So, my headcanon about Girl in the Fireplace is basically that it never really happened. But there was a girl. And there was a fireplace. And the Doctor abandoned Rose.
Characters: Ten x Rose
Themes: GITF fixit, headcanons, mild angst, fluff, bad dreams, post School Reunion
Rose shuffled into the Tardis galley,
rubbing her cloudy, sleep-shrouded eyes with one hand as she reached
blindly for the teapot. Her fingers closed over the handle. No
wait. That was a hand, not a handle.
“Now Rose, where are your manners?
Didn’t your mum ever teach you not to snatch toys from the other
Rose pulled her hand back like it had
been shocked. “Oh my god, Doctor! Sorry. Still half asleep
He grinned. “Have a seat, Ms. Tyler,
I’ll fix you a cuppa. Didn’t expect to see you up so soon.” He
reached into one of the copper cupboards above the counter and pulled
out her favorite mug; one that he’d given her. It was plain white,
but when it was filled with hot drink, the picture of a pink and
yellow rose bloomed into view.
Rose slumped into one of the dining
chairs with a yawn, chin resting in the cup of her palm. “How long
was I asleep?”
“Just two hours, thirty-seven
minutes, forty-two seconds.”
She yawned again. “God, no wonder
I’m still so tired.”
The Doctor brought their teacups to the
table and sat across from her. “So.” He clacked his teeth.
Drabble Challenge - Prompt 84 - “Show me what’s behind your back.” Filled for @novemberhush
Thank You, Dee, I hope you enjoy reading it. xx
They had been living together for nearly a year now, and in that time Mike had noticed one place that Harvey seemed to hold sacred in his walk-in wardrobe; a drawer that contained his ties. Every morning as he lazed about in their bed, he would watch Harvey spend way too much time standing in front of it before he chose a tie. Harvey was particular about and took pride in his image, but even for him, the daily selection was taking too long.
It drove him crazy, but he resisted the urge to sneak a peek for forty-nine weeks, two days, seven hours, thirty-one minutes and seven seconds.
He arrived home early that afternoon and figured he could get away with just a quick peek, in and out, no harm in that, right?
He slid the draw open, observing the neat lines of silk ties, most of them hues of grey or blue, and a few purple ones at the back. If you weren’t looking, the two subtle little pieces of ribbon on either side of the drawers could easily be missed. Mike clasped them and gave a gentle tug, and the layer of ties pulled up and slid easily back atop the back half of the drawer. Below are an array of neatly organised items; a picture of his niece and nephew, some very expensive looking cuff links, a journal, some other important looking papers, and a ring box.
He’s come this far; he may as well examine the contents thoroughly; he reasons picking up the navy velour box.
He expects to find some old family heirloom, maybe from Harvey’s grandmother who as Harvey tells it, always had a soft spot for him. Instead, he finds a beautiful plain gold band with two platinum lines weaved around it, crossing over one another. He is stunned, and his breath hiccups in his throat as he gawks at the beautiful ring. Removing it carefully from the box, he twirls it around in his fingers, before reading the inscription.
His heart flutters, and a warm wave of emotion swept through his body as tears build in the corners of his eyes. Harvey wanted to marry him.
He slipped the ring on, it was a tight fit, but that was probably because his heart was racing. He held out his hand to examine how it looked. Of course, Harvey chose perfectly, the width and style were elegant and understated he thought gushing. Then the guilt set in. Harvey deserved to see his face when he saw the ring for the first time. He glared at himself crossly in the mirror, of course, he had gotten carried away.
The front entrance door banged shut, and Mike immediately began to panic, yanking at his finger to pull the ring off but it wouldn’t budge. The more he pulled in his panic, the redder and more swollen the area became, and the less likely it was that it was coming off. Shit.
“Are you here, Mike?” Harvey called from the kitchen.
“Ahh … Ahem yep, in the bedroom,” he replied, cursing under his breath.
