#anyways fixed it now back to regular scheduled programming

[archivingbarca]

fcbarcelona: The Shark. Our shark. 🫶🦈

(ig, 30/03/25)

[physalian]

Y'all ever heard of "IB"? I'll tell you my tale of woe

So we know the US education system is ass, right? The pressure to get good grades over actually learning anything is detrimental to both learning and the desire to seek knowledge and discover our world.

Well I have a little story, about this exact principle on acid. Idk if anyone on here will ever be in/or is already in something called the “International Baccalaureate” (IB) program. What it is, is an “intensely rigorous” allegedly-standardized method of schooling that’s supposed to be transferrable between countries. Like, if I went to an IB school in America, I could transfer to the equivalent education level in France and not be completely lost. That’s the point.

It's way harder than traditional high school, with zero focus on things like arts and physical education (you know, important shit) and a draconian dedication to STEM… and nothing else.

If it’s not clear, this shit did irreparable damage to my high school career, so this is a warning to anyone considering it: If you are not neurotypical and somebody who’s willing to get hospitalized over how stressed you are (which did happen to a friend of mine) maybe skip the snobbish high school? If you don’t plan on being a lawyer or a doctor, maybe skip this bullshit.

—

So, guess who did not know that they’re neurodivergent back then? Me. Somewhere in the realm of ADHD and Autism, possibly both, who knows? Either way, I’m “high functioning” and you’d never know, or so I’ve been told.

I went to this high school because I wanted to be with all my super smart friends, and bought into the classist bullshit of “traditional high school is for dumb kids” and the whole “honors program” hierarchy—in my middle school, your first year there, you were separated into four groups of students.

Group A was the dumb kids, and everybody knew it. Groups B and C were the average-intelligence kids. Group D were the “honors” kids. First day in 6th grade, you were literally handed a themed t-shirt and compared to every other kid you know and don’t know and implicitly told “you’re not as smart as these kids and we want you to know it”. I was in the B-C group, which absolutely led to “well I’m not smart enough to be in D, but at least I’m not an idiot like A”.

Super healthy shit to teach children.

You did not have classes outside of your group. It wasn’t like elementary school where honors kids split off for a few hours but were still in your class. It was a complete social schism, and you only saw these people during lunch and maybe across the yard in P.E.

Fuck that school.

So anyway, with that damage done, I wanted to go to the fancy high school with all my smart friends, applied, and got in.

When I was younger, I had a massive procrastination problem. The usual stuff, like not starting a project until the night before it was due, forging my parents’ signatures on forms they were supposed to sign as the teacher was collecting them (got super good at that, bet school wishes they hadn’t encouraged it), doing homework in homeroom the morning of, and completely forgetting about readings and such.

Not the case now, but back then it was chronic.

In regular “dumb-dumb” school, one can get away with neglecting a little work.

In IB, if you fuck up in year one, that fuckup will haunt you through your entire high school experience. Everything in IB builds on itself, so if you have a shitty foundation, you are screwed without even realizing it, and there is little fixing it.

IB is also structured irregularly compared to traditional American high school. You only have four “blocks” of classes each day, and they switch off every other day. So I’d have Day 1 on M, W, F one week, and then T R the next week, yada yada, with those blocks lasting 90 minutes. As opposed to the 50-ish minute classes with the same schedule daily.

You would think that this would make it easier, as teachers had more time per period to really dive deep into subject matter without being rushed.

You would be wrong.

IB, like with all American schools, focuses on quantity over quality. Quantity in every facet of schooling. I needed a rolling backpack so I didn’t fuck up my spine hauling around my textbooks because the school didn’t have classroom copies/you needed them every goddamn night for homework and in class. The amount of homework, frequency of tests and quizzes, all that, is increased compared to traditional school.

But my very first class, my 1:1, was Algebra 2. Reader: I am awful at algebra. I cannot learn concepts without being able to ground them in realty. Geometry always came easy to me, because you can see and touch geometry. It has practical uses and follows logic. I can use a formula to measure the volume of a box, or I can bust out the tape measure by hand and get the exact same answer.

Algebra is fictitious, it’s not grounded in the tangibility of geometry, and once we hit stuff like quadratic equations, without being able to understand why I was learning what I was learning and how this all fits in to the greater concept of mathematics and why it matters, I not only checked out, but started to feel very, very stupid.

This was my very first class.

I almost failed Algebra 2. I had gone down to a 33%, because my teacher, for this super smart and super fancy high school, taught the same way every other teacher in that godforsaken place taught: Lecture.

If you do not learn through lecture, you’re fucked at an IB school. If you cannot process and retain information simply because someone tells it to you, you’re fucked. If staring at a 70-slide powerpoint presentation is understimulating, you’re fucked.

This teacher’s personality in particular was absolutely nasty. Haughty as the rest of the school, who made jokes at the idea of returning to the “trads” and the “dumb kids” at regular high school if you dropped out, and we had several who were way smarter than me who left by day 3, who were able to understand that this was not for them, while I stuck it out for 2 years.

I brought that 33% up to a 65% and got my first ever D.

But that first class, opening day of my high school career, left an impression that I carried with me for two whole years: Out of absolute terror of being thought of as “dumb” by leaving all my friends to go to traditional high school, I chose to be the dumbest of the “smart kids” instead of the “smartest” of the “dumb” kids.

And I paid for it.

I spent two whole years completely checked out and unwilling to learn because of this one math teacher on my first day of high school. Once I figured out that this man and this institution did not give a single fuck if I passed and would not change their teaching style at all to accommodate me, I could not be bothered.

I still got decent grades, and I did have classes, like geometry and my second year of English, in which I excelled. I had teachers who cared and loved their jobs, but by and large, I spent two whole years suffering because of the social pressure to pretend to be neurotypical, to learn the “normal” way, to pretend to be the only valid definition of “smart”. I had a Spanish teacher who gave me dresscode 3 days before the end of the school year, right after I failed an oral exam, in the back of the class where everyone could hear us. The entire foreign language department of conservative bitches stared at the girls wearing shorts with far more intensity than they should have.

We had this thing for “volunteer” hours that had three groups: community service, creative hours, and one other thing I can’t remember. I do remember desperately approaching my shit guidance councilor, the sole lady responsible for the entire school’s population of IB kids, asking if I could count my builds in Minecraft as part of my creative hours because I needed a certain number of hours to pass.

She I guess heard “video game” and thought I was slacking off killing mobs, when I played the game for the builds. But “creativity” only counts if it’s what they define as “creativity”.

Every step of the way, this education program demanded more. I got humiliated by multiple teachers in front of multiple classes because I did not understand something and got so upset that I cried, and they refused to explain it in any other way except repeating what they’d already said in lecture. I lived 45 minutes away from this school by bus and my parents couldn't come pick me up or drop me off to use office hours or study groups even if I wanted to, and I sure as hell didn't have a car.

So when I left, to go back to my regional high school for my junior and senior year (after getting gaslit and guilted by my parents for “failing to uphold my commitments”) turns out, I’m not an idiot.

Suddenly, I had teachers who gave a shit. I was turning in assignments on time. I was doing my homework the night it was given. I was starting projects in the very next class. I finally got straight-As. I liked learning again.

Turns out, not every “smart” kid I knew went to IB, they were instead very successfully running my regional high school’s SGA. They were doing just fine in getting into the colleges of their dreams and pursuing STEM. They didn’t need IB one bit.

The only good thing IB gave me was that by the time I got to college, it was a breeze.

All these years later, the thing that sticks with me the most was how much of a sham the whole thing is, and this insidious caste system of perceived intelligence. My super fancy IB school was inside of a larger high school built in a rural area, and put there to make that school look smarter.

