#who!verse

[emmreth--archive-blog]

Dealing with it.

My muse is dead. Tell me how yours is dealing with it.

To say so truthfully.  He wasn’t.  A very large part of him was still in a state of disbelief.  Refusing to accept what he knew was true.  Because if he did then that was it.  She was gone and she wasn’t coming back. That wasn’t something he could accept just yet.

It felt, to him, like she wasn’t gone at all.  Not when her presence lingered everywhere.  Around him and inside his head.  When some days he would wake up and for a moment he’d be confused.  Because she wasn’t there. And then he would remember why.

He’d never been the most stable person, and sanity was not always a part. Hallucination was not all that far from the truth.  But then, he always knew she wasn’t there.  It didn’t matter when he spoke, knowing and hearing how she’d answer.  It didn’t matter when he’d think he saw her the moment he turned away.  Because there wasn’t anything there.   There never would be. He had to remember that.

Some days were easier than others.  While some….  Some were dark.  Mostly he wanted to pretend they didn’t happen at all.  Not that memory ever allowed him this peace.  

In a way, the Master was lost.  As accustomed to her presence as he’d been.  It was….It was like he’d somehow lost a piece of himself with her.  And like her, it was not coming back.

[emmreth--archive-blog]

They shouldn't have dared

Emmreth had been taken four months ago.  He was past the point of simple questions.  Having been led in circles twice, for the past three months there had been a lot happening.  There was a lot Emmreth would never find out about.  And there were a lot of people who were going to pay for this.

However it wasn't until he found her that he knew just how much.

He'd tracked her finally, with some very reluctant (Possibly threatened, but really, what did he care...) help, to a small hospital.  When he asked about where she'd been found they said she'd just shown up.  Collapsed a few feet from the door.  Apparently looking far worse than she did now.

Which was saying quite a lot.  There were visible pinpricks up her arms from various injections.  She looked as if she hadn't slept properly in some time.  And he recognized artificially healed surgery scars from what could be seen around the hospital gown.  

She was asleep for the moment, and he was just relieved to find her alive.  Sleep would probably have done him some good as well, he hadn't gotten all that much of it lately.

As he sat there, letting the anxiety of the past month ebb slowly, plans began forming.  He needed to find whoever did this.  They should never have taken her in the first place.  And they would regret it for however much longer they managed to live.

It had been a rough four months, to say the very least. They had been days mostly spent strapped to either a chair or a table and filled with strange aliens she did not recognize pricking her with all sorts of needles and injections. Each injection had their own side effect, and because of the lack of food she was given, she felt so weak almost the entire time. It also made each side effect seem so much more potent, especially if it made her nauseous, sick, or dizzy. 

Despite her demands to be told why they were doing this to her, they never told her. She often wondered if she was some sort of human guinea pig for medicine for their own people, but the only truth she knew was just pain and feeling weak. During those four months, she was left to think of little else besides the people she wanted to return to. She missed her family and the museum. The friends she had made through work.

But her thoughts were predominately about the Master. Her heart ached to see him again, to see him save her. She would even dream about it or just simply about him sometimes during what little sleep she did the get. Sometimes, the injections made it impossible, and other times, she just could not.

Eventually, they just simply let her go. Perhaps they had learned all they needed to. She didn't care. All she knew was that she needed a doctor. So she stumbled along in the direction of the nearest town, barely holding it together until she finally made it to just short of the hospital doors before passing out.

The next thing she knew, noises and sensations were slowly fading in. The sounds of medical machinery by her bed, the coziness of the bed, the strange plastic thing they put on your finger she never learned the name of.

Slowly, she forced her heavy eyes open to see where she was, memories of the hospital slowly coming back to her. Her gaze quickly settled on a someone who was certainly a sight for literally sore eyes. "Master." was all she could manage past her chapped lips, warmth and excitement in her weak voice. Tears of relief and happiness began to well up in her blood-shot eyes. He was there now. Everything was okay.

