#i hate it but it is actually nearly 3am and i tried way too hard on this to not share it

[3amhauntings]

I tried writing something inspired by a recent ask that @shinyspooks answered so uhhhhh if you want to read a cryptic short story about Danny being followed by birds and cats here’s something!

There's a story in my town. It's not like most local legends- it's not really scary. There are no morals to it, nor is it really much of a story. If it were an actual story- it definitely wouldn't be fictional.

There's a boy in my town. Nobody knows much about him, or why he is here. People speculate, but it's all just rumours, with little substance to it. He's rarely ever seen, to the point that some people aren't even entirely sure he exists, or that he's alive. Nobody has ever talked to him, nobody has really been able to; either freezing up, having their voice drowned out by cawing and meowing, or if they're really unlucky; being clawed at.

Now would be a good time to explain the 'story'. As I said, it's more of a theory, pure speculation, the search for an answer to a question. The boy, everyone calls him. That's all he is after all, a boy, who looks to be around fourteen, always wearing the same simple white-red shirt and baggy jeans. A boy surrounded by cats and birds, walking through the town like a ghost through a graveyard, silent other than quiet humming, so low that it melds together with the purring of the felines weaving round his ankles, which could be mistaken for a single writhing mass by anyone who doesn't quite know what they are looking at. Some people claim that if you're friendly and bring a treat, a cat might let you pet them. I don't know if that's true. Some also claim the same for the birds, one girl even saying that a crow had landed on her shoulder. I believe that story- I trust her, I've seen her try to lie before. She can't.

It's not always the same animals following him. Sometimes he doesn't even have more than a simple quartet of cats with him, either silently stalking him or mowling loudly, as if begging for attention. I once read that if a cat sticks its tail straight up in the air it means that they're happy and content, so there's no doubt about how much this boy means to them.

If you see him enough, you can start telling the animals apart. One of the most common cats is a white and orange tabby, lovingly named Bobby by the town. A less common, yet definitely not rare, is a fluffy black cat that looks less like an actual animal and more like a moving black hole; Nobody knows who named her, but we all call her Void. It definitely fits- apparently someone had found an old journal that said a woman named Sam used to own Void, but that can't be true. That would make that cat older than my great grandma.

I could go on all day about the cats and their names, but that's not the point of today's tale. I'm sure I could gather more information if people really want to know.

The boy himself has shaggy black hair, so messy that people can't really even tell how it's cut, assuming there even is a pattern to the madness that is his entire presence. His eyes are the brightest blue anyone has ever seen someone's iris be, yet they someone don't seem to reflect light. It should be impossible, to have your eyes be so bright and dull at the same time. It's like he's alive and dead all at once- a corpse possessed by the same soul that inhabited it while it was alive.

The crows that surround him most days just make the illusion of a dead person walking even more intense. Did you know that a group of crows is called a murder? No wonder they're considered a death omen- their screeching is awful.

However, very rarely, if you have a four-leaf clover, a rabbit's foot, and whatever other luck you can gather; you may, just maybe, see the boy at his most vibrant, surrounded by a flurry of exotic birds, feathers of every colour of the rainbow on display; the noise from the squawking, singing, chirping being heard through at least half the surrounding area, like a small parade dedicated to the honour of the local anomaly.

That's all we have time for tonight. Good night, dears.

[shyvioletcat]

For zoom interrupted could we have one where aelin is attending a meeting and Rowan is supposed to take care of Elspeth and well hell ensures

Well, I don’t know where this came from. But it’s here and it’s fluffy, so enjoy.

Zoom Interrupted

~~~~~

It was Rowan’s turn for ‘keeping the toddler out of the study’ today. Aelin had a meeting and they weren’t as accepting of interruptions as his colleagues were. Dorian didn’t mind, neither did Aedion, but a lot of the others had sticks up their asses and didn’t understand kids at all. At least with Dorian as her directing manager, Aelin wasn’t going to cop any flack for it if something happened. He just listened to the complaints, reminded those complaining of the situations they were in, and left it at that.

The only problem was that Elspeth had woken up today feeling like Aelin was the only person that existed in the whole entire world. She wouldn’t have a bar of him. Rowan had tried everything –– snacks, her favourite toys, cuddles, video chatting the grandparents. Nothing worked. The best he could manage was cartoons and being regulated to the opposite of the couch after she had pulled just about every possession she had into the living room and left it there. Even then she was still restless and whiny, every so often she whimpered a little. It was enough to break his heart.

Rowan was checking his phone ignoring the annoyingly high voices on the TV, when there was a loud clatter making him snap his eyes away from the screen. The remote had landed on the floor, the batteries spilling out.

“Elsie,” Rowan said sternly.

It was a mistake. Her green eyes went wide and started to fill with tears. Rowan sighed, he knew what was coming so he slipped off the couch to deal with the remote before it did. He’d just got the batteries in and the back on when Elsie cracked it, crying like her world was ending when all he’d done was say her name in a slightly lower octave than he usually used. Kneeling on the ground Rowan looked over at his daughter, who was now lying down on the couch, her little face heartbreakingly sad.

“I’m sorry, little one,” Rowan said gently. “But you can't throw the remote, it will––”

She didn’t let him finish.

Rowan sighed again, knowing this was a losing fight. “Do you––” more crying, “I can get you a chocolate milk, how about that?”

That caught his daughter’s attention and her crying stopped as she nodded at him. Rowan smiled triumphantly and pushed himself off the floor to go to the kitchen. He got out Elsie’s favourite sippy cup and the milk and the chocolate powder. Spooning in just enough that the milk was convincingly brown, Rowan screwed on the lid and went back to the living room.

“Elsie, here’s your…” Rowan’s voice trailed off when he took in the oddly quiet couch.

Elspeth was gone.

~~~~~

Aelin loved babies. And she loved making babies. It was just the in between bits she wasn’t too fond of. If the vomiting and near constant nausea, along with the fatigue, wasn’t bad enough there was also the fact she was shut in their little house with nowhere to go. Aelin understood why she couldn’t go out, she really did. But being stuck inside with a toddler and her husband with no one else to see face to face was driving her a little stir crazy.

At least today she had something to break up the monotony of the days. She had a meeting for work, meaning that she had to at least look somewhat presentable, giving her something to do and a reason to wash her hair. The hard part had been convincing Elspeth to play with her father for a while. She’d been extra clingy today and Aelin had to literally pry off the little hand that held her shirt in a vice grip. Throughout the meeting she’d heard muffled sounds of tantrums and Rowan’s efforts to placate their daughter, all in all it didn’t sound like it was going great.

And neither was Aelin. She’d zoned out a little while ago while Kaltain droned on about something that wasn’t relevant to Aelin so she put all her attention to keeping her breakfast in her stomach.

Then there was a silence and Aelin hoped that the meeting was over but then her name was being said, and from the tone of it, it wasn’t the first time.

“Aelin,” Dorian said.

She took in a deep breath, not quite exhaling as she said, “Yep.”

“Have you finished that manuscript?”

“Not yet,” Aelin managed to get out, swallowing back the nausea. It usually took Aelin no more than three days to finish a manuscript with her notes for the publishers. But she was more than a week behind on this one. It wasn’t her fault, every time she tried to read she just fell asleep.

“It was meant to be finished last Friday. I don’t think you’ve ever been late before,” Dorian mused.

Aedion snorts from his little rectangle. “Being late is kind of Aelin’s thing at the moment.”

Aelin sends her cousin a scathing look while Dorian looks confused.

“Well that’s it for today,” Dorian said. “Same time next week.”

“Before you go,” Aelin adds quickly before the call ends. “I need a minute with you Dorian.”

“Okay, I’ll just disconnect everyone else.” It took Dorian a minute but then it was just the two of them. “What’s up?”

Just then the door to the study swung open and then a small figure launched itself at Aelin. She gagged on impact, but managed to keep from actually throwing up.

“Elsie!” Dorian cheered. “How’s my favourite little gremlin?”

Aelin saw her daughter give Dorian a look on the screen that looked all too much like Rowan as she clung tighter to Aelin.

“Aw, what’s the matter, petal? Do you want to see the puppies?” Dorian asked.

Elsie nodded at that, wiping her nose on Aelin’s shoulder. Dorian’s dog had had puppies a few weeks ago, Aelin was a little jealous and had cried over the photos more than once. Dorian apparently had one on his lap and he lifted it up so they could see. Aelin’s eyes started to tear up immediately and the fluffy little things. It was enough to get Elsie’s attention and she moved forward, nearly knocking over a drink bottle, making Aelin jump up to catch it before it did some damage.

“Aelin Galathynius-Whitethorn, is that what I think it is?”

Aelin looked at her own screen, at the view Dorian had. The shirt she had worn today hugged her very small baby bump, all the more noticeable from the sideways angle she was standing at. Aelin readjusted Elsie who was currently tucked under her arm, and sat back down. “Yeah so… I’m going to have to put in for leave. I’m pregnant.”

“Again?” Dorian all but blurted.

“Hey,” Aelin pointed a finger at him, feeling irrationally angry. “What do you mean again? It’s only the second one.”

“Sorry,” Dorian said meekly.

“Well, you say it like it’s my fourth or something.” For some reason this conversation was now making her cry. Damned hormones.

“Did you just make my pregnant wife cry?”

Rowan now came into the study, no doubt looking for his escaped charge. He was scowling at Dorian, green eyes staring him down through the camera.

Dorian cleared his throat. “If we weren’t in lockdown I might be afraid for my life right now.”

“Lockdown won’t last forever,” Rowan threatened. “And I never forget.”

“Unless it’s contraceptives,” Dorian muttered.

That set Aelin cackling, her erratic emotions coming full circle, especially when she saw the faint blush on Rowan’s cheeks. Elsie started laughing too, cheered up by being in her mother’s arms and the little puppy.

Dorian sighed. “I hate to lose my best proofreader, again,” he added with a wry smile. “But congratulations. To all of you.”

“Thanks, Dor,” Aelin said, giving Rowan a nudge.

“Thanks,” Rowan said tightly, making Aelin roll her eyes.

“Okay, I’m gonna go before Rowan finds a way to murder me through a screen, we can work out deatils later.” That was all Dorian said before he ended the call.

“You’re the worst,” Aelin said, looking up at her husband.

Rowan sighed, “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“How convenient, me too,” Aelin said. “How about we take a family nap?”

Rowan grinned at her as he helped her up from the chair while Elsie still clung to her. “Sounds perfect.”

~~~~~

Tags: @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @heroesofterrasen // @highladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @fanfictrash3000 // @blueeyes425 // @starseternalnighttriumphant // @bamchickawowow // @thehuntressofmoon // @giorgia-the-trashpanda // @flora-and-fae // @thereaderandfangirl // @illyrian-bookworm // @chemicha // @meltalgel // @gay-book-nerd // @that-odd-puzzle-piece // @i-love-all-books // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @hizqueen4life // @the-third-me // @1islessthan3books // @bestmelle // @cursebreaker29 // @b00kworm // @superspiritfestival // @aesthetics-11 // @maastrash // @mynewdreamwasyou // @the-last-apprentice // @charincharge // @firestarsandseneschals // @scarznstars // @absolute-dissapointment // @thesurielships // @df3ndyr // @trinitybailey2003 // @hellasblessed // @booknerdproblems // @larisssss // @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves // @rolltide7 // @scandinavianromantic // @tillyrubes10 // @starwarsslytherin // @minaidss // @paytin77 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @anntheintrovert // @starbornvalkyrie // @loudphantomdragon // @woollycat22 // @claralady // @perseusannabeth // @fangirlprincess09 // @maddymelv // @sierrareads // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @jlinez // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @rowaelinismyotp // @pullnpeeltwizzlers // @anne-reads // @jadeaffliction // @gracie-rose // @elriel4life // @miserablesmusings // @tothestarswholistentodreamers // @thenerdandfandoms // @castielspelvis // @swankii-art-teacher // @grandma-noob-lord // @vanzetanze // @highlady-brittney // @story-scribbler // @linguine-panini // @pastasiren // @surielandiareendgame // @silentquartz // @littleboxofthunder // @empress-ofbloodshed // @booksbqueen // @rowanwhitethornisbae // @charlizeed // @feysand-loml // @aelin-queen-of-terrasen // @alyx801 // @amandaswallowtail // @louiseleblancdiggory // @abookishfreak // @danibutterr // @thegreyj // @lizzyfirebringer // @endlessdaydream // @magnifique1807

[intheticklecloset]

Wild Card (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Summary: Bakugou is determined to make sure his 3am encounter with Shinsou is kept on the down low, but when he finds out Denki has already told some of their friends about it, he can't hold back his frustration.

A/N: I wanted to write a fic in which Bakugou tickled Denki, and it lined up perfectly with the events from "A Trick of the Light," so this is the result! Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,948

~~~

“Yo, Baku-bro,” Kaminari greeted enthusiastically as he and Shinsou entered the 1-A dorms together. “You up for some Mario Kart?”

Bakugou scoffed. “You up to losing?” Then he turned, saw the purple-haired boy with his friend, and froze. It had been a week since their 3am meeting in the kitchen, and neither of them had spoken since. He frowned. “What are you doing here, mind-reader?”

Shinsou’s eyes hardened but his face remained stoic. “I believe I’ve already informed you that I’m not a mind reader, and that I have friends here in these dorms.” He waved a hand at Kaminari. “Case in point.”

“I’ll go let Midoriya know we’re here,” Denki said, taking off down the hall after removing his shoes. “Be right back.”

Then Bakugou and Shinsou were alone together for the first time since the incident.

Bakugou glared. “How many people have you told?”

“Told what, exactly?” Shinsou asked coolly, staying right where he was. “That you mistook me for Midoriya? I told him and Kaminari about our encounter last weekend.”

“No one else?”

“I have no reason to tell anyone else about it.”

Bakugou grit his teeth, then let out a hissing sigh. “Look. I know we’re not friends, and that’s fine by me. I couldn’t care less. But I don’t want you going around telling a bunch of extras that I’m…” he trailed off, cleared his throat. “So what do I have to do to convince you to keep it quiet?”

Shinsou quirked a brow. “That you’re what?”

“You know what.”

“I already told you I’ve told Kaminari and Midoriya about what happened, but beyond them, I have no reason or desire to tell anyone else. I found it amusing, but little more. It clearly bothers you, though.”

“I’ve got a reputation.”

“For being a jerk all the time? I’m well aware of your reputation.”

Bakugou shot to his feet, striding toward the taller student with purpose. He stopped a few feet away. “I don’t want the whole school knowing I’m…I’m…that I’m ticklish, okay?” He finally spat, clenching his fists. “So what do I have to do?”

Shinsou blinked. “That’s what you’re worried about? That I’ll tell everyone you have a very common weakness?” He smirked. “Perhaps you’re not as much of a bad boy as they say you are.”

“Shut up, all right? Look, I just don’t need anyone else to know. It makes me sick enough as it is that you know. So what do I have to do? Name your price, mind-reader.”

“Stop calling me mind-reader, for one.” Shinsou’s voice grew hard.

“Fine. What else?”

The purple-haired boy considered him for a moment. “How about this – I’ll promise not to tell anyone your little secret if you promise to do me a favor in return whenever I ask for one. Whenever I want you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. Sound fair?”

Bakugou hated to admit that he was relieved. He nodded. “Fine.” He held out his hand, and Shinsou took it.

That’s the exact moment Denki returned with Deku in tow. The blonde’s eyes lit up. “Hey! Are you two friends now?”

“Shut up, dunce,” Bakugou spat, ripping his hand away. “We’re not friends.”

“Definitely not friends,” Shinsou agreed. The two of them shared a hard stare.

Deku could feel the tension between them and did his best to cut through it by asking brightly, “So, who wants to play Mario Kart?”

*

That was one problem taken care of. Keeping Shinsou quiet had been Bakugou’s biggest concern, since he wasn’t and had no desire to be on friendly terms with the extra from 1-C. That just left Deku and Kaminari. He knew Deku wouldn’t go around telling everyone about it; despite their rivalry, he could trust him to keep his secret. Kaminari, however, was a wild card he didn’t want to risk.

So that night after Shinsou had gone home, Bakugou dragged the electric hero outside into the dusk and said, “Listen up, dunce. I know he told you about what happened last week, but you are not to tell anyone else about it. Got it?”

For a moment Denki looked confused, but then he looked worried. “Wait…you mean mistaking Shinsou for Midoriya? But I’ve already—” He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Bakugou’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“No, no, it’s not what you think! I haven’t told everybody – just a couple of our friends!”

“Which ones?”

“J-Just from our group! You know – Kiri, Sero, and Mina. And…and Ojiro. But that’s it, I swear!”

Bakugou gripped his shirt collar. “I’m going to kill you.”

Denki panicked. “B-But they’re our friends! You know they won’t tell anyone!”

“No, I don’t know that.”

“Come on, man. Can’t you trust us with this by now?” Kaminari sounded sincere, and it gave Bakugou pause. “I mean…aside from that one time we went too far, we’ve never betrayed you, have we? We’ve always kept it just between us. No one else. They won’t tell, and I only told them in the first place because they already know.” The sparky blonde offered a nervous smile and patted Bakugou’s arm. “It’s all right, dude. We’ve got your back.”

Bakugou gripped him even tighter and snarled, “What about Ojiro?”

“O-Oh, that? W-Well, um, I only told him because he’s friends with Shinsou. He won’t tell either, I promise!”

“You can’t make promises on someone else’s behalf, idiot.” He shoved the electric hero away and turned on his heel. “Now I have go to shut someone else up.”

“Wait, no!” Denki cried, bolting to stand in front of him. “D-Don’t hurt him, Bakugou. He doesn’t know you like the rest of us. He might take it too personally – l-let me talk to him instead.”

“You better make sure he doesn’t tell anyone else I’m ticklish, dunce face, or I will actually kill you.”

Kami frowned, confused. “That you’re…? Oh, no, Ojiro doesn’t know Shinsou tickled you back. I just told him that you got confused and tickled Shinsou thinking it was Midoriya. That’s all.”

Bakugou grabbed him by the shirt collar again and yelled, “You made me freak out over nothing?!”

At this point, Denki just had to laugh. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was nervous or he thought the whole situation was being blown out of proportion, but either way it was the wrong reaction, because he suddenly found himself shoved to the ground so hard he nearly had the wind knocked out of him. “Gah! Hey, take it easy, man!”

“You’re laughing at me now?” Bakugou growled, snatching up both of his wrists and pinning them tightly. “I’ll give you something to laugh about, dunce face.”

Denki shrieked. “NO!! No, wahahahahahahahahait! Plehehehehehease!”

“If you think it’s so funny, then go ahead and laugh.” Bakugou squeezed up and down his side, expertly keeping up when his fellow blonde tried to twist away. “Laugh it up, Denki – go on, get it all out of your system.”

“Stahahahahahahahahap!” Denki pleaded, giggling crazily and squirming on the ground. “Plehehehehease, I’m sohohohohohohorry, I didn’t mehehehehean to lahahahahahaugh!”

“Sure.”

“Plehehehehehease, I cahahahahan’t – dohohohohohon’t tihihihihickle me, plehehehease! I’ll tahahahahahalk to him! I’ll tehehehehehell him not to tehehehehell anyone else!”

“Oh, I know you will. But I’ve got some serious frustration to take out first, and since you so willingly walked right into this, I’m going to take my time.” Denki squealed when Bakugou forced him to roll onto his back and then straddled him, grabbing onto his ribs and kneading deeply. “Tickle, tickle, moron.”

“Plehehehehehehehehease! Ahahahahahahahahaha!” The electric blonde giggled so hard he almost couldn’t breathe, gasping for air between bouts desperately, pushing at his attacker’s hands uselessly. “Nohohohohohohohoho! Plehehehehease, it tihihihihihihickles so much!”

“Jeez, sparky, you’re more ticklish than Deku is.”

“I knohohohohohohohow! Stahahahahahahahap! Plehehehehehease, Bahahahakugou!”

“Hmm.” Bakugou ignored his pleading, scribbling up and down his torso from his underarms to his hips, searching for a hot spot of some kind. While he got crazed giggling and breathy laughter, nothing really stood out to him as being a potential death spot. He squeezed the blonde’s thighs, earning a sharp squeal, then reached behind him to squeeze his knees.

“NO!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Denki’s begging came out in full-force, as did his fighting spirit. He shoved at Bakugou desperately, managing to dislodge him slightly. “No, not there! Not there! Please!”

Bakugou paused, staring at him. Denki stared back desperately. For a moment neither of them moved. Then the two of them started a wrestling match that lasted a couple of minutes before Bakugou finally managed to shove his electric friend face-first into the grass, quickly moving to straddle his calves and scratch at the exposed undersides of his knees.

Denki exploded. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” He pounded the ground, ripping up blades of grass in his fruitless attempts to get away. “NONONONO NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!”

“Dang, you are more ticklish than Deku!” Bakugou laughed wickedly, scribbling over his knee pits and along the sides of his knees relentlessly. “Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

“SHUT UP, BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKUGOU!! OH MY GOHOHOHOHOHOHOD STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP ALREADYEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

“What’s the matter? Can’t take it?” That’s when Bakugou noticed the sparks in the air around them. “Whoa.”

Kaminari was wheezing, he was laughing so hard. He grasped desperately for some kind of purchase. “I’M GOHOHOHOHOHOHONNA – I’M GONNA BLOHOHOHOHOHOHOW A FUHUHUHUSE!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Bakugou smirked. He had to see this. “You think I care about that? Think again, dunce.” He switched from scribbling to kneading, just to see what would happen. “Go on. Electrify me if you want to get away. Do it. I dare you.”

Denki shrieked in distress, laughing so hard he was losing control of his quirk, but Bakugou wasn’t letting up, wasn’t letting him breathe, wasn’t letting him hold back—

“AAAAGH!!” Bakugou yelled as an incredibly strong shock of pain shot up his arms, forcing him to freeze up and fall over, letting Denki go whether he wanted to or not. He curled up as the pain receded, groaning. Wow. He wasn’t kidding about that blowing a fuse thing. That hurt!

The atomic blonde pushed himself up to his hands and knees, looking at where Denki still lay on the grass, and instantly felt a pang of guilt for having pushed him so far. Idiot, he chastised himself, crawling over to his friend. You got so upset when they pushed your boundaries and now you go and do the same thing?

“Hey, Denki,” he said, gently nudging his friend’s shoulder. “You all right?”

Giggling breathlessly into the grass, the only response he got was a muffled, “Whey.”

Oh, no. Bakugou rolled him over onto his back, seeing the dazed look and loopy smile on Kami’s face and groaning again. “Oh, great. Now you’re even dumber than usual.” He poked Denki’s belly, surprised when his fellow blonde burst into a long giggle fit from just the one touch. “Dude, did you get even more ticklish after that?” He poked him again, getting the same reaction.

“Whehehehehehehey,” Denki giggled, batting at his hand half-heartedly, rolling onto his side.

Bakugou stared, smirked, and grabbed his ribs, enjoying the squealing giggles he got for his efforts. “You’re ridiculous. Come on.” He pulled his friend into a sitting position, then helped him get to his feet, walking him back toward the dorms. “Let’s get you to bed, dunce face.”

*

When Kaminari woke the next morning, dazed and confused, he sat up in bed and was startled when something fell from his forehead to his pillow. He picked up the sticky note and read his angry friend’s scrawling handwriting: Tell Ojiro to shut his trap, or I’ll tickle you stupid again.

Denki grinned, shook his head, then got up to do exactly that.

[chaseatinydream]

morning fix || k.hj (atz)

➼ pairing: reader x kim hongjoong (ateez)

➼ word count: 4516

➼ genre: barista au; fluff

➼ synopsis: “i’ve been missing you a latte lately.”

You always go to this specific café for your morning fix.

Every morning, without fail, before the start of lessons, even when you don’t have lessons, you always make sure to head to the Twilight Café to grab a cup of coffee. Your friends tease you occasionally, saying that the baristas must add mermaid’s tears or dragon’s blood into the coffee as some sort of secret ingredient, because there’s no other way they could get you coming back for more every single day so religiously. You merely smile over the rim of your coffee cup, thinking “Well, they’re not completely wrong.”

But the secret ingredient isn’t in the coffee.

It’s the barista, Kim Hongjoong.

The handsome young man that is Kim Hongjoong has been working at Twilight ever since you entered the college, but even though you've sat at one of quaint tables by the window side more than once just to admire his dream like features, you've never actually... noticed him in particular.

