#ever-repeating cycle of me being a self-doubting idiot

[queer-crusader]

It's that time of the month where I go "hmm meds mask how bad the horrors are so let's put off taking them to see if the horrors ARE actually horrors and I'm not needlessly taking medication". Only for the Horrors™ to kick in and me suffering BAD pain for an hour before the belatedly taken meds kick in

[faeriesinthedell]

Things with my mom have been better this year, I think. It's hard to tell, honestly. I know I'm selfish, I know I can be a jerk, and I know I'm so much like her that's why we butt heads so often. Honestly, sometimes I cry about the fact that I can see my mother in myself. Sometimes I talk like her, or I walk like her, and everyone always confuses us for one another when we're talking on the phone because we sound alike. I love my mother. It's not that I don't want to be like her, but I just don't want to be *too* much like her. I want to be my own person too. As I'm getting a bit older and childhood friends are settling down and having kids, it's honestly making me feel so conflicted. I want to be a mother so badly, and it's something that I've wanted since I was a kid, but I'm so terrified that I'm going to screw up and just repeat the cycle. My great-great grandmother emotionally abused my great-grandmother. My grandma and my mom have an extremely strained relationship. They love eachother so much and they cry every time they leave eachother after a visit, but they also fight constantly and my grandmother always seems to think that my mom is an idiot who doesn't know what she's doing. I know a lot of parents can be that way to adult children, but trust me, my grandma is so much worse than average.

Usually, after a visit with my grandma, my mom will come to me and apologize for how she treats me, because being around her own mother makes her see the parallels, I guess. Things get better and less tense for a while, and then it goes back to normal once my grandma isn't around. I'm just so scared that I'm going to do this to my own children. What if I do it to my husband? What if I don't even realize that I'm doing it? I've always had weird self esteem, and I don't know if that comes from how I was raised, or if that's just something I developed for any myriad of possible reasons. I honestly don't really like myself. I mean, I don't hate myself by any means, but I don't like myself either. But, I know that people see things in me that they like, and that's enough for me. I know it's a crappy source of validation, but hey, it's what works for me. But I'm just so scared that I'm not going to be enough. I'm scared that I'm not going to be enough for my kids, and I'm almost positive that I won't be enough for my husband. He swears that I am, and I don't doubt him, but I do doubt my own abilities. Honestly, I think I'll probably feel that way forever. I want to be enough so badly, but I don't think I will be. Don't get me wrong, I know that everyone on Earth has an inherent value as a baseline, and I know that applies to me too, but I don't think I'm enough beyond that. I don't know how to explain it. I just feel like somehow I'm going to fall short in some way. I know for a fact that I fall short as a daughter. I don't know. I just worry. I want to be a good mom someday. I want to be a good grandma too, eventually. But I also don't want people to make a big fuss about me when I'm old, or even when I'm gone. I don't want people to talk about how good or nice I am, because I'm no better than anyone else, and I don't want anyone ever saying otherwise.

I want to be a good mother. I want to be a good daughter. I want to be a good wife. I want to be good enough for everyone.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Idk about you but that trope where a giant gets angry and accidentally scares a tiny and feels bad abt it afterwards makes me go absolutely feral,,

So, originally, I was planning for this scene to be in a future chapter of This Is Nothing Like The Disney Star Wars Trilogy, but I could never really think of a full story arc around it, even though I still really really really love this idea. In any case, if I happen to brainstorm a better plot and find a way to squeeze this in I might edit it into the main story, otherwise enjoy some classic Giant Catboi and Twink Solider fearplay >:3c

--

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was!?”

As expected, the little one did not respond to his rhetorical question, though his tone certainly helped snap it out of its previous stupor as it released its death grip on his shirt in favor of squirming as soon as the bedroom door slid shut behind him. His aggravation at the situation was clear as day even without the usual language and cultural barrier that impeded any sort of deeper relationship Edix tried to form with the human. Red ears were still folded back against his curls and his shoulders tense, the stiff posture traveling down to his hands were they gripped the earthling to his chest perhaps just a touch more tightly than usual, not that it prevented it from trying to push and wriggle itself out of his overprotective hold.

Fuck no, he wasn’t ready to let it go yet, not when flecks of blood were still smeared against his knuckles as a result of an impromptu rescue mission. The satisfying snap of cartilage under his fist after one good sucker punch to Talan’s smug face still echoed in his mind, blood gushing from the surely broken nose while the biologist stumbled backwards into the shelves. Edix wondered if he would be reprimanded for that by the directors later, or if Talan would be too proud to report the ass kicking, maybe even taking the lesson to heart to not fuck with his things in the future. And yes, that included trying to vivisect his sweet little pet.

How was I supposed to know the stray belonged to you? He had asked with sarcastic innocence, as if the human in question hadn’t been seen with Edix a thousand times before, and wasn’t drenched in his scent, and didn’t have his ID code printed on the back of its little suit, Maybe if you weren’t such a wuss and actually put it on a shorter leash-

Asshole. He was lucky Edix’s only goal at the moment was to get the little one off the table and back to the appropriate sector rather than rip Talan to shreds with his own tools. A taste of his own medicine, perhaps. Still, he admittedly did have a point about the human, what with how much it would run off and get lost and damn near killed. He simply couldn’t figure out what was so terrible about staying in his company that the little one would risk injury and mutilation in a foreign environment as opposed to the safety and comfort he so desperately tried to provide for it. They might have had a bit of a rocky start, sure, but stars above that was far in the past now. There’s nothing either of them can do to change the facts so why not accept things as they are and make some type of effort to be happy in this new life? By all accounts, Edix was a great owner!

And yet, the little one still fought him every step of the way. Even now, having just saved it from a fate of having its tiny organs sliced while it was wide awake, it made it known it did not want to be near him anymore. It might have been clinging to him the entire walk back to the bedroom, but it must have remembered it was supposed to be oblivious to the notion of genuine love and safety because now it started to stutter out little squeaks on top of struggling. Normally, Edix adored any and all of the sounds it made, especially when it was directly trying to talk to him which only served to give him the mental image of a pup mindlessly babbling before they managed their first few words. This time, however, it only worsened his irritation.

“Stop.” He ordered, which the human somewhat complied with, though it probably had more to do with his harsher tone and the fact that he was already lowering his hand towards the bed to set it down. As soon as it was free of his hold, it scrambled back, looking at him with those wide brown eyes that were full of so much fear it made him sick. Why did it have to be so afraid of him? What could he have possibly done that even now, almost a cycle later, it was still overtly wary of his intentions. All he ever did was care for it. Feed it, pet it, cuddle it, protect it, and still nothing was good enough!

With a tired sigh, he rubbed his hand down his face and resisted the urge to tug at his hair. “I just don’t understand,” he pleaded, begging some cosmic being out there to suddenly grant the little one the power to understand what he was saying, “what can I possibly do to prove to you that I’m not going to hurt you? I’m trying to keep you alive and it’s like...I don’t know, you resent me for that or something!”

The sweet thing looked more confused at his words than anything, but he could tell his body language and voice were making it uneasy. The human was used to soft words and purrs and slow movements, rarely any agitation in his being. After a beat of silence marked by an intense stare down, Edix gave up on hoping the earthling would miraculously explain itself and open up to sharing its thoughts on the matter. He reached for it and it instinctively back up, flinching when a growl rumbled in his throat in response.

“Stop running,” it was a fruitless endeavor, but like hell if he wouldn’t stop trying. That was how new pups learned how to understand a language anyways, wasn’t it? To repeat certain words over and over until they got the idea? Maybe that’s all he needed to do here, maybe by now it already knew the Venandi words for no, stop, be good, and so on. He reached for it again and it did the same thing as last time, always sure to stay just out of the most convenient reach. Not that it mattered how much it inched away seeing how it was trapped on the bed with Edix directly in front of it, but it was the principal of the matter.

And it was then that something inside him snapped. Something primal as a result of dealing with an unruly pup far too long for his nerves to handle at this moment. He wasn’t even aware of his actions, belatedly realizing how he pounced on the bed in a flash, the human scrambling to get away but only having enough time to turn around before being roughly pinned on its stomach against the mattress. His teeth were bared and pressed tightly against its back, fangs scraping against the layers of its clothes to no doubt bruise the tender flesh underneath, though thankfully they didn’t break the skin. A loud growl reverberated though its entire body, shaking it to its core.

“Enough.” He hissed against its back, keeping his teeth pressed into its skinny frame for a moment longer before pulling away. The second he did, his glare softened, all the anger he felt gone in an instant as soon as he saw the sight underneath him.

The poor thing was absolutely petrified.

It was probably the worst it’s ever been scared, arguably. Not even the first time they met, when it had so gracefully tumbled down that hill and landed face first in front of him, compared to the level of fear that radiated off it. A split-second thought had Edix wondering if he had legitimately scared it to death. Soon enough, though, he was able to pick up the minute tremors that shook through it, almost like an aftershock of the warning that it felt more than heard. It was pale, baby face devoid of color not unlike that time before when it had been sick with fever. But its eyes...those sweet little doe eyes he loved so much were wide and wet with a sheen of tears that refused to fall, locked in a blank stare straight ahead towards the wall and refusing to look at him.

A small, choked hiccup made its body twitch every couple of breaths, but it refused to open its mouth to allow any of these sniffles to turn into cries. Shit, it refused to move at all, too terrified of Edix’s threat display that if it did anything he didn’t like there would be dire consequences to pay. He supposed it worked exactly as intended, in that case. It was still, it was quiet, it was technically obeying him after he just forced it to behave via alternative punishment. That didn’t change the fact that he felt absolutely, terribly, extremely awful about what he just did.

It was just a pup, as he always said, regardless of what Ylva would tell him about human adolescence and such. It didn’t know any better, it had never been raised in these situations before and needed much longer than a measly cycle to unlearn all of its prey behaviors it needed to survive on its home planet. Besides, it wasn’t that it didn’t fully know that it was perfectly safe with Edix, it was smart enough to know he was at the very least the safest option when presented with any other Venandi. Edix had been upset, and it knew he was upset, so of course it would want to avoid a potentially hostile predator before-

--before it snatched the little one in its teeth.

Fuck, fuck, he was an idiot. Maybe he wasn’t as cut out for this as he thought, not like Ylva who was the very essence of motherhood. No. Now wasn’t the time for self doubts and pity, not when the human was in such a state. Slowly, hands cupped around its shaking form, mindful to make sure his fingers were in its view so it wouldn’t be any more startled when he lifted it up, not that he was completely sure it was actually seeing anything in front of it. The little one hardly reacted to the movement, laying limp when he pressed it against his chest and moved to sit up against the headboard of the bed in a similar fashion to what he had done the first night the poor thing was on the ship.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay,” he whispered to it, rubbing his thumb along the curve of its back just how it liked whenever it dozed, “you’re okay, we’re fine, it’s okay to cry. I’m sorry I scared you, I’m so sorry.”

Normally in these types of instances, he’d be purring and shushing the little sweetheart until he was able to get it down for a nap, but he had little confidence that any other types of chest vibrations would have its usual effect of making the human drowsy currently. When it finally started blinking again, the tears that had welled up ran freely down its cheeks, quickly biting down on its wobbling lip to prevent any sobs from escaping and get it in trouble for misbehaving. He softly clicked his tongue at it and cooed, anything to put it at ease with a softer demeanor. “I know, honey, I know. I won’t ever do that again, I promise."

Well, if nothing else, at least the little one’s apprehension of him wasn’t unfounded anymore, much to his dismay.

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Why Can't This Be Love

Chapter 1: Here It Comes

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Click to read on Archive 

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Title - Why Can't This Be Love by Van Halen

Dedicated to @slashpalooza and @sam-i-am2468

___

Eddie’s Tuesday started out as it normally did. Half a grapefruit for breakfast, thoroughly shower, text his best friend, Richie, a stupid meme, call Mike to confirm lunch for tomorrow, work from 8am to 6pm, and come home to pour himself a glass of wine. 

Right now he was pouring 4 glasses because around 3:00pm, Beverly called asking if her and Ben could come by to tell him something exciting and that Richie had to be there too. He was not sure what they could possibly want to talk about with the two of them. Eddie tried to push down the anxiety that they might be angry about something. He was pretty sure he didn’t do anything horrible recently, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Richie! Can you help me?” Eddie shouted from the kitchen of his apartment. “I don’t have enough hands to carry everything!”

“Coming, my love!” Richie joked annoyingly. Although Eddie didn’t find it entirely annoying, it’s just Richie being ridiculous. 

His tall friend padded into the kitchen wearing his worn out leather jacket that he thought made him look cool, a print shirt with a meme on it that Eddie didn’t get, and jeans, “I know what they are going to tell us.” Richie stated confidently with a little bounce in his step. 

“Did they tell you already? That’s not fair!” Eddie said in frustration. “They couldn’t wait two more damn minutes?”

“No, I have a guess, Eds.” 

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“I think Ben finally got the courage to propose to Beverly.” Richie went on with a smile. “Or she grabbed him by the balls and told him to do it.”

Eddie snorted at the imagery and wouldn’t put it past Bev to be that aggressive but probably wouldn’t to the love of her life. “That’s wonderful if it’s the news.” 

“I bet you 50 bucks it is,” Richie challenged, “Ben was looking mighty anxious at Bill’s wedding a year ago.” 

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, “I barely remember Bill’s wedding. I was so blackedout.” 

Richie rolled his eyes dramatically, “You were stupidly mourning the loss of Myra the hydra.” Eddie cringed at the mention of his ex-girlfriend. 

“Be nice, Rich.” Eddie frowned. He pulled out a packet of thin mint girl scout cookies for all of them to snack on.  

Richie rolled his eyes as he sipped quickly from the glass of wine, clearly not finished speaking, “I don’t know why either. She was a carbon copy of your mother. Her leaving was the best thing to ever happen to you.” 

“Yes, being extremely single has done wonders for my self-esteem.” Eddie mumbled.

Richie leaned over and flicked Eddie’s nose, “You’re a catch, dummy.” 

He yelped, rubbing his nose and getting goosebumps from their intensely close position. Eddie grabbed the other two glasses, thin mints and turned on his heel to walk out of the kitchen. “Fine, 50 bucks it isn’t an engagement.” 

“Sweet! Also, those pants look good on you.” Richie pointed out following from behind him. 

Eddie’s cheeks heated up a little, he purposely wore these dark navy blue jeans because Richie always compliments them. He wondered if Richie remembered that he did this every time. Eddie doubted it. When it was just the two of them, Richie constantly tried to make Eddie feel special and wanted. Eddie suspected Richie did it because he felt sorry for him, but he couldn’t be sure. Despite knowing his best friend pretty well, he was also a huge enigma. Constantly says whatever is on his mind, does the most spontaneous - borderline suicidal - things, and keeps a smile on his face no matter what he may be feeling. 

They plop down on the couch in Eddie’s living room. His place was what Richie called a ‘clean mess’, probably the best description of Eddie ever said. He had the habit of hoarding things he didn’t really need. Piles of books on every table that he had already read, knick-knacks from trips, more candles than any one person needed on all open surfaces. He had really nice furniture that matched well in a blend of warm colors. Beverly and Ben sat in two mahogany chairs across from them, holding hands. 

Eddie placed the wine glasses on monster movie poster coasters that Richie gifted him years ago when they were teens. They grew up together and remained close throughout the years, regardless of college or moving around. In fact, Eddie had six very close friends from childhood. The group called themselves the Losers Club, a title courtesy of Richie. 

“Thanks, Eddie!” Beverly said nicely. Ben thanked him too. Richie sat beside Eddie, the side of their thighs touching as he scooted closer to hand him wine. Eddie always felt so comfortable around all his friends, they were the only ones he let be touchy with him. He used to hate germs and be easily disgusted by everything, but when the people he was closest with shared food, drinks, and beds with him, that feeling went away gradually. 

“Alright, lads,” Richie started up with a newsies kid accent. “What’s the scoop? Striking Pulitzer again?” 

“Well,” Ben’s round cheeks turned pink as he said, “We’ve got pretty big news.” Eddie observed Ben take both Beverly’s hands into his own big ones. 

Beverly was practically jumping in her seat, her flamming red short curls bouncing against the sides of her face. She shared a big smile with Ben as she blurted out, “WE ARE GETTING MARRIED!”

“FUCK YES!” Richie shouted. He flew off the couch tackling Beverly in a huge hug. 

“Please, don’t hurt my girlfrie-I mean fiancé.” Ben said softly, clearly surprised how much he enjoyed calling her that. 

Eddie got up to hug Ben tightly, saying congratulations. Beverly kissed both men before they sat back down. Eddie raised his glass. “Cheers, to two people who’s friendship, romance, and love are unparalleled.” 

They clinked glasses and drank. Richie bumped Eddie lightly, “Cheers to owing me $50.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie nodded toward the counter. “You can grab it from my wallet before you go home.” 

“You can just buy me dinner this weekend.” Richie waved his hand.

“So Rich, you know what me getting married also means?” Beverly’s eyes shined brightly at him. He looked between her and Ben, thinking. Then dawning flashed on his face. He put his glass down and stood on the couch. 

“Richie, no!” Eddie pleaded desperately. “You are going to fall! Idiot!” 

He jumped up and down like a child discovering Christmas came early. “I AM GOING TO BE DUDE OF HONOR!” 

They all laughed at his excitement. One of the things the losers club decided in their 20’s, after a particularly ugly fight about who would be who’s best man or ‘dude of honor’ in this case, was that each of them would take turns. 

So far, Bill and Stanley had gotten married. To two incredible women, Audra and Patty. Eddie was Bill’s and Bill was Stan’s best man. The rest of the sequence goes: Mike is Richie’s, Richie is Bev’s, Bev is Eddie’s, Stan is Ben’s, and Ben is Mike’s. Mike is fairly confident he won’t get married and neither will Richie, which he says is for the best as he is far too stressed as a person to get married or be a best man. 

Eddie recalled that a huge fight he had with Myra was over Beverly being his Best Woman. She shouted at him for hours that there was no reason a woman should be when he had all these guy friends. Explaining the losers club deal to her did nothing but place fuel on the fire. ‘Sometimes I think you love them more than me!’ Looking back, he most certainly did. Eddie was fairly certain he would always love the losers most in this world. Which furthered the cycle of being horribly single. Sometimes he thought he was in a polyamorous asexual relationship with 6 other people. They were too close.

Richie finished up his jumping and landed on the couch half on Eddie. “OW!” Eddie yelled. “That fucking hurt. You aren’t light enough to plop all your weight on me.” 

Richie slung an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and kissed the side of his face. “Sorry, Eds.”

Eddie wiped his face that got kissed on Richie’s shoulder, pretending to get the germs off. “Have you told everyone else?” 

“We have…” Ben begun slowly. Eddie didn’t like the tone he was using. “Stanley’s already started his best man duties.”

“Why wouldn’t you just tell us you’re getting married altogether like Bill and Stan did?” Richie said, seeming to also realize this was odd. 

“Because we have to ask a favor of you.” Ben brought his hand up to start biting his nails the way he did when he was about to deliver bad news. 

“Favor is too nice, babe. This is not a favor or a request. It is a requirement if you both want to be at this wedding.” Beverly let go of Ben’s hand to place it on her knee. She rubbed her thighs once, gearing up to tell them. Eddie had a couple guesses about what she may want to say but nothing prepared him for what it actually was, “You have to bring a date.” 

Eddie leaned back in confusion, realizing Richie’s arm was still around him so it brought them both laying back against the couch. Richie removed his arm and started fidgeting with his fingers. Eddie worried his bottom lip before saying quietly, “Why?” 

Beverly looked to Eddie with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Eddie, but we don’t want a repeat of Stan and Bill’s weddings.”

Eddie’s face immediately turned red with embarrassment. Three years ago, Stanley got married and that was around when he left his mother’s place for the third time. A year later, Bill got married and he had his break up with Myra. On both occasions, Eddie took a bad combination of too many pills and drinking more than he ever had in his life. Resulting in major blackouts and behavior he cannot remember but knows second hand from everyone what happened.

“Why do we both have to have dates?” Richie said, voice a little strained and weird.

Beverly rounded on him with no sympathy. “Because, Richard, when YOU go to weddings you fuck everyone and break shit. A date will keep you focused on that person and not be a chaotic monster with a death wish.”

Richie laughed, “If I want to be fucked by all your bridesmaids at the same time then I should be allowed to do that!”

Beverly’s voice rose higher, “That’s literally not possible, asshole! And the only bridesmaid is Kay McCall.” 

“Damn. Kay’s beautiful but I don’t screw married women.” Richie’s face scrunched up. “Does that make her a bride’s matron?”

“High morals there Richie,” Ben said trying to lighten the mood.

“You know it Ben Handsome.” He winked. 

Eddie sat there trying to word what he wanted to say carefully. As Richie continued to dig himself a deeper hole, “We are getting off-topic. I’m saying if I want to have sex with someone and have a little fun or if Eddie wants to get so drunk he mistakes your grandma for a urinal, then we should have that right.” 

This brings Eddie back, “Richie!” 

“What? Nana Denbrough thought she was at a waterpark. You’re fine.” 

He put his hands on his face and folded forward. Richie scratched his back soothingly but didn’t stop trying to defend himself. Beverly eventually got so fed up that she pulled out her phone and played a video from YouTube. 

“Exhibit A, Bill and Audra’s wedding.” She said viciously. 

Eddie groaned as he raised his head to watch the screen. Bill’s younger brother Georgie had filmed people talking about Bill and Audra. He put the most unfortunate video, starring Eddie and Richie, on the internet for the world to see. 

Video Eddie looked miserable and spaced out. Georgie had to say his name three times before Eddie looked up and hiccuped. “Oh hey, Georgie!” Video Eddie said enthusiastically. “Having fun kiddo?” 

“I’m 21, Eddie. Not really a kid anymore.” Georgie’s voice said laughing. 

“Stay a kid forever,” Eddie begged him.

“Ok, Eddie. What do you want to say to Bill and Audra?” 

“Bill...I want you to know that you are the bravest man alive and I would die for you. Audra, you better be good to him.” Video Eddie points at the camera and almost falls forward. Suddenly, video Richie appears, catching him. He giggles bopping video Richie on the nose and keeping his face precariously close to video Richie’s face. 

Video Eddie frowns suddenly and looks back at the camera, “But don’t fall too too in love. You might get your heart broken like me. Love is dumb. Women are dumb. They don’t really care about you.” 

Video Richie had his hair slicked back and was laughing at video Eddie’s truths, “Eds! This day isn’t about you. It’s about Bill and Audra. We should be telling stories about them!”

“Oh god,” Eddie said as his stomach turned reliving the next part again. 

“So Audra, let me tell you about Bill’s first time. He had a girlfriend in high school, blonde and pretty, much like yourself and they were dating for about…” 

Video Eddie hiccups, “4 months.” Then smashes his face into video Richie’s neck. “You smell like whiskey.” He winces.

Video Richie laughed, cheeks reddening from drunkenness, “Thank you, Eds. When they decided to fuck for the first time, he got everything all set and she came over that evening. As he was eating her out.” 

“Richie, kids could see this.” Video Georgie warned through obvious laughter.

“As Bill was going downtown on her hoo-hoo she got a little too excited and shat the bed.” All three men were shrieking with laughter. Video Eddie wrapped his arms around video Richie, shaking uncontrollably with glee. Despite the horribleness of the situation, Eddie smiled a little. “Now it’s unclear where all the crap ended up but we can guess that…”

Beverly stopped the video glaring at Richie intently. Eddie looked at him and he only smiled. “We won’t even get into the nuclear mess that was Stanley and Patti Uris’s wedding right now. But we want you both to have a date so there is no chance of you completely embarrassing me, Ben, and yourselves.” 

Eddie scoffed, “Richie embarrasses himself on every date he goes on. What makes you think one brought to the wedding will be any better?” 

“Oh yeah?” Richie gazed at him steadily. Eddie braced himself for the incoming insult. As much as he could dish it, he rarely could take it. Especially against Richie’s quick tongue, “And when was the last time you even fucking went on a date to embarrass yourself?” 

“I can get dates!” 

“A night alone with your right hand isn’t a date.”

“Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth!” 

Suddenly, two armchair pillows smacked the side of Eddie and Richie’s heads. They both rounded on Beverly and Ben but the stare of death Beverly was giving stopped their prepared protests. 

“If you assholes want to come to my wedding,”

“Our wedding…” Ben whispered.

She turned her ever reddening face, almost the color of her hair, at her financé, “Not if you correct me, Benjamin! Don’t make me marry myself!” She focused back on Eddie and Richie, pointing a bitten nail at them menacingly. “...you will have dates and BEHAVE at the reception or so help me, I’ll castrate you!” 

There was a pregnant pause broken by the one who can never stay quiet long. “What about the ceremony?” Richie responded, “Can I at least ruin that?”

She stared at him, everyone ready for more yelling but instead she broke into a gorgeous smile and laughed. It lightened the moment but Eddie didn’t find he felt any less anxious. He fully contemplated this enormous request from his friends. Finding a good wedding date took time, he only ever had committed relationships. Well, the one with Myra. As much as Richie’s words hurt, he was right. Eddie didn’t go on dates. People didn’t tend to find him datable. “Too short, too high maintenance, too weird” were just a few of the flaws that consumed him. He had no clue how he was expected to get someone to go to this wedding with him. 

The four of them started discussing wedding details, Beverly and Richie talking a mile a minute about everything that had to get done. He was especially excited to plan a bachelorette party. With how much money Ben and Bev make, it sounded like they would get their dream wedding easily. 

Eddie was thrilled for them but that pang of being single and now having to find a date was eating him alive for the two more hours they stayed. When they finally called it a night, Beverly and Ben hugged them promising to talk tomorrow. 

Richie did not follow them out which meant he wanted to drink and talk more, probably spend the night there. Eddie had a guest room that was essentially Richie’s room since he spent the most time there. 

“You want ice cream?” Richie shouted from the kitchen where he was most likely opening another bottle of wine. 

“With chocolate syrup!” Eddie yelled back. 

“Oh, chocolate syrup night means major troubles.” Richie laughed. 

“What are we gonna do Rich?” Eddie whined miserably. “Or rather, what the fuck am I going to do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“About the fucking dates!” Eddie laid sideways on the couch, grabbing the cushion pillow and placing it over his face to scream into. 

“Don’t be a drama queen.” Richie said. The couch shifted as he sat down by Eddie’s legs. 

“That’s easy for you to say.” Eddie mumbled into the pillow. 

Two hands extracted the pillow from his face. Eddie kept his eyes scrunched closed. “I can’t speak pillow.” 

Eddie huffed out, “It’s easy for you to not be worried. You are a serial dater.” 

“Open your eyes, Eds.” Richie chuckled. Eddie opened them to pout childishly at him.

He had his smirky smile on, which could only mean he had a terrible idea. “I have a great idea to get us out of getting actual dates.”

Eddie stared at him from his laid down position, probably giving Richie an unattractive double chin, “There is no loophole in this agreement, Rich. Beverly was really fucking clear. We have to have dates.” 

“And we will.” Richie poured wine into both their glasses. He handed it to Eddie, forcing him to sit up in order to drink it. While Eddie drank normally, Richie downed his quickly then licked his lips. 

“Who am I gonna have to take to Ben and Beverly’s wedding?”

Richie watched him carefully, opened his mouth and said, “You’ll take me. I will be your wedding date. And by default, you will be mine” Eddie’s mouth dropped and Richie clinked his empty glass with Eddie’s full one.

______________________

In honor of IT: Chapter 2 coming out soon, I have begun writing this fake dating idea! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, comment here or on archive and let me know your thoughts and feels! The title is thanks to Slashpalooza on tumblr who asked me a million years ago to write something with this title!

Tag List (Starting a new tag list since I don’t know who is still around in the fandom. Let me know if you want to be tagged):

@sarah011 @pan-ini @frankeeenstein @sam-i-am2468 @eds-kas @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @roobarrtrashmouth @hypnoidvoid @imeddie @slashpalooza @reddieforlove 

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Okay! I really like the Slytherin!Sirius x Gryffindor!James stuff and also I love how you write Regulus so could we have something like Regulus and Remus being friends and trying to get their idiot friends/brothers on a date?

Regulus knew, intellectually, that his parents cut him a lot of slack. He was the second son, so they didn't have to worry about all the decisions he made that they didn't like. He was in Ravenclaw, which wasn't bad, but it wasn't Slytherin like they would have preferred. He was the only living Black family member to not be in Slytherin. He was friends with people who were in Gryffindor, which they certainly didn't like, but for the most part, they kept their mouths shut about it and gave Sirius pointed looks over tea. 

So yes, Regulus knew, logically, that his parents didn't come down as hard on him as they could have, but it didn't feel like it. He still hated them. He still tried to impress them, failed, and got embarrassed about them so he could swing back into hating them and telling himself that he wasn't going to try and give them any attention. It was a cycle that he didn't enjoy, but there was a terrible sort of comfort in the fact that whatever he was dealing with, Sirius had it worse. Merlin and Morgana did Sirius have it worse. Sirius hated their parents. Not the same way Regulus did, where he swung back and forth and sometimes told himself that maybe they weren't as bad as he remembered; Sirius hated them, hated everything about them and what they wanted him to do, but he did it anyways. 