So you had this institution not only giving these rural kids an enemy to hate, but reinforcing an idea that they’re not as smart as the special IB kids. And in turn, you’re telling the IB kids “you’re better than your peers, look at how dumb they are”.

While then sacrificing absolutely everything in the name of "quality education". Arts and music, physical exercise and sports, free time outside of school now spent doing homework, free time at all to have a mental break from it, and time to go to clubs and school events. You could take those extra classes, sure, but it cost you in time you needed to do all your other non-negotiable homework. You might graduate and get into Harvard Law, but you might get there with a heart condition from stress that you'll have for the rest of your life. Is that degree worth it?

But also how narrow and antiquated this idea of intelligence and learning is. I’m someone who, by and large, does not need to study, so long as I care about the subject matter.

One time in college, I took astronomy. I love astronomy. I ditched a class once and forgot all about a big unit test we had coming up. I walked into the next class to that test, having prepared nothing, and wrote a note on the top of my test before taking it apologizing to my astronomy professor for the F I was about to get.

I got the highest score in the class (a 92 I think), having only paid attention during lecture, because I cared and I wanted to learn and was able to retain everything only from hearing it, seeing it, and writing it down once. So long as something is grounded in the context of why it matters, one lecture is usually all I need, and I am consistently the fastest test-taker I know.

But back in high school, once the “you are not supposed to be here” baked in and solidified within the first week, that was detrimental for two long and stressful years, and, guess what? I’m not friends with any of those people anymore.

I probably could have done it, but the attitude of that pretentious, bullshit program ruined it. The people who stayed all four years? Some ended up at my college anyway, they just got better scholarships.

So to anyone who’s thinking about IB or knows anyone thinking about it or who is already struggling and suffering: Unless you plan on being a doctor or a lawyer, it’s not worth it, and you aren’t “smarter” just because you can learn one very specific way. I left after two years and never went back.

[hxnmantii]

Joker vs. Sleep

Requested~ @astroavis Could I request some Joker x fem!reader sleeping headcannons? How long did it take for Joker to relax enough to sleep together, how does he sleep, cuddling, dreaming, nightmares, sleep talking, etc!

tw: fluff, mentions of nightmares but not explicit

Pairings: Joker x fem!reader

Rating: PG

A/n: We are back to our regular schedule program😌 Thank you for requesting once again! I literally look forward to your request because I’m like “wow I’ve never thought about him doing this”. I hope you enjoy this!!

In the beginning of you guys relationship, he refuses to sleep with you. More or less it’s because his paranoia of someone coming to harm you when he’s asleep

Because as fun as Joker is, he’s made a lot of enemies, not more than allies but still. It scares him wake of you getting punished from something of his past.

As well as He also has really bad nightmares of his past and the torture he went through to the point he never actually sleeps and when he does it’s never restful sleep nor is it longer than an 1 or 2

Not to mention, sleeping with someone is a different type of vulnerability that he wasn’t ready to commit to yet.

However He was more than okay to let you sleep around him though. In fact he was flattered

“You must really trust me don’t cha, Angel”

He’ll say phrases like this when you’re sleep, placing little kisses on your forehead and stroking your cheek softly

Eventually after you guys officially move into together is when he starts attempting to sleep around you.

It starts off with little 45 mins naps where you set a timer and slept next to each other but that didn’t end too well

Everytime the alarm rang, he would wake up frightened and cut right through your alarm clock with a flame card. He of course apologized and got you a new one but the fear was still there

This outcome happened 3 more times before you tried laying on him. You knew that he wouldn’t hurt you even if he were scared and you were right

Such a small change did wonders to Joker’s sleep schedule.

He ended up sleeping through the alarm clock, to which you turned off as quietly as possible, and ended up getting 4 consecutive hours of sleep

On the 4 hour mark, his eyes pop open and he’s panicking because it’s dark and he can’t see anything but he feels your warm body on him and he relaxes, rubbing soothing circles into your back that was really more for him than you, lulling himself back into a peaceful sleep

But right before he falls asleep,you scoot impossibly closer and he lets out a deep breath with a small smile following before finally falling pray to slumber

And since that day, his sleep schedule has improved immensely not necessarily aspect it’s a fixed schedule but more in the aspect of he’s getting more than 1 hour of sleep

However now he physically can’t go to sleep without you or a weighted blanket on him which is not really a problem for him or you since you guys live together.

This new set up didn’t necessarily eradicate his nightmares unfortunately but it did make them more bearable

There are some times where even with you there, he wakes up in cold sweat, his body frozen with fear and a tear or two sliding his face.

You never say anything about those nights instead focusing on calming him down and reminding him that you’re here through physical touch and your actions. You have a dresser full of water just for this

On the other more positive side of that, when he’s in deep sleep, he inhales so deeply, he’s borderline snoring (You have actually heard him let out some soft snores)

And when you mentioned it to him, he just smiles,

“That just means I’m sleeping good right? It all thanks to my miraculous Angel”

The downside is Joker will make you stop whatever you’re doing to get you to sleep with him.

You’re doing paperwork? Not anymore sleep time

About to take shower? Not anymore it can wait

You’re about to make dinner? Not anymore he wasn’t that hungry anyways

Now you’ve guys have tried the sound machines and he has a variety of mixed feelings about it.

While it distracts him from his thoughts...it’s so loud and he feels like he can’t hear which strikes his paranoia back up. If he feels like he can’t protect you, he panics.

So the sound machine was an overall no for him.

Hi favorite positions are the half spoon and full spoon when cuddling. He has to have his arm sling around you and his chest press to some part of you.

(These positions not only show his protectiveness but as well as his clingy side.)

To bed, he wears no shirt and long pajamas pants because he wants to feel your body as much as possible

But if you’re not comfortable, that’s okay too! He wants you to be equally as comfortable sleeping with him as he is with.

This isn’t a quick overnight situation, this takes over a few months so it is a long and tedious process but just be patient with him and know that he’s trying to do his best no matter how much he plays it off

Reblogs are appreciated

[combat-wombatus]

YEAHHH YOU KNOW IM HERE!!! BC I LOVE YOU COCO!!

okayy so for my request 👉🏽👈🏽

can i get bakugo x f!reader and prompts: 14. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” + 24. “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

okay i love you!! 🥺🥺 thank you for doing this!

14: “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” 24: “Would you mind if I kissed you?” Character: Bakugou

ok so like...i may or may not have gone slightly overboard and turned this into a whole fic-

it’s like 2.2k words lakdjfhasjkdh enjoy-

thank u for requesting aves 🥺

“What? A party? I’m not fucking going.” Bakugou snarled. “Staying up past midnight is overrated. I need my sleep.”

“But Bakubro,” Kaminari whined. “We’re hosting! Mina planned it all, and she spent a lot of time doing it! You should at least go. You don’t have to stay up that late.”

“Tch. As if I care.” Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped forward even more. “Pinky can waste all the time she fucking wants to. I’m not going.”

“It’s our last year at UA! Come on,” Kirishima joined in. “You can leave early if you want to! It’ll be mostly in the dorms anyways. Mina did plan a scavenger hunt though, in Gym Gamma. She says that she planted “mementos” of our school experience. Isn’t that fun?”

“Fun my ass. It’s stupid, is what it is.” He glared at Kirishima. “Should’ve visited my parents. Even the old hag isn’t as loud as all of you extras in the dorms.”

“You say that like you didn’t blast a hole in the wall just last week,” Kaminari pointed out.

Kirishima winced. “Denki-”

“WELL WHOSE FUCKING IDEA WAS IT TO PRETEND THAT THEY WERE FUCKING KIDNAPPED?!?” Bakugou waved a fist wildly in Kaminari’s face.

