillows, making a little fort for the three of you to huddle in, Peggy had brought in several bars of chocolate, a few bottles of water and three boxes of tissues — “One for each of us,” she’d said. Peggy sat on your right and Wanda squeezed in between your left side and the wall, nestled against you like a cat.

You had haltingly told the entire story to the girls, pausing every now and then then to descend into the bottommost pits of SorrowLandTM  whenever a fresh wave of grief came flooding through your system. They had listened patiently, not once making a smart-ass comment or interrupting you as you recalled the whirlwind of a day you’d just had.

Afterwards, a very incensed Peggy had declared that she would be going to visit Pepper herself and demand some sort of compensation for you, as this heartbreak was most certainly not part of your contract. Wanda had already begun plotting ways of getting back at Bucky — though howexactly she thought she might be able to outwit a supersoldier and highly trained assassin you had no idea. Miraculously, you managed to talk them both out of their crazed plans.

Losing Bucky was akin to losing a very close family member, and your mind and body grieved as such. In the days following your return, you spent most of your time in your room sobbing your eyes out. You were certain that you could fill an entire Olympic-sized swimming pool with the amount of liquid leaking out of your tear ducts. In a moment of hysteria, you remember wondering how your body hadn’t shrivelled up like a prune from all the fluids it had lost in such a short span of time.

It had been difficult for the two of them — you were normally the emotionally calm and reserved one of the group (being a renowned psychiatrist specialising in victims of war does that to you, you suppose), and neither person had ever seen you this upset. Peggy and Wanda had seen you through horrendous breakups before, but even those paled in comparison to your separation from Bucky. They didn’t know what to do with themselves, didn’t know how to break you out of your funk and in the end, just decided to let you burn it all out.

What differentiated this breakup from all the other ones you’d had was the fact that not only were you betrayed by your lover, you were let down by a whole team of people you used to depend on. When you lost Bucky, you lost them all. Two years of your life, billions of priceless memories and shared moments — all tainted because of one encounter. You weren’t behaving as if you’d just lost one family member; your mind was reacting in the way it would if you’d lost your entire family, which, in a way, you had.

Bucky called you several times a day. He left you about a million messages. The day after you left, you remember being half-inclined to smash your phone against the wall, as it was buzzing almost non-stop. Sometimes you’d check your phone and see that you’d received missed calls from Steve, Sam, Tony, even Pepper, at one point — though whether it was actually those people calling you, or whether Bucky was just borrowing their phones, you never did find out.

When Peggy had gone and gotten you a new phone number, you nearly sobbed with relief.

Would’ve traded all for you, there for you So tell me how to move on Would’ve traded all for you, cared for you

On the fourth day of your self-imposed bedrest and grieving period, you were, without a doubt, at the lowest point in your life. You felt dead on the inside, utterly hollow and devoid of emotion. You were sick of crying, fed up with feeling like you were barely alive. You were burned out, a shell of the person you used to be. You hadn’t eaten a solid meal in almost 24 hours, yet no hunger pains plagued you.

You’re lying in your bed in a state of half-sleep when the door creaks open. Your head is buried under the blankets, so you don’t immediately see who it is; you assume it’s Peggy or Wanda coming in to check on you before they head off to work. The bed dips as someone perches on the edge. A hand gently tugs the blanket off your head.

Disoriented by the slivers of light spilling in through your curtains, you have to blink your eyes several times before your pupils get accustomed to the brightness. You stare blearily at the person sitting on your bed and, in your drowsy state, it takes you a while to make out their facial features, let alone get your brain functioning enough to recognise who they are.

“Jane?” you ask. You immediately wince; you sound like a frog, your voice croaky from disuse. You honestly can’t believe that it’s her — your little sister has actually taken time away from her precious research and flown all the way from New Mexico to see you. If your eyes weren’t already sick of crying, you’d surely be shedding a few tears.

Jane smiles and smoothes a hand over your head. “Yeah, sis, it’s me,” she murmurs, “Scoot over, will you? Your fat ass is taking up the whole bed,”.

With some difficulty, you manage to extricate yourself from the multitude of blankets wrapped around your limbs. Together, you and Jane rearrange your nest of blankets, creating enough space for her to burrow in next to you. You press your back against the wall and Jane kicks off her shoes so that she can crawl in. The two of you lie on your sides, facing each other.

“Sorry,” you snuffle, wiping your snotty nose on the edge of your sleeve, “I look like shit,”.

She chuckles softly, then reaches out to tenderly tuck the strands of hair clinging to your damp cheeks over your ear. “Yeah, well, what’s new, eh?” she whispers, “You think you look like shit, I think you look beautiful. A little busted up, but beautiful nonetheless,”.

“I feel busted up,” you mumble.

Jane doesn’t say anything, just closes her eyes and waits patiently for you to continue. She knows you’ll tell her when you’re ready. She tucks one arm under her head.

