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shhhhhskars · 4 years

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See You Again (part 2)

Click here to indulge in part 1. This is kind of our babies getting emotionally vulnerable with each other, and being weirdos together. All the feels. Very fluffy and soft soft Alex things. I hope you enjoy this. (P.S. sorry if there are typos or what not, my brain has been tired lately.)

There was something bittersweet about finding it when she did. A mixture of embarrassment, unease and relief. It over took her body in a rush as she gazed at his messy scribble in the lonely kitchen, and she had to physically close her eyes to ground herself for a few seconds. All was silent, except for the soft humming of the refrigerator, and she basked in it for a second. With the tension leaving her body, she realized just how disappointed she truly was a second ago. And what was this undeniable shift she felt in the pit of her stomach, the muddled clenching that was there just prior- practically nonexistent now? All of that pent up anxiety and frustration. Gone. Poof. Easy like that. Simply because he had signaled that he was still around.

How was it possible that he could shift her mood so effortlessly? The thought made her seethe a little, his pull was far too strong on her emotions, and it terrified her.

Making a mental note to check in with herself later, she took her her sweet time to climb the staircase up to the rooftop terrace- an effort to convince herself that she was not a complete soft trash can for the man who waited for her. She did her best to maintain an expression of nonchalance- an effort to appear cool, calm and collected. Instead, she found herself chewing at the inside of her bottom lip the entire time, to hold back the smile that was fighting it’s way across her lips.

When she finally reached the top level, firmly pulling open the french doors, she stopped curtly, legs suddenly feeling like lead.

The roof terrace which was designed to be a cozy space- was decked out intricately from left to right. Draped from edge to edge- twinkling round string-lights hung, the glow that emitted from the circular bulbs standing out against the black, industrial wire and the bare night sky. They wrapped around the exposed wooden beams that provided a shaded area in the day-time, and looped back to where she was standing. Starting at her feet, there were milky wax candles of all sizes, placed in careful bundles all around the terrace floor, burning comfortably in temperate night. A few over-sized metal lanterns lay among them, with taller candles inside, the light bouncing back and radiating against the glass. Dozens of healthy sunflowers (her favorite) beamed straight up in ceramic white pitchers, which were spread through out the various surfaces- one on top of the lounge table, another on top of the bar area.

He staggered his usual potted plants to the outskirts of the terrace, their terra-cotta buckets adding to the rosiness and haziness of the scene- which made just enough room for a fluffy, layered spread of blankets, on top of a heavy, white quilted duvet. A handful of throw pillows were scattered a top, all some shade of creme or white, some with cotton covers, others knitted, some just soft and fuzzy. Two generously sized wine glasses were perched on a wooden stool next to the area, already filled with a deep ruby hue, and she could tell it was her favorite blend that they kept in their mini collection downstairs. A gentle, soft jazz instrumental filtered through the air, nearly undetectable due to the fact that they were nestled in the heart of the city, the buzz from around them undeniable.

She was in awe of the energy of the space- of his lofty and particular intimate curation. Stunned, she held her breath.

As if on cue, the giant Swede who was responsible for it all, appeared from around the corner, whistling softly to himself, carrying an extensive charcuterie board with two large hands. He nearly jumped when he saw her standing in the door way, and clutched at the wooden board firmly.

“Holy shi.. I said around 10...ish, 'baby. Hi, though.” he muttered with a furrowed brow, but a silly smile was spreading across his face just from seeing her frame in the doorway. He walked over to the wooden table that was near their fort of blankets, and placed down his work of art, shifting it into place on the table.

Still in complete shock, she ignored him and his time request, watching him nonchalantly shift some of the cheeses on the board.

“Alex...did you do all of this...for me?” she questioned, clearing her throat to catch his attention when he ignored her. “Alex..” she pressed again, softly, and he pried his attention away from the cheese brought his eyes to hers finally. Looking around, he gave her a tiny, innocent shrug and a nod, as if to say, yeah, I did. He pushed himself up, dusting his butt off a little as he did so, and walked over to where she stood expectantly in the door way.

He wrapped a hand around the small of her waist, pulling her into him, and she sighed a breath of relief, from the much needed contact.

“We haven’t seen much of each other as of late. I figured, we could use some alone time.” he said modestly. “I mean, I know it’s nothing much, or whatever but...something small, you know, just for us.”

She scoffed, wrapping one arm around his waist, pulling his body closer to hers with a gentle jerk. Suddenly her Tiramisu and lingerie felt minuscule, compared to what he did for her.

“Small? Baby...” she planted a solid kiss on his chin. “This is everything.” she whispered. Music still softly threading along in the background, he blushed a violent shade of light pink, and brought his lips gently onto hers, leaving a lingering, soft kiss that made her want to whine when he broke it. He dropped her waist and went for her hand, interlocking their fingers and pulling her out of the doorway, and down onto the terrace. “C’mere.” He tugged at her arm, prompting her to follow him to the little area he had set up for them.

A few glasses of wine in, and she’s sitting pretzel style on top of one of the pillows, giggling at a Skarsgard camping story. This time, he remincised on camping with G, and Gustaf’s then girlfriend. Bill also tagged along, as well as a young Valter, and the trip was a memorable mess, because Valter, Bill and Alexander were forced to share a tent. Other than Gustaf and his girlfriend making their...sounds, Valter could swear up and down he heard a bear in the middle of the night- which led to him waking them up in the ass crack of night, to sob a bit and beg them to check it out. Bill volunteered, and instead of coming back into the tent he took an intentionally long smoke break, which caused Valter to freak out even more.

His shirt rode up as he spoke, animated and enthused as ever, exposing his sculpted, tan torso and gray boxer briefs. This was one of his top five favorite positions to be in, ‘cause he could gaze right up at her with ease, head snuggled in her lap and his long body stretched out to the maximum. If she threw in a little head scratch, ah, that was true bliss.

“Ah...that little motherfucker, man. I miss him when he was small. Now he’s all...smart and what not.” Alexander commenced his reminiscing with a chuckle, followed with a small sigh.

She smiled down at him, one hand brushing through his locks, the other, reaching for her wine glass and dragging the rim up to her lips. “Yeah, well, that generally happens, sweets. You have fifty million siblings, you should know this.” she said with a little tug on his hair. He winced, belting out a mumbled ouch, and pinched the side of her thigh.

“Fifty million, yeah? I’m defffintely telling my dad you said that.” he said with a goofy little giggle, raising a hand up to gently trace her cheekbone.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare, Skarsgard. You know that’s my bestie.” she said with a roll of her eyes, cutting her eyes at him playfully.

“Ooh, and I’m telling mom you said that,” he countered, changing from his index to his rough thumb, bringing his hand down to stroke her jaw-line with his large finger. A full on grin was spread across his face now, fully amused at teasing her, and her mouth dropped dramatically.

“You’re playing dirty. I thought you missed me, sir.” She gave her best pout and sad eyes, but it only made them both laugh.

“I missed the hell out of you, and those awfully dramatic facial expressions you do. You should be an actress.” he touched the tip of her nose with his index finger, and she shook her head with a small laugh.

“Oh? There’s a joke.” she said with a little snicker, imagining the scenario briefly. She ran her hand down his tummy, tracing small circles on exposed skin. He shuddered under her touch, and he closed his eyes, snuggling his head more into her lap. It was getting later and later, and Alexander became more and more of a baby when it was close to his bed-time.

“Mmmmm.” he mumbled as adjusted, relaxing under her touch. She took a good look at him, laying their with his eyes closed. She could see every line, every tiny little wrinkle that creased up at the side of his eyes- she adored each one. Under his eyes were slightly puffy, like he was restless and needed a good rest tonight. She looked at his faded stubble that was growing back at a rapid rate from his last visit to the barber.

“What? Does that feel good?” she asked, nibbling on the inside of her bottom lip gently as she peered down at him.

He nodded slowly, and she stopped the circles on his tum for only second, just for his eyes to shoot open and his brows to furrow down. Her eyebrows raised in surprise, and she resumed her circles. He smiled and closed his eyes, once again at ease.