Regulus wasn't under any delusions as to why that was. He was protecting Regulus. Like he always did. Regulus wasn't brave; he couldn't stand up for himself and take away the weight Sirius was bearing on his behalf, but he could do something for Sirius. Something to make him feel better. A little less miserable. He wasn't brave, but he could do that much. As it just so happened, he had the perfect plan in mind: he was going to get Sirius a date with James Potter. 

It wasn't an idea from nowhere. Regulus's best friend was Remus, who in turn was best mates with James. Remus had complained a couple dozen times about James talking about how fit Sirius was, and Regulus had noticed the way Sirius allowed his eyes to linger on Gryffindor's star Quidditch player from time to time. Sirius had a stupid amount of self-control though, and he wouldn't even admit to Regulus's face that he thought James was fit, let alone that he fancied him. All it would really take to get Sirius and James together though, would be a few pointed moves by Regulus and Remus and voila! Victory-- and happiness for the smooching couple, but that was like, a secondary thing. 

"I have a proposition for you," Regulus said, out of the blue as far as Remus could tell. They were in the library doing Charms homework when Regulus got around to remembering the idea at the same time that he was around Remus. 

"Hm?" 

"We should get James and Sirius together." 

"Please tell me you're joking," Remus said. A beat. "You're not joking." 

Regulus shook his head. "It's brilliant-" 

"I doubt that very much." 

Regulus flicked a broken quill at him. "As I was saying," he continued primly, "it'll get James to calm down enough that you can stand being around him, and it'll get Sirius to relax. I think we both have vested interests in those consequences, wouldn't you say?" 

Remus stared at him. Blinked. "You're so weird," he muttered. 

"So you'll help me?" 

"Of course." 

*

"You sure that's what you want to do, Regulus?" Sirius asked, looking straight at him. He wasn't fooled for an instant, and Regulus got the distinct impression that he'd live to regret this if the date didn't go well. 

"Relax mate," James said from the other side of the table, "it's just butterbeer. It's not like he's trying to cop some firewhiskey from Madame Rosmerta or summat." 

"Exactly," Remus said, then grabbed Regulus's arm and dragged him away from the table before Sirius could make Regulus rethink his choices. 

"You realise they're not coming back, don't you?" Sirius said, turning towards James with an eyebrow raised. 

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked, frowning. 

"All signs point to this being a misguided set-up between the two of us." 

James blinked. Sirius would be lying if he said it wasn't adorable-- those big doe eyes behind his glasses and half-hidden under a fringe of hair that couldn't be tamed. Regulus had noticed Sirius looking (if not for years, then at least he picked it up sometime in the past few months), but James had missed it entirely, judging by the surprise on his face. "What? I- Remus?" His face flamed, and he looked for his runaway friend. "I'm going to bloody murder him," he muttered. 

"What happened to 'it's only a butterbeer'?" Sirius couldn't help but ask, raising an eyebrow. 

"That was when I thought they were coming back," James hissed. 

Sirius snorted, then clicked his mug against James's. "You going to enjoy your drink or are you going to stage a heroic retreat?" 

At the word retreat, James's face set stubbornly. If he hadn't already been sitting, he would've done it right then, just to prove a point. He took a sip of his drink, staring at Sirius all the while. 

Wow. Sirius couldn't have planned that better if he tried. Maybe he should give Regulus some slack for his too-obvious methods at the start, since clearly he'd had some clue for what would happen if he could get both of them here. "So is this you admitting that a date with me wouldn't be the worst thing ever, or are you expecting for me to be the one to run off so you can save face?" 

"Saving face is for people who don't have the bollocks to back up what they say." 

Sirius was horribly charmed by that the conviction with which he said that. Of course, he had a bad habit of being charmed by everything James did that didn't immediately annoy him-- and even then, it was something of a toss up that was mostly based by Sirius's mood and little else. "I feel like I should keep you talking to see how true that is." 

"Alright." James took a swig. "What do you want me to talk about?" 

"Your little group of friends." 

"The Marauders," James said. 

"Yeah. Does it not strike you as a little silly to have come up with a group name?" 

James narrowed his eyes. "Are you picking a fight, Black?" 

"I wasn't, but if you call me by my last name, that's exactly what's going to happen. Between you and me, I don't think you'd come out on top," Sirius said, more bite to his voice than he meant for there to be. He leaned back after noticing how he'd started to go over the table as he talked. He cleared his throat and took a sip. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea." Before he could stand, James's foot knocked against his-- light and purposeful. 

"Stay," he said, tone tinged with pleading, even if he wouldn't admit to it aloud. Hell, he couldn't even make eye contact right now, but the fact that he cared enough to try at all was reason enough for Sirius to stay. 

"Fine, but I want the good stories. None of the sanitized stories you tell to Evans." 

"You think Lily is a lot more innocent in these proceedings than she is." 

"For the sake of her position as Head Girl, I'll pretend that I didn't hear that," Sirius said with a smirk. Honestly, he'd thought that James would be a bit more reserved telling him anything, let alone details that could get another precious Gryffindor in trouble. James and his little group was one thing, Lily Evans was another. "Didn't you two date for a while?" 

James made a face. "I wouldn't call one month 'a while'." 

"You only dated for a month?" Sirius asked incredulously. "Bloody hell. I thought it was more like a year." 

"A year?" James repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah." 

"She'd never be able to put up with me for that long." 

"Your mates seem to have put up with you for several years and still want more." Sirius knew that he definitely wanted more, but to be fair to Evans, he'd mostly been watching from a distance. Talking in class didn't really count as spending time together-- unless it was someone he buggering hated, in which case class time was far too much. 

"Yeah but that's friends, not dating. Trust me, they'd get tired of me pretty quickly if we were dating." 

"Maybe you just need someone made of stronger stuff." 

James opened his mouth to retort, probably to say something about how Evans was plenty strong, but he must have caught the look on Sirius's face, because he stopped. Blushed a little and said, "Maybe. Got any volunteers?" 

[hiddendreamer67]

The Human Among Dragons (2/?)

Summary: After figuring out that the human might be the only way for Virgil to gain answers about what he is, Virgil decides to take matters into his own hands. His draconian parents do not appreciate his act of defiance.

Read more of my writing at @hiddendreamerwriting! Links to previous parts and the taglist in my reblog.

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“Virgil, we understand that you are frightened, and may wish to raise some concerns-” Logan was once again cut off as Virgil whirled around.

“Oh, we’re well past concerned.” Virgil hissed. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“No idea.” Patton shrugged honestly.

“Then- then why was he attacking us?” Virgil frowned. “And why did you attack back?”

“It was merely self defense, kiddo-”

“Patton, you almost killed him!” Virgil gestured to the body on the cave floor, trembling quite a bit. Me. He realized. That could have been me. 

Virgil had never been afraid of his parents before, but now he was looking at their claws and teeth in a new light, wondering what else they had done to humans in the past.

“Patton did what needed to be done.” Logan explained quietly, readjusting to lick at his own wounds. “That villain was charging at you.” 

“No.” Virgil shook his head. That….that didn’t sound right. “I think he was trying to- protect me?” Virgil glanced back at the human. Not necessarily a villain, not necessarily a hero. Definitely an idiot, though. 

“He was trying to take you away.” Logan growled, and that dangerous glint in his eye returned. Virgil backed up a step, keeping himself between his dad and the human lest Logan get overrun by rage and tear it apart. 

“Virgil, you don’t know humans like we do.” Patton spoke gently, and despite knowing he was a fledgling Virgil found his tone demeaning. 

“And whose fault is that?” Virgil challenged, standing up straighter and folding his arms. “Who hid this from me, even after all your talk of ‘knowledge is power’?”

“Knowledge is power, but it’s also dangerous.” Logan lectured.

“Well so is ignorance!” Virgil argued. “What about the time I nearly died eating death caps? If you just told me about the dangerous stuff in the world, I wouldn’t need to be so afraid of it all!”

“What you’re asking is impossible, there are not enough cycles in a millennia to inform you of every danger in the realm.” Logan huffed, a bit of smoke forming. “We tell you what information is crucial at the time to be beneficial.”

“You didn’t think this was a bit crucial?!” Virgil gestured wildly back and forth between the intruder and himself, pleading with his eyes for some sort of explanation he knew wouldn’t be easily received. 

Virgil was sick and tired of this conversation. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered if his parents were just stalling, waiting to see if the human bled out. Virgil huffed, turning his back to the dragons again and taking a few certain steps forward. 

“Virgil.” Patton’s tone was more authoritative than normal. “So help me, if you take one more step-”

“You’ll throw me against the wall?” Virgil’s voice was void of emotion, stopping in his tracks.

“Wha- NO!” Patton recoiled at the thought. “No, Dewdrop, I would never, I just- Virgil, I’m so sorry you had to see that. But you have to understand, that knight is a threat to us all. Humans send them to hunt us down like wild animals. They’re vicious, trained killers and they will pull whatever tricks necessary to get what they want, and if they’re victorious they’ll return with a whole army of humans wanting to pick our hoards clean.” 

Virgil was quiet a moment, watching the blood pool slowly at his feet. He was almost sick at the sight; he had never seen so much blood in his life that was red like his own and not the dark golden hue of everyone else.

“Is it true then?” Virgil asked, knowing he needed a decisive answer. “Am I human?”

A beat. “Virgil, you’re our son.”

“Am. I. Human.” Virgil repeated through gritted teeth, hating how Patton dodged the question.

“...Yes.” Logan answered finally, laying his head on his paws with a sigh. “Anatomically, yes, you are a human being.”

That was all Virgil needed to hear. With a flourish, Virgil removed his jacket, laying it on top of the stranger. The action was purposeful, a sure sign of rebelliance, the fleshling well aware of the significance a claim held. Virgil heard two gasps of shock behind him, and all of a sudden he was being yanked through the air.

“H-hey!” Virgil protested, kicking his legs as he dangled from Patton’s mouth like a scolded kitten.

“Now you have gone too far, young man.” Patton huffed, his warm breath rolling over Virgil and making him sweat. 

“Stop it, put me down!” Virgil continued to struggle. “You can’t stop me, he’s mine.”

“Considering all but three seconds ago it was revealed that you do not possess draconian blood, I hardly think you can lay a true dragon’s claim.” Logan argued, but his nostrils twitched at the scent wafting from across the room.

Virgil felt his heart sinking, knowing that magic was his only option. Physically, he would never be a match for his parents, and now he knew why. 

“Please dad.” Virgil pleaded, choosing to look Logan in the eye since right now Patton was an impossible target. “I- I need to know more. From both sides of this. And if you ever really loved me, I think you’ll know I deserve enough respect to have this claim, true dragon or otherwise.”

That clearly hit a nerve, Logan’s ears flattening as the chief appeared outright shocked. “Virgil, I have known your origins this entire time. I do not think of you as any less because of your species.”

“Then prove it.” Virgil tilted his chin towards the human. Dragon claims were a magic thing, meant for everything from creating hoards to choosing a mate. As such, any claim that might be disputed was up to the chief to decide its validity.

Logan glanced at the perceived prize across the cave, hating the idea of losing the right to tear the human limb from limb for threatening his family. “What is the purpose of your claim, fledgling?” Logan asked, stretching out his chin and going into full regal mode.

“I want to heal him.” Virgil decided, ignoring Patton’s whine of distress. “And I’ll keep him until I deem fit.” Patton shook his head gently, making Virgil sway back and forth.

“We will have to discuss the human’s final judgement at a later date.” Logan sighed, looking weary already for the future. “But for today… your claim is legitimate.” 

There was a small violet glow across the room, Virgil’s jacket transferring some of his magic scent onto the human trespasser. Former trespasser, Virgil supposed, considering as Virgil’s human his place was now among the clan, in a way. Though Virgil was beginning to doubt his own place here.

“Thank you.” Virgil gave a slight sigh of relief, rushing back over after Patton hesitantly returned his feet to the ground. Virgil flipped the human over, tying the jacket tightly around the wounds to try and staunch the flow. 

“Do you… want any help?” Patton offered cautiously, hovering over his shoulder.

“I think you’ve done enough.” Virgil snipped. He winced, turning his head to the side. “No, sorry, I… I didn’t mean that dad.”

“I know.” Patton accepted Virgil’s apology by nuzzling against Virgil’s forehead. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this, kiddo.”

Virgil was quiet, focused on trying to figure out how to heal without any magic of his own. He could feel both parents now breathing down his neck. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Virgil finally settled on the easiest method, grabbing some fairy floss from his pocket and placing it in swirls along the injuries. If it worked on him, it should work on this guy. Since they were ...the same. More or less. The scale-less ones. Jeez, Virgil didn’t even know this guy’s name.

“We did not want you to feel ostracized.” Logan explained.

“What, and it was so much better for me to just be a crippled dragon instead?” Virgil still had trouble wrapping his mind around all this. The idea that his wings were truly never going to grow in was still a bit of a bummer. 

“Virgil, you’re one of us.” Patton insisted, nudging his son gently in the back. “No matter what your body looks like, fleshy and all.”

“But maybe I don’t want to be one of you guys!” Virgil spoke out loud without thinking, and instantly regretted it. 

“...What.” Logan raised an eyebrow, and the fact it was not phrased as a question sent a chill up Virgil’s spine.

“I-I mean, I dunno.” Virgil quickly backtracked, focusing intently on his work. “I didn’t- I don’t mean that.” What do you know? “It’s just- this is a lot to take in. You’ve been hiding a whole part of my life from me. Maybe I want to...go see it for myself.”

“Absolutely not.” Logan decided for him, just as he always did. “The outside world is too treacherous.” 

“You’ve told me that before.” Virgil said offhandedly. “You also told me humans are dangerous.”

“They are.” Patton insisted. “Virgil, humans aren’t like dragons. They don’t get along. They don’t share. Just because you’re human doesn’t mean they’ll treat you any kinder than this knight treated Logan and I. Humans are real squishy, and they exploit that weakness against each other.” To prove his point, Patton gave Virgil a gentle prod with his claw.

“Well said, Patton.” Logan agreed, his expression once again dark. “Be wary with this one. The moment he becomes a threat to you or the tribe, I will not hesitate to protect this family.”

“Hey, paws off!” Virgil growled, trying to be intimidating just as Logan was doing. “I can take care of myself.” Virgil paused, glancing down at his human. He gulped. “But uh… what sort of tricks do humans usually pull?”

“You have to disarm him, Buttercup.” Patton suggested gently. “The sharp bits, you’ll want them off. Just like you, humans don’t have claws or scales. They bring their own.”

“...weird.” Virgil decided, already shuffling through the knight’s bag. He decided to just put it on himself and keep everything, not able to decipher what might be used against him. Besides, the knight’s belongings were his now, anyway. By claim association; which also meant that Logan and Patton had a claim on his human through their claim of Virgil as their son, but Virgil tried not to let that get to his head. If he got paranoid now, he might never trust his parents again.

Which was already proving to be difficult, considering they had lied to him about his species for over twenty years and kept him isolated from any one of his kind. 

“I’m going to my hoard.” Virgil decreed, hoisting the human up with one arm under the back and the other behind the knight’s knees. “Don’t wait up.” 

“Ah, Virgil.” Logan’s voice stopped him. “One last request.”

Virgil didn’t think they were in any sort of position to be asking favors, but out of respect for the loving parents he once thought they were Virgil stayed put.

“Keep this a secret amongst us.” Logan explained.

“Oooh, yes.” Patton hissed in sympathy. “If word gets out that a human is being kept in our lands, there could be chaos.”

Virgil gave a long, slow blink. “Jee, wouldn’t want that to happen.” Virgil said sarcastically. Logan gave a decisive nod, the sarcasm going straight over his head.

“Virgil, you’re different.” Patton sighed sadly.

“Am I?” Without waiting for an answer, Virgil marched straight out of the cave.

[saiilorstars]

Star-Crossed

Previous Story || Current Masterlist

Chapter 1: A Different Christmas

Fandom: Doctor Who

Pairing: 10th Doctor x Female OC

(Minerva’s face claim: Victoria Camacho)

(Kaeya’s face claim: Michelle Trachtenberg)

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Story Summary: Minerva & the Doctor are now together and ready for their next set of adventures with Donna Noble! However, things get complicated when secrets of Minerva's family are revealed and Minerva is forced into a certain process. How will Minerva & the Doctor react when they figure out the ultimate secret of the Moontsays? What will Minerva become in the end? *Second in the Monsoon Seasons*

Chapter summary: It’s Christmas on the Titanic, the perfect setting for Minerva’s and the Doctor’s first date..until there’s a count-down for the ship to crash land on Earth. 

Author's Note: For those who have read the last story, this story will no longer follow Minerva's POV and will have certain scenes without Minerva and the Doctor that I deem important to the story.

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Minerva and the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, wanting to clarify where the hell they had landed in. Minerva was actually a bit nervous due to the name Titanic being scrawled over the life preserver. That name hadn't led to good events...

The pair stepped out into a supply closet, the Doctor closing the door of the TARDIS, wiping his hands and taking Minerva's to lead them out. He wasn't quite used to holding her hand so openly and so he hoped he wasn't pushing her or making her a tad uncomfortable. But as they entered a new room decorated for Christmas with crowded people dressed for a fancy occasion, Minerva gasped at the sight and pulled him by their interlaced hands to a window. .

She didn't mind one bit.

"This is outer space!" she exclaimed, blinking as she looked out the window.

"Right..." the Doctor mumbled as he took a turn at the window.

"Attention all passengers. The Titanic is now in orbit above Sol 3, also known as Earth. Population: Human."

~0~

Minerva fixed the last of her dress before stepping inside the console room, about to call she was done when she heard the low grumbles of the Doctor. The Martian stood with his back to her, beside the console, his arms seeming to be fixing something on his front.

"Anything the matter?" she asked shyly as she made her way over.

The Doctor turned around, gesturing to his undone bowtie, "I don't like them," he declared, about to make a whole lecture on why he would never ever wear a bow tie despite what she had once told him about his future self...until he really saw Minerva.

Minerva noticed his look lingering on her and shifted nervously, tugging on a side of her dress, "Martha usually helped me fix myself for you," she began her excuse over her appearance, "She was the eyes behind my back," she tried looking over her shoulder for any flaw she could've missed.

"No, you look...wow," the Doctor whispered, his eyes trailing her over.

Minerva wore a laced black dress with three-three-quarter sleeves. The dress went above her ankles and was quite simple in reality. There was a lace cover, nearly like a sheath, that formed a deep V-neckline while the dress's under layer covered her chest. She accompanied the dress with beige stilettos. Her hair was left down, only two braids connecting in the back with a beige ribbon tied as a bow.

"Thank you," Minerva mumbled, her face flushed, "Do you need help with that?" she pointed to the Doctor's unfinished bow tie.

"Uh, yes," he blinked, remembering how uncomfortable Minerva had been when that Zian had trailed her with his eyes. He most definitely did not want to make her feel like that again.

"It's your unlucky suit," she remarked, a playful hint in her tone.

"Yeah, I'm really hoping we can break that cycle this time round."

"Perhaps we can, you look really good," she said shyly, focusing on his bowtie, "It's funny, you know," she started speaking again, her face refusing to be any other color than red, "I would think you'd be good at tying your own ties, even if they were bow ties."

"I'm a bit nervous," he confessed.

"Of what?"

"Us...this ship...but mostly us."

"Well I'm not gonna bite, if that's what you're worried over."

"You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I don't know, maybe if I get really crossed I may get a fly swatter," she playfully warned and earned a laugh.

~0~

The pair walked through the reception room of the ship, hand in hand, both studying the surroundings. There was a band ahead, playing 'Winter Wonderland'.

"Merry Christmas, sir, ma'am," a steward passed by.

"Merry Christmas!" Minerva exclaimed after him, the feeling of Christmas doing really well for her after such a horrible year...even if it never technically happened.

They walked into the room from earlier, where people were mingling about while waiters served and the band played. They passed a rather loud man, Rickston Slade, who was talking into a mobile, "It's not a holiday for me, not while I've still got my vone. Now do as I say and sell."

"That's not very nice," Minerva watched the man go, "...just like mom and dad."

"C'mon," the Doctor tugged her into a different direction, any thoughts of her parents would make her upset and that is something he would not stand for anymore. They approached a robot, golden angel dressed in a white robe with a halo, "Evening. Passenger 57. Terrible memory. Remind me. Uh, you would be..."

"Information: Heavenly Host supplying tourist information."

"Good, so, um... tell me - 'cause I'm an idiot - where are we from?"

Minerva giggled, covering her mouth so she wouldn't interfere.

"Information: the Titanic is en route from the planet Sto in the Cassavalian Belt. The purpose of the cruise is to experience primitive cultures.

Minerva cleared her throat, finishing up her giggle, this being a serious matter to her, "So the 'Titanic', huh...who exactly thought of that name?"

"Information: it was chosen as the most famous vessel of the planet Earth."

"Did they tell them why?"

"Information: all designations are chosen by Mr Max Capricorn, president of Max - Max - Max..." the Host started malfunctioning, repeating its last words until its voice became higher in pitch.

"Ooh, bit of a glitch," the Doctor reached into his pocket for the screwdriver.

A chief steward hurried over to the pair, "Sir, ma'am, we can handle this," he waved for assistance and two more stewards arrived to take the Host away, "Software problem, that's all. Leave it with us, sir. Merry Christmas," he followed the other two employees, "That's another one down. What's going on with these things?"

"Hm, see this is why ships aren't called the Titanic anymore...they start malfunctioning..." Minerva shook her head, stopping when she noticed the Doctor looking at her with a fond smile, "...what?"

"You're really adorable, do you know that?"

"...my grandparents used to tell me that," she shrugged, her cheeks turning to a pink tinge, "Plus uncle Aaron."

"Would you care for a dance?" he stepped up to her, one hand behind his back and the other offering to her.

"You know how to dance now?"

"I always danced for you, to make you feel better," he took her hand, "Now I do it because it's our date, our first date."

"Oooh, I like the sound of that," she immediately grinned.

"So do I," he led her over to the dance floor where several couples were dancing.

They positioned themselves as usual and started to dance, the Doctor actually doing a decent job. Perhaps John Smith had seeped a little through him.

He dipped Minerva, grinning proudly at the fact she was blushing deep red again, "You know, I should've done this the last couple of times we've danced..."

"Done what?" she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows, his playful grin fading as he pressed his lips to hers. He slowly brought them back up from the dip without breaking their kiss.

Before Minerva felt herself get really lost into the kiss, she pulled away, feeling so hazy, "Wow...yeah, that would've been nice."

"My beautiful complexion," he reminded, thinking of the 1950's and even the guinguette.

"Ugly complexion," she corrected sadly.

"Nah, I see beauty both inside and out. And your complexion has made you stronger, cliche or not."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, you're certainly complex...and...very good looking," she breathed, her blush deepening, "Has it made you stronger?"

"Fair game, Clever Girl," he conceded, "But...maybe not stronger, but it's definitely added perspective to my life. I've lost so much and it's made me realize that I can't waste time. I may have all the time in the world but it's nothing if I'm gonna be alone for it."

"I'm here, and I can promise you I will always try to be there...for as long as I can."

He smiled, however a sad one. Time would be a mighty strong issue for them...but he didn't want to think about it, at least not right now. Not when, after such a horrible, dark year had passed, or technically hadn't, there was finally something, someone, that made it all better.

"Doctor, I know this is off topic and all...but I just have to ask," Minerva bit her lip, hoping she wouldn't ruin this date...and potentially her relationship.

"Ask away," he grinned.

"You're really going to help Kaeya, right?"

His grin faded and he looked down at her, "Why are you asking me that?"

"Because I want to make it clear that I won't stand in the way or make one of those jealous girlfriend scenes if you're going to help her. I don't want you to go back on your word just for me. I want to help her too."

"I'm going to help her, I promise," he nodded.

"And...if you still have lingering feelings for her, well...it may be best to get that out in the open."

"Are you doubting my feelings for you?" he stepped back, ending their dance for the moment.

"It's not doubt," she continued with nervousness, "I know you feel something for me but put yourself in my shoes. I spent a year thinking, debating what your feelings were for me...what they were for Rose and Kaeya. I just want you to be sure of yourself because when Kaeya comes back, she's gonna want to be with you and I don't want my heart broken...I don't think I deserve that."

He sighed deeply, understanding Minerva's feelings. He beat himself up for all the pain he caused her throughout the last year, and even the year before where he practically ignored her. She didn't have an easy life and looking at it now he made it even more complicated. He added death threats, confusion, emotional pain; that was all him. But he knew, he was sure of what he wanted. He wanted...Minerva. Kaeya, she was still apparently the woman he met centuries ago, only sick, and what they had was something he would never forget. She was his first love and sure, it may not be entirely erased but it wasn't like he loved her anymore. He had a soft spot for her, but he wanted Minerva. Even before thinking of Kaeya he felt more inclined to Minerva, especially after 1913. He didn't want to leave her side, he wanted to make sure she was always alright, and most certainly happy. But beyond that, he wanted to be with her at all times.

When Kaeya returned, he would help her, but that would be it. He would still be friends but...that was all he could offer.

He reached for Minerva's hand, reconnecting them for their dance, "I know it's hard to trust me and my feelings, I get it. But I want you, no, I need you, to understand who I choose. Without realizing it, my hearts had already chosen you...my mind was just a bit slower."

"Twenty-six more brains than I and you're slower?"

"When it's about you then yes," he nodded, "But listen to me, I won't ever break your heart. Because if I do, I will personally throw myself into a black hole."

"It's me, then?" she asked meekly, "You chose me?"

"You're clever, listen to my words carefully," he pressed his forehead onto hers.

"And when Kaeya returns?"

"She'll receive our help and I'll set things straight."

"What if she's not happy? I wouldn't be..."

"There's not much I'd be able to do for her then," he shrugged.

"I'm really glad to hear all this," she admitted, nervously smiling, "You pick me..."

He cupped her face and smiled, "Of course I pick you, Clever Girl," he gave her a kiss to prove his words had been real.

~0~

A young blonde waitress, Astrid, accidentally bumped into Rickston Slade, and dropped her tray of drinks.

"For Tov's sake, look where you're going! This jacket's a genuine Earth antique," Rickston growled, looking down at his wet shirt.

"I'm sorry, sir," Astrid got down to pick up the shards of broken glass from the floor.

"You'll be sorry when it comes off your wages, sweetheart. Staffed by idiots. No wonder Max Capricorn is going down the drain."

"Hey, that's no way to speak someone," Minerva walked over, the man almost scoffing there was a second woman trying to annoy him, "It's Christmas."

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, "The woman dropped her drinks on me!"

"It was an accident. And my name is Minerva, you don't have to take that tone with me," she crossed her arms, "You do better if you speak in a proper manner."

"I am one of the most important people you'll ever meet, sweetheart," he sneered, "And you would do best to shut the hell up!" Minerva flinched at his high voice, "Do you know who I am?"

"No, but do you wanna know who I am?" the Doctor cut in angrily, walking in front of Minerva, "I'm gonna be the one to shut you up if you talk to my girlfriend like that again. Now vamoose."

"But she's the one that-"

"I said leave," the Doctor stepped up, gritting his teeth. He was not gonna let some snooty humanoid alien yell at his Clever Girl. He knew she was more than capable of defending herself, seeing as she had spent so much time being on her own, but now he was her boyfriend and he would defend her from people like that man.

Rickston huffed and walked off, giving Minerva a nasty glare.

The Doctor watched the man go, turning around only when he was sure Rickston was truly gone, "Minerva?" she gave him a hug, nodding her thanks, "Miss?" he looked at the waitress who quickly met his gaze at his call.

"Thank you both," Astrid said, "I didn't mean to cause trouble, honest. I was walking and I tripped, and..." she sighed, this would certainly put a dent in her job duration.

"It's alright, it wasn't your fault," Minerva let go of the Doctor and helped her pick up the remaining glass from the floor.

"Oh n-no, no, this is my job," Astrid tried to shoo Minerva's hands away.

"Please, if I didn't let the maids at my house serve me, what makes you think I'm gonna allow it now?" Minerva shook her head, smiling at the thought of her actually letting someone serve her, "I don't think so!" she set the last of the glass on the tray and stood up, Astrid following.

"That's quite a change from all the passengers I've served," Astrid confessed, sheepishly.

"You'll come to realize my girlfriend is not like anyone else you've met," the Doctor announced, rather proudly as he wound an arm around Minerva's waist. He wasted time in realizing that as well, he would make everyone see it on the first spot.

"I see that," Astrid nodded, seeing Minerva blush at the remarks.

"I'm the Doctor," he held out his free hand for the blonde.

"Astrid Peth," she shook his hand.

"Minerva Souza," the brunette held her hand out as well, Astrid nodding and shaking it next, "Merry Christmas, by the way. Hope someone's told you that before us."