He slid the robe’s door closed and tried to look casual standing in the middle of the bedroom with his right hand on his hip and his left hand hanging loosely behind his leg.
When Harvey walked in, he noticed Mike looking akin to a Macy’s mannequin, except for his face which looked very guilty. In total, it took the best closer in New York ten seconds to work out that something was awry. He narrowed his eyes and stalked forward, giving Mike an inquisitive look. Mike instinctively took a step back and hid his hand up his shirt.
“Mike?” He urged, “Show me what’s behind your back.”
Mike’s head dropped in shame, and he mentally beat himself up for ruining this moment for them.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled to the floor as he revealed his hidden left hand and held it out for inspection, then waited for Harvey to speak.
Unexpectedly, Harvey chuckled, “Maybe the inscription should have read, ‘My Puppy, Snoopy’.”
Mike smiled despite wanting the ground to swallow him up.
“Are you mad?” Mike asked hesitantly and lifted his eyes from the floor.
Twelve pearly white teeth, ten laughter lines, two dimples, and eight crow’s feet made up the beautiful face of the man standing before him now, with tears shining in his eyes.
“I will be if you say no!” Harvey hinted, clearly amused.
Harvey dropped to his knee and kissed Mike’s swollen ring finger, looking hopefully up at him.
“Marry me?” Harvey asked, his voice soft and with a slight quaver to it.
“Fuck yes!” Mike cried and tackled him onto the plush carpet to kiss his amazing fiancé stupid.
Authors note: Awww, they love each other. 😍 Thanks for reading. This is fic number 3, out of 8. You can find the others on AO3 here - Millie’s Mini Marvey Musings
Jiwoo and you turned the lights out and went into the corridor, going to the left as Dawon had told you. The passages were narrow down there, and you had to carefully manoeuvre the stiff tulle through it. Soon you began seeing numbers on the doors. Voices of students chattering excitedly behind them. A group of second year boys hurried past. “I can’t believe you forgot your boots again!” One of them said. They took no notice of you, pressed against the wall with a bright blue tutu between the two of you as you kept going.
Alya glanced nervously at her friend. “You… do know I’ve never played this game before, right?”
Marinette blinked bloodshot eyes, the shadows beneath them gaining prominence as she slowly turned to her inept gaming partner.
Alya stared her down for one, two. three seconds, and then Marinette held out her hand for the second controller, and Alya surrendered it without a fight.
“Is that gonna…”
‘Work’ died on Alya’s lips as Marinette settled one controller on each knee and glowered at her computer screen for a few seconds before hitting the start button.
What followed was one of the most spectacular showings of pure badass Alya had ever seen.
It took approximately ten seconds for her jaw to hit the floor, and there it stayed for the whole two minutes and thirty-seven seconds it took Marinette to beat one of the most notoriously difficult stages in the game in multiplayer wile playing both parts nigh flawlessly.
Mission accomplished! stamped across the screen in boldface font, and Alya could only applaud.
An atriocaval shunt has been performed thirty-one times in the last eleven years, six patients survived. Anything you’d like to say, Ms Wolfe? Now it’s thirty-two times with seven survivors? Touch wood.
10yrslater!Tsuna, Byakuran, and Squalo taking the chance a lucky Bazooka hit offers to save their s/o who died a while back?
//so I wasn’t sure what you exactly meant by a lucky Bazooka hit so I’m assuming that it malfunctioned and sent the guys a few months back instead of ten years
Tsuna had relived this moment since you died. He kept looking back and thinking how things could have played differently.
If he had reached for his gun faster…
Or if he had pushed you out of the way..
Or if he used himself as a shield….
When the bazooka hit him and he was in the exact same place he was a few months ago, he was ready. You were alive, breathing next to him and you were panicking.
“What was that? What was the smoke-” the rival boss demanded but there was a bullet between his eyes before he could complete his sentence.
“Tsuna?” your voice was music to his hears. All those nights he spent trying to remembering it and he finally got to hear the real thing.
