#parallel universe regrets

[the-most-humble-blog]

I still dream of you. Not you now— the you that could’ve loved me back.

Reblog if you ever felt like someone belonged to you in another life… and cursed this one for forgetting.

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION // BLACKSITE POETRY: MULTIVERSE LOVE EULOGY -->

&lt;div style="white-space:pre-wrap"&gt;

&lt;meta soulmate-thread="frayed"&gt;

&lt;script&gt;

ARCHIVE_TAG="LOVE_THROUGH_TIMELINES::SOUL_COLLISION_POETRY"

EFFECT: nostalgia recursion, emotional timeline bleed, multiverse ache

TRIGGER_WARNING="existential sadness, poetic intimacy, soulmate theory collapse"

&lt;/script&gt;

🧠 BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP — “IN ANOTHER LIFE, YOU LOVED ME.”

In another life,

we were lovers.

Not the kind that fights over texts or dinner plans—

but the kind that *woke up grateful*

just to see each other blink.

We laughed until our ribs hurt,

cried when the world cracked,

and died—

still holding hands.

We were so in love

the stars tried to orbit *us.*

—

But not this time.

In this life,

you’re just a stranger

with ***familiar eyes.***

A voice that jolts something in me

I’m not allowed to name.

You pass me like gravity never existed.

Like our atoms don’t remember.

Like I don’t still flinch

at the sound of your laugh

from three people away.

—

What is love?

Is it this singular thread

we keep dragging through dimensions?

Or is it different every time—

rewritten

by the needs of each universe?

Maybe soulmates don’t exist.

Maybe they’re just

cosmic improvisations—

two spirits rehearsing loyalty

across timelines,

never quite landing

in sync.

—

Still…

I like to imagine:

In some variant of existence

we didn’t call each other names that cut.

Didn’t flinch when we saw each other online.

Didn’t recoil from old photos like they burned.

Maybe we built a life.

Maybe we stayed.

Maybe we ***held each other through the end.***

And maybe,

just maybe,

*that version of us*

still smiles

in a universe

that never knew heartbreak.

—

I guess I’m just

a timeline away

from you loving me.

And that hurts more

than anything

you ever said

in this one.

🧠 Read more mythic heartbreak and soulmate autopsies at:

👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

🛡️ Timeline bleed. Cosmic ache. Poetry for the emotionally doomed.

🚪 Warning: This post may cause psychic déjà vu and longing that won’t go away.

📊 MULTIVERSE HEARTBREAK STATS 📊

• Lives where we made it: at least one

• Versions of me still in love: all of them

• Soulmate misfires in this timeline: confirmed

• Healing acquired from closure: 0

• Universes where you stayed: redacted

• Chance I ever stop wondering: negligible

&lt;/div&gt;

&lt;!-- END TRANSMISSION [A TIMELINE AWAY FROM FOREVER.] --&gt;

[tooselfaware]

Cale needed that evil god's test. Not only to fight despair, but also for his mental health.

He needed to see that there was a world where "Kim Rok Soo" was not left to survive alone. He needed to see all his "what ifs" happen. He needed to resolve all the regrets of "Kim Rok Soo" to fully live as Cale Henituse. Because even if it wasn't his world, he now knows that a "Kim Rok Soo" was happy, surrounded by people he loves, people who would survive with him.

That is how he can loosen the shackles of fear of being alone again as Cale. "We will all survive" is not just a random mantra for him. He needs it to be true. He has had so much loss and grief in his life.

Even if he doesn't really say so, that grief was what kept him going. To "not waste" the sacrifices of all those who saved him, he kept surviving. But that is also why he's reckless despite "valuing" his life.

I think, subconsciously, he thinks that if he can save more people, then that would be a good "payment" for those who saved him. His "slacker life" is basically world peace. 🤭

Back to the point... The test showed him Kim Rok Soo and everyone he cares for survive, so now he has more courage and less doubt to face WS because he wants a life like Parallel KRS', as Cale Henituse.

[howifeltabouthim]

She deleted all his texts. She regretted it immediately. She'd just wiped away the history of her heart. So what if it was the history of something made up, it had been a parallel universe where she had liked living.

Susan Minot, from Don't Be a Stranger

[tragedy-of-commons]

learning my friends' timezones as they live on the other side of the world has been eye-opening. "go to bed girl" is so powerful 😊

[livelaughlovebeinggod]

This post is for the people who are procrastinating on applying the law or for those who need a wake up call. ‼️

what if you had never found the law?

Or let's say there's a parallel reality where you never stumbled upon the law of assumption. That you with the same circumstances but without the knowledge of the law, how would they have felt? For many, it would feel like their horrible reality would never change, how helpless they must be feeling, thinking about all the hardwork they need to do in order to achieve something, thinking that there's no shortcut to life and they've to do far more than just lifting a finger, they've to chase after life relentlessly just to live their dreams and the list goes on...all this just because they're limited in their mind, they're not aware of just how powerful their mind and their assumptions are, just because they're not aware that they can have absolutely anything and everything just by assuming they have it. They would have lived their entire life feeling like they've no control over their life, having that hope that maybe one day it would all change but unfortunately it never does. You come to your last stage of life with nothing but regrets because you wanted to do so many things but either didn't have the time or you just didn't have the courage to "take action" on them.

Seems horrifying? It is.

Now let's flip the script!

GOOD NEWS!

YOUR LIFE IS NOT THE WAY I DESCRIBED ABOVE.

You're blessed and lucky enough to have the knowledge about the law of assumption. I would have certainly felt helpless and hopeless if i didn't know about the law of assumption with my circumstances, i would've felt like giving up but this is not the case, I know about the law, i know it IS possible to have the life of my dreams and more, oh how blessed i am. Then why the hell am i procrastinating on doing the bare minimum?! imagine the things you would have to do in order to achieve those dreams if you didn't know about the law? Damn I'm exhausted even thinking about it! But guess what? With the law, u know all you have to do is just assume it's already done and persist! You don't have to even lift a finger let alone doing anything more than that. It's this easy.

Just think about it.

It's that easy so why are you procrastinating or why are you not taking accountability and changing your life? YOU LITERALLY CANNOT BE MORE BLESSED THAN THIS. Like imagine getting whatever you want with just your assumptions?! Even a fairytale falls short of what cheat code we know now. You're not realising just HOW FREAKING LUCKY AND POWERFUL YOU ARE.

This is not just a post to motivate you, this is a WAKE UP CALL, I'm calling you out rn and telling you to end this cycle, NOW. I need you to step aside from ur phone or Tumblr after you've read this post and just think about it, what are you doing? You could be living ur dream life by now if u had just applied the law and stayed consistent with it but here you are, consuming more loa content as if it's all not just the same information you've read a hundred times. The law is simple, too simple actually.

DECIDE YOU HAVE IT & PERSIST. THAT'S IT.

There's no other magical information out there, you WILL NOT get your desires if you don't apply the law. It cannot get easier than this. There are people who don't have ANY idea about the law, they're living a limited life, but you? You know about the thing people would sell their souls just to find out about it, and here you are still procrastinating as if you don't actually hold the power of the whole universe inside your mind and all you need is a decision and commitment to that decision.

It's either you decide to CHANGE YOUR LIFE AND FINALLY END THIS CYCLE or GET THIS LOOP GOING FOREVER. It's upto you. No one's coming to save you and it doesn't have to be scary, no one's coming to save you because you're enough to save yourself. You've all the power you'll ever need. Stop doubting your power. Actually applying the law and being consistent is scary and hard because your mind is too familiar living in hell that even heaven starts to feel uncomfortable but trust me, once you come out of that comfort bubble, you'll see that you were living in a tunnel all your life when there was a whole universe outside waiting for you to come out.

You can do it. Now, GO DO IT.

[northstarscowboyhat]

i need you to do a deltarune yellow interpretation. I have seen NOONE do anyhting that would do it justice. PLEASE

Gosh, that's extremely high praise! A lot of this art is super old, but I might as well post what I had done for this concept! Lots of rambling below!

