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croissantconnoisseurdinosaur · 4 years

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Coping with 285, Pt. 3

Deku was the first to wake up in the hospital. He was followed closely by his teacher — hospital had staff informed him — about 30 minutes later. When he asked the nurse about Kacchan, she informed him that he was still out cold. Izuku’s heart pounded in his chest as dread swept through his body with a freezing chill.

Deku had been discharged and released from the hospital yesterday, but Kacchan still hadn’t woken up. He’d been battling high fevers for days, in and out of consciousness, but never lucid either way.

Izuku had actually gone into his room that first night at the hospital, against doctor’s orders. He’d pulled himself up onto his shaky legs, and dragged himself and his IV bags to Kacchan’s room in the middle of the night. He’d stood in the doorway listening to the various beeps and hissings of the machines hooked up to Katsuki Bakugo. Eventually, Izuku had gained the strength to venture fully into the room. He’d pulled up a chair and sat next to Bakugo, just watching him. He spoke to him occasionally, but it didn’t really matter, he couldn’t really hear him that well anyway. He’d stayed so long he’d accidentally fallen asleep, and hospital staff had to walk him back to his own room and get him back into his own hospital bed.

Now here he was, sitting in the lobby of the hospital with everybody else, just as his friends had done every single day since they’d all been admitted. It started with the entirety of class A, but day after day the group had thinned, and now only a few remained. Kacchan’s parents had been waiting there nonstop for the first two days, but eventually they both had to go back to work, and doctors promised to call them once he was awake. It broke Deku’s heart that more didn’t stay for Kacchan…

“I’m going to the snack machines you guys want anything?” Kaminari asked, attempting to bring some lightheartedness to the situation. A few agreed to go with him, a few declined politely. His golden gaze shifted over to Kirishima. “Dude, come with us. You look like you could use a distraction right about now.” Kirishima shook his head, a look of absolute hopelessness etched onto his face. Kaminari frowned, “come on. You’ve been sitting there all day and you haven’t moved, not even once.”

“I don’t want to,” Kirishima uttered in a dead voice. It was such a departure from the usual ray of sunshine that Kirishima was.

Kaminari gulped and turned towards Sero for help, who’s sad eyes were glued to Kirishima’s expression.

“Please?” Kaminari tried. “I’ll buy you a soda or something. You can’t tell me you don’t need the caffeine.” Kirishima’s hardened expression remained steady as he nodded, conceding. “Ok, buddy,” Kaminari smiled sweetly, tapping Kirishima on the shoulder as he stood.

The small group had just wandered off when an excited nurse came buzzing into the room.

“Visitors of Bakugo, Katsuki?” Those remaining in the lobby perked up in anticipation. “He’s awake. The doctor says it’s ok to visit with him now.”

Izuku Midoriya had rocketed himself out of the chair and zoomed down the hall towards Bakugo’s room as fast as he could. He could just barely hear All Might asking the nurse to inform those who had left for the vending machines once they get back. Deku rounded the corner and skidded to a halt — grabbing onto the door frame for support and slamming into it painfully with his shoulder. Bakugo looked at him and kind of snickered at the ridiculous injury.

He’s okay… HE’S OKAY!

Deku ran the rest of the way into the room, laughing and crying as Todoroki and All Might trailed in behind him.

“KACCHAN! You… YOU’RE… YOU’RE OKAY!” Deku’s hands kind of flew all over the place — covering his mouth as he cried, hovering all over Kacchan’s general vicinity without actually touching him (fearing the consequences if he did). His hands both finally landed on the top of his green head as he let out a high-pitched laugh of pure relief. It felt cathartic to finally laugh again.

Todoroki was just staring at Bakugo, grinning at him silently as he took in the sight of his friend, alive and well.

“Young Bakugo… you certainly had me worried there for a while,” All Might chuckled uncomfortably, eyes swimming and filling with tears.

Bakugo grinned at his mentor and personal hero, determination burning in his eyes as he scoffed.

“Worried? About me? …What for?” Bakugo smirked charmingly.

All Might guffawed. “You’re entirely right. I should have known a fighter like you would not be taken down so easily.”

Bakugo pretended he didn’t feel a swell of pride in his chest at All Might’s words.

All Might ruffled Bakugo’s hair, proud tears pouring out of his sunken eyes.

“You really are a true hero,” he grinned like a proud father. Bakugo looked up at him with wide eyes, an almost childlike expression.

A sniffle brought Bakugo’s attention back to Deku, standing behind All Might, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“S’wrong with you?” The blond growled from his hospital bed.

Midoriya shook his head back and forth, taking a deep breath before he spoke, gravely.

“I just can’t believe you protected me… I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for you.” He whispered, darkly, in awe at the thought that his life could have ended, if not for Kacchan’s selflessness.

Kacchan’s eyebrows stitched together for a moment, before neutrality flattened his expression again.

“Of course I did it… you really think I’m gonna let you die right in front of me? No freaking way…”

Normally, he would have said that with some sort of snarl or smirk, but there was nothing. Izuku’s childhood friend set his jaw firmly and stared off to the side with a hint of embarrassment.

Deku smiled at him, tears steadily falling from his eyes as he continually wiped at his face.

Kacchan turned his attention back to Midoriya with a half-hearted scowl, “what the hell are you smiling about, huh?” He growled, clearly uncomfortable with the silence. Deku chuckled melodically. His green eyes shed a few more tears as he grinned back at the boy who had sacrificed himself for him: his friend.

“Just… thank you, Kacchan…”

Bakugo stared back with an indiscernible expression, before he finally clicked his teeth.

“Tch. Stop crying, Deku, you’re gonna dehydrate,” Kacchan snarled with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. That wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was what followed: a smile. It started off as a taunting smirk, but it softened into one of those rare smiles that Deku had only ever seen a handful of times (and never directed at him. They mostly happened when Kacchan didn’t even know Deku was looking, and they were mostly only directed at—).

“BAKUGO!”

Kirishima burst into the room, followed closely by Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido.

The front runner ran right up to the hospital bed, and wrapped his arms around the startled patient.

“OW!” Bakugo snarled at him, loudly.

“CAREFUL!” Came dual shouts from both Kaminari and All Might.

“Sorry!” Kirishima whispered, adjusting his hold, but refusing to let go.

“Get off me, shitty hair…”

There was no movement from the red head.

“Kirishima…” Bakugo grumbled in protest. He raised his right hand, as if to push Kirishima away, but he hesitated. Instead, he simply rested his scarred palm against his shoulder and held it there. When the redhead didn’t pull away, Bakugo jostled his shoulder just slightly. “Kirishima…” he sighed, slightly annoyed.

It was then that it became clear that Kirishima was crying.

A small sniffle escaped, muffled against Bakugo’s pillow. Red Riot’s shoulders began to tremble as his breathing hitched quietly. Bakugo’s hand lifted off of him in shock. He’s… crying? After a moment, Bakugo lowered his hand, slowly, resting comfortably against his dyed red hair. “Eijiro…” he whispered, tenderly.

Silently, All Might ushered the rest of the kids out of the room. Bakugo didn’t even notice they were gone.

“You almost died…” came the broken whimper from Kirishima.

Bakugo gulped reflexively. “Yeah, but I didn’t…” he snarled, almost like he was challenging death.

“I almost lost you…”

Bakugo froze at that. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do.

A snarky, ’Why would you care?’ Was almost his first response. But that would’ve been stupid. Of course he cared. The spiky haired embodiment of the color red had only been following him everywhere since he’d first arrived at UA. You could even say they were… friends…

And if the roles were reversed…

Bakugo couldn't even lie to himself. Of course he would care, too, if it was he who had almost lost the one trembling in his arms.

He almost couldn’t imagine that reality. He didn’t want to.

Bakugo closed his eyes and tilted his head towards Kirishima’s — hand still resting heavily against the back of his head.

“You really think I’d let myself die before I got the chance to be number one? No. Don’t be stupid,” Bakugo drawled with a determined grin audible in his voice.

Kirishima chuckled in what felt like the first time in days. Then he laughed louder. He just kept laughing until he finally released his hold on Bakugo, tilting his head back and laughing boisterously until his entire body shook from the effort. He was soon wiping happy tears from his eyes instead of anxious ones.

Midoriya heard the commotion from just outside the door and peeked his head in, out of curiosity. He half prepared himself for Kacchan to realize, and yell at him for spying from the doorway like a creep, but the blond never even noticed him. That’s not where he was looking.

That’s when Izuku saw it: that smile, bigger and brighter than ever.

His green eyes shined happily as he watched him from afar.

Upon hearing laughter erupting from the hospital room, Kaminari took it upon himself to enter the room again.

“Kacchan! Glad to see you’re in good spirits!” Kaminari teased him, walking in with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed in a happy display of lightheartedness.

“Tch,” Bakugo’s smile tilted into a good-natured scowl.

The group stayed in that hospital room as long as they were physically allowed. Then, when the nurse came in to announce that visiting hours were over, All Might had convinced her to let it slide, just this once. She let it slide because, well… it’s All Might.

Eventually, it got so late that most of them had said their goodbyes and left. All Might had just dismissed himself, departing with a loving ruffle of Bakugo’s hair, and encouraging words of pride. Now it was only Kirishima and Izuku, but the latter figured that the injured patient would need rest, so he tapped the redhead on the shoulder, and nodded towards the door.

Midoriya was about to walk through the door when Bakugo’s voice stopped him.

“W-wait!” He stuttered in a panicked voice. Kirishima and Midoriya turned around to see Bakugo scowling at his hands, as if scolding himself for speaking up. He finally looked back up at them, grabbing the hospital remote from his nightstand. “Do you losers wanna watch a movie?”

So they did.

Eventually, Deku had fallen asleep. He awoke around 3 am, when his back began aching from the hospital chair he was slouched in. The tv was still on, playing some other movie now, and he suspected the one they had been watching had been over for a while now.

He should probably turn off the tv. Where was that remote? Izuku was the last to have it, so he searched around himself and under the bed, with no luck.

“Kacchan, where—” Deku’s words stopped short at the sleeping sight of the other two.

Kirishima had fallen asleep with his head resting on the hospital bed, right next to Bakugo’s lap, head tilted so he could still see the tv. Bakugo was still lying on his back, but his head was lulled to the side towards Kirishima. What had made Midoriya freeze in his tracks however was Kacchan’s hand — turned palm-up, next to his side — with Kirishima’s own scarred hand resting on top, both of their fingers curled around the other’s.

He stared at them in shock for a moment, before a smile softened his freckled expression. He was vaguely reminded of the events of Kamino: the look on Bakugo’s face when he’d seen Kirishima calling to him from the sky; the way Kirishima kept reaching for Bakugo’s hand even after the fact, just needing to know he’d had Bakugo safe in his hand, despite being rejected every time…

Izuku decided to pretend he’d never woken up. Let them stay like that for a while longer. He climbed back into the chair, curling up in a more comfortable position, and drifted back asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright well there you have it. This part is definitely more Fanon than canon at this point, but I still tried to make it kinda possible.

