#and yes I can still feel my headache but mostly I’m disassociated from it. mostly I’m floating in the sky feeling calm and serene. and I’m

[boomerang109]

:D

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Breathe ~ the Doctor (part 7)

A/n: The word count got messed up because I did a passage that I added later and forgot to add it before I deleted it, so I didn’t do it this time. I have no idea how long it is, but I figure it’s long enough? Lol

Warnings: PTSD flashbacks, grief, overwhelming emotional pain, death, loss, depression, physical pain (mostly just a sort of headache), slight disassociation.

MASTERLIST

Suddenly the Doctor's arm shot out and that little light from earlier shot forward like a super charged energy beam, beaming into the head of one Cyberman and surging into the head of every Cyberman around them. They all melted, the same way the Daleks did when Rose was imbued with the power of the TARDIS. They were erased from time itself.

A car pulled up, honking behind them, and they all surged in. Mickey grabbed Y/n to the surprise of most people, and he realized why when he sat down and didn't see the Doctor. He almost raced out again, but then Rose and the Doctor joined him just as he stood, so he sat down again and they sat on either side of him, Pete on Rose's other side.

When they were safe and going, Rickey turned toward the Doctor from the front seat. "What the hell was that?"

The Doctor held up the little light from the TARDIS. It was a crystal. Y/n hadn't looked closely enough before now. "Little bit of technology from my home," he explained.

"It stopped glowing," Mickey pointed out, worried. "Has it run out?"

"It's on a vitalizing loop," the Doctor assured. "It'll be up and running in a few hours."

"So we don't have a weapon anymore?" Rickey groaned.

Jack, which seemed to be the name of Rickey's gun happy friend - reminded Y/n of another Jack but this wasn't the time to think about that - huffed, "We've got weapons. May not work on those metal things but..." Y/n tuned them out.

He fell into his memories, escaping this conversation and this world for just a second. He returned to the TARDIS, trying to think of times he and the Doctor had spent laughing or cuddling or eating together and listening to himself and the Doctor tell stories Y/n shouldn't know. Thinking about those stories though, the one Y/n shouldn't know, set off other memories he shouldn't have.

There's a soft breeze. People talk quietly. The sun is warm, but not like on Earth where it's harsh unless it's the morning or evening, when they sun is not completely in the sky yet. It's just a nice warmth, that tickles your skin and fills your insides, like drinking a warm drink on a cold day. Comfortable. I feel a peace. This is my safe place. This is where I go when everything else gets too hard. Too much. This is where I got to be alone. The sun smiles at me, and kisses me on the cheek, and promises to keep me safe.

"You okay, dad?" I turn and there is a child. Young, and small, but not so much that she doesn't recognize the state I'm in. That she can't see that I'm upset.

I smile at her anyway. "Much better now that you're here." She smiles and approaches me. Her hands reach up, but hesitate. "May I?"

Shaking my hand, I reached up and hold her by the wrists to stop her. "You don't want to do that, Darling. It really is nothing. Just having a rough day is all."

Her smile is persistent though. "I don't want to see, silly. I want to show. I've been thinking about a story recently, and I was wondering... could I try and show you? Let you picture it as I do? It might cheer you up. You love stories."

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. "I would love that." She reaches up and takes hold of either side of my face and I relax into her touch as she fills my mind with details of the story she wants me to see.

"Y/n?" He looked over, blinking as he faded away from the best memory he could muster. The Doctor was looking at him, like what he knew what had just happened. Y/n gave him a sheepish wince, but the Doctor shot an understand, sympathetic smile in return. It's okay, he seemed to be saying. "It happened again, hm? You go into memories when you zone out like that don't you?" Y/n nodded. "Well, that's understandable. We're here though. Got to get out and walk. Come on!" Y/n did as he was told, and soon they were walking through the streets of an alternative London, racing against time to save the day.

So, the usual.

Rather suddenly there was a loud beeping sound and people began to stop one by one, only this time they didn't say frozen like before. They turned and began walking in the same direction.

"What's happening?" Rose asked.

"It's the earpods," the Doctor explained. "Lumic's take control."

"Why don't we just take them off?" She asked, starting toward the nearest person.

"Don't," the Doctor commanded, pulling her to a stop. "They're connected to the brain still." He sighed, shaking his head. "The human race. For such a smart lot, you are far too simple. Given the chance, you submit. Sometimes I think you like it. Easy life."

Y/n smirked. "I mean, you can control me anytime you want Doctor. I'd more than just like that."

Before the Doctor could respond - and from the smirk on his face, Y/n got the idea it would be quite the response indeed - Jack called them over. They went to see that it wasn't just the street they were going down. People were coming out of their homes even, all headed the same direction. "Where are they going?" Rose wondered.

"I don't know, Lumic must have a base of operations." The Doctor bit his lip, not pleased with all of the people he couldn't save just yet.

"He's got a factory," Pete told them. "That's where he's been holding a base for ages now. I can take you there, easy."

Rose looked at the crowd, her face sad. "Why is he doing this?"

"He's dying," Pete answered. "This all started out as a way of prolonging life. Keeping the brain alive. Conquering death. At any cost."

"The thing is, I've seen Cybermen before haven't I?" Rose spoke up. "The head? Those handle shapes, in Vanstaten's museum."

"Well yes, there were cybermen in our universe," the Doctor explained. "They started on an ordinary world just like this, then swarmed across the galaxy."

Y/n bit his lip for a second. "If we hadn't come here, do you think they would have won this time? No Timelords to stop them if the TARDIS hadn't pulled us here."

Before the Doctor could say anything, Pete had something to say. "What are you three going on about?"

There was no time to respond though. Rickey stood up, turning around. "Nevermind that. Come on we have to get out of the street. We need to split up. Mrs. Moore, you go that way. Jake, distract them and go right. I'll go left and we'll meet back at Woodlyn street. Move!"

"I'm going with him," Mickey told the Doctor and Rose before giving them a nod and taking off after Rickey, leaving the others to follow Mrs. M as they'd been told. They all ran, the Doctor in the lead, ducking and swerving to avoid those same lines of Cybermen trying to box them in. They turned a corner at one point and ducked behind a bunch of bins, realizing they couldn't win with the running thing. They'd get boxed in just like last time. The Cybermen got close. Too close. So close that Y/n's whole body tensed, as he readied himself to throw his body in the way of his friends. Then the Doctor raised his screwdriver, clicked a button, and the Cybermen turned away like magic.

Then they were gone

Everyone stood and Y/n grabbed the Doctor's face, smacking one on him. "You're a genius, you are."

Light up like a Christmas tree with a grin, the Doctor gave a wink. "Let's be on then." They all took off again, heading to the meet up point.

First came Jack, talking about how much of the city was on the moves. Then, came Mickey. Or, Rickey... Only or, even though it should have been and because they left together. Except now there was only one of them. "Which one are you?" Jack asked.

"I'm sorry." Immediately Y/n realized which one it was. This man was soft and tender. Not as brave or as strong. It was Mickey. For the first time, Y/n realized that he was glad Mickey was the way he was. Rickey was too trigger happy, and too aggressive. Things would have been hell traveling with him. Mickey might be a bit of a coward, but he was a good man and that counted for something. More than he was given credit for. "The cybermen came and I couldn't..."

Jack got suddenly very upset. "Are you Ricky? Are you Ricky?" There was something to his voice that made Y/n sick. It was the same panic he'd heard in his own voice every time he thought he'd lost the Doctor. Oh Jack...

Rose stepped forward. "Mickey that's you, isn't it?"

Reluctantly, Mickey answered, "Yeah." There was a pause and then Rose and Y/n both surged forward to wrap the man in a hug. Everyone seemed surprise to see Y/n do it, but no one said anything about it. If he secretly cared about Mickey and had up until this moment refused to admit it, that was up to him. It absolutely wasn't the case, but even if it was it wasn't anyone else's business alright? Mickey turned to Jack. "He tried, he was running, but there were too many of them."

"Shut it," Jack snapped, turning away.

"There was nothing I could do," he begged Jack to understand.

"I said shut it!" Jack snapped. "Don't even talk about him. You're nothing, you are. Nothing."

Y/n glared at Jack. "Don't talk about him like that."

Again, everyone was too shocked to do much about it, except the Doctor who spoke up in the quiet. "We'll have time to mourn him when London is safe. Until then, we move on."

So they did.

Pete lead the way to the factory he'd mentioned earlier and they stood on a hill, looking at it, trying not to think about how many people were walking to their deaths inside. Y/n stood tall, his hands clenching into fists. "This is horrible," he whispered.

No one responded, just stood in silence and looked at the factory with equally upset looks. After a while the Doctor said, "The whole of London's been sealed off and the entire population's inside that place to be converted." He said the last bit in a mocking tone. It would have made Y/n smile if he hadn't been so angry.

"We've got to get in there and shut it down." Rose's tone was hard. Steely. It fit Y/n's mood perfectly.

"How do we do that?" Mickey asked.'

"Oh I'll think of something," the Doctor drawled in a much lighter tone than everyone else. Y/n forced himself to calm. The Doctor had to have a clear head for stuff like this. He couldn't be boggled down by anger. He didn't express dark, heavy emotions. Once he did, once he released them, they controlled him and drove him too far every time. His strengths was his smarts, and he needed an awake mind for that - being boggled down by red anger wouldn't do any of them any good. Y/n would be the same, if it wasn't for the whole thing with his mum... It didn't stop him from being just a little irritated all the same.

Mickey ruined his anger a bit. "You're just making it up as you go along."

Y/n scoffed, but the sound was too soft. Almost a laugh. "Well yeah. Despite what you think, he's not an all knowing genius. That's what he's got us for. He needs help."

"I do it brilliantly even when I'm alone," the Doctor declared. Y/n shot him a look and the Timelord actually smiled. "I will say, better with friends though. Much better."

Mrs. M pulled their attention over to look something she said could help. She showed them the old schematics of the building. Most importantly: tunnels, underneath the building, that were big enough to move through and could give easy access inside.

The Doctor declared his plan: Under and then up, to the control center.

Pete had his own ideas. "There's another way in. Through the front door." They all looked at him and he continued to explain himself. "If they've taken Jackie for an upgrade, then that's how she'll get in."

"We can't just go strolling up." Jack was getting frustrated, and Y/n could honestly understand.

Mrs. M was a level headed one though, like the Doctor. Unlike him, she was an enabler. "Well we could've. With these," she admitted, reaching into her bag to pull something out. "Fake ear pods. Dead. No signal." Pete took two. "You put them on, the Cybermen would mistake you as one of the crowd."

"Then that's my job," Pete declared.

"You'd have to show no emotion," the Doctor warned. "None at all. Any sign of emotion would give you away."

To Y/n's horror, Rose spoke up. "How many of those are there?"

"Just two sets," Mrs. M responded.

"Okay. If it's the best way of finding Jackie..." She looked at Pete, smiling at him. "I'm coming with ya." She stood to her feet, taking a pair."

"Why does it matter to you?" Pete asked.

"No time," Rose dismissed. "Doctor, I'm going, and that's that."

The Doctor gave her a desperate expression. Y/n felt his insides shrivel. He couldn't lose her now. They'd only just begun. They had so much time. Not yet! He was frozen though, slowed by that damned anger, too focused on all of the emotions he'd felt in one day. He couldn't think of a way to stop her, so what was the point of saying anything at all? "There's really no way to stop you?" The Doctor asked softly, speaking what Y/n was thinking.

"Nope," Rose declared immediately.

"Tell you what," the Doctor sighed. "We can take the ear pods out at the same time. Give people their minds back, so they don't walk into that place like sheep. Jakey boy!" He surged forward and Jake followed.

Y/n turned to Rose. "I can't even go with you. I could... Would you let me take your place?" He asked, quiet and breathless.