In this version/AU, Hometown is a very small impoverished farming community. Despite the recent struggles of losing many businesses to the larger human city nearby, it's still a close knit community of everyone knowing everyone! The Sunnysides own the biggest farm in the town and are very well known by all the residents - especially after Starlo, the eldest son of the Sunnysides, takes in Clover, a young human who wandered into the Sunnyside crops, disheveled and dirty with barely the clothes on their back. Aside from remembering their name, Clover claims to not remember anything else, such as where they came from or why they seemingly ran away from home.

Starlo takes Clover in, but Clover is a human in a town full of monsters that they've suddenly been thrusted into, without the history with one another everyone else has. Not only that, Clover's a bit of a troublemaker (at least in appearances), picking fights with bullies and struggling to connect to anyone. The only other monster they've connected with (aside from the Sunnysides) is Martlet, who is a college student in town. She started out as a babysitter looking for extra cash hired by Starlo, until she and Clover began a genuine friendship! They're besties and hang out all the time.

(Ignore that god awful Martlet design... I tried to make her resemble Berdly and oh god. Regret.)

Eventually, Clover stumbles upon the Dark World, and in it, a strange flower darkener who claims to be the prince of the Dark World. Very quickly, the Dark World becomes an escape for Clover. In the Light World, they're a weirdo outcast who has no friends their age. They feel like they only cause problems for everyone, especially Starlo, who has to work twice as hard in order to financially support them. But in the Dark World, they can be a hero, just like all the cool cowboys in their favorite Western films! All the Darkners love them and praise them as a hero, and Clover gets to rescue them from outlaws and save the day. The more time they spend in the Dark World, the less problems they're causing in the Light World, so it's a good thing, right? Flowey and his people need a hero!

(Basically, the Dark World would be a concept that's already established in universe in Chapter 1. This is sort of meant to parallel Starlo's North Star persona in UTY, because you guys know I love my Clover + Starlo parallels.).

(Bonus for all my fellow Starlo fans) Most of Starlo's time, when he isn't working at his family's farm, is spent doing part time jobs in order to raise Clover. He works part time at the local diner at the beginning of the story, leaving very little free time for himself or his interests. RIP bozo having to take responsibility (Orion and Starlo's dynamic would be flipped here, as Orion is the one with a lot more freedoms. He's a college student Martlet's age, and is very busy with his studies and extracurricular activities that he isn't home often, meanwhile Starlo is saddled with a ton of work).

The real story would begin when part of the Ketsukane family (freshly divorced, sorry) move back into Hometown after living away in the city. Chujin's ex wife Ceroba moves back into town with their daughter Kanako, who is the same age as Clover. The two... do not get along right away, which only irks Clover as Starlo is particularly close to Kanako. Kanako is instantly popular and well liked among their peers, and she might have some unchecked biases against humans she picked up from their father. Maybe journeying together in the Dark World would help them grow closer...?

(Again, please forgive this ugly old style. Was trying to go for a superhero theme for Kanako's Dark World design since she's a comic book fan.)

Some other things I didn't have art for

Dalv is the town's librarian! He's also on good terms with Clover, but he's also a bit of a reclusive and doesn't interact with people much.

Chujin was living in Hometown prior to Clover showing up, trying to bounce back from his divorce with his wife (it was on fairly good terms, but still, a massive life change). He claims to work remotely for an important company of some sort, but is secretive about the details. While he's well liked by the town, he's also very outspoken against humans.

Ceroba would also be recovering from the divorce, as she was a housewife her entire time with Chujin, and now needs to find herself as well as a career to support Kanako. She moves back into Hometown in hopes of reconnecting with her old friends and to give Kanako a much calmer school environment.

There have been an influx of missing children reports in the general area around Hometown. Strangely enough, they all seem to be young human children around Clover's age...

Also these guys in the Dark World..... Eh, I'm sure they're not important in the slightest.

[trulybetty]

third time is a charm | part one

pairing: dr. jack abbot x gn!reader word count: 1,346 warnings: grumpy x sunshine, waiting on roadside assistance, competency kink is itched, this is pretty tame considering my resume estimated reading time: 6 minutes summary: it seems the universe is intent on throwing you in the path of dr. jack abbot ao3: linked

« masterlist | part two »

Third Time Is a Charm Part One.

You’d officially hit every checkbox on the ‘bad decisions in winter’ bingo card. The sun was down, the temperature was offensively cold, and you were leaning against the trunk of your car—that was just far enough out from the spot you’d originally been parked in—that you were blocking anyone from passing, forcing them into the second lane. You were thankful, at least that the side street was quiet. Only one car had been by since your engine had stalled.

Your winter coat—a fifty percent off “thermal-lined” special, you were starting to suspect was an elaborate lie and you’d been ripped off on the whole ‘winter proof’ part—was wrapped tightly around you, and you were gripping your phone like it was going to magically fix things.

It wasn’t.

You’d already called roadside assistance and been told—cheerfully in a false tone that suggested what they were saying wasn’t remotely true and they just wanted you off the phone—that someone would be with you “within the next 90 minutes… or so.”

You’d tried jumping the battery yourself. At least that’s what you think you did. You’d Googled diagrams. The car’s manual. You even watched a video narrated by a man named “Jeff the Mechanic” who kept winking at the camera, distracting you from whatever it was he was saying.

None of it had helped.

So now you were there waiting. And freezing.

Jack was supposed to be asleep by now.

That was the deal. Day shift had screwed him over with a last minute schedule change, and in exchange he was supposed to be done by five. Home by five-thirty. Asleep by six. A solid twelve hours to reset before he went back to his normal night shift rotation. That was the plan.

He was not asleep.

All he wanted was his spot. The one that was a third car length out from the fire hydrant. The only one that didn’t get buried when the snowplows rolls through at night. It’s habit now—come down Liberty, take a right on 48th, ease in, and then he’s five steps from his apartment.

Only that night, the spot is taken. There was a navy blue hatchback that was parked half-assed, like it was trying to attempt to parallel park and thought, ‘eh, good enough��. The hazards were on, and that’s when he noticed someone leaning against the back with the kind of detachment Jack associated with people who don’t realize just how in the way they are.

Jack let the truck idle behind the car for a few seconds. Then he tapped the horn once. Not aggressively. Just a hey. A nudge. Move it.

You looked up.

He could already tell from your expression that this was about to be a conversation, not a resolution. You looked up in surprise, blinking like you’d forgotten that there was a chance of another car turning up. Then you waved, and Jack breathed in a long breath as he muttered under his breath as he put the truck into park.

It was cold. Colder than it had been forecast. Sharp enough to aggravate old bones. His leg ached. The air bit his jawline and he already was regretting giving a shit about whatever was happening there.

“Hi!” you called out, voice muffled by the scarf around your neck, “Sorry, my car’s dead. Battery, at least I think it is. That’s what Google and YouTube seem to agree on.” Jack narrowed his gaze at you like he was debating getting back into his truck and finding somewhere else to park, “But someone is coming!” you quickly added, “should be maybe thirty minutes top… I think?”

“Which company?” he asked, already skeptical.

You squinted. “Huh?”

He points to your phone, “Who’d you call?”

“Oh—uh, roadside assistance,” Jack fought rolling his eyes, “it’s through my insurance. Not AAA, the other one.”

He didn’t need to ask. He knew the other one. The one that never shows up. The one that gets stuck in traffic for two hours and then calls to say they cancelled the request because the technician couldn’t find you where you said you were.

Jack sighed. Long and tired.

He muttered, mostly to himself, “Any idea what killed it?”

You shrug, “I went to go pick up my dry cleaning on my way home—I’m just a block over, they were backed up—maybe I left my lights on?”

He let out a breath that fogged the air as he looked at you with disbelief. He took in how your car was angled behind you—just enough to block the spot, not enough for anyone else to squeeze in behind. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, he needed to shave, the stubble rough on his hands.

This was not his problem. You are not his responsibility. This is not the ED.

Still, he said, “You got jumper cables?”

You looked at him wide-eyed, “Mayyybe? In my trunk somewhere, I think.”

“You want to start looking?” he said, stepping closer, boots crunching through the salt and dirty snow, “you’re parked like shit. And I’ve been up since three. I need you to get this car moving.”

You blinked at him, “So… what? You want me to push it out of the way?”

He didn’t laugh. Just stared. “Pop the hood and find those cables.”

Your brow furrowed, “Wait—are you actually going to help me?”

“No. I’m gonna jump it just enough so I can park and get on with my night.”