Astrid chuckled at the nonsense, "No, no one ever really does."

"Well, here's a second time around, Merry Christmas."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Oh please don't," Minerva shook her head, glancing up at the Doctor, "Ma'am makes me feel old."

"That's how I feel when they call me 'sir'," he grimaced.

"You enjoying the cruise?" Astrid asked the two.

"We think it's lovely," Minerva replied, glancing around, "I've never actually been on a cruise. And it's a shame cause if it ever drowned, I would be the first to survive."

The Doctor chuckled, "Cause that doesn't sound conceited!"

"What? It's not my fault I'm a good swimmer! Coach said I could've made to the Olympics if I wanted."

"You had a coach?"

"Yeah, that was the one good thing my parents did for me. They let me take swimming classes. I was really good!"

Astrid glanced from one to another, highly amused at their lack of attention span. They acted like she wasn't currently there and not in a bad way either. They seemed so focused on each other, so...inclined to each other.

"I'd like to see you then," the Doctor nudged her, "The TARDIS sure won't hide the swimming pool from you."

"She's angry with you, you shouldn't hit her with a hammer," Minerva rolled her eyes, by chance seeing Astrid again and remembering where they currently stood, "Oh, I am so sorry Astrid! We didn't mean to ignore you, really, we're sorry." She never wanted to make anyone feel like they've been ignored, and Astrid seemed so nice that she was most definitely on that list.

"No worries, maa..." she paused as Minerva gave her a sharp look, reminding her of the name she was supposed to use, "...Minerva. No worries, Minerva."

Minerva nodded, "So are you liking the cruise? If I do remember the lessons," she glanced at the Doctor, recalling his many lessons of the great outerspace, "Planet Sto is quite far from Earth."

"Oh, it doesn't feel that different. I spent three years working at the spaceport diner, traveled all the way here...and I'm still waiting on tables," Astrid gestured to her tray and walked away, stopping by a table near a window.

"No shore leave?" the Doctor asked, the pair following her.

"We're not allowed. They can't afford the insurance. I just wanted to try it, just once. I used to watch the ships heading off to the stars and I always dreamt of...It sounds daft."

"Believe me, I've always dreamt of traveling the world. One could say I'm making it..." Minerva smiled, resting her head on the Doctor's arm.

"You dreamt of another sky. New sun, new air, new life. A whole universe teeming with life. Why stand still when there's all that life out there?" the Doctor smiled, bringing the brunette closer to him, both thinking the same way of their travels, of their lives.

"So...I take it you two travel a lot, then?" Astrid guessed with full certainty it was that way.

"All the time. Just for fun," Minerva replied.

"Well, that's the plan. Never quite works..." the Doctor sighed.

"Must be rich, though," Astrid said.

"Haven't got a penny," the Doctor whispered, Astrid's eyes widening, "But she's loaded," he nodded to Minerva.

"I'm not 'loaded'," Minerva crossed her arms, "My parents do have a good economical status...but that's them. I'm just Minerva, the stowaway."

Both smiled at each other, Astrid standing there awkwardly until they finished up their little moment, "How did you get on board?" she asked. She knew there was tons of security around the ship. How did those two manage to sneak in?

"Accident. We've got this, sort of, ship thing. I was just rebuilding her. Left the defenses down, bumped into the Titanic. Here we are. Bit of a party, I thought "Why not have a first date here?" the Doctor smiled at Minerva.

"I should report you two," Astrid looked between them, the thought never crossing her mind.

"Go ahead and try," Minerva smirked, knowing she wouldn't do it.

"I'll get you a drink..." she declared instead, leaning forwards and whispering, "...on the house," and she walked off.

"She seems lovely," Minerva remarked and turned to the Doctor, "And thank you, by the way."

"For what?" he frowned, what had he done now?

"For defending me against that snooty man," she reminded, "It was awfully nice hearing you say 'girlfriend' several times."

"Well that's what you are to me," he stepped closer, "Um...I mean...if you'd like to be..." it had occurred to him that while they did establish a relationship, he hadn't technically asked her if she wanted to be called his girlfriend.

She leaned up, only having to do it slightly with the heels she was wearing, and pecked his lips, "I think it's fantastic. I've got a boyfriend for the first time in my life."

"First kiss, first boyfriend..." the Doctor beamed, "...I'm off to a good start!"

"Wonder what else you might be the first of..." she smirked and winked, walking off.

It took the Doctor several minutes to realize her implication and when the light bulb went on...he blushed like a tomato!

~0~

Morvin and Foon Van Hoff sat at their table, trying to ignore a group of first-class passengers on the next table who were laughing and pointing at them due to their dress attire. It wasn't their fault they had fallen for a trick that said they had to use country-western outfits.

"Just ignore 'em," Movrin said to his wife.

"What's going on with them?" Minerva plopped herself on the chair beside Morvin, the Doctor sitting beside her.

"Yeah, something's tickled them," the Doctor agreed.

"They told us it was fancy dress. Very funny, I'm sure," Foon rolled her eyes.

"They're just pickin' on us because we haven't paid. We won our tickets in a competition," Morvin explained.

"I had to name the five husbands of Joofie Crystalle in "By the Light of the Asteroid". Did you ever watch..."

"Is that the one with the twins?" the Doctor asked.

"That's it. Oh, it's marvelous," Foon laughed.

"Probably not good enough for that lot," Morvin sighed, motioning to the laughing crowd, "They think we should be in steerage."

"Well, that's not nice," Minerva glanced back at the passengers.

"Certainly can't have that," the Doctor reached into his pocket, Minerva smirking when she realized. He held the sonic at his side and aimed it behind him. The champagne of the passenger's table popped its cork and sprayed them all.

"Did-did you do that?" Foon asked the Doctor, blinking as she looked from him to the passengers.

"Maybe," he shrugged and put away his screwdriver.

"Oh, we like you," she said.

"That makes three," Minerva sighed with content. He beamed and pecked her lips.

"I'm Morvin van Hoff," the man reached and shook the Doctor's hand, "This is my good woman, Foon," he gestured to his wife as he moved on to shake Minerva's hand.

"Foon. Hello, I'm the Doctor," he shook her hand, "This is my lovely girlfriend." Oh yes, he will definitely love saying that from now on. "Minerva Souza."

"Nice to meet you," Minerva shook Foon's hand.

"Pretty little thing," Foon smiled, "Although you could use some more meat on you, have a buffalo wing."

Minerva chuckled, "No thank you."

"Attention please. Shore leave tickets Red 6-7 now activated. Red 6-7," a man's voice called from a distance.

Foon took out a ticket, "Red 6-7. That's us," she stood up followed by Morvin, "Are you Red 6-7?"

"Oooh, can we?" Minerva looked at the Doctor.

"This whole not able to deny you anything is gonna get me into trouble, I can see it," he shook his head, yet smiled nonetheless at her beam, "C'mon!"

"Come on," Morvin put an arm around Foon, "We're going to Earth."

"Heeey..." Minerva's head lulled to the Doctor's, her eyes sparking with an idea, "...want to add a third person to this trip?"

"Who?" the Doctor looked around, they didn't quite know anyone around the ship.

"I've got you that drink," Astrid showed up with two glasses for the pair.

"Oooh," the Doctor nodded with realization, "Oh yeah, sure!"

Minerva clapped her hands excitedly, "We've got a treat for you!" she announced to the blonde, taking her tray and setting it on the table, "Starts with 'Planet' and ends with 'Earth'," she linked arms with Astrid and walked away, the Doctor following behind.

"Red 6-7 departing shortly," Mr. Copper announced as a crowd of passengers gathered around him.

"Red 6-7 plus two," the Doctor held up his psychic paper.

"Uh, quickly, sir, and please take two teleport bracelets if you would," he passed out three of the bracelets to them.

"But I'll get the sack," Astrid whispered to the pair.

"Brand new sky," Minerva said, handing her the bracelet.

"To repeat, I am Mr Copper, the ship's historian, and I shall be taking you to old London town in the country of U.K. ruled over by good King Wenceslas. Now human beings worshiped the great god Santa, a creature with fearsome claws, and his wife Mary. And every Christmas Eve the people of U.K. go to war with the country of Turkey. They then eat the Turkey people for Christmas dinner... like savages."

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me? I don't eat turkey for Christmas...much less Turkey people."

"Excuse me, sorry, sorry, but, um...where did you get all this from?" the Doctor asked, making a face at that 'history'.

"Well, I have a first class degree in Earthonomics. Now stand by..."

"I smell bullshit," Minerva mumbled.

"Language," the Doctor gave her a sharp look.

She leaned up and gently kissed him, "I think you'll come to realize I can say what I want."

"Sure," he whispered, wishing she'd give him another as proof of that.

She chuckled, "Men."

"And me! And me! Red 6-7!" a high pitched voice rang through the crowd, a small red-skinned with short spikes on its head alien pushed its way through the crowd.

"Well, take a bracelet, sir?" Mr. Copper handed a bracelet to the alien.

"That won't be good," Minerva's eyes widened.

"Uh, but, um, hold on, hold on. What was your name?" the Doctor was mildly concerned for the alien's fate if seen by the humans.

"Bannakaffalatta."

"OK, Bannakaffalatta. But it's Christmas Eve down there. Late-night shopping, tons of people. He's like a walking conker. No offence, but you'll cause a riot 'cause the streets are going to be packed with shoppers and parties..."

...but they were beamed down to the Earth.

The group arrived on an empty, London street in the dark night.

"Huh..." Minerva looked around, confused by the solidarity of the streets.

"Now, spending money," Mr. Copper turned to the group, "I have a credit card in Earth currency if you want to by trinkets or, uh, stockings or the local delicacy, which is known as "beef" but don't stray too far, it could be dangerous. Any day now they start boxing."

"That is seriously wrong," Minerva crossed her arms, noticing the Doctor still looking around, poor thing confused of the loneliness of the streets.

"It should be full. It should be busy. Something's wrong."

Astrid, meanwhile, looked around in awe, "But it's beautiful."

"Well this is just a street," Minerva shrugged, "Quite deserted by the looks of it..." she mumbled the last part.

"But it's a different planet. I'm standing on a different planet. Th-there's concrete...and shops, alien shops, real alien shops! Look, no stars in the sky. And it smells. It stinks!" Astrid gasped, "This is amazing! Thank you!" she hugged Minerva.

"Well technically, you're the alien here," Minerva pulled away.

"You're human?" Astrid blinked, stunned at the fact, "Proper human?"

"Yeah, I just happen to be with an alien who snuck us in."

"Amazing! Can we go to the alien shop? Er, I mean shop?"

"Well, I guess we could take a look," Minerva tugged on the Doctor's hand, "Unless you want to keep looking at the solitude."

'I'd rather look at you," he admitted without thinking, immediately blushing when he realized what he said.

"Oh, I like that," she chuckled, swinging their locked hands as they led Astrid to a newsstand across the street.

"Hello there! Sorry, uh, obvious question, but where's everybody gone?" the Doctor asked the elderly man of the stand, all bundled up with winter clothes.

"Oh-ho, scared!"

"Right, yes. Scared of what?"

"Where have you been living? London at Christmas? Not safe, is it?"

"Why?"

"Well, it's them, up above," the man pointed up to the sky, "Look, Christmas before last we had that big bloody spaceship, everyone standing on a roof," he pointed at the small TV that was showing a clip, "And then last year, that Christmas Star electrocuting all over the place, draining the Thames."

"This place is amazing," Astrid sighed in content.

"And this year, Lord knows what. So everybody's scarpered, gone to the country. All except me...and Her Majesty," the man stood up proudly and looked at the TV.

Her Majesty the Queen has confirmed that she will be staying in Buckingham Palace throughout the festive season to show the people of London, and the world, that there's nothing to fear.

"God bless her!" the man saluted, "We stand vigil."

"Well, between you and me, I think her Majesty's got it right. Far as I know, this year, nothing to worry about," the Doctor declared.

"Cause this time the man responsible is on a date," giggled Minerva.

"Oh ha ha," the Doctor rolled his eyes, "You know, you've been involved in all-"

But the trio were teleported back to the ship, leaving the newsstand man gaping at their disappearance, "Then again..." he slumped back to his seat.

"...the events too, Minerva," the Doctor finished now in the ship again, "Oi, I was in mid-sentence," he said to Mr. Copper.

"Yes, I'm sorry about that. A bit of a problem. If I could have your bracelets..." Mr. Copper reached for them.

A chief steward joined them, "Apologies, ladies and gentlemen, Bannakaffalatta, we seem to have suffered a slight power fluctuation. If you'd like to return to the festivities. And on behalf of Max Capricorn Cruiseliners, free drinks will be provided."

The group then started disbanding.

"That was the best, the best!" Astrid gave another hug to Minerva before she returned to her work.

The Doctor walked over to the chief steward, Minerva following, "What sort of power fluctuation?"

But the chief steward walked away.

"Oh you know there's something wrong," Minerva crossed her arms.

~0~

Midshipman Frame was watching the meteoroids in the ship's bridge, "That's a bit odd, sir, the meteoroids are changing course. Still, we can put the shields up to maximum just in case."

"As you were, Midshipman," the captain instructed.

Midshipman Frame looked over and saw the captain pushing buttons on an instrument panel, "Sir? You're magnetizing the hull, sir. It's drawing the meteors in."

"Port turning Earthside."

"I take it that's deliberate..." Midshipman Frame frowned.

"Port turning Earthside."

"Bit of a light show for the guests?" he tried, none of it making sense, but still...

"Something like that," the captain mumbled, continuing his work.

~0~

Back in the reception room, everyone was having a dandy time. The Van Hoff's were eating at their table, Rickstone Slade was winning at roulette, Bannakaffalatta was dancinng and Astrid was busy serving, flashing smiles to the Doctor and Minerva.

The Doctor put on his glasses and took out his screwdriver to use on the frame. Minerva joined him, a drink in her hand, "You know now that we're together I can say this freely," she began to say and he looked up at her, "You look adorable in those glasses."

He beamed, "Oh really? I thought you weren't a fan of them."

"I like geeks," she grinned, recalling Martha's words, "And I like you and all your weird traits. Hm, attraction between geeks really is very weird."

"I don't think you're a geek," he leaned over to kiss her, cupping her cheek as he pulled away, "You're just clever. And I love it."

She blushed, "I like you too."

"The fastest, the furthest, the best...my name is Max."

The Doctor returned to work on the frame, finally opening it only a few seconds later. He changed a few of the settings until the screen showed the Titanic and its surrounding, "Oh no..." his eyes widened, the shields had been turned down!

"What? What is it?" Minerva asked, leaning forwards to get a better viewer.

He ignored her and ran to the window, seeing the meteors approaching. He glanced back at Minerva, his hearts beating in concern...for her.

~0~

Back in the ship's main bridge, a communications whistle sounded, followed by the Doctor's voice, "Is that the bridge? I need to talk to the captain. You've got a meteoroid storm coming in West 0 by North 2."

"Who is this?" the captain asked.

"Never mind that. Your shields are down. Check your scanners, Captain. You've got meteoroids coming in and now shielding!"

"You have no authorization. You will clear the comms at once."

~0~

"Yeah? Just look starboard!" the Doctor exclaimed.

"Doctor!" Minerva's voice made him turn around, watching her being "escorted" by two stewards. She had been left with the task of keeping watch...and that hadn't gone so well.

"You let her go right now!" the Doctor left the comms and stormed for them.

"Come with us, sir," the steward took him into custody as well.

~0~

"But he's right, sir. The shields have been taken offline," Midshipman Frame went to an instrument panel.

"Step away from there," the captain ordered.

"But we have to re-energize them."

"I said step away, Midshipman."

Midshipman Frame looked up to see the captain aiming a gun at him.

~0~

"You've gotta listen!" Minerva struggled with the steward's grasp as she and the Doctor were hauled through the reception room.

"You've got a rock storm heading for this ship and the shields are down!" the Martian argued.

~0~

"They promised me old men," the captain explained to the Midshipman.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"On the crew. Sea dogs, men who'd had their time. Not boys."

~0~

The Doctor managed to break free from the stewards, forcing himself to leave Minerva for a couple seconds so he could warn the other passengers. He ran up to the stage where the band was playing, "Everyone, listen to me! This is an emergency! Get to the lifeb -" a Host covered his mouth and pulled him away.

"Let us go!" Minerva tried kicking but in vain.

~0~

"I'm sorry, sir. It's my duty!" Midshipman Frame reached for the panel when the captain fired at him.

~0~

The Doctor and Minerva were taken out of the room, the stewards having to use more force on the Doctor than the brunette, "Look out the windows!" the Doctor shouted to a group where Rickston was present in.

Astrid, Rickston, and the Van Hoffs slowly made their way to the windows. Even Bannakaffalatta excused himself from a conversation to go and see, "Them, friends," he went over to the windows.

Rickston's eyes widened when he saw the meteoroids growing closer.

"If you don't believe me, check the shields yourself!" the Doctor continued to shout.

"Sir, I can vouch for him!" Astrid started following them.

"Look, Steward, he's just had a bit too much to drink," Morvin tried, also following.

"Sir, something seems to have gone wrong. All the teleports are down," Mr. Copper joined in.

"Now now!" the chief steward waved them off.

~ 0 ~

Back with Rickston, he stepped back as a small rock broke through a window and landed in front of his feet.

"Oxygen membrane holding. Oxygen membrane holding."

Rickston turned to a Host nearby, "You there. Has anyone checked the external shielding?"

"Information: you are all going to die."

He ran over to a steward, "Where's the Chief Steward?"

"That way, sir."

~0~

The chief steward was taking the Doctor and Minerva down the maintenance corridors, Astrid, Mr. Copper, Bannakaffalatta and the Van Hoffs following after them.

"The shields are down, we are going to get hit!" the Doctor frantically insisted.

Not only were they about to be hit, but he had just promised Minerva that nothing would hurt her...and yet here they were.

Why would he ever think a date on a Titanic would be a good idea?

~0~

Midshipman Frame laid on the floor with a gunshot on his abdomen, "You're going to kill us."

"I'm dying already. Six months. And they offered me so much money... for my family," the captain explained.

~0~

Rickston had caught up with the others in the maintenance corridors, demanding from the steward, "Oi! Steward! I'm telling you the shields are down!"

"Listen to him! Listen to him!" the Doctor said.

~0~

The captain remained at the wheel...

"Red Alert. Red Alert."

~0~

Outside the ship, the meteoroids were heading straight for them...

~0~

The meteoroids struck the side of the ship, everyone inside thrown onto the floor.

~0~

Hosts lined up in front of employees...ready to kill.

~0~

Minerva banged straight onto a wall, her head making the first, and possibly the worst, contact, "Ow!"

"I've got you!" the Doctor pulled her to him as soon as he could reach for her, "It's okay..."

...he didn't really know if it was okay.

The panels were becoming undone and falling down, possibly hurting the others. But it was finally coming to a slow halt, the Doctor the first to get up with Minerva at his side, "It's stopping..." he looked around, hearing the ship groan a bit as it finally did stop.

"I rest my case about the Titanic," Minerva mumbled, her head pounding.

"Are you okay?" the Doctor checked her, seeing the bow on her hair tainted at its edges with red. He quickly checked her head, finding a cut that didn't look too bad, but yet...

...there was a cut...with a blood...on his date...his girlfriend...

"It's just a small cut," she sensed his oncoming guilt. She reached for her bow and tugged it off, seeing the red blotches on it, "Nothing to worry about."

"But you're..."

"Okay," she smiled up at him, "There's more people to worry about right now."

He sighed, "This is a really bad name for a ship..." then he glanced at his suit and frowned, "Either that or this suit is really unlucky."

"Still look amazing in it though," Minerva mumbled, thinking she hadn't been heard.

He had to smirk, "Well..." he cleared his throat, "Is everyone else alright?" he moved over to a steward who laid on the floor and checked his vitals, "He's dead."

The chief steward stood and walked up to the surviving group, "Ev-everyone... Ladies and gentlemen, Bannakaffalatta, I must apologize on behalf of Max Capricorn Cruiseliners. We seem to have had a small collision."

The Doctor walked over to a comms panel.

"Small?" Morvin scoffed, the whole ship had been blasted and this was small?

"You know how much I paid for my ticket?" Rickston demanded.

"Does this really come to money?" Minerva frowned, disgusted at the fact that was all he cared for.

"If I could have silence, ladies, gentlemen..." the steward tried again.

"Again, who the hell are you!?" Rickston demanded.

"I am gonna be the first human to knock you out."

"If I could have silence, ladies, gentlemen..." But the rest of group, save Minerva and the Doctor, started arguing, "Quiet!" he shouted and they stopped, "Thank you. I-I'm sure Max Capricorn Cruiseliners will be able to reimburse you for any inconvenience. But first I would point out that we are very much alive."

"Are you all right?" Astrid turned over to Mr. Copper, helping him with a cut on his head.

The Doctor joined the group, putting his arm around Minerva's waist, the woman still glaring daggers at Rickston. He wanted to prevent another injury from happening. Minerva seemed alright to him, despite her affection insecurities, but he wasn't sure how the whole Master and Kaeya really affected her and he wanted to be there in case she cracked or anything. He'd have to run certain tests after this date to see just how much she'd really been affected.

"She is, after all, a fine, sturdy ship. If you could all stay here while I ascertain the exact nature of the - the situation," the chief steward went to open a hatch.

"Don't open it!" the Doctor exclaimed, but it was too late.

The chief steward was sucked put into space by the vacuum. Everyone grabbed onto a piping near them before they were pulled out as well. The Doctor struggled and made his way to the comms where he used the screwdriver on the computer to replace the shield.

"Oxygen shield stabilized."

"Everyone all right? Minerva?" he quickly turned back to her.

"Yeah," she nodded, pulling on the side of her dreSs.

"Astrid? Foon? Morvin? Mr Copper? Bannakaffalatta?"

"Yes," the little red alien answered.

"You, what was your name?" the Doctor turned to Rickston, trying his best to be polite but the fact the man had repeatedly yelled at Minerva wasn't helping.

"Ah, Rickston Slade."

"You all right?"

"No thanks to that idiot."

"The steward just died," Minerva glared at him, not that he cared.

"Then he's a dead idiot."

"That's it!" the brunette stepped forwards.

"Okay! Why don't you come with me, yeah?" the Doctor quick pulled her away from the group and brought them to the hatch opening.

"I don't like him!" she grumbled.

"I think we've noticed," he patted her back.

"Sorry, missing the big picture here. What happened? How come the shields were down?"

"I don't think it was an accident," he sighed, "And there goes our nice, first date."

She smiled softly, "Hey, what's a date without some adrenaline?"

"Minerva, I'm sorry...I'll get us out of this, I promise."

"Oh, I don't doubt you will. You always do."

"You trust me just like that?" the Doctor asked, a bit perplexed at her calm manner despite nearly dying.

"Doctor, there's something you should know: I trust you with my life."

He blinked, "Really?"

She nodded, "You don't have to promise me anything, I know you'll do it. In a stupid, moronic way...but you'll do it. Just like always."

"Good," he nodded, smiling brightly, loving he had all her trust despite the many trips gone wrong they had taken, "And this won't be the exception!"

She pecked his lips, "No it won't."

"All we need to do is get to the Reception room," he swung his arm around her shoulders, turning to a window in front of them, "We can take everyone on board and...oh."

Minerva just smiled, the TARDIS floating outside, "Like I said, you'll get us out of here in a stupid, moronic way, but we'll get out!"

"Is something wrong?" Astrid stepped over, seeing their attention locked on the window.

"That's my spaceship over there," the Doctor pouted, Minerva giggling to the side.

Astrid peered into the window, frowning when saw just a blue box, "That's a spaceship?"

"Oi, don't knock it," the Doctor scolded.

"It's a bit small..." she tilted her head, "...aren't you a bit cramped?" But she glanced over to the pair and saw them quite close and together, "Right," she smiled, only thinking of what that box could provide for them, "It's your snogging box."

"It's not," the Doctor shot her a look.

Minerva looked around, playing innocent, "Well we haven't exactly tried it yet," she mumbled, attracting his attention in a snap, her cheeks flushing pink, "We haven't exactly 'snogged','" she whispered to him, her gaze stuck on her playing fingers.

"Ooh..." he looked back to the window, his face flushing red at the thought of actually snogging her. That...that could be nice...

Astrid smirked, she could just tell those two were barely beginning their relationship by the amount of times they blushed, "So, um...that blue box?" she reminded them.

"Oh, yes, well," the Doctor cleared his throat, "It's a bit distant now. Trouble is, once it's set adrift, it's programmed to lock onto the nearest center of gravity and that would be...the Earth."

"We've got a long journey to do," Minerva slipped under the Doctor's arm on her shoulders and walked over to a comms.

"Where to?" Astrid asked, the Doctor following her.

"Well, up to the main bridge of course, that's where you steer the ship, aka, our way of getting back to earth and getting the TARDIS."

"Clever!" the Doctor dropped a kiss to Minerva's head.

"I try to be," she shrugged, looking at the other guests, "And we promise we'll get you out of here," she told them, seeing their worried faces, well, really only focusing on the Van Hoffs and Mr. Copper, Rickston could bite it.

""Deck 22 to the bridge. Deck 22 to the bridge. Is there anyone there?" the Doctor called.

~ 0 ~

Midshipman Frame moaned and clutched his side, reaching for the comms, "This is the bridge."

"Oh hello, sailor. Good to hear you. What's the situation up there?"

"We've got air. The oxygen field is holding. But the captain..." Midshipman Frame looked over to the captain's body buried under wreckage, "He's dead. He did it. I watched while he took down the shields. There was nothing I could do. I tried. I did try."

Minerva heard the despair and guilt in his tone and moved the Doctor a bit to speak into the comms, "Hey, don't worry, we believe you," she spoke softly, "Just stay calm. Tell us your name. What's your name?"

"Midshipman Frame."

"Nice to meet you, sir. We're a bit curious to know of the state of the engines..." Minerva looked at the Doctor for confirmation, smiling with pride when he nodded.

"They're um...hold on," Midshipman Frame pushed himself forwards and groaned.

"Have you been injured?" the Doctor asked at the sound.

"I'm all right. Oh my vot. They're cycling down."

"That's a nuclear storm drive, yes?"

"Yeah."

"The moment they're gone, we lose orbit."

"What!?" Minerva nearly choked at the words, "But earth..."

"Oh yes. If we hit the planet, the nuclear storm explodes and wipes out life on Earth. Midshipman, I need you to fire up the engine containment field and feed it back into the core."

"This is never going to work."

"Trust me, it'll keep the engines going until I can get to the bridge," the Doctor switched off the comms and turned to Minerva who seemed terrified.

"Doctor, Martha is down there...my grandmother..." she looked out the window again.

"And they'll be alright," he assured, "No one is going to die."

"We're going to die!" Foon cried at the mention of the word.

"Are you saying someone's done this on purpose?" Mr. Copper asked.

"We're just a cruise ship!" Astrid was also close to tears.

"Okay, okay. Tch, tch," the Doctor stepped beside Minerva, taking her hand in am effort to calm her in the process, "First things first. One: we're going to climb through this ship. B...no...two: we're going to reach the bridge. Three - or C: we're going to save the Titanic. And, coming in a very low Four or D or that little "iv" in brackets they use in footnotes...why. Right then, follow me."

"Hang on a minute," Rickston called, stopping the pair before they turned around, "Who put you in charge and who the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm the Doctor. I'm a Time Lord. I'm from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. I'm 903 years old and I'm the man who's gonna save your lives and all six billion of the people on the planet below. You got a problem with that?"

"...No," Rickston blinked, stepping back.

"In that case, allons-y!" the Doctor reverted to his childhood ways and turned around, leading the others away and noticing Minerva smirking to herself, "Anything the matter?"

"Nothing, that was just really hot," she whispered, her face flushing a deep red.

The Doctor smirked and kissed her head, loving that he could have that affect on her...oh yes, he definitely liked where this relationship was going.

~0~

The group came to a metal door that led into a stairwell littered with debris and sparking cables.

"Careful. Follow me," the Doctor went ahead and cleared the way for the others.

"Rather ironic when this is very much in the spirit of Christmas. It's a festival of violence," Mr. Copper began another of his lectures, missing the big confusion on Minerva's face, "They say that human beings only survive depending on whether they've been good or bad. It's barbaric."

"Actually, that's not true. Christmas is a time of - of peace and thanksgiving and..." the Doctor trailed off, "...what am I on about? Christmas is always like this," he shook his head and uncovered a dormant Host.

Not for me," Minerva spoke up, "Christmas used to be nice..." the Doctor watched her as she grew quiet, "...Back with my grandmother, and the snicker doodles..."

"Hey, you'll have your snicker doodles tonight, okay?" he promised her, "We can bake those cookies again and I promise to try and not make a mess this time round."

"Snicker doodles on Christmas, with my new boyfriend?" Minerva considered it, practically bursting with joy even if she was on a dead ship that was going to crash into her planet, "Yes, please!" she pecked his lips.

