#I haven’t been doing a lot of intense exercising for a while but especially in the past ~6 months

[lynxfrost13]

Oh goodness… first time trying to do weights in a LONGGG ass time..

[shybunnie20]

Bff!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Dustin Henderson

★My Masterlist

Summary: The last thing you want is to bring your friends down with you, so you decide against telling them how much you've been struggling. They find out in the worst way imaginable.

Author's Note: Thank you for another request, Anon! Writing this was cathartic because I got to channel aspects my personal experiences. I hope that reading this provides similar relief to you, reader.

Not suitable for sensitive readers! Heavy angst with a bittersweet ending. No use of Y/N. Inspired by the song Sara - We Three.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Depression and anxiety, self-harm (cutting), panic attacks, suicidal ideation and attempt (overdose), substance abuse, contains profanity.

Do not proceed if the warnings are triggering for you. Read Down & to the Left instead, it has a similar theme but it's far less intense.

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to a hardship that isn’t quite so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations only go to show that your friends can’t possibly understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks from the tears.

Because of this, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles. You have yet to say mercy, but god knows, you’ve come close. With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements? Not likely.

In order to make it trickier for your demons to find you, it’s essential to drape a sheet over your bedroom window. Instead of them getting to rip you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. Sometimes it feels like that’s all that you have.

Is it lonesome? Sure. But you don’t ache for another person’s presence. When it comes down to it, apathy is what you want. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole already.

It’s common knowledge that in art mediums, blue is considered to be the color of sadness. Although, for you, it isn’t. With a flesh piercing blade as your brush, bright crimson is drawn to the surface—your canvas.

Looking in the mirror is the only way to see such a gallery of inconsistent markings. The reflection looking back at you is nothing short of a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s just not an emotion you’re meant to experience.

At one point you’d felt envious of those who live vibrantly and carefree. You quickly learned that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

It’s a lot to deal with, and it has been for some time. That being said, you haven’t been going through this unaccompanied. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends.

Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, you do find a little comfort in knowing that you have the option to confide in these two dorks.

The panic attacks have been occurring for a while. Somehow, the boys figured out how to help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think that they could piece together the rest. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures.

Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They don’t deserve exposure to turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think it was humanly possible to feel any more exhausted than you already did when you woke up this morning. Yet, another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. Not only has your brain turned to mush, but your body has followed suit. More than anything you want to lay in bed to sink into yourself. Luckily, you’re only moments away from doing so.

Colliding keychains and metal jingle while you try to insert your key into the front door’s lock. The metal slips from your shaky fingers and clatter as they hit the ground. You sigh exasperatedly and bend over to scoop up your keys. After doing so, you’re successful in your second attempt at letting yourself inside.

“Surprise!” 

The beaming expressions of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin are convincingly mirrored on your face. You don’t even feel the disingenuous curl of your lips imitating a smile. It’s all instinct at this point.

Your eyes take in the room that’s been decorated with bundles of balloons and a handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is-”

The sound of a party horn unfurling with a crinkle and honk causes you to jump in your skin. Dustin, having just bounced into view out of seemingly nowhere, insisted on hiding.

“You little shit.” You sigh amusedly, wrapping your arm around his shoulders to hug him with a squeeze. “I take it that you’re the mastermind behind this?”

Dustin tries, but fails to dodge your opposite hand that’s extended to tousle his coffee-colored curls. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out awesome, if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they actively search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pant-less up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too.” He motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically. 

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet. 

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere,” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick. 

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell."

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm.” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.” 

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡everywhere

[serowotonin]

falling ; bakugou k.

pairing ( bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ) wordcount ( 2.4k ) genre ( fluff & basically pining )

↷ a hc-styled narrative describing the four stages bakugou katsuki goes through as he finds himself falling for you . . .

STAGE I ( impression ) ;

the first time bakugou laid eyes on you was during the entrance exam at UA. 

back then, you were just another face in the crowd of faces he was going to have to beat to earn his spot in UA

the first time bakugou spoke to you wasn’t memorable to him either

like with everyone else, he was loud and rude and made it very clear he wasn’t interested in playing friends

after that you became a part of the class, just another extra, someone who’d just get in the way

that was all he thought you were… 

until you kicked todoroki’s ass one day during training

the teachers had paired everyone in the class and told you to practice your 1-on-1 combat skills using your quirk 

bakugou, who was paired with kirishima went first

you and todoroki were to be the last pair

despite a good effort put up by kirishima, bakugou still ended up winning that round

when it was finally yours and todoroki’s turn, bakugou paid extra attention

in his mind, he knew todoroki was powerful and someone to watch out for

but what happened was quite unexpected

you maneuvered easily through todoroki’s attacks with a combination of physical prowess and creative usage of your quirk

let’s just say his ice didn’t work on you and he was caught off guard, allowing you to snatch a win 

needless to say, most of your classmates were a bit surprised at first

bakugou included

they knew you were strong but they didn’t know you were that skilled

whatever the rest of the class thought didn’t matter to bakugou though

all he knew was that now he had to keep an eye on you

STAGE II ( perspective ) ;

after that event, bakugou did indeed keep his eye on you

it started off with him observing your moves whenever the class had to do any training exercises 

he saw you fight with todoroki a couple more times after that

those didn’t end in easy victory for you as it did before because todoroki was now more wary of you

however, the way you evaded and countered his attacks was something to be praised

in bakugou’s subconscious opinion at least

your moves were carefully thought out and bakugou could see that

he could see the effort and practice you had put into perfecting them

not only that, he could also see the natural talent that you had to be able to become this strong

and it wasn’t only your fighting capabilities

you were also smart

maybe he hadn’t noticed it before but he did now

you seemed to always know the answer when a teacher called on you and your grades were great

slowly, but surely, you gained respect in his eyes 

if he knew one thing about you, it was that you were maybe the tiniest bit better than the other extras 

for a while it stayed like this, him acknowledging you but never making it obvious and you just doing your thing

that was of course until one day in the morning before class started

mina, kirishima, and sero were talking about things as they usually were and somehow the conversation led to you

they were talking about how strong and smart you were and going on about stuff

bakugou must’ve turned his head in their direction or something but mina noticed him listening so asked him cheekily what he thought of you

“y/n? of course they’re strong. anyone could see that.”

he said that pretty loudly and didn’t seem to notice you walking into the classroom

and of course you heard

“did my ears deceive or did the bakugou katsuki just praise me?” you teased

he was pretty embarrassed, blushing and sweating a bit but trying to hide it

soon after though, class started and the ordeal was forgotten

but something about that interaction led to you and bakugou becoming closer

closer in that instead of passing the other off as another strong classmate as you usually would, you’d actually greet each other and talk 

you’d say hello to him in the mornings and goodbye after school and he’d just grunt or nod your way

but this was what it meant to be close to bakugou anyway

during the weeks that passed, bakugou found himself noticing you even more

before he only paid attention to your skills and thought about you as an enemy or rival of sorts

now it seems as if he’s just noticing the little things about you and your personality that make you who you were

he wasn’t doing it on purpose god forbid

no no it was just him being unknowingly observant

weeks turned into months and months turned into years

in a blink of an eye, you were all well in your second year

with everything that happened, you and bakugou became close

close enough for you to tease him at random times and close enough for him to ask you to fight him as training

by then it was safe to say bakugou knew you

he knew the little quirks you had 

he knew your different smiles, your different laughs

he knew your favorite foods and your not so favorite ones

he knew the many different little things that made you you

STAGE III ( contradiction ) ;

before the start of the third year, the class decided to have a little get-together party of sorts

to celebrate the start of their last year in high school and to catch up as everyone’s been busy with internships and whatnot

you spent the break away from tokyo so it’s been a while since you saw the rest of the class

naturally you were excited to be able to meet them all casually again before the intense studying and training that awaited you all 

bakugou, on the other hand, wasn’t too excited

frankly, he could do without seeing the class before school

but when he heard you were going to be there, he also agreed to go

so there you two were with the rest of the class at a cinema buying drinks and popcorn before your movie started

the neon lights and the prospect of popcorn lit up your face and bakugou couldn’t help but stare

there was just something, something he couldn’t quite figure out

it’s not that you were beautiful, it’s not that you looked cute in that outfit, it’s not that your smile was making his heart flutter

no it wasnt any of that true though they may be

you just.. you looked nice

thats why he was staring

yeah he hasn’t seen you in a while and you come back looking *nice* 

of course he would stare

anyone would

apparently you had noticed him staring though, so you sent a wink and a grin his way before turning back to the popcorn and drinks

in other words, you killed him

with ridiculously high levels of cute and nice

kirishima and sero were just watching the whole thing happen and hell was it obvious to them

their boi was falling hard

now they knew he’d never admit it and they knew you weren’t likely to do anything about his “crush” even if it was obvious to you too

so…

while bakugou was busy helping you carry your popcorn, they devised a rather devious plan

operation: jelly burst

objective? none other than to make explody boiy jealous

for what reason? no reason really it’s just fun to mess with him and this is probably the first time he’s had this big a crush

once everyone finished buying popcorn and was walking into the cinema, operation: jelly burst was put into action

“hey y/n ! come sit next to me” — sero

so you did, nothing strange bout that, sero was a good of yours anyway, nothing strange at all

bakugou moved to come sit next to you too but kiri hurried past him and sat down on your other side before he could

“oh hey bakubro didn’t see ya there sorry”

the seat kirishima stole was the last seat on the aisle

and bakugou was forced to go sit somewhere else

alone

poor guy</3

the seat he found was a few rows above yours though and all went according to the jelly burst plan

by the end of the movie, bakugou was in the foulest mood and no one, except for the 2 lads sitting on either side of y/n, knew why

operation: jelly burst didnt end there though

see they got him jelly but they haven’t gotten him to burst

the next week at school, kirishima and sero both acted really nice to you

it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but they did talk to you just a tad bit more than usual

either way bakugou noticed big time and he did not like it

he did not like it one bit

the jelly was there alright

it was just boiling to unprecedented levels

pretty soon, the boys dumped the idea of operation: jelly burst 

mainly cos it was taking too long 

but also because bakugou had become at least 10x more hostile

except to you of course

for some reason, a reason absolutely no one could figure out(sarcasm intended), he was just

quiet around you

didnt yell but didnt really talk to you either

whenever anyone else, kiri and sero especially, tried to talk to him though, he’d shout louder and be a lot ruder to them 

he’s just agitated

and he knew why he was that way

he’s just in denial about it

he’s also in denial about the reason why

why couldn’t he just accept his feelings and act on it already?

kirishima asked him that one day in the dorms

he saw bakugou staring very intensely straight at you without blinking for a full minute

“look man, don’t even try to tell me you don’t like y/n. it’s obvious and i’m not an idiot. you aren’t either.”

“i know shitty hair. it’s just… i’m me. and she’s y/n. nothing’s ever gonna happen.”

“you don’t know that”

“but i do. cmon, she’s just so fucking perfect even with all her flaws. and i’m just the loud guy with exploding hands and no emotions.”

kiri was surprised honestly

this wouldn’t be the first time bakugou was insecure around him but the way bakugou talked about you and how he implied he wasn’t worthy

damn that hit kirishima 

“bakubro, i’m gonna help you”

STAGE IV ( intimacy ) ;

ever since he told kirishima abt what’s been bothering him about you and ever since kirishima declared he’d help, bakugou became more…

quiet

he was still loud, but he just became a soft kind of loud now(?)

it was like he got calmer and he was assured that things would be okay

of course things were not okay

why? because ever since bakugou fully accepted his feelings for you, he doesnt know how to act around you

the other day you asked him what he wanted to eat for dinner cause you were cooking tonight

his answer:

“you”

“umm..”

“-you can make anything you want. i’ll eat whatever.”

that and a lot of other little awkward incidents started occurring

also maybe it was just the weather but he always seemed red whenever you saw him

it wasn’t the weather though

it was him being shy and nervous and flustered

which made bakusquad extremely weirded out cause seeing him like that is like seeing aizawa cheerfully smiling and wearing bright color clothes

it was weird af and was just not right

anyway, mina’s advice to him was to try to get closer to you

“but we’re already close”

“no i mean closer on a personal level. ask her how her day was or ask her random stuff about her likes and dislikes or her hobbies or literally anything”

“oh… ok then”

and so he tried that

he tried getting closer to you by greeting you every morning and sometimes asking you if you slept well

you found it odd

it certainly was odd, but you didn’t mind

if you ask him why he asks about your sleep he just goes red and says he needs to make sure his opponent for his afternoon sparring session is well-rested and healthy

speaking of the sparring sessions…

he asks you to spar more often than usual and actually makes small talk during your breaks

he was also a lot nicer to you, offering to help carry stuff for you and assisting you in the little things

like getting a mug from the kitchen’s high shelves or picking up the pencil you accidentally dropped

what he did worked though and within a few weeks, the two of you got a lot closer

the next step, as mina put it, was “making sure she knew you weren’t interested in her as a friend”

now that was hard for bakugou to do

“it’s not that hard. you could just tell her.”

bakugou: ..??

“basically confess”

bakugou: wha- *shortcircuits*

CONFESSING

he never thought about that

he actually has

he knew in his mind he’d have to do it eventually if he wanted to have you

but he didn’t think it would be *this soon*

“dont think that much and just tell her you like her”

“you’re making it sound easy”

“because it is!”

he groaned internally

he’s faced tons of villains and been in quite the number of fearful situations but the fear he felt now was completely different 

“look if you’re afraid of rejection just confess like this”

*sero clears throat*

“*y/n i like you and i would like to be something more than friends. i’m not going to pressure you into anything so if yoh don’t want to we can just pretend this never happened>:)”

“...”

bakugou ended up confessing the next day though

just not like that

it was a spur of a moment thing and he wasn’t really aware he said it until you responded

the two of you were sparring as usual and you had just gotten close enough to knock him down and pin him to the ground

in that moment you were just so beautiful and amazing and everything and he just couldn’t keep it in apparently 

“i like you”

“w-what?”

“what?”

“did you just say you liked me?”

“like not liked dumbass”

“:o present tense o:”

well long story short, you like him too and you tell him that and you two just sit there grinning like idiots 

from then on things didn’t change much

you and bakugou still talked, although maybe more than usual

and still sparred with each other, although maybe less seriously and more playfully

some were surprised when it became known you were together

some weren’t 

whatever other people thought though, they couldn’t deny one thing:

bakugou looked at you as if you were the world

STAGE ∞︎ ( fallen ) .

note ; i started writing this soo long ago but then abandoned it cuz thats just me:”] bUT i decided that since its his birthday i might as well finish it up and finally post it u.u,,, also TYSM @animebsposts for helping me with this ily and ur amazing<3

taglist ; ( send ask to be added ! ) @lilikags​

[rheawritessometimes]

Not Part of the Deal

{ Childe x GN!Reader }

{ Summary } Living with Childe is starting to feel a little too comfortable. Series Masterlist

{ Warnings } Swearing, Physical Intimacy, Alcohol, Intoxication, Undefined Relationship.

{ Notes } This took a long time, I'm having a hard time writing. I can't decide what I want to write but I didn't want to leave this unwritten for too long. Hopefully, I'll be able to wrap this series up nicely soon. Masterlist

{ Word Count } 1,846

The bed was empty when you woke up to the sound of laughter, which was reasonable considering it was Childe’s laughter coming from the kitchen. You sat up, noting that this was the second time your sleep was disturbed by the Harbinger being loud in the kitchen. Groggily, you rolled out of his bed to figure out the source of his amusement.

When you entered the kitchen, bright blue eyes shining with laughter met your gaze. They were so beautiful, framed by long lashes and accompanied by a goofy smile that could probably light up all of Teyvat for weeks. Were those dimples?

“I thought you didn’t want me ‘cooking enough to feed a small army’, why so much food?” Childe asked through his laughter, seeming much more amused by this than he reasonably should be. Not that this stopped you from laughing along with him.

“Well, I didn’t know what you might like to make, so I decided to err on the side of caution,” you replied somewhat bashfully. It was the truth, minus the fact that most of it was fueled by panic.

“I guess that means I should make a lot of dishes for dinner!”

This turned into quite the ordeal, with several different things being prepared simultaneously, Childe needed to split his focus and time things correctly. You couldn’t even help with much of the preparation, too focused on clearing counter space of his used cookware and cleaning dishes so you wouldn’t be left with a mountain of them afterward, it was especially useful that you cleaned dishes he would later need to reuse for a different component of the meal he had planned.

“Childe, this all looks really good but I think this is enough food to feed all of Liyue.”

“I don’t mind sharing.”

Scoffing at his reply, you could only shake your head. You assumed Childe would pass the leftovers off to his subordinates in Liyue so you didn’t mind too much, so long as the food didn’t go to waste and you didn’t have to do the distribution. Not many of the Fatui in Liyue were very fond of you, considering your history of fights with them. Maybe that’s why the guard didn’t like you.

Redirecting your attention to the food laid out on the table, you were impressed by the array of dishes. There was a cold, primarily vegetable soup that had caught your interest when Childe began preparing it. There was also some sort of potato salad with plenty of mayo, something similar to dumplings with meat filling, and fruit cooked in a syrup. Several other dishes filled the table and you felt bad not sampling at least a little bit of everything, so you kept your portions small.

Throughout dinner, you listened to the Harbinger tell you about the times he made these dishes with his family or sometimes a little bit about the history of a dish. While you didn’t say much, it was pleasant to have his chatter fill the air. He continued to talk about his family back in Snezhnaya and the long days spent fishing even after the both of you had finished eating and were clearing the table.

“I need to start exercising again, I don’t want to get out of shape,” Childe lamented once you had finished with the cleaning. You had both settled on the couch, sitting on opposite ends facing each other.

“Have you forgotten about your broken ribs already?” you ask, a bit of incredulity dripping into your tone.

“No, but it won’t hurt that bad. I can handle it.”

You really couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not with that statement, his tone was serious but he couldn’t be that careless. Surely he understood the strain would impede recovery, perhaps even make things worse.

“No, you can’t. You’d just mess up your recovery trying. Not to mention we have a deal,” you try to reason, wondering briefly if that kind of thing even worked on him. You knew Childe wasn’t one to break his promises but he also cared greatly about his strength.

“I will exercise restfully,” he said decisively, though his playful undertone made it apparent he was joking.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you adore me.”

Scoffing at his response, you meet his gaze. He wore a cheeky grin, eagerly awaiting your response in hopes of being able to further tease you. You know if you hesitate for too long he will also tease you about that, so your options were limited.

“You sound awfully confident in that,” you reply coolly. It was not an ideal response, but it was the best you could think of in the moment.

“Because it’s true, you didn’t even deny it,” the Harbinger gloats, seeming very satisfied with himself.

“Maybe,” you reply vaguely, rolling the thought around in your head. What were your feelings for him, exactly? It was clear you weren’t just friends, but it seemed like a lot to say you were in love with him and it didn’t seem to be enough to say you just liked him. You felt confused about him.

For the rest of the night, you thought about the same question, but even by the time you were falling asleep, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a solid answer. It left you feeling restless for the next few days, though things remained the same with Childe. To pass the time you took the dog Harbinger on regular walks through Liyue. Sometimes the two of you would stop at the various vendor’s stalls in the markets and others you would walk closer to the harbor.

Even with your uncertainty about him, Childe was as easy to get along with as ever. He joked and made you laugh, cooked most of your shared meals thankfully not making quite as much food, and explored Liyue with you. Sometimes you visited the restaurants and Zhongli would join the two of you, making a habit of keeping the two of you for hours with his stories before dumping the bill on the Snezhnayan.

Though fewer than normal, you still took up commissions around Liyue, leaving Childe unattended for some time. You couldn’t be certain, but you were pretty sure he still behaved in the time you were gone. It seemed he most often did some work for the Fatui in the time you were gone, you often came back to him reading over a report or writing something he would later handoff to the guard outside his door.

All in all, living with him was becoming fairly comfortable.

“Oh fuck we’ve been eating all this Snezhnayan food and stuff and I forgot to show you our most famous commodity,” Childe exclaimed one night as he was cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner. You looked over from drying a plate to see him pull two small glasses and a bottle of clear liquid from the cupboards. You knew enough to recognize it.

“Fire-Water?”

“Yeah, have you had it before? This is a bottle of the fancy stuff,” he hummed, already pouring some into the glasses, one with a noticeably smaller amount.

“I haven’t, I don’t drink much,” you admitted, taking the glass from him when he offered it to you.

“Oh, perfect,” he said with a grin that made you think it would not be perfect for you. That didn’t stop you from drinking the small amount in your glass after watching him knock back his.

The taste was awful, but the burn down your throat and how warm it made you feel was rather pleasant. Childe had been watching you, eager to gauge your reaction. He would be disappointed by the fact you didn’t cringe at the taste but also pleased you didn’t seem to dislike it.

“It’s not bad,” you said after a moment, which Childe responded to by pouring a more generous amount into your glass. They were small glasses, so it still didn’t amount to very much.

“I think you’re fully prepared for a visit to Snezhnaya now,” he laughed, also pouring more of the Fire-Water into his glass. Being awfully classy not drinking straight from the bottle.

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to visit you when you’re back in Snezhnaya?” you cooed teasingly, emptying your glass before setting it on the counter. It was already starting to feel a little hazy. That did not stop your companion from continuing to drink.