Most, or might you be so bold as to proclaim, all of the staff in Twilight are remarkably good looking, so Kim Hongjoong had just been another pretty face. Sure, he was one that you might have vaguely recognized out on the streets, but not really one that had stood out to you very significantly.

Until that day.

You'd stayed awake the entire night prior, rushing though your year end projects which had been due the next day. There was a presentation that you had to do today that counted towards your final grade, but winging it with less than eight hours of sleep in the last two days didn't sound very promising. You needed a morning fix before attempting to ... and you needed it fast.

So, exactly five minutes before your presentation had begun, you had dashed over to Twilight faster than the speed of light, panting for a cup of hot coffee over the counter.

The barista, whose face you had recognised vaguely, had looked shocked for a moment as he took in your flustered, unkempt state. You probably looked like you’d been run over by a backing car several times over, with dark bags under your eyes and an even darker expression on your face.

Time had passed by agonisingly slow, drop by drop, as you watched the hot liquid of the coffee trickle into the cup much too slowly for your liking. Every hair on your body was crawling with impatience, the seemingly insignificant ticking of the second hand of the clock on the wall grating on your ears like nails scratching over the surface of a chalkboard, your teeth grinding together as you watched the barista scribble something on your cup-

“Could you please hurry up?” The words came out harsher than you had intended, and for a split second the cute barista flinched from the viciousness of your voice before he managed to pull an apologetic smile together on his face. Quickly, he passed you your cup of coffee, piping hot and smelling of sweet caramel, lowering his head apologetically.

“I’m truly sorry, miss.”

Something had tugged at you, perhaps it was a little bit of guilt, a little twist in your gut, but then the clock and its damn incessant ticking caught your attention before you could say a word of ‘sorry’ to the poor barista. Two more minutes before your presentation was due. Glancing desperately between the young man and the minute hand steadily inching closer and closer to twelve, you made up your mind.

You’d apologise to him next time.

So, grabbing your coffee, you had turned and dashed out of the shop.

The coffee had been amazing, aromatic, fragrant, and ultimately strong and sweet enough to keep you awake throughout the whole presentation. In fact, it had been so good that after drinking it, you had felt absolutely awful for taking out your stress on the barista from earlier. Maybe there really was some sort of secret ingredient in the coffee.

With the resolution to apologise to that poor barista firmly in your mind, you had lifted a hand to dispose of the cup, but before you could let go of it, some ink markings on the paper sleeve caught your eye.

You frowned.

Why hadn’t you seen that before?

Sliding the sleeve out of the cup, you had turned it around carefully to read the writing on the surface. And to your immense discomfort, two very opposing emotions blossomed in you at the same time.

You look stressed, so have an extra sugar to make today even more sweet! I hope everything goes well for you :) Cheering you on!

For a moment, warmth that reminded you of knit sweaters and freshly brewed lattes rose in your chest. Then, you paused, sighed and stared at the innocent paper sleeve for a long second, before tucking it in your pocket, the sleeve feeling unnaturally heavy.

“I really need to apologise to him.”

And so you had.

The first time you’d returned to the cafe, awkward and a little uneasy, he was already there, wiping down the counter with a clean cloth. Luckily for you, the cafe was mercifully empty, most of the student body that used to frequent the place currently at lectures or back at the dorms. Back turned to you, he was humming along to the song playing over the radio, blissfully unaware of your presence. You were tempted to just give up on the plan and run for the door, but you steeled yourself with a determined exhale and clenched fists. No! You had to apologise!

You squeezed your eyes shut and tapped on the bell at the counter.

“Hello, welcome to Twlight Caf-” The barista turned around with a wide smile, ready to greet you... until he saw your face.

For a second, he faltered, nearly dropped his cloth too, before his mouth pressed into a thin, nervous line. Your heart sank, did he think you were here to complain about him, or something along those lines? He tried to force a smile onto his face, but it looked fake, like a mask of clay.

You hated it.

“Excuse me, miss, but is there something you need-”

Sucking in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you shoved a piece of paper forward into his hands.

He glanced down in surprise, he hadn’t expected that in the least. The paper was a crumpled post-it, a little torn around the edges and a little damp from sweat, but the words written on it were clear as day.

A latte, just like how you made it for me that day.

And beneath that, in smaller writing:

I’m sorry.

The polite smile on his face slid right off and for a moment, you were almost worried he might reject your apology. But before you could hightail it out of there with your tail between your legs, another smile, brighter and so much genuine than before pulled at the corners of his mouth, turning his face from show-stoppingly handsome to near radiant like the sun itself.

Then he grinned at you, cuter than a man his age should be able to look, and you swore that your heart sputtered to a stop in your chest for a long, dangerous second.

Oh no.

“One ‘I’m Sorry’, coming right up.” He teased, a smirk playing on his lips, a little mischievous, near devilish, almost, and you had merely stared at him with your mouth hanging wide open, unable to believe that he’d just teased you like that.

When he passed the steaming cup of espresso and milk to you a few moments later, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee tickling the edge of your nose, you had smiled and thanked him a little awkwardly in disbelief, nearly tripping on your way out of the cafe.

And when you glanced at the paper sleeve of the cup once more, you saw the exact same handwriting there, neatly scribbled at the side in black marker.

You need to buy another 50 cups of coffee before I forgive you! See you around, Sugar!

You didn’t know why a furious blush spread across your cheeks at those words, or why a smile tugged at your own lips at the stupid nickname, but you slipped off the paper sleeve off the cup once more as you passed by the trash bin.

And put the sleeve into your pocket once again.

Have an amazing day >.< you can do it! (○｀･Д･´)9

You look down today :((( Have three sugars to sweeten that pretty smile of yours! Don’t forget to brush your teeth tonight, though!

Your smile is sweeter than sugar, but here’s some more to make it even more irresistible! All the best for your interview today!

How are guys just like coffee? The best ones are rich, hot, and can keep you up all night! :D (okay that was embarrassing ignore that i’m not that kind of guy-)

Oh no ;-; you stayed up all night! Don’t worry, I can’t see those eye bags, you still look like you’re going to crush today amazingly! Here’s a cup to start your day off on the right foot!

Why did the coffee file a police report? Because it was mugged :”D (please forgive his bad jokes he was googling them at 3am in the morning) THAT WAS JONGHO IGNORE HIM PLEASE

I’ve been thinking about you a latte lately SAN STOP THAT’S JUST WEIRD-

(ง •̀ω•́)ง✧ nearly at the weekend! You can do this, Sugar! The boys have been teasing me a lot πーπ but hmpf ignore them if they say anything silly to you! Visit the café on the weekends too, I’ll make a special treat for you if you do!

You sit at the couch in your dorm room, flipping through the stack of paper sleeves in your hands fondly. Each sleeve documents the journey of your blooming friendship with the barista behind the counter of Twilight Cafe, the one who works the morning shift and has a smile sweeter than sugar itself, Kim Hongjoong.

Your finger traces the last one fondly, the one he’d given you yesterday as you had rushed to your next lecture. Waving you off with a bright smile, he’d given you a small wink and a grin, one that made your own cheeks flush bright pink and a smile to bloom on your face, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

It’s Saturday today, and you’re blessedly free from any lectures or lessons, a rare occasion. But then again, Hongjoong has indeed promised you a cup of special coffee if you swing by the café, so shaking your head at just how soft you are for that boy, you slip on a pair of shoes and make your way across the campus grounds.

The bell chimes as you push the door open and Hongjoong immediately turns around to grin at you as you enter. Smiling, you slide him a yellow post-it across the counter and he grabs it eagerly, eyes scanning the words with excitement. As strange as it is, you and Hongjoong have actually never spoken a word to each other verbally, instead communicating through your little post-its and paper sleeves.

As much as coffee’s part of your morning fix, Kim Hongjoong has become part of your daily routine, slowly inching his way into becoming an integral part of your life.

I made it through the week thanks to Hongjoong’s special ‘I’m Sorry’ latte! Surprise me today ;)

Hongjoong looks up from the note to salute at you playfully and your heart flutters, before tucking the post-it in his pocket and moving to brew your coffee. Studying the way he moves, you watch his able hands as they work the machine, adding syrup and sugar just the way you like it. But everything he does looks familiar to you, as if you’ve seen it a hundred times (which to be fair, you probably have), nothing out of the ordinary. You cock your head to the side in confusion.

A few minutes later, he sets the cup in front of you, but this time, he’s nervously wringing his hands, fiddling with the hem of his navy blue apron as his gaze darts around, never lingering on your face for long. Then he squeaks out a hurried ‘goodbye’, barely intelligible, and flees into the back faster than you can blink, the other two baristas on shift now, San and Jongho, howling with laughter behind the machine. You’re a little befuddled, but you take the coffee all the same and exit the shop, glancing down at the paper sleeve.

Made with Love. Drink me!

Your heart melts into a puddle of something warm and fuzzy for a second at his sweet words and you smile fondly, raising the tab on the lid to take a sip. Then you freeze in your tracks, staring at what is written there with wide eyes, your mouth falling open.

It’s Hongjoong’s handwriting, alright.

XX XXXX XXXX

Call-ffee (Call me) maybe?

You reach for your phone faster than you ever have in your life, keying in the numbers with the urgency of a life and death situation. The last time he’s spoke to you had been the day you apologised to him, and for the first time in a year, you’re going to hear his voice.

The dial tone cuts off. The call has gone through.

A male voice, jumpy with nerves but still smooth as well brewed coffee, comes over the phone.

“Sugar?”

[killmytyme]

cherry cola | calum hood

image from this post by @siyahraat​

this fic is brought to you by @myloverboyash​​ absolutely destroying me with this text post, which I reblogged and went off in the tags and then couldn’t get it out of my head so I had to write out the entire scene. is this maybe the most self indulgent thing I have written in a really long time? yes. is this good? probably not. but i saw this whole cozy 3am snack run in my mind and had to get it out here somehow. 

warnings: none except for the most gross amount of fluff

word count: 2.4k

_______________

The thing is, you had been craving a cherry cola slushy all day. It was all you could think about for the whole day, but you knew you didn’t need one, so when you had gone out earlier you summoned your willpower and didn’t indulge. The problem was that now it was 3am and you couldn’t sleep, and all you could think about was the gas station a 10 minute drive away that had the cherry cola slushy you needed. The other problem was that Calum was fast asleep, and you really hated driving alone late at night. It had been hours now of you laying awake and only thinking about the slushy before you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. You rolled over to face him and gently shook his shoulder.

“Cal,” you whispered, watching his face twitch as he started to stir. “Cal, wake up.”

“Hmm?” he questioned, blinking awake slowly. His arm reached out to pull you into him. “’S’wrong? You okay?”

“I need a slushy,” you say, pulling at him to move with you as you sat up. “We need to go get one.”

“Babe,” Calum’s eyebrows raised as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. You knew what it would say, you knew how crazy this probably sounded. “It’s 3am, we can get slushies tomorrow.”

“No, Cal, I need a slushy,” you whine. “I know it’s 3am, I know it’s crazy, but I think I’m actually going to die if I don’t get a cherry cola slushy right now. Immediately.”

“Cherry cola?” There’s laughter in his voice, and you know you’ve won him over. “Babe, the best slushy flavour is blue raspberry. That’s just an objective fact.”

“Okay, well, it’s an objective fact, Calum Hood, that I am wasting away here without snacks or a slushy to sustain me!” You hop out of bed and grab the hoodie he tossed on a chair before he crawled into bed, throwing it at his face while he laughed at your dramatics. “If you loved me like you say you do, you’d get up and drive me, unless you want me going out at 3 in the morning by myself, which is dangerous and-” 

Your voice is cut off by the feeling of the hoodie you’d just thrown his way coming down over your head, and you squirm your arms up into the sleeves, Calum pulling the sweater down over your body.

“You’re lucky that I love you, you know that,” he says, smiling fondly at you. You grin back at him, the smile not leaving your face as he gets dressed and starts the hunt for his keys. “Who would have thought I’d find someone who drags me out of bed at ridiculous hours because they need a slushy, of all things, and I’m still in love with them.”

“It’s all part of my charm, you know,” you say as you tap your foot impatiently.

“If you say so.” He finally locates his keys and you both make your way out of the house and into the car. The night air is crisp, and the street is quiet in that way that only the middle of the night can be; still and peaceful, knowing you’re likely the only ones awake and moving, feeling alone but nowhere near lonely as Calum starts the car and intertwines your hands, backing out of the driveway.

You start pressing buttons on the radio to bring up some music for the drive, and he laughs when you land on the Top 40s station. At this time of the night it’s a DJ set, some local up and coming DJ getting the 3am slot to play terrible remixes to popular songs. Just your luck, you flipped to the station in time to hear Calum’s voice floating out of the speakers.

“Don’t you love this song?” you giggle, turning up the volume and singing along as the chorus starts.

“I wonder who it’s by,” he comments, playing along with you.

“It’s this band from Australia, they’re not that big so you probably haven’t heard of them. Pretty underground stuff.” You can’t stop giggling, and Calum couldn’t wipe the fond grin from his face if he tried. You get like this when you’re tired, silly and giggly, and it’s one of his favourite ways to see you. “They’re okay, their old stuff is better. Newer albums aren’t their best work.”

“Bold words from someone who hasn’t missed a beat singing along,” he squeezes your hand as he teases you, and even after all this time the simple action stirs up the butterflies that never seem to vacate your stomach when you’re around him.

“Hey, I never said I had good taste!”

“Clearly, you dragged me out of bed at 3am for a cherry cola slushy.” He laughs again at your mock gasp, but you don’t have time to defend your slushy choice before you realize you’ve driven by the gas station.

“Cal! You missed the turn, we need to-”

“Don’t you want other snacks? If we’re up, I kind of want cheese puffs. We can grab slushies on the way back, okay?”

“Calum Hood,” your voice is serious now, and he glances over with concern on his face. “You are a genius. Cheese puffs are exactly what I want. Can we get popcorn, too?”

“You can have everything you want, babe.” Calum turns the car into the grocery store parking lot and you learn your head back against the seat, facing him, and it occurs to you then that everything you want is just him and a thousand more midnight snack runs like this.

Once you get inside the store you both give apologetic waves to the cashier who nods tiredly at you and waves you in. The store is 24-hours but you both still feel that twinge of guilt walking in so late. Calum grabs a basket and starts heading to the snack aisle but you pull his hand back and gesture towards the produce.

“We have to walk the aisles! Like we always do,” you say, staring longingly at the rows of fruit.

“We always do that when we come here at 3 PM, not AM,” he says patiently. You ignore him, still staring at the apples until he sighs and gives in, letting you drag him through every aisle.

You each comment on things as you walk by them, falling into your usual store rhythm. One of the things you’ve always loved about Calum is his ability to make even the most mundane errand fun, the way he plays into your bits and lets you be unabashedly silly. He doesn’t think twice when you pause in front of the assortment of breads, fresh from the bakery, and ask in all seriousness for him to choose which bread he thinks most represents him.

“Kaiser buns,” he says without pausing to think.

“Yes!” you shout, and you both dissolve into giggles when a nearby associate jumps, clearly shocked by the noise. Calum calls out an apology as you continue to laugh. “Suits you. Crusty on the outside, soft on the inside,” you say through your laughter, poking him in the side.

“M’not crusty,” he says, tone offended, but you can tell by the crinkles around his eyes that he’s amused by your antics.

“You said kaiser! Not me!” You grab a bag for yourselves and toss them in the basket, much to Calum’s chagrin.

The rest of the trip goes just like that, pausing every few steps to delve into a deep discussion about white eggs vs brown eggs, or the best breakfast cereals, or the uses for the wide arrange of infused olive oils. By the time you make it to the check out you’ve spent far too much time in the grocery store, but the cashier, a woman with grey hair and kind eyes, smiles warmly at you as she rings you through.

Finally back in the car you dig out the container of cheese puffs and feed some to Calum as he drives. The DJ set is still going, this time the song is a mashup of two popular songs. You do your best to sing along but it’s switching between the two so quickly you can’t quite keep up, and Calum nearly has to pull over from laughing so hard at your attempts to follow along with the lyrics. In retaliation, you refuse to give him any more cheese puffs, pouting in an exaggerated manner at him.

When he pulls into the gas station and parks the car, he leans over and presses a soft kiss to your mouth in apology, murmuring a soft “sorry for laughing” against your lips.

“You’re only saying that so you can get more cheese puffs,” you sigh dramatically.

“You got me,” he smirks, lips still close enough that you can feel it on your skin before he pulls away and - the asshole - snatches the cheese puffs from you as he goes.

“Calum!” Your yell is met with just laughter as he hops out of the car, cheese puffs under his arm, and races into the gas station.

You catch up to him, giggling at how ridiculous your night has turned out, and find him standing in front of the slushy machine clearly deep in thought at his options. Under the cherry cola slushy dispenser sits an already full slushy cup, ready for you. You open your mouth to thank him and he shushes you, eyes squinting as they flick over the 6 flavour options he has to choose from.

The feeling that has been creeping up on you more and more frequently comes back again as you watch him. It’s the butterflies in your stomach, and the feeling that your heart is going to actually come bursting through your shirt with how full and warm you feel just looking at him. An hour ago he was fast asleep, and now here is he is with you, being silly and selecting a slushy flavour like it’s the most important decision he’s ever made. You’re so in love with him sometimes it overwhelms you, and it’s never in the moments you expect. It’s in small moments like these - in the back corner of a gas station at nearly 4am, under fluorescent lighting, wearing your rattiest clothing. It’s single minutes in time that make you positive there is never going to be anyone else for you, you only ever want to spend your 3am moments with Calum.

You’re roused from your staring when he moves towards the machine, moving your cup so he can place his directly under the cherry cola dispenser and flipping the lever. You make an indignant noise, and he shoots a smirk at you.

“You’ve been talking about it all night, I had to get it,” there isn’t even a hint of an apology in his voice for all of his teasing earlier, but you don’t even have it in you to rib him for it because you’re too focused on trying not to let how ridiculously happy these moments make you show on your face.

In fact, you wait to say anything at all until you’re back in the car, happily sipping on your slushies, the music acting as background noise now. Your hands are tangled again, and Calum’s thumb rubs softly on the top of yours.

“This slushy flavour actually is delicious,” he says eventually when you’re close to home, breaking your comfortable silence. “I understand now why you needed to get out of bed to get this. It really was an emergency.”

He’s smiling at you, but not in a teasing way. It’s the smile he gave you when you first met Duke and won the small dog over after hours of patiently sitting on the ground and waiting for him to come see you. It’s the smile he gave on the first night you moved into his house and he looked around at the mess of boxes among his things. It’s the smile he gave you when he walked off the stage the first time you unexpectedly showed up on tour to surprise him.

It’s the smile he can’t control, the one that comes out in his happiest moments. Those moments always include you.

“We should get married,” you blurt out. You feel your eyes widen slightly when you say it. You hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even registered the thought before you were saying it. You knew, though, you wouldn’t take it back. You didn’t want to see 3am without him ever again, and you hoped he felt the same way.

“Okay,” he says easily, his happiest smile still shining bright on his face. “Wait, like now? There are some people who might actually kill us if we got married at 4am in sweatpants. Like, I think Luke might actually kick me out of the band if I rob him of the chance to dress up and attend a wedding. You know how he is.”

“Not now,” you laugh. “You’re right about Luke though. I just mean...we should. You know, at some point I’d like to get married.”

“Me too.” You’ve pulled into the driveway now, but neither of you make a move to exit the car. This moment feels small, but it also feels large and vulnerable in a way that even the sound of a door opening might break. “I kind of want to be woken up by you at 3am for slushies for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” you reply softly. He starts to lean towards you and meet him over the centre console, pressing your lips together. It doesn’t even make the list of the most passionate or heated kisses the two of you have shared, but somehow the soft press of your lips feels like more - feels like everything.

Later that morning you sit on the couch, his head resting in your lap as you chat about everything and nothing, finishing your snacks and watching the sun come up outside of the windows. In a way, this feels like everything, too. From the minute you shook his shoulder a few hours ago until now, it all feels like a moment that needed to happen, like the universe knew you needed this collection of small moments to get you here.

“Hey babe,” you say after a few moments of silence. He hums in response. “Do you think at our wedding we could have a cherry cola slushy machine?”

Calum bursts into laughter, but you can feel him nodding his head where it’s resting on your legs. “You can have everything you want, babe.”

He cuddles into you closer, and you can tell from his relaxed face that he’s drifting to sleep, and all you can think as you close your eyes is that you already have everything you want.

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 14)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak, adult themes (??)

Word Count: 2525

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong​

**Song Inspiration: I Almost Do by Taylor Swift; 3AM by Halsey; When The Party’s Over by Billie Eilish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you felt like shit, and not because of the drugs and alcohol that only recently vacated your system. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Did you really kick Hayden out? Were you honestly that far gone? 

Yeah, he broke your heart. He wasn’t the first asshole to do it, but he did stick around. Maybe that was because he had to though.

No, you knew better. He had enough money to stay at a hotel, but he stayed with you. He cared about you. It just hurt so bad to not have him any more. You hadn’t said you loved him, not yet, but you did, you loved him with everything you had and he just… broke everything. 

 Maybe you should go apologize.

Pulling yourself out of bed, you slipped on a comfortable shirt and yoga pants before you trodded out to the guest room, Hayden’s room. You knocked on the door before poking your head in. 

Only, there was nothing there. All of his things gone. His suitcases absent. No note, no letter, not even a post-it note. 

A choked sob escaped you. You knew you kicked him out, but you gave him until the next night. He was already gone?

So much for staying. So much for caring. 

No text, no call, no letter. It seemed as if he truly did want to be gone from you. 

Fine. If that’s the way he wanted it… Wish granted. 

------------------------

Months went by and you tried to forget him, tried to turn your pain into art.

Trey worked hard to get your EP ready. You had several tracks that you wanted to feature and he did enjoy your lyrics and tune. He was happy to work with you and the other members of your band to get the sound you wanted. 

By the time the singles were released, you were already becoming a hit. You hit all of the media platforms and your work exploded, sending you soaring to the charts. You weren’t quite topping them yet, but you were definitely being demanded on the radio and your Youtube and Spotify numbers were great, rising all the time. 

As time went on though, your addiction only grew. With Hayden out of your life, the glaring reminders that you lost all your old friends, and none of your old boyfriends seemed to ever love you, there was nothing to stop you from becoming nearly dependent on the drugs and alcohol. 

You’d never been like this in your life, but you’d never been at such an odd time in your life either. On every romantic and personal front, your life was a total flop, a zero sum. But your career, your dream job was finally taking off. The world was your oyster, you were rubbing shoulders with musical big wigs, meeting huge names and musicisinas. 

Between the complete amazement you were in from being discovered and having your heart broken for the last time, you were a mental mess. 

Hayden wasn’t just another guy. Jason was just another guy, just like every ex before him. 

But Hayden, he was different. When you and Jason split up, it wasn’t the man you mourned, but the death of yet another relationship. With Hayden, you missed him, not being together. You missed the light he brought to your life. You missed the way he supported you. You missed the way you two could joke about movies together. You missed how you could act completely goofy and silly and he joined in. 

You loved him, you were in love with him, and he pulled the rug out from under you.

That was why your habit of using coke was slowly getting worse. You managed to keep your job, for a while, keep the desires away. Then you started to get where you were barely sober for that too and just when your boss mentioned it, you decided it was time to leave anyway. You put in your two weeks and left gracefully.

As soon as you were no longer tied to the hotel, Trey put you in every lounge, venue, and club he could find. You were singing all of your songs on your EP. Every night you did a show, you got off the stage, got drunk or high, or both, and then you crashed. 

Same routine, every night. 

Anything to numb the pain of losing Hayden, of feeling like your life was in shambles. It wasn’t just losing Hayden, it was realizing you had no close friends, no one else to lean on. He’d become your best friend, your confidant, your lover. He was everything you ever wanted or needed, and he was gone. 

Neither of you had sent any messages to each other. It killed you, but you had to move forward, if that’s what you could call drowning your sorrows in a bottle or a baggie. 

Tonight, you just got done singing a set and you were hanging out with Darren, Veronica, Brad, and Tai. Unbeknownst to you, Hayden was actually about to make a stop by this bar. He had some contacts in your circle, a few people he knew in the music world that he asked to keep an eye on you, and if you got too out of control or needed help, they should let him know. He also watched your Instagram and Twitter, keeping an eye on your partying that way.

He’d gotten a few texts before about you, just an update on how you were, but tonight was a red alert from a guy that was somewhat in your circle. He watched you as you did a bump of coke, drink whatever was passed to you, and you were all over everyone in the bar. It was a sloppy mix of drunk-high. You held onto everyone, laughing, trying to crawl on the bar, making a complete ass of yourself. 