He beamed and returned to the host beside them, "We've got a Host. Strength of ten. If we can mend it, we can use it to fix the rubble."

"We can do robotics, both of us," Morvin volunteered, Foon stepping beside him.

"We worked on the milk market back on Sto. It's all robot staff."

"See if you can get it working," the Doctor nodded them to go ahead, "Now let's have a look," he took Minerva's hand and led them up the stairs with the rest of the group.

"It's blocked," Astrid remarked when they stopped in front of a big wreckage in front of them.

"So what do we do?" the Doctor asked.

"We shift it!" Minerva exclaimed.

"That's the attitude. Rickston, Mr Copper, and you, Bannakaffalatta... look, can I just call you Banna? It's gonna save a lot of time."

"No! Bannakaffalatta!" the red alien said firmly.

"All right then, Bannakaffalatta, there's a gap in the middle. See if you can get through."

"Easy. Good," Bannakaffalatta squeezed through the opening, the ship lurching as he did and sent loose debris on the them.

"This whole thing could come crashing down any minute!" Rickston cried, looking up in case something else fell down.

"Oh, Rickston, I forgot. Did you get our message?" the Doctor asked as he searched for a way to move the debris.

"No. What message?"

"Shut up!"

Minerva surprised the Doctor with a kiss on his cheek, "I really like you."

He smiled softly at her, her calm attitude despite the severity of their situation was quite attractive as well, "I like you too," he blushed, giving her a short kiss on the lips.

"Bannakaffalatta made it," came the little red alien's voice from across.

"I'm small enough, I can get through," Astrid volunteered and began making her way through the hole.

"Me too," Minerva looked down at herself with disappointment, "I tell you it's gonna be quite interesting trying to kiss you," she looked at the Doctor and compared their heights silently.

"I find that..." he leaned to her and whispered, "...hot," she blinked and blushed real hard, the Doctor chuckling as he gave a small kiss on her cheek.

"And I'm out," she said with a shaky voice, following into the hole where Astrid had gone.

"Careful!" he called after her.

"Thing is, how are Mr and Mrs Fatso gonna get through this gap?" Rickston demanded.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, the man's attitude was not going to ruin his mood with his girlfriend, "We make the gap bigger. So start," he handed Rickston a piece of metal.

"We can clear it from this side," Astrid Caledonia as she helped Minerva out of the hole, "Just tell me if it starts moving."

"Thanks," Minerva stood to her feet and dusted herself off. She then noticed Bannakaffalatta laying on the floor. "Bannakaffalatta, what's wrong?"

"Sshhh," he put a finger on his mouth.

"What is it?" Astrid moved over, Minerva behind her.

"Can't say."

"Are you hurt?" Minerva studied him but saw no physical injuries.

"Ashamed..."

"Of what?"

"Poor Bannakaffalatta," he lifted his dress shirt to reveal cybernetic components, turning his head away from them in shame.

"You're a cyborg," Minerva remarked, a tad surprised.

"Had accident long ago. Secret."

"No, but everything's changed now," Astrid said softly, seeing the alien in full shame, "cmCyborgs are getting equal rights. They passed a law back on Sto. You can even get married."

"Marry you?" he turned his head over to them.

"Well, you can buy me a drink first. Come on. Let's recharge you," Astrid pressed a button on his torso and stood up, "Just stay there for a bit."

"Tell no one."

"We promise."

"What's going on up there?!" the Doctor called, alarmed at the silence. Minerva was never that quiet, or quiet at all.

Minerva glanced at Astrid with a mischievous smile, "You wanna see something funny?"

"We're on a ship that's about to crag and kill six million people including us...I'll take what you got," Astrid sighed, really in the mood for a genuine laugh.

Minerva sauntered back to the hole, seeing the Doctor on the other side, "I just got engaged to Bannakaffalatta!"

"WHAT!?" There was a loud bang from the other side that made Astrid jump in her spot.

Minerva glanced back at Astrid, her eyes eyebrows wiggling. She just barely holding her laughter in.

"Excuse me!?" the Doctor rubbed his head on the other side. It had crashed into the pipe above him. Minerva had gotten to the other side only two minutes ago, what the hell happened!? He supposed that she was just that gorgeous anyone would ask her to marry him, that's why Zian had tricked her into marrying him after all...

"I'm just kidding, Doctor!" Minerva laughed, unknowingly making him breath out in relief.

"Minerva!" he shouted, her laughter just increasing.

"Martian!" she mimicked his tone.

"That was funny," Astrid concluded, chuckling herself.

"Told yah," Minerva smirked and continued with her work.

~ 0 ~

"Almost done!" Morvin called up to the trio of men upstairs.

"Good, good, good," the Doctor moved to a comms, "Mr Frame, how's things?"

"Doctor, I've got life signs all over the ship but they're going out one by one."

"What is it? Are they losing air?"

"No. One of them said it's the Host. It's something to do with the Host."

The Doctor immediately looked down to the Van Hoffs where they had just finished up the Host.

"It's working!" Morvin exclaimed happily.

The Doctor rushed down as the Host took Morvin by the throat,

"Kill. Kill. Kill."

"Turn it off!" the Doctor ordered as he came down.

"I can't, Doctor!" Foon cried.

"Go!" he arrived and shooed Foon away. He took out the screwdriver and used it on the Host, "Lock! Double deadlock!" exasperated, he put away the screwdriver and used his hands to help Morvin free, "Okay, go upstairs!"

"Run, darling, run!" Foon called to her husband and he ran up the stairs.

"Information: kill, kill, kill..."

"Rickston! Get them through!" the Doctor shouted.

"No chance!" the man went in himself through the hole.

"Rickston!" Mr. Copper called after him.

"I'll never get through there," Foon shook her head.

"Yes, you can. Let me go first," Mr. Copper started going through the hole.

The Doctor ran up to the comms, the Host following, "It's the Host! They've gone berserk! Are you safe up there?"

~ 0 ~

But inside the main bridge, Midshipman Frame turned to see another group of Host heading for the open door, "Kill. Kill. Kill," they chanted.

The man closed and locked the door in time, only catching the hand of one of the Host.

~0~

Minerva, Astrid, and Mr. Copper were currently trying to help Foon through the hole,

"No, I'm stuck!" she cried.

"Come on, you can do it!" Minerva urged, glancing at Rickston who stood to the side and just watched.

Mr. Copper was using a metal pole as a lever to widen the space, struggling actual, "It's going to collapse!" but Foon finally made it, leaving Morvin and the Doctor, "Rickston, vot damn it, help me!"

"No... way," Rickston shook his head.

"Coward and useless!" Minerva moved over and helped Mr. Copper.

"Morvin, get through!" Copper yelled.

Morvin was having a bit more of a struggle to get through the hole, the chants of Host nearing behind as the Doctor ran up to the hole.

"Doctor, he's stuck!" Astrid yelled, able to see the man just slightly around Morvin.

"Mr Van Hoff, I know we've only just met but you'll have to excuse me," the Doctor placed his hands on Morvin's rear and pushed him through.

"That's it," Astrid helped Morvon, "We've got you. Doctor, come on, get through."

The Doctor however, turned to the Host which was literally right behind him, "Information override! You will tell me the point of origin of your command structure!"

Minerva and Mr. Copper were straining to hold open the hole, "Doctor! We can't hold it!" came her strained voice.

"Information: Deck 31."

"Thank you," the Doctor grinned and scrambled through the hole, "Let go!"

Mr. Copper and Minerva released their grip on the pole, the beam crashing onto the Host's head.

"Oh thank God!" Minerva encased him in a big hug, her heart nearly beating out if her chest. He hugged her back, both forgetting for a moment that there were other people as the enjoyed their embrace, knowing for the moment they were both okay.

~ 0 ~

At the bridge, Midshipman Frame turned to see the hand of the Host that was locked between the door and wall moving. He yelped and turned a handle that shut the door completely, cutting off the hand. But he looked through the window of the door and saw a line of Host's waiting for him.

~ 0 ~

The group opened the door to find a clear room, a kitchen of some sorts. There was even a table with some food on it.

"Morvin, look, food," Foon pointed and walked towards it.

"Oh great. Someone's happy," Rickston rolled his eyes.

"Don't have any then," Morvin moved to his wife, not about to let him make her cry again.

"Ow!" Rickston flinched, "Did you just...ow!"

"Sorry," Minerva had walked past him with a smirk on her face.

She elbowed him...twice.

The Doctor headed to the comms, concerned for their friend up at the bridge, "Mr Frame, you still there?"

"Yes, sir, but I've got Host outside. I sealed the door."

"They've been programmed to kill. Why would anyone do that?" the Doctor asked, his mind still trying to come up with a valid list of reasons and of the culprit.

"That's not the only problem, Doctor. I had to use a maximum deadlock on the door, which means..." Midshipman Frame sighed, guilty of yet another problem of the ship, "No one can get in. I'm sealed off. Even if you can fix the Titanic, you can't get to the bridge."

"Yeah, right, fine. One problem at a time," the Doctor made a face at that, he'd have to worry about it later, "What's on Deck 31?"

"Um, that's down below. It's nothing. It's just the Host storage deck. That's where we keep the robots."

The Doctor looked at a scanner beside, putting on his glasses, "Well, what's that? See that panel? Black. It's registering nothing. No power, no heat, no light."

"Never seen it before."

"100% shielded. What's down there?"

"I'll try intensifying the scanner."

"Let me know if you find anything," the Doctor removed his glasses, "And keep those engines going!"

Minerva walked over, seeing the concern on his face and feeling bad she couldn't exactly help him, "Hey..." she bit her lip, feeling really stupid that was all she could say.

But he smiled, pressing a hand onto her cheek, "I'm getting you out of this, I swear," she nodded, staying still as he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Astrid felt a little embarrassed for intruding on the pair's moment but she felt like everyone needed to eat if they were to continue their trip up to the reception room, "Sorry," she smiled dimly, "Saved you some. You might be a Time King from Gaddabee but you need to eat, and I know humans also have to eat for survival."

"Yeah, thanks," the Doctor took the plate from the blonde.

He moved Minerva to a seat and together sat down, Astrid across them. He picked up a piece of food and held it to Minerva, but she shook her head, "I'm not hungry," she frowned.

"But you gotta eat," he insisted. He'd already faulted her at this date thing and he wasn't about to let her pass out on account of a nutritional issues.

"My stomach feels kinda funny," Minerva continued to refuse the food, clutching her stomach and shaking her head.

"Mm, that would be on account of not eating," Astrid pointed, in the middle of eating her own plate.

The Doctor nodded her thanks for the help as Minerva reluctantly let him feed her. Though after a couple seconds she started smiling, "You're looking at me like that again."

"Looking how?" the Martian frowned.

"Like the time when we visited my grandmother and ended up in 1969."

"You just reminded me of 1913, that's all. The things you said...the way you moved...everything," he whispered, rubbing a thumb over her cheek. His hearts fluttered at all the kisses he had given her, the moment he had fallen in love with her as John Smith...

How long would it be until he, the Doctor, fell in love with her?

"So..." Astrid smiled at their silence, the two were currently staring at each other with those smiles the couples of earliest stages wore, "...how old are you, Minerva? I'm a bit clueless on human education."

"Recently eighteen," Minerva took a bit of more food.

"Hm," she glanced between Minerva and the Doctor, finding the two to look not so different based on ages, "Doctor, you look good for 903."

"You should see me in the mornings," the man had a mouthful of food in his mouth.

"It's not pretty," Minerva declared, the pout on his face making her giggle, "But now that we're together, perhaps I could think you looked very cute...handsome..." her hand trailed down his face, "...hot..."

Astrid shook her head at the pair, knowing it was better to leave them as they got deeper into their moments. She stood up and walked to the others, the pair not even noticing her departure.

"I think you look cute all the time of day," the Doctor remarked, watching her blush rapidly.

"That's because by the time you see me I'm usually always dressed and stuff..."

"May I remind you that I have seen you in your nighties several times now, your hair all messy..."

Minerva considered his words and realized he was right. Without realizing it, the Doctor had been allowed in her room early in the mornings and late in the nights, or whatever it was called in the TARDIS. Though everything was kept to friendship, Minerva knew it wasn't something common for her to let a man into her room like she did with the Doctor. It actually made her blush because they'd been on the same bed, sometimes her in her pajamas, nighties, and also pretty close...

"Hm...well," she considered the right words as her tongue seemed a bit slurred from her thoughts, "All that is gonna be changing. Just because we're together now...it...it doesn't mean we're...we're gonna, um..." her cheeks flushed red at where her thoughts had drifted to. She might have joked about it earlier but it didn't mean she was ready to take that large step in her relationship, in her life...

The Doctor chuckled, knowing exactly what she had meant, "Minerva, nothing that you don't want, or not ready for, is going to happen."

Minerva had to smile in relief, "I'm sorry. It's just...I know this is ridiculous and stuff, but I'm young...I don't, I've never actually..."

"It's alright. There's nothing wrong with that. Let's just focus on our relationship, yeah? We can finish getting to know each other, give each other a few kisses here and there..."

She chuckled, "Just a few?"

"Just a few," he assured, no where near meaning those words.

"Doctor, it must be well past midnight, Earth time. Christmas Day," Mr. Copper called from the other end of the room, making the pair glance back.

"So it is. Merry Christmas," the Doctor said to them and returned his gaze to Minerva, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she whispered, watching him lower his head to press his lips on her for a Christmas kiss.

"Mm, Christmas kiss," the Doctor pulled back, mere inches from her lips so he could steal another one from her, "I like."

"How things have changed from last year," she reminded, their last Christmas just after losing the Tyler's plus saving Donna.

"I gotta find a mistletoe..." he murmured, not even caring about their last Christmas.

Minerva laughed, pushing him slightly back, "Doctor!"

"This Christmas thing, what's it all about?" Astrid asked, sensing the holiday had to do with a lot of kissing since that's what they seemed to be doing a lot.

"Long story. I should know, I was there. I got the last room," the Doctor shrugged, remembering that event.

"But if the planet's waking up, can't we signal them? They can send up a rocket or something," Mr. Copper suggested.

"We don't have spaceships," Minerva frowned, slightly irritated with the man's lack of knowledge of her home.

"No, I read about it. They have shuffles, space shuffles."

"Mr. Copper, I'm human...we don't have that."

"Mr Copper, this degree in Earthonomics,... where's it from?" the Doctor asked, amused by Minerva's irritation.

"Honestly?"

"Just between us."

"Mrs. Golightly's Happy Travelling University and Dry Cleaners."

"That makes sense..." Minerva mumbled, taking more food into her mouth.

"You - you lied to the company... to get the job?" Astrid blinked.

"I- I wasted my life on Sto. I was a travelling salesman, always on the road and I reached retirement with nothing to show for it. Not even a home. And Earth sounded so exotic."

"Hm, I suppose it is, yeah..." the Doctor smiled in thought of the planet, glancing at the one person that stood out from the whole race.

Minerva caught his look and turned to look at him as well, slightly perplexed, "You think I'm exotic?" he nodded, his smile softening, "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not..."

"So she's human," Astrid pointed at Minerva, "And I understand why she would know so much about it, but you..." her finger drifted to the Doctor, "How come you know it so well?"

"I was sort of...a few years ago, was sorta made... well, sort of homeless, and, um there was the Earth..." the Doctor looked down for a moment, his actual home was gone and Earth seemed like it was always calling him there...like a second home...cause there was someone else he could be with now...

Minerva rested her head on his arm and reached for his hand, "You're not homeless anymore. You got a family in me, Martha, and hey, even my grandmother when she finds out."

He faintly smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "Thank you."

"The thing is, though," Mr. Copper sighed, too in depth with his big problem to focus on the pair, "If we survive this, there will be police and all sorts of investigations. Now the minimum penalty for space-age fraud is ten years in jail. I'm an old man. Well, I won't survive ten years."

"I won't let that happen," Minerva immediately said, looking up to see the man. He was surprised she would say something like that considering they didn't even know each other. But Minerva saw in him her grandfather, and how could she allow someone like her grandfather to be imprisoned?

There was a banging on the door, the Doctor jumping from his seat and rushing to a door at the other end, across from the one being banged on, "A Host! Move! Come on!"

The pounding increased, even a dent forming from the force that made Astrid scream. The Doctor used the sonic on the other door and opened it, revealing another room that happened to be the engine room. There was a makeshift bridge that was created by a fallen strut...above the engines.

"Is that the only way across?" Rickston frowned at it.

"On the other hand, it is a way across," Minerva sighed, this time agreeing with the man of the way to get across.

"The engines are open," remarked Astrid, also not happy.

"Nuclear storm drive. Soon as it stops, the Titanic falls," the Doctor explained.

"But that thing, it'll never take our weight," Morvin stepped towards the edge.

"You're going last, mate," Rickston gave him a quick look.

"It's nitrofine metal. It's stronger than it looks," the Doctor tried to explain as he worked on the door, getting it shut.

"All the same, Rickston's right. Me and Foon should -" Morvin's foot stepped on a weak piece of metal where the railing gave way...and he fell down towards the engine.

"Morvin!" Foon cried, running up to where her husband had just been.

The others watched in horror, as if that didn't just happen...

"I told you! I told you!" Rickston exclaimed.

Minerva turned to him, outraged he was so snooty and selfish he wasn't even remotely perturbed a man had just died, "SHUT UP!" she screamed, actually making him flinch at the volume of her tone.

Foon turned to the Doctor, hysterically crying, "Bring him back! Can't you bring him back? Bring him back, Doctor!"

"I'm sorry, I can't..." the Doctor looked at the opening, still shocked himself.

"You promised me!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

"Doctor, I rather think those things have got our scent," Mr. Copper had turned to the door as stomping of the Host's were nearing the group.

"I'm not waiting," Rickston shook his head and started crossing the bridge.

"Careful! Take it slowly!" the Doctor called, disliking the man for his attitude as well but his death was not something he would ever wish...

There was a tumbling as the ship rocked, making Rickston nearly fall, "Vot help me," he mumbled to himself as he continued.

"You're okay. One step at a time. Come on, you can do it," the Doctor urged.

"They're getting nearer!" Mr. Copper exclaimed.

"Seal us in," the Doctor muttered to himself, using the sonic to shut the door on them.

"Leaving us trapped, wouldn't you say?"

"Never say trapped, just inconveniently circumstanced," the Doctor turned around, moving for Minerva, he didn't feel right leaving her alone in this room...or anywhere, now that he thought about it. After the Master, he'd be damned if anyone could separate them.

"Maybe he's all right. Maybe - Maybe there's a gravity curve down there or something. I don't know. Maybe he's unconscious," Foon was saying in hopes, unable to grasp the idea that her husband was actually dead.

Astrid was beside her, trying to calm the woman, still solemn herself of the event, "I'm sorry Foon. He's gone," she hugged the widower.

"What am I going to do without him?" Foon sniffled.

"Yes! Oh yes! Who's good?!" Rickston had hopped off the bridge on the other side, completely unharmed.

"Bannakaffalatta, you go next," the Doctor instructed.

"Bannakaffalatta, small," he nodded, stepping onto the bridge.

"Slowly!" the Doctor called, glancing between the door and the bridge, the Host continuing with their pounds behind the door.

"They've found us!" Mr. Copper gasped.

"Minerva, Astrid, get across right now," the Doctor started pushing Minerva towards the bridge, motioning Astrid to follow.

"No, what about you?" Minerva managed to turn and stop the Martian.

"I need you to go first," he tried to push again but she wouldn't budge, making her sigh, "Minerva, please."

"Not without you," she said quietly, dead serious.

She didn't wait a year to finally be with him to be separated on their first date. Beyond that, she just wouldn't leave him, friend or girlfriend, she just wouldn't.

He took a heavy sigh and resigned to get everyone else started across the bridge, "Astrid, Mr. Copper, please don't argue and just go," the pair glanced at each other and nodded, "Foon, you've got to get across right now."

"What for? What am I gonna do without him?" Foon sniffled, still gazing down to where her husband had fallen through.

"Doctor! The door's locked!" Rickston called from the other side, gesturing to the locked door.

"Just think... what would he want, eh?" Minerva moved over to Foon.

"He don't want nothing, he's dead!"

"No, when my grandfather died, he made sure to tell us he wanted us to live our lives and not to cry over him. He wanted us to be happy," Minerva insisted, trying to move Foon but the woman was sobbing.

"Doctor, I can't open the door. We need the whirring key thing of yours!" Rickston called again.

"We can't leave her!" the Doctor shouted.

"She'll get us all killed if we can't get out!"

The Doctor looked at the group and Minerva, knowing very well that he couldn't risk her safety, not now, not when he had just gotten her. He rushed to Minerva and Foon, "Mrs. Van Hoff, I am coming back for you, all right?" he tugged on Minerva's arm and brought themselves to the bridge, moving Minerva first.

But as the two stepped on, the metal of the bridge creaked at the additional weight it had to sustain.

"Too many people!" Bannakaffalatta glanced back at the pair.

"Oi! Don't get spiky with me! Keep going!" the Doctor shooed him off.

"It's gonna fall!" Astrid continuously looked down at the engines, afraid she'd slip and fall...and die.

"It's just settling! Keep going!"

But the Host stopped pounding...

"They've stopped," Astrid frowned, glancing back at the door that was silent now.

"Gone away?" Bannakaffalatta suggested.

"Why would they give up?" the Doctor mumbled to himself, no one chasing after him ever gave up...

"Never mind that. Keep coming!" Rickston motioned them to get to him. Why would they waste time like this? If an enemy was chasing them, and suddenly left they should run.

"Where have they gone? Where are the Host?" the Doctor ignored the man, focused more on the danger of missing Hosts...and then Minerva tugged on his arm, she looking up with wide eyes.

"Doctor...angels can fly," her mouth fell open at the Host's above flying down towards them.

"I usually love it when you're clever, but on this occasion, I'm gonna have to say I don't like it."

The same group of Host were gliding down from above, encircling the group, "Information: kill," they reached for their halos.

"Arm yourselves! All of you!" the Doctor ordered, all of them reaching for pipes or bits of metals to defend themselves.

The Host threw their halos at them, each of them swatting it away for the first couple of times. However, one halo managed to graze the Doctor's arm and another Mr. Copper'Copper's leg. Minerva's pipe was flung down by a halo, nearly knocking her down as well.

Astrid dropped to her knees, "I can't," she looked up at the endless halos coming their way.

"Bannakaffalatta stop! Bannakaffalatta proud! Bannakaffalatta, cyborg!" Bannakaffalatta lifted his shirt and discharged energy towards the Host, knocking them all out except for one that fell on the bridge behind the Doctor.

"Electromagnetic pulse took out the robotics. Oh, Bannakaffalatta, that was brilliant!" the Doctor turned to the little alien, Bannakaffalatta falling to the ground almost immediately.

Astrid went to his side, "He's used all his power!"

"Did good?" he asked her.

"You saved our lives" she smiled at him.

"Bannakaffalatta happy."

"We can recharge you, get you to a power point and just plug you in!" her smile started fading as Bannakaffalatta eyes threatened to close.

"Too late."

"No, but...you gotta get me that drink, remember?"

"Pretty girl," Bannakaffalatta closed his eyes and died.

Muffling her tears, Astrid went to button Bannakaffalatta's shirt but Mr. Copper reached for his power source.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me," he apologized sincerely.

"It's the EMP transmitter. He - he'd want us to use it," Mr. Copper removed the transmitter, "I used to sell these things. They'd always give me a bed for the night in the cyborg caravans. They're good people. But if we can recharge it, we can reuse it as a weapon against the rest of the Host. Bannakaffalatta might have saved us all."

"Do you think? Try telling him that," Rickston pointed behind the group, turning to see the Host that had landed behind begin to move.

"Information: reboot."

"Use the EMP!" Rickston shouted.

"It's dead!" Mr. Copper shook his head, lowering the EMP.

"It's gotta have emergency..." Astrid took the EMP to take a look at it.

"Doctor," Minerva reached out for him, the Martian moving up to confront the Host. He lived to give her heart attacks.

"I gotta try something," he mumbled, before directing to the Host, "No, no, no. Hold on. Override loophole security protocol... Ten! 666! Oh. 21, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Um, I dunno, 42! Uh, one!"

The Host actually stopped midway and stood passively, "Information: state request."

"Good...right," the Doctor, internally sighing of relief that for the moment they weren't going to be killed, "You've been ordered to kill the survivors, but why?"

"Information: no witnesses."

"But this ship's gonna fall on the Earth and kill everyone. The human race have nothing to do with the Titanic so that contravenes your orders, yes?"

"Information: incorrect."

"But why do you want to destroy the Earth?"

"Information: it is the plan."

"What plan?"

"Information: protocol grants you only three questions. These three questions have been used."

"Well, you could have warned me."

"Let me try," Minerva whispered to him, preferring him to back away.

"Sh," he blocked her way of walk with an arm.

"Information: now you will die."

It prepared to strike, the Doctor completely moving in front of Minerva, but a lasso was thrown over the Host's head and tightened around its body by Foon.

"You're coming with me," Foon closed her eyes and jumped over the side, pulling the Host with her down to the engines.

"Nooooo!" the Doctor shouted, looking down as Foon fell to her death.

"Poor Foon," Minerva sighed.

"No more," the Doctor muttered, so done with the deaths. Next thing he knew it could be Astrid or Mr. Copper, or even worse, Minerva.

~ 0 ~

The group made it into another set of maintenance halls, the Doctor giving orders as soon as they entered, "Right. Get up to Reception One. Once you're there, Mr Copper. You've got staff access to the computer. Try and find a way of transmitting an SOS. Astrid, you're in charge of this," he held the EMP to hers, "Once it's powered up, it'll take out Hosts within fifty yards but then it needs sixty seconds to recharge. Got it? Minerva, take this I've preset it. Just hold down that button. It'll open doors," she gave her a kiss on the forehead and moved on to Mr. Copper.

Minerva stood there, dumbfounded for a couple minutes till she realized he was practically saying goodbye, "Hold on..." she grabbed Rickston's arm and handed him the screwdriver, "Open the doors, don't lose it."

"All right!" he nodded, not caring who ordered now as long a it got him out of this ship.

"Doctor!" Minerva trailed after the Martian as he handed Mr. Copper a first aid kit.

"Mr Copper, I need you fighting fit. Astrid, where's the power point?" he blatantly ignored Minerva for a second.

"Under the comms," she nodded to the power point, following him to learn how to re-charge the EMP.

"When it's ready, that blue light comes on there," he explained.

"Martian!" Minerva stomped her foot, knowing she sounded like a child but it was the only way to grab his attention, "Astrid, can we have a moment?" she asked softly, "Please?" Astrid nodded and walked away, sensing the oncoming disagreement between the pair.

"Minerva," the Doctor sighed, acting as if he was currently working on something mega important.

"You're talking as if you're not coming with us," she informed, however she doubted he hadn't realized yet.

"There's something down on Deck 31. I'm gonna find out what it is."

"And what about me, huh? You expect me to keep going with everyone else and leave you?"

"Frankly, yes, I do," he nodded, locking his gaze on the machine.

He didn't want to face her and her big, shiny jade-green eyes that would get him to do anything she wanted. And not this time, he could not do what she wanted this time, it was far too dangerous.

"Doctor, I'm not going to leave you."

"And I'm not taking you," he said, purposely cold.

Hopefully, she'd get irritated and leave on her own. Later on, he'd apologize to no means end until she forgave him. But for now, she needed to go away.

"I'm coming with you!" Minerva raised her voice, she was so not letting it go.

"No, you're not!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Minerva paused, suppressing her anger as best she could, yet her voice was still raised when she spoke again, "And why not?"

"Because I won't lose you!" the Doctor finally looked up, that last part coming out in a shot that shut her up and had the group silenced. Minerva blinked, processing his words again and again in her mind. He sighed, regretting his shout upon seeing her startled face, "Minerva, I just got you. I won't risk your life for anything. I don't know what's down there but it's gotta be pretty bad if it doesn't care that a whole planet is gonna be wiped out. So you see, I need you to stay with the group, in the Reception, away from Deck 31."

Minerva's heart fluttered at his immense care for her. But even through all that, she just couldn't grasp the idea of leaving him alone to face the big ole enemy. It was wrong.

"Minerva, please, please, stay with the others," the Doctor pleaded, moving around for her, "I'll come back, we'll bake those cookies and then I'll find us a mistletoe and I'll kiss and kiss and kiss you till you forgive me, okay?" he placed his hand over her cheek, "I promise I'll come back."

She opened her mouth to retaliate when he interrupted her with a kissed. She loved the way she felt about him, but she knew that would lead to him getting what he wanted through a kiss.

"Okay," she whispered as he parted from her.

Her agreement made him breathe a little easier, knowing she would be far away from the biggest threat on the ship besides the actual ship crashing, "Thank you," he breathed.

"But I'm not happy about it," she informed as he took her hand and moved her beside the charger.

"I know, and I'll do my best to make it up to you afterwards," he assured, because they would survive this.