“Fair point, fair point. You should’ve seen the look on your face though! (Y/N) thought you’d murder her!” Kaminari cackled.

“I’D NEVER FUCKING MURDER HER! ARE YOU INSANE??” Bakugou’s palms started crackling.

“Hey, chill bro, we know that.” Kirishima tried to calm him down.

Kaminari was not so lucky. “Why? You joke about murdering us all the time. What’s so different about her?”

Bakugou turned, a quick retort on the tip of his tongue, before he realized that Kaminari was, actually, right for once.

“She’s…she’s…” He stuttered.

Kaminari let out a hoot of laughter. “I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bakugou’s face turned beet red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Suit yourself. We know the truth.” Kaminari patted Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, Bakubro! (Y/L/N)-chan is going to be at the party too! Why don’t you confess to her there? That would be fun! And then Mina will forgive you for leaving early too!”

Bakugou’s left eye twitched. “There’s nothing to confess, Shitty Hair. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what Mina thinks.”

Kirishima and Kaminari looked at each other, then turned back to Bakugou.

“Sure,” Kirishima smirked. “Nothing at all.”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Mina ran up to you. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

You turned to face her. “Sure am! Who isn’t? It’s in the dorms anyways so there’s not much of a point in not coming, right?”

Mina sighed. “Kiri and Kami are having a hard time convincing Bakugou to come. Something about his sleep schedule?”

You were a little disappointed, but it was to be expected. Bakugou didn’t participate much in team-building activities anyways. “Can’t relate. My sleep schedule has been fucked to high heaven.”

“Right? What a crappy excuse.” Mina rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Sero’s waiting for me in the gym to help set the scavenger hunt up. See ya later, yeah?”

“Sure! Do you want more help? I can help you guys set things up if you’d like,” you asked.

Mina leaned forward, smiling mischievously. “Nope! It’s all good! And besides, I want you to participate in the game, so you can’t help!”

You smiled. “Ah, okay. Well, I’ll see you later then!”

“See ya!” Mina winked and gave you a little wave.

“So, the rules of the game are simple: whichever team finds and touches our very own 3-A New Year’s Ball, together, wins!” Mina exclaimed from her place on the couch.

“What kind of shitty game is this?” Bakugou growled, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Mina pouted. “Hey! Sero and I spent a lot of time making this happen!”

“Yeah! They were amazing!” Ochaco jumped up too. “Stop being ungrateful!”

“Fine, whatever.” Bakugou crossed his arms. “Get on with it already. We don’t have all night.”

“Actually, we do! Not everyone here has the sleeping schedule of an old man,” Kaminari piped in.

“Shut up, Dunce Face. Nobody asked.” Bakugou scowled.

“Hey! Back to the regular program. You get to choose your own partners! Isn’t that exciting?” Mina waved her piece of paper around wildly. “Now get to it! You have three minutes!”

You looked around the room. You would’ve asked Mina, but she and Sero weren’t participating since they were the ones who hid it. They had also apparently hidden clues all over Gym Gamma as to where the location of the ball was.

“Ocha-” Oops. She’d already teamed up with Iida.

“Oi, Shitty Hair, come over here!” Bakugou yelled across the room. You sighed. Of course.

“Sorry Bakubro, I already have a partner…” Kirishima said rather sheepishly.

“…you WHAT?”

“Yeah…Momo here didn’t have a partner yet and…well…Mineta was hot on her trail,” Kirishima tried to explain as Momo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Shuckers!” Mineta faceplanted onto the couch. “I never get what I want”

“Hmph. Karma’s a bitch.” Jiro smirked from her position next to Kaminari.

“Dunce Face, you got a partner too?” Bakugou sighed, exasperated.

“Right next to me!” Kaminari pointed to Jiro with his thumb. You smiled in satisfaction. They were honestly adorable.

You turned to the rest of the room. Hagakure had already snagged Ojiro, Midoriya had, unsurprisingly, paired with Todoroki. Shoji and…Tsu? Koda had paired up with Sato, and…you snickered a little at the last pairing. Tokoyami had been bombarded with Aoyama’s relentless chatter. Which left…you and Bakugou.

Huh. That was weird. You swore that not everyone had a partner just a minute ago. And it was awfully strange that Tokoyami would choose to pair with Aoyama instead of you or even Bakugou, but…you supposed that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“So. (Y/N).” Bakugou cleared his throat. “Partners?”

“Uh…yeah,” you replied, fidgeting slightly with your hands.

“Ok! Everyone is paired up and ready to go?” Mina was practically bouncing.

“Yeah!” Most everyone chimed in unison.

“Let’s do it then! Sero, come on! Lead the way!” She jumped down from her place on the kitchen counter.

“What the fuck? Pinky and Tape Arms hung that thing all the way up there?” Bakugou swore.

“You can use your quirk to get up there though, right?” You looked at him, brows furrowed.

“Duh. But what about you?” He looked you up and down. “Last time I checked, you couldn’t fly.”

“Easy! I’ll just ride on your back!” You chirped. “Unless you can’t carry me?”

“Tch. As if. Get on.” He squatted down, letting you scamper onto his back. “Ready?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

You leaned into the crook of his neck, breath lightly fanning his face. “Ready,” you confirmed.

Cackling gleefully, Bakugou shot up into the sky, palms ablaze.

And as quickly as he flew, he was dropping to the ground even quicker.

“DAMMIT!” He glared daggers at the ice wall that had appeared over your heads. “Fucking Deku! And that IcyHot bastard!”

Spiraling, he tried his best to save the two of you from a hard impact on the ground, but he was only successful in twirling around in the air like a ballerina.

“Shit!” He tried to flip upside down in order to land on his feet, but the momentum was against him.

With an “oof”, the two of you landed in a pile on the (luckily) snow-covered ground.

“You alright there, idiot?” Bakugou said gruffly.

You groaned. You weren’t sure how, but you definitely sprained something with the way you landed. Ankle? Wrist? Perhaps both?

“Hey. Hey!” Bakugou climbed over the snowdrift to reach you. “Get up! The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down, Bakugou!” You pushed his hand away. “It’s just a sprain,” you pointed to your ankle.

“Nothing else?” He seemed intent on picking you up, so you let him.

“Nope, everything’s fine,” you assured him.

“Sorry about that!” Midoriya called out from atop his perch on Todoroki’s newly-formed glacier. “We got a little carried away!”

Bakugou stilled. You winced. Midoriya was in for a rough time.

“Deku…” He ground out. “What the FUCK do you think you and IcyHot are doing?”

“I-I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to knock you down from the air!” Midoriya started gesturing nervously. “I-I swear it was an a-accident!”

Todoroki sighed. “It was an accident. Let it go, Bakugou. And (Y/N), we are very sorry for having injured you. Would you like for us to accompany you to Recovery Girl? The game is over now.”

“The fuck did you say, IcyHot? No fucking way. I’m taking her.” He stomped towards Recovery Girl’s office, you firmly nestled in his arms.

“Think we succeeded?” Todoroki turned to Midoriya. “They seem to be getting along fine.”

“I…I’m not sure. It’s not great that (Y/L/N)-chan had to get injured for this to work, but…Recovery Girl will fix her up fine and Kacchan might finally realize that he has feelings for her…”

“Hey guys! Great job!” Sero dangled Mina from a tree branch overhead. “Look at them go!”

“It’s all according to plan…” Mina clapped her hands together. “Now, we just have to wait for the clock to chime twelve…”

“Fucking assholes.” Bakugou hadn’t stopped muttering underneath his breath since you’d left.