Typically your antics were cheered on because everyone in your scene was pretty wild, but even tonight some of them were worried about how you were acting. 

Hayden made his way downtown as soon as he got the text, looking for the bar. Finally, as he walked by, he saw you through the window. You were laughing, throwing your head back, hanging on other people, and trying to dance. 

You were a mess, and that was obvious. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line before going into the bar. He made his way over to you. He wanted to say he felt relief when he saw you, but he didn’t. He just felt worse. He wasn’t an idiot about your drug abuse, he also wasn’t stupid to see what had triggered it. He just thought it was stupid for you to get mixed up in this shit over him. He wasn’t worth it. 

He could see how it was affecting you. Dark circles painted your eyes, your clothes hung loosely on your body, you looked as if you were awake solely from the drugs. He hated how bad you looked.

“Hey,” he greeted loudly over the bar music and patrons. 

You looked over and saw him, your eyes going in and out of focus. “Oh my god, it’s you! Hey! Stay! Have a drink!” you encouraged as you fell all over him, putting your arms around him. In your current state, none of the pain that would’ve normally come from seeing him happened. 

“Hey, no, I’m good. This isn’t really my scene. Y/N, you seem really far gone, do you want me to take you home?” 

You pushed away from him, frowning. “What? No, why would I want that?” You reached in your purse and grabbed something, about to put it in your mouth. “I’m having a good time here, Hayden. You should try it,’ you urged giddily.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he demanded as he slapped the little white thing out of your hand. “Was that fucking E? On top of what you already have in your system?”

“The fuck is your problem?” you ordered, angry.

“My problem is you destroying your life and your body,” he informed.  “I’m taking you home,” he stated firmly. He started to turn you around and push you outside. Everyone started to look your way. 

“No, you aren’t!” you protested loudly, moving wildly, but he just persisted. He went around in front of you, grabbed your wrist, and tugged you outside and started walking you down the sidewalk until you got yourself free of his hold. “Jesus! What the fuck is your deal? Those are my friends. I’m having a good time!” 

“A good time?” he demanded, his voice reigned in anger. “You think this is a good time? You’re out of your fucking mind.” 

“Hey, Mr. Entertainment Business newsflash,a  party-girl image is great publicity. Trey encourages this so long as I’m fine to record.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that your producer endorses you getting high and drunk, as long as you’re off the clock.” 

“You aren’t my handler, you’re not my parents, yo’re not my baby sitter, so just fuck off.”

He stared at you, clenching his jaw. “If you want to stay here and become like---If you want to stay here and party, that’s fine, but I’m done. I’m done with this. I’m done watching you ruin your life and throw so much potential away. I’m not gonna stick around to watch you drive your self into rock bottom when I’ve tried like hell to get you to wake the fuck up.”

“You didn’t stick around! Newsflash, asshole! You left! You left me high and dry.” 

“You kicked me out!” he reminded. “After I tried to approach you about your addiction. And I did stick around, you just didn’t know it.” 

“You didn’t approach me about it, you attacked me about it. Besides, what the hell do you mean you’re not going to stick around or watch me? You haven’t been around.” 

Letting out a sigh, he ran his hand down his face. “When I left, I may have asked some friends to keep an eye on you. I told them to update me if you were getting worse or better.”

“You were spying on me?” you asked, gasping.

“No, I just had people keeping an eye on you. If they were at the same party or something, they’d just let me know how you were doing.”

“Oh, nice to know you cared so much,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. You were getting more and more sober with the fresh air and the anger.  

“I do care. I think I’m the only one you know who does’ fucking care about you. I’m the only one not letting you just become an addict. I’m fighting for you.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing when you broke up with me? Fighting for me?”

He glared at you. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “Yes, I was. I was trying to make sure we were making the right choice.”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit!” you shouted, your head falling back. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of the lies. Just be honest with me. You didn’t care about me, you didn’t love me, you wanted a rebound. You weren’t worried about the both of us. You’re just like everyone else. You wanted something to distract you from your ex leaving you and I was the perfect replacement. Then when you got bored, you cast me aside.” 

“You weren’t a replacement! You weren’t my rebound,” he yelled. 

“Then what was it?!” you screamed. “Because from where I stood, you and I were perfect, more than perfect. We could spend time with each other, lean on each other, support each other, we lived together, I met your child, we had date nights all the time and all of that just -- you ended it. Without warning. We didn’t even talk about it. You didn’t even ask me how I was feeling, if I cared about you. You just decided for the both of us that it would be better if this wasn’t a rebound. But it wasn’t ever about that. It was about me taking putting someone else before me like I always do, and I’m the one who got fucking hurt, not you.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry that you got hurt. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It hurt me too. And it hurts like hell to watch you do this to yourself. You think I liked watching you come home high and drunk all the time?” 

“I don’t imagine it bothered you too much. We weren’t dating any more.” 

He shrugged. “So? Just because I’m not dating you, it doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about you.”

“See, in my world, it does. You don’t break someone’s fucking heart then try to tell them you still care. You’re the one who decided to date me. I asked, you shot me down. Then, when I was really happy, when I thought this was real, that we had a shot, that this was something that would last and you just ripped it away. No conversation.” 

He shook his head. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for that. I am. I should’ve talked to you, but is this really what you want? You want to be so numb and fucked up on drugs you can’t function?”

“I can function just fine, thanks for checking in!”

“I can’t believe you’re fine with this. You’ve been so strong since I met you. Going after your dream, working hard at your job, you never would’ve given into this bullshit, despite what happened between us.” 

“Yeah, well shit changes. Clearly you know that.”

“Nothing changed. I cared for you then, and I do now.” 

You scoffed. “Spare me, alright? It was clear to me after you left you never gave a shit. I licked your wounds so you could heal and then you left me. Fuck off. You don’t get the right to tell me where I can hang out, what I can do, or when I can do it.” You got in his face, your voice low before you turned around to head back inside. 

He stood there more upset than he had been when you two first broke up. He wasn’t sure what he thought he would gain from coming out tonight. He just thought he could save you from yourself. He knew he was the reason you went on the downward spiral but he didn’t know how to fix it. 

He bit his lip to keep from crying as he watched you rejoin your friends and pick up a shot glass and knock it back. He shook his head as he turned to walk down the street.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself, or to you. He needed to move on. He couldn’t watch you suffer any more. He had tried to help you. Every time he did though, you turned him down - hard. 

With his heart heavy, he took a taxi back to his new hotel and tried to forget all about you.

If only it were that easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[talesofphantombandits]

Zero to Six ~ An Unexpected Visitor - Edited version. Part 2.

Characters: Four X Zero (OC)  Summary: Zero was the first person to be ‘saved’ by One, she was his first honorary Ghost. Her knowledge in tech meant she got the role of ‘Hacker’ she recruited new team members, looked for missions and locations and made sure every security measure was looked at. You know normal hacker spy stuff. But her tough up bringing meant that if needs be she could fight, she was maybe even better than some people on the team knew. But due to One’s protectiveness over her she had to stay hidden, she was more of an actual ghost than the rest of the team was. This didn’t mean she couldn’t have her fun though, over the months of being with the full team she had formed quite a passionate love/ hate relationship with the handsome Four. Who knows what sparks would fly if they were ever to meet.  Warnings: Slight swearing, some suggestive flirting in later chapters.

Tagg list: (I know this is a edit of my original story but if anyone wants to be tagged let me know.) @raylan-c​​

Zero to Six ~ Part 1. Edited Version Zero to Six ~ Part 3. Edited Version. Masterlist.  

“Hey, anyone there?” 

To say Zero was a mess would have been a big understatement. After she had shut off the coms she must have sobbed for a good thirty minutes before she picked herself up from the floor and decided that a glass of rum would help calm her nerves.  She knew that One would take his sweet time reaching out to her again, and wouldn’t let the others contact her either. So she waited, he mind was reeling but she knew technically Six’s death wasn’t her fault. She still felt to a degree that if she hadn’t of picked him he would still be breathing somewhere, maybe with the love of his life on a nice sandy beach.  But then again if she hadn’t of picked him she would have had to pick someone else, and that someone else would have been in that car dead instead of Six. 

So when Fours voice travelled through her speakers she immediately shot up from the floor, leaving her half filled glass where it sat and tripped her way over to the laptop.  Picking up her headset she tried not to sound so distraught. “Four, never thought i’d be so happy to hear your whinny little voice.” She tried to sound lighthearted but failed miserably. 

She could tell that he was also trying to mask how much he was hurting. “How are you Zero?” She was shocked, out of all the team Four and Six seemed to have bonded the most, probably due to their similar ages and interests. 

“How- how am I? Four, how are you doing? Out of us all you were the closest to Six.” She wanted to do nothing more than hug this man right now. 

“One just threw him into the sea, like he meant nothing. I really don’t want to talk about it right now Zero or I might just go out there and strangle One. But I wanted to at least make sure that you were okay.” Her heart started to beat so fast she thought it would beat right out of chest. He was worried about her in a time when he should have been worrying about himself. 

“I’m sure that’s not how it was, One cares about us deeply. But I’ll respect your wishes and we won’t speak about it, but I’ll be here when you’re ready to so. As for me, I’m fine. Shaken up but fine, You don’t have to worry about me Four.” 

“I know sometimes it doesn’t seem like it, but I do really care for you Zero. So do the rest of the team, but you tell any of them I said that and I’ll find out where One keeps you and murder you in your sleep.” 

She chuckled at the empty threat. “Yeah, good luck with that one. One would never give up my location willing or not. Plus what makes you think I’d succumb so easily with out a fight.” 

She heard the deep chuckle and knew some smart ass comment would follow it. “Believe me darling, from the moment I step through your door you’d be falling at my feet.” 

“OKAY as much as I’m glad to have the old cocky Four back, I’m cutting you off now. Get some sleep you idiot.” 

“Okay mummy.” He said in a mocking tone. 

She couldn’t help it and decided she would have the last laugh. “Is that one of your kinks Four?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Maybe we can carry on this conversation when we meet.” She knew he was smirking. “Night Zero, dream of me. I know I’ll be dreaming of you.” 

She couldn’t say another word so she just shut down coms and slammed her laptop shut. “Stupid little shit,” Why did he make her feel like this, especially when he wasn’t here to do anything about it. 

She leaned back on her chair, stretching out her arms over her head her back clicked in several places which made it feel so much better. She needed to put a reminder on her fridge to do a work out tomorrow, she was starting to become so stiff sat at her computer all the time.  There were parts of her that really yearned to be out in the field with the rest of the team, even if it was only a one time experience, who knows she might hate it and want to come back to her stuffy flat life. Who was she kidding, she wanted adventure and a little bit of risk here and there and she wanted her family.  She would however have to have a little conversation with One about the safety of the team and about treating them better. Her heart had broken hearing how fragile Four could be. They might have been ghosts but underneath they were still human beings with feelings, and if One was going to crush that then she had a problem with it.  

Maybe that was why she was so interested in Four? 2 years with only One as her only physical human contact and it was starting to take a toll on her, Four challenged her every time they spoke. And she loved a good challenge. She sat at her desk for two more hours, despite scolding herself for sitting too long that her bones began to ache. But she had research to do which consisted of finding a new team member and the faster she got it done the faster she could send it off to One and she could stop beating herself up about potentially bringing in a new person just for them to die like Six did. After a while she decided that she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She sent the research to One, saved all the documents then shut her laptop down and proceeded to walk to the bathroom to take a nice long hot shower. 

The warm water calmed her immensely, when she stepped out and put on her silk pyjamas she felt even more sleepy then she did when she was in front of the laptop. As soon as her head hit the pillow she drifted off to sleep. 

.........

She shot up in bed, heart racing.

The loud banging coming from the front door was real, she hadn’t just dreamt it. She suddenly thought of Four’s threat from earlier but quickly shook it from her head. Don’t be stupid, It can’t be Four. Her eyes snapped to her bedside table to see 3am blaring on the digital clock. “What the actual hell, who decides to go bang on someone’s door at stupid o’clock in the morning?!” 

She grabbed her gun from under her pillow, pointing it out in front of her, she was in full on attack mode. She exited her room and headed down the hall and towards the front door, all the while sticking to the walls.  She waited a while, gun pointing towards the centre of the door maybe whoever had knocked got the wrong flat and moved on. But then just as she started to lower the gun the door rattled and the knocking began again, only louder this time.

“Zero! open up its One.” 

Zero cocked her head to the side, was he actually serious?  She carefully walked towards the door, gun still raised. Peeking through the peephole she confirmed that it was in fact One at her door. She sighed rubbing her tired eyes but opened the door just wide enough so he could slip in. 

“Hey!” He made himself at home straightaway, walking past her to go sit on her couch.

She shut the door making sure it was locked, she then made her way to stand in front of him but not before setting down the gun on the coffee table. “Don’t ‘Hey!’ me you dumb ass, what the hell are you doing here?!” 

“Nice gun! is that new?” He leaned forward and inspected the weapon. 

Was he being serious right now? “ONE!” He’d woke her up just to come and annoy her? “I asked you a question.” 

“I came to give you your plane ticket.” He stood up slightly and pulled a ticket out of his back pocket, he extended his arm out to Zero. 

She took it off of him and examined it, it was a ticket back home. Home was also where their base camp was.  “You never come to give me my plane ticket in person, what’s really going on? Is this about Six?” 

He just rubbed his face in frustration, the first real emotion she’d seen from him since he’d entered her living space. “Can you at least get me a drink before we discuss this?” 

She just sighed and looked towards her kitchen. “I only have rum.” 

“Then we shall have rum!” She just rolled her eyes but continued through to the little kitchen. If she was going to stay awake through this she might as well poor herself a small glass as well. 

She handed him the glass and then settled herself in the seat across from him. “So, talk.” 

She took a sip of her drink but very nearly spit it out when he spoke. “I want you in the field for the next mission.” 

A thousand thoughts crashed through her mind all at once, that she found it hard to focus on One as he continued to speak. She was going to get her adventure, she was going to get to show the whole team that she wasn’t just some computer nerd, she was going to be able to breath the same air as Four, she was going to be meeting her family. 

“Zero! Did you hear me?” She looked to One who had leaned forward in his chair. 

“What?” 

“God I hope you weren’t dreaming up the perfect scenario of finally meeting Four.” 

She was still in shock but managed to ask. “Did you just say that I’m finally going out in the field?” 

“Just the once, with Six gone we need all the help we can get in the next mission and you are my best eyes and ears.” He looked so calm just sat there sipping from his glass when she was sat opposite him freaking out. “You will keep your identity a secret though, none of the team is to know that you’re there.” 

Just like that One had given her, her deepest wish and then crushed it right in front of her. “How will that work? They will know the sound of my voice anywhere.” 

“Not if you put on a accent.” This was cruel, even by One’s standards. “Listen it’s for the best that you don’t interact with any of them. You’re lucky that you have full anonymity.” 

“What if I don’t want that? What if I actually want to meet the only family I’ve ever had? I don’t get why you lock me away from them.”  

“It’s for your own safety, you’ll thank me one day. Look at what happened to Six, do you want to end up like that?” 

She was seething now. “You really hurt them today you know, Four got in touch with me. He wanted to see if I was okay after what happened to Six.” She had to pause to stop herself before her voice broke.

“I know you want us all to work as a team but some how distance ourselves from one another. We all maybe faked our deaths but were still human One, it’s human nature to care deeply for those that are closest to us.” The tears were welling up in her eyes now. “You just tossed him off the side of that boat like he was nothing. Is that what you’re going to do to the rest of us?” 

He just stared at her for a long second then necked his drink and slammed the glass down on the table next to where the gun still laid. She didn’t even flinch, instead she stared him down. 

“I think it’s time for me to go.” She just scoffed and looked down at her hands that were placed in her lap, she couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore. “I looked through your research before I came here.” 

He got up from the couch but didn’t make any move to the door. “I think Blaine is the perfect fit for number Seven. As soon as I land on home turf I’m going to recruit him and introduce him to the team. In a months time I’ll contact you with a meeting place to discuss your field work.” 

“Great, another person I picked for you that you’re going to rip from their family and make their life hell.” He didn’t say another word and she didn’t look up from her lap. 

All she heard was his footsteps walking towards the door, it swinging open and then slamming shut again. Once she was completely certain he had gone her head fell in her hands.  She rubbed her face and felt a sweeping wave of sleepiness draw over her, she stood up and picked up the gun that was still on the coffee table. She made her way to the door to lock it properly, she then made her way back to bed and placed the gun back under her pillow. She hoped that just as before the tiredness would over take her and she would fall into an effortless slumber, but as she laid her head gently on the pillow and closed her eyes all she could see was Six’s lifeless body and all she could think about was how she’d put him there. 

No way was she getting back to sleep.  

[nevertherose]

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

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

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

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

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

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

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

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

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

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

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

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

Midnight.

The witching hour.

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

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

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

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

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

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

But not tonight.

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

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

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

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He liked to think he was handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

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

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

Logan adjusted his glasses.

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

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

“Ah ha, here we are!”

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

The nerd did not disappoint.

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

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

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

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

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

Usually, it was an emotion.

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

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

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

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

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

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

…and then some.

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

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

How could he not?

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

But now?

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

And then these last few months had happened.

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

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

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

He knew he needed to be better.

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

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

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

Chapter 2- Human Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I am right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

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

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

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

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

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

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

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

Well. It was what he had.

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

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

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

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

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

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

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

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

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

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

That wasn’t really the issue.

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

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

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

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

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

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

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

So.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

Janus bit back a smile.

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

Patton ducked his head.

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

His hands flew up to his head and found something perched over his hair, sitting at an angle. Janus yanked down a screen at the console and stared. His beloved bowler had shrunk into a tiny, flat, rakish thing with a wide brim, festooned with a cluster of yellow rosebuds and black beads.

“What on earth, Remus?” he grumbled, turning his head from side to side. Well, if he had to be honest, pinstripes and a hatinator weren’t a terrible look.

“Well, if we’re on a TARDIS, I guess you’re supposed to be the Doctor,” Patton pointed out. “Which would make me your companion.”

Janus stroked his goatee and examined their surroundings in more detail. But am I a Doctor? he wondered. And if so, which one?

And whose TARDIS is this?

Because while it was clear they were on a TARDIS…what other class of spaceship had a time rotor?…he wasn’t almost certain this was not the TARDIS.

Every corner of the Doctor’s ship, no matter which face it belonged to, tended to overflow with bright, shiny, eclectic whimsy. By contrast, this one was plain, stark, with exposed metal beams and sharp angles.

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

He crossed to one of the bookshelves, ignoring Patton’s soft inquiry, and his jaw clenched. There was the Necronomicon, shelved between the Liber Inducens in Evangelium Aeternum and The Black Scrolls of Rassilon, Book of Vile and its Black Appendix, The Ambuehl Lores and the Insidium of Astrolabus.

Janus finally looked at the sonic device he’d been holding all this time; seeing now that it wasn’t a screwdriver at all, and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t tried to use it on Patton earlier.

It was a sonic laser.

Once again, even in a stupid, nonsensical dream, Janus had been cast as the villain.

His fist had collided with the bookshelf before he even realized he was moving, books falling to the floor. He punched it again, and again, until a cool rigid hand closed around his wrist and yanked him back.

“Janus, Janus, stop!” Patton yelled in his ear.

Janus wrenched his arm away and stalked back to the console, running gloved fingers over his scales, pushing them up and smoothing them down. The familiar sensation grounded him.

“You were right, Patton,” he threw over his shoulder. “This is definitely one of Roman’s dreams, and he definitely fucking hates me.”

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

“Language. And how do you know that,” he asked. “…Doctor?”

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

“I am not the Doctor, Patton, and we are not on the TARDIS.” He spread his arms to encompass them both, gesturing to the dimly lit spaceship. “Look around. Look at me!”

He turned, slowly, and eyed his mustached visage in the dark view screen.

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

Once again, someone I care about is upset, and I don’t know what to do. I guess I should be used to it by now.

It didn’t help that it was so cold in this TARDIS. He folded his arms around his middle, which felt strange and heavy, to combat the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

“Of course the Prince would pull me into one of his little ‘adventures’ without my consent. He probably needed an antagonist. And naturally the slippery snake would have been the first person to come to mind!”

Patton opened his mouth…though he had no idea what he was going to say…but Janus drowned him out.

“Come on, Roman!” he shouted, throwing his yellow-clad hands up. “You’ve had your fun. Yes, I’m evil, I’m the villain, I’m the bad guy, blah blah. Let’s have our epic confrontation or whatever nonsense you have planned, as I would very much like to get back to my reading sometime tonight.”

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

“Look, maybe we should just play along for now?” Patton said aloud, wincing when Janus turned his murderous expression on him. The deceptive Side had such deep, cutting golden eyes, the human one so much darker than the other…cynical eyes that were, ironically, almost impossible to lie to.

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

The glare quickly softened, though, which in Patton’s opinion said a lot about how far Janus had come.

“And how do you propossse we ‘play along’?” Janus said, hissing his s’s in frustration.

“Well, we’ve kinda decided this is Roman’s dream, right? And since we’re in his part of the Imagination, we know he won’t let anything bad happen to us…”

Patton trailed off at Janus’s pained expression, reminded of just how badly Janus and Roman’s last encounter had gone.

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

“Thank god you don’t have a mustache.”

And I just stood there and did nothing…no, I can’t dwell on that right now. Patton shook himself out of the memory.

It was surprisingly easy; even his emotions felt a little heavy and muted. He supposed he wasn’t used to being in a dreamscape; unlike Roman, who played in them all the time.

I know Roman, Patton reasoned. He might hold a grudge for a while, but he wouldn’t actually be out to hurt Janus.

Right?

“So, if we’re on a time ship, on some kind of adventure leading up to a confrontation like you said, the first thing we’d have to do is figure out where we need to go,” Patton finished, shrugging.

Janus pursed his lips…which looked downright weird with a mustache and goatee, almost making Patton giggle…and began pushing buttons on the console.

“You are definitely incorrect, Patton,” he said, pulling up another screen and flipping a few switches. “If I have been cast as the villain in this ridiculous charade, that means Roman is likely prancing around as the Doctor right now, on the proper TARDIS. Which, as the Doctor’s nemesis, I should be able to contact…ha!”

The screen burst into static.

“Doctor, oh Doctor, do you read me?” Janus crooned, and if Patton hadn’t known just how angry he was in that moment…well, he would have never known.

Janus had tucked it away entirely, in half a second's time.

That’s the scary thing about him, Patton realized uneasily. He’s smart, nearly as smart as Logan. Smart enough to run circles around me, that’s for sure. And he’s easily as good an actor as Roman.

Those attributes, combined with his naturally manipulative nature, made it difficult to trust him.

Patton was trying.

He’d been trying since the wedding, and well, since everything else that had happened. (Patton still cringed when Thomas encountered even a picture of a frog.) He’d done a lot of thinking and growing that day (in more ways than one!), and he’d come to a disturbing, but inevitable conclusion.

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

Just like Virgil had never been evil. Mean, sure; and sarcastic, and spiteful…but at his core, Virgil had wanted what was best for Thomas.

They all did.

And then there was the uncomfortable corollary to that: Patton, despite his best efforts, despite his core Purpose…Patton wasn’t entirely and automatically good.

Two weeks ago, Janus had proven beyond a doubt that Thomas needed him…ruthlessly, cuttingly, but no one could say he hadn’t made his point. It had been Patton who’d inadvertently pushed Thomas to the brink of a breakdown, and Janus who had to pull them all back.

Despite Patton’s unease, and the little voice in his head telling him that Deceit couldn’t be trusted, could never truly be trusted because it was in his nature to deceive…Patton remembered how they’d pushed Virgil so hard he decided to duck out, and how much of a tragedy that could have been if they hadn’t all intervened to bring him back.

With a pang of guilt, he pictured Thomas lying on the floor, crushed under the metaphorical weight of everything Patton needed him to do to keep from being a bad person…

He would not make those mistakes again.

If Virgil could learn to work with them instead of against them, so could Janus. If Patton could learn to recognize when his own Purpose did more harm than good, so could Janus.

Patton had to believe that.

He’d made too many mistakes lately to believe otherwise.

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

“What? Logan??” Janus exclaimed, as a scream echoed somewhere in the background.

“D—Janus?” Logan countered, then looked over his shoulder. “Roman, for the love of Archimedes, will you stop shrieking? I cannot hear.”

The screaming cut off and Roman’s fuming face squished into the frame with Logan.

“Deceit! I should have known you would show up to ruin this!” he managed to shout before Logan shoved him away.