"I expect a very good kiss," she said, watching him blush.

"Um, I think it's done charging," Astrid slowly approached them, wanting to make sure they were really past their disagreement before joining. The EMP was past charge but the pair had been so caught up with each other to notice, "It's alright," she plucked it off and turned to them, "So, you two okay now?"

"Yeah, he's just got one heck of an apology to make after we get the TARDIS," Minerva smirked at him.

"I'll take you to those ice mineral lakes, we can go to Manet, and even Marie Antoinette?" he tried to see if that was making her smile, and one she did, he continued, promising himself he would take her to see all those things, "Agatha Christie? Um, Ooh, how about Rio?"

"Wow," Astrid blinked, all those places and people sounding so amazing, "Wow, um, all that sounds terrific. I take it you guys travel a lot?"

Minerva scoffed, "That's what he does for a living. I just kinda tag along."

The Doctor wound his arm around Minerva's waist, "She's not a tag along, she's my girlfriend and a rightful traveler in the TARDIS. That's what we are, just travelers. Imagine it. No tax, no bills, no boss, just the open sky."

Astrid could imagine it, after all that was all she wanted to do in life, travel and see the world, "Listen, uh...I'm sort of...unemployed now and I was thinking the blue box is kinda small, but I could kinda squeeze in. Like a stowaway."

Minerva and the Doctor shared a glance, meanwhile Astrid stared at them with such hope.

"It's not always safe," the Doctor informed, still gazing at Minerva for help.

He didn't know what to think about Astrid's request. It had been mere hours since Martha had left the TARDIS. Minerva was also puzzled on what to say, but something deep inside told her Astrid was her a year ago. All her life, Minerva wanted to go see the world, be productive and do something. She could see the same gleam in Astrid's eyes and she felt like she couldn't turn the blonde away...but ultimately, it was the Doctor's decision that would make it or break it. The box of wonders was his and only he could decide who to bring on board.

"I wouldn't cause any problems," Astrid added, nervously seeing the pair thinking of it for too long, "I've got no one back on Sto, no family, just me. So what do you think? Can I come with you? Please?"

The Doctor glanced at Minerva, wanting her to be okay with a new passenger, a female besides Martha, to come along. He didn't know just yet if Minerva was the jealous type, he knew for a fact he was, but she hadn't shown any jealousy traits so far. Granted, Martha had never shown the least bit interest in him so perhaps Minerva just hadn't been exposed to any jealous causing situations. But he had hurt her, with Rose for ignoring her, and then with Kaeya and his confusion, he wouldn't hurt her anymore. No more. He would always take her and her voice into consideration and he would start now.

Minerva gave him a small nod, truly wanting Astrid to accompany them, "I think she would make a fine companion."

Astrid beamed at her response, that was one down, and now for the other...

"Yeah, I'd like that, too," the Doctor agreed, also seeing in Astrid that little spark of curiosity that all his companions had.

Astrid squealed, jumping and hugging the pair, "Thank you! Thank you!"

"Alright, alright, m now let us go so we can get you out of here," the Doctor struggled to free himself from Astrid's grip.

"Right, sorry," she stepped back, sheepishly fixing her uniform, "Just excited."

The Doctor nodded and walked towards a comms nearby, the ship lurching and rocking them as he reached, "Mr Frame, you still with us?"

~ 0 ~

Midshipman Frame was at the wheel, nearly having fallen from the lurch as well, "There's nothing more I can do. We've got only eight minutes left!"

"Don't worry, I'll get there."

"The bridge is sealed off!"

~ 0 ~

"Yeah, yeah, working on it. I'll get there, Mr Frame, somehow," the Doctor left the comms and turned for the group, "Mr Copper, look after these two please," he set a hand on Minerva's shoulder, "Astrid, look after him. Rickston, um...look after yourself. And I'll see you again, promise," he pecked Minerva on the lips, moving to leave when she yanked him by his arm back to her, "Minerva, I thought we discussed-"

But she had grabbed him by his lapels and pulled him down to her level for a very large, deep kiss that left them both panting for air when they had finally pulled away from each other.

"That is what I expect as the beginning of your apology when you get back, got it Martian?" Minerva kept her arm wound his neck, refusing to let go until it was very clear.

The Doctor could only nod, for a woman who never kissed anyone she sure had some moves that left him like putty in her arms.

She smiled with satisfaction, unwinding her arm and stepping back, "You take care, okay?"

"Y-yes, I'll see you later!" he winked and ran off.

"Well, c'mon then newest box of wonders companion," Minerva swung her arm around Astrid's shoulders as they headed for the reception room.

"Box of wonders?"

"Yeah, it's my nickname for the TARDIS. It's brought me so many wonders," she sighed in content, "I'm sure it'll bring you many too."

~ 0 ~

The Doctor ran into a small kitchen where in less than two seconds he was surrounded by four Host. He grabbed a pot by the handle and was fully prepared to use it as a weapon, "Wait, wait, wait, wait! Security protocol one! Do you hear me? One! One!" he shouted and they all stopped, "Okay, that gives me three questions. Three questions to save my life, am I right?"

"Information: correct."

He frowned, "No, that wasn't one of them. I didn't mean it. That's not fair. Can I start again?"

"Information: no."

His frown turned into a pout, "No, no! No, no, no. That wasn't one either. Blimey. One question left. One question. So, you've been given orders to kill the survivors but survivors must therefore be passengers or staff, but not me. I'm not a passenger. I'm not staff. Go on, scan me. You must have bio records. No such person on board. I don't exist therefore...you can't kill me. Therefore, I'm a stowaway and stowaways should be arrested and taken to the nearest figure of authority. And I reckon the nearest figure of authority is on Deck 31. Final question: am I right?"

"Information: correct."

"Brilliant. Take me to your leader," he dropped the pan, smiling with content, "I've always wanted to say that."

~ 0 ~

The group arrived into the reception room, Astrid using the EMP to bring down the awaiting Host.

"Rickston, seal the doors, make the room secure. Mr Copper, keep an eye on the Host," Minerva instructed, Astrid give him the EMP, "Astrid, do you think you could check the computer for the SOS?"

"Who put you in charge?" Rickston frowned at the girl's authorative tone she had taken.

"When the Doctor isn't here, I''m second in command," Minerva walked over to Astrid who had slammed her fists on the computer, "What is it?"

"It's down," Astrid turned to the teleport bracelets, an idea popping into her head, "Oh..."

"Yeah, I remembered they were still up here," Minerva moved beside her.

"Should we?" Astrid asked her, unsure how she should manage this new "companionship" in the best way, "Or do we listen?"

"Astrid Peth, if there's one thing you should know about traveling with the Doctor is..." Minerva strapped on the teleport bracelet, "...never listen to what the Martian orders you to do, especially when he's your boyfriend."

~ 0 ~

The Doctor was being willingly escorted down to Deck 31, the Host storage facility. There were small structural damages and small fires, but that wasn't of concern for the Doctor yet.

"Now that is what you call a fixer-upper. Come on then, Host with the most, this ultimate authority of yours, who is it?" he asked, two doors sliding open behind him, making him turn around, "Ooh, that's clever. That's an omnistate impact chamber. Indestructible. You can survive anything in that, eh?" a small vehicle started wheeling out, "Sit through a supernova or a shipwreck. Only one person can have the power and the money to hide themselves onboard like this and I should know, 'cause..."

The vehicle was actually a giant life support system for Max Capricorn, the head of the ship and company...only he was just a head now, "My name is Max," his gold tooth glinted.

"It really does that," the Doctor paused in surprise. But he had to snap out of it fast, he had to hurry and deal with this guy so he could get back to Minerva and begin that apology...

"Who the hell is this?" Max asked.

"I'm the Doctor. Hello."

"Information: stowaway," the Host responded.

"Well..."

"Kill him," Max ordered.

"Oh, no, no! Wait, but you can't. Not now. Come on, Max...You've given me so much good material like...How to get ahead in business. See "head"? "Head in business"? No?" the Doctor was really losing it there.

"Oh, ho ho, the office joker. I like a funny man. No one's been funny with me for years."

"I can't think why..."

"176 years of running the company have taken their toll."

"Yeah, but...nice wheels," the Doctor gestured to the car, all in all it was a pretty nice thing.

"No, a life-support system in a society that despises cyborgs. I've had to hide away for years. Running the company by hologram. Host, situation report."

"Information: Titanic is still in orbit."

"Let me see," Max moved forwards and the Doctor stepped out of his way, "We should have crashed by now. What's gone wrong?" he frowned as he stared down at the running engines, "The engines are still running! They should have stopped!"

"When they do, the Earth gets roasted. I don't understand. What's the Earth got to do with it? It's got really lovely people..." the Doctor nearly pouted, how could anyone want to destroy Minerva?

"This interview is terminated."

"No, no, no, no, no, no!"

Neither of them noticed Astrid peeking around a corner. She was actually pretty nervous of what she could do down there on her own. After insisting with Midshipman Frame to get her and Minerva teleportation power to come down here, they'd only managed to get him to agree sending one of them. Minerva stated that she would come and so Astrid agreed, understanding that the brunette had someone she deeply cared for down here while Astrid really only wanted to just help. The best way to help was letting Minerva do what she wanted. Unfortunately for them both, the power had gone wrong and Astrid was sent instead, leaving a pretty peeved Minerva behind.

"Hold on! Hold on! Hold on! Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! I can work it out. It's like a task. I'm your apprentice. Just watch me," the Doctor frantically asked, the sudden death of his not a play thing anymore. He had a girlfriend to get back to, he could not just die anymore, "...Business is failing and you wreck the ship so that makes things even worse. Oh yes! No. Yes. The business isn't failing, it's failed. Past tense."

"My own board voted me out. Stabbed me in the back."

"If you had a back. So..."

Astrid moved forwards...

"You scupper the ship, wipe out any survivors in case anyone's rumbled you and the board find their shares halved in value. Oh, but that's not enough. No, 'cause if a Max Capricorn ship hits the Earth, it destroys an entire planet. Outrage back home. Scandal! The business is wiped out."

"And... the whole board thrown in jail for mass murder," Max smirked, it truly was the perfect plan.

"While you sit there, safe inside the impact chamber."

"I have men waiting to retrieve me from the ruins and enough off-world accounts to retire me to the beaches of Pentaxico Two where the ladies, so I'm told, are very fond of...metal."

"So that's the plan. A retirement plan. 2000 on this ship, 6 billion underneath us, all of them slaughtered. And why? Because Max Capricorn is a loser," the Doctor spat, angry this man was responsible for the Van Hoffs death, Bannakaffalatta's, Minerva's safety...for revenge.

"I never lose..." Max declared.

"You can't even sink the Titanic."

"Oh, but I can, Doctor. I can cancel the engines from here."

An alarm started to sound...

Engines closing.

"You can't do this!" the Doctor cried, two Host holding the Doctor by the arms and pulled him away from Max.

"Not so clever now, Doctor. A shame we couldn't work together. You're rather good. All that banter yet not a word wasted. Time for me to retire. The Titanic is falling. The sky will burn. Let the Christmas inferno commence. Oh! Oh, Host! Kill him," Max ordered, the Host not holding the Doctor removed it's halo to strike the him.

"Mr, Capricorn!" Astrid shouted, freezing everyone in their places, even the Host. She was currently in a forklift, "I resign," she started the forklift and went towards Max.

"Astrid, don't!" the Doctor struggled to stop her, the Host still holding him back

Astrid lifted the front of Capricorn"Capricorn"s life support vehicle, managing to bring up its tires. However, his rear tires still had enough traction to cause a standoff. The Host that was about to strike the Doctor threw it's halo at Astrid, missing her for a part of the forklift instead.

"He's cut the break line!" the Doctor exclaimed, but the blonde didn't listen.

She lifted the fork higher, completely lifting Capricorn off the ground, and stepped on the gas. But just as she was about to fall forwards along with the forklift and Capricorn, there was a blue light and Minerva flashed on the step of the forklift.

"What are you-" Astrid blinked, seeing Minerva's eyes completely blue for a brief second and her arms covered in bits of ice before she was yanked off the forklift, landing on the edge of the cliff.

"Minerva!" the Doctor called, completely terrified.

It all happened too fast.

Minerva looked at the Doctor, her eyes reverting to jade-green, before he could notice, her eyes watery as she knew what would happen. She tried to jump off the forklift before it fell down.

Her hands managed to grab onto the edge, "I can't...I'm slipping," she started to sniffle as she looked down to the running engines.

"No!" the Doctor tried breaking free from the Host, their leader still wasn't completely 'dead' and so his orders were still intact.

"Come up, Minerva," Astrid grunted as she tried pulling the woman up, "Come...up!"

The Doctor finally broke free from the Hosts and started running towards the women.

"See the world, Astrid," Minerva offered her a sad, teary smile.

...and then her hands slipped from Astrid's.

"NOOOOO!" the Doctor fell to his knees right beside Astrid, looking down in horror as his Minerva, his Clever Girl, his girlfriend plummeted down to her death. He had to look away, a coward he was that he couldn't dare look at his failure.

He had failed Minerva, completely failed her.

Titanic falling. Voyage terminated.

"Doctor!" Astrid shook his arm, understanding he was shocked of the death, but there was still a whole planet to save, "Please! Help us!"

No one saw a blue light rush down before Minerva actually hit the fire underneath. The clever girl faded, only the tips of her hair faintly touching the fire.

The Doctor was struggling to force himself, to remember the other 6 million people on the planet. That included Martha Jones and Minerva's grandmother...

...but Minerva...she...she was...no...NO.

"Please," Astrid begged, in tears for the loss they just witnessed, "Save us."

But the Doctor looked down the engines...there was no one anymore. Minerva had probably submerged down the raging fires...

He winced terribly at the thought...had she died before reaching the fires? Or was she being burned alive? He looked away, unable to see the place of his fail...of her death.

"Doctor!" Astrid suddenly gasped, "The bracelets! The teleportation bracelets! She had one on, and..."

He blinked...seeing where her thoughts had gone to.

"If the ship is saved then maybe a fraction of power could be left and..."

The Doctor had already bolted to his feet and ran off.

Astrid quickly jumped to her feet and ran after him.

~ 0 ~

Midshipman Frame screamed as the Doctor and Astrid literally broke through the floor of the bridge.

"Deadlock broken."

The Doctor climbed through tandem stood, Astrid struggling but eventually doing it as well.

"Ah, Midshipman Frame at last!" the Doctor greeted, for politeness reasons, but the face he wore was not the kind to greet...

"Uh, the Host!" Midshipman Frame reminded.

"Controller dead they divert to the next highest authority and that's me," the Doctor headed for the wheel.

"There's nothing we can do. There's no power. The ship's gonna fall."

"Titanic falling."

"Yeah, yeah, what's your first name?"

"Alonzo."

That actually managed to surprise him, "You're kidding me..."

Both Frame and Astrid glanced at each other, "What?" Frame asked, confused.

"That's something else I've always wanted to say...Allons-y Alonzo," the Doctor mumbled to himself, recalling Minerva's giggles at his "stupid made up word".

He had to hurry. He had to...his mind was all jumbled up and the only thing he could think of was her, the clever girl, the one who just needed to come back. And he was gonna make it so.

The ship lurching reminded him of the problem. He tried to steer as they fell straight towards the Earth's atmosphere, Frame and Astrid screaming for their lives. The ship burned as the speed ignited.

And alarm sounded and the Doctor used his foot to check, his eyes widening at the impact zone.

"Oh great..." the Doctor muttered, using his foot to dial, "Hello, yes, um...could you get me Buckingham Palace?" he paused for alarm moment until they answered, "Listen to me! Security Code 771! Now get out of there!"

~ 0 ~

The Queen of London rushed down a hallway of the Buckingham Palace, still in a dressing gown and curlers.

A footman ran beside her, carrying a corgi, "Open the door!"

~ 0 ~

The newsstand man stepped out of his Kiosk and looked up at the sky, seeing the big ship, "Don't you dare, you aliens! Don't you dare!"

~0~

Engine active. Engine active.

The Doctor pulled back on the wheel, sending Frame and Astrid back against the wall. With great strain, the Doctor regained control of the wheel, managing just by a hair you moss the Buckingham Palace. He gasped deeply, unable to believe he had actually managed to save the whole bloody planet...and fail one person, the most important person.

~ 0 ~

Outside the Buckingham Palace, the Queen was waving at the passing ship, "Thank you, Doctor! Thank you. Happy Christmas!"

~ 0 ~

Sensing they were out of trouble, Astrid and Frame let out a big relief, even managing a laugh. The Doctor, on the other hand, remained somber, steering in silence. He had to place the stupid ship on idle so he could rush back to the reception room...

~ 0 ~

"Doctor," Astrid called in a feeble voice, the man still standing at the wheel, "We did it..."

"Not the person I strive to saved," he muttered then ran like the wind to the reception room, "Rickston, sonic, NOW!" he yelled, Rickston and Mr. Copper flinching. Rickston threw the sonic over, "Mr. Copper, the teleports, have they got emergency settings?"

"I don't know. They should have," Mr. Copper looked around, seeing Astrid and Frame walk in, "Where's, um..uh..." Astrid shook her head.

"Minerva fell, Mr. Copper. She fell. What's the emergency code?"

"Uh, let me see..."

"What the hell are you doing?" Midshipman Frame asked, the Doctor working on the teleport machine like mad.

"I can bring her back."

"If a passenger has an accident on shore leave and they're still wearing their teleport, their molecules are automatically suspended and held in stasis so that we can just trigger the shift," Mr. Copper explained.

"There!" the Doctor stood and turned around, a faint glowing beginning to appear, "C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!" the glow turned blue, but nothing happened, "Only halfway there. Come on," he adjusted the inner workings of the teleport, "Feed back the molecule grid, boost it with the restoration matrix," but the teleport sparked, "No, no, no, no! Need more phase containment."

"Doctor," Astrid called, already knowing it just wouldn't work.

"No! If I can just link up the surface suspension..."

"Doctor, she's gone," Mr. Copper said, sorrow for him already bursting within.

"I just need to override the safety. I can do it!"

"Doctor, let her go."

"NO!" he yelled, making everyone jump. He kicked the teleport in frustration and turned around, showing them all he was close to tears, "I just got her and I lost her! I can't just let it go!" that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard of, how could he let the most amazing woman go?

"But there's nothing to do," Astrid softly said, the guilt stirring inside her. Minerva was dead because of her.

"I can't do anything!" the Doctor shook his head, dropping to his knees as he stared at the blue glow across, simply light was what it was. He couldn't even bring Minerva's ghost back... "I failed her, I lost her..."

He had done everything to keep her safe, everything in his power. He sent her back to the reception room to keep her alive while he would deal with Capricorn. He promised her snicker doodles for Christmas, a big grand apology after he returned. He promised her he would be back...and she died.

She was gone.

How could he possibly move on from this? How would he explain to Martha that he had let her best friend die just hours after they had left her. How would he explain that to Isadora? He promised her he'd take care of Minerva with his life...how could he explain her death?

Astrid looked at the blue light suddenly speed out the window. She slowly approached the Doctor, cautiously placing her hand on his shoulder, making sure he wouldn't lash at her or anything. When she heard him begin to quietly weep, she dropped to his side, giving him a side hug, both mourning a good woman.

~ 0 ~

Somewhere in an open space in London, the TARDIS awaited...a faint blue glow at its top, just fading as the Doctor, Astrid, and Mr. Copper approached.

The Doctor remembered Minerva's promise to Mr. Copper to save him from jail. He couldn't let Copper go, that would be against Minerva's wishes. If he could please her in the slightest, even in her death, than he would. Astrid, having no where else to go, was brought along, but he would have to talk about their offer to bring her along the TARDIS...

Without Minerva, he just couldn't.

"So, Great Britain is part of, uh, "Europee" just across the British Channel you've got Great France and Great Germany..." Mr. Copper was explaining, really doing it to try and distract the Doctor, the man solemnly walking ahead of he and Astrid.

"No, no, it's just - it's just France and Germany. Only Britain is great..." the Doctor mumbled, barely heard by the pair.

"Oh, and they're all at war with the continent of Ham-erica?"

"No, well...not yet, uh...could argue that one," he sighed, arriving at the TARDIS, "There she is. Survive anything."

"The box of wonders," Astrid smiled at the blue box, the Doctor wincing and glancing back at her.

Those were Minerva's words...

Astrid smiled sheepishly, seeing the Doctor's remembrance, "She told me about it...the box of wonders," she walked towards the box, placing a palm on it, "She said it brought a lot of wonders to her..."

The Doctor stepped towards her, gathering the courage to let her down easily, "Astrid-"

"I don't want to come along anymore," she said quietly, seeing him blink in surprise, even Copper was a bit shocked and he didn't even understand what was fully going on, "I can't. Not, not after what happened," Astrid sighed, "She died because of me. I can't travel in this box, being happy...when this happened. I can't. I won't."

The Doctor nodded, respecting her wishes. He was secretly thankful he had declined all on her own. That was one less problem he had to deal with.

"I'll stay here, on Earth, if that's possible," she continued, walking backing to Copper.

"Just lead a quiet life, please," the Doctor said, she nodding.

"And, uh, what about me?" Mr. Copper looked between them. Astrid was young she could easily find a job, even marry a nice human man...but he, am old man, what could he do to survive?

"Give me that credit card," the Doctor held his hand out, "Take care of each other, this will be for you and her."

"But that's just petty cash, spending money. It's all done by computer. I - I didn't really know the currency so I thought a million might cover it."

"A million? Pounds?" the Doctor gaped.

"That enough for trinkets?"

"Mr Copper, a million pounds is worth 50 million credits."

"How much?" Copper and Astrid blinked, glancing at Rachel other.

"50 million and 56."

"I - We've got money!"

"Yes, you have," the Doctor handed them back the card.

"Oh my word. Oh my vot! Oh my goodness me! I – Ya-ha!"

"It's all yours - Planet Earth. Now that's a retirement plan. But just you be careful, though."

"We'll take good care of each other," Astrid assured, "He'll be like my grandfather, I'll be good to him."

"But I can have a house, a proper house, with a garden, and - and a door, and..." Copper was just too excited about all this, "Oh, Doctor, I will made you proud," he hugged the Doctor, "And - and I can have a kitchen with chairs, and windows, and lace..."

Astrid chuckled, but stopped as the Doctor turned around, unlocking the TARDIS, "Doctor..." she called, making him freeze but not turning back, "...I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I won't ever forget Minerva, ever. She was the first, kind passenger I met...and I've worked for a very long time. She saved my life, and I couldn't save hers. That's something I can't and won't ever forgive myself for."

The Doctor nodded, glancing back to see her give him one last look before turning to Mr. Copper, both walking away.

He unlocked the door, moving to step inside...but he couldn't. He couldn't face the console, a lonely, lonely box...with Minerva's rooms, her things still there. He left the doors and walked to the lake. He stared out, the city lighted up for Christmas night. Everyone was out there, celebrating Christmas with their family, their friends, their loved ones...

He would've been celebrating as well, a new type of Christmas. One where he would kiss his girlfriend under a mistletoe, until she couldn't breathe cause of her lack of a respiratory bypass system. She would then teach him, yet again, how to bake snicker doodles, and he would make a mess again. She would kiss him, tell him it's alright then salvage a batch of cookies for them. They would eat their cookies, make some brownies and get hot chocolate...

It would've been perfect.

But he failed her.

And for some reason, his mind couldn't help but drift to last year...he should've realized from the beginning of that past year. When they lost Rose, and he realized how much he ignored Minerva, he resolved to focus entirely on Minerva and learn who she was. He didn't realize it then, their closeness, their bantering...it was because something had clicked. Something small, but that was how it started, no? He didn't want Minerva to see Leonardo Da Vinci anymore cause he claimed to her, and himself, that the man was twice her age and not good enough for her, but in reality...he might have been a little jealous. He didn't know it but his hearts did. How could he not realize his feelings for her sooner? How could he have been so stupid? He had to go and waste all that time because of his feelings for Kaeya. Minerva, she had always been there for him, even when he didn't deserve her. She always stood by him, comforted him, and was just...a best friend. He waited too long, wasted too much time, and now...now the clever girl was just gone.

And it was his fault.

He should've ran faster, faster to grab her hands and pull her up. He didn't understand what she was doing in the engines in the first place, along with Astrid. He left them both to go and deal with the problem himself. But Minerva was Minerva, and he should've known she would've tried to come and help him. He should've done something...how useless he turned out to be. He could save everyone, six billion people of a planet...and he couldn't save his girlfriend?

There was a strong glow of blue emerging behind him, cutting off his solitary thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder just as a strong, icy-cold wind picked up. He turned around to see a blue light across from him, glowing stronger with each second.

"Show yourself," he ordered, not in the mood for another enemy.

A collection of silver particles collected at the center of the light until a form, a humanoid form, began emerging. The Doctor could hear overlapping words being whispered, but he couldn't make them out.

He covered his eyes as the light became an all-time brightness, nearly blinding one. And when it disappeared...

...Minerva fell forwards, unconscious.

"Minerva!" the Doctor shouted, running over and falling to his knees beside her, lifting her body up to his lap, "Minerva!? Minerva!?" he shook her, unable to grasp what had happened.

She was freezing cold, something no human could ever withstand. He listened intently to her heart and caught a faint beating, a normal beat for a human. While he checked her over, he didn't see that same blue light reappear at the top of the TARDIS, swirling around for a second or to before racing up to the sky and beyond.

"Minerva? Minerva, please wake up," the Doctor begged, his voice breaking as the Clever Girl remained unconscious, "Please, don't go. I need you, please," he pushed strands of her hair off her face, growing frantic and desperate as her eyes stayed closed, "I promise you I'll take better care of you. You'll be my life, my everything. Stay and I'll show you how much you mean to me, please," he shook her gently.

His hearts zinged when he felt her slightly move. She quietly fussed, her eyes opening halfway, "It's cold," she mumbled, her eyes snapping shut as her head lulled to his chest.

He let out a big laugh, a big shaky laugh with tears in her eyes. She was alive. She was alive and cold, but alive. She was with him again, in his arms, breathing! He couldn't grasp that idea of it happened but that cold, prickly wind seemed familiar...

But right now, he didn't give a damn.

...she was alive!

Minerva's eyes finally opened again, feeling doozy but she supposed that was what could happen after you died and came back to life, "Hi..." she whispered.

The Doctor's eyes shimmered with tears, "Hello," he whispered.

"Is it still Christmas?" her eyes looked around, slowly realizing she was in his lap with her Christmas date dress and he in his unlucky suit.

"Just for you."

"And Astrid? Is she okay?"

"Yes, you saved her you little hero," he tapped her nose, making her smile, "You died saving her..." his own smile faded, "...you died."

"I didn't die..." she closed her eyes as she tried recalling what had happened, "...I didn't even touch the fire. There was this light...and it was cold," the Doctor nodded, knowing he'd have to look into that as well, "But I had to save Astrid. She wanted to see the world and I already saw it. There was no more power to go down, but then...a blue light..." she whispered as she remembered that right before suddenly finding herself being teleported there had been some light near.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," the Doctor begged her, resting his forehead on hers, his eyes closing as he took her in, her vanilla scent, her heart beat, her breath, her everything. She was here again and she would never leave.

"I'll try," she stared at him, feeling guilty for putting him into that state.

But she had to do it. She couldn't let Astrid die, not when the blonde wanted to see the world like she did. Astrid had to survive and if Minerva died, she died trying to save another person. She couldn't think of a better reason to die: die to help someone else.

"I swear to you, Minerva Souza, I will never let you go again," he shut his eyes hard, like he was making a wish that he hoped with all he had would come true. But he was making an important promise, a swearing, that he intended to live up to until he died, "I am going to take care of you, make you happy, give you everything you deserve."

She smiled softly, her heart, beating slower as it was, skipped a few beats and there, "My Martian..." she whispered, her hand reaching up to his cheek, "...you are incredible."

"You know what?" the Doctor's eyes opened and lowered to her lips, "You've got to let me make my apology."

She noticed where his gaze had fallen to and managed to blush through her prickly cold skin, "I've gotta apologize too..."

That was his cue and he went straight for it. He kissed her with so much emotion, so much hunger, for her. He had to show her how much she meant, even if it was too early, even if it was their first date, she died and she had to know what that caused. He lifted her up in his arms as he stood up, the kiss never breaking as he fumbled his way to the TARDIS, the doors, for once, opening with ease. They closed after them, even locking on their own as the pair headed for the console.

The Doctor set her to her feet, his arm winding around her waist, his lips still attached to hers. His free arm found the controls and started up the TARDIS. The ship lurched soothingly for the first time, now in the Vortex.

"Mm, guess what?" the Doctor pulled back only slightly as he still meant to kiss her more and more.

"What?"

"I met an Alonzo today," he informed, her eyes widening, "Mr. Frame of the ship."

"Alonsy Alonzo, hm," Minerva thought about it for a second, her hands staying put on his face, "Guess I should congratulate you for that," she pulled him back to his lips, setting soft, sweet, kisses on them, "You know what?" she mumbled against his lips.