“Maybe. Maybe I would like to take you back with me,” he returned with a cheeky grin, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into his side, not letting you go once you were there. Not that you particularly minded being held snugly against his side. “What do you say? You might even like the cold.”

Heart fluttering at his words, you wondered if he meant them. Of course, he had said it in response to your teasing, but maybe he did want you around. Did you want to stay with him, by his side when he returns to Snezhnaya? Perhaps even going with him when the Fatui send him to different nations?

“I don’t know, I think you’d need to convince me it’s worth going with you,” you mused, giving him a playful smirk.

“Is being with me not enough for you?” he pouts, setting his glass down before using his grip on your waist to turn you around so your back bumps against the counter. His hands rested against the surface on either side of you caging you in as he gazed down at you with an expression that made your heart stutter.

The Harbinger observed your expression for a few beats before leaning down to press his lips to yours. He was much rougher than he’d been in the past, more eager, but you mimicked his pace and intensity nonetheless. Perhaps it was the alcohol you could still taste on his tongue that caused the change.

When you wrapped your arms around his neck, he lifted you up and seated you on the counter. He pulled away from the kiss to brush his lips against your cheek before moving to your neck. The kisses he left there started out delicate but when his teeth grazed against your skin you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh pleasantly.

When his hands hooked under your thighs to lift you up, your eyes flew open and a surprised squeak left you. On instinct your legs wrapped around him to prevent you from falling.

“Childe?” you asked when he began walking with you in his hold. It became apparent that the Harbinger was carrying you in the direction of his bedroom, causing your heart to speed up. It seemed like things were moving too fast.

“Alcohol makes me sleepy sometimes.” Oh.

You were promptly dropped on the bed, still feeling a little shocked. He leaned down to press another kiss to your lips, smiling at your expression. That night was the second time you found yourself falling asleep in Childe’s arms.

[mooncademia]

Caught in Love

PAIRING ~ Aizawa x reader

GENRE ~ fluff

SUMMARY ~ After getting a job offer at U.A, your love life w/ Aizawa has officially transferred to school. And you loved it.

But wait...something is different about Class 1-A homeroom teacher! And it has definitely caught a few suspicious eyes.. who may or may not have an idea up their sleeves to satisfy their burning curiosity. 

First day working at U.A, you realized that you didn’t have to wake up at your usual morning alarm at 5:30 a.m.

Ah yes, the pro hero days of waking up super early, going to the agency, giving Aizawa (who continued to sleep beside you) a peck on his cheek before you left were now over.

And instead, you were introduced to a new routine.

A fresh one.

However, things weren’t going to change that fast, after all, you’ve been pro-hero for years! And your sleep cycle has stuck to your 5:30 a.m alarm and Aizawa, your husband, did not appreciate that.

“We are going to work, together!” You squealed as you flung open the blankets that covered you and Aizawa. You hopped out of bed and shook his shoulder, making Aizawa mumble a groan.

You kissed his cheek passionately and ruffled his messy raven-black hair a little bit.

“Come on,” you said. “Wake up, I’m going to make some coffee.”

Aizawa turned to the side to peek at the clock on the bed side table. He let out another groan when he saw the three digits.

“Y/N, it’s literally 5:34 a.m. You just need to be at U.A at 8 and we don’t live that far.”

“Yeah, well,” you said with an exciting smile. “You can never be too prepared!”

You scurried out of the room and turned on your coffee machine in the kitchen.  Aizawa turned around and saw his bedroom now empty. His wrinkled long black sleeve was bunched up to his waist and he frowned as he got up this early for the first time in months. You knew your husband was a rationally-driven man, sometimes a lone cat who prefers privacy and waking up a lot later. But what you didn’t know was that when Principal Nezu asked him if his wife could teach at U.A after All Might retired, he was thrilled.

So despite it being before 6 a.m, his excitement was bubbling over that it made him finally leave the bed.

But of course, he had to play it cool. With rational excuses, right?!

“Well, I guess I do have to review the school schedule with you,” he mumbled as he palmed the back of his neck and walked out of the bedroom.

When you saw your husband slumping down on the dining chair with his half-lidded eyes, your heart immediately flipped and you poured a nice cup of hot coffee for him.  

You knew him well enough that he didn’t wake up this early in the morning for no reason. You set the cup on the table and leaned down to give him a peck on the corner of his lips as a gesture of gratitude.

But at the very last second of pulling away, Aizawa got the best of you and wrapped your waist with his strong arms, causing you to sit down on his lap—santa lap style.

He hugged you warmly and you slung your arms around his neck. Aizawa snuggled his head between your neck and shoulder and sighed blissfully with his eyes closed. You laughed with your head tilted slightly back.

Yeah, he definitely was not a morning person.

After much time of Aizawa discussing you about the school system for the millionth time during breakfast and almost having a mental breakdown of whether or not you could actually teach (we all have those moments, right?), you were on your way to U.A.

And it really took your breath away.

The school was located on the top hill in Musutafu with the whole neighborhood revolving around it. Glass windows seemed to reach the sky and when you realized how freakin’ big the campus actually was, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the building, not even a second.

But that wasn’t the best thing of all.

Because the best thing was having to walk to work with your favorite (and sometimes most annoying, but you love him nonetheless) person beside you. It was like having your best friend as a partner for your science project in high school. Ease poured over you as you found it quite pleasant to have a strong arm to lean delightedly upon, a familiar face that peers down at you with a gentle smile, and a reassuring voice to tell you that things will be okay.

It was still an hour before class but you and Aizawa were—of course—there early.

The two of you were walking down the halls. Sooner or later you’ll have to let go of your arm that was crossed with Aizawa’s before entering the teacher’s office because one thing that you both agreed upon was to keep the relationship low-key. No one knew that Aizawa’s wife was going to be the new teacher at U.A except for some of the faculty and of course…Hizashi Yamada, aka: the loudest person in the world in Shouta’s opinion.

“Y/N!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Present Mic shouted when he saw you step into the teacher’s office. His blonde hair that was religiously shifted upward was too iconic to not be noticed from far away. You giggled at the sight as he threw his arm around his best friend, Aizawa, poking him teasingly on the shoulder. You were great friends with Hizashi and in fact, he was the one who introduced you to Aizawa in the first place.

“Oi, Eraserhead, you’re so lucky your wife goes to work with you,” Hizashi teasingly snickered with his arm still slung around Shouta’s neck. Aizawa tried to shrug him off but it only made him tighten his grip. “So they managed to get Y/N to teach here but they haven’t even implemented my great idea?!”

“Please no, Mic.” Aizawa groaned, trying again to pull away from Hizashi’s grip.

You sat down your bag. “What’s your  ‘idea?’ ”

Hizashi let go of Aizawa’s neck and casually slung his arm around yours, making you giggle in surprise.

“Well of course it’s my HERO FM radio! Every Friday from 1:00-5:00 p.m!” He announced proudly (or more like promoting) making you laugh even more as Aizawa facepalmed himself. “I told the staff that they should let me add one more day, you know, because of my great increasing popularity! But they said one day a week is already “enough,” he said letting go of you to make air quotes with a disgusted expression on his face.

“Get to work Mic,” Aizawa called as he headed towards his desk to gather up some assignments for his morning class.

Hizashi winked at you before he trotted off, throwing you a thumbs-up sign. “Get ready for some ‘strict Aizawa-sensei.’ One day during U.A fest, I wanted to hear Class 1-A perform but Aizawa kept on saying that I should be on patrol duty—“

“Which you should’ve. It was your shift.” Aizawa interrupted bluntly.

“But I just wanted an INSEY WINCEY listen!!” Hizashi stomped on his feet childishly which made Aizawa roll his eyes and let out a sigh.

You went to your husband and stood on your tippy-toes to land a small peck on his cheek. Aizawa blushed at your move because of the fact that you two were in a semi-public place, but he didn’t complain at all.

“Oh, don’t worry.” You seductively caressed his shoulder and gave him a charming smile as you leaned in deadly closer to his face with your hips arched a bit. “I can’t wait to see… what Aizawa-sensei is like.”

Your tone was silky smooth and you rolled out the last word so slowly that it made Aizawa’s mouth part open just a bit. He stared at you dumbfoundedly. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and he swallowed a gulp. He felt like Cupid just shot his heart and he was totally falling for you once again because the fact that you called him ‘sensei’ totally did not make his stomach or heart heat up.

Yeah…he really was goddamn lucky to have you work at U.A alongside him.

———

“Overall, ‘Plus Ultra’ doesn’t always necessarily means you need to exceed your limits physically. But it also means mentally. It’s how your brain exercises to solve complex situations. What are your strategies like? Are you saving those who need saving in quick time while doing minimal damage to your surroundings? I hope next week’s practice can allow you to exercise these brain muscles of yours that I reviewed today because listening to your thoughts and being mentally stable/prepared is more important than how powerful your quirk is. Listen to that hero gut instinct of yours, because at the end, especially in dearest times… it’s going to help you immensely.” You finished with an encouraging smile that made the class almost want to clap at your amazing class. You were glad to see their engaging faces and raising their hands when they had a question.

Class 1-A was truly remarkable. Though, the only student that left you curiously wondering about was the small boy with purple balls on his head because he seemed to be staring at you so intensely that you swore his eyes were bugging out of their sockets.

Aizawa bowed at you when you finished and you gave him a smirk.

The class began to exchange small chats as you bowed back to Aizawa.

“Wow, I think this teacher is really good! She’s so pretty and smart!” Ashido excitedly whispered to Tsuyu behind her with her eyes widened.

“That’s pro-hero for you,” Kaminari added with his index finger and thumb pointed high up. “Plus, she even made Aizawa-sensei stand there awake the whole entire time listening.”

Some of the classmates nodded eagerly in return, truly astounded that their homeroom teacher did not retreat to his traditional yellow sleeping bag that he usually does.  

“Thank you L/N-sensei,” Aizawa said, popping the class back to the board ahead. You bowed at him in return, but before you headed out, you saw Aizawa gave you the tiniest nod and wait…was that a smile creeping on his lips?!

You exhaled silently in relief. You have been so nervous and worried about teaching at U.A. When Principal Nezu offered you the position, you were shocked to even know that he had you on his mind. You previously thought that Aizawa proposed the option but that guess was quickly diminished when he told you that he had nothing to do with it.

You were just a pro-hero doing your job and when the amazing opportunity arose, you immediately accepted it, knowing that you deeply wanted to help students find their way to hero-life.

And Aizawa knew you had been nervous about U.A since accepting the offer. You have stayed up countless nights just reviewing paperwork, going over the school schedule many times, and even looking through practice exams from the past, thinking about what further lessons you can teach to these students.

You folded your lips and returned a small nod, eyes twinkling as you slid the door to head out.

The class truly captured the small moment you and Aizawa had, but then all shrugged away when they heard their homeroom teacher begin handing out today’s assignments.

As you trotted away from the class back to the main office, you smiled at yourself as you hugged your folders tighter to your chest.

Hm… I could definitely get used to this.

———

Days seemed to go by faster than you had expected.

Wake up (sometimes not that early anymore thanks to Aizawa hugging you down even after your 5:30 alarm rings), enjoy breakfast, head to U.A, teach, and then go back home with Aizawa (when everyone else is —of course— away).

You’ve had your ups and downs at U.A. Some days, work seemed to flow by very smoothly while other days, work was more than just grading papers or checking assignments. There were a few days where work overloaded and you and Aizawa will be staying up past midnight checking over paperwork. But it was times like these where you truly felt utmost grateful to have a mentor there to help you. And it was even better that your mentor was your favorite person in the world.

It has been ten days since your first day at U.A.

Which means: ten days Aizawa not sleeping a wink during your long lectures about hero work that he already confidently knows. And to some of the classmates who knew their homeroom teacher well enough that his yellow sleeping bag was his best friend, it was a bit…odd.

“Don’t you think it's weird that Aizawa-sensei stays awake only during L/N-sensei’s lectures?” Uraraka asked Kaminari on their way to the Lunch Rush.  

“What do you mean?” Kaminari shrugged and chuckled. “It should be weird that a teacher sleeps during class in the first place, right?” He grabbed his food tray excitingly, his eyes focused closely on it, clearly not noticing Uraraka’s suspicious tone nor mischievous eyes.

Tsuyu popped in between with the two and let out a sigh. “Boys……You have to read in between the lines. Uraraka’s right.” She snapped her finger perkily.  “Aizawa-sensei is not just awake but he’s seemed very engaged to L/N-sensei.”

Kaminari stared at Tsuyu and Uraraka obliviously as he sat down with the rest of the classmates. “Huh?”

Uraraka rolled her eyes. “You know! From the way he nods his head when she talks or oh! That smile?! I have never seen his lips tilt upwards besides haunting us on how difficult practice exams are going to be.” She tiredly sighed, thinking about her teacher’s wicked smirk every time a huge exam was coming. It was like he found pleasure in challenging the students to surpass their limits.

But Tsuyu and Uraraka knew that Aizawa’s expression when you were in the room wasn’t that wicked grin that he had when announcing an upcoming exam or event. Instead, it was a mixture of awe and sincerity. And it definitely made the two girls exchange some giggles and fun guesses.

“What’s up?” Jirou said, sitting down beside Tsuyu with her cafeteria tray, noticing her friends laughing loudly.

Uraraka leaned forward on the table to peer over at Jirou. “It's about Aizawa-sensei and the new teacher!”  Her voice was loud enough that it caught the other classmates’ ears, making her furiously blush afterward from her spontaneous excitement.

But of course, of all the pairs of ears in Class 1-A, there was always the one come rushing in when it’s about his favorite subject: women.

“L/N-SENSEI?!” Mineta’s ears visibly perked up from Uraraka’s gush, clearly engrossed with the topic of the new teacher. “She’s SO gorgeous and oh lord, her—“

“Quit it, Mineta.” Kirishima slapped the back of Mineta’s head beside him before he could finish his lewd statement. He hooked his arm around Kaminari with a giant smirk plastered on his face.

“Why don’t we find out, huh?” Kirishima proposed as Kaminari tried to wiggle his way free from his grasp.

“Hey man, watch your grip!”

Uraraka waved her hand to dismiss Kaminari's racket and stared back up at Kirishima. “About what?” She asked curiously, taking another bite of her rice.

“Girls…” Kaminari mocked sarcastically with a sigh, mirroring Tsuyu’s earlier comment that she made on him. The two girls rolled their eyes and punched his shoulder.

Kirishima leaned into the group closer with slyness flickering in his eyes. He grinned and bopped his head at Jirou. “We can find out if there’s anything special between Aizawa-sensei and L/N-sensei…using Jirou’s quirk!”

Jirou scoffed and leaned back with her arms crossed before Kirishima could continue. “Uh, you’re using me to get info about our homeroom teacher’s private life? That doesn’t sound very friend-like to me if I say so myself.”

“Come on Jirou,” Kaminari whined. “It’ll be fun!”

Jirou raised her brows and sneered. “Since when did you get interested in this?”

Tsuyu shook her head and waved her hands, dismissing the rising chaos. “No, you’re right,” She said, trying not to show her disappointing face. “It’s not fair to just use Jirou to grab juicy news about our teachers, you know…even if it can be so great to the point that it makes us cheerful and excited despite upcoming exams.”

Uraraka bobbled her head up and down, religiously agreeing to everything Tsuyu had to say with a pout on her lips and closed eyes. “Or it can even help us lift our spirits.”

Tsuyu nodded. “Even if it is just a tiny bit, it can-“

“Alright, guys! I get it! Fine!” Jirou said over Tsuyu, earning grins from the boys and giggles from the girls. Jirou sighed and pinched her nose bridge. She looked up at her friends and darted a death glare at Kirishima and Kaminari. “I’m only doing this for the girls.”

It was half-true. Jirou didn’t want to agree to this for the boys. But another reason was because of school lately.  With heavy workload that the whole class was dealing with, plus the hero-work after school and training, school has been…well, quite draining. And similar to the time where the whole class decided to hold a competition for “best dorm room” last year to raise everyone’s spirits from the whole villain chaos, she thought maybe this can raise spirits up again too. Even if it’s just miscellaneous curiosity or excitement. She knew and sensed that her friends needed something exciting happening, besides school work.

So the plan that Kirishima introduced was to head over to the teacher’s lounge at this moment during lunch break. Since it was merely the beginning of lunch and there was still a good 45 minutes left, it was the perfect time for teachers to be on their desks with students the last thing on their minds. Jirou can place her earphone jacks in the wall to hear the voices inside to retrieve any news from the two teachers.

“And if we got nothing, that’s totally okay as well.” Kirishima shrugged. “We can always try next time!”

“NEXT TIME?!” Jirou exclaimed uneasily, twirling her earphone jacks. “Let’s just see what happens now, and focus on next time later.”

“All right then!” Uraraka clapped her hands excitingly and bumped her shoulder against Tsuyu’s with a beam. “Mission: FIONA starts now!“

“Fiona?” Kaminari raised his brow, getting out of his seat with the rest of his friends.

Uraraka pointed her finger up in the air pridefully. “Find-Info-ON-Aizawa. I couldn’t think of an acronym for ‘ON’ so just leave it together and you’ll get—wooah!”

Jirou and Tsuyu locked elbows with her and dragged her away before she could finished,  followed by Kirishima and Kaminari trotting behind their footsteps.

“If you keep explaining it’s going to be Mission: GIT!” Jirou sneered, giving Uraraka’s elbows a good tug.

“GIT?”

Tsuyu smirked as the five of them head towards the teacher’s office. “GETTING INTO TROUBLE!”

———

Lunch breaks were times where you and Aizawa could finally heave a sigh of relief and chat with each other freely. You were happy to work at U.A with Aizawa because now since work schedules were parallel, you could efficiently have the time to hang out with him. When you were pro-hero at your original agency, you’ll often come back home with no trace of Aizawa since he was still in school working on students’ assignments till late evening.

But now, you had all the time in the world to chat with him. Okay maybe not all the time, just an hour and a half, but it was definitely enough for you.

Aizawa was sitting next to you on your desk, nodding along to your talks about your recent lectures with other classes as he gave some advice on teaching.

You let out a wistful sigh and rested your head on Aizawa’s shoulder. You closed your eyes and let out a hum. “Thanks for helping me through all this. I can’t believe teacher work is this much.”

Aizawa let out a puff of air and smirked. He peered down at you from the corner of his eye. “So are you gonna apologize for all the times you were scolding me for not coming back home early?”

You shot your head back up with your eyes widened and a jaw exasperated dropped. You knew that Aizawa was joking from on his tone but you pressed your hand on your chest and squinted your eyes at him, giving him a death glare. “Excuse me? Uhm, sir, I don’t think that’s fair. And besides! All the hours you were gone, I really really missed you and-“

Aizawa leaned forward, a hand snaking to the back of your neck, taking you by surprise as he crashed his lips against yours. You were completely shell-shocked that your eyes stayed open the entire time. Sure, you have kissed Aizawa a thousand times before, but he rarely made the first move. And oh did your heart fluttered!

Aizawa pulled away with a smile dancing on his lips. “And I really missed you too.”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, you heard a loud gasp from outside, making you unconsciously turn your head towards the sound.

A muffled voice transmitted through the walls. “KEEP IT DOWN, KAMINARI!”  

A female’s voice? Or was it a boy?

More muffling voices continued and you couldn’t really understand it, but one thing you knew for sure was that there was someone outside.

You twirled your head back to Aizawa. His face hardened and got up from the chair, walking towards the door.

“SH- ! HE- COMING!” A familiar voice echoed through the walls that you could only capture words of.

Aizawa finally opened the door and looked to his right.

Caught red-handed.

All five students were crunched down to the ground. With Jirou’s earplugs on the wall with Uraraka and Tsuyu beside her, plus Kaminar and Kirishima hovering right above her not missing any detail she was saying, Aizawa knew exactly what was up.

“Shouta? What’s wrong?” You asked, making your way to the door when you saw his cold expression.

You sucked in a breath when you saw the scene to your right.  

“RUN!” Jirou shouted but it was too late. Aizawa immediately caught the five of them with his trusty gray scarf so fast that you swore you didn’t even notice it. His scarf rolled all five up into a bundle individually so that their arms were glued to their sides.

All of the students heated up from shame.

“Soooooo……..” Kaminari mumbled weakly, trying to make the matter less intensive. “Are you two dating..or..something?” His voice squeaked higher and higher as Aizawa’s brows got deeper and deeper.

You knew you had every right to be mad that these students who were invading you and Aizawa’s privacy, and you should! But to your surprised, your offended emotions were quickly replaced with a comical one as you saw all the students’ ducking their heads in shame, darting their eyes away from Aizawa’s hardened glare.

Ah well��they would’ve found out sooner or later.

You let out a chuckle. Aizawa turned his head at you with his eyes widened, not knowing that you would be taking this matter so lightly. But you returned him with a kind of smile that immediately released the tension of his grip and the eyebrows on his face.

The students perked their heads up in confusion from your reaction, and you flashed them a smile as you snaked your hand behind Aizawa’s back.

“Dating? Hmmm…,” you said, a lopsided smirk dancing across your lips.

“I think it’s a little bit more than that.”

And with those words, Uraraka and Tsuyu couldn’t help but squeal in delight despite still being bonded.  Kaminari swore he never felt this wholesome since getting accepted into U.A, and Kirishima—on the other hand—twirled his head away from you and mumbled with his eyebrows furrowed in great passion: “…He’s so manly!”