“(Name), love,” Tsuna grabbed your face with his free hand and kissed you like the world was ending tomorrow. He reminded you of a wild, bruised animal when you broke off the kiss, “I saved you. You’ll live now.”
“Wait..I was supposed to die?” you ask, shocked. “Tsuna, this isn’t right. You can’t just go back in time and bring back the dead-”
Tsuna raised his gun and shot one of the thugs that tried to approach you two without even looking at him.
“I don’t care!” Tsuna snapped, “I don’t care if I had to fucking drag you out of Hell to bring you back! The last few months have been the worst few months of my life and I can’t.. I can’t live without you, (Name).”
You were shocked at his admission. The most romantic thing he had ever told you was ‘I don’t want you to touch anyone other than me’ and that was when he had gotten unbelievably jealous that one time.
“Tsuna..” You didn’t know what to say and smoke started appearing.
Tsuna was back in his office when the five minutes was up.
Where were you? Were you still alive now that he saved you? Was he expected to continue living after tasting your lips for those brief seconds?
“Tsuna?” someone called and knocked on his door
His anguished expression turned into a smirk.
“Come in, love,” Tsuna called out, “We’ve got to make up for the few months you weren’t there..”
Byakuran pressed the barrel of his gun against the cowering Bovino scientist’s temple. “This should work, right?”
“Ye-Yes, Do-Don Gesso, I’ve cha-changed the Bazooka acc-according to your specifications,” the scientist stuttered in fear. “But you can’t just shift time and space to bring someone back alive-”
“Don’t worry about that,” Byakuran smirked mirthlessly. “I know a thing or two about paradoxes and parallel universes. Want to play an interesting game? I kill you. If your little tweak in the Bazooka works, I’ll save my beloved (Name)-chan and there will never be any situation where I kidnapped you and killed you. When I come back in the current time, my beloved as well as you will be alive. Paradoxes are fun things, aren’t they?”
“Wait!” the scientist said. “You told me you won’t kill me if I did what you asked!”
“Well, then you better hope this works,” Byakuran said and pulled the trigger. He scoffed a little at the blood that trickled down from his mouth. You wouldn’t forgive him if the carpet got stained… but then that was the beauty of paradoxes. If he saved you, you’d live and then he wouldn’t have to kidnap or kill the moron so technically all this never happened,
Byakuran grabbed the Bazooka and shot himself.
It took him fifteen seconds to hide you in a safe place in the blasted warehouse and, then, it took him two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to end the miserable lives of all those thirty-five scumbags.
Too bad he couldn’t drag out their death. He should’ve asked the scientist to extend the time limit before he killed them. Oh, well.
“Byakuran?” he turned around to find you out of your hiding spot. You took in the sight of all the corpses.
“Hello, my marshmallow,” Byakuran waved at you brightly. “Happy to see that you’re still alive and breathing!”
“You killed… you killed all these people,” you said, extremely shocked.
“Honey,” he slowly approached you. “If I didn’t kill them, they’d kill you. Who would you want dead? The people who tortured you… or yourself?”
“Still.. you just can’t-” You pushed him away when he tried to touch you. “Don’t touch me.”
Byakuran checked his watch. “Time’s nearly up. I’m sure you’ll get used to this, my (Name)-chan. You’ll stop counting the bodies and love me for who I am. Just a matter of time. And, I never intend to let you go so we almost have all of eternity, don’t we?”
You looked horrified but he still smiled and waved at you as the smoke engulfed him. As long as you lived, everything was worth it.
“Hey, Squalo,” you blinked when the exact same version of your boyfriend appeared in front of you, “aren’t you supposed to be ten years younger or older? Isn’t that how Lambo’s quirky gun work?”
“(Name),” the silver head looked at you like he had seen a ghost and suddenly he grabbed your shoulders tightly, “is this some sort of fucked dream or illusion ‘cause I fucking swear-”
“Stop!” You winced at his grip. “Squalo, you’re hurting me. There must’ve been some malfunction. I’m just here to let you know that I’m taking on the mission and it’ll take me a week before I come back. Sometimes it sucks that I have a lousy banshee boss like you.”