I hope you enjoyed my little ramblings.

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Pt. 1: here. pt. 2: here

#bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha eijiro kirishima #kiribaku #kamino ward #ch 285 #ch 285 spoilers #bnha #deku #ch 286 fic

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vettelcore · 4 years

Note

there doesn’t have to be an even number of drivers because it works in like a circle? so as long as the first person (daniel) gives a gift to the last person (charles) it doesn’t matter how many people you have, it’s like a loop

i can't believe its taking me almost a full day to realise that nsbshs i had to make this on my phone to understand how secret santa worked im

i would say that in my defense i had just woken up but ive been thinking about this since i saw the video yesterday nonstop so im just dumb !

#and even then i was still confused #until i realised around a minute later that 1 hadn't received a gift and 17 had to be their secret santa

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megabadbunny · 6 years

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Minuet, Part VIII

“You help so many people,” she says. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

***

(ten/rose angsty post-gitf au/fixit; this chapter sfw except for language)

(full-size image)

Minuet, Part VIII

Pulling his robe close around him, Mickey shuffles down the corridor, stifling a yawn as he waves at other guests amidst the sounds of his grumbling stomach and his slippers slip-slide-slapping over the floor. His empty stomach has compelled him to embark on a valiant (if a bit drowsy) quest to the dining hall, to discover whatever delightful assortment of extravagant ceremonial dishes the Temple has provided for breakfast—but first there’s the matter of proper clothing, left behind in his haste to escape the Doctor’s nonstop chattering.

God, he hopes the Doctor has already stepped out for the day. If he hears one more hint of conspiracy theories or hydrologic events or ridiculously-prolonged event durations, Mickey, it’s just not meteorologically feasible!, he’s going to scream so loudly the neighboring solar systems will hear him.

But probably Rose and the Doctor have both already eaten, or they’re eating now, Mickey thinks. He imagines them quibbling over alien toast, or pointedly-not-talking-to-each-other while sipping their alien tea, or hurling snide quips at each other between mouthfuls of jiggly-faced alien eggs. Mickey rolls his eyes. Maybe he’s lucky and they’ve already departed the hall, and he can avoid the teeth-gritting awkwardness and tension that keeps blossoming between them. Or maybe he’ll just nab a plate of something and hide in his room until the storm passes. Both the literal and metaphorical storm, that is; the lightning and its violent cracks and splits in the dark sky overhead have got nothing on Rose and the Doctor’s pointlessly stressful nonsense. Why don’t they just kill the tension and shag already? Mickey scoffs to himself as he pushes open his bedroom door.

Then his eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him and the irony of his last thought hits Mickey with all the subtlety of a slap to the face.

Like a hunter stalking wild game in the forest, Mickey’s gaze follows a path of tracks, starting at the door in a cluster of shoes dropped pell-mell on the floor, his and hers mixed, leading up in a tangle of flung-off tuxedo jacket and jewelry and oxford and necktie and discarded bedclothes and women’s underthings to the bed itself, canopy-curtains tossed aside to reveal two occupants lounging about within. The Doctor looks as rumpled as Mickey has ever seen him—more than, actually, Mickey’s fairly certain he looked more composed in his post-regeneration coma—clad only in a tee shirt (hopelessly wrinkled) and his tuxedo trousers (even more wrinkled) and a pair of mismatched socks (has Mickey ever even seen his socks?). His hair is a right mess, sticking up even more than usual, as if it’s alarmed to find itself in such a state; it’s an odd counterbalance to the Doctor’s relaxed posture, leaning back against the headboard as he reads some book he procured from goodness-knows-where. And Rose—

Well, Rose is just naked and asleep. Not much else to be noted about that.

At least that answers the question of whether she and the Doctor have gone to breakfast yet.

Mickey’s eyes flicker briefly over Rose’s body, more out of confusion than anything. She’s lying on her stomach, a duvet hastily half-tossed over her—did the Doctor hear Mickey coming and cover her up, he wonders? Because the Rose Mickey knows always kicks off her blankets halfway through the night whether she’s clothed or not—so all her crucial bits are covered. (Not that Rose would particularly care if Mickey saw her in such a state anyway. Nothing you haven’t seen before, she’s often said, with a shrug, while she changes right in front of him. Mickey, of course, will say nothing, but blushes furiously.)

Frowning, Mickey glances at the Doctor, a question forming on his lips. The Doctor shoots him an imperious look over his glasses. It’s a challenge, Mickey thinks. Go on. Say something. I dare you. Mickey bristles at the thought.

But then he notices the way the Doctor’s hands fidget with the book, fingers drumming quietly on the cover and sliding along the pages in a manner that Mickey would almost describe as nervous, if he didn’t know any better, and oh—this isn’t some bullshit macho display after all. The Doctor doesn’t plan to lock antlers. No, instead he’s wary. Waiting. Like he’s nervous about Mickey will react. Like he might even actually care about Mickey reacts.

Wordlessly, Mickey scoops up his clothes, offering the Doctor a curt nod. The Doctor dips his head in reply, his shoulders visibly loosening, and Mickey turns to go. But upon reaching the door, Mickey has a second thought.

“You break her heart, I break your skull,” he says to the door. He turns back round to hit the Doctor with his very best threatening glare. “Got it?”

“Fair enough,” the Doctor replies evenly.

Mickey nods. “Damn right it is.”

He eases the door shut behind him, quietly, in an effort not to disrupt Rose’s sleep. Out in the hallway once again, Mickey expels a deep breath, leaning against the wall. A twinge of jealousy flares up somewhere in his chest, a tiny burning gnawing thing burrowing between his ribs. He closes his eyes and tries to will the hurt away.

Rose loves the Doctor. God help her, but for whatever reason, she loves him. And in his own strange way, maybe he loves her too. (Probably he loves her too, Mickey thinks with a grimace.) But as much as it stings, Mickey’s not going to be the one to stand between them and their happiness.

Besides—it’s high time he pursued some happiness of his own.

Eyes open, he pushes off the wall and heads back to the other room. Today’s pursuit, he thinks, should begin with a little investigation into this whole missing-priest-conspiracy business. Might as well get in a little snooping while Rose and the Doctor are otherwise unoccupied, right? He’s more than capable of doing things on his own, after all. Who knows, maybe he’ll even solve a little mystery or two without them.

But first: breakfast.

***

Rose is not surprised to wake up and find the bed empty beside her.

She only allows herself a little disappointment. It isn’t as if she expected anything different. The Doctor doesn’t do domestic; he’s made that quite clear. And this—waking up in a bloke’s room, lying naked in his bed, the morning after—it doesn’t get any more domestic than this. Honestly, she’d have been more surprised if she’d awoken and he was still there. A few minutes of affection and attention and he’s totally overwhelmed; he’s sort of like a cat, that way. The humor of that comparison does not escape Rose.

Drinking in a deep yawn, Rose sits up and stretches, muscles straining satisfyingly against each other a thick early-morning haze, only to indulge in a great flop back on the mattress after, limbs cast out like a starfish or a child making a snow angel. A sleepy, contented sigh escapes her lips. She can’t remember the last time she felt so well-rested, or the last time she was this pleasantly sore between the legs, for that matter.

But soon the itch to move (and perhaps more importantly, to scrub off an evening’s-worth of body glitter and sweat and various other things) becomes overwhelming, so move she does, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress so she can snatch the Doctor’s abandoned tuxedo-shirt off the floor and pad over to the en suite for a shower. The water is deliciously hot, rolling over her hair and skin in soothing sheets, and Rose silently thanks her lucky stars that this planet has the gift of indoor plumbing. Good grief, but she’d missed her hot water in eighteenth-century France.

Lost in that odd timeless quality of a good shower, an unmarked bout of moments passes, Rose’s thoughts suspending in sluggish liquid laziness. She curiously inspects the range of available soaps and cleansers, each likely intended for a different species, some of them sweet and fruity-smelling, some of them harsh and astringent, others earthy, the smell of dirt fresh and clean. Ultimately Rose settles for the bottle that smells most familiar and scrubs away makeup and sweat and sex and something uncomfortable that’s haunted her skin ever since that jump through the mirror five and a half months ago, watching it all wash away down the drain in a swirl of suds and glitter. She dries herself off with a luxuriously fluffy towel, reveling in the glide of soft cotton fibers that brush over her like a kiss.

Just as Rose finds herself wishing for a toothbrush, she notices one lying on the bathroom counter, one that looks suspiciously like the stock the Doctor keeps in those bottomless pockets of his. Upon unwrapping it, the scent of Venusian spearmint floods her senses and she brushes her teeth with a grin that won’t quite go away. It was an oddly considerate gesture on the Doctor’s part—if a bit domestic, she thinks, her grin widening. After, she pulls on the Doctor’s tuxedo-shirt and doesn’t even bother with half the buttons before stepping back into the bedroom, humming at the surprise of crisp cool air against her still-damp skin.

“Blimey, took you long enough,” mutters the Doctor, and Rose startles to find him in the room, back in his old suit, lounging on the bed and splayed over backward as if he flopped there out of sheer impatience. A plate of goodies sits next to him, its contents already picked-over and jostled by the Doctor’s movement. “You just took a shower yesterday, how could you possibly already require such an extensive—”

His eyes find her and his words falter. His eyebrows knit together. He swallows.

“That’s my shirt,” the Doctor says flatly.

“Technically, it’s the Temple’s shirt, isn’t it?” Rose replies, laughing as she plunks down next to him on the bed and plucks something warm off the breakfast plate. She’s got no clue what it is, but it’s salty and starchy and good. “And good morning to you, too, by the way.”

“It’s evening.”

“The hell?” Rose peers out past the bed-canopy at the sky flashing overhead. Lightning cuts a bright white arc through the stormclouds, interrupting the inky darkness with patches of watery pink and red. It looks exactly the same as it did the night before, and the evening and the afternoon, for that matter. “How long was I asleep for?” Rose wonders.

“Fourteen hours and sixteen seconds,” the Doctor replies. “Give or take a few seconds.”

Rose laughs, raking a hand through the wet strands of her hair. The motion causes her shirt to ride up, exposing several inches of thigh that weren’t exposed before, and if she hadn’t been paying attention, Rose almost could have missed the way the Doctor’s eyes flickered down to her legs before resuming their blank stare into nothingness.

Hiding a smile, Rose shifts, lying down on her side next to the Doctor. “So—” she starts to say, but immediately the Doctor springs up so quickly the mattress ripples in his wake.