And Aizawa? Well, he definitely looked at you in surprise for being so open, but no less than a second, he felt a warm breeze rushing through his body.

Your laugh after seeing the students’ reaction was the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.  

It always has been.

And hearing that made him feel like hey…

Perhaps people knowing wouldn’t hurt! And maybe it’s because he just loved you that much, or maybe it’s that fact that he realized, that no matter if his class or the freakin’ public knows or not….

Nothing…absolutely nothing, is going to disrupt the beautiful relationship the two of you have.

[twoflipstwotwists]

Becky Downie has missed out on an Olympics before. In a 13-year gymnastics career, which has seen her win 14 major medals, she felt the heartbreak of watching a home Games from the sidelines in 2012. But this time is different, she says.

On Monday, her shock omission from the Tokyo 2020 team was announced, and she now says she can “never forget” the turmoil she endured from British Gymnastics during the selection process.  She also hints that her treatment was influenced by her decision to speak out at the culture of abuse within gymnastics, suggesting she was “made to feel not welcome” at the sport’s training hub at Lilleshall after going public.

In an exclusive interview with Telegraph Sport, Downie describes the last few weeks as "the hardest of her life". She had thought things could not get worse than 2020: Olympic postponement, the fallout after she joined whistleblowers to speak publicly about what she described as "normalised" abusive training environments, and her father's time in intensive care battling Covid-19.

But last month tragedy struck when her brother Josh, 24, died suddenly from an undiagnosed heart condition while playing cricket. It was news Downie says "you never imagine receiving". To make things worse, she received the devastating call on the eve of the final Olympic team trial, while apart from her family at a hotel in Cardiff.

"I got a knock on the door after midnight, and my first thought was it must be drug testers," Downie says of that night. "I was half asleep, completely dazed. The coaches came in and when they told me [that Josh had died], I thought, am I actually dreaming this? There are really no words to really describe it. There were a lot of tears. It was the longest journey of my life, getting back to be with my family in Nottingham."

Sat in her living room in Nottingham now, Downie still has a look of disbelief on her face as she describes the events of the last few weeks. Condolence cards are placed around the room to mark how raw and recent her family's grief remains. Mounting more pain on top of that seems unimaginable, but the blows have kept coming.

Just two months ago, she was on top of the world after executing what she believes is a world leading uneven bars routine. At 29, she felt in the form of her life. When she posted a video of her routine online, major champions were applauding her in the comments, even the legendary Nadia Comaneci. Downie believes the routine put her in contention for a gold medal.

But last Friday her appeal was denied, and British Gymnastics confirmed she would not go to Tokyo. It is less than two years since she won a stunning silver medal at the World Championships - a competition that counted as a trial for the Olympic squad - but somehow she has failed to make even the three reserve spots for Tokyo. Though Downie has wished all of the gymnasts selected the best, she remains baffled by her exclusion - especially because she “met all the criteria” and her trials scores put her top of the rankings in bars.

British Gymnastics have defended the decision, saying they are focusing on medals in the team event, and that Downie's specialism in bars posed a "risk" to this strategy. But it has caused uproar, with a petition calling for an independent review of the selection process receiving 25,000 signatures in the last five days. Beyond selection though, Downie says what hurts the most is the way she believes the decision was made and how she was treated in the process.

After missing the final trial due to bereavement, Downie and sister Ellie were given another opportunity by British Gymnastics to compete for their spot on the team 10 days later. Though Ellie elected not to do so, Downie made the brave decision to take up the offer.

"I know that Josh would want me to, he wouldn't want me not to try," she says. What followed though, was a process where she alleges British Gymnastics lacked "any element of compassion".

They did not allow her to compete at her home gym in Nottingham or at the national centre at Lilleshall. British Gymnastics then rejected a venue she and her coach proposed and instead suggested she return to Cardiff - a six-hour round trip from her home and the very place she had learned of her brother's passing.

"That's the part that hurt me most. I refused. Why would I want to go back there? I don’t think that should have been asked of me at all."

Another venue was confirmed instead, and though British Gymnastics emphasised their intention to replicate as closely as possible the environment that the other gymnasts had competed in in Cardiff - for the benefit of fairness - Downie says it was her that was put at the disadvantage.

New obstacles included British Gymnastics failing to book her training slot at the chosen venue - a basic thing that all of the athletes had for their trial - which saw her make a 90-minute trip and have to plead with the Leisure Centre to remain open. She also had an existing dispute with the governing body because they refused to allow her to use equipment at the trial which more closely resembled that being used in Tokyo. As a bars specialist, this meant she couldn't perform her highest difficulty routine. "It's like telling Lewis Hamilton to get in a Ferrari and drive - in a sport of small margins, and high performance, equipment is always a factor."

Actually competing in the trial, while still reeling from the death of her brother, was "the hardest thing I ever had to do", and she describes national coaches walking past her wordlessly while she “sobbed uncontrollably”. But afterwards, she and Ellie walked out of the gym with "not a doubt in our mind" that she had done enough.

"If I can perform in that environment, which was harder than any Olympic final would ever be, I’m really proud," she says.

But, according to British Gymnastics, it was not enough. Knowing now that the team event was the priority in selection, she believes her exclusion from the team was already a foregone conclusion before her trial.

British Gymnastics "categorically" denies the suggestion that the trial was a "tick box" exercise, and say they trust that selection was decided purely on merit, but Downie is unconvinced. To add insult to injury, she was given a 48-hour deadline to appeal the decision, falling on the day of her brother's funeral.

"It makes me feel sick that they treated me like that," she says. "It hurts me to know the things I had to miss. Picking the flowers for the funeral whilst I was away trialling, a tribute for my brother at his cricket club, which happened when I wasn’t even given a proper training slot. I missed that, for what? There’s so much that was hurtful.

"I'll never forget that. And no amount of apologies will ever make that okay."

Downie and her sister were two of the only current British gymnasts to speak out about abuse in the sport last year, which triggered an independent review commissioned by UK Sport and Sport England. When she was left out of the squad on Monday, lobbying group Gymnasts for Change called it a "sinister warning" being sent by British Gymnastics to whistleblowers.

Does Downie think this outcome is a result of her speaking out? "It's very hard to say... But I definitely know that there has been a big behavioural shift towards me and Ellie, since that point, from certain individuals, decision makers. We’ve gone down to Lilleshall and been made to feel not welcome.

"I have been told by a person of significant importance - in the national team environment - that a lot of coaches do not agree with what we've done. Maybe I did open my mouth a year too soon, I'm not sure. If this is the sacrifice [an Olympics] then this is the sacrifice, change needs to happen. I’m proud of what I did and I don’t regret it."

Tokyo was meant to be her final bow, but now Downie has spent her first week in months out of the gym.

Downie is adamant though that she is not done with gymnastics. Despite the heartache and hurt caused, her love for the sport remains strong.

"It’s hard for me to think, can I be selected for a team ever again? I do know I want to carry on, because I want to show that routine. I haven’t done two years of work to sit on the sofa. There’s a World Championships this year. They certainly don’t have control over my final chapter. I know I want to compete again on my terms."

But the dream of Olympic gold is gone: "I genuinely believe that we could have done it. I think I had a shot at being the first female Olympic champion Britain has had in gymnastics."

[dansnaturepictures]

28/10/2021-Autumnal colour, Kingfisher, Great Crested Grebe, mallow, mushrooms and more at Lakeside and home today 

I did my Thursday perimeter Lakeside walk I have started doing each week again today. I primarily aimed to do this for physical reasons to make the exercise of the walk during my working from home day more intense as on the other days I might walk to a particular part of the country park to try and see something specific which means I often get allured to things and I might spend quite a lot of time at one particular spot and maybe walk a bit slower. On the perimeter walk which is literally a walk in a square around four paths at the edge or close to the edge of the site doing variations of it I still see a lot of wildlife and have the moments to focus on something of course but its the goal in my mind of knowing I am walking four straight sides so going around the whole park makes me walk faster and move on within the minutes I take out of my lunch hour to walk. But I thought today its as much a healthy thing to do mentally as physically. Its always the balance to strike between the physical and mental benefits of my lunch time walks of getting that joy from nature much needed in working days at times which is why all the days, and if I ever needed to on a Thursday and needed to move the perimeter walk I am always happy if one particular species or photographic subject I see or I want to try to I then spend quite a bit of time on in the walk. But on the perimeter walk I’ve found - something we do when we do a dog walk at Lakeside usually - you get to see so much of the site and if there’s maybe a bit I haven’t been much for a while the chances are the walk will touch it and as I reached the north eastern kissing gate entrance where I got into it to exit at the end I had a real sense of satisfaction that I’d walked so far within Lakeside today. 

After enjoying Goldfinches, Starlings and House Sparrow in the garden as bits of sun poked through briefly a theme of the day this morning, and seeing Jackdaws out the back getting out of the house and along the northern path at Lakeside mushrooms seeing pleated inkcaps again among others and autumn leaves in great colour especially yellow dominated again. I took the first picture in this photoset of some yellow leaves along the northern path, and this continued walking past Concorde lake on the second side of the square route as I took the second and third picture in this photoset of views over the lake with bits of yellow in the trees behind. 

Walking along here I had two amazing moments with two of my favourite birds which I am seeing so much of lately on these walks. I checked and found all three Great Crested Grebe chicks around which was lovely to see. As I watched just as an adult was bringing in a fish which interested me a bright splash of colour zipped past me, a Kingfisher which I had seen a little bit of on this lake and at Lakeside lately. I managed to get it in the binoculars which I hadn’t always done lately getting a glorious view and I saw it land in a quite distant tree back along the path the tree hung over the lake and it was on the inside of it over the lake. I was excited to see it and decided to zoom in from afar as I conveniently today had my bridge camera on what I am now doing a fortnightly walk with it which is good for the long distance photos so I got the fourth picture in this photoset a record shot of this bird. I have had a good month for Kingfishers after photographing one at Lymington earlier in October. Then I continued to enjoy one of the Great Crested Grebe chicks quite close with an adult and took the fifth picture in this photoset of it one of my favourties of this family I think in more lovely intimate views of these precious birds for me. I took the sixth picture in this photoset of a nice scene along the path going towards Kornwestheim lake with autumn leaves scattered on the ground a common sight here of late. 

On side three of the walk south of the lakes as I really valued being outside I took the seventh picture in this photoset of a view looking over the lakes which reminds me of Stourhead with some red and yellow leaves on the vegetation either side. I also managed the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of a Magpie and some nice pink mallow as I passed the visitor centre. The mallow a flower still going strong here on a day I really appreciated the patch of hemp agrimony out the front which I really enjoyed looking fine in the summer now looking fluffy. I took the tenth and final picture in this photoset of a view over the bowl area on the fourth part of the square walk as a splash of sunshine came out which it did going over the green out the front to get back home. 

This afternoon I was happy to catch a glimpse of the Sparrowhawk out the window a bird I am enjoying so much lately around the neighbourhood. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Kingfisher and Great Crested Grebe, Moorhen, Black-headed Gull, Starling, Goldfinch, House Sparrow, Jackdaw, Magpie, Sparrowhawk, Collared Dove, Feral Pigeon and Woodpigeons well. 

[tryingmyves]

Permanently Preoccupied

Ask:  Hello and congratulations on your milestone!! May I request Shinsou and Prompt 16? I think Shinsou is oblivious when it comes to feelings, so I think this prompt would suit him, SFW please! @blossominglark​

thank you so so much for your request! i feel like i’ve been writing for Shinso a lot lately... i’m digging it ☼ i hope you like this! the prompt is italicized 

PAIRING: Shinso x Y/N (gender neutral)

c/w: none tbh

Send me a request! ► 60 Followers event

Like most people who come to UA, Shinso is focused and determined. Perhaps more so than you and your peers in the hero course. He had been admitted into General Studies after failing the entrance exam, however, it wasn’t because he lacks talent. Training would-be heroes is not an exact science and Shinso’s failure was not a result of his incompetence. Rather, his quirk was not well suited to tackling the mechanical targets. It’s unfortunate, but his failure is just a side effect of an imperfect system. However, UA is aware that as hard as they try, their testing is just not conducive to all quirks - even if those quirks and the students who wield them would make great heroes. It’s this reason, and Shinso’s performance at the sports festival earlier this year, that he’s been afforded the opportunity to transfer into the hero course.

But it’s just that, an opportunity - not a forgone conclusion. Shinso is well aware of that fact, and as such he’s resolved to do everything in his power to earn his spot among your peers in the hero course. Mostly this resolution means training with Aizawa and on his own when your homeroom teacher isn’t available, in addition to studying information from the hero course alongside his general studies work. Occasionally, Aizawa will bring Shinso in to participate in exercises with your class so he can get more experience. Many of your classmates attempt to befriend him, but Shinso is a bit unpolished. He is not nearly as gruff as Bakugo, but his temperament does not exactly welcome friendship. In fact, he had once said as much outright. To Shinso, anyone or anything that did not propel him towards his goal was a waste of time. And moreover, a part of him believes that he doesn’t deserve the friendship of others. He has always dreamt of being a hero, of making a difference, of putting a bit more good into the world. But he grew up hearing how he would make a better villain and he is permanently preoccupied with his past.

You don’t see that when you look at Shinso. You see the bags under his eyes, a declaration of his determination to prove them all wrong. His aloof disposition, really just a defense mechanism against more of the same comments he’s heard all his life. You see pools of possibility in his violet eyes, your head swimming with thoughts of him seeing you in the same way. The seldom few times he has spoken to you his voice felt like a memory of your favorite melody, a siren song coaxing your feelings for him further out into a deeper intensity. You never intended to get distracted with feelings for someone, especially one as emotionally distant as Shinso, but it was undeniable. You are in love with him. And though you will not admit it, everyone already knew.

It was the way you eagerly looked for him before your class started a training session, wishing he’d be joining you. The fact you always were the last to leave class, hopeful to pass him in the hallway as he came to see Aizawa. The light in your eyes and the raised octave of your voice when you speak to him betrays your feelings. Unbeknownst to you, everyone was aware of your feelings for Shinso, including him. Yet, you believe it’s your best kept secret and one you were finally ready to share.

You have been wrestling with these feelings for months now, and honestly, they were distracting you from your studies. You decide it would be best to just confess your feelings to Shinso. Either he would deny you or return the sentiment, but either way you’d finally be able to focus on your training. You find him in the woods on the school grounds, wrapped in his capture scarf, practicing as always. He looks so deep in concentration, you almost turn around, abandoning your plan. But instead, you take a breath, steeling your nerves, and step forward.

“H-hey Shinso!” you call.

He jumps slightly, surprised by your appearance, “hello Y/N.” There’s not much warmth in his voice, he’s just returning your greeting.

“Um, do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something,” you continue. Your hands are sweating and you can feel heat rising to your cheeks. You haven’t ever really been alone with Shinso before.

He drops the scarf in his hands, turning to face you, “What is it?” He doesn’t seem particularly interested in what you have to say, but he hasn’t asked you to leave.

“I - uh, see you’re practicing again,” pointing out the obvious, unsure how to broach the subject of your feelings. “I know that you’ve been working really hard to transfer into the hero course.”

“And I know -,” he closes his mouth suddenly, considering if he should continue. “I know you’re in love with me, and I’ve been ignoring you.” He says it without any real emotion. It’s more of an observation really. 

You can’t speak, you’re too preoccupied suffocating in shock. He knew, and has for some time it seems. And he just let you long for him, ignoring you all the while. You finally manage to find your voice, a shaky “why?” is all you can manage.

He sighs, stepping closer to you, no longer looking you in the eyes. “Because, I think I might like you too… but, I don’t know how to do that. And I don’t have the time.”

You’re having trouble keeping up, should you be happy? Should you be sad? Was he returning your feelings or rejecting them? He’s standing directly in front of you now, still avoiding eye contact. You feel angry and confused, maybe even hopeful? Screw it. Your hands come up, grabbing either side of his face, forcing him to look at you directly. You lean forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips before dropping your hands and taking a step back.

Now Shinso is left in stunned silence, still processing the feelings of your lips on his, trying to decide how he feels. You wait for any response and are about to turn to leave, resigned to the fact you had just made a fool of yourself. Shinso catches you by the wrist, pulling you back to him, his other hand coming to the side of your face, fingers intertwining themselves in your hair. He places his lips to yours, this time slow and deep. When he removes them he rests his forehead against yours, “I would like to learn to love you, Y/N,” he says breathlessly.

[collarious]

lessons that i’ve learnt so far

I haven’t been on this space for a couple of years. Revisiting this space is like a step back into a part of my past self - the part that’s most anxious and depressed. When life got too difficult, I would leave traces of struggle in the form of words. Punching the ‘post’ button always felt so strange — it wasn’t cathartic, it never truly encapsulated what i felt, it didn’t exactly make things feel better — but at least those thoughts were out of the mind and contained in a space. 

Recently, I’ve rediscovered this space, reread my entries and realised how far I’ve come through the years. I guess I want to summarise the things that I’ve learnt so far, in this journey of life and hope to continue practising. Excuse the shabbily typed out brain dump. 1. Be humble, learn about yourself + the world

The brain is extremely tricky and stubborn. More often or not, we probably don’t know ourselves as much as we think we do. We tell ourselves narratives of who we are, especially when life is hard and we’re not feeling good.

Know yourself, in and out, through objective means. Cross-reference like crazy using personality tests (Attachment styles, MBTI, enneagram etc), horoscopes, ask your friends what they think of you. Constantly question: who am I really? 

Read and research repeatedly — read self-help + non fiction books / listen to talks + podcasts by renowned professionals that debunk your understanding of you and the world. I personally love watching Youtube vlogs of people I look up to - especially when I’m feeling down. The change in perspective is almost always refreshing.

From there, you can break the narratives that you tell yourself everyday. Knowledge is powerful, it keeps us humble and open. 

This journey of self-discovery has no end. But that’s the fun of it, because we are always changing as time goes. We’ve got to understand ourselves because no one else will do it for us. Truly understanding ourselves really is the first step to knowing what works for our lives.

2. Acknowledge your shortcomings, but celebrate everything As we learn about our strengths and weaknesses, there comes a point when we have to accept our shortcomings. Accept, then take action to improve on the things that we can. There’s going to be so much inertia at times - some days feel fine while others make you feel like you’re back to zero. 

Track your progress, celebrate the small wins. Encourage yourself constantly, be your biggest cheerleader. 

3. Your feelings are not you. Feelings come and they go.

Feel. Do not push away your feelings, even though they are so intense & you feel like you want to disappear. 

I find solace when I think of them as: 1) The sky. Yes, the weather changes, there are seasons. Rainy days, sunny days. But the blue sky can be there, at the core we are that beautiful calm sky. 2) The ocean. The waters are always different. Waves roll in as they roll out. Despite how the ocean behaves, you can’t help but think how beautiful and vast it is.

It’s so easy to attach yourself to intense feelings as they come, because you feel every ounce of it so deeply. The brain naturally attaches to painful feelings much easier than the good ones - its really our job to try to rewire its preference against negativity.

Fear, anxiety, sadness - they are real. But so is love, grit, resilience and all the wonderful emotions we have the pleasure to feel. 

4. Take good care of yourself. Find healthy coping mechanisms.

You are your biggest asset – believe it with all your heart. 

It can be really difficult — sometimes life feels so intense, there’s so much destructive energy, and a lot of times we take it out on ourselves if not on others. My question is — will you ever want the people you love to do the same thing, to suffer? No.

Instead of doing things that simply distract you, replace them with things that uplift you. There are things that are proven to work if you stick to them — journalling, working on what you love, exercising, meditating, hanging out with people who support you. Healthy coping mechanisms look different to everyone and they change over time - so find the things that help you feel better and hopeful about the future.

Taking care of yourself; no one is going to take that job and frankly, do we really want to pass that responsibility on to someone else? When we take care of ourselves, we then have the strength to tend towards those we love. 

5. Set boundaries

Boundaries. If only they taught that in school. 

Know your triggers. Set boundaries that protect you from your triggers. Communicate your boundaries, make sure to uphold them. Find people who respect your boundaries. 

Yes, there are some people who will shit on your boundaries, gaslight you blabla. Do not give them the power to affect your reality. Distance yourself if you can. Cut toxic people out of your life. If you can’t, try to do what’s within your means to not let them take away your energy.

We have a limited amount of energy in a day. More when we are having a good day, less when we wake up to a bad one. Where you place this energy, is where you choose your focus. Focus on the good, always.

6. Learn to plan

Some people are natural planners, but others are not due to their personality or the environment that they grew up in. It took me so many years to understand the power of planning, even more to learn how to do it. I’m still learning every day.

When you’re someone with emotions that come so intensely, planning takes a whole lot of stress off for your future self. Having a plan can also feel like hope. When the mind is depressed, at least there’s a routine to follow. Learn to plan the way that works for you + your life. Kickstart this by learning how other people plan (Youtube, I love you so much) & tweak it to your liking.

So many days when I felt like doing absolutely nothing. But doing absolutely nothing will only make you feel even more shit and its just a downward spiral.

Do the easy shit first, feel good about the easy shit, then do a slightly harder task and another and another. Remember to congratulate yourself always, even if that task is ‘eating a proper meal’. 

Oh yes, there are gonna be days when you can’t do anything even after planning .. when you absolutely can’t, don’t beat yourself up for it. Rest, recharge, try again.