“Where did I go wrong, Janie?” you whisper, your voice coming out wrecked and broken, “I—I tried, so hard. I wanted to make it work so bad—I—,”.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” she soothes, shuffling closer and slinging one arm around your ribs, so that you’re pressed chest to chest. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers fiercely, “Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control,”.

“B-but…why would he do it if I didn’t do something wrong?” you ask thickly. Against the odds, a new wave of tears threatens to spill from your eyes. You brush the back of your hand over them impatiently, utterly fed up of feeling so broken and exhausted.

Jane sighs. “I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe—maybe he changed. You said so yourself, right? Bucky at the start of your relationship was different to who he was at the end. Maybe—his preferences changed too,”.

Over the past couple of days, you’d come to a similar conclusion, but hearing it from someone else seemed to placate your raging emotions, somehow. “Did he have to…y’know, break my heart like that?” you ask weakly.

“I don’t have all the answers, Y/N,” she says apologetically, shaking her head.

You snort, bemused. “Don’t astrophysicists have all the answers?” you tease.

Jane giggles, pleased to have gotten you in better spirits. “We do have all the answers, hiding out there, somewhere — that doesn’t mean we’ve found them all, though,”.

A moment of companionable silence passes. You scoot down the bed and rest your head on her chest. Listening to the steady thud of her heartbeat and feeling the gentle rise and fall of her ribs lulls you into a more peaceful state. You’re a little bit sleepy, but the cogs and gears are grinding in the back of your mind, trying to piece together the words and phrases you need to say, the stuff you need to ventilate.

“It’s just—things are different, this time,” you say quietly, running your finger over the design on her shirt.

She stays silent, letting you amble along your train of thoughts at your own pace. You chew at your bottom lip, wondering how best to phrase this.

“I couldn’t keep working there…anyway,” you tell her, “I—a professor at uni once told me that you can either be someone’s therapist, or you can be their friend, but you can’t be both. And it was pretty clear that I was becoming a friend, or more than a friend to everyone there,”.

You swallow nervously. You’ve never really voiced these thoughts aloud before, not even to him. “I…I was willing to give this up, y’know?”. You make vague, circular hand gestures as you figure out how to elaborate, “This—this therapy gig, yeah? I was willing to stop. I would’ve found something else to do with my time, maybe, work in the compound another way, but—I wanted to stay,”.

Jane rubs her hand up and down your back. “You really were in love, weren’t you?” she says quietly, “Loved him enough to throw away everything you ever worked for,”. You knew she didn’t quite get it. Though the two of you were sisters, Jane’s bond to her research was quite unlike yours. You’re certain that if she could, she would marry her work. She barely had any experience with long-term relationships, and so you weren’t quite sure why you were trusting her, of all people, to give you advice — but Jane was Jane, and she had a tendency to be right about these things.

You sigh, choosing your words carefully, to make her understand. “I was willing to trade it all for him, Janie. Everything I’d built for myself, my reputation, my skills — all of it. Just so I could stay with him,”. You hesitate, “Not because I loved it any less, but I knew that it would be too difficult to have them both, and he gave me all the satisfaction I got from doing my work and more,”.

She snorts in a very unladylike manner. “I should hope so,” she scoffs.

It takes you a while to get the joke, but when you do, you smack her shoulder forcefully. “Not like that,” you hiss.

“Okay, okay, I know what you mean,” Jane laughs. When she’s calmed down, she presses her cheek to the top of your head, “Why wouldn’t you be able to have both?” she asks.

“Well, I couldn’t have been their therapist any longer, and the hours I’d need to put in in order to run a functioning clinic would have been enormous,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be spending as much time at the compound and, seeing as I would be giving up my work to have more time with him, that seemed pretty pointless,”.

“Maybe you could’ve found a way to make it work,” Jane says, and from her tone you can tell that she’s already trying to come up with solutions, working out possibilities. “Just because the path isn’t clear, or the road is an uphill struggle, doesn’t mean that it’s not feasible. If you love two things, you should be able to have them both,”.

“Just drop it, Jane,” you sigh, not wanting to dwell on what-ifs and burden yourself with maybes. Already, you’re feeling the sadness welling up inside you from the brief discussion you’ve just had. You shrug, trying to brush those thoughts away with some indifference, “Guess I’ll never get to find out, huh?”.

“Guess not,” she echoes quietly. Another silence, then, with her voice so soft you almost don’t catch it, she says, “You did nothing wrong, you know that right?”.

“Yeah,” you mumble, even though you don’t quite believe it yourself. If she notices the lack of conviction in your tone, Jane doesn’t comment.

Something is still weighing on your chest and you decide that now is as good a time as ever to let it out. “I was there for him,” you tell her, “I was there for him, just him, y’know? I wasn’t…trying to make him who he used to be, wasn’t trying to make him anything he didn’t want to be, I was—I just—,”.

You cut yourself off as you feel a wave of panic rushing up your throat. You take a deep, shuddery breath in an attempt to calm your nerves, “I think everyone on the team had their own personal agenda when it came to helping Bucky. They were helping him, but ultimately, they were helping themselves, in some way,”.

“Even Steve?” she asks quietly.

