#piloting it for five minute in a desperate attempt to help save the world

[operation-619]

Satan’s Angel

Johnny Storm x WOC!Reader

Summary: She was hidden from the world at the age of 16 when something within her awoke. Something demonic. But she has her brother to hold onto when things start to get worse, because he’s there for her. Right?

warnings: language, blood, violence, mentions of medical problems. mentions of needles, abuse and torture. 18+

WC: 2.2K

masterlist I Chapter 2

So I wrote this ack in my Quotev days, and I decided to edit it - because it was atrociously written. And I’m now posting it on here so I hope you enjoy my loves 

-619x

The world has never been in my favour, I realise that now.

I should’ve realised it years ago.

But standing here looking my estranged brother in the eyes; I finally realise that the world has led me on a path that had to end this way, no matter how hard I tried to swerve and dodge the upcoming circumstance, I would always end up staring at my brothers empty eyes, with my hand deep in his chest.

Killing him. Killing my brother.

She sat there, waiting for the pain to embrace her like a long-lost cousin. She knew it was time; her heart was spasming, she could hardly breathe. Her eyes were watery, tears sliding down her face.

Yet she sat there at the edge of her bed staring out the window that occupied the whole wall opposite her bed. She could see the mountains from her bed so clearly. It was as if she was there.

If she was there.

Her chest moved erratically, her cheeks soaked with tears, yet she sat calmly; pondering, wondering, daydreaming about a life outside these four walls that kept her trapped in her own mind.

A mind that kept her sane and crazy all at the same time. She would dream up stories of a handsome young prince saving her with a fiery kiss. Or most times it was a nightmare, a world made of purple skies and vibrant green grass, set aflame; with bodies lying across the ground as she ran with some man, her hand in his so he wouldn’t lose her, the other hand on her belly housing a precious creature. She never got the end of the nightmare because she would wake up just before a monster jumped on top of her.

She would always jolt up, sweat weighing heavy on her skin, a scream rising up her throat along with bile and the feeling on nostalgia. She hated how she knew the place she was dreaming of yet couldn’t place a finger on it.

Before she could ponder anymore, she felt the first flicker of pain, it started at the bottom of her spine, and oh-so painfully started to spread across the rest of her rigid body. She drew in a ragged breath as the pain wrapped a hand around her heart and squeezed. She clenched her eyes shut tight and tried soothe her breathing, but the hand around her heart squeezed harder. She gasped out in pain and rolled forward; landing on the floor on her knees as her hand started to scrape at her chest, desperately trying to remove the hand off of her heart. It was as if it was laughing at her attempts because next thing she knew, the hand squeezed so hard she fell forward onto her hand and screamed.

She screamed so loudly, black dots clouded her vision and danced around her. Her throat felt sore, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her body shook as sobs replaced the screaming in a matter of seconds. She hated this, for the past eight years it just seems to be getting worse. Ever since she surpassed her sixteenth birthday, all it has ever been was pain, pain and pain. It was tenfold as worse as it used to be. Before her sixteenth birthday it was like a build up to the pain she was feeling now. Minor headaches, to migraines, to temperatures either too hot or too cold. No one knew what was wrong with her. Not even the best doctors’ money could buy. And if it wasn’t for Victor she wouldn’t be here, with round the clock care to make sure she is okay, she knew that he loved her even though he wasn’t around as much as he used to be. She knew.

Of course, he loves you. Your all he’s got, and vice-versa.

The thoughts echoed around her head, bouncing painfully off her head.

The vibrations of the floor let her know that the people were on their way.  Moments later she felt her body being lifted from the floor, she felt herself slump against the broad chest of some man, she given up fighting against the pain and just let it take over her system. She couldn’t stop the tears, the echoed the lack of control she had over her own body as the gushed down her paling face.

“Hush now, close your eyes. I’ve got you.” The deep voice vibrated through her body, it felt oddly familiar and through all the pain she managed to look up into the familiar blue eyes of her brother.

“Vic- “her words fell short as she lost the energy to speak, instead she used all her energy to place her hand onto his smooth cheek.

“Hush, it’s okay. I’m here now.” With that statement she let her eyes roll to the back of her head, as the pain drowned her in its last tidal wave.

  Victor released a long ‘huff’ as he stopped at another traffic light. He regretted coming back to New-York at 14:00 pm when the streets would be busy with the afternoon rush. He rhythmically tapped his fingers against the arms rest and looked on through the divider, he smirks as he saw his driver’s hand gripping the wheel tightly out of frustration too.

His attention was quickly drawn to his phone when he heard the ringtone brake through the silence in the car; reaching into his jacket he removed his phone from the inside pocket of his black Louis Vuitton suit jacket.

‘Her vitals are erratic again; she’s going to go into Comatose. But I think it’s best if you came over. You can get the samples you need.’

The text message was all he needed for him to clear his throat and say;

“Michael, turn back around to the airport, please. We’re going to visit my sister.” With a nod from Michael, the car was swiftly turned around and quickly driven back to the airport. He sent a text to his pilot, telling him to ready the helicopter that will bring him to the facility he has in the Alps, which is coincidentally where he is keeping his sister.

Victors blue eyes grew stormy as he remembered how much pain his sister has been through in the past few years, the undiagnosed tantrums her body would throw sent his sister into an unbreakable cycle of pain and then unconsciousness. He knew deep down that one day she’ll have an episode that she won’t concur.

He remembers the first time it happened; he was stepping through his front door. He barley even had time to take his jacket off before he heard a scream that made his blood curl, rushing upstairs he was met with a sight that had the breath taken out of him, there hunched on the bed was his sister.

Head clasped between her hands, nails digging into her skin as if she was trying to peel her own skin off, her lower face was covered in blood from her nose, and her eyes were screaming for help, for an escape that she was so desperately seeking.

Victor rushed forward and attempted to prise her hands off her head. But was met with a force that had him crashing into wall next to the door. He looked up and saw his sister looking at him with unnatural black eyes and a hand pointed towards him with her palm open. Her eyelids fluttered before they were back to their normal hue.

“Help me…” her voice came out hoarse and timid before she convulsed onto the ground.

Surging forward Victor managed to catch her head just in time before it hit the corner of the bed frame. His vision was blurry as he looked at his sister, her head cradled in his lap as he tried to steady her from the excessive shaking.

His ears picked up the sirens and then the sound of the door getting thrown open as paramedics came rushing upstairs.

Yet he couldn’t move, his body wasn’t registering what was actually happening.  

Their voices all became mumbled as he watched them pry her out of his grip, he tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move it just stayed there, hanging open like a fool.

He continued to stare at the group of paramedics struggling to hold his sister still as he felt two pairs of hands under his arms to haul him up.

‘Come on son.’ The voice sounded so distant and foreign to him as he let the two strangers support his weight as it appeared his own legs couldn’t do that. He hazily watched as the world around him moved without some much of a struggle. Next thing he knew he was sat on the curb with a blanket wrapped around him. Apparently for the shock.

Fuck that.

His head snapped to the side as he heard the shouting of the paramedics as the rushed his unconscious sister out of the house; one split off from the group and came over to him.

“Are you the boyfriend?” Victor shook his head, eyes trained on his sisters’ body being hauled into the back of the ambulance.

“Brother,” he managed to rasp out.

“Okay then that’s even better. Can you tell me anything about her?” His eyes stayed trained on his sister as the paramedics sorted her out in the back, the doors were wide open so he could see what they were doing.

“Yeah, yeah.” He numbly nodded. Half listening to what the man was saying.

“Any mental illness, inherited disorders from the family?” Victor continued to shake his head; the man continued asking questions, but they all had the same answer. A shake of the head from Victor Von-Doom.

“Okay can you tell me how old she is?” Victor looked down at his Rolex, his eyebrows furrowed in sadness when he realised what day it was. The watch read back 03:45am.

“October 31st, she turned sixteen forty-five minutes ago.” He finally looked over at the paramedic and noticed how young he really was, said paramedics face contorted into a look of unease. Victor sent him a look of confusion which lead to the boy looking away.

“Sorry sir, it’s just three am is considered the ‘witching hour’ in my religion, and it clashes with it being Halloween today as well- ‘the paramedic turned around and noticed the look on Victors face and cleared his throat- ‘Sorry sir. Happy birthday to her, you can ride with her if you wish.”

And with that the young boy scurried off.

Looking out the window, Victor noticed they were about to touch down on the landing pad. Exhaling unsteadily, he rolled his shoulders back preparing himself what was to come.

If only he knew.

  The steady, rhythmic beeping of the EKG machine soothed Victors heart as he stood by the window and looked out onto the scenery that was suspiciously calming. Now he understood why his sister made him replace the tiny window for this huge one. It was once a wall, but with the extra light and the view it made the room less constricting, less likely of a panic attack for her.

“Hey.” The soft voice barley reached his ears, but he heard it and he couldn’t be happier. Spinning around he marched to her side and plonked himself down onto the chair that he’d been sat in for the past fourteen hours.

“Name?”

“(Y/N) Von-Doom. Victor?”

“No, Birthday?” “Monday, October Thirty-first, three am. Victor please.”

“Favourite person in the world?”

“Steve Harvey.”

“Hey, what happened to it being me”

“You wouldn’t shut up. Your making my head hurt Victor.” She raised a hand to rub her temple, only to hiss in pain as her muscles burned. Tears clouded her vison as she remembered what happened.

“Did anyone get hurt?” She was met with a ‘no’ from her brother. She mumbled a response that Victor couldn’t hear. He watched her as she looked out the window; eyes glassed over and distant, like she was somewhere else.

“I can’t do this anymore,” her voice was quiet, lacking emotion. It caused Victors heart to beat faster. He couldn’t let her go. Not now.

“(Y/N)?”

“I mean, here. Here in this room. Because these episodes are getting stronger, I can feel it. I probably won’t survive the next one. Or fuck, the one after that. Who knows Victor. I need to leave, get out of here. I don’t care where, I just need to leave.” Her sobs grew louder as did the EKG machine, he tried to soothe her, but it only grew worse.

Doctors and nurse appeared in a matter of minutes, they checked the vitals and the machine only to see her hysterically crying.

“Ma’am, you need to calm down for me please.” The nurse’s voice was sweet, almost taunting to (Y/N). She sighed when the girls crying grew louder. Nodding towards the older man in a pair of grey scrubs she quickly caught (Y/N)’s attention as the Doctor came forward and injected her with a mild sedative.

With in seconds the room grew quite as they all watched (Y/N)’s eyes close slowly.

Just before she went completely under; Victor cupped her cheek.

“I need you. So, I promise I’ll find out what’s going on. You’ll get out of here soon. I promise.”

He watched her eyes close completely and looked out of the window, leaning back against the chair he spoke one last time before closing his eyes:

“I promise.”

——

Chapter 2

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #46

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @janetm74 who actually asked for ‘Thunderbirds, 31′ but 31 isn’t TAG so we’ve got the closest TAG one instead. (top tip: wips are mostly arranged alphabetically by fandom and the TAG wips are 46-59!)

It was really only a matter of time before someone hit Scott!whump, wasn’t it?  Snippets of this one have actually appeared in previous ask games, so you get the whole thing this time (because I don’t remember which bits I’ve already posted).  Fun fact: this was my first attempt at Virgil’s PoV!

There was always something wrong about Scott in Thunderbird Two.  Of all the Tracys, he was the least likely to travel in the green behemoth that was, in Virgil’s private opinion, the heart of International Rescue.

And yes, that included John.

Gordon was his co-pilot, his wingman, his back-up.  For all that the aquanaut was, well, an aquanaut, there was honestly no-one else Virgil would rather behind the controls of his beloved girl if he was needed elsewhere. Heavy lifting, or – his least favourite – medical duties could sometimes pull him elsewhere, and in those moments his immediate brother would take the helm with a joking smile but steady hands that would never let anything befall Two (if only, he thought from time to time, because without Two Four would be grounded).

Alan was all nervous energy, a genius pilot but too cocky for Virgil to ever be truly relaxed when Two was in his hands, but it was far from uncommon for his youngest brother to be perched behind him, screens and panels showing readout after readout as he assessed situations and started remote assembly of pods when time was particularly of the essence.  Sometimes, often, he knew Alan desired the speed of One, but he also liked his comfort and short of pulling Three’s own seats into One (a feat done once, never repeated), there was no comfort as a passenger of their first response craft. Or even as the pilot, in Virgil’s opinion.

John was an unusual passenger, unlikely to be Earthside for a mission – and even if he was, quickly wrapping things up and ascending back to the lofty heights of Five and the world at his fingertips – but when he was Earthside, well, Thunderbird Two was his ship of choice.  He didn’t pilot her, for all that he was trained, but no matter what Scott would mutter, John was stubborn about always using Two to get to the danger zone.  Something about reckless flying and too much gravity. Virgil couldn’t truly say he understood, because John’s aversion to gravity had never been a point in common between them, but he did at least appreciate that Thunderbird One was fast, and generated far more Gs than any atmosphere-bound craft had any right to make.

Statistically speaking, Scott did travel in Two more than John did, but as he didn’t spend over three hundred days in the year off planet, Virgil wasn’t quite so fussed on the literal numbers.  Scott in Two always, always meant something was wrong.  Maybe One was out of action (again) but Scott wanted to be on the rescue anyway.  Maybe the world was conspiring against them, and Scott just wanted to be with his brothers rather than haring off at triple their speed and leaving them alone and vulnerable (Virgil knew that really One was more vulnerable than Two, although his eldest brother could never see it that way).

Or maybe, the worst wrong of all that always lined Virgil’s stomach with lead and dried up all the saliva in his mouth, Scott wasn’t fit to fly.

John was hovering, holographic form always a little too dull to accurately capture his brother’s vibrancy. Gordon had flight control, gloved hands firmly on the yoke as though he was her designated pilot.  Alan had co-pilot, booted feet reaching the floor with little difficulty nowadays – he would out-grow Gordon soon – as he flicked switches in uncharacteristic silence.

Virgil was in the medbay, scanner clutched in his hands like a lifeline as it told him nothing that he wanted to hear, and many things that he didn’t.

Scott was in the medbay, doing nothing.

Danger dogged their steps with every rescue.  They knew that – had always known it, even before the Zero-X blew their father sky-high as he tried to save the world – but it never made it any easier when it got closer than normal.

As normal for them was less than a second’s escape – buildings collapsing the moment their trailing foot left the threshold, planes erupting into fireballs the instant they leapt clear – closer was barely possible.  Closer was a Thunderbird coming home with deep gouges.  Closer was broken bones and terrorised faces.

Closer was their eldest brother lying motionless in his ‘bird’s medbay because it had taken thirteen minutes to find him after the snow roared down.

Avalanches were a messy business.  Survival rates were low, some of the worst odds International Rescue ever faced, and there was no denying that their own past experience did nothing to help whenever John uttered the word in a brief.  This one shouldn’t have been too bad, as far as snow monsters went.  Out of season, with few people in the huts that dotted the lower reaches of the slopes and fewer still outside.  Ten people were reported missing.

They found nine, all fortunate and breathing, before the second one struck.

Alan had been in Thunderbird Two, holding her steady in the air because the large Thunderbird would have done more harm than good if she’d landed and providing a much-needed birds’ eye view of the danger zone.  It had been entirely due to the combined information from him and John that had let them find the nine lucky people so quickly.

Gordon had been on triage in the hut deemed safest in the event of a second avalanche.  Virgil had just reached him with rescuee number nine when it had struck.

Scott had been heading up the slope, travelling scant inches above the snow via jetpack, searching for person number ten.  One’s drones had been with him, scanning furiously even as John hijacked them to give Five even more data than the space station had already obtained from other means. Those same drones had given them a glimpse of blue, grey and white all jumbled together before going dark.

It took two minutes for Virgil and Gordon to force their way out of the semi-buried but still standing hut. One more for Alan to configure a pod and tentatively lower it from the module even as they realised their original one would take too long to excavate from the snow.  In those three minutes, John had triangulated all the data he could amass from Five to provide the most viable search area.

Five minutes to find a body, cold to the touch.  Rescue number ten had never stood a chance.  Face down and neck broken, he would have been killed almost instantly during the original avalanche.

Fifteen minutes was the time limit.  Nine people had already defied it, surviving anything between half an hour and an hour under the snow before International Rescue reached the scene and dug them out. The Tracy family never had that much luck, and an avalanche was their own personal hell.  They knew, in that cold-fist-closing-around-their-hearts way, that Scott would not be number ten.

Twelve minutes and the pod’s heat sensors showed yellow-green in a sea of blue.

Thirteen minutes and their eyes showed them blue in a sea of white.

Scott had been wearing his helmet when the avalanche struck.  As Virgil knelt to ease his limp, cold, but breathing body from the frigid prison, he’d thanked their parents for that fact silently but profusely.  Still intact, the helmet had stopped snow clogging his airways, and had enough of an air supply to stop Scott from suffocating to death in the thirteen torturously long minutes it had taken them to find him.

In the medbay, scan finished, Virgil finally removed the life-saving gear.  The detached feedback from the scan told him as much, but he sighed resignedly when there was no response.  Scott didn’t gasp dramatically as his recycled air supply was replaced with the real deal, nor did lightly closed eyes snap open.

“How is he?” John asked unnecessarily as Virgil’s hand lingered under brown hair longer than strictly necessary after lowering the now helmetless head back down onto the stretcher.

“Cold.”  Virgil humoured him, knowing full well that John had been desperately analysing the results of the scan as they occurred. Their suits were well designed for the varied environments they found themselves in, and while Scott had shown up far, far too cold in their initial search for him, as soon as they’d got him into the security of Thunderbird Two the hint of a shiver had taken hold and Gordon had encouraged it with a single blanket.

Scott’s uniform was somewhere in the middle as far as easy to remove International Rescue uniforms went. While Gordon and John’s specialist environments necessitated almost vacuum-tight uniforms, and Virgil and Alan had heavy-duty but therefore less clingy attire, Scott wore a streamlined flight suit that didn’t adhere precisely to his body but wasn’t exactly loose either.  Still, the zip tugged down easily enough and Virgil manipulated his rag doll of an eldest brother out of the tough material delicately before clearing away any leftover snow trying to chill him further and cradling him in blankets.

John watched in an agitated silence, the distance between their physical bodies never so apparent as when one of them was hurt and he was twenty two and a half thousand miles away. Sooner rather than later, Virgil knew the space elevator would be docking at Tracy Island, but before John could leave Five he needed to get One nestled back safely in her hanger.

The Thunderbird had escaped the avalanche by never landing, set to an autopilot hover by Scott upon his arrival to the danger zone because despite being smaller than Two, her VTOL posed just as much of a risk to the stability of the snow.  With Gordon at the helm of Two, and a universal desire for the whole family to be together landing Alan in the co-pilot seat rather than their brother’s Thunderbird, it was up to John to remote pilot her home.

Hypothermia was not the only issue Scott had been hit with by the avalanche.  None of them had done the exact calculations – John might have done, but if he had he hadn’t shared them – but Scott had been swept a fair distance by the sheer might of the snow and the journey had been far from smooth. Something had knocked him out in the tumble – what, Virgil couldn’t begin to decipher – and while his ribs were miraculously okay, thanks to the support of his flight suit, his left arm was bent awkwardly.  Already, beneath the blankets, his skin was blossoming in the reds and purples of early bruising.

“Any change?” Alan asked, his hologram flickering into existence beside John’s.  Gordon was just visible at the edge of the projection.

“He’s warming up,” Virgil assured them, eyes never leaving his eldest brother as shivers slowly intensified.  “No sign of consciousness, though.”  He leant forwards, running his hands gently through gelled hair.  The scan didn’t indicate a concussion to accompany the rest of Scott’s injuries, but with no evidence for why he was remaining unconscious barring the hypothermia itself, Virgil needed a more hands’ on check to reassure himself that there would be no further complications.

“We’re almost home,” Gordon chipped in.  “Make sure you’re both ready for the landing.”

“F.A.B.”

Securing Scott was easy, straps looping over him and cinching tight but not too tight against the stretcher.  The temptation to stay standing beside him, watching like a hawk for any sign of change – good or otherwise – was strong, but John made a small noise in the back of his throat and Virgil forced himself to take the two paces away from the stretcher and collapse into a fold-out seat.

“Thunderbird One has landed,” the astronaut informed him, and Virgil managed something that was almost a smile.

“See you soon,” he said, and John returned the almost-smile before floating with purpose.  With the limitations of the holograms, it was difficult to tell where he was headed, but Virgil knew there was only one place John wanted to be.

Their landing was soft, softer than Gordon had ever managed before, and Virgil shot out of his chair and back to Scott’s side as soon as he felt the wheels connect solidly with the runway. The touchdown had done nothing to disturb him, eyes still softly closed. His skin was pale, and the shivering was still gaining in intensity, but Scott’s face was as peaceful as Virgil had seen it since the Zero-X.

He pulled the scanner back out, running another one just for something to do as Gordon taxied them back into the hangar.  Scott’s temperature had risen marginally, still too cold but headed in the right direction.  He adjusted the blankets cocooning him as Thunderbird Two finished her rotation and the hydraulics either side of the module whirred into action, raising the body of the craft.