She stifled a laugh, at how simple he was to please, and how lucky they both were to have found each other in a such a messy world. And it was strange...it was very rare that she craved affection, or romance, the whole idea of it made her kind of cringe sometimes- yet she felt so comfortable laying here with him, surrounded by candles and laying in a fort of throw blankets. It was oddly comforting, to know that in this moment she could just be- that there was no real need for a facade of any type of persona right in this moment. She brought her left hand to his hair again, giving him a little head rub while her other hand ran over his stomach and chest under his thin white t-shirt. It hitting her all at once, that if anything could be considered perfection, it would be this moment, with Alexander, right here.

“You could be anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me. Ain’t that about a bitch.” she joked awkwardly with shake of her head, not letting up her movements.

His eyes opened at that- but they were still half closed. Darkened blue orbs half covered by sleepy kids stared up and into her soul for a second and she had to look away.

“Please, kid, where else would I be?” he challenged, with a lazy little yawn.

She shrugged, unable to find the right words, and he chuckled at her silence, and her eyes fell back on him. She paused this time, letting her hand rest on his chest, grazing her hand his right nipple softly.. He smiled a little at the tickling feeling of that. “If I didn’t meet you..what, I’d be...drunk somewhere with Dada? Talking about some new dumb thing he saw online, listening to his stoned ass. Or maybe wandering around a hotel alone? Trying to find somewhere other than my empty room read a script.” He finished his little rant with a chuckle. “Really no where else I’d rather be.” he added softly, with a small shrug.

She was taken aback at his brutal honesty, at how he opened himself up to her- this was a rare occasion indeed. She felt her heart physically softening in her chest for him, and it ached a bit.

“Nah. You’d be out making some new art. Creating. Being dope. You know. It’s what you do. It’s in your genes.” Building up the people she cared about was in her nature, and this earned a blush and a shy smile from him. He paused, those blue orbs scanning her face, from her eyes to her nose, to her lips- then back up again to her eyes. “Oh? Tell me more.” he teased and laughed, pinching his nipple so hard he jumped. “Only teasing. Only teasing. I appreciate you and your words. I appreciate them more than you know, my love.” He gently braced himself, so he could push himself up and out of her lap, adjusting his body so he could face her.

She swung her legs over his, scooting closer into him and his warm core, and he wrapped his hands around the small of her waist, nuzzling his nose on hers with a gentle eskimo kiss. “Don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me, and for no reason.” he said, leaving a kiss on the tip of her nose.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. The night was winding down, minutes until twelve now. The city was still buzzing- but it was significantly quieter right now. Their soft jazz and candles were still going strong.

She shrugged and he paused, waiting for her to finish her thought, and she took a moment to gather her words. Emotions and hormones were running through her at an all time high, and it was wonderfully painful, beautiful and messy at the same damn time. She knew what she had to get off of her chest, it had been a long time coming.

She took a shaky breath, raising her head so they were both eye level, holding the sides of his face and getting a good grip with her hands before starting. He noticed the moisture from her hands seeping through, a sign of her getting nervous- that he always found extra cute.

“I love you...Alex. I’ve known...for a while. But I’ve been. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.” she said meekly, her throat constricting slightly. Alexander had been the one who said I love you first, and she was anxiously waiting for the perfect moment to reciprocate the energy. This, was it. There was no other time.

Eyes softened, he smiled, his heart quickening a few beats, before tilting his head into hers, closing the small distance in between their faces with a rough, eager kiss. She dropped his hands hurriedly from his face, wrapping them around his neck and bringing herself closer to him. He pulled her in, and she crawled into his lap, straddling him. A hand in the back of her hair he gently tugged, pulling her face back. “Fuck. I love you, kid.” Was all he could manage to get out, before she was gripping at the bottom of his tee, and putting her lips back on his, desperate for more of him, for all of him- in this moment. Little did he know, she hadn’t even revealed her secret weapons- the lingerie and his chilled Tiramisu that she was sure he would get all excited about once he realized he had an post-sex snack waiting for him.

#alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard fan fic #alexander skarsgard drabbles #alexander tings #askarsgard imagine #askarsgard drabbles #fan fic #fluffy romanc

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lilsum4 · 7 years

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Fic: Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind, Chapter 8

I’m back, risen from the ashes of 2016 to most likely be an even worse updater in 2017, but I can try to be better!

So here you go, hopefully a cheerful start to a crappy week. This is only lightly proofread, as I didn’t want to hold it up longer. Excuse any typos; I’ll be fixing them throughout the week.

Find previous parts here.

Here we go....

The bummer of it is, Mickey doesn't like her.

Rose's reticence has rubbed off on him. In the short time he's been onboard, it isn't uncommon for him to look around himself suspiciously when alone. (Donna hadn't helped matters by writing a friendly, misty "Right behind you!" at him last time he looked in a mirror.)

Donna isn't one to have to have everyone like her, but it just seems unfair that she can't even make an honest effort to win someone over.

And so, in a bit of harmless pique, Donna has decided to spend the day draped over Mickey's shoulders like a cape. It amuses her as he tows her around unknowingly. Because hey, when you're dead you take your entertainment where you can.

Rose calls out to Mickey from somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS and he speeds up his pace. Donna allows herself to billow behind him and keeps up an unheard monologue on how he really shouldn't be so closed-minded and should give resident ghosts a chance. It's only funnier when he shudders with a sudden chill – but he's too new to the TARDIS to realize he's personally being haunted. Seems like Rose and the Doctor had forgotten to mention the very important tidbit of what it actually felt like to have Donna cling on. To Donna's delight, he hasn't caught on that, as he peers cautiously into a dark corner, she's actually fluttering right behind him, clipped to his shoulders.

Mickey arrives at the library where the Doctor is helpfully piling books into Rose's arms. The Doctor looks up at his entrance just in time to catch Mickey brush at his shoulder and give in to an all-body shudder.

"Oh, there you are! I've been wondering where you've been!"

Mickey is shyly pleased that the Doctor seems so glad to see him. "Oh, well, I was exploring the–"

The Doctor looks a bit startled that Mickey is speaking to him, before brushing him off with a wave of his hand, "Oh, no, Rickey Mickety Mick, I wasn't talking to you."

Donna abandons Mickey and rushes over to clap a freezing hand over the Doctor's lips. "You hush - don't ruin my fun!"

"Haven't heard from you almost all day," wonders the Doctor, rudely ignoring that Donna is covering his mouth. "Thought you were off stealing Rose's mascara again. "

"I knew it!" yells Rose, at the same time that Donna protests, "I haven't…lately!"

Mickey realizes to whom the Doctor is speaking and he takes a few hurried steps back. "Oh god, the ghost is here, isn't it?"

Donna gives a resigned little sigh. "I'm not an 'it'. See, you scared him. I didn't want him to know," she mourns, draping herself over the Doctor much as she had over Mickey. "He doesn't like me, you know."

The Doctor pats his shoulder in consolation, correctly guessing her hand is there. "Nonsense! Of course he likes you. You like Donna, don't you, Mickey?"

Rose is suddenly fascinated by the top volume on Sock Styles of the 27th Clom Dynasty. She buries her nose deeper in the first few pages as Mickey hems and haws. a bit wild 'round the eyes. "Err, yeah! Ghosts – cool and not terrifying at all! Nothing bad ever happens from having dead people floating around."

Donna wilts over the Doctor, a gloomy shroud. The fact that there is no wry retort from her means that she's actually hurt. The Doctor frowns thunderously at Mickey before forcing out a, "See! One big happy family. All right, let's focus on Clom. Lovely cheerful Clom with the largest-ever amusement park. They have a roller coaster that drops 1000 feet. 1000 feet! 305 meters, it's a marvel more malfunctions haven't happened. We're likely due for one any day. Mickey, we'll make sure you get to go on that first! Now, Rose has the volume on…"

Donna drifts away, a little metaphorical black cloud, leaving them to it. She shouldn't care that Mickey doesn't like her. Shouldn't care that they get to go to Clom without her. She has more than enough, here on the TARDIS.