You nod, albeit a little reluctantly. “Yeah. I think he kinda hoped that I could get him back to the Bucky he used to be,”.

“And you’re upset about that?”. There’s a confused undertone to her voice.

“No! Well, actually, yes, but that’s not the main point. The main point is that I—I didn’t!”. You laugh breathlessly, feeling somewhat delirious from lack of sleep. The fatigue seems to finally be catching up on you. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive. All I wanted was to make things better for him, to help him accept the person he’d been made into. I was there for him as he had become; the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes,”.

“He’s an idiot,” Jane mutters darkly.

You laugh, despite yourself. “I think I might’ve been the only person to really understand that you needed to accept him as an all-inclusive package, y’know? I mean, Steve kinda got there, in the end, but—but for a long time, the only person Bucky could talk to, about anything and everything, without fear of judgement, was me,”.

Jane makes a little noise of understanding, like she’s mulling over what you’ve just said. “And so…” she prompts, encouraging you to round things off.

“I guess…maybe this is selfish of me, but I just want him to think about everything I did for him,”, you sigh, “If he replaced me that easily, I just don’t think he appreciates, or appreciated me as much as I thought he did,”. The confession makes you feel lighter, as if you’ve shed some of the weight that’s been bearing down on you for the past few days.

“So what’re you gonna do about it? You gonna talk to him?” Jane asks.

You groan resignedly, “I don’t know how to move on, Jane. I—yeah, I’ve had breakups before, but never like this. So—maybe sometime I’ll see him. But I can’t face him right now,”

“But you will?” she prods, “Closure might do you some good. It’s unhealthy to hold onto the past too much, y’know?”

You arch one eyebrow and tip your head back to look at her. “Anyone ever told you that you should be a therapist?”

“I did learn from the best,” she jokes, poking you in the ribs. You stick your tongue out at her. She scrunches her nose at you and flicks your forehead.

“Go to sleep,” Jane whispers, after she sees you trying to hide a yawn, “You look like you need it,”.

“‘M not tired,” you mutter, even as you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle another one.  

“Uh-huh, sure,” she says, rolling to face the other way so that her back is pressed against your chest. She takes your arm and drapes it around her waist, “If you’re not gonna sleep, I will. By my body clock, it’s still 5AM and I should be knocked out,”.

Your eyes are already beginning to slide shut as you press your cheek to the space between her shoulder blades, inhaling Jane’s comforting vanilla scent. “G’night Jane,” you murmur, “Thank you,”.

—————————————————

After assuring Wanda and Peggy that you’re completely fine after your breakup with Loki and promising (multiple times) that you would tell them everything else in the morning, you retire to your room to get some rest. The events of the day have finally caught up with you, and the cumulative emotional toll is making you feel utterly spent, both physically and mentally. You strip off your work clothes, dumping them into the laundry basket in the corner of your room, before crawling into bed in just your underwear.

You set an alarm for 6AM, mentally cursing yourself for agreeing to meet with a patient so early in the morning on a goddamn Saturday, of all days.

In your exhausted state, sleep comes blessedly easily. As your eyelids begin to droop, your last dregs of your consciousness sadly notes that your current situation is nothing new to you. Freshly broken heart, moping over your failed relationship and wallowing in self-pity as you analyse your frankly depressing dating history. It seems that you have a knack for picking boyfriends cut from the same material.

As always, the last thought you have before drifting off to sleep is of Bucky. Tonight, it’s the way his eyes had shone with unshed tears when you said “I love you” to him before he left on that mission.

Now, if you were to see him again, you’re not sure whether or not you would change it to ‘loved’.

—————————————— Tags are open, but I’m only accepting requests via asks or PMs. Tag requests from replies/comments will be ignored.

[kimberlycook95]

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[eldestlynch]

Yellow Toast

Hey @toast-the-unknowing​ !! This is my gift for you as part of the @trc-exchange​ ! I’m sorry it’s late and I hope you enjoy it! 

This gift also comes with two companion gifts. They are playlists that go along with the fic!

Mr. Gray’s playlist

Blue’s playlist

Blue had known several people, acquaintances at one time or other, who had gone through the processes of their single parents dating. She had seen the turmoil her classmates had expressed; she had heard the complaints. As far as she could tell, having an adult enter your life in even a semi-permanent way was the worst fate a kid could face. Maybe it was because Blue had never seen her parents together and hadn’t known her father until she was eighteen, but she found her experiences to be quite different.

For one, she was very interested in getting to know Mr. Gray. Even more than that, though, Blue was interested in her mother’s continued happiness. It was with these thoughts in mind that she had long ago begun to put herself in the position to spend more time around him. It took some finessing; for a while, Blue tried to interject herself into situations where the Gray Man was around her mother, or her aunts; after a few times of being sent away far too early in the conversation, she switched to a different tactic.

Every weekend, Maura Sargent went out in the mornings to take care of various errands. She would leave by ten in the morning and would return by five in the afternoon. Mr. Gray would then leave an hour or so later. At this point, Blue was either normally getting ready to leave or was already out with her friends. This Saturday, though, she had informed them that she was busy and would give no further answers on that.