Rose smiled, raising a hand up to touch the side of Y/n's face. "I know I'm stubborn and difficult. I know I'm a little muddle a lot of the time. I'm sorry Y/n, for things with your mum. I'm sorry I drove you to do that. But I-"

"Have to," Y/n finished, nodding. "Yeah, I know." He nodded and turned as the Doctor turned back to the group after giving Jack his part of the mission.

"Mrs. Moore! Would you mind accompanying me in the cooling tunnels? Above, below, we can stop the converter machines."

"I would love to," Mrs. Moore responded, shaking the Doctor's hand.

Y/n hesitated, giving Mickey long enough to jump in, "What about me?"

"Mickey," the Doctor realized. Y/n sighed as he realized the man had forgotten Mickey again. "You can, um..."

"What, stay safe? Tag along? Be the tin dog?" Y/n winced at the memory of K-9. Had he been holding onto that ever since then? "No, those days are over. I'm going with Jack.

"I don't need you, idiot," Jack seethed.

"I'M NOT AN IDIOT!" Mickey screamed back. "You got that?" He calmed a little. "I'm offering to help." Jack dismissed him, moving on and allowing it hesitantly. Mickey perked up when he saw Y/n smiling at him. They exchanged nods and then everyone went their separate ways after a few goodbyes, and a good farewell from the Doctor to Mickey. Y/n sort of drifted after the Doctor, realizing he hadn't actually been given a job either. The whole thing with Mickey had distracted from it. Did the Doctor want him to come?

"Aren't you coming?" the Doctor asked Y/n. He nodded, moving again more purposefully. He warmed a little realizing that the Doctor had just assumed immediately that Y/n was coming along with him. The three of them moved toward the head of the tunnel, opening it up and climbing down. The Doctor skipped the last few wrungs so Y/n braced himself and just dropped from the top, landing hard but well. He had learned long ago how to land. "Show off," the Doctor mumbled. Y/n winked.

They were distracted by Mrs. M who mumbled, "It's freezing."

The Doctor looked around. "Any sign of a light switch?"

Like an angel sent from heaven, Mrs. M reached into her bag and pulled out three headlamps. "I've got these. A device for every occasion."

"Ooh," the Doctor cooed as the trio placed the gear on their head, turning it on to light up the tunnel. "Haven't got a hot dog in there have you? I'm starving."

Mrs. M just chuckled but Y/n smirked. "You want want meant-"

"Hush now," the Doctor interrupted. Y/n and Mrs. M both let out a bursting laugh that cut off as they remembered where they were, and that the tunnel echoed.

"Better than what he wanted though," Mrs. M reasoned. "Of all the things to wish for - mechanically recovered meat? Isn't that a bit fitting?"

The Doctor smiled at the irony. "I know, it's the Cyberman of food, but it's tasty." Y/n smirked but didn't say anything - not that it wasn't obvious by the other two's face they knew what he was thinking.

Mrs. M reached in her bag again and pulled out another set of three, but this time they were better than the last if you asked Y/n. "Proper torches," Mrs. M announced proudly.

The Doctor looked down the tunnel, raising his torch. "Let's see where we are." They all nearly had a heart attack when his light hit a a Cyberman, back against the wall. There was another next to the first, and then another and another after the second, stretching to far down the tunnel that they turned a corner and went out of sight. "Already converted, just put on ice," the Doctor whispered. His voice pitched up when he pipped, "Come on." And they did, Mrs. M in between the Doctor who lead, and Y/n who followed behind her. He paused only a second to knock on one of the Cybermen to test if it would react. Nothing. "Let's go slowly," the Doctor decided. "Keep an eye out for trip systems."

Therefore, the journey down the tunnel of seemingly endless Cyberman began.

Eventually the silence got unbearable. Y/n began humming, trying to keep his mind distracted from the fear in his body. He liked fear, it came him ready and awake. It was good for running and dodging. Not, one would say, walking slowly down a dark tunnel with countless machines that could kill you with one touch. Y/n tried to keep them countless too. He forced himself not to count each and every one he walked by. Tried not to think about how many people had been killed so that metal murder machine could be there now. He tried to channel that fear that was so useful when he had to move fast and be smart, into forcing himself to stay slow and occupied.

Mrs. M wasn't a fan. "Could you not?"

Y/n did stop, because he was always about what other people needed more than anything, but he quickly got antsy. He found out pretty soon that he had been subconsciously counting the machines, and the tally picked up in his head the second he wasn't distracted with trying to think of what tune to hum next. So, he busied himself with a different sense, planting his free hand along the wall that wasn't lined with Cybermen, focusing on the feel of the stone to reorient his mind instead. Mrs. M grunted and Y/n offered a terse, "I can't sit in silence. Not like this."

Before Mrs. M could shoot something back, the Doctor piped up. "How did you get into this, then?" For a second Y/n thought the Doctor meant him, but then he clarified, "Rattling along with the Preachers I mean. I know your story Y/n."

Mrs. M sighed. "Oh, I used to be ordinary."

"As we all did," Y/n sympathized, nodding his head.

He instantly worried she might take offense as he had technically interrupted her, but she just nodded. "Indeed. I even worked at Cybus Industries, back then. 9-5." Her voice changed, and Y/n realized she was recalling that past with a sort of bittersweet wistfulness that dropped into relief. "Until one day, I find something I'm not supposed to. A file on the mainframe. All I did was read it." That made Y/n chuckle a bit. That is how it always started, wasn't it? One accident. One moment that you made a decision to answer a question you had, a curiosity that was bugging at you, and then everything changed. "Then suddenly I've got men with guns knocking in the middle of the night. A life on the run. Then I found the Preachers. They needed a techie, so I just sat down and taught myself everything."

"What about Mr. Moore?" the Doctor asked, taking Y/n by surprise. Though... he shouldn't have been surprised, thinking about it. The Doctor might pretend not to care or think of those things, but that's probably what mattered to him most. Having love and a home and a family. Something he'd never get, really. Not as the last Timelord. Not with Y/n, or anyone else anymore.

Mrs. M spoke, pulling Y/n from his thoughts. "Well he's not called Moore. I got that from a book, Mrs. Moore." The Doctor and Y/n both shot her a look and she returned a soft, amused smile. "It's safer not to use real names. But he thinks I'm dead. It was the only way to keep him safe. Him and the kids."

Y/n's heart broke at that. "I can't imagine that. I'm sorry."

"Oh it's fine," Mrs. M dismissed. "Anyway, what about you two? Any family, or...?"

"Oh who needs family?" the Doctor scoffed, putting on the same front he always did when people got too close to things that hurt too much to talk about. Y/n grew quiet, thinking about how his own response probably would have been something similar. "I've got the whole world on my side."

Mrs. M nodded. "And you, Y/n?"

Having had the realization of him similarness to the Doctor, Y/n didn't make the same move. They might have a similar backstory, but Y/n didn't have to act the same about it. "I had one, once. Not- not really much of a family, even then. Very small,  and quite broken." He was silent for a moment. "They're gone now. All of them." He shook his head. "Look at me getting all sad and sentimental." He sighed. "What's your real name, Mrs. Moore?"

She hesitated a moment. "Angela Price." There was a hesitation. "Don't you dare tell a soul."

"Not a word," the Doctor vowed.

After a few seconds, Y/n started humming again. This time, Mrs. Prince didn't give him lip for it.

Thought, it could have been because of her mild panic over something else. "Doctor," she breathed urgently, jumping forward, closer to the Timelord. "Did that one just move?" Y/n looked over her head to see the arm of one of the Cybermen bent, where they'd all been stood at attention, limbs straight and ready to be activated.

"It's just the torchlight," the Doctor whispered.

"No way," Y/n argued. "That arm is bent. None of them were bent." As if in response to him, the same Cybermen turned to look at Y/n, its body beginning to turn and take up more of the hallway, making it harder to pass.

That kicked the Doctor into action. "They're waking up. RUN!" They all took off, going as fast as their legs could carry them. They made it to the end of the tunnel that echoed with the sound of hundreds of marching men and the sonic screwdriver working at hyper speed to unlock the lid. Y/n knew it was too late when the lid was finally removed, Mrs. Price's voice mixing with all the others sounds as she began to panic and rush.

The Doctor made it out, and then Mrs. Price. Y/n was only halfway up the ladder when his ankle was grabbed and he was ripped off the ladder and onto the ground. His name was screamed. There was the sound of electricity and pain shot up Y/n's body, like earlier with his mum, except this time he wasn't held mute by shock.

He screamed.

"Close it, it's too late!" the Doctor instructed. The lid fell back into place and the sonic screwdriver sounded, muffled this time by the metal.

The tunnel went silent.

Only for a moment though. Realizing the path up the ladder was sealed, the Cybermen moved back down the tunnel and out of sight, their footsteps fading into the distance. When he was sure they were gone, Y/n pushed himself to his feet, shaking off the pain he'd felt moments ago. He climbed the ladder and knocked three times on the metal hatch. There was a second where Y/n thought they'd maybe left him behind. Perhaps the Doctor thought he'd be fine on his own. The risk was too great. They didn't know if the Cybermen would even leave. Perhaps they'd left him.

Then there was the wonderful sound of the sonic screwdriver, and the lid lifted. Y/n scrambled out of the hole and the Doctor replaced the lid. Once finished, the Doctor turned and pulled Y/n to his feet, hugging him tightly. "I have to stop worrying you like this," Y/n joked weakly.

"I wasn't worried," the Doctor reassured. "It's just nice to see you okay. Even though I knew I just... I like seeing you okay."

Y/n smiled softly. The moment wasn't to last though, because Mrs. Price was not satisfied with what had just happened. "I'm sorry what the bloody hell was that?"

Pulling away from the Doctor's embrace - as much as he didn't want to - Y/n turned to her with a sheepish smile. "Long story but in short terms, he's an alien and I can't die. Get the confusion out now."

Mrs. Price glared at Y/n. "Don't lie to me."

Y/n nodded. "Fair enough. You wouldn't believe the truth then." Mrs. P went to argue but Y/n held up a hand. "No time for explanation, especially with how much it's take to get you to believe us. Let's just go and we can tell you about it later." Mrs. Price hesitated but then nodded, letting it go for now.

They began walking further into the factory to get to their goal and stop the converter machines, but were stopped by yet another Cyberman. "You have not been upgraded."

Quite impressively, Mrs. Price stepped forward, reaching into her bag like Marry Poppins. "Upgrade this," she spat, and threw a small rectangular device at the thing. It stuck to the Cyberman's check and went off, spirals of electricity shooting out and across the metal body. The Cyberman collapsed, unresponding.

Amazed, the Doctor breathlessly asked, "What the hell was that thing?"

"Electromagnetic bomb," Mrs. Price answered. "Takes out computers; I figured it might stop a Cyber suit."

"Well, you figured right," the Doctor complimented.

"He doesn't say that often," Y/n pointed out. "Enjoy it while you can."

"Let's have a look. Know your enemy," the Doctor continued in a rush. He didn't like to admit that he wasn't goo enough about recognizing other people's smarts. To be fair, practically no one could measure up to his intelligence, so it only made sense to Y/n that with such an example as himself everyone else seemed rather plain. Y/n pushed that thought away, reminding himself the Doctor thought no one plain or small. He had always looked at humans and seen a wonder. It's why he was so confused by their occasional stupidity.

The Doctor took out his screwdriver, kneeling next to the Cyberman. He ran the tool along the circle in the middle of the Cyberman's chest. "The other ones didn't have that logo," Y/n noticed softly.

"Different than these ones," the Doctor reminded. "Not much different, but it can be said that Lumic doesn't seem the man to turn down the opportunity to slap his name on anything and everything he can. Even humanity... he's shoved them in metal suits, taken away their hearts and turned them into a brand."

Y/n glared. "What kind of person can be okay with that, just to keep himself alive?"

