Doctor Who Preferences and One-Shots (Requests Open)

Wow. I suck.

I'm sorry, but I won't be writing in this anymore. Honestly, I've lost interest in the show... and it's become more of a chore than a pleasure to write off it.

But, I am started a new preference/imagines/one-shot book for the X-Men series. Here's an example of what I will be writing:

(Erik Lehnsherr X Reader - but more so platontically for the sake of being general.)

"Change surrounds us. It doesn't matter if you open your arms to it, or if you close your eyes and block it out. It doesn't matter whether you bring it about, or if you simply let it come to you. 

There are those who believe it does: those who believe they're so remarkably different, just because they believe in a bright side . . . Those are the optimists. Or, better phrased, the naive children.

Then, there are those who believe it doesn't: those who know they're just the same as everyone else, because they're human
They know what humanity will do, because of what it has done already . . . Those are the so called "pessimists." Just because they aren't blind to the truth sitting in front of them, they're labeled as cold, unforgiving, and grieving.

Maybe they are. Maybe they are just cold, heartless beings. Who knows?

Or, maybe they're not. Maybe, just maybe, they're right.

If you're an optimist, then you're automatically seen as the saviour. You're seen as some ray of light, that somehow made its way into the deepest cave ever known. You're romanticized for being naive.

Oh what a cruel world it truly is for the optimist.

-

Your body was sat at the foot of your bed, with your knees secured to your chest and your head against the fabrics. Your hair spread out just behind it like a wave.

Eye closed, you thought long and hard. You thought about the string of decisions you had made in the past few years. From things as simple as getting out of bed in the early mornings, to the troubles you faced with decided between Charles' optimism and Erik's truth.

On one hand, you needed to have Charles words of encouragement. The constant, utter drain your life had taken on itself required a sort of "pick up."

On the other, you were never one to be a sheep. In the long run, Erik was right. Humanity would never overcome it's constant inability to accept. People would always oppress others, simply because they were different. That was a fact you'd accepted long ago.

So, you made a decision on that beach. To abandon the life you'd lived for years with Charles, and follow Erik and his Brotherhood.

A heavy, long awaited sigh heaved past your pale lips. Your (E/C) eyes opened a crack, and your head lifted up. In front of you, we're a pair of shoes you recognized as Erik's. It took you by surprise, as you hadn't heard him enter the room.

"Back to reality, Cat," he said quietly, calling you by the nickname he always had. It didn't bother you as much as it had when you were younger.

Your head nodded, but your lips remained sealed. He seemed to know what you were thinking already.

He took short steps forward and lowered in front of you on his knees. It was a vulnerable position, but, somehow, he still had that.... air.....  about him. That familiar, beautiful confidence he always wore on his sleeves.

"You're thinking of him," he said, eyes fixed in yours. A pause passed before you answered.

"You know I can't just forget him, Erik."

"I never told you to," he says. His tone is slightly harsh, but you calm, knowing of the stress affecting him currently. "I.." he started.

"Erik-" you say, breaking him off. "Just..." you drag the word out, concluding it with one finger against his lips.. "Shhh." Normally, this wasn't something you would do, and it caught his tense guard. His hand darts up and catches your wrist firmly, bit you don't jump. You were used to this.

"Cat," he firmly warns. The two of you had been together for what felt like decades, but there was still this tension between you.

"Erik," you return.

He releases your hand, his expression showing how he'd just now realized his own movements. You sigh, standing with him and moving to lay on the bed. His body sinks in next to yours, and his left arm gently moves to your waist. His hand slowly working down the fabric of your shirt

That was Erik: firm and tactical in one moment... Then soft and slow in the next. You'd been numbed to the quick changes by now, so they stopped bothering you.. Your hand moves down to hold his own.

His free hand moves to the only lit lamp and turns it off, letting the dark envelope the both of you.. He grips your hand tightly and lay's his head against the pillow, almost instantly falling into a light sleep.

You grip his large hand in return and rest your hand against the cold pillow.... again left with your thoughts...."