7. Get up and learn

There’s going to be many bad days + failures. It’s life, we just got to accept that. But really what matters is getting up and learning from them. There’s always something positive to be learnt. A mistake not to be repeated. If your failures look similar, its life giving you the same lesson.

Getting up and learning is resilience, grit and humility. There’s nothing more romantic than this. 

8. You are not alone. Seek help.

We can do a lot, but sometimes there comes a point when we are just struggling way too hard. Ask for help. Reach out. A friend. A lover. A therapist.

You’ll find love and support in ways that you can’t imagine, plus the strength to live again, fuller + brighter.

9. The Breathe

It truly blew my mind when I learnt about the power of breath through yoga and meditation. When the mind is going absolutely batshit insane, don’t think - just breathe. There’s no point adding fuel to the fire. Breathing and being present in the moment - it recentres, grounds and resets.

Learn about the breath and how it affects you + the world around you. Sometimes — when I stop to properly breathe, I feel connected to the universe again. It’s simple but endlessly interesting.

That’s all I can remember for now. May peace and joy be part of your every day.

[yeojaa]

called a thousand times.

prompt:  “did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”   (orig.)

this drabble is more an exercise in catharsis and serves as my first (!!!) jin piece.  i dedicate this to my loves @jinsearthh​ and @seokjinssi​ lmao.  enjoy!

pairing.  ksj x reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  angst.  but like, not really terrible angst.  just semi-bad angst.  wc.  1.8k.

The call comes in the dead of night while you’re curled up in linen sheets and comfortably drooling into an unbelievably worn white plush.  It buzzes loudly in your ears, vibrating obnoxiously against your pillow.  Sleeping with your phone in bed is a bad habit you’ve never really been able to break.  

You’re barely awake - caught in that strange in-between land of lucidity - when you hazard a glance at the time and number.  2:47 AM.  Far too late for you to be receiving calls - especially from contact you don’t have saved. 

“Hello?”

“Hi.”  It’s a voice you’d never expected to hear.  A voice you haven’t heard in forever, clear as bells through the phone line.  “It’s Jin.”

You’re wide awake now. 

“Hello?”  It’s terribly jarring.  It jolts you straight up in the bed that hasn’t felt his warmth in close to three years, every notch of your spine electrified by the simple sound.  It rings, bouncing around in your ears.  

You should reply.  You don’t know how.  

“Are you there?”  Uncertainty and something else - something heavy and medicinal - coats syllables and turns them into molasses.  It drips off each vowel, rounding each consonant.  Your entire world feels like it’s spinning, tilted on its axis by this strange happening. 

“Jin?”  It doesn’t sound how it should - wishful and more than a little surprised.  It trips heavy off your tongue, splitting the darkness with the radiance of your hope.  

He laughs on the other end.  You realise now why he sounds different, the familiar squeak of his amusement dulled by liquor.  He’s drunk or at least, on his way to it.  The telltale signs are there:  the faintest hiccough after every second inhale, the vaguely nasally first syllable, the dulling of his rain-streaked laughter. 

“It’s me,”  he confirms, far more comfortable than he should be.  The relief practically radiates through the phone, further severing the strings that bid you back to bed.  “I didn’t know if you’d pick up or if you even had the same number still.”

At least he’s honest, you think. 

The conversation is carried on like there’s nothing at all strange, as if he - Kim Seokjin - hasn’t just called up his ex-girlfriend at quarter to three in the morning. 

“How are you?  Did I wake you up?”

You know your silence is rude.  It’s stifling in a way that even he can’t combat, sitting stony between you two as you try to wrap your mind around the current situation.  

“Hello?”  He repeats, vaguely uncertain but not otherwise bothered.  That bothers you. 

“Why did you call?”  You can’t help the question.  It pierces the quiet before you can catch it, disappearing into the night like a thief.  It takes with it all of your turmoil, tucking years of hurt in its pockets to wear on its sleeves. 

That seems to catch him off guard.  He inhales once - a sharp thing, right through his front teeth.  

“Ah, yeah.  I—“  You wonder whether he’s even given this any thought or if he’s just been driven to it by the beguiling hand of liquor.  You wouldn’t put it past him, though he’s never been one to drink himself into bad ideas.  He was smarter than that. 

He pauses.  It’s long, drawn out, punctuated by city sounds you assume come from 27 floors below his apartment.  They’re muffled and unrecognisable, the din of Yongsan-gu too faraway.  

“I… was thinking of you.” 

There’s a strange confidence to his response, a self-assured calm that feels like moments before a storm.  It eases uncertainty over your limbs, still wrought with sleep and sluggish.  He shouldn’t sound this way after so long, as if he’d never left.  A part of it feels nice, warm and welcomed into the cavity behind your ribs, tucked neatly alongside the organ that stutters because of him;  the other feels like a knife to the heart, slotted right between the vulnerable spaces you’d shown him.

You echo him in uncertainty.  “Thinking of me?”  

“I wanted to apologise.”

Now that’s the last thing you’d expected.  

“Apologise for what?”  Not that there aren’t so many things Jin owes you - so many I’m sorrys that would never make up for the rivers you’d wept, the nights you hadn’t slept.  

“How I left things.  How we left things.”  Something not quite a laugh comes, dresses his words up prettily like a sinner in his Sunday best, eager to learn and repent and do better.  “I know I can’t undo the past but I’m sorry for the ways I hurt you.”

It’s so vague even you aren’t sure what he’s referring to.  The brief but blinding relationship you’d had with him?  The heartbreaking, determined way in which he’d broken up with you?  The months thereafter when he’d still warmed your bed, where the strange in-between was no longer between awake and dreams, but love and not-love?  The pieces he’d left you to pick up yourself when he’d disappeared, seemingly out of the blue? 

“I still think about you a lot.  I miss you.  I wanted to make it right.”  When he backtracks, you realise he’s far smarter than you give him credit for.  “—Try to make it right, that is.”

“Why?”  You should demand more.  You know you should.  Yet this is the only thing that comes, dripping like the tears that line your lashes, glittering jewels that you’d trade for even an ounce of understanding. 

He hesitates.  There’s a clinking glass, ice, and then a thick swallow you can hear quite clearly.  “Why?  Why what?”

“Why did you leave?”  You’re really trying - holding onto composure with a white-knuckled grip that leaves your hands bleeding - but it’s futile.  The grief is too much - a thousand pound weight that splits the frayed edge of your composure in a clean line.  “Things were…”  Weird, strange, undoubtedly a bad idea, as messing with your ex tended to be.  “Things were okay, I thought.  And then out of nowhere, you were gone.  You stopped calling.”

For three long weeks, you’d jolted awake at 3 AM, waiting for the dedicated ringtone to alert you of his call.  It never came.  You’d waited even longer after that, though you’d learnt to turn your phone to silent.

Months turned to years and then one day, nearly four months later - there he was, displayed as a missed call at just after midnight.

You’d blocked him then, for your own sanity.  And then another six months after that, you’d unblocked him.  A moment of weakness you’d all but forgotten about until now.  You’d figured it wouldn’t matter - that there was no way he’d contact you again.  So much time had passed and he was Kim Seokjin;  you were nothing but a small blip on his radar - a tiny ink splatter on the story of his life.

“You blocked me.”  Or not.  

You tuck this knowledge - his knowledge - away into the manila folder you keep stored away in a dusty cabinet, covered in yellow tape that reads Do Not Open.

“Before that.  Three years ago.”  

“I honestly… don’t remember.”  The answer stings, candour a struck match to your already miserable nerves.  “It was bad timing, I think.  We were on the phone one night.  I was heading back from filming and I just remember being so mad.”  That doesn’t surprise you.  Jin’s temper rages like a wildfire before burning out like a match.  Intense but short-lived.  “You were having a bad day, too.  You’d started your new job and you were stressed out about something not working.”

You recall it clearly - can call to mind exactly what brief you’d been working and how that night had felt awful.  You’d hardly slept, almost pushed to tears by the frustration you’d felt.  For the life of you, though, you can’t recall an argument.  You’d been happy to hear from him - found solace in the sound of his voice, even as you’d worked through pages that made you want to tear your hair out. 

“I remember you were dismissive and it just…”  You imagine he shrugs, those impossibly wide shoulders of his rolling beneath something soft and sleep-appropriate.  His brow’s probably knit, little dent forming between them as always happens when he’s faced with discomfort.  “I didn’t want to deal with it.”

It’s an honest answer, which you’re grateful for.  It sheds light where there was one.

But it also hurts far more than you’d expected, stirring to life an ugly aching sob in your chest.  One night.  One night was all it’d taken.  The realisation is sobering in its pain.

“And… now you want to apologise for that?”  It doesn’t make sense.  Not to you, at least, who holds three long years of unrequited love for a man who’d thrown you away over nothing.

“I want to apologise for a lot of stuff.”  Things he doesn’t seem ready to articulate just yet, either due to his inebriation or contrition.  “I didn’t think you’d pick up, so I’m kind of still working through it in my head.”  You can hear his smile, turned playful by alcohol.

It’s like waging war when you speak - your heart against your head.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But… I miss you.” 

I miss you too, you almost say.  

“Did you miss me enough to drink or did you drink enough to miss me?”  Comes hushed instead.

Jin isn’t ready for the conversation.  You know he isn’t - can tell by how he inhales shakily, knocks back another drink that rattles ice noisily.  “That’s not fair.”

“You’re not fair,”  you return in a voice that’s meant to be scathing but seems to have found itself at the bottom of his glass, wet and diluted.  “You’re calling me because you feel bad and for whatever reason, you think I’m going to make that go away.”  

He’s not wrong - you would, in a heartbeat.  But there’s a very big difference between would and should and you’re doing your best to learn what that is, even if it hurts.  

“What do you think’s going to happen after I forgive you?  Are we just going to go back to our lives like nothing happened?”

“If you want.”

You laugh, a sound that’s brutalised by your own sadness and barely sounds like anything at all.  “And what if I don’t want that?  What if I want you in my life?”  

Another pause, another drink.  There’s a part of you that worries for him.  

“You know that’s not an option.  Not right now.  We’ve got so much happening right with our comeback and then enlistment and…”  It’s a cop out.  You can see it from a mile away, a red flag raised to mock you as Jin speaks.  “I can’t give you what you want.”

“Then neither can I.”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​

[blizabrth]

wip junk

tag games, am i right!? i always lose track of these lol, oops haha. i was tagged by @sothischickshe to gesture vaguely about my wips. i have a lot more wishful wips than this, but these are the ones that i am either currently toying with and/or have Actual Substance thusfar:

A VERY ACTIVE IMAGINATION

i was originally dabbling with this as a longer-form fic, but when i had stepped back for a bit and returned to it, i realized what i had was best as separate vignettes, so i started posting these little fantasies recently under a series. also selfishly because i was overthinking too much and started to doubt what i was writing, so i really just wanted to post things and put them out there to be read. ANYWAY! the next installation i'm working on is 'the dealership', where beth fantasizes about all the dirty, dirty things she and rio could get up to within those glass walls... (what's that about throwing stones?) after that i have thoughts on creating vignettes focusing on The Loft and The Gun, and others, but those are the two subjects that are prominent in planning right now.

THE THORN

@sothischickshe sent in an intimacy prompt a million years ago for "kissing scars" and it's become a monster of a rio character study. the problem is, i'm not sure if i can pull it off? to me, rio is suuuuper emotional. and i know we like to talk about how repressed beth is but like damn look at rio lmao, king doesn't know how to communicate for shit either. as i've worked on this draft, a handful of ~flashbacks have happened too, which are daunting. i explore rio's self-confidence and try to break that down from his perspective; i also attempt to explain the very conservative wardrobe we've seen post-s2 finale. ultimately, it's a complicated wip that i've been toying with a lot. but i recently took a little break from looking at it and then came back last night to read what i had and liked it so! i guess that's promising. hopefully i can finish a first draft and move forward lol.

OUROBOROS (working title lol)

i wanted this to be a simple pwp featuring some in vino veritas... and i GUESS it still is, technically, because they still just go to town on each other but there's also a lot of other working parts that i'm trying to get right. i'm not sure when in the timeline this happens? probably somewhere in an ideal season 3 where the death divorce actually happens or something, idk. anyway, beth is at rio's bar and then she starts talking a lot and spills a lot of her guts and then they have very intense sex all night long lol. the 'ouroboros' working title is a reference to 69ing, it's not that deep i swear. they just want to devour each other.

MELT + A FIVOLOUS PURCHASE

i'm grouping these two together because i'm realizing they are inspired by the same thing: it's so fucking hot where i live right now and i want to take it out on brio. melt is pure pwp ice-play fic, i plucked it out of the ouroboros wip because it didn't exactly fit and well that's it. a fivolous purchase disregards the living room hot tub and turns it into beth buying an above-ground pool and then rio comes over to bother her take a dip. i'm trying to keep it light-hearted/funny while also still sexy. a particularly fun thing i'm playing with in these especially: TEMPERATURE. we've got ice vs intense summer sunshine heat. it's been fun to write the different sensory descriptions here.

BETH X PHOEBE 4X06 CANON DIVERGENCE

this one might actually end up a 2 or 3-part something. i've been working on it since the ep aired. i know beth x phoebe isn't a popular ship by any means so this is pure self-indulgence. i am hesitant to post though because i'd probably consider it a "DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT" fic and idk how to handle that??? idk. i don't care but i don't want people to judge me lmfao, so i may never post it. still, i degrade a cop in it so that's fun.

DREAM WIPS (things i have thought about a lot but haven't written much/anything for)

listed here are my working titles for these ideas. i will expand upon any of these if anyone is interested, just shoot me an ask! FOODIE AU / PIT STOP / THE SILENT TREATMENT / SOCCER MAMI / LINGERIE SHOPPING AVEC RUBY / TO CATCH A THIEF / BATHOME4 IS ONLINE / MANGOES ON THE BEACH PWP / FOUR TIMES BETH WAS PREGNANT AND ONE TIME SHE WASN'T

jfc i wish i could write as prolifically in my actual docs as i do when i just ramble about what i want to write...but anyway so these are my ideas. i'm tinkering a lot. i get in my head a lot and start feeling like my writing isn't good/no one wants this and talk myself out of it way too often, so i used this as an opportunity to try and take an objective look at what i'm writing and you know.... yeah! i like these ideas! a lot! i want to finish them and share them!

tagging for the rambles (but absolutely no pressure): @sothischickshe (tag back biotch), @inyoursheets, @daydreamstew, @foxmagpie, @pynkhues, @dragonturtle, and anyone else who thinks this is fun/will help them write!!! it's a fun exercise i promise! <3

[thistle-and-thorn]

my goal-setting manifesto

So recently @woodswit wrote a super thought-provoking post about struggling with the benefits of loving feeling fit and struggling with external validation regarding fitness and so this is kind of my reference guide for myself about goal-setting and the way *I* need to remember to think about it.

I minored in a very specific form of organizational management in college and a huge part of that curriculum was goal-setting. We were encouraged to make one-year, five-year, ten-year career plans, we learned how to set SMART goals, how to identify what steps were right for you, etc. Well, babies, I did not need this curriculum because in high school we had done this exact same curriculum. SMART goals, college planning, etc. Bitch, I knew how to plan my life and, bitch, I had it planned. I was a very high-achieving and ambitious student—I went after awards, AP scores, good grades, letters of recommendation. The school system I attended was very typical of an American school in that those things were the primary indicators for success and the “quality” of our grades determined our classes (and subsequently our social groups) and myriad other things. I was a “good girl” and bought into and benefitted from this kind of structure immensely.

Well. I also have struggled with severe anxiety and periodic depressive episodes that significantly interrupt my daily life and ability to care appropriately for myself. These disorders reached a critical mass at the midpoint of my college career and, after two very bad semesters (one of which ended with me getting a tiny sexy scar from fainting into a doorway), I realized I needed to make significant changes to my priorities. More specifically, I needed to examine the method by which I was defining and collecting achievement and validation. So, after much therapy (I love u Claire), soul-searching, several glasses of a very good local hard cider, I decided to write out the way I goal-set now that enables me to actually breathe and not spiral into self-hatred.

Why Do We Need Goal-Setting?

I actually think that goal-setting is deeply important. If you are a dreamer, I would even say that goal-setting is essential. Personally, I’m a planner/dreamer and enjoy setting goals. It comforts me. Getting a little organized around amorphous ideas like “I want to be a novelist” or “I wish I could travel the world” allows those things to become attainable.

Process and Product

I would say that there are two ways of thinking about goals:

1. Product-Oriented: This is the type of thinking that was taught in my management classes and is exactly what it sounds like. If you do these steps, then you will get x-result. An example of a well-written product-oriented goal is, “By Tuesday, I need to complete three research reports.” (This is true, and I completed them today motherfuckers.) It’s concise, attainable, and happens within a set timeframe.

2. Process-Oriented: This type of thinking focuses on what you will learn or benefit from accomplishing an activity. When I was teaching preschool, an example of this would be taking the kids for a nature walk or free drawing, basically doing an activity where there is no expected result. There is nothing to achieve, there is no medal. The work and the discoveries you make doing the work is the reward. A process-oriented goal would be, “I want to learn about characterization from writing this story.”

In woodswit’s example, she talks about the benefits that cardio exercise has on her mental health, how much happier and confident she is when she is doing a certain variety of exercise regularly. She also talks about how she used to do intense sports.

In this case, a product-oriented way to frame that discussion would be, “I want to get back to the weight I was when I was playing sports” or “I want to be able to lift fifty pounds again.” You will take smaller steps to reach that product—changing the way you eat, figuring out a plan for to work up to lifting heavier things. But the product-oriented way is ultimately a binary—you will either be able to lift fifty pounds or not, you will either reach the weight you were or you won’t. But the process-oriented way to think about these things would be, “I love biking and want to do more of it. Every weekend this summer, I will bike a different rail trail in my county.” The process-oriented method is less specific, but it takes that pressure away from your performance—in the biking example, the only expectation that is set is that you’re going to travel to different bike trails, not that you have to go to every rail trail in the county or that you have to complete the whole trail when you go or that you have to do it in a certain time, just that you are going to go.

There is space for both of these methods, and they are best used in conjunction with each other. Product-oriented is useful, especially in financial situations. A goal for 2022 is to visit my childhood best friend in her new home, halfway across the country. Say I want to go in May 2022 and I figure out that it will cost me roughly $2000. I should probably set a goal with steps to save $2000 by May. It’s also beneficial for the smaller steps to bolster your path to your big dreams—When I was a kid, playing piano gave me a lot of discipline and I would like to have that habit again. That is a process-oriented way of thinking about playing music, but you will probably need to set smaller, product-based goals to achieve it—you will need to select a song and learn to play it, within that song you will need to master it measure by measure.

When we are trained to reach for product, it is hard to recognize the value of process-orientation. A phenomenal example is my WIP. The story I am writing now has 3% the amount of kudos as my biggest fic. I also had a goal of updating every Tuesday. By product standards, that story is a flop. It has the least amount of engagement of anything I’ve ever written, and I haven’t updated it in like two weeks. However, why do I write? I write because I enjoy it, I write fanfic specifically to practice new skills. This story has stretched my abilities and I’ve grown from working on it. By process standards, it’s the most successful of my fics.

And in terms of bigger life things? Process-oriented is the way to go. Why? Because if the pandemic taught us anything, it is that life is not linear. It is nearly impossible to set a straight path—be it up a corporate ladder or a fitness goal—why? Because life sucks. Someone dies, you become ill, it rains, you fall in love, you fall out of love—minute inconveniences happen every day. Process takes the pressure off of your performance because you can’t perform all the time. This is essential in fitness goals because our physical state is especially ephemeral. Of course, it happens in other areas of life, too. An example: In the autumn of 2017, I fell into the deepest depression I have ever been in before or since. I could not remember to shower, let alone do my anthropology homework. As a result, for the first time, I was struggling to create the basic products—like, you know, homework—expected in my classes. That was even more devastating. Around the midpoint of the semester, I realized that product was not sustaining me and if I didn’t want to drop out or harm myself when I “failed”, I had to change my approach.

Once my classes became less about “I need to feel my Middle East studies requirement so I can get a History degree and get an A so I can get on the Dean’s List,” and I reconnected with, “I want to learn a lot about the Middle East,” the products came more naturally. They came more imperfectly, too, but I was able to complete the product because I put less pressure on making them to a certain standard. It became easier to recommit to my goal of being a college-educated woman when I remembered the why of receiving a college education. In woodswit’s original post, she acknowledges that the definition of intense exercise is different for every individual. But it’s also different for the individual at different points in their life and recognizing that intensity and success are arbitrary standards is an essential part of reframing your goal-setting as being process-orientated.

How Do I Goal Set Now?

I still goal-set and a lot of my goals could be likely defined as product-goals. However, they are all made with a long view in mind—if I set a goal to run a 5K, what am I going to get out of it besides just saying that I can run a 5K? Here are ways that I stay process-oriented throughout:

1. Goal Periods

I have three times of year when I set goals: January, June, and Lent. I will set a date on the calendar every year to sit down and just think about what I want to accomplish just in the next twelve-month period and what vision I have for myself in three to five years. No more than that.

