#this is wholly unedited and i wrote it in under half an hour. i hope it's decent

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

“desperate need to write more narvinromana you say??” 👀👀👀👀👀

so I don’t know if you want to stick to them in the later audios, *but* since the majority of your narvinromana fics *have* been post-Enemy Lines, I would be super interested to see how you write them in say, the time when Leela has left them on the alternate Gallifrey — maybe when she’s just left them, and they’re stuck together with just each other on this hostile world and are maybe stepping into their doubles offices and rooms for the first time? or them during the civil war — maybe between series 2 and 3, on the run from Pandora and Romana trying to figure out her plan of attack and Narvin having Opinions and the very fragile alliance they have — or maybe a moment post-Fractures when Romana is isolating herself and Narvin is trying to secure the Academy and maybe he tries to talk to her?

but also I love their specific dynamic in Time War so much and I always love more Time War narvinromana stories. I know you’ve already written a few TW3 snippets, but I am so interested in any fics about them in exile, when suddenly they aren’t President and Coordinator (or Chancellor) or Coordinator and Deputy Coordinator anymore. maybe a scene/moment between Nevernor and Unity (aka post-Nevernor from what you’ve heard) that’s exploring them just living together in this constantly-on-the-verge-of-malfunctioning TARDIS as they’re following Leela’s biodata trail and the impact of that situation on them and their relationship?

but really I will be interested in anything you write with them!! <33

HOW HAVE I NEVER WRITTEN S5 NARVINROMANA BEFORE

---

There's an assassination attempt at least every other Tuesday, for Rassilon's sake — all of him, every regeneration, and the Rod and robes and blasted sandals as well — and Narvin cannot stop shaking. When Leela left, he thinks she took all their collective strength with her. Maybe she was their strength.

Either way, his hands shake near-constantly these days and a part of him longs for the Axis, lonely and desolate as it may have been. At least it was safe. At least they were together. With first Braxiatel, who admittedly, Narvin did not mourn as much as he could have, and now Leela gone as well, albeit in a much different way, thank goodness, there is half of them missing. It's like losing a limb, or a heart stalling.

Romana frowns, lines between her brows deeper than Narvin can read, whenever she sees him. She's cut her hair. Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar has only had hair this short, not even to her chin, once before, and it was a great many years ago on their own version of their planet; after Etra Prime, if Narvin, who was quietly puttering along in his own shadowy work at the time, remembers correctly. This is something they do not talk about.

They don't talk about Leela, either. They talk security, and reinforcements, and politics and plans. They do not talk about Romana's hair, which Narvin keeps finding himself staring at, or the deepening worry lines between her eyes, or Narvin's shaking hands. Sometimes, Romana's hands shake as well, like she's trying hard not to fall apart, and this, too, is something they don't discuss.

If Narvin is beginning to shred apart at the seams, then Romana is about to shatter. And if Romana shatters, then Narvin will be cut open, and neither of them will ever be whole again. (Neither of them is whole to begin with. They haven't been in a long time.)

So, just once, absolutely uncharacteristic much as he hates to admit it, Narvin takes a risk. There was another attempt on her life today and as common as it is, Romana is shaking despite her own composure. The two of them are composed of contradictions. She's perched on the edge of her desk, Narvin sitting in the chair itself, which somehow seems both backwards and completely correct. Her hands are shaking and she's pretending they aren't, except that she keeps combing through her short hair, can't keep still.

Narvin catches her hand as it drops from the back of her head and for the first time this entire evening, since the sudden rush of panic and immediacy that followed her nearly being killed, again, they both are still. Romana stares at him, for just a moment, eyes wide but the worry lines disappearing, and then squeezes his hand back. Wraps his hand in both of hers until he brings the other one up to join it and closes his eyes, feeling her double-pulse in her wrists and the cold solidity of her touch. They may not be whole, but they are both here. Romana is alive; this is what matters most of all.

He wishes he trusted the guards who watch over her. He wishes he could watch over her himself, so for now, he does just that. Holds her hands for as long as she will allow and maintains the pretense of conversation when she finally pulls away so that he has an excuse to walk her to her quarters. Were he more of a courageous man he might take one of her hands again, carefully kiss her knuckles. But, no, Narvin is a coward, and they are barely friends. But they're all each other has. Sometimes, their hands shake.

[unimpressedperson]

Once in a lifetime, changes were not doubts | m.yg |

(Found this lovely, cutie utie pic on @mnygni‘s account)

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst

Warnings: Existential crisis

Pairing: @cypher-yngi x Min Yoongi, reader x Min Yoongi

Word Counting: 1.5k

Synopsis: Once Emerson met with her old high school colleagues, she began questioning her own life choices.