You giggled. He was so angry over such a small thing. It wasn’t like the fall was intentional; you’d both just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bakugou stopped walking and stared at you. “What?” He frowned at you. “Why are you laughing? Did you knock your fucking head on the way down too?”

You started full-on laughing this time. “No, Bakugou. It’s just…you’re so cute when you’re mad,” you tried to explain. “Your eyebrows scrunch up and you purse your lips and…”

By this point, Bakugou was a blushing mess. No one had ever called him “cute” when he was angry before.

After a while, he broke the silence. “So…I don’t scare you?”

You laid your head on his chest. “Not at all.”

“Tch. You should be scared of me, dumbass.” He turned your body so that you were facing him, shielding his tomato-hued face from your gaze.

“And why should I be?”

“Because…because…I’m Bakugou Katsuki, dammit!” He clenched his fists, bunching up your parka.

Snickering, you decided to tease him. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I thought you were Midoriya Izuku for a second.”

“You WHAT?!?”

The two of you bantered playfully all the way to Recovery Girl’s office. She took one look at you and frowned.

“Tsk. I thought there wasn’t training today?” She rifled around for an ice pack.

“There wasn’t. We played a game and I just sprained my ankle.” You explained sheepishly. “And possibly my wrist.”

Recovery Girl tapped her cane on your knee and sighed heavily. “You guys don’t know how to take care of yourselves! Playing a game and getting injured?” She rubbed her temples. “The hospitals are going to have a field day with the lot of you once you become pros.”

“Sorry. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.” You held in a wince as she prodded your ankle.

“Minor sprains. I’m going to wrap those and give you some gummies. Take this ice pack with you when you go. Ice for 10, leave for 20, and repeat for 3 hours. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am!” You held out your wrist for her to bind.

“And don’t you go do anything else dangerous now, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear!” You hopped nimbly off the table, landing on one leg, and was promptly scooped up again by Bakugou.

“Hey! Let me down! I can walk!” You protested against his arms.

Bakugou turned to Recovery Girl. “Look at her. You really want her to walk?”

“As a matter of fact, I do not. Stay still, young lady, and let him carry you,” she admonished.

You slumped in defeat, and Bakugou carried you out of the room.

“Ahh…young love,” Recovery Girl stared wistfully at your fading silhouettes. “I remember…”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR’S!!”

The class was situated in the common room, spread out over the numerous couches and munching on fresh cookies (courtesy of Momo and Sato).

And as the clock chimed 12, you looked to Bakugou, sitting right next to you.

“Can…can I…” You started nervously, fingers fidgeting with your ice pack.

“What? Spit it out,” Bakugou stared at you.

“Canikissyou?” You blurted out as fast as your tongue would let you.

He smirked. “What was that? I couldn’t understand you.”

You sighed. “Would…would you mind if I kissed you?”

Bakugou’s lips pulled into a wolfish grin. “All you had to do was ask, dumbass.”

Epilogue

“Do you think they caught on?” Mina whispered excitedly to Sero. “I wasn’t sure if they saw me leading Todoroki and Midoriya to the ball.”

“Nah, I think we’re fine. Besides, it’s not like he can complain. He got a girlfriend thanks to us, right?” Sero chuckled.

“Ok…if you say so…”

Suddenly, they heard a growl coming from the doorway to their left.

“Shit.”

“Run!!”

“I won’t let you bastards get away with this!!”

Coco’s New Year Celebration 20-21

Masterlist

[megabadbunny]

Of Turns and Tides (Or: One Time The Doctor Was A Giant Arse About Rose's Pregnancy, and Five Times He Wasn't)

Because I don't necessarily think Rose and the metacrisis Doctor would have any children, but if they did, I can't imagine it would go quite the way it's portrayed in The Turning of the Tide. SFW version on FF.net.

Also this fic is dedicated to @davinasgirlfriend​​, whose patience with me is a blessed fucking virtue. Go read her stuff. She's an absolute doll. <3 <3 <3

***

0.

 It’s not like they weren’t careful—Rose has got her shot, after all, and honestly after everything the Cannon put her through, she’s sort of surprised everything still works in there, reproductively-speaking—but it’s just her luck that he would have some sort of Time Lord supersperm in addition to everything else.

“I’m pregnant,” she replies when he asks, in that sometimes-perfunctory way of his, how she’s doing this morning, amidst the bustle of making his tea and his toast and poring over the reports streaming into his mobile. He’s fully dressed (of course he is, bloody morning person) but Rose is still in her pyjamas (if one qualifies one of the Doctor’s tee shirts as her pyjamas, which she does), watching him as he drifts about with his eyes glued to his phone. Rose sits very still, clutching the pregnancy test, has been ever since it cheerfully gave her its diagnosis a few moments prior, and she’s trying not to think about how gross it is, really, that she’s more or less sitting at the kitchen table with a wee-stick in hand, even if it is dry by now. She reminds herself to scrub off extra hard in the bath, give everything in the kitchen a good solid wipedown later.

“How about you?” Rose asks, tapping the test nervously against her thigh.

The Doctor nods. “Good, good,” he says, in a way that very much suggests he is not listening to her even a little bit.

“I went ahead and scheduled an appointment in a couple days, to see how far along things are,” says Rose. “Maybe about seven weeks, going by my period.”

“Mm-hmm, excellent, excellent.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to start having regular checkups and such.”

“Uh-huh.”

“To make sure everything’s going like it should.”

“Well, naturally,” the Doctor replies, staring at his mobile.

“You know. With the pregnancy.”

“Of course.”

“Yep,” Rose says mildly, throwing up her hands. “Not every day you give birth to a lizard, after all. Did I tell you I volunteered for the lizard-mother-surrogate program in Chiswick?” 

“Mmm.”

“Yeah, it’s been in the works for a few years in this universe, human-lizard surrogacy. Big market for it over here. Mum’s had six. Pete’s in line next. Just lizards, lizards all over the place. Like Biblical-plague levels,” Rose continues, staring at him. “It’ll be toads next. I guess I should have asked which you prefer. Would you rather have a lizard or a toad in the nursery, Doctor?”

“Yes,” says the Doctor.

Sighing in frustration, Rose waits. She waits and watches the Doctor as he pulls the toast from the pan (too hot, he burns his fingers on the first try but it doesn’t stop him trying again anyway) and pours his tea (and promptly forgets about it) and removes the jam from the fridge (and promptly forgets about that as well) and shoves the unbuttered, un-jammed toast between his teeth before grabbing his coat and calling out an absentmindedly muffled “Meet you at the car!” around a mouthful of food as he darts out the front door.

The flat is, as always, very quiet without him in it.

Rose sighs again, but she only has half a moment to feel deflated before a soft squeal lets her know that the front door is opening again, slowly, this time. She looks up to see the Doctor popping back in, pulling the toast out of his mouth, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hesitantly. “You’re what?”

Rose nods. “Pregnant, yeah.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, probably cos it’s true,” Rose replies, holding up the pregnancy test, its reading displayed on the screen for the whole world to see.

“Ah,” says the Doctor. His stare loses focus, fixed on nothing in particular.

Rose waits, forcing herself to be patient. Not to fidget.

“Well, that’s,” says the Doctor, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s. Hmm.”

Rose frowns. “Are you all right?”

“I’m—yes, of course,” the Doctor says, shaking his head and blinking just a little too fast. “Always am. You?”

“I’m a little worried about you, to be honest.”

