#earth observation files | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theetherealbloom · 6 months

Text

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? - CH. 1 | 14th Doctor

Chapter One: After All Of The Time, And Give An Actual Try

Summary: An enigmatic old face makes a reappearance, heralding unforeseen events. A mysterious spaceship plummets to Earth, bringing chaos and prompting the Doctor's intervention. Amidst the unfolding narrative, a cute and endearing creature seeks assistance, weaving together elements of mystery, adventure, and companionship.

Pairing: 14th Doctor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt-to-Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Possible Plot Holes, Vague Background, Aliens, Mild Horror, Violence, Past Trauma, Depression, Anxiety, Timey-Wimey Stuff, Star-Crossed Lovers, Second Chance

Word Count: 12.2k

A/N: Surprise! I love Doctor Who too. I’m a huge nerd, I know tehe. I hope you enjoy this mini-series I have planned for the 14th Doctor! As we know, he is played by the beloved David Tennant who is one of my favorite Doctors ever.

Song: Where do we go now? By Gracie Abrams

→ Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS, NORTH LONDON – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

A UNIT team was promptly dispatched as the spaceship breached Earth's atmosphere, making its way North of London. Both serving as scientific advisors, you and Shirley were on-site where the ship had landed.

While some military personnel were busy extinguishing the flames from the spacecraft and securing the perimeter, preventing you from delving further into the investigation, you found yourself engrossed in studying the ship's scans displayed on the monitor in your hands, attempting to unravel the mystery.

"Miss them, do you?" A voice called out from behind.

You averted your gaze from the tablet, turning to find Shirley maneuvering her wheelchair next to you. Curious, you asked, "What? Who?"

The redhead sported a cheeky smile. "The Doctor, of course."

It was widely known that you had journeyed alongside the Doctor and his myriad companions. Images of their faces flashed in your mind as you reminisced about those exciting adventures. Rose, Donna, the Ponds, Clara... you longed for them. There was a noticeable absence of the Doctor that left a gaping black hole in your chest.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself, "Can't let the Doctor catch a glimpse of me again; the entire universe might just fold in on itself once more. Already me being here is a problem since there’s a possibility he could pop out at any moment. I’m only on duty since I owe Kate a favor."

Shirley hums and responds, "I've read the files, you know. You two were quite the team. Everything that had happened… was in the wrong place at the right time. Still, it could happen, the two of you… together."

You raise your eyebrows at her and offer a small smile while shaking your head, scoffing, "The Doctor was unaware before, and I won't be the catalyst for another cosmic meltdown due to my selfish reasons. Besides... the Doctor doesn’t know I’m still alive and UNIT is already on my arse for even existing on this timeline.”

The redhead emits a sympathetic murmur and pats the side of your thigh, "Wasn't your fault, love. A colossal tear in time and space that dragged you in here... sounds like fate, or destiny even. If anything, maybe it was supposed to happen... like you and—"

The tablet beeps, abruptly halting Shirley's train of thought. You glance at the monitor, furrowing your brow, then hand over the device to her, saying, "You need to see this. I believe there's more to this than we initially thought."

“Now I think we’re making a fundamental mistake. ‘Cause maybe that spaceship was a collision course to start with, but look.” Shirley says while the UNIT soldier looks at the tablet, “At the last minute, it pulls up, then settles. What I’m sayin’ is, that ship didn’t crash. It parked.”

As Shirley presents her observations to the UNIT soldier, you can't help but notice the intensity in her gaze, the lines of concentration etched across her forehead. The soldier queries, "No signs of life?" You step forward, interjecting, "Not yet. But we don't know what kind of life we're looking for."

Suddenly, an unexplained shiver races up your spine, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. A palpable sense of familiarity and the eerie feeling of being observed by someone you know too well. Your expression shifts into a frown, and Shirley catches on, concern knitting her brows. "What? What's wrong?" she asks.

You open your mouth but hesitate, exchanging glances with Shirley and the UNIT soldier. Shirley, sensing the urgency, instructs the soldier to step aside. Both of you retreat to a secluded corner, where she probes, "What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost, dear."

You exhale shakily, "I... I think he's here. He's back."

Shirley blinks, seeking clarification, "You mean..."

"The Doctor. The Doctor, he’s here."

"Shirley, I need to leave, immediately," you declare, attempting to stride away with urgency.

"Wait, hang on a second," Shirley interjects, gripping your wrist and compelling you to halt. "He's already seen you, yeah? Looks like nothing bad has happened and—"

"Nothing bad has happened yet, Shirley. The stars could go out; millions of galactic species could die if we so much as breathe in each other's direction. I can't risk it. I won't."

Tears well up, and Shirley guides you to a stop near one of the staircases, settling herself in her wheelchair. As you take a seat, you rub both hands over your face, wiping away the tears. "I should have died that day."

Shirley remains silent, allowing you to continue as you shakily sob, "I should have died. But I didn't, and I'm still here."

"I lied to him, Shirley. I lied. He... he might never forgive me for it," you confess brokenly. Shirley shrugs, offering, "You won't know unless you talk. And it seems to me that whatever was keepin’ you apart before… is tellin’ you two maybe now is the right place at the right time."

Deep in contemplation of your choices, someone suddenly seizes your wrist, muffling your voice as they pull you close, your body pressed against a comforting warmth.

"Hey, it's me. It's the Doctor," he reassures, and you instinctively push away, allowing some distance between you two. Both of you stand there panting, but he breaks the silence first, shouting, "I thought you were dead!"

Throwing the words back at him, you retort, "I was supposed to be dead!"

"Why aren't you dead?" he demands, and frustration laces your high-pitched response, "Are you bloody serious in asking me that?”

“No. Yes! Argh, I don't know!"

Shaking your head and taking a step back, you declare, "I need to leave."

The Doctor firmly grabs your wrist, halting your escape. "No. Not again."

With determination, you wrench your wrist from his strong hold, shouting, "The universe could collapse! Again! We weren't ever supposed to meet. It was a mistake."

Wide-eyed, the Doctor gazes at you and replies in a breathy tone, "Is that really what you think?"

Paused, unable to respond, you hear his voice in your head, a telepathic whisper so familiar. "You and I both know, that it wasn't a mistake."

Glaring at him, you muster as much resistance as possible, but those big dark brown eyes make it challenging. "That's not fair. Get out of my head," you retort with furrowed brows.

The Doctor whispers your name, barely audible, causing you to flinch and look away. Instead of acknowledging his presence, you pivot to a question, "You regenerated… But why this face? Why are you back?"

"Why do you ask? You don't like this one?" he retorts.

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes, "With you, there's always a reason for everything."

The Doctor admits, "Must be why the TARDIS brought me to you and Donna."

You regard him with a concerned gaze and tone, "What? You saw Donna, did she recognize or remember you?"

"The fail-safe worked; she just commented about my clothes. She has a daughter named Rose," the Doctor hums, kicking a small piece of gravel on the floor. You nod, "Yeah, I keep tabs on 'em. Making sure they're alright. Even though Donna gave all that money away to charity."

"Do you know why she did it?" The Doctor asks.

"I don't. But I have a couple of guesses," you reply with a close-lipped smile and a shrug. The Doctor brings his gaze to you, and you can already feel the question before he says it.

"I thought you were dead, for fifteen years."

You scoff, "Oh, that's nothing for you, Time Lord and all."

The Doctor throws his hands up in frustration, "Oh, don't do that."

"Do what?" you demand.

"Pretend that it was nothing for me! You were everything to me," the Doctor says, taking another step closer, and you take a step back this time. You look at him with narrowed eyes, and in a low tone, you say, "You and I both know that's not true."

"What happened? Where did you go?"

"You and I both know what happened after Arcadia. I was ready to die. I thought I had served my purpose, what I was made for. I got shot midway through the regeneration process, and I felt it. I felt myself slipping away... I could only see the two suns, and then when I closed my eyes, there was this surge of energy... I couldn't explain it back then, and I can't now. But it was like someone had given me their regeneration energy... but when I looked around, no one was there, and I was no longer on Gallifrey."

The Doctor finishes the sentence for you, "You were brought to Earth."

You nod, "I still have no idea who did it. But now, I can't leave. And all those years, my memories were locked away in that old pocket watch until I met you... and then the stars started to go out once more, and I knew I had no choice… I couldn't stay with you."

"All those years... you were alone, just like me," the Doctor says, and you look away before sitting atop one of the crates by the pillar, sighing, "I need to leave again... planets could disappear and galaxies could collapse at any second, and we'd be back where we started."

The Doctor remains silent as you close your eyes, resting your head on one of the stacked crates behind you. You yearn for him. Every atom in your being longs for his presence, yet every angle you examine seems to present an unsolvable puzzle. Thus, you convince yourself that distancing is the best course for everyone involved. How does one repay a sacrifice of such magnitude?

Then, you detect his approaching footsteps, and he settles comfortably beside you, shoulders brushing as he leans in. "Or... we could finally figure out a way to solve the paradox."

Opening your eyes, you shoot him a pointed look. "Doctor, we're in the middle of yet another crisis. A spaceship just landed, and we have no bloody clue who the hell we're dealing with right now. And you want to solve the impossible with our situation?"

"Who says I can't multitask?" he retorts, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. You lightly smack him on the arm, feeling warmth flood your cheeks. Memories of the carefree early days flash through your mind, recalling lingering gazes and soft touches exchanged. Licking your lips nervously, you release a heavy breath, "One problem at a time. We have another alien on the loose."

The Doctor takes that as a win, a calculated risk, with the universe as a potential consequence. He's never demanded anything, and for the first time, he yearns for something for himself. He envisions it — hope — the prospect of finally rewriting the ending you both desperately desire.

The sonic clicks and buzzes as the Doctor conjures a holographic screen, displaying the schematics of the spacecraft that recently landed nearby. He retrieves his glasses from his coat pocket, donning them as he peruses the screen. Pressing a few buttons, he zooms in on the bottom part of the ship before highlighting the drive.

Frowning, your eyes narrow as an unsettling weight settles at the pit of your stomach while reading what's on the screen.

"Too good for us now?" Shirley remarks as she rolls up in her wheelchair. The Doctor briefly glances at her, nodding, and casually greets, "Evening."

Shirley smiles knowingly as she looks between the two of you. "Doctor. I see you and my colleague have talked. Has galaxies and universes collapsed yet?"

The Doctor hums, "Mmmm, not yet. Soon maybe, if I could get her to kiss me."

You smack him on the shoulder a little harder this time, and he yelps out, "Ow!" Making a face at him, you retort, "Oh, sod off!"

The Doctor gives you a cheeky smile while Shirley chuckles next to you. She then looks at the holographic screen on display, and the Doctor brings his focus back to the problem at hand, saying, "That’s a double-bladed dagger drive, damaged by laser fire which means we’ve got two sets of visitors at war with each other."

He glances at Shirley politely, "Nice to meet you. Did you get the heat readings on deceleration?" Shirley chuckles and clicks her tongue, "Oh, I got everything." She unfolds her tablet to give to the Doctor, who presses a button on his sonic screwdriver to close the holographic screen. Taking the tablet, he begins to analyze the readings as your colleague introduces herself, "Shirley Anne Bingham, UNIT Scientific Advisor number 56."

The Doctor sounds delighted, saying, "Oh! I was Scientific Advisor number one."

Shirley smiles, "No, I know. I’ve read the files. I’m gonna get a bonus just for meeting you."

The Doctor makes a face, not used to humble praise. "Oh."

Shirley then asks, "But why are you hiding away? We’re on the same side and it can’t be ‘cause of her now." She looks at you, and you also turn your attention to the Doctor.

He slightly groans and inhales sharply before replying, "It’s all a bit mad, Shirley. I don’t know who I am anymore."

Shirley crosses her legs in the wheelchair and says matter-of-factly, "Well, you look like the Doctor to me."

The Doctor shrugs, "Well, exactly. The one in the skinny suit. After that, I wear a bow tie. After that, I’m a Scotsman. After that, I’m a woman."

Shirley frowns, "But that’s your future. You can’t know that. It’s forbidden."

The Doctor replies, "I regenerated. And she became me."

Both of Shirley’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes widen as she says, "You got your old face back?"

The Doctor replies with a resounding pop, "Yep."

"But why?" Shirley asks, and the Doctor sighs, "Well, that’s what I’m worried about."

He then inhales deeply before continuing, “Because, besides this lovely stubborn woman right next to me,” you pinch the bridge of your nose briefly as he continues, “I've got this friend called Donna Noble. She was my best friend in the whole wide universe. I absolutely love her as much as I love this one right here.” The Doctor pulls a face and pouts, puffing out a breath as his thick eyebrows furrow, he says, “Oh. Hmm. Do I say things like that now?”

Shirley smiles at him while commenting, “Sounds like a good thing to say.”

You mumble, “I’m not used to this.”

“But Donna took the mind of a Time Lord into her head. I had to wipe her memory to save her life. If she ever remembers me she will die. So what happens next?” The Doctor said with emphasis and leaned closer to you and Shirley, “I get this face back, and the TARDIS lands right next to her. I turn around, there’s her husband. A spaceship crashes in front of her. That led me here to my other best friend in the whole wide universe, my Time Lady who I thought was dead for many years. It’s like she’s drawing us in.” The Doctor finishes, and you and Shirley give each other a look, processing everything he has just said. Especially you, who was processing the fact he called you his. You and Shirley blinked a few times before Shirley said, “What? She’s making it happen?”

The Doctor shakes his head, “No, she’s got no idea. She’s so ordinary. She’s brilliant. She’s got this beautiful daughter. She’s happy. Is she? Hmm.” He pauses before saying in a lower tone, “But the universe is turning around the two people I love the most again. I don’t believe in destiny, but if destiny exists, then it's heading straight for Donna Noble and quite possibly the love of my life right next to me.”

You blink in surprise, opening your mouth to try and say something, maybe correct him, but nothing comes out, so you sit there, mouth gaping next to him like a fish while Shirley has a toothy grin as you say to the Doctor, “Okay, I’m still not used to whatever this is… and I don’t think I ever will be. You’re kind of freaking me out a little, dear.”

The Doctor grins, “Ooh, are we doing pet names now darling?”

You rub your right eye, feeling a migraine beginning to form, “I… What the hell is happening? You sure you’re alright? Last time you regenerated into this form you had a high fever and you were… completely out of it.”

The Doctor scrunches his nose and sniffs, “I feel great. Fantastic even!”

You purse your lips, observing the Doctor from head to toe, and then focus on his eyes—those warm, inviting brown eyes. Softly, you remark, “You've grown.”

The Doctor returns your gaze, his lips forming a quirked-up smile that reveals a dimple. "Just a little bit, yeah."

Shirley interjects, steering the conversation back on course, “You said it was also heading for Donna. What for?”

The Doctor responds with a swift, “I don’t know.” Shirley replies with an, “Oh.” The Doctor continues, with deep emphasis, “But she can’t remember. I won’t be the one who kills her.”

Shirley nods, and the tablet in the Doctor’s hands beeps. He looks at it, saying, “Right. There’s no sign of a pilot, but that’s not an automatic drive, so you should look for–”

“Ma’am,” a soldier interrupts, cutting off the Doctor. He slinks back into the shadows, and you and Shirley listen to what the soldier has to say. “We found the escape pod. No sign of life, but we’re moving out to secure the site.”

Shirley quickly replies, “Good work, soldier. Go get it.” Dismissing the soldier and watching her walk away, the Doctor moves to stand, removing his glasses and putting them away, ready to follow the soldier. But Shirley raises her hand and says to him, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Not you two, mate. I’ve got this. Off you pop. Bye-bye.”

Shirley begins to roll her wheelchair away, leaving the Doctor and you confused. The Doctor then calls out to her, “Waited your whole life?”

To which Shirley throws a look over her shoulder as she responds with a smirk, “You wish.”

The Doctor looks at you, and you look up at him. He turns his hand, palm up, waiting for you to take it with your hand. You glance at his hand and back to his eyes; he sees the uncertainty swirling through your gaze.

The Doctor speaks gently, “I know you aren’t ready and you’re scared… but I know you’re brave. And the universe listens to the brave. C’mon, it’s time to be brave again.”

You release a shaky exhale, swallowing the lump in your throat and dismissing the rational urge to walk away from him. Taking his hand, he tugs you along, pushing his legs into a run with you, hand-in-hand.

He thrusts the exit door open, utilizing his sonic screwdriver with his other hand on the back of the UNIT truck, the chains rattling as the trunk hatch pops open, pulling you with him to settle at the back of the truck.

As the UNIT truck pulls away, you see Shirley waving you off, and the Doctor gives her a small salute while you offer her a faint smile.

CHISWICK, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

You constantly poked your head out to see the stars, in case anything had changed. The Doctor held your hand, squeezing it every time you did, quietly reassuring you that whatever you faced, you'd do it together.

Arriving in the residential area, a long street lined with cars and now multiple UNIT trucks and soldiers running around, you could hear Donna shouting, “Oh, what the hell is it doing in my shed? Get out of my garden!”

The Doctor ran towards the sound of her voice, and you followed him. Reaching Donna's home, the Doctor pounded on the door, “Let us in! Let us in!”

Sylvia glared at the Doctor as she briskly walked towards him, but he exclaimed happily, “Sylvia! Oh, Sylvia! So nice to see you again. Could you let us in?”

Sylvia angrily whispered, “You said that if she sees you again, she will die. Well, no. If – if she remembers me. That’s slightly different.”

You heard and saw Donna through the stained glass yelling from down the hall, “No such thing as spaceships? We’ve got a bloody Martian in the shed!”

Sylvia angrily said, “Just get out of here, now.” But the Doctor knelt down to peek through the mail slot to see all the commotion, finding a small white fluffy creature with big eyes. “Oh, wow. He’s so cute,” the Doctor mumbled. With no other choice, he used his sonic to unlock the door as Sylvia told Donna, “Don’t look! Don’t look. It doesn’t exist.”

As the Doctor walked down the hall, with you trailing behind him, Sylvia whirled around to slap the Doctor. He grunted and groaned, “Here we go again.”

“It’s that man!” You recognized Rose say as Donna pointed at the Doctor, “Oh, it’s the skinny man!”

Sylvia continued to try and gaslight Donna, outstretching both her arms to block both of you, “He’s not there! You can’t see him. And there’s no monster. Oh, for the love of God, none of this is real!”

You and the Doctor ducked down and crawled to the creature to help assist them. In the middle of all the shouting and noise, you saw Shaun Temple appear, saying, “Hey, hey. Dad’s home.”

Everyone stood at a standstill, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do next. After a pause, Shaun commented with a small smile, “Something smells nice.” Sylvia smiled, “Tuna madras.”

“Meep, meep.”

As you and the Doctor sat on the floor, he carefully wrapped Meep’s injury in his hands with medical tape, while you quickly assessed if the Meep had any more injuries. Sylvia spoke to Donna, “We should think about infection. I mean, I think this man should deal with this beast, and we can leave him alone and go back to mine.”

Donna pulled her arm away from Sylvia and gestured around the Meep, “Never mind. Never mind about the ferret from Mars.” She gave you and the Doctor a pointed look as she growled out, “Who the hell are you two?”

You looked to the Doctor for help, and he stumbled over his words, “I– um. What was it?” He looked to Shaun who replied, “A friend from Nerys.” To which the Doctor promptly agreed, “That’s it.”

Donna scrunches her nose and says, “Nerys. Well, now it all makes sense. That viper in the nest.” She continues and points to the Meep, “I’m not going anywhere. We could sell mad Paddington for a million quid.”

Everyone reacted, giving Donna a pointed look and a noise of disagreement, “Woah!” Donna tried to justify her comment by saying, “You fill the fridge!”

The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows furrowed, and he asked Donna, “What did happen to all your money?” Donna got defensive and threw back, “Why are you so interested in us? Everywhere you go, there you are. Now you got this woman with you,” She gestured to you, “are you sure you’re safe with him, darling? Is he forcing you to be with him? Did he kidnap you?!”

You blinked wildly at Donna, “Uh, no– I’m good. He’s my partner.”

The Doctor smirked at you, “Ooh, I’m your partner?” To which you narrowed your eyes at him, “Quiet, you.” He pouted but continued to finish wrapping the injury of the Meep, then the Doctor said, “There is one person missing. I used to know your grandad, Wilf.”

Donna shook her head, “He’s not with us anymore.”

The Doctor had a somber expression as he nodded, “Right. Course. He wasn’t young; he was—” His lower lip trembled as he admitted, “I loved that man. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Donna shook her head, emphasizing, “He’s not dead.” Sylvia shot the Doctor a sharp look, “You idiot.”