“And please,” she added, seeing Adam’s guarded-yet-curious expression, “don’t go looking for answers. Got it?”

They got it, and so she was waiting in the kitchen with a cup of hot English Breakfast tea, watching a spoonful of sugar dissolve into it. Blue was still working on what she was going to say; she liked to plan conversations, even if they rarely actually went according to the design in her head. Either way, she was determined to find out where Mr. Gray was going, and to go with him. It was high time, she thought, to get to know the person that might end up being her stepfather (legally, anyway; he basically already was, in her mind).

Blue brought the tea to her lips, barely touching them to the edge of the mug to test the temperature. Still too hot. She set it down, and looked up just as Mr. Gray was coming down the stairs.

“Good morning,” she greeted him lightheartedly. “Sleep well?”

The Gray Man did not survive nearly a decade and a half in the business of assassination and subterfuge just to be fooled by Blue’s cheerful demeanor on a Saturday morning. He approached the kitchen table warily.

“You’ve been scheming,” he said, not unkindly, and Blue shrugged.

“Have I?”

She took almost a full mouthful of her tea, then, and it was still too hot; she swallowed it and hoped he missed the sputtering she had done. Her throat burned a little, but it was fine. Her pride had taken a more substantial wound.

Mr. Gray poured orange juice into an old juice glass that Blue had used for paint many, many times. He leaned against the counter and drank it. When he was done, he rinsed the glass out and set it by the sink.

“So,” he said, turning to Blue. “You want to go with me, I assume?”

He laughed when Blue frowned.

“Am I really so transparent?”

“No, but you were waiting for me, and you are normally out by now.”

Blue huffed. Her plan was already unveiled, and she was annoyed because of it.

“Fine. Can I come?”

The Gray Man pondered on that for a moment. She could see the wheels turning. Blue knew he was a man of routine, and wouldn’t want to wait. She had counted on that, and had been ready for an hour, just in case. She was dressed, wearing shoes, and her hair was done up in every which way. She was ready.

She eyed him, and he eyed her; it was a staring contest, and finally, he just sighed and said, “Alright. Let’s go.”

He grabbed his keys from the dish in the center of the table and left the house. Blue followed.

She made a face as he got into his car; it was a… repurposed Mitsubishi Evo. The Gray Man had painted it and gotten his own tags and everything, but the car was still recognizable to Blue. Regardless, it was their ride, and it was fine now, since the interior had been almost completely redone. She could almost forget who it had belonged to.

As they drove into the street, she asked, “So where do you go every Saturday?”

Mr. Gray was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer; she was almost startled when he did.

“There’s a place I used to go a lot more. It reminds me of the past, but not always in a bad way.”

“And this place is….”

“You’ll see.”

Blue looked at him as he spoke. She thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile, and she smiled, too.

“It’s quiet.”

He glanced at her, and then back to the road.

“There are some cds in the glovebox, if you want to grab one.”

Blue was nearly ecstatic. She’d been in the car with him for less than ten minutes and she was already getting to find out more about him than she had in the many months she had known him. She reached into the glovebox and pulled out a cd binder that housed easily a hundred separate discs.

“Wow,” she remarked, and grinned.

Collecting new music was something that Blue had always been very, very into, and it looked like she had just hit a treasure trove. Leafing through it, she saw almost nothing she recognized, and it was wonderful. She ended up picking a disc that was just labelled “mix 1”. It was immediately shoved into the cd player.

Mr. Gray let out a small laugh.

“Oh, wow, Frank Chickens… this takes me back,” he said wistfully. “I haven’t heard this song in years. I can’t even remember how I found it… they weren’t really popular. I think some people thought they were too weird.”

Blue was nodding her head to the beat, so she made a noise of affirmation instead.

“Mood,” she said. “What’s this track called?”

“If I remember correctly, it’s Yellow Toast.” He was drumming his fingers on the leather of the steering wheel. “There might be a list of the songs somewhere in the back of the binder.”

Blue rummaged through the little pocket in the back and came up with a few folded-up pieces of paper. It took a moment, but she found the one labelled Mix 1 in a quick scrawl. She scanned the list.

“Wheatus is on here? Aren’t they the Teenage Dirtbag people?”

“They are, indeed.”

She went hm and kept reading.

“Belly?”

“Belly,” he agreed. “Also, this will have to wait, if that’s okay. We’re here.”

Blue looked up. She hadn’t noticed the drive, but she recognized the diner. It was a small one that she never really frequented, but was a staple in her memory of Henrietta. She didn’t know Mr. Gray came here, but, then again she didn’t know much about him at all.

“Okay.”

Blue learned several things in the thirty minutes that followed.

The first: Mr. Gray was a regular, here. They greeted him on sight and asked him how he was; their nice waitress asked him who Blue was, and he looked to her for an answer. She promptly said, “I’m his accomplice. We’ve just robbed a bank; don’t tell anyone.”