January is when I set my personal goals and June is where I set my professional ones. I keep a spreadsheet throughout the year of experiences I would like to have. I will look to this list for inspiration. In January and June, while goal-setting, I check in with the opposing goals. So, in June, I checked in with my progression on my personal goals. I rethought if those goals were still realistic and if I was benefitting from them and in what ways. Then I recommitted to them or adjusted them to help me reach them.

2. Holistic Goals

Unless it’s curing cancer, there is no single goal worth putting all the rest on hold for. Each goal is a battle, and your life is the war. This is a deeply privileged example but: the goal of living independently the first two years out of college was probably achievable. But the effort to achieve that one goal meant that, like, six other personal and financial goals would not be met. So, I put off my career goals and stayed at home and taught preschool for two years. It meant a delay while it seemed like my other friends were growing up and achieving at faster rates, but the temporary strain of achieving a particular goal is sometimes worth it when it dominos into other opportunities.

3. Goal Bundling

I bundle my goals now as a part of my goals check-ins. An example of this is: I loved studying abroad and would love to spend more extended time in the country I studied in during undergrad. I would love to go to graduate school. Ipso facto, presto change-o, I should look at graduate programs in that country and see if that is an achievable goal.

This post is a good example of all of this lol. Why did I write it? there won't be an audience for it but the process of setting all of these thoughts on to paper was cathartic, creating a reference guide on this topic for myself when I am depressed is important, and that has to, has to, has to be good enough.

[wolf-and-bard]

@winter-fir: Sofia, my darling, this was written as a birthday present and with you in mind. Thank you for being such a delightful, funny, mad scientist genius friend, I love you. I wanted to give you some Arnaghad/Erland fluff and it didn’t turn out fluffy at all, it’s a rambly mess and I’m sorry. It did turn into a continuation and a prompt fill, I hope you don’t mind. 😂 I also hope you ate a lot of cake today ❤

Steal My Heart Again

Prompt: Isolation

Relationships: Arnaghad/Erland of Larvik

Rating: E

Content Warnings: apocalypse-appropriate sentiments (aka hopelessness), explicit sexual content, swear words, minor character death (past)

Summary: This is a sequel to Drown With Me If You Can. Erland and Arnaghad have made it to the safety of Kaer Seren’s cellars and have to face life during the apocalypse. They cope in different ways. In which: Erland wallows some more and Arnaghad wants cuddles. 

Word Count: ~3k

AO3 Link I @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

In the latter years of the 1130s, a conflict between the Northern Realms of Redania, Kaedwen, and Kovir and Poviss sprouted up in which Kovir and Poviss petitioned to gain sovereignty.

Erland pauses to ponder his next words and in that pause, becomes aware of something stirring.

Witchers usually sniff and listen before something breeches their line of sight, but with his beloved bear, it’s even more intense. Erland can hear the giant’s footsteps pound in tune with his own heart as soon as Arnaghad rises from his meditative perch at least four rooms down the hallway. Erland can smell the endorphins that chase each other through Arnaghad’s bloodstream as soon as he calls out for Erland, still far away. They have a different scent for every person and witcher picking up on them.

For Erland, Arnaghad’s contentedness smells like toasted white bread and strawberry jam. Conversely, Arnaghad is reminded of the concoction of oils and herbs he treats his old bearskin with so that it retains its texture whenever Erland smiles. Everything about Arnaghad is intense, as is the emotional knot Erland carries tucked between his lungs, the one that is made up of strings of the past and present that have become inevitably entangled. There is no easy emotion here and so Erland shoves them all aside in favour of putting down his next lines.

It came to pass that, under the supervision of the Hierarch of Novigrad, then Walter Beda, the rulers of the three countries met to negotiate the agreement. King Radovid III of Redania and King Benda of Kaedwen sailed on the Redanian flagship Alata to Lan Exeter where Gedovius Troyden, then Earl and later King of Kovir, met them, accompanied by his wife Gemma. Thus, the First Treaty of Lan Exeter was forged, and Kovir and Poviss gained the right to call themselves a kingdom.

Erland blows on the ink and the smell intensifies so much that his mouth waters. He glances to the side to see the bear appear in the hallway.

“There you are,” Arnaghad rumbles when he arrives at Erland’s small chamber which used to be a storage for barrels in need of repair. He shoulders through the narrow doorway without knocks or ceremony, and his bare feet slap against the stone, warmed by an underground pool of water which is suffused by heat from the earth’s core. With the White Frost raging outside the keep of Kaer Seren - in whose basement they currently reside in - even that heat will fade and freeze, but it has not been touched yet. They have not been touched yet, they made it to the safety of this hidden hearth and it nearly cost them their lives. “What are you doing, birdie?”

“Writing,” Erland says absent-mindedly and growls when Arnaghad’s hulking form blots out the light of half the torches as he approaches the makeshift desk. It’s a splintered plank of wood propped up on two empty barrels, a third one – overturned – functioning as the chair. The rest of the room is bare save for the rusted grates in which the torches reside and a wicker basket full of half-rotten corks. The griffins used to collect them to fashion floormats for the baths with. The griffins that now lay buried under rubble, only a story or two above Erland’s and Arnaghad’s heads. He tries not to think about that as he writes, writes, writes.

“Why, thank you dearest beloved, I had not figured that out for myself.”

Erland shrugs and bends further over his page. He is halfway through his account and he has to keep going while the words still come easily and his hand hasn’t cramped up. It tends to do that a lot these days, whether from writing, shovelling endless masses of snow or from stroking Arnaghad’s oversized cock. The first one is a need to preserve what might otherwise get lost, the second a necessity so their one exit from Kaer Seren doesn’t get blocked completely. The third activity is all pleasure and indulgence and re-learning the body of a man he thought lost to him for so long.

Arnaghad, the obnoxious idiot, steps closer and squints over Erland’s shoulder which truly sucks up the rest of the flickering illumination. His burly hand comes to rest on Erland’s head – now freshly shaven into his preferred undercut again with his hair woven into complex patterns Arnaghad yet remembers from his home – and his chin presses against Erland’s temple.

“’Kovir’s Independence and the First Treaty of Lan Exeter’,” Arnaghad reads out loud from the top of the page. “The fuck does this have to do with you? Are you trying to write a world history?”

“You forget where we are,” Erland murmurs and finishes his sentence, placing a small asterisk with a number ten atop the last word for yet another footnote.

“I haven’t.” Arnaghad plucks the feather from Erland’s hand and rises a little, takes the bent fingers into his own and strokes along them to straighten them out, one by one. Erland sighs and sags against the bear, letting fatigue wash over him, wash away his ambition for the day. “You forget where you are. Who you are and who you are with.”

“I might have,” he admits sheepishly and closes his eyes, listens to the faint gurgle of Arnaghad’s stomach. It’s a simple, well-crafted lie. Erland never forgets and how could he?

“I understood the journal,” Arnaghad says. “Well, I wasn’t willing to give my life for it as you were, but I understood why you wrote it. The ice might melt, the beasts might return and for that, whoever is to inhabit this world may need the information you captured. But this is unfathomable.”

“Of course, it would be to you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you calling me stupid?”

“No,” Erland says and melts as Arnaghad’s hands let go of his to gently massage his shoulders. It’s only when the static pain slowly ebbs away that Erland realizes just how long he’s been sitting hunched over his notes. Each word an investment with so little parchment leftover.

“Then what? Why are you doing this?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Erland sighs and ducks out of his lover’s grip to get up and pop his joints. Avoiding Arnaghad’s gaze, Erland extinguishes the torches with a flurry of precise Aards and makes to leave the room.

The bear wouldn’t understand in a million years why Erland writes the chronicle, would probably call it a waste of energy and resources. There is utility in writing a bestiary, there is only sentiment in writing a history. And perhaps a flicker of hope that whatever civilization rises from the rubble of the Ice Age will not repeat their forebearer’s mistakes. Except no. Erland may be an idealist at heart, but not enough that this hope has a chance of threading through the fabric of his motivation.

His motivation is woven in entirely selfish materials. It’s distraction, it’s occupation, it’s indulging in self-pity and nostalgia, melancholy and pride. It’s to keep himself from spiralling into depression and forgetfulness, to keep his brain from deterioration. Between fucking and eating and sleeping, Erland needs mental stimulation more than exercise.

Arnaghad, on the other hand, spends his hours in meditation and weapon-less drills, doing push-ups by the hundreds, handstands by the hours, pull-ups by the thousands. His massive body, in spite of the lethargy and sluggishness his form might suggest, needs constant movement. To prevent muscle atrophy and to keep himself alert and strong for whatever they have to face.

For now, what they have to face is endless isolation. Just the two of them, a slowly but steadily dwindling supply of dried meats and herbs, pickled vegetables and fruit, and barrels upon barrels of ale. Most of them brewed with the recipe Keldar perfected over decades of teaching young griffins to hold their alcohol alongside their swords.

Keldar.

Erland tries not to think of the old griffin master, especially tries not to think about how they found his body, a frozen statue before the crumpled gates of Kaer Seren, half-buried in snow by the time that Arnaghad and Erland fought their way to the keep. He’d survived the avalanche, had stayed at the school, and Erland had abandoned him. Him too.

Dear old Keldar, dutiful to his last moments. It was what every griffin would have done, every one except for Erland it seemed.

“Birdie,” Arnaghad says, tapping the side of Erland’s skull where his griffin tattoo decorates his shaved skin. They walk side by side, down the endless winding corridors of Kaer Seren’s basement system towards the centre where the heat is the most intense. It’s also where they set up their meagre bedroll, a heap of old linens with Erland’s quilt and Arnaghad’s bearskin on top. “You’re getting lost in your thoughts again.”

“What were you saying?” Erland asks and pushes open the door to their bedroom. Slap, slap, go Arnaghad’s feet as he enters while Erland’s follows after him. He wears both their socks, still more prone to the cold even down here.

“Nothing,” Arnaghad says. He stops in the middle of their room – all grey brick cast in flame from the torches Erland managed to keep perpetually burning. It’s a trick he perfected back when the signs where first developed where he can attach the power of a sign to an object. So, he tethered an Igni to each of the torches, and he did not tell Arnaghad that this constantly pulls on his own energy. The bear would worry and call that too a waste of resources. But Erland would rather be tired by firelight than wide-awake in perpetual darkness, calculating in his head the days that remain to them. “Come here, you look fatigued.”

Erland catches Arnaghad’s steady gaze, darkened by his heavy brow and chiselled face, a small smile tugging on his oh so stoic lips. His hair is neatly bound at the base of his skull, two ceremonial mini-braids framing his cheeks to either side. He wears naught but a simple set of beige linen clothes these days, linens that tug and pull at his bulging muscles. He’s more than a brick wall, he’s as unmoving as the very ground they stand on. Arnaghad cannot be taken apart with brute force, it takes more subtler means of attack to undo him. Erland knows them all intimately and perhaps that is exactly why Arnaghad opens his arms to him then. Erland sighs. He has the rest of Radovid III’s reign to chronicle and his stomach is still on fast-mode. The only reason he came here in the first place was… to… Erland sneezes and the torches flicker. He knows when he’s defeated.

“I am tired,” he admits and crosses the distance between them. If ever there is such a space, unbridgeable at times, invisible at others, it is because Erland put it there. Not intentionally and not always happily, but if things went Arnaghad’s way, they would be close always. The man that envelops Erland in a tight hug has a constant hunger for touch and affection, and Erland has trouble having that piece slide into the greater mosaic he has constructed of his lover over the past centuries.

‘You’re getting old and sappy,’ Erland said to him once, three orgasms into the night and Arnaghad still insisted on holding him close. ‘Sappy and cuddly. I do not recognize you.’

‘Nor I myself,’ Arnaghad replied. If they were other people they might have attributed it to love, how it had overcome everything, how, here at the end of all things, it was them against the apocalypse. How they needed to hold onto each other for there was nothing else to hold onto. But Erland is an idealist, not a romantic, and Arnaghad a pragmatist, not an intellectual, and so that was where the conversation died then.

“You should rest more,” Arnaghad says.

“What a waste of time,” Erland replies and rises to the tips of his toes, uses Arnaghad’s bull neck for purchase to pull himself up. They’re barely eye to eye, but that doesn’t matter when he can finally tilt his head and kiss the tiny frown from Arnaghad’s face. It’s a matter of last resort as well as personal pleasure. Erland is in no mood to argue about his newfound hobby and he does want. Wants so much, so deeply it aches to the core of his bones. They’re still working through their differences – and that, he suspects, will take longer than any written history might – but with each day, Erland can allow himself a little more. He can allow himself to slot their lips together and push his tongue deeply into Arnaghad’s mouth, can allow himself to melt into his bear’s arms and let his rumbling groan rattle his skeleton. Erland smiles at the zealous manner in which Arnaghad’s whole body responds to the kiss. His hands, splayed across Erland’s shoulder blades, tighten, his cock stirs when Erland licks and sucks and adds a moan of his own, his shoulders rise. He’s so passionate, has so much to give, something that Erland has trouble keeping up with.

If half of this witcher had been the one leading the bear school, where could it have climbed to? What could it have accomplished if the abysses between its members hadn’t been quite so gaping? Erland tries not to wonder, tries not to rewrite the course of time in endless thought spirals, but it’s so hard. It’s another reason why he has to focus on the actual past. Because if he doesn’t remind himself that it is set in stone, if he doesn’t capture it with his own words, he starts to trail down the paths of forgotten ‘what ifs’, of unforgettable ‘what ifs’, of the ‘what ifs’ that are neither forgotten nor unforgettable, that are too daring to even consider. Erland loses himself in thought and it is then perhaps a blessing that he can lose himself in Arnaghad’s embrace instead.

“Do you think we could have dinner tonight?” Arnaghad asks after they part, even though he knows the answer. It’s worrying, a true sign that not even Arnaghad has an endless reservoir of energy. His hunger is much more vicious than Erland’s and it’s getting harder and harder for him to wait the intervals they settled on in order to stretch the food as long as they can. Usually, he doesn’t ask. Usually, his voice doesn’t sound so small. Fuck. It’s heart-breaking.

“Not yet, big bear, I’m sorry,” Erland sighs and noses along Arnaghad’s jaw, then sinks back down to his feet and presses his face into the crook of his neck. Wraps his arms around Arnaghad’s middle. Is proud when he doesn’t do the mental math right then and there. No, he won’t torment himself and he won’t succumb to the slight growl Arnaghad gives. Whether it’s from his throat or his stomach doesn’t really matter. The sound pierces Erland’s armour, but it doesn’t shatter. He’s still strong. Can still be strong. “Do you want me to distract you?”

“Ah, birdie, didn’t we just talk about how you’re tired?”

“I’d make a joke about being hungry myself,” Erland mutters, then licks over Arnaghad’s pulse point insistently. “But last I checked, your sense of humour is still as barren as the Korath desert.”

Arnaghad chuckles and the motion slightly shakes Erland where he rests against the bear’s chest. He lets his hand slide down to gingerly palm across Arnaghad’s half-hard cock and it rises to the touch, firms up. He closes his eyes and sucks on his own bottom lip. So easy to please.

“Says the man who thinks fun is a torture device,” Arnaghad retorts on a sigh and as such, it lacks an edge. Erland deftly plucks at the fastenings of the linen trousers and slips his hand into them. Arnaghad’s flesh is hot and solid, too big to wrap his fingers around.

“Alas,” Erland murmurs against the skin of Arnaghad’s neck, cranes his own to nibble on the bear’s jawbone, tracing it with his tongue. “My hand is tried from writing all morning.”

“All day more like,” Arnaghad grumbles.

“Even worse. It’s of no use now.” And with that, he gently guides Arnaghad to the corner where their makeshift bed is, bids him to sit down and takes his own place in Arnaghad’s lap with his belly pressed to the warm floor. Propped up on his elbows, Erland peers up at Arnaghad. From this low, the man seems taller than a mountain, his eyes far away, half-lidded and hazy and Erland smiles. He is tired, yes, so very tired, and that means he is sloppy. Sloppy as he descends over the head of Arnaghad’s massive cock which tastes salty and musky and he laps it all up he goes with lazy drags of his tongue. His lips are loose and his hands looser as they fondle Arnaghad’s cock at the base, toy with his balls.

Before long, spit leaks out of the corners of his mouth and runs down Arnaghad’s length and the low moans of the bear thunder through the hall, echo off the walls, loud enough to raise the dead, Erland thinks sometimes. He wishes he could revive his brothers and sons by cock-sucking alone, but the world has never been that simple. And it won’t ever be now. But if he can give Arnaghad pleasure and himself something to get distracted by then that should be enough.

Erland gets drunk on Arnaghad’s cock, chokes on it as he ruts into the floor without shame. They come within seconds of each other and Erland drinks up what he can, lets the rest spill over Arnaghad’s lap, then cleans that with his tongue too. After, he falls asleep there, curled into a ball in Arnaghad’s lap and it is enough. For now.

[gallopinggold]

Yoga for Equestrians Masterlist

I’ve been doing daily yoga for most of the year so far, and it’s definitely helped improve my riding and position.  I’ve started jotting down practices that I thought were especially helpful in targeting the muscles used for riding, and thought I would share them in case anyone finds them useful. 

Online, I practice exclusively with Yoga with Adriene, so that’s who’s videos I will be linking. Her videos accessible for all levels of yoga, I had no experience before I started practicing with her videos and I think she does a great job of explaining poses in detail so you can practice them safely.  She also uses very positive and kind terminology and does not focus on weight loss (some older videos do, but she definitely moved away from it as she grew as a creator) or shaming, so her videos are friendly to those that have a complicated history with exercise and body image. 

Yoga for equestrians (33 min)-  Okay duh, it literally is made for this list, but Adriene did her research creating this flow and it shows.

Yoga for Hips and lower back release (23 min)- A nice restorative practice that’s great for when you are sore after a ride to reopen tight hips. 

Yoga For Psoas (22 min)- Another on the more restorative side, that offers a very deeeeep stretch for the hips, perfect if you’re like me and have trouble holding the correct angle of your pelvis while riding without getting sore afterwards. 

Total Body Yoga- Deep Stretch (45 min)-  A more active of a practice, one that targets the hips and hamstrings especially. Really great for those deep muscles that often get neglected during workouts. 

Yoga for Low back and Hamstrings (30 min)- Restorative practice that builds into a really deep stretch and helps a lot with tight legs.

 Heart and Hips practice (26 min)- If you didn’t get a theme, I have zero flexibility in the hips, so I tend to gravitate towards hip opener practices.  This one is also really nice for opening up the chest too though, for those who’s trainers often shout “shoulder’s back” at them.

Yoga for Abdominal Wall (14 min)- Do not let the short length fool you, she makes you WORK for all 14 of those minutes lol.  Great for when you want to squeeze an intense core workout in but you have limited time. This practice also offers a great mental challenge 

Reunite with your Core Center ( 19 min)-  Another good one to stoke the core, brisk and active. 

Side body flow (33 min)- An absolutely doozy of a practice, a full body workout with an emphasis on core strength.  She mentions trying this practice 1 a week for 4 weeks and see what changes, and I must say, I actually did see surprising results when I tried it. One of the best practices on this list in my opinion if you want what feels like a full workout without the time cost. 

Upper back Love (23 min)- restorative practice that helps with shoulder flexibility and strength

Yoga for the Feet (33 min)- You may see this title and wonder how that would help with riding, but you’d surprised how much flexibility you can gain in your whole leg when you stretch the feet properly.  If you struggle with your heel creeping up and a swinging lower leg under saddle, this is definitely one for you to try. 

Yoga Joy (19 min)- A short but vigorous full body practice with some good hip openers and lower body strengtheners. Active but energizing practice. 

Yoga for flexibility (16 min)- Quick and to the point, a great supplement to other forms of exercise, or even after a tough ride to stretch out any sore parts. Much broader practice that covers the full body, but has quite a long section covering the hamstrings. 

Yoga for Dancers (23 min)- Obviously target towards a different sport, but we use many of the same muscles and need similar body control for riding, so it fits pretty well for us too. A balancing and strengthening practice, it generates some heat. 

Yoga for Tired Legs (26 min)- Another good post ride stretch when you need some relief after attempting no stirrup work

Freedom Glow (28 min)- A full body cardio workout, but one of my favorites when I’m feel energized and want something to warm me up. ( Heads up, not sure why the youtube link doesn’t work anymore, so this is linked directly to Adriene’s site, but this is still one of the free videos, like all others on the list)

Yoga Kiss (40 min)- A full body flow that works the core and hips well. 

Upper body Strength (13 min)-  Another short but tough diddy to get the upper back and shoulders strong enough for you to not hunch over like a goblin when your horse goes past the walk

Yoga for Writers (30 min)-   A nice one to do after the upper body strength workout above, this is a gentle practice that helps stretch sore shoulders and spines.  

This is not an exhaustive list by any means, and Adriene has other practices that look like they would be good for equestrians as well, I just haven’t tried them yet, so I can’t say for certain. I’ll probably add to this as I go, but I wanted to have a list together with some of the ones I’ve found helpful so far! Feel free to add on videos you like as well!

[smutty-ki113r]

I will definitely share my experience with you if it makes you feel motivated!!!!!

Now, first of all, it took me a WHILE to finally shift. AND LMFAO THE FIRST TIME I SHIFTED I GOT SCARED AND WENT BACK TO MY CR AND I WAS SO PISSED, but like after a couple more tries I finally was able to shift again and omfg it gave me euphoriaaa I almost didn't want to leave but I love my friends and family in my CR too much.