The Doctor gaped at them, and Donna continued to share, “He’s in sheltered accommodation. He’s 94. He can’t manage the stairs.” Shaun took over, saying, “We were lucky. We couldn’t afford it, but this offer came along.”

Rose smiled, painting a vivid picture, “It’s amazing. He’s got this room, like a cottage and a garden, and it’s almost free.”

“Run by that lot in the middle of town? UNIT? This woman in charge, Kate, she says he’s an old soldier, she’ll look after him.” Shaun said, and the Doctor's face lit up, “Right. I know her. She’s looking after Wilf. Brilliant. Brilliant.”

Shaun tilted his head as he looked at you, “You look very familiar… Weren’t you with Kate as you were helping with the accommodations for Wilf?”

Your lips pinched together as you nodded, “Yeah, I work with UNIT. I check on him regularly; he’s wonderful.”

“Meep, meep.”

You and the Doctor turned to the fluffy white creature in front of you, and the Doctor’s eyebrows raised as he inhaled sharply, “Yes! The Meep. I promise I can help him get home. Then you’ll never have to see me, or well, the both of us ever again.”

Rose looked at the Doctor and gave him a questioning look, “You’re assuming he as a pronoun? Hmm.”

The Doctor took it in stride and nodded, “True. Yes. Sorry. Good point.” He quickly turned to the creature and asked, “Are you he, or she, or they?”

The high-pitched voice of the Meep responded, “My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always the Meep.”

The Doctor’s expression shifted to one of understanding as his thick eyebrows raised and he nodded, “Oh. I do that. But you were shot down. Who wants you dead?”

You tilt your head, captivated by the Meep's explanation, “The Wrath Warriors. They cultivate Meepkind for our beautiful fur. But then the galaxy said, ‘No more fur. It’s wrong. So the Wrath Warriors slaughtered their livestock.”

The Doctor crosses his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face, and leisurely leans back on the couch, letting his back rest against it, “You’re a fashion victim.”

A collective groan escapes from all the humans in the room, “No.”

The Doctor quickly mumbles an apology, and the Meep continues, “Now, they will hunt me down till there are no Meeps left.” The Meep sniffs, “It breaks both my hearts.”

You and the Doctor exchange surprised glances, both of your eyebrows raised. The Doctor shares with the Meep as he gestures to both of you, “You got two hearts? So do we.”

Donna quickly catches onto the Doctor's revelation and frowns, “You’ve got what?”

Sylvia tries to downplay what the Doctor just exposed, stammering as she speaks to Donna, “No. He means it like a metaphor. Like two minds. Do you?” You and the Doctor shake your heads, but suddenly there’s a pounding at the door.

“Open up!”

“Well, what the hell is it now?” Donna exclaims, her frustration evident as she wonders why all these strange anomalies keep happening. The Doctor pushes himself up, and you assist him with his navy blue coat as he puts it on. He continues addressing everyone in the room, “Ah, good. The soldiers! They can give us a lift.”

As he goes to answer the door, leaving you with the Meep and Donna’s family, Rose can't help but ask, “Are you two…”

Your cheeks feel flush, the tips of your ears turning warm, “Yep.”

Just as Donna is about to make a cheeky comment, you hear the Doctor slam the front door shut, loudly informing you all, “I think we need to run. Woah!”

Suddenly, an explosion rocks the backdoor, causing everyone to hit the ground with a collective yelp. You and the Doctor peek to look at the new visitor; arthropods, with a tough chitinous exoskeleton. With their external skeleton acting as a skelo-shield they had formidable strength. Their eyes were like large red lights. Seeing the Wrath Warriors enter while saying, “Wrath, attack formation! Surrender the Meep!”

UNIT soldiers burst in from the main entrance, their voices echoing down the hallway as they shout instructions to each other. The distant hum of gunfire and the vivid flashes of lasers light up the space, creating a chaotic symphony that fills your senses.

Donna, caught in the middle of the sudden onslaught, shouts in confusion and frustration, “What the hell is going on?”

The Doctor deftly manipulates his sonic screwdriver, adjusting its settings. He turns to Shaun and inquires, “Where’s your car?”

Shaun, bewildered but cooperative, responds, “Uh, five- five doors down.”

“Excellent.” The Doctor nods. He pivots, activating the sonic screwdriver to generate large, rectangular force fields. The blue glow emanating from the force fields reveals a recent upgrade, and you can't help but smile, commenting, “Nice upgrade, love.”

“Thanks, dearest. Help me move this, won’t you?” The Doctor passes the sonic to Donna, who handles it with familiarity. You and the Doctor work together to slide the force field into the first section of the hallway, dodging blaster shots as you go. Once in the living room again, you take the sonic from Donna, creating your force field with the Doctor’s scientific instrument. The Doctor observes you with admiration, and together, you slide the final force field into place, sealing off the area where the Wrath Warriors were firing from.

Immediately, the Doctor issues a commanding directive to the Noble-Temple family and the Meep, “Upstairs! Up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up, up!” They follow the urgent order, shrieking as they ascend the stairs, sandwiched between the force fields that shield them from the relentless onslaught of gunshots and laser fire.

“Come on, Meep!” The Doctor encourages, executing an energetic dance of hopping and flailing arms. The Meep responds with a whimper, “No.” Undeterred, you and the Doctor persist, the Doctor continuing his lively hopping routine, insisting, “Come on! That’s it.”

You guide the Meep up the stairs, the Doctor closely behind. A reassuring hand rests on your back as the trio ascends. When you're halfway across the corridor, a deafening explosion erupts from behind. The Noble-Temple family screams in fear, and you're thrown to the ground. However, the Doctor reacts swiftly, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to break your fall. In a protective move, he cushions the impact with his body, leaving you on top of him.

You swiftly roll off him, your palms hitting the floor as you propel yourself upward. Grasping the Doctor's hand, you haul him to his feet, both of you swiftly turning around to confront the aftermath—a colossal, gaping hole now occupying the space where a window once stood. Donna's cry of agony echoes through the room, "My house!"

Despite the devastation, there's no time for dwelling. The Doctor urgently directs everyone, gesticulating emphatically, "Upstairs. Upstairs, upstairs!"

Observing the Wrath Warriors soaring menacingly through the breached window, and amidst the symphony of gunfire and laser blasts echoing from the stairs, you and the Doctor deftly ascend to the third floor. With a swift motion, he lowers the ladder leading to the attic, urgently urging everyone, "Up we go! Fast as you can."

The entire group efficiently ascends to the attic. Positioned beside a robust brick wall connecting attics along the street, you and the Doctor huddle close. The Doctor showcases the device in his hand, proclaiming, "This is a sonic screwdriver. And if it's good at one thing, it's resonating concrete." He flips it in one hand before activating it, causing vibrations to ripple through the mortar.

Shaun interjects, "That's not concrete. That's mortar." Donna, in her familiarly exasperated tone, sighs and quips, "Thank you, Bob the Builder."

With a determined push, you and the Doctor dislodge the bricks, prompting them to cascade down. Donna crouches beside the Doctor, complimenting, "Skinny minnie, you're not bad."

The Doctor grins at Donna, "You think?"

However, Sylvia intervenes, frowning as she guides Donna aside, firmly asserting, "No, she doesn't. Now move."

"Come on. Five houses down," the Doctor grunts, effortlessly moving aside a box brimming with Christmas decorations. He takes the lead, guiding the family through the interconnected attics.

Traversing through these loft spaces, you witness the chaotic scene unfolding outside, with laser beams and gunshots punctuating the air. Explosions resonate in the distance as you navigate the makeshift route, carefully descending a staircase. Along the way, you stealthily pass by someone deeply immersed in sleep on a couch, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

Upon reaching a door, the Doctor jostles it open, revealing a view of the black cab parked a few meters away. Amidst the cacophony of gunfire and distant shouts, the Doctor extends his hand and requests, "Can I have the keys?" Shaun promptly hands them over.

As the Wrath Warriors advance with their menacing backs turned, the Doctor swiftly swings the door open, directing the family and the Meep into the sanctuary of the black cab. Positioned in the passenger seat, you observe the Doctor deftly using his fingers to check the pulse of a fallen UNIT soldier. Abruptly, a Wrath Warrior pivots, growling, "Meep located. Stop the Meep!"

Evading blaster fire with nimble agility, the Doctor slips into the driver's seat, swiftly igniting the engine and propelling the cab into motion. The Meep whimpers, "Help! Save the Meep!"

As the Doctor skillfully navigates away, Donna exclaims, "Oh my God!" Shaun pivots within the cab, jubilantly stating, "You did it!" Meanwhile, Rose chimes in, "We're alive," and Sylvia expresses gratitude, "Thank you."

"Meep, meep."

While the Doctor keeps a vigilant eye on the side mirrors during the escape, there's a discernible shift in his tone, "Either we've escaped, or we've got things very, very wrong."

UNDERGROUND PARKING GARAGE, LONDON – EVENING, 2023

The Doctor skillfully maneuvers the cab, smoothly parking it in an underground garage. A contemplative furrow graces his forehead as he steps out of the vehicle. With an attentive courtesy, he opens the passenger door, gesturing for you to alight from the cab. Simultaneously, he opens the back passenger door, facilitating the exit of the Meep.

The Doctor deftly extracts a barrister's wig from the depths of his coat, perching it atop his head with an air of theatrical flair. Meanwhile, the Meep positions itself purposefully in front of the cab. In a tone of authoritative declaration, the Doctor announces, "This court is now in session."

With a swift motion, he retrieves his trusty sonic screwdriver, and it emits a distinctive whiz as he proclaims, "Intercept teleport!"

The Meep emits a piercing shriek, swiftly retreating a few meters behind you and the Doctor. Donna, emerging from the cab, questions, "What the hell are you doing?" The Doctor, with an authoritative air, responds, "Silence in the court."

In the blink of an eye, two Wrath Warriors materialize just across from you and the Doctor. You stand there, massaging your face with your hand, as he adopts a menacing tone and declares, "I’m invoking Shadow Proclamation protocols 15, P, and 6. Under my jurisdiction, there will be no violence until such time I deem it fit and proper. Is that understood?"

The Wrath Warriors nod in compliance, dutifully stowing away their weapons to their sides. The Doctor, brandishing his sonic, gestures towards the taxi, asserting, “Now, exhibit A. The taxi. No scorch marks. Donna, can you confirm?” Donna swivels around, inspecting the taxi behind her, and nods, “Um. Yes, no, nothing.”

You arch your eyebrows, interjecting, “We were hit by plasma bolts, but there isn’t a mark.” The Doctor affectionately kisses your forehead, remarking, “Clever girl.” You duck your head, feeling a slight warmth in your chest and cheeks. He proceeds, “And that soldier in the street. He was unconscious, not dead.” Pointing at the Wrath Warriors' guns with his sonic screwdriver, he continues, “Exhibit B. Those guns are stun guns. Is that correct?”

The right Wrath Warrior nods, “The guns apply a mild and harmless neural anesthetic. For the record, my name is Sergeant Zogroth.” The left Wrath Warrior adds on and says, “And I am Constable Zreeg.”

The Meep interjects from behind you, its large ears folding to the side, “But the evil Wrath Warriors want to kill the Meep.”

“The only ones out to kill were the soldiers with the swirling eyes,” the Doctor asserts, gesturing in a circular motion with his sonic, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. “Were they coming to hurt you, the Meep? Or save you?” The Doctor eyes the furry creature suspiciously.

“If I may speak,” Sergeant Zogroth says, and the Doctor promptly replies, “Address the court.”

“The story of the Meep is a tragic tale. Their planet basked in the light of a living sun. Until one terrible day, the sun went mad,” Sergeant Zogroth began, his voice laden with the weight of the narrative. Constable Zreeg chimed in, “A psychedelic sun.”

Sergeant Zogroth continued, “Its radiation mutated all of Meepkind into cruel beasts who live for conquest.”

The Doctor's face lights up with realization, "The eyes. That's solar psychedelia." Sergeant Zogroth adds, “It renders them as maniacs.”

“The Meep army captured the Galactic Council, beheaded them, and ate them,” Constable Zreeg revealed, sending shivers down your spine. You and the Doctor exchange a grimace at the horrifying revelation. “The Wrath Warriors were summoned. And we fought across the stars, a long and awful battle,” Sergeant Zogroth continued with a somber tone.

“Meepkind died rather than surrender. And now, only this one survives. Their leader, the most cruel and despicable of all,” he added, pointing to the Meep, who responded with a plaintive, “Meep, meep.”

The Doctor, adopting a composed stance, interjects, “Now. Let’s be fair. It’s your turn, the Meep. Witness for the defense. So, what do you say?” The Doctor crosses his arms, and you observe as the Meep's innocent visage transforms into something more sinister and monstrous.

The Meep's sharp teeth are bared as it growls defiantly, "Oh, to hell with this!" With a swift motion, it brandishes a weapon, declaring, "Exhibit C!" The Meep takes aim and fires, bringing down the two Wrath Warriors, their bodies collapsing to the ground. You, the Doctor, and Donna quickly rush to the fallen foes. The Doctor, during the action, removes his barrister wig. The Meep, in a sinister tone, adds, "No stun guns for me! Just die!"

Shaun leaps out of the cab, urgently shouting, "Donna! Donna, don't!" Despite his plea, Donna remains fixated on the fallen warriors, her concern evident. You find yourself beside the Doctor on the ground as the Meep triumphantly declares, "And here they come! My soldiers of the psychedelic sun!"

Suddenly, a convoy of UNIT vehicles arrives, accompanied by soldiers with their distinctive headgear, forming a protective perimeter around all of you. Their authoritative voices ring out, "Obey the Meep!"

Donna, her maternal instincts flaring, turns to Shaun and passionately commands, "Get out! Get Rose out!"

Shaun swiftly maneuvers to the driver’s seat while Rose and Sylvia settle back in the taxi. However, the UNIT soldiers, now under the control of the Meep, have you all surrounded with no clear escape.

“I don’t need to pretend, for I am the Beep of all the Meeps,” the Meep declares, grinning menacingly with its sharp teeth.

Sergeant Zogroth emits a final groan, his parting words being, “Sergeant Zogroth regrets retirement from active duty.” His eyes dim, and his body goes limp. Donna, disgusted, confronts the Meep, saying, “I was right. You are a monster.”

The Meep revels in Donna’s anger, taunting, “And you believed every word I said. You stupid woman! With your weird child!”

Donna, ready to confront the Meep for insulting her daughter, stands defiantly, retorting, “Oh, don’t you dare!”

The Meep, relishing the confrontation, points its weapon at Donna, threatening, “Oh, I dare!”

You quickly rise, positioning yourself in front of Donna, raising your hands in a protective stance. Simultaneously, the Doctor moves across the floor on his knees, hands raised, pleading, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! But— Last-minute evidence! Me.”

He emphatically points to himself and exclaims, “Why are there two more two-hearted species on this planet? Unless we are part of a strategy by the Wrath Warriors to outfox you? If you kill me and her and fail to take this family hostage, you’ll never find out, will you?”

The Meep hums, then commands the soldiers, “Bring them!”

The Doctor stands animatedly, “Good! Now, look, I can suggest a much better way off this planet than a double-bladed dagger drive. ‘Cause that thing is gonna—”

His sentence remains unfinished as he is abruptly knocked out by a UNIT soldier. The Meep cackles triumphantly as the rest of you are ushered into the back of a truck, alongside the unconscious Doctor.

On the truck's floor, the Doctor lay with his head resting on your lap, his unconscious form a testament to the challenges you faced. Your fingers moved soothingly through his untamed, spikey hair, offering a quiet comfort amid the tension.

Donna observed the scene, her curiosity getting the better of her. "How long have you two been together?" she inquired, attempting to place where she might have encountered you before.

"A good number of years," you replied, choosing to keep the more intricate details to yourself, considering the Doctor's timeless nature.

Rose, equally intrigued, posed another question, "Are you two married?"

A snort escaped you. "Nope. I don't think he wants that with me if I'm being honest."

“Why?” Rose pressed on.

Your gaze drifted, and you sniffed softly. "I’m all sorts of wrong for him. And sometimes, it scares me. The emptiness I see in my eyes,” you admitted, vulnerability seeping into your words. Your eyes lingered on the Doctor as you continued, “The Doctor is brilliant. He is truly brilliant. After all he’s been through... he deserves everything good and more… more than me.”

As your confession lingered in the air, the Doctor began to stir awake, bringing a momentary hush to the truck. His eyes fluttered open, and a low groan escaped him as he gradually sat up, settling next to you.

Donna eyed the Doctor with suspicion, her narrowed gaze fixed on him. "Who are you?" she questioned, her tone demanding answers.

The Doctor, still feeling the effects of his earlier unconsciousness, touched the back of his head with a wince. "I’m just passing by," he nervously replied, attempting to deflect her inquiries.

Undeterred, Donna redirected her attention to her mother, Sylvia, and pressed on, "Do you know him?" Sylvia, in an attempt to conceal any familiarity, shook her head, responding, "No."

Donna, frustrated and puzzled, continued, "You act like you know him. Ever since he arrived, it’s like—" She heaved a heavy sigh, abruptly halting her train of thought. "I’m so stupid!" she declared, voicing her self-reproach.

Shaun quickly reassured his wife, "No. No, you’re not."

Donna shook her head, lost in contemplation. "We could be living somewhere far away from here. Monte Carlo. Switzerland." She then turned to her daughter Rose, who sat beside her. "And you— And you’d be safe, Rose." Donna pulled Rose into a comforting side hug. "It’s all my fault. Gave away that lottery money."

The Doctor, unable to resist his curiosity, interjected, "Why?"

Donna shot him a glare. "Because. There are places out there where people are in danger. And in pain. And fear. And I could help. Just felt the sort of thing he would do." Her words hung in the air, revealing a sense of duty and compassion that drove her actions.

Abruptly, the truck jolts to a stop, resulting in the Doctor colliding with one of the crates, eliciting a pained groan. You swiftly move to assist him. The truck door swings open, and a stern voice commands, "Out!"

MILLSON WAGNER STEELWORKS

NORTH LONDON, – EVENING, DECEMBER 2023

The UNIT soldiers briskly led you towards the heart of the steelworks, where the Meep's spaceship had strategically landed.

"It didn't choose the steelworks by accident. It came here to be mended," the Doctor remarked as the group neared the spacecraft. The Meep made a grand entrance, seated on a makeshift throne of steel carried by a procession of UNIT soldiers. With its menacing teeth and booming voice, it declared, "Hail to the Meep!"

A hypnotic chant echoed through the steelworks as multiple officers joined in unison, "Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High. Hail to the Meep. Hail to the Most High."

"Human scum, behold my vessel to the stars! Far beyond your tiny, grasping minds," Beep the Meep declares with an air of arrogance. You respond with an eye roll of annoyance, and the Doctor shakes his head while humorously interjecting, "I name this ship the Delusions of Grandeur."

Beep the Meep growls in protest, "Meep."

"You can't fire those engines. Not from here. A dagger drive gets its energy by stabbing down. It would extract, ooh, five square miles? The whole of London town burnt as fuel," the Doctor explains, his tone serious and concerned.

Rose, wearing a frown, adds, "But that's nine million people."

"A great day for Meepkind. And the start of a new reign of terror as the Meep return to the stars for revenge. And feasting. Now, activate the initializers," the Meep commands, its voice dripping with malevolence.

A disciplined UNIT soldier swiftly responds, "Initializers activated."

The low hum of the spaceship's engines reverberates through the steelworks as the Meep grins with an evil glint in its eyes, proclaiming, "Brandish the gravity stanchions."

"Gravity stanchions brandished," announces a focused UNIT soldier as the prongs of the spacecraft forcefully dig into the ground.

"Calibrate the flight deck," the Meep commands with a sense of authority, intensifying the tension in the air.

A disciplined UNIT member announces, "Flight deck calibrated."

The Meep, perched on its steel throne, commands, "Take the prisoners on board! Then I’ll decide which one to eat first. Hail to Meep!"

The rhythmic chant of the hypnotized UNIT soldiers fills the air, "Hail to the Most High! Hail to the Meep!" while the Meep indulges in a sinister cackle, reveling in its delusions of grandeur.

The liftgate slams shut, transporting you to a different floor. Thoughts of subduing the UNIT guards swirl in your mind as the lift grinds to a halt. As the gate creaks open, Shirley appears, wearing a mischievous grin. "Evening, boys."

With swift precision, she activates a concealed device beneath her wheelchair, firing two darts at each soldier. The tranquilizers swiftly take effect, rendering the guards unconscious.