But she does care, more and more every day. She sinks down through the floor, to hide in the depths of the ship even the Doctor doesn't know about.

The Doctor senses her go as he scans the room under furrowed brows.

They don't make it to Clom, surprise surprise. They end up in an abandoned spaceship, and Rose and Mickey are almost harvested for parts.

Rose would be angrier about this if the the Doctor didn't look so exhausted. Hollow. And cold. Colder than Rose has ever seen him.

She and Mickey trail after him through the dead ship, both silent. She wracks her brain for the right thing to say and, finding nothing, can only follow his bowed back.

He veers away suddenly, dips into a corridor, and emerges leading Arthur, the horse placidly clip-clopping behind him.

"I thought I said 'no' to the horse," Rose teases, glad for an opportunity to break the quiet.

She expects another quip about Mickey, but the Doctor drifts past her towards the TARDIS doors. "Donna will like him. It's no good to feel alone."

Rose has even less to say to that.

"YOU GOT ME A PONY!" Donna shrieks, upon being presented with her gift.

She's twirling around the doctor like a streamer in the wind, too excited to settle, though a fingertip drifts over his shoulders so he can hear her delight.

Arthur's ear swivel back and his dark, liquid eyes track her movement.

Donna squeals. She flies forward, back and around Arthur, amazed as the horse shimmies nervously, head swiveling to track her. "YOU GOT ME A PSYCHIC PONY!" she amends, in an even more ear-piercing volume, forcing the Doctor to stick a finger in the ear she shouted in.

"Is he?" he queries.

"Yes, he can see me!" enthuses Donna, and swoops right round to hug her new horse. In her glee she misjudges, passes right through Arthur. The horse neighs uncomfortably, but Donna comes in for a second try, managing to throw her arms around his neck, cooing.

Arthur shies back a bit before figuring she can't do much harm, and settles back to nose at the Doctor's pockets.

After an adequate amount of telling Arthur how he's the most handsome, smartest, nicest, most gifted horse in the whole wide universe, Donna seems satisfied.

"Come along, Milo!" Donna urges, one hand on the horse's ear and one on the Doctor.

"His name's Arthur," corrects the Doctor.

"Seabiscuit."

"Arthur," he reiterates.

"Harry Plodder!" she exclaims.

"Arth– okay, I like that one."

Mickey and Rose hang well back, watching Doctor and Horse being led away by invisible hands.

"So, he got the ghost a horse," observes Mickey.

"Seems like," nods Rose.

"Nobody finds that weird."

"I find it weird," mutters Rose.

"Where do you think they're going?" Mickey wants to know.

"Wherever Donna wants them to go, I suspect."

"Damn, it somehow got creepier," shivers Mickey.

"I agree," sighs Rose. She's not scared of Donna anymore, and hasn't been for a very long time. But it doesn't seem right to her that the Doctor is so attached to someone who is dead. That can't possibly be healthy.

They follow at a distance, until they come to a fork that veers away from wherever horse and ghost and Time Lord are heading. Their presence, or lack thereof, is completely unnoticed by either Donna or the Doctor, as Donna focuses on coming up with increasingly ridiculous names for Arthur, and the Doctor focuses on Donna's joy.

Rose glances back, once, and sees the Doctor turn to argue with Donna, a smile on his face. First smile since they left Madame de Pompadour behind.

The TARDIS has constructed a lush green field for Arthur – or Harry Plodder, depending whom you ask – with a quaint, cheerful stable at one end. Off in the green grass he sees the horse step high in a spirited dance with an unseen friend. The Doctor imagines Donna swooping in and out between the horse's legs, or clinging to his back when Arthur takes off on a gallop into the distance, wheeling about and returning, to bow is head and accept a ghostly pat to the head.

Some days have passed now since Arthur's arrival, and the Doctor's been spending a lot of his time out here in the field, watching (picturing) Donna play with her new horse. The country sun beats overhead and the heat relaxes the tension in his shoulders, making a rainy funeral procession in Renaissance France seem far away indeed.

Rustling beside him has him opening his eyes to see Rose settling comfortably on the grass at his side.

"It looks like he's dancing!" laughs Rose, gazing off at Arthur, who's back to performing high-spirited side-steps.

He smiles, happy to share in her laughter, and leans back on his elbows, legs crossing at the ankle.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, before he thinks to ask, "Where's Mickey?"

"He didn't want to come out here when Donna's here. That is her playing with Arthur, right?"

"I think she's training him," grins the Doctor. "For what, I'm not quite sure."

Rose digests this information, glances sideways at him and observes his fond gaze, settled on a horse and its invisible trainer. She says, very carefully, "Doctor. I'm worried about you."

The Doctor turns surprised eyes at her. "Whyever for?"

"Y–you seem to be...you and Donna...You seem to spend too much time with Donna."

The Doctor looks away. "Who else does she have, after all, to interact with?"

Rose makes a frustrated sound. "I don't know. The TARDIS? Her new horse? Doctor…Donna's dead. Is it really safe to get so attached? I don't think she's meant to be here."

The Doctor's silence is heavy, and when he finally turns back to Rose, she shrinks back at the alienness of his gaze. "Dear child," he says, and his voice drops its cheerful pretense to sound deep and mysterious as an ancient ocean, too old for a besotted Rose to comprehend. It makes her feel very small and inconsequential. "None of you are meant to be here. All of you leave."

"No," chokes out Rose. "I can stay here with you. I want to. Forever."

"Your forever is a blink of an eye to me, Rose. A beat of my hearts," he reminds her, not unkindly. "Humans aren't meant to have more. And one day you'll want to live out your version of forever with someone who can share it with you."

Rose's eyes are blurry with tears, at the reminder of her mortality. At his unwillingness to even try. Even if she doesn't understand the depths of him now, she could grow to. Can't he be willing to play in the shallows with her until she can?

"But you think a ghost can give you your kind of forever?"

The Doctor pretends to not see her tears, just as Rose pretends to not hear the resolve in his voice. "I think Donna belongs…belongs in the TARDIS perhaps more than anyone else. She is someone who has nothing left to lose, staying here with me."

"And I do?"

"Oh Rose. Yes. Your whole life. Your family. Your world. The future, brilliant you."

"I don't care about those things! I care about you! Don't you care about me?"

It's a strike to his hearts, how naive she is. When he'd give anything, anything, to have his family, and the future of Gallifrey, back.

But it's clear from her tear-streaked face that this isn't what Rose wants to hear right now and, besides, the Doctor doesn't want to continue this conversation.

He's loved all his companions – perhaps not in the manner some wanted to be loved – but he loved them in his own way, nonetheless. Few times he'd been tempted to try for something more, Reinette being the latest. She'd waited for him for a lifetime, when he'd popped in and out of her life just a few minutes at a time. And in the end, when he'd turned right around and walked through that fireplace to go back to her…he had ended up watching her funeral procession instead. Her life had been spent forever waiting.

Oh how brief their lives were. A handful of minutes. A walk through a fireplace. Mayflies.

Rose continues to wait for his answer, chin trembling and more tears welling in her eyes. These children, always so willing to wait and waste their precious minutes on him.

He has no answer for her that will please her, so instead he pats her hand and eases to his feet, saying nothing. All the tension the sunny field had eased has returned. He walks away from her and towards a dancing horse and a playful ghost.

He's a few strides to the homely stable, where he can see Arthur munching on some feed, when an unexpected voice makes him jump.

"We should get him a friend," Donna muses, suddenly at his ear.

"Arthur?"

"Sure, Arthur," responds Donna, a wry edge to her voice.

"You're his friend," he points out, quietly.

"I'm dead," she says flatly. "He needs another horse around so he can have horse conversations about horse things."

"Horse conversations," repeats the Doctor, bone dry.

"Yeah, you know. Things only another horse would appreciate. Horses he can have horse adventures with."

The Doctor has the sneaking suspicion they aren't talking about Arthur at all.

"You're being ridiculous," he declares, and proceeds into the stable.

"I'm being ridiculous," scoffs Donna, a faint whisper to his left, but leaves it at that, and so he's grateful.