"What?" he asked, muffled by their kisses.

"We're making out," she teased, biting back a chuckle, "My first make out."

"Hm, I just snogged the cleverest human," he smirked, kissing her a bit harder for effect.

"I'm making out with an alien," she pulled back, the thought of their different origins barely coming into mind.

"Is that a problem?" he asked with genuine nervousness.

She pretended to think hard on it, "Mm...I'm not sure...you're an alien...I'm a human..."

"Minerva..."

"Martian," she giggled again, and he sighed, "Why kiss a human when I can snog a Time Lord, ahem, Martian."

"I am not a Martian," he said tiredly. He cursed Donna Noble for giving her that name...

"Hm, I prefer Martian's to snog, perhaps I could go find one then."

He refused to let her go, "Maybe I can be a Martian for a little while."

"I thought so," she winked, resuming their snog session.

~ 0 ~

Isadora Lozano was busy baking snicker doodles for Christmas. She'd be spending it alone as her daughter was busy working and her son was some where in Switzerland apparently. There was a knock on the door, however, and she left her work to go answer the door.

She found her granddaughter, Minerva, with the Doctor...with interlaced hands. She raised her eyebrows, looking between one another. She just chuckled when they both blushed, no idea how to explain how it happened. But it wasn't a surprise, it was quite obvious, even from 1969, the Doctor's eyes glimmered each time he looked at Minerva. And Minerva, well, it was just plain obvious the moment she had returned.

"Think you can set two more plates for us, grandma?" Minerva asked.

"It would be am honor to spend Christmas with my granddaughter again, and her new boyfriend," she stepped aside and let them in.

"Merry Christmas, grandma," Minerva encased her in a big hug as soon as she had turned after closing the doors.

Minerva had died, and without saying goodbye to her grandmother. Now, she was alive, with her boyfriend and her grandmother. The Doctor figured after such an awful experience perhaps Minerva would like to spend a Christmas with her grandmother as well. He could run all those tests on her after Christmas. After the Master, Martha's departure, and the Titanic, she deserved a nice peaceful night. Minerva was completely excited to share a Christmas with him and her grandmother, claiming now she could teach him how to really bake the most delicious snicker-doodle cookies in the world with the help of the original baker, her grandmother.

[adriennemareebrown]

what do we do with unthinkable thoughts?

who are we in our unthinkable thinking moments?

how do we adapt together if the clues to our next pivot are unthinkable?

maybe sharing these unthinkable thoughts will help?

i’ll start with the scariest unthinkable thought for me, which is that maybe we are in a state of collective suicidal ideation – the state of thinking about, even planning, the end of us. i have thought this thought many times, for years.

i have ideated suicide in the past, thought it didn’t much matter if i was here or not, and so it didn’t much matter how i treated myself or others. when i was in that phase of ambiguous commitment to life, i took risks with my mind and body that i couldn’t imagine taking now. i practiced cynicism and hopelessness, as if they were the measures of humor, of intelligence. it was a brief phase of my life, but during that time i believed in nothing.

i tried to exit.

i then had to choose life from deep within me. that’s why i’m still here. i want to live. i want to want to live. i think everyone chooses to move towards life or away from it, though some don’t realize that they are making the choice. capitalism makes it hard to see your own direction.

as i have watched the world respond to the pandemic, the borders between nations shift meaning in my mind. i can see which countries choose life, and which don’t. which countries have a majority life-minded citizenship, which countries/regions elect leaders who care for them. which countries pivot at the highest governmental level to protect their people, to guide their people to protect themselves – places with a variety of economies and exposure have found ways to move towards life.

i wonder about the movements in those countries, what it might feel like to live and organize in a place that chooses life.

choosing life means being able to admit we are wrong when new information presents itself about the dangers around and amongst us.

choosing life means committing to the adaptations to stay alive, rather than the stubbornness to stay the same.

the u.s., as a nation, does not choose, or love, life. not yet, and possibly never before now.

other nations, many amongst the most developed in the world, initially shrugged at COVID-19. then they adapted.

the u.s. response has been more egregious than a shrug; it’s been a flagrant disregard, running towards a category five pandemic tornado. it’s meant that those of us who want to live are watching in horror as the mutating coronavirus fills in the pre-existing grooves of collective suicidal ideation and the resistance of those who love life – with climate deniers and corporate polluters on one side, environmental and climate justice movements on the other. white supremacists and patriarchs on one side, solidarity movements in race, ethnicity, class, gender, ability and sexuality arenas on the other.

we are a nation not divided but torn – pulled towards life and pulled towards death.

when i get that torn feeling within, which in recent years comes very rarely, in twinges and whisps, i now recognize it as the suicidal tendency in me. it’s not the truth, not the only truth, not my truth, not the choice i want to make. but the tendency is wiley, using the voices of people i love to make itself heard. i have to be vigilant, listen between the lines, ask: who would benefit from my absence? who benefits from my self-doubt?

our nation has a tendency towards its own destruction, a doubt of its right to exist, that is rooted in our foundation.

i think our movements struggle inside this larger national suicidal tendency – we want to grow, but at the same time some of us don’t believe we will all get there, or get anywhere better, in time. that we can’t, and won’t, put forth the effort.

maybe the idea of our future generations experiencing peace and abundance is not enough to keep us going.

maybe we just need some more immediate signs of life.

maybe we are terrified.

i, we, have to be able to discern what is me/us, and what is fear.

which leads to my next unthinkable thought: do i really know the difference between my discernment and my fear?

my dear friend Malkia teaches me that there is the fear intended to save your life, vs fear intended to end it. what i mean by discernment is the set of noticings, fears, wisdoms, deductions, and gut tremblings that want to save, or even just improve, my life, versus the fear that makes me unable to do anything, which makes me unable to draw on my life force to take action.

do i think i am being discerning when i am actually frozen in place, scared to change?

am i too scared of standing out from the crowd to pause and discern right action?

am i acting from terror?

am i able to discern a decision or action that makes sense?

i was in italy when the pandemic really became clear as a threat to my well-being. i went to one of the places i felt at home. and once i got there, i again found myself freezing, in denial of next moves, as everyone asked me where i was and when i was going home-home or elsewhere.

in my frozen state i would hear just a bit of the news, the new numbers of crisis, and shake my head at the idiots in office, and then numb back out. having quickly identified who i blamed, i was even less able to feel any agency in me. i froze and delayed and froze until i was overwhelmed by the inquiries.

then i had an excellent therapy session where i noticed:

oh. i am afraid. i am afraid that the pandemic is on the rise everywhere and i am going to leave safety for a dangerous unknown. oh! i don’t know what to do!

as soon as i acknowledged i was afraid i was able to move into discernment. my fear became data – i am afraid because the numbers are clear that i am in a safer place than any of the locations i am considering going to. i should stay put, not because i am afraid, but because, as my fear is actually screaming on behalf of my informed intuition, this is the best place to be in this moment.

my fear made me freeze until i had to move. therapy helped me notice i was afraid, deepen my breath, and return to discernment.

i see the same vacillation between fear and discernment in our movements right now, with no therapist in sight.

we are afraid of being hurt, afraid because we have been hurt, afraid because we have caused hurt, afraid because we live in a world that wants to hurt us whether we have hurt others or not, just based on who we are, on any otherness from some long-ago determined norm. supremacy is our ongoing pandemic. it partners with every other sickness to tear us from life, or from lives worth living.

so we stay put and scream into the void, moving our rage across the internet like a tornado that, without discernment, sucks up all in its path for destruction.

our emotions and need for control are heightened during this pandemic – we are stuck in our houses or endangering ourselves to go out and work, terrified and angry at the loss of our plans and normalcy, terrified and angry at living under the oppressive rule of an administration that does not love us and that is racist and ignorant and violent. grieving our unnecessary dead, many of whom are dying alone, unheld by us. we are full of justified rage. and we want to release that rage. and one really fast and easy way to do this is what i experience as a salem witch trial, a false bid for justice, or the even faster method of lynching.

before i move on, i need to acknowledge that these are extreme terms, terms that refer to systems of death. i know that i am speaking of a social destruction, a significantly less extreme consequence – and i am trying to place my finger on a feeling of punitive justice unleashed in our movements.

in our movements, this feeling of punitive justice comes in the wake of call outs of leaders or those with some increased exposure or access. in the past week i have seen people called out for embodying white supremacy in the workplace, for causing repeated or one-time sexual harm, for physical, emotional or digital abuse, for appropriation of ideas and images, for patriarchy, for ableism, for being dishonest, for saying harmful things a decade ago, for doing things that were later understood as harm – for embodying all of the pain that supremacy holds. the call outs generally share one side of what’s happened and then call for immediate consequences. and within a day, the call out is everywhere, the cycle of blame and shame activated, and whoever was called out has begun being punished.

we are afraid, and we think it will assuage our fears and make us safer if we can clarify an enemy, a someone outside of ourselves who is to blame, who is guilty, who is the origin of harm. we can get spun into such frenzy in our fear that we don’t even realize we are deploying the master’s tools.

ah, audre, come in.

we’ve always known lynch mobs are a master’s tool. meaning: moving as an angry mob, sparked by fear (often unfounded or misguided) with the power to issue instant judgment and instant punishment. these are master’s tools.

we in movements for justice didn’t create lynch mobs. we didn’t create witch trials. we didn’t create this punitive system of justice. we didn’t create the state, we didn’t choose to be socialized within it. we want to dismantle these systems of mass harm, and i know that most of us have no intention of ever mimicking state processes of navigating justice.

the master’s tools feel good to use, groove in the hand easily from repeated use and training. but they are often blunt and senseless.

unless we have a true analysis of abolition and dismantling systems of oppression, we will not realize what’s in our hands, we will never put the master’s tools down and figure out what our tools are and can be.

oh – but you can’t say it’s a salem witch trial if it’s all Black and Brown and queer and trans people doing it…

oh – you can’t call it a lynching, because of the power dynamics! it’s a move against someone with more power.

but then – my third unthinkable thought – why does it feel like that? why do our movements more and more often feel like angry mobs moving against ourselves? and what is at stake because of it? why does it feel like someone pointing at someone else and saying: that person is harmful! and with no questions or process or time or breath, we are collectively punishing them?

sometimes we even do it with the language of transformative justice: claiming that we are going to give them room to grow. they need to disappear completely to be accountable. we are publicly shaming them so that they will learn to be better.

underneath this logic i hear: we are dunking her in the water to see if she drowns, because if she drowns then we know she wasn’t a witch. we are hanging him from the tree because then we can pretend we have exorcised ‘bad’ from our town. we are lynching to affirm our rightness.

which isn’t to say that some of the accused aren’t raging white supremacists in movement clothing. or abusers who have slipped through the fingers of accountability. or shady in some other way.

which isn’t to say that a public accounting of harm, and consequences, aren’t necessarily the correct move.

which isn’t to say we don’t believe survivors. because we must.

but how do we believe survivors and still be abolitionist? and still practice transformative justice?

to start with, i have been trying to discern when a call out feels powerful, like the necessary move, versus when it feels like the witch trial/lynch mob energy is leading.

it feels powerful when there have been private efforts for accountability. it feels powerful when survivors are being supported. it feels necessary when the accused has avoided accountability, particularly (but not exclusively) if they have continued to cause harm. it feels necessary when the accused person has significantly more power than the accuser(s) and is using that power to avoid accountability. it feels powerful when the demand is process and consequence based.

it feels like a lynch mob when there are no questions asked. when the survivor’s healing takes a back seat. when there is no attempt to have a private process. when there is no time between accusation and the call for consequences. and when the only consequence is for the accused to cease to exist. when the accused is from one or more oppressed identities. when it feels performative. when the person accused of causing harm does what the survivor/crowd demands, but we keep pulling up the rope.

no inquiry, no questions, no acceptance of accountability, no jury, no time for the learning and unlearning necessary for authentic change…just instant and often unsatisfactory consequences.

a moment on this: one of the main demands i see in call outs is for a public apology. to expect a coherent authentic apology from someone who has been forcibly removed from power or credibility feels like a set up. usually they issue some pr sounding thing and we use that paper as more fuel for the fire at their feet.

i have seen the convoluted denial-accountability-nonapology message from many an accused harm doer, especially when physical or sexual harm is involved. sometimes they are claiming innocence, sometimes they are admitting to some harm, rarely at the level of the accusation. sometimes they say they tried to have a process but it didn’t work, or they were denied. who knows what they mean by process, who knows if the accuser was ready for a process, who knows what actually happened between them, the relational context of the instance or pattern of harm, who knows?

the truth about sexual assault and rape and patriarchy and white supremacy and other abuses of power is that we are swimming in them, in a society that has long normalized them, and that they often play out intimately.

the truth is, sometimes it takes a long time for us to realize the harm that has happened to us.

and longer to realize we have caused harm to others.

the truth is, it isn’t unusual to only realize harm happened in hindsight, with more perspective and politicization.

but there’s more truth, too.

the additional truth is, right now we have the time.

the additional truth is, even though we want to help the survivor, we love obsessing over and punishing ‘villains’. we end up putting more of our collective attention on punishing those accused of causing harm than supporting and centering the healing of survivors.

the additional truth is, we want to distance ourselves from those who cause harm, and we are steeped in a punitive culture which, right now, is normalizing a methodology of ‘punish first, ask questions later’, which is a witch trial, lynching, master’s tool methodology. which, because we are in the age of social media, we now have a way to practice very publicly.

supremacy is the original pandemic, an infectious disease that quietly roots into each of us. we might have supremacy due to race, citizenship, gender, class, ableism, age, access, fame, or other areas where we feel justified to cause harm without consequence, sometimes without even realizing we’ve caused harm, because supremacy is a numbing and narrowing disease.

i want us to let go of the narrowness of innocence, widen our understanding of how harm moves through us. i want us to see individual acts of harm as symptoms of systemic harm, and to do what we can to dismantle the systems and get as many of us free as possible.

often a call out comes because the disease has reached an acute state in someone, is festering in hiding, is actively causing harm. i want us to see the difference between the human and the disease, to see what we are afraid of, in others and in ourselves, and discern a path that actually addresses the root of our justified fears.

this is not a case against call outs – there is absolutely a need for certain call outs – when power is greatly imbalanced and multiple efforts have been made to stop ongoing harm, when someone accused of harm won’t participate in community accountability processes, the call out is a way of pulling an emergency brake.

but it should be a last option. the consequences of being called out at this point are extremely dire and imprecise. the presence of infiltration in our movements is so documented and prevalent. call outs are an incredible modern tool for those who are not committed to movements to use against those having impact.

right now calling someone out online seems like first/only option for a lot of people.

i can’t help but wonder who benefits from movements that engage in public infighting, blame, shame and knee jerk call outs? i can’t help but see the state grinning, gathering all the data it needs, watching us weaken ourselves. meanwhile, the harm continues.

i don’t find it satisfying, and i don’t think it is transformative to publicly call people out for instant consequences with no attempt at a conversation, mediation, boundary setting or a community accountability process with a limited number of known participants.

it doesn’t make sense to say ‘believe all survivors’ if we don’t also remember that most of us are survivors, which includes most people who cause harm. what we mean is we are tired of being silenced, dismissed, powerless in our pain, hurt over and over. yes. but being loud is different from being whole, or even being heard, being cared for, being comforted, being healed. being loud is different from being just. being able to destroy is different from being able to generate a future where harm isn’t happening all around us.

we are terrified of how widespread and active harm is, and it makes us want to point the finger and quickly remove those we can identify as bad. we want to protect each other from those who cause harm.

many of us seem to worry that if we don’t immediately jump on whatever mob wagon has pulled up in our dms, that we will be next to be called out, or called a rape apologist or a white person whisperer or an internalized misogynist, or just disposed of for refusing to group think and then group act. online, we perform solidarity for strangers rather than engaging in hard conversations with comrades.

we are fearful of taking the time to be discerning, because then we may have to recognize that any of us could be seen as harmdoers. and when we are discerning, when we do step up to say wait, let’s get understanding here, we risk becoming the new target, viewed as another accomplice to harm instead of understood as a comrade in ending harm.

perhaps, most dangerously, we are, all together now, teetering on the edge of hopelessness. collective suicidal ideation, pandemic burnout, 45-in-office burnout, climate catastrophe burnout and other exhaustions have us spent and flailing, especially if we are caught in reactive loops (which include the culture of multiple daily call outs) instead of purposeful adaptations. some of us are losing hope, tossed by the tornado, ungrounded and uprooted by the pace of change, seeking something tangible we can do, control, hold, throw away.

the kind of callouts we are currently engaging in do not necessarily think about movements’ needs as a whole. movements need to grow and deepen, we need to ‘transform ourselves to transform the world’*, to ‘be transformed in the service of the work’**. movements need to become the practice ground for what we are healing towards, co-creating. movements are responsible for embodying what we are inviting our people into. we need the people within our movements, all socialized into and by unjust systems, to be on liberation paths. not already free, but practicing freedom every day. not already beyond harm, but accountable for doing our individual and internal work to end harm, which includes actively working to gain awareness of the ways we can and have harmed each other, and ending those cycles in ourselves and our communities.

knee jerk call outs say: those who cause harm cannot change. they must be eradicated. the bad things in the world cannot change, we must disappear the bad until there is only good left.

but one layer under that, what i hear is:

we cannot change.

we do not believe we can create compelling pathways from being harm doers to being healed, to growing.

we do not believe we can hold the complexity of a gray situation.

we do not believe in our own complexity.

we can only handle binary thinking: good/bad, innocent/guilty, angel/abuser, black/white, etc.

it is a different kind of suicide, to attack one part of ourselves at a time. cancer does this, i have seen it – oh it’s in the throat, now it’s in the lungs, now it’s in the bones. when we engage in knee jerk call outs and instant consequences with no process, we become a cancer unto ourselves, unto movements and communities. we become the toxicity we long to heal. we become a tool of harm when we are trying to be, and i think meant to be, a balm.

oh unthinkable thoughts. now that i have thought you, it becomes clear to me that all of you are rooted in a singular longing: i want us to want to live.

i want us to want to live in this world, in this time, together.

i want us to love this planet and this species, at this time.

i want us to see ourselves as larger than just individuals randomly pinging around in a world that will never care for us.

i want us to see ourselves as a murmuration of creatures who are, as far as we know right now, unique in all the universe. each cell, each individual body, itself a unique part of this unique complexity.

i want us not to waste the time we have together.

i want us to look at each other with the eyes of interdependence, such that when someone causes harm, we find the gentle parent inside of us who can use a voice of accountability, while also bringing curiosity – ‘why did you cause harm? do you know? do you know other options? apologize.’ that we can set boundaries that don’t require the disappearance of other survivors. that we can act towards accountability with the touch of love. that when someone falls behind, we can use a parent’s voice of discipline while also picking them up and carrying them for a while if needed.

i want us to adapt from systems of oppression and punishment to systems of uplifting and transforming.

i want us to notice that this is a moment when we need to choose life, not surrender to the incompetence and hopelessness of our national leadership.

i want us to be discerning.

i want our movement to feel like a vibrant, accountable space where causing harm does not mean you are excluded immediately and eternally from healing, justice, community or belonging.

i want us to grow lots and lots of skill at holding the processes by which we mend the wounds in our communities and ourselves.

i want satisfying consequences that actually end cycles of harm, generate safety and deepen movement.

i want us to hold Black humanity to the highest degree of protection, even when we have caused harm. i want us to see each other’s trauma-induced behavior as ancestral and impermanent, even as we hold each other accountable.

i want us to be particularly rigorous about holding complexity and accountability well for Black people in our movement communities who are already struggling to keep our heads above water and build trust and move towards life under the intersecting weights of white supremacy, racialized capitalism, police brutality, philanthropic competition culture, and lack of healing support.

i never want to see us initiate processes for Black accountability where those who are not invested in Black life can see it, store it, weaponize it. replace Black in that sentence with any other oppressed peoples and i still feel the same way. it is not strategic, and, again, it is rarely satisfying.

i want us to ask who benefits from our hopelessness, and to deny our oppressors the satisfaction of getting to see our pain. i want them to wonder how we foment such consistent and deep solidarity and unlearning. i want our infiltrators to be astounded into their own transformations, having failed to tear us apart.

i want us to acknowledge that the supremacy and suicidal ideation and hopelessness and harm are everywhere, and make moves that truly allow us to heal into wholeness.

because against all odds in space and time? we. are. winning.

we are winning in spite of the tsunami of pressures against us. we are moving towards life in spite of everything that wants us to give up.

we in movement must learn to choose life even in conflict, composting the bad behaviors while holding the beating hearts.

choosing life includes asking: do i have the necessary information to form an opinion? do i have the time to seek understanding? what does the survivor need? did a conversation/process already happen? is a conversation/process possible? how do we be abolitionist while gaining accountability here? who benefits from me doubting that movement can hold this? who could hold this well? what will end the cycle of harm here?

we must learn to do this before there is no one left to call out, or call we, or call us.

….

thank you deeply to shira hassan and malkia devich cyril for loving feedback on this piece.

* grace lee Boggs ** mary hooks

[terror-that-flaps-in-the-evening]

A Long Time Coming

“When you’re tired of me hanging around, let me know, and I’ll go,” Drake’s words floated across the garage, breaking the semi-silence that had been permeating through the room. Of course, it was never really silent when the two of them were hanging out. They always had a Darkwing episode playing in the background, despite the fact that the two of them were usually doing their own thing by this point.

It was just sort of a comfort to be in the presence of his new crime-fighting partner. Drake didn’t really know what it was about him, but even when they were just sprawled across the couch, Drake’s feet haphazardly thrown in Launchpad’s lap as the larger one of the two scribbled away in a coloring book, he felt at home. Despite the fact that Drake felt so at-home though, it wasn’t his home and it wasn’t his place to lay about all day until it was time for them to go patrolling. 

“I never get tired of having company,” Launchpad replied, tapping Drake’s foot with his crayon before going back to intently scribbling away at his page.

“Well, yeah, I don’t either, I just mean, y’know…” Drake gestured around broadly, nearly knocking himself off the couch in the process. “Ermm, I don’t want to be annoying.” 

“Well, joke’s on you, because we have a strict no-annoying rule in this household! Or, well, the household part that’s mine to live in…? In this garage!” Launchpad poked Drake’s foot with the crayon again.

“As in I’m not allowed to be annoying?” Drake tensed up a little, unsure of what Launchpad meant. Was this his way of telling him that he was no longer welcome? Was he being annoying and breaking the rules that Launchpad had--

“It means no one’s annoying here, because no one can annoy me,” Launchpad said, but before Drake had a chance to respond, he held out his hand. Drake very nearly questioned why, but once he heard the opening note of the end credits, he realized why. So, the two of them hummed and ‘sang’ along to the end credits, making saxophone noises unabashedly loud. Drake grinned, realizing that his fears were quite out of place. After all, if Launchpad found him annoying, why would they be sitting together on the couch being total dorks together?

Drake tried to go back to reading the story he had been perusing on his phone, but for some reason, he kept finding himself reading a paragraph only to find that he hadn’t gathered any of the information in. It wasn’t until he zoned out completely - staring forward at the duck in front of him - that he realized that it wasn’t just his brain distracting him for once. Drake felt his cheeks heating up immediately.

Nope! He couldn’t go there. He couldn’t let himself start to think of his one real friend like… that. Drake yanked his feet out of Launchpad’s lap, pulling them as close to himself as possible. Surely it would go away if he was out of the sphere of warmth that radiated from the other. He could feel his heart pounding away in his chest though, taking over his every thought. He tried to break himself away from his consciousness tunneling in on his heartbeat.

Launchpad was his partner in crime. Launchpad was his best friend. Launchpad was not someone who’d be interested in a wreck like Drake. Launchpad was not someone that Drake was worthy of. He’d keep his distance. No more of their laying on the couch together, falling asleep on the floor together after a long night, leaning on each other at the movies--- wait.

Wait, wait, wait. Drake felt his heart speed up even faster as he realized that he’d been subconsciously indulging his love-interest that he hadn’t even realized he’d had for quite some time now. Launchpad was probably so incredibly done with him by this point What had he been doing? Was this really what his life had boiled down to? Leave it to Drake Mallard to only realizing he’d been crushing on someone after presenting it ever so clearly to everyone but himself.

“Uhh, Drake?” Drake heard a sound over the pounding of his heart, but his brain was running through its cycle of ‘you’re an idiot, Drake’ too quickly for him to really understand it.

He forced his eyes open - eyes that he hadn’t realized he had shut - only to squeeze them shut again when he saw Launchpad, ever so close to him. He managed to squeeze one eye open enough to see what was going on. Launchpad was leaning towards him, his eyes wide as he stared down at Drake, who was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he had managed to curl himself up into a ball on the end of the couch without thinking.

“I should probably go,” Drake said, attempting to move his legs to stand, but they felt like jelly even before he managed to move them. So, instead, he went with his second plan of just… rolling off the couch. He landed on the floor with a thud, but at least the shock allowed him to convince him limbs that they needed to work with him. His brain was screaming at him that he needed to escape - he needed to get out before he said something he regretted. He couldn’t let himself ruin the perfect friendship with some stupid, muddled feelings.

“Drake, wait,” Launchpad stared wide eyed at him, causing Drake’s heart to skip a beat when he noticed the pain in the other’s eyes. “What’s… You’re acting weird.”

‘You’re acting weird’ -- the words echoed through Drake’s brain over and over, bouncing around the depths of his mind like one of those old DVD player screensavers - he was doing it again. He was ruining the one thing that made him feel like he was at peace with the world. 

“I’m sorry,” Drake managed to squeak out, scared to speak a word for fear of what his mouth would say without permission from his brain. He struggled to his feet, taking a few steps back, yet unable to tear his eyes away from the face of the one he had been peacefully hanging out with only a few moments earlier. Launchpad’s mouth was hanging slightly open, his eyes darting around rapidly, mostly going to and from Drake. He was breathing heavily, despite the fact that not much had happened as far as Drake was aware. But that was only as far as Drake was aware. Who knew how long he had been tunnel visioning on the couch, only able to hear his thoughts and his blood rushing in his ears.

He saw Launchpad take a step towards him, and his brain began to scream at him that he needed to leave. He needed to go, before he let things get worse than they already were. He needed to back out of the situation, somehow make his way home, send out an innocuous text that insinuated that he was not panicking a few moments ago, no. He was just… feeling sick. Yeah, obviously, he was just feeling sick, that would work as an excuse -- if he could only force his feet to move. His plan required a swift escape for it to work.

So, Drake hopped up onto his shaky legs, swaying slightly but staying up, as he was so apt at doing.He mumbled a very quick goodbye, along with some mumbled apologies and he started walking for the door. If he could just get out of there, then he could go home, distance himself just enough to get rid of his feelings, and pretend like nothing ever happened. Launchpad would forget his freak out, and he’d probably be happier for the distance that Drake was giving him. 

He would have been able to walk out and enact his self-destructive plan if not for one thing - Launchpad grabbed his shoulder lightly. “Drake, wait,” he heard spoken behind him in that voice that was making his heart speed up against his will.

“I need to go,” he repeated quietly, struggling to not blurt out everything - the reasons he needed to leave, how scared he was to mess up this friendship that meant the world to him, the fact that he was having trouble convincing himself to tear his eyes away from Launchpad…. He could go on, but he needed to say absolutely none of it.

“What’s wrong?” Launchpad was breathless as he spoke, eyes darting around wildly only releasing his grip on Drake’s shoulder when Drake took another step back. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Drake’s eyes grew wide at that. He couldn’t leave letting Launchpad blame himself for Drake’s follies. That just wouldn’t do… But he had to pick his words carefully, he couldn’t just go blurting out words all crazily, especially not in this state of mind. “You’re perfect, you couldn’t do anything wrong…” He slapped his hands over his beak, stepping backwards until his back was flush with the wall, leaning on it as his legs threatened to stop holding him up. “I-I didn’t, I mean, well, not that you’re… I just…” Drake blabbered and blabbered, fighting against his brain’s tendency to blurt out whatever came to his mind.

“Drake, calm down,” Launchpad took a step closer, holding his hands up as if approaching an injured animal, “Come here, okay?” Launchpad took another half step closer, opening his arms up a little further. “You can tell me what’s up,” he stopped where he was, luckily for Drake still a few feet away. His open arms made Drake long to flee into them, to pour his heart out to his partner.

He could see what would happen though. He could just imagine how as he told the horrible secret of his crush to Launchpad how the hug would stiffen and eventually end with him being pushed away. Disgusting he’d no doubt be called. It happened before, and it’d happen again. “Just forget about it,” Drake mumbled, taking a sidestep towards the door away from Launchpad’s welcoming arms.

“C’mon, you can tell me anything,” Launchpad said, his brow furrowed, “We don’t have to watch all of my favorite episodes anymore if that’s the problem. You can choose the next one, I promise!” 