“So anyway, just thought I’d check in after your endlessly long sleep session and even longer bath, see if you were up for a bit of nosing around—overheard a bit of gossip whilst I was pilfering nibbles, something about the cleaning room and the High Chauncery’s personal chambers and strict orders to avoid each other at all costs, all very promising, nothing says conspiracy like refusing to let the staff do their job,” the Doctor babbles, hands shoved firmly in his pockets as he slowly backpedals away. “Figured it merited a good checking-out if you were up for it, so I’ll just leave you to eat and get dressed, shall I…?”

“Oh, god,” Rose sighs. “Doctor, please don’t tell me you’re gonna be all weird about this.”

“Weird?” the Doctor scoffs, mouth opening and closing ineffectually several times before any other noise decides to come out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m being perfectly normal, thank you very much, and I rather resent the notion that I might be anything otherwise. I’m the picture of normal. The very portrait. The very realistic, well-lit, well-painted, brushed-by-Vermeer-himself portrait, thanks.”

“Did Vermeer ever get all flustered about a woman wearing his shirt and nothing else?”

“I’m sure he did.”

Then, after a pause, “…nothing else at all?”

“Let’s find out,” Rose says brightly, fingers flying down to her shirt-buttons.

Stammering, the Doctor darts over, stilling her hands with his. “Ah,” he stutters, “as delightful as whatever you have in mind undoubtedly is—”

“And it is,” Rose says with a grin.

“—with everyone else away at this evening’s ceremonials, I was thinking this might be a good time to do a bit of investigating—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“—or rather, you know. Poking around a bit.”

Rose’s eyes widen with mischief but the Doctor’s hand claps over her mouth before anything salacious can escape it. “Good grief, is that all humans think about?” the Doctor laughs. “At the shops, down the pub, on the bus, when’s the next time I’ll get to squish bits?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“It’s a wonder the human race manages to get anything else accomplished.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Rose agrees, voice muffled as she smiles against the Doctor’s palm.

“Indeed. However, if we’re going to get in any snooping this evening, we’d best hop to it, distraction-free. So, if I remove my hand,” the Doctor says, fighting the smile that threatens to quirk the corners of his mouth, “will you promise to behave?”

Rose shakes her head no.

Sighing, the Doctor shifts back. “I suspected as much.”

***

A few moments and nibbles and a fresh pair of trousers later (but still clad in the Doctor’s borrowed shirt, because she’ll be damned before she passes up any available opportunity to fluster him), Rose follows the Doctor through a series of chambers in the Temple, each one smaller and more round-walled than the last. But even amidst the air of conspiracy and subterfuge that lies heavy on them like a thick woolen cloak, pressing more and more urgently as they creep ever-closer to the Temple’s heart, prompting them both to regularly swivel round on a sharp lookout for stray guards or Votaries, Rose feels lighter than she has in months.

“So tell me about this conspiracy,” she says, idly glancing about the place as the Doctor scans orb after orb with the sonic. It isn’t the library they visited the day before, but rather, a sort of private records-room, as the Doctor described it, but Rose will have to take his word for it; all she knows is that the orbs are white, they glow, and every time the Doctor takes a reading, he scowls afterward in impatience. “What do we know so far?” Rose continues, tabbing one of the globes.

The Doctor rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide a grin. “Weren’t you paying any attention yesterday?”

“Nope,” Rose says brightly. “So gimme the scoop.”

“Well, unfortunately there’s not a whole lot to scoop so far, I’m afraid,” the Doctor explains, setting down one orb with a huff only to pluck up another. “Just a few frustrating questions, none of which have any apparent answer.”

“Being?”

“Why is the Allstorm suddenly so long, why are there so many foreign guests in attendance for what should be a cozy local religious ritual, and why has our Most Grant and Generous Host up and disappeared into the ether?”

“And you suspect that something big and bad’s to blame, and we’ve got to stop it.”

“Well.” The Doctor shoots her a glance over his spectacles. “Don’t we?”

Shrugging, Rose picks up one of the orbs to judge for herself. “Sure. Yeah. Maybe.”

The Doctor piques an eyebrow in question.

“You’re probably right,” Rose says. “I’m sure your Spidey-senses are tingling for a reason.”

“Yours aren’t?”

“Eh, I dunno. The missing host is fishy for sure, and I don’t know much about storms, but as far as the international guest list goes…” Rose hands her orb to the Doctor with another shrug. “I’m probably still just stuck a bit in the 1700’s is all. They’d celebrate anything, they would. And I mean anything. One time Reinette threw a party cos she got some new porcelain. She threw a party for a bloody set of dinner plates.”

“Aw, come on, Rose. The birth of the infamous celestial blue underglaze is worth at least a little bit of a hootenanny, isn’t it?”

“No,” replies Rose stubbornly. “And if I never hear the phrase bleu céleste again, it’ll be too soon.”

Chuckling, the Doctor turns back to his orb, his spectacles alternately flashing blue with the light of the sonic and electric-white from the lightning arcing overhead. “So your theory is that the guests are here just because they’re poncy and rich, and poncy rich folk will leap at any chance to party?”

“More or less.”

“Not a bad thought. Got any ideas about the other two-thirds of our problem?”

“If you’re forced to stay here for a whole month without a mystery to solve, you’ll go mad?”

“Cheeky,” says the Doctor, the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement as he scans a new globe. “Was that terribly fashionable in the French court? The cheekiness?”

“Oh, Louis absolutely adored it,” Rose says with a wink.

“I’ll bet he did,” mutters the Doctor.

Rose smiles. Something about this—the investigating, the banter, the still-familiarity of it all even after half a year away, the Doctor’s intense concentration written in the crease of his brow over those stupidly sexy specs of his—something about it all just makes Rose want to hug him, throw her arms around him and squeeze tight. Maybe kiss him, and see where that takes them. But before she has the chance to enact any part of her plan, the Doctor looks up at her over his specs again, eyebrow arched sharply as he says, “Can I help you?”

Rose shakes herself. “Sorry?”

“You’re staring.”

Rose begs herself not to blush. “Yeah? So?”

“Why are you staring?”

“I dunno. Just thinking about…things.”

“What things?”

“Just…things.”

“Because we haven’t got the time for canoodling right now, you know.”

Laughing, Rose shakes her head, willing the redness in her cheeks to die down. “Canoodling? God, you really are old.”

“How’s that?”

“Cos only old fogies say stuff like that anymore. And for your information, I wasn’t thinking about anything like that at all.”

“Really?”

“Really,” says Rose stubbornly. “Cos y’know, that was just a joke earlier, humans thinking about sex all the time. Despite what you may think, not everything revolves around you and, you know, canoodling or whatever—”

But her words are cut off by a tap behind the far wall, resounding through the room, and the Doctor stiffens in response, his head snapping to at the noise. It takes Rose approximately half a second to realize that’s one of those invisible-door-opening taps. They’re about to be discovered, and despite Uruud and the other Votaries’ claims of hospitality, Rose knows that this is one of the few places they won’t be welcome in.

“Oi!” shouts the guard as they step through the magic doorway, shining a light on Rose and the Doctor, freezing them both like a pair of deer in headlights. “Oi, you two! Guests aren’t permitted in here!”

“Right,” says the Doctor, stepping in front of Rose and the table full of scattered globes, shielding them all from view. “Of course. We’re so sorry, complete misunderstanding—”

“What are you doing in here?” the guard asks suspiciously.

“Canoodling?” Rose offers.

“We got lost,” the Doctor says quickly, stepping to the side to block the guard’s view as he tries to peer around him at Rose and the orbs. “We got lost looking for a place to—erm—”

“Canoodle,” Rose supplies, kicking herself.

“—and, well, nothing gets a human girl all hot and bothered like a roomful of private records, does it?” the Doctor laughs weakly.

The guard looks from the Doctor, around to Rose behind him, down at the misplaced globes surrounding Rose, back to the Doctor again. He does not look convinced.

“Sorry, but I think I’m going to have to take you in,” says the guard, reaching for something behind his back. A weapon, Rose thinks, and she freezes.

“And that’s our cue,” says the Doctor, grabbing Rose by the hand. “Time to run!”

Fingers cinched tightly round hers, the Doctor sprints through the records-room past rows and rows of glowing orbs, pulling Rose along for the ride as the guard chases after. Rose runs as fast as her legs can take her, neglected muscles tensing and complaining after months of sedentary stillness, but even amidst that, Rose is grinning like a madwoman, because she’s missed all of this, god has she ever missed it. She stifles a laugh as they run from one chamber to another to another, past columns and pools and guests, the guard close on their heels, adrenaline pumping like hypercharged jet fuel through Rose’s veins.

“Really, Doctor,” she laughs breathlessly as they run. “Nothing gets a girl all hot and bothered like a room full of records?”

“What’s that you said about canoodling?” the Doctor shoots back.

“I panicked!”

“Yes, that much is evident!”

The Doctor pulls Rose through chamber after chamber and the guard doesn’t lose sight of them once, his footfalls dogging them every step of the way. Fear and excitement braiding themselves together in Rose’s gut, she clings to the Doctor’s hand all that much harder, secretly relishing the mad rush of it all.

“Here,” announces the Doctor as they arrive at a huge curved wall, and a rap of his knuckles opens a doorway into one of the great halls, full to the rafters with guests and celebrants swirling about the place in some sort of ceremonial dance. Ducking beneath the wings of a large feathered guest, the Doctor draws Rose into the teeming crowd, away from the prying eyes of their pursuer. Once inside, Rose marvels at the sight all around them, celebrants moving and swaying to the ritualistic and rhythmic beating of drums pulsing beneath the soft flutter of winds and strings. The music swells and expands to fill the room, suffocating even the thought of space, cleaving to the dancers and adherents with an almost intoxicating closeness, leaving Rose dizzy as the drumbeat marches to the beat of her own hammering pulse. The celebrants surrounding her pull her in like an undercurrent, dancing to the beat in an elegant amoebic mass spinning and swirling beneath the lightning-split sky.

“Shall we dance?” Rose teases, half-expecting the Doctor to roll his eyes and snark at her again, but to her surprise, he nods. “Camouflage. Good thinking,” he says, pocketing his specs before stepping directly into the stream of guests, pulling Rose close.

Funny—Rose had sort of thought, when she’d ever allowed herself to think of such things, that if she and the Doctor ever transcended their unspoken boundary of clasped hands and too-tight hugs, then all that ever-present chemistry burning between them might fizzle out, doused like a candle at evening’s end. Not a bad thing, that; candles can’t burn forever, and when their spark has reduced to a gentle smolder, one can safely go to bed with a sense of ease and contentment, curling up for a comfortable and well-earned sleep. But with one of his hands guiding her round, the other clasping her close by the waist, pulling her chest against his, packing them both together so tightly she can feel each and every breath as it enters and leaves his body, it becomes apparent that no, that flame was not extinguished, it’s burning bright as ever, and probably has no chance of doing otherwise anytime soon. At least that would explain why Rose feels so warm all of a sudden, why her cheeks can’t seem to stop burning.