The waitress smiled in a kids will be kids sort of way that Blue resented as a fairly recently-minted adult, but she shrugged.

The second thing that Blue learned about Mr. Gray in the diner was that he had a usual, and his usual consisted of two over medium eggs, toast, and buttered grits.

Blue had never really liked grits - something about the texture - but she liked that he liked them.

“What did you think of the music you heard?” Mr. Gray asked over the breakfast.

“Hm,” Blue said thoughtfully. “I liked the first one, and the Wheatus version of A Little Respect is pretty good.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

An idea came to Blue instead of an immediate answer, and a slow smile spread across her face.

“Do you have a pen?”

She grabbed a napkin and started writing as soon as a pen was given to her. The tip immediately went into her mouth; an unconscious habit she had developed over the years. It took her the rest of their time at the diner, but by the time Mr. Gray had paid and tipped, Blue had developed a messy list of songs for him to listen to.

She held onto it on the way home, keeping it tight in her fist while the rest of Mr. Gray’s cd played. It wasn’t until they had gotten inside the house that Blue finally turned to the Gray Man and thrust the paper at him.

“Listen to these,” she politely demanded.

He raised his eyebrows, but took the paper. Blue turned and started to make her way up the stairs.

“I wondered what you were writing so furiously. Oh, and Blue,” he added, looking up. “I would be honored if you would accompany me for breakfast again sometime.”

Blue smiled.

“I’d love to.”

[wiremagazine]

IN MEMORIAM: HENRIETTA ROBINSON. A LIFE WELL LIVED

By Rafa Carvajal Photos provided by Henrietta’s friends

It is with great sadness that I write this In Memoriam about Henrietta Robinson, a beloved member of our LGBTQ community who lived in South Beach for over 60 years and passed away last week from COVID-19. I was in my office at Q Link Wireless when I heard the news about Henrietta’s passing, and I could not help but to start crying. Once I was able to compose myself, my thoughts shifted to that day I sat next to Henrietta for three hours at the "Cheers" bar downstairs at TWIST and listened attentively, over cocktails, to her wonderful and fascinating stories about her life and the history of South Beach. I will treasure those memories for the rest of my life.

As soon as she turned 18, Henrietta ran away from a very unstable family life in Boston and came to South Beach. Henrietta knew she was gay as a kid and was ostracized by her family and friends, but once she left, Henrietta never looked back. It actually took her family a full year to realize Henrietta was living in South Beach.

What better way to honor Henrietta’s memory and celebrate her life than to let some people who knew her well tell us why she was such a special person – in their own words.

Rafa Carvajal: What is your fondest memory of Henrietta? Peter Morales: My fondest memory of Henrietta was meeting her in the early-mid ‘90s at the Warsaw Ballroom where she would usually stand on the second floor overlooking the people dancing on the dance floor and enjoying life. She would always say hello to me when I walked by, with a huge smile, and always was full of compliments, and had a positive outlook on life about everything and everyone. She was such a happy and content person. Nathan Smith: My fondest memory of Henrietta would have to be the times she spent at my bar every Saturday and Sunday night. She would always come early, always have the same seat, and she had a special cup. I bought her many throughout the years, but it was always so important to me that she had a different glass than everyone else. She deserved to feel special and honored. She was an icon and having her sit at my bar was an honor. David Johnson: One of my fondest memories of Henrietta is how she made her birthday a true celebration of life. It felt as though we were all part of her family there to share in the fabulous festivities! Every year, she made us all feel connected to her life by bringing us together. Mario Trejo: My fondest memory of Henrietta is from back in 2009. She and Don Chung came over to my house and cooked a special dinner for me and my then boyfriend at the time. She had been asking me to come over and cook for us, when it finally happened Henrietta was so excited and happy to do it. She made us a lobster and pasta dish that was out of this world. I felt honored that she wanted to come over and do that for us. The true essence of a giving heart is the joy they receive from giving and seeing the reaction and appreciation on that person’s face. That was her reward, her joy and her love.