He breathes in the scent of fresh hay and clean horse. His converse sink into the hay strewn on the floor and he rocks back and forth, enjoying the crunch.

Arthur lifts his head and eyes him from his open stall, as though saying What are you doing all the way over there, and not over here paying attention to me.

"Go pet him, you big lump, don't be rude!" admonishes Donna. He does so, stepping up to stroke the horse's silky mane. Arthur gives him a regal nod, as though it's his due. "Tell him it's from me," Donna commands.

"What, the petting?" the Doctor asks, incredulous.

"Yes the petting! I can't really touch him, you know. I want him to know I would pet him if I could."

The Doctor rolls his eyes and brings up his other hand, stroking the horse's forehead as well. "That's from Donna," he intones dutifully. Arthur doesn't seem to care less, but Donna is pleased.

"Okay, now give him that apple in your pocket."

He doesn't know how she knows he's carrying an apple in his left trouser pocket, and doesn't quite want to ask. That apple's been in there for a good 15 years.

But he fishes the apple out, as fresh as the day he plucked it from a king's banquet table, and offers it to the horse.

"Wait! Tell him it's from me, too!"

"It's my apple," the Doctor grumbles, then informs the horse, "This is from Donna, too." Arthur delicately lips the apple from his hand and butts the Doctor with his nose once in a quick thanks.

"See, even though they were both from me, he's thanking you for it," murmurs Donna.

The Doctor wipes his hand on his trouser leg and leans back against the wall, watching Arthur return to his oats. "He's just a horse, Donna."

"He's a horse who appreciates someone who can touch him and give him the things he needs to be happy."

The Doctor tips his head back in resignation, a dull thunk resounding as it rests against the wooden wall. "Oh Rassilon, this isn't about Arthur, is it. You heard my conversation with Rose."

Donna's presence is a bit of cold air against his shoulder, a tentative grasp of spectral fingers against his own. "Rose wasn't wrong, Doctor."

"About what? Wanting to stay here with me forever? You're the one who pointed out she wants more from me than I can give her, Donna."

"No, no. About me being just a ghost."

"You're not 'just' anything Donna! You're unique – in the whole wide Universe I've never –"

"But I am just a ghost. Dead. My time is over and, but for some quirk or delay in the afterlife processing center, I'm here," she cuts him off ruthlessly.

"But you like it here, Donna. You said you wanted to stay," his tone is almost pleading.

"I love it here in the TARDIS, and being your friend. I never thought I'd get to talk to anyone ever again. But I don't know why I'm here, or how long I'll be allowed to stay. And besides you need…you'll always need someone to see and touch and share biscuits with and plan adventures with. If not Rose because she wants to get into your precious skinny trousers, then someone who'll just be your mate."

"I do have companions, Donna. I've always had them," he reminds her brusquely.

"And yet you never let them too close. You'd rather spend your free time with me. And don't get me wrong, I lov– I really appreciate it – but you need more."

She adds quietly, a whisper of winter breeze on his cheek, "You need someone to pet your forehead and feed you apples."

He smiles in response, but it's a sad quirk of lips. "I prefer bananas."

Donna pinches his arm, though he feels little more than a brush of cobwebs against his wrist. "Just think on it," she commands, and is suddenly gone – with the Doctor none the wiser how much that conversation had cost her – floating away from him and leaving him alone with a horse who eyes his other pocket in case he's hiding more apples.

He does think on it.

They travel to an alternate universe, and Mickey turns out to be so much more brave than the Doctor ever gave him credit for. After leaving Mickey behind to take on a new mantle, he's down one companion in the TARDIS. Rose begins demanding more of his attention once more.

So he thinks about how often he left Rose and Mickey alone to their own devices so he could go talk to Donna instead. Thinks about how used he's become to feeling her hover over his bed, watchful on those rare times when he gives in to sleep, or a welcome distraction when he needs conversation in the wake of nightmares. Thinks about how he's come to expect the feeling of a ghostly hand in his hair. Thinks about the pleasure he feels when the TARDIS sometimes giggles for no reason, and he knows it's because Donna is joking around with the only other being who is truly aware of her.

Thinks about that evening he spent slowly turning the pages of books Donna picked out, because she couldn't turn the pages herself. He had no interest in The Viking and the Maiden, but it was either that or read aloud to her and she'd burst out laughing the first time he'd said "turgid manhood".

Thinks about how much he'd enjoyed that evening – and how he had no clue what Rose had been doing in the meanwhile.

And then he thinks about Rose.

Rose, who pulled him out of a bitter darkness; a breath of carefree air when he'd needed it most.

Whom he, in turn, had plucked out of a boring life, barely past adolescence and with no real experience in the world. And of course she'd been dazzled by him – it's what he'd wanted, what he'd needed after only seeing a monster when he looked in the mirror. So what had he really expected, in the end, for her to feel for him?

Rose, who never said no to any of his most harebrained ideas, and was only too willing to follow him into disaster for a joke and the promise a good time.

With each successive adventure it's become clearer to him, as he abandons Rose once more upon returning to the TARDIS, that Rose and Donna are both right. He'd rather spend time with Donna when in the TARDIS, but he depends too much on Rose's hero worship to bolster him through each horrible decision he makes. It's not fair to Rose, and likely keeping her from becoming the wonderful, independent person he glimpses slumbering within her.

He needs a companion who will temper his growing overconfidence, an equal, and one who he can share with openly on the TARDIS without fear of them wanting more than he can give.

But he's not ready to let go of Rose; even if it's for her own good. She's like a comfortable security blanket that he's yet unwilling to discard. And after all, he argues with Donna, suitable companions are hard to find.

Donna argues back that he should have a candid talk with Rose, explain how he really feels and let Rose decide her own future.

The very idea of that type of conversation makes him break out in hives.

Soon, he thinks to himself, next time Rose gives him a toothy smile and links hands with him before they take off running. Soon.

Until the choice is taken out of everyone's hands.

"I lost her, Donna. She was so brave," he sobs, clinging to the console.

The TARDIS is glowing a muted green, mirroring the Doctor's distress. Donna had had no time to figure out what had happened, only that the Doctor had tumbled, distraught, through the door. "What? Rose?! She – she died?" Donna whispers, clutching his shoulder.

The question seems to give him strength, and he sniffs before straightening. "No. No, she's okay. In the alternate world, with Mickey and her mum and her dad. She's fine."

"Oh. but that's – that's good, right?" ventures Donna, haltingly.

The Doctor nods. Donna watches him struggle for composure. "She's fine. She'll be fine," he repeats to himself.

He turns away, giving all appearance of being in control once more, until he spies the cheap purple jacket slung carelessly over a rail. He freezes. Donna frets, following as he slowly makes his way to the jacket. When he touches the imitation leather, his features crumble.

"I just wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to lose her yet. I lose them all. I've lost so many." He grips the jacket, knuckles white with the force, and Donna wishes – not for the first time – that she could truly hold his hand.

"And I never told her," the Doctor continues, shoulders shaking, "I was going to. I thought I had time! Tell her how much she helped me. She was silly and young and brave and I needed that after…after the Time War."

Because she never saw your faults, thinks Donna. Which would have been terribly unhealthy for both of them in the long run. The Doctor's inability to return Rose's feelings would also have certainly soured the relationship as time passed. But the Doctor knew all this already, and had procrastinated in facing the issue – in telling Rose what she really meant to him and giving her the choice to lead her life as she thought best. How awful he must feel now.

There's nothing she can say to comfort him, no way to even offer him the warmth of a hug. Donna slides away from him and up to the TARDIS' central column, hugging it tight as it pulses consolingly at Donna and the Doctor.

She watches the Doctor grieve and feels as useless as ever.

In the end, the Doctor decides he needs closure. A chance to tell Rose how much she had helped him, the chance to wish her happiness. He'd lost companions before without getting an opportunity to do so, but this time he has a plan.

It's a stupid plan, Donna thinks, if she knew anything about how tearful confessions went, but well, no one had asked her.