“Ruin…I’m sorry, what?” Janus glanced at Patton, looking honestly confused. “Is he roleplaying right now? We assumed this scenario was Roman’s creation.”

Onscreen, Logan placed his whole hand against Roman’s mouth to prevent him from interrupting.

“It is. But to my understanding, it was only supposed to involve myself and Roman, and…wait. You said ’we’.” Logan peered around. “Who else is with you?”

Patton started to wave, but his view was blocked by Janus bending close to the screen to whisper something. Suspicion flared in Patton’s stomach; old, familiar, but after the talk he’d just given himself, he purposefully pushed it down.

I won’t assume he’s being shifty unless he actually gives me a reason to.

Lifting his chin, he crept forward until he was next to Janus’s shoulder.

“Hey, Logan,” he said brightly, waving.

“Ah…hello, Patton,” Logan squeaked after a moment, his eyes still wide.

“Wait, Patton’s there? With the snake?” Roman’s voice yelled from the background, and then there was Roman’s face again.

“Patton?” Roman said, narrowing his eyes. “But why are you—?”

Both faces disappeared for a moment as Logan yanked Roman out of frame. Patton thought he heard a rapid, hushed conversation. He glanced at Janus, who only shrugged, looking at puzzled as Patton felt.

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

“Patton,” he said, and hesitated. “D—Janus. You two…well, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

“This was only supposed to be a two-person adventure: Doctor plus companion. I have no idea why the Imagination brought you both in as well; I certainly didn’t tell it to.”

“Aw, that’s okay, kiddo,” Patton started gently. “It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Janus folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but that’s bull. Putting me in the Master’s shoes? Are we seriously going to pretend the Side who unashamedly hates me had nothing to do with that?”

“I didn’t!” Roman argued, his voice going high. “You really think I wanted you here, in any capacity?”

“Deceit…er, Janus, you are being unnecessarily antagonistic, and as such, unhelpful,” Logan cut in with his low, reassuring voice. “But Roman, it might behoove us to consider the role of subconscious influence. You may not have intended to pull the others in, and yet here they are.”

Roman looked at Logan, aghast, and Patton almost flinched at the raw hurt in his caramel eyes. The creative Side backed out of frame.

“So you’re on his side, too,” his voice said quietly. “Is that how it is?”

“I am not on anyone’s side,” Logan argued, raising his hands. “We are all currently in this situation together, and as such—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by another garbled transmission, taking over the screen and blocking out Logan’s face with crackly, purple static. A gray, snarling face flashed out of the haze, making Patton shriek in surprise and even Janus took a step back.

Then it was gone, dissolving back to static…and the sound of someone laughing filled the connection.

“Hellooooo, nurse,” a familiar sing-song voice crooned. “Did you miss me?”

Chapter 5- The Long Game

“You can’t just read the guide book, you’ve got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers. Or is that just me?”

Logan sighed.

He knew that voice; they all did. Even Thomas, unfortunately.

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

The mustached Side filled the screen, grinning madly. “Boo!”

“Get out of my scenario,” Roman said, his eyes flashing. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“Your scenario?” Remus echoed, faux-outrage in his expression. “Yours? The Dream Palace is my domain, too, brother, whether you like it or not.” He leaned closer, letting his nostrils and a single radioactive green eye fill the screen. “Did you really think you could keep me out?”

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

“Am I to assume, then, that you are responsible for bringing in the other Sides?” Logan asked, careful to keep his voice even. Remus thrived on getting a rise out of people.

“Of course he is!” Roman snapped, throwing up his hands. “He loves to ruin things, especially my things.”

“Now why would having the others here ruin anything, brother?” Remus asked in a sickly sweet voice, propping his head on his hand. “Unless you intended for this nighttime romp between you and Logan to be private?”

Roman sputtered and glanced at Logan, red-faced, as Remus giggled.

“It was meant to be so, yes,” Logan supplied, unsure why Remus would find that funny…or why Roman would find it embarrassing.

“As amusing as this all is—” Janus’s crooning voice cut through the speaker.

“Great. You’re still here, snake?” Roman snarked, his arms folded around himself.

“We’re all listening, kiddo,” Patton’s metallic voice said.

Roman’s lips always curl into a pout when he is angry, Logan thought, eyeing him without turning his head, and he gets a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Why…why am I noticing such things all of a sudden?

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

“So this is kinda new,” Patton went on, “all of us actually talking—”

“If Remus is responsible,” Janus cut in again, “then perhaps he would be so kind as to explain the objective of this late night group therapy session?”

Despite the biting sarcasm, Logan did appreciate Janus’s insistence that they get to the point, even if it did mean talking over Patton…

Speaking of, why would Remus have paired Patton with Janus?

Surely he should have grouped Patton with Logan and Roman, and put Virgil with Janus? Or…maybe not, given how Virgil hisses if Janus so much as enters the same room.

Ugh. Interpersonal drama. Logan was thoroughly sick of trying to keep track of who carried a grudge against whom, especially when it seemed to change from day to day.

And on top of that, why would Remus make Patton a Cyberman? None of these decisions make any sense…

“Right?” Roman agreed softly next to him, and Logan realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

“If anything, I should have been the unfeeling killer robot,” Logan murmured.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Specs.” Roman shot him a strange look, both warm and troubled. “And frankly I don’t give a stinky rat’s ass about my stinky rat brother’s sick thought process. What I want to know is why Deceit doesn’t want us to mention it around Patton?”

Logan, who was still mentally stuck on rodents and donkeys…Roman’s metaphors were always something else…shook his head slightly.

“There’s no logical way Patton is unaware of his condition,” Logan pointed out. “So I can only guess he wishes to protect Patton’s feelings on the matter, by not allowing us to talk about it in front of him.” He shrugged when Roman’s frown deepened. “Those two have been getting along much better these last few weeks.”

“I think you’re giving the snake too much credit,” Roman muttered. “Even after he impersonated you, Logan? C’mon. It has to be something else.”

Logan bit back a sigh.

He doesn’t understand, he thought guiltily. Because he doesn’t know what really happened…

#

“This is unacceptable, Deceit,” Logan snapped, flinging the crook away from his body. “I was in the middle of a discussion—”

“He won’t listen to you,” Deceit had said, and there was no sarcasm or snark in his voice.

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

“And he dismissed you from the conversation the moment that opinion went against his preconceived notions!” Deceit snapped back.

Silence.

Logan could hear the others still talking, out in the real world…without him…as the misty dregs of subconscious curled around their feet.

“You tricked him.” Logan folded his arms. “He was scared and off balance and you gave him an out.”

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Logan. You know he is wrong on this. You know what this is doing to Thomas. His unquestioning, black-and-white, juvenile morality; it’s not working anymore. Thomas needs to grow up, and Patton is not letting him.”

Logan bit his lip.

“Logan.” Deceit moved closer, dismissing his crook into mist and setting both gloved hands on Logan’s shoulders. Logan stiffened.

“Logic. Please. I am…no good at this.” Deceit dropped his head, his hat obscuring his eyes. “I operate through deceit because that is the only way I can make them acknowledge me.”

“They don’t acknowledge you because you operate through deceit,” Logan pointed out.

“A perfect catch 22.” Deceit let out a bitter laugh. “But a snake cannot change its scales and I don’t…I have tried everything I know. I cannot fix this from the shadows. I am out of ideas.”

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

“You care. You care what happens to Thomas.”

Deceit looked up, his mismatched eyes glittering with stinging intensity. “I am the literal representation of selfishness. Why the hell else would I go to all this trouble if I didn’t care?”

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

He’d let the others get to him, he realized in that moment. He’d let Roman get to him, with his talk of evil and Dark Sides and how they were always trying to tempt Thomas off the right path.

But…they were all part of Thomas, even the so-called “dark sides”.

Of course they wanted what was best for him…well, what Remus wanted at any given moment was debatable…even if they didn’t always go about it in the healthiest of ways.

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

“Really? Really? Even you think so low of me?”

“You are manipulating me right now.” Logan frowned. “You are using my concern for Thomas to make me trust you.”

“Yes! I am!” Deceit got in his face, fangs flashing. “I am a manipulative bastard because that is the lens through which my Source perceives me. But that doesn’t matter because you, Logic; you see through me, always have. And you know perfectly well that logically, any objection you have to my personality or my methods does not change the fact that I. Am. Right.”

He punctuated each word with a poke to Logan’s chest.

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

Deceit sighed. “My name. My…real name. It’s Janus.”

Logan blinked. He knew the mythology, of course: Janus, keeper of doorways and thresholds, looking simultaneously to the past and future. Two faces. Seeing things from every angle.

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

Tension bled out of Janus’s shoulders, a stiffness Logan hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone.

“Thank you.”

“Why am I here…Janus?” Logan asked, glancing away. “What do you need from me?”

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, and Janus sighed, waving a hand.

“I know, I know, more deceit, more lies, but—”

“No, it’s…” Logan pressed his lips together. “You already pointed it out. They don’t listen to me, either.”

The bitter twist that accompanied those words was becoming an all too familiar sensation in Logan’s chest.

Janus snorted.

“Oh, they do. Eventually. They heeded your advice on how to deal with Remus.”

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

“Look,” Janus added, “honest people know how to tell the truth, but liars…” he smirked, not especially nicely. “We know how to wield the truth to accomplish an end. I can pull Thomas and the others out of this rut, but they have to be receptive to my tugging on the reins.”

Logan pursed his lips.

“You won’t fool them. If you recall, you tried to impersonate me once already and barely lasted two minutes.”

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

Janus fixed Logan with his intense mismatched eyes again, and held out a hand.

Logan stared at it, torn.

This was Deceit, the master liar: Thomas’s entire capacity for deception condensed into a single, snake-faced Side. How could Logan possibly trust him to not make things worse, after all the falsehoods, the impersonations, how he’d manipulated them all in one way or another to get his way?

But…as much as Logan, personally, didn’t understand why that callback had been so important to Thomas…he could not dismiss the fallout Thomas had suffered as a result of missing it. The decision to attend the wedding had turned out to be a bad one.

Patton had been wrong to insist upon it over Janus’s objections, and over Roman’s.

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

“I’ll unmask myself when an opportunity arises, if that would help,” he offered, and to Logan’s shock, slowly tugged off a glove. “I won’t…I won’t let it go on as long as it did with Patton.”

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

Out in the real world, Logan could hear Patton’s increasingly desperate and ridiculous responses to Thomas’s and Roman’s questions, and winced. Janus did the same.

“Please,” was all he said.

Logan sighed…it really couldn’t get any worse, could it?…and shook Janus’s hand.

#

In his TARDIS, Logan let out the sigh he was holding back.

He might have personal, concrete evidence that Janus wasn’t evil, but he also knew Janus had wounded Roman, badly, that day. The creative Side was simply not currently capable of viewing any situation involving Janus with any sort of objectivity.

Passionate, sensitive people like Roman tended to have an unfortunate habit of hanging onto grudges.

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

“Oh, all right,” Remus said, his voice crackling over the connection. “Since you’re all here—”

“Actually, Remus, we’re not all here,” Patton’s voice pointed out. “You all know perfectly well who we’re missing; we’ve done this before.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “‘Where is Anxiety?’” he quoted.

“You mean Tickle Me Emo isn’t with one of you?” Remus asked, looking delighted. “Oh dear, oh dear. Is he lost?”

“I mean, TARDISes are huge,” Roman pointed out. “He could be somewhere on one of our ships.” His voice dropped again. “I’ll bet Deceit stashed him away, because we all know how he hates Virgil.”

“Excuse you,” Janus’s voice interrupted, annoyed. “It is Virgil who hates me, not the other way around.”

“Let’s both scan our ships,” Logan suggested, hoping to head off an argument. Honestly, if Roman and Janus didn’t stop picking fights with one another, he was going to lose his marbles.

The scans pulled up nothing.

“Oh well,” Remus said with a shrug. “Guess the emo gets to miss out.”

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Remus leaned close to the screen. “I’ve crash landed on a lovely snowbound planet that’s crawling with psychotic tin cans who like to roll around yelling ‘exterminate’.”

“Daleks? A snowbound planet, so not Skarro, but where else…” Logan narrowed his eyes.

“He’s on the Dalek asylum,” Roman said lowly. “That was one of the episodes I had in mind when I plotted this adventure.”

“Very good, brother.” Remus clapped his hands. “And up there in orbit is a ship full of people who’d really like to blow up the whole planet. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I—”

“Save it,” Roman snapped. “You’d probably enjoy getting blown up.”

“Hmm, true.” Remus’s green eyes sharpened. “Think of the mess! Little bits of intestines floating through space, long pink ropey—”

“Or?” Logan interjected, before Remus gave Patton nightmares.

“Or you have to come rescue me!” Remus’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Because otherwise it’s nighty-night for me and all the other aliens in the asylum.”

There was a beat of silence.

“As terrible as that sounds,” Janus drawled, sounding anything but worried, “given that none of this is real, and at least one of us would very much rather not be here at all…why exactly should your plight concern us?”

Logan secretly agreed, but felt his stomach clench when he glanced at Roman’s troubled face. None of this was real…right? Would something concretely bad happen to Remus if the planet he inhabited was blown up?

Surely not.

This was only a dream. Perhaps, then, Roman was merely upset that his twin had usurped his adventure for the night?

“Also.” Remus buffed his fingernails. “You should know that the Imagination will only release us if we complete the objective. In other words,” and he sneered, purple-shadowed eyes glittering, “we’re all stuck in this scenario until we’re all reunited.”

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

“I don’t believe you. This was my dream,” Roman said darkly. “And I’ve just about had enough of all this!”

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish. Frowning, he did it again, and again, his face growing paler with each try.

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

“I can’t end it,” Roman whispered, still snapping. “He’s right. He’s…he’s sealed off the dream’s boundaries somehow. Remus!”

This he roared at the screen.

“Keeping Thomas trapped in a dream state is going too far, Remus!” he yelled. “I don’t care what kind of demented game you want to play with us, but we don’t bring Thomas into it.”

“Oh, you think I created an unbreakable dreamscape?” Remus snapped. “You let the Imagination have too much reign, my dear brother, and now neither of us have the power to end the dream ourselves. I estimate we have about ten hours before Thomas wakes up.”

For a moment, all Logan could hear was the soft whoosh of the time rotor, and Roman’s shallow, angry breathing at his shoulder.

“So I suggest you all pilot your ships to these coordinates,” Remus added, and a series of numbers and strange symbols flashed up on one of the smaller console screens. “And get started.”

The main screen blipped, and Remus’s face was replaced by an expressionless Cyberman and a snake-faced Side who looked extremely pale under his scales.

“Well,” Logan stated. “This is a problem.”

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

“You’re going to fire me at a planet? That’s your plan? I get fired at a planet and expected to fix it?”

“In fairness, that is slightly your M.O.”

“Don’t be fair to the Daleks when they’re firing me at a planet.”

The familiar wheeze of the TARDIS materializing filled Roman’s ears as he waited by the doors. Logan joined him a moment later.

“Ready?” he asked, smoothing a hand over his cravat.

He looks good as the Doctor, Roman thought, eying the slimming black and navy, the graceful arc that hand made as it adjusted a pair of glasses…

He shook himself out of his distraction. “Let’s do this, nerd.”

Logan opened the doors and the two stepped out…not onto the asylum, but onto a spaceship. Shiny copper terraces lined the vast walls in curving rows, leading the eye up to a domed ceiling with a clear view of black, star-studded space. Like a huge amphitheater, or stadium. Even Roman had to admit, the Imagination had really outdone itself on the realism.

Of course, given that the ship was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of Daleks calling for violence…realism wasn’t exactly comforting at the moment.

“Surprise, surprise, I don’t see my stupid brother,” Roman commented over the dull roar of the crowd.

“No. But I recognize where we are.” Logan waved a hand. “You were right about Remus’s location; this ship is from the episode ‘Asylum of the Daleks’, in Season 7. If we are following the basic plotline, Remus is likely somewhere down on the planet below, and we will be sent to him in due course. However…I am curious as to why all the other aliens are here.”

Roman looked around again, seeing that Logan was right. Daleks formed the majority of the crowd, but he also spotted Zygons, Sontarans, Silurians, other Cybermen, Ice Warriors…and quite a few aliens from older seasons he couldn’t remember the names of.

(Logan probably could.)

A second TARDIS materialized near their familiar blue box: plain, gray; a squat column of a ship. Janus emerged first, a silver instrument gripped in one gloved hand, followed by an old-school Cyberman…Patton. Roman frowned. Seeing that metal…being…and having to remember it was actually his friend was going to be difficult now that there wasn’t a screen separating them.

“Nice work, Roman,” Janus said, sidling up next to him and faux-clapping his hands. “A ship full of aliens who want us dead; always an excellent starting point for an adventure.”

“This is how the episode starts, Mr. Oh-I’m-Such-an-Expert-in-Doctor-Who,” Roman retorted. “Accuracy is important.”

“But this isn’t accurate,” Logan pointed out. “There should only be Daleks here.”

Roman folded his arms, stung.

Damn Logan and his damned need to be right all the time.

“I…well, I didn’t model this adventure after just one particular episode,” Roman admitted. “I wanted it to be a challenge, and it wouldn’t be if Logan and I already knew the ending. So no, I can’t exactly explain why all the other aliens are here, okay?”

Logan sighed.

“I was not criticizing you, Roman,” he said in a gentler voice. “As this has apparently become as much Remus’s and the Imagination’s handiwork as it is yours, it would be unreasonable to expect you to know what comes next.”

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH THE SUPREME DALEK,” a grating robotic voice boomed across the ship, making them all whip around. A large white Dalek with an antenna on its shell loomed on a raised stage near the center of the amphitheater.

“They were expecting me, too?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

The lights on the Dalek’s head flashed as it spoke again.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL APPROACH WITH THEIR COMPANIONS.”

The four Sides exchanged a glance, and weaved through the assembled Daleks to the raised stage. The White Supreme Dalek was not the only occupant; it was flanked by an Ice Warrior, an Emojibot (which made Patton giggle), and…

“Look, a Janus,” Roman chortled, nudging the snake-faced Side in the ribs and pointing out the two-faced alien.

“You are all nerds and my logo is a two-headed snake,” Janus complained, rolling his eyes. “I literally do not know how all of you missed that obvious clue to my name.”

“DOCTOR,” the White Dalek said as they climbed the dais. “MASTER. WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF THE DALEK ASYLUM?”

“I’m just impressed my rat-faced brother wasn’t lying about his location,” Roman grumbled, and sputtered when Logan placed a hand over his mouth.

“According to legend,” Logan said, “you have a dumping ground, a planet where you lock up all the Daleks that go wrong.”

“The battle-scarred, the insane. The ones even you can’t control,” Janus clarified. His voice dropped to a hiss. “No wonder they ssstuck Remus there.”

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

“CORRECT.” The Dalek pushed a button and a hole opened in the middle of the floor. A snow-covered planet lay below them, pristine from this high up.

“Ooh, that’s,” Patton started, and let out a metallic gulp. “That’s quite a drop. Do we, ah, have to go down the same way? Cause I remember that part, and—”

“How many Daleks are down there?” Logan asked.

“A COUNT HAS NOT BEEN MADE,” the white Dalek said.

“Millions, certainly,” a new voice chimed in. The tall, robed, dark-skinned Janus stepped forward, their front face addressing them. “But they will not be your only concern. The population of the planet consists of more than just Daleks.”

Roman exchanged a suspicious glance with Logan. This wasn’t in the episode. This is new.

“What do you mean?” Janus, their Janus, asked.

The alien Janus turned to a nearby monitor, pulling up some information. The backward-facing face continued to address them.

“Some time ago, the Daleks began noticing a curious phenomenon,” they said. “Random people, from all different races and species, started turning up on various planets in this quadrant of space, including the asylum. No ships, no technology, and no knowledge of how they’d gotten there. At first the imprisoned Daleks on the asylum simply killed them off as they appeared—”

Patton visibly winced, even with his metal body, and Logan’s eyes grew flinty.

“—but the new arrivals eventually became too many to exterminate,” the alien Janus went on, unconcerned. “By now we suspect the planet has a population of over a billion, far too many for its automated systems to handle.”

They turned their forward face to the four again.

“THE ASYLUM IS COMPROMISED,” the Dalek Supreme proclaimed. “IT MUST BE CLEANSED.”

“Hang on, you’re still going to blow the whole planet up?” Roman protested. “A billion people?”

“To be fair, that is what they did in the original episode,” Logan pointed out quietly.

“But that was just Daleks!”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Ah, so genocide is fine when it’s only the evil aliens getting blown up?”

“You know, somehow I’m not surprised to hear you defending the bad guys!” Roman snapped.

“That is enough!” Patton snapped in his robotic voice, stepping between them and raising both his hands. Laser pistols popped out of both of them, making both Roman and Janus step back in alarm.

After a tense moment, Patton lowered his arms again; the guns clicked and vanished into their casings.

“Uh, sorry kiddos, I don’t know what came over me,” he said in a sheepish, more Patton-y voice. “Can we please not fight? It…it kinda makes me feel weird and jittery when you do.”

Roman stared at Patton’s blank Cyberman face and armored Cyberman body and swallowed, hard.

Their Patton would never deliberately aim a gun at anyone, let alone his family. But Cybermen were created to eliminate…or rather, delete…anyone who got in their way.

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

What would happen, if and when he was forced to confront the reality of his body in this realm? What if he didn’t figure it out until he accidentally did something terrible? It wouldn’t be real, of course, but to Patton…that wouldn’t matter.

If his Cyberman programming forced or tricked him into hurting someone, the guilt of it would devastate him.

All I wanted to do was take Logan on an adventure, Roman thought bitterly. A fun little dream adventure where he could play one of his heroes. Was that too much to ask, Imagination?

He folded his arms and glared around the Dalek ship, anywhere but at his fellow Sides.

Whatever the hell this has turned into, I want no part of it anymore.

“In order for us to destroy the planet, we will need you to disable the planet’s forcefield—” The alien Janus started, but Logan held up a finger.

“Excuse you,” he said sharply. “We have not agreed to do anything, least of all help you murder a billion people whose only crime is to have accidentally turned up in your prison. Have you even attempted to solve that mystery?"

"And why do you care what happens down there?" Roman added, sneering. "If the insane Daleks are armed—”

“DALEKS ARE ALWAYS ARMED,” the white Dalek proclaimed.

“—then why can’t they defend themselves?” Logan finished, shooting Roman a questioning glance.

Roman huffed, and looked away.

“At first they did,” the Janus explained. “But as I said, the automated systems cannot keep up with the influx. Wars are being fought over food and other resources as we speak. A starliner crashed on the surface mere days ago, and—”

“Ah,” Logan said slowly. “You’re afraid, with all the shifting alliances and new activity, that the mad Daleks will escape in the confusion.”

“We do not know who or what is behind the influx,” the Janus said. “But eventually, they will start coming with ships, or they will build them on the surface, or reach out to those who could attempt a rescue.”

“‘If sssomeone can get in, everything can get out’,” their Janus quoted darkly.

The other Janus nodded. “Even the Daleks agree, their mad brethren cannot be allowed to escape. We, of this assembly—”

They waved to the assembled crowd of aliens, who observed in eerie silence.

“—have decided that one planet must be sacrificed for the greater good of the universe.”

Roman slowly and deliberately drew his sword (which the Imagination had kindly left as part of his outfit). It rasped as it emerged, the sound hair-raising in the sudden lull.

Instantly every Dalek gunstick and alien weapon on the ship was primed and pointed at the four Sides.

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

“THE DOCTOR AND THE MASTER WILL COOPERATE,” the Supreme Dalek warned, its lights flashing balefully.

“COOPERATE! COOPERATE!” the cry was echoed by the other Daleks, filling the ship with a cacophony of robot voices.

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

“You don’t really have a choice. If you want to live, that is.”

“Is that so.”

Roman tensed and sprang at the white Dalek, not giving himself time to think. He dodged a blast from its gunstick and leaped, bringing his sword down hard. This being the Imagination, the katana cut through the Dalek’s metal armor like butter, and it clattered to the deck in two pieces.

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

“Well?” Roman shouted, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle. “This is me, not cooperating. What are you waiting for? Are you really going to shoot us?”

If they all died on this spaceship…the worst that would happen is they’d be kicked from the Imagination, and that was what they wanted, anyway.

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

“Oh, Roman,” Remus’s crackly voice emerged from the fallen Dalek’s casing. “Roman, Roman, Roman. My poor brave brother who thinks he can solve all his problems with steel and bravado. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

He growled, and stalked to the Dalek’s top half, snatching it up and quickly locating a tiny speaker.