Someone had remembered to call ahead – a flash of guilt coursed through Virgil as he realised that should have been his job – because as the module door lowered, letting in the orange flickering light that indicated mechanical movement in the hangar, Grandma was standing there, arms crossed and finger tapping nervously. She didn’t wait for the door to finish lowering, jumping into the module as soon as she could and heading straight for them.

“What happened?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him firmly for a moment before taking the final step to Scott’s side and tutting at the results of the scan.

“Avalanche,” Virgil responded, even though he knew she knew.  Old hands that had yet to lose most of their dexterity pulled at the blankets, exposing Scott’s throat enough for her to press two fingers to his pulse. “Nine survivors, one fatality.”

“Broken arm and extensive bruising,” she mused, light fingers dancing over her eldest grandson’s body as she confirmed the scanner’s results for herself.  “His suit protected him from the worst of it.  Let’s get him inside.”  Virgil nodded, reaching out to activate the hover jets on the underside of the stretcher before releasing the clasps that held it to the wall.  Hurried footsteps indicated the arrival of his younger brothers, finished with their flight checks and anxious to see their eldest brother.

“Is he awake yet?” Alan asked, blue eyes filled with hope.  Virgil shook his head as Gordon placed a hand on the youngest’s shoulder.

“Your brother will be fine,” Grandma assured them all before he could find the words to explain Scott’s condition.  “A little battered and bruised, and rather cold, but some rest and home cooking will sort him right out, you’ll see.”

Gordon’s mutter that home cooking would do more harm than good wasn’t as quiet as he’d clearly intended, but Grandma ignored the slight as she put a firm hand on the hovering stretcher and started to guide it towards the house.  Virgil paused, checking his two younger brothers over thoroughly.  Alan was pale, shaken at the sight of Scott’s limp body, while Gordon headed over to the discarded uniform and picked it up.

“He’ll be alright,” he told them.  Both nodded sharply.  “John’s coming down; Alan, why don’t you go meet him?”

Neither asked why John was coming down if Scott was going to be fine.  It was a much appreciated fact that sometimes a hologram wasn’t enough for reassurance, and none of them would ever begrudge John the chance to be there in person.  Alan nodded again and left.

“I’ll clear up here,” Gordon said.  He was feeding the damp uniform through his hands, most likely unconsciously.  Damp, half-melted snow littered the module, and the remaining pod.  “Go help Grandma.”

Virgil didn’t protest, although he gave Gordon a final look over before turning to leave his ‘bird. They all needed to feel useful, finding something to do while they waited for Scott to wake up.  He would have cleaned his ‘bird himself, but Gordon’s order had been a hidden plea: I want you with Scott.

“I want her spotless,” he said instead, and Gordon laughed.

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed. “Now go help Grandma keep Scott in bed.” Because that was going to be the hardest task of all.  None of the Tracys made for a good patient, but Scott was the undisputed worst patient of all.  Alan and Gordon would try for subtle, the elder blond with more success, escape attempts made when they were left alone for too long.  John hid in Five, well-practiced in manipulating holograms to make him appear healthier than he actually was – although the arrival of EOS had put a stop to that particular trick.  It was the thing that had finally got her into Scott’s good books.  Virgil himself knew that he gave his brothers a little too much grief, largely because he knew how to treat his own ailments better than they did.

Scott didn’t bother with subtlety.  The moment their backs were turned, and sometimes not even then, he would be forcing himself up and out of bed, determined to carry on working no matter what. He’d never been a good patient, but it had only worsened since their Dad’s crash.  Knowing why didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Not bothering to change out of his uniform, he ran after Grandma and the stretcher, catching up with them just outside the infirmary doors.  Scott was still unconscious, a fact that bothered him considering there was no sign of injury that would cause it, but it made transferring him from the stretcher to the soft bed far easier.  A pile of warm blankets were gently tucked around him, mindful of the broken arm.

As Grandma fussed with an IV line, more a precaution than a necessity, Virgil turned his attention to the limb.  It was a clean break, simple enough to reset and splint.  Scott let out a noise of complaint as the bones were dragged back into place, and both he and Grandma immediately looked at him.  Brow furrowed, hazed blue eyes flickered open.

“Scott?”

“Vrrgg?” his eldest brother slurred, eyes slowly focusing on him. “Whh..?”

“We’re home,” Virgil told him, resting a hand on the blankets over where Scott’s right shoulder was buried.  “The rescue’s over.”

Scott blinked at him slowly, the haze of confusion not quite leaving his eyes.

“Rsscu?”

“Let’s focus on getting you warmed up for now, Scott,” Grandma cut in, smoothing his hair back gently. She gestured sharply with her other hand – hidden from Scott’s view – to the reset arm.  Virgil took the hint, returning to strap it up, knowing that he’d need to mix up a proper cast for it if he wanted any chance of it healing properly with Scott’s reluctance to rest of any length of time.

“Buh-”

Scott’s protest was cut off by the door slamming open, the pitter-patter of Alan’s booted feet flying into the room.  Behind him, at a more sedate pace, John followed, turquoise eyes raking over the scene in front of him sharply.

“Is he awake?” Alan asked, skidding to a stop by the bed.  “Scott?”

“Ara?” Scott started. Virgil lunged up to stop him as he made his first attempt to get up.

“No, Scott,” he said firmly. “You’re still too cold.”  Scott didn’t fight him, a sign that he was still confused.  It didn’t go unnoticed by either Alan or John, the former losing his smile and the latter narrowing his eyes for a moment.

“Go get yourselves changed,” Grandma told them.  “He’ll still be here when you come back.”  Hoping she wasn’t including him in that order, Virgil busied himself with fussing over Scott, fixing the blankets he’d dislodged and hushing any attempts to ask about the rescue.

“It’s over,” he repeated as his two brothers left the room with orders from Grandma to also locate Gordon and make sure he got changed, too.  “Stay still.”

“Virgil,” Grandma warned, and his shoulder slumped.  “You too, young man.  You’re still wearing some of the snow.”

He hadn’t noticed, but when she mentioned it he realised that the creases of his uniform still carried damp white.

“I won’t be long,” he promised Scott, who looked at him with wide blue eyes.  They reminded Virgil of Alan.  Usually it was Alan who reminded him of Scott; he didn’t like it the other way around.  “I’ll bring you back a drink.  Think you can manage that?”

“Drrnk?”

Virgil sighed, and turned to Grandma.

“I’ll bring him something,” he told her and she nodded with a tired smile.

“You do that,” she said. “Now go get out of that wet uniform before you catch a chill, too!”

With a last look at his brother, still too pale but thankfully shivering properly at last, he forced himself to leave the room.

When it came to Grandma, there were fights that could not be won, and unspoken orders to be heeded nonetheless.  It was not as simple as tugging off his uniform, throwing on some casual clothes and running back into the infirmary with a warm, sugary drink in hand served with a straw to sip it with, so he begrudgingly threw himself under a hot shower, allowing his own body to warm up after too long in the snow himself, albeit not buried like his big brother.  Still, a shower did not have to be long to be effective, even if he would usually take the time to let his muses grow amongst the gentle hiss of pouring water, and within five minutes he was thoroughly warm and worming his way into clean clothes.  A quick blow with his hair dryer got the worst of the water out of his hair, but he forwent the gel to return it to its usual style.  Certain younger brothers might have a field day about his hair not being carefully sculpted, but a certain hypothermic older brother was worth a little bit of pride.

John had beaten him to the kitchen, a hot squash – blackcurrant and apple, from Scott’s personal stash – steaming on the counter.  Virgil glanced around the room to make sure nothing was broken.

“You haven’t taken it in?” he asked, wrapping a hand around the container.  It was almost hot to the touch.  John shrugged.

“I’d drop it,” he said, plucking a blue straw from the collection in the cupboard and neatly dropping it into the top of the cup.  Virgil couldn’t disagree with the possibility and scooped it up, straw bobbing in the dark liquid, before continuing on to the infirmary.

Alan and Gordon were there, both out of uniform as per Grandma’s orders, and trying to get a laugh out of Scott, if their antics were anything to go by.  Scott himself, Virgil was pleased to see, appeared less confused than when he’d left.

“I have a drink for you,” he announced, passing it to Grandma as he perched on the bed by Scott. “Think you can manage some sips?” Scott was still shivering but managed a grateful smile.

“Will i’ tas’e goo’?” he asked, still too cold to pronounce his words properly.  Virgil gently brought the head of the bed up slightly before propping Scott up in a more upright position with the use of many pillows. Gordon helpfully readjusted the blankets as Alan crawled onto the bottom of the bed.

“It’s from your own stash,” he promised, taking it back from Grandma and holding the straw to his lips. “John made it hot, so be careful.”

“’M alway’ ca’ful.” Scott mumbled the biggest lie Virgil had ever heard before accepting the straw and taking a sip.

“If you say so,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help keep him in place as he drank.  He was still cool to the touch, despite the blankets wrapped around him firmly.

Scott hissed as the liquid entered his mouth, and Virgil tightened his grip even as he rolled his eyes.

“I warned you,” he said lightly, as John entered the room and perched on the end of the bed, watching Scott carefully.  Scott took another sip, more cautiously the second time.

...tbc one day..?

[razieltwelve]

Old Friend (The Vestige)

"Is it strange that he feels like family after all these years?” Lightning asked Fang.

The other woman followed her gaze to Odin. The Eidolon had played a pivotal role in both Breach Wars, and he continued to serve as humanity took its first, tentative steps into the stars. Mastering Breach technology had not only allowed humanity to defeat the Makers, the alien race behind the fal’Cie, it had also allowed them to develop far more advanced technologies in countless areas.

It turned out that being able to warp space and time on a colossal scale was a Rosetta Stone of sorts to all kinds of things. Who’d have thought the humanity’s greatest triumph would come from its darkest hour? Vanille had certainly found it ironic, especially when they’d gotten access to even more technology after essentially looting the burnt out ruins of the Makers’ civilisation. They hadn’t built a big enough bomb the first time around. They hadn’t made that mistake again.

“I don’t think so,” Fang replied. “He’s been around for even longer than you’ve known me. He’s saved the world at least twice, not to mention all the other things he’s accomplished over the years.” Her voice softened. “He kept the kids safe too.”

“All those missions,” Lightning murmured. “And he always brought them back.”

“Yeah. I’m still amazed you managed to talk the world out of putting him in a museum.”

“Soldiers are meant to fight,” Lightning said quietly. “And Odin is a soldier, maybe the best we’ve ever had. We’ve asked so many things of him over the years.” She could remember begging him to move when she’d been forced to solo pilot him near the end of the First Breach War. With the damage to her brain, he shouldn’t have moved, but something in the machine had heard her, some ghost, some lingering neural impression she and Serah had left behind. And Odin had answered. “He’s always been up to the task.”

“It makes you wonder if there’s something alive in there, doesn’t it?” Fang had asked Vanille about, but the other woman had always given her a secretive smile. There was a reason, Vanille had said, that they’d never replaced the Eidolon’s neural interface. If there was a ghost in the machine, that’s where it would live. 

“I wonder if he’ll miss me,” Lightning whispered. “When I’m gone.”

Fang’s hands tightened around the handles of Lightning’s wheel chair. “Don’t say that.”

Lightning chuckled softly. “We both know it won’t be long now.” She looked back at Fang. “Sixty-five years, Fang. That’s a lot longer than I thought I would have.” Her lips twitched. “Nora was amazed I made it to forty with all the brain damage I’ve got. I can’t exactly complain about sixty-five, all things considered.”

Fang wanted to rage about how unfair it was, but she knew that Lightning was right. Lightning should have died years ago. That she’d lasted this long was a testament to her sheer stubbornness. Lightning had never been quite right after piloting Odin for the last time, but she’d held on. The kids and the Second Breach War had given her a second wind of sorts. She couldn’t die while the girls still needed her, and she couldn’t die while the world was still in peril.

But the girls were all grown up now, and the Second Breach War was over.

“You’ve given so much,” Fang said. “Why couldn’t the world have given you a bit more time?”

Lightning leaned back and closed her eyes. She tired much more easily these days. It was why she’d asked Fang to take her to see Odin. He was back on Earth for a full maintenance and review. It would be years most likely before he came back again, and she doubted she’d still be around when he did. This was probably the last time she’d ever see him.

“The Eidolon Program takes, Fang. That’s what it does. It took my leg from me, and it’s taken years of my life from me too. But it gives as well. I’d never have met you without the Eidolon Program, and I’d never have gotten to pilot without it either. Maybe I’m just being foolish, but I don’t think I’d change anything that happened. It... it wasn’t easy, the path I’ve walked, but it’s one I’m content with, one I can be proud of. And I got to walk it with you and all the others. I’m glad for that.”

“It’s like you’re saying goodbye,” Fang said.

“Maybe I am.” Lightning’s lips curled. “And when I do go, can you please stop them from doing some stupid like naming a planet after me?”

Fang laughed, and if there were some tears mixed in, Lightning was kind enough not to say anything. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises. You’re the Grand Marshal. Heck, they still haven’t nominated another since you stepped down. Hope calls himself the High Marshal instead since he doesn’t think he can live up to the standard you set.”

“That kid...” Lightning shook her head fondly. Hope wasn't a kid anymore. He hadn’t been one in a long time. But there was a part of her that would always remember him as that skinny young man trying desperately to live up to his father’s legacy never realising that he was well on his way to surpassing it. “He’s always thought too much of me.”

“I think everyone does,” Fang said. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t let the world down,” Lightning said. “It was close, Fang, so close at the end of both Breach Wars. If a few things had gone differently...”

“But they didn’t.” Fang smiled. “We won.”

“Yes, we did.” Lightning glanced back up at Odin. “Do you think they’ll let me into the Conn-Pod, not to pilot but just to look around?” Her smile was watery. “I’d like to see what they’ve done with him.”

“Of course, they’ll let you look.” Fang started pushing the wheelchair toward the elevator. “You’re the Grand Marshal. If you ask, they’d probably still let you pilot him.”

X    X     X

Grand Marshal Lightning Farron passed away at her home early in the morning on a spring day from complications related to the brain damage she suffered throughout her career. She was survived by her wife, her children, and her grandchildren.

Of particular interest to researchers is the strange anomaly detected in Odin. The Eidolon was helping to terraform one of the new colonies when it momentarily went silent, ceasing all activity for a period of roughly one minute. Examination of the Eidolon’s system logs and the medical apparatus supporting the Grand Marshal suggest that the period of silence corresponded to the moment of her death.

How exactly this is possible is unknown. However, advances in the increasingly useful field of quantum sychronisation-based communication, which is used to communicate instantaneously across essentially any distance, suggest that there are at least some similarities to the oddities observed in the neural interface system that forms the heart of the Drift.

X    X     X

Although there were initially plans to name one of the newly colonised worlds after the Grand Marshal, objections were raised by her wife, Oerba Yun Fang. As a result, the United Alliance instead opted to name a space station after her. Farron Station serves as the centre of the United Alliance’s fleet command structure. As the Eidolon Program once served as the first and most important line of defence against alien threats, so too does the fleet stand ready to protect humanity from outside threats. It is only fitting that its headquarters be named after the Eidolon Program’s most storied leader.

P. S. Roughly a century after her death, a motion was successfully passed renaming a planet after the Grand Marshal. Farron Prime is currently one of the fastest growing and most important planets in the United Alliance. It is home to the Eidolon Program’s Grand Academy.

X    X     X

Author’s Notes

That’s basically how Lightning ends up going. Sadly, all of the damage she’s taken has really reduced her lifespan. However, she’s not bitter about it. She got to live a pretty good life with Fang, and she got to raise the kids. That’s more than she ever thought she’d get.

This is also how the story could lead into a Final Effect style situation with humanity using Breach-based (i.e., dimension and reality warping technology) in place of Mass Effect technology. This gives them some considerable advantages in many areas (e.g., Breach-based weapons are stupidly powerful because they essential tear reality apart). It also would make any encounter with them and the Citadel races tricky because humanity is extremely wary of aliens since the last ones they met tried to wipe them out twice. 

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here. I’ve recently released two stories, Attempted Adventuring and Surviving Quarantine, as well as three audiobooks, Two Necromancers, a Bureaucrat, and an Army of Golems, Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire, and The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company.  If you like humour, action, and adventure, be sure to check them out!

[jennygirl2014]

One Way Ticket-Part 1

Wrote this 2 part fic for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ and her writing challenge.  My prompts were airplane + choking.  This is a dark fic, with elements of CNC. Heed the warnings: NC-17, sexual content, CNC, choking, drugging, kidnapping. Hydra Steve Rogers.  If you’re not cool with it do not proceed.  I’m serious. 

              You hate flying, you always have.  Planes are full of germs, people get mashed in too close to one another, you’re forced to interact with complete strangers or people you wouldn’t normally talk to, and you always had some sort of anxiety about being 30,000 feet in the air.  Becoming an air marshal was not your first choice, in fact it wasn’t even your third choice, but the opportunity landed in your lap, and after the collapse of your last job, you were desperate to find something in the law enforcement field. It was what you knew, it was what you were good at.  Besides, you reminded yourself that the job had one good perk, after serving time on different flights, those planes landed in different places, and who would refuse the opportunity for a mini-vacation?

              This flight was going to land in Hawaii, and you were more than ready to kick back and relax with a couple cocktails by the beach. You had somehow worked it out perfectly, you would be spending four days in the sun and the sand, and you had enough money in your savings account, and enough emotional baggage, to drink your face off for three of those days.  Then you would sober up on the last day, and serve your duties on a flight back home. Life was good.  Nothing was going to kill your vibe.

              After popping your carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, you took a seat by the window and sighed.  It was just before 11, the flight would be taking off in fifteen minutes, the rain that was pummeling the plane and runways wouldn’t be enough to interfere.  The view of the world going by beneath you while you were in the clouds would be the best view you had seen in months, if not over a year.  That was until a handsome stranger took a seat next to you. You did a double take, making sure you weren’t imagining the strong, chiseled jawline and godlike profile.  He wore a black ballcap, thick black framed glasses and a classic brown leather jacket.  So, you had a tropical paradise to look forward to, and you had the view of this gorgeous stranger next to you.  Win, win.  But there was something about this handsome man that looked familiar.  You chose to ignore him and play it cool, you had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and you swore off men for at least a couple months.

Then again, swearing off men didn’t necessarily mean swearing off the opportunity for hot sex on the beach with a good looking stranger.

              The flight took off, as planned, no hiccups, no issues or concerns, no suspicious looking passengers.  In fact, the only thing that was suspicious was the fact that the flight wasn’t packed.  Still, any worries or concerns were quickly pushed out of your brain, this was a routine flight and you were hours away from rest and relaxation.  And when the flight attendant started making her way down the aisle, you realized you didn’t have to wait hours to start relaxing. Nobody knew you were an air marshal, that was one of the perks, so you could order a drink, nobody would know. You politely raised your hand to get her attention and asked for an amaretto sour with extra cherries.  The woman smiled and promptly returned with the drink, with three cherries bouncing along with the ice cubes.  You couldn’t wait to dive into it.

“A little early for a drink, isn’t it?” the handsome stranger next to you finally spoke up.  You shot him a quick glance before turning back to your drink, stirring it with the little pink plastic swizzle stick.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” You retorted.

“Well it’s only a little after noon here.” You saw the corner of his mouth curve up into a half grin.  You tried to resist the small smile that grew across your lips.  He was handsome and charming, a winning combination.  You hid your smile by taking a sip of your drink, tasting the delicious beverage and feeling your nerves easing up. “I hope this storm doesn’t get much worse.” He commented nonchalantly.

“You’re more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane.” You reassured, reciting the common line.

“Those clouds look like they’re ready to call your bluff.” He pointed out the window, and you turned and took in the sight of darkness approaching.  Flashes of lightning lit up the ominous looking wall of clouds that was getting closer and closer.  You chose to shake it off, an air marshal should know better than to get riled up over a storm, and definitely know better than to alarm civilians.

“Maybe we’ll get a littler turbulence or something, but we’ll be fine.” You turned your eyes back to your drink and eyed it before taking another sip, only the sip turned into a gulp.  

“You must fly often.” He sat back as he spoke.

“Often enough.”

“Business or pleasure?” he asked.  Something about his voice saying the word “pleasure”, gave you goosebumps.  

“Uh, pleasure.” You thought of a quick response.  “You?”

“Business.” He stated very seriously.  

              You had never caught yourself chatting it up with a civilian on a plane before, in fact you hated doing that usually, but this guy charmed it right out of you.  The plane flew into the storm, staying on course, and you were tempted to close the blind on the window to avoid the horrible view.  Flashes of lightning kept lighting up the stranger’s face, and if you didn’t know better you would have thought it was an omen. Some higher force trying to remind you of your horror with your ex-boyfriend, trying to get you to think twice.

“You look familiar.” He finally spoke again after some time had passed.  

“Do I?” you asked, slightly surprised.  You turned to look at him, to completely take him in sight, for the first time in the hour and half you had been sitting next to him.  You still thought the same thing, not sure of what exactly what it was that made you think that.

“Yeah,” he turned and took you in too.  “What’s your name?”

Could you give your name to a civilian?  You had never been asked.  “Becky.” You decided to lie.

“Well Becky, do I look familiar?” he asked you.