Despite the irritation in his voice, you gave him a smile, not offended in the slightest, and turned to dig through your trunk.

After angling his truck in the right position, he popped his hood as you fumbled with your own. The cold was already numbing his fingers through the gloves he didn’t think he’d need today, but he was too tired and too far in on this to complain about it. He looked over your shoulder at your battery and cursed under his breath. It looked like it’d never been touched, corrosion blooming around the terminals.

Despite his better judgement, he connected the clamps and stepped back. “Try it.”

He hoped to god that it was going to work.

You climbed behind the wheel and turned the key. The engine sputtered once. Then again. Then—by some infinite miracle—catches. It sounded awful. A sick, rattling idle like the car was smoking a pack a day.

Jack didn’t look impressed and wondered if it sounded this bad before then.

You leant out of the window you’d rolled down, “It lives!”

“Barely,” he said from behind your hood. He unhooked the cables and shut the hood with more force than necessary. “Get it checked out. Seriously.”

You were out of the car and taking the cables from his hands. “Thank you.”

He was already turning back toward his truck when you add, “Really, I know you didn’t have to stop.”

“I’m aware.”

“I mean, most people wouldn’t.”

“I wanted to park.”

You smile like that explanation was funnier than it was. “Right. So technically, this was a selfish act of charity?”

Jack looked to the late-night sky and exhaled. Long. “You always talk this much, or are you waiting for your car to die out again?”

You shrug with a grin as you rounded to the driver’s door of your car once again, “Only when the audience is this thoroughly engaging.”

That earnt you the barest flicker of something on his face—possibly amusement, maybe exhaustion seeping through.

“Well. Thanks again,” you said before climbing back into your car.

He was back in his truck with the heat turned on up full blast as he watched your hazards switch off and you angled out of the street and disappeared in the direction he’d just come from. He maneuvered into the now vacant spot that should have been his over half an hour ago.

Before he switched off the ignition, he looked at the clock on his dashboard.

6:17

He was supposed to be asleep.

[eliasmelody]

Love Beyond the Surface

Part 1 !

Tag: Xavier x f!reader, Zayne x f!reader Warning: reader is not MC, angst, no comfort (yet), parallel universe(isekai), third-person

"You're in love with someone who is not me." "How can you be so sure?" "Cause I'm nothing like her" "It's not the looks or personality that I'm in love with. It's the soul"

You know them, but they don't know you. Still, no barrier you erect can conceal the truth of their discovery.

Part 2! [Rafayel, Sylus] x reader

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

You truly love the game, you really do. The atmosphere, the intricate details, the beautiful lighting that sets the perfect mood, and the voice lines that bring each character to life. It all comes together so beautifully.

The protagonist of the game is strong, smart, and undeniably beautiful, exactly like what you would expect in a game like this. And she’s nothing like you. Or rather, you're nothing like her. There are moments when you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy, but other times, you just push it aside and enjoy the ride.

But now, as you look at her across the street with your own eyes now, you're sure that you are definitely not her. You let out a quiet sigh, turning away and heading back to your temporary resting spot in this world. The weight of the different life is heavy in your thoughts. You need to find a way to get back.

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🐇 XAVIER:

"No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are… I will find you."

The street is as busy as ever, people moving past in a blur. He can't wait to get home after his mission and take a nap. Somehow, he catches a glimpse of someone and instinctively reaches out. 

The sharp honking of a car pulls him out of his thoughts, and his gaze snaps back to her, the stranger he had grabbed. For a brief moment, he's taken aback, confusion crossing his face as he processes the fact that she isn't the person he had mistaken her for.

Xavier exhales sharply, trying to steady himself. "Apologies." He says, his voice rough and edged with frustration. "I thought you were someone else."

"…It's okay…" The girl says softly.

Xavier nods silently, still feeling a deep sense of guilt and regret. He can't help but still notice the similarities. He looks at her for a moment longer before breaking the silence.

"It's just..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "You really do look like...this person I know." 

She looked at him warily, as if caught off guard, her tone flat but with a slight edge. "How so?"

Xavier scratches the back of his head, his eyes roaming her face once again, as if trying to pinpoint the similarities. He catches himself, realizing how that might sound. "You're just…similar."

"…Whoever you’re looking for." She says, her voice flat, as she steps closer to him. "I'm afraid I'm not them. You must have mistaken." She adds, her words clear, as if she is offering him a quiet but undeniable truth.

Noticing that he didn’t respond, she huffed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling in,  feeling like the conversation had reached its end. With no more words to say, she turned and started to walk away.

In a moment, panic sweeps over Xavier, a feeling that he's about to lose something important. His body reacts before his mind can catch up. His hand shoots out, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly, pulling her back.

"Wait." His voice is a little hoarse, a mix of urgency and uncertainty. His grip is firm, but not forceful.

Xavier watches her intently, his gaze never leaving her face as he studies her features. There's a comforting presence that he responds to in her demeanor.

"I...I was just wondering..." He starts, his voice faltering for a moment. "What food do you like?"

"Pardon?"

Xavier's cheeks redden slightly, realizing how odd the question must sound. He rubs the back of his head, trying to play off his curiosity.

"I just... I was just curious." He says, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and honesty.

"…Why? You're going to take me out for dinner or something?" She let out a small laugh, but it quickly fades when she notices he doesn’t laugh back.

Xavier's heart skips a beat at her laugh, a genuine smile almost forming on his lips. He'd be lying if he said the idea didn't sound appealing.

"I just thought it would be nice to know more about you." He finally manages to say it, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

"... You do realize we just met, right?" She asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied him.

Xavier nods, unable to tear his gaze away from her. His heart rate is still quickened, the mixture of shame, curiosity, and newfound attraction swirling within him.

"Yes." He says, his voice soft and genuine. "That's why I want to know more about you..." He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his usual cool demeanor. 

She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes softened, almost pleading, as if silently hoping she would say yes. The vulnerability in his gaze was impossible to ignore. She wasn’t sure if it was his sincerity or the weight of the moment.

"I'm sorry... It's just that I'm a bit busy at the moment." She said, her voice soft but firm.

Xavier's heart sinks, a mix of disappointment and understanding washing over him. He had been caught up in the moment, the closeness, the connection he felt.

He nods slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Right. Of course."

He steps back, putting a little more distance between them, and averts his gaze

She nods, offering a soft, half-hearted smile. "I hope you find the person you're… looking for… Have a nice day."

The words hang in the air for a moment, a gentle attempt at parting that feels heavier than intended.

Xavier's gaze lifts, his eyes meeting hers for a final moment. The disappointment is still there, but he manages to force a smile onto his face, even if it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah." He replies, his voice a little hoarse. "You too."

He watches she walks away, the space between you two stretching further with each step. Each footfall feels like a silent reminder of what’s slipping out of reach.

"I will find you." "I don't want to be founded."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

🦭 ZAYNE:

"When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not met again"

Zayne was beyond exhausted. The hospital was packed with patients. He had been on his feet all day, working tirelessly to treat and care for everyone who came through the doors.

So he changed his course after work, heading for a nearby coffee shop. He noticed he was the only customer left, likely due to the late hour or approaching closing time. 

The sound of ringing fills the air as the door opens. A person steps in behind him, moving to the counter to place an order.

"Hi, can I get a…?"

The person's soft, clear voice pierced Zayne's ears as he heard them place her drink order. He blurted out the name of the drink before he could stop himself. 

The person tensed, quickly turning to face him, her eyes widening in surprise as if she recognized him.

Zayne quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be completely engrossed in looking at the decorations.

She stared at him briefly before returning to her order, speaking quickly. "Yeah and I would like a dessert with it too... "

"It seems we're out of dessert for tonight, he’s already taken the last one." The attendant said with a regretful tone.

"Oh." Her voice tinged with disappointment

With a hint of hesitation, he spoke up. "If you’d like, I can give it to you." 

"That …won’t be necessary. You come first, after all." She stammered, offered a polite smile

Zayne shook his head slowly. "No, it's really alright." He said, his voice calm and reassuring. "I can go without it for tonight." He paused, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment.

Zayne was caught off guard by his own actions. Why on earth was he offering his dessert to a complete stranger? Was it just an impulsive gesture, or was there something else driving him?