"Worst of humanity," the Doctor mumbled as he pulled off the front plate finally. "Just as bad as the best is good, which is saying quite good. Humanity is cool that way." He changed the subject, flipping the lid over and showing the wiring on the back. "Heart of steel," he told the other two, as if guiding them through the build. "But look." He reached into the inside of the Cyberman, pulling out stringy bits that were so thin and white they were almost see through."

Mrs. Price looked at the Doctor with a gloomy expression. "Is that flesh?"

The Doctor hummed. "Central nervous system." He put the bits back inside. "Artificially grown then threaded through the suit so it responds like a living thing. Well- it is a living thing." He looked deeper and leaned closer. "Ooh, but look." His finger rested against a sort of square hard drive looking thing that was stuck into the top of the chest. "Emotional inhibitor. Stops them feeling anything."

That made Mrs. Price jerk. "But, why?"

Returning to looking at the two humans, and not the metal thing that used to be, the Doctor began to explain, "Still got a human brain. Imagine its reaction if it could see itself. Realize itself inside this thing. It would go insane."

Y/n rose a hand to cover his mouth. Not because he was crying, but because he was so disgusted on how the understanding had come to him so easily. How he had forgotten what it was like to not understand, and not see. What it was like to look and for once not know what was going on. How it had gone through his mind for a second and he hadn't wept or screamed or ached, but simply acknowledged until the Doctor had said that last bit out loud. As if understanding, the Doctor reached over and placed his free hand on Y/n's shoulder.

"So they cut out the one thing that makes them human," Mrs. Price realized softly.

"Because they have to," the Doctor confirmed, leaning away from the machine with a dark expression.

To the group's horror, the Cyberman spoke. "Why. Am I cold?" The voice was still electronic and processed, but it was hesitant. Broken. Slow wit a pause between each word. Unsure, Y/n realized.

"Oh my god it's alive." Mrs. Price leaned away. After what the Doctor had just said-

"It can feel," Y/n whispered, his voice full of regret and pain as his hand dropped to rest on the metal chest of the poor creature.

"We broke the inhibitor." The Doctor leaned close, trying to be in the Cyberman's line of sight. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The machine didn't respond to that. Instead it repeated, "Why so cold?"

Skipping past that question, the Doctor asked instead, "Can you remember your name."

"Sally." It seemed to have begun to struggle with each syllable, like speaking was hard. Y/n's head was filled with a woman's face, eyes blinking as her head swam and she stumbled, words fumbling as she tried to orient herself and understand what was happening in all the sudden confusion she felt out of nowhere. "Sally Phelan."

"You're a woman," Mrs. Price realized aloud.

"Where's Garret?"

Suddenly, a man's face. His features were so clear it was like Y/n was seeing him in person. Or, had at one point. He was smiling, his arms open for a hug, his head tilted endearingly. "Not far." Y/n winced as he answered, knowing he was right even though he didn't know why or how.

"He can't see me," Susan suddenly insisted. It was still slow, like she was half asleep, but Y/n could somehow see the expression that would have been on her face had she still been able to make it. Nearly hear the inflections in her voice, had she still been able to expression such things. "It's unlucky the night before."

Y/n closed his eyes, turning away. His rose his hand to his head, feeling a sudden painful pressure behind his skull. There was a thrumming and pulsing and then a  hand on his shoulder, but this hand was smaller than a Cyberman's. Softer and warmer. He looked over to see Mrs. Price, who had a concerned expression on her face. Y/n saw a glint of silver behind her as she went to stand, about to encourage Y/n to do the same. But it was all too late. Mrs. Price's shoulder planted immediately into the waiting hand of a Cyberman and her body was covered in those coils of electricity, and she fell, dead.

"No, you didn't have to kill her!" The Doctor wailed, face full of pain as he shot to his feet.

"Binary vascular system detected," the Cyberman answered without a hint of regret. It looked at Y/n, who stood next to the Doctor, taking his hand silently. "I have seen you die. You have died twice now, we have killed you. Yet you live. You are both unknown upgrades. You will be taken for analysis. There were three Cybermen in total, around them, and they began marching. The two men had no chance to grab Mrs. Price's body, and even if they had what was the point?

So, they left her and they marched to whatever was next.

The walk was silent and grim. They were directed to what seemed to be Central Control. They turned the corner to see familiar faces, and to vent his heavy heart the Doctor drawled, "I've been captured! But don't worry, Rose and Pete are still out there." His voice was laced in sarcasm as he and Y/n approached the two previously mentioned, who should be far from where they were now. "Oh well never mind." He shook his head, making it clear he was only teasing. "Are you okay?" He asked Rose.

"Yeah," she offered, but her face said differently. Her eyes drifted to Y/n then shot away very quickly, her face twisting with pain. He felt his own features contort with confusion. What had she seen to upset her so much, and why was there the sense it had something to do with Y/n? "But they got Jackie," she continued. "And..." she hesitated, before deciding to continue. "Y/n, I met your other half. In this world. Um, I know... why your mum said you were missing."

There was something horrible about that. "How did you know it was me?"

"Your mum was... in line. After we were identified, I tried to save her but... then this other Cyberman came up. Said he was her son. He said-" She cut off, but Y/n looked at her earnestly. Despite everything, he had to know. "She's been rejected for upgrading. They... they put her in the incinerator."

Y/n looked at the ground. "I'm sorry about Jackie."

Rose didn't seem sure how to respond to that. Didn't know if Y/n was mad at her for telling him about this universe's Y/n and his mum. Pete responded for her. "We were too late," he lamented. It was more fitting than saying nothing, or dismissing it as okay when it so very much wasn't At first Y/n worried Pete blamed himself but then he added, "Lumic killed her," and it was immediately clear his anger was not self directed.

The Doctor took charge there. "And where is the famous Mr. Lumic?" He demanded, turning around the room, looking for the man they'd all heard so much about but had not had the chance to see. "Don't we get the chance to meet our lord and master?"

One of the Cybermen stepped forward. "He has been upgraded."

"So he's just like you?" The Doctor's voice had dropped to a deadpan.

"He is superior," the Cyberman corrected. "The Lumic unit has been designated Cybercontroller."

This memory came sudden and without warning. Y/n's vision was wiped and he was seeing something else.

"Oh come on love, you can't expect me to be able to control everything."

"You can make it snow but you can't turn the heating down a little in your own ship?"

Immediately he knew something was wrong. Because that was his own voice, coming from where he was speaking now. He was himself... but he didn't know this memory. He was talking to a man as well that he didn't recognize. The man had longer hair than the Doctor's. A bit floppier. His chin was broad, his shoulders wider. His eyes were darker, not in color but in age, like he'd seen more. Lived longer. That thought occurred to Y/n because the Doctor was the one man who had the eyes of one who had lived so long that it was impossible anyone had reached further back. Had seen more. Had been through enough to even come close to that depth and age and darkness. Yet this man... surpassed that easily. And all with a smile, tottering around in a tweed jacket and a bow tie.

Y/n moved closer to the man, reaching out and running a hand along his jaw. "I miss when you wore a proper tie. I can't pull on this thing like I used to."

The man blushed. "Well, bow ties are cool. Had to switch it out no choice. I've got to look cool now, don't I?"

"Of course you do." And then they kissed, and Y/n thrown back into the present with confusion as to what the hell he'd just seen, and also tripping over himself internally to try and catch himself up to what he'd just missed, because they were mid conversation and Y/n had not a single clue what was going on in his head or out of it.

The Doctor was rambling, going on and on about how someone could do something to stop Lumic. Speaking in generals, and talking on and on and getting rather specific. Y/n saw him look several times in the same spot and followed the Doctor's eyes to see a camera. What... was going on? His brain was processing too slowly, understanding what was being said a second after it had been said. And with how much the Doctor was saying and how fast he was saying it, Y/n just couldn't keep up.

He closed his eyes, raising his hands to knees the base of his palms against his eyelids, trying to massage away the tension building mildly behind his skull. It began to fade and his mind began to right as Rose spoke up. "It's for you," she said.

"Like this," the Doctor responded, catching the phone as she threw it to him and plugging it into a port in the desk. And Y/n didn't have time to understand because suddenly he was full of agony. Not physical pain, but an internal poison that coursed through his blood and seeped into his muscle and shelled around his bone. Searing torture of a million minds screaming out all at once as they realized what they were. What had happened to them. A human, cold, surrounded by the dark, realizing they'd been ripped from their body and shoved into a machine. And it hurt. Oh, it hurt so much. IT HURT.

Y/n's knees gave out and he bent forward, pressing his forehead to the cold ground to seek some reprieve from the boiling heat just under his skin and the pain bouncing around in his head. He screamed and screamed and heard nothing else until finally the pressure faded and lessened and eased enough for his vision to clear. To his surprise, they'd moved. His hands had been pried off his head and he had been forced to his feet. It seemed he'd been dragged by Rose and the Doctor, who each had one of his arms around their shoulders. He was sure he'd been screaming, but it seemed that he had instead just woken up from knocking out cold entirely.

"I'm sorry Y/n I don't know what's happening but this building is collapsing and I don't know how far your immortality goes. Please come round, we have to climb this ladder and I can't carry you any further," the Doctor was begging. "PLEASE Y/N!"

Y/n forced his feet underneath him, standing shakily on his own. He nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. The Doctor and Rose shared terrified expressions but climbed the ladder anyway. Pete has already gone up and Rose was next. "Go," Y/n told the Doctor.

"No." The Doctor had the same look as when Rose had set her mind to going with Pete to save Jackie, and Y/n knew he didn't have energy to put to waste, so he just climbed. It was painful and draining and he almost stopped with no room for the Doctor, but Rose called his name and he forced himself to take a few more steps further up the swaying ladder. The Doctor got on and the balloon lifted off. Everything else faded as Y/n closed his eyes, resting his forehead against he stung by his face, focusing all his might on keeping on the ladder.

Finally, there was an electronic scream, and then everything else faded into silence. Y/n realized what he couldn't before. His mind had been full of faces. Hundreds and hundreds - maybe millions - of faces. All crying out. All horrified as they realized they were no longer human. No longer in their bodies. The same feeling that he had sensed in Sally in the hallway with Angela Price and the Doctor. That same sensation, but on such an astoundingly larger scale that it had mushed together in pure agony, blinding him and knocking him unconscious because Y/n was only human. He could handle memory, but the first hand shared pains of so many? He couldn't handle that.

When they landed, Y/n didn't y'all to anyone. He looked away from them until they backed off and then he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way to the TARDIS, far ahead of the others. The wind whipped around him and the cold seeped into his skin like London air always did at night, and he aches for the lives lost. He mourned all of the faces that were in his head now. All the lives lost. All of those voices calling out for him, pleading for mercy. For reprieve. Begging for safety and release from the terrible thing eating them up slowly, starting at the edges and working it's way to their core, consuming every detail of them.

Finally, Y/n understood what the Doctor felt watching Gallifrey buen and fall. He didn't just see it, but he felt it. He internalized it and his heart throbbed with an understanding he wished he wasn't capable of. Far, far too many lives lost because one man was incapable of stopping it all from crumbling to the ground.

When he got to the TARDIS, he surged inside to his room, this time refusing to answer the door when several people knocked. The TARDIS light up again, alive and thrumming, and Y/n felt something course through him that was both new and so very familiar. Like the feeling of the weight of your hair, but only noticing after you cut it. Something that had been there for ages but only now he was seeing and recognizing. A warmth spread through his whole body and he heard a voice, clear as day in his head.

“I’m sorry.”

For some reason, Y/n wasn’t afraid. That wasn’t much of a mystery either though. Even though it made no sense and should be impossible and he should be shocked and confused and maybe even worried, he knew who was speaking to him, and he was okay with it. “It’s okay,” he mumbled, suddenly exhausted. “I forgive you.”

The walls of the TARDIS thrummed and Y/n knew she understood he was telling the truth.

“You need to let them in.”