You narrowed your eyes, inspecting him.  You thought for a second you had it, that it was on the tip of your tongue, but something clouded your vision.  It was just like waking up from a long nap, and you tried to blink away the blurriness.  It was then that you realized your head felt funny, you had a dull headache coming on, but your brain felt like an engine that was refusing to start.  You blinked a couple times and shook your head.  You suddenly felt your chair jostling around, which caused you to grip onto the armrests.  Before you could try to contemplate what it was, there was another jostle, accompanied by the gasps and concerned voices from other passengers.  

“Attention passengers, we are experiencing a little turbulence.  At this time the pilot asks that you remain seated, place your trays in the upright position and fasten your seatbelts.” The voice of one of the flight attendants came from over the intercom, and it made your head pound harder.  

“You alright?” the stranger asked, sounding concerned.  

“Yeah…I…I, uh…” your brain felt like it was swimming around in your skull.

A cold sweat started forming on the back of your neck, and you felt like you had to run the lavatory to avoid an embarrassing situation. You forced yourself out of your seat and attempted to side step past the sexy stranger to get to the aisle.  More turbulence struck the plane and you couldn’t avoid losing your balance, and you involuntarily tumbled backwards, landing on the stranger’s lap.  Embarrassment struck you far worse than the headache, brain fog and turbulence combined, and you scrambled to try and get to your feet.

“Careful!” he tried to be polite and help you back on your feet.

“Sorry!” you were mortified.  His hands gripped your hips and he tried to help steady you as you stood, but it was a tight fit between him and the seat in front of the both of you.  

“Maybe you should wait until the turbulence stops.” He offered.  

Any other time, his hands on your body would have been exciting, but you had to get to the bathroom and figure out what was making you feel so sick.  You ignored his plea and marched on.  More turbulence shook the plane, making you reach out and grip the seats on either side of you as you tried to make your way down the never-ending aisle.  Your lips were clamped shut, just in case you felt your drinks coming back up on you, but your eyes were busy taking in the concerned faces of the other passengers watching you.  It felt like every eye was on you, and they probably were with the way you were hobbling along.

You were supposed to try and observe and take note of the different passengers, which was hard to do while the room was spinning. There was an older couple holding hands, looking worried about the turbulence and storm.  A mother and her son sat a couple rows behind them, also looking concerned.  A couple middle aged women sat in close proximity, maybe they all were vacationing together.  There were a few men in casual attire sitting hear and there, and a few men in business suits.  All in all, approximately forty passengers, nobody looked suspicious.  Job done, good enough.  Now to continue to the bathroom.  

When you finally reached the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and leaned over the sink.  A dry heave wrenched at your sides, but nothing came up.  Your heart was racing, your head was pounding, sweat started dripping down your neck, and your vision was now clouded with spots.  You wondered what the hell could have made you feel so terrible, you only have two drinks, you didn’t eat anything.  If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you had been drugged.  The thought popped into you head for a moment, but you quickly dismissed it. Who would do such a thing, and why? It made no sense.  All you had to do was splash some water on your face, take a few deep breaths, stop throwing back the drinks, and make it a couple more hours.  

You kept trying to suppress the panic building in your gut, but something felt wrong.  Maybe it was how quickly the situation turned.  One minute you were excited for fun in the sun, throwing back drinks, chatting with a handsome stranger, and the next the plane was being tossed around like a kite in the wind, with a storm raging and you gagging in the bathroom. You tried to take in your reflection, but the now colorful dancing spots in your vision made it difficult.  But you could make out the lack of color in your face and the sweat colleting on your brow.  “What the hell is wrong with me?” you whispered to yourself before turning on the faucet full blast.  You used one hand to steady yourself against the sink, the other to splash the cool water on your face.  The makeup you had on would start to smear, and the sexy man next to you may have noticed.   But why did you care?  That wasn’t important.  After using a paper towel to blot your face dry you drew in a deep breath and leaned against the counter.  You had this, everything was fine, no need to panic.

The sudden commotion from outside the bathroom, and the blood curdling scream, would prove you wrong.  

              You whipped your head towards the door, causing the room to spin worse, and all you could hear was shouting and screaming. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.  A man’s deep voice bellowed over everyone else’s, commanding them to get to the front of the plane.  You could hear the pounding of feet as people scattered around the cabin.  More screams, some crashing and thuds, definitely not to sound of an ordinary flight.  You had to pull it together and get out there.  It was your job.  

              Your feet moved faster than your brain, and you bumped into the door and fumbled with the latch and handle before winging the door open and racing out to see what was wrong.  Everybody was gathered at the front of the plane, hoarding together with faces full of terror, while two men stood before them with their backs to you, and guns pointed at the civilians.  Your blood ran ice cold, your adrenaline started pumping through your veins, your own heart pounded in your ears so loudly that it made your head ache worse.  The plane was being hijacked.  

“Freeze!” you found your voice, and the two casually dressed men turned to you, “US Air Marshal…!” you went to give them a warning as you reached for your gun that was hidden in your side pocket.  It was second nature, your body moved from muscle memory, you had done this before, you were well trained.  Only the gun was missing from your pocket.  More iciness coursed through you once you realized that you were without a weapon, or your badge.  What had happened?  You were always so careful.  And then, that stranger sitting next to you casually got to his feet and stood in the aisle, turning to face you, with a small smirk on his lips.

“Looking for this?” his voice was so calm and his whole demeanor was relaxed. He held out his hand, teasing you with your gun hanging from his index finger.  You choked.  The crowd of innocent people drew quiet, you could have heard a pin drop, but you wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the pounding in your ears.  And you were suddenly very aware of the bead of sweat dancing down the right side of your face.  The stranger strolled towards you as he pocketed your gun, and used his other hand to hold up your missing badge.  “I’m guessing you’re missing this too.”

You instinctively held out your hand, telling him to stop in his tracks. “Don’t come any closer!” you warned, as if you had any authority left in the situation.  This man had your gun, your badge, and beyond that, you were a discombobulated mess and he towered over you.  But you still had your training.  You could take him, if the room would stop spinning and you could throw a punch in the right direction.  

“It was obvious you’re an air marshal.” The man stated as he looked at your badge before tossing it onto a random seat.  “Unfortunately for these folks, you’re not a very good one.”

“You want us to take her out?” one of the men holding a gun turned and pointed his gun at you.  You froze.

“No, I’ve got her.  Besides, those drinks should start really kicking in any second now.”

“What?” you squeaked out, but then you lost your voice.  Your mouth went dry, and the room started going dark. Against your will you fell to your knees, your legs were shaking and too weak to keep you up.  Your arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.  

“You know what they say, keep an eye on your drink around strangers.” The stranger was now standing in front of you, and you tipped your head back to try and look at him, but your vision was now reduced to a pinhole.  “A US air marshal really shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyway.” He spoke so coyly.  The next thing you knew, you fell forward and your face hit the floor. Your vision went black, but you could still make out the sounds and voices around you.  

“Alright, get the pilot to turn the flight around, cut off all communications. Collect cell phones, laptops or any other forms of technology.” The stranger’s voice commanded everyone.  The plane made a sudden turn, causing everyone to start yelling again.  Your body slumped over onto its side as the plane turned and you couldn’t do anything but hear the commotion.  All of those innocent people were completely helpless.  You were completely helpless.  “All that alcohol only made the affects of the drug even worse.” The stranger’s voice was now closer to you.  You body was suddenly jostled and you felt your hands being bound together behind your back, and all you could do was groan in protest.  Nothing could move, not a finger, not even a toe.  You were rolled onto your back, pinning your bound hands against the floor, and momentarily you found your vision again. The strangers face appeared over you, looking down at you with a smug grin.  

“Stop…” you tried to speak again, but it only came out as a whisper.  He chuckled and removed his hat, releasing golden blond hair for you to try and take in.  And when the glasses came off, you remembered where you had seen his face before.  “Captain Rogers?” you couldn’t be sure.  It made no sense, it couldn’t be.  But before you could try to wrap your brain around it, everything went dark and silent. Your body fell into stillness and darkness, and then there was nothing.

[thisweekingundamwing]

TWIGW RoundUp (May 5th - 18th)

We’re doubling up the party this time. Here's your roundup from contributors for the past two weeks. Check out their stuff and show them some love!😊💖

~Mod TB

Fanfiction:

ammiehawk, Life Happened (Ch. 1 - 2) *More to come*

Rating: T

Gundam Wing + Harry Potter Crossover

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Underage

Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Treize Khushrenada

Summary: After the events of the Goblet of Fire, Harry gets some surprising news. Now with the help of friends, both old and new, he prepares for his greatest adventure yet. Prequel to Hurry Home.

arkadyevna, Opalsong (co-authors), Getting To Know Your Local Terrorist (Ch. 1 - 2) *More to come*

Gundam Wing + Venom (2018) Mashup

Rating: T

No archive warnings apply.

Relationships: Gundam Boys & Symbiotes

Characters: Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Relena Peacecraft, Original Symbiote Character(s) (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Oral Not!Fic, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Skeevy Doctors, Bonding, Revenge, bb!Symbiotes, Humour, Angst, (Duo & Wufei get All The Angst), Friendship, Podfic, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming

Summary: To pilot a Gundam one needs a symbiote to properly interface. How each of the guys got theirs and what they think of each other. (Relena realizes these boys are Not Normal and has Theories.)

Part 8 of Arkadyevna & Opalsong's Gundam Wing AU Not!Fics

@bobo-is-tha-bomb, Come Find Me (Ch. 1 - 5) *More to come*

Rating: M

No archive warnings apply.

Relationships: Chang Wufei/Reader (You)

Characters: Chang Wufei, Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Reader

Additional Tags: Mild Smut, Fluff, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: In a last, desperate attempt to fix your broken marriage, you agree to a road trip through Southern Europe. Just the two of you, trying to find back what is lost. But with so much anger and pain between you, is it even possible? There is only so much a broken heart can take...

Burn To Cinder (Ch. 1 - 3) *More to come*

Rating: M

Warnings: Major Character Death

Relationships: Zechs Merquise/Reader, Treize Khushrenada/Reader

Characters: Zechs Merquise, Treize Khushrenada, Lady Une, Mariemaia Khushrenada, Relena Peacecraft, Chang Wufei

Additional Tags: Romance, Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Violence

Reader-Insert

Summary: Your path had been laid out for you from an early age, allowing you to move into the higher circles of society and catch the attention of one of the most powerful men in the Earth Sphere. As Treize’s mistress, you watch his rise to power and the disastrous war breaking out on Earth and in Space, putting your loyalty to the test. You are torn between your duty to His Excellency, and your unquellable lust for one of the top soldiers under his command. And when he rises to power in Outer Space, there is nothing you can do but stand back and watch them tear each other apart. This is no game of hearts, but yours is at stake, and the consequences can be felt for years to come. Labeled as OZ’s whore, you struggle to find your way, only for things to fall apart around you again. But then there is still Zechs, and the undeniable way he makes you feel…

First Mother’s Day

Rating: G

No archive warnings apply

Relationships: Heero Yuy/Reader

Additional Tags: Romance, Fluff, Family, Reader-Insert

Summary: There's a first time for everything.

@doctormegalomania, Eldritch Holiday (Creature of the Night) Ch. 19

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei

Additional Tags: Horror, Body Horror, Occult, Comedy, Eventual Romance, Post-Break Up

Summary: There’s something wrong with Happiness. Duo doesn’t know what, and he’s determined to find out. The rest of the Gundam Pilots tag along to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.

Chapter 18 -  Riko gets distracted. Quatre is the first to notice. Wufei really isn’t dating any of them.

@duointherain, Beneath (Ch. 6)

Rating: T

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Relationships: Duo Maxwell.Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

Summary: Duo goes to get his sphere. Prisoners fight back. Quatre has a fit over Duo's chemistry skills.

KageKagi, The Heir of House Black (Ch. 36)

Rating: M

Gundam Wing + Harry Potter Crossover

No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Heero Yuy/Duo Maxwell

Characters: Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger

Summary: Harry attends Sirius's will reading and learns that there was more to the black family than anyone expected

kracken, Black Dog Blues (Ch. 5)

Rating: Unknown

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Characters: Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Original Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Trowa Barton

Additional Tags: gundam wing - Freeform, Yaoi

Summary: Duo is a troubled detective who solves cases with the help of visions of the supernatural. Unfortunately, those visions are driving him slowly insane. Can his new partner Heero Yuy save his soul and his sanity? AU

liraeth_archive, Tsukino Akari

Rating: Unknown

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon + Gundam Wing Crossover

Originally Published: Jul 6, 2001

luvsanime02, Nothing Right (But Nothing Wrong, Either)

Rating: G

No archive warnings apply.

Characters: Hilde Schbeiker

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Light Angst, breaking up, Mild Language, Cocktail Friday

Summary: Hilde knew that their relationship was going to end eventually. She just wasn't expecting this.

Picturesque

Rating: G

No Archive Warnings Apply

Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell, Hilde Schbeiker, Heero Yuy

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Innuendo, Friendship, Cocktail Friday

Summary: Trowa resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to have to deal with three very drunk friends by the end of the night.

Saint-Miroku, The Lieutenant and The Count

Rating: T

No archive warnings apply.

Relationships: Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin

Skarla, Send In the Clowns (Ch. 4)

Rating: G

No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Jane Foster (Marvel), Darcy Lewis, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton

Additional Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Parallel Universes, birthday present fic, Post CATWS

Summary: Clint Barton had a secret, one that he had been carrying for so long that it didn’t even really seem like a secret anymore. It was just another thing in the long list of things that he didn’t talk about, along with his time in Korea or that mission in Budapest. The trouble was, now that Shield was in tatters with every third agent loyal to Hydra and being hunted like the rats that they were, his helpful support system had evaporated along with his second favourite bow and his salary.

@softnocturne, Date Night

Rating: T

No archive warnings apply.

Relationships: Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin

tb_ll57, Whiten Out (Ch. 38)

Rating: E

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Relationships: Treize Khushrenada/Zechs Merquise, Treize Khushrenada/Duo Maxwell, Duo Maxwell/Zechs Merquise, Zechs Merquise/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Characters: Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Treize Khushrenada, Zechs Merquise, Leia Barton, Mariemaia Khushrenada, Relena Peacecraft

Additional Tags: Future Fic, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Gundams Lose War, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Politics, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Coercion, Prisoner of War, Grooming, Mentor/Protégé, Forced Separation, Established Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Gundams, Resistance, Angst, Really a lot of angst, It eventually bends toward happiness, Eventual Happy Ending, I swear

Summary: Zechs Merquise never left OZ to become the leader of White Fang. The Gundam Pilots never banded together at Libra to emerge victorious. Treize Khushrenada never died. There is peace-- of a kind-- but how will a new world order shape itself? This fic explores an alternate ending to a familiar tale with familiar faces.

@terrablaze514, Ionic Victory, Covalent Destiny (Ch. 1 - 2) *More to come*

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage

Relationships: OT5 Friendship (eventual 1x2, 3x4, 1x4, 3x1, 5x3, 4x2, 5x4, 2x5), Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin

Characters: Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Duo Maxwell, Quatre Raberba Winner, Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise, Lady Une, Lucrezia Noin, Sally Po, Relena Peacecraft

Additional Tags: Preventers (Gundam Wing), Post-Endless Waltz, Homoeroticism, Dark, Terrorism, Betrayal, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Organized Crime, Crime Fighting, Torture, Kidnapping, Kink Negotiation, Eventual Relationships, Secret Organizations, Multiple Pairings, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Murder Mystery

Summary: Four months after the Mariemaia incident, the Gundam pilots turned Preventers share the same living space, keep track of missions, and everything in between. When lightning strikes amidst foul play on campus, a fire ignites for five agents to resolve their innermost frustrations. Besides, the only life they knew was war…

@wingslanding, Broken (Ch. 8)

Rating: M

Creator chose not to archive warnings.

Relationships: Heero Yuy/Relena Peacecraft

Takes place after Eve Wars; cancels FT.

Summary: One of the greatest love stories never told... this way.

WhiteWitchDark, In Which Lady Une Searches for the Pilots

Rating: G

No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Trowa Barton/Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell/Quatre Raberba Winner/Heero Yuy

Characters: Lady Une, Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei

Summary: The Wars ended 10 years ago. The Gundam Pilots disappeared into legend and obscurity, but Lady Une is determined to bring them to the Preventers.

Fanart:  

@ARHDian, Monthly Fanart Pic - Quatre

Amir Zand, Gundam Style

Forwarded by @pixalry.

Concept art. Illustration.

Please don’t remove artist credit.

@bluesquishylemon, I Used To Be Sweet

Inspired by: @theresareasonforthiswritingblog 

Source: Gundam Wing; character Quatre Winner 

Media: Pen and marker on 8.5x11 computer paper + Photoshop; Line drawing 4-27-19; Colored 5-16-19 

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any character associated; I also do not earn any financial compensation for this fanart. 

Request: Please credit this artist for this work when reposting - thanks! 

Personal comments: Inspired by @theresareasonforthiswritingblog ‘s post titled “Headcanon: The GW Boys As Things From My Quotes List” with Quatre’s comment: “I used to be sweet, but then the world hit me in the face.” All credit for that incredible Quatreism belongs to @theresareasonforthiswritingblog ‘s genius.

@deathscythe-demiguy, Wuffers fresh out of the shower

@deejayers, Character doodles (Duo and Quatre)

@freshthoughts2020, Gundam drawing

@gundayo, Messy Quatre Sketch

@gundayum, Adulting is hard (2xH)

@GunplaBuilder45, Wing Gundam Zero

Heavyarms Prime

@ito_katsumi, 6x9 at the beach

“Don’t drink with two and eat no snacks.”

@kuhsohshokutaku, Relena, Mariemaia and Sylvia

@lemontrash, Some sketches (various GW characters)

@signales, Mille has flowers for his mom, Noin. (Mothers Day Special)

@snufffie, Heero and Trowa baking

Made for Anon.

@tiwazmannaz, LOTR/Gundam Mashup

@tomy-ogswr, Drawing of Treize and Zechs

Cosplay:

@exasperatedagent, Lieutenant Noin and Colonel Une

Photosets/Screenshots/GIFs:

@caterpie, Heero in Wing

@clair-audients, Treize, Heero and Epyon

Duo facing the colony

@disturbed02girl, The Gundam pilots from a page in Glory of the Losers.

Dorothy and Zechs, Glory of the Losers

Trowa and Heero, Glory of the Losers

Relena and Heero, Glory of the Losers

Duo and Wufei, Glory of the Losers

Trowa and Catherine, Glory of the Losers

Duo, Heero and Howard, Glory of the Losers

Lucrezia Noin, Glory of the Losers

On the Peacemillion, Glory of the Losers

@gundayo, Gundam Wing + Wizard of OZ Mashup

“How many more times must I kill that girl and her dog?”

@gundayum, Rashid’s height

Rashid’s height #2

@evacuateplanetearth, Fortnite comparison

@incorrectgundamwingquotes, Hilde Schbeiker + Text Posts

@janaverse, Quatre’s stats

@longhairedanimeguyoftheday, Duo Maxwell GIF set

@waywarddoodles, Comparing notable scenes (Gundam Wing + Gundam Build Fighters Mashup)

@wingslanding, Relena Peacecraft in Glory of the Losers

Heero Yuy (winged) in Glory of the Losers

1xR in Bambi Takada (Doujinshi)

Starcrossed lovers (1xR)

Happy Style (1xR) by Bambi Takada (Rated M)

Photo Prompts/Prompts:

@yourfavsaysgayrights, Quatre Raberba Winner says gay rights!!

@your-fave-is-a-cinnamonroll, Quatre Raberba Winner is a Cinnamon Roll

Requested by @lookitsmorefandomtrash 💖

@yourfaveplaystf2

Heero Yuy from Gundam Wing plays TF2 and mains Spy!

requested by @lookitsmorefandomtrash

Chats/Dialogs/Discussions:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes @gundaaamn @simulacraryn @novas-grimoire

Includes discussion

@noirangetrois, Episode 4 Recap (with a funny twist)

Zechs-y insanity! (Rated M)

@janaverse @gundayum @terrablaze514 @incapableofgivingup

@wingslanding, Which Heero did Relena marry?

Alpha versus Beta

@seitou @angel-no-crux @terrablaze514

Includes a meme contribution by @incorrectgundamwingquotes

Quotes:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes,

A convo *ahem, argument* on seeds. Nat Geo special with Duo, Heero, Wufei and Quatre.

Direct quote from Quatre.

Duo as a priest.

After Heero kills the peaceful politicians

Star Wars spin-off

Driving... (Heero and Wufei)

Tips for Falling Asleep

At the bar.

Duo and Heero talk 50

Vine: Duo and Professor G

Nat Geo #2 (Trowa & Wufei)

Knock, knock (Wufei & Quatre)

Submission by @vegalume, starring Heero and Duo

Submission by @timelordnomad, starring Heero, Duo and Trowa

Heero and Relena

Kidnapped Quatre

Texting gone wrong

Nonverbal communication

Duo’s arrest

Disrupted appetite

Duo, Wufei and Trowa

Partners in crime…

Disney characters

Sharing a safehouse

Breaking out of the Lunar Base (5x2)

At the Lunar Base

Lady Une is the BOSS.