“C’mon, Remus. End this stupid charade,” he said quietly, holding the casing to his face so he could speak quietly. “You’ve had your fun at my expense. Go back to your pile of severed limbs and gloat if you must, but end this. For Patton’s sake, if nothing else.”

“I’ve already told you, it’s out of my hands,” Remus responded; typically, annoyingly casual. “If you want to end the game, you have to come down here and find me.”

Roman exhaled, resting his head against the cold, bumpy metal for a moment. His eyes burned, but he was Prince; he wouldn’t cry, not here.

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

“Roman, in all seriousness,” Remus’s voice dropped. “I didn’t know you were taking Logan on a date tonight—”

“It’s not a date,” Roman hissed, glancing at the other Sides…one in particular.

“The Imagination brought me into this without asking, just like it pulled the others in,” Remus went on. “I am aware of what has to happen, but I did not cause this.”

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

“I don’t lie, and you despise that about me. You hide so much shit from yourself that it baffles you when I refuse to do the same.”

“Look,” Remus added when Roman didn’t respond. “The Imagination is clearly trying to get our attention. Sure, it usually goes through one of us first, but it doesn’t have to. When it comes down to it, Thomas’s mind answers only to Thomas. ”

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

Was Remus seriously suggesting the Imagination they both oversaw had gone rogue somehow?

“Because I don’t curate my side as meticulously as you do, brother.” Remus chuckled. “I listen. I let the Imagination do as she pleases, free from all those pesky ethics and morals and other boring boxes you always force her into, so that our sweet Thomas doesn’t fear the contents of his own head.”

“You expect me to believe that you know what’s going on because,” Roman let every ounce of disdain seep into his voice, “the Imagination talks to you, and not me…because you don’t make her behave?”

“You should try letting her loose sometimes,” Remus drawled, “or you’ll end up with a cane up your butt like Nerdy Wolverine over there.”

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

“What you so-called ‘light sides’ always get wrong,” Remus went on, “is that the juicy stuff, the gruesome and grim, the ‘bad’ thoughts that filter up from the subconscious; they can’t all be locked away and ignored.” His voice dropped ominously. “Repression can be very bad indeed, you know.”

Roman’s reasonable nature knew that his brother, despite his infuriating attitude, was actually making some good points. Thomas had been dealing with a lot lately; the tension in the mindspace felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next disaster.

But at that moment, Roman had no desire to humor his twin.

All he wanted to do was lock himself into his own room in the Dream Palace and spend the rest of the night writing sad poetry about love, or listing his mistakes to himself until he fell asleep.

“I just wanted to show Logan a good time,” he said aloud.

“And oh dear, apparently you couldn’t even manage that correctly,” Remus said, implacably. “So maybe you should use this opportunity to get your head out of your poopy ass, and reevaluate yourself.”

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

It cracked upon impact, the wiring inside sparking and finally flickering down to darkness. He ran his hands through his hair, reminded, once again, why he hated talking to his brother.

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

“Roman…” Patton sidled up behind him, laying a cold hand on his back. Roman shoved the metal arm away and stalked back to the others.

“Let’s just get this done,” he said in a low voice.

“You will need these,” the alien Janus said, pushing a button on a nearby console. A translucent vertical tube rose from a gap in the floor, holding three bulky black bracelets.

“Ah yes, I remember this,” Logan said, striding forward and taking a bracelet.

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

“The nano cloud from converting us into Dalek puppets, yes?” Logan interrupted, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist and handing another to Roman.

The nerd is getting into this, Roman thought as he put it on. I guess that’s something.

“The cloud is only active in certain areas of the asylum,” the Janus warned them again. “And those change as different factions seize control of different areas and weaponize them.”

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

“Um, Mx. Alien, I can’t help but notice that there are only three bracelets, and four of us?”

Logan frowned. “But Patton, why would you—?”

“I’m sure it’s because I’m part snake, Patton,” Janus interrupted smoothly, swooping in to grab the last bracelet and snapping it onto Patton’s arm.

Roman exchanged an alarmed look with Logan; that was the last bit of confirmation he needed. Patton really was unaware that he was a Cyberman.

But why on earth would Janus go to such lengths to keep him in the dark about it? Even leaving aside the fact that Patton was a walking weapon; being a machine, he didn’t need protection from the nano cloud at all.

Whereas Janus…probably did.

But when Roman opened his mouth, Janus shot him a look full of daggers and promises of pain, and shook his head. Roman rolled his eyes and mentally washed his hands of the situation.

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

At least Patton would be twice-protected. If the snake wanted to risk his life for a lie, let him.

“The gravity beam will convey you close to the crashed starliner,” the alien Janus said, and then there were Dalek blasters being shoved into their backs, propelling them toward the hole in the floor.

“Oi,” Roman protested, “get your freaky little eggbeater appendages away from me, you AAAAHHHH!”

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

“Look at this. Classic design. Pressure seals. Hinges. None of that ‘shuk shuk’ nonsense.”

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

He sat up with a groan, brushing snow from his jacket and vest, making sure his hat and gloves were still in place. Everything ached. Bad enough he never wanted to be part this stupid dream game in the first place; now he was probably going to literally turn into a Dalek.

All because the Imagination is being a dick and Patton doesn’t know he’s a killer robot.

Wind gusted around him, making Janus glad that the Master, like the Doctor, usually preferred long sleeves and a coat. He stood, turning in a slow circle as he took in the lay of the land. Nothing but snow and rocks; true to the episode, still.

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.” Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.

[matchkaa]

Writing Prompts Fluff

1. “Hey–what’re you hiding behind your back?”

2. “Your smile doesn’t just light up a room–it lights up the world.”

3. “All I care about is you.”

4. “God, your eyes are so gorgeous.”

5. “Why are you embarrassed? You’re beautiful, don’t you see that?”

6. “I told you not to trust me in the kitchen! Now it’s going to reek of pasta sauce forever.”

7. “Let’s just stay here–I don’t ever want to move.”

8. “Don’t you dare give me those sex eyes right now! This is a serious situation, here!”

9. “Can you please go sit in another room or something? I can’t concentrate with you around.”

10. “Let me in, please.”

11. “I had a nightmare . . . can I stay with you tonight?”

12. “God, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

13. “Please help–there’s a spider on the wall outside my room and it won’t let me leave.”

14. “Dude–why the hell are you in my room?”

15. “Were you watching me sleep? . . . That’s kinda creepy. But, you’re cute, so I’ll forgive you.”

16. “Ohmygod, I’m in love with an adult man-child.”

17. “I get that you’re taller than me, but does that really require you to steal all the blankets? I’m cold.”

18. “I wanna cuddle but if I touch you I might not be able to stop.”

19. “How did someone like me be lucky enough to end up with someone like you?”

20. “Hey–my eyes are up here, you perv. No, I don’t care that we’re dating–it’s still rude.”

21. “Whoever loses this match has to do the dishes.”

22. “Ugh, do you ever even try cleaning up after yourself? You’re such a slob!”

23. “Why do you always smell so good?”

24. “Uh–why am I wearing your shirt? I think it looks good on me?”

25. “Call me as soon as you get home, okay?”

26. “Hold my hand.”

27. “C’mon–I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to, that is.”

28. “Why are you staring at me like that? It’s just a swimsuit, geez.”

29. “Uh . . . how long were you standing there?”

30. “Don’t judge me–you’re the one who sings Disney songs in the shower!”

31. “You make some really cute noises in your sleep, did you know that?”

32. “I heard you say my name in your sleep.”

33. “Here, lay down. I’ll stay until you feel safe enough for me to go.”

34. “Dude–did you really just throw salt at me? I’m not possessed!”

35. “You’re too good for me.”

36. “Hey–it’s okay. I’m here; I’m safe. And fine–see? Everything’s alright now.”

37. “Ow! What did I do this time?!”

38. “You may be a jerk, but you’re my jerk.”

39. “Stop wandering off! I keep thinking you’ve gotten abducted or something. I swear I’ll put you on a kiddie leash. Don’t tempt me.”

40. “It’s 4am . . . why the hell are you in the closet with a butcher knife? … Right. Well, no more scary movie marathons for you.”

41. “I love you and all, but you’re really stretching your luck right now.”

42. “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be fun; I promise!”

43. “Are you seriously still listening to this song? I was gone for four hours!”

44. “Ohmygod, stop! You’re going to make me pee myself!”

45. “I’m sorry I annoy you . . . but at least I’m cute, right?”

46. “Why are you mad at me? You’re the one who almost stabbed me! I don’t care that I snuck up on you; I almost died!”

47. “That’s it–no more Netflix for you.”

48. “But it’s so cute! … So what if I’m allergic–what does that have to do with anything?”

49. “I will murder you… . Softly. With lots of kisses.”

50. “Ack! Dude–your feet are freezing, keep them away from me!”

51. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you, you understand?”

52. “You really think I’m beautiful?”

53. “Are you jealous? That’s cute.”

54. “There’s only a handful of people in this world that I actually like. You may or may not be one of them.”

55. “So–uh, I’m not really good at this, but … I think I like you . . . like you.”

56. “You seriously need to stop watching sad dog commercials at 3am. You’re an absolute mess; this is ridiculous!”

57. “Hey–don’t you sass me! That’s my job around here!”

58. “If you don’t get away from me with that horrid little creature, I will throat punch you.”

59. “You really have to question me? … So what if I lied? That was one time!”

60. “Oh, God. We broke it–dude, he’s gonna be so pissed! This is all your fault–it was your idea!”

61. “… Is that my underwear?”

62. “I overall hate the human race, but you aren’t too horrible; bearable, at least.”

63. “I didn’t mean to scare you–I thought you’d like being surprised!”

64. “You’re cute, I’ll give you that. But not cute enough to get away with that.”

65. “Look–I hate to tell you, but you deserve the truth… . Your cooking almost killed me last night.”

66. “This is the part where you ask me out and I say yes.”

67. “Really? You made me drive all the way back here just to kill a fucking bug?”

68. “We should get matching tattoos–wouldn’t that be cute?”

69. “Oh, God. We’re one of those couples, aren’t we? Ugh–I hate us!”

70. “I got you something! I remember you mentioning it before … I hope you like it.”

71. “Shut up and kiss me, you idiot.”

72. “I get that you were trying to be romantic, but you nearly burned the house down!”

73. “I may be short, but you could at least try to make kissing you easier!”

74. “I’ve never felt safer than I do in your arms.”

75. “We may be soulmates, but that does not mean you can just waltz in here like you own the place! I could have been naked, or something!”

76. “Oh–this is far from over. I’m going to prank you back so hard you won’t even know what hit you!”

77. “Here–can you put sunscreen on my back for me? Don’t be weird about it!”

78. “I need you. Please, stay.”

79. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. I don’t care if you have to lie.”

80. “Dance with me! C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

81. “What? Oh–I’m sorry, does this outfit bother you?”

82. “If you don’t start getting undressed I may just rip your shirt in half.”

83. “Here–let me show you how to hold that thing before you hurt yourself… Like this, see? It’s easy.”

84. “I may love you, but I will kick your ass if you tempt me to.”

85. “Why are you always right? It’s not fair.”

86. “I have no idea what you just said, but I could listen to you all day.”

87. “What? Sorry–I didn’t hear you. I was too busy getting lost in your eyes… Ow! What?! I was just trying to seduce you!”

88. “You know you don’t have to try so hard with me, right?”

89. “Relax–it’s just me! Not an axe murderer, I promise!”

90. “Did you seriously just climb through my window?”

91. “So, I tried making dinner … keyword there is tried. Let’s just say it didn’t end well, so we’re having takeout tonight.”

92. “Yep–no, you’re never touching the laundry again. You ruined my favourite sweater and nearly flooded the house. Never again.”

93. “Hey–I accidentally cut my hand, I think I need to go to the hospital. Can you drive me? … Why are you looking at me like that? There’s not even that much blood!”

94. “I have something to show you; I think you’ll like it.”

95. “I love you. Never forget that, okay?”

96. “You’re so beautiful words can’t even do you justice.”

97. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short or long that is.”

98. “Hey–I’m perfectly average height for my age, thank you very much. You’re the one who’s freakishly tall!”

99. “I’ll catch you–trust me! … So I dropped you one time–we don’t have the time to argue about this!”

100. “I won’t forget just how big of a douche you were, but I may just be able to find it within myself to forgive you.”

FROM @just-another-prompt-blog

[pidgebeifong]

atla artist au

Aang is a painter. He’s loved painting ever since he was a child and first experimented with finger paints on the walls- which was, in hindsight, maybe not the best idea. He loves the way it detaches him from his worldly concerns. It’s almost like a form of meditation for him- the rest of the universe just falls away whenever he picks up his paintbrush, and all he can see is his canvas and the worlds he will create with a swirl of lemon yellow sun here, a wave of cerulean blue ocean there, a blur of sunset orange clouds at the edges. Everything he owns has been stained with paint in at least three places, which makes dressing for formal events a real pain. Sometimes he’ll deliberately paint his jeans with sunflowers or bees or anything that’s a sunny, bright yellow- his favourite colour- and wear them proudly for days. Katara jokes that she doesn’t even remember what the real colours of his hands look like, because they’re forever stained with paint that’s sunken so deeply into the folds of his skin that it makes it nearly impossible to rub off. People always ask him what his favourite thing to paint is, expecting it to be something like sunsets or mountains, but the truth is his favourite thing to study and paint is his Labrador, Appa, the first thing he ever drew. He started drawing at around five, the same age he adopted Appa, and to this day he can never get the way Appa’s golden fur shines just right under the blinding sunlight. He loves going to nature reserves and parks to study how light affects the leaves and flowers. Sometimes everything will just be too much, and he’ll jam as many paints into his pockets as he can, take a sketchbook, a water bottle and a paintbrush, and get on the bus to a park. He’ll sit quietly for hours, trying to capture moonlight on water or the flapping wings of a hummingbird.

Katara is a writer. She literally can’t remember a time she hasn’t loved to write. She has stacks and stacks of unfinished manuscripts lying around on the floor, tacked up to the walls in her room, and crumpled on the bedsheets. She has easily over a thousand different scenes written for her future novels on the Notes app in her phone, and she has a bad habit of scribbling ideas down on her hands on the rare occasions she doesn’t have her phone on her and there’s no paper in sight. She’s practically nocturnal at this point, because all her best ideas come to her at 3am, when she’s sleep-deprived and half-hallucinating. She always carries at least three pens on her at all times, and gets panicky when she’s forced to remove them whenever she has to dress up for anything formal. She’s really hypocritical whenever she gets on Aang’s case about his hands always being paint-stained, because all her hands are covered in ink, too- half-finished notes and ideas that got left on the cutting board. Katara hates cutting out characters that simply aren’t necessary to the scene and don’t add anything of value to the plot, because they’re her babies damnit and she worked hard on them. One would think that this would make her more sympathetic to her characters, but Aang and Sokka are appalled the first time they’re allowed to read one of her (mostly) finished manuscripts (who is she kidding, she doesn’t have a manuscript that’s even remotely finished for the life of her) and see how much torture and anguish and heartbreak she’s put her characters through. Katara is a huge advocate of making all her characters hit the lowest point they could possibly go, and then instead of making them get back up again, she gives them a shovel and instructions to dig lower. However, she’s a huge sucker for happy endings, and she practically dominates the tag #angst with a happy ending on AO3. She gets around three hours of sleep every night, none of them consecutive, and survives on black coffee and willpower alone. Everyone knows her as an avid reader, but she hasn’t really read an actual book since two years ago, and spends most of her time scrolling through 250k fanfictions at 2am.

Sokka is a photographer. He doesn’t have the skills that Aang has with his paintbrush, or the way Katara can make entire universes come to life with a few words, so for a long time he used to think that he was just going to be the ordinary guy in the group who’d only be known for loving meat to what is frankly an unhealthy degree, and that his only contribution to the team would be a slew of bad jokes and sarcastic remarks. He finds his calling very late in life, but the moment he picks up his first camera at age fourteen, everything just seems to fall perfectly into place. Sokka’s world always moves too fast and changes too quickly, but he can capture moments that will last forever with the click of a button, and he guesses that that’s what he loves about photography- that he can freeze moments in time and always be able to come back to them. Well, as long as he doesn’t lose his camera, but he’s got the photos all backed up on iCloud anyway, so that’s not really an issue. Sometimes, he’ll accompany Aang to nature parks, and Aang will paint the twisting vines of a plant while Sokka captures Aang’s relaxed, happy expression. His favourite photos are the ones he takes of his friends when they’re caught unaware- candid portraits of Suki laughing or Katara ruffling Aang’s hair or Toph trying and failing to hide a grudging smile. He loves old photos, too- loves the aesthetic of black-and-white photos, how they capture a scene that he knows full well happened decades ago but somehow make him feel like he’s living in the same moment. Experimenting with light is one of his favourite things to do- he loves playing with golden hour sunlight or early morning rays, loves hearing the satisfying click of his camera and knowing that he’s got another picture for the album (and his hugely successful Instagram account that has well over 50k followers).

Toph is a sculptor. She was born blind and never really got to experience art the same way the others did, so for a long time she buried her disappointment deep within her and never let jealousy rear its ugly head whenever she heard Katara singing praises about the latest painting Aang had just finished, or the beautiful photograph Sokka had captured of all of them laughing as a group, but then she discovered sculpture. An art she could appreciate from beneath her fingers, an art she could see by running her hands over it and feeling the crevices and curves and edges breathe themselves into life beneath her touch. Despite discovering the term for it late in life, Toph found that she’d actually been sculpting at a very young age. She’d been experimenting with PlayDoh and clay since before she could walk, but she’d never known that there was actually an art form in it that people did professionally until Aang had taken her to a museum and put her hands on a beautiful sculpture of an ancient Greek god. It was one of the only times she’d ever cried in her life, but those had been tears of pure joy- she didn’t want to sound like a sap, but she hadn’t realized that something so beautiful in the world existed until that life-changing moment at the museum. Sure, they’d been chased out by one particularly angry security guard who kept waving his baton around threateningly (‘can’t you two juveniles see that the sign clearly says no touching?!’ ‘actually sir, I’m blind so that would be a hard no’) but it had been worth it. Ever since then, Toph has been addicted to sculpting, feeling things take shape under her capable hands. She’s been told she can replicate faces with an accuracy that’s both astonishing and unnerving, despite not even being able to see (it only took a lot of years and  lot of hours spent tracing the lines of Aang’s face) and her work has been proudly displayed on Katara’s bedside table, Sokka’s desks and Aang’s shelves.

Suki is a martial arts instructor who has a degree in badassery. She started her own school at just fifteen years old, and named it the Kyoshi Warrior Academy, in honour of Kyoshi, her late martial arts instructor whom she had a deep respect for. She had black belt status in five different martial arts by the time she turned thirteen, and was a legend for her skill, hard work and talent in the martial arts community. She’s lost quite a few matches, but she’s more than made up for it with every win she’s achieved. The first time she met Sokka, she thought he was trying to steal from her, so she judo-flipped him, pinned him down and tied his wrists together, all of which took a maximum of three seconds. (‘wow, that’s kinky. so are you into that kind of thing?’ ‘shut up, asshole. what do you want from me? my wallet?’ ‘actually, I was going to ask you out on a date, but I mean sure, if you’re offering. I could use a little cash right about now, actually, because I think you just broke all the cards I have in my wallet when you body-slammed me to the ground, along with at least ten of my bones.’) Sokka had severely underestimated Suki’s skill at first, despite their rather unfortunate encounter (during which she actually had broken the bone in his arm, but he’d tried to wave it off and say that he didn’t mind, then subsequently screamed in pain because he’d tried to wave his broken arm), but he knew that he’d have to change his mindset in order to win her over. Eventually, he ended up changing his misogynistic mindset not only to go out with Suki, but because he realized that it was the right thing to do- something Katara was over the moon about. She and Suki have been joined at the hip ever since, and Sokka often jokes whether Suki is only dating him for his sister (‘damn, suki, it’s like you only come over for katara’ ... ‘wait. why aren’t any of you saying anything. katara did you just wink? sUKI DID YOU JUST KISS MY SISTER’S CHEEK-?! oh my god this is the worst betrayal I’ve experienced since toph said that she didn’t need to see my photographs in order to tell that they were ugly’). Jokes aside, Suki adores her boyfriend and his sister, and often teaches them self-defense in her free time. One of her best students is a girl named Ty Lee, who all her friends except Zuko seem to really hate for some reason. However, Ty Lee is a natural at self-defense and she and Suki get along like a house on fire. Katara still refuses point-blank to go to classes whenever Ty Lee is in attendance, but Suki has given up trying to understand why. In conclusion, Suki is one of those movie heroines who can munch a sandwich while apprehending twenty supervillains all twice her size, and still come out victorious.

Zuko is a theatre kid and aspiring actor. (Was anyone surprised by this, really?) His natural melodramatic emo kid personality makes him the perfect role for starring roles in school plays (at least, that’s what Azula always likes to say) and acting to him comes as naturally as breathing. He’s not-so-secretly a Shakespeare nerd and can literally recite Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, two of his favourite plays, word for word. He also loves Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen- and alright, maybe he also harbours a love for High School Musical (he’s never told anyone that, but everyone knows anyway because he made Azula suffer through all five movies with him which eventually led to her becoming so fed-up constantly belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs that she recorded the audio and sent it to everyone at school, including Mai, whom he couldn’t look in the eyes for a straight two weeks). Before his mother left them, she used to say that Zuko got his acting genes from her, because she used to play the lead role in Love Amongst The Dragons every year in her old high school. Zuko asked Ursa if that meant Azula got her dancing genes from Ozai, and they’d both have a quiet little laugh as they imagined Ozai trying to dance ballet. Although Zuko adores the drama and the poignant atmosphere that comes with performing Shakespeare’s plays, Love Amongst The Dragons holds the top spot for his favourite play by far. He goes to see it every time the ache for his mother is too painful to ignore- even though the new actors, a group called the Ember Island Players, all but butcher it every year- and sometimes, he’ll deceive himself into thinking that his mother’s somewhere in the audience too, watching the play right there with him like they used to do all the time. He once took Azula to see it with him, just like they used to do when their mother was with them, and Azula cried when he told her that the reason he liked it was because it reminded him of their mother. The sight of her crying was so unnerving that Zuko went alone after that. Azula never protested, though, or teased him for liking the play again.

Azula is a dancing prodigy. She specializes in ballet, but she also does contemporary and modern. She tried her hand at tap and jazz, and although she naturally excelled in it, as usual, she decided that it just wasn’t for her. At the age of fourteen, Azula is already a world-renowned dancer and has broken records and made history with how skilled she is at dancing. She moves her body so fluidly that it’s hard to believe she’s even a person and not just a wisp or smoke, delicately floating and twirling and twisting through the air. Azula has a lot of pent-up anger and frustration about having to constantly seem perfect all the time in order to make up for the failure that Zuko is, and she’s found that physical exercise- namely, dance- is the best way to relieve her stress. She also knows a fair bit of martial arts- out of everyone, she and Ty Lee are the only ones who have managed to defeat Suki at hand-to-hand combat. If asked about it, Suki will vehemently deny that such an incident ever happened, which only serves to amuse Azula further. Azula started ballet at age three and advanced much further and quicker than any of her peers, which incited a lot of jealousy and basically ensured that she had virtually no friends in the ballet community, but it wasn’t like she was particularly desperate for companionship in the first place. She’s so famous that she’s a verified account on Instagram with over a million followers- she does some spare modelling work on the side when she can, and her stunning looks combined with her raw talent have made her into one of the most unattainably perfect girls to ever rule Instagram. Somehow, her dancing doesn’t distract her from her grades, because she also has a stellar report card that’s displayed on the wall of her numerous trophies and awards she’s achieved over the years. (Zuko has a half-broken shelf that sports exactly two awards, and one is a certificate of participation.) Azula was born for the spotlight. Whenever she steps onto a stage, the room goes completely, eerily still, as if holding on to her every move. She’s one of the most beautiful dancers to ever perform, and audiences sing praises about her every twirl, her every arch, as if a single pirouette she’s executed is already perfect enough to win her ten awards. She’s mesmerizing on stage, and kind of terrifying in the way that one would find someone too perfect to be terrifying. Her every move is effortless, graceful, as if she’s a weightless feather drifting through the breeze. She’s incredibly captivating and is set to be one of history’s stars.