After a brief pause, he discreetly looked her up and down, his expression thoughtful. "Have we met before?"

She widened her eyes in surprise, then offered a sad smile. "I don't believe we did."

Odd… Zayne thought, his suspicion not quite quelled. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so familiar about her. She didn't look like anyone he knew, and yet he was convinced he had seen her somewhere before. Regardless of it, he strangely feels a sense of contentment when he sees her.

She glanced at him briefly, uneasy under his gaze. "You... just got off work?" She asked, hoping to shift the focus.

"Yeah, the hospital nearby." Zayne replied casually, his gaze still fixed on her. 

His suspicions were not eased, no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. There was just something so oddly familiar about her, as if he had seen her before somewhere, in some other place in time. He couldn't quite place it, and it was driving him crazy.

She nodded slightly, her gaze flickering briefly. "You work quite... late."

"It's a part of the job." Zayne replied with a shrug, his expression remained neutral.

She smiled nervously, each question she asked only deepening the awkwardness. Feeling the tension grow, she fell silent, unsure of what to say next, hoping the quiet would ease things.

Zayne found himself wondering if she visited the coffee shop frequently. The location was slightly out of the way and secluded, which made him question if she came here often.

"Do you come here often?" He asked suddenly, breaking the silence between them. "There aren't many places open this late."

"Not... really." She replied, a slight shrug lifting her shoulders. "I just discovered it a few days ago…"

Zayne nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. He couldn't shake off the feeling of worry growing inside him. Here she was, a lone girl in a quiet area so late at night.

"You know, you really shouldn't be walking around alone... especially at this hour." Zayne found himself saying without thinking, his concern finally getting the better of him.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, a defensive edge creeping into her tone. "I can handle myself." She said, her words sharp but quiet.

The waiter approached and handed Zayne his drink first, breaking the conversation for a moment. He gave a small nod of thanks.

Zayne glanced at his watch, realizing just how late it had gotten. He took one sip of his drink, holding up the cup before turning back to her.

"I better get going. Got an early day tomorrow." 

The words slipped out almost instinctively, as if he felt the need to let her know, even though there was no real reason to. His gaze lingered for a moment, unsure if he should say anything more.

She didn’t answer or glance at him, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. A sense of disappointment washed over him, he must have offended her. Without a word, he turned and walked out, silently hoping their paths would cross again.

"I hope we do not meet again." "So do i."

✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦ Picture: belong to Love & Deepspace official (not me) ✦.────────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ────────── .✦

I know it sound deludelu but i just need some angst in my life a bit. I'll post the rest later. Also no hate to the MC. Her character is well-built, and i love her personality.

[alive-gh0st]

˗ˏˋ❝Afterglow❞ˎˊ˗

Mark Grayson x Med!Reader♡ྀི

.….ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨.ـ.. .

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

⛨ summary: you’re not obsessed with him. you’re not. but the world clearly is. strange articles. sneaky algorithms. and a voice in your head that won’t shut up. meanwhile, invincible’s got his own problem: he can’t find the girl who called him out like a scrub tech on a bad day.

⛨ contains: sfw. nurse carla’s mischief. media-induced annoyance. early emotional foreshadowing. reader in denial. mark being haunted by words and mystery. parallel narration. bonus scene chaos.

⛨ warnings: mild language. internet stalking (light). stubbornness. minor delusion. no real threats—just a very determined destiny.

⛨ wc: 2146

prologue, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: fun fact—i lost half of this chapter mid-edit because my wifi decided to flatline like a soap opera character. dramatic gasp, hospital monitor beep, the whole deal. one second i’m tweaking a paragraph, the next i’m staring at the void where 800 words used to be. i almost fought my router. bare-fisted. anyway, here it is—risen from the ashes, caffeinated, and slightly more unhinged than originally planned. enjoy my suffering.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The universe has a sick sense of humor.

You know this. You’ve always known this.

You work twelve-hour shifts surrounded by people coughing on your scrubs and trying to die inconveniently. You’ve stitched up knife wounds caused by things described as “accidents,” told grown men they’re not, in fact, dying from a sore throat, and once had to remove a Lego from a place no Lego should ever be.

But lately, it feels personal.

There’s been a shift. A pattern. A very specific, very annoying theme threading itself through your life like the world’s most persistent pop-up ad.

It’s not love. It’s not fate.

It’s him.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

You tap your phone’s screen with more passive aggression than necessary, holding it to your ear even though you know your (only) friend won’t pick up.

Beep.

“Okay, listen—I’m not spiraling. I’m not.”

(Pause. Sip. Another pause.)

“But if one more news article, thirst edit, or random merch featuring that man—shows up in my general vicinity, I will commit a felony. Probably a creative one.”

(Beat.)

“And no—before you say it—it’s not a crush. I don’t have time for crushes. I have sleep deprivation and a spine held together by caffeine.”

(Silence.)

“He’s not even that hot.”

You hang up.

Regret it. Immediately.

And that’s when it hits you—

You’re not obsessed with him.

You’re not.

You’ve been into people before—celebrities, coworkers, a random guy who pronounced your name right on the first try—but this isn’t that. You’re not delusional. You’re tired. You have a full-time job, a chaotic sleep schedule, and at least two stress migraines scheduled for the week.

You’re not obsessed.

The entire world, on the other hand, clearly is.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

It starts with a newspaper.

A real one. Paper and ink and everything. You’re halfway through your first sip of coffee (not bad, not cursed) when you spot it, splayed open on the front counter like it tripped and fell into your line of sight.

’Invincible saves subway commuters in mid-derailment battle.’

There’s a photo. Midair. Bloodied knuckles. Hero pose. That obnoxious blue-yellow suit.

You blink at it once. Twice. The espresso tastes more bitter somehow.

“…Carla,” you call out, slowly.

A soft shuffle from the break room. “Mhm?”

You tilt your head toward the paper. “Is that yours?”

“Nope,” she chirps, far too quickly.

You squint.

Carla reappears moments later with a tea mug that says ’I am the storm’ in passive-aggressive font and absolutely does not make eye contact as she walks past you.

She hums.

The kind of hum that implies dark intentions.

You stare at the paper like it personally insulted your scrubs.

That’s strike one.

Strike two comes via TikTok. Or… Instagram Reels. Or whatever godforsaken app the algorithm has you trapped in.

You’re lying on your couch on your one night off, a warm takeout container on your lap, the lights dimmed just enough to make it feel like self-care. You open your phone to zone out. Maybe scroll through food mukbangs. A few raccoon videos. Rewatch that one clip from ’The Bear’ for the emotional damage.

Instead, the second video to pop up is a slow-motion fan edit of Invincible. Set to a remix of a 2000s ballad.

You stare at your phone in silence as the hero who bloodied his way through your afternoon is now being thirsted after by teenagers in the comments.

You swipe up fast enough to sprain something.

Then another pops up.

And another.

And—oh, good god. This one’s tagged #invincibae.

You throw your phone facedown on your stomach like it’s contagious.

You’re not angry. You’re not even annoyed.

You’re just trying to have one singular crumb of peace in this godless world, and the masked himbo you verbally body-checked in the middle of a disaster won’t stop invading your downtime.

You eventually find a rerun of ’House MD’ and watch a patient nearly die from licking envelopes, which feels more comforting than it should.

You’re not obsessed.

(But maybe you do glare at a passing bus with his face on the side. Just a little.)

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

By the end of the week, it gets worse.

You’re at the pharmacy grabbing gauze, extra gloves, and the least offensive granola bar in existence when you see the merch.

Merch.

A corner display stacked with shirts and water bottles and pins. There’s a plushie. A plushie. Of him.

You pause, granola bar halfway to your basket.

A kid next to you picks up the Invincible water bottle and turns to his mom. “Do you think he drinks from this too?”

You visibly clench your jaw.

At that exact moment, your phone dings.

You pull it out with the practiced grace of someone who lives and dies by their calendar app—only to find a suggested article on your lock screen.

’Why Invincible Might Be the Most Relatable Hero Yet!’

You could scream.

Instead, you mutter, “I patched up his concussion while inhaling drywall dust. He was seeing double and still arguing with me.”

The cashier stares at you.

You move on.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The final straw?

A patient brings him up.