So here they are, Donna watching a breaking Rose standing upon a windy beach. The Doctor's sad attempt at well-wishing devolves into a lecture on the dangers of hopping dimensions. Donna scratches her head in confusion. Where are all the "you were a wonderful companion, top notch; I wish you the best, have a great summer" speeches he had rehearsed? This is already going downhill.

And much as she anticipates, halfway through the Doctor's fumbling not-really-saying-anything-noteworthy, Rose's weeping face proves to be too much.

"I love you," the agonized words escape Rose.

Donna winces. Oh jeez, there's no good options here. Either the Doctor says he loves her back – whether it's a lie or not – and Rose feels like she lost her one true love. Or he says something stupid like "Thanks!" or "I do too, like a brother would!" and just comes off as a jerk. Or…

He comes up with his own, spectacularly stupid option.

He says "Right you are" like the biggest git, and then waffles about and admits nothing in an attempt to run out the clock! Leaving the poor girl with the lifelong doubt about what he might ever had said.

Donna claps both her hands over her face in horror at this trainwreck happening in front of her. The Doctor has fucked up so royally, she'd die of second-hand embarrassment if she weren't already dead.

She doesn't even have the satisfaction of tearing the Doctor a new one for his idiocy because – as he deliberately closes the transmission before he can actually say anything binding – he looks as dejected and guilty as ever.

Sensing her disapproval, he growls out an "I don't want to hear it, Donna," continuing to stare fixedly at the controls. Donna gives him the finger, even if she does feel a bit bad about how guilty he looks. Surely he knows how badly he screwed that up.

However, she doesn't want to leave the Doctor alone and so sad, even if he deserves a fist to the eye. She floats up to the TARDIS column, making soft soothing noises and giving careful little pats to the glowing pillar. It's trembling from the effort at creating a temporary bridge between dimensions, and Donna feels bad for her.

It's because her hands are on the blue column of energy that she feels the minute shift, from exhausted trembling to manic buzzing.

"Wha–" she begins, and turns to scan the console room.

To notice the bride standing by the doors, seemingly frozen in confusion.

"Er…" she says eloquently, drifting down to place a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. She'd rather not disturb the Doctor in his grief. And yet, he probably really should notice that…

Wait. Wait wait wait.

"That's...that's my bloody dress!"

She'd forgotten that she had a hold of the Doctor, and he jumps at her shout.

"What is your problem!" he growls, whirling, then stumbling to a slack-jawed stop when he sees the stranger in his TARDIS.

At his voice, the bride turns to face them, looking around with spooked eyes. When she spies the Doctor by the console, the woman opens her mouth in one gaping "oh" and let out a high, unending shriek of fright.

Donna's grip on the Doctor would have been painful if it had substance. "Holy crap! NERYS?!"

"You recognize her?" shouts the Doctor over the loud shrieking.

"Yes, that's my so-called 'best' friend wearing the dress I had dibs on, from Chez Alison! The cheek!" She tries her mightiest to tug the Doctor towards her ex-bestie, but doesn't kid herself that it's her grip that propels the Doctor forward.

Nerys scrambles back from the approaching Doctor, pressing herself against the TARDIS doors. The shriek climbs another octave.

"Do you know how to make her stop screaming?" he asks Donna, giving up trying to placate the woman and instead plugging his ears.

"You want to go over there and explain to her that the ghost of her friend is telling her to calm down? You think that's gonna work?"

He grimaces, conceding the point.

Nerys is well and truly freaking out, as well she should be suddenly finding herself in a strange room with a strange man, when it looks like she had been heading to her wedding, instead.

Donna steels herself and floats over, making shushing noises that she knows her frenemy can't see or hear. "Not that I blame you, Nerys dear, but you truly must shut up," complains Donna.

To her surprise, Nerys does stop. Not because she heard Donna, but because she's starting to hyperventilate, in the throes of a panic attack.

"Oh, that won't do," claims the Doctor into the sudden silence. "Here, breathe in this." He digs a paper bag out of his pocket and advances on Nerys, who springs away from him, her breath coming in and out in labored gasps.

"Nerys, you're going to make yourself pass out," Donna chides, reaching out to pat her friend on the arm.

And immediately gets sucked into her.

Donna reels, suddenly trapped within flesh, the mass of it pulling her down. Sensing she's no longer alone inside her brain, Nerys hides in a corner of her psyche and locks herself away, happy to no longer be in control of this nightmare.

She blinks, stops wheezing, and thunks to the floor, letting Nerys' legs give way beneath her. She feels like she weighs a ton. It's very different being in sole control of a body as opposed to just a passenger, as she had been with Rose. She can't seem to control any of these ungainly limbs. She looks up at the Doctor, who's approaching cautiously with the bag once more.

"There there, loud lady," he's saying, pleased that she no longer looks ready to pass out and finally was listening to him. "That's right, just be quiet and let's get to the bottom of this. Who are you and how did you get on my ship?"

Donna opens Nerys' mouth, closes it again. Feels around with a strange tongue around strange teeth, and forces saliva down a strange throat. Everything takes so much effort.

"Doc-torr," Donna forms the word carefully, the feeling of a tongue curling around teeth and palate a novel one. She startles at the sound of her voice. Does Nerys really sound like that? God, it's awful!

The Doctor stops advancing abruptly. The disbelief he feels at finding a stranger on his ship turns abruptly into distrust. "How do you know me? Who sent you!"

"It's - it's...me. Don-na." The control is coming to her mouth faster now. Of course it would; she'd always been a talker.

The Doctor blinks. "Donna?" He reaches out tentatively and presses a finger to her arm, as though making sure she's not some figment of his imagination. "What did you do!"

"Don't know," she responds, moving her limbs slowly, testing out the ungainly feel of them. "I went to … to touch her hand and I was just …sucked into her."

She tries to clamber to her feet but can't quite remember how legs work. "Help me up, yeah."

He reaches down cautiously and helps her to her feet. She stands swaying for a moment, almost goes down again but the Doctor is handy at catching her and righting her back, before she gets the hang of her new center of balance. Reasonably stable, she looks down at her skinny frame.

The neckline of the dress is a low-cut V, and displays Nerys' chest to full advantage (which is why Donna had picked it, it was her dress, she'd called dibs, damn it!). Ever curious, she pokes at the top of her left breast, feeling it jiggle under the skin. "Aha! I KNEW IT!"

The Doctor follows her motions with his eyes, confused about …well, about everything, but at the moment more confused as to why Donna was feeling up her friend. "Knew what?"

"Knew they were fake! You don't drop down to this weight without losing some boob. 'Long holiday in America' my arse!" she pokes the other breast with grim satisfaction, before looking up to find the Doctor frowning down at Nerys' cleavage.

"Oi!" She snaps her fingers under his nose, making him jerk his head up. "Don't stare at my… Nerys' breasts!"

"I'm not - you stop that!" he reprimands, slapping her hand away as she goes in for another poke. "You need to get out of there. She's not your body to use, and I have to figure out why she's here," he warns, watching Donna twist her hips and wave her arms experimentally.

"Don't lecture me! I know that - and I didn't mean to; it just happened! I wanted to stop her screaming, not possess her." She glares a bit, and runs her hands over the silk of the dress just one more time, to enjoy the feeling of it on her fingertips. "No need to fret, I'm leaving now, so don't get your knickers in a twist. You better plug your ears though, 'cos when I'm gone she's gonna go right back to screaming."

She would have liked to hug the Doctor, she realizes only a second too late. She's never done that before, and she'll never get the chance again. She could really use one, too. She almost opens her mouth to ask for a hug, but discards the idea as stupid. Besides, he's backing up to a safe distance, and raising the paper bag in case he needs to swoop in again.

Hiding the trembling of her lips – goodbye substance – she pushes hard against Nerys' skin.

It's like hitting concrete, or being wrapped in a straightjacket. One made of bones, muscles and skin. The happy novelty of Nerys' body morphs into dread. She's trapped, in this heavy, foreign cage of flesh.

"I can't get out!" she wails. She pushes again, harder, and Nerys' body only stumbles forward. Wild, she reaches towards the Doctor. "Come here, help me!"