Y/n looked at his lap. “I can’t, don’t you understand? I-” He squeezed his eyes tight, and he felt the feeling of sadness and regret, but not from him. What he felt was so, so much deeper than just sadness. It was... emptiness. Deep and eroding, like it was wrapping him in a darkness so deep he couldn’t tell the difference between his eyes being closed or open. So dark he couldn’t see his hand even if it touched his face. Like that, but a feeling. A feeling that seemed to change the world, sapping all of the color and muting all the sound, like it was far away. In the distance. Out of reach. He saw all those faces as they filtered through his mind. and he wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. But all he could do was limply stare at his lap and feel emotions that threatened to destroy him. “How can I explain?” It was hard to speak, to think enough past the numbness that seemed to be very quickly making it hard to do anything.

“They’ll understand.”

Instead of opening the door, Y/n just sat there. Suddenly there was a click and the door opened slowly, and Y/n turned slowly to see that the TARDIS had unlocked the door herself. “No,” Y/n moaned. “No!”

“Y/n?” Came from down the hall. “Rose, the door is opened!”

“NO!” Y/n screamed, curling away from the door and pulling a pillow off the bed to cover his face. He curled into himself, his body coiled impossibly rigid.

Despite his protest, he knew that the Doctor and Rose were in the room with him. Rose sat next to him on the bed, the Doctor kneeling in front of him. “Please,” Rose begged, sounding as if she was already crying. “I watched too many people I care about die today. I lost Mickey, and my dad... Please don’t shut me out Y/n. I can’t care it.”

“And it’s always about what you can handle, isn’t it Rose?” Y/n shoved the pillow away from him, turning to her with empty anger in his eyes. There was no life or fire behind it, and it was that which hurt far more than what he’d said.

The Doctor grabbed either side of Y/n’s face to force their eyes to meet. The Doctor searched Y/n’s face, then closed his eyes and began to search Y/n’s memories. He gasped, jerking back and letting his hands drop as he stepped back. “That’s impossible.”

“What?” Rose rushed. “What’s going on?”

Y/n sighed, rubbing his forehead. “The TARDIS... when you brought me back that day, the TARDIS was using you to do it. She was trying to create something specific. I don’t get it, but she... she put things into me that should destroy me, but because I’m immortal, it doesn’t. She put a piece of herself into my construct. It’s why I can see the Doctor’s past. She can see all of time and space, of course she could look into a person’s past and recognize it. She knows what happens, everywhere, always, at all times. She knows everything, and everyone, and she’s put the tiniest piece of that in me. But she wasn’t in complete control, because she was working through you. So she didn’t just give me pieces of the Doctor, she implanted chunks of him inside of me. Not like... I can’t understand half of what I see sometimes, but I can see everything. I can sometimes everyone. Or, sort of. On a smaller scale. A mass of people. If the Doctor is connected to someone, say, Cybermen... if his pain was similar enough to them, those pieces of him and the pieces of the TARDIS inside of me merge together, and I can see them. I can see them as they go insane, crumbling under a pressure so great that they combust and explode and crumble. Imagine that - an emotional so great for one person that it makes the wires they’re made of blow and they self destruct. Now imagine that in the thousands, in the millions. All compounded and shoved into one body. One mind. One soul. Imagine the loss that person would feel when it was suddenly silent. When they were suddenly alone, empty, and could feel the loss of all of those people on an individual level. Could see their faces, and knew their personalities. To have them erased in the most violent way... emotional and mental destruction. Going insane to death.

Rose covered her mouth. “Oh my god.”

The Doctor moved closer. “I... can take it away.” There was so much pain in his voice. An aching as he faced a goodbye he couldn’t handle.

Y/n caught his wrist, stopping him. “When I agreed to be your companion, I knew the risks. I knew that this life could kill me. Or worse. I could be suspended forever in every single disease in the entire universe and locked away, sick and in pain, forced to die slowly. I could get shoved into a metal suit with my soul stripped away, turning more people into things just like me. I could be one of the empty children, forever searching for my mummy, y skin replaced with leather and incapable of dying, but far, FAR from human. Lost. Floating. Nothing. I saw it time and time again, and even fell at the feet of a fate far worse than death several times. I was ripped apart by a werewolf after the throne and put back together again because my life has been cemented in time to withstand anything, always. A fixed point. And I choose that life, Doctor. I choose unfathomable pain and loss and heartbreak. I choose emptiness and darkness and a void of emotion that threatens to consume me. I accept being impossible, and the incredible weight it will put on me forever because it hurts - GOD, it hurts - but it will never kill me as it should, because I’m only some mortal human.”

The Doctor looked like he was about to cry. “Why?” He demanded softly.

Y/n didn’t answer with words. He stepped forward, grabbing the Doctor by the back of the neck and pulling him into a kiss. A kiss that was infused with so much deep, resounding love that it made the Doctor shiver. When they parted, their foreheads rested together and they breathed quickly to catch up on all the air their lungs were demanding. “I can’t die, and I refuse to be lost. Without me, you will always end up alone. There will always be a time when you look around, and there will be no one to look to. You will lose everything you care about. Everyone you hold dear. And the TARDIS saw that and rebelled, because it’s too much pain, too much loneliness, to expect just one person to carry. You won’t ever bare the weight of the universe on your shoulders alone, Doctor. Not ever again. Not as long as you let me be here to help you. I will stay by your side until you tell me to go, and no one but you will remove me from that spot. Not pain. Not hope or happiness or dreams come true. There is nothing that can take me away but you.”

The Doctor melted, his shoulders sagging and his facial expression fracturing into part pain, part relief. The look of a man who had been on his own for far too long and was finally accepting that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to start over again. “You would do that for me?”

Rose stood, raising a hand to stroke the side of his face. “You do it for us. Its our honor to lessen that burden. To return the favor.”

He rested his forehead on Y/n’s chest. “Please don’t go. Don’t ever go.”

“Never,” Y/n promised. “I promise.”

-

Story Tag List: @shoochi @e-reads-fics

Male Reader Tag List: @sheepfather​

[dream-journalism]

journal entry | 3-10-20 | regarding shifting

I feel like i’ve been close to shifting these past two days (like really close), especially the day before yesterday. I think that if I’d been persistent and resisted scratching my side (it was too much I was dying) maybe I would’ve been able to do it.

Unfortunately last night was a bit of a mess and didn’t go as well as it had before; I tried some new methods involving songs, but youtube ads had this really funny idea of wanting to completely take me out of the experience and then Spotify also did me dirty by automatically playing more songs than I had queued (and no, the queue wasn’t looped, so it wasn't that either). The setbacks made me feel super frustrated, which obviously didn’t help, so I decided to keep giving those methods a try some other day and went back to using the raven and sunni method combination, which (as I mentioned in a previous post) has so far worked the best for me and shown me the most progress. 

Now, there’s two aspects of this that I want to explore, firstly it’s why I think I’m getting close, what have I noticed that changed? What’s different? What am I doing right? And the second one is why I feel like I haven't shifted yet, what am I missing? What am I doing wrong?

-

As for what I’m doing right, I feel like the Raven/Sunni method combination is working the best and most efficiently, and think I should stick to that one until I manage to learn how to shift with ease before trying something else and risking setting back or stalling my progress the way I did last night.

Now, there are a couple of reasons why I think I’m getting close: the symptoms have been coming way easier and more persistently than they did the first few days. The first few days that I started trying to shift I only seemed to get to a point of meditation and stopped there, which is great, it helped me concentrate and focus on visualizing, so that felt like a good first step, but recently, I’ve gotten past that and actually felt a bit different.

I’m going to talk a little bit about the symptoms that I’ve felt in more detail, mostly because I feel like most people who talk about them just say “dizziness, feeling like you’re floating” which, yes, that is what it feels like but personally for me, sometimes its hard to just base everything off of one word, because to me, there are different kinds of “dizzy”, for example.

Now, because I know these symptoms aren’t necessarily something that everyone experiences, but they seem to be the most common and generally accepted ones, as well as the ones that I have personally experienced so far and I will list them. They are in no particular order, since they all happen but don’t seem to have particular pattern in which I experience them.

Floating

This one is a bit confusing for me, not in the literal sense of the word, but it sort of overlaps with Detachment. The closest thing I can compare it to is when you’re swimming and you just completely relax your arm in the surface of the water and it’s, well floating.

I like to think of it as air fairies holding my arm up so it doesn’t fall through the mattress, I sort of stop feeling the sheets of my bed and the cold air of my AC, it’s this sort of just neutral feeling. In general, it’s just very relaxing. However it is with this symptom that I personally have the most trouble dealing with because as I start feeling it, at first its just calm and comforting, but after a few minutes, I start to get itchy spots (mostly in my legs and torso, which are the worst for me personally) and I have to concentrate really hard not to scratch them or think about them.

Dizziness

I felt dizzy, but it was a strange sort of dizzy. I’m anemic so, I’m pretty familiar with bed-dizziness, and for a second, I thought it was just that, but, it felt different. Instead of it being like everything around me was moving, it felt like I was the one moving. My back was still to the bed but it felt as if I was standing and the mattress was behind me. And yes, the world around me does move a little bit, though its not painfully disorienting, it just feels sort of like when you get off of a trampoline, or done a lot of exercise a lot and your legs make the ground feel wobbly, but in my head.

Detachment

I don’t know if this is what people call but the best way I can describe it is feeling detached from my body, something similar to disassociating (if you know what that feels like). To me, it feels the way a 3D movie without glasses looks, off kilter, like my body is the red and I am the blue. When I say I, I mean my brain, my soul, my essence, whatever you’d like to call it, but thats what it feels like. They’re not quite separated from one another yet, like in a 3D movie, they’re still touching, but they’re definitely out of phase.

The most noticeable parts for me are the arms, sometimes they feel a bit shorter for my actual, physical arms (which makes sense, since I did script that I start at a younger age in my DR) and they want to move forwards and reach for what I’m visualizing in front of me. The only thing that has stopped me from actually doing this (re: reaching out) is that a lot of different elements are still the same (i can still feel my sheets, i can still hear my AC running, etc.) and I don’t want to break concentration until I’m sure 100% I’ve shifted.

Other Symptoms

Some other symptoms that I’ve been feeling (but honestly I don’t think too much of them for a couple of reasons) are seeing Angel Numbers and Migraines /Headaches. Now why am I talking about these separately? Because they don’t particularly mean anything to me, but they are listed as some of the most common symptoms you experience during the day when you’re close to shifting (but not necessarily attempting).

Migranes/Headaches are something I experience quite often, it’s just something that runs in my family and my caffeine addiction doesn't help at all, so even though I had one throughout the entire day yesterday (the day after I have felt the closest ever to shifting), I don’t want to get my hopes up about it, since it’s not an uncommon thing to happen to me, however, it is still worth noting (if this is something you experience though, and it doesn’t happen to you often, then I’d probably take it as a sign that you’re close! Hooray!)

And as for Angel Numbers, they’re something that I’ve been seeing a lot of in these past two-three days (of course, when I say “a lot” I mean once a day or so.) I don’t count the Angel Numbers I see on my fyp on Tik Tok for example, because it makes sense to me that I’d see them on posts regarding Shifting Realities because those feel a bit like cheating, of course I’d see them under that particular topic. Though not gonna lie, I’m a little bit of a skeptic when it comes to Angel Numbers (I know i shouldn’t be but i just can’t help it), but it doesn't take away the fact that I HAVE been seeing them

-

Now that I have the positives down and the changes I’ve felt identified, I want to focus on why I think I haven’t shifted yet. Other than the fact that yesterday all the shifting setbacks really threw me off from the progress I thought I had made, it made me feel really frustrated and I feel like that negative thinking and feeling carried on with me until I fell asleep, which is never good, so I need to stay positive, and I think I will, now that I’ve mulled it over, so that should be good.

I’ve also had a really busy week so I’ve been super distracted in general and haven't been able to prepare as well as I would’ve liked for the Sunni method, but I’m going to try to get some preparation in before I go to bed, and since I can sleep in tomorrow, I won't feel as much pressure. I hope that’ll give me the last little push that I need to shift.