"You've got weapons in your wheelchair," the Doctor exclaims, eyeing Shirley with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She glances back at him, a knowing look in her eyes, and responds, "We all have. You've got your girl to thank for that. Come on." With a nod, she leads the way, wheeling herself confidently through the complex.

"Right. You lot, the family, you can get out through that door," Shirley says, gesturing towards the exit on the right. She then turns her attention to you and the Doctor, her tone more serious, "You need to get to the engine control. But the port side’s guarded, and there's no way around it."

A quick exchange of glances between you and the Doctor precedes his question to Shirley, "So what do we do?"

With a confident smirk, Shirley retorts, "I don’t just fire darts, mate." She spins her wheelchair around, revealing hidden capabilities. With the push of a button, two missiles activate and blast through the wall, creating a makeshift path forward. The unexpected firepower leaves you and the Doctor momentarily impressed.

Shirley swiftly directs the family, "You lot run. I’ll fight them off at the lift."

The Doctor tightens his grip on your hand, leading you through the large breach in the wall. The chaotic, metallic environment of the spaceship's bridge unfolds before you. With his trusty sonic screwdriver, the Doctor deftly manipulates the controls, unlocking the gate to the engine control room. As the door creaks open, the two of you step inside, ready to stop the ship from taking off.

The Doctor removes his coat and hangs it on one of the pillars as the ship's system voice declares, “Dagger drive systems initializing.”

In a sudden burst of energy, Donna enters the control room panting, "That's enough… running. Blimey."

The system voice abruptly announces, “Chamber deadlocked.” Panic sets in as the only exit seals shut, leaving the Doctor frustrated. He slams his hands on the door, exclaiming, “No, no, no, no! I told you to go—just don’t!”

Frantically, he moves about the room, urging, “No time. I’ve got this. We’ve got it. We’ve got it. You stay there. Don’t move, Donna!”

The Doctor and you scramble around, pressing buttons and flicking switches, racing against time as the system voice declares, “Star launch in five minutes.”

Climbing up one of the pillars, the Doctor instructs you while you squat on the other side to manipulate hidden switches. Suddenly, the system announces, “Deadlock sealed.” A flicker of discomfort courses through both of you as the ship's mechanisms react.

“It’s been deadlocked,” you groan, and Donna questions, “What’s that mean?”

The Doctor replies swiftly, “It means, we can do it by hand.”

You move to the far end of the ship, and the system voice chimes in again, “Maxifold bisecting.” A glass pane wall starts dividing the room, separating you from the Doctor and Donna. “You can stay on that side Doctor, I—” But then the Doctor rolls under the glass just before it seals, protesting, “Oh. No, no, no, no!”

“Double dagger drive installed and initiated.”

You can feel your eye twitch as you look at the Doctor standing next to you. “Okay, okay. Okay, we can do it with half the room. That’s fine.” The Doctor tries to reassure himself and you look at him wondering why he had to end up on your side of the room.

“Let me help.” Donna insists and the Doctor is quick to disagree, “No! You can’t get involved.”

Donna looks at the Doctor with a glare, challenging him and the Doctor tries to steady his resolve, “You can’t!”

It's then your turn to shoot him a pointed look. The Doctor groans and pants in frustration before finally surrendering. He instructs Donna, "Switches, the top ones, the blue ones, flick them all down."

Donna diligently follows his directions, swiftly flicking the switches down, while you navigate to a different section of your side of the room to spin a dial a few times. Despite your efforts, it proves futile, and you slump down in disappointment. The Doctor, leaning defeatedly on a pillar, somberly admits, "We've run out of time."

“Ignition in 230.”

The Doctor sighs with a heavy burden on his shoulders as he confides in Donna, "If there was anything else I could do, but there's one thing left."

"Well— Well, then do it," Donna urges, her tone laced with desperation. The Doctor, however, looks down in shame, prompting Donna to insist, "Hurry up and do it! What are you waiting for?"

Pushing himself off the pillar, the Doctor strides over to the glass partition separating Donna from the two of you. "I think… all that coincidence was heading here to save London from burning. 'Cause the three of us can stop this ship. Together."

Donna gasps in realization, "Oh."

As you rise and move towards the glass, locking eyes with Donna, you declare, "But it will kill you."

Donna sharply inhales, and responds easily, “Okay.”

The Doctor’s voice cracks as he says, “You’ll die.”

Donna's lower lip trembles, her eyes reflecting the imminent crisis, as she says, "My daughter is down there."

"Ignition in 180."

Tears well up in Donna's eyes, and her voice stammers with fear, "And it's not just Rose. It's nine million people. Who cares about me?"

The Doctor responds swiftly, his urgency palpable, "I do. We both do."

Donna takes a deep breath, mustering courage, and asks, "But why?" She pauses, gathering her thoughts, and continues, "I'm just no one."

The Doctor's expression shifts to one of anger, his eyebrows furrowing as he yells, "No, you are not!"

He takes a few steps back, the weight of the situation evident in his sob and scream, "Why does it have to be this?"

"Entering the final sequence."

The Doctor looks at Donna with a somber gaze, defeated, as he utters the words that trigger Donna's memories, "Westerly. Pelican. Dreams."

Donna is desperate as she says, "I don't— Look, I don't care what it is. All right. Just— just go on and do it, will you?"

"Ignition in 150."

"Tornado. Clifftops. Andante," the Doctor says.

"Get on with it!" Donna shouts.

The Doctor continues, "Grief. Fingerprint. Susurration."

Donna's eyes light up as she begins to remember her adventures, "Oh."

The Doctor and Donna utter the last few words in unison, "Sparrow. Dance. Mexico. Binary. Binary. Binary."

A golden glow emanates from Donna, the metacrisis shimmering through as she regains her memories once more. You and the Doctor press your palms against the glass, witnessing her transformative moment.

"Ignition in 100."

As the glow dissipates, the Doctor anxiously asks, "Are you alright?"

"Ignition in 90."

Donna pants, sighs, and sweeps her bangs away from her eyes as she glares at the Doctor. Inhaling deeply, she says, "I gave away my money."

"Ignition in 75."

The Doctor looks at her, puzzled, "Right, but—"

Donna, expressing a mix of frustration and anger, interrupts, "I gave away all my money. And do you know why, Doctor? I gave it away to be like you. So I could be kind. So I could be nice. So I could be helpful— I—"

Donna releases a frustrated growl as the system voice continues, "Ignition in one minute."

Moving her face closer to the glass panel, Donna continues, "I had a subconscious, infracutaneous, retrofold memory loop making me act as soft as you and give away 166 million pounds!"

"Ignition in 50."

The Doctor, wide-eyed, nods in agreement but attempts to refocus on the urgent matter, "Yes, Donna, but— Destruction of London?"

"Oh, I'll show you destruction, mate," Donna declares, intertwining her fingers before flexing them to crack her knuckles.

"Ignition in 40."

You and the Doctor observe in awe as Donna moves around the control panel with ease. "I'll triple-drive the particle manifesto, overstep the umbilical feed, vindicate the cyberline, and roast the hyperfeeds! Like this!" Donna exclaims, spinning the dial on the lower left of her.

The Doctor navigates about half of the room, deftly flicking switches while instructing, "Maximise the stressfold links!"

"Channel up the booster drive!" Donna commands, pressing a few buttons.

"Inculcate the plexidrones!" You chime in, flicking a few more switches.

"And shatterfry the positrons! Oh yes!" Donna exclaims.

"Twenty, nineteen..."

Donna interrupts, asking, "How long have I got to live?" as she switches off a few controls.

"...sixteen, fifteen..."

All three of you simultaneously answer, "Fifty-five seconds."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

"The best fifty-five seconds of my life!" Donna exclaims.

"Seven, six, five, four..."

"Because I get to do this!" Donna proudly announces, turning around and simultaneously flicking off several switches.

"Three, two— Ignition halted."

You three watch as the panel flies off the wall; the countdown has stopped, and Donna proudly states, "Donna Noble is descending."

"Ignition reverse. Ignition reverse."

"It’s working!" The Doctor's voice resonates with exhilaration as the tangible effects of the reversed dagger drive unfold before your eyes.

However, your joy is cut short when you notice Donna beginning to falter. Panic sets in, and you urgently cry out, "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

Swiftly, both you and the Doctor move in unison to catch Donna as she descends, cradling her fragile form in your arms. Donna sighs, her expression reflecting a mix of exhaustion and relief. The Doctor reassures her, "We did it. She’s fine. She’s safe. You saved her."

Donna smiles weakly, and you add, "You saved them all."

In a moment of introspection, Donna questions, "Why did this face come back?" She turns her gaze towards the Doctor, who responds with a sigh, "I don’t know."

"To say goodbye," Donna asserts with a soft smile. She then shifts her attention to you, saying, "Oh, the Stargazer. I’ve missed you."

"I’ve missed you too, Donna, every day," you confess, and the Doctor emits a thoughtful hum.

"Good fun, though," Donna remarks, her chuckles mingling with yours and the Doctor's. The lighthearted moment takes an abrupt turn as Donna's eyes flutter closed, her entire being going limp in the arms of her two closest companions.

A collective sob escapes from you and the Doctor as you sit there, cradling your best friend, a bittersweet mixture of victory and loss filling the air.

Abruptly, the door to the engine control room opens, revealing a cadre of UNIT soldiers with swirling, hypnotized eyes. The air tightens with tension as one of them declares, "We have orders to kill you."

Undeterred, the Doctor retorts defiantly, "Do what you want. This ship isn't going anywhere. You were beaten. By the DoctorDonna." The soldiers, rifles at the ready, cast ominous shadows in the confined space. You resign yourself to the impending threat, feeling the Doctor's protective instinct as he positions himself to shield you.

In a surprising turn, the psychedelic light emitted from the soldiers' eyes screeches and hisses, dissipating into nothingness. Bewilderment echoes through the room, and you join the Doctor in uttering a perplexed, "What?"

Even one of the soldiers can't help but question, "What?"

Donna, roused from her unconscious state, adds her own disoriented, "What?"

The Doctor, his voice tinged with disbelief, softly utters, "You're not dead."

A collective sense of confusion lingers, and Donna, now fully awake, queries, "But how?" as she steadies herself.

After a brief pause, Rose's voice resonates through the intercom, "Can you hear me? Mum? Doctor? Star? I think it's safe for you to come down now."

Donna responds, perplexed, "Rose?"

The Doctor's eyes widen with a sudden epiphany, "Too much power for one person, but you had a child, and the metacrisis passed down. A shared inheritance."

Donna grins, “It was always there. Shining out of her.”

“And she chose her own name,” the Doctor adds.

“Oh, the shed! The shed was her memory of the TARDIS. The toys! Every creature we met, she remembered as a toy,” Donna says with a glint in her eye.

You gape, suddenly realizing, “We are binary.”

“She’s not. Because the Doctor’s—”

The Doctor interjects, “Male.”

“And female,” Donna finishes.

"And neither. And more," Rose says, her voice carrying a warm smile through the intercom.

Donna rushes down the stairs, her steps echoing in the cavernous steelworks. Rose meets her halfway, and they share an emotional hug, Shaun joining in the embrace.

You and the Doctor follow suit, descending rapidly to the ground floor. Sylvia awaits, and as you approach, the Doctor wraps her in a jubilant hug. He inquires, “Happy now?”

Sylvia responds with a radiant smile, "My father would be impressed. I have no higher compliment." Laughter of triumph fills the air as you and the Doctor proceed to the nearby control center.

Shirley deftly maneuvers her wheelchair towards you and the Doctor, offering her unique perspective. She addresses the Doctor with a sly grin, “There’s a word for you, Doctor. And that word is jammy.”

The Doctor responds with infectious enthusiasm, “Jam on toast.” He decisively slams a button, activating the intercom. With authority, he speaks into the microphone, “Calling the Meep.”

The Meep's defiant voice crackles through the speakers, “You forget I still have my ship. And if I have to explode the engines and rupture this world and damn us all to hell, then I will!” A shared glance between you and the Doctor follows, and he graciously hands you the task of flicking the crucial switch.

With a resounding click, the Meep’s cockpit is ejected into the sky, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of the Meep's distressed shrieks. You and the Doctor gaze upward, drawn into the spectacle unfolding against the canvas of the vast night sky.

“There you go.” The Doctor points with a wry smile, observing the Meep’s cockpit deploying a parachute against the cosmic backdrop.

You feel the Doctor's reassuring grip on your waist as he pulls you into his side. Together, you look up, transfixed by the celestial display. The stars twinkle above, and in that moment, you choose to hope and believe that nothing universe-ending has transpired yet.

As the sun ascends on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene, the Wrath Warriors stand sternly with the imprisoned Meep, forming an uneasy tableau. You step forward, addressing them with a heavy heart, "Sergeant Zogroth and Constable Zreeg gave their lives, alongside many Earth soldiers."

The Wrath Warrior, resolute in the face of the aftermath, declares, "Their names will be included in the litany of crimes as the Meep atones in prison for 10,000 years." The Meep, defiant in defeat, mutters, "Oh, I will escape and have my revenge. So you beware, Doctor and Stargazer, because there’s one more thing."

With a determined stride, the Doctor moves closer, inquiring, "Which is?"

“A creature with two hearts is such a rare thing. And to have two of your kind here… Just wait till I tell the boss,” the Meep retorts, an ominous promise lingering in the air. The Wrath Warriors and the Meep vanish in a teleportation, leaving a sobering aftermath beneath the morning sun.

The Doctor, caught in contemplation, mumbles under his breath, "Cryptic. I hate that." He takes a deep breath, turning his attention to Donna and Rose with a sense of urgency, "But… we’ve still gotta fix you two. ‘Cause the metacrisis might have slowed down, but that thing is wrapped around your cortex."

Donna, with an eye roll and a knowing nod, quips, “Yes, we know.”

Rose adds confidently, “We know everything, thanks.”

Donna, in her typical nonchalant manner, shrugs, “And you know nothing. It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore. ‘Cause she’d have understood.”

Rose, crossing her arms, asserts with confidence, “You’ve got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”

Donna, ever pragmatic, advises, “Just let it go.”

The unity between mother and daughter becomes evident as Rose takes Donna’s hand, and together, they release the accumulated metacrisis energy. Shaun interjects with a grin, “Like I said, mate, how lucky am I?”

Rose, with a joyous laugh, concludes, “After all these years, I’m… finally me.”

CAMDEN MARKET, LONDON — MORNING, 2023

Shaun skillfully navigates the vehicle, bringing the group back to Camden Market in London. Earlier, you had informed Shirley about the intention to bid farewell to the Doctor and Donna before returning to headquarters. Shirley responded with a nonchalant, "Sure..." accompanied by a discerning look, rolling away from you in her wheelchair.

The Doctor maintains his characteristic chattiness as he informs Donna, "And UNIT has a splendid insurance policy for damage caused during an alien war. While they sort that out..." Approaching the iconic tall blue police box, the TARDIS, the Doctor gestures towards it, saying, "One last trip?"

"Uh, don’t you dare," Sylvie interjects with a pointed look. Donna, casting puppy eyes at both you and the Doctor, laments, “Do you know, I would love to.” She then takes a sharp inhale, sighs, and adds, “But… I have got adventures of my own, bringing up this one.” Donna points her thumb towards Rose.

“Can I see inside?” Rose asks the Doctor curiously, taking a step toward the TARDIS. Donna, however, swiftly moves her away, cautioning, “No. No! No. No.”

Rose sighs, and Donna playfully waves her finger, “No. Because summat will go wrong, and you’ll end up on Mars with Chaucer and a robot shark. And that’s actually happened, hasn’t it.”

The Doctor gives a sheepish, “Oh, yeah.”

“But I was thinking, we could go and see Wilf?” The Doctor suggests to you and Donna.

Donna then says, “Now that is cheating.”

The Doctor pouts, “Just a suggestion.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare.” Sylvie says, and Donna sighs, “But imagine his face, Mum. Oh, he would be so happy. All those secrets Grandad kept for years. He— He thought I’d never remember. And to see the Doctor. One last time.”

The Doctor and Donna make a puppy face to you and Sylvie, urging you to join them. Sylvie relents and gives in, “Oh, all right. But one trip. That’s all. Just one.”

The Doctor turns to unlock the door with his key while Donna laughs with glee, “One tiny, little trip. That is a promise.”

Donna turns to you and the Doctor and gasps in excitement, “It’s like the old days. Just me, the Doctor, and the Stargazer. Together.” She then turns to her family, “Is that all right?”

“Yeah, of course it is,” Shaun says confidently with a huge smile.

“Well, a lot of husbands would worry. You know, me, in a box, with another man.” Donna jokes, and Shaun shrugs and shakes his head, “Yeah. But not him.”

The Doctor looks somewhat offended, but then Donna shoos him to go inside, “Come on, space man.”

In the quiet aftermath, with Donna entering the TARDIS, the Doctor notices the unsure expression on your face. He whispers to Donna to go ahead, and she complies, leaving the two of you alone, behind the TARDIS, sheltered from prying eyes.

With a gentle gesture, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He cups your face with both hands, his smile revealing dimples that carry the weight of countless adventures. “The stars haven’t gone out.”

Your raised brows betray a hint of skepticism, “Yet…”

The Doctor locks eyes with you, his deep dark brown orbs conveying understanding. As tears well up in your eyes, you break the silence, your voice a fragile whisper, “You have no idea how bad it gets. How scared I am that all of this is temporary and I lose you… and I can’t have you.”

“Hey. Hey, hey. None of that,” he reassures, his gaze unwavering. “So far, everything has been leading me back to you. And when the time comes to face it… we’ll fix it… together. I can’t lose you again. Not ever again.”

His words linger in the air, a vow shaped by the quiet resilience of a Time Lord who has navigated countless challenges across time and space. You respond with a nod, sealing the unspoken pact, and tenderly kiss his wrists. In return, he draws you closer, planting a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“When this is all over,” he declares, “we’re getting married.”

“What?” you screech, caught off guard by the unexpected revelation.

“We've waited this long. I’m not spending the rest of my how many years without you,” the Doctor insists, his eyes earnest.

“Is this a proposal?” you inquire, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice.

“If you want,” he smirks, playfully nonchalant.

On tiptoe, you reach up to kiss the tip of his nose, a tender acknowledgment, “We'll see.” The promise of an unwritten future hangs in the air, held by the shared understanding that time and space will unfold their stories together.

THE TARDIS

The Doctor guides you inside the TARDIS and closes the door behind him and both of you are in awe of the major changes of the entire TARDIS. Huge curved white walls with round circles that glow with lights and many ramps that lead to different corridors.

The Doctor hangs his coat on one of the railings as he grins and laughs, “Whoa!” He begins to run around all the ramps with the energy of a little kid as he shouts, “This is amazing!”

“It changed! Oh, you clever thing! Look at that!” The Doctor laughs as he finishes his lap around the new interior of the TARDIS. He runs over to the console and smiles, “It’s got this!”

He pushes a lever forward, and the lights within the TARDIS shift to a vibrant orange, casting a warm glow. Your gaze is drawn upward in awe as the ambient hum of the time machine resonates around you. Running your fingers along the railings, you can feel the TARDIS responding, and you affectionately murmur, “Hello, sweet thing. I missed you too.”

Amid the luminous atmosphere, the Doctor darts around the console, engaging with switches and buttons on the refurbished device. Donna, observing the transformation, remarks, “It’s still a bit nippy.”

The Doctor protests, “Oh, come on!”

Undeterred, Donna concedes with a grin, “All right…” Her expression changes as she admires the surroundings, “It’s gorgeous!” Laughter bubbles up from both Donna and the Doctor, who joins in the jubilation, bouncing excitedly.

“It’s cleaner. And it’s grown,” Donna observes, her laughter echoing through the TARDIS.

Making your way to the console, you overhear Donna questioning the Doctor, “But I— I still don’t get it. I mean, the TARDIS can change all right. But what about your face? Why did it come back?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” the Doctor muses, and Donna, with a snort, retorts, “In your life? Yes!”

With a nonchalant shrug, the Doctor remarks, “Well, I’m stuck with it now.” He continues exploring the console, fidgeting with excitement, and comments, “Oh, this thing is brilliant. It’s even got a coffee machine!” Glancing at you and Donna, he inquires, “You want one?”

You shake your head, “No, thank you, darling.”

“You’re kidding,” Donna says with wide eyes.

“With cold milk, yeah?” The Doctor deftly presses a few buttons, and Donna, smiling, says, “Well remembered.” To your delight, a white cup materializes with coffee and cold milk.

He carefully hands the cup of coffee to Donna who says, “Thank you very much. Careful. It’s how I lost my job. Dropped a coffee in the computer.”