Middle of a wound check, nothing dramatic. A few stitches, topical numbing, your hands moving on autopilot. You’re explaining aftercare, bandage changes, when the patient—maybe fifteen, maybe sixteen—smiles at you and says:

“You kinda remind me of Invincible, y’know? Like, you’re calm under pressure and.. kind of badass.”

You blink.

Smile politely. “Cool.”

Inside, your soul shrivels.

You are not him.

You don’t throw punches. You don’t fly. You don’t have a theme song or fan cams or merchandise.

You have an overtime shift on Sunday and a stress knot in your shoulder that’s starting to feel like a second spine.

But the universe doesn’t care.

You’re not obsessed.

You just can’t escape.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Mark doesn’t remember your face.

Not clearly, anyway.

The smoke had blurred the details, painted you in silhouettes and urgency. You weren’t the loudest voice in the chaos—just the sharpest. Crisp, cutting, sure of yourself in a way that made his head spin more than the actual concussion.

But your voice?

He remembers that like it’s stitched into the inside of his skull.

Low. Stern. Half-sarcastic and half-soothing. It sounded like someone who didn’t have time for bullshit, which—given the circumstances—made sense.

He was bleeding from the ribs. The city was literally burning.

Still, the memory echoes:

“Don’t say fine.”

“You’re favoring your left.”

“You shouldn’t be flying.”

Mark exhales hard, slumping deeper into the worn couch. The TV’s on but silent. Some old action movie flickers in the corner of his vision. It’s supposed to be background noise.

But nothing is loud enough to drown you out.

He doesn’t know your name.

Doesn’t know what you do, where you’re from, if you even survived the aftermath unscathed.

All he knows is that you made him feel—briefly, dangerously—human.

Not a symbol. Not a name in headlines. Just a guy who was bleeding too much and doing too little.

And he can’t stop hearing you.

“You’re zoning out again,” Debbie says from the kitchen.

Mark flinches, barely registering the sound of the fridge opening.

“Sorry. Just tired.”

Debbie hums skeptically and tosses him a cold can of soda. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re also muttering to yourself like a haunted Victorian widow. Anything I should know?”

Mark cracks the can open with unnecessary force.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares ahead like the wall is going to give him divine guidance.

“I met someone,” he says finally.

Debbie doesn’t react. Just leans against the counter, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Okay. And?”

“She yelled at me.”

Still silence.

“And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”

There it is.

Debbie snorts into her cup. “That’s it? That’s what’s got you acting like a sad poet?”

He shifts. “It’s not just that. She—she saw right through me. In like, five seconds. Called out every injury I hadn’t processed yet. Told me I wasn’t fine before I could even lie about it.”

“And this was… romantic?”

“No!” Mark frowns. “I don’t even know what it was. I don’t know anything about her. I couldn’t even see her face.”

“Okay, now it’s giving Victorian ghost story.”

“She saved a kid.”

Debbie blinks.

“In the middle of it all. Ran straight into debris and smoke. People tried to stop her and she looked at me like I was the liability.”

He doesn’t mention the way your hands shook but never stopped moving. Or the way you lied—beautifully, horribly—just to keep that child alive a few seconds longer.

He doesn’t mention how it made something in his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” Debbie says, more gently now.

“She was,” he mutters. “And now she’s just… gone.”

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

The thing is, Mark’s not usually like this.

He gets hit, he gets up. He saves people, and he moves on. Faces blur. Names fade. It’s how he copes.

But this? This isn’t fading.

It’s getting worse.

He’ll be flying over the city and see a flash of hair that looks vaguely like yours—and he’ll nearly crash into a billboard turning to check. His neck has started clicking. He’s going to need chiropractic help and therapy.

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s half-convinced he’ll know when he sees you again.

He’s waiting for it.

And that thought alone is ridiculous.

Because he doesn’t wait. Not for danger. Not for hope. Not for anyone.

Except now, apparently, for you.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

More than once, he’s hovered outside hospitals and urgent care clinics on patrol. Just a few seconds. Just in case.

He makes excuses for it, of course:

• You never know when you might be needed.

• Some med centers don’t have enough security.

• Maybe he’s being responsible.

But then he hears a nurse’s laugh and it isn’t yours.

And he flies off like a coward.

Not even a few minutes later there’s a robbery in Midtown.

Small-time. Two guys. One has a crowbar. The other trips over his shoelace trying to run.

Mark’s on it in sixty seconds flat.

It’s easy—should be, anyway—but his timing’s off. He lands too hard, shoulder twinges wrong. The guy gets one good swing in before Mark sends him flying (not too far).

It’s done in under a minute.

And still—he’s breathless. Not from the fight, but from the feeling.

The missing.

The what if you’d seen that and thought I was sloppy kind of missing.

He doesn’t say anything as he lifts the guy’s dropped phone and hands it off to the store clerk. They thank him. He nods.

Flies away.

He doesn’t go far.

Just lands on some apartment roof, crouches by the ledge, and lets his hands tangle in his hair for a minute.

The city stretches below him, loud and alive.

But all he wants to find is a blur in the chaos that isn’t there.

‎٨ـﮩﮩ٨ﮩ_ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ෴ﮩ____

Later that night, he lies in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it might offer closure.

It doesn’t.

It’s just drywall and shadows and everything you saw through.

His notebook lies half-open next to him—not forgotten, just untouched, like a question he doesn’t know how to answer yet.

It’s not a journal—he doesn’t do feelings that way—but sometimes, when his head’s too loud and his hands need something to do, he sketches. Nothing fancy. Just lines. Shapes. Impressions.

Tonight, it’s you.

Or, what he remembers of you. Which isn’t much.

Your face is a blur. Hair? A vague impression. Maybe dark. Maybe not. But your hands—he remembers those. Quick, steady, smudged with ash. Your posture. How you stood slightly in front of the child like a shield, chin up, like fear was something for other people.

He’s drawn the same half-profile six times now. None of them are right.

He sighs, drags a hand through his hair, and flips the page over.

Maybe he’s not trying to get it right.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to forget.

He closes his eyes.

But the voice stays with him.

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⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚❤️‍🔥˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌Clinic break room. You. Tired.

You sneeze—violently.

Again.

You rub your nose with the heel of your palm, the tip of it already reddish from overuse, and a dramatic groan leaves your throat as you sink into the unforgiving plastic chair.

“This is some kind of karmic punishment,” you mutter to no one in particular. “Like, I must’ve offended a witch. Or touched something cursed.”

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” offers a random nurse from across the room.

You glare at her. “I’m immune to sickness.”

Then of course, Carla appears behind you, perfectly timed as always.

“Maybe someone’s thinking about you,” she says, casual as rain, not even glancing your way before walking off.

You blink. Deadpan.

Then sneeze again.

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taglist sign up: 𓉘here𓉝

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[ghost-bison]

I had a sort of epiphany as to what makes Ten and Donna's relationship so appealing to so many people, so much so that it's been over 15 years and we're still talking about it.

What i'm about to say is nothing really new but I find it interesting how for hundreds of years, the Doctor's been the person and the companion has been the mirror.

What I mean by that is, the Doctor's this all impressive, wonderful being, this super-human to the people he meets and especially those he travels with, and so they think that in order to deserve him and this life, they need to be like him.

We saw it with Rose, who by series 2 started becoming a totally different character: careless, her immaturity hidden behind a newfound confidence encouraged by the Doctor - who, at this point in the show where his most defining traits are guilt and regret, desperately needs an equal.

This change in Rose's personality and demeanor is explored during her talk with her mum in 2x12 "Army of Ghosts":

JACKIE: You even look like him. ROSE: How do you mean? I suppose I do, yeah. JACKIE: You've changed so much. ROSE: For the better. JACKIE: I suppose. ROSE: Mum, I used to work in a shop. JACKIE: I've worked in shops. What's wrong with that? ROSE: No, I didn't mean that. JACKIE: I know what you meant. What happens when I'm gone? ROSE: Don't talk like that. JACKIE: No, but really. When I'm dead and buried, you won't have any reason to come back home. What happens then? ROSE: I don't know. JACKIE: Do you think you'll ever settle down? ROSE: The Doctor never will, so I can't. I'll just keep on travelling. JACKIE: And you'll keep on changing. And in forty years time, fifty, there'll be this woman, this strange woman, walking through the marketplace on some planet a billion miles from Earth. But she's not Rose Tyler. Not anymore. She's not even human.