RC: What made Henrietta such a special person? Joel Stedman: Simply her being her. Henrietta was a constant in many of our lives in nightlife. We attended almost every White Party together, she never missed a TWIST anniversary and every year was a feature in our float presentation for Miami Beach Gay Pride. I enjoyed her immensely. Her smile, her laugh, what amazing stories she would tell. She was that one person you could always walk up to and had nothing but sweet things to say. It is the end of an era, losing both her and Richard within the same year. When it is safe for all of us to get together again, we will have a mad celebration in her honor. Somebody will have to bring the cookies. PM: Henrietta always glowed and shined wherever you saw her. She was a beam of light with a bright aura. Everyone always wanted to say hello to Henrietta, speak with her, and, of course, have their picture taken with her! NS: What made Henrietta so special is that she always lived her truth. Henrietta did what made her happy and gave no apologies for who she was. She was and always will be an example for us all to be our true authentic selves. DJ: Her unique style set her apart from all the rest! Henrietta always had a warm and loving smile to share with everyone. Her iconic personality lit up any room and made everyone feel happy and at ease. MT: Henrietta loved to give. She was a true giver and she did it better than anyone. She gave from her heart whether it was your favorite dish, favorite dessert, or a Christmas gift wrapped in an envelope. This woman prided herself not only on wearing the best Bob Mackie ensembles and finest diamond, gold and platinum jewelry (all custom made), but also in her giving – and I can’t stress that enough! I remember for Christmas she would give everyone $100 bill in an envelope, and she went to all the gay clubs in South Beach. She made it a point to go to TWIST, Palace, Score and Mova, and give everyone an envelope. You could see the joy on her face as she gave it to you. That was her reward, to see you get excited and happy made her happy. On that she was consistent until the very end. The last thing I remember her making for Nathan, myself, JD, Michael, and many others at TWIST before it closed from the coronavirus pandemic, was brownies (not the fun brownies lol). They were so delicious! We ate them with a fresh cup of coffee from Nathan’s coffee maker. She always cooked or baked weekly and had that, “I can’t wait to give it to them attitude.” She would walk up the stairs in bar 4 with her big Saks Fifth Avenue bag filled with all the dishes she was going to hand out that night, and she did that almost every Saturday without fail! She lived to give. It was who she was.

RC: What else would you like to share with Wire Magazine readers about Henrietta? PM: Henrietta was always so thoughtful throughout our years of friendship, especially during the holiday seasons with her beyond amazing and delicious lasagnas, baked goods and pies. Several years ago she gifted me a 21-piece "Temp-tations" Ovenware Kitchen Bake Set for cooking and serving since she knew I loved to cook, and that I always cooked for my entire family during the holiday seasons. I cherish and love this cookset so much and think of her every time I use it.

I will miss seeing Henrietta and speaking with her, but I will never forget Henrietta, and especially how she made me feel every time we saw each other. NS: She loved you all. Nothing made Henrietta happier than when people would approach her for a picture, and she loved hearing your life stories and telling you hers. She loved helping anyone and everyone out, whether it was with a plate of her food, advice or guidance. She wanted the best for everyone. I know she would have wanted all of you to take away from her passing to be safe and stay at home until this virus is under control. Henrietta would also have wanted you to always love each other, but love yourself first and be yourself proudly. RIP Henrietta. I will always love you and your place at the bar will always be there. Sending everyone lots of love and good energy. Xoxo. DJ: Henrietta loved to check up on me. I must admit I will truly miss the call I received once a week when Henrietta called just to say hello. MT: Henrietta touched my heartstrings even deeper than her coming over to my place to cook, bringing us delicious desserts and dishes. It was when my 21-year-old nephew Andrew came from California to stay with me in 2010. He and Henrietta had this incredible instant connection/bond when they met at TWIST, and they would go out to different places like Palace, Score and, of course, TWIST. Andrew would go get Henrietta and take her to whatever bar she was in the mood for that day, and they would have fun. My nephew even convinced her to go to Wet Willie‘s, of all places, and that’s when Henrietta back in the day would drink her rum and Coke with lemon. Andrew always had a blast with her and he would say “OMG uncle Mario, Henrietta is too funny,” with her quick and amazing stories. As you all know, she had great stories to tell. So for all of her great qualities and attributes, her taking my nephew under her wing and vice versa, I will always love her mostly for that!

I also want to share some excerpts from the Wire Magazine interview of Henrietta by Thomas Barker from June 2011, when Henrietta was celebrating her 50 year anniversary in South Beach. Visit wiremag.com to read the extended version of Henrietta’s In Memoriam and the full interview from 2011.

At age 19 Henrietta saw her first drag show. At age 22, she dressed up as a woman for the very first time (other than when she was 10 or 11 and dressed up in her sisters' clothes). She won Miss Florida in 1969 singing, not lip-synching, "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." Then, after her favorite uncle died in the early '80s, she never wore men's clothes again! Her outfit became permanent.

"When my uncle passed away, that's when I said that's it," Henrietta recounted. "I started living that way from then on – it was permanent drag from then on! I was gay, of course, and wasn't ever interested in a sex change or anything." And nothing Henrietta wears when she dresses like a woman is fake. Her chinchilla outfit, lace or silk gowns, large-carat diamond rings, gold bracelets – they're all real, just as real as Henrietta.

Thomas Barker: When and how did you arrive in Miami Beach, Henrietta? Henrietta Robinson: I came to Miami Beach in 1958. My uncle, my mother's brother, had a restaurant here. I was 18-years-old and never was on my own in my life until then. I lived a pretty sheltered life in Boston. My mother died when I was born. I was raised by my grandmother, my father's mother. I couldn't go out and play with other kids and was kept in the house all the time.

TB: How old were you back then? Did you realize you were gay at an early age? HR: Oh, I was 10 or 11-years-old. I knew I was gay since I loved playing with my sisters' dolls! I loved dressing up. When my sisters dressed me up, my grandmother would go through the roof! My sisters were a lot older, they were 18 and 20-years-old. I was the baby in the family.