To which the Doctor just hums and moves to flick a few more switches around the console as you lean on a railing, to listen to him say, “I really do remember, though. Every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back ‘cause it killed me, Donna.” The Doctor clicks another switch as he continues on, “It killed me, it killed me, it killed me.”

"We can have more days, can’t we?" Donna inquires, her tone laced with a mix of hope and curiosity. Her eyes reflect a desire for a future filled with shared moments. Continuing with optimism, she suggests, "I mean, why is it such a big goodbye with you? Why is it one last trip? ‘Cause you could visit. With my family."

The Doctor, absorbed in examining a screw, listens attentively as Donna paints a vivid picture of ordinary yet precious moments. "We could do outrageous things, like have tea, dinner, and a laugh! And Rose’s school play. Well, maybe not that. She can’t act. She’s terrible. I don’t know how to tell her. But the point is, you’ve been given a second chance. You can do things differently this time."

Encouraging him to embrace change, Donna suggests, "So why don’t you do something completely new and have some friends?"

The Doctor contemplates the idea, responding with a hesitant "Maybe. Yeah." Donna chuckles, savoring the simplicity of their current moment. "Mmm. Like now," she remarks, lifting her cup as if to toast. "Here we are. Having a coffee."

Before the Doctor can respond, Donna's accidental spillage disrupts the calm, eliciting a gasp from her. "What’s gonna go wrong—" Her sentence is abruptly cut off as the spilled coffee interacts with the TARDIS console, resulting in sparks and flames.

With urgency, Donna questions, "What’s happening?" The Doctor, swift in his actions, ushers both you and Donna away from the unfolding chaos. The TARDIS groans and whines as its engines protest, and the cloister bell rings ominously in the background.

"We could end up anywhere in time and space," the Doctor confesses, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. As the atmosphere fills with anticipation, you brace yourself, thinking, "Here we go again."

TAGLIST:

#14th doctor #14th doctor x reader #14th doctor x fem!reader #fourteenth doctor #ethereal writes #doctor who 60th anniversary #60th anniversary #catherine tate #doctor who special #david tennant #14th doctor x fem reader #doctor who x reader #donna noble #doctor who

349 notes · View notes

mysisters-bike · 8 months

Text

Eric Harris: Online

We explore Eric's affinity for escapism and his behavior online. Super long post, tl;dr at end.

As a teenager, Eric grew more withdrawn. His interests began to take shape around computers and he was particularly fond of Doom II, a 90’s first-person shooter in which the main character (Doomguy) fights hoards of demons on Earth. Doom II included multiplayer, as did its predecessor, Doom. However, one large development that Eric especially enjoyed was the ability to create custom levels for Doom II.

To this day, Eric’s Doom files (.wad) still roam the internet, somehow miraculously not lost to the sands of time. He seemed to particularly enjoy creating deathmatch levels and would encourage users reading the .readme files for his levels to email him and play with him.

Creating these levels for Doom was a passion project for Eric. He would work carefully on his wads, even going as far to create his own monster death animations. While it’s very easy to create and distribute modifications for most games today, this was an impressive feat in the mid-late 1990s. Computers and access to the internet was still hitting the homefront, albeit in a massive boom. As technology flourished in the home, Eric found a means to channel his creativity.

In the infamous “U.A.C. Labs” level, Eric created two fast-paced levels that incorporate jump-scares, plot-twists, and lots of action. He nearly overloaded one of the areas with a spawn of 150+ some monsters that is triggered by the player coming too close to a key that’s required to access the next area. Eric was very proud of this particular level, writing in the .readme: …This one took a damn long time to do, so send me some bloody credit man!...Authors may NOT use this level as a base to build additional levels. You may NOT change a damn thing with this WAD, if you do, I will blow you up. And it will be cool.

See below: blueprints drawn by Eric in his journal detailing one of his wads. These can be found throughout his writings.

Clearly, Eric was interested in protecting the level’s artistic integrity. This was work he took a great deal of pride in. Eric was described as being interested in pursuing a career in digital development by Brooks, who thought it was feasible he may end up as a videogame designer.

What was it about Doom that Eric enjoyed so much?

For starters, the game was paramount in its offering of gore, metal music, and gameplay. Doom was nonstop action with intriguing stories that could be followed along in both game and book. It is my theory that Eric enjoyed high-paced, high-action activities to stimulate a mind he was not entirely comfortable being alone with. This was also a world in which Eric could control – he could smite down the monsters in his path and he knew what lay around every corner. This may be considered a form of escapism, which is not necessarily new behavior in teenagers. Interestingly, however, there are multiple studies that have been conducted specifically observing the video game escapism phenomenon.

During periods of heightened psychological distress and escapism, the individual increases the amount of online activity, video game play-time, and gambling frequency (Jouhki, Savolainen, Sirola, & Oksanen, 2022). These three behaviors are specifically intriguing as they all provide forms of distraction.

Have you ever been to a casino? There are no windows, therefore, there is no sense of the passage of time. You are inundated by flashing lights, loud sounds, bright colors, and excitement. I once found myself with a drink in hand, sitting at a digital slot machine with interesting animations and upbeat music. It was a penny slot, but I won $20 on my first try. Next thing I knew, my friend and I had spent 5 fast hours playing slots, digital blackjack, and having the time of our lives. I ended up only losing $10 in the end.

Casinos are intended to be a distracting environment that draws in the consumer and traps them for hours of endless stimulation. This is the same idea applied to video games, which are intended to provide hours of entertainment, something humans are constantly in search of. For example, small rodents do not require a television. While providing pet rodents with enrichment is undoubtedly very healthy for them, their enrichment simulates foraging, which is their biological purpose. Humans, now more than ever, rely on entertainment from every angle. It is especially difficult for those going through a psychological hardship to not stimulate their minds. Rather, it can be easier to avoid and escape the difficult and, often, intrusive thoughts. Psychological distress and a method to avoid dealing with such troubles creates the perfect storm within an emotionally unintelligent and unequipped teenage boy.

Eric spending hours building a new level in Doom was simply a way to ease the passage of time. Controlling and manipulating the environment may have provided a sense of control that was not otherwise found in everyday life. In addition to this, Eric understood Doom better than he was capable of understanding his emotions.

To Eric, Doom symbolized something he was not: powerful, strong, and capable. In the basement tapes, Eric and Dylan explain their murderous motivations. Eric references his favorite game: “It’s gonna be like fucking Doom man; after the bombs explode.”

I often argue against the claim that video games were to blame for Eric’s violent behavior and plans despite this evidence. Longitudinal studies have proven that video games do not influence violent crime or behavior. After a 2-year study on Singapore youth, it was concluded that 27 hours of gameplay per day would be required to see any clinical effects or behavioral changes due to violent video games (Ferguson and Wang, 2019). In Eric’s own words, he was fighting himself to separate from his moral compass in order to follow through with the plan he and Dylan had been concocting. In order to do this, he began to think of their plan like it was another Doom level he was crafting. Video games may not be the direct cause of Eric’s violence, but I do believe he used them to justify his violence (to himself).

It was also during this time that the social internet was booming. WebChat Broadcasting System (WBS) and American Online (AOL) began the excitement of site hosting and chatrooms. Personal profiles encouraged a space for teenagers like Eric to freely share their thoughts and interests and connect with others on a scale that had not yet been seen before. Eric took an extremely strong liking to the new social sphere he’d discovered and created multiple AOL profiles and webpages.

Eric even created a webpage to host a series of “Jo Mamma” anti-jokes, crediting himself, Dylan, and Zack Heckler under their respective screen names Reb, VoDkA, and KiBBZ. One of the jokes on their site read: Jo mamma so fat she doesnt even look at the nutrition value tables on the food boxes she eats.....she just buys them and eats them.....cause shes fat...JJJEEYAAAAAA!!!!

Much like people today sharing private thoughts on Facebook or Twitter, Eric was sharing his private thoughts on his own websites. Ranging from “jo mamma” jokes to death threats, Eric didn’t hesitate over-sharing every thought he had on his personal blog.

Online oversharing is an extremely new and modern communicative phenomenon. The scale at which humans are now able to communicate is unprecedented and, frankly, not something humans were ever equipped to be able to do. Eric’s internet presence feels like a primitive version of how a teenager today would dump their opinions and ideas onto Twitter.

On these blogs, Eric would share self-described “missions” in which he and Dylan would test homemade pipe bombs. He described lists of things he hated, desires to kill others, and people he hated. As we have already discussed, Eric would also make mention of Brooks Brown.

Eric would also describe fantasizing breaking into Brooks’s home and urinating on him and his family members and would also, unprompted, share Brooks’s phone number in a “mission” post. Eric would share Brooks’s number online on multiple occasions:

…This mission was also liquor free as a result of this person named Brooks Brown (phone number) who tried to narc on us.

A reason he might have shared such tenacious things online was to seek the thrill of seeing what he could publicly get away with or attention from outsiders. Eric might have enjoyed attention from any angle, be it support for his ideals or shock. This attention, no matter where it came from, would still feed his ego. Eric wanted people to see and he didn’t care what they thought.

Studies have shown that individuals who post their own photos or private messages to personal blogs are attempting to construct their desired public identity (Jung, Song, & Vorderer, 2012). As Eric shared more and more deeply personal thoughts, he was further crafting the public Doom-esque image of himself he wanted others to see.

Eric also displayed a troubling tendency to overshare online. Have you ever scrolled on your social media timelines and found a post that was just unsettlingly personal and wondered, Why on Earth would anyone want to share that publicly?

The tendency to overshare just stems from an overall need for attention. Social media provides a very easy way to continuously farm serotonin. Consistently sharing ideas and thoughts into a space where others can very easily validate them can almost serve as catharsis for a large amount of people. However, oversharing on social media has actually been discovered to have a direct association with anxiety issues, problematic social media use, and attention-seeking behaviors (Shabahang, Shim, Aruguete, & Zsila, 2022).

I theorize that Eric was mainly searching for attention with each new entry he put forth onto the internet. This was a teenager who had been deprived of the right kinds of attention and would seek to push boundaries in order to get it. His posts were also indicative of his declining mental state. As his posts became darker and darker, it became clear that this was not only Eric’s outlet for gaining attention, but in some areas had evolved into his personal massacre planner.

Read one of Eric's most troubling online posts here (pages 39 and 40)

What would prompt someone to write such horrible things? Why did Eric feel this way? Why did he claim to hate the world? What about his life left him and Dylan feeling like they “had no other choice?” I theorize that Eric projected his loneliness and lack of meaningful relationships onto the rest of the world. After all, how could any of this be his fault? In his mind, something must have been terribly wrong with him to be rejected by everyone.

Why was he so angry? Truly, we can see that Eric’s anger was displaced. I theorize that Eric blamed the world that felt like it had betrayed him so many times for his shortcomings. His self-esteem was incredibly low and he was poor at maintaining friendships. From time to time, he was targeted by bullies and felt like an outsider. Rejected children often react aggressively and underestimate how disliked they are by their peers.

Numerous witness statements describe a distaste or distrust of Eric. One incident after another, people found Eric unapproachable. He kept mutual friends with Dylan, but it’s most likely he was more Dylan’s friend in the circle than he was anyone else’s.

TL;DR:

Playing Doom and creating .wads for the game was a form of escapism for Eric; he could create a world he was in control of

Escapism damages an individual's ability to solve emotional problems; it's not a relief, it's merely "putting off" the problem the individual must solve without teaching any healthy coping mechanisms

Eric was crafting an image of himself that he wanted others to perceive; someone who was strong, badass, in control, and took no names...all of which he did not truly think he was. Eric knew he was just an average teenage boy and he hated it

Eric needed attention from anyone he could find, whether or not those accolades be positive or negative. He was pushing his boundaries to see what he could get away with; to see what he could feel

I've been taking all of what I'm posting from a case study I wrote a while back. I keep forgetting to cite my sources since it's...you know...tumblr.

References:

Ferguson, C. J. & Wang, C. K. J. (2019). Aggressive video games are not a risk factor for future aggression in youth: A longitudinal stud. Journal of Youth and Adolescence, 48. https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10964-019-01069-0

Jouhki, H., Savolainen, I., Sirola, A., & Oksanen, A. (2022). Escapism and Excessive Online Behaviors: A Three-Wave Longitudinal Study in Finland during the COVID-19 Pandemic. Int J Environ Res Public Health, 19(19). doi: 10.3390/ijerph191912491.

Jung, Y., Song, H., & Vorderer, P. (2012). Why do people post and read personal messages in public? The motivation of using persona blogs and its effects on user's loneliness, belonging, and well-being. Computers in Human Behavior, 28(5). pp 1626-1633. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chb.2012.04.001

Shabahang, R., Shim, H., Aruguete, M. A., & Zsila, A. (2022). Oversharing on Social Media: Anxiety, Attention-Seeking, and Social Media Addiction Predict the Breadth and Depth of Sharing. Psychological Reports. https://doi.org/10.1177/00332941221122861

#eric harris #dylan klebold #columbine #true crime #tcc #true crime community #psychology #i have a degree :-|

464 notes · View notes

k2ntoss · 3 months

Note

Omg omg omg

Pls do “shit— do that again” and “this is so wrong” with dickie grayson pretty please

(The second prompt gives enemies to lovers vibes SO MUCH, so if it’s included the better.)

— ❤️‍🩹 xx

SECOND ANON WITH AN EMOJI, LET'S FUCKING CELEBRATE!! first of all, thank you so much for this request, i have an idea buzzing into my head and if i don't post it i'll go insane (i'm already insane) and second... i'm listening to the weeknd so yeah....

“do that again- shit, just like that, right there.” + "this is wrong... so wrong." (plus enemies to lovers trope omg yes please!!!)

dick has never been known to be a bad detective, his partners adore him and so does every kid and person he helps, he does his job so well everyone is aware that whenever he's got a new case he will be at it all the time but there is just one person that doesn't really agrees with that, dick knows it and it gets on his nerves because it's always just his cases and investigations the ones that you observe and deny before they reach the court.

he really hated the moment he had to go present his case to the prosecutor, mostly when it was you who was assigned to it and what's worse it's that dick knows that you take it personal because there's no way on earth you let mobs or criminals to pay for justice and that is pretty much clear when you have an amazing percentage of cases won where criminals end up getting what they deserve.

"you have to be joking," at this point is almost a routine. dick arrives to your office with a folder filled with documents and reports from the officers and his own, a box full of evidence he picked up and sent to check to the labs, all the signed paperwork and the hope that you won't send him back to re-do all the work from zero "everything is in that folder!"

"detective, would you lower your damn voice?" you'd ask him, the snark on your tone is upsetting and dick has to take a deep breath to cool down a bit "there are several forms you haven't filled, how do you expect me to work like this?" and it was true, paperwork was important even if everyone hated doing it.

"you can't return the whole investigation for a couple of stupid papers! it's a big case, if you return it to the station we'll have to let the criminals go because the time runs up." dick is starting to lose every trace of patience and good will he has, hands gripping the fabric of his trousers and his hands clench a little more when you look at him, unamused and with any intention to help him.

"i can't help you if you don't bring everything in order, not to say that there are so many things that don't make sense on your files," you say, reading through some pages "this doesn't looks like a real detective's work, how do you expect me to do anything with this?" you leave the folder down, looking at him with your arms crossed over your chest and leaning back on the chair behind your desk.

dick is about to scream, you're telling him his work sucks and sending him back to do it all over again when he is sure there are cases pilling up back in the station but he has to hold it back. it's weird that the person he despises the most isn't some villain he fights at night but a prosecutor that he desperately wants to shut up for once and for all.

you are way too cocky for your own good and since the first case you dismised from his hands he has wanted to show you why he had the reputation he had, he's fighting his rage right now because he knew that in this case you were right and it would be stupid to keep pushing but he was too stubborn and a little too lost on how much he liked to get in your nerves.

"there's no way you can't help me with that case," he says and dick's voice is now an indicator of how upset he is feeling, not only because of you dismissing his work but also because this time he wasn't right (not that he has been before, he always forgot a paper or the whole background of a piece of evidence because he was too distracted on thinking how jolly the moment would be when you'd had to accept his work) "you just don't want to do it and that's bullshit, you should be dismissed from all the station's cases because this is personal."

"detective grayson," you warn him, if it was on your hands you'd help him just as you always tried to help but as a prosecutor you had to stick to the rules and make sure your coworkers did just the same "i'd suggest you to lower your tone and keep your emotions in check, the fact that i can't work with this investigation it's not my fault." you said, letting the folder fall back on your desk before standing up.

there went the last string of patience and good will dick had, he stood up but stayed still until you started walking your way to the door and he'd be lying if your figure wasn't distracting him a little bit with the way that greenish button up shirt hung a little loose on your shoulders but gave a hint of your figure. he had to shake his thoughts away and as soon as he saw your hand reaching for the door he darted towards you, pushing the door closed shut again and standing a little too close to you.

dick is hovering over you, looking down as his eyes fix on yours and there's no way to hide the surprise of the sudden outburst that causes you to flinch a little.

"you think so high of yourself, y/n," dick hisses as his eyes narrow, he leans in closer and it sends a spark that danced between anger and pure expectation from what he could do "you think that you make the fucking calls and that is just so upsetting, i wish i could just bring you down from that cloud and show you just what you are." he points at you and it's distracting because dick grayson has always managed to keep his anger in check.

"keep your emotions in check, detective" it was another warning, it came throught gritted teeth and narrowed eyes as you stand still ready to snap back at him on the first chance "am i the one that thinks too high of themself? let me break it to you, grayson, at least i'm trying to do my job as i have to."

the banter between you two has always been a little more snarky and less heated, not to be taken so serious because what you wanted to do was to push dick to do his absolute best so you could also help people to be safe out on the streets, living their lives but this time was just different because there was something else fueling the words.

there's a spark that ignites inside of dick as soon as your words hit close to home and next thing you know is that you're being cornered against the door of your office and he managed to inmobilize you; he grabs your shoulder to turn you around, his right leg between yours and his face right next to yours.

"you think you're better than the rest of us just because you get to take the credit of putting the bastards we catch behind bars but you just have to sit pretty here," he speaks lowly into your ear, his tone making it clear that he was letting it all out, months of bottled up frustration flowing out of him "you do nothing but talk, that's all that mouth of yours can do and it was just time someone put you in your place."

"richard grayson, you better back the fuck up now or–" you start, the warning hanging in the air and interrupted by a low grunt that just escaped your lips when he pressed a bit more against you just to mess with your nerves, causing his thigh to press a bit more between your legs and sending a jolt through your spine that mixed with all the emotions "do that again– shit," and even tho he is surprised and a little taken aback by your reaction he complies, moving closer until he could feel his leg pressed up against your clothed core and he decided to grind it teasingly "just like that, right there..."

"that's all it takes to turn off your brain?" he asks mockingly, his hand pressed between your shoulders as his lips brush against your era and it's easy to hear the smirk on dick's voice "pin you against the door and let you grind yourself against my thigh? it's pathetic how a smartmouth like you turns to a puddle when someone touches your cunt like this."

yeah, it's pathetic because he managed to shut you up without even trying and he's proud of it. his hand trails down your back until it reaches the lower part of it making sure to hold your body in a way you couldn't move your hips to grind on his thigh.

"go on, why don't you move?" he asks teasingly, his hand pressing harder when he felt the jerk of your hips and an amused laugh escapes his throat when you grunt frustrated "who would have thought that miss great prosecutor was such a desperate little slut." and he could have stopped there, make you help him because you'd be too embarrased to deny him anything after putting this show for him but dick decided to lean in and press a lingering kiss on your neck that made your breath catch on your throat.

"dick– fuck, don't be such an ass" you say in a hoarse tone, looking at the ceiling as you try to rock your hips once again, feeling yourself able to do so when dick's hand wanders from your back to your stomach and then up, resting between your breasts as he breathes you in.

"pretty fucked up, isn't it?" he asks against your neck, nibbling on the side of your neck as his fingers start undoing the buttons of your shirt while you grind against his thigh and everything feels so forbidden, one of your hands moving to lock the door because there was no way you'd let yourself get caught being groped by the detective you've told all your department you hated.

it wasn't news for your coworkers that dick and you had a long history of not getting alone but truth be told, you just wanted to make dick give his best because that would also allow you to give your best. it was a win-win, if only he saw it that way because you weren't trying to buy more time for the criminals to make up evidence or build new alibis or get fake witnesses.

dick gets your shirt open, his hands messily working on pulling your bra down and growling lowly when he saw your breasts spilling out against the door, his eyes moving from your chest to the way your features contorted from the way you were getting yourself off like this. with every jerk of your hips he could feel your ass pressed against his cock, the bulge inside his dressing pants now hard in a way you could feel it againt your body.

he lets go of you, turning you around and ignoring your grunt when you were left without that pleasurable feeling on your aching pussy. his hands gripping your hips as he presses a hungry kiss on your lips, demanding and bruising between the smirk it draws from him when you kiss him back with the same need as your hands undo his shirt, pulling it away from his body as he manages to walk until he is sitting on your desk with you sitting on his lap.

the messy making out is only interrupted when the clothes come out of your body, heavy breathing as he squeezes and gropes your flesh into his hands in a rush of pure lust that's fueled by the way your wetness feels when pressed against his hard on as he moves you to tease your pussy, his shaft moving between your folds and the wet sounds are only muffled by the low moans and growls you both try to keep as low as you can.