-

As of writing this, its 11pm and I’m going to prepare as best I can for the Sunni method before I wash off and then go to sleep. Hopefully today will be the day, and if not, I hope it’ll be soon.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (17)

A/N: WELCOME TO SHIP Y’ALL !!!!

WARNINGS: disassociation/descriptions of zoning out — i think that's it, but! as always, let me know!

Words: 4203

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing! i dont think i’m gonna be adding remus to the masterpost tags though because like. in full honesty? hes not actually a character. he’ll just be alluded to from time to time :^)

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​​​ @forrestwyrm​​​ @daflangstlairde​​​ @marshmallow-the-panda​​​ @askthesnake​​​ @k9cat​​​ @patromlogil​​​ @theobsessor1​​​ @ninja-wizard101​​ @fandomsofrandom

general tag: @jemthebookworm​​​

enjoy !!! ilu !

“So it’s clearly a trap.”

They were all sitting in the other room, the Thief’s head resting on the Bard’s leg as he laid across the couch, Patton lounging in the Artist’s lap on the ground, Deceit on the coffee table. Logan was the only one sitting in a chair, reading over the invitation with his legs crossed on the seat.

It was finally time to broach the topic of a rescue mission and everyone was fairly apprehensive. Patton was starring at the ceiling, glasses sitting on the Artist’s head, who in turn was gently running his hand through Patton’s hair.

Deceit was flipping a coin around in his hand absentmindedly, watching Patton. He had been quieter as of late. If Logan had a headache, he hazarded a guess that Patton was similarly affected, even if he wasn’t disclosing those afflictions. 

“Definitely. Dragon knows we, uh, well,” the Thief’s eyes flicked over to the Artist, who shook his head. 

“We can’t let the Child get hurt,” the Bard said, “He was….well, not to be rude, the kiddo’s an idiot, but he’s the Prince’s favorite.”

There was a pause as Logan crunched the numbers. Child, Damsel, Dragon, Artist, Thief, Bard, Playwright — they were originally told that there were only seven Romans, right? 

It didn’t add up. He wasn’t going to voice THAT pun in front of Patton, though.

“The Prince? Is there another Roman? Or are you talking about the previous rendering of Roman as Prince Roman,” Logan handed the invitation to Deceit, who nodded and looked it over again. 

“I think he’s another figment, right?” the Bard looked down at the Thief with a raised eyebrow, “He was there on the first day?”

The Thief nodded. “He brought Child to me. Said he couldn’t take care of him, then he disappeared. Probably died, if we’re being honest.”

“Sounds like him. Flaking on responsibilities,” the Artist rolled his eyes.

Patton shifted, turning over so he could look at the Artist’s face. His hand reached up and patted his cheek.

Roman was so pretty. A pretty pretty prince. 

Wasn’t that the whole point, that he wasn’t a prince? Wait, why he wearing Patton’s glasses? Ah, goodness. He needed a Pat-nap, he couldn’t believe he forgot the Artist. 

He didn’t notice the Artist’s slight blush as he ran his hand through Patton’s hair again. “You’re okay, Patt,” he mumbled. 

Deceit raised an eyebrow at them, then looked back at Logan.

“I….don’t think that the Roman we are most familiar with would be so careless, though he has been heedless in the past,” Logan said, “We can hold discussions about the Prince for a different time, though. As for a plan, do any of you know what the castles interior looks like?”

“Why should we? We can figure it out once we’re there!” the Bard said. 

“No, we cannot,” Deceit shook his head in agreement with Logan. “If we are to create an infallible plan, we cannot be lackadaisical.”

The Bard laughed, wagging his finger at Logan. “I can assure you that I lack no daisies, thank you very much.” 

He snapped his fingers and a flower crown appeared on his head. The Thief made a face and Deceit sighed, both already exasperated. Logan, however, ignored his shenanigans and leaned forward to explain.

“Lackadaisical. We cannot be too,” he thought for a suitable synonym, “Laid back.”

The Bard blinked, then grinned in understanding. “Okay, Captain Cogitation, whatever you say.”

“I agree with Logan,” Deceit nodded to Logan, “If we want to pull this off, we’ve got to know everything.”

“Isn’t that your specialty, mister pants on fire,” the Artist asked, still running his hand through Patton’s hair. “You always seem to know more about everything than anyone else.”

Deceit turned to him, eyes quickly flicking to Patton before he raised an eyebrow at the Artist. The Artist stiffened. 

Slowly, he retracted his hand from Patton’s hair. It didn’t feel very welcome anymore.

“Sneaking and knowing are two of my talents, yes, but this is your world. I’ve never been inside that castle. I have to admit ignorance,” Deceit tilted his head to the side, toward the window, ignoring the Artist’s hurt expression, “You’ve been inside though, right?”

“The Prince has,” the Thief corrected, “I’ve been in and out in a few places. Know where Dragon’s hoard room is. I don’t think any of us actually know how to navigate it.”

The Bard not nodded in agreement, lips pursed in disappointment. Truth be told, he really wanted to see the inside of the castle. Interesting to note, in Logan’s mind, that they didn’t share the Prince’s source of knowledge.

“Surely if Roman has been inside the castle, then all of you would qualify as having been inside?”

“Well, yeah. But as the Prince. We,” the Thief pointed around at himself, then the Bard, then the Artist, “Don’t all have his memories in that detail.”

So the Prince had a different connection to Roman, the concept. That was Logan’s understanding. 

Then again, did Logan understand ANY of what was going on in here?

Now, now, don’t be too hasty. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the increased throbbing in the back of his skull. Maybe the optimal strategy would have been to assume that anything goes in the Imagination, but you couldn’t fault him for trying to apply logic to the nonsensical. Perhaps there was some logic to it, with a rationale he didn’t anticipate.

All of the Romans bore some similarities and abilities to the original Prince Roman, but because the Prince was missing in action, dissolved, what have you, then those characteristics were divided amongst the remaining seven Romans. 

He had to understand the range of abilities. “Deceit, can you take notes?” Logan asked, and Deceit wordlessly conjured his notepad as Logan turned back to the Thief. “So, if you do not have exact likenesses to Roman, then what do you all have in common? We must understand the skillset we are working with.”

The three Roman parts all shared a look — apprehension, perhaps? — and the Thief broke off first. “A few of Roman’s strongest feelings and convictions, and some of his mannerisms,” he said, looking back at Logan, “That’s all that carries over to all seven.”

“And who decided that?”

“Who decided what we would take from Roman?” the Thief rubbed the back of his head and looked at the Artist, who shrugged, then the Bard, who….also shrugged. He sighed and continued speaking, though he didn’t exactly want to be the sole voice. “Well, us, I think? Or him. It kinda just happened when we were one.”

“The him that doesn’t exist?” Deceit raised an eyebrow at the Thief, who rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away. 

Yeah, he was done speaking. 

The tensions were heating up again. Patton sighed, scooting closer to the Artist’s chest and snuggling his head into his hoodie. It was soft. And it smelt like Roman.

Smelt like home. Patton closed his eyes. Had it really only been one day? He missed the common room so much, missed sitting on the couch and gluing photos and stickers into the scrap book he was working on. Missed listening to Roman rehearse lines and the flipping of Logan’s pages and the faint music wafting from Virgil’s headphones.

He was excited to see what Deceit’s routine would be when they got back. Maybe he’d want to join breakfasts?

Focus, Patton. He rubbed his face with the butt of his palm. Focusing was difficult, like trying to stand steady on a boat. Earlier, he’d been easy sailing, but right now it felt like they’d hit the currents.

“This is all confusing,” Patton mumbled.

He had to pull himself together! 

The Artist hummed sympathetically, hand reaching up and patting his hair, stopping short of running through. He tutted, then shook his head. “Look, usually there isn’t a rhyme or reason to what we do, we just…” he gestured vaguely into the air, “Do!”

There was a beat of silence as Logan, Deceit, and the Thief all squinted at him, for slightly differing reasons.

The Bard, however, just leaned in and said “A-scoodly-boo! Oop, maybe there is a rhyme?”

Logan and Deceit were surprised, watching the Bard. The Bard missed it, however, and winked at the Thief. Who smiled a tiny bit back. Even the Artist was smiling, clearly pleased.

Were they….was Roman that unaware?

No matter. Logan cleared his throat and the Thief opened an eye. “Can you please elaborate on the differences between each of you, then. There is a clear thematic or, rather, trope distinction between you all, but what are the Roman-esque traits that each of you individually have?”

That was a pretty clear place to start, Logan thought. He, Patton, and Deceit had been forming their own opinions and had their own hypothesis, but it’d be worthwhile to confirm their theories before jumping to conclusions. 

The Thief shifted, pushing himself up and out of the Bard’s lap. He sat upright and pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross. “In terms of what abilities we have, it’s been determined mostly by what we value. I….can fight. I can think calmly for the most part. I’m a lot of what Roman is when he’s alone,” the Thief waved his hand, then drummed his fingers against his thumb in thought, “I guess that’s why I’m so, uh….not-Roman?”

“Same with me,” the Artist said, raising his hand and tapping Patton’s back, signalling to him to sit up himself, “Bard and I, we create. Playwright, too. But because we all have different work ethics, different ideas on what should and-uh, on what to create, because of that we’re split. And our attitudes.”

Logan nodded. “Understandable.” 

Patton sat up and leaned against Logan’s knee. So they were talking about the different Romans. Alright. He was caught up, yeah! They were all different, different in their own ways, but they also clearly came together to be….Roman.

What ever they discussed here, because in truth he knew very little about what they were talking about, he knew they’d have to talk to the Damsel and the Dragon. Were they considering that? 

Deceit shut his notebook and looked up, remembrance written across his face. “That reminds me. Regarding your ability to create,” he pointed his pen at the Artist, “Are you aware of how….dense your creations have gotten?”

They were absolutely not considering that, apparently. Patton winced, turning toward the Artist. The tension returned as his expression flatted, becoming more guarded. The concept of creation seemed to be a touchy subject indeed, if the incident with the palette knife and threats were anything to go off of.

Behind him, Patton was gesturing to Deceit to cut out whatever line of questioning he was entering, waving his hands frantically. He had an icky feeling. The kind that was usually accompanied with nervousness, when he and Virgil would both be worried about something or another, but Virgil wasn’t here right now and this was more of the ball dropping into his stomach than the hair standing on the back of his neck.

It was awkward. That’s what it was, that’s the word. An incredibly awkward situation. Did Deceit know how the Artist was sensitive about his art? Oh, golly, they should have told him.

On the other side, Logan was simply watching Deceit with a raised eyebrow. Surely Deceit could have deduced that the Roman figment named ‘The Artist’ would be, well, unreceptive to critiques?

“Dense?” the Artist asked.

The Bard winced, and the Thief whistled lowly. “Don’t tread on me,” he murmured, looking up at Deceit. 

Deceit looked at him for only the briefest second, lip quirking up into a sly smile. 

He knew what he was doing. Logan had realized earlier and they had to make sure at least SOME of the Romans understood the toll that the Imagination was taking. 

“Dense, yes. Layered. Very well crafted,” his eyes trailed back up to the Artist, whose hand slowly unclenched from his pants fabric.

Ah. Yes, well. He preened a little, straightening his shoulders.

Ah, but this was Deceit. Who knew how honest he was being? The Artist froze, and then leaned down  over on one of his hands, gesturing for him to continue. He should see it out.

Deceit inhaled slowly. Logan glanced at him again, noting how he tensed so much. He couldn’t have been the only one physically affected by their circumstances. 

He reached a hand out and rested it on Deceit’s clenched fist, giving him a soft squeeze. 

Deceit’s eyes flew open. For a second, it seemed like he was going to combust, eyes flicking between Logan’s hand and face. 

Then, he exhaled, features relaxing. It was okay. It was okay!

No tricks. 