Then, we have Martha. The better-known side of her relationship with the Doctor is that she has an unrequited love for him, but do people ever think about what's going on inside his head during his year with her?

Cause he pretends like he doesn't see it and it sort of works, for we all know he's pretty dense (when Cassandra possessed Rose's body, not ONCE did he glance down at her voluntarily revealing neckline, and he always looks so dazed and surprised when women kiss him, etc...). So Martha believes him when he acts like he doesn't see how she looks at him.

But he didn't have to kiss her passionately if he didn't want her to fall for him. He could have just done some weird shit as always and lick her cheek or something. He chose to kiss her because at this point, because of what he's done to Rose, he's forgotten that that's not what his relationship with people needs to be. He thinks she'll leave him if she doesn't idolize him.

Another side of their relationship we think even less about is Martha being a doctor (or doctor-to-be). She has this particular view of the title that comes with years of university and hospital internships, a view that's less present in companions who don't work in the medical field (Rose, Donna, Amy, Clara, Bill, Ruby...). So she has this advantage where, as she said, "You need to earn that title", but also this bias where she realizes he does live up to it, and because she wants to be a doctor, he's everything she needs to be.

This creates an interesting parallel with other medical worker companions: Rory and Belinda, the nurses.

Rory's relationship with the Doctor mainly exists through Amy's relationship with the Doctor: he's been seeing, ever since they were kids, what their encounter did to her, and then by the time they're adults and Amy sees the Doctor again, what it evolves and will evolve into.

At some point, Rory tells the Doctor:

RORY: You know what is dangerous about you? It's not that you make people take risks, it's that you make them want to impress you. You make it so they don't want to let you down. You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you're around.

And then, this is what Belinda tells the Doctor the first time he takes her into the TARDIS:

BELINDA: Is that what you say to all the girls? Is that what you said to Sasha? She trusted you, and she died. You tested my DNA without even asking my permission. God... You're dangerous. [...] I am not one of your adventures. Now I'm asking you, Doctor, to do the right thing.

Interesting coincidence that the two nurses of the show, basically the two people who aren't impressed (in the sense of "dazed") by the title of "Doctor", are two of the only companions who can see how messed up some situations he puts them in actually are where most companions would make an awkward "that was bad" joke out of it, or even just not say anything.

BELINDA: Some things don't change. There's always a doctor standing back while the nurses do all the hard work.

then:

BELINDA: So what's your name? Doctor what? THE DOCTOR: Just the Doctor. BELINDA: What? You're actually called "the Doctor"? THE DOCTOR: Yeah. BELINDA: All right then, I'm called "the Nurse".

To them, this title is just this: a title. To Martha, it's her future.

And to Donna... it means strictly nothing.

The first time she meets him in 2x14 "The Runaway Bride", she's transported directly inside the TARDIS. She sees the inside before she sees the outside. So where other companions would realize "it's bigger on the inside", Donna sees the contrary: it's smaller on the outside.

When she asks WHO he is, he just says "I'm the Doctor". Then he asks who she is in turn, and she says "Donna". She doesn't try to understand why he gave her this instead of an actual name, nor does she try to obtain an actual answer to her question. She just gets that he's strange, rolls with it, and tells him her name in turn.

By the end of the episode, there's no mistaking the fact that she IS impressed with him... but it's not a good thing.

The Doctor is surprised: he's used to it being a good thing. Generally, it gets him what he wants, which is a new companion. He's done everything right: saved her life, showed her the stars, he's even made it snow to make her smile!

And yet, at this point, all Donna thinks about is how the Doctor drowned kids in front of her, and in front of their own mother, and didn't even blink as he did.

THE DOCTOR: Come with me? DONNA: No. [...] I can't. I mean, everything we did today... Do you live your life like that? THE DOCTOR: ...Not all the time. DONNA: I think you do. And I couldn't. THE DOCTOR: But you've seen it out there. It's beautiful. DONNA: And it's terrible. That place was flooding and burning and they were dying and you stood there like... I don't know. A stranger. And then you made it snow, I mean, you scare me to death!

She is impressed, yes, but she is not dazed, yet. And by the time she is in series 4, she's had too long to think about it to let it cloud her judgment:

When they meet again in 4x01 "Partners in Crime", and she's finally ready to come with him, she gets a glimpse of how narcissistic and self-centered he is when he makes it clear that he thinks she wants to be with him in a romantic way (as I said earlier, he's forgotten that not all his relationships needed to be like this, and this belief that he has was reinforced by his time with Martha).

But Donna immediately puts him back in his place, twice:

DONNA: That Martha must have done you good. THE DOCTOR: Yeah, she did, yeah... She fancied me. DONNA: Mad Martha, that one! Blind Martha, charity Martha. [...] THE DOCTOR: I just want a mate. DONNA: You just want to mate? THE DOCTOR: I just want a mate! DONNA: You're not mating with me, sunshine! THE DOCTOR: A mate! I want a mate! DONNA: Well just as well because I'm not having any of that nonsense, I mean you're just a long streak of nothing. You know, alien nothing.

Then, throughout the whole of series 4, she spends half of their time together learning things about the Universe, about herself, and the other half challenging him:

In 4x02 "The Fires of Pompeii", she doesn't obey blindly. She asks interesting questions, pushes back, disagrees with him. She wants to save the whole town, he tells her they can't do that, she doesn't care. He's not used to having to engage in long explanations as to why his word is to be followed, because he considers himself to be righteous. This is mainly why she challenges him: she's a grown, capable woman and he treats her like a child:

THE DOCTOR: Donna, stop it. DONNA: Listen, I don't know what sort of kids you've been flying around with, but you're not telling me to shut up.

Then, she reminds him once more that they're equals and that she knows what she's doing with him when she puts her hands on that lever, taking on part of a burden that the Doctor thought was going to be entirely his again. And then, finally, she shows him that if you can't save everyone, one person is better than no one at all. She gives him hope and reminds him of his purpose.

On and on, she keeps doing stuff like that, until the point where the line starts blurring between them: they were the DoctorDonna before Donna had even gotten near that hand.

And instead of the companion trying to mirror the Doctor like every other time, the Doctor starts becoming the companion. And Donna does find him dazzling, she said it to her gramps, but she knew better than to let it show when she was with him.

Where he changed Rose into someone else entirely (which ended badly and could have been avoided had they been more careful), pushed Martha into forgetting her own individual worth (which she ended up understanding and decided to leave for her own good), he only gave Donna a glimpse into what she already was, and SHE was the one who changed HIM for the better.

Donna's fate couldn't have been predicted or prevented by either of them; it was destined to end like this, and this, all of this, is what makes their relationship so absolutely magnificent: both the simplicity and complexity of it, and its ineffability.

[peterocleus]

If we do get 'Sonic travelling into a different universe' theory, I think one way they can still retain Stone and Robotnik's dynamic is having Robotnik in this parallel universe lose his version of Stone.

Think about how tragic this would be: Stone thinking he can finally reunite with his doctor after thinking he'll never be able to work with him again, and AU!Robotnik, having only lost his most loyal henchman, is consumed with grief and despair that the thought of seeing him again only brings him regret and pain.

Stone would be happy to see AU!Robotnik, but the lingering feeling at the back of his mind knows that, not only is that not his Ivo, but that he will never be because his real Ivo is gone, dead.

Whilst AU!Robotnik will never be able to live with the guilt of failing his agent once more so he pushes Stone away, thinking he'd be safer without him.

[greenfiend]

The Nested Universes Theory

and the high chance of a very literal bitter/sweet ending…

Yes, Will and Mike will end up together, but their ending may be both happy and tragic simultaneously.

(This theory may explain why the cast and Netflix executives were crying heavily when informed of the show’s ending…)

I'm warning you guys, take care of yourself while reading this. This isn't an easy read.

CW: CSA, sex, drugs, HIV/AIDS, period typical homophobia, death

Framed Narratives/Stories

Framed narratives are basically a story within a story. Common examples of this are the movie “The Princess Bride” and “Titanic”. Both stories have the story of the narrator and the story within.

Another example is Stranger Things itself. When we see the boys playing Dungeons and Dragons, they are creating a story within a story.