Drake felt a smile creep up on him against all odds, grinning at Launchpad’s misconception that his panic was at something so simple as what episode of Darkwing Duck they watched. If only it was something as simple as that. “I’d watch any of them with you,” Drake blurted out yet another incriminating statement, whipping the smile right back into the pit it had managed to crawl out of. “B-But I really have to go…”

He took another sidestep towards the door, cringing at the frown that was entrenched on Launchpad’s normally infallibly happy face. He couldn’t stand the fact that he was the one putting that horrible look on the face of the person most important to him. He’d only be doing more harm if he stayed though. It was the lesser of two evils, but evil nonetheless.

“At least let me drive you home!” Launchpad practically yelled his words through his distress, dashing over to the counter by the fridge to grab the keys to the limo. “You can’t get too tired before patrol!” 

Ah, patrol, Drake realized he had that to dread as well - it always ended up with the two of them fighting in close quarters, Launchpad catching Drake more often than not and helping him get back on his feet. Drake didn’t know if he’d be able to get back up that night, what with his heart beating so fast that his legs were jelly and the nagging want in the back of his mind to just melt into Launchpad’s arms. He shook his head as if that would expel the traitorous thoughts from his mind. 

“I don’t think I’ll patrol tonight,” Drake mumbled, already loathing the words that he knew he’d have to speak next, “Gizmoduck can handle one night alone.” He spoke those words through gritted teeth using every ounce of self-control that he had. But if it meant keeping Launchpad McQuack in his life, he could even stoop so low as to imply that he considered the Mechanical Menace to be a real hero.

“Buh,” Launchpad cocked his head at Drake, “Uhhh,” He cocked it the other direction, squinting intensely in Drake’s direction, “Is this a prank?” His words were as tentative as the smile that was just barely creeping up the edges of his beak, “Are you, uhh, feeling alright, DW?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Drake squeaked out, barely breathing. He needed to go. He needed to escape the feelings, hole up in his house, get back down to basics. Maybe spend the night practicing his fighting, or maybe he could manage to sneak out and go on a little patrol all on his own, despite the fact that Launchpad would most likely very much protest that, repeating that even superheroes needed someone to catch their back, as he often did when Drake voiced his concerns that Launchpad shouldn’t get hurt for Drake's own personal quest as Darkwing. They were partners in this thing, Launchpad would tell him again and again, which Drake knew as true, but still, what with everything going on in his mind, maybe he needed a night of --

“You’re going to sneak out on your own, aren’t you!” Launchpad exclaimed throwing a finger in Drake’s direction, “Oh and to think I thought this was  a real problem.. DW we’re partners! We’re two halves of a sandwich cookie and the bad guys are the cream filling - they’ll go everywhere if there’s not the two of us to hold em down, yknow?” 

Drake dragged himself out of his rambling thoughts - freaking out all over again when he realized they had been revolving entirely around Launchpad yet again. He had to play it off. Play it cool. Be the complete and polar opposite of Drake Mallard. “I’m just tired,” he said, averting his eyes. He felt as if Launchpad would be able to sense the lie, see it lying deep within his treacherous soul should he look him in the eyes.

“You’re lying,” Launchpad shot back with a laugh, leaving Drake with the terrifying thought that maybe Launchpad could see into his thoughts even without that eye contact… That’d explain why he was always so eerily caring of Drake’s every need… Drake shook that thought out of his head very physically as well though, seeing as it was irrational even for him. (Not before testing his theory by screaming some very loud thoughts in Launchpad’s direction, of course.)

“I, well, I don’t really think that… It’s not really… I just need to go, okay!” Drake’s words started as a low mumble but as he became more and more lost in the battle of not destroying everything with a misplaced outburst, they built up into an outburst of a different kind. Why must he always end up floundering in a dried up sea of words? He couldn’t help but be hopelessly aware that he was making himself look like a fool in front of Launchpad, no matter how hopeless any crush on the man might be.

“You can tell me what’s wrong,” Launchpad spoke his words softly, reaching an arm out for Drake initially, but retracting it quickly with a frown when he saw Drake flinch.

“I can’t tell you,” Drake’s words jumped out of his mouth forcefully, his words breathy and rushed, “You mean too much to chase you away with some dumb crus---” Drake clapped his hands over his beak dragging them down his face a little too harshly as he realized just exactly what he’d said. It was over. He’d lost.

“You…” Launchpad squinted at him for a second, causing Drake to press himself deeper against the wall. Maybe if he leaned on it hard enough, it could take him in, let him live his life as mere bricks void of any thoughts or emotions to ruin his non-life. 

“I know, it’s the dumbest thing ever, and I swear I won’t let it get in the way of our crime fighting. Completely normal, I’ll act. It can go back! Pretend I never spoke? Rewind time? I just don't want to lose you, that is, I don’t want to lose you as a friend?” Drake spoke all of his words straight into his hands, only peeking out between his fingers at his final semi-question. For some reason though, some inexplicable reason, instead of the disgusted glare Drake was expecting, Launchpad had a grin larger than life.

“You too!” His words came bursting out in an exuberant barely contained yell, engulfing Drake’s spirits and lifting them up as they echoed throughout the garage.

“Me… too…?” Drake questioned, not wanting to misinterpret. He couldn’t get his hopes up. No matter how much he knew they had already risen beyond his control, Drake tried to slow his heartbeat, to force himself back to normal, or even force himself back into panic mode rather than the disconcerting feeling of hope that he knew would be crushed.

“Well, I didn’t want you to think that I liked you because you’re Darkwing, because let’s face it that’s an added bonus, and I didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t know if you’d feel the same, and we just have so much fun here I didn’t want to interrupt it, and you feel the same way!” Launchpad’s words were a blur, spoken way too fast for Drake to catch each one, but still the ones he caught rang in his ears over and over. The same way? Launchpad… liked him?

“You…” Drake’s words were lost under the rush of his heartbeat in his own ears, “Me…?” He tried his hardest to form an actual sentence, but all that came out were single words - barely even that if he had to be honest with himself.

He felt himself engulfed in a huge hug from the much larger man. Honestly, just that feeling of warmth, the smell of leather, oil, bubblegum, and a little bit of mustard wafting in his nose, and the knowledge that the man hugging him actually liked him (He liked Drake Mallard…. Him!) eased away Drake’s nagging thoughts that it was too good to be true. He managed to lift his arms up to wrap them firmly around the other man, finally letting the joy of the situation sink in. Launchpad McQuack… Probably the most desirable man alive… He liked Drake Mallard. 

“I guess I should have spoken up sooner,” Drake mumbled into Launchpad’s chest, his grin now unsupressable. Maybe he was destined to have a happy ending after all. In that moment, Drake could see it all ahead - he could see the rest of his life spent with the man hugging him. And quite a perfect life it would be so long as he spent it with Launchpad.

[tristinai]

Sunday Snippet

Tagged by @cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness for this and I am guessing that I *should* post what I have been working on. However, just because I have had this sitting on my hard drive forever (since February), here’s an unedited drabble I wrote for Gavin in Bad Decisions. 

Title: It’s Just About Sex

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Word Count: 1K

Series:  Bad Decisions

Note: Set between Bad Boy Down and Bang Bang

Relevant tags: Reed900, human!Nines, gangster!Nines, secret relationship, soft!Nines, no-strings-attached-but-who-are-these-idiots-kidding

It’s just about sex.

And for that first month, Gavin believes it.

There’s no discernible pattern to the late night booty calls or random appearances of Nines in his apartment; more than once, Gavin’s arrived home to find the gangster pattering around in the kitchen as if he fucking lives there and he still hasn’t figured out if the fucker is a master lock picker or has somehow managed to copy Gavin’s keys as every snide comment dies on his tongue when he smells whatever mouthwatering shit the guy’s making. Nines is an amazing fucking cook and Gavin’s often too exhausted and hungry to give a shit about much beyond getting whatever he’s making into his stomach and rewarding the cook with a blowjob afterwards. Eventually, Gavin just accepts that this is how things are and doesn’t question Nines’ breaking and entering.

That isn’t to say that Nines’ unpredictability is not without its frustrations: he can go anywhere from a handful of days to more than a week without much more than a few vague texts about what he’s up to. The longest was this ten day stint where Gavin heard little from Nines, doubt creeping into the back of his head and that voice growing louder with each passing day: He’s over this shit. Because why else hasn’t he stopped by?

But then Nines showed up, late the night before, leaning against the door frame, cool smirk on his lips. There was a clear, exhausted air about him but it seemed to dissipate as his gaze lingered hungrily over the detective and Gavin wondered how in the fuck anyone could find him attractive in faded flannel pajama bottoms and a shirt so stretched, it hung like a sack off his shoulders but then Nines was pinning him to the wall, worshiping his flesh with his lips and all Gavin could think about was how much he’s needed this, how this ten day drought felt so much fucking worse than when he was stuck in that shitty safe house.

They fucked multiple times that night, till the sunrise filtered through the cracks in the blinds and Gavin’s throat was so dry, his moans became raspy pants buried in the space where Nines’ shoulder met his neck.  It was with Nines’ breaths tickling the back of his neck that Gavin fell asleep, an arm curled around his middle and holding him possessively against the gangster’s chest.

They slept no more than a few hours, Gavin’s own internal clock kicking in even though it’s his day off. The loss of the warmth pressed against him also stirred him awake and that’s where he finds himself now: watching as Nines finishes dressing, a meticulous process that involves cuff links being replaced and his wrinkled shirt tucked into tight pants, attempting to smooth it down but to no avail. It’s the most ruffled Gavin ever gets to see Nines when fully clothed and even then, Nines somehow wears The Walk of Shame look better than any other fuck Gavin’s ever had.

There’s a comfortable silence between them and—fuck, when did the silence become this comfortable?--and Gavin finds his hand itching to reach out to Nines, to touch some part of him. But the morning after’s never been like that, Nines either leaving before Gavin wakes up (but always with a fresh pot of coffee and a home cooked meal waiting for the detective) or preparing to walk out the door. There are few words exchanged, minimal touching—only the understanding that, at some point in the near future, this cycle will repeat.

And Gavin sure as fuck is never the one to initiate any contact, suspects that it’s his trepidation that also reels in Nines, who finds every excuse to touch Gavin when it’s late into the night and Gavin can pretend every lingering kiss pressed to his skin is simply a means to help him get off.

It’s just about sex.

Because anything more than that…

“You, uh, got shit to do today?” Gavin asks.

It’s strange how the silence fits them and it’s the small talk that has him tensing, scratching his chin awkwardly and looking anywhere but at Nines.

There’s amusement in Nines’ tone as he answers, “Would you believe me if I said I was meeting with a client to discuss logistics on an upcoming project?”

He snorts. “Forget I asked.”

He gets up, goes for a cigarette, his pack on the dresser. He feels Nines’ eyes on him and it has him turning towards the other man, the need for a cigarette suddenly forgotten. There’s a word that’s sitting on the edge of his tongue, a request he’s too damn proud to utter: stay.

Nines leans in, kisses Gavin softly. The detective makes a quiet sound, tries to deepen the kiss but Nines is already pulling back, his lips quirking. “Have a good day, Detective.”

As Nines attempts to step away, that’s when Gavin’s resolve starts to crack. Before he’s aware of what he’s doing, his hand grasps the gangster’s, stopping him. Nines can easily break from his grip but there’s something about the gesture that causes a shift between them, makes Gavin feel stripped and laid bare.

Cool, questioning gray eyes drop to where their hands are linked.

Don’t make me fucking say it, Gavin silently begs.

Because Gavin knows he can’t.

The longer the silence stretches between them, the more Gavin feels like a fucking idiot.

“I...suppose I can always reschedule my ‘meeting’ for tomorrow,” Nines says.

He stares meaningfully at Gavin and it makes the detective’s pulse race, has his face heating. He mumbles something along the lines of, “Yeah, I guess that’s cool,” something his teenage self would have said to bury the elation he’s feeling, not let it show on his face. He tries to let go but Nines is tugging him into his arms, chuckling and pressing soft lips to Gavin’s cracked ones. Gavin immediately feels the tension melt from his shoulders, lips parting as Nines deepens the kiss, grasps the lapels of Nines’ coat to keep his hands from trembling.

“You know I would do anything for you, Gavin,” Nines whispers against his lips, running his hands down Gavin’s back.

It’s just about sex.

It’s what he tells himself, what he will keep telling himself, as he allows himself to be pushed back down onto his bed and tugs Nines down with him.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

Hey Old Sport, I dare you to punch Henry in the gut as hard as you can.

(5/5)Old Sport grinned. “You think I need a DARE to do that? Pft, who do you think I AM?” Looking over, Henry seemed ready to fight. HE SQUARED UP- but then just snickered. “Nah, as if I’d do that. It’s too late, since I have to go now. I’m not one to leave a bad last expression, what would people start to think of me?” Henry paused before relaxing a little. “Fair enough. I suppose this will be saved for our next meeting. It was… quite the journey to have you here. I hope it will never repeat.” Serious OS nodded. “Me neither. That were the longest five asks of my life. I didn’t know people could TALK so much! It was like it was going on FOREVER! You really have a kink for your own voice, don’t you?”“No. I just have nothing better to do and nothing to lose.” A pause ensued. “… wow. Have you just been honest with me?” Old Sport looked curiously at him. “That’s a first!” “It is not.” Softly he shook his head. “Why do you think I have not been honest until now?” “… because that would mean you’re a pretentious idiot.” As OS saw his shocked and annoyed expression, he began laughing again. Henry scoffed. “People will call things they do not understand stupid, because obviously if THEY do not understand it, it is the fault of the idea.”At that point OS was laughing even harder. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure, I believe you! Anyways, I gotta go now, so-“ And with that, the smile still on the face he lunged at Henry, attempting to get his throat. Without any hesitation Henry stepped aside and even pulled him during his movement to worse the fall when he would without a doubt crash into the ground. Didn’t matter much though, as Orange Guy was up within a few seconds, ready to jump at him again, waiting for an opening so he could use this as his chance. Henry smiled at him. “My… now that is not a good last impression. Attacking me? For what? I am already in the void… and my victims will not benefit from me being harmed, they cannot see this, it will bring them no relief.” “What makes you think I care?” Old Sport grinned before faking out an attack. “… that is what I like to hear.”Once more they cycled each other, before both attacking at once, having grabbed a tool nearby. Ready and armed. Again. Blood dripped down from them, having gotten a bit riskier this time around. Henry had easily been infected by Orange Guy’s sudden mood swing. He wasn’t one to turn down a fight like this. Again he taunted. “Here you are doing what you do best. Destroy. Have you ever created anything of worth within your life? You do not even manage to forge true bonds between you and those around you! But maybe I should quit bullying you though. Poor you will never find relief in any other way. Even here in the void you could not escape your own self. You are filled by nothing, you are FORCED to exist. Energy that will never escape you. You are doomed, without a goal.”Shortly anger was on Old Sport’s face as he cornered him without regards for his own body to finally stab Henry into the chest.Not that it impressed him in any way. All he did was chuckle and melt away into the darkness. His voice stayed in place though“… very childish of you to assume that you could simply prance in here and actually hurt me, on my own territory.” Old Sport stepped back, looking around. “… it was worth the attempt. Even if I can’t get to you now, ONE DAY-“  “Shut your mouth. I will tell you this in very simple turns. NOTHING inside of the void exists.” Something grabbed the Orange Guy and slammed him against an invisible barrier. “Which means it is easy to form. Also, it includes everything inside of here. It includes me! It includes the objects that I use. Sadly, it does not include you. You are indeed a foreign object, I am baffled as to what process you went through to make that happen. But no mind to that. I can make this place into your very worst nightmare, you see?” Slowly he was being pulled apart. “… perhaps you should reconsider picking fights against someone out of your league, Orange Guy. You are not smart enough to make your own decisions anyhow. Go back to your little world and let William tell you what to do. It will certainly be more successful than THIS.” The Orange Guy felt an incredible amount of pain, but that wouldn’t be the first time for him to feel that. He tried to fight against it, but without access to his limbs that was easier that than done. With all the distaste he could muster, he spit on one of the vines. “Now that I know you’re still here, nothing will stop me from coming to get you.” “I am certain I will always be on your mind, yes.” And with that Henry let go, the event running out and Old Sport disappearing. Henry had quickly reformed himself, checking over his body and noticing rather pleased that he was still in one piece and unharmed. “… I always wanted to try this. Sadly enough, I can only do it when someone else is actually present. They are necessary so I can define myself over them, otherwise I risk to be… altered. If I do not disappear completely.” He hummed as he stretched himself. “… hopefully, the Anons are done now. I could use a break.”

[ariswrites]

for milk teeth --  (posted on AO3)

the two partly finished fics i mixed together to make it.

NOT completed fics or works. 

tw for self harm / angst / depression

fic 1;

There’s something to be said about survival. When he pictures the word, it conjures images of boats in storms and men huddled together at the base of mountains. There are storms. Natural disasters. There are wars and conflicts and desperation in its most unadulterated form - a need for action, consistent and persistent, red and blue banners of national news programs pasted over.

Survival, by definition, is the resistance of death in the face of the adverse. It is something to be celebrated. To be happy about, when it’s all been and done with.

It very much does not align with what his therapist refers to when she discusses coping methods and medications. It is not a matter of survival that Bakugou takes his antidepressants, or that, in lieu of self-harm he goes for a run or blasts a hole through a training dummy. Nothing extraordinary lies in it. No particular luck, or trick, or heroic notion.

If this is survival as others term it, it is a bleak one. Alarm clocks and pill boxes and the reiteration of basic, humiliating statements that his brain cannot get right. And as ashamed of having to be told to say it to himself he is - he can’t blame his brain, exactly. A chemical imbalance or a learned response. He is given examples, lists them to himself when he looks in the mirror and stares at his shoes;

Everyone doesn’t hate me

Everyone isn’t looking at me all the time

It’s unrealistic to expect myself to always be the best

My past actions do not define me as a bad person

They leave a bitter residue on his tongue. It’s not some incoherent, unbalanced part of his mind telling him everyone hates him. It’s not a stretch of the imagination to picture it, classmates keeping the peace through teeth-grinding tolerance. It’s not a difficult thing to do – hate him, he knows that intimately. He’s angry, sharp, demeaning, arrogant, spiteful. There are more negative words to describe him than positive. That’s a fact.

He knows this more than he feels it. It’s something his therapist couldn’t understand. She specializes in hero counselling - she is, no doubt, used to people formed of gold leaf and smiles coming to her. Inherently good people, people who care about others, risk their lives for other. Survivors. Heros. She wouldn’t know what to do with the rot Bakugou feels gnaw at him from the inside. The dirty, dark words he lathers to his being in the privacy of his thoughts, truisms he has long accepted only at the quietest of hours. Agreements he has reached with himself, alone, empty. Void contracts.

(She can’t know what to do with them - she couldn’t, wouldn’t - or, or Bakugou has stowed this away within himself for naught.

She couldn’t help. She couldn’t. She couldn’t she couldn’t she could-)

It isn’t a mental illness telling him these things. They don’t go away with the medication, or the diagnosis, or the talking. And they don’t hurt him necessarily – his classmates hate him. A statement he can verify. If he were in a life or death situation, they would save him out of their innate sense of hero duty. If they have to work together, they would, because Bakugou is strong and more is better, especially in the face of villains. Bakugou is readily dispensable for the riskier operations - angrier, destructive. A ticking time bomb they can only hope will go off within enemy ranks.

But they wouldn’t help him with a personal issue. They wouldn’t pull his nails from his palms, uncurl his hands from fists. They wouldn’t sit with him over food, talk about their day, offer him niceties that roam outside their natural inclination towards politeness. Because they don’t like Bakugou, and he knows that, and that’s fine.

He feels nothing about it.

(About most things, actually.)

Except – some do. People only ever want things. Take things. Bakugou is strong. This is what he knows. Being nice to him might pay off, one day. Something in Kirishima’s smile is a shade too genuine to tuck away so neatly, but there is little else to name it otherwise. Stupidity, perhaps. Maybe a prize for fooling Bakugou, making him believe someone might forgive what he is. What he’s done.

There are three parts to any good joke: the set-up, the reinforcement and the pay off. He wonders which part he is. How good the pay off will be for putting up with him - he can see them laughing, whispering already. He’s a bully, someone harsh and violent; there are few kinks in his armour, fewer things in which to find humour in. He feels, always, that there is far to fall at the tiniest provocation. He gets so angry at the slightest hint, can’t help but betray his weaknesses. He’s not sure how he would deal with something so seemingly small yet so affirming of a belief he carries close to his chest;

People use him. He is better alone. It doesn’t matter if people hate him. He is strong enough to be alone.

This is where he can catch himself. There is an easy logic to these thoughts, a snowball which builds from a strong base but crumbles the larger it gets.  He is unlikable, but his class is objectively nice. There’s no reason but his own dysfunctional thinking to believe they would try and pull something on him, mess with his trust. They’re straight-forward, morally-guided people.  It’s an irrational belief to look for betrayal in every action, though recognizing it makes Bakugou no less willing to prepare for it.

No one can catch him off guard if he is always waiting. Anticipating. Invest in nothing and lose nothing.

He has learned that people will let you down. Growing up with Midoriya was a practice in how not to trust. He was always so bright, so free with giving out affections, as if there were not a toll on each flowery word, admitted weakness. It seemed to Bakugou that Midoriya did not understand the give and take in the world - that he would repeat, again and again, actions that left him trampled and torn. It was frustrating, infuriating, to have Midoriya, someone who had claimed to be his friend, so easily beat. So obviously weak, a mockery of the hero they both worshiped, aspired to become.

He could push Midoriya, spit at him, tell him to kill himself and the idiot would still trust him. That kind of trust is the kind Bakugou fears the most - unconditional, blind. The concept of it alone is terrifying. He checks his doors before he sleeps, faces windows he can’t close off and tenses at every turned corner. There isn’t the luxury for such forgiving trust in his life, not given to him, and never given by him.

It’s easier to be angry about it than sorry. Anger is impersonal, cold - answer creates a separation, prevents conversation, understanding. If Bakugou is angry, no one holds him to the same expectations between peers. He doesn’t have to be repenting, he doesn’t have to humiliate himself, leave himself open. No matter how much he thinks he should. It’s too late. Too spoilt.

(Right?)

Survival, his therapist says, is what he does everyday, now. Survival is not punishing himself for who he’s been, every bad thing he’s ever done and every good thing he never did. Survival is taking his stupid fucking medication, and going to each inconvenient, badly timetabled therapy session and surviving is living with the thoughts in his head. Accepting. Not pushing for more.

She says, survival is okay, but there is more to life than it.

She says, one day, he will do more than survive. That living is in the inbetweens, that living is being vulnerable, trusting. Being sorry. Stopping the cycle of aggression.

////end

fic 2:

He’s not a villain.

He gets it. He really fucking does; he grew up with the same shit as everybody else. Decorated his room to the teeth with godawful All Might merch, crowded around TVs in stores and living rooms again and again to the electrified presenter ranting about an atrocity. They don’t televise every crime. He doesn’t learn this til much later.

It is always a villain mutated beyond ugly, or face hidden, or sporting a hungry, empty expression that cannot be misinterpreted for anything but bloodlust, greed, desperation. That’s the verbs they use in the reports. They ooze poison to the nearest camera, civilian, deranged and confident and bordering on lunacy. Frothing, laughing, ranting - snug between the borders of his mother's TV. Actions beyond a child's comprehension, something children don’t just get until they are shown, taught, learn by their own hands. That kind of hate - where does that come from? What breeds it?

(Like most children his age, Bakugou had believed it inherent. Villains were bad because they just are. A rot intrinsic in their very being.)

All Might would fly on screen faster than the smaller TV crews could arrive, and he’d beat and restrain with a force no-one would later describe as brutal, nor crushing, nor unnecessary. A goldilocks zone. And he’d smile, and the villain would be taken off screen bleeding and bruised and croaking out words incoherent behind the glory embedded words All Might spun to the camera like fine silk. Phrases for the papers, for the blogs. Bakugou wouldn’t watch the villains, then.

Because then, Villains were evil. Villains were born that way, filthy in ways people spit to consider, a cleanliness people nurture carefully to themselves as though infectious. Then - there were two sides. Inevitable casualties, lessons well learned, rescued towns, villains getting what they deserved - and then were deaths, injured individuals with families, thoughtless murders and inhumane assaults.

Bakugou had been young enough to see the difference.

And he’d wear his All Might shirt proudly, smile to the mirror, stomp around in front of his mother and father's picture taking in blue and red. He’d tell his classmates about the latest fights as if they hadn’t seen, would hit and punch and grin, foot digging into backs and tears on cement. Heroes are unforgiving. Heroes smile as their enemies bleed. Heroes wouldn’t cry at defeat - heroes wouldn’t be defeated, heroes would persist.

Midoriya tells him that he thought being a Hero was about being kind. All Might is not kind when bone bends before his hands, when blood vessels break to him and stain his hands. That is not kindness as Bakugou knows it. That is ruthless, driven purpose. Someone fighting because they know they’ll win. Because they know they’re better, stronger.

The kids didn’t like to play with him. His mother was always angry.

When he looks back at old pictures he can see - one side pulls up too high, his teeth bare like fangs, narrow his eyes into angry glares. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it a mugshot.

Monster, they’d call him then.

Now -

Villain.

+++++

There’s a pair of scissors on his desk.

His hands are sweating, adrenaline shaking his fingertips to a fine rhythm. He could have run a mile, more, ran and ran and ran til his skin shined a shade of desperate peach, sweat pooling and falling and never hitting the ground. It’s something he does - early morning runs, late night runs. People don’t ask about the showers going off at 5am, doors shutting in their dreams, dishes stacked up to dry before they come down.

No one would question why his shirt is stained in sweat. He wishes it were exercise. His chest is heaving- weighted , hard, condensed matter crushing along organs to a terrifyingly heavy heart beat. It seems to echo at his ribs, shakes him down to his legs, femurs trembling and abruptly cold. The world is shaking and his hand blurs into obscurity at the edges of his vision where it digs into the side of his head, winds in hair and pulls erratically at the strands there.

This pain is not settling. This pain is not definitive.

He needs something more than aching muscle, more than pricks of pain along his scalp and the dull, squeezing bite of scissors clasped in his free hand. Three fingers between the blades. Somewhere, he read that there is an unconscious barrier in the brain that stops you exerting your full strength onto yourself - he presses down on the plastic handles so hard they creak, and the detached ache grows but refuses to blossom into more.  It’s unsatisfying; he may as well be pressing his digits to the edge of a wall, kicking his foot against a broken curb. It’s not sharp, steadying, consuming.

There is no barrier, only things that are weak. Weaker than him. He drops the scissors. There is nothing within himself he can’t command, nothing he can not bend to his will - he is not helpless, not powerless. Never again.

Bakugou steadies his palm against his thigh.

His hands stop trembling as skin heats beneath his hands.

He is in control.

(The pain, the real deal, comes later.  Second degree burns take weeks to heal, ache every moment in between.

It is not clever, what he’s doing. He’s not a fucking idiot. He knows, logically, that he puts himself at a disadvantage each times he presses an explosion to his skin, cups his hand around to keep it contained. A neat, clean wound would be a lie. The edges are ragged and raw and catch at his clothes. It’s flesh, barely contained veins, catching on fabric strands and throbbing under every glimpse of contact. Blisters pop up over half of them, the size of cigarette burns which threaten to burst but mainly throb in spikes that last so long they may as well be constant. When they burst on accident, it’s excruciating - he bails practice, the only time he’s ever let it interfere that far, and peeled away the skin stuck to his clothes by plasma and pus.

The first time, he did it on his wrists, and his gloves hurt so much he cried. Bitter. Ugly.

He knows better, now. Legs are easier undetected and he’s improving at fighting without thigh impact. Aizawa always lists it as a weakness - too dependant on his upper half. It’ll come back to bite him one day, but pushing himself to that pain again and again is almost too much. It’s enough to make him considering stopping, finding something else - but if there was anything else, if there was a moment of logical thought before that, then he would have stopped long ago.

Self harm is stupid. Self harm is pointless. Self harm is the only thing between Bakugou and… everything. Or not. He doesn’t care to find out what lays on the other side of his panic attacks, but he’s sure in the knowledge it’s worse than what he feels now. There is something dreadful and heavy in his chest that tells him so. The same conviction that leaves him watching the windows of his room in the dead of night, the one that drives him to hold explosions in his grasp like the hand of another, the motivation behind his relentless, eternal waiting.

There is something coming. There is always something coming.)

+++

He’s first called a villain by a kid in another class - the only ones left with words to say to him - he pushes past their shoulders. They stumble. Bakugou is thinking about playing Search Party in the forest with the neighbourhood kids when he gets back home. One of them swings round, but his friend pull him back. Bakugou snorts to himself, hooks one hand in his backstrap. He hears, as they walk away;

“... the son of a villain. Leave him alone.”

“He’s the villain. There can’t be anyone worse than that.”

“Shut up, he’s going to-”

He doesn’t play with the neighbor kids. He sits in detention, skin scraped from his palms from the force of the explosions. His forearms ache, his throat hurts from screaming, and he thinks of the villain caught last night in downtown xxx.