The Doctor spins her in time with dozens of other celebrants, elegantly following the steps of the dance as he scans the room for their pursuer, his glance aloof and oh-so-carefully casual. Distantly, Rose wonders whether he already knows this ritual dance or if he’s just stupidly good at improvising; presently, she’s too busy being distracted by the proximity of their bodies and the feel of his hands on her again to register much of anything else. She faces him again, pressed close once again, and he offers a grin. “Hello,” he says, and Rose remembers a similar sequence from before, a galaxy and a year ago. Almost feels like a lifetime, now.

“Hello,” she replies, a smile blossoming slow and sweet across her lips. She’s got no clue what steps she should be following right now but at least her time at court taught her how to fake it ‘til she makes it, if nothing else; she follows the Doctor’s lead with relative ease, laughing when she falters and her feet skip a beat along with her pulse. “Seem to be doing a lot of this lately, don’t we?”

“What, watching for guards while we stumble over our own feet?”

“Dancing, you great prat,” Rose laughs. A change in tempo means time to change partners and Rose switches off with a flourish, grinning disarmingly at the large rhinoceros-creature that glowers at her before taking her hand. (Though to be fair, Rose actually hasn’t got a clue whether it’s specifically shooting daggers at her, as glower seems to be the creature’s default state.) She twirls back into the Doctor’s arms afterward and there it is again, that heat, that electricity; the lightning flashing overhead has got nothing on the connection burning and buzzing between the two of them, Rose thinks.

“It’s nice,” she admits, her fingers nervously edging upward to fiddle with the lapels of his suit-jacket. “The dancing, I mean. We should do it more.”

The Doctor hums noncommittally.

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t particularly think one way or the other, at the moment. I’m more preoccupied with our guard friend and wherever he might happen to be. I’ve sort of lost sight of him.”

“Right,” says Rose, nodding. There are other things at hand. Big things. Important things. Much bigger, more important things than the press of their bodies together, warm and close, soft and tense all at once, their clothes whispering against each other as they move, leaving Rose practically vibrating with anticipation, reminding her in full technicolor detail of everything they got up to the night before, his hands slipping beneath her dress, his lips on her skin, her mouth wrapped around his—

“It can’t happen again, you know.”

Shaking herself, Rose frowns. “Sorry?”

“Last night. What we did, what we said. It can’t happen again.”

“How did you know—you didn’t read my mind or something, did you?” Rose asks, startled.

The Doctor shakes his head. “Didn’t have to.”

“All right, I get it,” Rose sighs. “I know you like to tease about that sort of thing, humans and their silly animal instincts and all, but it only makes sense that it’s on my mind, Doctor. It only just happened last night. It’s not like I’m some crazed addict—not like it’s really the only thing I ever think about.”

“It’s on my mind too, Rose.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks reddening, Rose considers the implications of that, wonders what he’s thinking, if his recollections are anything as vivid as hers, what else is going through his mind right now. “Then…why?”

“As lovely as it might have been, it was ill-advised at best, dangerous at worst,” the Doctor explains, still scanning the room, and now Rose suspects he’s just using their pursuer as a convenient excuse to avoid looking at her. “And it’s dangerous precisely because it’s on my mind. It’s a distraction, and we can’t afford distractions. That’s how we end up in the predicament we’re in right now—it’s how things get overlooked, mistakes get made, people get hurt.”

Rose stops in her tracks, staring at him as the crowd bustles and sways around them; the Doctor stops as well, hands moving back to the safety of his own body, depositing themselves firmly in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. I don’t particularly like saying it. If I had my way, we’d just pretend it never happened. I’m only saying anything now because, well, it seems prudent, and only fair in light of everything, to make certain my stance on the subject is clear.”

“And what about my stance on the subject?” Rose asks with a disbelieving laugh.

“It’s just a bad idea, Rose. You know it is.”

“No, I don’t,” Rose insists, crossing her arms protectively. “I don’t know that. Last night—”

“I just said last night was ill-advised.”

“You’re wrong,” says Rose. “You’re wrong about this whole thing. Cos you’re not worried about hurting other people. You’re worried about yourself.”

Frowning, the Doctor opens his mouth to protest, but Rose cuts him off with a hand wrapped round his arm, pulling him off to the side so they’re no longer buffeted by dancers and music and other things pounding mercilessly on their senses. Once they’re safely ensconced in a semi-private alcove, Rose sighs.

“Look, I know you’re lonely,” she says, and it hurts for the words to leave her mouth, almost as much, she thinks, as it hurts for him to hear them. “And I know that’s the biggest reason you keep any of us around. To fill the quiet. To make the universe seem new and bright again. To not feel so lonely anymore.”

The Doctor’s mouth twists unhappily and Rose has to force herself to continue. “And I’m happy to do that for you, I really am,” she says. “And if this is truly as far as you want things to go between the two of us, then that’s fine. If that’s what you really want and need, that’s fine. I won’t push you. But the thing is, it doesn’t seem like that’s true. It’s more like, you want things, but you think you shouldn’t have them. Like you don’t deserve them.”

The Doctor fidgets uncomfortably and Rose bites her lip in worry. Things were going so well just moments before—how did they end up back here, how are things already so tense and strained again? Not that she expected sex to really resolve anything, but last night, it had seemed like things were at least edging toward improvement. Why do they keep talking and working only to circle back round to the same bleak conclusion?

Well, while she’s pushing things, she might as well push all the way. No point in holding back, now.

“It isn’t just about the sex,” Rose says, and goodness, but she’s really blushing now. “But you do all these things—you make us feel special, like we’re exceptional, like we’re these bright spots you were so, so happy to find, and then on a dime, you turn right back around and make us feel like the lowest, smallest beings in the universe. You take us with you on these amazing adventures, and then when you’re done with us, you leave us behind. You pull us near only to run away when you realize just how close we’re getting. And we don’t get any say in the matter—when you’re done, you’re just done. And it hurts, Doctor, and it pushes people away. It’s only going to make you lonelier in the end.”

“You haven’t got a clue what it’s like to be truly alone,” the Doctor replies quietly.

“No, I don’t,” Rose agrees. “And I wish you didn’t either. Because you don’t have to.”

Wordlessly, the Doctor looks up and away, at anything in the room but her; Rose steps closer, reaching up to place a gentle hand on his cheek, a soft and undemanding plea for him to face her again.

“You help so many people,” she says. “Why won’t you let anyone help you?”

“I don’t need it,” the Doctor replies.

Rose arches an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” says the Doctor, pulling away so he can rock back on his heels. “I’ve got a definitive opinion on dancing after all. You’re right, it’s lovely, we should do it more. Starting right now. Right resolutely now, in case our little guard friend comes back to look for us again. Shall we?”

“How do you really feel about Reinette?” Rose asks, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it.

Now the Doctor stares at her. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why are you asking about her again?”

“I want to know.”

“Does it matter?” he asks incredulously.

“It does to me.”

“Why on earth should it?”

“It just does.”

Casting about in disbelief, the Doctor scowls. “Fine. What do you want me to say—that I’m drawn to clever, accomplished people? I’m fascinated with them? That I admire talent and beauty and generally impressive people and places and things whenever and wherever I might find them? It’s all true, I won’t deny it, never have. And I don’t think I have to apologize for it, either.”

“Do you love her?”

The Doctor scoffs. “Really, of all the reductive and oversimplified things—and a ridiculous notion to boot,” he says, looking at Rose with that horrible you’ve just dribbled on your shirt look, the one that suggests he’s very displeased with her for exposing him to her silly brain and its silly limited capabilities. “It’s an impossible question to answer by your standards, because love means too many things for humans. You love your parents and your family and your friends, certainly, but you also love your dog and your favorite ice cream flavor and the latest big thing on telly. You love fashion and science and sleeping in to ungodly hours and apparently pestering me with idiotic questions. The word love means everything, therefore it means nothing. It’s a useless platitude, a saccharine sentimentalism invented purely for the sake of films and fairy tales and song lyrics sugary enough to give you a dozen cavities.”

“Cool,” says Rose drily, because when the defensive cynicism comes out in full force, that’s how she knows she’s really getting somewhere. “So are you gonna answer my question, or haven’t you got all of the usual insults out of your system yet?”

“No,” he says, throwing up his hands in defeat. “That’s your answer, all right? No. Fascination and admiration and even infatuation don’t automatically add up to love, and if you think they do, then you should reexamine your maths. And you’ll just have to forgive me if I don’t conform to your very human standards of what fondness and caring and romance should look like—I’m sorry I’m not in the habit of vomiting out my feelings at every available opportunity, or opening myself up to things that will only amount to a horrendous amount of pain in the end, or carving off chunks of myself to give to people left and right until there’s nothing left of me, nothing, nothing at all. I’m sorry. All right? And that’s it, that’s all I’m going to say on the matter, I’m done, Rose, I’m officially done.”

“Okay,” replies Rose.

Wide-eyed and staring, the Doctor blinks in surprise. “Okay? So that’s it? We can drop this now, move on?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” he asks suspiciously.

“Really. I learned everything I need to know.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re a coward.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, just watches her sharply, brow furrowed in frustration and hurt.

“You can deny yourself all you want, hiding behind the whole curse of the Time Lords business or your self-righteous self-martyrdom or your magnificent higher calling or whatever other noble-sounding excuse you want to come up with,” Rose continues, offering a sad little smile. “But at the end of the day, really, I think you’re just afraid to be happy.”

“Oh, come on now, that’s just—”

“It’s like you think you don’t deserve it cos you had to make some impossible decisions, like joy is some kind of zero-sum game and anything good you might have is taking joy away from someone else somehow, or like you think the universe will punish you or something, and—and honestly, how self-centered is all that, anyway?—but, just, look. Is this something you want, or not?” asks Rose, exasperated. “Just tell me honestly. If you don’t want us to be anything more, if you’re happiest with us just being mates, that’s all right. I’ll respect your wishes. If that’s what you really want.”

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” the Doctor mutters.

“Of course it does,” insists Rose. “Doctor—do you think that way about anyone else? Would you ever tell someone else that how they feel doesn’t matter?”

Again he doesn’t reply.

“What about me?” Rose tries again. “Do my feelings matter? Do you want me to be happy?”

“Of course. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, I want you to be happy,” Rose replies stubbornly. “It would make me happy to see you get what you want. Even if it’s not exactly the same thing I want. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else. It would make me very happy for you to know that. Yeah?”

Staring at her in dumbstruck silence, the Doctor swallows hard. His gaze shifts uncomfortably elsewhere, a hand carding through his hair as he considers—what he’s considering, Rose doesn’t know, but she worries about his next words, whether he’s weighing them, perhaps measuring the potential damage of them.

Rose hides a sigh of disappointment. It’s all too much for him, probably. She’s pushing him too much. She’s being unfair. This is too much to expect of him.

She can’t ask him to feel the same way she does.