Sometimes, framed narratives are nested, meaning multiple layers of storytelling. An example of this would be the movie “Inception”. In that movie there are dreams within dreams within dreams… It’s a complex but fascinating way to tell stories.

Now, I do think Stranger Things is also a nested narrative story. Meaning, there may be a layer of a story that hasn’t been revealed to us yet (or more than one).

Basically I’m saying: the show itself may be a story created by some of the characters.

I’m guessing two characters in particular. Which two characters? The two most associated with creating stories. The writer and artist. Two of the characters that have existed since the show’s inception.

Mike and Will.

Multiple Universes

I do think there are multiple timelines/universes within Stranger Things… but it’s not exactly what you think. It’s not parallel universes/timelines. They do not exist parallel to each other, they exist within each other.

This is the reason for the “memory within a memory”, “play within a play” references.

It’s a story within a story within a story.

While Mike and Will are creating their DnD campaigns, there is another version of Mike and Will creating the story we see within the show.

Let’s break it down:

Inner layer: Mike and Will’s characters existing within a DnD campaign

Middle layer: Mike and Will within the show creating the DnD campaign

Outer layer: Mike and Will creating the story of the show

Mike and Will’s story within the frame (the outer layer) likely does share a lot in common with the story within the show, with one major difference:

There’s no Upside Down, and no supernatural elements. No superpowers, and no superheroes. There are still monster(s) and heroes, but these monsters and heroes are real.

Living on as “Heroes”

Ever notice the association between characters being referred to as “a hero” after facing their demise?

We have seen this time and time again. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a pattern.

Love for horror and escapism

@threemanoperation has a great post on Will’s love for horror.

It makes perfect sense for a boy like Will to enjoy horror. It can be a great way to process trauma and grief.

We also know even from the earliest descriptions for Mike and Will’s characters that they both love to “escape” into fantasy. They do this together, through DnD.

Gods/Puppet Masters/Creators

Within the show, there are many subtle nods to Will and Mike somehow controlling/manipulating things. These hints have lead to many interesting theories about Mike and/or Will having powers. In a sense, they both are absolutely right! But if this theory is correct, their influence over the show is mainly due to them creating it. They’re the authors, so in a way, they’re both “Gods”.

Solving the “Letter to Willy”/Lettergate puzzle

"Letter to Willy" is a song that plays over three different scenes within ST4. Each scene involves regrets, and survivor's guilt.

Max mourns Billy and reads out her letter "before it's too late" aka before she dies too.

Mike and Will have a heart-to-heart and Mike expresses guilt over El leaving, thinking there was more he could have done. This occurs while they are burying a dead man's body.

Dustin tells Eddie's uncle that Eddie died a hero, despite what the town thought.

This all leads back to Mike and Will within the story's outer layer. This also connects with the writer's incomplete letter they posted years ago on Twitter. I'll get back to this.

A father infecting his child

Oh boy. I hate this part but it requires context so…

Hopper admits to indirectly causing the death of his daughter, Sarah. He had been exposed to Agent Orange which led to his daughter developing cancer at a young age. He has remorse and has been grieving Sarah this whole time.

Now, Hopper is a decent guy and father, and is written as an almost “fix it” version of Mike and Will’s own fathers. He isn’t perfect, but he’s a man who strives to grow and improve himself.

Papa, is not a decent guy, and we also see him injecting El and Henry with needles.

So, what I’m saying is that this may be a hint to what happened to Will (in the 99/100 timeline). Lonnie is hinted to be a drug user, and it wouldn’t be far fetched to say he may have used IV drugs. Exposure to IV drugs is a way to transmit diseases, as blood may be exchanged through contaminated needles. Also, Lonnie has been hinted at, through subtext, to be a horrible monster. (<- click that link for a post about him.)

The “1/100” Timeline

The show itself is the 1 out of 100 timeline. It is the only one where Will was not kidnapped by his parent/guardian (Lonnie).

This means, it is the one where none of the tragic stuff ever happened, specifically to Will and Mike’s story at least. They may encounter challenges, but nothing they cannot overcome together, as a team.

1983: The Demogorgon got Will. He survives the horrors done to him in the Upside Down… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all, including flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the Mind Flayer’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to his reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up, and having to move away. Plus the Mind Flayer returns and reeks more havoc.

1986: He then moves to a pleasant place. Where things are sunny and warm. Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. Henry/1/Vecna. This opportunistic threat preys on the weak and begins to take over Hawkins.

1987-1989: Will is back in Hawkins and his ties to the Upside Down increase. He can’t shake it off as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). They eventually are able to stop the contamination of Hawkins, and save everyone. Will also realizes that he has developed superpowers from his time in the Upside Down, through his blood. Mike also develops superpowers, given to him by Will.

Okay… you might understand where I’m going with this but I still must warn you before reading the next part. It’s devastatingly tragic.

The “99/100” Timeline

(I’m probably wrong on some of these details but this is what I theorize thus far):

1983: Lonnie “got” Will (CSA). Will survives the horrors done to him by his father… but barely. He is taken to the hospital and heals from it all and from flu-like symptoms (cough, nausea/vomiting).

1984: Will suffers from flashbacks. He is also plagued with the nickname “Zombie Boy” and suffering from the flashbacks of his father’s possession of him. But with the love of his family, and Mike, is able to return back to reality.

1985: He then begins to struggle with the pressures of growing up. Plus the memories of Lonnie return and reek more havoc.

1986: Things on the surface seem happy and “normal” but there’s a looming threat hidden beneath the surface. HIV -> AIDS. Opportunistic infections slowly begin to prey on Will.

1987-?: Will can’t shake off colds and infections as easily as before. He also can’t shake off his love for Mike, who grows even closer to him. One thing leads to another and they become lovers (they have sex). Will soon discovers he has HIV/AIDS, which he had transmitted to Mike. Devastated by the news, they do everything they can to fight it together. They cope through creating a DnD campaign together to process everything they’ve gone through. They play DnD in Mike’s basement until Will’s condition becomes critical. Will is forced to stay in the hospital, while Mike is unable to visit (strict rules about visitation due to the disease and because they aren’t/cannot be considered legal partners). So, Mike does the only thing he can do: he writes letters to Will and continues the story. Mike eventually loses Will, for real this time. He’s devastated, and plagued with grief, depression, and survivor’s guilt. He didn’t complete their story in time. But his family and friends support him and encourage him to finish the story. To change the ending before his time runs out too. He completes their story himself, and reads his final letter to Will’s grave.

“anyway I think you’ll like [the ending]. sorry I couldn’t get it done [on time] but you mean so [much to me] and it’s been [so hard being without you] hope this is [enough to] last until [we meet again]. Love, [Mike].”

Attached to this letter is the full campaign. The full story of the show itself, which started on November 6th, 1983. He successfully turned back the clock, and changed their ending. They became superheroes within their story, saving Hawkins with their love. Mike dies soon after and we are met with…

Mike and Will reuniting within their own story. Blue meeting yellow at a gate, one final time, that leads “into the west”.

They continue their story and it’s a never ending story… Living on as heroes, forever and ever.

Some thoughts:

To simplify things, I didn’t include other characters much here but they likely all play an important role in the story. Many characters likely only exist within the mid layer (the 1/100 timeline).

I do think their story likely will be published, and this will be done by another character (my guess is Lucas). Their story will impact others profoundly, perhaps completely altering perspectives. This will lead towards positive change, and increase pressure for the development of a “cure”.

Lonnie obviously dies too, but we won’t see it. He’s significant but irrelevant. We don’t need to see him. Perhaps he rots in jail.

If characters like Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, and Hopper all exist within the outer layer (the 99/100 timeline) in a similar way, they too may be inflicted with HIV/AIDS. Remember, it wasn’t just gay men, everyone was affected by this awful epidemic.

The time period is super relevant in this story. There’s no way that HIV/AIDS will not play an important role. Think about it… it revolves around two gay boys growing up during that time. This epidemic was widespread and terrifying. Had they been born a decade later, there would have been treatments/“cures” accessible to them.

The biggest reason why I strongly believe this theory is because… this is basically the ending of Stranger Things season 1, on a much grander scale. Think about it. Mike changed the ending of the DnD campaign so Will could be a hero, not a victim. This was further established in the comics.