He stared at the paper you handed him and his hand shook violently. This was the confirmation papers of the very mission that would end your life.
“VOI! YOU ARE NOT GOING!” Squalo yelled, livid. “YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO ANOTHER MISSION!”
“What?” you asked, surprised. “What happened-”
“I’m from 3 months in the future and guess what? Your fucking dumb ass got killed!” Squalo yelled. “I killed all those scumbags but I still felt no fucking satisfaction! You are going to fucking live or-”
“I die?” you were too stunned to angrily retort.
His expression softened at your tone and he held your shoulders, looking deeply into your eyes.
“I have lived in a world without you, (Name), and I don’t want to,” Squalo whispered. “I can’t live in a world without you. Stay. Be safe. I’ll never be the same without you.”
You had never seen the man show so much emotion. You held his face with your smaller hands.
“I promise to stay,” you said, pressed your lips against his and closed your eyes.
Rowaelin-both have the same target/break into the same place and run into each other?
Rowan sucked in a deep, steady breath before propelling himself off the roof of a building and through the open window of the building adjacent to it. Curling himself into a ball at the very last second, the white haired thief just barely made it through the window pane without hitting the edges. Hitting the carpeted office floor, he somersaulted once to ward off any possible injury and hopped to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. Rolling his shoulders back, stretching the muscles in them and his back out and warming them out for his next task. His job was a simple one: go in, retrieve the wanted item, and get out before anyone realized he’d ever been there. Step one was complete. He was in the office building of one Athril Dearst, the ‘people’s champion’ and current D.A. for the city of Wendlyn. He’d stolen something from his boss, the notorious mafiosa of the neighboring metropolis, Doranelle, Maeve, and she wanted it back.
Rowan didn’t know what exactly Athril had stolen from Maeve, and he didn’t particularly care, but he knew enough to locate what had been taken. Maeve had told him he’d find it somewhere in Athril’s desk. A file. That’s what he’d been told. A thick one, too. With a plastic, evidence bag containing a small, golden ring inside. Once he discovered the ring, Maeve had ordered, he need not to look further. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, the white haired thief wondered how Athril–or one of his minions–had gotten so close to his boss to steal something of any real value, but it wasn’t his place to ask. Asking questions would amount to nothing, anyway, except, perhaps, his death. But Maeve knew who she was sending in to do her dirty work. Rowan Whitethorn was the best Cleaner in the country. If you wanted a mess cleaned up, you called Rowan.
He was a third of the way through his schedule, now he just had to find the file and get out without being seen. That had never been a problem for the thief before, so he couldn’t fathom it being one now. He was an efficient, calculated worker. He’d scouted the area for forty eight hours prior to his infiltration. He knew the custodians schedules by heart. He knew that even if the lawyers and interns weren’t going home to their families they weren’t sticking around to work on a Friday night. And he also knew that due to a construction project occurring down the street–one that was not fully up to city code and regulation–the power lines to the city block would be down for a grand total of two minutes and thirty seven minutes, security cameras included. That was more than enough time for a professional such as himself.
Yes, everything was going exactly to plan. That is, until he opened the door to the D.A.’s office and found a young, pretty blonde woman sitting behind the desk with her legs stretched out atop it, one crossed over the other. Her gaze was down turned towards the file that laid in her lap, and turning over and over across her fingers was Maeve’s gold ring. “Took you long enough,” the woman said by way of greeting. “And here I thought you might prove to be a challenge.”
“What’re you doing here?” Rowan growled, his green eyes narrowing on her form. It was casual, but almost too casual, like she was luring him in to a false sense of security. He didn’t need to ask who she was–her looks and behavior answered that question easily enough. Before him sat Adarlan’s Assassin. Rumor was her name was Celaena something or other, but the white haired man didn’t put much stock in rumors. Her real name was irrelevant, however. The more pressing question was what was an assassin doing in the D.A.’s office? Followed quickly by and why does she have Maeve’s file?