“Look, Doctor. I just—” Rose starts to say, but he cuts her off with a hug, enveloping her in an embrace so tight it squeezes the breath right out of her. Her arms return the gesture on instinct, instantly wrapping round his waist and drawing the rest of her near so her face can burrow against his chest, her arms resting snugly against the small of his back. His double heartsbeat taps a reassuring rhythm beneath her cheek, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, and Rose relaxes a little, sighing in relief. Probably this is among the Doctor’s many hidden talents and gifts, this magical ability to hug and squeeze everything bad out of her until she’s left with nothing but quiet contentment. Or maybe that’s just how it feels anytime someone really needs an embrace and receives it. Either way, it’s a really fucking good hug.

“It’s not that simple,” the Doctor says softly. “But…thank you for saying it, anyway. It means a lot.”

“Yeah. I love you, you know.”

Her pulse racing in her ears, Rose’s voice is so small she thinks the Doctor might not even hear it—and maybe that would be just as well, anyway—but he stiffens, nodding. “I know,” he says quietly.

Stepping back, the Doctor casts his gaze downward, struggling to meet her eyes. “Rose, I—”

“Rose!”

On reflex, Rose’s head jerks at the sound of Mickey calling her name; she still watches the Doctor, waiting for whatever he was going to say, but his attention has already shifted, his focus switching in a millisecond.

Rose curses Mickey’s terrible timing. What was the Doctor going to say?

With a frustrated sigh, Rose turns to see Mickey swimming toward them through the crowd, Naami following close behind.

“Rose, we’ve done it!” Mickey says excitedly. “We’ve figured it out!”

“Figured what out?” asks Rose, lost.

“The conspiracy!” replies Mickey in hushed tones, glancing all about the chamber to ensure no one overhears. “The Doctor was right, something’s going on, but it’s not what you think—Naami, tell them!”

Naami nods, her face lit up in an eager grin. “So the High Chauncery hasn’t been seen in years, it’s true, but that actually isn’t too uncommon in his line of work, right?” she says, glancing from Rose to the Doctor and back. “As you know, Therran High Priests are renowned galaxywide for their scholarship and piety—”

“Of course we all knew that!” Mickey laughs nervously.

“—so of course, none of us ever questioned it. Priests might retreat into study at any time, for any reason, and they could be gone for any number of weeks or months or even, as in this case, years. But after the Doctor’s remarks on the High Chauncery’s absence, I thought I might ask round with some of my connections, just out of curiosity. We’re involved in imports, you see, so if the High Chauncery was bringing in new materials for study, then we’d be the first to know. But that’s just the thing—he hasn’t ordered any sort of religious texts for years now.”

“Because it turns out someone murdered him unceremoniously?” asks the Doctor.

“What? Of course not!” laughs Naami, daintily shielding her mouth with her hand. “Murder? Don’t be absurd!”

“Well, all right, then,” says the Doctor, nonplussed. “That’s unexpected. But certainly not unwelcome.”

“A nice change from the usual,” Rose adds.

“True, a very nice change.”

“That’s not the interesting thing, though! Tell them about the interesting thing, tell them what the High Chauncypants keeps bringing in,” urges Mickey.

Leaning in close, and whispering in a hushed tone, conspiratorial, like anyone around them might hear and gasp in shock, Naami tells them, “Giant mirrors, boatloads of argon, and silver iodide.”

Rose and the Doctor both blink in confusion. That’s not at all what Rose had expected to hear. She was thinking something more along the lines of illicit beasts or exotic drugs or, heck, at least some kind of rare spice. But this…this just sounds like a silly school science experiment, and honestly, after everything, that’s a little bit of a letdown.

“Oh, no,” says Rose awkwardly, glancing at Mickey with a shrug. “Not that stuff!”

She leans close to the Doctor to whisper, “What is that stuff?”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone was building a big laser,” says the Doctor, frowning. “But I’m not certain how the silver iodide factors in, unless—”

“That’s them, over there!” a voice shouts over the din, and Rose turns at the noise to see their pursuer hovering at the edge of the crowd, pointing at her and the Doctor. Their single guard has been joined by several others, now, all of them staring in their direction. Staring, and grimacing, and brandishing a host of dangerous-looking, pointy weapons.

So much for that famous hospitality, Rose thinks with a gulp.

“Get them!” commands the guard.

“Split up!” Rose shouts as she pushes Mickey away with one hand, grabs the Doctor with another. Pulling the Doctor along, she bolts through the teeming crowd, ducking beneath arms and tentacles and wings; a glance back tells her that Mickey and Naami, though startled, have taken off running in the opposite direction. A half-dozen guards bridge the gap between them, shouting at the dancing celebrants to disperse as they break off to chase each pair.

“Here!” says Rose, pulling the Doctor between two huge elephantine aliens that sway to and fro over the floor, distracted both by the music and the guards’ continuous shouting. The guards struggle to catch up, stopped at every turn by errant celebrants and guests milling about the place in confusion, but after a lifetime of navigating London’s busy and tourist-filled streets, Rose has no problem weaving in and out of the throng, spotting a good-sized gap here, a narrow-but-tenable squeeze there. Before too long she’s drawn the Doctor out of the main hall and into a side corridor, their feet slapping hard against the marble floor as they sprint away from their pursuers.

“Not that way!” shouts the Doctor as they round a corner only to find more guards, and he yanks Rose off in another direction, guiding them both by the grace of his eidetic memory. They weave in and out of chamber after chamber, back through the dining hall and the menagerie and the pools and the garden, past shocked celebrants and shrieking animals and churning waters, lightning violently splitting the sky overhead as they run and their pursuers close in.

“What’ll happen if they catch us?” Rose gasps, throwing a look over her shoulder at the guards and their many, many weapons. And right at that second, as if someone was only waiting for her to ask, a shrill squeal fills the air and suddenly the Doctor is yanking Rose to the side just in time to avoid a barrage of blaster-fire, smacking the wall right beside her and leaving a smoldering crater behind in its wake. Rose lets out a cry as blaster fire rings out all around them, exploding the walls all around and the floor at their feet, filling the air with smoke and shrapnel. Another barrage of fire and Rose feels a beam graze her shirt, its scalding heat missing her skin by mere millimeters.

Heart hammering, air burning in her lungs, Rose wills her legs to run faster.

They sprint round another curve only to reach a dead end. The Doctor halts in his tracks, his grip tightening round Rose’s hand as they both skid over the floor. Rose watches as the Doctor whips back round to face the guards, glances back at the dead end in front of them, brow furrowing as he frantically tries to calculate.

Oh, god. That face. It’s been six months but Rose still recognizes that face. It’s the Doctor’s we’re gonna have to do something supremely stupid and hope for the best face. His we might die, but then again, we might not face.

“Doctor—” Rose starts to say, but, jaw set in determination, he doesn’t say anything, just takes off again for the far wall, yanking Rose along with him.

“No!” shout the guards behind them, their voices high and shrill over their clattering boots and firing blasters. “Halt!”

They reach the wall and Doctor raps a desperate beat against it until it springs open, a doorway parting to reveal a tempest of howling winds and punishing rains roaring loud enough to drown even the sounds of blaster fire all around them. Water and hail scream down in sheets, buffeted by the winds and hammering against the ground like shards of glass on pavement. Thunder pounding relentlessly overhead, the pitch black of the sky and the air are illuminated only by the beams of light piercing the sky, flooding the world in a flash of blinding-white and blood-red.

The Allstorm, Rose realizes, and she shrinks back in fear. She opens her mouth to plead with the Doctor, but terror has crept up her throat and stolen her words.

Pausing only long enough to steel himself with a steadying breath, the Doctor steps through the door, and Rose follows him into the storm.

***

Next Part (forthcoming)

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lesbeet · 6 years

Text

long post ahead

ive been thinking nonstop about the possibility of me having adhd since my sister and her boyfriend brought it up to me last week (i’m FINALLY seeing my therapist today so we can talk about it) and i’ve been doing a lot of research and i found the howtoadhd channel on youtube

and literally the number of times in the past 2 hours alone that i’ve teared up or started legitimately crying because of how much i relate to things that these videos are saying is ridiculous, like some of them are word-for-word things i’ve said that i had NO inkling of an idea could be related to adhd

like this one video of this guy who was diagnosed at 43 and said that prior to his diagnosis he had just accepted that he would feel dissatisfied for his whole life, that he would never feel content, i’ve been saying that for YEARS and just was resigned to it and chalked it up solely to my depression

and just like. having been able to do well in school as a kid but constantly being told that i’m “not living up to [my] potential” and now that i’m in my early 20s and my intelligence can’t compensate for like....not being able to regulate my emotions and not being able to organize my life and not being able to motivate myself to do things, which is supposedly why a number of people get diagnosed around this time, because metrics for success are different in adulthood (you can’t just take a test and rely on being smart to compensate for all the other problems), and i was always just. thinking that i fucked up and wasted my life through laziness or whatever the case may be

i’ve always considered myself to be “crafty” and “resourceful” in the sense that i may not go about doing things in the typical way but i can almost always find a way to accomplish what i need accomplished, even if it’s unconventional -- apparently that’s common with adhd too! like i’ll say “oh i couldn’t figure out how to do [x] so i did [y and z]” and someone will be like “why didn’t you just do [thing everyone else does]” and usually i either couldn’t figure out how, or it didn’t occur to me, and my way was weird and unconventional, but it worked for me!

and then of course i’m just recognizing all these signs that have always been there that i either didn’t notice or attributed to other things -- i’ve been trying to observe the way my attention functions this week and literally i space out and miss things SO much more often than i ever realized, like i miss so much information because i’ve drifted off. or i get really stuck on things in conversations and even after everyone else has moved on i have this urge to bring it back so i can say that last thing i’ve been rehearsing over and over for the past 5 minutes so i didn’t forget it, and now it’s in my head and everyone is talking about something else and it’s SO inconsequential but i have to forcibly drag myself away from whatever the thing is (yesterday my sister and her friend and i were talking about early 2000′s fashion and i wanted to make a comment about wearing ugly scarves as belts and they saw a dog and moved on to talking about cute things our dogs have done and i just couldn’t stop thinking about the scarves as belts thing for like 10 minutes until i just had to sigh and be like...well i can’t bring that up again now)

when i was younger i would rush through tests so i could go back to whatever book i was reading and i just thought it was a silly quirk like “oh i just like to read lol” but i realized i still do similar things -- if i’m reading a book or watching a show or working on something, THAT is what i’m doing. anything else, whether it’s work or sleep or eating or hanging out with a friend or fulfilling any sort of responsibility? that’s a break from the thing i’m doing. if i’m reading a book, even if it’s the 3rd time i’m rereading harry potter for the year, for example, then in my head, i’m reading harry potter. i have to go to work all day but then i can read harry potter. all i’m doing is thinking about reading harry potter. i rush through my responsibilities so i can go BACK to reading harry potter, because that’s what i’m doing and anything else is just taking a break from reading harry potter. (you see how this can negatively affect the accomplishment/fulfillment of important tasks and responsibilities)

and my sister has pointed out things that i didn’t really notice, like she said it’s really difficult to hold a conversation with me when i’m excited about something because i can’t calm down enough to let the other person talk. and i’ve always known that i tend to finish peoples’ sentences for them during conversations, which i always thought was a way of showing that i’m listening! but ive realized it’s actually that, if i already know what you’re going to say, and you’re saying it too slowly, i get impatient and i need to blurt out the rest for you so we can move on and i can say my next thing before i forget it

and like obviously all people experience some symptoms some of the time, daydreaming isn’t exclusive to adhd, neither is walking into a room and forgetting what you’re doing there. but this week as i’ve been paying attention, i notice i do it CONSTANTLY. the other night i opened up my phone before bed because i remembered i hadn’t set my alarm, so i picked it up from where i place it for the night (i was about to go to sleep). 15 minutes later i put my phone back down and decided to turn in for the night again, and then realized i still had never turned the alarm on because i got distracted and did other stuff. and things like that happen with almost comical regularity, now that i know to look for it.