“Oh, well, no reason to be, everything’s fine,” says the Doctor as he yanks on his coat, struggling to pull his sleeve over a fist wrapped around crumbling toast. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m perfectly all right. Why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s fine. Everything’s dandy. Fantastic. Molto bene—”

Concerned, Rose rises from the table. “Doctor—”

“Only I’m running a tad late, though, so I’ll just—I’ll hail a taxi, shall I, and let you get to HQ on your own time?” says the Doctor, backing away as he shoves the remainders of his toast directly into a coat pocket. “Sounds good to me, practical resolution, useful all around. I’ll see you at work, then, shall I?”

And with that, he takes off running out the door, before Rose can get in another word.

With a great heavy sigh, Rose tosses the pregnancy test in the bin before plonking back down at the table, shoulders slumping. She can’t say she’s surprised by his reactions; it’s all more or less what she expected, or what she would have expected, had she ever anticipated the possibility that things might fare this way. But still. She’d sort of held out hope, in the ten or so minutes since she’d seen that plus flashing across the test screen, that he would be happy. Rose has never felt that deep urgent desire to have children of her own—goodness knows she likes children, and of course she loves Tony, but becoming a mother has just never been an entry on her list of priorities—but now that the very real likelihood of having a child is staring her in the face, Rose finds she’s warming up to the idea quite quickly. The thought of building a family with the Doctor is nice. Rose is surprised by just how nice that thought feels.

It’s less nice to know that he may not feel the same way.

Shaking her head, Rose chides herself. He had a family once before, she knows, and while she may not be privy to many of the details, she’s sharp enough to know he lost them. She can only imagine the sort of scar that would leave, the sort of bone-deep hurt that would haunt a person after something like that. This is probably quite a shock to him, she reasons. He just needs a little bit of time, and space, and support, and then he’ll come around. He always does. Well, he usually does. Well, the jury’s still out on a few items. But she loves him, and he loves her, and that’s what really matters. Right? And in a few moments, Rose will finish washing up and getting ready for work, and when she shows up at UNIT, things may be a little tense and stiff with the Doctor for a little bit, but he’ll relax back into his usual self before either of them knows it. Neither of them can stay awkward or uncomfortable with the other for too long. No reason for this to be any different. But they’ll get to work in their adjacent departments and the Doctor will loosen up and Rose’s nerves will settle and then things will be fine.

Right?

(Except when Rose arrives at UNIT, the Doctor’s not there. No one’s seen him. No one’s heard from him. There’s no sign of him in UNIT at all, not for the rest of the day; texts go unanswered and calls go straight to voicemail. And when Rose returns home that evening, frustrated and bewildered and hurt, the flat is dark and empty, the Doctor nowhere to be seen.

Well. Fuck.)

 **

 Despite the low background hum of panic buzzing nonstop at the back of her brain, Rose does a marvelous job of not-vibrating-out-of-her-skin-with-anxiety during the next several days, in which the Doctor deigns to make precisely zero (0) appearances. In fact, she does such a marvelous job, it doesn’t even occur to her to jump when he bursts in on her obstetrician’s appointment without warning.

“Doctor,” Rose says amidst the sounds of Jackie’s indignant “Oi, what do you think you’re doing, barging in like that?” But the Doctor ignores them both, proceeding immediately to the nurse’s clipboard where she left it, flipping through the notes with an intensity that borders on the manic.

Rose knows she should feel relief at seeing the Doctor here, now; he may look a bit pale and wan beneath the fluorescent lights, his scruff a little longer than usual, perhaps a little less kempt, but he’s safe, he’s not injured, he didn’t get himself into some kind of stupid trouble, somehow. (Didn’t run away, didn’t just leave her here. Not that she’d ever entertained such a worry. Except when she did.) But once the tide of anxiety ebbs, Rose realizes what she feels now is mostly anger.

A lot of anger.

“And where the hell have you been, eh?” Jackie demands; in lieu of a reply, the Doctor reaches into his pocket for his spectacles, slipping them on as he pores over the nurse’s paperwork.

Rose stares stonily at the Doctor as Jackie tuts with impatience. “Hey, mister. I asked you a question—”

“Height’s off,” announces the Doctor, procuring a pen so he can write over the nurse’s notes with his own. “Too short by 2.3 millimeters. Weight’s off, too, missing a quarter-kilogram or so, they really should get their scales fixed. And the age listed doesn’t account for the disparity between time rates in your original versus current universes. Incompetent twenty-first century medicine,” he adds under his breath. “Might as well be living in the Stone Age.”

Rose’s jaw clamps so tightly she’s surprised she doesn’t crack any molars. With a huff, Jackie reaches for the clipboard, but the Doctor backs away out of reach without even looking. “Don’t they even test for Hepatitis B surface antigens in this universe?” he scoffs.

“No, cos we haven’t got any of the Hepatitises in this universe, have we?” snaps Jackie. “And none of this is any of your business anyway, not until you apologize to Rose for up and disappearing on her. How long’ve you been gone, now, without so much as a word? Three days? Four? I mean really, how could you do that to her, putting her through the wringer like that? And right after she tells you she’s pregnant, too!”

“Yes, yes, I’m very sorry,” says the Doctor absently with a dismissive wave of his hand, his gaze still fixed on the clipboard in front of him, “but we’ve got more pressing things to attend to, so let’s just go ahead and get this over with, shall we?”

“Get what over with?” asks Jackie, as Rose’s fists clench the examination table beneath her, the pleather squeaking under her fingernails. “No,” Jackie continues, pointing an accusatory finger at the Doctor. “Until you apologize to Rose—and I mean apologize properly, you daft alien twat—the only getting you’re doing is out. So send in the actual physician,” she snarls, and now her finger is jabbing toward the door, “and then get out.”

“No can do,” quips the Doctor as he darts away to rummage about in the room’s cabinet-drawers. “Your so-called actual physician’s gone home for the day—seems someone might have hacked his calendar and reassigned his last patient today to one visiting Dr. James C. Noble, a.k.a, me.”

The Doctor ignores Rose’s eyes widening in alarm and Jackie’s splutter of indignation as he pulls out a stethoscope and drapes it about his neck. “And as you know, your actual physician is booked rather full right now,” he continues, withdrawing a blood-pressure cuff and other assorted equipment. “So if you want your checkup done any time in the next three weeks, here’s your one and only opening.”

Hands balled into fists, Jackie draws a deep breath and opens her mouth to hurl forth what will be, undoubtedly, a scathing stream of insults and outrage in an eruption that would put Mount Vesuvius to shame, but she stops when Rose places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Mum,” says Rose, with a calmness she certainly does not feel. “Would you give the Doctor and me a few moments, please?”

Jackie’s mouth clamps shut as she glances between Rose and the Doctor, lips twisting in disapproval. The Doctor either can’t meet their gazes, or he won’t. Just as well; if eyes could truly shoot daggers, Jackie would be gutting the Doctor right about now.

“Mum,” says Rose again, softly, and Jackie relaxes a little, though she’s still eyeing the Doctor with a healthy amount of disgust.

“All right, sweetheart,” says Jackie with a sniff. “But don’t let him off too easy, yeah? You let someone hurt you like that once, they’ll just keep doing it. And you deserve better than that.”

Her eyes flicker meaningfully toward Rose’s belly. “You both do,” Jackie tells her, and sweeps out of the room with a flounce and a huff.

It’s just Rose and the Doctor in the exam room, now. The quiet is loud enough to suffocate. But the Doctor still won’t look at her.

“Well, now that that’s all out of the way, shall we proceed?” says the Doctor, snapping on a pair of medical gloves as he steps briskly over to Rose. “See if we can pick up on the fetal heartbeat, take a few other readings—”

“No,” says Rose.