Mai is a musician/singer. Her parents were extremely traditional and gave her piano and violin lessons for her fifth birthday, but she actually ended up enjoying them a lot. She has a great voice, too, so she started a YouTube channel a while back that features her doing covers and singing her own original songs sometimes. It’s now amassed a few thousand followers. Zuko has an admittedly great voice, too, and sometimes she invites him to her channel and they do these amazing duets. All of their followers ship them together, but Mai always denies that she likes him, despite her cheeks always blushing a bright pink whenever he’s brought up on live-streams. Her parents don’t approve of her channel, which they only found out about because they were being overbearing and went through her phone yet again, and they want her to go to school to study business instead. Mai doesn’t plan on giving up on her YouTube channel anytime soon, though. Before she discovered singing, she was clearly passionless about most everything, but now that she has, it feels like a fire slowly consuming her from the inside out. And she kind of likes it, to be honest. It feels good to be so passionate about something, especially since Zuko likes it just as much as she does. She’ll never admit it, but she knows how to play quite a few My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco songs on the piano (which Zuko absolutely loves her for, because he’s the picture perfect stereotype of an emo boy). Writing and singing songs provides her with some sort of cathartic relief that she can’t really obtain from anywhere else. She’s incredibly musically talented, and was playing grade eight piano material at just eleven years old. She taught herself the guitar and the harp after her parents refused to give her any more lessons for fear that she would become too invested in music (Asian parents, y’all- they provide you with piano lessons but expect you to become a doctor or a lawyer because God forbid you pursue a career in music despite having studied it since you were five) and refuse to pursue a career in business.

Ty Lee is a gymnast. She tried ballet along with Azula, but didn’t like the discipline it took and ran out of patience with all the tedious instructions necessary to follow along with the class, finding that gymnastics was more to her liking. However, she and Azula make an awesome duo whenever they showcase their talents together. Ty Lee’s actually so good that trainees are already speculating that she could achieve a spot on her country’s national gymnastics team. She can do backflips, handstands, cartwheels and splits on a beam one after the other without even needing to catch her breath, and she’s impossibly fit. She loves crop tops- she thinks they show off her figure, which is nearly unattainable for most people. She’s also naturally talented at martial arts, and Suki frequently tells her that she learns faster than Suki can teach. She’s done every form of gymnastics imaginable- rhythmic, acrobatic, artistic- you name it, she’s done it. Originally she only took an interest in it because Azula begged her to join ballet with her, and Ty Lee found that she did like the strenuous physical exertion that ballet entailed, but everything just moved too slowly for her. Ty Lee likes fast-paced action, so gymnastics is the perfect fit for her. Sometimes, Azula will teach her some new ballet moves she learnt in class, and in return, Ty Lee will teach Azula a few gymnastics moves she invented by herself after following the standard textbook forms grew too boring. They once entered a talent show together and blew the crowd away with Azula’s captivating dancing and Ty Lee’s breathtaking gymnastics.

[pocket-clown]

Something Better | Arthur Fleck x reader

// AN: I meant to get this out before midnight (EST), but... obviously that didn’t work out, since it’s past 3am, now. I wrote then revised this entire thing in less than twelve hours, so if it’s not the most structured thing I’ve ever written I apologize 

Summary: After days spent coming to terms with your growing feelings for your distant neighbor, you realize that New Years Eve offered the perfect opportunity for you to see the man you’d become infatuated with. 

Sort of a Part II for Smile. I make a few references to it, so you might want to give it a quick read if you haven’t already!

Words: 4,055

      Entirely capable of holding a ceramic plate were you on most days, but your nerves at the moment made it feel as if the one currently in your hands weighed tons heavier than it truly did. You shifted your weight back and forth as you stood awkwardly in front of the door of your apartment, wondering if you should even do what it was you so wanted to.

You knew that Arthur lived alone with his mother, just like you knew neither of them were doing anything tonight. It was New Year’s Eve, and most of Gotham was sort of celebrating it (if you could count the drunken hooting and hollering from the sidewalks, the cars blaring their horns, the local news station’s coverage of some of the large bar-parties going on as celebrating), but not you, nor your sweet, albeit eccentric neighbor and his mother - the same neighbor you’d quite literally ran into about a month prior. 

Having the evening off from work, you’d lounged about your apartment for the majority of it. Not much on television had entertained you, and you’d grown quite fed up with laying in bed with nothing but the quiet hum of the radio in the background to keep you company, and in a fit of restless desperation to find something, anything, to entertain yourself with, you’d settled on the decision to bake - work that you’d actually be able to see and enjoy the result of. It had gone smoothly, as you thankfully already had everything you needed, but once it was completed, you thought to yourself and figured that you didn’t really need the entire two dozen to yourself. It didn’t take long to figure out what to do with the extra; you had no friends, still so new in town, but your thoughts had drifted to Arthur and his mother. 

Surely they’d like the gift, right? Not only was it a gift, but it was also an excuse to see Arthur, the only person that had actually managed to make you feel something beyond the usual feelings of loneliness and detachment from your surroundings that'd been plaguing you for the last who-knew-how-long. The more you thought about him as the weeks went on, the more you’d feel your heart flutter at the mere thought of his name, and the more your face would flush with the heat of excitement when you thought about how you’d eventually run into him again.

You’d denied your feelings since the minute they arose, but you were beginning to come to terms with the fact that you were experiencing your first, genuine crush on someone. You felt rather embarrassed about it; there was an obvious age gap between the two of you (though you were an adult, there was a considerable gap of probably close to 10 years, with you being in your 20s and him in his 30s), and you’d only spoken to the guy less than a handful of times. Sure, the two of you had exchanged glances and smiles in the hallway a few times; the way Arthur would look at you, then away, then look back again suggesting he wanted to say something, but he never did. You chalked it up to nerves, most of the time; those rare occasions that the two of you rode in the elevator together proved that he was as shy and socially anxious as you were (if not even more than you were), but there was a pestering, nagging little voice in the back of your mind, telling you that he just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Which is why you were so nervous about delivering the plate of cookies to him. You figured that if he wanted anything to do with you, he would’ve initiated it - but couldn’t you, then, say the same for yourself? As much as you hated to admit it, you knew that sometimes, you were the one that needed to make the first step, to make the first move, for a lot of things - regardless of what they involved. 

So with a deep breath and some mental pep-talk, you left your apartment and hurried down the hall, almost managing to talk yourself out of it once you realized that it was nearly 9 in the evening - you really didn’t want to come across as an inconsiderate nuisance for showing up so late.

With five quick knocks to the door labeled 8J, you took a deep breath, eyes focused downwards, on the plate in your hands. You almost missed the muffled voice from inside, no doubt Arthur’s mother asking him to get the door, and when the door finally did open, your voice caught in your throat. Arthur was in what you presumed to be his pajamas; a beige, long-sleeved shirt which wasn’t nearly as loose on him as the majority of his other sweaters were and sleep pants, his hair slicked back, damp from a shower. The tired, worn features of his face, his green eyes which were wide with surprise, were nothing less than handsome to you, and it took him greeting you for you to finally snap out of your daze.

“Oh, Y/N - hey.” Arthur said, and you suddenly found it very hard to make eye contact.

“Hi - I’m sorry to be a bother so late, but I wanted to wish you and your mother a happy new year.” You said, holding the plate out to him, your thumb gently rubbing the edge of it as you tried to soothe your nerves. “I had some extras leftover after baking, and thought you might like them.” 

Arthur’s eyes looked from your face to the plate, then back to your face again as he seemed to be taking a second to let it sink in that you were giving them to him, a puzzlement you couldn’t really blame him for since small acts of kindness were essentially nonexistent in Gotham. 

“Oh! - Really, for me? And my mom? That’s so kind of you, thank you.” He spoke softly, slowly taking the plate from you, and the way his hand brushed against yours made your breath hitch. “I’m sure my mother will enjoy them - they look great.” 

“I hope you like them, too! I made them with you in mind, really - ” You bit your tongue at your confession, not meaning to actually admit that to Arthur. “I mean - I hoped you’d like them - since I don’t know what kind you like, and… yeah.” You rubbed at the back of your neck, realizing you’ve done nothing but make the situation leagues more awkward than it needed to be, and you figured it was time to bid him goodnight before you did nothing but embarrass yourself further. “Right, so, I’ll get going now - I think I’ve kept you long enough.”

You managed to pry your focus away from the frame of the door and actually look at Arthur, finally, only to see that he was looking right at you. Your eyes met, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself get lost in how gentle his were as he looked at you.

“Oh, I don’t mind… but you’re probably busy tonight, aren’t you.” Arthur said, and dare you say he almost sounded disappointed as he spoke, though you told yourself that was just you reading too much into things and being overly hopeful again - something you’d learned only ever led to shattering disappointment. 

You couldn’t help but let out a quick laugh at this, not even able to remember the last time you had spent a holiday with someone. “Oh, not at all. It’s just me tonight, actually, but please - tell your mother I said hello! And happy new year, Arthur. Have a goodnight.” 

And just like that, with a smile and a quick wave, you were heading back down the hallway towards your own apartment, the sound of your slippered footsteps hushing the sound of your heart that was pounding rapidly in your ears. You felt a bit embarrassed, if you were being honest; you felt like you’d made a fool of yourself, with how you’d admitted the fact that you really only thought of him when you made the treats, never mind the fact that you’d done so so late in the evening, but something told you that Arthur was much more taken aback by the fact that you’d gone out of your way to do something kind for him and his mother than he was by your awkwardness. 

At least, you hoped that was the case. 

“Y/N?”

Immediately did you turn around, looking right back at Arthur after he’d called out for you. Something about the way he said your name - your name!, as simple as it was - made your heart skip a beat, and you held your breath as you waited for him to finish speaking.

"Would…. Would you like to come in? For a little while?” His voice was hesitant, as if he were unsure if he should even be asking such a thing, lest you reject him.

Your heart flooded - every bit of it screaming yes, please, yes -

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on you and your mother -”

“Please, you won’t be - and I want to... I want to talk to you, if that’s okay with you.”

You were powerless to stop the smile that spread across your face from doing so, and without wasting a second more you once again, though a bit slower this time, made your way to the door of Arthur’s apartment, finding yourself giggling a bit at how he ushered you right inside with a welcoming “come on in”.

“Happy? Who is that?” The woman who was sat in a chair in the living room called out, and you could only assume that that was Arthur’s mother.

“Ma - this is Y/N. She’s the new neighbor, and she brought us something.”

“Ohhh..” She mused playfully. “So you’re the nice girl that my Happy was going on about before.”

What  - really?

Arthur groaned at this, not bothering to hide his embarrassment as he padded into their small kitchen, where he set the plate of cookies on the counter top. “Mom, hush about it…” 

The way your heart swelled with warmth at seeing Arthur interact with his mother was one of the most foreign feelings you’d ever experienced. During one of your past, brief talks in the hallway had he admitted to you that he lived with her, and he was so hushed about it, as if he were embarrassed to admit that he was a grown man living with his mother. He was quick to explain that she was old and ill so he’d moved in to take care of her - something he did very well, he stressed - and you tried to quell his worry that you judged his living arrangements by telling him how sweet that was, something he seemed almost relieved to hear.

“This is my mother, Penny. Penny Fleck,” He said, the warmth in his voice unwavering, as he led you into their living room. You could tell how much he loved his mother, and it was incredibly admirable to you how you could only presume that day in and day out he scarified a lot to make sure she was taken care of. “She insisted on staying up for the new year, so - so I thought that maybe you’d like to come in and maybe stay for it, too.” 

Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck shyly, keeping his gaze on the television as the newscaster was going on about Gotham’s typical celebrations for the new year. A large clock near Gotham Square that read the time, and the second it struck midnight, a barrage of fireworks would go off, and those gathered around would throw their hats, coats, gloves, whatever, up into the air in glee. It was a long standing tradition, apparently, but there were still a good few hours before that - and you couldn’t help but feel a bit excited that you would get to spend them with Arthur.

“How old are you, Y/N?” Penny asked out of the blue, and you couldn’t help but stutter out a laugh at how bold of a question it was, once you’d taken a seat on their couch. Arthur was sat next to you, and you couldn’t help but be incredibly aware of how close he was sitting to you. 

“Mom, c’mon, don’t start with that -” 

“Oh, please, Happy. I’m just curious.” She said, looking from him to you, expectantly. 

“I’m 23.” You said after a second of silence, unsure if you should even admit how young you were, out of the worry that it would completely sully any sort of feelings Arthur had for you, regardless of whether they were platonic or more - assuming he even had any to begin with.

“Oh you’re so young - and you’re really talking to my son, of all people?” 

“Mom!” 

“Ha, Ms. Fleck - it’s not like that, really; we’re just... friends.” You spoke carefully, trying to not assume Arthur’s friendship or anything. “He’s the only one that’s been friendly since I’ve gotten here.”

“That’s how it is here; all day on the news, more and more bad stuff.” Penny spoke with a sigh, her head lolling to the side a bit as she kept her eyes fixed on the television, and you and Arthur exchanged a brief look. “Anyway, Happy said you brought something?” 

And with that, things flowed easily. Though it was awkward, much more so than you’d anticipated, you could feel your infatuation with Arthur growing as the night went on. You learned more about him, as the conversations went on; you’d known he was an aspiring comedian from a previous talk, but now he even offered to read you some of his jokes - however Penny was quick to quiet him down, insisting that you’d probably prefer funny jokes, a jab which hurt you, but Arthur... took like it was nothing. They seemed surprised to learn that you were completely on your own, living in such a big, new city, and how absolutely genuine Arthur sounded when he said that you needed to be careful because the people around were always so rude made you bite your lip.

You could’ve sworn that every now and then Arthur would take a peek at you, his eyes looking over your face as you watched the television, but you told yourself that you were just anxious, and that your anxiety was getting you all worked up and making you imagine things. Penny’s questions never stopped, though; she asked you anything and everything ranging from what you did for a living, if you were in school, your family, even your past relationships - the last of the two being things you skit around vaguely, not going too much into detail about.

As the night went on, you and Arthur had slowly scoot closer together, though not close enough to actually be touching each other. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and every circuit in your brain that had been hardwired to make you hesitant when it came to physical touch felt as if they were short circuiting, and the urge to do something, even if it was just to rest your head on his shoulder, grew harder and harder to ignore.

You and Arthur made simple conversation whenever Penny’s attention was focused on the TV; anything the two of you could find to bond over was, and through so many words could you piece together things about him that he hadn’t directly told you. His loneliness, his lack of any interpersonal relationships, Gotham’s habit of treating him much harsher than a man as kind as he was could ever deserve; the more the two of you spoke, the more you could see bits and pieces of the self he kept hidden - his worries, the depression that seemed to have made its home in his psyche who knew how long ago, the peculiar way he viewed the world and those around him, and the like. You’d known from previous, short conversations with other tenants that Arthur was that neighbor; Arthur was the one that everyone would avoid, the one pegged as weird, and unstable - the one that made everyone uncomfortable. To you, though, Arthur was none of that; while no, you still didn’t know him that well and you could easily tell that he wasn’t exactly conventional (you had a feeling there was some sort of concealed darkness, almost, that was lurking inside of him), you could tell that he was, genuinely, a kind soul who wanted nothing more than to just spread joy and laughter - the mission he told you was his purpose in life, something you couldn’t help but smile fondly at.

Eventually, Arthur deemed Penny too tired to be able to remain awake long enough to ring in the new year wit the two of you - she’d dozed off mid-sentence twice - and after some minor protest from her she gave in, and Arthur helped her to bed. In the whopping thirty seconds he was gone with her for, you took in as much of their apartment as you could; the wall-paper that was peeling in some spots, and chipping in others (and was that a bullet hole…?), the small desk that was nestled in the corner which you assumed was where Arthur spent the majority of his free time, that yellow hoodie of his that had become such a comforting sight to see hanging up near the door, the stacks of VHS tapes of the Murray Franklin show piled on top of and underneath their television stand - every little detail that your eyes could pick up on that might tell you just a little bit more about the man you had fallen so hard for.

“Sorry about that…” Arthur muttered once he came back into the living room, returning to his spot next to on the couch, though further from you than he had been previously. “She can get... like that, sometimes.” He said, obviously still a bit embarrassed by how his mother had asked so many personal questions, completely unabashed. He seemed both relieved that his mother wasn’t there to pester you anymore and even more tense, now that it was just the two of you alone. You couldn’t help but notice how his hands were clenching the thigh fabric of his pants as he sat, his eyes fixed on the television, his right leg bouncing slightly.

“Oh, it’s fine. It was kinda funny, actually.” You dismissed his concern with a wave of your hand, leaning back in your seat, something Arthur shook his head at, sighing softly something about you being too understanding.

“I do it more, now, you know.” You said after a few minutes of neither of you speaking.

Arthur looked at you, his dark brows furrowed as he tried to work out what you meant.

“Smile. I smile more, now - ever since you told me I should. Or I try to, at least.” 

“I - really?” Arthur asked, and he sounded so surprised that it was almost childlike. 

“Mhm,” You nodded, entirely too shy to look away from the TV, which was bright with the colors from Gotham Square. “It’s helped - Oh, hey, look! It’s almost time!” 

Which it was; the bright red numbers of the clock were ticking down with less than five minutes left until it was the new year. Gotham was the liveliest you had ever seen it, and it almost made you a bit sad, if you were being honest with yourself - occasionally, did you wish that you were bolder of a person; someone who could go out, interact, and get together with others. You liked being alone, you really did, but you disliked feeling so lonely - though that was the aspect of solitude that you’d grown most used to, unfortunately.

Sitting in Arthur’s living room though, in his presence - it was the first time in years that you didn’t feel as alone. You and Arthur were still new with each other; this was the longest you’d spend with him, and you still didn’t know very much about him, nor did he about you. It was still a bit awkward, with neither of you really sure how to talk with the other, but something about the situation, something about Arthur, made you feel less alone in the cold, unforgiving city that was Gotham. Even if you two just remained acquaintances, only giving each other passing Hellos and Goodbyes in the hallway, you’d be okay with that - because it meant that you’d still get to see him, and that was enough. 

“Y/N?” 

Arthur’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Why would someone as nice as you move to a city as awful as this one?” 

Arthur’s elbows were resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together as his eyes were fixed on the coffee table in front of the television. He looked deep in thought - as if something had been bothering him, and though his question was presented as one born from sheer curiosity, the genuine confusion that it was laced with didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You shrugged. “I guess I was just… looking for something. I don’t know what, though. Maybe change, or I hoped that moving here would make me feel better, make me feel like I was a part of things, if you get what I mean.” 

Arthur actually chuckled a small bit at this. “Yeah, I do.” He said quietly, before sighing and running a hand through his now dry hair - a simple action that you couldn’t help but find adorable. 

You were relieved that the booming of the fireworks from the television (which you could also hear from outside, though muffled) coupled with the cheering of the crowd was loud enough to occupy the silence that would’ve fallen between the two of you, as you feared that if it had grown quiet enough then Arthur would’ve been able to actually hear how hard your heart was pounding.

As the festivities died down and people began to retreat from the streets and return to their homes, you figured that it was time for you to to the same and head back to your own apartment. Arthur walked you to the door, thanking you once again for the baked treats you’d brought over, something you said you’d happily do again if he and his mother liked them.

Once you were in the empty hallway with Arthur lingering in the doorway, you couldn’t ignore the subtle feeling of melancholy that had washed over you, now that the reality of the situation was settling in and soon you’d be without the contentment that was Arthur’s presence.

“Thanks for having me over for a bit - it meant a lot, seriously.”

“Of course - I didn’t think want you to be alone.” 

Oh, how you wished you could stay in that moment forever; the way Arthur smiled that gentle, fond smile that you’d grown to love at you as he spoke, though he kept his eyes from looking you in your own, made your heart melt into a puddle of what you could only describe as the feeling of pure bliss. 

But alas, with it being past midnight and your fatigue from the day creeping up on you, you knew that you couldn't stay any longer and that the two of you needed to part for the night. You had no idea when you’d get the chance to see Arthur again, and your heart sank as you knew there was a good chance that it wouldn’t be for quite awhile, given the difference in your schedule - but that’s just how life went. No sense in lingering on it.

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” You asked in a manner that as awfully reminiscent of your first meeting, and Arthur nodded.

“Of course you will - I’m right here.” He said, not bothering to hide the mischievous grin that adorned his face, knowing fully what you were playing at. “And Y/N - happy new year.” 

“Yeah, you too, Arthur.” You smiled at him as you turned around to head back to your own apartment. “Something tells me that this one is going to be a little bit better.”

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taglist;

@tahliamalfoydepp​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @smol-nari​ @ajokeformur-ray​ (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[calsgirll]

Paris - Ashton Irwin

Ashton Irwin X Reader

word count: 1711

authors note: this is based around the song Paris by the chainsmokers! I heard the song for this first time in a while and this immediately hit me so here it is!❤️

  We were staying in Paris To get away from your parents

It had been a rough year for you and Ashton, with him on tour and you still living at home with your parents. You felt like he’d had no time for you since he started touring with the guys. Due to your past relationships your brain didn’t settle thinking of all the things he could be doing and you wouldn’t even know. One morning you woke up to the sound of your phone going crazy with text messages from the whole band telling you to open your front door. As you padded downstairs at 3am you tried to keep it quiet knowing your parents where probably asleep, you unlatched the door and peeked out not knowing what it would be and being very wary but you looked down and all you saw was a heart shaped foil balloon with a note and rose attached. You picked it up reading the note which said

‘pack your bags and be ready for 6 am. We’re going somewhere special’- Ash

you smiled rubbing your thumb over the small sticker of the Eiffel tower in the corner of the note.

And I thought, "Wow If I could take this in a shot right now I don't think that we could work this out"

“fuck you ash” you scream at him throwing a mug at the wall in anger “are you serious right now y/n, you really believe a few shitty rumours you saw on twitter?” Ashton asks trying to keep calm while you stand in front of him with puffy eyes and damp cheeks “the paparazzi has photos of you leaving a club with her what am I supposed to think” you say trying to collect yourself “do you trust me at all? Because I’m starting to get the hint that you don’t. you knew what you were getting into when we started dating” he snaps back at you now visibly angry at the fact you’re questioning his fidelity. You grab his hand as he tries to walk out “Ash im sorry, it just gets a lot knowing your out there being an amazing drummer with millions of girls throwing themselves at you” you squeak trying to hold in the tears that are threatening to fall any second, he looks at you with a sympathetic smile and sighs “I know its hard not being together all the time but please stay strong because you know I love you” he pulls you into his large frame.

It felt like that was yesterday, the first real fight you’d both had with each other. It was almost as if it was like a polaroid that was constantly hung up in your head. You where so grateful for him and the fact he stayed with you and allowed you both to get to this point.

Out on the terrace I don't know if it's fair but I thought "How Could I let you fall by yourself While I'm wasted with someone else"

Ashton glanced around at the Paris skyline as you both sat on the balcony. The glimmering Eiffel tower caught his eye, a thought popped into his head as he stifled a giggle you looked at him confused as to what he was so amused about “are you a tower? because Eiffel for you” he says with a smug smirk on his face like he’d came up with the line. You smile at him knowing how much of a idiot he was, you were both glad you had this time together, it felt like you were in a relationship with a ghost as he was almost never home and you were waiting around for someone who was out there with a load of other people probably not even having a second thought about you but he was extremely quick to reassure you that wasn’t the case and if it was as much as it would hurt you both he would break it off knowing that it wouldn’t be fair to you.

If we go down then we go down together They'll say you could do anything They'll say that I was clever

You sipped your latte as you sat on a small metal table in front of a small café. Ashton’s scrolling through his phone while you admire the city around you “what are we gonna do today?” you ask Ash like he’s your personal tour guide since he’s been here before. “whatever you want to do, anything you can think of we’ll do it” he says looking up from his phone and squinting when the harsh sunlight hits his hazel eyes. His eyes where like honey in the sun, he always claimed he hated the colour of his eyes whereas you believed they were the most amazing things you’d ever seen “you know I’m bad at making decisions Irwin” you smirk at him “we could go to the Louvre?” he looks up at you once again, you hum in response as you take another sip of your latte “even though they don’t have the best masterpiece, you” he snickered you kicked his shin under the table “youre so lame you know” you state he nods his head gazing back down at his phone.