"this is wrong..." you say breathlessly, feeling how dick picks your body up with his arm around your waist as his free hand lines his tip with your entrance and he grunts into your neck when you are the one that slides down on him with your eyes closed shut "so wrong, god."

it's not much when your body moves on its own, going up and down on his cock as he looks up at you, hands gripping your waist to hold you as his lips are around one of your nipples, sucking and licking at it while your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders.

you'd never set yourself into this kind of situations but there was no time to think about how wrong this was when it felt so good, the way he filled you up as you rode him slowly, teasing him to grip your hips in order to set the pace to make you bounce on him.

"you look so good like that, fuck," he whispers against your chin when you start grinding on him, his hands on your hips so hard that his fingers bruise your skin as he thrusts deeper into your pussy "so desperate fucking yourself like a bitch in heat, you think you're using my cock for your pleasure but you're nothing but a pretty toy."

his words work as a turn on, the way he looks at you with hunger and need as he pounds harshly inside your cunt makes you moan without care on who could hear you.

"you look so pretty like that, so tight around me" he grunts into your ear and it's right there when he takes the lead, setting a fast pace as he holds your hips to make your body bounce "you like it like this? when you're being used like a dirty whore, sweetheart?"

"i like it so much, fuck–" you whine and the sound of your voice makes him chuckle, this was pretty bad because the degrading words were making you needier and the way you couldn't hide it made you appear more like a slut for him, clenching around him the closer you got to your climax as he hit all the right spots with each thrust he gave.

it was hard to talk for you, between moans and whines of pure delight that came after each stroke dick made as he kissed your jaw but he had no problem on doing it while his hand moved and reached that space on your pussy.

his thumb pressed against your clit made you shiver into his arms, whinning pathetically as he played with your sensitivity with a wide grin "look at the little mess you are, always so collected and now you're here with your legs all spread for me to fuck you into a brainless slut."

"dick– i'm close" you say, eyes teary and voice broken as your face finds a place into the crook of his neck but it's not too much time until he finds your gaze, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss into your lips before he pulls back and nods, thrusting in a faster pace and with deeper strokes.

"c'mon, cum for me, sweetheart." he growls against your ear, both hands holding your waist as your movements become sloppier and erratic, the tension on your belly building more and more until your orgasm hits your whole body making your walls clench tighter around him "that's it, that's a fucking good girl... i'll pull out now, yeah?"

and he doesn't wait for your response, knowing you won't be able to think straight while you were still on your high and with you still straddling his lap dick moves, strocking his cock until he is throbbing into his fist before he reaches his own climax, painting your stomach with those milky white streaks.

maybe, just maybe now he could find a way to fix his work without feeling so upset about it.

324 notes · View notes

jessamine-rose · 10 months

Note

Yooo, I'm still thinking of your Miguel O'Hara fic and I like how you wrote his little yandere-isms. Like him having every little detail about you, your habits, and personality quirks being noted down aside from the rest of his possessiveness is just something that gets me feeling a certain way haha.

I am a bit curious though, (if you're okay with answering this, no pressure haha) what does the rest of Miguel's Darling List look like? Or at the very least, what was the first thing he wrote down on it?

Read my Yandere! Miguel O’Hara fic here <3

With his CCTVs and observation skills, Miguel would have a long list of unethically-sourced information on his Variant! Darling. Here are more items from his private files~

Tw:: yandere, stalking, obsessive behavior

FILE NAME: ______ (EARTH-███)

— CLASSIFIED INFORMATION —

1. ______ wears the same brand of perfume.

2. Speech patterns: Softer voice, less outspoken, code-switches more often.

3. Personal style is nicer more fashionable. Same favorite colors but in darker shades.

12. Phone passcode: Date of rescue.

13. ______’s cooking tastes better. Less sugar, more spices.

20. Less fidgety in her sleep. Follows a strict morning routine.

“Does her room need that many CCTVs?” asked LYLA.

Ignoring her, Miguel switched to a different screen for a closer look at your sleeping face.

44. More competent at office work, but also more prone to anxiety and stress.

“LYLA, can you go online and order a stress ball? Buy the type which she used.”

56. Among her coworkers, ______ is closest to her dimension’s Spider-Man. He provides her with updates and inside jokes.

Shortly after No#56 was recorded, the aforementioned Spider-Man was given more assignments outside of Earth-928. The reasons were not disclosed by Miguel.

81. ______ should be kept away from Hobie Brown at all costs.

LYLA raised an eyebrow at the next sentence. “Are you seriously calling Spider-Punk a ‘bad influence’ and a ‘distraction from work’? Sounds more like jealousy to me.”

108. Peter B. Parker asked ______ to hold Mayday. She is awkward with kids. (Was her Variant the same before Gabriella? If that’s the case, she’ll warm up to them eventually.)

♡

Thank you so much for your sweet comments, and the idea, Anon dear!! Everyone’s feedback has made my day, and I hope that more ppl will cry over enjoy The Spider and the Fly >:3

496 notes · View notes

psychwxrdd · 3 months

Text

Chapter I

The Collector (1965)

Summary: Rafe Cameron is obsessed with y/n. Unable to make any normal contact, he decides to add her to his "collection" of pretty, preserved objects, in the hope that if he keeps her captive long enough, she will grow to love him.

🎀 - this is a personal adaptation of the classic The Collector, i love the book and the movie as well and i haven't changed practically anything except for the characters. all copyright to John Fowles, i don't own any of the credits or characters, this is just a fanfic on tumblr for my obx girlies!!

also, rafe is non canon, it's just his looks and name to be honest, cause everything else is just loyal to freddie clegg. lmk what yall think about it!

Rafe Cameron's POV.

Whenever she was home on vacation from boarding school, i used to see her almost everyday, as she lived right in front of the Figure 8. I often saw her leaving and entering the house with her sister and, sometimes, with her friends, who i didn't cared about. I was used, when i freed myself for a moment from the files and statistics, to stand at the window, and, through the frost-fogged glass, i observed the street. Then watching her pass by.

It was the best part of my day: Admiring her beauty. My heart always felt waves of love at her sight, i could phisically feel it. At night, at home, i recorded the incident in my journal, initially with an X and, later, when i discovered her name, her initials. I also met her, several times, on the street. One of the times she went to the door of the Public Library, when i stood behind her in a queue. She didn't even looked at me, but I saw her head and her very beautiful hair clearly. I could feel her scent, her sweet, heavenly scent. Only once, just once, before having her as a guest here, i had the privilege of seeing her hair completely down; It was so beautiful, like a mermaid, i had to take a deep breath. She looked just like an angel, what could i do?

I mean... I'm me. Rafe. I'm the bad guy, the most hated person of Outer Banks. Not even my family likes me, what chances did i stood with such a pure creature like her?

I didn't knew it was possible for an angel like her to exist in a filthy earth like ours.

Another time, on a saturday morning, when i didn't had to work and i went to Country Club. She was there. I immediately saw her sitting three seats in front of me, facing me, and so i was allowed to observe her for thirty-five minutes. Seeing her always made me feel as if i were capturing a true rarity, as if she was carefully bringing me closer, silently, to a butterfly with very beautiful, diffuse colors. I always thought of it as something indefinable and rare, as well as refined — not in other words, even the most beautiful ones. Words from an authentic connoisseur. I knew nothing about her when she was still at boarding school, except that her father was a doctor and that, as i heard, her mother drank a lot. I saw her mother once in a store: she had a high-pitched voice and it was obvious that, in fact, she was trouble. Cursing at other customers for a bottle of whine.

I later read in the local newspaper that she had won a scholarship, that she was very brilliant, and that she had a name as beautiful as herself: Y/n. I then learned that she was studying art. That newspaper article was immensely important to me, it was as if we had become acquainted, as if we had suddenly become intimate, even though, of course, we still didn't even knew each other. She didn't knew me. But, from the very first time i saw her i knew that she was the only one for me. I never saw anything so dreamy, so gorgeous before. And i'm not crazy, of course, since I knew it was just a dream, which it would always have been if it weren't for the money. I used to daydream about her, making up stories about me meeting her, admiring her, marrying her, and so on. She painted pictures, and I took care of my collection (in my dreams). She liked me as much as she liked my collection, whose pieces she drew and painted; We worked together in a big, beautiful modern house, in a huge room, with a huge glass wall.

We had local group meetings, where instead of saying nothing, for fear of making a mistake, we were the very popular host and hostess. Y/n was always the most beautiful of them all, and the other men never got tired of admiring her... She was mine. It didn't mattered who wanted her. Y/n was my girl, she would always be.

The only times i didn't have pleasant dreams about her was when I saw her with a certain young, pretentious, noisy man. Blond, a bit smaller than me, from The Cut, probably. I met him once, while waiting to deposit some money, and heard him say: “Give me everything in five notes." The check was only for ten, and the guy thought it was funny. He thought he was cool shit. Well, i saw her get into his van several times and, on those days, she was always very unpleasant towards my colleagues in the office. I then refused to mark her initials in my journal of entomological observations. It was on those days that I allowed myself to have nightmares. She would then cry or kneel before me. Once, I even let myself dream that i punished her for betraying me like that. Maybe that was when it all started...

In one of the sunday newspapers, i saw a large advertisement for a house on the properties for sale page. I hadn't looked for that section, but the ad caught my attention when I turned the page. The title was: "AWAY FROM THE CRAZY CROWD?” Just that. I then read what the advertisement said: Country house, old, privileged, charming situation, large garden, one hour from Kildare, by car, two miles from the nearest village. And so much more. The next morning i got in the car and went to see it by myself. I called the agent and arranged to meet his representative. That's what money gives us. It makes everything easier for us... there are never obstacles. I had expected to find an old house, dilapidated and in a terrible state of repair. There was no doubt that it was old. The exterior was black and white beams and stone slabs. The seller was already there when i arrived. I thought he might be a rude old man, but it turned out he was an well-educated type, making all kinds of not very witty jokes, as if it were not worthy to sell anything - and there was some difference between selling items in a store and selling houses. He immediately displeased me because he was very curious. I think I can still say that i didn't go there just to see if the house was in a suitable location for me, but to have a guest without anyone knowing. What we do next always makes us forget what we did before. The guy wanted to know if the house was just for me. I told him it was for my stepmom. We were already going downstairs, i thought that we had seen everything. I was getting ready to tell him that the house wasn't quite what i wanted, that it was too small, to make him feel even worse when he told me that we had already seen everything except the cellar and the basement. So, there was a basement?

We had to go through the back, where there was a door next to the kitchen door. We went down some very dark stairs. The lights were off, of course, but he had a flashlight. The basement was very cold and damp, being so far from the sun. The walls had been whitewashed a long time ago, and the lime had begun to fall off, giving way to mold that accumulated in the dampest places. The cellar continued throughout the house, as he told me, and there was another cellar, a few steps below, to which I was led through a small door. It was even bigger than the previous one having a lower, arched ceiling, like the basements that sometimes exist under churches. “The ideal place for orgies,” he said.

"What is this cellar for?" I asked him, ignoring the fucking stupid comment. He replied that it was thought to be because the house was so far from everything and because in the past it was necessary to store large quantities of food and other reserves. It was even possible that it had been a secret chapel of the Catholic Church. Well, we return to the surface and go out into the garden. When he closed the door, it was as if that basement had ceased to exist. It was as if there were two worlds. And that's what it has been. There are certain days when I wake up in the morning thinking it was all a dream, until i return to the basement.

The salesman looked at his watch.

"I'm interested," — I told him, — "very interested."

I was so nervous that he looked at me with a surprised expression. The man said that he had to go get another client who was also interested in the house, and i told him that i would stay there in the garden and think for a while, to be able to make the final decision. It was a very pleasant garden, with the back part covered in lucernes. Ideal plant to attract butterflies. The field behind the house extends to a hill. To the east, on both sides of the road, the woods extend almost to the town. To the west, more fields. The nearest house is a mile away, over the hill. On the south side it was very beautiful. Despite being somewhat hidden by the trees in the garden and the fence that surrounds it. The garage is excellent.

I quickly got into the habit of closing the garden gate. It was, in reality, nothing more than a little door, but it had a lock. Although i still saw some people peeking through the fence, the local people soon realized that it was better to leave me alone. I was finally alone, and only then was i able to dedicate myself to work.

I used to do a certain number of housework, which my dad had taught me. So, i was able to decorate the basement room very nicely, although saying so seems vain on my part. After adding several layers of felt, i covered in white, which went very well with the pink walls. I furnished it with a bed and a chest of drawers, a table, chairs, etc. The small bathroom that had already been installed by the firefighters was separated from the bedroom by a partition, the entrance to which was covered by a beautiful screen. I also made shelves myself and filled them with lots of art, porcelain dolls, books and novels, to try to give that underground room a princess, Y/n look, which I finally achieved. I didn't risk putting pictures on the walls, as i thought her taste must be very advanced. What was her favorite movie? Her favorite band? I was dying to know. I wanted to know every single thing about her, i wanted her to tell me. To cry in front of me and confess her deepest fears, to laugh in her purest way.

One of the biggest problems was, of course, the issue of doors and noise insulation. I therefore had to make a heavy oak door to separate the two sections of the cellar. I must say this was my hardest work. The first one I made didn't work, and I had to make another one, this one much better. No man could broke into that door, let alone a small, fragile girl like her. It was two inches thick, completely lined with metal on the inside, so she couldn't try to pierce the wood, and it was no joke getting it on the hinges. On the outside, I adapted an open closet with shelves, where i placed some tools, so that, if someone entered the first cellar, the door would be disguised, and no one would even notice that there was another room lower down. Everything was quite perfect and, for greater peace of mind, i installed a small electrical alarm system, in case someone wanted to enter the first cellar during the night.

And despite those preparations, i had never thought all this time that the thing was serious. I used to say, talking to myself, that I would never carry out that project: that it was all a simulation. And i would never have had that idea if it weren't for all the time and money i had. In my opinion, many people who may seem normal now would also have done what i did, or similar things, if they had been given the time and money to do so. I mean, doing the things they want to do, even though they know they shouldn't do them. An old teacher of mine always said that power corrupts man. And money is power.

Another thing i did: I bought a lot of clothes for her. Colors that I had always seen Y/n wear. Makeup, everything i knew she would love. I mean, i thought so. I just wanted my darling to have everything. I took every precaution possible and imaginable.

I got used to going and sitting in Y/n's room, trying to figure out if she could escape from there. I had to make sure she would never leave, i had created the perfect dollhouse for her. Did she liked butterflies? I hope so.

tags: @h34rtsformilli 💕

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx fic #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader

140 notes · View notes

moineauz · 4 months

Text

જ⁀ "you are a 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌, dearest."

That was what your husband- Neuvillette- mutters breathlessly to you in an outpour of gentle rain. That was when he ultimately grasped the wispy and fleeting sensations of what a mortal calls a 'dream', like a feather grazing the skin before vanishing with an afternoon breeze.

While Neuvillette is poised, eloquent, observant and educated- the sheer complexity of mortal life puzzles him. He has grown to subconsciously question the facts, follies and simple acts of mortals for centuries in a subtle, smouldering aspiration to better comprehend why laughter erupts from your hearty lungs during downpours. Despite, rain being considered an omen of sorrow. Or how you childishly attempt to dance with the shadows of strangers before eventually embracing his.

Oh, oh how he could not help but gingerly place his pens and papers aside when you spend hours simply perched next to him. Eyes closed and silent yet breathing deeply into your stomach and exhaling through your mouth as you unwinded like string before him. Fully aware that you need not utter another word as you unfailingly glowed before him; taking up space in his very office as you did wherever your heart and legs took you.

You'd wrap a thousand-year-old tree in your arms and mutter thanks to the Earth before playing tag with the children on the street, sharing fruit with a local vendor whilst relishing in an evening stroll with Neuvillette. Just the two of you.

It was yet another practice of yours that first bewildered, intrigued and ultimately enamoured him. In the haze of afternoon light under the subtle whiff of smooth parchment- Neuvillette could not have sought a superior way to observe the mortal who unwinded him.

That was the day he began to scan and rummage through parchment and books- scouring for at least one word to encapture a sliver of you. Like an aerologist preserving a mere fragment of bone.

( Of course, the Melusines- who adored you terribly- sought to aid Neuvillette in whatever way possible. )

That was when he came upon a word as he overheard a curt conversation whilst ambling through the streets of Fontaine.

'A dream.'

Hence, as raindrops gingerly slid down your cheeks, Neuvillette observed your soaked figure. However, despite the grey clouds hung above, your eyes- rich and deep in colour- seemed to twinkle like stars.

You pause for a tender moment, your mouth slightly agape as the mellow tunes of rain dance in your ears. Yet, words do not rise from your throat. Instead, the warmth of evening tea sessions, paper filing done together and swaying to no rhythm or sequence of moves.

"Oh Neuvillette," your voice condensing into a mere whisper as you utter his name; having nothing left to say. The muscles in your legs move absent of thought. Thus, you stand now mere inches apart from one another. Rain soaking you both. As you observe his tender face you notice a streak of rain pouring down from the corners of his eyes. Or perhaps it was salty tears?

Worry flickers in your eyes like a match being lit as more tears roll down his cheek in a manner of ethereal grace. You gingerly reach your hand toward his cheek; cupping it tenderly. Neuvillette stirs slightly.

Before you can voice your disquiet, Neuvillette sobs. His eyes glanced down shortly before meeting your fretful eyes. His eyebrows furrowed in the manner you have seen a dozen times before.

Yet, his eyes glimmer like the rays of the sun kissing a broad vibrant lake. A scintillating dazzle of unobscured light.

"Do not fret dearest. These tears are not ones of sadness..."

Neuvillette raises his gloved hand and similarly caresses your cheek; eyes pooling into your starstruck ones.

"... but of my most ardent affections to my partner- a dream I wish to live in for as long as you allow me to."

waaaa what a fic. i accidentally deleted the draft halfway though writing it but thankfully i was able to get it back. hope you all are ready for my comeback!!! ( meaning more angst lol dw there will be fluff too... or not?!?!? )

reblogs with comments are highly appreciated!! pls interact... don't be a ghost reader!

#writing ᝰ.ᐟ #genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines

329 notes · View notes

most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer · 9 months

Text

celestial surveillance + some garden of eden parallels

For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open. - Luke 8:17 (NIV)

Over and over, we see how the bookshop feels safe/private while simultaneously being sort of a fishbowl, leaving its inhabitants quite exposed to onlookers. *garden of eden vibes*

Similarly, Aziraphale and Crowley tried to conduct a class-A surreptitious 6000+ year agreement/slowburn romance and yet their 25 Lazarii relationship is fairly obvious to others.

Reminiscent of how Crowley is painfully aware that nothing is certain and time is horribly finite, Aziraphale lives with the knowledge that anything he does or says can be used against him—or much worse, used against Crowley or others our little guardian cares about. Unlike his emotional support demon, however, Aziraphale was afraid Before the Beginning, before The Fall.

While Upstairs aren't the only ones watching, they have the potential to be the most dangerous threat (emphasis on potential bc they have to take an interest and also maybe stumble into important clues): The heavenly office overlooks the entire world. Where Hell had to send Furfur to the theatre with a camera, Heaven's got Earth Observation Files they can pull up to see what someone was doing at any point in history—not even St. James Park can keep you anonymous in the face of thirty-seven classes of scriveners/recording angels!

Aziraphale may tend to underestimate danger in general because of his misplaced hope that Heaven is truly Good, but in the same way that he can be both clever and stupid, I think he trusts Heaven and fears it at the same time. Why else would he be so worried about breaking their rules even when he knows they are wrong?

