1 - 20 of 40 Works by ForbiddenToast
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The art of a comfort break in the emergency department is a fickle thing. No such thing exists according to Pennsylvania employment law or PTMC policy, at least not in black and white writing. Samira has checked. No, they’re more of an opportunistic concept. A combination of words that make up a bad joke, because Samira knows that the words comfort and emergency department do not coexist.
(or: Samira Mohan's journey to the night shift. Told through not-breaks, traumas, and contact dermatitis.)
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Shane catches sight of black and gold jerseys in the rafters, and thinks of the Bell Centre’s ceiling, and the blue jerseys that hang there. He thinks of the trophy case that is always going to expect just one more cup. He sees the empty seats and thinks of all the people that are expecting Shane Hollander to put on a show here later, when his schedule tells him to.
(or: after leaving, Shane can't help but think about expectations, ice, and Ilya Rozanov.)
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For all the apologising he does at work, he never apologises to Samira there. There he only talks to her with the tone of a red editing marker, occasionally encouraging, but mostly corrective.
However in her apartment, apologies seem to be the only thing Robby can talk in.
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It’s all red lips smiling over a cocktail glass, a shimmery dress and dark curls loose around shoulders. So not-work appropriate that it has Jack staring for a second too long, brain shutting down for a moment because here, in a so not-work environment he allows himself to.
(or: Jack Abbot's afterparty experiences over the course of a year.)
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“What else you got in your go-bag?” She found herself asking in awe. It hadn’t been a medically relevant question – not really. Not a learning opportunity, not something that would help the patient, just curiosity. Perhaps it started then; the itch to know what made Jack Abbot tick, to know what he deems essential. To know what he wants within arms reach at any given moment.
(Or: the evolution of Doctor Mohan's go-bag after Pittfest.)
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None of this is useful. The military has no need for him to slather cream onto his scars, cradle cups of tea or trace the strong line of Johnny's jaw. That's not what they pay his hands to do.
And yet his hands do it anyway, just to feel the warmth of Johnny's smile seep into his palm.
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Kate never really lets go of the overpass.
She still feels cool concrete and metal biting into her palms when the weather turns. It starts with a low rumble of pain in her thigh that will turn lightning-sharp up the length of the scar that lives there, if she’s not careful.
(or: a collection of things Kate holds onto throughout the film. Some are better than others.)
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He blames the sun. He blames the orange, fruity cocktails. He blames the fact that he’s somehow having a honeymoon period twenty years into a relationship, but everything feels so, so, so romantic here.
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By this point Pete would consider himself an expert in leaps of faith.
Some leaps pan out, like Fall Out Boy did for example. Other leaps don't, like Fall Out Boy didn't.
(or: while making Where Did The Party Go, Pete finds himself falling back into Patrick. So much for learning from experience.)
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Pete loves like a dog. Disruptive and brutal - he'll ruin your white picket fence if you're not careful.
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Lara should be focused on getting back in undetected, should be worrying about cleaning the pistol so it won't jam.
She should be focusing on getting Jonah back. Not worrying about how he could already be another name etched onto the ever-growing list of people she's killed.
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Snapshots of Pete's relationship with time (among other things) evolving throughout the years. Featuring Transformers, St. Anger by Metallica, Keanu Reeves and an alarming amount of bread.
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When Pete falls in love, it's a freefall. It's that big, ultra, all-consuming kind of love you can't look away from.
It's the kind of love Patrick loves.
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If he didn’t know any better, Patrick would say Pete looks almost peaceful here, curled up in the dark with his eyes closed.
But Patrick does know better. So he climbs into the bath next to him, left foot first.
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Patrick has done enough armchair diagnosing with Google to know he's slipped past traumatised and straight to crazy when he feels sensation in a limb that isn't there and sees ghosts around the apartment.
(Or: after surviving the events of Miss Missing You, Patrick copes. Badly.)
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Sometimes - and it is only sometimes - Ianto Jones takes a notion of silence.
Considering his job with the running (so much running), the shouting (so much shouting) and the sonic, radio and God-knows-what-else waves Tosh tries to explain to him, it’s not exactly ideal. Torchwood is not the environment for silence. Or notions. You’re either all in, or you’re not at Torchwood.
Ianto learnt that at Torchwood One.
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It starts with Pete buying a photo album. It’s leather bound, heavy, and does nothing but take up space on their already full bookshelf.
Patrick doesn’t think about it much at first.
(This in hindsight is a rookie mistake.)
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Sometimes Gwen thinks she hates Jack Harkness.
Wait, no. That’s not right – that implies she thinks about him and what happened enough to be a ‘sometimes’, and that is just not true. She goes days, weeks and sometimes the odd month without thinking about Jack these days. Until something reminds her.
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Sometimes they talk in hypotheticals. Sometimes it's easier that way.
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The spoken word has always eluded him. Words are so much easier when constricted to twenty-six letters that he can manipulate and twist into saying exactly what he needs them to. Speaking is too vague, with too many variables and often relies on Pete understanding exactly what he needs to say. Hence why the spoken word (or in this case, sung) word became Patrick’s domain in the band. He’s the Pete-translator.
(Or: Pete finds a new hobby and overthinks a relationship or two.)