When I went back to my CR though I was EXHAUSTED, so that's why I recommend taking care of your body and nourishing it correctly before you shift because there's a 99% chance that when you wake up your body will feel like crap if you don't.

The process of shifting was so aggravating, everytime I would try shifting my body would give me the signs that it was working and I would get too excited and just jump up only to be disappointed smhsmh.

Also I have this dumb thing where I always feel like there's tiny things crawling all over me and it always fucks with me when I shift. Even when I'm trying to sleep normally it pisses me off because I'm always feeling likes there's ants on me or some shit.

I honestly don't shift very often, only when I really feel like I want to, because it's really mentally exhausting and when I used to do it often I would end up getting realllyyy depressed when I wasn't in my DR and that's dangerous because I don't want to be obsessed with it and end up damaging myself. So if you do end up shifting, don't do it too often.

Anyway, when I first got into shifting and tried it out, these are things I was doing wrong:

- I wasn't taking care of my body

- I was doubting my abilities in shifting

- I wasn't meditating often

- I wasn't listening to subliminals throughout the day

Listening to subliminals often is importantttt, it helps to really engrave the shifting concept into your mind and meditating is extra important because if you want to shift healthily you're going to have to really give yourself that brain power/strength and clear away all the anxiety you have, the more you doubt your ability the shift the more your brain is going to pass on it.

Also I remember a time I was at a fucking sleepover and I decided to attempt to reality shift AND RIGHT WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO MY FRIEND WOKE UP AND SLAPPED ME BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT I DIED I-

It was frustrating.

The process is frustrating, but shifting is possible, and if you really really want to do it then you can. Keep encouraging yourself and keep researching and taking care of your body and your brain will finally get there.

Also, while you're in the process, it's also so important to NOT get distracting while you're shifting or get too excited. It will 100% mess you up. Shifting requires intense concentration and you need your body to be completely relaxed, only think about your DR and ONLY think about what will happen when you get there, will you smell or hear something, or will you open your eyes to something, it all depends on how you script it.

Also do whatever method works for you and try all kinds of methods, me personally I used a combination of the raven method, staircase method, and counting method while using a heartbeat subliminal. It may seem like a lot but it's what worked best for me personally.

Anyways, I hope this helped! ^^

👅

OK I finally have time to respond to this in DETAIL YAY! Btw, thank you so sososoosososs much for taking the time to write this out. Also you don’t have to read any of this, it’s just me talking about it lollll.

First off, UPDATE: bro I wasn’t trying to shift last night and then I was tired (3am) so I tried to sleep but couldnt so I listened to (DO NOT LAUGH ISTG) the song of unhealing cause its calming. And I started hearing this sort of muffled noise, I tried paying attention but couldnt make it out so I think it was voices. And then- holy lord I almost lost- wait no I LOST MY SHIT. I heard knocking, a fucking ACTUAL knock, I fucking. My whole body got so hot and I had to stop cause I was so excited I cried. Then I was exhausted so I went to sleep.

SECONDLY. I’ve never heard of your body being exhausted after so thank you for the tip. I used to be convinced I was there and then I wasn’t. FUCKING ME TOO! I think there’s a fucking dust particle on my arm and then an itch on my neck or something.

I have been scared of that too, because I have had (and I feel horrible saying this but it’s the internet and you dunno who I am) a very rough childhood. Maladaptive daydreaming and just pretending I somewhere else gave me a lot of trauma, especially in really bad situations. I think a huge part of why I haven’t shifted yet is because of the existential crisis I will most definitely have. I already obsess enough over this world, and now I’m trying to go? It’s hard, but I can’t NOT do it. If I stop then I won’t have a goal, and if I’m constantly going for something do I have a purpose? SEE? I can’t help it.

Ok so I’ve been trying for a while too, and I AM COMPLETLY CONFIDENT that I can do it, also that I do meditate every day! Taking care of my body is sort of a lost cause, I refuse to eat fruits and vegetivles (stupid I know) but I used to associate “healthy” foods with my *TW* an*rexia. Now I feed off pasta, also cause it’s cheaper. I sleep at 1 or 2am because why. Because I am 1. Writing and I need to post on schedule 2. Listening to music and imagining that I’m already in my dr. Or doing other unholy things. I can’t stop exercising, so Im constantly tired and heavy, I feel bad if I don’t/ do less. I have tried taking care of myself for years, it’s very, very hard.

You’re so right, I need to get the idea in my head and establish it. HOW DO YOU FEEL WHEN YOURE DOING IT? Do you detach from your body? Or do you melt through your skin?

Hehehe I do tend to get excited, but my good voice tries so hard to hold me down. I have been trying to keep myself concentrated in creative ways, just focusing on the sound of the knocking, or the sound of the fan, or the person I’m trying to get to. The person I will fucking push myself to the edge for because I want him to have someone to love him. I want him to be ok.

I know I can do it, I know it’s possible, I know I will do it. THANK YOU SO SO MUCH <3

[nevertherose]

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

"All Roman wanted to do was take Logan on a Doctor Who LARP within the Imagination.

But with Thomas's Sides at their figurative breaking point after the disastrous wedding, the Imagination may just have a few ideas of her own..."

Hello, Tumblr fanders, it has been a while since I've poked around in here...mostly because, I've been writing another story!

Do you like Sanders Sides? Do you like Doctor Who? Do you like the idea of the Sides playing Doctor Who characters? If so, this story was written especially for you.

I found that the process of cross-posting Mahogany and Teakwood across three platforms, one chapter at a time, involved a lot of me spending too many hours squinting at html code. Not especially fun. This time around, I've only been posting on AO3 and Wattpad.

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

So! Today I'm going to post the first half (in two posts, because apparently Tumblr has a post size limit, who knew?), all the chapters that are up so far. Then, when the whole story is up on the other platforms, I'll post the other half.

Of course, you could head to either AO3 or Wattpad, if you want to read as the chapters go up.

But if you're like me, and like to read stories in nice, big, juicy chunks...here you go:

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still cooking.”

Midnight.

The witching hour.

Or was that 3AM? Roman wondered. No, that’s the devil’s hour…damn it, Virgil! You had to get them all mixed up!

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

Moonlight, pearlescent and brighter than it could ever shine in the real world, streamed feather-light through the tall windows on Roman’s side of the Dream Palace. It made patterns of light and shadow over the black marble floors, made nighttime caricatures of the white ivory statues that lined the corridor.

Roman’s heeled boots echoed in the silence; Logan’s dress shoes, in comparison, were whisper-quiet.

Logan himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since they entered this place, Roman noted, glancing back. Normally by now the logical Side would have asked a million questions, made a million plans, or be several bullet points into a lecture about palace construction or the history of measurement units or some other nerdy, obscure subject.

And Roman would either pretend to be annoyed, or would interject witty counterpoints to make Logan stop and bluster and…

But not tonight.

Maybe he’s nervous about being here, Roman told himself, smoothing a hand over his red sash. He’s only pointed out a million times that Logic and the Imagination are anathema to one another. Maybe I should have planned something else…

Or maybe he’s just annoyed at you for dragging him out of bed in the literal middle of the night, a more insidious inner voice whispered. When you know he likes to keep a consistent sleep schedule.

Roman pressed his lips together, lifted his chin…he might be a mere facet of a single personality, but he was also a Prince, and Princes do not listen to inner demons. However, he also looked back for the dozenth time to make sure Logan was actually still following.

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

It had nothing to do with the way the translucent moonlight caught the other Side’s dark, immaculately kept hair, or glinted off his glasses.

In the real world, of course, and whenever they manifested near their Source, the Sides all had precisely the same face and body as Thomas. But deep inside the mind, where physical appearance was an illusion anyway, the Sides exercised much more control.

Thomas remained their base template, but each Side also tended to portray himself with features that Thomas associated with their core function. Like Patton’s fluffy curls and childlike freckles, or Virgil’s anxious, ever-changing eyeshadow, or Remus’s abominable comic-book villain mustache.

Like Deceit’s…no, Janus’s very real scales.

Damn that snake. Why did I have think of him now?

Hopefully the lying bananaconda had better things to do than pop up and spoil things tonight. Because tonight, Roman was finally fulfilling a longtime promise to Logan, and taking him on a grand adventure.

The thought made his heart flutter in anticipation, and he looked back again.

Logan within the mindscape was leaner than Thomas, an inch or two taller, and his neatly trimmed hair and intelligent eyes were almost black in the low light. His face was narrow and intense, the nose more aquiline, and he had a habit of standing straighter than any of the rest of them.

(A habit which constantly showed off his trim waist and chest muscles…not that Roman paid any attention to that…)

Roman, by contrast, was a bit shorter, but his shoulders were broad and he was more muscular, due to all the questing and sword fighting he did here in the Imagination. He wore his hair in longish disarray that paired devastatingly with his clean, square jawline; hair that could be turned loose and wild on quests, or pulled neatly back as befitted royalty. His hands were strong; with long, artistic fingers, as skilled at wielding pens and paintbrushes as they were at wielding swords.

He liked to think he was handsome.

He was also painfully aware of how little it mattered when a certain someone…ehem…never seemed to notice.

“Roman, I confess to still being a bit lost as to the purpose of this journey,” Logan said at last, breaking the high-ceilinged silence. “You said you were taking us on a…’lark’? If so, why are we wandering around the Dream Palace?”

“LARP,” Roman corrected, flashing him a smile. “L-A-R-P. It stands for live action role play, Specs.”

Logan’s nose wrinkled at the words “role play”, and Roman’s stomach lurched. He hates it, he hates the very idea of it, you haven’t even started yet and you’ve already failed…

“Oh, don’t make the scrunchy face!” he added, a bit louder than necessary, and waved a hand. “At least wait until you’ve seen it.”

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

“You know, when you promised to take me on one of your ‘adventures’,” Logan said, making finger quotes. “I was not expecting to be roused from bed in the middle of the night.”

“That’s because this isn’t your average adventure.” Roman gestured around them. “I constructed a special dreamscape to get all the details right, and we can only use the Dream Palace when Thomas is asleep.” He turned and dared a wink. “Only the best for you, my detail-oriented friend.”

Logan adjusted his glasses.

“Let it be known that I am indulging your antics right now because you have, on occasion, had some good ideas. You will, in turn, have to indulge my skepticism.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I’m gonna pretend it was a compliment,” Roman said with a wink, which Logan rolled his eyes at.

“Ah ha, here we are!”

Roman stopped at a set of iconic blue doors, nearly vibrating in excitement as he waited for Logan to recognize them.

The nerd did not disappoint.

“Roman…” Logan murmured, stepping forward to touch the white PULL TO OPEN sign. “They look just like the doors to the TARDIS. The attention to detail is exquisite. But why?”

“Because I’m taking you on a Doctor Who LARP!” Roman exclaimed, flapping his hands. “All we have to do is step through, and the Imagination will make us Doctor and companion, and whisk us away through all of time and space!”

Logan’s face was a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “Again…why?”

“Because it will be fun?” Roman bit his lip, looking at his toes. “I…I know you aren’t into swords and sorcery and dragon-witches and whatnot. I wanted this to be something you might actually enjoy.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, as it often did when he tried to process something that didn’t fit neatly into his graphed, notated, logical worldview.

Usually, it was an emotion.

“But won’t us enacting such an intense scenario at this time of night negatively affect Thomas’s sleep?” Logan asked.

“That’s the genius of adventuring in the Dream Palace,” Roman explained. “You can do hyperreal, immersive stuff, and if Thomas does happen to remember anything, he’ll just think he had a weird dream. The worst that could happen is he might post about it on Twitter.”

“Hmm. I can see you’ve thought this through. I am…flattered that you went to all the trouble,” Logan said in a quiet voice.

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

Not…not because of the way his nerves skittered below his skin when his gaze caught Logan’s black eyes and soft expression. No, Roman was merely…excited! That someone like Logan appreciated his hard work!

It wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone, like some middle school boy with, you know, a crush or whatever. For the last, well…two years.

…and then some.

Ugh. There was little point in denying his feelings; he’d only accidentally summon Janus and his oily smirk, and if that happened, Roman would most certainly die of embarrassment and that was not a lie, thank you very much.

The truth was, ever since Thomas had placed that jar of Crofters into Logan’s hands and inspired him to sing…not just rap, or begrudgingly harmonize, but actually sing…Roman had fallen, and fallen hard.

How could he not?

Logan’s words and ideas had always challenged him, pushed him to be smarter, sharper, better, just to keep up. Logan was the grounding anchor to his sails, the clarity to his excess. It used to infuriate Roman, the way he and Logan always came at problems from opposite sides and fought, sometimes bitterly, over the best way to meet in the middle.

But now?

Now Roman relished the way they traded words in a good fight, like blades in the hands of expert swordsmen. Logan, despite his dislike for anything fanciful, was a natural wordsmith…and Roman was a great lover of poetry. Even better, it seemed like Logan was also starting to enjoy their verbal sparring matches…

And then these last few months had happened.

The Decision, and Deceit, and the way that snake had let Remus out of the shadows to wreck havoc, and then the disastrous wedding itself…and Roman knew that Logan, through all of it, had been feeling pushed aside.

Goodness knew the logical Side hadn’t deserved to be shoved to the back of a courtroom, or relegated to a pixel-y shadow of himself before being removed from the discussion entirely. Worse, in both of those scenarios, Roman had either done nothing…or actively made things worse.

Roman knew he was guilty of letting his mouth run wild in his zeal to solve Thomas’s dilemmas…or in desperately hiding his true feelings. He knew his nicknames often came with barbs, his insults sometimes hit too close to home, that he often ignored or dismissed Logan’s cool, much-needed perspective.

He knew he needed to be better.

I’ll make it up to him tonight, Roman told himself as he laid a hand on the rough wooden blue doors and glanced back at Logan. The logical Side nodded, giving Roman a tiny burst of confidence.

He’ll get to play his favorite character and be his best nerdy self. This is going to be great!

Roman took a breath, and shoved open the TARDIS doors.

Chapter 2- Human Nature

“It’s all becoming clear now. The Doctor is doing the things you’d like to be doing.”

The blaring of a dozen sirens burst in Logan’s ears.

He was yanked across the threshold, Roman’s hand practically a vice around his wrist. Logan inhaled the sharp scent of metal and warm electronics, and a million figurative lights went off in his brain.

Being the physical incarnation of Logic, this wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sensation.

The TARDIS shuddered…wait, TARDIS? We’re actually on the TARDIS?…under impact. Lights flashed; reds and greens over an ambiance of steely blue-gray, and Logan knew exactly what to do.

He shook free of Roman’s grip and strode to the center console…console, how do I know this is a console?…flipping several switches and turning the green dial to precisely 3.56 degrees to offset the radiation sheer from the M-class star they’d just spun past.

Because naturally they happened to be careening through an asteroid field.

The time rotor rose and dipped, Gallifreyan symbols whirling overhead; Logan adjusted shields and dodged rocks, striding confidently from station to station. He guided his TARDIS around the last large asteroid, one that easily could have smashed his beloved ship to bits, and then they were clear.

The TARDIS chimed reassuringly under his hands, relieved to be in empty space again.

Roman screamed.

The sound echoed off the metallic walls, causing Logan to whip around and nearly lose his balance.

“What happened?” he said sharply, leaving the console. The creative Side stood near the railing, staring down at himself in obvious dismay. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at me, Logan!” Roman said shrilly and gesturing at his body. “Just look!”

Logan examined his fellow Side. There were no obvious injuries he could see, no blood, no bruising, nothing that would merit a scream. There was just Roman, unfairly handsome as always.

(He still wasn’t sure how Roman managed that feat when they all literally, at least some of the time, had the same face.)

“I…don’t see a problem?” Logan asked slowly.

“I meant, look at what I’m wearing, Calculator Watch,” Roman snarled, and turned to yell nonsensically at the ceiling. “Am I a joke to you? When I said I wanted to be a companion, this is not what I meant!”

Logan focused on Roman’s clothing, which had shifted rather drastically since passing through those doors. His normal princely attire was replaced by a denim cutoff skirt, overalls, pink leggings, and a tight pink blouse that clung to his muscular chest and arms...

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Roman murmured, scuffing a combat boot against the metal grated floor. The motion drew Logan’s gaze again to the way the cutoffs hugged his hips and wow, that skirt was really short, wasn’t it?

And those tights, the way they accentuated Roman’s legs...

Logan frowned, his face feeling unusually warm. Why did he keep noticing these things? Of course Roman was more fit than the rest of them.

Perhaps it was simply that Logan didn’t usually see the evidence of it so…plainly.

Stop, Logan told himself sharply. You might be gay and allosexual, but that is no excuse to be disrespectful.

He cleared his throat.

“If I may, Roman?” he said, approaching, and made a closer examination of Roman’s outfit.

“I gather from your earlier ranting that you instructed the Imagination to cast you as one of the Doctor’s companions for the duration of this scenario?”

“Well, yeah,” Roman admitted, “but I was thinking someone like Jamie McCrimmon, or Rory Williams, or maybe even Jack Harkness!”

“You know there is some debate over whether Jack Harkness would be considered a proper ‘companion’, as he was never full time on the TARDIS,” Logan argued absently, still eying Roman’s ensemble.

It was attractive but also familiar; he just couldn’t quite place it…

“Neither was Clara Oswald at first, but nobody had a problem handing her that label from the start!” Roman folded his arms and Logan had to look away because wow, short sleeves and arms…

“Just because she was a girl and the writers obviously intended for her to be a love interest—”

“A girl, of course!” Logan snapped his fingers. “Roman, you are a companion. Specifically, you are Rose Tyler.”

“What?” Roman frowned, smoothing the overalls across his middle. “I…Hmm. You might actually be right.”

“Of course I am right.”

The creative Side scoffed at that, but continued to frown.

“I think it’s a good choice,” Logan added. “Rose is arguably one of the most beloved companions in new Who; bold, kind, and intelligent in her own way. She was pivotal to the Ninth, Tenth, and arguably the War Doctor’s character arcs.”

He laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder. (To convey reassurance, of course. Not because he suddenly wanted to touch…)

“Hers are not the worst shoes you could be given to fill,” Logan said, “idiomatically speaking.”

“Only you would drop a word like ‘idiomatically’ in everyday conversation,” Roman grumbled, but some of the spark returned to his caramel eyes.

“But look at you!” Roman said in a brighter voice, gesturing. “All proper and Doctor-ish. At least the Imagination let you keep your tie, or, whatever that thing is around your neck.”

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

His sensible polo and jeans had become a clean-cut black suit, with a warm grey waistcoat, a crisp white undershirt, and a silver pocket watch. A navy cravat was knotted around his throat.

His knee-length suit jacket was also black, with a striking cerulean lining.

He retrieved a slender, metallic something from the jacket’s inner pocket: of course, the Doctor’s signature sonic screwdriver. Specifically, the Tenth Doctor’s screwdriver.

Logan chuckled, remembering all the times he’d ranted to Roman about how impractical and flashy Eleven’s screwdriver became, and don’t even get him started on Twelve’s, it was practically a lightsaber…

“Interesting,” he murmured, stretching his arms to turn in a slow circle, letting the jacket flare. “Fashionably, I appear to be a cross between the Eighth and Twelfth Doctors, which I appreciate, as they are the two most sensible dressers of the bunch. And by the way, Roman, this is a called a cravat, not a tie…”

He’d lifted hands to his neck but the words died on his tongue.

Roman had summoned a mirror and was, quite literally, checking himself out. He swayed his hips, tilted one toward and then away from the mirror, pouted, did a tongue smile, and…and Logan realized he had been watching for more than a socially acceptable length of time.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat again. But he was saved from having to speak by a loud crackling at the center console.

Both Sides rushed over, Logan seizing the TV screen and pulling it down. Gray static skittered over the polished surface. He flipped two switches and turned a dial, trying to zero in on the signal.

“I meant to ask earlier…how do you know what to do?” Roman asked, tilting his head. “You were piloting before I think you even realized we were on a TARDIS in the first place.”

Logan froze in the middle of winding one of the cranks.

“I…I really do not know.” In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sense any of the controls made. “Now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, you are correct: rationally, I should not know the function of any of these…gizmos.” He gestured at the crank he’d been winding.

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

“When I built this LARP, I gave the Imagination quite a bit of leeway in how it wanted to construct our characters,” he said. “I’m thinking it took things a step further than costume changes, like making me the companion it thinks I most resemble instead of the companion I wanted to be.”

Roman bit his lip as though troubled, then clearly shook himself out of it.

“And it must have imparted some of the Doctor’s knowledge upon me.” Logan added, not sure how he felt about the Imagination having such a direct influence over his mind. He supposed if it didn’t get too invasive, and was confined to this one night, he could deal with it.

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

“Indeed! So engage that big Doctor brain and let’s see who’s trying to call us. Allons-y, adventure awaits!”

“You know ‘allons-y’ is my line, right?” Logan said dryly.

He had to use his screwdriver on the screen before the picture came clear. The stream of static acquired the cadence of a voice…and then a disturbingly familiar face stared back at his own, looking equally shocked.

Roman, for the second time since entering the TARDIS, let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

“If you’re going to take my stick, do me the courtesy of actually killing me. Teamwork is all about respect.”

Janus had just settled into his favorite chair with a mug of chamomile tea and a political science book when he was yanked…rather rudely, he might add…onto the deck of a spaceship.