A/N: Heeeeeey EM!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! I PURPLE YOU GIRL! IT’S PART OF YOUR BIRTHDAY GIFT! It’s a short one shot, sorry for the small lenght. This piece of writing was inspired by the song ‘Triste, Louca ou Má’ from a brazilian/mexican band called Francisco El Hombre. It’s such an empowering hymn. Hopefully you’ll like it ♥ Forgive any grammatical mistakes. Good reading  xX

It’s highly unedited

The link for the playlist attached to the oneshot and your second birthday gift ♥: Emerson’s Greatest Hits

- x - x - x - x -

Emerson felt like Schopenhauer, facing existentialism and digging in her own thoughts, craving realization or new ideas. Although, her brain worked in a fast pace even during the ungodly hours of the morning. After so many sleepless nights, there were no clues on what's a proper slumber under blankets and anchored by pillows, only flying and allowing her body to float around through dreams.

Tired of stiring between the sheets, she took a deep breathe, opening her blueish-greenish eyes, staring at the darkness consuming wholly the bedroom. When you cannot rest peacefully, nights and days seem to last long, long dusks and long dawns. The yellow mornings and purple evenings all feel the same, no longer being capable to differ them.

She couldn't pierce her eyes closed anyway.

Still feeling the queer comfort of being left sitting in the dark, Emerson got on her feet, hazy with tiredness, awake with one thousand thoughts cruising, synapses and explosions, lighting the darkness behind her eye globes. Brain producing more energy than the whole neighbourhood.

It's weird to imagine how much electricity a body can produce, but cannot spread. Humans are nothing but a storage of unused energy. We are atomic and Emerson knew it, she swore that if the room was quiet enough, she could feel atoms setting, blood rushing in her eardrums, result of the heart beating, pulsating the red and white globes through veins.

Standing up felt weird, anything a palm in front of her face couldn’t be seem. The darkness is terrifying once you’re no longer hiding yourself from everything outside. Once you feel obligated to navigate along it, reach the light switch and hope it will be there. Not being able to perceive a fly in front of you is scary, and Emerson knew it.

Instead of turning the lights on, Emerson decided to keep walking through darkness, listening to shadows speaking. Telling her secrets only daylight can keep, nighttime is a loud speaker, a tattletale. Corners whispers, but once you drown it all in black, then nothing else contain their incessant talking, babbling nonsense.

Emerson listened to them, not stopping their ranting.

Darkness, sleepless nights, tiresome afternoons, nothing could quite hurt her anymore.

Nothing but loneliness.

Maybe, all the rating could not bother Emerson, their voices fulfilled the silence, not leaving room for loneliness. A loneliness daylight couldn’t occupy, fill to the brim. Shadows are full of sounds, everything seems livid in darkness.

Why turn the lights on, when the gloominess hugged so tightly those who accept it?

However, in that specific night, Emerson felt lonely, even accompanied by her ghosts, loud thoughts and thuds of her feet hitting the cold ground.

Emerson felt numb by sleeplessness, but awake with jolts of thoughts. Finally reaching the kitchen, after an eternity of walking and exploring the darkness, she got to the door and, only then, turning on the lights, hissing with clarity, asking for apologies from the shadows who were abruptly shut down. She could no longer bear listening to them. She was going insane. 

The fridge was opened and Emerson grabbed a box of milk, not worrying about pouring the content in a cup, drinking straight from it. Long sips, nurturing her body and slowly blowing away the fog.

A long day ahead. A long day back.

Sitting on a chair and reaching for her laptop, Emerson began remembering the past day.

A high school reunion. Almost 12 years passed and yet douchebags were douchebags, people still talked shit about each other, but now whilst rambling about their conquerings, children, jobs, travels, fulfilled dreams, and well, Emerson felt like just Emerson.

A gymnasium crowded with people on their 30s, old students, old friends whose destinies run apart. They were now gathering 12 years of news, 12 years of events and occurrences. Dyed hair, wigs and a lot of dieting shakes, adults swimming in debts and bills, yet proudly bragging and showing off their achievements.

Emerson decided to sip on her non-alcoholic fruit punch and observe, questioning all her life choices, mainly the moment where she accidentally accepted hanging out with venomous colleagues. She was sitting on the benches and taking a mental note on never accepting anything without thoroughly reading ever again, specifically if the e-mail has her school emblem and the option to turn down.

Staring at everyone, showing off their kids and apartments, Emerson thought about life.

In ten years she rented her own small place, kept a good long-distance relationship with a korean music producer, a stable job as a psychologist, yet all the bragging made her question: How much did I actually change?

Growing old felt easy, but growing old comfortably always bugged Emerson. Once she left high school, her dream was to evolve, grow out of her shell and be Karen Horney for the teenagers. Unfortunately life ain’t that easy and concluding university costed too much of her sanity, despite all the loneliness and issues, she managed to survive.