“Have you considered,” Deceit turned back to the Artist, who was still watching expectantly, “That the Imagination is too intricate for us?”

The Artist leaned back just an inch. He reached his hands up and ran them through his hair. “Care to explain?” 

Deceit nodded. The most obvious way he could explain it was thusly. “You all mentioned earlier that the passage of time was illogical earlier.”

And that was all he had to say. The Thief swore, smacking himself in the head. The Bard groaned, burying his face in his hands as he leaned forward. The Artist blanched, expression dropping as his eyes widened at Deceit. 

See? Explaining that wasn’t so hard. 

Deceit bit his lip and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. At this point, his words were burning the back of his throat like bile. 

No more tricks. He didn’t need to hide.

Patton reached over and rubbed Deceit’s knee. “Good job,” he said, a smile playing on his lips

“Ah, fuck,” the Thief turned to Logan, “You.”

The Bard pointed at Logan.

Logan slowly put his hands up. “This seems more accusatory than was intended.”

“No, no, no,” the Thief slapped the Bard’s hand and then pointed his own finger at Logan, “Are you okay? You must be tired. Fuck.”

“Wait, wait, that’d apply to ALL of you,” the Bard snapped in front of the Thief’s face and gestured to Patton, who was watching everything with a confused expression (why were they all so snappish with this?) , “Wow. We knew this would happen! We knew!”

“I’m a fucking moron,” the Artist snapped, taking off his glasses.

“Why?” Patton asked, now turning to him. 

The Artist clicked his tongue and waved his hand in front of the Bard’s face, cutting him off with his mouth open. “By being in the Imagination, especially for so long, you’re subconsciously affecting the world. We built everything in here without your input, so it’s illogical, without morals, without honest emotion or depth. It’s a bunch of drafts that’ve never interacted with another Side. You all being in here means you’re fixing it without knowing.”

Deceit smiled. Sweet, sweet victory.

“But I’ve been in the Imagination before,” Patton asked, brow furrowing, was that what Deceit was talking about earlier, “There wasn’t a problem then.”

“Yes,” all of them looked up at Logan, who took up the helm of explanation, “But that was because there was a unified Roman who could control what we experienced in the Imagination, correct?”

“Mhm, right on the money,” the Thief said, “The city you saw yesterday, Deceit? That sort of stuff would usually be hidden. That’s also why you’ve never seen this town, Padre, nor the characters.”

“It’s like subconscious editing, and you’re all trying to edit everything that’s ever been created,” the Bard covered his mouth, brows pinching in mortification, “Oh, goodness, my darling stars, are you sure you are alright?”

Deceit loved being right. He looked at Logan, who nodded. “A mild headache,” he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “But beyond that, nothing.”

“Are you sure?” the Artist asked. 

He looked at Patton, who was swaying slightly beside him, eyes fixated on the wall directly ahead. That couldn’t be good.

Carefully, the Artist picked up his glasses and slid them onto his face, turned him towards himself. Patton blinked, stare now focusing in on the Artist’s tired but relieved smile. “You’re stretching yourself thin, Patt,” he murmured. 

Patton smiled back, forcing the excited and positively positive expression back out. He was so tired; it was difficult to understand what was happening, as always, but the Romans had verbalized it so well. He was feeling everything. Intensifying every feeling, and then extrapolating the moral repercussions onto every action that every character was making.

No wonder he had been so exhausted. The Artist ran a hand through his hair and Patton’s smile immediately fell again. He let his head lean into the Artist’s hand, eyes closed. 

On the other hand, the Bard stood up and took one stride to stand directly in front of Logan. He gently cupped Logan’s cheek, feeling his head with the back of his hand. “You don’t have a fever. There’s a lot in here — we have a superhero world, that’s been expanded upon after the cartoon episode, but we have a lot of medieval worlds and quite a few fantasy rules that simply don’t abide by laws. Not to mention—”

He continued talking about the worlds they’d made and checking on Logan’s well being, seemingly unaware of how the logical side was frozen stiff in his hands. 

Deceit thought it was hilarious. Logan seemed so flustered with the Bard rushing around him, smoothing out his tense shoulder muscles without any real understanding of why they were tense. 

At least, he thought it was hilarious until the Bard hurried over to him. He immediately took off Deceit’s hat and ran his hands through his hair, tilting his head up. “You, too, Loki, you’ve got to be tired from helping with our storylines. Here,” he moved to go around Deceit, also not noticing how bright red he was, but the Thief finally stopped him.

“Look, let’s….let’s be up front,” the Thief clapped, drawing attention wearily back to himself, “We told Deceit this, but we need to tell the two of you as well.”

“....Wait, what did you say?” the Artist asked.

The Bard grinned at him, then looked down at Patton. Of course! They had to tell everyone. They wanted to share this!

“I love you.”

Patton blinked, then grinned. 

Warmth.

Butterflies. 

The Artist opened his mouth, but only a choked “oh” escaped. The Bard didn’t wait for his approval, though, turning to Logan as well and saying, “And I love you, too! And I love Deceit! And I love Virgil! I love all of you! So, so much!”

Logan nodded slowly. 

That was

Quite a bit to process. He only just accepted that he loved Patton last night, please give Logan up to 5 business days to acknowledge his emotions. He nodded curtly, though his bright red visage betrayed how flustered he was. 

It was Deceit’s turn to hold his hand. Not too much, but just enough of a firm grip to let Logan know that they were okay. That it was okay.

The Bard didn’t seem to mind the lack of immediate validation, as he continued to bounce in place, positively buzzing with happiness. With LOVE! With ROMANCE! 

He was so GOSH DARN ENDEARING. Patton looked back at the Artist, who was still a blushed statue. 

Patton loved them, too. He loved them!

“I love you, too,” he said, turning to look at the Bard, a honest smile splitting his face.

The Bard’s hands shot up as he patted his own face. “Patton! I love you, too, too!”

“I love you, too, too, too!” Patton laughed, reaching up a hand.

The Bard took his hand and pulled him up in one fluid spin, and they hugged, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. 

This made sense, to the other two Romans. Leave it to the Bard to be able to channel Roman’s romance; he housed most of it, after all. 

They watched the Bard and Patton laugh and sway, chirping about love together. 

And then Patton leaned forward and kissed him. 

Roman froze. 

Slowly, he reached a hand up and ran it through Patton’s hair, cupping his head and pulling him closer. 

I love you, my dearheart.

The Thief and the Artist were frozen, from what Logan and Deceit could see, and it even looked like the Bard was frozen. Their forms shimmered of the deepest red and the brightest gold, for a moment.

DONTTOUCHMEDONT

The Bard pulled back. 

The Artist fell backwards, then scrambled up to his feet. He looked around at the Thief, who was sitting on the couch, eyes wide at the ceiling, then at Logan and Deceit, who were watching him with expressions of intrigue and horror. 

“I’m — I — Kitchen,” the Artist bolted out immediately.

Logan watched the Bard untangle himself from Patton, only to immediately lean forward and hug him again. That was certainly a surprise to witness. It served as more evidence that the figments of Roman were less tangible as Sides than any of them were, made from the Imagination rather than as new Sides. 

His thought process couldn’t ignore the tight fear that he’d felt when all of them disappeared, however. It was….that was terror. This was what terror felt like.

“I guess his theory was right.”

Deceit was watching the Thief, still frozen, with a frown. Logan wasn’t sure what he was referring to, as they hadn’t theorized that thus far. “Whose?” 

Deceit nodded to the Bard, whose hands were tenderly wrapped around Patton’s waist, kiss broken and face buried into his chest. “True love’s kiss. The Bard thought that that may be the answer to bringing Roman back.”

Ah, of course. Logan let out a suffering sigh. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but they had all been going so fast. It was already a large realization that he loved the others, compounded with their surprising and enthusiastic reciprocation. Plus, the notion of expecting such a romantic and fantastical gesture was certainly far enough up Roman’s figurative alley that he would include that as a failsafe.

Then, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Patton called, hands still gently drumming against the Bard’s back. He still felt giddy. Roman loved him, Logan loved him, Deceit loved him — he just needed to tell Virgil! 

The Playwright opened the door, a thick stack of papers in one hand, hair mussed and tousled, glasses slightly askew. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he fixed them carefully and let out one quick laugh. “That felt amazing,” he was breathlessly pleased.

“What did?”

“The kiss,” the Playwright said, a soft smile landing on his lips as he set the papers down beside Deceit on the table.

Deceit nodded and looked at the top one. It was a sketch, from multiple angles, of a suit and mask. Octopus?

The Artist peeked his head in through the open door and slowly shuffled in again. He looked at the Playwright, who slung an arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight quickly before letting go fast. 

“You felt it?” Logan asked, rubbing his chin in thought.

More fodder to the figurative Roman figment fire.

The Playwright grinned, but the Artist just let out a humored breath. Even he was feeling warm and fuzzy, despite the shock of being….touched. It felt weird still, and it felt weird for it to feel weird. “We’re all Roman, dearest, we all felt it,” the Artist exhaled, letting the nickname simmer. 

They slowly looked up at the Bard, nestled into Patton’s chest, who had the most serene expression. His hands were intertwined behind Patton’s back, swaying on his feet slowly as though dancing to music none of them could hear. Ecstatic.

The Thief finally relaxed, blinking up at the Playwright and the Artist. Best to….not acknowledge what had just happened. “Playwright? You brought some outfits?” he asked.

The Bard did not leave Patton’s hold, but for some reason, the hold was stabilizing Patton’s mentality enough that he turned to the Playwright with everyone else. 

The Playwright nodded, professional tension returning to his demeanor. He gestured to the stack of papers. “I’ve got some outfits,” some was an understatement, as the stack was almost as large as Logan’s 300 page Christmas gift. “If you aren’t opposed, I’ll conjure them up.”

A small bead of silence. 

They were going to reassemble Roman. It was going to work. And they were going to do it with love and determination. 

“....Thank you, Playwright,” said figment turned to the Artist, who was giving him a kind smile. “Thank you for your work. Always appreciated.

The Playwright blinked in confusion. “I…Thank you, Artist,” he slowly smiled back, feeling self-respect well in his chest. “That’s good to hear.”

He looked around to everyone else and pushed up his glasses. He could do this. He was Roman! He was. They were all Roman, and they were going to reassemble themselves. 

They could do this. The Playwright motioned for the first design. “Let’s get down to business.”

[whoaffle]

Sometimes things that shouldn’t annoy me annoy me anyway because of disproportionate and nearly-irrational, however usually very logical, over-thinking leading to a negative analysis of the given thing.

I’ll leave an example that is what made me rather annoyed now. You can skip this whole thing if you don’t feel like reading about my moody complaints about modern society. Have a nice day anyway. ♥

WARNING: this post is mostly negative, and may trigger you if you are sensitive to a lot of negativity.

Now, about what made me angry today... There’s this add that always plays between my music in Youtube where the woman goes “We are people who don’t like to stop. We don’t have time for pain! That’s why, when it shows up, we need *painkiller name*!” -- and by then I have already skipped it, like... I skip it every time because I hate this first sentence.

“We are people who don’t like to stop” - that is not inherently bad, I mean, there’s no problem in disliking to be idle, to have nothing to do, it could be interpreted as “we dislike boredom” and that’s mostly correct. But still, doesn’t apply to everyone, some people do like to stop sometimes and just stay the whole day doing nothing and looking through the window feeling a cold breeze, some people can’t stand NOT stopping, they hate to do things in a rush and like to have time to breathe and think in between when they have to do a lot of stuff. So yeah, not 100% relatable for everyone, but not a sentence that would piss me off on it’s own.