Tarot Reading

Group Therapy with Quatre

Cute moment (3x5)

Submission by @gwkimmy

Zechs vs. Heero

Stupidity

Submission by @janaverse

Morale

Holding Hands (3x4)

Plan B

Positivity?

Group Chat

Refrigerated Shirt

Sister Helen and Duo

Cool Socks (3x4)

On the Lunar Base

They’ll be Une’s Problem (It’s okay ‘Lena)

Getting ready to fight White Fang

Cute moment (1x4)

Bets are on! (1x2)

Unhappy Duo

Relena questions height

Duo and Quatre

Sleepover!

Random submission

Church

Relena and Dorothy

Taylor Swift

Numb

In the group chat

Advice

Test Tube Baby?

Bubble Wrap feat. @softnocturne @terrablaze514

We’re Gundam Pilots!

Catfish

Olive Garden

Pet Names (1x2)

In the group chat #2

Feelings (3x4)

During Mariemaia’s rebellion

Hate

Crime in Sanc

@official-amuro-ray,

A quote from Quatre

MoodBoards/Aesthetics:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb, Gundam Wing Goodies!

Feast your eyes on these.

@gundayum, Fandom Trash Bag (featuring 2xH)

Mod’s note: One of the coolest things I’ve ever seen!

Another shot of this bag.

Gundam Wing & Two-Mix

Calendar Events:

“Rhythm Generation” goes LIVE! @acworldbuildingzine

The RHYTHM GENERATION After Colony worldbuilding zine is out!!!  To receive your FREE PDF copy, ping @acworldbuildingzine and/or @lifeaftermeteor. ♥️

@gundam-wing-bingo, Trope/Kink Masterlist

Our Master List is at 100! The questionnaire for choosing your cards will be completed before long, and then we’ll get these prompt shindigs going!

You can see some card examples here. Note however, that they are NOT entirely correct.

Theme Selection (Mini Bang) @thisweekingundamevents

It seems we have a winner!

The theme for our soon-to-be Mini Bang will be: Unorthodox Undercover Work!

Mini Bang Dates (poll) < Please cast your vote if you haven't done so already. (Google Form included)

Mini Bang Rules

Mini Bang Poll Results + Voting part 2 < Until May 25th, those interested in participating can choose which months they want the Mini Bang for by responding directly to the post. Even if you don’t participate, this is your chance to see what you’d like to see from others!

Brief FAQ

@seasons-of-gundamwing, Prompt Time!

For Summer of Zechs 2019, July has received the most votes.

If there are any prompts you would like to see please send in an ask/comment/submit your idea/message us!

~*VOTE HERE!*~ Effective until May 31st.

Videos/AMVs:

@christianmswanson, 2nd Gundam Wing Intro

Features the Gundams from Endless Waltz.

Rhythm Emotion opening theme. 2nd attempt.

Added SFX.

Made from phone.

Headcanons:

@helmistress, How Fanon becomes Canon

@peachandbetty, 1xR headcanon

@terrablaze514, Secret Magic, Duo Maxwell

Memes:

@gundayum, Modesty Scale

F-bomb around kids - @incorrectgundamwingquotes

@itsthatwybshitson, Phone fell in the toilet

The pilots as Keanu Reeves

Gunpla:

@bobo-is-tha-bomb, Gunpla Madness - RG Tallgeese

An overview of this gunpla set.

Results included.

@christianmswanson, Custom Case Building

Experimentation with lighting.

Features five Gundams.

@cyberbeastswordwolfe, P-Bandai: RG 1/144 Tallgeese III

Comments, memories and interests by @kilsikon7 @bobo-is-tha-bomb @darkmaster07 @shookmcgookqueen @terrablaze514

@reversemoon255, WMS-03 Maganac

Building results and review of the pros/cons.

@HobbySite, PROMO: "RG Tolgiss III" starts reservation today at 13:00-Premium Bandai! We reproduce each arming such as characteristic face and mega cannon, heat rod by new modeling! Commercialized in the RG series in pursuit of unparalleled fine expression and “real” in 1/144!

Where to get their Merch

Their Twitter page

Meta:

@gundayo, Gundam Wing Snapshots ~ Part 1

Episode 9 Recap, featuring Zechs, Noin and Otto.

It’s a Gundam! (Tallgeese)

@jortford, Overview of Episodes

[gumnut-logic]

The Bellini Incident (Part Two)

Title: The Bellini Incident

Part One | Part Two

Author: Gumnut

Apr 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Kayo was going to kill him.

Word count: 1065

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Virgil!whump with a side order of Scott!whump, some blood.

Timeline: Standalone, not Rain series.

Author’s note: For @soniabigcheese who threw the prompt at me, and @i-am-chidorixblossom who suggested some Virgil whump. Scott got a bit whumped, too, I’m branching out as a writer, blame @scribbles97.

The prompt: The character who doesn’t realize they’ve been hurt trying to see if everyone else is okay only to slowly realize that everyone is looking at them with mounting horror. Then they touch their side to find it’s wet and oh no…

This is getting longer than expected. I already have over 2000 words written of Part Three as this was only supposed to be two parts long, but it keeps getting bigger. So here be a little bit more of this fic. Poor Virg and Poor Scott. I hope you enjoy it ::hugs::

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott struggled to catch him. “C’mon, Virg, don’t do this. John! Vitals!”

As he lowered his brother to the floor, he had to slam a palm to the deck to stop himself from joining him. John rattled off numbers. Heart rate up. Blood pressure down. Highway to hypovolemic shock. How the hell. “Get Gordon back here, now!”

“Already on his way. ETA five minutes.”

Thank god. Scott’s vision was greying out.

Pull it together!

It didn’t take much to find the source of the blood. He rolled Virgil over to find a slice through his uniform on his left side. A nasty cut from below, up under his ribs. Shit!

Scott scrambled for wadding and bandages. Pressure. He had to apply pressure. If the damn world would stop spinning! Bile rose again. No. He couldn’t.

Wadding. Pressure.

“John, I need Gordon.” Now his voice was shaking.

“Almost there Scott.”

“Hurry...” The world was fading. “Land TB2.”

“Scott?!”

What?

“Keep applying pressure.”

Pressure?

Virgil!

He blinked. Have to...there was blood all over his hands. Have to...

“Push down, Scott. You need to slow the bleeding.”

Slow the bleeding...Virgil...

There was blood everywhere.

“Virgil?”

“Scott, He will be okay, you just need to hold on for another few minutes.”

He closed his eyes and the world went sideways as the whole ship shuddered and clanked. The roar of VTOL dissipated.

“Scott!”

Huh?

“Virgil needs you!”

“Virgil!” His eyes shot open. Oh god, so much blood. Stop the bleeding. Pressure. Pressure!

White wadding turned red, but he held it down. Pushed. Virgil? His brother’s face was slack, eyes closed. A fleck of red stood out starkly on his cheek against his pale skin. “Virgil?”

No response.

The wadding was wet and warm. It was like Scott was attempting to hold his brother’s insides in with just his fingers.

“Virgil?”

A moment later Gordon tore through the door, swearing at the sight of his brothers.

“John, we need those doctors in here now. I don’t think we can move him.” And his fish brother took over. God, he loved him. Always smiling, practical joking little shit at times, but always the laughter, always the smiles.

“Scott?”

Gordy. Blurry Gordy. No smile. Worried. Blood on his uniform.

Virgil!

“Virgil! Gordon, he’s bleeding! Have to-“ But the world spun and cut him off. Ughnnn.

“It’s okay, Scott. We’ve got him. He’s heading to surgery. He’s safe.”

Safe?

“It’s you we’re worried about now.”

A woman in white, dark hair, Asian features. Oh, yes, Japan. Construction site. Three workers. He sat up suddenly. “Three workers. Rescue-“

A hand held his shoulder, preventing him from moving. “You saved them. They are safe. You’re safe. Relax, bro.”

Relax?

It would be so good to relax. He let his shoulders slump, let his head drop back on whatever he was leaning on. Let out a sigh.

And let go.

-o-o-o-

Gordon caught Scott as he slid sideways. The man was a wreck. Pale, his precious hair askew, blood all over his uniform. The medbay resembled a slaughterhouse. Gordon swallowed, desperate to get the image of his two brothers on the floor out of his head.

The doctor assessed the pilot and called over a nurse. With Gordon’s help, they loaded Scott onto a hover stretcher and started manoeuvring him out of the room. Gordon followed. John securing TB2 as they went.

Down the corridor Polominka was yelling and banging on a door.

Gordon ignored him.

His sister could fix that problem.

-o-o-o-

Thunderbird Shadow banked, levelled and she threw the throttle into full power. Her ‘bird tore across the ocean at speeds nigh those of Thunderbird One. Kayo’s heart was thudding fit to jump out of her chest. John’s sharp report had hit her halfway across the Pacific on the return from a security engagement in San Francisco. She had been aware of Virgil’s deployment, aware of Scott’s, unaware that they had converged and somehow her boyfriend had been stabbed and her brother concussed.

Gordon was onsite and she soon would be.

“Kayo?”

“Yes, John?”

“He is in surgery; all signs are positive. He lost a lot of blood, an artery was damaged, but we got to him in time.”

Kayo’s lips thinned.

“Kayo?”

“I heard you, John.”

Japanese airspace and she was speaking the elegant language. International Rescue was highly respected in the Land of the Rising Sun. She asked to land beside Thunderbirds One and Two and was quickly granted permission.

She cut thrusters and kicked in VTOL, killing her speed. A countdown and she was on the ground, jumping out of the cockpit and heading inside the hospital emergency entrance.

A quick inquiry at the desk and she was directed to a cubical. Gordon sat slumped beside a bed. The bed held a sleeping Scott.

Whispered. “Gordon?”

The aquanaut jumped, and, to her surprise, stumbled to his feet and grabbed her in a panicked hug. “Tin.”

Her name, her Gordon name, said so much with that one syllable. She held him for a moment, his head on her shoulder. It was unusual for her fish brother to seek comfort so readily; it was a sign of how bad it had been.

Softly. “Gordon, report.”

He tensed slightly in her arms before pushing himself upright. The words came slowly at first, but as his shoulders straightened, the more familiar military Gordon came to the fore...which had been her intention.

As he spoke, she drifted towards Scott, eyeing her eldest brother. The man was sickly pale and blood spattered.

She stared at the blood.

Virgil’s blood.

Unwilling to acknowledge what that meant, she turned her eyes back to Gordon. Only to find him covered in dried, flaking brown as well.

It had been very bad.

She swallowed as Gordon’s report staggered to an end.

“So where is Polominka now?”

“Still confined on Thunderbird Two.”

“Virgil.”

“Still in surgery. John hacked the surgical suite’s cams. Looks okay apparently, though he lost a lot of blood.”

So, no further information.

“I’ll take care of Polominka.”

Gordon looked up at her. “I thought you might want to do that.” A pause. “In Virgil’s absence, I have to say ‘be careful’. In my own defence, I have to say ‘give him everything you’ve got’. He has to go down for this.”

As she turned to leave, Kayo eyed him. “Oh, he will, Gordon, he will.���

-o-o-o-

End Part Two

Part Three

[fly-pow-bye]

DuckTales 2017 - “Raiders of the Doomsday Vault!”

Story by: Francisco Angones, Madison Bateman, Colleen Evanson, Christian Magalhaes, Bob Snow

Written by: Madison Bateman

Storyboard by: Stephanie Gonzaga, Vaughn Tada, Brandon Warren

Directed by: Matthew Humphreys

Della's first big adventure!

They didn't want to wait a single episode, we're already starting off with Della on the wheels of the Sunchaser, er, Cloud Slayer going into an adventure. Della gets to join in with Scrooge, Dewey...and that's it. Dewey does imply that Huey and Louie have decided against going on this adventure. No mention is made of Launchpad at all outside of his chosen name for the plane.

They're going to the Ludwig Von Drake Doomsday Vault, which contains every seed known and unknown to man. Scrooge wants to get a contract to get his security company a stake in renovating that vault and keeping it secure. As he leaves the perfectly landed plane, though the process was a little rocky, he finds that he's not the only one.

This is another episode with Flintheart Glomgold, in his continuing quest to win his bet. Even if I wasn't a big fan of the last episode he had a major part in, he is almost always the highlight of any episode he appears in. I wouldn't consider this episode an exception; I wouldn't say it's him at his best, but he's not at his worst, either. Don't expect a lot of Zan Owlson, as I'll explain later, but he gets a different "straight man".

This is our cold open, a little more literal one than usual, and I wanted to say something about the opening here: it's the same one as the one that started this season. Donald is still on the moon and Della is here, but Donald is still running along in that incomplete V formation and Della is nowhere in sight. I do understand that re-animating the intro would probably take a lot of time that may not be worth it depending on when they're going to conclude that plot, but it does lessen the weight of Della being here.

But enough about the opening, let's get to a meeting! One of the key points in his speech is the Fabled Money Tree of Aurum Oros, with branches of gold and leaves that perfectly resemble dollar bills. He wants to lock up this seed in particular, so no soul can even look at it until the end of the world. See, just taking the seed would be a Glomgold move, as proven immediately by Glomgold suddenly waking up when he hears about this.

It's apparently also a Della and Dewey move, too, as when they hear this, they immediately venture off to go get it before Scrooge locks it up. They even jinx themselves by saying their plan at the same time, right down to them saying "jinx, double jinx" after they say it. Scrooge leaves...only to find the plane missing, and he knows immediately who could be responsible for that. It's not Glomgold, he's still in the building trying to get that contract with a speech that consists of "give it to me and I'll use that money tree to become richer than Scrooge." It doesn't work too well, even if he was apparently the only other one who had an interest in this vault.

We suddenly cut to Della and Dewey listening, singing, and dancing along to "Stand Out" by Powerline, as made famous by A Goofy Movie. The real focus of the plot is Dewey trying to get Mom to see him as this great adventurer, which shouldn't be too hard as they're practically the same wavelength here.

Della: Nailed it!

See, she's even saying his catchphrase! She loves him so much, she'll let him pilot the Cloud Slayer! Sure, he's about 6 years too young to drive a car, but as long as he closes his eyes and feels the sky, he'll get it right! At first, it seems like a glurge moment as this appears to be working...

...for the first few seconds anyway, before the obvious conclusion happens. While Dewey apologizes for this, Della tells him that he shouldn't, because this was a great first try! It's quite clear that Della is nothing like her brother Donald or her uncle Scrooge, as they would probably never encourage his kid to take the "fun route" over the safe route. Della does that pretty much immediately when she reaches that fork in the road.

Back where the plane used to be, Scrooge is talking to Mrs. Beakley about what just happened. Suddenly, he finds his hand hand-cuffed by Glomgold, who intends to drag him along to help get into that Doomsday Vault for that precious money tree seed. He also wanted to steal his plane. Why couldn't he just use his own? Because his usual scheming antics caused Zan Owlson to take that plane back home. I mean, I wouldn't blame her for finally giving up and just attempting to leave him, but leaving him to die in the cold seems a bit much. Hidden sinister depths, perhaps?

This hand-cuff plot does lead to a B-plot with some funny moments. Again, not as funny as Glomgold at his best, but still good in its own right. Scrooge tells him he's on thin ice, and Glomgold assumes he was talking figuratively. Scrooge at least knows how to use the word "literally" correctly.

After going through the "fun way", they end up at the Doomsday Vault, as they get the first of many, many greetings from Ludwig Von Drake in prerecorded form. They never outright confirm if he's dead or alive; it wouldn't be too out there if he was still alive, but it also wouldn't be too out there if this is actually his ghost. I mean, if Duckworth can do it, so can he.

One thing against the ghost theory is that this video congratulates these survivors from getting away from various monsters, including those mythical hairless apes. Thankfully, these survivors have made it to this vault that is protected from every possible disaster he could think of.

Della: Yeah, everything except climate change.

(Della and Dewey hi-five)

Even if she isn't wrong, one can tell that hi-five was a laugh track substitute, just like the fist-bumps in the other show. One joke I definitely can say was worth some sort of hi-five is the joke involving his first obstacle for any would-be werewolves: a color-coded keypad. I knew what song was going to come up, and I'm so glad it did. Since these buttons are frozen solid, Della helps Dewey into a vent that leads to the other side, and Dewey can't help but start singing a song while he crawls through it.

Dewey: Gotta earn the love I want so Dew-sperately!

Della: What was that?

Dewey: Nothing, Mom!

Yeah, that's pretty much the whole A-plot. After a few seconds. After a few seconds on the other side, Della tells him that there may be a panel outside. Yeah, attack while itʼs tailʼs up, Cloud!

It'll fire by crushing your mom! I find it interesting how this series is not afraid to say that Della is going to get killed by this. Wow, Ludwig even had a failsafe if someone accidentally activated the second longest death trap and needed to de-activate it!

We get the cliched “which wire should I pull” scene, With the threatening and yet fitting for him countdown of Ludwig Von Drake giving it a needed twist. Della praises him again for saving her in a way that made it really dramatic. Dewey goes along with it, but the way he looks shows that's he's only doing this because heʼs desperate. She wonders what other monsters could lie beyond this door.

Well, they don't really get to that, because they're already at the seed room. Another Von Drake video appears, where he explains that even mythological seeds are here. Hopefully, he left out that one that eats people and takes their form. This is pretty high-tech stuff: it has a computer that can search and highlight which of these containers contains a certain seed, and it even has an easy-to-use crane!

Still needs a bit of maintenance, though, as the crane starts to spark and smoke, eventually crashing into one of the vats full of Van Drake's patent pending super growth formula.

Della Duck: Aw, phooey.

It's not that I dislike Della as a character, far from it, but I have to ask: does she have a catchphrase that is actually her own? Yeah, there's "nothing can stop Della Duck", but she learned not to use it. As Della ponders what she could possibly do next, Dewey is walking on the crane, attempting to jump right to the money tree seeds. It's here that Della finally gets a bit of reserve about letting her child go through this reckless endangerment, and asks Dewey if this is too crazy.

She still cheers him on, because it's better than being an overprotective mother for the sake of being an overprotective mother, but it's clear by her tone of voice that she wishes Dewey would just let her save him from this. How would she do this?

We never find out, as Dewey does manage to get to the money tree seeds. However, he ends up dropping them right into the ground, which had a bunch of super growth formula poured into it. It's easy to guess what would happen next.

We occasionally cut back to the cuff-buddy plot, where Scrooge and Glomgold are glad to know that they're reaching the same destination, one far more than the other. They end up suffering through the aftermath of Della and Dewey going through this Vault and essentially breaking everything. Granted, most of this suffering is caused by Flintheart Glomgold finding ways to unintentionally cause fires.

Despite said fires, Scrooge's main focus of his anger is at Della's actions. Scrooge says it’s been over a decade, and she still acts like a child who doesn't think things through. This anger allows him to lift a steel door just by himself! No comment is made of that; it can just be assumed that he lifted it because he's Scrooge McDuck.

Back to the quest for the money tree, we see that growth formula still works just as well as Von Drake hoped, as the room is now filled with an ever growing tree made of gold and dollar bills. Della is still trying to cheer Dewey on and telling him to do even more crazy things, but this is where Dewey finally breaks.

Dewey: No, I can't do it!

This is the big emotional moment of the episode, which seems to be a requirement for every episode.

They basically repeat the same scene from the last episode, but this time with Dewey. It doesn't have as much weight when it's the Mama's boy.

Scrooge and Glomgold make it into this room, and Glomgold is already picking at the money tree.

After a series of events causes the crane to land right between the two handcuffs, freeing Scrooge from the B-plot, Scrooge finally confronts Della on her childish quest. His main question: did she even think about how she was going to get out of this?

It turns out, she did think of it. They all slide down the tree to a bottom floor with an emergency exit. She did explain that she knew about the hidden exit because an offscreen Ludwig video had a map of the entire place. She pays attention to everything, she says.

In the end, Della uses the gold and the goldwelding skills she learned on the moon to fix up the vault, Dewey learns that he doesn't have to prove anything to his Mom, and Flintheart Glomgold learns absolutely nothing. As it should be.

How does it stack up?

This is the first episode in a while where I didn't really get any major reaction out of it. Sure, it's supposed to be this filler episode, but it's also supposed to be Della's first real adventure beyond escaping the moon or meeting her kids for the first time. In the end, it just feels like a lesser version of the last episode.

This is not to say I felt this episode was bad in any way. It has its funny moments, especially with Glomgold and Ludwig Von Drake, but, compared to most of the show, it's merely adequate.

Next, they finally bring up that one shadow in the room from the Season 1 finale.