TB: Did you ever imagine the Beach would come full circle to where it is today? HR: I never thought in my time the gay community would be so free to be who they are and not be hassled by the police. In my day, if you walked down the street and if the police thought you were gay, they had the right to beat you up. They always said you looked at them the wrong way or you touched them. They had no hesitation in throwing you in jail. Now, I love it! Gay life has always flourished here – whether it was underground or above ground; or whether it was 23rd Street or 12th Street. Gays were everywhere and in every profession. Today, I feel so free and it's such a pleasure! A lot of these young gay kids don't know what somebody like me has gone through. And they don't have too many people to learn about the history since all the old-timers are gone.

This was originally published in Wire Magazine Digital Issue 2.2020

[jokermatt]

Vworp! Vworp? Click-bait of course – we all know the Doctor Who experience will never end! Still though, in one corner of Cardiff Bay, it has.

The BBC’s Doctor Who Experience closed this weekend, ending the fourth permanent, but significant exhibition in the world’s longest running science fiction show’s history. A permanent exhibit to the corporation’s premier franchise that’s suddenly become a whole lot ephemeral. But just as its creation was made possible by the show’s huge resurgence in the middle of last decade, as much as the rise of ‘experience’ entertainment, its demise doesn’t signal the end of Doctor Who‘s so-far 54-year journey.

There’s no doubt that Doctor’s Who‘s lost some of the sheen it recovered 12 years ago, just as it waxed and waned over the 26 years of its original run. After its 2005 return, kids were talking about that weekend’s show on the bus to school on a Monday morning, for the first time in decades. Those kids of 9 or 10 are now 21 and 22. Times change, even for an ever-changing show like Doctor Who. Audiences change along with their Doctors. And so do Doctor Who exhibitions.

The Past

The first permanent exhibition to Doctor Who was set up at the seat of the Marquesses of Bath, the stately Longleat. Alongside the growing safari. It set the standard walk-through of costumes, props and exhibit cards that were as close to an immersion that young and old fans could get, whilst ocassionally hosting some events, like the 20th anniversary party in 1983. Longleat was big on those big anniversaries, running from 1973 until 2003, and was my first visit to a Whobition – a word I will never use again.

Like Behind the Sofa at London’s defunct Museum of Moving Image, which I visited during thatsame mid-1990s period, my strongest memories remain, in no particular order, Daleks and the blister packed Dapol models in the shop afterwards. Count them down: Seventh Doctor, Tetrap, Mel… It’s worth noting that my few brushes with Doctor Who as a child it bloody petrified me. Being scared is a great thing. My first memory – although it may appeal to some fans – is Colin Baker land-drowning at the cliffhanger of the penultimate episode of The Trial of  Time Lord. I grew up on the coast, but not near hand quick-hand-sand.

Along the South Coast, Brighton’s Palace Pier (the only one left, horizontal) hosted a small, but prestigious and official exhibition in 2005. The lean years of the show’s prolonged hiatus between 1989 and 2005 had been partially bridged by Longleat and the resurgent Blackpool exhibition. originally open as a permanent installation from 1974 to 1985, that Golden Mile exhibition folded in 1985 not for a regeneration but a “re-evalutation”, coincidentally during the show’s 18-month mid-80s hiatus. Its second life ran from 2004 to just before the show’s anniversary in 2009 – but I never made it to either incarnation.

Back to Dapol, the factory that gave us those distinctive 1980s action action figures, enabling children everywhere to recreate Time and the Rani,  hosted is own exhibition, Dapol Dr Who Experience, between 1994 and 2003 in Llangollen. I never made it to that either, although the figures persist.

In 2008, with the show at peak Tennant and its fourth television series since returning, a well put together show was hosted at Earls Court Exhibition Centre for just under a year. Never intended as permanent, coincidentally that ended in the year of Specials – a hiatus by any other name.

Then in 2011, London Olympia2 hosted the brand new Experience, a new interactive development of the old props and history format. It ran for one year, before relocating to Cardiff to replace the semi-permanent Doctor Who Exhibition Cardiff that at the capital’s Red Dragon Centre that ran between 2005 and 2011. The London Experience was a whole different level. While it ended with a comprehensive tour of props, costumes and merchandise, the main draw was the interactive storyline that dragged willing family groups through a ready-made storyline, combining pre-recorded film with the Doctor himself, animated sets, classic monsters and a ground-breaking 3d segment that recalled early IMAX trips to that new dimension.

Of course, it was all helped by marvelous zeitgeist. It opened in the prime of the new series’ first reboot, with the arrival of the Eleventh Doctor, tying directly into storylines set out by the show’s fifth series and picking up from the three-dimensional vortex promos that accompanied that new era. But as well-knitted into the fabric of the show as it was, enhancing the immersion, it was always going to be the dating element. As the ‘cracks in time’device that effectively brought us into the show collapsed into a tangle of on-screen plotting over inconsistently broadcast series, it became a piece of historical interest far more quickly than the old exhibits ever had. As with many of the new era exhibitions, items would arrive as series were made, disappearing as they were recalled. it was a natural rhythm, when the series ran consistently.