Yelling, cursing, screaming.

Down on his knees, mouth gag, the glint of All Mights teeth.

He’s the villain.

+++

Younger

Beats bullies bigger than him, older, ones who leer and kick but only get so far once he starts popping explosions behind his caged fingers. They’re just troubled people, angry, hurt, arrogant - but not evil. They get scared when he threatens them, barely hold onto pride; they don’t throw themselves behind their behaviour, stake themselves on action like Bakugou does.

///end

[onestowatch]

The Albums That Got Us Through School | Staff Picks

Life would not be the same without music. That sentiment holds twice as true when it comes to talking about one’s school years. At a time when you are going through seemingly-infinite transitional phases and overwhelming confusion is at an all-time high, music exists as both an escape and connecting force to the world outside your immediate purview; music can become something larger than yourself. 

Quite possibly the only thing in existence capable of connecting The Plastics and the rest of us, how would middle school, high school, and college us existed without those albums that quite literally defined teenage us? After all, we all didn’t grow up with lofi hip hop radio - beats to study/relax to. So, we asked ourselves what one album served as our guiding light through those tumultuous school years. 

Avril Lavigne - Let Go

From the palpable agony in “Losing Grip,” to the innocent infatuation in “Sk8er boi,” to the tear-worthy loneliness in “I’m with You,” there’s no album that guided me through the early 2000s more than Avril Lavigne’s Let Go. Introducing an emo side of pop music, Lavigne’s dark and relatable lyrics undoubtedly rescued countless young women in the face of hormonal angst. Truth be told, I still bump it in the car more often than not.

-Yasmin Damoui

Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

In terms of pure listening time, Panic! at the Disco’s debut or Green Day’s American Idiot likely takes the prize for scoring my school years. However, no album embodied the overwhelming teenage urge to grow up quite like Neutral Milk Hotel’s landmark album In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Released over a decade before I would ever dare to play Jeff Magnum’s haunting fuzz-folk’s meditations over the school’s PA system (the result of a misguided initiative to allow students greater control over the lunch playlist) to this day, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea exists as a nostalgia-ridden reminder to days and nights spent trying to uncover a greater, hidden meaning behind all the noise.

-Maxamillion Polo

Drake - Thank Me Later

From late nights on Facebook writing statuses dedicated to my crush to "Shut it Down," to queuing up "Miss Me" on the bus to school so that it'd start playing as soon as I stepped off... damn. That album really has everything. The braggadocios, the late-night simp tunes, a fun, flirty track for the ladies. You name it baby. It shaped me into the versatile king that I am today, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

-Green Lee

Nine Inch Nails - The Downward Spiral

Masterfully melding the bellicose but anxious feelings of my wintery youth, the downward spiral lyrically guided me to the heights of teenage cliché. I stopped playing sports. I became deliberate and moody at house parties. I wrote terrible facsimile poetry to my much prettier and interesting girlfriends. I joined bands one week, quit them the next. All the bad decisions buoyed by this great album, my adolescence summarized succinctly, you could have it all, my empire of dirt.

-David O’Connor

Kanye West - Graduation

The album that got me through college was Kanye West’s Graduation. I was a junior in college when this song was out and it signified a lot of change in my life which coincided with Kanye’s progress in musical prowess. The nights we would drive around off-campus listening to “Flashing Lights” are some nights I’ll remember forever. Kanye’s legendary ‘Glow In The Dark’ tour was based on this album cycle. I remember driving two hours on a weeknight just to catch this show near my hometown with three of my friends. This moments I had around this album will always mean a lot to me.

-Malcolm Gray

Blink-182 - Blink-182

Blink-182’s self-titled album was undoubtedly the album that got me through my pre-teen and teenage years. Growing up in the Northshore of Chicago (yes the same Northshore that Mean Girls was based off of, and yes that movie was crazy accurate about the kids I was surrounded by), it was hard to find who you actually are in the midst of rumors, bullying and cliques. The album showed growth in maturity, while still sticking to individualism. Unlike most of Blink’s albums, this album showed a more mature side to their art. That was super important for me to remember, simply because it prevented me from getting warped into the egotistical bubble most of my peers found themselves in. It was also the album that really inspired me to get involved with music and touring, so I have to give those guys in Blink some mad props.

-Joe Leggitino

Bring Me The Horizon - Sempiternal

No band was able to simultaneously capture and validate the whirlwind of emotions I experienced on a daily basis in my early teenage years quite like Bring Me the Horizon. Their fourth studio album, Sempiternal, included songs such as “Can You Feel My Heart” and “Shadow Moses,” which contain brutally honest lyrics that related to my internal struggles in a way music had never done before. Furthermore, because of my newfound love for Bring Me the Horizon, I was welcomed into the punk/metal community with open arms. Gaining acceptance into this new community fundamentally changed my high school experience because as frontman Oli Sykes said, “Other hurting people can be the best therapy.”  

-Alissa Williams

Shania Twain - UP!

I got this huge purple boombox one year for Christmas and got really into CDs. I found this Shania Twain CD at a Best Buy clearance aisle one day with my Dad and had it on repeat for years growing up. I’d like to blame Shania for my love of country and fire of independence from men.

-Jenna Singer

Death Cab for Cutie - PLANS

PLANS hit me just when I got my driver’s license: my first legal stamp of autonomy. Driving – by myself – to these tracks gave me a hall pass to feelings I needed to feel, in my own space, in my own time.

-Alexa Schoenfeld

Kelela - Take Me Apart

When it comes to methods of surviving the emotional (and financial) rollercoaster that is college, never would I have thought to even consider the act of being taken apart to be one of the most important mechanisms for endurance. From the austere yet liberating lyrics of “Frontline” to the end-of-the-war melodies in “Altadena,” Kelela sends listeners on an emotional, intergalactic journey through the stages of dealing with a loss in her 2017 release Take Me Apart. If I learned one thing about surviving college from this album, it's that it is okay for things to fall apart sometimes, because destruction is often a conduit for rebirth (if only that also held true for the financial loss, though).

-Bianca Brown

Arctic Monkeys - AM

Nothing throws me back more than Arctic Monkey's album AM. From "Do I Wanna Know?" to "Snap Out of It," every song on that album makes me feel like an angsty tumblr teen again. Without that album, I doubt I would've been even half as edgy going through high school.

-Alison Wu

Phoenix - Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

I didn't know indie-pop music until I heard this album. It was the first vinyl I bought, the first real band I was obsessed with. At the end of 8th grade, I found their project on Youtube and listened to it up and down in the era before ads. It ushered me into high school where I'm pretty sure I saw the world in exclusively pastel colors and thought I was enlightened because everyone else was still listening to The Black Eyed Peas. Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix made me an indie kid -- I started snowboarding, wearing a lot of grey, and only listened to blog radio after this. Phoenix is still my everything.

-Precious Kato

A Day To Remember - Common Courtesy

Ever since I first discovered A Day To Remember, they’ve remained one of my favorite bands and this record specifically got me through high school. Every track on this album has an important message and it’s definitely worth listening through in its entirety. Whether you’re going through a tough time or just needing some heavy-ish music in your life, ADTR gives it all to you.

-Alissa Arunarsirakul

[kellbellsparkles]

Worth Something Part 4

Last part! It’s a bit of a long one! Fasten your seat belts and hold on tight as you roller coaster on the klangst train!

Two quintants. That was the estimate Allura gave for Lance to make a full recovery at least physically. Everyone unanimously transferred their sleeping gear into the infirmary beside the healing pod where he slept and made a nest: a soft, cushiony nest that would catch him day or night when the estimated time was reached. Everyone took turns keeping watch over Lance at night in three varga intervals. Keith, though, even when it wasn't his turn, he kept one eye open looking up at Lance.

Ever since Lance crumbled before him, Keith felt drawn to him. He remembered and realized how confident he felt as he held his rifle, as he wore his face mask, as he flexed his muscles and combed his fingers back through his bangs. His heart fluttered when he remembered the pure cheer in Lance's laughter, sweet and innocent like a child. How could someone so beautiful not see it himself? How could someone so beautiful descend into the empty void with little hope of return? He clenched his sheets as he felt a fire stir within him he never considered so strongly before.

I'll protect him, he thought. I won't let anyone hurt him ever again, not even himself.

When it was Keith's turn, he never took his eyes off Lance. He watched him as if he were his newborn kitten. He watched for any signs of abnormal breathing, any changes in his vital readings. He glazed his right hand over the glass protectively. He remembered one night back on Earth when he had a nightmare, Shiro held him close and stroked his head, rocking him back and forth and continuing to hold him. He wished he could hold Lance, but he hoped that this gesture would ward off any bad spells that threatened to haunt him.  

Whoosh.

A third through his shift, the healing pod slid open. Instinctively, Keith leaped to his feet and held his arms out to catch Lance, falling forward freely.

“Lance!” he cried joyfully.

Lance laid limply in his arms, barely managing a moan.

“Guys!” Keith shouted. “Wake up! He's out!”

Paralleling the attack alarm going off, everyone scrambled out of their sheets and onto their feet. They swiftly huddled around Lance.

“Lance!” Hunk cheered. “Buddy!” He held up two fingers with his right hand once more. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Lance looked up at Hunk; his eyes were red and puffy. Hunk lowered his hand, frowning.

“Maybe we can try later?” he offered.

Keith cupped Lance's left cheek with his right hand.

“Lance,” he said softly. “Do you remember anything?”

“Not really,” Lance said groggily. “But I remember you being there…. and crying. Why were you crying over me of all people?”

Keith held him tighter, choking in a sob. He wasn't going to let him forget their bonding moment again, not after everything Lance told him.

“Maybe food will help you remember,” he said. “Can you walk?”

Lance pushed himself off Keith, regrettably too hard. He began to fall backwards into the healing pod. Keith swooped down and caught him by the back and waist. He bit his lip, cursing at himself. It was too cruel to make him walk after his ordeal and two quintants in the healing pod. Carefully, he reached his right arm under Lance's legs and lifted him up, firmly cradling him.

“Keith,” Lance grunted. “What are you--”

“Shhh.”

“Everyone's watching,” Lance whined, flailing in protest. “They're going to think we're--”

“Shhhh,” Keith whispered firmly.

Lance blushed madly. He couldn't understand why Keith was doing this, why it didn't matter to him that two men were having an intimate bonding moment with a live audience spectating. Suddenly, he felt Keith's lips brush against his forehead. Time came to an abrupt halt; blaring alarms were ringing in his head.

This has to be a dream, Lance thought as he stared blankly in shock. Keith would never do this. He had to have been for the loner golden boy of the Garrison to act so out of character, and he wasn't the only one. In the dining hall, Hunk fed him pink food goop like a baby, acting silly and pretending the spoon was a train or an airplane. Pidge showered him with speeches of how he was like a second brother to him and would name her first born after him and hoped he'd grow up to be exactly like him. Allura praised him in a motherly tone for recovering and keeping the food down. She also revealed to him the qualities of the blue paladin: kind, generous, accepting, selfless, every quality of a hero and a best friend. Coran and the castle mice put on a skit of the time when all the original paladins except blue were captured by rogue Altean scientists and the existence of Voltron was in jeopardy, but with great skill and wits, the blue paladin freed them and they were able to form Voltron and stopped a device that would have stimulated a supernova threatening to eclipse an entire solar system. Throughout the onslaught of praise, Keith had Lance in his lap, arms slung around his waist.

Lance wondered if he had entered an alternate reality that Slav had mentioned the possibility of existing. The Keith he knew would never initiate physical contact with another person unless it was with Shiro. If that were the case, he thought if hitting his head again would send him back to his reality. If it weren't….

Lance sat limply, unmoving, tense as a wooden plank. His head pounded as he made attempts to remember how he got into this situation in the first place. After the last bite of his meal, he felt Keith lift him up again. Then, he felt several hands ruffle his head softly. He finally moved his eyes and saw everyone smiling at him warmly and lovingly. Suddenly, he was whisked around and they shrank in view. Lance's eyes widened, panicking and crying for help on the inside, begging for someone to explain to him what was happening. Keith swayed him up slightly, triggering a gasp.

“Shh,” Keith whispered tenderly. He swayed him down next, repeating the rhythmic motion as he walked. Lance's face flushed blood red.

This isn't happening, he trembled. This cannot be happening.

At last, they reached Lance's bedroom. Keith laid him down gently on his bed and tucked him in, evening the sheets on the top.

“There we go,” he cooed. “How are you feeling now?”

Lance stared at the ceiling, eyes and lips frozen.

“I understand,” Keith said. “No doubt you have a lot of questions. We're still catching our breaths ourselves. Would you like me to get you anything? Some water? An extra pillow?”

“Why?” Lance croaked.

“Hm?”

“Why is--” Lance clenched his sheets tightly. “Why are you all being so nice?”

“Because we're your friends,” Keith answered strongly.

“You guys were never THIS nice,” Lance said shakily. “It's scaring me.”

“You disappearing on us scared us. It scared me more than when I had my back against the wall against Zarkon. We already lost Shiro; we can't lose you, too.” Keith knelt onto the floor, both hands reaching for Lance's right. “I can't lose you, too.”

Lance turned his head to face Keith. He had his head buried in his arms. His thumbs were stroking Lance's knuckles. He had always believed Keith's touch was rough and rock hard from all his time spent in the training deck and out in the desert. He noticed something else as well: it was ungloved.

“Keith?” he spoke. “Have you been stealing my moisturizer?”

“No, you idiot,” Keith grunted, tightening his grip on Lance's hand. “You unbelievable idiot.”

“I know,” Lance chuckled. “I'm an idiot. Let's not forget annoying, obnoxious, cargo pilot. That one's a classic.”

“Please,” Keith whined. “Please try to remember. I hate repeating myself, but I will as many times as it takes.”

“You're not gonna cry again, are you?”

Instead of a grumbled response he expected, he heard faith sobs from his self-established rival. Lance bit his lip; if there was one thing he hated more than himself, it was making people cry. In that instant, he had an abrupt vision of being pressed against Keith's chest; a slur of words passed over his ears.

Brave, intelligent, kind, creative. You're good enough.

“You--” he gasped. He gazed at Keith with eyes wide in shock. “You care about me?”

“Of course I do!” Keith sobbed. “You're so important to me and this team! I can't believe you would have no idea!”

“Hey,” Lance said soothingly. “That's not your fault.”

“How can it not be our fault?? How long have we been out here and how long have you been feeling this way?? How many times have we ridiculed you??”

“It's nothing new. Really. I've had those feelings even before joining the Garrison.”

Keith lifted his head, locking his eyes with Lance's, eyes filled deeply with remorse and distress.

“When you go day by day having the superpower of being invisible,” Lance said. “You realize it's not as awesome as those superhero shows make it out to be. There's always someone better, more talented, has that shine that draws people in and never letting them go. When we were in the Garrison, you were at the top of everything: all the teachers gave you the thumbs-up and pat on the shoulder, all the girls wanted to date you, our classmates talked nonstop about how cool you were, and most of all, you could approach Shiro and even talk to him. He always said that we can do anything we set our mind to and extend our potential. In my room, I had a poster of him. I'd look at it every night before bed hoping that tomorrow would be the day I broke out of my cycle of doom, but that day never came. He never looked at me the same way he looked at you. He chose you to be the next in line without a second thought. Then it would be Pidge, Hunk, Allura, then Coran, leaving me as the seventh wheel. Maybe not even that. There's always someone else: someone better, more--”

A cold touch halted his speech. He blinked and realized that Keith had crawled up on top of him. Their foreheads locked, the tip of their noses touching as well.

“Ah!” Lance gasped. “Sorry. My mom always said I talk too much. I should stop--”

Without warning, Keith mashed his lips against Lance's. He pressed deep, rubbing and sucking every angle. Lance let out a muffled yelp. His vision blurred, his world twisting and spinning in every direction. His body writhed, sending mixed messages of pushing him off and allowing for the contact that he craved for so long. Keith quickly pulled away upon realizing his actions. He brought his fingers to his mouth and looked away.

“That's how much I care,” he whimpered. “If you don't feel the same way, that's fine. Just know…. Just know that I'll always be here for you.” He sat up and turned to leave the bed. Without thinking, Lance grabs his shirt by the waist.

“Wait!!” he hollered, panting, still catching his breath from the kiss.

Keith flinched; he looked back down at Lance.

“Wh-What is it?” he asked, startled.

“You can't just spring that on me and just leave!” Lance snapped. “And how dare you assume I don't feel the same way??”

They both gasped and stared at each other gapingly. Lance clasped his hands over his mouth.

“Son of a Kaltenecker!!” he squeaked. “Was that out loud??”

Keith nodded, his face flushing as red as his jacket. Lance grabbed Keith's hands and brought them to his throat.

“Kill me now,” he pleaded.

“What??” Keith shouted in confusion and panic. “I'm not gonna do that!!”

“You have to,” Lance said in a quivering voice. “For the sake of your honor. I'm the worst possible orientation for someone to be.”

“What are you talking about?? Let go!!”

“I like both men and women, okay??”

Keith broke his hands free from Lance's death grip. Lance covered his eyes in shame.

“I like them both,” he sobbed. “I'm a whore.”

Keith took a deep breath to compose himself. He lowered his arms and shoulders and exhaled greatly. He remembered the way Shiro calmly brought him back from the brink of despair. Steadily, he brought his hands and cupped both sides of Lance's head.

“Lance,” he said gently. “That's not true. There are lots of people like that, even in this whole universe I bet. Each and every one of them have the potential of being great people and finding a partner to spend their time with.”

Lance uncovered his teary eyes, finger by finger.

“Y-You don't think I'd sleep around?” Lance hiccuped.

“Of course not,” Keith said. “It all makes sense now: all those times you flirted with everything feminine you could find. It's going to be okay, Lance. The others will understand, too.”

“I hope so,” Lance said. “But most of all, I want my family to understand, but I know that won't be possible. It has to be black and white with them; it's one thing to like one or the other, but we can't like both. I sat through all those family dinners with my mouth shut, terrified that if I told them the truth, I'd be sent packing. I'd have nothing and nowhere to go; I might as well die and be done with it all.”

The sorrowful lump in Keith's throat grew astronomically. He brought his hands to Lance's back and sat him up, holding him close as he did before. He stroked the top of his head slowly and tenderly, wanting nothing more than to cure the poor boy of his unfathomable pain.

“I never thought--” he choked. “That anyone with a family could feel that way.”

Lance lowered his hands from his face.

“W-What do you mean?” he asked, trembling still.

“I've been alone all my life,” Keith replied. “Never had someone to call a mother or a father. All the families I've seen go by looked so happy.”

“Oh,” Lance whispered sadly. All this time, he had no idea, and all he did was challenge and make fun of him. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no, Lance. It's okay. As long as I had my Galra knife, deep down, I felt that someone, somewhere, was looking out for me. Everything I learned out on my own helped me survive, meet Shiro, all of you, and is helping us through this war. This war has made me realize that I have a home and family here; I've finally found what I was looking for.”

“Does that mean you don't want to go back to Earth?”

Keith pondered. He had nothing waiting for him on Earth, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the nature and opportunities that were there.

“Well,” he said. “It wouldn't be a bad thing, but you really want to go back, don't you?”

“I do,” Lance said. He pressed his left cheek to Keith's chest. “But now that I think about it, I'm not sure where to start if we ever go back.”

“My shack should still be there,” Keith claimed. “You could move in with me.”

Lance froze in place, Keith's beating heart the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Keith,” he said, greatly flustered. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Keith said, leaning and burrowing into Lance's hair. “There's a shower there and I can teach you how to hunt. There's a nearby city we can scrounge for fruits, beans, and other goods.”

“So you've stolen before?”

“When you've been alone for as long as I have, you'll do anything to make it in the world. If it ever and continues to make you feel uncomfortable, you can leave the dirty business to me, okay?”

“Have you--” Lance gulped. “Had to kill anyone?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“That's good.”

“But know that I wouldn't hesitate if my life were in danger.”

Keith gripped the back of Lance's jacket tightly.

“Especially yours,” he said strongly. “I would cut down anyone and anything that would come to threaten you.” He planted a kiss on Lance's forehead. “Just leave the dirty business to me.”

Lance cried again, but not from sadness. At long last, his rival, the golden boy of the Garrison, the best fighter of the five paladins, accepted him and loved him as the shell he held together for so long broke open, pouring out his worst fears and washing them away.

“Would you let me do the same for you?” he asked.

Keith held Lance's face again and brought their foreheads together.

“I would do everything in my power to make sure that never needs to happen,” he declared.

Lance let out a giggle, a giggle that brought out the biggest and most genuine smile he's ever seen from Keith.

He's smiling, Keith cheered to himself. Finally.

“Okay,” Lance said, giggling still. “Because I don't want to lose you either. It gets cold in here without fire.”

“Are you cold right now?” Keith asked, smirking.

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Let me warm you up then.”

There they were again, lip locked again, but much more relaxed, their bodies melting into each other. Lance laid back, pulling Keith down with him, arms grasping his back. Keith slid his thumbs underneath Lance's eyes to wipe away the remaining tears.

Is this what you meant, Shiro? Keith asked internally. When you find that special someone? Well, you were right. I did eventually find that someone, and I'm never letting him go.

[katachii]

gamebreaker.

Dear _________,

I can’t believe I’m actually writing something like this right now and I feel really stupid doing so sitting here at my desk, but I’ve got to get this out of my head and just release this from myself because it grips me so. To be honest, I can write poems about you and empathize with quotes on love and pray day to day on this. But I think until the day comes where I’ve told you this I don’t think it will ever really truly be laid to rest in my heart. So hopefully even though it is likely these words never reveal themselves to you or they never reach your ears, at the very least I can hold onto some lame hope that there is a chance you might, no matter how infinitesimally small a chance that is. And hopefully that hope is enough knowing I’ve already said something and that time will do the rest. Here goes.  _________, I have never loved anyone quite in the way as I do you. And I’d be damned if I ever stopped. Because I’ve never felt something so damn real in my life. So real that even as much of a far cry as it is for anything to materialize between us I’d be an idiot distance myself and turn away form it again. It’s more unhealthy to deny the truth of my heart than to live a love through my life knowing it’s a dream that may never take fruit. Because if I can’t live moving forward on accepting this simple truth, how can I accept who I am and who I will become? If I settle for a fabricated lie onto myself in an attempt to move forward, how can I live continuing to accept what’s real and to know the difference? As a matter of fact, I’ve never talked and prayed to God about someone as much as I have you.  I’m a madman. And I’d be remiss to say the reality of my love for you didn’t drive me to madness more than once before. Seven years of a love nurtured and denied and rediscovered over and over again for you will do that. Seriously, it was a damn warring cycle on repeat. But I swear I’ve only been made better by it. I know that for a fact. Seven years I asked myself, “Wtf _____, you’ve still not moved on?” The answer is no. and yes. No, because to really love someone in the way I do you is not some desk lamp you turn off and turn on when you leave the house and come back home. It’s more like a furnace that burns on despite the heat and soot that is produced because it keeps the ship moving forward. This love in my life, has not just been some fickle feeling. It’s defining. It’s gamebreaking. It’s legit. And at times, annoyingly so. Four years ago, when you said “no”, I took my love for you as my cross to bear.  And recently, I’ve tried to move on multiple times. But in doing so, only confirmed what I already knew. ________ told me once that someone can only move on by finding someone knew. I knew someone else could never be enough. You’re not replaceable. And to be honest I highly doubt I’ll ever love someone else as I do you. But I tried. With ______, _______, ___. With _____, I simply said no. Because how could I build a relationship with her knowing my love lies with you? Same thing with _______. I couldn’t do it. Because I knew in my heart I had a greater love that’s burning. But finally I decided to take that chance with ___. And I knew. My heart wasn’t in it enough. I was giving half of myself. I felt like a scumbag. Because each night I questioned it all. And yeah we just started dating and not even for that long . But you know that the extent that I’d go for someone I love. And I just didn’t do that and if I had I can almost guarantee she would’ve never brought up to take a break. Because I knew if it was you, the fact that you’re always on my mind would be a driving force in itself and I wouldn’t be shameful to do the most grandiose shit no matter how much it might make you cringe. Truth is, my mind wasn't on ___ as much as it was with you. I was a scumbag. I knew this in my heart and although I wanted to make it work, I knew it’d be for my sake to get over you. And I couldn't go forward with it. I’d be making ____ an object of a goal in doing so.  So I come back to “Wtf _____, you’ve still not moved on?” The other answer: yes I have. Yes because I love you now very differently from the day I knew I fell in love with you. That’s the difference. Because I’ve not simply just fallen in love with you. I’ve walked in love for you. I’ve journeyed this love. And I’ve continued to love. So much that every day I’ve chosen to love you. Because there have been days, like in this past summer, where I knew there would be no relationship to gain, but I was compelled to somehow make your day even just a tad bit greater. By praying for you while you were prepping for NCLEX, by taking you out for some comfort food to make test day just a bit more bearable, and praying you’d receive your pass results early just so you could catch a break and have the peace of heart to heal by giving as much of yourself while you were in Peru. By praying that by being in Peru you’d have the quality time and charity to heal. By choosing to work with you at the diabetes camp despite knowing how vulnerable it’d make me. And by celebrating and having a great time with you celebrating your nurse licensure in NYC.  But once again I’d be remiss to say my heart doesn’t want more. And this altruistic love wasn’t always so. At first, yes I was a selfish bastard. I wanted you for myself. I was immature and governed by my emotions back in high school. and even more so the night of your prom. All I could think in that moment was “You’re gonna have to take that chance.” I was so wrong. As beautiful as you were that night, that didn't make it right. And what followed that November hurt like no other. Brookdale Park when you said “you owe me nothing”, you saw right through me and from then on I saw how low you saw me. Even though I was the one letting you down. “Never again” I told myself. I avoided you for that year. Barely contacted you, spoke to you, thank God “Find my friends” and snapchat locations had not been created yet because everyone might have seen my fraud ass at home saying I was out while everyone else was movie-nighting at your house. It wasn't really until two years later in 2015 that I could bring myself to even share the same airspace as you. Because for those two years I forced myself to hate you in a desperate attempt to dissolve how I felt. But 2015 quickly reminded me just how much I really love the person you are. The warmth you carry with you. The energy you take on to make the most of each moment. How you try and see the good in everyone. I found myself jealous even. But by then that didn’t even matter. I was just comforted by how organic your love for life and those around you was, despite everything you were going through with your Dad that same year. Since then I chose to love you. Not because it’d be a choice to, despite the difficulty, but because I was simply compelled to. To love you to heaven if you will. Instead of turning away and leaving it behind me. I’ve moved on with it. Matured by it. And have been made better from it.  I know it still probably doesn’t make sense. But this is why it’s so hard to tell you. I suppose I should answer the question, “Why you?” I once wrote a poem about a “girl that changed my life” long ago and how in it I describe you as someone I knew would mean something great to me. Funny how that still holds true to this day. The reason I love you is something that for seven years I’ve had to validate, re-validate, and then discover why and continue to discover why. For the longest time, the cliché, “you just know” was the only thing that fit. And I feel it takes a lifetime to really complete such reasoning. But by now I’ve grasped some of the deeper reasons. When I first really met you at __________ at age 15, I had this feeling you were gonna be important to me. I didn’t know why as I didn’t even know your last name at the time. And these past two years, I’ve prayed and reflected why God would nurture such a strong love for someone in me when that someone could never love me the way I love her? What a question. It’s because He wanted to teach me how to love. And what love is. And what it takes. And most importantly my true capacity to love. The last of these is what’s made you the gamechanger. I can’t tell you how much I wanted to yell at that diner restaurant in Montclair when you said to me ____ made you feel a way you never knew you could. If only you knew how much that rattled me. But it’s true. Similarly, you’ve set a bar in my life. A benchmark if you will. You criticized me at Brookdale Park that day for putting you on some pedestal. I don’t think you realized then how much of a confirmation of a confession of love that was. I didn’t even realize it myself at the time and blatantly denied it. But you’re damn right I put those I love on a pedestal. But only for you it was that pedestal. The one reserved in my heart. But you were right, I did treat you special and I realize now that if I could love you that hard, to this extent, even after all these years later, I have the capability to love others just as much. You revealed that to me. And from then on, in loving others I see how much I love you and how much more love I have to give or have in me to give.  Such a person like you will stay with me. 

Lastly, _________, I want you to know, that yes, I owe you nothing and conversely you will never owe me anything. I only want you, as real and honest, and sincere as you are. Your genuine self. Even if your honest heart holds no such feeling like mine. Truly, I really just want to tell you. But I kind of feel like you already see it in the way I catch myself slipping when I look at you. I look at you the same as I have seven years ago, only now with a greater understanding. This is my cross. And in no fault to you. You can’t help being the beautiful, amazing, motivating, inspiring, driven and compassionate person you are. This is entirely on me. Although it hasn’t always been, my love is and will continue to strive to be altruistic. I want to love you to heaven. In some way or another.