← Nothing Can Stop Della Duck! 🦆 Friendship Hates Magic! →

[marvel-munchkin]

Feelings Unmasked

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Requested by the lovely @itsanonymouschick - P.P he has a crush on y/n and he's been trying to confess his feelings towards her but he can't until one day he has to save her from a villain and the bad guy takes his mask off but he knocks out the villain before he finds out who it is and forgets that she's there and while he's looking for his mask she hands it to him and shocked then she promises to keep his secret then he confesses his love 4 her and when he takes her home they do the Spiderman kiss 

Word Count: 2.1k (I can’t believe it either lmao)

A/N: I’m sooo sorry this request took forever!! But I really hope you like it 💖 also thank you to @hazzyhollander for helping me out with the secrets 😂

Warnings: both Peter and the reader get a little bit hurt but nothing too serious (also one or two swear words)

Peter Parker had a lot of secrets. He knew that Ned had those Yoda slippers that he always wore around the house. He knew that MJ secretly knew all of the words to every single High School Musical song, though she would rather die than admit it. And of course, there was the small fact that he spent his nights protecting the city as Queens' very own friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. Yeah, he had a lot of secrets, but as he walked into his sixth-period physics class one in particular was weighing on his mind. His lab partner looked up and waved across the room to him, and he smiled as he took his seat. "Hey Peter," you said, your eyes lighting up as you looked at the boy you had sort of liked ever since you'd been partnered for the class. He returned your greeting, a slight blush colouring his cheeks - because right now, the most important secret he was keeping was that he had the world's biggest crush on (Y/N) (L/N).

 Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did during that lesson. You did honestly like the subject, but it was the end of the day and you couldn't stand your teacher groaning on about quantum mechanics any longer. So, you decided you would entertain yourself. You tore a sheet of paper out of your notebook and scribbled a message on it, leaving it sitting between your desk and Peter's. He glanced down at the paper. Wanna play truths?, you had written. Of course, he wrote back. Suddenly, the lesson had gotten a lot more interesting.

 Several questions later, you had almost burst out laughing twice and you were genuinely surprised that your teacher hadn't noticed that the two of you hadn't been paying attention in the slightest for the last half hour. About five minutes before the bell was due to ring, you decided to spice the game up a little. You picked up your pen and wrote, hate to bring out the cliché question - but do you have a crush on anyone right now? Peter read your question and went bright red. You're evil, he wrote back. The colour of your face is totally giving away your answer right now, so who is it? You pushed the paper back towards him with a smirk on your face. Someone's perceptive, he replied, attempting to keep his cool but internally freaking out. He watched as you read his response and struggled to contain your laughter, and suddenly he was captivated by you. All of a sudden, he didn't want his secret to be a secret any more. He wanted to tell her more than anything. He felt the paper brush against his wrist and looked down to read the words so are you going to tell me?, written in her familiar handwriting. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and just tell her, when he was jolted out of his reverie by the bell. The class began to pack their things away, relieved it was finally time to go home. "So?" you teased him. "Who's the lucky girl?" God, he looked so adorable when he was blushing. You didn't really know why you wanted the answer anyway - it was bound to be some other girl, bound to result in your heart being broken. The two of you walked out into the corridor, and Peter stared at the floor with his face burning, trying to work up the courage.

"I- she's- well, she's-" he faltered, struggling to get the words out. Your heart leapt with nerves as the poor boy tried to answer your question. Then, with perfect timing as ever, your friend yelled across the corridor.

"(Y/N)! Hurry up, or we'll miss the bus!" Annoyingly, she was right, and so your curiosity would have to wait. You waved goodbye and hurried off, leaving Peter standing alone by your locker, mentally kicking himself for not being able to give you the answer he so desperately wanted to.

 Later that night Peter found himself perched on a rooftop surveying the city below. Tonight had been relatively quiet - he'd stopped one or two minor thefts, helped a guy with a flat tyre, and retrieved a balloon for a distressed little kid. So far, it had been a particularly easy night for Spiderman, but not for Peter Parker. He could not stop thinking about her, how he had gotten so close to finally telling her how he felt, only to chicken out at the last second. What must she think of him now? Suddenly, he was snapped out of his thoughts by a loud scream a few blocks away. He took a deep breath and swung towards the source of the danger. Peter Parker and his struggles would have to wait - right now, the city needed Spiderman.

 Peter drew closer to the scene and silently scaled the side of a building to get a better vantage point. He didn't recognise the villain before him. He was a tall man, clearly very physically strong, wearing a black helmet obscuring most of his face. In one hand he held a weapon, a black curved blade which seemed to softly glow with some kind of dark energy. In the other hand, he held the source of the screaming - a young girl, seemingly about Peter's age. She had a blossoming bruise on her face and tears in her eyes as the man twisted his fingers deeper into her hair, causing her to cry out in pain. Peter's brain went into auto-pilot. A civilian was in danger, and he wouldn't let that happen on his watch. He dropped down from the side of the building, landing a kick square in the villain's face. The shock of it caused him to let go of the girl, and out of the corner of his eye Peter saw her running to safety. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued to fight. In his determination to keep her safe, he had failed to recognise who she was - none other than the girl who had been occupying his thoughts, and his heart, all night.

 (Y/N) watched from a safe distance, completely mesmerised by the sight. Spiderman was moving so quickly that he was merely a blur of red and blue, almost impossible to keep track of. You could hear his voice, but not his words, yet you could tell from its pitch that he was a mere child - probably not much older than you were. Suddenly, the blur became solid again, as your assailant grabbed him by his neck. Your heart leapt in fear for the young hero as he struggled against the villain's grasp. He managed to escape his hold, but his mask was left behind in the man's closed fist. Your mouth dropped open and you could hardly believe the sight before you. Because surely, surely, that was not Peter Parker. But it had to be - he had the same hair and the same eyes and, you realised, the same voice. You were totally dumbstruck, and then you felt a piece of material land at your feet. Evidently, the villain had discarded Spiderman's - Peter's - mask. You picked it up and continued to watch on in awe.

 Great, Peter thought to himself. Without his mask, he had lost his AI and his identity was at risk. But for now, the priority was taking care of this guy before he had the chance to hurt anyone else. Peter hissed as he felt the blade connect with his side, stumbling backwards in pain. He shot a web towards the villain's wrist, pinning him to the wall and causing him to drop the weapon. Quickly, he kicked the weapon out of his reach and shot more webs, securing him to the side of the building. Peter wasn't usually a vengeful person, but this guy had taken off his mask, plus the wound in his side really hurt - so he knocked him out with a well-placed blow to the head. He felt guilty for it, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't enjoyed it just a little bit. He spun round to retrieve his mask from wherever it had been thrown to, and he gasped in shock when he saw you standing there, holding it out to him with a similar shocked expression on your face. As if this night couldn't get any worse, he thought.

 "Shit," he said as you walked towards him. "Are you alright?", he asked. You handed him the mask wordlessly and nodded your head, still a little shaken from both your ordeal and the revelation of Spiderman's identity. Peter muttered his thanks as he took the mask from you, shaking his head. "As if being unmasked isn't bad enough, of course it had to happen in front of the girl I'm crushing on," he said before he could think about it.

"Wait a second, what did you just say?", you asked, barely believing what you'd heard. Did Peter Parker really just tell you he liked you? This night was just one surprise after the other. His eyes went wide as he realised what he'd said.

"Shit, I didn't - I mean that's not how I was going to - I just," he stammered, and then sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I like you. I wanted to tell you but I just -" you cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"Is that what you were trying to tell me at the end of physics?" He nodded, resigned. He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection. You gently shook his shoulders. "Come on, Peter, you're really telling me that you haven't noticed me flirting with you for, like, the past year?" His eyes flew open in shock. "You're a genius, spider-boy, but my God you're such an idiot sometimes," you laughed as his face broke out into a stupid grin. He wrapped his arm around your waist and smiled down at you.

"Come on, let's get you home," he said as he pulled his mask back over his face and swept you up off the ground.

 Peter usually found swinging through the streets of Queens to be quite exhilarating anyway, but with you holding onto him the feeling increased tenfold. He could hardly even feel the wound in his side anymore, because your being so close to him was that distracting. The two of you reached your apartment far too soon for his liking. He set you down gently as you tried to compose yourself - much as you liked Peter, you had decided that you definitely did not like swinging around like that. "I still can't believe you're really Spiderman," you told him. In response, he did a backflip off the ground and attached a web to a nearby lamppost, hanging upside-down in front of your face.

"Believe me now?" he teased, and you could practically hear the grin on his face.

"Shut up, Parker," you laughed, reaching for the edge of his mask.

"What are you doi-" he began to ask, but was cut off by your lips on his. He was frozen in surprise for a moment, but quickly began to kiss you back. You pulled away, smiling shyly.

"Thanking you for saving me, of course," you murmured, noticing the faint blush on the half of his face that you could see. He smirked with a sudden burst of confidence.

"Well I hope I'm not going to have to save your life every time I want you to do that," he teased. You rolled your eyes and laughed as he readjusted the mask to cover his face once more.

"I'll see you tomorrow, spider-boy," you joked as you started to make your way inside.

"Don't call me spider-boy," he complained. "It's demeaning!" You turned on your heel to face him, one eyebrow raised.

"What would you rather I called you?" you questioned him. He jumped down from the web and leaned one hand against the lamppost.

"How about your boyfriend?" You could practically see the smirk on his face through the mask.

"That was pretty smooth, I'll admit," you chuckled.

"That a yes, then?" he asked, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

"Totally, spider-boy."

"Don't call me that!" he yelled, swinging off into the distance. You smiled to yourself as you walked up the front steps of your building, pulling your phone out of your pocket. When Peter got home from his patrol later that night, he grinned as he saw the message from you light up his screen.

Love ya, spider-boy ;) (Y/N) xx

Tags: @oliolioxiclean @hazzyhollander @lowkey-writes @minnie-marvel @e-ms-world @cynicallymarvel @being-kind-is-free @secondsineternity @the-amazing-ata @itsanonymouschick

(Hope I didn’t miss anyone!! And if you’d like to be tagged just let me know 💖)

[littlemissheartfilia]

Survive

So since I’m not writing anything else except BTS nowadays I figure I might as well share it here. This is the beginning of a fic I did with @jacksinsanity She’s the brains behind the whole shibang. We hope you enjoy this fic full of nothing but angst and a little pining Yoongi. Get ready cuz things are about to get fucked up!

Part(s): [1]   [2]   [3]   [4]   [5]   [6]   [7]   [8]   [9]

Summary: Bangtan is heading westbound on a brand new private jet when things go haywire. No one could have expected the storm to be this bad. And certainly no one would have guessed they’d be crash landed in the mountains of China fighting for their lives.

Pairing(s): Taekook, Yoomin

Setting: Real world I guess?

There was a ringing sound all around him. Or maybe that was only in his ears. The world was dark. Everything was cold. As the ringing faded, Yoongi could only hear wind and the sound of heavy humming from some machine behind him. His fingers were touching snow, that much he knew. He was lying on his back something extremely uncomfortable underneath his head.

He opened his eyes and all he saw was sky through prickly evergreen branches. Surrounding his vision was smoke and as he looked around he began to understand just how bad the situation was. A pile of snow and scrap metal fell off him as he sat up, a pain in his head nearly blinded him.

The plane had crashed. Shit, where is everyone else? Yoongi thought. All he could see was the husk of a metal body, parts of it smoking and other parts covered in snow that went up to his knees. But he didn’t see any other body, living or not.

“J-Jimin?” He called weakly. “Namjoon! Anyone!” Yoongi took a step forward and his bare feet sunk into the snow. He tried to wade through the white sea around him but fell to his knees in pain. His entire body was shaking and he could hardly tell one bad wound from another until he saw the snow turning red. “Fuuu-” he hissed out a swear through his teeth and grabbed at his leg. The ground was ice cold underneath him.

Much to his displeasure there was a gash spreading down almost the full length of his femur. He put both hands over it but the bleeding didn’t stop. All it served was to coat his hands in the syrupy substance and bring more attention to his pain.

“Tae! Jin!” He kept calling, desperate for anyone to hear him. As he sat there memories came rushing back. The turbulence. The approaching storm. Namjoon getting up to ask about the bad weather and never coming back. Then...Yoongi grit his teeth. A flash of lightning and everything went sideways. The oxygen masks dropped before anyone knew what was happening.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real… He tried to convince himself this was all some horrible nightmare. Tried anything to not feel the pain, or the coldness or the touch of the slight breeze as it ran through the snowy mountain range.

All the physical realness of the world around him was a wake-up call. This wasn’t a nightmare. His leg was growing numb and his fingers became stiff. They hadn’t exactly been wearing winter ready clothes when the first engine got hit.

Yoongi sucked in a breath and bit his cheek hoping it would take some of the pain away from his leg. It didn’t help much. “Hobi!” Yoongi called once more, “Jungkook! Anyone!” A million things went running through his head all at once.

What if he was the only survivor? What if help doesn’t come in time? Maybe he’ll bleed to death here in the middle of nowhere. He ran through a list of things that he could try to do to save himself or anyone else but it was all off the table if he didn’t get his leg wrapped up. It was almost too much for him to process and he curled in on himself helplessly.

Closing his eyes he felt only pain. He knew only the moment of his defeat and in agony he let out a cry of terror that shook his vocal chords till he felt them break like brittle icicles.

Min Yoongi stared out the plane’s window as his music blared in his ears. There wasn’t much to see outside. The forecast had called for showers so now there was just a lot of grey clouds. But at least he could enjoy the soft beats of his favorite artists in his downtime.

The plane ride had only just started and they still had hours to go before they arrived in Europe for their tour. Yoongi thanked his lucky stars that BigHit had scored a private jet for them. Always going through customs was a hassle and on their own jet he had less distractions. Less people and crowds to make him nervous.

Suddenly a hand started tapping incessantly on his shoulder and he turned, taking his headphones off. It was Taehyung, an excited smile on his face and his phone in hand.

“Hyung, let’s take a photo!” Taehyung spoke, bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Ah, now?” Yoongi said, a slight protest in his tone. “I haven’t washed my face yet, today I won’t look good.”

Taehyung simply nodded. “You look fine! I’m taking one with all the members. Now it’s your turn.” Without waiting for a reply he sat in the plump leather chair next to Yoongi and turned the screen on his handheld camera so that it faced them. Yoongi fixed his bangs a little then posed with Taehyung.

“Ah, see!” Taehyung said showing Yoongi the results. “You look nice today. It’s a good picture.” He began fiddling with the camera, completely focused on his craft.

“Tae?” Yoongi asked.

“Hm?” he replied without looking up from his camera. “We’ll have some downtime when we get to France. What are you going to do?”

Taehyung looked up then and smiled. “Probably eat, Jin invited me out to the nearest restaurant with him. Or play games with Jungkook.”

Yoongi chuckled. “You two never tire of each other.”

Taehyung laughed giddily and said, “We’re a good match together. What are you going to do?”

Yoongi glanced back at the clouds. “Sleep,” he said plainly. Just then Jungkook came into view from his seat in the back of the plane, Hoseok right behind him. Once they spotted Taehyung and Yoongi their smiles lit up extravagantly. They took seats across from Yoongi on a large couch. Jungkook placed a deck of cards on the bolted down table in front of them and said, “Hyungs you should play with us.”

Hoseok nodded, “We’re bored and want to pass time.”

Taehyung smiled until his gums showed. “Can we play palace?” He hopped excitedly over to the couch and took a spot beside Jungkook. Yoongi pressed pause on his music and moved over to join the game Jungkook and Taehyung were setting up.

“Where are the others?” Yoongi asked.

“Jin said he wanted to get his beauty sleep,” Hoseok answered as he leisurely scrolled through his phone. “I think Joon and Jimin were checking their luggage for something.”

“Namjoon didn’t forget his passport again did he?” Yoongi chuckled as he spoke and accepted his dealt cards from Jungkook.

“I’ll have you know your leader is more responsible than that now,” Namjoon’s voice floated in from behind Yoongi. He looked around at all of them intrigued and sat opposite Taehyung on the couch so he rested in the middle of the walkway. The private jet was nice but even jets had limited room.

“What are you doi-” Jimin had begun to say as he walked in after Namjoon but just then the plane rumbled. It felt like a mild earthquake which wouldn’t have freaked Yoongi out if they weren’t in the air.

Hoseok looked around them and outside the small windows. “We have turbulence now.”

“Probably ‘cause of the storm,” Jimin chimed in, moving his disinterested gaze from the windows and sitting beside Namjoon. Yoongi didn’t miss the way his biceps caught the soft lighting of the interior as he sat. He stopped his staring when Jimin caught his eye and smiled softly.

Jungkook was just starting to deal in Jimin and Namjoon when the plane rumbled again, this time for longer and more intense. There was an unattended drink Yoongi had left in the cupholder of his old seat that spilled over the edges. They all looked around at each other sharing somewhat uneasy glances.

Namjoon was the first to speak up, “I’m sure it’s just a bit of bad weather. We should be out of it soon.” His voice was calm and smooth but the hair on Yoongi’s arm still stood on end. The interior of the plane was quiet and underneath the murmur of their voices they could all hear the rain on the windows. The thunder rolling outside and the turbulence that shook the contents of every cabin.

The longer it went on the more they all began to feel tense and the quieter the cabin became. Finally there was a bright flash of lightning that seemed as if it originated from right beside them. Jungkook dropped his cards in fright and Yoongi caught Namjoon’s eyes. Milliseconds later the thunder rolled in and another batch of turbulence sent the contents of Yoongi’s drink to the floor.

His mouth was slack jawed and he looked concerned but he turned away so the others wouldn’t see. Calmly Namjoon stood up and got a better look of the storm outside. “I’ll go see if I can talk to the manager. Maybe the pilot can get us out of this quickly.” Abandoning his hand of playing cards on the seat by the window Namjoon walked briskly into the managers cabin.

They sat in silence for a few seconds with Hoseok bouncing his leg and Jungkook holding tightly to Taehyung’s hand beside him. Swiftly Hoseok reached over the table and grabbed Namjoon’s cards from where he left them.

He turned around with an attempted smile and said, “He had a losing hand.”

Jimin swatted his hand away and scolded him a little too late, “Hey, that’s cheating.” Yoongi could tell that Jimin was trying his best to smile the nerves away and the group seemed to share a pity chuckle but they were too tense to say much else.

It wasn’t five minutes later when Yoongi began wondering when Namjoon would come back. He put his own cards on the table face-down and stood up meaning to follow Namjoon. But the plane shook again and Yoongi had to grab a seat to steady himself.

He didn’t have time to collect himself before the shaking came again and this time the entire plane felt like it was being rattled by a giant. The force almost knocked Yoongi into the seats beside him but it was what came next that blew everything apart.

There was another bright flash of lightning that was so close it blinded him and suddenly the lights of the jet went off, replaced by the emergency lights. Before he could stand up straight he saw oxygen masks fall from the ceiling on strings and the buckle seatbelt sign light up.

Yoongi’s eyes grew huge and he stared at the others in fear and confusion. Taehyung mindlessly grabbed at one of the masks and pulled it toward him but he looked too scared to move. Hoseok had his mask in his hand and was trying to put it on. Jungkook seemed to be trying to help Taehyung. Jimin shot to his feet and grabbed at Yoongi’s elbow.

“Namjoon,” he said and took off toward the cockpit. Yoongi followed as quickly as he could but he was being tossed about by the turbulence and maybe it was just the high stress situation but Yoongi was almost positive the plane was tilting.

“Wait, Jimin!” Yoongi called but he didn’t get the chance to hear a reply as another bolt of lightning grazed the cabin of the jet. He was tossed off his feet and hit the ground hard. Panicking Yoongi lifted himself among the turbulence and definitely tilting airplane to sit in a vacant seat and wrap an oxygen mask around his mouth. He closed his eyes helplessly, his fingers digging into the armrests on the leather seat as his world spun. The jet flashed red lights everywhere as the sky lit up once more and then he felt the jet nosedive.

Somehow over the pounding of his own heart he heard the pilot’s voice come on over the speaker and say, “Brace for impact!”

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

The Cost of Living - 10/Rose Fic

I wrote this story years ago, but it’s been on my mind a lot lately and I don’t think I’ve shared it here. Find it on: FanFiction.

Summary: The TARDIS lands in the midst of a worldwide tragedy, triggering wartime memories for the Doctor. Rose helps him through one of the most difficult times of his life: remembering Gallifrey's fallen children. Pre "Army of Ghosts." Mostly hurt/comfort and friendship. K+

Word Count: 4,000  |   Warnings: Discussion of genocide; military attack

The Doctor was fretting over the console, analyzing scans on the monitor and adjusting knobs, when Rose took hold of the handle that would lead them to their next adventure. By the time he began muttering no-n-n-n-no-No-NO, the left door was already cracked.

"Rose! Don't!"

His warning shout came entirely too late; the TARDIS doors stood fully open.

Instead of a grassy knoll or a perch overlooking a glamorous city; instead of a high-tech hospital in need of a shop or the Roman Forum at its height; instead of someplace serene or flashy or quaint, Rose's eyes met with carnage and smoldering debris - destruction like she had never seen.

It resembled the middle of a war zone, except there was no overt military presence: no tanks, no gunfire, no soldiers. Everything was ash or splinters. Pieces that had escaped catching fire blanketed the treeless landscape like mulch. Rose couldn't make out one building or home that had withstood the decimating blast that had consumed the city and spit out bits of timber and concrete like bones.

There were people - bodies - scattered randomly throughout the debris. Though charred and disfigured, some buried beneath matchstick rubble, she could still identify their outlines. Most were small; even the figures she believed to be adults were slight of frame. These were the remains of children and their mothers, their aunts, their grandparents. . .

Rose clung to the wooden lip of the doorway at the unsettling realization. Her stomach heaved, wanting to purge her system of the stimulus that had made her suddenly ill.