“—and check on your vitals,” says the Doctor, ignoring her as he plugs the stethoscope into his ears and presses the bell to her sternum, through her shirt. “Seeing as they are, you know, vital—” 

“I said no,” Rose tells him, firmly.

“—and naturally, one must always be prepared for all possibilities, like preeclampsia or fibrinogen deficiency or aortic insufficiency, for example,” the Doctor breezes on as if he didn’t hear her, shifting the stethoscope on her chest, “which reminds me, I should order an echocardiogram, just in case. Of course, there’s always the chance it won’t adequately visualize the ascending aorta—”

“Nothing’s wrong with my heart, Doctor.”

“—but even rudimentary tests are better than no test, though an echocardiogram might not be necessary after all, since the auscultation of the stethoscope combined with my superior auditory capabilities means I can probably detect and diagnose any murmurs without visual aid of any sort. However, the added strain of carrying a pregnancy to term could place undue stress on the host’s cardiac system, so one must diligently keep an eye out for any symptoms of myocardial infarction or peripartum cardiomyopathy developing in the patient’s—”

“No,” Rose shouts, smacking the Doctor’s hand away. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

The Doctor’s face is pinched in discomfort and Rose realizes the smack must have been terribly loud for him, amplified greatly by the stethoscope, but she doesn’t much care right this second. Her blood is rushing in her ears and boiling in her veins and her sinuses are so full of pressure from four-days’-worth of unshed tears (because he ran away, she told him she was pregnant and he ran away, he left her, and even if he came back, it still fucking hurts) that Rose feels like her head is going to burst. 

“I’m not some bloody patient,” Rose tells the Doctor, her breathing rough and ragged, “and I’m sure as hell not a fucking host. I’m me. I’m Rose. I’m your partner.” She feels her expression harden. “Or at least I thought I was.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply, the stethoscope-bell still grasped in one hand, the ends still plugged in his ears. His face is carefully blank, now. That just makes Rose even angrier.

“You left,” she tells him. “The second things got a little serious, you left me.”

“I was only gone for ninety-three hours, Rose,” he argues softly.

“Only,” Rose scoffs. “That’s four days I haven’t heard from you, haven’t known if you were dead or alive or hurt or kidnapped or ever coming back—”

“Your faith in me is truly inspiring,” says the Doctor drily, removing the stethoscope so he can drop it on the counter. “Would you have thought any of that about the real Doctor?”

“Don’t you dare,” snaps Rose, springing up from the examination table. “We settled all that ages ago. I know who you are,” she says, jabbing a finger into his chest, “and you do too, and you are not going to drudge up a petty old row from two years back just so you can use it like a shield against me. I’m angry with you, properly angry, and I’ve got every right to be. You got that?”

The Doctor’s expression doesn’t change, except that he might purse his lips a little in frustration. “Got it,” he says tonelessly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Blinking furiously in an effort to hold back her tears, Rose draws in a deep, steadying breath. “You need to talk to me. You need to tell me what’s going on. I know you don’t want to, but you’ve got to. That’s part of what being a couple is about. That’s one of the rules. One of the biggest.”

A runaway tear rolls down her cheek and Rose angrily scrapes it off with the heel of her palm. “I might not always understand what you’re going through right away, but I’ll always listen. Cos we’re in this together. Right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice clipped.

“Aren’t we?”

A pause. “Yes.”

Another tear escapes and rolls sluggishly down Rose’s cheek, leaving a cold and sticky trail in its wake. Rose doesn’t wipe it away this time, no matter how much she hates crying in front of others (no matter how much she especially hates crying in front of him). “Look at me, please,” she says, her jaw set, and slowly, the Doctor obeys, his eyes meeting hers properly for the first time in days. Only now does Rose notice the dark circles under his raw and red-rimmed eyes; god, he looks tired.

“I know you’ve probably got complicated feelings about all this,” Rose tells him, forcing the words out no matter how much they want to stick in her throat. “And that’s okay. I’m still sorting out how I feel, myself. But you can’t just run away when something’s bothering you, now. Not anymore.”

The Doctor glances away from her.

“Please just talk to me,” Rose says, willing her voice not to tremble. “Just tell me what’s going through your head. Please.”

Eyes sliding shut, the Doctor just exhales, his breath leaving his lungs with a shake. “I don’t…” he starts to say, and stops. He licks his lips nervously. He falls silent. Rose waits for him to try again.

Decades and centuries pass between them.

“I’m not sure how I feel,” the Doctor confesses quietly. “I want to be excited. I want to want this. But I just—I can’t…”

He swallows. “I’m just so afraid. And that fear is drowning out everything else.”

Rose nods, stepping closer to him. “Okay. What are you afraid of?”

The Doctor barks out a harsh laugh. “Is Everything a comprehensive enough answer for you?”

“What’s bothering you, specifically?”

“Really, I should’ve known better, taken better precautions,” the Doctor mutters, more to himself than her, Rose suspects. “I can’t let my guard down, not for anything, not ever. I promised myself I’d never go through any of this ever again. Never again. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Any of what?” Rose asks patiently.

“Having a family,” the Doctor replies, the words almost choked, like he’s wrenched them out of his chest. “Being a father.”

“You’re afraid of losing your family again.”

“Of course I am,” the Doctor says brokenly. His hands push beneath his specs to rub at his eyes. “Can you really blame me?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“What difference would it make?”

“Because you’re acting like this is something you’ve got to face all on your own, but you don’t,” Rose tells him stubbornly. “I don’t just need you right now, Doctor. You need me, too.”

The Doctor opens his mouth like he might protest, but Rose doesn’t give him a chance. “You said you want to be excited,” Rose tells him. “Just a minute ago, you said you want to want this. If you take the fear away—easier said than done, I know, but bear with me—how do you feel, underneath all that? Be honest, please. What do you feel when you think of me being pregnant? When you think of us having a family?”

“It isn’t exactly us, though, is it?” the Doctor says, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’d be your body doing all the work. I haven’t got any right to tell you what to do with your body.”

“True,” says Rose, as the ghost of a smile threatens to quirk the corner of her mouth. “But you’re not telling me. I’m asking you.”

She pokes his chest again, halfheartedly this time. “Don’t get used to it.”

The Doctor flashes a weak half-smile her way. “I don’t know, Rose,” he says, and the smile fades like it was never there. “Honestly, it shouldn’t even be possible. It never really occurred to me that this might happen, because it isn’t supposed to. It can’t. Time Lords haven’t reproduced like this for eons. The human DNA shouldn’t be enough to override that basic programming, shouldn’t have been enough to render me anything but functionally sterile.”

He sighs, raking his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. If things were different—if we knew more about the embryonic genetic makeup, if I’d read up more on human-Time Lord crossbreeding when I had the chance, if the TARDIS were full-grown and we had access to anything more advanced than twenty-first century medical equipment, if I felt like I could trust the physicians here properly, if the infant-mother mortality rate wasn’t what it is in this day and age—though I suppose at least we’re not in America, can you imagine?—then I might...”

Shaking his head, he grunts in frustration. “But then I start thinking about how defenseless you’ll be, especially in the later months, and as soon as word gets out, who knows what sort of attention that might attract, everything from overeager paparazzi to potential kidnappers to opportunistic extraterrestrials looking to make a quick buck harvesting rare hybrid children—and that doesn’t take into account anything that could happen to either of you after you’ve given birth, there’s just so much out there that could hurt you, our life together is just so hectic and so dangerous and so much, but even removing those factors from the equation there’s still plenty that’s ready and waiting to kill you right in your own home, and—there are just so many confounding factors, Rose, so many unknown variables, literally anything could happen, and I might not be able to stop any of it, not anymore. And that’s just for the stuff I’m not actively screwing up all on my own—”

“Fine, so don’t go swanning off for days on end next time something freaks you out,” Rose bites back. “That’s half the battle right there.”