Leaving the High School meeting felt reliving. What a waste of precious time, getting around people she hated or barely knew. It drained all the energy from her body and once she arrived at home, let her flesh and bones carve their shape on her bed, hopeful and wishing for some rest. But her brain couldn’t shut off and get in R.E.M sleep, going through everything that happened during all those 12 years.

In a well filled with loneliness and gloominess, Emerson met Min Yoongi through internet.

After finishing high school and entering university, Emerson discovered a profound love for acoustic rap. Her roommate showed a song from Rap Monster and his lyrics about anxiety and fear of failure, some of them masterpieces and within weeks, the girl was dipping down on a spiral of acoustic songs, charged with unhuman levels of sentimentalism and words. Among the talented rappers, a certain small yet rageful guy named Min Yoongi, or Agust D, started playing on Youtube.

Agust D, stage name from a korean rapper who moved to United Kingdom when he was 14, wrote about depression crudely, getting rid of metaphors whenever the subject was himself, but showing off his writing skills and capacity of creating parallels between rap and philosophy. Emerson fell head over heels for him and commented on one of his videos with such passion, expressing how grateful she felt for finding out about his work.

What actually surprised her was his answer: his personal e-mail address, an emoticon winking and other of a phone. He asked for her phone number in a subtle way. Smooth.

Their bonding was instantaneous.

Although he lived in Northern Ireland, too far from Emerson, yet they worked their arses off in order to meet monthly.

Her dating aspect of life was amazing, a long-term relationship with someone compatible and comprehensible.

Why did she feel so incomplete and lonely after all?

Staring blankly at her laptop screen, suddenly her vision got wet and blurry. Tears streaming down her face, ruining the make-up she applied in order to look more mature. Black eye liner? Ruined. Concealer? Stained. Mascara? No longer existing. Everything running down and breaking the coat of foundation.

Emerson wanted to improve herself and wished upon a star everyday. 

She had an amazing life, with a good job and a stable relationship. Yet her brain couldn’t see how amazing she was. No one half as strong and tough could go through hard times on her previous job, all the bullying and mental health struggles without letting the existential pain drop them to their knees.

Her insatisfaction seemed pointless, whenever she thought about rationally, but couldn’t control her brain. Could not hold the negative thoughts down.

Everyone on that goddamn high school reunion seemed to have improved, matured and grow out their childish pants. Changing and living their best life, regardless of bills and difficulties.

Yoongi always bragged about how great his girlfriend was and her co-workers constantly compliment her skills, her empathy.

How could she not understand it? How could she still feel so lonely despite everything surrounding her?

Why couldn’t she feel like evolving and changing?

Out of nowhere, the ghosts decided to pronounce themselves even without shadows to support their voices, asking her why she was crying, who did hurt her and saying the sweetest words, slowly helping and making everything seem to be less lonely.

After crying a river, she cleaned the last remaining tears. The clear, small and, before contaminated by rests of makeup, the black eyeliner corrupting the pureness of each drop, now clean and sheer, the most raw demonstration of innocent sadness.

Indignation.

Rage.

Frustrations.

Among so many changes, ups and downs.

Evolution, it’s not solely a synonym for improvement. Changing, this defines the human evolution. It frustrates. It hurts you. Changing is painful. Emerson felt so much pain whilst watching time flying by.

The teardrops, now transparent, candid like newborn soul, brought to this world within seconds.

In that moment, pure, crude, bare, stripped of luxe, all the past risks and struggles drowning in realization, oh in that moment, Emerson realized her growth. Her changing.

The ghost now had only one voice and the source from every word was placed in front of her: the laptop.

“Hey, love, are feeling better now?” - Yoongi asked through a video call, his gummy smile flashing and making Emerson grin.

She was changing, growing, improving and slowly accepting it.

- x - x - x - x -

Hey babe, did you like it? Here’s the translation for the song I mentioned above:

“Sad, mad or mean

Shall be qualified

Those whom she denies

Follow thus method.

The cultural method

Of husband, of family

Take care, taking care of a routine

Only rejects anyway

Well known method

Those whom are painless

Accepts everything shall change.

That a man doesn’t define you

Your house doesn’t define you

Your flesh doesn’t define you

You’re your own home.

That a man doesn’t define you

Your house doesn’t define you

Your flesh doesn’t define you.

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own.

Cannot perceive myself on that word

Female: hunting target

Settled victim

I’d rather burn the map

Trace the roads all over again

See colours through ashes

And reinvent life.

And the man doesn’t define me

My house doesn’t define me

My flesh doesn’t define me

I’m my own home.

She’s gone senseless

Untied knots

Will live in her own.”