The assassin hummed noncommittally, keeping her gaze on the file before her. “Same as you, I’d expect.” She finally raised her gaze to his and only Rowan’s years of training kept him from blinking appreciatively. She was beautiful, even with a skin peeling smirk cutting across her full lips. She was dangerous. Every cell in Rowan’s body was screaming at him that she was. But then again, he thought as a smirk pulled at his own lips, so was he.
“Now, as far as I can see it we’ve got two options here,” she explained, removing her feet slowly from the desk and standing. She flipped Maeve’s file shut and tapped the manila cover with her pointer finger. “We could either fight over this thing and probably use up the remaining minute we’ve got left before the security comes back on–which would be pretty rutting stupid,” she gave him a pointed look, as if daring him to be that stupid. “Or,” she quirked a brow and pushed the file across the desk, “you take the damn file and we go our separate ways–pretending like this conversation never happened.”
Tilting his head a bit, he asked, “That’s it? You’re just going to give up your prize without a fight? What would your client say?”
Shrugging, the assassin cocked a hip and rested her hand on it, “I’ve already read through the juicy parts. I don’t need the actual thing.”
Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Rowan stepped up and secured the file. He opened his mouth, about to inquire about the ring, when suddenly the blonde haired woman was standing right next to him. Stiffening, but not moving away–she was fast, he internally cursed himself for not monitoring her movement, for letting his guard down even just a bit–he peered down at her. “I’ve heard about you, you know,” she purred, her blue eyes glinting in the dim light. “Rowan Whitethorn, infamous Cleaner. Second to none.” Patting his upper arm, she lightly drew her fingers down his bicep. “The rumors never mentioned how handsome you were. They’re not doing you justice.” A pretty blush bloomed over her cheeks, and Rowan realized suddenly how young she was. She couldn’t be a day over twenty. If that.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Rowan responded coolly. He wasn’t about to be fooled by a pretty face. This woman was a viper’s nest, just waiting to strike.
She blinked, shock shattering through her carefully crafted mask. Rowan quirked a brow and grinned victoriously. The girl had created a name for herself, no one would doubt that, but the assassin was hardly a spy. And seeing her youth, her inexperience shown through. She was a good killer, but didn’t have the discipline for espionage. Maybe in a few more years, Rowan mused.
Snatching her hand back as if she’d been burned, the assassin’s blush grew and she timidly looked down at her feet. She began to shift her feet restlessly, another sign of her inexperience. Fiddling with her fingers, she murmured, “Celaena.”
“Nice to meet you Celaena,” Rowan chuckled, and watched as Celaena’s face twisted into a scowl.
Pouting, the assassin pushed the file further into his chest and huffed, “Ugh, just take the stupid thing and leave!” Then, in a dramatic fashion that could only belong to a teenager, Celaena turned heel and disappeared down the hall. Shaking his head and chuckling a bit more, Rowan figured he had about twenty more seconds before the power came back on and quickly made his escape out the building and into the faceless city streets.
It was only later–much, much later–that Rowan realized that in getting caught up in Celaena’s dramatic, teen-aged bull, he’d completely forgotten about Maeve’s ring. Stopping in the middle of the street, he slapped his hand to his forehead and groaned.
Still not over how big bad Savitar melts underneath Iris's touch ;_____;
If they’re close enough to touch you they’re close enough to kill you.
It’s a rule that applies to other speedsters. In the field. It’s his strategy, his go-to: get underneath their armor as fast as he can. His enemies are human, and they’ll die without their swords and shields and powers. (He built the most powerful suit of armor because he knew he’d never need it if he was smart if he played his cards right if he never let anyone that close, but it’s what he needs to crush the thought of easy target. Let them fight. Let them break themselves trying to get to him. He’ll be busy winning.)