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

When one lived in the same mindspace as the literal embodiment of chaos, one unfortunately learned to expect such interruptions.

“REMUS!” he roared, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did I not specifically ask to be LEFT ALONE tonight?”

Silence.

Deeply annoyed now, Janus took a moment to look around himself. This was not a normal spaceship; no windows, for one, and it was laid out in levels around a translucent column at the very center. His mismatched eyes followed the center rotor up and down, his mind almost placing it…

Something clumsily rose up from the deck with a clatter, causing Janus to summon his crook with a yell.

Only…the object that dropped into his hand wasn’t smooth wood, but a slender metal instrument just barely longer than his hand. A…sonic screwdriver? What the actual heck?

Well. It was what he had.

“Get back!” He pointed the instrument at the…figure…who still slowly climbed to its feet. It was an android or robot of some sort; humanoid, and the same kind of weirdly familiar as the ship.

“Janus?” the robot said, tilting its head.

Janus froze, all the scales standing up on his body. That was…that was Patton’s voice. Flat, mechanical, but unmistakable.

After all, Patton was the only Side who consistently called Janus by name.

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

“Oh, that was so weird-feeling! Thank goodness I’m not all by myself,” Robot-Patton said, putting a hand over his…well, where his heart should have been…in obvious relief. “But why are we both suddenly on the TARDIS?”

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

Of course, he should have recognized the stupid time rotor immediately. He’d never admit it to any of them, but he was as much of a Doctor Who nerd as Logan or Roman, sometimes going so far as to spy on them when they argued over episodes together.

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

And now, looking at Patton with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Janus deduced exactly what he was: a Mondasian Cyberman. They were older and cruder in design than the reboot versions…no wonder he hadn’t put a finger on it right away.

That wasn’t really the issue.

“REMUS!” Janus shouted again, more angrily this time. Bad enough his pleasant evening of solitude had been interrupted by…whatever this was. But putting the sweetest, most emotional Side into a canonically unemotional shell, a robot?

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

“Janus, is everything okay?” Patton asked, coming closer. Janus shivered at the sound of that warm voice coming from a blank metallic face with empty eyes.

“Do you…feel all right?” Janus said in a hesitant voice.

“I’m a little chilly, but otherwise I’m in ship shape!” the other quipped, giggling. “Get it? Cause we’re on a ship?”

Is it…is it possible that he doesn’t know?

“Hilarious,” Janus deadpanned, but inside his thoughts spun.

He sensed they were in a dream construct within the Imagination, which meant this had to be Remus’s doing. Remus, who reveled in gore, despair, disturbing imagery, angst, and who was in charge of Thomas’s nightmares.

Remus could…and would, given the chance…recreate the experience of being a Cyberman down to the Last. Grim. Detail.

Maybe he hadn’t meant to ensnare Patton specifically to fill this role…Remus didn’t generally pull other Sides in for nightmares, come to think of it…but meanwhile, Janus didn’t want to find out what this might do to Patton’s head.

Worse, it was becoming clear that Patton was somehow oblivious to the state of his own body; he’d used his metallic hands to clutch at his metallic chest and found nothing wrong with either. He couldn’t hear the electronic rasp in his own voice, or the heavy clanging of his steps on the grated floor.

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

Ever since Thomas’s near mental breakdown after the disastrous wedding, Patton and Janus had orbited around each other in a state of tenuous truce. They talked now, sometimes, and those talks didn’t always end in arguments. Patton began to leave space for him by Thomas’s blinds when he was called up, and he…and by extension Thomas…occasionally actually sought his input.

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

The others still called him Deceit, either by accident (Logan) or out of spite (Virgil). Then there was Roman, who invented a colorful, wounding ego-jab for him every day, and Remus, whose fond nicknames tended to double as sex jokes.

Having no other real allies in the mindscape, Janus really, really didn’t want to screw up his tenuous alliance with Patton. Why sabotage his figurative “seat at the table” over one of Remus’s stupid nightmares?

Patton would assume Janus was slipping back into his old ways, lying just because he could, and Janus would never be able to prove otherwise. And later Patton would make that sour, pinched face he always made when he was disappointed, the one that made Janus want to crawl into a hole…

So.

Best to keep his observations close to the chest, for now.

“Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?” Janus asked, striding to the center console. True to dream logic, the controls made no sense and simultaneously made perfect sense.

Patton shrugged; a strange, clanky motion of his shoulders.

Janus sighed. “Although Remus has dragged me into dreams before, even he generally understands the concept of consent.” He casually flapped a hand. “And he always leaves you ‘light sides’ alone.”

“Honestly, this doesn’t feel like a nightmare to me,” Patton said, nearly making Janus choke. The Cyberman clanked over to stand by the console.

“It’s too clean,” Patton added. “Roman let me glimpse Remus’s side of the Imagination once, not long after he showed himself to Thomas, and it was…”

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Patton said quietly. “This,” he waved a hand around, “feels more like Roman’s work.”

“I suppose you would know.” Janus ran a thoughtful thumb over his face, tracing the ridge that ran from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

“And I would almost have to agree,” he added slowly. “If this was a nightmare, surely something ghastly would have happened by now. But my being pulled into one of Roman’s creations makes even less sense. He literally cannot stand me.”

“Maybe this is one of those dreams Thomas has sometimes after binge watching a show?” Patton suggested. “When there’s enough material in short term memory that the twins don’t get much input? Did Thomas binge a season of Doctor Who yesterday or something?”

And to think the others still view you as stupid, or slow-witted.

Janus bit back a smile.

“It’s a good theory, Patton, but no,” he said. “Thomas hasn’t really binged on much of anything lately.”

Patton ducked his head.

“You don’t…you don’t have to rub it in, you know,” he said lowly, the metallic rasp grating on Janus’s ears. “You and Logan have both made it pretty clear that I’ve been too strict with Thomas’s time.”

Janus fought to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach twisted.

Damn it.

Leave it to Patton to find guilt where none was meant. Even if Janus claimed he hadn’t meant it like that, Patton would probably not believe him.

Patton tilted his metal head as he examined Janus’s face.

“Did you know you have a mustache now? And a little goatee?”

“I have a what?” Janus felt at his face and groaned, his gloved fingers tugging at hair that most certainly did not belong on his face; with the scales, it probably looked hideous.

His entire outfit had altered in subtle ways, he realized. His usual plum tunic and trousers were now a brown suit and waistcoat ensemble, crossed with yellow pinstripes, with a black collared undershirt. A brown, knee-length suit jacket replaced his caplet, with subtle gold trimming. His yellow gloves were unchanged, thank goodness, and his hat…?

His hands flew up to his head and found something perched over his hair, sitting at an angle. Janus yanked down a screen at the console and stared. His beloved bowler had shrunk into a tiny, flat, rakish thing with a wide brim, festooned with a cluster of yellow rosebuds and black beads.

“What on earth, Remus?” he grumbled, turning his head from side to side. Well, if he had to be honest, pinstripes and a hatinator weren’t a terrible look.

“Well, if we’re on a TARDIS, I guess you’re supposed to be the Doctor,” Patton pointed out. “Which would make me your companion.”

Janus stroked his goatee and examined their surroundings in more detail. But am I a Doctor? he wondered. And if so, which one?

And whose TARDIS is this?

Because while it was clear they were on a TARDIS…what other class of spaceship had a time rotor?…he wasn’t almost certain this was not the TARDIS.

Every corner of the Doctor’s ship, no matter which face it belonged to, tended to overflow with bright, shiny, eclectic whimsy. By contrast, this one was plain, stark, with exposed metal beams and sharp angles.

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

He crossed to one of the bookshelves, ignoring Patton’s soft inquiry, and his jaw clenched. There was the Necronomicon, shelved between the Liber Inducens in Evangelium Aeternum and The Black Scrolls of Rassilon, Book of Vile and its Black Appendix, The Ambuehl Lores and the Insidium of Astrolabus.

Janus finally looked at the sonic device he’d been holding all this time; seeing now that it wasn’t a screwdriver at all, and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t tried to use it on Patton earlier.

It was a sonic laser.

Once again, even in a stupid, nonsensical dream, Janus had been cast as the villain.

His fist had collided with the bookshelf before he even realized he was moving, books falling to the floor. He punched it again, and again, until a cool rigid hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Janus, Janus, stop!” Patton yelled in his ear.

Janus wrenched his arm away and stalked back to the console, running gloved fingers over his scales, pushing them up and smoothing them down. The familiar sensation grounded him.

“You were right, Patton,” he threw over his shoulder. “This is definitely one of Roman’s dreams, and he definitely fucking hates me.”

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

“Language. And how do you know that,” he asked. “…Doctor?”

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

“I am not the Doctor, Patton, and we are not on the TARDIS.” He spread his arms to encompass them both, gesturing to the dimly lit spaceship. “Look around. Look at me!”

He turned, slowly, and eyed his mustached visage in the dark view screen.

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

Once again, someone I care about is upset, and I don’t know what to do. I guess I should be used to it by now.

It didn’t help that it was so cold in this TARDIS. He folded his arms around his middle, which felt strange and heavy, to combat the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

“Of course the Prince would pull me into one of his little ‘adventures’ without my consent. He probably needed an antagonist. And naturally the slippery snake would have been the first person to come to mind!”

Patton opened his mouth…though he had no idea what he was going to say…but Janus drowned him out.

“Come on, Roman!” he shouted, throwing his yellow-clad hands up. “You’ve had your fun. Yes, I’m evil, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, blah blah. Let’s have our epic confrontation or whatever nonsense you have planned, as I would very much like to get back to my reading sometime tonight.”

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

“Look, maybe we should just play along for now?” Patton said aloud, wincing when Janus turned his murderous expression on him. The deceptive Side had such deep, cutting golden eyes, the human one so much darker than the other…cynical eyes that were, ironically, almost impossible to lie to.

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

The glare quickly softened, though, which in Patton’s opinion said a lot about how far Janus had come.

“And how do you propossse we ‘play along’?” Janus said, hissing his s’s in frustration.

“Well, we’ve kinda decided this is Roman’s dream, right? And since we’re in his part of the Imagination, we know he won’t let anything bad happen to us…”

Patton trailed off at Janus’s pained expression, reminded of just how badly Janus and Roman’s last encounter had gone.

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache.”

And I just stood there and did nothing…no, I can’t dwell on that right now. Patton shook himself out of the memory.

It was surprisingly easy; even his emotions felt a little heavy and muted. He supposed he wasn’t used to being in a dreamscape; unlike Roman, who played in them all the time.

I know Roman, Patton reasoned. He might hold a grudge for a while, but he wouldn’t actually be out to hurt Janus.

Right?

“So, if we’re on a time ship, on some kind of adventure leading up to a confrontation like you said, the first thing we’d have to do is figure out where we need to go,” Patton finished, shrugging.

Janus pursed his lips…which looked downright weird with a mustache and goatee, almost making Patton giggle…and began pushing buttons on the console.

“You are definitely incorrect, Patton,” he said, pulling up another screen and flipping a few switches. “If I have been cast as the villain in this ridiculous charade, that means Roman is likely prancing around as the Doctor right now, on the proper TARDIS. Which, as the Doctor’s nemesis, I should be able to contact…ha!”

The screen burst into static.

“Doctor, oh Doctor, do you read me?” Janus crooned, and if Patton hadn’t known just how angry he was in that moment…well, he would have never known.

Janus had tucked it away entirely, in half a second's time.

That’s the scary thing about him, Patton realized uneasily. He’s smart, nearly as smart as Logan. Smart enough to run circles around me, that’s for sure. And he’s easily as good an actor as Roman.

Those attributes, combined with his naturally manipulative nature, made it difficult to trust him.

Patton was trying.

He’d been trying since the wedding, and well, since everything else that had happened. (Patton still cringed when Thomas encountered even a picture of a frog.) He’d done a lot of thinking and growing that day (in more ways than one!), and he’d come to a disturbing, but inevitable conclusion.

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

Just like Virgil had never been evil. Mean, sure; and sarcastic, and spiteful…but at his core, Virgil had wanted what was best for Thomas.

They all did.

And then there was the uncomfortable corollary to that: Patton, despite his best efforts, despite his core Purpose…Patton wasn’t entirely and automatically good.

Two weeks ago, Janus had proven beyond a doubt that Thomas needed him…ruthlessly, cuttingly, but no one could say he hadn’t made his point. It had been Patton who’d inadvertently pushed Thomas to the brink of a breakdown, and Janus who had to pull them all back.

Despite Patton’s unease, and the little voice in his head telling him that Deceit couldn’t be trusted, could never truly be trusted because it was in his nature to deceive…Patton remembered how they’d pushed Virgil so hard he decided to duck out, and how much of a tragedy that could have been if they hadn’t all intervened to bring him back.

With a pang of guilt, he pictured Thomas lying on the floor, crushed under the metaphorical weight of everything Patton needed him to do to keep from being a bad person…

He would not make those mistakes again.

If Virgil could learn to work with them instead of against them, so could Janus. If Patton could learn to recognize when his own Purpose did more harm than good, so could Janus.

Patton had to believe that.

He’d made too many mistakes lately to believe otherwise.

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

“What? Logan??” Janus exclaimed, as a scream echoed somewhere in the background.

“D—Janus?” Logan countered, then looked over his shoulder. “Roman, for the love of Archimedes, will you stop shrieking? I cannot hear.”

The screaming cut off and Roman’s fuming face squished into the frame with Logan.

“Deceit! I should have known you would show up to ruin this!” he managed to shout before Logan shoved him away.

“Ruin…I’m sorry, what?” Janus glanced at Patton, looking honestly confused. “Is he roleplaying right now? We assumed this scenario was Roman’s creation.”

Onscreen, Logan placed his whole hand against Roman’s mouth to prevent him from interrupting.

“It is. But to my understanding, it was only supposed to involve myself and Roman, and…wait. You said ’we’.” Logan peered around. “Who else is with you?”

Patton started to wave, but his view was blocked by Janus bending close to the screen to whisper something. Suspicion flared in Patton’s stomach; old, familiar, but after the talk he’d just given himself, he purposefully pushed it down.

I won’t assume he’s being shifty unless he actually gives me a reason to.

Lifting his chin, he crept forward until he was next to Janus’s shoulder.

“Hey, Logan,” he said brightly, waving.

“Ah…hello, Patton,” Logan squeaked after a moment, his eyes still wide.

“Wait, Patton’s there? With the snake?” Roman’s voice yelled from the background, and then there was Roman’s face again.

“Patton?” Roman said, narrowing his eyes. “But why are you—?”

Both faces disappeared for a moment as Logan yanked Roman out of frame. Patton thought he heard a rapid, hushed conversation. He glanced at Janus, who only shrugged, looking at puzzled as Patton felt.

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

“Patton,” he said, and hesitated. “D—Janus. You two…well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

“This was only supposed to be a two-person adventure: Doctor plus companion. I have no idea why the Imagination brought you both in as well; I certainly didn’t tell it to.”

“Aw, that’s okay, kiddo,” Patton started gently. “It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Janus folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s bull. Putting me in the Master’s shoes? Are we seriously going to pretend the Side who unashamedly hates me had nothing to do with that?”

“I didn’t!” Roman argued, his voice going high. “You really think I wanted you here, in any capacity?”

“Deceit…er, Janus, you are being unnecessarily antagonistic, and as such, unhelpful,” Logan cut in with his low, reassuring voice. “But Roman, it might behoove us to consider the role of subconscious influence. You may not have intended to pull the others in, and yet here they are.”

Roman looked at Logan, aghast, and Patton almost flinched at the raw hurt in his caramel eyes. The creative Side backed out of frame.

“So you’re on his side, too,” his voice said quietly. “Is that how it is?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Logan argued, raising his hands. “We are all currently in this situation together, and as such—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another garbled transmission, taking over the screen and blocking out Logan’s face with crackly, purple static. A gray, snarling face flashed out of the haze, making Patton shriek in surprise and even Janus took a step back.

Then it was gone, dissolving back to static…and the sound of someone laughing filled the connection.

“Hellooooo, nurse,” a familiar sing-song voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 5- The Long Game

“You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Or is that just me?”

Logan sighed.

He knew that voice; they all did. Even Thomas, unfortunately.

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

The mustached Side filled the screen, grinning madly. “Boo!”

“Get out of my scenario,” Roman said, his eyes flashing. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Your scenario?” Remus echoed, faux-outrage in his expression. “Yours? The Dream Palace is my domain, too, brother, whether you like it or not.” He leaned closer, letting his nostrils and a single radioactive green eye fill the screen. “Did you really think you could keep me out?”

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

“Am I to assume, then, that you are responsible for bringing in the other Sides?” Logan asked, careful to keep his voice even. Remus thrived on getting a rise out of people.

“Of course he is!” Roman snapped, throwing up his hands. “He loves to ruin things, especially my things.”

“Now why would having the others here ruin anything, brother?” Remus asked in a sickly sweet voice, propping his head on his hand. “Unless you intended for this nighttime romp between you and Logan to be private?”

Roman sputtered and glanced at Logan, red-faced, as Remus giggled.

“It was meant to be so, yes,” Logan supplied, unsure why Remus would find that funny…or why Roman would find it embarrassing.

“As amusing as this all is—” Janus’s crooning voice cut through the speaker.

“Great. You’re still here, snake?” Roman snarked, his arms folded around himself.

“We’re all listening, kiddo,” Patton’s metallic voice said.

Roman’s lips always curl into a pout when he is angry, Logan thought, eyeing him without turning his head, and he gets a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Why…why am I noticing such things all of a sudden?

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

“So this is kinda new,” Patton went on, “all of us actually talking—”

“If Remus is responsible,” Janus cut in again, “then perhaps he would be so kind as to explain the objective of this late night group therapy session?”

Despite the biting sarcasm, Logan did appreciate Janus’s insistence that they get to the point, even if it did mean talking over Patton…

Speaking of, why would Remus have paired Patton with Janus?

Surely he should have grouped Patton with Logan and Roman, and put Virgil with Janus? Or…maybe not, given how Virgil hisses if Janus so much as enters the same room.

Ugh. Interpersonal drama. Logan was thoroughly sick of trying to keep track of who carried a grudge against whom, especially when it seemed to change from day to day.

And on top of that, why would Remus make Patton a Cyberman? None of these decisions make any sense…

“Right?” Roman agreed softly next to him, and Logan realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

“If anything, I should have been the unfeeling killer robot,” Logan murmured.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Specs.” Roman shot him a strange look, both warm and troubled. “And frankly I don’t give a stinky rat’s ass about my stinky rat brother’s sick thought process. What I want to know is why Deceit doesn’t want us to mention it around Patton?”

Logan, who was still mentally stuck on rodents and donkeys…Roman’s metaphors were always something else…shook his head slightly.

“There’s no logical way Patton is unaware of his condition,” Logan pointed out. “So I can only guess he wishes to protect Patton’s feelings on the matter, by not allowing us to talk about it in front of him.” He shrugged when Roman’s frown deepened. “Those two have been getting along much better these last few weeks.”

“I think you’re giving the snake too much credit,” Roman muttered. “Even after he impersonated you, Logan? C’mon. It has to be something else.”

Logan bit back a sigh.

He doesn’t understand, he thought guiltily. Because he doesn’t know what really happened…

#

“This is unacceptable, Deceit,” Logan snapped, flinging the crook away from his body. “I was in the middle of a discussion—”

“He won’t listen to you,” Deceit had said, and there was no sarcasm or snark in his voice.

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

“And he dismissed you from the conversation the moment that opinion went against his preconceived notions!” Deceit snapped back.

Silence.

Logan could hear the others still talking, out in the real world…without him…as the misty dregs of subconscious curled around their feet.

“You tricked him.” Logan folded his arms. “He was scared and off balance and you gave him an out.”

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Logan. You know he is wrong on this. You know what this is doing to Thomas. His unquestioning, black-and-white, juvenile morality; it’s not working anymore. Thomas needs to grow up, and Patton is not letting him.”

Logan bit his lip.

“Logan.” Deceit moved closer, dismissing his crook into mist and setting both gloved hands on Logan’s shoulders. Logan stiffened.

“Logic. Please. I am…no good at this.” Deceit dropped his head, his hat obscuring his eyes. “I operate through deceit because that is the only way I can make them acknowledge me.”

“They don’t acknowledge you because you operate through deceit,” Logan pointed out.

“A perfect catch 22.” Deceit let out a bitter laugh. “But a snake cannot change its scales and I don’t…I have tried everything I know. I cannot fix this from the shadows. I am out of ideas.”

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

“You care. You care what happens to Thomas.”

Deceit looked up, his mismatched eyes glittering with stinging intensity. “I am the literal representation of selfishness. Why the hell else would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t care?”

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

He’d let the others get to him, he realized in that moment. He’d let Roman get to him, with his talk of evil and Dark Sides and how they were always trying to tempt Thomas off the right path.

But…they were all part of Thomas, even the so-called “dark sides”.

Of course they wanted what was best for him…well, what Remus wanted at any given moment was debatable…even if they didn’t always go about it in the healthiest of ways.

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

“Really? Really? Even you think so low of me?”

“You are manipulating me right now.” Logan frowned. “You are using my concern for Thomas to make me trust you.”

“Yes! I am!” Deceit got in his face, fangs flashing. “I am a manipulative bastard because that is the lens through which my Source perceives me. But that doesn’t matter because you, Logic; you see through me, always have. And you know perfectly well that logically, any objection you have to my personality or my methods does not change the fact that I. Am. Right.”