Whatever glitch they'd encountered in the materialization process must have completely reset their course, dropping them in the epicenter of an event so tragic that it was only spoken of in hushed tones by the people of her time, if at all. Though it had taken her mind a moment to match the scene outside to the black and white photos in her old history textbooks, she'd finally recognized where - and when - they were.

Surely he would never bring me here intentionally, the young woman thought, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she attempted to compose herself. Not to this place, this date. He wouldn't do that.

Or would he?

Once, when he had worn a dark leather jacket and harbored a cynical streak as long as the Thames, he'd made her watch the literal end of her world as an almost-invited guest. While she'd passed his test of emotional endurance - or, perhaps, to see how far she was willing to go to escape the life of a shop girl - she'd only been a bystander at the event.

Viewing the planet ignite in flames from hundreds of thousands of miles away, with a plate of thick glass between her and the destruction, wasn't anything compared to the scene outside of the timeship now. Five billion years into the future, she hadn't smelled the fires, or coughed on smoke that was mixed with the ashes of buildings. . .and the ashes of those buildings' occupants. While she'd nearly died along with the Earth that day, the Doctor had managed to save her.

Here - where death perfumed the air and saturated the soil with toxins that would linger for generations to come - at ground zero of the nuclear devastation, there was nothing left to save.

A movement among the piles of wood and concrete distracted her from her sickness. Rose thought she saw the head of one of the smaller victims twist minutely. Everything else in the universe dropped away as she focused on the child's head. Her foot was on the edge of the TARDIS' step, ready to run and investigate, when the Doctor's firm grip on her elbow stayed her action, intervening with her instinctive desire to help.

When had he appeared beside her? More importantly, why wasn't he out there already, searching for survivors?

She glanced up at his clenched jaw and serious expression. "Can't we do something?"

He shook his head once. "The bombing is time-locked." His voice was tight. "We shouldn't be here at all."

Unsatisfied, Rose returned her gaze to the head. It was definitely moving.

"But we are here," she observed softly. Maybe fate or some other cosmic force had led the TARDIS and her wayward travelers here for a reason.

Once again, she attempted to step forward, but the Doctor held tight, not allowing her to set one foot outside of the ship. His grip was almost painful.

How could he stand by and watch a child suffer? Angry and hurt, she opened her mouth to accuse him of being heartless, despite having two, but stopped when she saw that his gaze was fixated on the child as well. Tears glossed his sorrowful, old eyes.

"The radiation levels outside the TARDIS are enough to kickstart my next regeneration," he explained delicately. "It would kill you in a matter of minutes."

"So we're just going to watch? We're not going to do anything?"

"We're leaving," he informed her resolutely.

His tone was much too detached, as though he was capable of shutting out all the suffering and destruction. But Rose knew the Doctor's true emotions ran deeper than expressions and intonation. His forced indifference was a sign of how greatly this tragedy upset him.

Pulling her fully inside the ship, the Doctor shut the TARDIS doors and locked them with the sonic for extra assurance his companion wouldn't try wandering off. Once secured, he turned without giving Rose half a glance and strode back to the console to enter new coordinates. His fingers punched at the keys. With a roar, he threw up the main throttle lever, sending the TARDIS up into the atmosphere. The ship creaked and groaned as it pushed through Earth's troposphere, stratosphere, mesosphere, and finally rocketed into space.

Silence fell over the both of them. Unable to process the shock of all she had seen, Rose soundlessly slouched against the closed doors at her back, wiping private, unobserved tears on the cuff of her track jacket. Black smudges from her mascara marred the pink fabric and made her rub more earnestly underneath her eyes to conceal the evidence.

Of all the mis-landings they'd survived during their travels - the kind where they ended up miles or centuries away from their intended destination - this was the most heartbreaking. It was one thing to land in the middle of a battle or step out of the blue box just in time to foil a scheme to end the human race; it was a different thing entirely to show up after the action had happened, when it was too late to do anything but watch the dancing flames.

The Doctor didn't do aftermath. Hopelessness and desolation and damage were things he avoided.

Rose stood unsteadily, leaning against the wooden doors behind her for support, then shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. Even sandwiched between fabric, she could feel them tremble. More tears welled in her eyes, but she sniffed them back.

Over the rumbling engines, she tried to verbalize the horrific detail that gnawed at her view of humanity. War was one thing, but the scene outside had been nothing short of the undue slaughter of innocents.

"All those children. . ." she whispered, "dead."

The Doctor visibly flinched, but carried on with his furious piloting, as if in a desperate rush to escape the topic.

Had she been a little more collected, Rose may not have continued to press the subject; however, in her current state of distress she sought a way to digest one of the biggest travesties in history. She turned to the one man who usually had the answers.

"How could someone do this, Doctor, knowing the lives they were taking?"

Her question seemed to be ignored, blocked out by the deafening rage that exuded from his tense shoulders and stiff stance. It was as though he'd slipped inside himself, fighting a battle within his mind - a penchant of his previous incarnation that reminded Rose she was only viewing one side of a single decagon. Regardless of the face he wore, the Doctor internalized his griefs and anger in the same way.

The obliterated Japanese city had struck them both to the core, though the Doctor's reaction went beyond Rose's initial shock and following disgust. Something had been triggered inside him: something dark, something secret. A fierce, almost inhuman scowl burrowed within the creased lines on his forehead and around his lips. He seemed primed to strike out at the smallest disturbance. Rose had to turn away, feeling that she was - at least in part - responsible for his foul mood.

When the engines thrummed a steady, tenor cadence, she knew they were in orbit around the planet. Only then did Rose dare to turn back. Though she expected to see him bent over the main console, brooding and moody, the Doctor was no longer at the controls. He'd managed to slip away unseen and unheard.

Then, below the central deck, came a storm of sound. His shouts were mostly incoherent noise, but they weren't pointless; the Doctor was yelling phrases in another language, one the ship wouldn't translate into English for her benefit: Gallifreyan. After a moment, Rose realized the verbal beratement was directed at the unseen, yet ever present, conscience of the TARDIS.

"Why today?" he asked in English while throwing metal bits and bobs around to punctuate his frustrated cries.

Rose didn't have a clue why today held such significance to him. Perhaps it was an anniversary of something unpleasant, though she'd always thought - being a Time Lord and all - things like specific dates would get somewhat jumbled. When she'd worked at the shop, she'd lost track of days of the week; there were only 'on' days and 'off' days. Of course, the Doctor was the Doctor. If she ever bothered to ask him for the time, he'd be able to rattle it off down to the millisecond.

"Isn't two hundred years long enough to watch me suffer?"

Two hundred years since. . .? Oh. Rose slowly closed hers eyes as everything clicked. How didn't I realize before?

It wasn't the TARDIS' fault that he was teetering along the brink between fury and despair; it was hers. She'd reacted without thinking and let unfiltered thoughts slip past her tongue to strike him. She knew about the Time War and the Doctor's actions on that fateful day, that he had sacrificed his own people in order to defeat the Daleks to keep countless other races across the universe from falling. There had to have been children on Gallifrey - thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.

All those children. . .dead. In her detestation of those responsible for the murder of an entire city, she'd vilified him as well. How could I have said such a terrible thing?

Rose inched closer to the stairs while he continued to curse the ship unjustly. When he ran out of stray objects to toss about, he took hold of his hair with both hands and pulled in opposite directions as though yanking a painful memory from his thoughts.

She couldn't let this go on any longer. She cared for him too much to watch him wallow in the pain of his past, to let what he'd done lifetimes ago drag him back to the darker days by making him relive the end of the War. There had to be some way to bring him back into the light.

From the top of the landing, she called down to him, "It's not the same."

He stilled abruptly, as though just realizing he had an audience. Dropping his hands from his hair - a grown man guilty of throwing a fit and getting caught - he peered up at her through the grating. Two people stared back at her: one, a lost and lonely young boy, the second, a stubborn and unforgiving old man.

"Yes," he said. "It is."

Extracting her hands from her pockets, Rose gripped the banister in front of her instead, attempting to focus her nervousness into the cold metal. To go head to head with the last of the Time Lords would take all her courage.

"I wasn't making a comparison," she insisted. "I didn't mean it that way."

Slackjawed, he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth once, testing the taste of her statement. He didn't like it. "Doesn't matter. Still holds true."

"You saved the universe," she stressed. Does that count for nothing in his mind?

"At too great a cost," he rebutted morosely.

She descended the stairs to level her eyes with his. Maybe he would be able to glimpse the truth through her point of view. "You had no choice."

The Doctor held her gaze for a few seconds, then tore himself away. "I chose to ignore them: the children I sacrificed in the name of peace. I made their deaths unimportant; turned them into collateral."

"I don't believe that." Rose was vehement in her denial, though her voice was soft. "Not for a minute."

"I never counted. I didn't want to know." Collecting himself with a shredded breath, he continued in a stronger voice: "I'm no better than the refuse who planned and executed the attack outside. I'm worse."

"No, you're - "

He cut her off with a frustrated growl: "How thick are you? The reality of what I did is staring you in the face, yet you still deny it!"

Rose did her best to hide the stricken look that flashed red on both cheeks - his hurtful words stemmed from self-hatred, not from her refusal to see him in the monstrous light he was attempting to cast upon himself. Even so, she couldn't bounce back from his comment rapidly enough, and he slunk further away from her, deflated from his hasty insult, yet stoically unapologetic. His silence suggested she keep her distance.

But Rose would not surrender to his glowers and contempt. She was going to prove to the Doctor that, regardless of his past decisions, he was still the savior of worlds and the peoples' champion. He was the hero of children's stories, not the villain.

She approached him with caution and spoke to him as though talking to a wounded soldier. Her tone was firm, yet understanding. "You're wrong, Doctor," she told him, watching him closely. "You know how many children were on Gallifrey that day."

"I don't," he insisted.

She bristled over his continued denial. "Stop lying."

He did that at times: lied. It was what he did to hide a painful truth or to protect others from learning information that would put them in danger. But, in this case, he wasn't only lying to her; he was deceiving himself.

"Rose, I -"

It was her turn to cut him off. There wasn't any stopping her now. "The number is in your head, Doctor. You're not the sort to make decisions without understanding the consequences. You wouldn't have ended the Time War the way you did unless you knew what it would cost."

He braced himself against the stem supporting the console platform and shut his eyes over her words. For a long moment he remained silent. The only sign of his struggle to rein in the pain and anguish seeping from him was a long tendon stretched taut along the column of his throat. When he finally spoke, his words were drenched in the cold sweat of self-disgust.

"They had faces," he began, his voice heated, yet his tone icy. "They had hopes and dreams and disappointments. They had lives to look forward to, and I stole them. I stole them all from existence."

"And you saved the rest of us," she pointed out once again, steadfast in her belief. "Without you, endless species across the universe would have been exterminated or never had the chance to begin. Think about it: without you, I wouldn't exist. Mum. Mickey. None of us. We're here because of you."

"That doesn't excuse my ignorance."

"Or your bullheadedness," Rose mumbled, adding, "Maybe you pushed the tally from your thoughts to cope with what happened, but when you chose to save the universe, you knew that number. And, somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours, you still do."

Rose held his gaze, challenging him to argue with her again. Eventually - after much huffing and frowning - he gave into her will.

He closed his eyes and laid two fingers against his left temple. It looked as though he was trying to concentrate on a memory - one buried deep in the catacombs of his mind, where he'd tried to keep it hidden, but it lurked about, waiting for the chance to resurface. His breathing became labored over the task, but Rose stayed absolutely still, her eyes never blinking.

Finally, a number: "Two. . .point four seven bil-billion."

Staggered by the figure, she could only nod at first. She'd expected a high number, but she never imagined it would equate to over a third of the Earth's total population by comparison. "Say that again?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and locked his gaze on hers again. "Two point four seven billion," he repeated without stumbling. "That's how many children were on Gallifrey the day I set it ablaze."

Motionless - her mind trying to digest the magnitude of the what he'd done to end the Time War - she didn't know what to say. What could she say?

The Doctor crossed the lower deck to the stairs, sinking down under a weary weight that would never be fully lifted from his shoulders. He threaded his fingers through the hopeless disarray of hair standing in all directions and reiterated his exhausted point: "I'm no better than the men responsible for this bombing. Do you see that now?"

The sheer amount of lives lost was tragic, yet the fact that the Doctor had acted alone and was the sole survivor of his race was even more heartbreaking. Rose decided to refocus her energies to helping him move on from the mental rut into which he'd fallen. She lowered herself down next to him and released a small sigh.

"Maybe not," she allowed, though her tone lacked the barest hint of conviction. "But, what you did doesn't change the way I see you, Doctor."

Rose felt his body shift, turning toward her. Before he could start in again on how he was a child murderer, she shot him a sharp look through her lashes and said, "I can forgive you."

The honest statement appeared to derail his formulating speech. His mouth hung slightly ajar. Rose took the opportunity to give him what she thought he really needed. Snaking first one arm across the broad span of his back, then wrapping the other around his front, she tugged until they were pressed together. From where her head rested awkwardly against his chest - given their side-by-side position on the stairs - she could feel his shock slowly release and dissipate.

For a few moments all Rose could hear was the drumming of his hearts. The Doctor didn't move, but Rose was not discouraged by his unresponsiveness. It made her hold on to him even tighter. She wouldn't let go until he pulled away. Her mother - though not the most openly affectionate parental figure - had once imparted some solid wisdom: when you hug somebody you love, you should never be the first to let go.

So, Rose clung to the Doctor with all the strength she had.

"I do forgive you, Doctor," she whispered underneath his chin, "but only if you promise to never forget the children of Gallifrey."

His hands inched up her back until they were cupping her shoulder blades. Then he squeezed, and Rose felt like crying all over again with relief. She'd finally gotten through to him.

"I promise," he vowed softly, embracing her a few moments longer. When he pulled back, he did not disengage entirely. His hands gripped her forearms, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of her jacket. He looked at her with shining eyes. "What do I do now, Rose? How do I live with myself?"

Much to her surprise, the words rolled off her tongue as easily as if they were ingrained in her DNA. "S'pose you have to do what the rest of us do: carry on. Day after day, year after year. You carry on and keep living. And remember, Doctor."

His response was a slight nod and a quiet admission. "You're too good to me."

Then, in another heartbeat, he jumped to his feet and started scaling the stairs back to the main console two at a time, a smile lighting up his whole face.

It was a most bizarre, drastic mood shift, even for the Doctor. Rose struggled to change gears in order to keep pace with him. Eventually, she chased him up the stairs and stood on the opposite side of the TARDIS console. He glanced up from the switchboard and smiled a genuine smile that caught Rose off guard more than anything else. If he intended to disregard the last half hour and return to his normal, wonderful self, she supposed it was best to follow his lead.

Sometimes it was almost too easy to slip back into the happy, adventure-awaits-mindset with him.

"Of course I'm too good for you. Which is why you won't say 'no' when I ask you for a favor," she added with a characteristic cheeky grin.

"Anything. Name it. Just so long as it's not -"

Rose raised one of her dark eyebrows, as if to ask, Didn't you just say anything? Her mind was already set on what she wanted, and she had a feeling that the Doctor knew what it was as well.

It must have been an expression he was used to, because he exclaimed, "Must we? We just dropped in on her!"

"Weeks ago!" Rose countered in mock exasperation. "I need clean clothes. All these spare rooms and no place for laundry. How do you expect a girl to get by like that?"

He gave in with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'm not staying for supper." After a moment of typing coordinates and time-ordinates into the TARDIS, he added in a more solemn voice that gave her more comfort than the phony exchange about going to see her mum: "I'm so sorry, Rose. I never wanted you to see this."

She wasn't sure if, by 'this,' he meant the carnage outside, or his ensuing meltdown. Either way, she had seen. "I'm glad I was here," she told him in the same soft, reverent tone. "You shouldn't be alone to face a day like today."

His answering smile was appreciative, yet sad - real. Now she began to wonder if all his previous smirks and laughter weren't just covering up the guilt and hurt he'd suffered all these years. Rose longed to hug him again, but there wasn't time.

"I don't know what I'll do without you, Rose Tyler."

His mumbled words were almost lost in the open space between them, but it never failed to register with her that the Doctor avoided responding to her sentiments of being his companion forever.

"Well," she corrected gently, "you'll never have to find out."

A brief flash of something - a stinging look that branded her as human and perishable - glimmered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with his usual mischievous grin. With a flip of a yellow switch, the TARDIS jerked to life and began her materialization cycle. They both gripped the edges of the main counsel as the Doctor called out, "Jackie Tyler, here we come!"

[physicalkideliot]

Great minds...

Fan fic for @cldfiredrgn based on your suggestion of El’s sister in law in an accident and the daughter surviving... as a side note... this may have to be a continuing story... liking what’s going on...

*****************************************************************************************************

It had been a few months since I had been kicked out of Fillory, gone back and fought for my place as king. That had become my home. Now here I am once again kicked out. There had better be a good damned reason for all this shit.

 I found myself waking up in a small apartment. There were people above us yelling about lord only knows what. They were Italian so they were not quiet about their disagreements. I rolled over to try and get a bit more sleep before facing the world only to discover I was the only one still in bed. I heard the shower running and decided to go investigate.

 “Hello??”

“Hi. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Quentin?”

“Eliot.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Uhhh.. I live here.”

“Then… do I?...”

“Yeah, we both do.”

“What exactly happened……..”

“Not again El. I don’t have time for this again this morning. I’m already running late.”

 I slowly backed out of the bathroom trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Apparently whatever it was had happened before. I looked down at my hands and noticed I had been absent mindedly playing with a ring. Was I still married? I mean surely if I was kicked out of Fillory then the marriage to Fen and Idri was null now. I guess I could take the ring off.

 I slipped it off to see it was engraved on the inside. ‘Queliot’. What the hell?

 I barely had time to finish my thought before I heard the phone ring.

 “El, can you grab that? If it’s Jenny tell her I’m running about five minutes late.” I heard Quentin yell from the bathroom.

 I walked over to answer the phone. I saw the area code and didn’t want to answer it.

 “Not them.” I whispered to myself. “How would they have even gotten my number?”

“El? Answer that!”

“Ok! Got it!”

 I picked up the phone.

 “Hello?”

“Eliot?” The voice on the other end sounded distraught and was crying.

“James?”

“Eliot….. It’s Karen… she’s…..” He continued to cry. “She’s gone.”

“Shit. What happened?”

“They were in a car wreck. Her and Sara.” He was still crying. The last time I saw Sara, she was two. I hadn’t seen any of my family in ten years. I went to Brakebills and then Fillory and just kind of moved on.

 “Eliot?”

“Yeah, I’m here” he had snapped me out of my thoughts.

“I need your help.”

“How can I help? I don’t know about car wrecks or anything.”

“Sara lived and now I’m alone and I have no idea how to raise her on my own.”

“I don’t know anything about raising kids.”

“You have to help me Eliot.”

“James, I don’t know anything about being a parent or raising kids or any of that.”

“Pleas Eliot.” He sounded so desperate and he did call me after not speaking to me in ten years, that was the definition of desperation.

“Ok. I’ll come home and see what I can do.”

“When?”

“This weekend.”

“Thank you Eliot.”

“It’s fine. I’m not happy about it and I’m not staying long. I’ll help you get things sorted but then I’m done.”

“Fine. Anything helps.”

 I heard Quentin getting out of the shower.

 “I have to go. See you this weekend.”

“Ok. See you then.”

 He hung up. I was curious as to what exactly happened and dreading going home.

 “What’s wrong El?”

“Ummm… oh.. nothing.”

“El you’re white as a sheet. That’s not nothing.” He sat down beside me.

“I have something I have to deal with.”

“El you don’t keep secrets from me.” He reached over and took my hand. I felt a stray tear roll down my face. “Shit, you never cry, this must be serious.

“My sister in law…. Is….. dead….”

“Shit, El. I’m so sorry.” He hugged me. “Hang on.” He stood up and grabbed his phone and started calling someone.

 “Hey Jenny, it’s Q. I have some personal things I have to deal with. I won’t be in today. Can you handle that meeting this morning?.... Great….. Yeah he’s ok….. it’s a long story. I’m using my personal time….. Yes, the whole week…..He needs me….. yes…that’s fine…. Goodbye.”

 “What the hell?”

“You need me El.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“No. You’re not, and I’m sure as hell not letting you go back home alone.”

“Q… it’s fine…..”

He walked over and kissed me. He put his hands on my face and wiped the stray tears away and ran his hands through my hair.

“El. I love you. You’re not facing this alone. Let’s get some things packed. I can get us a flight out there.”

 We packed a suitcase and Quentin booked us a flight.

 We had gotten to the airport and I filled Quentin in on the things that had happened and he in turn explained to me how we got kicked out of Fillory when magic seemed to have died but somehow it came back but we never found another way back to Fillory. I had found home with him and we spent a lot of time together and decided to get married in Central Park since it reminded us of the fields at Brakebills.

 As we flew I told Quentin all about the small town my family lived in and how they would be less than thrilled about their dandy son coming home with his husband.

 “It’s nothing against you so don’t take it personally, it’s just how they are. “

“It’s fine El. Not like I haven’t heard it all before.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m more sorry for you with all this. At least your niece survived.”

