reblog this and tag with a food you no longer have access to (closed restaurant, state you moved away from, exâs momâs cooking, etc) that will haunt you until your dying day, mine are the spicy chicken sandwich on the employee menu at the fine dining restaurant I was a prep cook at, and the onion bagel from the kosher place down the street from my house when I lived in the city
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Can you guess this fic? Requested by our first monthly winner, @omcree!
Hints: Oneshot, T, published in 2023, we aren't done with what happened in the basement
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Set after the witches' excursion in Ep. 77.
After their conversation in the basement, Imogen's got some things she needs to say.
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âImogen.â
Itâs loving and soft, because of course it is, because itâs Laudna, but itâs alsoâŚsheâs doing that thing she does sometimes, where she acts like Imogen doesnât know what she wants. Like Imogen is too young and too naive to understand. The same tone she used in the basement.
Promise me.
As if Laudna wouldnât burn the world down for her. As if they donât both know it.
Itâs not the first time sheâs dealt with this bullshit. Laudna gets to be passionate and protective and fierce in her love (I would murder everyone around us if anything happened to you) but Imogen is supposed to pretend like Laudnaâs life is worth less to her, to the world. Supposed to somehow justâŚlet Laudna go. Because what? Sheâs a little bit dead? A little bit different? Imogen leveled a city block without conscious thought and nobodyâs trying to put her down like a rabid dog, so why does everybody act like that bitch Delilah makes Laudnaâs life irrelevant? Why does Laudna act like her life doesnâtâŚlike Imogen should just be able toâŚ
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A new coworker was talking about his experiences at college and how he couldn't wait to graduate. He asked me if I had been to college, so I said a little yeah, never got any sort of degree, but if college was free I'd go for the rest of my life.
He seemed shocked. "Why would you do that to yourself, wouldn't you get sick of it?", he asked. I was shocked that he was sort of protesting it? He continued: wouldn't you get sick of doing the same thing over and over again. I tried to counter that by saying I'd be learning things I only wanted to learn, but in the end he was all "that's bizarre to want to college for forever." Idk maybe this is a bit of an age gap sort of deal?
Tl;dr this isn't a gotcha/would you rather with a penalty. It's free and you can take whatever classes you want.
If the college of your choosing was free and you can take any classes you could, would you go for the rest of your life?
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I've been looking for you. I've been standing still for eight months, B. How hard you look? Are you alright? Five-by-five. It's that thing about a coma. Wake up all rested and rejuvinated. And ready for payback. So much for pleasantries, huh?
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Alive and rewatching Doctor Who and wrote this little Yaz/Thirteen thing because I couldn't help it. In which Yaz gets to have complicated feelings and the Doctor can never quite get it right.
--
Yaz knows that she canât know the Doctor. Not really. Doesnât stop her from loving her, though.Â
The problem with loving the Doctor, or one of the hundred problems with loving the Doctor, really, is that it makes Yaz different. But thatâs one of the great things about loving the Doctor, too, because she likes herself when sheâs different, when she's braver, bolder, kinder. Â
Thatâs got nothinâ to do with me, Yaz.  Â
She can hear it, the Doctorâs voice strong and easy, eyes taking a moment to still on Yaz between flipping switches at the glowing console. Just a moment, though, a moment of making Yaz feel seen before tearing back to everything else, barking a gruff order for Yaz to twist this or pull that orâŚHold on!
And Yaz does twist this or pull that or hold on. She does whatever the Doctor asks, even as the drop in her chest between that second of the Doctorâs full attention and its loss makes her stomach clench. It happens enough that she should be over it. Sheâs not. Â
Itâs embarrassing. Itâs embarrassing to be such a melt. She can feel her eyes get big, or, worse, wet, when the Doctor seems to forget that Yaz is supposed to be special, hers, in a way that the others arenât. She can see Dan, see whatever visitors for the day, watch as the Doctor talks to Yaz likeâŚlike a soldier, if she wants to be kind about it. Like a child, if she wants to be honest. (Loving the Doctor has not made her more honest.) She clenches her jaw, maybe, or raises an eyebrow, but itâs nothing, not really, because in the end she does as sheâs told. Â
She knows what it must look like, her doing anything the Doctor asks, no matter how she asks it. Â
Yazâd spent time around Sonyaâs boyfriends, around the boys down the pub and at the station. Sheâd shouted them down if they made the mistake of thinking she wouldnât but mostly sheâd ignored them, because Sonya and the others could handle themselves. Theyâd made their choice, a choice Yaz would never make.Â
Except. Except.Â
Years with nothing but a hologram. She shouldâve known better than to think it would be different when they were together again. Daft. Pathetic. And here for as long as the Doctor would keep her.Â
âAlright?âÂ
She smiles in answer, and the Doctorâs eyes flit up from her mouth, lips turning down briefly. Itâs too much, too close, the wrong kind of attention, but she doesnât stop it. Sheâd rather be a problem the Doctorâs figuring out than nothing at all. Â
âBeen thinkinâ maybe Florana next.â Her body leans closer to Yaz, forearms pressed together on the railing. At the raise of Yazâs eyebrow, she says, âBeach planet.âÂ
âPromises, promises,â Yaz says lightly, bumping her shoulder, and because she canât help herself, âI get it. Bit borinâ for you.â Â
The Doctorâs brow furrows and her eyes narrow and there is only Yaz, then. Only Yaz and the Doctor and it happens sometimes, this between the two of them. It happens and it wrecks Yaz and makes her feel bigger than anything. It happens and then the TARDIS jolts, or Dan, bless him, wanders into the room, or the Doctor or Yaz or both of them find something suddenly very important to do. Â
This time, though, itâs quiet. This time Dan is flinging through pirate clothes and the TARDIS is humming only in the normal way and there are startlingly small fingers wrapping around Yazâs wrist.Â
âThereâs nowhere Iâd rather be. You know that?âÂ
Yaz can see her, because the Doctor lets her, and sheâs soft and sad and maybeâŚscared? And thereâs something else, something she canâtâŚso she says, grasping, âThe beach?âÂ
Her cheeks go hot immediately, her voice a crack, and my god, she sounds like an idiot. She bites back a groan, but the Doctor only smiles, bright and beautiful and Yaz thinks, for the millionth time, that itâs a good thing she canât read minds.Â
âAlright there, Yasmin Khan?âÂ
Maybe she can read minds. Yaz looks down and tucks her hair and feels absolutely stupid, but when she takes a breath and meets the Doctorâs eyes again, ready to break the moment, itâs the Doctor who looks flustered, the fingers holding Yazâs wrist squeezing slightly as her body fidgets. Still, she stays, and...Â
âWith you, is what I mean to say.âÂ
âReally?â Itâs out before she can stop it, because Yaz doesnât know, hasnât known, and the Doctor still isnât bothering to hide, so Yaz sees shock and hurt and a look sheâs used to, the hard line of determination.Â
âReally. Nowhere Iâd rather be in the universe. You should know that. Itâs my fault you donât know that. IâŚâÂ
The TARDIS jolts, and Yaz moves before the Doctor can, because she needs to be the one to leave. She needs to draw the line, to make the choice, because sheâs going to be the one who feels whatever that was for weeks and weeks andâŚthe Doctorâs eyes catch hers as she passes to the console, and Yaz grips the rail so hard her knuckles go white.Â
Yaz knows she canât know the Doctor. Not really. But she could swear she knows the look on the Doctorâs face, and suddenly she finds it very hard to breathe.Â