"What?!" he exclaims, edging closer again. "How?"

"Grab on to my hands," Donna instructs. The Doctor does so, gripping her cold, skinny fingers. With his grip on her, Donna tries to attach to the Doctor and pull herself out.

She doesn't budge.

Donna panics. "It's not working! Doctor, I don't want to be stuck in Nerys, of all people! She's a million times worse than Rose!"

"Rose?!" echoes the Doctor's startled squawk . "When were you inside Rose?! How!"

"Oh that's right, you don't remember. That time at the game station? I was in there with her. You snogged me out of her."

"WHAT! I did not!"

"You sure did! Snogged me right and proper, like a hoover vacuum you were."

"I...that was...I didn't...how?!" he splutters, hands shooting to his hair.

"When she took the Tardis inside her, she caught me, too. I convinced her to stop using the TARDIS and let you help. Little did I know that you were gonna 'help' with your big ol' mouth!" His absolute embarrassment helps her temper the panic. It really is delightful seeing him so befuddled. Why hadn't she told him this earlier?

The Doctor stares, wheels turning. He hadn't, had he?! Regeneration played havoc on the brain, but if he concentrated hard he could almost remember, almost picture those mysterious eyes, sad and lonely, looking into his.

Donna snickers while he turns various shades of red, before the severity of the situation brings her back down. "No but really, I don't think that's gonna do it this time, and I can't get out."

He sighs, the memory of that gaze dissipating. "You can't normally take over people, can you?"

Donna is walking over to a coral strut, wrapping her hands around it and trying to get the TARDIS to pull her out instead. There's nothing – no sense of connection to tether her back to the ship.

"No, I go right through them. I was only in Rose because she pulled the TARDIS into her, and I'm linked to the TARDIS. You fishing the heart of the TARDIS out pulled me out, too." She pushes a sweaty strand of blond hair off her forehead, then raises a hand to her gaze with a little gasp – she's just noticed that Nerys' nails are painted a bright red. How tacky! On her wedding day!? She would have never let Nerys make such a bad decision!

"Then something's drawn Nerys here, and you into Nerys, and once we figure out what it is we can pull you back out," concludes the Doctor.

"So I'm stuck in her in the meanwhile? Because she's no help at all – just blubbering off somewhere in the corner of her mind," Donna scoffs, with a roll of her eyes. "Classic Nerys!"

The Doctor scrubs a hand down his chin, looking at his new temporary companion. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, yippee," she responds, with a sarcastic twirl of a tacky red-tipped finger, and then pokes at Nerys' left breast again to watch it bounce.

to be continued

#Doctor Who fanfiction #close encounters of the invisible kind #ten/donna #lilac summers fanfic

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diamonds-and-studs · 6 years

Text

I learned who Daniel Adams was because I was a fan of Ryan Ross- former guitarist and lead songwriter of the band Panic At The Disco. Ryan is incredibly private, and rightfully so as many of his fans are incredibly invasive. As such, many fans will follow friends of his to get updates on him. Ryan’s a friend of Daniel’s, set to have been cast as a character in Dan’s upcoming film. My friends are more diehard fans than I, and knew of this before I did, and filled me in. As such, that’s how I caught wind of him, and decided to follow him. I followed Daniel when I heard about him, not just because he knew Ryan, but because I got interested in him as a person outside of that. His posts are quirky, weird, and esoteric, yet visually provocative. His character as a person was a discussion piece among my peers, and as something of a gag, I ended up making him a piece of fan art, as I’d seen other people on Instagram doing. What that morphed into, somehow, was me getting commissioned to do the promotional art for his film. I was very obviously enthused with that premise, as it was an artistic opportunity, especially one involving people I admired. Needless to say, I seized the opportunity.

Working with D was really good in the beginning. He was professional with letting me know the work he wanted me to do and could maintain an appropriate casual relationship. We talked about cars and dogs and punk rock, and it was good! We had very similar tastes and interests. We were nurturing a friendship and learning about each other. It was seeming to bud into being a mentor-pupil relationship. He was very appreciative of me and genuinely seemed to like me as a person. Our work was steady as well- in a stretch from June to mid-July, I made multiple versions of 10-ish pieces for him. We were in talks of potentially casting me for his film, going so far as to have me read the screenplay and for him to propose parts to me.

However he oft referred to me as pet names (baby, doll, honey, fox, etc.). He also gradually kept making more and more inappropriate comments towards me- saying I reminded him of girls he’s dated, that he likes Jewish and Mexican girls just after telling him that I was Jewish, and that I have great legs. He replied to several of my Instagram stories saying “Hot!”. He’d called me beautiful a handful of times. He said I have great legs. His language about women besides me was often also inappropriate. He once said “I’m glad yr 18″ to me”… He once lied to me about his age, saying he was born in ‘66 instead of ‘56 as if I hadn’t read his IMDB- and while it could have been a typo, it could also not have been. I still have every email and text and IG message he’d ever sent me.

He’d also occasionally straight up make fun of me- once texting me at midnight with a photo of his dog, essentially implying I would want something with his dog because I’m queer. After finding out I’m bisexual, he said my brain is half okay. Once he texted me implying I had a crush on Ryan and even though I denied it and said I was rolling my eyes, he insisted and got the last laugh. All of which was incredibly degrading.

I never knew what to say to any of those dubious remarks, and would try to dismiss it or laugh it off despite being uncomfortable because I was afraid that I was overreacting, or if I spoke against it he’d misunderstand me or just not wanna deal with it and cut me out. He was in a great deal of power over me- I trusted him to behave responsibly around our power divide, in whatever way that power divide took form. Mentor/pupil, boss/employee, old/young, or in the realm of public image. I felt there was things to lose if I was to somehow quake our relationship- I would lose a friend, a mentor figure, and a work opportunity I was excited for and passionate about. He was someone I admired for many things, someone I trusted, someone who I was enthused to be involved with. And at this point, I was afraid that I was seeing conflict where there was none- that I was overreacting, that I was misunderstanding. I blamed myself for just about everything.

As I was dealing with the discomfort of how he’d speak to me, he also was slipping in our working relationship. He told me “We’ll get back to work next week” like 3 times, and by mid-July we were pretty much strictly casual. Whenever I tried to get him to acknowledge business, he’d just ignore my messages. That was a stark difference from having had made 10+ pieces for him and having had been in discussions of casting me for Starmaker. I got the vibe that maybe he didn’t have work for me to do, or put the cart in front of the horse in getting me involved- all of which I was fine with, and now know to be true- however it was never communicated to me, so I never knew for sure. I still tried to maintain a casual relationship, because I held faith that he was genuine and that things would work out. I felt that maybe I had done something wrong that made him distrust me, that made him disvalue me. I tried to do right by him from the beginning, even before things seemed to start going south. I tried not to annoy him, to cross what I assumed would be his boundaries. I tried not to ask questions for fear of being invasive. I made him art as gifts outside of business. I wanted to feel valued and respected, and I wanted to be taken seriously. I take myself and my work seriously, and I respect myself.

Eventually I asked Daniel if he would Facetime me some time, since he’d made mention of it a few times but never had. I did this nearly as a last ditch effort to get him to take me seriously. To me, if we were to be in a long term working relationship, some sort of more tangible and direct communication would be a given. He replied “Yeah, call you when I’m drunk” and that was my tipping point in frustration with him. I felt had no idea what he wanted from me, or what he thought of me. I had no idea what I ever did to him to make him talk to me this way. As such I reached out to someone else involved with the film- of which I know very few, one whom I’ve still never spoken to, and the other who I’d only made small talk with- for insight. I asked him if it was something about me, if Daniel was bad at talking to people, what it was. I gave a bit of insight into my frustrations, and he- Bill, the guy I went to- was taken aback. I spilled out some more things to him and he gave me more insight into Daniel’s character. Apparently he’s very often drunk, most days after noon, and can be a huge asshole when drunk. He’s also a master manipulator and is very good at hustling people to get what he wants from them, and disregarding if not berating them when he feels he doesn’t need anything from them.