You look so proud Standing there with a frown and a cigarette Posting pictures of yourself on the internet

You snapped a shot of Ashton next to the Eiffel tower he looked amazing as always he stays stood in the same spot for a while just staring at you, cigarette between your fingers fumbling with your phone he presumed you were adding filters etc. to the picture you just took he strolled over to you resting his chin on your shoulder watching your phone as you tap away at different things trying to make the picture match the theme of your Instagram. As you add the finishing touches to the photo you switch to Instagram before stamping out your cigarette and post it with a rose emoji as the caption and tagging him in it. He turns his head placing a kiss on your cheek “I love you so much” he states, you turn around facing him putting your hand inside his leather jacket wrapping them tightly around his waist “I love you too Ash, thank you” you say breathing in his citrusy cologne “thank you for what?” he asks with a confused look on his face “just being you and sticking with me through all my crazy meltdowns, there’s no one else id rather be with here than you” you say, you feel him kiss the top of your head as he holds you even tighter.

Out on the terrace We breathe in the air of this small town On our own cuttin' class for the thrill of it

Getting drunk on the past we were livin' in

You and Ashton found yourselves back out on the balcony in only your robes in a comfortable silence, tipsy and tired. Your mind began to wonder to where it all started.

“no you didn’t even get close to the bullseye, take a shot” you laugh as you watch him swallow down another shot after missing a dart yet again “I’m starting to think you’re cheating” he mutters “how can you even cheat in darts? You’re just a sore loser who’s to drunk to know I’m the best darts player ever” you giggle slightly slurring your words. It was nearly 2 am and all your friends had left after a drunken night of embarrassing ourselves which left you in a bar on your own with the one and only Ashton Irwin who you recognised from that one underwear song a few years back. He was quick to correct you that it was called she looks so perfect and was also quick to tell you he had changed a lot since then. You both started talking also noticing how his friends also left one bye one “and then there where two” he giggles “I guess so what are the plans then” you ask him sipping the tiny straws that are floating in your mojito glass “back to my hotel to watch some shitty lifetime movie?” he ask studying your face to see your reaction by the way it lit up he knew that you were in “watching shitty lifetime movies is actually my favourite past time” you say grabbing your bag and drinking the last of your cocktail.

You thought it was strange how that one night you spent with him ended up becoming such an amazing relationship. Youre glad it happened so naturally because online dating wasn’t your thing it felt kinda forced. The story was definitely one to tell the grandchildren you though smiling looking down at the empty beer bottle in your hand.

We'll get away with everything Let's show them we are better

It was your last night in Paris and you and Ashton decided to go on a walk around the beautiful city, it was almost 9pm and the sky was sparkling almost as much as the Eiffel tower in front of you “shall we go up?” Ashton asks quietly “Ash you know I’m afraid of heights” you whined wondering why your boyfriend would ask such a dumb question after knowing you for so long “come on please it’ll be worth it I promise” he pleads and after around 10 minutes of bargaining you find yourself half way up the tower waiting to get to the top. Your tight grip on Ashtons hand not releasing in fear you may just drop and fall without his strong arm holding you. You make it to the top and see the twinkling city which makes you forget how high up you are because of its beauty. You speed walk to railing wanting to get a closer look not noticing Ashton wasn’t by your side anymore “Ash have you seen how beautiful this is?” you ask expecting him to come to your side but he didn’t “ashton?” you say turning around to find him down on one knee with the biggest smile on his face ever. Your hands instantly fly to cover your mouth which was agape in shock. “y/n will you marry me?”

[sprnklersplashes]

a promise of ice cream

Karen really, really hates needles. But she really, really loves Janis. And ice cream. And the combination of the two of those might just convince her to go through with it. 

Trigger warning for needles+phobia of needles. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Janis chirps, her foot landing on Karen’s window seat as she pulls herself through the open window. “I know your mom doesn’t like me coming in through the window but I parked Sabrina round the side and I cleaned my boots before coming so I won’t get any mud on your seat. Again.” She jumps off the seat and hops over to Karen’s bed. “You know, my aunt dated this guy back in the 80s and she came in through his window at like, 3am. I read it in her diary-” Her voice trails off. Karen is pressed far into the corner of her wall, hidden behind as many stuffed animals and cushions as she could get her hands on. She’s clutching her oldest and most precious one-the stuffed rabbit she got as a baby-close to her chest, and the giant floppy dog Janis won her at the carnival a few weeks ago is stretched across her lap like a barrier between her and the cruel outside world. Amidst the mountain of satin and fluff and wool, her face is pretty much the only thing that’s visible, her perfect white teeth biting into her pink lips nearly hard enough to draw blood and her face chalk white, dark smudges under her eyes she didn’t bother hiding with concealer.

She knows why she’s like this. Of course. There’s a reason she came in through the window bright-eyed and bushy tailed and full of enough joy for the both of them, even if cheer is normally Karen’s forte. Because today’s the day Karen’s getting a needle.

There was no getting around her mom. She had given Karen most of her shots as a baby and in school, but her dumb anti vax dad and stepmom (sweet lord, the stepmom) refused to let her get her ovarian cancer shot and hid the leaflet from her mom, distracting Karen and telling her it wasn’t that important anyway. Now her dad’s out of her life for good and Jen has checked Karen’s medical records and tried to break it to Karen as gently as possible that she needed another shot.

Apparently, it hadn’t been pretty. Apparently it had involved Karen screaming, really, truly screaming and crying, dropping to the ground and begging, begging her mom not to make her go through with it. But Jen refused, of course. Karen and her health mean absolutely everything and then some to her mom. Janis can relate, of course.

And Janis is the only reason Karen has agreed to go. That’s the deal; Karen will go to the Evil Doctor (her words, not Janis’) as long as Janis goes with her to hold her hand and they have snuggle time later (again, Karen’s words). Janis didn’t have any plans for today, but even if she did, she’d cancel them all in a heartbeat to be by Karen’s side.

“Come on, Kare-bear,” she says, reaching past her fortress of fabric to poke her cheek. “The sooner we go the sooner we can come back and cuddle.”

“No.”

“Karen,” she sighs. “I know you don’t want to. But it’s important. It’s so you don’t get sick.”

“Maybe I want to be sick,” she says, a feeble attempt at malice. “Maybe I like being sick. When I got sick last year you came over and watched movies with me.”

“Not this kind of sick, babe,” she tells her, stroking underneath her wide, fearful eyes. She dampens down the impatient flare she feels inside her and scoots up to be as close to Karen as she possibly can. Her heart aches for her, her girlfriend who normally has enough joy to power their school, pushing herself into the bedroom wall in an attempt to make herself disappear and curling in on herself. There’s another, unspoken reason why Karen’s mom allowed Janis to come with them and that’s because Janis is probably the only person able to talk Karen into coming. So she lowers her voice as much as she can, using the soft and gentle tone she reserves for Karen and Karen only. “It’ll only take five minutes and I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” she says quietly, holding Bunny closer to her chest. “It’s gonna hurt.”

“I know, darling, I know,” she whispers. “But it’s only going to hurt for a little minute and then it’s all over. And then we can come back and cuddle all day long.” She frowns, her resolve weakening.

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Janis holds out her little finger and Karen, breaking out into a smile, wraps her own baby finger around it.

“You can’t break pinky promises,” she says sternly. The smile drops as soon as it came and her lips roll into a thin line. She takes tight hold of Bunny and begins twisting him around, making Janis worry she might rip his little head off. “Can we get ice cream when we’re done?”

Janis takes a look outside the window; despite the sunshine, February seems reluctant to give way to spring. Grey clouds promise rain and the extra sweater Janis wears on top of her long sleeved shirt and beneath her heavy jacket proved wise. Still, if it makes Karen happy…

“Of course we can,” she promises, dropping a kiss to her nose. “So… are you coming?”

“Yeah.” She pushes her animals away and throws her cushions off her, littering her floor with them. They’ll deal with that when they come back. Her legs are unsteady as she stands and her hair flies off in every direction.

“Come here,” Janis laughs, lifting a comb from Karen’s table. She gently rakes it through her golden locks, running her hand down where she’d finished, and clips the front section back with a sparkly hairclip. She taps the tip of Karen’s nose with her finger. “Beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she replies, slipping her hand into Janis’. It’s cold and stiff from trying not to shake, but Janis won’t press. Instead she looks back at Karen’s bed, at the abandoned teddies strewn across the covers.

“You know, you can bring Bunny with you,” she says. “I know he makes you feel safe.”

“No,” she says with surprising force. “I don’t need him.”

“You don’t?”

“Nu-uh.” She shakes her head, blonde hair moving to and fro. “Only babies take their toys to the doctor’s. And I’m not a baby.” She looks at Janis sheepishly. “Right?”

“Right,” she echoes, dropping a swift peck on her lips.

Downstairs, Jen paces the kitchen on the phone, regarding the two of them with a brief wave. If she was worried about Janis coming in through the window, she doesn’t show it, too invested in the phone call. By the looks of things, it’s isn’t good, and Janis instinctively pulls Karen closer, her thoughts immediately jumping to Karen’s dad. He may not have contacted them in over a year, but she knows that doesn’t mean he won’t try again.

“No I understand,” Jen says, shooting Janis an apologetic look. “Yes I know it’s important just… Karen’s got a doctor’s appointment now. In ten minutes.” Her voice trails off as the voice on the other end of the phone hammers on, chipping away at Jen’s resolve bit by bit.

“Everything okay Jen?” Janis asks.

“Fine,” she replies in a low voice, turning the phone into her shoulder. “Just emergency clients coming into the office and I didn’t expect to be called in today so I never requested today off and I can’t seem to get out of it-”

“So I don’t need to go!” Karen beams. “We can do it later.”

“Oh, you’re going,” Jen says, running a hand through her hair, the same shade as her daughter’s, but stopping just past her chin. “Maybe if I can push it back or-”

“I can take her,” Janis says, making Jen stop dead in her monologue.

“Janis, no!” Karen hisses in her ear, half-angry, half-desperate.

“Are you sure?” Jen asks.

“Completely. I have my truck so I can drive her.” Karen shakes her head and Janis tries to ignore the fury in her eyes. She’ll be paying for this later, no doubt. Jen on the other hand almost goes weak with relief and comes over to clap Janis on the shoulder.

“Janis Sarkisian,” she says. “Do you save the world every day or just on Saturdays?”

“Only when it’s important.” Beside her, Karen glares daggers at her. Daggers that are probably pink, sparkly and strawberry scented.

“I am not talking to you,” she announces in the truck. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she keeps her face forwards, looking out at the road.

“You just did.”

“Damn it!” she squeaks. “You tricked me.”

“No, no I didn’t.” Karen pouts, keeping her eyes off Janis, and she lets out a sigh, the smirk melting from her face. “Look, Karen, you need to get this shot. It’s important.”

“My dad said it wasn’t!”

“Your dad is an asshole!” Karen shifts in her seat, her eyes moving down to her lap.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. So your mom needs you to get this shot because your dad didn’t get it for you. And I need you to get this shot because I want you to be healthy because I love you. Okay?” She doesn’t miss how the corners of her mouth turn up at her admission. But she also doesn’t miss how her hand moves seemingly subconsciously to her upper arm, or how her smile drops and her eyes grow wide and how her chest moves as she takes in a slow breath.

“I don’t like them,” she admits in a small voice. “I don’t like how it feels.”

“No one does, Kare-bear,” Janis replies softly. “But I’m going to be there the whole time, okay? You just hold my hand and look into my eyes and it’s over before you know it.” Karen stays quiet and Janis can see the cogs of her mind moving in the unique way they do, a way that’s uniquely Karen. People think she doesn’t understand, but Janis knows she does.

“Can we get ice cream when it’s over?”

“Of course.”

Despite the promise of ice cream, Karen freezes when they pull into the doctor’s office and her steps are slow and fragile as they cross the parking lot. Janis sits her down in the waiting room, slightly crushed at the fact that not even the fashion magazines or colouring books or bright rainbow abacus distracts her. She keeps looking back at her as she checks her in with the nurse. She’s like marble, so white and so still, except for the way her fingers fidget in her lap and for a second Janis actually does consider taking her home, lying to Jen and spending the day watching Karen laugh and hugging her.

She doesn’t, of course, but the temptation is there.

“Karen Smith?” Karen squawks a little at her name. “The nurse is ready for her.”

When Janis tugs on Karen’s hand, she finds it ice cold. She shakes her head, the movements minute, her mouth almost open, protests dying on her lips.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers, tilting Karen’s face to make her look at her. “Remember what I said? Just keep looking at me, just stay with me. It’s okay. Two minutes. One minute, even, okay?” Karen nods, if she could call it that, and rises with Janis, letting her take her down the hall to where the receptionist had guided them. Janis herself doesn’t like doctor’s offices; they’re unnaturally clean and the carpets are ugly and the posters freak her out. But she can handle them well enough, Karen less so. Her nails dig into the back of Janis’ hand, leaving little marks in the skin no matter how much Janis reassures her.

“Hi, Karen,” the nurse greets as they enter her office. That’s another thing Janis doesn’t like about doctors and hospitals; how fake the demeanours are. There’s a big juicy pay check behind every smile. “If you just want to come in here. Your friend can come in too.”

She doesn’t need to guess which one’s which, not with Janis whispering comforts into Karen’s ear and the other girl clinging to Janis like a lifeline.

“Girlfriend,” Karen corrects. Despite the terror leaking through her hand, she manages to puff out her chest a little, a proud smile on her pink lips. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Coming for moral support?” the nurse teases, not unkindly.

“She promised me ice cream,” she replies, turning to Janis with a grin. It warms Janis to see it, however shaky it is.

“Lovely. So just pop yourself up on the table there for me.” Karen goes over, still mostly with Janis’ help, and lets Janis get her up on the blue table. She can feel the nurse working behind her and makes sure to keep Karen’s eyes on her. “And can you take your little jacket off for me honey?” Karen’s hand brushes over her jacket. Janis was there the day she bought it, cut off below her chest, dyed pink denim and little star-shaped buttons. Karen nearly died when she saw it on the rack.

“I like my jacket,” she replies, her voice cracking.

“I’m sure you do, hon,” the nurse replies, taking a break from preparing her stuff to look over at Karen. “But I just need you to take if off for a second so I can get at your arm, then you can put it back on, okay?”

The word ‘okay’ barely leaves Karen’s lips, but she does as she’s told and takes off the jacket, even if her movements are slow and robotic. Janis brushes her hair away from her shoulder, her arm brushing against her chest as she does so, and she feels the frantic thud of her heart and the shakiness of her shallow breathing. Her shoulders, her whole body is so tense Janis fears she may snap in half. She only has minutes and does what she can, kissing her forehead and telling her she’s okay and running her fingers down her hair, but nothing works.

Then the nurse brings her rickety little metal cart over and Karen dares to look, and she catches sight of the sinister silver tip, glinting in the artificial light.

And she snaps.

“No.” She shakes her head firmly, her shoulders wriggling under Janis’ grasp, her chin wobbling as she starts shaking her head. Her voice starts small, just a fraction of a whisper between her and Janis, but it builds. “No, no, no, no!”

“Hey, hey Karen, look at me.” Karen fights back and she’s pretty sure that if she didn’t have three layers of clothing on, there’d be scratches on her arms. Still, she’s stronger than she is, and manages to at least hold her in place, trapping her legs between hers and taking her shoulders firmly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you hate it. Just one little pinch and it’s over.”

“I don’t want to,” she whines, tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks. Janis bites back some of her own. “I-I don’t want to.”

“I know.” She smooths away her hair. “I know, darling. But just one little pinch and then it’s all over. Remember what I said in the truck. Come on, what did I say?”

“You said… you said um… you said to just hold your hand and look in your eyes and it’ll be over.”

“That’s right. That’s right okay?” She grabs hold of Karen’s hand, trying to give her whatever strength she can. Karen’s eyes move to the side, to where the nurse is, but Janis takes her chin and moves it ever so slightly. “Hey, hey. Don’t look at her look at me, okay? Just look at me. Deep breaths come on. Remember how I taught Gretchen? In for eight, out for eight, okay?” Karen nods, matching her breaths to Janis’ as best she can. Janis rests her forehead against hers, bumping their noses together. “That’s my girl.” As subtlety as she can, she gives a nod to the nurse, who stands awkwardly behind Karen with the needle ready.

When Karen flinches as the nurse wipes down her arm, Janis kisses her forehead.

When Karen gasps when the nurse plunges the needle into her arm, Janis lets her hold her arm as tightly as she needs, breathing steadily against her as the nurse pushes the syringe down as quickly as she can, but not quick enough.

When the nurse presses a little cotton ball into Karen’s arm and fastens it with a little piece of tape, Janis tells Karen that it’s over, whispering how proud she is of her and that it’s over, it’s over, she’s okay.

And when the nurse leaves to let them have a moment of privacy, Janis lets Karen sob into her shoulder.

“I am never, ever doing that again,” Karen declares. They’re stretched out on Karen’s bed, Janis leaning up against the headboard and Karen’s head in her lap, Janis’ hand doing lazy circles on her stomach. On the way home, Janis called into the grocery store to make good on her promise; a pint of mint chip for herself, a pint of raspberry ruffle for Karen and a pint of honeycomb to share.

“Never again,” she agrees through a mouthful of ice cream. It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s the truth Karen needs to hear. “How’s the arm?”

“Hurts.”

“I’m sorry, love,” she says, kissing her fingertip and ghosting it over the spot where the needle had gone in. “Tell me if it gets too sore to move, okay?”

“Janis?”

“Mm-hm?”

“I’m sorry.” Janis sits up to attention, putting her ice cream down, hoping she doesn’t stain the pillow. Karen looks up at the ceiling with wide and guilty eyes, moving Bunny’s ears forwards and backwards.

“You’re sorry?” she asks. “What for?”

“For being scared.”

“Baby-”

“I shouldn’t be scared,” she says. Janis isn’t sure which one of them she’s talking to. “It’s stupid.”

“It is not stupid.” She shifts herself, pulling her legs up, and Karen sits up and crosses her legs, looking at her through a curtain of tangled blonde hair. Janis cups her cheek, trying to find the right words. “Karen… it’s okay to get scared.”

“You never get scared.”

“Yes I do. I’m scared of spiders. And I used to be scared of Regina, remember?” Karen nods and Janis wonders if she’s thinking of the same thing she is; twelve year old Janis hiding in bathrooms and Karen’s conflicted eyes watching her from the other side of the yard. She brushes it off, bringing herself to the here and now.

“You’re not now though. And you’re not scared of needles. Or your dad. Or your grades. Or the dark.” She flicks the star shaped night light mounted on her wall. “You’re always brave. I’m not. And I wish I was.”

“Okay, come here.” Janis pulls her into her arms, Karen finding her favourite spot, nestled into the crook of her neck. “Don’t worry about being brave, Kare bear. I’ll be brave enough for the two of us. Just like you’re happy enough for the two of us.” Karen laughs into her hair and presses kisses into her neck and on the underside of her jaw. “So when you need to be brave, I’ll be there. I’ll help you.”

“Just like when you need to be happy, I’ll be there to help you,” Karen says.

“Exactly.” She pulls away, ignoring Karen’s small noises of protests, and runs her hand through her hair. “Because you make me very, very happy Karen.”

“You make me happy too,” Karen says before moving in swiftly to kiss her. “I love you.”

“I love you twice,” she grins against her lips.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Always. Now, want to share that raspberry ruffle with me?”

Karen looks from the carton to Janis, pondering her decision, while Janis thinks about how lovely she looks when she’s thinking.

“Okay,” she says. “But only because you’re my favourite person ever.”

“You can have some of mine too,” she says, feeling a little dizzy. The good kind of dizzy. “Because you’re mine.”

Karen’s mom gets home a little after three, just before Janis is about to text her parents and let them know she’ll probably be at Karen’s all day. She pops her head around the door, finding Karen asleep in Janis’ lap, Janis stroking Karen’s hair with one hand and scrolling through photos on her phone with the other, and three tubs of ice cream on the dresser, each one a different level of demolished.

“She’s still alive then?” Jen asks fondly.

“Just about,” Janis answers, stroking her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Did she have too much trouble?” she asks.

“She handled it,” Janis decides to say, even though the memory of Karen shaking and sobbing makes her flinch.

“Thank you for taking her Janis,” Jen says.

“Of course,” she replies. “Any time.”

“Staying for dinner?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at that dresser. “If that ice cream hasn’t spoiled your appetite.”

“Oh, nothing could do that to your cooking,” Janis says, making Jen laugh. She looks a lot like Karen when she laughs. She nods and shuts the door with a gentle click.

“You’re staying for dinner?” Karen’s groggy voice asks. Her eyes are still closed, her hand closed around Bunny, her legs hanging off the bed.

“Yes I am, Kare,” she says softly, running her hand gently through her hair.

“Yay,” she whispers before falling silent again, her chest steady against Janis’ legs. Janis leans back against the wall, trying not to wake her as she laughs silently, her lips clamped together. “Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“Always will, darling,” she replies, not caring if Karen hears it or not. People think Karen doesn’t know a lot, but Janis will make sure that she knows how much she loves her.

[fawnideer]

Kyoutani Headcanons

Kyo is my favorite Haikyuu boy and he deserves more recognition :( so here I am @ 3am writing out all the Kyoutani headcanons I can remember lmaooo

Animals love him. Like, ALL animals: large, tiny, old, young. Kyoutani himself doesn’t know why, but he’s never really questioned it. The team finds it funny because people are so wary of Kyoutani yet animals just aren’t intimidated by him at all

A family of ducks once followed him across the street so that they could cross safely. It made the local news

He has a little sister, who’s in elementary school. She’s the polar opposite of Kyoutani- sweet, adorable, sensitive, harmless, etc., and he walks or drives her to/from school every day

Kyoutani is a surprisingly calm and quiet driver, although he does speed and it doesn’t take much for him to get road-rage

He drives his dad’s old 2003 Toyota Corolla (it’s red), and he got his license at a younger age than normal so that he could drive his sister around. He didn’t like the idea of her walking by herself to a friend’s house or to their grandparents’ house

Kyoutani’s mom passed away when he was young (around age 10). His sister was only 2, so she doesn’t remember much of their mother. But apparently, according to their dad, Kyoutani has a lot of her features

Kyoutani’s mom was black, so he’s got her curly hair and darker skin tone

Though Kyoutani won’t ever admit this, another reason why he dyed his hair was because he was tired of his dad looking at him with this odd sadness in his eyes, as if he was the embodiment of his mom

His dad has a drinking problem. It started after Kyo’s mom passed because his parents were really close and very much in love. He used to be close to his dad when he was young, but he became distant, and now he never sees him since he’s always at work

Kyoutani’s grandparents (on his mom’s side) are financially very well-off, and they help out a lot in paying for his school expenses (Aoba Johsai is a private school so it’s expensive af, but his grandparents love and support his volleyball dreams)

Kyoutani and his fam live in a small house in a run-down neighborhood. This is part of the reason why he always looks so scary, because as a kid he thought that the older neighborhood kids were terrifying delinquents who would beat him up if he didn’t look intimidating enough

His dog is a shepherd mutt and her name is Bella. Kyoutani talks to her (and all animas) in a gentle, quiet little voice that is very out-of-character for him

Sometimes his dad gets violent when he drinks too much (though this rarely happens because he is rarely home from work). Kyoutani sends his sister to their grandparents’ house for the night to keep her safe

Kyoutani hates hot weather. It makes him mad because you can only take off so many layers of clothing to try and seek relief from the heat, yet when it’s cold, you can add layer after layer and you’ll be able to warm up endlessly until you’re no longer cold

He has insomnia. When he can’t sleep, he watches volleyball films and tries to take note of certain techniques. Or, he watches long medical documentaries, because they’re so boring that they put him right to sleep

When he was a kid, he wanted a dog so bad that when he got a goldfish for a pet, he literally named it “dog”

Kyo has a thing for legs. Like, if he has a crush and said crush wears shorts it will murder him 100%

Once, on his way to school, he rescued a baby squirrel that had fallen out of a tree and put it in his jacket to keep it warm. He got to volleyball practice that morning and took it out of his jacket and Watari cried when he saw it because it was just so damn cute. Since then the team has seen him in a softer light :’)

He and Watari actually vibe pretty well, because Watari is quiet and respects his personal space and he’s got a generally calming presence. Kyoutani just feels very comfortable around him, and though he’s never said it aloud, Watari knows this because Kyo will come and stand/sit by him when the rest of the team is loud and/or getting on his nerves

He hates scarves because he hates when things touch his face, which is why his hair is short and has stayed that way. Otherwise it would get in his face and annoy the crap out of him

His favorite curse word is “fuck” but his favorite insult is “shit-bag”

When he gets overly annoyed, his legs/arms twitch and it’s impossible for him to sit still

In general he finds it hard to sit still, because staying in one place/position for so long is boring

He’s horrible at writing and spelling and he isn’t too great math, but he understands science fairly well, especially physics

Once his respect is earned, he’ll stay loyal until his trust is broken. If you break his trust, it will be nearly impossible to gain it back

He’s stubborn as shit, except when it comes to his little sister because he’s whipped for her and he’d do almost anything she asked

In grade school he really liked playing with clay in art class (because it’s squishy and he gets to smash it, duh), and he’d always bring home the clay animal sculptures he’d made to show his dad. His dad kept them all, and they all sit on a shelf in the living room. Kyo finds this incredibly embarrassing, but he doesn’t have the guts to tell his dad to move them

He doesn’t use his phone much, except when he wants a distraction or when he wants people to avoid talking to him. His texts are simple and he uses lots of abbreviations to hide the face that he can’t spell for shit (example: “r u comin 2 practice”, “tht suckd”, “u = shit”)

Kyoutani is surprisingly good at fixing gadgety things and untying complicated knots. The smaller the task or issue is, the easier it is for him to figure out- like, smaller knots are less frustrating to untie than bigass ones

He hates long distance running, he’d rather run sprints. However, he prefers lifting weights as his form of working out because Iwaizumi lifts weights duh

Contrary to popular belief (since Kyo is a lil punk), Kyoutani doesn’t listen to screamo or heavy metal. In fact, he kinda hates it because he doesn’t like having someone yelling directly in his ears. That shit’s stressful and just makes him a n g e r y

He’s ambidextrous but prefers using his left hand. Unless he’s with other people, then he uses his right hand (he doesn’t know why, it’s just what he does)

When he blushes, you can barely see it on his face, and his expression doesn’t really change all that much, but his ears turn bright red and it’s super cute (but don’t tell him that or he’ll figuratively kick ur ass)

....aaaand that’s it :) I might add to this or make another list later on because my brain is literally like KYOUTANIKYOUTANIKYOUTANI all the fucking time

[sunnieskies02]

You Need It More Than I Do (College AU)

Shouto Aizawa x Reader

3.3k Words

Trigger Warnings: n/a; A/N: This is for you Pinky @pinky-the-elephant-room

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Working at the Elephant Cafe was more shitty than it can get.