i’ve known i have executive dysfunction issues for a long time so i won’t go into those, but like we’ve known i have problems with directions and organization and spatial processing and knowing how to complete tasks for a long time

the rejection-sensitive dysphoria is something i didn’t really realize was part of adhd, but it makes SO much sense. i think it’s part of why i thought i had bpd for a while, because a lot of the symptoms were similar and i knew i was dealing with something more than just depression and anxiety but didn’t know what, and a lot of the symptoms i experienced also seemed to fit the bpd diagnosis even if my actual behavior and personality didn’t seem to

there are so many more things i’ve noticed this week and thought about differently but i literally can’t remember what they are lmao i think i’m gonna try to write stuff down so i don’t forget to tell my therapist today but like.

so many of these things i didn’t realize had anything to do with adhd, like emotional dysregulation, i’ve always known i have horrible mood swings and trouble regulating my emotions, i’ve always noticed a lot of these different symptoms but it never occurred to me that they could all be part of the same thing??

like i haven’t been tested or diagnosed yet and i’m worried i’m getting carried away but the only time i’ve ever felt this sort of relief was a few months ago when realizing my dad is a narcissist. like the feeling of “oh my god, i knew this was something i experienced but i didn’t think i could attribute it to anything” and “oh my god, this is word for word something i say all the time, i didn’t realize it was part of a pattern”

and it genuinely made me cry! hearing people talk about things that describe me that i never would have guessed might have to do with adhd, finding something that seems to encompass a very broad range of symptoms that i previously thought were unrelated or results of a myriad of things (and obviously they all play off of one another but that’s a whole separate issue)

but it would explain so much of my behavior and challenges -- why i struggle with finishing up a task or project once the big, complicated part is done; why i get super obsessed with something and then once it wears off i never mention or think about it again; why i’ve always needed my mom’s help to clean my closet or pack for a trip, even though i felt like i was way too old to need help with that; why people constantly are like “i know you heard me say this because you said ‘ok’” about things i genuinely have no recollection of

but i just can’t stop thinking about that guy talking about how he was just resigned to thinking he would never been satisfied or content with his life because that is something i have been feeling and saying FOREVER, for years ive just been like “everything is so hard, the idea of spending the rest of my life struggling to get up in the morning and going to work every day, dealing with all my responsibilities, i feel like i’m exhausted and underwater just thinking about it, i’m never going to feel fulfilled or satisfied, it’s always just going to be slogging through my responsibilities and it’s never going to end” and apparently that’s....a normal thing, and i just thought it was depression and maybe part of it is, but maybe the reason i struggle so much with those every day things is because my brain is wired differently?

and maybe i’ve fucked up because at this point i think i’ll be really disappointed if i don’t get the diagnosis because i’m not really sure what else could explain these issues, it certainly makes sense and i feel like it fits and i feel relieved just thinking about having that answer, and it certainly negatively impacts almost every aspect (if not every aspect) of my life. so like if i don’t get diagnosed idk what i’m gonna do and i probably fucked up by spending the last week obsessing over it lol

but like....the relief i feel every time i read or hear or see someone with adhd say “i experience [x]” and i’m like holy shit??? me too???? and it just. feels like maybe there’s an explanation for all this horrible dissatisfaction and unhappiness i thought i was going to be stuck with for the rest of my life, and there are other people who experience these things and there are things that can be done, medication and therapy and strategies and...my whole life doesn’t NEED to feel like a challenge, maybe it’s not an indisputable fact that i’m just going to have to live with forever.

if you read this far and you have adhd (especially if you were diagnosed after childhood) i would love to hear your thoughts on this, obviously i didn’t list every single symptom and experience and i know there are more but these are all i could think of at the moment, if i seem like i’m way off base obviously please let me know

#me.txt #adhd #long post //#honestly if you read this whole thing....thank you #also don't rb obviously #adhd tag

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omg-imagine · 7 years

Text

⊱ A Friendly Face ⊰

Request: Would you be able to do a hotch x reader bestfriends, the reader gets injured and hotch takes care of them. -Anon

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Words: 1,692

A/N: I'm slowly getting to finishing all of my WIPs and I'll probably be able to put up more fics next week. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one!

Your eyes fluttered open but then quickly shut, the lights inside the room being too bright. “Where am I?”

You heard rustling on the side and you opened your eyes once more, slowly this time, allowing them to adjust. After surveying the room, you realized that you’re lying in a hospital bed with an IV on your arm and bandages covering your abdomen.

“Good morning,” a deep voice sounded and you turned your head to see Hotch sitting in the chair next to you. “Take it easy, (Y/N). Before you ask, the surgery went well and the bullet missed your vital organs. You got lucky.”

“Great. So how long am I trapped here for?”

“Three days. Don't worry, we're on the second day already. After the surgery, you were asleep for the entire time.”

“Wait, have you been here since yesterday?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, smiling. “Is there a problem?”

“I don't know. I mean, shouldn't you be doing paper work because we just finished a case?”

Hotch pointed to the stack of files by your bedside. “I got them done while you were knocked out.”

“What about Jack?”

“He's with Jessica.”

You narrowed your eyes at your boss. “Why are you here?”

The man seemed to be taken aback by your question. “Why shouldn't I be?”

“You're a busy guy,” you replied with a shrug. “There's more important things to deal with than being here.”

“What if there isn't?” Hotch retorted and sighed. “I have to admit, what you did back there with Morgan was very unwise. You two should have waited for backup.”

He was right, of course. You and Morgan had gone into an abandoned warehouse without waiting for backup to arrive. But you two needed to act fast to save the woman held hostage inside.

There was a struggle and somehow in the midst of it, the unsub shot a bullet at you. Fortunately, it wasn't fatal. You were still living and breathing.

“We didn't have any time to waste. Morgan and I had the chance to take down the unsub and rescue the victim. At the end of the day, what matters is that we saved a life.”

“But you almost got yourself killed, (Y/N).”

You bit your lip as Hotch waited for a response. When it never came, the agent leaned back against his seat and smoothed out his tie.

“I'm giving you two weeks off to recuperate,” he simply mentioned and you gave him a nod. “I'm also taking a week off.”

Your eyes squinted at him. “Why are you taking a week off?”

“The doctor said that you'll need someone to watch over you for a couple of days.”

You snorted. “And you volunteered?”

“Yes,” he said without much thought. “Is there a problem?”

“Of course there is,” you sighed out. “You're my boss and I can't have you take the week off to look after me.”

“Are you forgetting that we're friends, too?”

Shaking your head, you whispered, “No.”

He was right again there; you and Hotch have been good friends for years now. The two of you met while you were still in the Academy and he was impressed with all of your marks and skills. When you were recruited by the BAU, the team easily warmed up to you and in just a few short months, you were practically family.

You found yourself being the closest to Hotch. In the mornings, you’d bring him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it and he'd do the same for you when you’re running late. You’d even stay behind after hours to keep him company as he drew up those dreaded reports.

“Then, there's no problem. I'm taking a week off and I can spend it however I wish. You've babysat Jack for me several times, just think of this as me paying you back.”

You glanced back to Hotch with a small smile on your face. “You paid me back already. It's called dinner.”

“Sure I did,” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice. “Come on, let's get you something to eat. You must be starving.”

“This really sucks,” you said in despair as you felt the pain course through your healing wound. “Aaron, can you get my meds? This hurts like hell.”

Hotch entered your bedroom with a glass of water in hand but no pills in sight. “You've already taken your medication two hours ago. You have to wait before you can take it again.”

“No,” you grumbled, the space beside you dipping when Hotch sat down on the edge of your bed. “It wore off an hour ago and I can't go to sleep.”

With a sigh, Hotch helped you sit up in bed and then placed the glass in your hand. Taking a sip, you felt the dryness in your throat go away and you handed him an empty glass back.

“Better?” He asked in a gentle voice.

“Yeah, but I'm still in pain. I'm also hungry.”

You let out a groan as you clambered out of bed but before you could get up, Hotch held you down by your wrist. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Getting food?” You looked at him quizzically and he shook his head.

“Lay back down. I got it,” Hotch fluffed your pillows before making a gesture for you to lie back.

“I can do it myself,” you protested with a huff. “You don't have to babysit me, Aaron. I'm not a kid.”

“You're not a kid, (Y/N). You're injured.”

Crossing your arms, you then rolled your eyes. “You're treating me as if I'm a kid. Just let me do my thing because I've been trapped in this room for hours and it's driving me crazy.”

“You're in pain. Do you really want to make it worse?”

Once he said those words, your wound began to ache and you knew you needed to relax. Accepting defeat, you sighed deeply before settling back into bed.

Hours later, you were now sitting across from Hotch in the small dining area of your apartment. It took a lot of convincing to let him move you out of your room and after going back and forth with you nonstop, he conceded.

The smell of pasta filled the air, making your mouth water but you struggled to enjoy your meal. You tried to concentrate on the food as much as possible in order to forget about the pain.

“You're very stubborn, you know?” Hotch pointed out, breaking the silence between the two of you.

“I’ve been told a couple of times. Mostly by you,” you casually replied without looking up from your plate. “This is good by the way.”

Aaron beamed, taking a sip of his red wine. “Thank you. I've cooked for you a couple of times, so why act shocked?”

“Because it never tasted this good,” you teased. “Plus, we often get take-out. When you do cook, you make the same dish every time and consistently burn a good chunk of it.”

“I don't hear you complaining though.”

You let out a laugh as Aaron scooped himself another serving of pasta. “No, you don't. I guess food is food. You can't really complain with that.”

“Yeah, don't complain. It's free food from me,” he quipped and you two continued eating.