While Mike and Will within the outer layer (99/100) have a tragic ending, Mike and Will within the show (1/100) do not. They beat the odds. Although it is undeniably a tragic end, remember that somewhere out there Mike and Will are still playing DnD and Nintendo for the rest of their lives.

Free Will and Writing your Own Ending

Free will has always been a reoccurring theme within Stranger Things; meaning we can choose our own destiny, fight chance, and beat the odds.

Do we truly have free will though? Obviously, we don’t know. The point is, we should still live life as if we do have it. To take control where we can, and not let external forces dictate who we are and what our destiny is. I think that’s the message there.

[apoemaday]

Monet Refuses the Operation

by Lisel Mueller

Doctor, you say that there are no halos around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused by old age, an affliction. I tell you it has taken me all my life to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels, to soften and blur and finally banish the edges you regret I don’t see, to learn that the line I called the horizon does not exist and sky and water, so long apart, are the same state of being. Fifty-four years before I could see Rouen cathedral is built of parallel shafts of sun, and now you want to restore my youthful errors: fixed notions of top and bottom, the illusion of three-dimensional space, wisteria separate from the bridge it covers. What can I say to convince you the Houses of Parliament dissolve night after night to become the fluid dream of the Thames? I will not return to a universe of objects that don’t know each other, as if islands were not the lost children of one great continent. The world is flux, and light becomes what it touches, becomes water, lilies on water, above and below water, becomes lilac and mauve and yellow and white and cerulean lamps, small fists passing sunlight so quickly to one another that it would take long, streaming hair inside my brush to catch it. To paint the speed of light! Our weighted shapes, these verticals, burn to mix with air and changes our bones, skin, clothes to gases. Doctor, if only you could see how heaven pulls earth into its arms and how infinitely the heart expands to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

[oriria512]

Phainon x Reader

Angst (you dying lol)

Just a heads up i have yet to play the quest so if i'm off (which i assume that i am horribly) please tell me kindly in the comment 😭

What Phainon feared the most has arrived

Suddenly the world grew darker...

Suddenly the world grew smaller, as small as his silhouette

His shaking arms tightening around your body that's getting weaker as each gruesome second passes by

Kneeling down, he had you wrapped up in his lap, not even a millimetre seperating you and Phainon

He spoke amidst the flames and ruins,

"you know..."

Eyes growing tired, you looked up at his loving ones, your chest rising, huffing dangerously desperate, clinging to life, to him... Oh the things he'd do to peel your gaze off him at this moment, it was getting too much for him to bare but he dared not to avoid

"I wish you'd never met me" Phainon uttered painfully, his face contorts in agony seeing you like this with no way to save you from the greedy arms of death

"Keeping you all to myself was the first and only selfish act i regret, the life you could've had if i were to just let go"

Your words dying in your throat, it feels like you're about to pass out but you forced yourself not to give up just yet

Your wounds are gnawing on you less, the pain subsidizing as another grew in your chest

He knew you wouldn't be able to respond, hence why he's confessing everything to you now, especially now...

"I've lost you more than i can count ...the loop, i-"

his throat tightens, a hard tug strained his aching heart

Phainon's mind racing, his own body growing numb

You see, it was difficult for him, you have to understand you were his biggest weakness,

Seeing you after every resets made him feel alive again and he never wanted to let you slip away,

Even if it meant he had to face your inevitable fate

"I'm sorry...i'm so sorry i fell in love with you" tears finally rushes down the nameless hero's face, he leaned over pressing his forehead against yours and closed his eyes

There's so many things going through both of your minds, but ultimately, you shared the same vision

A parallel universe, where you fell in love as normal people, lived a normal life together, one where his only worries were what to have for dinner with you instead of having to shoulder the responsibilities of this title.

With your dying last breath, you only felt his love for you

You were content, happy to be his.

Your life flashing before your eyes, all the memories you shared. Never once had you wanted another, nor regret ever falling for him

... now, he's truely alone on this god forsaken planet.

[spidey-webs]

Scrolling through AO3 and saw something I wasn't expecting: Hal and Jason fics. And usually, the Jason Todd-ification of DC fandom is not my cup of tea. But. There's an interesting concept there. Just not one I've ever personally seen addressed.

And that's:

Hal actually fucking did it.

Every single thing Jason fantasized about at the height of his wrath? Hal actually did it. Hal killed his mentor and his tormentor, Sinestro, with his own hands. And he decimated the friends that didn't stop his tragedy, killed the comrades that didn't care for his grief, and reduced his all-mighty masters to nothing. He actually ripped Henshaw to shreds.

Hal is the dog that bit back. The dog that not only bit the hand that fed, but went for the throat next.

Hal is the League member that went bad. There's many parallels there to Jason's narrative, should one want to look for them.

Moreover, Hal's pain became a palpable, all-consuming thing that devoured everything. Hal's tragedy, his grief and his rage and his pain, was so great it caused a literal Crisis (the second crisis ever! Out of only seven!), tore reality apart, erased entire timelines. It had long-lasting effects on the entire universe for years to come. (On a more personal note for Jason: It hurt Batman. On a deep, psychological level.)

It mattered.

But it also did not help. It didn't make Hal feel better. It didn't fix anything, despite how desperately Hal believed it would. It, in fact, made everything worse. Hal regretted all of it.

And I think Jason Todd reckoning with that tale would actually be a genuinely interesting way to explore his character.

I'm not caught up enough to know whether these two characters have ever interacted in canon, but I think I'm well-read enough to say: probably not. And if they did, probably only superficially.

But I think there is room for a very interesting conversation between these two characters.

Hal being basically the embodiment of Vengeance for a time is also an interesting element, if the timelines were shifted around so that Jason crawled out the grave before Hal's rebirth. Like. There's a foundation for one hell of an interesting dynamic here.

[mariacallous]

When I share now that I voted for Trump in 2016, it drops like a bomb every time. People who didn’t know me then are shocked because it feels aggressively counter to every value I hold now. People who did know me then just never clocked me as particularly Republican, and so even “voting for the platform” doesn’t quite explain what I did because was I ever so against abortion?

When I told my therapist a few weeks ago, she gasped and immediately asked me, “Why?” The truth of the moment of decision is not particularly interesting or compelling. “I was told I had to,” feels cheap and off-kilter. My understanding of that political era is so different now than it was then that it is hard for me to access my actual beliefs from that time. What did I truly believe about Hillary Clinton? How little did I think about my decision as my own before I cast it on a ballot? Most of my close white evangelical friends sat the election out because they said they just couldn’t vote for him, and they couldn’t vote for her. How, then, had I reconciled the cognitive dissonance that was voting for Donald Trump?

The short answer is, I didn’t. The longer one is that two primary impulses compelled me to my vote: the desire to stay loved and the desire to stay close to whiteness — both repackaged as a desire to please God. I didn’t believe Trump would get me any closer to these things, but I thought compliance might. I don’t know what I really believed about the stakes of that election or the platforms of the candidates (though my body gave me signs I had betrayed myself immediately after I voted), but I do know that I truly believed that the church was the reigning authority on love. This belief, paired with my pleasing tendencies and my insecurities, made me incredibly susceptible to the church’s ideological mandates. I felt like I had snuck into the group and had so much to lose. I wanted to stay trusted and to be seen as good, and I believed them when they told me how to do it.

I wonder sometimes how long it would have taken me to get here had Trump not won the election in 2016. My story of regret is not unique and neither is it noble. I allied with whiteness until it had nothing left to offer me. I was swayed by the church’s authority on love not because of how I hoped the church might dispense love to others but because of how I hoped it might dispense love to me.

I still live in the same small, white, churched town in West Virginia. Everyone I love either loves someone who voted for Trump or is someone who voted for Trump. I worry that there is a parallel universe in which I did again, too — in which I am a completely different person because I remained allied with power.

I have laid down much at the altar of white supremacy, but if Trump’s first term gave me nothing else, it gave me an ultimatum. I am not grateful to have made the mistake of voting for Donald Trump in 2016, and I am not grateful for anything that has come from his politics or his presence, but I am grateful for the other side of a crisis point.

I Voted For Trump In 2016. When He Won, I Was Shocked By How Brutally My Life Changed Overnight.