Of course, Aziraphale is also a courageous little bastard with a deity-defying protective streak! Despite Heaven's indoctrination, we see him navigating all sorts of grey area as he learns to 'blur the edges'. But he knows it isn’t safe to do that openly. He keeps this more human side hidden and tries not to think too hard about why doing good is wrong in heavens eyes. (lol other people's aziraphale metas are my main food group rn)

At the end of S2, we see him leave A.Z. Garden & Co. after tasting the forbidden fruit large oat milk latte, armed with his naïve/misguided 'knowledge of Good and Evil'. (and perhaps he knows he can't 'let the sun can’t go down' on him in Soho lest the the Metatron mete out death instead of coffees?) When Adam and Eve left Eden, Aziraphale and Crowley observed from above. When the angel and demon leave their own garden, we get the sense that they are also being watched.

(also idk if this is anything but Adam facing off against the lion while Eve looks on in the bg seemed a bit like Crowley watching Aziraphale walk into danger w the Metatron. could be a good sign since the lion gets turned into salami)

There are hints at the end of S2 that the watching is getting a little a spicier (at least I think they are hints haha): the bookshop windows are still broken during the last part of E6, further decreasing privacy; the zombies used binoculars to watch A&C from the Dirty Donkey under cover of darkness in 1941 but the Metatron just looks across the road in the light of day. And then there's the whole 'hefty jigger of almond syrup'.

#im watching you wazowski always watching #also i'm just thinking jigger -> jiggery-pokery = trickery?? that's got to be on purpose right? *admiral ackbar voice* ITS A TRAP #good omens meta #good omens analysis #the metatron #a.z.fell & co.#the garden of eden #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2e6 #the final fifteen #aziraphale #crowley #lol this started as a paragraph in the GO:Lockdown Aziraphale draft but it was getting too big so here we are #i'll finish it eventually but i just like looking at everything everyone else is posting sm and i get distracted #a.z. fell and co.

252 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 4 months

Text

We need to talk about the Archangel Michael.

No, seriously we NEED to talk about Michael because I think she's going to be way more important than we currently think.

(quick side note: I will be jumping between pronouns for everyone involved because I go by vibes and also bc I'm trans and I like doing it. Hopefully it won't be too confusing, but I'll try to make it clear who I am talking about.)

So! Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner. In accordance with the usual essay rules, let's begin with my hypothesis before we go down a long, probably very unhinged spiral.

I completely underestimated how thorough I was going to be, so to not overwhelm everyone with a miles long post, I will be dividing this meta into parts and will post them as I finish them.

A lot of small details have been fluttering around my mind over the last few weeks, and I think I am finally starting to put all the pieces together—and there are a LOT.

Part 1: Season One and Michael's Rank

We know them as one of the three (four—but that's another post) Archangels next to Gabriel and Uriel. While Gabriel's title was that of the Supreme Archangel, Michael's is explicitly stated in episode one of season two as 'duty officer', which, broadly speaking, makes them the Watcher, the one in charge in the case of Gabriel's absence for whatever reason, taking command where he can't; usually that probably meant him simply being busy and not him being unemployed and naked.

Their position is further signified by their ring, which resembles the Ophanim, the many-eyed angel wheels.

They are the one to keep a literal eye on things—they find pictures of Aziraphale and Crowley in S1 in the Observation Files, they watch over the heavenly hosts, they oversee plans, everything.

Michael even takes it a step further and (presumably created) the grapevine with hell, having direct contact to higher ranking demons such as Ligur, most likely also Dagon, and Beelzebub.

This is where we get to my theory: Michael is actively working with demons against both heaven and hell. It doesn't mean that they care about preserving earth, though they might later on, but that whatever plans heaven currently has are to be stopped.

I'm going to take this one step further and say that Michael also knew about Gabriel and Beelzebub, and helped him escape.

Now to the fun part: the evidence!

In season one, they are interested in stopping Crowley and Aziraphale from preventing the apocalypse, but that does not mean that they agree with the plans heaven has for said event—only that they need it to happen so their own agenda can stay on track. She has information she technically shouldn't, like, well, literally all the details about how, when, and what is going to go down

This is due to heaven and hell's general cooperation, which is its own post, but all of that runs through them.

That 'apparently' is doing a lot of heavy lifting here, it's the basic and plausible deniability that's required for them to not be in trouble. She is also in charge of ORGANIZING the troops, fulfilling her role as a navigator.

On top of that, the way she talks to Ligur highly mirrors the way two covert operatives might talk to one another, using phrases like 'our man' and 'working for you'. The mere assumption Michael makes here, that Aziraphale could be a spy, implies that there ARE already spies and angels working for hell.

Consorting with the enemy is allowed as long as it is done within a very specific framework, so Michael and Ligur are free to do so, while Aziraphale and Crowley are working outside of it, which gives heaven & hell the basis to punish them for it.

I think the phrasing of this sentence is also quite interesting.

Not "time to come back to heaven" or anything along the lines that takes Aziraphale's ethereal status into account, no, she simply says he needs to 'choose sides'—and who is to say that he needs to choose heaven or that heaven and hell are the only sides one can choose? Additionally, Michael is the one to bring the holy water to hell while they send one of the Erics, and while the trial as a whole holds a certain tension, there does not seem to be any open animosity between him and the dukes of hell.

In short, Michael is working with hell behind the scenes, likely pursuing their own goals, and standing in opposition to heaven.

Moving on to season two, and here it gets REALLY fun.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

(hopefully it will just be five. it was supposed to be two. then three. but here we are)

#alex talks good omens #good omens #good omens season 2 #go2 #good omens meta #archangel michael #archangel uriel #archangel gabriel #good omens michael #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #alex's unhinged meta corner

102 notes · View notes

vidavalor · 9 months

Text

Gabriel totally learned that the Edinburgh statue of himself existed from spying on Crowley and Aziraphale's 1827 date, didn't he? Either then or in Earth observation files later on.

Headcanon that Gabriel thinks humans regularly take lovers to statues of himself in graveyards at midnight as part of their courtship after seeing the human-emulating C&A go there together. Taking Beez here was practically a proposal.

#ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #gabriel #good omens #good omens s2 spoilers #good omens s2

233 notes · View notes

paleprincessturtle · 7 months

Note

Could you write a Harvey x reader being in a secret relationship because she's Mike's younger sister? Maybe she works at the firm as a paralegal or just likes to swing by to annoy her older brother from time to time.

Hey! Thanks for the request anon. Hopefully, I can capture your vision in my writings.

Feel free to send more requests.

Enjoy!

Bagels

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Female Reader

If anyone is more important to Mike Ross than Rachel Zane, right now breathing on the face of the earth, it will be his sister. His baby sister. After the death of their parents, Mike always vowed to protect his sister. That was why Mike took it without hesitation when he got the chance to do an (almost) honest job with the firm. Mike admitted that maybe he got way too protective over her sister. She's 5 years younger than her, certainly an adult now. But in his eyes, she'll always be the little girl with teary eyes asking for their dead parents.

Unlike Mike, his sister wasn't gifted with a super brain. But she was gifted with super hands. She never took any culinary schools or any baking courses but she could bake anything and would taste heavenly. 6 months after his time at the firm, Mike could finally afford to help his sister build her own bakery. Conveniently, only around 15 minutes from the firm. Give or take.

When Jessica found out about Mike, his sister was the first person he confided in. They were pretty much sure that Mike would just be a cashier at her bakery. But when Jessica let it slide, his sister met with Jessica. Dressed as best as she could, she came to the office, asking for a Jessica Pearson. She wasn't there empty-handed, she brought with her a dozen eclairs and quiche. She didn't know whether Jessica was a sweet or a savory person, so she brought one for each possibility. Jessica wasn't necessarily happy when she saw her come into her office. But Jessica has seen tons of people, and she knew when one is genuine. So Jessica thanked her and upon tasting her baked goods, Jessica had an idea for her to take several of her products from her bakery every morning to the firm. Boy, was everyone happy when they saw fresh baked goods in the lounge.

That day was also the first time Harvey Specter laid eyes on Mike Ross' sister.

It was just like any other morning, Mike was sitting in his office when her sister came and threw a pebble to his head. "Bullseye!" she giggled and entered his office. Mike rubbed his forehead. "If I bleed, I'll sue you for violence." Mike leaned back in his chair as he observed his sister. "And I'll scream in the lobby that you're a..." she paused then took a deep breath, "FRAAAAUD!!!" Mike stood so fast from his chair about to catch his sister but she ran away and laughed.

She finally finished dropping everything in both lounges. But she made it a ritual to always drop some extras for everyone who know the truth about Mike. She dropped some in Jessica's office, Louis' office, now off to Donna, then Harvey's.

"Donna, you looked exceptionally gorgeous today. Is that a new dress?" she leaned over as she placed a small jar of pistachio cookies on her desk. Donna smirked and nodded towards Harvey's office, "he won't have any meeting for another hour. And Mike shouldn't be around too." She leaned even more forward to give Donna a kiss on the cheek. Donna also leaned forward to meet her halfway and let her kiss her cheek. She smiled and marched inside. "Sunshine," Harvey greeted her with a wide grin. He stood up from his chair and kissed her lips. "Hello, Mr. Handsome," she looked up at him as she admired his clean-shaven face. She turned her back and walked to take another small basket she brought with her. "Everyone got pistachio cookies today, but I made you bagels." Harvey's eyes got as big as the moon. "Aren't you the best. Now, I don't have to spend any lunch money."

Mike walked briskly towards Harvey's office with a stack of files. His findings were brilliant, he thought to himself. As he got closer to Harvey's office, he heard a muffled laugh. Not just any muffled laugh, his sister's muffled laugh. He glanced at Donna's desk and found it empty. So he invited himself in.

"Well, aren't you two cozy," Mike asked in a thick sarcastic tone. Harvey who was trying to take one of his signed basketballs back for Mike's sister stopped laughing and turned to see the intruder in his office. She also looked at where Harvey looking at. "Mike, catch!" she threw one of Harvey's PRECIOUS signed basketballs toward Mike. Mike dropped every file in his hands to catch the basketballs. Harvey smirked, while his sister almost exploded from laughing. What was on Mike's mind wasn't the now important files on the floor, which created a mess. But the fact that Harvey didn't even get mad when she touched one of his precious basketballs. Not only did she touch it, she threw it. Mike looked bewildered between the two important people in front of him right now. Ball still firmly in hands, he looked around. He saw no little jar filled with cookies. He found a little basket instead, filled with bagels and various spreads. Home-made spreads. Mike calmed himself as he walked and put the ball on its throne. "Bagels for Harvey? You know he likes bagels?" Mike pointedly looked at his sister, arms folded. "Who doesn't know what Harvey likes?" she tried to laugh it off. "Nice spending times with you guys, but not only you guys who have an empire to run, but so do I. Ciao!" She was about to go when Mike called out for her. "Sit," Mike ordered her. All these years being his sister, it was the first time she ever heard him using that tone on her. She obeyed. He observed the two of them. Harvey looked calm, much in contrast to his sister who looked like she was about to get busted for bringing a ton of cocaine. "You two are together?" Mike questioned. No one answered. "You two are together!" Mike gasped. "I thought she always brought you different things from her bakery because she ran out and had to give you leftovers. She always gave you your favorites. And you didn't get pissed at her touching your basketballs! Because you like her!" She was confused about what to do. Mike looked like he was about to lunge at Harvey but looked very much bamboozled. "Look," Harvey said as he walked past Mike to sit beside her. "We've been together, for the past 4 months." Another gasp from Mike. Harvey took her hand in his, waited for Mike's reaction. "Of all girls you could have.. It has to be my sister.." Mike said slowly. He looked at you, asked for an explanation. "He made me so happy, Mike. Really happy." Mike softened at his sister's response. When Mike looked at Harvey, he caught Harvey smiling down at his sister. It looked, genuine. As if he... "I'm not happy that you two kept it from me for months but I'm happy you two are happy, but," Mike stood in front of her and offered her his hand. "I need to talk to you," Mike said all serious. She nodded and squeezed Harvey's hand before she stood up. "And I have to talk to you after this," Mike said as he pointed his finger at Harvey. Harvey nodded, stood up, and patted Mike on the shoulder, before walking back to his desk. "Come," Mike rushed her outside. But before she left Harvey's office, she looked back at him and smiled. Harvey winked at her and she giggled. "DON'T WINK AT MY SISTER HARVEY!" Mike said without even looking as he rushed you out even more.

MASTERLIST

#harvey specter #harvey specter fanfic #harvey specter imagines #suits harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #suits tv #harvey specter imagine #harvey specter fan fiction

316 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 month

Note

Could you do a lethal company fic where the reader has a pet hoarding bug dressed up to the nines with a little bow tie. Because we got to pick him out from the crowd right. The team is wary of the bug and wants it gone but the reader is like “No that’s my buddy, my little guy :(”.

When the team lands on a planet the little man searches the facility to find items and returns them to the front. To reinforce good behavior the reader gives them some shiny coins like pennies.

Everyone is happy the crew meets quota and the bug gets a nice hoard of shiny things.

"There you go, welcome to your first day on the job!"

Taking your hands away, you stepped back to admire your work on the hoarding bug you just brought aboard the ship, having dressed it in a simple orange vest with a bowtie and its own employee nametag.

You picked up this guy on Experimentation, and it seemed to become quite attached to you (and not because of the scrap you were carrying). Considering how docile it behaved while helping you transport items to the facility's entrance, you got an idea.

It's a crazy one, for sure..but you believed it could help your crew make the next quota.

You intended to surprise them after they came back just after sundown--yet when you opened the doors, one intern already had their shovel-in hand, ready to swing.

So to see you then stand in front of the alien had them all bewildered.

"Boss?! What are you doing?! That's-!"

"It's okay! He's friendly. Just...relax, everyone." You put your hands up, refusing to let any of them get one step closer. "He's not gonna attack us. So please, put the shovel away. You're scaring him."

The hoarding bug chittered nervously, creeping up to hug your leg as it shyly stared at the three other humans in suits just like you.

But unlike them, you didn't wear a helmet. All it could see was your stern expression, your eyes sharp and focused, and your forehead only slightly damp with sweat.

It knew you were only trying to protect it..yet it couldn't tell what the others were thinking, making it all the more anxious.

"Scaring him?!" The shovel-wielding employee scoffed loudly, not loosening their grip on their weapon for a moment. "It's us who should be scared, if anything.."

"C-Can we ask why you brought a hoarding bug onboard, boss?" An intern meekly interrupted.

Your eyes lit up as you smiled, patting the spot between the Hoarding Bug's antennae. "From what I observed..he wants to help us transport scrap. And he hasn't attacked me once, nor has he tried ripping anything out of my hands. So I deem him to be our fifth crew member. And his name will be....Buddy."

He perked up at the name, and you laughed. "I take it you like that name, huh?"

"...seriously?" The employee grumbled. "No offense, but I'd like to remember "Buddy" as my dog's name, not the name of this...pest. Is it even legal to domesticate these things?"

"Well..we have Trent." You pointed to the fishbowl resting on the filing cabinet. "And I don't see you complaining about-"

"It's a damn goldfish! A common pet back on Earth. We know next to nothing about hoarding bugs!" They snapped, frustrated. "How can you be so sure it's not gonna just steal our stuff and....and...."

However, they trailed off as they noticed your gaze become harsher. And the others in the crew knew that you meant serious business.

"I'm just saying..you're putting us at-"

"We may not know much about hoarding bugs, but we can learn from this one if we allow him to stay. I have a way to keep him in line and help maximize our quota. So have a little trust in me, okay?" You huffed. "If it's gonna be a problem..then I'll have to reassign you."

"What?! But I-"

"You're great with keeping spiders and snare fleas off our backs, Employee..I would like to keep you onboard. Just..let me prove Buddy to you. Don't make me the bad guy."

All you got was silence and a small nod from the disgruntled employee, who finally decided to put their shovel away in the cupboard.

Only then did your bright smile return. "Thank you." You clapped your hands with glee.

"So um..how will you train it--I mean him?" The other intern inquired, tilting their head.

"Two words...positive reinforcement." Deciding to demonstrate, you dug a quarter out of your pocket and knelt down beside Buddy, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey. I got something for you as thanks for getting that rubber duck safely to our ship."

His red eyes seemed to shimmer at the little trinket you were bestowing to him, as he took it right away and stared for a few good seconds...before scuttling over to his corner of the ship. Then he placed the coin on the floor and sat there, content.

"Ohh..so you'll let him keep some things? Like he'll get his own nest?"

"I've conditioned him to admire currency more than weddings rings." You chuckled, standing back up before you headed to the terminal. "And they're intelligent enough to understand trading, so..if he does get ahold of one, we can easily negotiate."

"And I guess the clothes are self-explanatory."

"Right, gotta pick him out from the crowd." You booted up the system, checking to see which moons had clear weather for your final day for this quota.

Then you noticed one that was never there before.

"Huh..Adamance. That's a new one. It's grouped with March and Vow, so I guess it's a forest moon."

"Wouldn't hurt to venture there." The Employee remarked. "Is it free?"

"Yep. Let's go." You launched the ship and set course for Adamance, smiling back at the group--plus Buddy, who seemed startled by the suddenly jolting of the ship as its autopilot took over.

..........

"A register?! How did he manage to find that?!"

"What can I say? Hoarding bugs have their ways." With a proud smile, you patted Buddy on the head for yet another successful scrap hunt on Adamance.

He looked down at the heavy cash register in his arms, pulling the lever. He was surprised at first, but a moment later chittered with apparent delight at the dinging noise it made.

You could only grin. "See? I taught him to do that, too! Now he's officially just like us. Go put it with your collection, Buddy."

Nodding obediently, he scurried over to his "nest", dropping the register alongside some other shiny trinkets it found within the facility: a brass bell, some bolts, a cookie pan, and even a golden cup.

It seems visiting Adamance was the right decision, although the absurd amount off baboon hawks outside spelled trouble for you and your crew despite being outnumbered. During one transport trip, a few tried to wrangle a piece of scrap away from Buddy, who fought fiercely to keep it safe.

Suddenly, it dawned on you that hoarding bugs and baboon hawks never had any reported encounters with each other...so you feared the worst when you realized Buddy would be seeing them for the first time and not know what to do-

Until he managed to make himself look big by simply hovering in the air and buzzing angrily--which apparently scared off the entire horde.

The tulip snakes were another nuisance, but luckily none made him nor you (or anyone in the crew) get any airtime.

On the final trip back to the ship, you noticed he was distracted by the large inactive robot that stood by the cabin, and you had to whistle to help him regain focus..to which you rewarded him with a dime for a good job.

One of your interns opted to investigate the structure, and on the inside they discovered writing on the wall that spelled "68-ART".

As it turns out, that's a route to the moon called Artifice, with a description mentioning active "machinery", which you can only assume meant the big robot standing outside.

At the moment it was too expensive to visit, but you kept the name in your notes and praised your intern for finding it--alongside Buddy, who drew your attention to the cabin to begin with.

For now, though, you were ready to lift off from Adamance before any earth worms or eyeless dogs woke up. You definitely didn't wanna run into any of those when you collected so much scrap already.

Now all you had to do was head to the Company Building and drop off how ever much was necessary to meet this quota.

And thanks to the help of your fifth crew member, you were able to make it without losing a limb..or a life, for that matter.

#seeing this rq made me go 'yippee!!!!'#clanask #anonymous #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #hoarding bug #loot bug #platonic

65 notes · View notes

insomniumstella · 1 year

Text

spite her, spite me (7) | bucky x avenger!reader

summary: Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other.

warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, explicit language, alcohol consumption, sarcastic!bucky, smut MDI

word count: 8,485

author's note: i cannot believe we reached the end — thank you for all of the comments and the love you've showed this series, it truly means the world! also, i don't know how the nsfw section stretched to be over 2k words and now i'm rethinking every smutty fic i've ever written

WHERE DREAMS GO TO DIE masterlist

series’ SPOTIFY playlist

“The dress is a bit much,” the sergeant’s eyes raked over her gown.

The intricately beaded dress was black, and sensual, and outrageous, with a deep slit, which exposed most of y/n’s upper thigh. She might’ve seemed like an angel in devil’s clothing to those of unsuspecting eyes, but James understood better. The woman was a fallen saint, and as he committed the image to memory, he had decided that she was placed on this earth solely to tempt him in every way she could. Their story was never destined to be comforting, and easy, no, the story of James and y/n would always be difficult, complex, and shamefully sinful.

“It seems Maui had been harsh on you, James,” she spoke, “otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

The cool touch of his metal arm brushed against y/n’s skin when he took a step forward, coming to stand beside her. It was bothersome, the closeness of his body as they observed the gala’s guests unsuspectingly dancing, drinking, or conversing about matters they had deemed important.

There was only a single matter on her mind y/n considered meaningful, and she had not seen him for the entirety of the night. Steve had been a nimble shadow, shaking hands with the leaders and first ladies of the world.