“Yeah, they said they don’t know how though. They said the car was totaled and it was a miracle she survived. She only had a few scratches and a bloody nose.”

“Odd.”

“Yeah.”

 “Good afternoon folks, we are beginning our decent. In a few moments we will be touching down in beautiful Indiana. Local time is 5:47pm and it is currently a glorious 67 degrees.” We heard the pilot announce. I felt sick.

 I instinctively reached over and grabbed Quentin’s hand.

 “Oh…. Sorry….”

“I’m not.” He smiled back and held my hand.

 The plane landed and we got off. We walked through the small airport and grabbed our bags and picked up the rental car Quentin had reserved for us.

 “Really? That’s the car you picked?”

“It sounded like it would be good for this.”

“You got us a blue four door pickup truck.”

“When in Rome?” He smiled and shrugged as he put his bags in the back seat.

“Some days, I hate you.” I glared at him as I put my bags in.

“You drive.” He smiled as he tossed me the keys.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish”

“Whatever Quentin Coldwater Waugh!!”

“Whatever Eliot Waugh Coldwater!!”

“Just get in you dick.”

He laughed at me as we both got in and I tried to acclimate myself to this monstrosity he was making me drive.

 We drove for about an hour before reaching my brother’s house.

 We both got out and gathered our things.

 “Eliot.” He came out to greet us. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Quentin.”

“The Quentin.”

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t he the one who designed the huge skyscraper in New York?”

“That’s me.” Quentin chimed in.

“Wow. Not what I pictured.”

“Ummm… Thank you?”

“No offense but you look a little small…”

“Fuck James, just let it go.” I rolled my eyes as I walked in and set my things in the guest room.

 I walked into the living room and saw my mom and dad sitting there.

 “So, we heard you got married.” My mom snarked.

“Yeah.”

“Is she nice?” my father chimed in.

“He is.” I stated glaring at him.

“Oh. Well then.” He huffed and sat back down.

“Where is he?”

“He’s coming.” I heard Quentin and James come in and close the door.

“Hi.” Quentin walked in and greeted everyone.

“Mom, dad, this is Quentin.”

“He’s the one you married?” my father frowned.

“Yes.”

“He’s cute.” My mom chirped.

“Yeah, that’s why I claimed him.” I half smiled.

“He’s the one who built that huge building out in New York.” James interjected.

“Well, I didn’t build it, they have a team for that, I just kind of designed it.” Quentin stated in his usual nerdy matter of fact way.

“So where’s Sara?” I asked in an attempt to escape this conversation.

“She’s upstairs.”

“Good. I’ll go see how she is.” I walked away and headed upstairs.

 I knocked on her door.

 “Come in.”

“Hi.”

“Uncle Eliot!!” She ran over and hugged me. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m here.” I laughed and hugged her. I had spoken to her on the phone. Usually on her birthday when her mom called me.

“You’re back for mom’s funeral aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but let’s talk about something else.”

“Did you see the photos?”

“What photos?”

“Of the crash.”

“No.”

“They said I should have died.” She just stated all this so matter of fact while continuing to brush her doll’s hair.

“They said it was bad.”

“Uncle Eliot, why did you go away?”

“I had to go to school.”

“You were gone a long time.”

“I know.” I looked down, almost feeling guilty.

“Are you a doctor now? Mom said people who go to school for a really long time are doctors.”

“No. I’m not a doctor.” I smiled at her. I tried to think of things little girls would like. Looking around the room I saw pictures of princesses and knights. “I was a king though.”

“A king!!!”

“Yeah, with a horse and carriage and everything.”

“Did you have a crown?”

“Yeah and a castle and a cook.”

“And a queen?”

“Yeah, a few queens and there were other kings with me.”

“Did you fight?”

“Yep, with swords.”

“You’re so brave uncle Eliot.” She ran over and hugged me. “I wish I was a queen, I’d save people.”

“I know.” I hugged her tighter.

“Do you want to see the pictures?”

“Ummm… Sure….”

She pulled out a newspaper and showed me the front page. It was a car wrapped around a tree under a semi.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it was bad.”

“It was.”

“I had some scratches and a bleeding nose.”

I looked at the picture and tried to figure out how anyone survived all that.

“Sara?”

“Yeah uncle Eliot?”

“Did you think about anything before the wreck?”

“Yeah. I saw the semi coming and I felt really scared and I just kept thinking of how scared I was and how I didn’t want to die. I thought about putting myself in a bubble and floating away. I wish I put mommy in a bubble too.”

“It’s ok, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t stop it.” I half smiled at her and let her play.

 I walked downstairs and found Quentin in the guest room changing. I walked in and closed the door behind me.

 “Shit.”

“What’s wrong El?”

 I showed him the newspaper.

 “Wow. How did she survive?”

“She didn’t want to die.”

“Well yeah but that’s a bad wreck. Nobody would survive that.”

“Q.”

“What?”

“She’s fucking Telekinitic.”

“How would you know that?”

“She build a ward around herself.”

“How.”

“Same way I killed Logan Kinnear. She was scared and it’s all she could think about and then, bam, it happened. She walked away with scratches and a bloody nose. That happened to me my first time too.”

“El.”

“No, she is. I just know it. She has to be to live through this.”

 A few days passed. The funeral happened and we had the usual family dinner.

 Quentin and I went up to Sara’s room where she was playing.

 “Hi Sara.”

“Hi Quentin.”

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Have you ever thought about stuff and then it happens?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“The wreck. I didn’t want to die and I didn’t.”

“Sara, I want to try something.” I walked over and sat on the bed.

“What’s that uncle Eliot?”

I set a small marble down on the table.

 “I want you to try and move that just by thinking about it.”

“Ok.” She stared at the marble. “It’s not working uncle Eliot.” She looked sad.

“It’s ok. It takes a minute. Try again.”

 She looked back at the marble.

 “It’s still not working.”

“It takes practice.”

 She started crying.

 “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it! I want to make you happy uncle Eliot and I want to be a princess like you were a king!” She cried and the marble shook then shot around the room before breaking a picture hanging on the wall.

“That’s it!!” Quentin yelled.

“Shit!”

“Uncle Eliot!!”

“I know I said a bad word but you did it!!”

“Does that mean I’m a princes??”

“Not yet but closer.” I smiled.

“What’s going on up there?” I heard James yell coming up the stairs.

“Nothing!” I yelled back as I heard him open the door.

“There’s a picture broken on the floor and you two sitting in here like idiots.” He snapped.

“Daddy!!! I’m a princess!!”

“What?”

“I have mag…” I grabbed her and wrapped her in a hug to help stifle her saying she was magic.

“I broke the picture. I’ll clean it up. Sorry.”

“Just don’t let her get hurt.” He snapped and walked back down stairs.

“Why did you lie uncle Eliot?”

“People here can’t know you are magic.”

“Why?”

“They get scared.”

“But daddy likes magic. He watches the shows on TV.”

“That’s different. That’s not the kind of magic we have.”

“Oh. So what do I do?”

“Sara, you’re telekinetic.”

“What’s that?”

“You can do things by thinking about them, it’s magic. That’s how you survived.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I can do it too. So can Quentin, but his magic is different.”

“What do I do with it?”

“You have to learn to control it and then you can learn spells and learn how to cast.”

“How do I do that?”

“School.”

“School?”

“Yes, that’s the school I went to. They can help. I’ll call them in the morning.”

“Thank you uncle Eliot!!”

 She ran over and hugged me again and I smiled. I helped clean up the broken picture and let her play with her dolls.

 Quentin and I walked back downstairs and outside. I called Dean Fogg.

 “Hello.”

“Hi Dean, it’s Eliot.”

“Hello Eliot.”

“I need your help.”

“How can I help?”

“It’s my niece. She’s telekinetic.”

“I’ll stop by in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

 I hung up the phone. Holy shit. More Waugh magicians.

************************************************************************************************

[themadcaitlin]

Hawaii 5-0 Pilot- Hou

Heyy guys!! So this has been sat on my laptop for ages and I wanted to share it with the world. This is probably going to be five parts just for the pilot because it is 22, 341 words. The main plot follows the show but some sub plots and Joey is mine. I am such a sucker for Hawaii 5-0. This is more of a teaser for the rest of it but I hope you guys will enjoy it!!

Words: 2271.

Fandom: Hawaii 5-0.

Pohang, South Korea:

“Commander McGarrett has the prisoner secure. Over.” 

The voice through the com crackled as the armoured vehicle made its way over numerous bumps and dusty roads. The four men -including the aforementioned prisoner- jostled around the small space as the driver took another sharp turn to avoid what was most likely a large boulder. The dirt roads did not have many obstacles but the ones where they did, the obstacles were hard enough and large enough to stop a vehicle like the one McGarrett and his team were in.

The tallest and best armed of the group –McGarrett- kept his eyes forward on the prisoner, his hands tight around his machine gun. The prisoner smirked around the blood in his beard and pulled at the rope around his wrists. McGarrett kicked him the shin, a sign for the prisoner to stop moving, which he did but opened his mouth instead, “You know it’s funny,” McGarrett narrowed his eyes and pointed the gun at the Scottish prisoner’s face. “You don’t look Hawaiian.” 

McGarrett let out a laugh along with his team and gave the prisoner his own smirk.

“You’re going to tell us everything,” was the Commander’s reply.

“But you were born there, weren’t you?” The prisoner refused to be quiet or at least, refused to give them any helpful information.

McGarrett persisted, “Every terrorist that you and Victor helped arm, every supplier you worked with,” he took a breath, “all your trafficking associates and anyone you’ve ever sold weapons to.” The prisoner did not look fazed, his eyes held boredom and his hands relaxed in their bindings. His smirk never left his face, not even when the Commander’s stern expression fell back into place.

“Chasing me and my brother around the world for five years, you’re like a little doggy looking for a bone; did you not think we would do our homework on you? Or even on your friends across the world?” 

McGarrett’s eyes widened and automatically reached for his phone hidden in one of the five pockets he had in his camo-trousers. He found it quickly and typed in a familiar number, the air caught in his throat in anticipation. After only three rings an English voice answered his call which allowed his breath to return and his heart-rate returned to normal.

“Joey are you-?”

“You absolute ass! Do you think it’s funny, stealing my client? Huh? He is under England’s custody and last time I checked, you were not English! I have the British Army on my ass because you meddled!!”

Joey was fine, in the physical sense at least, but despite her obvious anger, the Commander could not stifle the smile that threatened his cheeks. Yet, that smile faded when he heard his team’s laughter; Joey’s voice must have been loud enough for them to hear which didn’t surprise him. The Commander’s eyes squeezed shut and he raised one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck. His apology was on the tip of his tongue but two short beeps in his ear told him that another call pended. Therefore, instead of apologising he told her, “I’ll make it up to you later,” hung up, checked the caller I.D and allowed the other call to follow through.

“Dad,” McGarrett’s greeting sounded like an accusation.

“Hey Champ.” 

Champ? His father had never called him ‘Champ’. McGarrett and the prisoner exchanged a glare before he enquired as to his father’s health. 

“Who are these people Steve?” McGarrett heard the waver in his father’s voice and he felt his chest clench. Victor had his father and he had Victor’s brother, he easily predicted what the next few minutes entailed.

There were muffled scratching sounds before a deep, Scottish voice started to speak to him, “I now know where you get it from, you’ve got a tough old man here, Steve. Now, I’m willing to offer you a trade: my brother, for your father. All things considered, I think it is fair, don’t you?” As Victor tried to bargain with Steve, the Commander scribbled on a small notepad, the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. The note read:

Send Honolulu P.D to my father’s house ASAP.

He handed it to the man next to him and received a nod in return. Then the man proceeded to fish for his phone whilst Steve returned his attention to his own.

“You’re smart enough to know that’s not going to happen.”

“I appreciate the compliment.” Victor sounded desperate and vexed. Steve practically saw the veins pop out of his neck and the perspiration that dampened his shirt.

“You know the drill, we don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Oh, are we negotiating?” Steve sighed, it was bad enough he had to deal with one sassy Brit that day, he did not want to deal with another.

With his brow furrowed, Steve leant forward in his seat and informed Victor that he ‘gets nothing’. On the other end of the line he could hear his father’s pleas for the Scotsman to give him the phone, which Steve deeply hoped he would. Yet, it sounded like his father was trying to negotiate with Victor which Steve made a mental note to reprimand him for. Huh, he never thought he had to ‘reprimand’ his father for anything. Throughout his entire life, his father had taught him the difference between good and bad and last time Steve checked, negotiating with terrorists was on the ‘bad’ side of things.

“Listen to me Champ,” Steve’s brow furrowed deeper, there it was again, “I’m sorry that I lied to you,” cue Steve’s deeper confusion, “I love you son and I didn’t say it enough.” The Commander knew exactly where that conversation was going but every attempt he used to dissuade his father from talking failed. “Whatever these people want Steve… Don’t give it to them.”

There was a thud on the other end of the receiver and Steve called for his dad not once, not twice but three times before Victor’s furious voice exploded through the mic, “Enough games!”

“Hey,” Steve’s attention was turned away from his phone and Victor to his brother, “boom.”

He barely had time to look confused before the armoured truck that lead the way flipped over and burst into flames. The cause of said explosion came from the roaring helicopter that decided to join the party. Bullets rained down on them as the vehicles stopped and the soldiers and officers used their own bullets against the attack. The helicopter took a few hits but after a few minutes it flew off in the direction it came without warning. However, they did leave three packages for Steve and his men to clean up, three dangerous and armed packages that had the same accents as Victor and his brother.  

Steve sent a couple of hand signals at his men which they understood and continued to fire, that gave Steve his chance to move the prisoner to a safer place. If the prisoner died, not only did his father but Joey would have his head on a silver plate if he did not return him and he did not fancy dying that day. Thus, Steve shot at any man that tried to shoot at him and protected the prisoner with his own body. He heard his men dying, their grunts of pain echoed in his head but he pushed himself to keep moving, to keep them both moving.

Then, it all happened so fast, one minute the prisoner was in his grasp, safe from harm and the next minute he had run for a gun, pointed it at Steve and had been shot. By Steve. Once realisation hit the Commander, the only option for him was to curse and try to save the prisoner. He had to applaud himself, he was a good shot but it was unfortunate that he wasn’t as good of a medic as he was a gunman. Yet, all he could think about was how Joey was going to murder him in his sleep if he did not save his –her- prisoner.

“C’mon Anton!” It was too late, the prisoner could no longer hear him and his pale eyes had glazed over. Steve did not have long to process that fact because his phone vibrated in his pocket milliseconds later. With hesitant hands and desperation on his face, he answered.

“Put Anton on the phone,” With a glance at the body, Steve remained silent. “My brother’s dead, isn’t he? Isn’t he?!” It was silent on both ends and Steve double checked his phone to make sure they had not lost connection. “Then so is your father.” Horror overtook Steve’s features and he called out to his father once again. As soon as the word ‘dad’ left his lips, the trigger had been pulled and the shot sounded through the receiver.

***

Frustration, was the key emotion Joey felt, there were other emotions such as anger, agitation and exhaustion but her frustration was overwhelming. There she stood, her hands clasped behind her back and her chin forward, legs shoulder width apart and dressed in her best suit but she couldn’t help the look of impatience that crossed her features as she stared at the old man, the old man who enjoyed being focused on his cigarette instead of talking to her.  His beard was trimmed immaculately and he was dressed in an emmaculate uniform and on his chest gleamed numerous medals and badges whereas hers shone with her ID badge. His entire posture screamed superiority whereas she was sure hers screamed ‘stubborn teenager’.

“Why am I here Major?” She ground out through clenched teeth.

“Miss Robertson, you are a brilliant lawyer and can rival my men in the field, so we need you to clean up the mess you have dropped on our door. You will be going to Hawaii to retrieve Steve McGarrett and bring him back here for questioning.”

Joey took a deep breath and reminded herself that he was her superior and helped pay her; ‘Don’t say anything Joey, don’t be a smart-ass,’ she thought as she squeezed her eyes shut. Still, it was strange that they would send her to American soil just to retrieve a single man and not the men whose jobs actually entailed retrieval. She knew the regiment only had to make a call and the problem would practically be resolved. Unfortunately for her, the Major had it out for her.

Once she re-opened her eyes she spoke, “with all due respect Major, Commander McGarrett is not a part of our Military nor is he a threat to you in any way so that is not your call to make.“ She mentally reprimanded herself as her eyes locked with the man’s over the desk; as irritated at the man’s demands as she was, she knew better than to break form in front of an officer. She wasn’t technically a member of the British Army but she was under their pay as she was hired to be their lawyer due to her lack of a losing streak. Therefore, she was given the title of Legal Officer but stayed away from the field which gave her time to be trained by the Officers when she wasn’t saving their asses in court.

The older man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; frustration was written all over his face which did nothing to calm her urge to storm out and never speak to him again like a petulant child. Once he released his nose he pushed a beige folder across the desk. She eyed the Major with caution before breaking her stance and reaching for the folder. Printed on the front was her name and file code: Joey D. Robertson MS09217. They only gave out personal files when the task was urgent and the receiver needed a reminder of their place in the Army. She grimaced and tucked the folder under her arm. She hated her file, it reminded her of how much her bosses knew about her, how vulnerable she was to their scrutiny and disapproval. Her ‘Military’ career was what she took pride in and the knowledge that she had let Steve slip under her radar because he was a friend made her sick.

“These orders were sent from Colonel Moulton, Robertson. I was simply told to deliver them.” She knew he enjoyed delivering those orders just as much as she hated receiving it. However, she nodded and was about to walk out when his voice stopped her, “The flight is at 7:35 pm tomorrow, do not be late.” She looked over her shoulder and smirked, a plan already formed in her mind. They wanted her to clean up the mess, then that was what she intended to do.

The smirk stayed in place but she didn’t notice. Only when she glimpsed her reflection in her bathroom mirror did she drop the smirk from her face. Her pale eyes behind the black rimmed glasses matched the badge clipped to her chest which reminded her to change into something more suitable for civilian travel: black jeans with a few faded marks and tears due to their age, a red muscle-tee which had surprisingly remained in good condition, leather vest and combat boots which both smelt like new leather despite their worn out states. Lastly, she gripped the elastic in her hair and pulled, her dark locks fell past her shoulders and added to her intimidating look.

She flicked the light switch before she grabbed her duffel bags and locked the door. ‘Hawaii, here I come.’  

Please do not reblog unless it’s directly from me!! Please do not use my works without crediting and tagging me. Thank you!!

[littlewritingcorner]

Sick Days: Day 9

Title: When Parties Suck Fandom: Voltron Main Character: Katie Holt, Matt Holt, Shiro Warnings: Vomiting

@sickdaysofficial @sickandvomiting

Katie regrets going to a Garrison holiday party so much more than she thought. Luckily, her brother and Shiro are around to lend a hand,

Katie closed her eyes tightly against the bright lights in the bathroom, hoping to ignore the stabbing pain at her temples. The way her heart was pounding in her chest was making her dizzy and, if  possible, even more nauseas than when she’d arrived to the Garrison Holiday party that evening with her family.

She didn’t want to admit how sick she felt to her family, knowing her father would usher the four of them home before she could blink. She didn’t want to ruin the festivities for her family, and she rather enjoyed being able to pick the minds of the brilliant scientists that always attended. She’d thought she could ignore the dull headache she’d woken up with that morning and the chills running down her spine. It was winter after all, of course she was cold! Just an hour into the party though and her head had been spinning. The smell of sweet meats and heady spiced wines clung to her nostrils and turned her stomach quickly.

She’d pulled away from her brother maybe fifteen minutes ago when her stomach had groaned and gone suddenly hallow and too full at the same time. She was not going to make a mess of herself in the middle of the party.

The quiet solace of the bathroom had been welcoming at first. The moment she’d locked the door and leaned against it the hollowness in her stomach disappeared and the headache dulled considerably.

She’d thought she would be fine. She sat down on the toilet lid, catching her breath and pressing her face into her hands. Just a few minutes and she’d be good to go back out there and finish the night off. No problem. She just needed a minute of quiet.

That minute had turned into two, then three, than five very quickly. Whenever she dared start to straighten up she could feel her stomach groan and gurgle angrily at her. She panted, resting her palm over the mess and tried as long as she could to calm it down. She could feel the cold sweat prickling along her skin and the pressure building in her chest and finally had to give in. She’d forced herself to the sink, mostly hoping the change in position would help and eventually her body would get used to it again.

The churning only grew worse.

A fuzzy darkness danced at the edges of her vision and she swallowed a nervous hiccough. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the sink, using it as crutch to help her kneel down and press her forehead against the cabinet. She refused to pass out in the bathroom. Refused.

This was awful. She couldn’t be sick. She just couldn’t. She was chanting it in her head as she let the cool wood press against her burning forehead, hoping to quell the dizziness until a sharp heave surprised her.

She stood up as quickly as she could and fumbled for the tap to run the water as loudly as she could. Luckily the party was still going strong downstairs and she’d snuck off to one of the more secluded bathrooms. Another sharp heave constricted her chest as she white-knuckled the large porcelain sink and bent as far over as she dared. The less mess to clean up the better.