Bill and I deliberated on the best course of action, and eventually I wrote a long spiel to Daniel about everything I felt in regards to our communication to establish boundaries, and I had faith he’d take it well. I genuinely thought that we could reassess and amend moving forward. I used I statements, I was professional, admitted some of my own confusions, was open and empathetic, etc. I made it clear that I just wanted to establish boundaries and assess communication. I didn’t bombard him with it, I asked him repeatedly once a day for about a week if he had the time to talk, and didn’t get a reply. Eventually I just sent it. (read conversation here)

He said he’d get back to me when he wasn’t busy. I said that if I can take the time to raise the concern, he can take the time to address it. He was dismissive and said sorry for the hassle and that I should talk to my family and friends about it and move on instead of go to him about it. I replied that I had deliberated with my peers and if you take issue with someone, usually you’d go to the person you take issue with to amend. He said he’d discuss more later and I asked when later was. I was tired of the stress of waiting. He replied to me a few hours later and said “What do you want from me” and I said, y’know, communication and basically.. We had a falling out. He told me a few times that he didn’t understand, and to let it go. He was saying I was harassing him, that he was too old for my shit, etc. I never broke face and was only ever polite and professional but he was nasty. I tried to keep guards down, but there was nothing I could do to get through. He did say he’d pay me for my art, though.

So a week later, a week of no contact in between, I emailed him saying I hated that it had to end on bad terms, if it was over, but we needed to talk business, and payment. At this point I didn’t want his money anymore and knew his true colors. Bill seemed to have understood why I wanted to amend, but after my falling out with Daniel, said to me that although he hadn’t told me so directly until that point, I would likely be happier and more productive if I was to abandon ties with the project. I now understand this to be true.

About a week and a half passed from when I contacted Daniel about payment, and I heard no response. I had not contacted him at all in that time sans one text and one Instagram comment (which he deleted) saying that I emailed him. I eventually sought the professional advice of Bill (who is a professional composer and has had forays in film) who told me if I didn’t want my art used by him, I should put it in writing to him and document it as a legal precaution. He gave me all this advice and said he’d help me fill out cease and desists if need be. Bill’s a saint. I then put it in writing, saying that I did not want my work used without my consent if we are not going to discuss my work in our relationship in advance. (read conversation here)

His comment about me harassing him was incredibly rich coming from him, as by legal definition he sexually harassed me, and because I went out of my way to avoid contact with him, going so far as to unfollow him on Instagram within a day of our falling out, while he continued to follow me for about a week after. I haven’t had any contact with Daniel since the end of October.

I trusted Daniel, and I wanted to, because he has so many positive merits. I trusted that he was in the right, that he was responsible in his position of power. Trust is always a venture. I feel that at the time, I didn’t have much reason to distrust him, though some may argue that- however I may have been clouded by my optimistic spirit. Perhaps I should have asked more questions, or been more apprehensive. Perhaps I should have followed my intuition sooner. My thoughts and emotions have been all sorts of clouded lately trying to sort out how I felt about what I knew then, versus how I feel about what I know now, and how I feel now about how I felt then. Part of me still wants to blame myself, and tell myself how I could have fixed it, and what I could have said or done better- and I don’t know why I keep thinking that, as there’s really nothing I could have done, especially as I now know there was really nothing worth doing but leaving. In retrospect, I oft feel very stupid for having trusted him- but I believe that the fault is not on one who trusts an untrustworthy person, rather, on he who takes advantage of someone. I now feel that I was fighting for respect from someone who would not respect me no matter what I did, and that the fact he disrespected me wasn’t consequence for any of my actions, rather just his inherent disposition. And I also feel that I took the right steps- and despite any hurt I suffered, I’m proud of myself for standing up for myself, and for being rational and professional in my approach to this situation that still feels much larger than myself.

From what I know now, Bill intends to have a proper conversation with Daniel about his actions and how they mirror certain scenarios of casting couch culture- think Weinstein- in a serious manner. I don’t know when this will happen. Dan and Bill had something of a falling out, to the best of my understanding- for some reason Daniel texted Bill telling him not to talk shit behind his back, and Bill ignored him for awhile after that. On Thanksgiving, Bill told me he thinks Daniel’s avoiding him. They used to see each other every day, so that’s a harsh difference. Ryan still doesn’t know about any of this. I still want Ryan to know about everything that transpired, but my thoughts on that could fill up a story equally as long as this one. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to sort out my emotions and find the narrative of this story.

#17 #text

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miseensceneofthemind · 7 years

Text

Visualise This

How scrapbooking a vision board can jumpstart action in your life.

Life comes at you fast. I've seen this phrase come up a lot lately on Twitter, mostly in a joking manner to illustrate staggering examples of hypocrisy, but taken as a singular statement, it's painfully accurate. Ferris Bueller knew it all too well:

Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

As a classic over-thinker, I often forget things that are obscenely obvious. Smile! Have fun! Stay positive! Affirmations, that help make life a little easier, and dare I say, more enjoyable for the world around you and inside you.

I've admittedly neglected this practice of daily affirmations and goal setting in general over the past year, and decided to put a stop to inaction last night in a flurry of scrapbooking and creative merriment. In the past, I relied on post-it notes spayed in every which way across walls, doors, and even ceilings to remind me of the important things I knew I should be doing. This practice was somewhat effective, but not particularly inspiring to look at every morning. Sure, I personalised them with idiosyncratic lettering and amusing drawings, but that did not change the fact that they were not aesthetically pleasant. I dare you try and make a post-it note look natural when placed next to a poster of La Dolche Vita. I double dare you.

This train of thought led me to research the practice of vision boards, an activity which involves fashioning a visual representation of the things you want in your life, whether that be immediate daily affirmations, or short-term/long-term goals and dreams. After the release of The Secret, vision boards became a sweeping trend that promised life-changing action. While the law of attraction, an idea that is predicated on positive thoughts and energy being reciprocated favourably by the universe, may have an element of truth and perhaps is truly beneficial for some people, there is scientific evidence that challenges the net result of purely fantasising about the final outcome.

This type of result-based visualisation, while great at making one feel great at the time inside of the moment, doesn't necessarily help getting to that point in reality. Research has shown, that those who visualise the steps involved in the process of achieving their desired goals, rather than the mere result, were far more effective in actually accomplishing what they set out to do. My post-it notes of yore neglected this very logical notion – sure, I knew what I wanted and where I wanted to go, but had no guide as to how to get there...

With this in mind, I set out to make a vision board that would actually generate results. Here's how I did it:

(Pro-tip: This works like gangbusters if you have 'Step By Step' by New Kids On The Block playing in the background. THIS IS FACT.)

Now sing it with me...

STEP ONE The search for materials

I don't know about you, but I love buying stationery. I LOVE IT. New pens, paper, books, trinkets – they are my jam. If I was flush with cash, I would have walked into Typo and racked up a devastating bill. Place me in a stationery shop with disposable income, and no doubt about it, I WILL BUY ALL THE THINGS. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), I had a strict budget in mind which all but eliminated Typo as a reasonable option. I also didn't have a lot of time, so I did what all people who don't have much time or money, yet need results fast do – head to Kmart.

You know what? Kmart delivered! In the space of 5 minutes, I had most of the things I needed to scrapbook up a storm. The ability to write was a big factor, which ruled out purchasing cork boards and wired peg boards, as I was feeling more inclined to a scrapbook/collage approach. For just over $13, I managed to buy an A3 Visual Art Diary (120 pages), a pair of scissors, glue (which turned out to be admittedly terrible, but for $1 I can't really complain, and I made it work!), and some fineliner pens (these are really great folks!). Ya done good, Kmart. Now, all I needed was a magazine to mangle.

STEP TWO O magazine, where art thou?