“Perhaps, I was wrong,” the word felt foreign on his tongue, “and HYDRA ceased to exist.”

She angled her face to read his expression, but it was aggravatingly blank, “how’d you figure that out, Sherlock?”

James noticed the sarcasm in her tone and nearly chose to ignore it, “reviewed some files, checked a couple databases,” possibly hacked into Sam’s iCloud to read the texts between you two. "Have any more theories you’d like to share?”

She chuckled, then chuckled again from the bewilderment before breaking into a boisterous laugh; it couldn’t have been more disingenuous if she tried. “Why should I if the Winter Soldier will only trample on my ideas?”

Though the dimly lit ballroom overflowed with chatter and soft sounds of jazz, a tense stillness settled between them. The looming threat of Steve’s assassination was not a time for games and stubbornness, and James was frustrated at the spy’s thorny attitude.

“The Winter Soldier was blinded by bloodlust, but he’s ready to hear out his partner,” Bucky replied with a deep sigh, hoping she’d crack.

“Oh, we’re partners now?” The clench of his jaw didn’t go unnoticed, and she begrudgingly dropped the act. “Back when we attended Elijah’s yacht party, Mark was wary of you hence the fish tend to be vigilant around James comment. I might forget a name, but I always remember a face.” This time, she angled her entire body to face him. “Mark attended a gala in Germany a couple years prior, Steve had me monitoring the security cameras for hours then, and nothing was particularly interesting except for Mark and Wilfred Nagel’s unlikely friendship.”

“Shit,” his flesh arm clasped around her forearm, “ Nagel’s the doctor CIA had recruited before he seemingly disappeared into thin air.”

“Bingo,” she replied with a popping sound. “The accusations against Elijah, Mark’s presence on the boat, and the conversation between him and Wilfred months before Wilfred’s disappearance had me conceptualizing a theory of Mark and Elijah working alongside Nagel to produce super-soldiers.” A server boy approached the couple, and she promptly replaced her empty champagne flute with a fresh glass. “I’d assume Captain America would ruin those plans."

“The theory’s still blurry,” James released the grip on her arm, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles of his black suit. “If they’re plotting to execute Steve, why wouldn’t they assassinate me as well?”

She drank him in — the sergeant’s black suit was made of satin, alike the dress shirt, matching her onyx gown. Perhaps he had willingly chosen to abstain from a tie, or perhaps, he had been too headstrong to admit she had been correct about HYDRA, subjecting James to a lack of time for elaborate preparations. She decided it must’ve been the latter, for Bucky had worn the outfit to a party Natasha had organized after the court had pardoned his crimes.

“They could,” she agreed, “but they wouldn’t because you’ve been forgiven and have since retired, remember? The Winter Soldier enjoys a peaceful life away from criminals, Avengers, and fights.”

“The sucker has a wife too,” James gawked into y/n’s eyes, and she tittered at his attempt at a joke. “She looks good tonight.”

The glimmer in his expression she couldn’t understand.

She took a swig of champagne, peering at James over the flute for a single awkward moment too long, “was that a compliment?”

“It should’ve been,” he pursed his lips together.

James was allowed to feel frustrated, angry, and disappointed about y/n’s actions, he had decided after she had packed up and hastily abandoned the honeymoon. The woman had betrayed him by hiding significant information and biting her tongue on theories of HYDRA and its remains. Worse, she had fled Maui without as much as a goodbye, leaving James to sleep in the bed, angrily alone. Though his appetite had been ruined, he had chosen to order room service and watch terrible TV shows she had recommended to Wanda in the prior months. The sheets had been tainted with the scent of y/n’s perfume and lotion, a delicious blend of strawberry and vanilla. The Lovers’ Suite had been scattered with traces of her, and when he had ditched the room at last, deep into the night, even the beach had seemed to remind James of the bizarre yet pleasant memories they had shared. He wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but he had begun missing y/n’s presence, prickly remarks, and the pointless arguments over the smallest of things.

“Steve’s backstage," Sam’s voice was a muffled sound through the earpiece.

She took a step forward, using Bucky’s body to shield herself from possibly prying eyes. “What about Mark Basso?”

James paled at the closeness of their bodies, but remained professional, examining the ballroom of feasible threats.

“I can’t find him, the dude’s been a ghost for the entire night, but,” there was a pause in his speech, “Elijah Williamson is backstage,” she could hear Sam drum his fingers on a metal surface, “they’ve been conversing for a good while.” A second passed before his words reached y/n’s ears once more. “Are you certain Mark’s appearance at the party is enough to incarcerate him?”

The woman recognized she should inform Sam of the situation without excluding certain details, and yet she couldn’t. If Sam understood the gravity of Elijah’s gala plans, he’d abandon monitoring the security cameras and would certainly place himself in danger to save the Captain. She needed the footage of the events that were to occur backstage, for she had already deceived James, allowing the soldier to believe HYDRA continued to exist.

The eight months they had spent together, unraveling Elijah’s life, had been honest, on y/n’s part, but the last five days had not. James had pursued false leads and theories, and she had let him. Sam might punish her with a harsh lecture, move to live on Natasha’s floor or stop coming to Friday’s Tequila Nights at Barry’s if he discovered y/n’s incomplete truths, but it’d be worth it, for he’d be in the security room in case Mark had planned to delete the footage. James deserved peace, and she craved to ease his mind two criminals at a time. A former HYDRA officer and a corrupt politician behind bars was a good start to rid of the nasty organization and its remains.

“The man’s a HYDRA operative,” she reminded, clutching James’ hand to lead him through the crowd of guests, “who just happens to be identified as deceased,” y/n maneuvered around people, dodging staff members and unsuspecting bystanders, “imagine the headlines and the public’s fear when it’ll get revealed the US government missed a dead man walking after the program to incarcerate security threats was implemented.” A corrupt program for a corrupt country. “President Ross would imprison Mark just to save face.”

The pair soon found themselves backstage. The stage was narrow much like the hallways, and though the space had plenty of overhead LED lights, it was painted a pitch-black color, and the confusing maze of corridors, entrances, and clothing racks seemed rather murky. She hauled James into the women’s bathroom and hurriedly locked the door. The soldier had seen women dragging men into bathrooms at clubs and parties. He was old, but he wasn’t dead — James understood what a couple would do in a bathroom together hence his confusion and reddened cheeks.

She raked her eyes over his face, “we’re not having sex, Barnes.”

“Is it because Steve needs saving or,” the smallest of smirks danced on his lips as James observed y/n step on the toilet to open a vent, “is it because you want our first time to be special?” Amusement colored his tone.

She threw a miffed glare toward him before continuing to rummage in the outlet, “do you actually believe I burn with lust for you?”

“Yes,” Bucky caught a pale yellow gym bag after she tossed it at him, “surely did during the honeymoon.”

“We’ll always have Maui,” she smiled with faux sweetness, stepping off the toilet and on the sparkling white tiles.

The smirk dropped from his lips at the comment because he had been open, honest then, and she just teased him about it. If time allowed for it, she might’ve apologized, guilt beginning to claw at her heart, but she ignored the strange emotion.

“Sam,” she pressed a finger on the earpiece before squatting down to search in the sack, “James is with me,” y/n found an additional earpiece, standing up and taking a step forward to gently attach the gadget onto the soldier, “do you have eyes on Steve?”

“Yes,” the Falcon murmured, audibly upset by Bucky’s presence. “James, hi,” he spoke through the intercom, “y/n, didn’t you say you'd leave the tin-man in Hawaii?”

“Obviously, I failed,” she replied, earning a soft smack from James on the shoulder, “when does the charity auction start?”

“It should begin in fifteen minutes,” Sam spoke, inspecting the view on the monitors, “an incredible date with Amelie Barnes, a gorgeous New York City socialite, is fifth on the list to be auctioned, seven offers before the old-fashioned date with the handsome Captain America.”

She glanced up at James, studying his bewildered expression. “There might be a few things you’ve missed,” y/n grinned in faux innocence before promptly clarifying, "we needed access to the backstage areas. Do you have a gun?”

“No,” James begrudgingly admitted, ashamed to have missed a crucial detail in his attire.

The pair stood in front of each other without a sliver of space in between. She didn’t give herself a minute to think the action through, resting her hands on his chest as she hastily lowered into a squatting position to reach the bag. James sucked in a breath as y/n’s hands slid across the length of his body. She rested a single palm on his upper thigh for balance while she retrieved a set of pistols, but just before his mind had enough time to register the sudden stimulation, she arose, clutching his flesh bicep to steady herself.

“Tuck it into the waistba—“

“Alright,” James interrupted her, “I’ve done this before.”

She let go of his shoulder, taking a step backward. “There’s no need to be rude,” y/n shrugged.

“I’m not being rude,” he rebuffed the comment, “just worried about where you’re planning to hide the gun.”

A slight smile waltzed on her lips as she pushed the bottom of her gown aside, faintly exposing lacy onyx panties and a holster. James choked, once, at the obscenity of her response.

“I’ve done this before,” she teased him, “sergeant.”

The charity auction had been a distant thought until she was standing on the stage with dozens of eyes upon her. She could hear the voice of the auction's host, describing the date she’d be forced to attend and the chatter of middle-aged men, hoping to secure the evening with Amelie Barnes, but y/n could only focus on searching for Mark in the crowd.

Nancy wouldn’t have lied to someone about Elijah and Mark’s wicked plans because the lawyer had zero motives to deceive a person she trusted. At least the woman hoped Nancy trusted whoever it had been on the other side of the phone because her whole plan revolved around Mark’s appearance at the gala. She’d never wish for Steve’s untimely death, but she did wish for the HYDRA operative and the politician to be caught on camera as they attempted to eliminate him.

“Let’s start the bidding at a thousand dollars,” the host announced, and she swallowed the lump of nerves in her throat.

A man on the left side of the ballroom raised his bid paddle. He seemed utterly too old to take y/n out on a date, and she shivered at the possibility.

The host beside y/n smiled, peeking at her. “We have a thousand, can we get more?”

“Two thousand!”

“Three thousand!”

“Five thousand dollars!”

She could barely register the number of voices, each interrupting the next to outbid the other.

A woman, close enough to the stage that she could see her face, raised the paddle. “Ten thousand dollars!”

“Ten thousand dollars for the woman in a green gown,” the presenter spoke cheerfully. “Amelie loves art galleries and tennis at The River Club of New York!” He encouraged the guests to aim higher. “The woman’s a real good company."

What the fuck did Sam tell them?

If she had ever thought that time spent in James Buchanan Barnes’ proximity must have been the worst thing the world could possibly offer, which she often would, she had been wrong. She was a spy, she had undoubtedly used her appearance to obtain certain information or opportunities on missions before, but the auction caused goosebumps to waltz on her skin — to be suppressed into an object, the perfect accessory for a date night, was one of the worst emotions she had ever experienced.

James stood in the back, observing her panic-riddled expression. She had forgotten Tony’s credit card in Maui on accident, and though Tony would skin him alive if he spent as much as a dime on it, Tony and James had never been close buddies, so what further damage could his impending action legitimately cause if the damage of the two’s past had already been irreversible.

“Fifteen thousand dollars,” James raised the bidding paddle, grinning at y/n.

She stood on the stage perplexed at the sound of Bucky’s voice, frantically searching for his face in the sea of people.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we just got our highest bid of the night! Fifteen thousand dollars for the man in the back going in one, two, th-“

“Thirty grand for the man in blue.” A deep voice reverberated through the room.

She abandoned her search for James, locking her gaze on Mark. The spy had inspected the crowd once, then had inspected it for a second time, and the agent had not been comfortably sitting at a nearby table, peering at her through the top of his champagne flute. Mark must have sneaked in, which signified that either Steve was already dead or Elijah was waiting for Mark backstage, conversing with Captain America before commencing the plan of a brutal murder.

“Forty,” James challenged, studying in which direction y/n’s disgusted glance pointed.

“Fifty thousand,” Mark announced before the host had a chance to say anything, continuing to scrutinize her. The agent’s smile was cocky, overconfident, almost as if she was the victim and he was the hunter; as if he had discovered y/n’s deepest and darkest of secrets.

“Fifty thousand going in one, two—“

“A hundred thousand dollars,” James yelled, interrupting the ghost, and maneuvered to stand by the stage.

Silence settled upon the room at the sheer absurdity of his proposed bid. The truth was, the sergeant had spoken before he could think because the world, at that moment, had not existed outside the gala. She was standing on the platform, the glitter in her special lotion, as she’d describe it, glimmering underneath the fiery spotlight. She was clad in an opulent gown, dripping in pearlescent onyx beads and intricate patterns. She was reduced to nothing but an object in the auction, a good company auction's participants could purchase.

She, the woman who’d never become a friend, for he’d always crave to be her lover.

The spy averted her piercing gaze away from Mark and glanced at James. Concern was visibly displayed in his eyes, yet his grin, sweet and playful to steady her nerves, remained. A corner of her mouth quirked up, and she mouthed a silent thank you. James was attempting to outbid every person in the room to save y/n from a terrible date, and he was willing to do it in understanding that Tony would lecture, if not evict, him.

The moment shattered as she returned her eyes to Mark, and her expression turned deadly. The spy might have played the role of an obedient, pleasant wife and woman on Elijah’s boat, but it was apparent he had acquired some kind of insight into who she verily was. It was useless to pretend she desired to be friends with Mark, a positively unsuspicious Elijah’s friend, who just happened to surprisingly specialize in foreign weaponry.

“This is shockingly incredible,” the host trumpeted in amazement, pausing for a second, “a hundred thousand dollars for the man in the satin suit going in one, two, three.” Mark basked in the daggers she sent toward him, sipping on his second glass of champagne as James glided onto the stage, clasping y/n’s fingers in his gloved hand, and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “The date with Amelie Barnes has just been sold to the guy in a lovely suit,” James and y/n exchanged amused looks at the host’s comment, “but don’t abandon your seats just yet ladies and gentlemen, because up next we have a cooking lesson at Daniel with the beautiful chef Olivia Stroud.”

“Thank you,” she softly acknowledged his sacrifice at the auction, "for what you did back there."

The pair hid behind heavy velvet curtains, a hairsbreadth away from each other, occasionally peaking through the crack to inspect the limited backstage area for Mark or Elijah. It slightly resembled a room suited for rehearsals, mimicking the layout of the ballroom and the stage on a lesser scale. The space was cluttered and messy, with tangles of cords littering the floor and racks of clothing lining the walls.

A date with Steve was the last to be auctioned before the break, establishing the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard and without innocent eyes around to witness the gory sight of Captain America’s murder.

James smiled, shyly almost. “I couldn’t allow myself to watch and do nothing while creepy old men fought over a chance to spend time with Amelie,” he teased, adjusting a fallen strap of y/n’s gown, “my hatred for you doesn’t stretch that deep.”

Heat crawled up her neck and onto her cheeks. “Bucky, you are an old man,” the woman teased, “perhaps not creepy, but weird? Absolutely.”

“I’m not weird,” he argued, suppressing a smile, “you eat ice cream with pickles for toppings.”

False shock stained the edges of y/n’s expression, “it was one time, and I only tried it because Pepper affirmed it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.”

“Pepper was pregnant,” he reminded playfully, earning a light smack on the shoulder.

The two Avengers swiftly switched into vigilant agents at the sudden squeak of the door. It was Mark, who entered the room first, scanning over the area for unwanted people. Steve appeared in the room seconds later, an arm resting on Elijah’s shoulders as he vehemently laughed at something the politician had mentioned.

It would’ve taken a fool to miss the obvious problem at hand.

Steve was seldom intoxicated. She’d know, for she had spent too many gatherings attempting to outdrink the man without real success. Thor’s Asgardian mead was deadly to mortals but pleasantly kind to gods and super-soldiers alike. Earthly alcohol, contrariwise, was harsh on him; the taste delectable, the effects on Steve’s modified human body meager.

It abruptly struck y/n — guns signified blood, plenty of it, and an operative smart enough to fabricate files of his supposed status as deceased wouldn’t be reckless and leave a plash of evidence in the backstage area of a charity gala’s ballroom.

“Good news,” Sam’s voice echoed in the pair’s ears, “I have eyes on Steve,” he paused briefly, “bad news, Mark Basso and Elijah Williamson are plaguing the Captain.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him by placing a tender finger on his lips. “Sam, how closely were you monitoring the security cameras?”

It was a simple question she hoped the Falcon wouldn’t take offense to.

He did.

“I was observing the monitors like a hawk, y/n.”

She refrained against an unnecessary comment and focused on the task, “and the video has audio?”

“Yes.”

She took a step forward, closing the barely existent gap between them, “Elijah and Mark must’ve spiked his drink,” y/n hushedly whispered, circling a hand around James’ waist to touch the handgun she had provided.

The pistol was securely tucked into the waistband of his trousers, and the sergeant cocked his head to the side. I’ve been on missions before, the glimmer in his eyes stated, and she could sense the early stages of his frustration, I didn’t accidentally drop it or nothin’.

“At any point, did you notice Steve drinking a whiskey he had not ordered himself?”

“Alright,” Sam clicked his tongue, “so I might not have an answer to that particular question, but I can say that Steve went into the bathroom twenty minutes ago, and his face seemed quite pale.”

James placed a finger on the gadget, “did anyone accompany him?”

“Yes, a line of beautiful ladies,” the Falcon responded, and James could nearly visualize Sam rolling his eyes in annoyance.

The two men bickered some more, but she had tuned out the conversation, studying the scene onward. Everyone has a tell, y/n recalled. Though Steve’s words regarded lies and treacheries, the advice had not yet lost its meaning. It had been New Year’s Eve when she had gotten a nasty infection and had forgone Thor’s mead due to antibiotics. The compound’s residents had partaken in a friendly drinking competition then, and Steve had sworn the alcohol couldn’t exhilarate him, except his eyes had been droopy, and he had clutched James’ biceps for balance.

Steve leaned on Mark, his laugh far less joyous than it had been before, so perhaps Nancy had been wrong, and they had not planned to eliminate him at the gala, but rather drug the Captain, sneakily transporting his unconscious body to a place, devoid of prying glances and curious endeavors. She wondered whether Elijah would linger in the room until the poison took its course. It’d be easier to carry dead weight, for Steve might fight against the operation.

The plan was meticulously calculated except for a single nuance. Why would the two men bring Steve into the backstage area in the first place if they could’ve used the narrow hallways and hidden exits to sneak out?

“We should slaughter Wilfred.” Mark spoke as if answering y/n’s concerns. “I specifically told Nagel he cannot be late.”

“It’s a slight blunder,” Elijah replied, oblivious to the surroundings, and the woman behind the velvet material, around him. Steve was barely awake. “We have Rogers and a bit of time before he’s supposed to appear on stage.”

It was impossible to ignore James’ piercing eyes, and she hastily peeped at him. “Do we wait?”

And she craved to have the correct response to his question, but, despite her usual confidence during missions, she didn’t have an answer. James had allowed her to lead, and she felt as if she was disappointing him, lingering behind a curtain as the Captain, a friend, clutched the very enemies they wished to incarcerate. The only thing y/n understood in great certainty was that Steve’s body couldn’t leave the premises of the establishment.

“Did you see Mark or Elijah on the phone at any point in the night?”

“Mark was a ghost,” Sam’s voice crawled through her earpiece, “but I distinctly remember Elijah in a heated conversation. The man arrived at the gala with his wife, presumably, and scuttled away into a lonely corner soon after, which I found interesting.”

The former HYDRA operative’s phone dinged, and she lowered her hands to reach for the gun strapped to her thigh. Steve’s dormant body nearly hit the ground as he lost consciousness, and Elijah slithered his hands under Steve’s armpits to support the Captain’s weight. The woman’s heart clenched at the sight, of her confidante resting against Elijah’s chest like a heavy sack of potatoes, entirely unresponsive to the situation.

“Let’s move,” Mark clasped his ankles, and the unlikely allies hoisted Steve’s figure, “Wilfred messaged he’s awaiting outside.”

She could only comprehend Elijah's high-pitched shriek that rang in her ears, silencing the laughs, chatter, and footsteps sneaking into the space from the ballroom. James was the first to abandon the secure hiding spot behind the curtain, pointing his gun at the man, a stern expression on his face. A couple seconds passed before she trailed after him, shoving a pistol into Mark’s back as a threat. Steve’s body caused a harsh crash sound when it hit the ground, but she could only concentrate on Sam and the amount of time it’d take him to reach the ballroom backstage from the van parked outside.

“On your knees,” y/n instructed, firmly thrusting the gun against his skin.