She wanted to yank the hair tie from her wrist but knew she didn’t have the time for it as a sick burp rumbled up her throat, bringing a sharp acidic sting with it. She gagged again and hastily grabbed her hair back in one hand, bracing herself on the sink with the other before the next gag nearly sent her to her knees, spilling her stomach into the sink.

She was shaking harshly, trying not to look at the mess splattered in front of her being washed away by the running water. She whimpered as her stomach heaved again and vomited up a second wave, then a third. She’d let her hair go to brace herself over the sink better, knowing her legs would give out if she didn’t.

She spat the sour spit clinging to her tongue into the mess, then cupped her hands under the water to rinse her mouth out. Her head was still spinning but her stomach felt empty at least. Her hands were shaking as she rinsed the bowl and then her face, glad that she never wore make-up, and yet wishing she had something to hide the bright flush staining her ghostly skin.

“You’re ok. You’re ok, Katie. It’s over,” she breathed and pushed away from the sink. She took a deep, slow breath and then turned the water off. She had this. And if she didn’t get back to Matt soon he would come looking for her without a doubt. She glanced at her watch a realized she’d been in the bathroom for an hour. Suddenly she was even more glad that she’d snuck away from the first floor or she’d have been found out for sure.

She made her way shakily down the stairs again, smiling naturally and hoping she didn’t look as bad as she felt. No one batted an eye at her, too distracted by the party and other guests. It looked like they’d just brought out a large tiered cake for the party as well that people were already snacking on.

She swallowed thickly and tried to find herself a quiet corner to get her bearings in. She couldn’t spot Matt or her parents, though admittedly she hadn’t looked hard. The thought of entering the hot throng of people made her head spin in ways she didn’t want to imagine. Her main goal was just quiet seclusion until she could stand entering the mass of socialization again. She found her way to the back of the room and leaned against the full-length glass doors leading out to the patio. She was shivering, but the cold stopped her head from spinning so much.

“Are you alright, miss?” a deep voice asked calmly and Katie opened her eyes – when had she closed them? – too look up at the young man standing in front of her. Tall, dark hair, even darker eyes. Eyes watching her with a great deal of concern just then and she wondered how bad she looked. Quickly she stood up straighter and smiled up at him.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, frowning at how weak her voice sounded. The young man frowned and nodded at her, wandering back off. Katie sighed, assuming she was out of the woods until he came back, a glass of water in his hand.

“Why don’t you take a seat? I don’t do well with these parties either,” he smiled and lead Katie over to the nearest chair without waiting for an answer. Katie was too surprised and tired to fight it if she’d wanted too. Still, she pulled herself up right and forced a warm smile on her face. Personality aside, she was raised in a family where these niceties had been ingrained into her; at least for publicities sake.

“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the glass and took a few hesitant sips. It calmed her throat but she could distinctly feel the cold water settle in her stomach and decided it was much smarter not to tempt fate.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Where’s you’re family? I’ll get them for you.”

“No! No, I’m fine. Really. Just a little tired. I think I was standing too long or something,” she laughed and the man smiled kindly in a way that said he obviously didn’t believe her.

“I’m Shiro. Nice to meet you.”

“Katie,” she said politely, chancing a second sip at the water to keep up the facade that she was fine.

“Katie! There you are. Where did you sneak off too?” Matt smiled, waving her down as he quickly skirted across the floor, a plate of cake in his hands. “Oh, Shiro! You’ve met my sister.”

Shiro’s brow raised and he looked at the girl. “Oh, we’d just introduced ourselves. I didn’t realize you were Matt’s sister.”

“What?” Katie asked, her head reeling painfully as she tried to process the new information.

“Shiro’s our pilot. I’ve told you about him before,” Matt grinned happily before handing her the plate in his hand.

“I saved you a piece with the flower. I know it’s your favorite,” he laughed and then sat down next to Shiro, striking up a conversation Katie sadly couldn’t be bothered to follow. Her head was already starting to pound a steady rhythm behind her eyes with every heartbeat. The world felt like she were swimming through jello. Sticky and slow and just plain gross.

She stared at the sweet cake in her lap and bit her lip, feeling her stomach give a threatening gurgle. She did love the cake, and sweets in general, but right now… and Matt had brought it over just for her.

“Katie, everything ok?” he asked and she perked up, blushing at the two pairs of eyes staring at her. “You’re not touching your cake,” he pointed out and she laughed.

“Sorry, just spacing out,” she said and took a decent forkful of the strawberry flavored whipped cream flower and swallowed it. She regretted it instantly but smiled happily anyway, taking another bite of cake and strawberries that time. It was sickly sweet and her throat didn’t want to swallow the gob of food in her mouth but she forced it anyway. Matt looked appeased and went back to discussing the Kerabose mission with Shiro that they’d be taking in a few more months.

Katie stared at the remaining piece of cake on her lap and took a breath, a sip of water, and then did her best to force herself to finish the piece. Each bite was torture. Every swallow was a struggle and what should have been a delicious treat settled like rocks. With a few bites left to go her stomach was cramping and groaning dangerously. She could image the food refusing to dissolve and curdling her insides.

She felt bloated and sick and couldn’t get the sweet slime off her tongue no matter how much water she drank. Before she’d realized it she’d finished the glass in her desperate attempt to  remove the thick film from her mouth and all it was doing was sloshing around as her body attempted to digest the sweet. She put the plate to the side, regretting every choice she’d made that day. She should have just said she was too full for cake!

“Oh, this is your favorite song. C’mon, let me prove to Shiro I don’t have two left feet,” Matt laughed and reached out for Katie’s hand, oblivious to his sister’s discomfort. He’d clearly had a couple glasses of Champaign already.

“Matt… I don’t think so…” she swallowed and gripped the arm rest with one hand, her other settled protectively over her stomach in a desperate attempt to keep it steady. She loved dancing with Matt at these things, they were fun! And she was competitive and they always impressed the crowd, but the thought of even standing just then was too much.

“What? Are you too shy to dance with your big brother now? C’mon,” he laughed and tugged Katie up easily. The sudden shift had her vision blacking out and the throbbing in her head intensifying. She stumbled and clutched to Matt who was suddenly completely sober and reaching to steady his sister’s shoulders.

“Katie? Hey, are you ok?” he asked softly, gently pushing his sister away to look at her face. She’d gone white as a sheet and was trembling in his hands. “Katie?” he pressed again before cupping her cheek and frowning. “You’re burning up,” he breathed, looking to Shiro helplessly.

“I can get one of the doctors,” he offered but Katie shook her head, fisting Matt’s jacket tightly and ducking her head.

“N-no…” she stuttered, feeling acid in her throat again and tears stinging at her eyes. She didn’t have time for that. “Get me o-out of here,” she choked out.

“Katie–“

“Please!” she urged, covering her mouth and hiccoughing. Matt paled considerably and Shiro stepped in.

“I’ll take care of her. You go get your parents,” Shiro spoke as he easily swept Katie up into his arms. She squeaked and curled into his chest desperately, not noticing the gasps and eyes following them as Shiro hurriedly carried her to the bathroom. She was beyond embarrassed as he excused them through the crowd and slipped into the bathroom with her. She slumped in front of the toilet, not caring about her dress anymore and barely registering the strong hand holding her hair back or stroking between her shoulders.

“Oh god,” she choked, gagging sharply over the bowl and tasting strawberries. She was embarrassed to have been carried, but knew she’d have thrown up in the middle of the party if Shiro hadn’t done it. She was already frozen in place.

“Easy. Easy. You’ll be alright,” Shiro spoke softly, not flinching when she let out a sickly belch that brought up a thin stream of liquid. It was quickly followed by a heave that brought a flood of undigested cake and strawberries into the bowl.

“There. it’s ok. You’ll be ok,” he soothed as Katie’s stomach purged itself of the sweet food. It cramped more painfully and Katie pressed her arms against it. Her muscles convulsed with every heave as it sought to bring up every last bit of food she’d possibly eaten the entire day. She panted over the bowl, tears flowing from her eyes and shuddering sobs racking her body and upsetting her stomach even more.

There was a hand pressed against her chest. She knew it was Shiro probably trying to prevent her from falling face first into the toilet and drowning. She was too sick to care about the fact that this man she’d never met before had his hand in her breastbone.

“Katie? Oh, sweetheart,” her father gasped and thanked Shiro as he took his place behind his daughter, brushing her hair back. “I’m here, baby. Dad’s here. We’re going to get you home, alright?” he soothed, holding her as another heave brought up more bile. A small commotion had started outside of the door as word spread that someone was sick but Katie was too far gone to notice.

“M’sorry… I’m… sorry,” she sobbed as the heaving stopped. Her dad hushed her and flushed the mess, wiping her mouth off before she curled into his chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. Just relax. You’ll be alright,” he cooed as she cried into his chest like she hadn’t since she was a little girl. Katie had never felt so exposed and embarrassed before in her entire life! She wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“Dad? Mom’s got our coats, and General Livda got us a trash bag if we need it…” Matt said gently. “Thanks for the help, Shiro. I wish you two hadn’t met like this. Katie’s going to be mortified tomorrow.”

Shiro looked over and moved out of the way as Mrs. Holt shuffled in with Katie’s jacket and helped get their daughter settled and up into Mr. Holt’s arms.

“Something tells me she won’t really remember me out of all of this,” he shrugged and watched Katie being carried out of the bathroom, half conscious. One of the doctor’s offered to look her over but the Holt’s decided it was better to just get their daughter home and take her to the doctors in the morning. A flu was something they could handle on their own in the privacy of their home.

“I’ll see you later, Shiro.”

“Yeah. Tell Katie I hope she feels better soon,” he waved after them. Katie cracked an eye open as she was carried out the door, blushing at the people watching them and curling tighter into her dad’s chest. This was hands down the worst, absolute worst, party she had ever been to. She had no idea how she could ever face any of these people again the next year.

[abutterflyobsession]

Doctor Who AU: Part 19

prelude/one/two/three/four/five/six/seven/eight/nine/ten/eleven/twelve/thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen/seventeen/nineteen/ao3

“Yoohoo! Us again! Having a little problem with non-native plant toxins! Thought you might be able to help!”

Aura Plum opened the front door of the cottage, looking suspiciously around for any sign of the dark-haired Time Lord. But there was only the other one, the blonde one, looking cheerful and slightly out of breath.

“You parked on my marigolds.”

Dawn glanced back at the TARDIS, “Yeeeah . . . sorry about that. Kind of an emergency, bit of a rush, sort of an army of evil plant soldiers wrecking havoc in the city, stabbing people and spreading some nasty toxins around. Sort of need to whip up an all-purpose antitoxin and I remembered you had a pretty fantastic lab setup, so . . . hi.”

“Plant army?” Aura folded her arms, rings and bangles catching the light, “How did that happen, pray tell?”

“Someone that shouldn't have sort of got hold of the primrose pendant and used it to grown an army bent on causing destruction and chaos. Very unfortunate. We got the pendant back, though!”

“Where is it? And where is Broden?”

“Uh, Bog has the pendant. He's with my sister. Trying to shut down the army. We were helping, but the toxin situation is kind of becoming critical so we got sidetracked. He's perfectly safe.”

“Yeah,” Sunny called, dragging out a plastic-shrouded form from the TARDIS, “We're the ones running around trying to get samples without getting stabbed. Dawn, I feel like a grave robber over here.”

“Help you in a minute!” Dawn assured him.

“I'm calling Broden,” Aura started to shut the door, “I'll see what he says before I let either of you back into my house.”

“Yeah, wait, wait, wait,” Dawn waved her hands until Aura paused with the door still open a crack, “He's kind of in the middle of a thing. The primrose pendent? Kind of a massive database of Cheem history. He's a bit . . . plugged in right now, trying to stop the army. Psychic thing, you know?”

The door swung all the way open, “The pendant is a database?”

“Yup! You'll have a lot of fun going through it, I bet. After we stop the city from getting poisoned, yeah?”

“I suppose you'd better come in,” Aura sighed, waving for them to follow.

“Yippee,” Dawn ran over to Sunny and helped him pick up the body, “I do love a good scientific collaboration!”

“Don't touch anything!” Aura called from inside the house.

“Well, that's not fun at all.”

“You need to stop them from spreading any more toxins.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“It's important.”

“I know that.”

“Then maybe you should hurry up and stop it.”

“It's a little hard with you jabbering in my ear!”

Bog was still getting the hang of being split up among multiple locations. He was standing in the forest, but he was also flicking through hundreds of sets of eyes, trying to find soldiers in immediate danger of harming people and stopping them. It was tedious searching and wrenching control away from the AI was difficult.

As well, there was more pressure than ever after the Doctor told Bog that Dawn had been unable to find a way immediately unplug him and had to redirect her efforts to stopping the spread of toxins. Removing him from the machine would have to be done later, when there was time to do it slowly and carefully. In the meantime it was on Bog to halt the army.

“Stop channel surfacing and work on reclaiming the AI entirely. You control that, you control the whole army, not just one soldier at a time.”

“I already tried doing that, remember? It didn't work.”

“Then try again! Try harder! Try better!”

Bog ground his teeth together and shut his eyes, turning off the rapid changing of channels and giving himself a moment to breathe. The Doctor was right, this wasn't working and he was getting tired. Just shutting his eyes for a moment to think made his mind attempt to shut down and sleep.

A smack to the side of Bog's head made him come to with a start.

“AI. Override it. Now.”

“Wee monster,” Bog mumbled under his breath, shaking his head and readjusting his hands over the amber, trying to keep his rising temper in check. There must have been some sort of mental bleed-through because although the Doctor did not look it, Bog knew she was feeling desperate and helpless, prompting him to remark, “You're not used to letting anyone else drive, are you?”

“Just—just do the thing!”

“Why do you keep assuming I know what I'm doing?”

“Call up the AI,” the Doctor closed her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself before adding, “please.”

“Since you asked nicely,” Bog rolled his head back dramatically and shouted up at the trees, “Summoning the mighty black cloud of death currently piloting a small army of plant people! You there? We need to talk.”

“No need to shout, I'm right here!”

Bog almost took his hands off the amber when he heard Roland's voice.

The Doctor automatically smacked his hands back down.

Shifting awkwardly around, Bog saw that Roland was indeed there, looking disapprovingly at the various forms of nature that were daring to deface the bright polish of his shoes

“He's supposed to be sleeping it off!” Bog looked accusingly at the Doctor.

“Oh,” Roland waved a hand and laugh a superior little laugh, “I'm not actually Roland! I'm merely a reflection of his brilliant mind and exemplary face.”

“You're the reprogrammed AI,” the Doctor looked disgusted, “I'm not even slightly surprised. Just really, really tired.”

“I'm here to keep you from cheating,” the AI said with a wink, “The rules were set out, sweetheart, and there are still only two choices. You either push the button . . . or you don't. Save countless lives or your precious houseplant. That's it, those are all your options, sweetpea. Anything else is just wasting your time. Oh, and putting thousands of lives at risk.”

Bog looked away from Roland's beaming face and asked the Doctor, “So we have to get past him, then? I don't suppose he's punchable?”

“Try giving him an order.”

“Hey, Marilyn Monroe, turn off the plant army.”

“No can do!” Roland shook his head cheerfully.

“Unplug me from the program.”

“Completely impossible!”

“Um,” Bog hesitated, trying to think of another order worth trying.

“Send him away,” the Doctor ordered.

“Can I do that?”

“You can try.”

“Beat it, prince smarmy.”

Roland vanished without even flashing a parting smile.

“Huh,” the Doctor said, hand on her hip—her other hand still on Bog's, “wish that worked in reality too.”

“In a perfect world . . .” Bog nodded in wistful agreement, “Anyway, if I try and deal directly with the AI I'm dealing with him?”

“Essentially. He's a layer of protection that you have to get past. Your previous attempts to override the AI you tried doing it roundabout, through the part specifically controlling the soldiers. This was direct contact with the new interface.”

“Lovely. What are our options, aside from the dumb ones we're not using?”

The Doctor walked away and sat down on a a tree stump, elbows on her knees and chin propped up on her fists. She stared hard at the empty space of the small clearing. Her face and hands were covered with dirt and grease even though she was in a strictly mental plane of existence and could probably look how she pleased. Bog wondered what that said about her, that her clothing was still dusty, boots scuffed, and hair stuck up in tufts.

Bog left her to her thinking.

He decided to try again at switching off the part of the AI controlling the plants. When that didn't work he tried going through the interface directly.

The next thing he knew the Doctor was guiding his sudden descent to the ground so that he didn't hit his head on anything. Roland's laughter over the failed attempt was still ringing in his ears. The Doctor shoved him around so he was sitting with his back to the tree and dropped herself next to him.

“That way is going to kill you without doing anybody any good.”

“I'm beginning to see that,” Bog replied, his heart racing and ears ringing, “I really hate that AI. I liked it more when it was just a black cloud of death. What do we try next, then?”

The Doctor was staring at the clearing again.

At a box, a couple of feet tall, topped with a large red gem the size of Bog's fist.

“Big red . . . button? Is that supposed to be the kill switch?” Bog asked, still breathing hard, “That better not be the kill switch.”

“It's in my pocket, in reality,” the Doctor said, not taking her eyes off the box, “I've got my hand on it now. I could press it this moment if you told me to.”

“I'm telling you not to!” Bog said quickly, “Definitely not!”

“I assumed. But that's our option, so far as I can see. Don't press the button. Press the button. Save one or save many.”

“He's doing this on purpose,” Bog realized, “This is because--”

“I know why he's doing it,” the Doctor cut him off, “and I might even consider him justified if he didn't keep dragging other people into it! And he knows what choice I'll make, he knows that I'll talk and I'll talk until I have you pressing the button and think it's your own idea, that you're a noble martyr through your own choice. I might as well push the button myself because your death would be on me anyway. Maybe even I'll believe it for a second, the noble philosopher, making hard choices for the greater good, standing on the high moral ground of her principles.”

Coat dragging over the roots of the tree, the Doctor rolled to her feet and went to walk around the box, leaving Bog at the base of the tree, listening dumbly to her ranting.

“And you were only picked and shoved into this dilemma because, apparently, in some aborted time line we would have known each other and that would have been important somehow. Us knowing each other is important, something comes from that which contributes to a fixed point in time so . . . I can't let you die! Because that would break a fixed point in time and have all of time happening at once and that is never fun, let me tell you!”

Clouds were rolling across the sky, casting the clearing into darker shadows, the sunlight outlining the clouds with a halo of red fire.

“If . . .” Bog found his throat was dry and he had to swallow hard before he could continue, “If I died . . . that would save my mom. My aunt Aura. I can't wrap my head around the whole city, but . . . my mom. My band. My boss at the bar.”

“It would,” the Doctor's words were blunt, “it would save them. Everyone like them. But, time--”

“I can't imagine that I'm so important to history that it can't do without me,” Bog laughed, “I'm just some rock star wannabe that no one will ever hear about. And we met. Maybe you'll do something important because you met me, and that's what was meant to happen. Maybe you take my guitar and use it to smash Roland over the head and save the world.”

“It isn't . . . it's not impossible.”

“Then there is a choice. I'm not saying I've made up my mind about it, but that's . . . still a choice. A choice that might, well, make up for some things.”

Some things that could never be undone, or even fixed. But maybe it could just be a little better. Make up for that little boy bleeding out on the floor, dead by Bog’s hand, because he thought the room had been cleared, but . . .

The Doctor dropped back down next to him and leaned her forehead on his shoulder. Bog rather thought there might have been more mental bleed-through and that she had picked up on his train of thought.

“Stop being noble. Being dead doesn’t help anybody.”

“I'm really not. It's just . . . a hard choice. And somebody has to make it.”

“You should never have been put in this position.”

“All because I might have known you someday, huh? I assume the whole, um, romantic angle is just in Roland's head?”

“I can only suppose,” the Doctor shrugged, still leaning on Bog, her fingers playing over the wrinkles in the sleeve of his jacket, “Anything is possible, but some things are more unlikely than others.”

“How unlikely? Because I've believed six impossible things before breakfast today, so, I've not really got a good grasp of probability right now.”

The Doctor lifted her head and squinted at him with an expression of deep confusion, “Sorry, been a stressful day, have to forgive me for not quite keeping up . . . but for a second there it sounded like . . .”

The Doctor struggled to find the proper words, waving her hands slowly around as if she might snatch something out of the air to help her complete the question.

“. . . flirting?”

Bog burst into laughter even as his face turned hot with embarrassment.

“Knew I was wrong,” the Doctor folded her arms and shifted herself to sit forward facing, “This is awkward.”

“I'm sorry!” Bog wheezed through his laughter, “Your face was just amazing! You looked like you were in agony!”

“I am now.”

Bog covered his face with his hands, still choking on his laughter, “You should push that button now, I want to die.”

“Glad to oblige.”

The Doctor began to stand up.

Bog grabbed her arm and she fell back down again, tangled up on the ground next to him, their faces inches apart.

“Look,'” He said, aware that his pale complexion must have been red as a tomato at that point, “It's either the end of the world or the end of me, so . . .”

“So?” the Doctor asked, looking thoroughly lost.

“So, um, I'm going to do something stupid.”

“How stupid--?” the Doctor was asking when Bog leaned down and kissed her.