Unfortunately, I had recycled my collection of film, music and guitar magazines months ago, so I had to find some new visual inspiration. Before going to Whitcoulls, I had a vague idea of what I was looking for – nothing with glossy paper, diverse in visual variety, and not too expensive. If you are going to limit yourself, LIMIT HARD. Walking towards the magazine section, I ventured first to the section where Frankie and Smith Journal live. Generally, they have some great content with quirky design elements and images. Ordinarily, they would have ticked the boxes, but I wasn't really feeling it when flipping through the issues. The other option I had in the back of my mind, was picking up a film or music magazine like Empire or Rolling Stone, but these would have compromised the brief of no glossy paper. What was a poor boy to do?

An idea dawned on me – what about comics? Old-school non-glossy paper? Check. Visual variety? Double check. Not too expensive? That's a bingo! Feeling rather irreverent, I picked up a copy of Mad magazine. Oh my word, you know that feeling when you just know the right choice? Alfred E. Neuman and the wacky pages therein were exactly what I was looking for. At the measly price of $8, I now had everything I needed to get started.

STEP THREE Make the damn thing

To be honest, I didn't think scrapbooking a vision board would be that fun. I am so very glad to be wrong on that count. Making it was an absolute blast! Put on some rad tunes, make some tea (or coffee if that's your poison), and collage the ever living hell out of the page. There is something about tapping into the child-like part of one's psyche, that reveals some honest truths in the process – forgotten facets of wonder and creativity, buried beneath the cynicism and dourness that adult life can sometimes obscure. In completing a couple of A3 pages, ambitions and goals that I had previously ignored due to self-exposed excuses began to fight to be seen on the page – the idea of not doing them, now seems not only tragic, but sad. The fun of creativity has imbued these affirmations and goals with a sense of playful swagger, that inspires me to look past my feelings, doubts and insecurities, and just go for it.

Is this activity right for you? Who knows! It might be exactly what you need at this point in your life. Perhaps it is a grievous waste of your time and resources! The point is, don't knock it until you try it. I had so much fun making it, and starting the process has given me enough ideas to create another page or two full of the affirmations and goals I need to be reminded of on a daily basis. If nothing more, it serves as a fantastic way to jumpstart your creativity and get enthused not only about creating again, but living too.

If you are inspired to make a vision board, I'd love to hear from you! Tell me of your vision board successes/tribulations/pro-tips in the comments below.

#vision board #scrapbooking #mad magazine #visualisation

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diamonds-and-studs · 6 years

Text

I figured out who Daniel was because I was a fan of Ryan’s but got interested in him as a person outside of that cuz he was this quirky weird esoteric yet talented artist dude. I mean you know my general disposition towards fame culture and how I wasn’t even like, a huge fan of Ryan’s,,, So that association was how I figured out who he was, but not incentive to getting involved. Anyway as kind of as a gag I made him a piece of fan art. What that morphed into was me getting commissioned to do the promotional art for Starmaker. I was very obviously enthused with that premise, as it was an artistic opportunity, especially one involving people I admired.

It was really good in the beginning, he was professional with letting me know the work he wanted me to do and could maintain an appropriate casual relationship. We talked about cars and dogs and punk rock, and it was good! But he oft referred to me as pet names (baby, doll, honey, etc.) and I was never comfortable with that, yet didn’t know how to tell him that, as he was my boss and in a position of power over me. He also gradually kept making more and more inappropriate comments towards me- saying I reminded him of girls he’s dated, that he likes Jewish and Mexican girls (after I told him I was Jewish), that I have great legs. He replied to several of my Instagram stories saying “Hot!”. He’d called me beautiful a handful of times. He said I have great legs. He once said “I’m glad yr 18″ to me”… He once lied to me about his age, and while it could have been a typo, it could also not have been. I still have every email and text and IG message he’d ever sent me. I never knew what to say to any of that and kind of tried to dismiss it or laugh it off despite being uncomfortable because I was afraid that I was misunderstanding or if I spoke against it he’d misunderstand me or just not wanna deal with it and cut me out. He’d also occasionally straight up make fun of me- once texting me at midnight with a photo of his dog, essentially implying I would want something with his dog because I’m queer. After finding out I’m bi, he said my brain is half okay. Once he texted me implying I had a crush on Ryan and even though I denied it and said I was rolling my eyes, he insisted and go the last laugh. All of which was obviously super degrading, because I couldn’t back talk any of it. As I was dealing with the discomfort of how he’d speak to me, he also was slipping in our working relationship. He told me “We’ll get back to work next week” like 3 times, and by mid-July we were pretty much strictly casual. Whenever I tried to get him to acknowledge business, he’d just ignore my messages. That was a stark difference from having had made 10+ pieces for him and basically having had been in discussions of casting me for Starmaker. I still tried to maintain a casual relationship, because I held faith that he was genuine. I trusted him, and I wanted to, because he has so many positive merits. This part is still fuzzy to me in retrospect, trying to sort out what I know now and what I believed then. I now know Daniel’s a professional carpenter (that’s how he met Ryan) and Starmaker is super SUPER far back in production. He’s incredibly good at manipulating his image to seem way more prolific than he actually is, and I knew this to some degree going into it, but not to the extent it’s true. Eventually I once asked him if he would Facetime me some time, since he’d made mention of it a few times but never had. He replied “Yeah, call you when I’m drunk” and that was my tipping point in frustration with him. I had no idea what he wanted from me, if it was my fault, or what the hell. So I reached out to someone else involved with Starmaker- of which I know very few- for insight. I only had one of two peopleI asked if it was me, if Daniel was bad at talking to people, what it was. I gave a bit of insight into my frustrations, and he- Bill, the guy I went to- was taken aback. I spilled out some more things to him and he gave me more insight into Daniel’s character. Apparently he’s very often drunk, most days after noon, and can be a huge asshole when drunk. (Note- Bill is a saint who instantly believed me and did not ask for proof and has been so courteous helping me figure everything out).

We deliberated and eventually I wrote a long spiel to Daniel about everything I felt in regards to our communication to establish boundaries, and I had faith he’d take it well. I used I statements, I was professional, admitted some of my own confusions, was open and empathetic, etc. I didn’t bombard him with it, I asked him repeatedly once a day for about a week if he had the time to talk, and didn’t get a reply. Eventually I just sent it. He said he’d get back to me when he wasn’t busy. I said that if I can take the time to raise the concern, he can take the time to address it. He was dismissive and said sorry for the hassle and that I should talk to my family and friends about it and move on instead of go to him about it. He said he’d discuss more later and I asked when later was. He replied to me a few hours later and said “What do you want from me” and I said, y’know, communication and basically.. We had this falling out. He was saying I was hassling him, that he was too old for my shit, etc. I never broke face and was only ever polite and professional but he was nasty. He did say he’d pay me for my art, though.

So a week later I emailed him saying i hated that it had to end on bad terms, if it was over, but we needed to talk business. I got nothing. At this point I didn’t want his money anymore and knew his true colors. So eventually I sought the professional advice of Bill (who is a professional composer) who told me if I didn’t want my art used by him, I should put it in writing to him and document it as a legal precaution. He gave me all this advice and said he’d help me fill out cease and desists if need be and all this stuff cuz hes a saint. So a week and a half later I put it in writing, and D texted me back saying “Who is this”. I said who and he said “I haven’t done anything with anything why are you harassing me” which is fucking bullshit when I went out of my way to not have contact with him when he followed me on Insta for days after he unfollowed me, and also rich coming from the guy who legally sexually harassed me. Anyhow I was having a mental breakdown through all of this and had nobody to talk to about any of it, ‘cuz you know how shitty my family is. And obviously tihs is undeniably traumatic to some degree, this harsh sense of betrayal and the element of sexual exploitation. My head is still really foggy all the time and it’s hard to think straight dealing with all of this and all the other BS that comes up in therapy. This story has a lot of details and its hard to tell since it’s still fresh and happening. Later on I find that D had been in contact with at least three 13/14 year old girls, not to the extent he was with me, but any 60 year old man talking to tweens on the internet is creepy as fuck. He went after Bill for helping me saying he was shit talking him, which isn’t true, he was helping the teenage girl he abused for 4 months. But I guess whenever Bill sees D next he’s going to have a chat with him about his casting couch inclinations. Ryan still doesn’t know, I want him to for my sake and his, but I don’t know how to raise that to Bill.

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