You opened and closed the shop every single day, the customers were shitty especially the teenagers/ highschool students. You hated them with a passion, every time they walked in you wanted to bang your head on the wood counter so you wouldn’t have to deal with their antics.

Some of them would make a scene and destroy some of the tables and chairs forcing you to kick them out. Other items you would see these big groups of girls walk in, order something that sounded pretty off of the menu, take thousands of pictures of it and then walk out. And every time they did that you silently thought to yourself ‘What the fuck! Those pieces of shit waste so much food, and they come in EveRyDaY!’

You sigh in utter disappointment but you kept on working throughout the day.

The Elephant Cafe was in a very affluent district, fancy cars would silently roll down the street with designer stores covering each side. You realized that the people who came in had almost all the money in the world, and could give two shits about wasting the food or their money. You hated that, you despised how the kids that would walk in would have the rest of their lives planned while you worked all the hours of the day.

A day in your life went a little something like this: At 3am, you would wake up and do your morning routine and be out the door by 3:30am. At 4 o'clock in the morning you would do package deliveries until 8am where you would then change to go to the cafe and work there from 8:30 to 1 in the afternoon. By the graces of Satan you are blessed with a 30min lunch where for the majority of that time you are a part time hotline operator. Then at 5pm, you close the cafe and head to the local convenience store and work from 5:30 to 10pm and you’d still have to do your online college course.

Four jobs in total, not all of them paid well, and the only job that did pay well was working at Elephant cafe. Your home situation wasn’t the greatest, years before you had become a college student your father had died leaving you and your mother to fend for each other. Your mother was a sweet little old lady who took care of the neighborhood children and was a strong prominent woman. Knowing that your mother was growing older in age, you, in secret, gave up on going to college to make more money to take care of her and was going to stay with her mother to take care of her.

But mother knew best.

She told you “Don’t worry about me sweetheart. You need to live your life, I’m not that much an old hag. I can carry my own, be free, and live life. AND don’t forget to bring me back some grandchildren.” As much as you told her that you wanted to stay and take care of her, your bag was packed and you were shipped off to a new part of the country.

Dad didn’t leave a lot of money when he died. So when you were in the big city and on your own getting a job was your very first priority. As you job hunted, you found plenty of job openings and applied to them as soon as possible. Luckily you didn’t have to worry about housing because your friend Mirio had a spare room in his apartment and was allowed to stay as long as you cleaned up and kept yourself healthy. | this sounds a bit awkward and it would be best if you reworded it.

You felt bad for Mirio, but envied him at the same time He got a full ride to E Univeristy while you were working every hour of every day to amass enough money to survive and still try to graduate on time. Life sucked but there was no other way ( respectful way) at that to make more money than you were already making and saving.

Money had you in a mental bind, you felt bad that you were leeching off of Mirio who was working hard, but now even harder because he had an additional mouth to feed.

“Hey y/n? You seem out of it, what's wrong?’ Mirio’s cheerful voice rocked you out of your depressing thoughts and you turned your head towards him. You sigh, « I just… want to make more money y’know. I already work four jobs and I just wanna make money without having to work. » A laugh erupts from Mirio’s chest and he says « Well, the world doesn’t work that way. That’s why I’m letting you stay here for as long as you need. Don’t fret. »

You wanted to combat his words but his bright smile doesn’t allow you too. You close your computer and make way for your room, you throw yourself into your bed and look at the clock. 12:00’ the clock read « Fuck me. » You turn over and force yourself to get a wink of sleep and prepare for another slave away day.

oOo

Elephant Cafe was bustling as normal, preppy pieces of shit would walk in and cause a ruckus. The same group of girls would walk in order food, snap it, post it, then dip. You rest your head on your hand at the counter, and all of a sudden a man walked it. You lifted your head and saw a man who was wrapped in a dull scarf, with eye bags heavier than your under your eyes.

“I’d like a dark coffee with 4 shots of espresso please.” His voice was deep and velvety, it shook you to your core. “Yessir and may I get the name for your order?”

“Aizawa Shouta please.”

“Your total will be—“ A crash interrupted your sentence. Two high school kids were fighting in the dining area over who knows what. “G-give me a minute I’m sorry.” You reluctantly walk over to them and try to handle the situation.

“Who the FUCK do you think you are putting your hands on me!!”

“I barely touched you, I am just asking you to leave the premises. You are disrupting the others.”

“I DON'T CARE!!! My dad could buy you and all of those shitty workers back there!!”

‘I’m pretty sure he could.’ “Please ma’am, whatever you and your friend is arguing about could probably be solved by or infinite pockets and—“

“The fuck is that supposed to mean. Are you saying because I have money and privileges I can’t have any problem!?”

You didn’t answer. Then a splash of water is thrown on your face, and the laughter of the woman erupts in your ear. You wanted to keep your job, but something in you snapped.

“ Your right. I do think that you're privileged and rich and yes you might have problems but I bet you wouldn’t LAST a day in my life.” The girl was silent and shocked “I WORK FROM 4am to 5pm every single day. Four jobs from 4am to 5pm AND I go to college online. I don’t make enough to live on campus, or enough to live on my own. I’m sick and tired of rich pieces of shit not respecting those that work for and around you. You come in here everyday, and disrespect all of us and threaten to have us fired! YOU’RE DADDY’S GIRL AND I HOPE HE CUTS YOU OFF SO YOU'LL HAVE TO FIGURE OUT HOW THE WORLD REALLY WORKS. I GET SO TIRED OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE WORLD AT THEIR FEET AND NEVER WORKED A DAY IN THEIR GODDAMNED LIFE!”

The girl looked at you slack jawed. She didn’t know what to say, she looked at you in awe. “Go a head and call your daddy, cuz’ that’s all the fuck you know how to do.”

You walked back behind the counter and continued with the customer who didn’t look dazed at all. Drenched in water, out of breathe, adrenaline pumping “Your total is 5.95. Will that be cash or card?”

“Cash,” he said. He fumbled in his pocket and handed you an American Black Card. You swipe it and he tells you “Debit is fine.” You look at him with a warm smile and back down at the illuminating screen.

“I like what you did back there. She looked really surprised that there are people who actually work.” You scoff, “ Hell yeah, and I work too hard for her to always call on her dad when things don’t go her way. My dad died so does it look like I can call on him, hell no. I work four jobs and I’m still poor.” Realizing that you damn near poured your life to this man you didn’t know you look up and see a small smile.

His order is completed and you hand him his drink. “While you were working so hard her dad showed up.” You roll your eyes and groan, then an envelope and business card is handed your way. “ If you are fired just give me a call. I’ll help you, a hard worker nowadays is hard to come across. And daddy’s little girl is a prime example.” Once he walked up the girl's dad spoke with you, and you were happy that he sided with you in the matter. Which resulted in the girls father cutting her off to make her work to be just as wealthy as he was since he was self made. The look on her face was priceless and she tried to argue with him but the dad didn’t care at all. Daddy’s little girl would have to become a woman.

As Shouta walks out and you look at the envelope, it looked….pretty thick. A cold sweat ran down your face, what was he trying to do? Was it a sleep agent filled envelope! Was it DRUGS?! Not saying that you wouldn’t use them but….what kind of drugs. You take an envelope and place it in your locker in the back and for the rest of the evening, it sits on your brain.

When your shift was over you grabbed the envelope and rubbed it with your callused hands. ‘What the fuck is in here.’ And at the same time you fumbled his business card in your hands. The card read ‘ Kitty Kafe CEO. Owner Of Kitty Kafe Around the Globe. Mobile #: ***-***-***’ Your heart nearly dropped

Into your ass, ‘WTF!’ You’ve never run home so quickly.

“MIRIO!!!! I-I met thé CEO of Kitty Kafe and he gave me his business card and envelope.” He quirked an eyebrow “Wow! That’s a once in a lifetime chance how’d you look?”

“H-how’d I look? I was in my—“ It dawned on you, when you met him you were in your cafe uniform but later drenched in water. “ I was in uniform but later drenched wet.” Mirio shot you a concerned look “No like that you ass. A customer there threw water on me so… yeah.”

You and Mirio spoke about the events of the day and how you made a girl get financially cut off by her dad. That night you slept soundly but that envelope stayed in your mind.

The next day at the cafe you had the envelope at your side waiting for him to come back and to your luck he did. He had the same look on his face and he said “Well it’s nice to see that you aren’t drenched in water this time.” You chuckle, “Same thing as last time, CEO Shouta?”

“So you looked at the business card, it’s good to know that you're literate. But yes,” He hands you his card and rings up your order, “ I’d like for you to sit with me while I drink you coffee. I don’t want to force you.”

You look up at him and furrow your brows “W-why?”

“Don’t act like a kid, I was intrigued by your actions and what you told me. All I wanted to do was know more.” You relaxed ‘Okay, well at least he isn’t a creep.’ Once his drink was made you hold it and walk with him to the seat. While you and him sat together you learned more about Aizawa, he did come from an affluent family but he wished to make it on his own. He was a self made billionaire and his business was flourishing more than he thought. You had also found out that he hated kids, but he was a teacher for a fraction of his life so that was humorous.

Both of you spoke for hours until the end of your shift. Some days, he would sit and watch you work behind the counter. How the sweat would get stuck in your face, and how you would make everyone’s order perfect. Other days he would purchase something for you to eat and laugh at how some crumbs from the cake would stick to your face.

“Hey, you have something on your face.”

“I-i do. Where?” Aizawa leans across the white table and wipes the crumbs off of your cheek. His calloused finger rubbed over your lip slightly and returned back to your cheek. Your face became dusted with pink as he continued to stare at you. His eyes were a deep maroon color, and the seemed as if they peered into your eyes.

“You have very pretty eyes.” Shouta takes his hand back and places it back onto the table and stares. His eyes had a calming effect, his eyes were somehow piercing but soothing at the same time. On another occasion you had made him laugh, you and him have a mutual hate for children, so when you were sitting and chatting with him and said “These kids are the result of too much money shoved up their asses. They need to get smacked the fuckk up.”

Hearing him laugh was foreign to you. It was deep and hearty, like a dad’s laugh in a sense. Aizawa laughed and laughed and when he finally stopped his face went back to its restless state. You look at him in shock and he says “It wasn’t that funny.” You playfully sock his arm and chuckle, pink dust crosses his face and he smiles. These conversations were to die for.

You enjoyed the time you spent with him and hated it when he had to leave. He waved you a goodbye and walked out. You returned to the table and noticed that another envelope was left and you saw that it had your name on it. ‘Was this for me?’ You picked it up and it dawned on you that you forgot to give him the other envelope. You just had to wait till tomorrow, and tomorrow came.

The same thing happened over and over again, Aizawa would order his dark coffee with 5 shots of expression and ask you to sit with him. When you sat with him, you felt the world was on your side, his still face and weird smiles that looked more scary than sweet made you laugh. And at the end of your shift envelopes would be left on the table. It was like he left them on purpose that late because he would have wanted to see you the next day.

Over 3 months of meeting him and texting him( because you had finally exchanged numbers) you had over 93 envelopes with your name on it sitting in your room. It got on your nerves, why had he left them, what was he planning for you?

The next day when you showed up to open. », Aizawa was there,

“What are you doing here Aizawa and I need to talk to you anyway.” he quirked an eyebrow and said “I’m not going to be able to attend our daily meetings. I'm gonna go out of town. So I wanted to see you.” ‘Hé wanted to see me??’ That was weird but once you unlocked the store you motioned him inside.

“What did you wanna y’all about? ” You closed the door behind him and dumped your bag on the table « These envelopes. What’s in them? » He looked at you and said « Money. »

“Money?” Aizawa walked over to an envelope that was pretty thick and spoke, “I looked into who you are y/n. And you’ve had it pretty hard.”

He was right, hell yeah your life was hard. « You moved from a village to a big rich city for school all in your mother’s words after your father died. You came here to get a good education to get a high paying job to send your mom money, so you work hard. Everyday and I saw the pain in your eyes. You push through it but pushing threw isn’t going to be good enough »

You looked at him in shock and he continued to talk. So, when I saw you handed that girl her ass, I started to like you. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you everyday, you were interesting.”You sit at the table and he says, ' In every last one of these envelopes was enough money to give you your own place and money to send to your Mom.” Tears started to form at the corners of your eyes « Working yourself to death is no way to live if you want to die early. So I wanted to help you and I thought you would have caught on. »

You were shaken, you had only met this man 4 month ago and he was treating you in such a way that no one has treated you before. “Why, why are you doing this? I-I don’t understand, I--”

“You work hard. You are a very determined person and everyday you deal with people shit, who never give a damn about anyone else. And,” he walks over to you and grabs your hand. “Everyday I’ve had the pleasure of speaking with someone as strong and eloquent as you.” Your heart breaks a little, “Is this what happens when you are nice to people? I guess I should be nice to rich people more often.’

You hurriedly wipe the tears off of your face and repeatedly say thank you again and again and again. But a thought dawned on you, “Hey Shouta… how old are you?” He looks down through squinted eyes, “38 years old. Why?”

“I-I’m…(y/a). So that makes you…” you show him a big beaming smile. “Myyyy SUGAR DADDY!!!” You giggle hysterically and he rolls his eyes. “I hate to ask this but what the hell is a sugar daddy?” he asked calmly

“Well~ a sugar daddy is an old man who gives a young boy or girl a shitton of money. And you're kinda doing the same.” You latch onto his arm and hear him emit a disgruntled tch come from his mouth.

“Well at least you are being given money for a good reason. You work harder than what you are paid so I’m paying you….and for also being another realist in this world.” You sigh and look up at him, and he looks back at you and continues “ This world runs on greed and people who are hard workers never have enough money to grant themselves a better life. And those who do have the money to live a lavish life they waste it. I saw you and believed that as hard as you work you need it more than i do. So I’m fine giving you money because you earn it based off of your hard work and determination.

You were happy. You were given the golden ticket and you can finally start being more productive and given a man that doted on you for how hard you work and appreciated it. Aizawa was different, and that’s what made meeting him all the better.

[lizk77]

Ten Years

This was actually originally posted on facebook around the end of the year. It began with my need to share my experience with others. I saw a few of those ‘10 years ago’ posts where people post a pic from back then and a recent one side by side. I tried that and realized I don’t really look much different. But the last decade of my life has certainly been the most meaningful of my life. This is very personal and discusses physical, mental and emotional abuse so if that’s a sensitive subject for you please don’t read. This is why I’ve been absent from tumblr and writing for so long.

I would also say this is not appropriate for anyone under the age of 18 due to adult themes.

It’s been 10 years. A decade. The most difficult yet meaningful decade of my life. When I think back to the person I was 10 years ago, I am amazed by the woman I’ve become today. I stand here at the end of the most difficult decade of my life and I’m proud. Proud of what I’ve accomplished, my strength and everything I’ve learned.

I began this decade feeling nearly suffocated by grief. I was no stranger to grief, but the loss of my mother was like the spiritual and emotional equivalent of having the wind knocked out of you. Pure, utter devastation. I was overwhelmed by my feelings. The whole world felt like a strange, scary place without my mother in it. In the months preceding her death I had tunnel vision, I focused on taking care of her and Emily and didn’t allow myself time to feel anything. So even though I knew she was dying, it didn’t really hit home until after she was gone. I instantly regretted that I didn’t focus more on enjoying my mother’s last months on this earth. I carry that regret with me still today. I should’ve had her teach me how to make her spaghetti sauce. I should’ve written down the recipe for parsley potatoes that she showed me how to make once but I haven’t been able to duplicate since. I should’ve asked her questions. Questions about my grandparents, about my dad, about when I was a baby. I should’ve had her French braid my hair every night. I miss that the most. I should’ve asked her how to be a good mother. What to do when my child is up at 3am puking down the hallway, all over the bed and the carpet. If I should take my kid to the hospital when she has something stuck up her nose, or how high of a fever is cause for alarm. There have been countless instances over the past decade where I would have given anything to be able to call her for guidance and support.

Grief has been the overwhelming emotion guiding me the past 10 years. I’ve learned that grief never ends. It changes, at first the feeling of loss is so raw that you just don’t know how you’ll ever be the same again. Then, over time, it evolves into every emotion. Grief can be happiness, sadness, anger and frustration. It can encompass all emotions at once. There are times even now when I just feel the loss of her all over again and in that moment I’m devastated all over again. I struggled with a lot of things after my mother’s death. I am still struggling with my faith. I have been angry at God for the past decade, so angry that I have neglected the spiritual well-being of my children. I have yet to figure out how to let that go.

I’ve always considered myself to be a strong, independent person. Life made me that way. I’ve experienced enough death, enough pain, enough abuse. Not long after the death of my mother, I was lured into a relationship that provided security. Financial security, which I had never had before. But I lost my strength. For 7 years I allowed my strength and independence to be stripped away. I was broken, ashamed, nobody knew what I was going through. Hell, I didn’t even realize the full extent of it. I was blind to the damage being caused not just to me, but to my children. I told myself our security was more important than our happiness. I realized after a while that I was wrong, but by then I didn’t know how to get out. I was afraid of losing everything.

Then it happened. The one thing I always said I would never tolerate. And yet, I found myself wishing it would happen. Because then I would have a reason. I watched my mother suffer the effects of physical abuse many times while I was a teenager. I vowed that I’d never let that happen to me. But once I was tangled in the web of my own abusive relationship, I began to realize that there are types of abuse that far surpass the physical. Bruises, cuts, even broken bones eventually heal. And it’s so easy to say, “He hit her? What a monster!” The abuse is very evident. But when you’re subjected to the whims of a narcissist, it’s very different. Everybody thinks they’re such a nice guy. They project an image of being loving and caring and happy. But the truth is they are even more of a monster than the guy who beats his wife. For seven years, I merely existed in his world. I tried as hard as I could to give him what he wanted and make him happy. Nothing I did was ever good enough. My daughters and I walked around our house on eggshells, not wanting to poke the sleeping giant. I tried to be the peacekeeper. Tried my best to keep his anger focused on me and not my girls. I told myself I could take it as he backed me into the bathroom, up against the shower wall, screaming at me with his face inches from mine. Spit flying everywhere. He called me worthless, accused me of cheating, told me I didn’t care about my children or the home we built for them.

And I stayed. Because I didn’t know how to leave. I didn’t think I could take care of my home and children on my own. I wasn’t strong enough. I was weak. I wasn’t good enough. After all, that’s what he had told me for 7 years. The day after one of our fights was always surreal. He acted like it never happened. Told me he loved me and he just needed to get his anger out or he’d explode. Like berating me and breaking me down was no big deal. And I would stand there in front of him, bewildered. Amazed by how really fucked up he was. But I stayed. I kept the peace and I stayed.

Until that night. When he hit me, it was like he knocked some sense into me. I remember the look on my daughter’s face after it happened. Tears welled up in my eyes as my baby looked at me with concern and asked if I was ok. I was not ok. Not at all. I saw myself in the face of my baby, saw the concern I felt for my mother all those years. And I drew strength from it. My mom would have been devastated to know what my life was like. I was her strong child, yet here I was broken and weak. I couldn’t let the same cycle repeat itself. I couldn’t let my kids grow up watching their mother being treated badly. I knew that if she were still alive, I would’ve gotten out sooner. She would’ve seen right through him. She would’ve known he was evil and I was miserable. She always did. She always knew. I used to hate that she was always right about my life and my feelings. But now that she’s gone, I truly miss her ability to tell me what’s wrong with my life. She always had a way of calling me out on my bad decisions. And she was the only one I listened too. The only opinion that really mattered.

So I decided to make a change. I called the cops and had him arrested. Then I went the very next day and filed an injunction for protection from abuse. He was gone. My oldest was already with her dad and my youngest went up north to stay with my aunt for awhile. I had two uninterrupted months to find myself again. I picked up the broken pieces of my life and focused on me. I spent time with friends. I went on dates. I lost a bunch of weight. I went out and experienced life beyond my couch. Gradually I began to feel like myself again. I regained my strength. But I also found myself grieving, once again. Despite everything I had been through, I missed my family. I worked hard for 7 years to build a life and it was gone. Of course I didn’t miss the abusive part of my relationship. But there were some things I missed. The feel of someone next to me in bed at night. Having someone to talk to about my day. Despite my decision to stay single and raise my daughters on my own, I found myself lonely at times. Sure I had been out on dates, but I told everyone up front that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I just wanted to keep things casual. Once you tell a guy that there’s really no way to take it back. Plus I had so much baggage. And I’m not talking about my kids. I’m talking about emotional baggage. I was a mess. I faked confidence that I didn’t have. Sure I was getting stronger, but healing takes time. How do you tell someone you just met that you just suffered through 7 years of narcissistic abuse? Without them thinking you’re totally crazy? You don’t. So I held it back. I tried to push it to the back of my mind and forget it was there.

It didn’t work. I decided to try something different. I talked about it. To everyone. Literally. Friends, co-workers, family, dates. Reactions were mixed. Most people were really supportive. Some were not. A lot of people just faded into the woodwork of my life at this point. They stopped texting me and returning my calls. I was upset by this at first, but soon discovered that letting it out was like lifting a huge weight off my shoulders. It was helping me heal. I was growing stronger each day. I have to thank each and every person who listened, even if they had a negative reaction. My healing was much quicker because I let all those feelings go rather than bottle them up. I know, crazy, right? Here I am, the cold-hearted one who buries their feelings deep down, sharing all my feelings with pretty much anyone who would listen. And something amazing happened. I started to smile more. I opened up to people. I started being honest and upfront with people about my feelings. Sure, I’m still hurting and healing, but I really feel transformed. I struggle, I have stress and anxiety, mostly about my children and finances. But I am happy. I am confident again. I know I’m a good person and learning how to let go of all the bad feelings and negativity created by my situation. Some days are good, some days aren’t. Some days I feel strong and on top of the world. Others I feel weak and broken. But the most important thing I’ve learned in the past decade is how to pick myself back up, dust myself off and rise above.

I don’t know what the next decade has in store for me. I know I will continue to focus on my inner growth and raising my children. I will figure out how to be happy and how to struggle less. I will also focus on developing honest and loving relationships with the people I care about. Respect and loyalty and communication are my top priority. My focus has to be me and my children. We come first. I refuse to allow any of us to be mistreated or abused. I will settle for nothing less and surround my family with people who are genuine and who care. This is my goal for the next ten years.

It will be the best years of my life.

Tagging: @allaboutchoices @innerpostmentality @bobasheebaby @sirbeepsalot @darley1101 @desiree---1986

I’m tagging just a few people I know. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to read or reblog.