He punctuated each word with a poke to Logan’s chest.

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

Deceit sighed. “My name. My…real name. It’s Janus.”

Logan blinked. He knew the mythology, of course: Janus, keeper of doorways and thresholds, looking simultaneously to the past and future. Two faces. Seeing things from every angle.

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

Tension bled out of Janus’s shoulders, a stiffness Logan hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Why am I here…Janus?” Logan asked, glancing away. “What do you need from me?”

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Janus sighed, waving a hand.

“I know, I know, more deceit, more lies, but—”

“No, it’s…” Logan pressed his lips together. “You already pointed it out. They don’t listen to me, either.”

The bitter twist that accompanied those words was becoming an all too familiar sensation in Logan’s chest.

Janus snorted.

“Oh, they do. Eventually. They heeded your advice on how to deal with Remus.”

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

“Look,” Janus added, “honest people know how to tell the truth, but liars…” he smirked, not especially nicely. “We know how to wield the truth to accomplish an end. I can pull Thomas and the others out of this rut, but they have to be receptive to my tugging on the reins.”

Logan pursed his lips.

“You won’t fool them. If you recall, you tried to impersonate me once already and barely lasted two minutes.”

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

Janus fixed Logan with his intense mismatched eyes again, and held out a hand.

Logan stared at it, torn.

This was Deceit, the master liar: Thomas’s entire capacity for deception condensed into a single, snake-faced Side. How could Logan possibly trust him to not make things worse, after all the falsehoods, the impersonations, how he’d manipulated them all in one way or another to get his way?

But…as much as Logan, personally, didn’t understand why that callback had been so important to Thomas…he could not dismiss the fallout Thomas had suffered as a result of missing it. The decision to attend the wedding had turned out to be a bad one.

Patton had been wrong to insist upon it over Janus’s objections, and over Roman’s.

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

“I’ll unmask myself when an opportunity arises, if that would help,” he offered, and to Logan’s shock, slowly tugged off a glove. “I won’t…I won’t let it go on as long as it did with Patton.”

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

Out in the real world, Logan could hear Patton’s increasingly desperate and ridiculous responses to Thomas’s and Roman’s questions, and winced. Janus did the same.

“Please,” was all he said.

Logan sighed…it really couldn’t get any worse, could it?…and shook Janus’s hand.

#

In his TARDIS, Logan let out the sigh he was holding back.

He might have personal, concrete evidence that Janus wasn’t evil, but he also knew Janus had wounded Roman, badly, that day. The creative Side was simply not currently capable of viewing any situation involving Janus with any sort of objectivity.

Passionate, sensitive people like Roman tended to have an unfortunate habit of hanging onto grudges.

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

“Oh, all right,” Remus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Since you’re all here—”

“Actually, Remus, we’re not all here,” Patton’s voice pointed out. “You all know perfectly well who we’re missing; we’ve done this before.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “‘Where is Anxiety?’” he quoted.

“You mean Tickle Me Emo isn’t with one of you?” Remus asked, looking delighted. “Oh dear, oh dear. Is he lost?”

“I mean, TARDISes are huge,” Roman pointed out. “He could be somewhere on one of our ships.” His voice dropped again. “I’ll bet Deceit stashed him away, because we all know how he hates Virgil.”

“Excuse you,” Janus’s voice interrupted, annoyed. “It is Virgil who hates me, not the other way around.”

“Let’s both scan our ships,” Logan suggested, hoping to head off an argument. Honestly, if Roman and Janus didn’t stop picking fights with one another, he was going to lose his marbles.

The scans pulled up nothing.

“Oh well,” Remus said with a shrug. “Guess the emo gets to miss out.”

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Remus leaned close to the screen. “I’ve crash landed on a lovely snowbound planet that’s crawling with psychotic tin cans who like to roll around yelling ‘exterminate’.”

“Daleks? A snowbound planet, so not Skarro, but where else…” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“He’s on the Dalek asylum,” Roman said lowly. “That was one of the episodes I had in mind when I plotted this adventure.”

“Very good, brother.” Remus clapped his hands. “And up there in orbit is a ship full of people who’d really like to blow up the whole planet. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I—”

“Save it,” Roman snapped. “You’d probably enjoy getting blown up.”

“Hmm, true.” Remus’s green eyes sharpened. “Think of the mess! Little bits of intestines floating through space, long pink ropey—”

“Or?” Logan interjected, before Remus gave Patton nightmares.

“Or you have to come rescue me!” Remus’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Because otherwise it’s nighty-night for me and all the other aliens in the asylum.”

There was a beat of silence.

“As terrible as that sounds,” Janus drawled, sounding anything but worried, “given that none of this is real, and at least one of us would very much rather not be here at all…why exactly should your plight concern us?”

Logan secretly agreed, but felt his stomach clench when he glanced at Roman’s troubled face. None of this was real…right? Would something concretely bad happen to Remus if the planet he inhabited was blown up?

Surely not.

This was only a dream. Perhaps, then, Roman was merely upset that his twin had usurped his adventure for the night?

“Also.” Remus buffed his fingernails. “You should know that the Imagination will only release us if we complete the objective. In other words,” and he sneered, purple-shadowed eyes glittering, “we’re all stuck in this scenario until we’re all reunited.”

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

“I don’t believe you. This was my dream,” Roman said darkly. “And I’ve just about had enough of all this!”

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish. Frowning, he did it again, and again, his face growing paler with each try.

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

“I can’t end it,” Roman whispered, still snapping. “He’s right. He’s…he’s sealed off the dream’s boundaries somehow. Remus!”

This he roared at the screen.

“Keeping Thomas trapped in a dream state is going too far, Remus!” he yelled. “I don’t care what kind of demented game you want to play with us, but we don’t bring Thomas into it.”

“Oh, you think I created an unbreakable dreamscape?” Remus snapped. “You let the Imagination have too much reign, my dear brother, and now neither of us have the power to end the dream ourselves. I estimate we have about ten hours before Thomas wakes up.”

For a moment, all Logan could hear was the soft whoosh of the time rotor, and Roman’s shallow, angry breathing at his shoulder.

“So I suggest you all pilot your ships to these coordinates,” Remus added, and a series of numbers and strange symbols flashed up on one of the smaller console screens. “And get started.”

The main screen blipped, and Remus’s face was replaced by an expressionless Cyberman and a snake-faced Side who looked extremely pale under his scales.

“Well,” Logan stated. “This is a problem.”

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

“You’re going to fire me at a planet? That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?”

“In fairness, that is slightly your M.O.”

“Don’t be fair to the Daleks when they’re firing me at a planet.”

The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing filled Roman’s ears as he waited by the doors. Logan joined him a moment later.

“Ready?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his cravat.

He looks good as the Doctor, Roman thought, eying the slimming black and navy, the graceful arc that hand made as it adjusted a pair of glasses…

He shook himself out of his distraction. “Let’s do this, nerd.”

Logan opened the doors and the two stepped out…not onto the asylum, but onto a spaceship. Shiny copper terraces lined the vast walls in curving rows, leading the eye up to a domed ceiling with a clear view of black, star-studded space. Like a huge amphitheater, or stadium. Even Roman had to admit, the Imagination had really outdone itself on the realism.

Of course, given that the ship was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Daleks calling for violence…realism wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment.

“Surprise, surprise, I don’t see my stupid brother,” Roman commented over the dull roar of the crowd.

“No. But I recognize where we are.” Logan waved a hand. “You were right about Remus’s location; this ship is from the episode ‘Asylum of the Daleks’, in Season 7. If we are following the basic plotline, Remus is likely somewhere down on the planet below, and we will be sent to him in due course. However…I am curious as to why all the other aliens are here.”

Roman looked around again, seeing that Logan was right. Daleks formed the majority of the crowd, but he also spotted Zygons, Sontarans, Silurians, other Cybermen, Ice Warriors…and quite a few aliens from older seasons he couldn’t remember the names of.

(Logan probably could.)

A second TARDIS materialized near their familiar blue box: plain, gray; a squat column of a ship. Janus emerged first, a silver instrument gripped in one gloved hand, followed by an old-school Cyberman…Patton. Roman frowned. Seeing that metal…being…and having to remember it was actually his friend was going to be difficult now that there wasn’t a screen separating them.

“Nice work, Roman,” Janus said, sidling up next to him and faux-clapping his hands. “A ship full of aliens who want us dead; always an excellent starting point for an adventure.”

“This is how the episode starts, Mr. Oh-I’m-Such-an-Expert-in-Doctor-Who,” Roman retorted. “Accuracy is important.”

“But this isn’t accurate,” Logan pointed out. “There should only be Daleks here.”

Roman folded his arms, stung.

Damn Logan and his damned need to be right all the time.

“I…well, I didn’t model this adventure after just one particular episode,” Roman admitted. “I wanted it to be a challenge, and it wouldn’t be if Logan and I already knew the ending. So no, I can’t exactly explain why all the other aliens are here, okay?”

Logan sighed.

“I was not criticizing you, Roman,” he said in a gentler voice. “As this has apparently become as much Remus’s and the Imagination’s handiwork as it is yours, it would be unreasonable to expect you to know what comes next.”

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH THE SUPREME DALEK,” a grating robotic voice boomed across the ship, making them all whip around. A large white Dalek with an antenna on its shell loomed on a raised stage near the center of the amphitheater.

“They were expecting me, too?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The lights on the Dalek’s head flashed as it spoke again.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.”

The four Sides exchanged a glance, and weaved through the assembled Daleks to the raised stage. The White Supreme Dalek was not the only occupant; it was flanked by an Ice Warrior, an Emojibot (which made Patton giggle), and…

“Look, a Janus,” Roman chortled, nudging the snake-faced Side in the ribs and pointing out the two-faced alien.

“You are all nerds and my logo is a two-headed snake,” Janus complained, rolling his eyes. “I literally do not know how all of you missed that obvious clue to my name.”

“DOCTOR,” the White Dalek said as they climbed the dais. “MASTER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DALEK ASYLUM?”

“I’m just impressed my rat-faced brother wasn’t lying about his location,” Roman grumbled, and sputtered when Logan placed a hand over his mouth.

“According to legend,” Logan said, “you have a dumping ground, a planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong.”

“The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can’t control,” Janus clarified. His voice dropped to a hiss. “No wonder they ssstuck Remus there.”

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

“CORRECT.” The Dalek pushed a button and a hole opened in the middle of the floor. A snow-covered planet lay below them, pristine from this high up.

“Ooh, that’s,” Patton started, and let out a metallic gulp. “That’s quite a drop. Do we, ah, have to go down the same way? Cause I remember that part, and—”

“How many Daleks are down there?” Logan asked.

“A COUNT HAS NOT BEEN MADE,” the white Dalek said.

“Millions, certainly,” a new voice chimed in. The tall, robed, dark-skinned Janus stepped forward, their front face addressing them. “But they will not be your only concern. The population of the planet consists of more than just Daleks.”

Roman exchanged a suspicious glance with Logan. This wasn’t in the episode. This is new.

“What do you mean?” Janus, their Janus, asked.

The alien Janus turned to a nearby monitor, pulling up some information. The backward-facing face continued to address them.

“Some time ago, the Daleks began noticing a curious phenomenon,” they said. “Random people, from all different races and species, started turning up on various planets in this quadrant of space, including the asylum. No ships, no technology, and no knowledge of how they’d gotten there. At first the imprisoned Daleks on the asylum simply killed them off as they appeared—”

Patton visibly winced, even with his metal body, and Logan’s eyes grew flinty.

“—but the new arrivals eventually became too many to exterminate,” the alien Janus went on, unconcerned. “By now we suspect the planet has a population of over a billion, far too many for its automated systems to handle.”

They turned their forward face to the four again.

“THE ASYLUM IS COMPROMISED,” the Dalek Supreme proclaimed. “IT MUST BE CLEANSED.”

“Hang on, you’re still going to blow the whole planet up?” Roman protested. “A billion people?”

“To be fair, that is what they did in the original episode,” Logan pointed out quietly.

“But that was just Daleks!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Ah, so genocide is fine when it’s only the evil aliens getting blown up?”

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised to hear you defending the bad guys!” Roman snapped.

“That is enough!” Patton snapped in his robotic voice, stepping between them and raising both his hands. Laser pistols popped out of both of them, making both Roman and Janus step back in alarm.

After a tense moment, Patton lowered his arms again; the guns clicked and vanished into their casings.

“Uh, sorry kiddos, I don’t know what came over me,” he said in a sheepish, more Patton-y voice. “Can we please not fight? It…it kinda makes me feel weird and jittery when you do.”

Roman stared at Patton’s blank Cyberman face and armored Cyberman body and swallowed, hard.

Their Patton would never deliberately aim a gun at anyone, let alone his family. But Cybermen were created to eliminate…or rather, delete…anyone who got in their way.

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

What would happen, if and when he was forced to confront the reality of his body in this realm? What if he didn’t figure it out until he accidentally did something terrible? It wouldn’t be real, of course, but to Patton…that wouldn’t matter.

If his Cyberman programming forced or tricked him into hurting someone, the guilt of it would devastate him.

All I wanted to do was take Logan on an adventure, Roman thought bitterly. A fun little dream adventure where he could play one of his heroes. Was that too much to ask, Imagination?

He folded his arms and glared around the Dalek ship, anywhere but at his fellow Sides.

Whatever the hell this has turned into, I want no part of it anymore.

“In order for us to destroy the planet, we will need you to disable the planet’s forcefield—” The alien Janus started, but Logan held up a finger.

“Excuse you,” he said sharply. “We have not agreed to do anything, least of all help you murder a billion people whose only crime is to have accidentally turned up in your prison. Have you even attempted to solve that mystery?"

"And why do you care what happens down there?" Roman added, sneering. "If the insane Daleks are armed—”

“DALEKS ARE ALWAYS ARMED,” the white Dalek proclaimed.

“—then why can’t they defend themselves?” Logan finished, shooting Roman a questioning glance.

Roman huffed, and looked away.

“At first they did,” the Janus explained. “But as I said, the automated systems cannot keep up with the influx. Wars are being fought over food and other resources as we speak. A starliner crashed on the surface mere days ago, and—”

“Ah,” Logan said slowly. “You’re afraid, with all the shifting alliances and new activity, that the mad Daleks will escape in the confusion.”

“We do not know who or what is behind the influx,” the Janus said. “But eventually, they will start coming with ships, or they will build them on the surface, or reach out to those who could attempt a rescue.”

“‘If sssomeone can get in, everything can get out’,” their Janus quoted darkly.

The other Janus nodded. “Even the Daleks agree, their mad brethren cannot be allowed to escape. We, of this assembly—”

They waved to the assembled crowd of aliens, who observed in eerie silence.

“—have decided that one planet must be sacrificed for the greater good of the universe.”

Roman slowly and deliberately drew his sword (which the Imagination had kindly left as part of his outfit). It rasped as it emerged, the sound hair-raising in the sudden lull.

Instantly every Dalek gunstick and alien weapon on the ship was primed and pointed at the four Sides.

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL COOPERATE,” the Supreme Dalek warned, its lights flashing balefully.

“COOPERATE! COOPERATE!” the cry was echoed by the other Daleks, filling the ship with a cacophony of robot voices.

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

“You don’t really have a choice. If you want to live, that is.”

“Is that so.”

Roman tensed and sprang at the white Dalek, not giving himself time to think. He dodged a blast from its gunstick and leaped, bringing his sword down hard. This being the Imagination, the katana cut through the Dalek’s metal armor like butter, and it clattered to the deck in two pieces.

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

“Well?” Roman shouted, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle. “This is me, not cooperating. What are you waiting for? Are you really going to shoot us?”

If they all died on this spaceship…the worst that would happen is they’d be kicked from the Imagination, and that was what they wanted, anyway.

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

“Oh, Roman,” Remus’s crackly voice emerged from the fallen Dalek’s casing. “Roman, Roman, Roman. My poor brave brother who thinks he can solve all his problems with steel and bravado. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

He growled, and stalked to the Dalek’s top half, snatching it up and quickly locating a tiny speaker.

“C’mon, Remus. End this stupid charade,” he said quietly, holding the casing to his face so he could speak quietly. “You’ve had your fun at my expense. Go back to your pile of severed limbs and gloat if you must, but end this. For Patton’s sake, if nothing else.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s out of my hands,” Remus responded; typically, annoyingly casual. “If you want to end the game, you have to come down here and find me.”

Roman exhaled, resting his head against the cold, bumpy metal for a moment. His eyes burned, but he was Prince; he wouldn’t cry, not here.

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

“Roman, in all seriousness,” Remus’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were taking Logan on a date tonight—”

“It’s not a date,” Roman hissed, glancing at the other Sides…one in particular.

“The Imagination brought me into this without asking, just like it pulled the others in,” Remus went on. “I am aware of what has to happen, but I did not cause this.”

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

“I don’t lie, and you despise that about me. You hide so much shit from yourself that it baffles you when I refuse to do the same.”

“Look,” Remus added when Roman didn’t respond. “The Imagination is clearly trying to get our attention. Sure, it usually goes through one of us first, but it doesn’t have to. When it comes down to it, Thomas’s mind answers only to Thomas. ”

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

Was Remus seriously suggesting the Imagination they both oversaw had gone rogue somehow?

“Because I don’t curate my side as meticulously as you do, brother.” Remus chuckled. “I listen. I let the Imagination do as she pleases, free from all those pesky ethics and morals and other boring boxes you always force her into, so that our sweet Thomas doesn’t fear the contents of his own head.”

“You expect me to believe that you know what’s going on because,” Roman let every ounce of disdain seep into his voice, “the Imagination talks to you, and not me…because you don’t make her behave?”

“You should try letting her loose sometimes,” Remus drawled, “or you’ll end up with a cane up your butt like Nerdy Wolverine over there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

“What you so-called ‘light sides’ always get wrong,” Remus went on, “is that the juicy stuff, the gruesome and grim, the ‘bad’ thoughts that filter up from the subconscious; they can’t all be locked away and ignored.” His voice dropped ominously. “Repression can be very bad indeed, you know.”

Roman’s reasonable nature knew that his brother, despite his infuriating attitude, was actually making some good points. Thomas had been dealing with a lot lately; the tension in the mindspace felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next disaster.

But at that moment, Roman had no desire to humor his twin.

All he wanted to do was lock himself into his own room in the Dream Palace and spend the rest of the night writing sad poetry about love, or listing his mistakes to himself until he fell asleep.

“I just wanted to show Logan a good time,” he said aloud.

“And oh dear, apparently you couldn’t even manage that correctly,” Remus said, implacably. “So maybe you should use this opportunity to get your head out of your poopy ass, and reevaluate yourself.”

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

It cracked upon impact, the wiring inside sparking and finally flickering down to darkness. He ran his hands through his hair, reminded, once again, why he hated talking to his brother.

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

“Roman…” Patton sidled up behind him, laying a cold hand on his back. Roman shoved the metal arm away and stalked back to the others.

“Let’s just get this done,” he said in a low voice.

“You will need these,” the alien Janus said, pushing a button on a nearby console. A translucent vertical tube rose from a gap in the floor, holding three bulky black bracelets.

“Ah yes, I remember this,” Logan said, striding forward and taking a bracelet.

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

“The nano cloud from converting us into Dalek puppets, yes?” Logan interrupted, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist and handing another to Roman.

The nerd is getting into this, Roman thought as he put it on. I guess that’s something.

“The cloud is only active in certain areas of the asylum,” the Janus warned them again. “And those change as different factions seize control of different areas and weaponize them.”

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

“Um, Mx. Alien, I can’t help but notice that there are only three bracelets, and four of us?”

Logan frowned. “But Patton, why would you—?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m part snake, Patton,” Janus interrupted smoothly, swooping in to grab the last bracelet and snapping it onto Patton’s arm.

Roman exchanged an alarmed look with Logan; that was the last bit of confirmation he needed. Patton really was unaware that he was a Cyberman.

But why on earth would Janus go to such lengths to keep him in the dark about it? Even leaving aside the fact that Patton was a walking weapon; being a machine, he didn’t need protection from the nano cloud at all.

Whereas Janus…probably did.

But when Roman opened his mouth, Janus shot him a look full of daggers and promises of pain, and shook his head. Roman rolled his eyes and mentally washed his hands of the situation.

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

At least Patton would be twice-protected. If the snake wanted to risk his life for a lie, let him.

“The gravity beam will convey you close to the crashed starliner,” the alien Janus said, and then there were Dalek blasters being shoved into their backs, propelling them toward the hole in the floor.

“Oi,” Roman protested, “get your freaky little eggbeater appendages away from me, you AAAAHHHH!”

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

“Look at this. Classic design. Pressure seals. Hinges. None of that ‘shuk shuk’ nonsense.”

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

He sat up with a groan, brushing snow from his jacket and vest, making sure his hat and gloves were still in place. Everything ached. Bad enough he never wanted to be part this stupid dream game in the first place; now he was probably going to literally turn into a Dalek.

All because the Imagination is being a dick and Patton doesn’t know he’s a killer robot.

Wind gusted around him, making Janus glad that the Master, like the Doctor, usually preferred long sleeves and a coat. He stood, turning in a slow circle as he took in the lay of the land. Nothing but snow and rocks; true to the episode, still.

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.�� Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.