When Iris puts a hand on his face he can’t move, frozen, because letting her this close is against every rule he has and he has enforced them for five-thousand four-hundred eighty-two years seven hours thirty-two minutesforty-eight seconds–
Aching for his armor, he tries to force his hand, do it do it now, but his fists clench hard, hard enough his nails cut into his skin, and he does not hurt her.
It’s the one word he possesses that still carries real meaning: Iris.
He closes his eyes, daring for a moment to be tired, to soften his shoulders, to relent, and then a knife plunges into his side and he takes off before the warmth of her palm fades.
The problem was B’elanna couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Ever since she’d been stuck in that alternate universe and seen herself with Seven of all people it’d been on her mind. She’d never gotten the chance to talk to her other self about it, thankfully Harry and Seven and Janeway had come up with a quick fix and she’d only been stuck there for eighteen hours but in those hours she’d noticed something about her other self.
She seemed happy.
B’Elanna let out another annoyed huff at herself for thinking about it again and tried to focus on the reports she was supposed to be catching up on but her mind wandered again.
What was it about Seven that she’d attracted to? Certainly Seven wasn’t unattractive, B’Elanna could admit that, but they’d butted heads on several occasions. B’Elanna tapped her fingers on her cheek in thought, maybe she’d been drawn in by Seven’s strength.
That was a possibility, not just Seven’s physical strength but her emotional one as well. She’d overcome so much in her quest for individuality and B’Elanna had to admire that Seven kept going even when she doubted herself. Not that Seven would admit she’d doubted herself, pride was certainly something the two of them shared.
Perhaps it was that then, her other self had seen an equal in Seven. Someone who would challenge her and she herself could challenge and together they’d bring out a competitive side in each other but would admire that about each other and then ultimately work well together. B’Elanna bit her lip lightly, considering that thought. Seven and her in this universe certainly had had those kinds of interactions. Had she just missed out on noticing there was something more there?
Notes: For the lovely @palmettomonsters for the @aftgexchange. She asked for andreil and road trips and that’s all I could think of. I was listening to Troye Sivan’s Wild while writing this. Hope you like it!
Summary: Sometimes home didn’t mean a place. Sometimes home was a person, or a feeling. And for Neil, a wild creature, home would always be the wild feelings that Andrew evoked on him.
I’ve chosen Basketball.
But I’ve also chosen theatre. The University of California Berkeley offers me both. That’s where I’m going to be attending next fall… But most of all, I choose the person who inspires my heart. Which is why picked a school which is exactly thirty two
point seven miles from you.
Miss Gabriella Montez, Stanford University. Pre-law.
Love is your heart lying disillusioned to your thoughts due to the presence of something most unexpected.
For under any other circumstance it simply does not do to defy the laws of survival. To lay the needs of another animal, of whom you have no biological responsibility for, ahead of your own requirements. Is it not most ludicrous?
Should you desire to understand love remember that feeling overrides thought. We are consequence driven creatures and when pleasure is found we are most keen to come crawling back for more; with love each new fusion of chemicals brings a slightly different reaction more intricate and exciting than the last. It is the only time our drive for pleasure overpowers our drive for survival.
Love is a mechanism we are yet to understand that holds an ability to shake us to the core. We do not control love, it controls us. To have the power to break another soul often leads us to destroy our own in panic. The disillusion leads to unexpected responses which can prove both wonderful and horrific. One day a person may jump in front of a car to protect their loved one, other days they may be the car. Love shall bring out the best and worst in an individual. There lies no person who can claim they have no weakness after falling in love.
You cannot deny that love in its purest form is perhaps the most gut wrenching form of torture. But take the chemicals and the formulas and the explanations away and you’re left with two thirty seven year olds chasing each other around the apartment laughing until they fall legs entwined to the floor. You have two teenagers sitting in the library stealing glances at each other forgetting the book for all they desire to read is the other’s mind. You have an elderly couple with eyes that still glisten as if they were twenty three.
So learn that this may never make any coherent sense and thus cannot truly be explained; how can we define love when love defines us?
DEFINE LOVE - a touching request by @mahhhhkhaela23