In summer 2012 the Experience opened in Cardiff Bay, in a new 3,000 sq m building at Porth Teigr, handily near to the BBC’s Roath Lock studios, where Doctor Who is produced, aiding the ins and outs of props. Expected to attract up to 250,000 visitors a year, it was hailed as a further coup for the Cardiff Bay development and a further boost for the clocal economy delivered by temporal rift. I visited that incarnation of the Experience once at its opening in London, then in Cardiff, accompanied by, after a rain-soaked run, a trip around the TARDIS studio itself.

And then last month I took a trip to Cardiff for one final, sign-off visit to the Experience.

The Present

With the arrival of the Twelfth Doctor, the dated crack in time plot was deemed just that bit too passé. That earlier trip had served up some nice moments in its guided urgency, not least a trip into the off-screen Dalek civil war which went just a little way to explain the quick repealling of the multi-coloured New Paradigm Daleks in the show. As of 2014, a new storyline written by Joe Lidster brought things up to the Twelfth Doctor, making use of some sets – anachronistically the early Eleventh Doctor TARDIS remained – and twisting the scripted journey, spattered with some great scripting, but lacking the buzz of the television linked original, into a new shape.

As fun as it was – if you ever think it isn’t amazing, picture that desolate ’90s hole when the show’s fire was tended by a mere few thousand fans – there remains something wonderfully BBC about it all. The concept, not as strong in the Capaldi era as the former Smith Experience, was a little tattered around the edges come the end, the staff almost imperceptibly haggard. Camera phones are forbidden on the journey, but there was surely a day when enforcing that rule fell into the concept.

the Experience should haev soared to the end, but that seldom happens in Who. Like the show itself, 12 years on from its glorious resurgence. A trail traipsing between Angels lacked bite, the visit to the underside of the TARDIS was missing some sparkle (really, because it recalls the awful Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS). There was nothing to match the Dalek fighting in the first, but the pepper pots gave it a go, as we sought suspiciously kryptonion shards that could sort the merry temporal mess out. Perhaps the highlight lay in the past. While the 3d finale wasn’t as captivating and centre-stage as the previous version, it ended on Totter’s Lane, where the story began. There it broke through into the exhibition, with the TARDIS set and production notes of 1963, brought to screen for the 50th anniversary with An Adventure in Time and Space.

As Steven Moffat always propounds, a little too much, Doctor Who‘s a show about change. And time for change it is. So the Experience ends with its second and final Doctor. Concept experiences remain strong, perhaps stronger now than when it opened – certainly in London. In Cardiff, although filled by the promotion surrounding its final summer, its shelf-life is apparent. A root around the Experience merchandise shop, highlighted it. Pride of place fell to the new Mr Men tie-in range, but everything else felt flat and familiar. It’s a luxury for the brand, where every T-shirt, DVD and mug once gleamed new.

The trick remains in the exhibition that follows the tour, wonderful, expansive and still continually updating, it’s a far cry from the crawl past zygons and krynoids at Longleat or through Cassandra on Brighton Pier. The fad for the Experience is likely to stick and develop. Doctor Who and BBC Worldwide will return to the theme. But as contrary and awkward as the show it celebrates, it’s the exhibition that retains the ageless class. And unlike the walkthrough, it’s a photographers’ dream. I’ll miss these unscripted trips tothe past. Until the next time. The next Experience.

The Gallery

Out of the Vault

Ring upgrade

Bakers hands

Angel Power

Mummy shake

Morbius claw

Cyber heads

Cyber legion

War Doctor TARDIS

Console

Clara memorial

Recreating The Leisure Hive

Sleepy

Hanging Silents

Mr Sweet

Classic Daleks

Classic Daleks

New Paradigm Daleks

Bloody Monks

New Mondas

Emperor Davros

New Davros

Season 18 Console

Facing the Raven

Special Weapons

Exterminate?

Blue cat future

Console

Blue doors

Console room mood

HDoctor Who Experience – hello Menoptera!ello Menoptera!

Invasion of Earth

The Beginning

The News 23 November 1963

Out of the Vault

Ring upgrade

Bakers hands

Angel Power

Mummy shake

Morbius claw

Cyber heads

Cyber legion

War Doctor TARDIS

Console

Clara memorial

Recreating The Leisure Hive

Sleepy

Hanging Silents

Mr Sweet

Classic Daleks

Classic Daleks

New Paradigm Daleks

Bloody Monks

New Mondas

Emperor Davros

New Davros

Season 18 Console

Facing the Raven

Special Weapons

Exterminate?

Blue cat future

Console

Blue doors

Console room mood

HDoctor Who Experience – hello Menoptera!ello Menoptera!

Invasion of Earth

The Beginning

The News 23 November 1963

Doctor Who: End of the Experience Vworp! Vworp? Click-bait of course - we all know the Doctor Who experience will never end! Still though, in one corner of Cardiff Bay, it has.