But “We don’t have time for pain” - oh, baby, you just triggered my “mad at society” mode right now! That part just gives the first sentence a whole new meaning... It’s implying that the fact that we do not have time for pain (which is, in my view, a major flaw on how today’s society works and a disrespect to human health and quality of life) is NOT because we are basically forced to work 24/7 otherwise we literally can’t afford food, or because we are expected to do a billion times more than it would be humanly acceptable in most jobs otherwise we are considered to be “not giving our best” and may be fired... BUT BECAUSE WE DON’T LIKE NOT TO WORK OUR BUTTS AND SOULS OFF! That makes me mad.

The fact that we (in general) “don’t have time for pain” is not at all because “we don’t like to stop”, which is the connection that the add wants to establish between the two sentences, I suppose. It’s because we ARE NOT ALLOWED to stop! And this is so unhealthy! And this makes me so mad that adds and companies and society in general are promoting surviving through our insane days of work with painkillers and energetic drinks (I’ve already written before about why those make me mad as well) as something not only acceptable, but normal and even good! It’s so common... I see this a lot, I think I’ve actually become sensitive to it, because every time I see something that slightly implies this, I notice and usually feel moody about it.

What I’m saying is that it feels to me that... “Look! Now whenever your body starts warning you that maybe living under that much pressure all the time is not really healthy or tries to show you with a symptom that there MAY be something wrong with your body, you can just IGNORE IT! And keep doing the same unhealthy things you always do, instead of taking it as a warning and taking some time for yourself, to heal mentally, physically and emotionally and check your health with some professionals!” is a SUPER COMMON argument nowadays... Like, we are subtly normalizing the notion that we should “kill the symptoms instead of the disease” as a metaphor for society, not literally (most of the time), and that is, that we should find a way to ignore the consequences of our limitations, instead of rethinking our habit of constantly pushing ourselves to our maximum. We somehow managed to turn “give it your best” into an unhealthy culture!

I agree with giving your best as long as it’s in a healthy way. Because whenever it’s not healthy anymore, that is no longer “your best”, it’s now more than what your best really is. Makes sense right? I mean.. “your” best is not other people’s best! So “your” best is as far as you can go without hurting yourself! If it’s damaging you, then it’s beyond your limits! I mean, ask people who do sports, you shouldn’t force yourself beyond your limits, otherwise you may ruin your body! As an example, a story that runs in my family about a family friend who wanted to be a ballerina. She was in ballet class and couldn’t do the exercise properly because she couldn’t bend down enough. And then her teacher SAT DOWN ON HER BACK, putting her whole weigh on her spine, in order to push her down, and she literally had to go to the hospital! The teacher fucked up her back so badly with that she literally had to stop dancing and could never become a ballerina!

That’s what happens when we don’t respect our limits and the limits of those around us! And I feel like this is almost never taken seriously. Sometimes, if it’s about physical health, it gets some attention, but not as much as it should. Our society keeps expecting each day more and more out of people, not giving anyone the proper conditions to live a healthy life. Society doesn’t respect human limits. And this is not beautiful, this is not an example of “being a fighter” and being awesome and shit! I mean, yes, sometimes we must fight beyond out limits, give it more than we can, to overcome problems and all... And it’s not like this is not inspiring. But we shouldn’t see it as something so positive! The positive thing is not that the person went beyond their limit, but the fact that they survived it. The fact that they had to go beyond their limit should be tragic, it should be seen as a problem. They were in such a big pickle that they had to give it more than they could, good thing it worked! That’s how we should see it! But instead we kinda set those examples as the norm, as the goal. If they did it, you can to it too! Yeah, maybe I can, perhaps, but should I?

Don’t get me wrong, again, this involves reinterpreting several common-place sentences such as 1 “being a fighter“, 2 “give it your best”, 3 “you can do it too”... I’m not saying those are inherently negative, destructive or toxic sentences. Far from that! In fact, used in the proper context, those are great sentences that can be super inspiring and true! But I think we are witnessing some sort of radicalization of those sentences, turning them into unhealthy statements that, instead of saying 1 “we recognize and admire your effort and the fact you overcame such a tough situation”, 2 “don’t hold back for fear or laziness, do the best you are physically, mentally and emotionally able to do right now” and 3 “you should try to do it because I believe in your potential, another person has done it before, so it’s not impossible”, are saying 1 “This person who suffered a lot is better than you for that reason, so you must suffer too and that’s beautiful”, 2 “I don’t care if it’s hurting, keep going! I don’t care if you feel like dying, it’s not good enough yet, you have to do better and better and better” and 3 “If one person made it once, everyone is expected to do it as well, doesn’t matter if you’re a different person with different traits. Just. Do it.” - You see the difference? It’s turning good things and positive messages into destructive and toxic thoughts that can be extremely unhealthy for us.

Yeah I know I’m over-interpreting. I know it’s “just an add for a painkiller”. I know it’s intended for situations like “oh you have a headache at work so you can take it not to feel pain”. I’m not saying that the add or whoever made it is actively trying to transmit the message I criticized above. And I’m totally not saying people should go home every time they have a headache or anything such. I just... I just really can’t disassociate this aspect of our society and how it generally promotes unhealthy practices in the benefit of companies and economy and whatever (capitalism in general) with this kind of speech that is so common in painkiller adds, energetic drinks adds, coffee adds and other adds... As well as in those “beautiful: girl works collecting trash everyday to pay for her mother’s cancer treatment” news we sometimes get...

Also... Nothing against taking painkillers, by the way. Specially because no one really likes feeling pain, and not every pain is serious enough to actually stop you from doing what you want/must. What I really dislike is the way it is put in the add. What I dislike is this weird subtext that seems to be present in this add. I don’t like this association of sentences - we don’t like to stop, we don’t have time for pain - as if they were 1- cause and consequence and 2- universally relatable as cause and consequence.

Anyway. I’m sorry if this whole thing made no sense to you, I know this is over-thinking and I know this is rather negative, so I’m really sorry if you chose to read the text and it somehow made you feel sad or anything. I’ll try to compensate by leaving a cute cat picture! And I hope you can feel better.

I just want to add that the reason why I write those huge texts all the time, often criticizing stuff, is because it’s good for me. It works really well for me to relieve stress and take negativity out of my chest. I just don’t really want to take it out of my chest to put it in someone else’s, so I hope no one feels bad because of this. I really like to write about things when I feel frustrated and mad, it really calms me down and makes me feel better.

Anyways.... Have a lovely cat, please! And I hope you have a good day! (Also take care of your physical, mental and emotional health please)

[serlymurly]

A RANT ABOUT CHARACTERS, CREATION, AND THE PROCESS OF BEING INSANE

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Let’s have a rant. A good, old fashioned rant about something that’s been nagging at my mind. First, paint the scene;

It’s 6 in the morning. The sun is rising outside. The love of my life is asleep in bed, our cat is in a box lined with a fuzzy blanket that I could have draped around my shoulders because frankly, it’s a bit cold. We have no creamer, and I think coffee wouldn’t help this headache that’s pounding away at my skull - and I have four people talking in my head.

Did I lose you yet? Probably not. It’s pretty straight forward. First - the puppy nailed to the wall. Four people talking in my head, what? Well - technically, I think they’re all me. But on a different level, only two of them are me. Got it?

One of me is going on about how this is all, in fact, a terrible idea and that to post any of this is to admit to a certain kind of insanity that I really shouldn’t be admitting to. This isn’t normal, on any level; I’ve never heard people talk about it, and the only person that I’m aware is actually on point with how I do things in writing is asleep.

The other part of me really wants banana bread, and frankly, I can’t fault that. Can you? Of course you fucking can’t, unless you’re allergic to bananas. Fuck yeah, banana bread.

Then, there’s the other two. One is a face that people who follow me are familiar with; James Oaklen. Don’t know who he is? Probably not! I’ll talk about him later. And he’s having a lovely conversation with this newest creation, this newest part of my intracranial house - Aeslen. But I won’t talk about her. Not yet.

So, yes. Four people. All adamantly talking their points, all actively going on and doing their own thing; existing in some level on a scene that I’ve always had in my head. Let’s explain that bit, shall we? Sorry this is disjointed - again, no coffee.

Flash back I don’t know how many years, and I was a young, young boy. I barely had any understanding of how to type; I’d never played a game outside of Banjo-Kazooie and Super Mario 64, games that required a controller.

I will spare the dirty details, but life at home was not perfect. There was yelling; there was hitting, there was strife, and a family that was slowly tearing itself apart. I could see the writing on the wall when I was 7, that’s how bad it was. So - my mom decides it’s a good idea to introduce me to this game she plays.

A game called Ultima Online.

And holy crap, that was amazing! I spent hours doing nothing of any importance on her computer, on our shitty internet in that crappy home in Ohio, just exploring this world with a character that I had created with my own two hands in a whole other world. This was a concept that I had never experienced; this was a new and exciting frontier for me. I named him Krill because that’s a COOL name and it sounds COOL. I gave him flaming red hair, I made him a paladin, and I spent hours just trying to kill skeletons in a really easy area at the start of the game because I kept forgetting how to fight things.

And then, one day, everything changed. UO, it turns out, maybe just the server I was on - had a very active community of this thing called ‘Role Players’. Weird, right? People who actively played out their characters as real, living things - in this world. Personalities, histories, everything. I stumbled on them by accident when I got lost in the big castle in the main town of the game.

There, at the time, was a bunch of high-end guilds. One was the Orcs (it was just people with orc masks on, but they pretended to be orcs and they rocked at it). There was the Highlanders (they wore kilts and I REALLY WANTED TO BE ONE). There was a merchant guild, and - all these other guilds I feel bad not remembering. And I was just this little seven-year old kid with a character named Krill with flaming red hair that walks into the middle of this big, IC meeting they were having. Imagine them responding to me with actual respect?

Imagine them actually… explaining what they were doing? With respect? I was so awestruck, I asked if I could play. They made me door guard. Boy, LET ME TELL YOU, I took that job so seriously. I stood just outside the meeting and I could see all their little talk, all while making sure nobody entered without permission. I was so hyped.

That, that stuck with me. Okay? Remember that. The idea - the concept that they had presented to me, this way that you could live another life through a digital form. That stuck with me.

But - well, things change. People. Lives. I never really got into the RP scene on that game; I wandered around and pretended to be part of things, but it was mostly them politely recognising me and letting me watch them do stuff. I only had an hour each day online, so it just - wasn’t enough. Eventually, my mom stopped paying for her UO account due to issues. So - back to the nintendo and other things.

Flash forward. Divorce imminent between the two parents. The world is collapsing around us children. My sisters are massive assholes, my brother and I feel like we’re alone together in a sea. So… in a desperate attempt to keep his spirits up, I introduce him to the concept. “Let’s pretend to be Link and go slay invisible monsters!”

Stupid, right? So we pick up sticks and start staying as far away from our house as we could. We’d talk about all the things we were fighting, we’d hit each other with ‘swords’, we’d drag our local friends into it! We just - disassociated. I think for him, it was mostly the swinging the sticks that was interesting; always fighting, always smacking things. But for me? I was using my mind to, you know. Envision such grandiose and wondrous things for us to be fighting! I was imagining landscapes, unspeakable monsters, and the type of person that I would be!

That evolved. Stuff happened again. We moved from where we’d been living to a new environment; Michigan. I like Michigan, don’t get me wrong; fucking love it there. But, well - we were young. I didn’t know anyone, and it was 5th grade. And then - more stuff happened.

I won’t go into nitty details, but one of my sister’s had a major incident occur. This lead to the family being put under more strain, which eventually finally snapped the cord. Grandparents died. One suddenly, one from cancer shortly after. A nasty, nasty divorce that left me feeling horrible. I was convinced that I could have stopped it - all of it. I was convinced that I should have; since I wanted to be that big hero, remember? Since I wanted to shoulder all the burdens.

I took it upon myself to never show any problems outwardly, after that point. I just smiled and acted silly and nobody really paid me much mind. “Oh, he’s always fine!” It’s about this time I got into (GASP) UO again. Freeservers, this time; technically, I think that was illegal, but who cares. I got deep into it; I made my first *real* RP character, who was of course a massive dork. Leone, a grey elf ranger that ate lemons - because I’d convinced *myself* that if you ate enough lemons, you could spit caustic spit? I don’t know, I was weird.