After clearing the table, you and Hotch sat on the couch in the middle of the living room. The television quietly played in the background as you snuggled into Aaron’s side. You felt him stroking your hair and you hummed in content. From time to time, you would forget about this soft side of him and it had been a while since you’ve last seen it.

“It’s getting late,” you noted, eyes still fixed at the screen in front of you. “You should get home to Jack.”

Hotch gave a nod but stayed embracing you. “Jessica’s watching him tonight.”

“Aaron, you don’t need to stay here. I’ll be fine.”

When he didn’t respond, you reached over the coffee table and grabbed the remote to turn the TV off. “I’m going to bed. Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave.”

As you got up from the couch, you hissed when the pain from your abdomen washed over and you almost tripped on your feet. Hotch carefully wrapped an arm around your shoulder and placed a hand on the small of your back, holding you steady as you tried to regain your balance.

“Here, let me,” you heard Hotch say and you let him pick you up, bringing you back to bed.

Hotch excused himself for a brief minute and you began breathing deeply, the ache refusing to stop while you let the tears fall. You shut your eyes and you tried to calm yourself down. Moments later, you opened your eyes again and saw Hotch standing by your bedside with your medicine and a glass of water in hand.

You took the pills and emptied the glass while Hotch fixed the blankets that were pooled around your body. He sat down right next to you afterwards, waiting for your pain to subside as the meds quickly kicked in and you were feeling drowsy.

You felt Hotch’s warm hand slip into yours and with tired eyes, you smiled softly at him. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied in small voice and gently squeezed your hand.

“I really appreciate you being here,” you sighed out, the exhaustion evident in your voice. “Can you please stay?”

Hotch leaned down and brushed your hair away from your forehead before placing a kiss on it. “Of course. Go get some rest. I’ll be right outside so call out if you need anything during the night.”

After saying good night, Hotch shut the lights and left your room, closing the door behind him but not enough so that it was completely shut. You knew he’d want to check up on you later on.

As your eyes closed and you began drifting off to sleep, you smiled to yourself knowing that Hotch’s friendly face would be the first thing you’ll see when you wake up tomorrow morning.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #reader insert #fiction #my fics #request

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saintkimora · 7 years

Text

ok……..here is the long awaited post of what happened on saturday night! (Last Saturday night btw not yesterday night) ive been too busy to post about it until now but it is juicy

so as i said on saturday, joel and i were texting on and off that day but it was weird as usual. so after i showered i wrote out a text to him saying that even though we havent been communicating much recently i still miss him and think about him all the time and that i appreciate the chances i do get to talk to him. so i sent this message but literally the second it sent i got a message from him. like we sent our texts at the same time. so i started reading his text and it started with “perry……im really sorry but what we have isnt working out” skafjhkajdhfkjads so i felt like a jolt in my legs and had to sit down. so he sent this long ass breakup text and here are the basic points that he used

he isnt ready for a relationship/exclusivity (even though HE was the one who literally deleted all his dating apps the day after we met bc he wanted to focus on pursuing me)

he hasnt been making the effort and i deserve someone who does

he hasnt been opening up and he is aware of that bc he knows he isnt ready

i deserve someone who is in a better place in their life than he is rn/someone who has their stuff together

i dont deserve what hes putting me through

he wants time to be single and make mistakes and regret them (stupid ass reasoning btw)

he knew using texts was the wrong way to end it but he wasnt strong enough to do it in person

he apologized if i feel like i wasted my time on him/if i regret anything ive done w him (since the last time i saw him before this was when i had sex with him)

hes sorry that he isnt treating me better

not my fault at all

so yeah that was the text! i didnt even read it fully until later on like i skimmed it and called him immediately and asked if we could talk in person (ofc i got all choked up trying to ask and almost started crying over the phone) so he said yes he owes me that much so i grabbed my tissue box, tried to put on my shoes (my mom had to help me bc i was shaking too much) and drove to his apartment and then sprinted to his apartment from where i parked a block away. i got there and his roommates werent home so it was just him. he opened the door and i said hi and he let me in and it was v solemn so we went into his room and sat on his bed and this is where the drama really started

so i was like “can i have a hug” and he was like “yes” so we hugged and i started crying. so we hugged for a while and then we separated and i was like “ok so explain why you want to end this” so he started explaining it to me. i was crying and he was crying too but i was crying more obv! i was like bawling. his eyes were red and tears were falling and he was sniffling but he wasnt like crying hard

so he just explained that he was in a bad place when he met me and he still is in that bad place (in reference to his depression) and how its not me its him and how i deserve someone who puts in the effort and doesnt distance themselves from me and actually has the time to see me and i was annoyed bc caleb did the same thing and i am sick of other guys telling me whats best for me like *vicki from rhoc voice* how do you know whats best for me? and like obv just bc you have depression doesnt mean you dont deserve love, like he said he still liked me and wanted to be with me and how it was breaking his heart to have to do this so i did not want him to end something just bc he felt he didnt deserve me or that he wasnt worthy of my love or anything like that

so he also explained how he wasnt ready to settle down and i was like sis we arent even officially boyfriends yet, its not like im asking you to marry me and have kids lmfao and he said he wasnt ready for exclusivity so i was like “does that mean you wanna fuck other guys?” and he was like “i dont know” so ????? and he was like “im feeling conflicted” so i was like wtf is going on in here on this day

also i asked if his roommates were home and he said no he was home alone tonight and that was part of why he was feeling so bad and its like sis…..if being alone makes you feel worse then making yourself even more alone by breaking up w me doesnt seem like the best way to fix that! and i told him that i was free tonight and he couldve just invited me over if he was feeling lonely and he was like “i thought you would be busy” like sis literally the only times i am ever busy on saturday nights is when im with him!! lmao

he also said he wasnt opening up bc he couldnt/wasnt ready for it yet, but like i wasnt asking him to open up like all i wanted was for him to put a modicum of effort into our conversations just to show that he cared, like we can just keep doing fun things like im not asking him to get all deep and vulnerable with me (although i would love that too)

so we just had a very emotional time, i was crying my eyes out nonstop and he was lightly crying as well, there was lots of hugging and holding and stuff so like i was really really REALLY losing it like i was so MESSSSSSSSSSYYYY like i was just getting all in my feelings and saying all the things im gonna miss about him and like apologizing for anything i did wrong/apologizing for not being enough for him and like it was really really bad. but i was still also cracking jokes like a dumbass throughout the whole thing lmao bc i like to find the humor in things

i decided to mention that i was originally planning to ask him to be my bf officially on our next date (that plan had changed since he became cold and distant the past week or two but originally i was planning on doing it on the next date after i got back from the retreat) just bc i was being emotional

at one point he was laying on the bed and i was sitting on the edge of it crying (and covering my face bc im an ugly crier even though he’d already seen plenty of footage of me crying at this point) and he held out his arms and was like “come here” and i was like “no” and looked away and he was like “please” like that was very satisfying bc it showed that he needed comforting as well at that moment

at one point i was just laying on my side rolled up in a ball scream crying into my hands now THAT was messy. it was nice though bc joel moved in behind me and tried to hold me and calm me down. speaking of calming down! there were some points where i got like………REALLY bad like i was breathing so hard and fast it was troubling but whenever i had a wave of that joel held me and tried to soothe me and help me breathe

i even offered to have an open relationship if he wanted (bc this was during the exclusivity convo) bc i was just trying to grasp at any straws i could at the moment in the hopes of reaching an agreement or just stalling for time so i could move past his walls and get through to him. in reality i would never even consider it bc it is definitely not for me but at the moment i was desperate. he said no though bc he knows i wouldnt want that and he said he didnt want me to compromise myself for him

so then this is when we reached the turning point. so joel was laying down and i was like half sitting on the bed/half laying on him. and i said something along the lines of “you dont have to go through this alone, i wanna be there for you” and like when i said alone he lost IT! like we had a breakthrough he started bawling just like i was this whole time!! obviously it was hard for me to see him in that state but it was also kinda nice to see how much he cared

but then he started breathing really fast and he was like “i think im having a panic attack” so i was like uh oh so i was like omg do you want me to get off of you or something but he was like no stay here so i kept holding him and tried to help him ride it out. but then he choked out the words “i think im making the wrong decision” like !!!! i have never felt such a strong feeling of hope in my life! but i was just like its fine dont worry about it just breathe and btw during this event he was laying on his side so he was looking to the side while i was kinda on top of him so i was like at him. so then he turned to look me directly in the face and………………………

he said “I love you!” like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hearing that made me SO so happy so i was like “i love you too!” and we hugged and kissed and then he was like “ask me!!” and i was like “ask you what???” and he was like “ask me what you were gonna ask me before!” and i was like “OH! joel……will you be my boyfriend?” and he was like “YES!” and then we hugged again and laughed and made out and it was really really passionate even though we were both gross with tears and runny noses, like it might have even been the most passionate kissing ive ever had! it was a very emotionally intimate moment and i loved it

so then he was like “im sorry” and i was like dont worry about it lmao so then we just continued cuddling and kissing and stuff for a while. he told me that he knew i loved him back bc during my breakdown i said “i really really really really liked you” and he said he knew i wanted to say i loved you lol

he also said hes gonna try to open up more and put more of an effort in so!! that was nice

so it was hot in his room and we were all sweaty on top of being gross from crying so we showered together which is always fun. and during the shower he was very touchy and he would like press his body against mine and give little kisses on like my chest or my back which i really loved. we also did some sexual stuff too

then we got out and dried off and he finally said he would watch flavor of love with me!! so we watched a few eps and it was super fun. then we cuddled until we fell asleep holding each other which is always one of my fave parts of our dates. he was very affectionate and sweet and i really liked it. then we fell asleep and in the morning i had to go home bc i had work or something

so yeah thats it! it made me really happy that he said i love you (and that he said it to me first!!) and i made sure he knew that he could always ask me for anything he needed if he was feeling down again or something. so now fast forward to today he is back to texting me every day and being an active and engaging texter! and i went over to do homework with him on monday night which was fun! and then on friday night he invited me over at like midnight and we got checkers and then we hung out and cuddled and watched more flavor of love. and then we did some more sexual things which was really fun! he was really really into me again and he literally is the hottest guy ive ever met so i enjoyed getting to make him feel good and stuff

on friday the 13th i am taking the gsa eboard + jami w me to go see the addams family musical at his school since he is part of the pit orchestra so that will be fun! i am very happy to have joel back and i am even happier that we are officially boyfriends now! and its so so so nice to get i love you texts again!! overall i am very happy with how things turned out and i am glad i fought to make it work instead of just seeing the text and being like ok bye

#personal #I'm posting this from mobile but I had it saved as a draft on my computer #so I hope the read more is still on it #if not.....sorry lol

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drferox · 7 years

Text

20 Questions with Dr Ferox #8

My gosh, there’s just so much stuff you vetlings want to know, isn’t there? Well, knowledge is good, so here we go with yet another info dump as I try to answer a big slew of your questions in one hit.