[agentofshieldward]

Oswin It to Win It || Grant and Clara || CLOSED

The whole week was leading up to this. The team had been tracking the rather erratic movements of a certain blue box that seemed to have been spotted all over the world over the last few centuries - possibly more. So yes, SHIELD was very interested.

Grant peeked around the corner of the building, FitzSimmons speaking into his ear. It seemed Agent May had tracked the man who had emerged from the box, he was only a few blocks away. 

"0-8-4 Located. Approaching now."

There had been reports of a woman traveling with this man - but for some reason, he was out alone. Grant drew his gun, making a slow approach to the Police Box. Whoever operated this could be incredibly dangerous.

In an instant, he’d the door start to open. This was his chance! He picked up his pace. Acting on instinct he pushed through the opening door, knocking the poor girl back as he stumbled in.

He’d turn to face her, raising his gun - but had no real intention to shoot.  "Grant Ward, SHIELD. Identify yourself!"

[motorheadhunter]

Hitler, sure, why not? It's not like I have anyone else to kill.

            "Hilter," Dean repeated with a scoffing laugh, not thinking that they were serious, because really, they wanted him to fix Hitler, or at least the events surrounding him. "I know he's a dick and everything, but that's a pretty big event to change, even for me."

           "Never the less, it needs to happen, too many people died and we think we have just the point in time where we can fix it without creating too much of a mess," the woman in glasses, Marjorie, told him, looking down at her clipboard and writing something on it, her glasses slipping down her nose, and if she'd been his type he would have thought it was cute and perhaps a little distracting. But instead his bright green eyes flicked back up to her.

            "So, what do you want me to do? Kill the guy?" Dean asked with a scoff, arching a brow and shrugging his leather jacket on.

            "If you have to." 

       The voice came from behind him and Dean turned to see and older man come through the door, their gazes clashing. Pressing his lips in a tight line, Dean wasn't so sure about this idea. Everyone knew about fixed lines, everyone knew that some things shouldn't be changed and he felt like Hitler was one of those things, people had learned, sure they'd died, but because of Hitler, things had changed. "Who are you?" he asked ignoring the man's hand.

            "Dick," the man told him, dropping his hand and not looking at all bothered by Dean's lack of respect.

            "Yea, I'll say. Look, buddy, I don't know who you are, but I'm not going to go through time to kill some asshole just because you s-"

            "No, that's exactly what you're going to do, Mr. Winchester, because you work for me, do you understand? You work for Roman Enterprises Inc and I'm Dick Roman, so you work for me and I'm telling you to go back to the date given and kill Hitler."

            Dean opened and closed his mouth, his brow knotting together between his eyebrows, lips pressing tighter and his entire posture tense and angry now. He didn't like being told what to do, and he didn't like having to kill unless he had to. But he supposed he had to, because Dickhead was right, he was his boss and he had a job to do, whether he liked it or not.

            "Fine," he gritted out stiffly, his jaw working in annoyance and he went over to the rack of weapons they'd provided him with, glancing them over. He had to make sure that he didn't take anything futuristic with him, just in case it got into the wrong hands and changed the entire future. He'd fucked up like that before, had left his watch behind after a fight and he'd had to go back a week later and get it back, he wasn't making that mistake again.

            When he'd picked out the right kind of gun, Dean added a knife down under his jeans and arched a brow as they gave him a look, indicating at his clothing. "Hey, I ain't dressing up for this, you want me to do this, then I go in there lookin' good, not like I belong there."

            And with that his green eyes flickered and burst with blue, his hand coming up in front of him, the air seeming to gather and papers fluttered as blue erupted in front of him, twisting and forming into a person sized portal, a wormhole. He glanced back at them and smirked before he was stepping inside, disappearing, the portal closing behind him as he quickly reappeared in a room that seemed... well a little too destroyed, banging coming from a closet nearby.

            "Huh," Dean said, walking towards and yanking it open, only to have Hitler himself lunging at him, the two of them struggling on the floor for control, Dean punching the man.

[motorheadhunter]

Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel? (angelandtimelord)

He'd had heard rumours of one of Crowley's minions having caught Castiel and although he'd been now avoiding seeing him, he owed the man and had made it his sole mission to get him the hell out of there.