“Rose, you’re not hearing me—”

“Yes, I am,” Rose retorts. “You’re scared. Of course you are. I’m scared, too. Anyone with half a brain cell is going to be at least a little bit scared over something like this. So you acknowledge that you can’t control everything, make plans where you can, and learn to roll with the punches where you can’t. You don’t fucking desert the person you said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.”

“But I just needed a bit of time, Rose, I never meant—” 

“It doesn’t matter if you meant for it to feel like that or not,” Rose snaps back. “That’s how it felt, Doctor. It was like you left me, after telling me you never would again. After you promised. And it hurt.”

The Doctor doesn’t reply to that, just watches her, mouth working like he wants to argue, but the words won’t cooperate. Tears start welling up again in Rose’s eyes, fat and blurry and thick; the Doctor seems to crumple a little at the sight.

“What if I lose you again?” he asks, defeated. “What if something happens, and I lose you both?”

“I don’t know,” Rose tells him honestly. “But we’re safer together, aren’t we? And better together, too.”

At that, something in the Doctor seems to give way. “Yes,” he agrees, his voice hoarse, his face as open and vulnerable as Rose has ever seen it. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

When Rose can’t make any words come out, too busy fighting back tears, whatever resistance remains in the Doctor seems to drain away and he reaches out to pull her close, wrapping his arms around her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, tightening his hug when Rose starts to shake, unable to staunch the flow of tears any longer. “I’m sorry,” he says again over the sounds of her sobs, muffled against his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, over and over, holding her tight while she cries into his shirt. “I won’t leave again. Ever again. I won’t. We’re in this together. I promise,” the Doctor tells her, holding her close. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

Rose clings to him even harder as she cries.

 **

 They’re both exhausted by the time they climb into bed later that evening (later, but still early, for them), but that doesn’t stop Rose from turning in the Doctor’s arms to press a hungry kiss to his mouth. It’s a claim that leaves no room for question, and even though Rose knows he wants to—We don’t have to, I’ve been an idiot, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you; she’s heard it all before after a row and she’ll likely hear it all again—the Doctor doesn’t argue. Not this time. This time he meets her kisses in kind, urging her mouth open with his and grabbing her by the chin so he can take bruising control of the kiss.

Relief surges through Rose as he kisses her fiercely, clutching her close. Looks like she’s not the only one who’s starved for comfort tonight.

The Doctor breaks away so he can press a searing-hot kiss to Rose’s jaw, her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Kissing a line down to her navel, the Doctor hooks his fingers in the waistband of her pants and pulls them off, discarding them; a familiar ache swells between Rose’s legs at the sight of him between her thighs, and she slickens at the sensation of his tongue darting out to taste her, but as delicious as that sounds (and as good as it feels, fuck), it isn’t what she wants right now, isn’t what she needs. She urges him back upward so she can feel the reassuring weight of him pressing against her, his cock stiffening between them, his heart hammering against hers.

They don’t always have time to take their clothes off before sex—two years on, and sometimes the need is still so urgent, they’re too impatient to remove anything but the barest essentials—but tonight the Doctor pulls off his boxer briefs and Rose pulls off his tee shirt and they work together to untangle her from her sleep-shirt and it’s such a fucking relief when they slide together, skin-to-skin, Rose’s nipples scraping sharply against his chest, that Rose can’t help but hum in satisfaction. She needs to feel him, needs to feel all of him, her tongue plunging into his mouth as she wraps a hand around his cock and strokes him hard. He pants against her lips and leans his weight to one side so he can slide a hand between them, his fingers plunging slickly inside her as she grinds her clit against the heel of his palm. It’s only a few moments before Rose is urging his cock inside, wrapping her thighs around his waist and arching needfully upward. She doesn’t give either of them time to adjust, but immediately rocks against him, clenching and rutting and clutching at his back as he thrusts into her, swearing under his breath. It doesn’t take long for the climax to start building low in Rose’s belly so she reaches down between them, intent on urging the Doctor along, but he grabs her hand and pins it to the mattress, her fingers gripped tight and slick between his as she comes with a shout and he follows shortly after.

If there’s something a little desperate in his touch tonight, neither of them mentions it.

 ***

 1.

 After several days and many many hugs and kisses and apologies and promises and two lush bouquets (picked and purchased by the Doctor, one for Rose (for obvious reasons) and one for Jackie (lest she slap him back into the other universe)), Rose is leaving the obstetrician’s office once again, this time having attended a full and proper appointment (also negotiated by the Doctor, as part of his ongoing penance). But this time, when Rose leaves, she’s armed with a series of diagnostics (all of them proclaiming the absolute normalcy of this pregnancy, no matter how the Doctor scrutinizes them) and a couple of recommendations (to up her iron intake, among other things), and her mother is only glaring at the Doctor the usual amount (which is to say, about 25% of the time). With Jackie in the lead, Rose and the Doctor lingering a few steps behind, Rose isn’t half-tempted to make a joke about the Doctor maintaining minimum safe distance from her mum after the events of the other day, but she knows it’s less about that, and more about how aggressively excited Jackie has allowed herself to become, now that the Doctor’s stopped being a giant prat.

(Excited might be an understatement.)

“Oh, sweetheart. This is all so brilliant. I’m so happy for you,” Jackie squeals over her shoulder at Rose, beaming through sparkling tears that threaten to fall and ruin her makeup. “You’re gonna make such a good mum, I just know it! It’s gonna come to you so natural. Well, I mean, there’s books and things to help out with all of that, and they’re good and all, but it’s about instinct, too, and you’ve got that in spades.

“And I absolutely can’t wait to start buying you things. Are you gonna ask about the sex? No, you don’t care about that,” Jackie says dismissively before either Rose or the Doctor has a chance to reply, which is just as well, as this conversation hasn’t actually involved anyone besides Jackie for some time now. “Oh, I do hope the little one likes girly things, though,” she continues. “Lord knows I love your brother, but he’s a bit rough-and-tumble, isn’t he, and I sort of miss all the ruffles and princess things. Don’t get me wrong, he loves a good princess movie just like you did, got all the dolls and stuff, but he’s not much on the dressing-up, and I would just adore the chance to buy some cute little dresses again, and, oh my goodness, Rose, I just can’t believe it, I’m gonna be a grandmum, you’re gonna have a baby—”

Jackie rounds the corner ahead and Rose is surprised to feel a tug on her hand the second Jackie disappears from sight. It’s the Doctor, of course, pulling her back toward him, but when Rose turns to look at him, a question hovering on her lips, he just pulls her gently forward so he can wrap his arms around her, trapping her in a snug embrace.

Her heart pounds in her chest, but not unpleasantly. Emotion swells in her throat as her arms wind back around him, fists clenching in his shirt. His arms tighten around her, almost uncomfortably so. Rose feels rather than hears his breath leaving him, long and slow and measured and just short of reverent. Like a man in prayer. After a moment, he spreads a hand between them, palm over her belly, like it’s just now occurring to him exactly what’s happening, what they’ve started together here, the sheer enormity of it all. He plants a kiss against her head, burying his face in her hair after. Rose tries to remember if she’s ever seen him act quite so tender as this, before.

The moment is over almost as quickly as it begins; soon enough the Doctor is springing away and tugging Rose along by the hand, propelling the two of them toward Jackie, like nothing just happened. But when Rose squeezes his hand (in comfort or solidarity or reassurance; she’s not sure and she’s not sure it matters anyway), he squeezes back, tightly.