Anonymous said: I sometimes get your patreon emails or an update on your blog while I'm studying/struggling in the wee-hours of the morning (vetmed). I'm in WA, so where-ever you are it's also late/early. What are you doing up in the witching hours?

First of all, I am an AdultTM and as such I am permitted to set by own Bed Time. There are many reasons why you might receive notifications from me so ‘early’.

I have a blog post on queue every morning between 5am and 6am my time (so probably 3am and 4am your time). It goes up automatically, so I can see initial responses before I go to work.

I think Patreon sends its emails at the same time each day, regardless of when I post. I certainly don’t type there early in the morning.

Sometimes I’m on nightshift and can get kinda bored at 3am sometimes.

Sometimes I just can’t sleep, especially with the changing day/night cycles.

Most of the blog runs on queue, honestly. At least three posts a day do.

@banesidhe said: Just happened to discover your blog. Thank you so much for posting like you do (even the snark. I'm a 911 dispatcher, I appreciate the snark ;) ), and sharing your experiences. No vet question, but if you could only ever re/read five books for the rest of your life, which five titles would make your cut?

Ah, I have found many similar people to myself among emergency personnel. There’s a particular combination of gallows humor and wishing people would get to the point that unites us.

For fiction books:

Feral, Kerry Greenwood

The Shepherd’s Crown, Terry Pratchett

Monstrous Regiment, Terry Pratchett

Watership Down, Richard Adam

Good Omens, Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

Hmm, bit of a trend there.

But the work books I couldn’t live without are:

Plumb’s Veterinary Drug Handbook

The 5 minute veterinary consult, Dog and Cat Edition

Ettinger’s Textbook of Internal Medicine, Expert Consult

BSAVA Rabbit Medicine & Surgery Handbook

Small Animal Surgery, Fossum.

Anonymous asked: what was the most exotic/rare patient youve ever had?

This fat meerkat.

Anonymous said: My dog is a shelter dog and we suspect she was abused before we got her (afraid of E V E R Y T H I N G) and weve been slowly working on getting her to at least ignore people we walk past or that enter the house and thats been making progress. But she hates the vet. Hates it. Gets in my lap and refuses to leave. New dogs people and smells. So her normal vet takes the approach of having one of us hold/console her while they do all the poking and listening and whatnot and muzzling her if they need to and just getting it done as quickly as possible. But this last time she saw a new vet and this vet took the approach of hand-feeding her almost an entire bag of treats and called it "stress-eating" and tbh you should have seen the look on my dogs face. She was so weirded out. Shes highly food motivated so it was like heaven to her but she was simultaneously very suspicious. Her face was like"i love this but idk if i trust it" it was great.Have a greatday!

If you an reinforce the behaviour by arranging frequent, short visits to the vet clinic where nothing happens but lots of treats, she may start to associate the vet clinic with positive things (food) ad no scary things. This might make the rest ofher life easier.

Anonymous said: I own fancy rats and just want to put out there to people, that while they are THE MOST amazing tiny friends, in my experience most vets are completely lost when it comes to their care & several I've seen refused to even touch my exceptionally friendly females. They often get respiratory infections requiring antibiotics. One of my friend's females passed away bc nobody would perform a simple surgery on her. So please be cautious when buying them.

I would like to suggest that any surgery on a rat is likely to be not simple, because they do have particular anesthetic requirements that can make their recovery difficult. Also that a lot of traditional rat medicine hinges on using post mortem examination as a diagnostic tool, which is not useful at all with pet rats.

In dog and cat medicine most of our equipment and even medications are not suitable for rats, or very difficult to adapt. We simply have fewer options, and generally less experience with these species Most vets I know will attempt to treat them, but with a great big disclaimer saying I don’t do this often, and a quick question as to whether you’d prefer to go to a nearby clinic that does see rats more often.

Anonymous said: Hello, I recently took in 3 abandoned kittens and they're covered in fleas. They appear to be 6 weeks old and can't use meds or wash for them. I clean them with vinegar and dish soap and I was wondering if you knew of any other ways to help them since they hate getting wet. I also use a comb but they dislike that as well.

You can use capstar on kittens from 4 weeks of age, and Revolution from 6, probably earlier. Talk to your vet.

Anonymous asked: Strange question but do you know if that rage syndrome thing can happen in cats also? I know a cat who does that and also acts strangely in general at the same time?

It is not documented in cats, however Feline Hyperesthesia Syndrome may present in a similar way.

Anonymous said: Hey doc! I plan on getting my cat fixed soon and I'm worried about how it'll affect her. She's really skittish and prefers to stay in one room, could getting her fixed make it worse?? I guess like what are the possible behavioral effects is what I'm askin? For the qt: ive been here a while i just dont like or reblog stuff but i came for the vet knowledge and stayed for it too, especially the mythical creatures and dog breed info

She is probably not going to have any long term personality changes from being desexed, though might be out of sorts for a few days after the anaesthetic. If anything they tend to be less stressed because they’re not attracting Toms.

Another Anonymous said: My kitten was neutered yesterday and he's doing great, healing well, playing nonstop, remarkably agile despite the e-collar (navigating small spaces, jumping to high places), eating & drinking well. The vet didn't give us any aftercare instructions but I googled it -- and wish I'd done so before the surgery because I could've prepared better. A lot of it seemed obvious in hindsight but nothing I'd have thought of on my own. Do you have a flier or anything for your patients' humans?

We send our patients home with aftercare instructions. We have a default one that we print for routine surgery like desexing, and a customized one for non-routine procedures.

We also read it out to our clients when they pick up their pet, and point out that all these instructions are written down, because it’s easy to forget details when you’re worried.

Anonymous asked: I have a question! I saw your desexing cats post and thought I might send it to you. I neutered my male cat but he still sprays and tries to roam the neighborhood. I try to keep him inside best I can. Is there a reason this happens?

It may be stress, but you should consult your vet to rule out any underlying urinary tract issue before assuming so. Your vet should be able to discus the various stress reducing techniques, changes and treatments that are available.

Anonymous asked: Whenever my roommate wakes up before me, she makes bacon for breakfast while the coffee is brewing. If she hasn't slept well, her coherence is sometimes a bit... lacking. If our cat happens to demand food, about half the time she ends up giving him a slice of bacon instead of cat food. We only recently figured out that she's been doing this. He's not getting fat, and gets actual cat food later, so is this OK, or do we need to try to figure out how to keep this from happening?

While bacon is certainly digestible, it is not a balanced diet. It would be ideal if you could minimize his bacon habit.

@nowgovanish said: Hello! I have a question about my 13 and 4 year old cats. They seem to have some pretty bad skin reactions to certain foods, and I've tried a lot of different food brands that my vet reccommended. The one that seems to work best is a grain free/ non chicken variant, but I see that you aren't a huge fan of grain free. Is there anything I should change or try sticking with what works?

I have said many times before that if it’s working, keep feeding it.

Novel protein diets, and ideally single proteins source diets, are more use for allergies than just going ‘grain free’.

‘Grain Free’ labelling on food particularly vexes me because it’s not regulated. You can find ‘grain free’ food that really mean ‘corn free’ and either use grain byproducts or straight up use rice. Last time I checked, rice was a grain.

It’s like ‘Hollistic’ - it means nothing on a pet food label. Neither does ‘Organic’, pet food companies do not have to use all organic products in pet food to label the food as organic. These are marketing ploys like ‘all natural’ which are targeting your emotions and don’t mean anything when it comes to the food.

If you’ve come across a novel protein diet, or a minimum ingredient diet, that is beneficial for your cats then stick with it. But recognise what’s marketing and what’s useful.

Anonymous said: I love my dog but he is a complete and total moron. He has strangled himself so often that his bark is now raspy. He even found a way to do it with a harness! We've resorted to jogging when walking him to try and keep up but is there some way to make it better? We've tried letting him learn on his own, pausing when he pulls, and getting a longer leash. If he was much smarter I'd accuse him of being into asphyxiation.

I would suggest that you potentially need to figure out what motivates your dog most. Consider using positive reinforcement to encourage him to heel on the lead, instead of wandering and pulling.

You might also want to consider something like a halti collar, which pulls the dog’s nose downwards to their chest when they pull, instead of something that goes around the neck.

Anonymous: Would you consider it a good generalization that dogs more closely resembling/related to wolves (like huskies) have less health problems? I am aware that no dogs are completely lacking in health problems. Tax: came for good hard factual analysis.

No. And here’s the thing- all modern dog breeds are equally distant from their wolf-like ancestor, unless they have been recently mixed with wolves again.

Their health problems are different to those dogs with more extreme anatomy, but dogs that look like wolves are not inherently healthier.

@justslowdown said: a book i have discusses the man who created the GSD breed (aka isolated traits from a diverse population) pairing dogs with their daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters and onwards til more than 1/2 of the pups had to be culled. due you think this could be partially responsible for the health issues remaining more than a century later? "Very drastic inbreeding was espoused during the formation of the breed [...] to quickly form specific type" - The German Shepherd Dog by Ernest H Hart

Certainly.

This is called line breeding, where the offspring of a ‘perfect’ individual are repeatedly bred back to the same individual generation upon generation to try to recreate it. All you really do is lose genetic diversity very quickly and allow recessive deleterious genes to proliferate in the population.

This is why just about everywhere else that’s not the purebred pet world, this is considered a bad thing to do.

@eyestumblin said: Do you think horses would look significantly different if their wonky anatomy were more logical?

They would no longer be a horse.

@cirque-du-spoon said: I saw you mention sheep on the horse thread and I spent a fair bit of time on a sheep farm in Wales. The head shepherd once told me "sheep are born, they spend the rest of their life trying to die". Then he opened his landrover door, and the passenger footwell was maybe 6 lambs snuggled up to one of his old motherly collies.

The common phrase down here was “The aim in life of a Merino ewe is to die and take fifty of her friends with her.” It’s not really much of an exaggeration.

Anonymous said: I'm intrigued to hear the faults of sheep, lay it on me!

Oh I will. It’s on my list for a big write up.

@queenalia said: Hi! I love the post about why horses make no sense, and I was wondering if you would do a similar one for sheep (one of the most suicidal animals on earth in my opinion)?

It will definitely be done sometime in the next few weeks. As you understand, it’s not quick answer.

@vulturegeorge said: Hey Dr.F, after reeding your "horses-are-spindily-legged-disasters" post and your comment about how sheep are worse, I was wondering if you wished to elaborate? I am currently working on a heard of 50 random sheep my uni bought with a ton of lung issues ... so it'd be super interesting to me. Question tax: came for the Lucifer story, stayed for all of your amazing advice & opinions. I hope you are finding balance between vetting and living. cheers!

I promise I will elaborate. I can’t leave a cliff hanger like that and not explain... eventually.

#veterinarian #blog housekeeping #20 questions #vetblr

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