So, when Sam had gone to visit Gareth, Dean snuck out, turning his phone off and heading out with his usual weapons-shotgun filled with salt rounds, holy water, the demon knife and his machete. He'd been told that the demons were holed up in a warehouse not too far from the docks and he'd taken his Impala and headed out there, ready to do some serious damage.

It had been quite the fight. And by the time he'd reached the inner room, where the higher up demon had Cas, Dean had fought his way through at least two dozen lower demons, carrying a few wounds himself. He was covered in blood, his own and demon blood, his wounds consisting of a split lip, a couple small knife wounds (one in his shoulder and the other to his side), and a split near his forehead where a demon had smashed him over the head with a pipe.

Kicking down the door to the last room, Dean wobbled on his feet, licking at his swollen lip. "A party without me, I'm insulted," he said in his gravelly voice, the demon swinging around on his heel, bloody knife in his hand, grinning.

"Dean Winchester, I should have expected you to come and gather your little bag of feathers," the man growled. "We were just having a little chat, seems like he's forgotten who he is, I was "helping" him remember, the fun way."

Vision clearing as Dean stepped further into the room, his eyes fell on the figure in the chair and he was surprised to find that it wasn't Cas the demon had, but Angel. "Sonuvabitch," he growled, hands tensing around the demon knife and the machete. "I'll have you know, that you got the wrong guy you pile of shit," he growled pointing at Angel with the machete. "That there ain't Cas, but you know what? I'm going to skin you alive," he growled stalking towards him.

[motorheadhunter]

No such thing as a time box-phone ship, whatever...

                         After meeting Rose and not being able to find a way back, Dean had gone off on his own, determined that all this time travel stuff, and not to mention a time travelling blue box, was all utter crap. Sure Castiel had taken them back in time, but that had been a lot different than what he'd felt coming here, he'd felt absolutely nothing, nothing but a rush of air against his ears, then he'd been somewhere he hadn't been.                          Heading in the first direction he'd come upon, Dean walked until he came to a graveyard, finding himself standing right in the middle of it, then there had been another rush, his head spinning as he found himself somewhere else. How the fuck? What even? This was starting to get out of hand, what was going on?                          Standing right in front of him, was a blue box. 

                         Dean scoffed and toed at the dirt, adjusting his shirt and giving the blue box a mocking look. "Yeah right, you don't even exist," he told the suddenly appearing box, stepping forwards, stumbling and then falling to his knees as his head spun horribly, nose bleeding. Dean let out a mournful, pained sound as pain ripped through his head. "Ahhh!"

[arthurtheauthor]

When Arthur was a child he dreamed of getting away, of going some place far, far away. He dreamed of the heavens, wondering if they'd be kinder to him than the earth. His father had a telescope, which he was allowed to use if he was a 'good boy'.

Once he saw an impossible blue box flitting through the stars. He was eight years old.

At eleven he saw the box on the corner of the street, standing in all of it's cerulean glory. Hesitantly, Arthur approached. A man, a very strange old man with a mass of fluffy blonde hair and ruffles on his shirt and what looked like an opera cape stepped out of the box, looking around, speaking rapidly to a young and also blonde woman who looked like she'd stepped right out of the early seventies. 

He followed them (as best he could)

He saw the wonderful, dangerous things they did (and he loved every moment)

He saw them save the world (from a reasonable distance)

"Please! Doctor!" He called as the pair was getting into their box. "Let me come with you!"

The doctor looked him over with a critical eye, took in the bruised eye, the baggy clothes, the too thin frame. Most importantly the fear and desperation in his eyes. Arthur almost was saved, that day, but the TARDIS slammed her doors on him when he tried to enter. Curious, the Doctor sonic-ed him, and sighed. "I'm so very sorry, Arthur Wasserman." He said, giving the boy no explanation and a broken heart as his ears were filled with that beautiful whirring noise.

He barely remembers this, now. It's a faint dream, some faint hope that the Doctor will come back. It was 20 years ago, such a very long time.