Leone would be my staple character for a long time. So long, in fact, that I began to wonder - as maybe we all do - where he stopped and I began. Sure, he was an elf with magic and grey skin - but personality wise, I felt he was a lot like me!

Then I learned that was a cardinal sin of roleplay. Apparently, you should never - EVER - make a character like yourself. You become too attached - which I did. You become too personally involved - which I did.

Games change, years move on. I went to SWG, I played a new character - Stodosmo Oci (horrible name I know). He was a security officer at a hospital! It was great. I loved it. It was a long, boring time of just sitting and watching doctors RP it out with patients in Mos Entha. And then.. I don’t know. Things. Again.

Went from there to WoW. Technically, I’d been in WoW since Vanilla - but the lore had never struck me as interesting enough to roleplay in seriously until just before BC released. I had a series of characters there, all sharing the same last name; Rodetan. Eventually, as Wrath came to a close, I decided to consolidate them into one large family tree.

WoW’s timeline sucks. That’s all you need to know about that.

Who remembers the early days of WRA? Alliance-side, there was a guild called ‘Stormwind’s Army’. Yes, it was just another military RP guild. Yes, we did a lot of patrolling and policing. It was fun, though; my character rose from an unwashed bum to chief recruitment officer. And then - drama happened. The guild split. I followed the ‘rebels’, and we formed the Vanguard of the Alliance (VotA). That was also fun.

Anyways, I’m sparing you all the nitty-gritty details - but this is where the story, once more, becomes interesting. After so long, VotA eventually fell apart. We all went our separate ways, and eventually three of the officers let me know that they’re still RPing in-game with this new group - Blood of Arathor, I think it was called. I’m asked if I want to join them. I say - sure, but not on the character I’d been using.

At the time, I was - kind of embarrassed of that character. I still am. He’s my best success story, yes, but he felt - I don’t know. Too close to me, in some ways that I won’t get into. So I thought - why not make a NEW character?!

OH BOY.

But there was a problem. And this is what most of this rant was building up to.

I had to build a new character.

From scratch.

Alright, that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? - Except somewhere along the line of creating him - he came alive. In designing him, in creating his personality - I suddenly found that I was physically talking to myself - and in my mind, this quiet man was responding. James Oaklen, Knight of Stromgarde, was telling me about himself.

His goals. His life. His loves. His interests. All about himself; his world. How he felt about certain foods, how he felt about everything.

At the time - I had very, very acute problems in the real world. I was taking drugs, drinking heavily, I was obnoxiously depressed to the point of being borderline suicidal - and… well, this happened. What did it mean?

Don’t answer that. It’s not a real question, because it doesn’t matter.

I accepted that he was who he was - and he’s become one of my favorite recurring personalities in my characters. And he’s not the only one, anymore. At some point, this - new way of creation, this way to create characters that exist in my own mind - just, settled in.

So.. I wanted to document how it works. Sort of. Maybe you at home can replicate it?

I start by closing my eyes. I think about what races there are to choose from, what classes or skillsets; and then I just… start to see a person. Whoa, weird, huh? Just an outline. A faint outline.

So, we reach out with our mind, and we call to them; and they slowly come forward. We get an imprint, a basic idea for what they look like, in our minds. So - we go to the creator and we try to do that. As close as possible.

Then we look at the character. Scars; how did they get them? Each scar is a story in itself, and as you look - they begin to tell you about each one. As if just explaining casually. James has a scar along his neck, which he earned when he almost died defending his Lady - something that he constantly thinks about as a time that he failed.

Or, other big features? James - again, using him as an example - has a large, bushy black moustache. It’s his family’s staple, a sign of their masculinity and proof that an Oaklen has come of age.

And so on. Then, by the time we get to the point where we have to name them, they’ve already told us the most important things. We don’t just have a vague outline in our little mind shack; now, we have a PERSON. And the name? Well… That’s a limitation of the system, baby. Pick something as close to what resembles the name they called themselves, and stick to it.

I could go into more depth. I could go into the process of creating a video where I create a character, but - well, why? It’s just this vague idea that I want to get across right now. I really doubt anyone will read this five-to-seven page long spiel all the way through. But it’s just - interesting, to me. It constantly is there, this - process, these characters, these people. And not just them; worlds come just as easily. Is that the product of an over-active imagination from a man that was desperately seeking to avoid reality and paint a better fiction for himself to sit in? Probably.

But… I don’t know. When it boils down to it, I just let it happen. I get ideas in my head all the time for wondrous worlds, characters and things - but the most agonizing problem is that they can never seem to translate into text or print. I can’t paint worth a damn, I can barely draw - and the one medium I have for escape, Roleplay, is something that I barely do anymore.

So - how do I make it stop? Do I want to make it stop? Should I? How do I harness this? How do I focus it into something specific?

If you made it this far, congratulations. I don’t know how to end it, so I’m just tagging all the mmo’s I’ve ever played or remember playing for giggles. Kudos if you get all of them!

[vivaciousyellow]

re: furiously happy, but replace happy with --

“anxious and wanting to, but consistently failing to actually, puke so now it’s just a family of gremlins playing that really intense korean version of dodgeball in my stomach but like there’s a family feud they’re subconsciously trying to resolve by invoking amity through the sense of nostalgia this childhood game inspires and so everyone’s simultaneously passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive, weaponising words into insults and rubber balls (heh) into, well, harder balls (heh) armed with the force of momentum and you know what, it’s just a lot to deal with”

dear victoria,

i have something to confess.

there’s been this small emotional, mental, psychic parasyte that’s been steadily and persistently gnawing at me, but at a pace where i can maintain the integrity of the the rest of my body whilst this thing resides in the shadows, sustained by my weakness, guilt, anxiety.

i feel like prometheus!!!!

not sure i’m doing making the best metaphorical argument here.

i’ll start from the beginning.

early last month, this solicitor from softbank, an atm/verizon/internet service provider type, rang my doorbell. i readily opened the door. i don’t know why. i could have easily just not. my guard’s been let down, living here. that healthy bit of Chicago suburbia paranoia has basically vanished.

mostly.

i mean i still look behind my shoulders for ghostly nightmares, but otherwise, real live human beings don’t seem so scary anymore. everyone’s so kind and patient and understanding to this stupid gaijin. just that, any idea of any sort of interaction between me and them makes me shit my pants sometimes all the time. the sentence structure thereof suggesting that perhaps i am not a real live human being. has the imposter syndrome gotten that bad?

but anyway, so like. i opened the door. short paragraphs of japanese landed superb uppercuts into my soft winter belly. something about my current internet service. something about slower internet speed. something about me nodding yes in puzzled agreement because i seek to be constantly agreeable, relatable, and “no” is a syllable my tongue gets stuck on. something about can i come in? i said yes again? something like he thought he should ask, me being a single lady living alone. i do remember specifically using my pshhh-nawwww-u-gud-bruh laugh in response.

he had such an amiable, jaunty air about him. what a damn good salesman. or am i just that weak against any little bit of nice, smiley one-on-one communication?

fuck.

i’m pretty sure i mildly disassociated as he was talking. he was explaining how softbank was better, and how the transition between jcom and softbank would be seamless. he even asked if i would like him to call jcom on my behalf to tell them i was switching services.

wait you know what. i think it was only around this time when i realised he was a salesman. the original narrative i had, i guess, just immediately imagined was that jcom was getting absorbed into softbank and he was here to tell me about the company-wide Big Change that had just happened and that softbank was now just taking inventory of jcom customers.

am i just that slow creative and imaginative?

but, at this point, i felt like i had already ventured so deep into this interaction that i couldn’t get out. more so, i was so overwhelmed by the torrent of chumminess he was directing at me. like his affability was a weapon. wait, actually, combining the former water-inspired metaphor with the latter simile, i was like an evil witch of the east meeting her demise at the hands of a young japanese male dorothy, who was splashing lethal niceness onto my defenseless body.

i had completely written myself off as having become the newest victim to this brilliant corporate strategy of exposing mostly socially anxious, always afraid, and recently depressed potential customers to friendly, conversational, energetic salesmen. suddenly i was calling their regional hq or something to confirm my personal information. and then suddenly i was saving his number into my phone. all the while, making light conversation about my unusual, very not legit phone number (another headache), my early bird sleeping patterns, his opposite night owl lifestyle. to make the - unprompted! (really putting myself out there you know) - explanation for said early-bird-ness, i made the bold assertion in embarrassingly broken japanese that i ran every morning. he left with the promise of calling me again to set up more details.

after he left, i immediately panicked.

first, wowowowoowowowow i sustained a prolonged conversation in japanese! in which i spoke about 5% of the time. but still! he asked me questions and i answered! audibly! and we laughed over the realisation that i probably had a lot i didn’t understand. but he understood that i didn’t understand and even said aloud for me what i was thinking -- is it that feeling of ‘you don’t even know what you don’t know?’

eye contact.

mutual wry chuckle.

second, in replaying the interaction a dozen times in five seconds, i began to panic specifically about needing to run everyday now to make up for this oral contract i made to him that i have been and will continue to run. wow, i should do that too, so healthy!

then, it finally hit me what just happened, as i stared at the copy of the contract he gave me. the absurdity of it all, including my reaction, is still hitting me.

i could have just said no.

or just give one of those small, apologetic smiles while shaking my head “no” and closing the door.

or just not answer the door in the first place.

instead, it’s been a month. he’s called five times personally. they’ve called four times from the company phone. softbank has stuffed my mailbox three times with thick letters labelled “important.” someone came personally to my door this past saturday morning. and he came personally again tonight. and i’m sad this didn’t perfectly follow a neat 5-4-3-2-1 pattern.

in return, i’ve let the phone go to my non-existent voicemail seven times. i’ve outright rejected two of those calls. i’ve had three anxiety attacks. and of course, i now never answer the door.

there’s this incredible guilt. you know, cuz he was so nice! he spent so much time and energy coming to my door, explaining things to me. and i gave him a false hope, an empty promise. i played him, going so far as to demonstrate how i successfully saved his phone number. then it was resentment at how unreceptive they were being to my diligent, patient, faithful, very clearly very rude ghosting. i’ve very quickly made this very small circle back to guilt.

hm hold on.

if there are only two points, can it even be called a circle? 

but circles don’t even have points so.

#thirdgradegeometry:)))))))))))))))))))

i’ve been only just barely surviving the cringe attacks from flashbacks of all the interactions i have with classmates and professors at school. each conversation, however brief, protracted, intimate, and/or engaged indiscriminately torments me like a schoolyard bully who comes in an inclusive variety of shapes and sizes whose lunch money equivalent is emotional labour. for myself.

and i’ve been really trying to snap myself out of my march-april depressive funk. and i really feel like i’ve been mentally doing that butt wriggle you do at the start line of a track meet when you’re readying yourself to make that dash into productivity, positivity, and...pretty good vibes? (i’m a serf in the great fiefdom of literary devices that is alliteration). i downloaded furiously happy by jenny lawson. because i’m so in love with the idea of overcoming those emotional pitfalls if not just out of sheer spite - and also with her authorial voice. it’s hilarious. and i’m halfway through! but while i’m trying so hard to pretend, each time i fail to assert myself to softbank and finally let them go, becomes an unfixable dent in my “pretend you’re okay!” facade. and i don’t know how to be okay with that.

and so, i don’t know how to even begin imagining me answering their calls without hyperventilating.

but he was literally waiting outside my apartment complex today so i’m not sure if i’m ever gonna leave my room again. if my professors ask, i’ll just chalk it up to 2 kool 4 skool. just another arrogant american with questionable work ethic?

i’m thinking i’ll write a card rejecting their advances. and then if i see a softbank salesmen, i’ll chuck the letter at them and run in the other direction.

and i’ll even end it with

much love,

ying