The operative lazily raised his arms, making no effort to do as she had requested. “Amelie Barnes,” he chuckled, “what a stupid alias,” the situation didn’t afford contemplations on how he could’ve realized she was more than a homemaker, “though I must admit, I almost fell for the lovebirds' act by the way you two basked in each other on the boat.” Mark’s tone was tainted with smugness.

Elijah landed a painful punch on James’ jawline, and he staggered back at the surprise of the action before he straightened up and kneed him in the stomach.

She drew in a breath, “you’re wrong.”

The operative ignored the politician and the fight he seemed to be losing, “am I?”

She jabbed the pistol into his muscled back once more, hands quivering at the unspoken confession; it swallowed the room, knocking the air out of her lungs. “Get down on your knees,” she spat the warning.

“A dozen names,” he snickered, “and not a single true. Mindy Phillips, Tara Marvin, Katherine Bailey just to identify a few.”

“This is the last time I’ll repeat myself, get down on your fucking knees.”

“C’mon, y/n,” he spoke, lowering his arms a bit, “we can come to an agreement that’d satisfy both of us.”

She froze at the mention. The curiosity almost lured her into the biggest mistake she could make — playing along. “Elijah and HYDRA’s golden agent behind bars is the only agreement I’d be delighted about.”

Mark suddenly turned around, grasping one of y/n’s wrists, and she clobbered him across the head with the hand that was clutching the gun. He wobbled, momentarily, before he tackled her to the ground, thighs resting on either side of her own, and gripped y/n’s wrist once more. The gun landed by her, and she writhed in his hold to reach it, but it was useless. Mark harshly pinned her arms above her hand, leaning in so close she could feel his disgustingly hot breath upon the skin of her neck.

He snickered, grazing the top of her ear with his lips, “we could’ve worked together,” Mark lightly nipped at the sensitive spot, “could’ve been a real good team.”

She found his eyes, amused and eerily hungry, and spat in his face, “fuck you.”

Mark laughed, but before he could sputter another comment, James was pouncing on the agent, resting his entire weight on him just as Mark had done to y/n, mercilessly pummeling the flesh of his upper body.

She averted her gaze from the bloody sight, searching for Elijah. The politician was sprawled out on the cement floor, by Steve’s feet, unconscious. A huge gash tainted his bottom lip, and purple had begun tinting his cheekbones. She glimpsed at James and the small cuts that adorned his handsome face; Elijah must’ve stricken a few great hits before the sergeant had stunned him cold.

Sam barged through the door. Besides the Falcon, she was the only person in the room without visible injuries, though her joints ached from the pressure Mark had used to clutch them.

“I called reinforcement,” he spoke, kicking her gun to a corner Mark couldn’t reach.

“Care to help?” Bucky’s teasing comment amidst a fight was almost comforting.

Sam rolled his eyes, joining James in the scuffle with the agent. She focused on Steve, crawling to his dormant body. Though it was dreadfully faint, his heartbeat remained. It was difficult to raise the top half of his weight, yet y/n succeeded, supporting his neck and shoulders as she inspected the back of his head for damage. She gasped silently, noticing that the blonde of his hair had been stained red. The split in his skin wasn’t deep enough to be profoundly alarming, but it'd require stitches. Speedily, she checked the time on his watch, creating a mental note, and lowered his figure to rummage in his pockets for a cell phone. The Captain’s head she placed upon her folded legs.

The woman’s fingers trembled as she typed in the emergency number. In the years they had worked together, never had Steve fallen unconscious, nor had he obtained a gaping gash in the back of his scalp. Elijah and Mark must've given him an alarmingly high dose of tranquilizer to knock the super-soldier out entirely, and she was scared.

The two Avengers had handcuffed Mark when the call between y/n and the local emergency service had ended. The operator’s voice has been soothing and calm, and she had turned the iPhone off feeling far more composed than she had been when she made it.

“An ambulance should be here in a few minutes.”

“That was quite dramatic,” Mark noted, a weak chuckle slipping past his lips, “Steve ingested sedatives, not poison.”

James placed a gun to his temple, and Sam planted a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, “don’t engage him,” the Falcon advised, turning to y/n, “did you know?”

She recognized Sam’s true question was did you know they planned to kill Steve?

“Yes,” she averted her gaze to observe Steve, “I’m sorry.” The spy was genuinely apologetic for hiding certain information.

Sam drew in a deep breath, pursing his lips together, “why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I needed you to monitor the security cameras,” she answered truthfully, “I needed someone to transfer the footage into our database,” the explanation was honest once more, “I was afraid Mark or Elijah would attempt to tamper with it.”

“She was right, we had a whole plan 'n' everything,” Mark chimed in, and James pushed him down to his knees.

He sighed in frustration, the pistol lingering in its position against Mark’s skin, “stay fucking quiet, asshole.”

The Falcon ignored the commotion in the background, his expression strained as he continued to stare at her, “you should’ve told us.”

The statement disintegrated into thin air, the weight of it still heavy on her shoulders. She stayed silent, brushing away the sweaty pieces of hair that had stuck to Steve’s forehead. His face was eerily peaceful as he rested, unconscious, on the cement floor, head propped on y/n’s thighs. The gown Sam had chosen for the evening was sprinkled with blood in various spots, albeit the dark color disguised it. It was gorgeous and elegant, she’d admit, but it was destined to burn after the events that had unfolded during the gala.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice drained of emotion.

“The two of you should return to the hotel,” Sam suggested when a group of FBI officers spilled into the room, “shower, eat, rest. I have zero doubts it’s been an exhausting week,” he half-heartedly joked, referring to the faux honeymoon, “I’ll stay with Steve.”

“Sam,” she spoke, “we want t—“

“Go,” the Falcon interrupted her, “please,” one of the officers firmly hoisted Mark, and James swiftly reached y/n’s kneeling figure, “I got this.” The tone of his voice had whispers of irritation at its edges.

“Alright,” she agreed, helping a paramedic transfer Steve’s body onto a stretcher, “I trust you.”

Sam glanced at James, shoving his hands into his pockets, and returned his eyes to y/n. “Good.” The look they exchanged was strangely comforting, the kind of look that conveyed Sam wasn’t angry, per se, but rather vanquished, and disappointment she could deal with.

She offered him a weak smile, “I should shower.”

The Falcon chuckled, mouthing a silent go, and turned his focus to James, both of you.

James stood in the hotel room’s doorway.

She was fidgeting with lavish jewels, her patience stretching thin as the necklace’s clasp remained closed despite y/n’s nimble fingers attempting to work it open. She glanced at him, once, before regaining focus. “Why are you here?”

The sergeant shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “I forgot to book a hotel room.”

She ceased her movements, observing his awkwardness-laden body language. James’ long-forgotten suit jacket dangled over his bent arm, the other hand shoved into the pocket of his satin trousers.

“May I suggest driving back to the compound?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a small grin at y/n’s thorny response, “we’re in the middle of Manhattan, and the compound is a three-hour drive away.” James closed the heavy wooden door, locking it behind him. “Can I stay with you?”

“It seems you’ve answered the question before I had the chance,” she referenced the action, staring at him in forged disbelief.

The atmosphere stilled in a pregnant pause. It wouldn’t be harmless for the couple to sleep in the same bed. They had done it in Maui, and neither her skin had broken out in a rash nor had she perished. On the contrary, it was peaceful to relish in the warmth of his skin.

James dumped the jacket on an empty chair, slowly coming to stand in front of the woman. She could almost hear the thumping of his heart, his body a hairbreadth away. Sirens echoed outside the sealed window, saturating the silence in crimson sounds. New York City contrasted with the lush green of upstate New York. The living quarters at the compound were usually deprived of clamor, protected against harsh winds and white noise by thick cement walls.

“Let me help you,” James cooed, sliding his hands across the skin of her arms upward. The soft pads of his fingers caressed her collarbone before he grasped the necklace’s clasp and easily worked it open. “We could be great together,” he spoke, turning to gently place the diamond choker on a glass desk, “great partners,” her fingers ghosted over the spots James had touched, “great lovers,” he toyed with the idea.

The sergeant returned to his previous place and, “great lovers,” she teased, “you think we could fit together?”

“Mmmh,” he concurred, “but we always extinguish the flame before it truly burns.”

She brushed her hands across the smooth fabric of his dress shirt, savoring the firmness of his muscled chest beneath the textile. We always extinguish the flame before it truly burns. Perhaps James was correct — she had been opposing a traitorous fire within the deepest pits of her heart, and body, long before Wanda had a terrible idea to send the two on a faux honeymoon.

“Kiss me,” she spoke in an honest confession of lust.

“What?” James’ voice was breathless as he gawked at the woman in foreign excitement and disbelief.

Oh, the way he hoped she’d realize that the line between love and hatred stood thin, and they had surely blurred it in Maui, but never did James think she genuinely would. The fault was his, partially. It had been easy to fabricate false narratives for the compound’s residents, convince himself he loathed the woman despite the countless nights of wandering hands and shameful memories of her body. James had designed a malicious persona, but oh, the way he hoped she’d see through it.

“Kiss me,” she repeated, “because just once, I need to get you out of my system,” her hands slithered to his biceps, “kiss me, so the next time I’ll touch myself at night, it won’t be your face I’ll be seeing.”

James cupped the back of y/n’s neck, crashing their lips together. The world in the background ceased to exist at the moment. He swiped his tongue against her bottom lip, asking for permission, and she surrendered to the request, tangling her fingers in his copper locks. She gingerly pulled at the root, earning a muffled whimper from James, and he slid his metal arm down to y/n’s waist to bring the woman closer, to erase the barely existent gap between their bodies. She burned with arousal, and Bucky was equally as famished. It was only the lack of oxygen that pulled the couple apart, and James drew in a deep breath, capturing y/n’s lips once more seconds later.

It was a dangerous promise, the kiss. A wildfire that spread through the entirety of her body, stimulating every nerve ending until she was moaning into his mouth as a plead for more, tongues fighting for dominance. It knocked the air out of her lungs, and when she retreated, James didn’t meld their lips, opting to focus on y/n’s neck. He kissed, licked, and sucked the sensitive skin like a man deprived of the only thing he’s ever desired. She was a drug, and god, was James addicted to her scent and her silky skin, and her hands, sloppily untucking his dress shirt, to slide under the fabric and explore his taut muscles. Everywhere she touched scorched, and he messily searched for the zipper of her gown, discarding the dress to the ground as soon as the piece of metal relented.

She was the most beautiful sight James had ever seen as she stood in front of him in just a pair of lacy panties. Art, created by the world’s most talented of artists, an angel bestowed to him by the gods themselves.

The sergeant brushed his flesh thumb across her lower lip, blending their lips together. His metal hand, the one she had always disgracefully thought was outrageously attractive, slithered between her plush thighs, and James moaned into her mouth upon discovering that she was soaked and aching for him. He shifted the undergarment to the side for access, dragging his fingers through her silken folds.

Cool metal thumb pressed into her clit, and she broke the kiss, “inside,” she spoke, the tone of her voice laced with desperation, “I want you inside of me.”

“Sweet girl,” James chuckled, inserting a single digit into her slick heat, “you need to be stretched first.”

He thrusted his finger a few times before adding a second digit. She clenched around him, messily unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it on the carpeted floors. The pace of his thrusts remained steady and agonizingly slow as James basked in her pleasure-riddled expression.

The woman clutched the waistband of his trousers, messing with the belt, her fingers trembling as James continued to stroke the sensitive spot inside her with two of his fingers. “Please,” she muttered, “faster.”

A sly smirk waltzed on his lips at the request, but, instead of obeying y/n’s wishes, he halted the activity, removing his hand, and placed the metal in his mouth, sucking it clean, “such a sweet thing you are.”

Warmth crept up her neck and onto her cheekbones. He hastily removed the trousers, placing his hands on the back of y/n’s upper thighs, hoisting the woman, and gently tossed her onto the spongy bed. She stared at him through curious eyes, lowering her gaze to observe the bulge in his boxers, and swallowed the lump in her throat. Judging by the outline in his underwear, James was huge, far bigger than the men she had fooled around with in the past.

“I want to taste you,” she confessed, propping herself up on her elbows.

James shook his head no, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her onyx panties to tear them off, “next time, doll.”

She wasn’t certain whether there would be a next time, for James had discovered a side to her, she had long buried. An alter ego, who was submissive, and pliable, and starved for the touch of a man she described as her enemy.

James nestled between her legs, arms on either side of her waist, and placed chaste kisses on y/n’s mouth and jawline. His head dipped lower as he assailed her neck and chest, popping a nipple in his mouth. The sergeant sucked the sensitive bud before nipping on it, massaging her other breast with his hand and rolling the right nipple between his fingers.

She writhed under him, eyes shut from the waves of pleasure racing through her. James didn’t linger over the area, choosing to concentrate on kissing the length of y/n’s body as he crawled to situate himself betwixt her thighs. Goosebumps painted the path of his eager kisses, and she grasped a handful of his hair when James gave her clit a kitten lick to test the response.

“James,” she purred as he repeated the action and slithered two digits back into her dripping heat.

“Use your words,” he grazed his tongue over the bud again, applying a little bit more pressure, “tell daddy what you want.”

The woman’s eyes shot open at the term but then he was thrusting his fingers into her wetness, repeatedly hitting the delicious spot that made her toes curl, the insult toward James forgotten.

“Mouth,” she mumbled, too lost in the delectation to form a coherent sentence.

James snickered at her vague response, wrapping a pair of soft lips around y/n’s clit. The thrusting of his fingers persisted as he stimulated the area. James was spelling out his full name on her sex, she realized by the time he had started tracing a b for Buchanan, yet she abstained from further reflections, coming undone by his mouth and fingers seconds before James could complete tracing the s in Barnes.

“Good girl,” he praised, helping y/n ride out her orgasm.

James withdrew his fingers, sucking them clean of y/n’s stickiness before he removed the metal with a pop, and peeled off his boxers, flinging the garment across the space.

The room was modern and opulent, with floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the ever-awake skyline of New York City, its sky-high buildings, impressive bridges, and countless lights. It was situated on the fortieth floor of the hotel, creating a perfect opportunity to indulge in a bit of a rush and leave the curtains wide open without a true risk of innocent bystanders witnessing the scene.

James kneeled on the bed. The usual glimmer of annoyance toward her in his eyes had been replaced by a feral kind of hunger, and, as she stared at him like a pray would observe its hunter, y/n decided that, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the first or the last time she’d let James treasure her body.

She loosely draped her forearms over his neck when he slanted to capture her nipple in his mouth, “I know you consistently ignore my wishes,” she whimpered, “but for the love of god, sergeant, I need you.”

He chuckled, showing attention to the other bud by pinching it, “my sweet girl wants to get filled, huh?”

James’ throbbing weight rested heavily against the skin of her thighs, and she reached down to palm it. “Yes.”

The woman’s nimble fingers caressed the reddened tip, spreading his precum on the surface before she dipped her hand a tad lower to gently fondle his balls. A moan escaped past his lips at her eager endeavor.

“I like it when you’re needy,” James pulled back and she groaned at the loss of him in her hands, “and dripping,” his fingers ghosted over the velvety folds before he was manhandling the spy to rest on her knees and forearms, “willing to let daddy take care of you.”

She ignored the name yet again but stored it within her memories to use for blackmail in the future. “Is he?” She questioned when Bucky clutched her hips and pushed his hand down on her back for a deeper arch. “Is daddy gonna fuck me, or is he just going to talk all night?”

James understood she only used the term to mock him, but shit, did it stir his already aching cock. He palmed himself twice before dragging his length along her slick folds, the metal hand abandoning her hips to circle her waist and gently rub y/n’s clit from behind. She clenched around emptiness, pressing into his pelvis for friction, and Bucky ceased his movements, removing the fingers from her bud to harshly grip the flesh of y/n’s hips once more. James continued the torture, lazily teasing her entrance, and she painfully sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.

“What do we say when we want something?” He taunted the woman, utterly enjoying her anguish.

“James,” she mumbled into the crisp sheets.

The soldier found amusement in the warning but showed mercy, sinking into her sodden heat. He’d fuck the brat out of her on a different day.

A strained whimper escaped past her lips at the delicious stretch of his cock, matching Bucky’s hiss at the way the spy’s walls drunk him in. James thrusted into her a few times, experimenting with speed and rhythm. A particularly rough roll of his hips seemed to rip a piercing moan from y/n’s throat, and he grinned, abandoning the hold on her hips to massage her clit again.

The room was saturated in vulgar noises of skin slapping against skin, moans, and desperate whines as James mercilessly pounded into her. She sobbed into a pillow as he led her to the edge for the second time, refusing to burst the bubble and let the flame consume her, thick fingers retreating just before the orgasm could ignite her body, over and over again.

James consumed every shallow breath and every wail, deciding that it would not be the last time he’d listen to the melody — she was a sin he’d gratefully burn in hell for, and an angel he’d break down heaven’s gates to attain. The soldier suddenly removed himself from her, already missing y/n’s silken walls squeezing around him, and shifted the woman, so that she rested on her back. He captured her ankles, draping them over his shoulders before he roughly thrusted back in. She wept at the overstimulation when he bottomed out, balls slapping against the skin of her ass. The new angle allowed James to reach far deeper.

He groaned, “you’re so tight,” thumb brushing against her plush lips, “my sweet, sweet girl,” he cooed, “wanna worship this pussy all night.”

And in his head, the statement stood true, but it was his body that opposed it, his arousal steadily creeping over the edge of an orgasm.

She shut her eyes, expression drenched with pleasure, “I’ma cum,” she moaned.

“I know, doll.” James wiped off the tear threatening to roll down her cheek and captured y/n’s lips in a messy kiss.

“It feels good—,” she hiccuped when he pulled away, “—so good.”

The world stilled. It was only James’ ragged breath and the heavenly orgasm she could focus on, washing over her body in syrupy waves and causing her toes to curl into the mattress below. She raked her nails over the skin of his back, leaving scorching marks in her wake.

“Shit,” James cursed as his own peak approached, his strokes sloppy.

It was a few thrusts later when he climaxed, painting her velvety walls white with a loud moan. He licked a sensitive spot on y/n’s neck, propping himself up on his forearms when the thunderous arousal began to quiet.

She brushed the hair that had gotten stuck to his sweaty forehead aside, “we don’t have evidence to convict Nancy,” she spoke when her heartbeat steadied.

James sighed amusedly, pulling out his softened length and maneuvering to lay beside her. “This is what you say after we just had sex for the first time?”

“Yes,” she deflected, refusing to admit she had fallen for the soldier and that it would not be the only time they’d get tangled in the sheets.

“Alright,” he abandoned the bed with a laugh and gathered y/n’s exhausted body in his arms to locate the bathroom, “but let’s shower before we talk shop.”

James observed the skyline of New York City. It was the place they had first encountered one another, back when he had brutally stabbed the woman. She rested on his bare chest now, peacefully asleep, soft snores falling from her lips. Times have changed, James realized with a heavy heart because change was uncertain and scary. It was worth it, though, if it meant the sergeant could love her up close and without barriers between them. It’d surely take a while to erase the tainted memories of the past, but they had been at war for five years, and he’d happily spend another five falling in love.

An iPhone James had recently purchased dinged with a text.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: guess Wanda and I won’t have to sleep with our eyes open after all:)

His mouth curved into a smile, elated Steve had not only woken up but was cracking jokes over the situation he had forced Bucky into.

WHITE WOLF: debatable.

It was not debatable — Steve and Wanda sending the couple on a honeymoon in Maui was the best decision they could’ve made, for the moon found his sun at last.

TAGS:

@legohe4rts @missvelvetsstuff @browneyedgirl22 @gr33nleo @thatrandomcatoverthere @fiftywhore1 @buggy14 @nt-multi-fandom @physically-im-fine @marygoddessofmischief @fuckthealarm @nyutasgirl @cjand10 @stokzr @jesterstrange @youtubersshipper @oneshotofvodkaa @emily-roberts @desert-fern @itsyellow @love-of-less @melissareadsstuff @mcucatlady @xxwritemeastoryxx @lilbloggs @ambrosia1846 @verrahigh @skittle479 @she-wolf09231982 @wholesomewhorelol @tarotwitchy-main @barnesml @arsonfrogger @stray-npc @cremebruleequeen @do-double-g @cherrywinedarling @pono-pura-vida @kandis-mom @blueberry-birdie @unaxv @notsosecretspy @buckyb-stan @desert-fern @username199945 @umadirectioner @mistressofallthingsgeeky

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky series #bucky barnes series #bucky x you #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader series #bucky smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x female reader #insomniumstella #Where Dreams Go to Die #where dreams go to die bucky #where dreams go to die bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader

670 notes · View notes