“...and oh, do you remember that little garden dress you had once upon a time, the pink gingham with the roses, and the little white patent shoes?” Jackie is saying now, as she waits for the lift in front of them. “You were a vision, Rose. An absolute vision. All the other mums thought so. You were such a pretty little girl. A pretty baby, too. You know how some babies are ugly but no one talks about it? Sort of look like creepy little Gollum types? Well that weren’t you, to be sure. And just look at you now, you’re already glowing and everything, did you know that?” she asks, glancing back at Rose once again with a smile. “Pregnancy’ll do wonders for your skin. Did for me, anyway. Beverly wasn’t so lucky—d’you remember how she puffed up like a walrus, got the eczema all over? Not you, though. You look like one of them Renaissance paintings. Or like an angel, even!”

“Oh my god, Mum,” Rose laughs. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, someone’s got to say the cheesy things. Lord knows he won’t,” says Jackie, fixing the Doctor with a meaningful stare.

“I’m just waiting for the right moment,” the Doctor replies pleasantly. “As, for instance, the half-second you stop talking long enough to draw breath.”

Jackie flashes a dirty look his way and Rose laughs.

 ***

 2. 

 Everything is proceeding normally for a standard human pregnancy (almost painfully normally, really, even as the Doctor checks and double-checks and triple-checks everything from Rose’s sodium levels to the babyproof latches he’s already installed on all of the cabinet doors to the ambient temperature in each and every room Rose enters because You’re basically a greenhouse, Rose, a greenhouse growing a person instead of plants, and everyone knows greenhouses have to be kept at the optimum temperature in order to flourish), right up to the first day Rose notices her belly, by way of trying to fasten her trousers over it. They do not, of course, fasten, because see above, re: belly.

“Welp,” she says, slouching into the nursery with a sigh. It really is a lovely nursery, if a bit yellow, but the Doctor has insisted that yellow is the optimum color for budding baby TARDISes and larval humans, and this is a hill Rose is perfectly content to not-die-on. “I’m officially getting fat,” Rose announces.

The Doctor tuts in disapproval but doesn’t look up from his task, carefully pruning wayward growths on the TARDIS coral in front of him. “Three additional kilograms hardly qualifies as getting fat,” he says mildly, “although even if it did, and even if you were, it wouldn’t be cause for concern unless there was a non-pregnancy-related underlying health condition we needed to address.”

“Just the condition of my fat,” Rose replies cheerfully.

The Doctor spares his focus just long enough to roll his eyes, the motion even more comical and exaggerated than usual thanks to his work-goggles. “You’re incubating a whole entire person inside of your person, Rose. That’s bound to put on some extra weight on you, even before you start taking into account things like fluid retention and nutrient stores.”

“Fluid retention and nutrient stores. Way to pique a girl’s appetite,” teases Rose.

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit peckish, myself,” the Doctor admits as he works. “What are you thinking? Takeaway? Pizza? Your mum’s fish pie is in the fridge but I’m not certain that qualifies as food so much as kindling.”

Rose chuckles a little. “You really don’t mind?” she asks, scuffing a bare foot restlessly over the floor.

“Not at all. Getting rid of that pie would be doing the world a favor.”

“No,” Rose laughs, the sound more genuine this time. “Not that.”

“What, then?”

“You know. That I’m gonna get all…”

The Doctor piques an eyebrow in suspicion, and rather than risk another lecture by uttering the word aloud, Rose finishes her sentence in pantomime, outlining a large belly in front of her. He stares at her blankly in response, eyes blinking owlishly behind their protective goggles.

Rose sighs. “I’m gonna get big, Doctor,” she says. “Like a big belly. Maybe really big.”

He nods. “Probably. Your point?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, Rose focuses on her foot instead, tracing invisible patterns over the floor. “Just, you know,” she says softly. “Other blokes haven’t cared for it all that much, when I gain weight.”

“That’s because other blokes are idiots,” the Doctor announces, all smiles and bouncy cheer. “Fortunately you’re not stuck in this with any of them,” he continues, pulling off his goggles. “You’re stuck in this with me. And I happen to have very correct opinions about that sort of thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rose laughs, something loosening in her shoulders, the release of tension she wasn’t even aware was there.

“Oh, yes,” he says, sauntering over to Rose with his hands shoved lazily in his pockets. “All excellent opinions, each and every one of them. Many of them even backed up by science!”

Rose grins at him. “And when my belly gets so big that I can’t tie my own shoes anymore, or shave my legs?”

“Then we’ll just have to get you shoes that don’t need tying, won’t we? Or I’ll tie them for you. And a hairy leg or two never hurt anyone, but if it would make you feel better, I can always shave your legs.”

“Really?”

He shrugs again. “Really. How hard can it be?”

Shaking her head, her grin broadening until she can’t take it anymore, Rose pushes up on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. The Doctor lets out a happy little hum against her mouth and his hands leave his pockets to grasp her by the hips, his thumbs tracing a path to the front of her waistband, where the zipper-teeth won’t quite meet and the button only barely won’t latch.

“Yeah,” says Rose, glancing downward. “I’m gonna need new trousers soon.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I quite like them like this,” replies the Doctor, pulling the zipper down until the top of her pants peeks out. “It’s like a little preview.”

“Cad,” Rose teases.

“You’re not wrong,” the Doctor says thoughtfully, before looking back up at her, his eyes full of mischief. “I am, for instance, thinking about how much better your trousers would look on the floor.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rose asks, a shy smile blossoming across her face. His grin, by contrast, is long and slow and wicked, like a bolt of liquid warmth sent straight between Rose’s thighs.

“Oh, yes,” says the Doctor, and he kisses her.

It’s really a very convincing argument.

 ***

 3.

 Roughly twenty weeks in, and really, Rose can put up with most of this nonsense—granted, the dizziness isn’t fun, the headaches aren’t enjoyable either, the ever-swelling belly makes dressing for the day officially A Challenge™, the heartburn is bordering on intolerable, the morning sickness is more of an any-part-of-the-day sickness, and the leg cramps are no walk in the park either (although a walk in the park does at least help a little)—but what she really can’t stand are these intermittent bursts of bloody awful hormones. 

“What’s wrong?” the Doctor asks in alarm the moment she steps through the front door, sniffling and snuffling and trying to hide her tears and her gross blotchy face from the Doctor and doing it very, very badly. “Rose? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles as she shucks her boots, fully aware of how pathetic she sounds, and hating herself for it. 

“Are you sure?” asks the Doctor, his face pinched in concern. 

“Yes,” she grumbles, but the Doctor doesn’t seem convinced.

“Are you, though?” he presses, following her as she slumps her way into the kitchen, lowering herself into a dining-room chair. “You’ve been crying. That indicates distress. You’re not hurt, are you? You’re not injured? You’re not sick?”

“I’m fine,” Rose mutters again.

“Are you certain? How’s your temperature? When did you last eat? What did you last eat? You didn’t ingest any deli meat or sushi or come into contact with any cat litter or anything else potentially carrying toxoplasmosis? Are you experiencing any unusual aches or pains? Fluctuations in heartrate? Changes in vaginal discharge—?”

“I said I’m fine!” Rose snaps at him.

The Doctor’s eyes widen, but he stops talking, stops fretting. “Right, you did,” he says quietly, scratching the back of his neck. He steps back and away, his face carefully blank. “Sorry.”

Guilt crashes into Rose like a freight train and just like that, the tears start welling up in her eyes again. “No, I’m sorry,” she says, lower lip trembling, voice watery. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m sorry. I just…” she tries to say, and cuts herself off with a sniffle. “I just…”

The Doctor watches her from a safe distance. “Do you need to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t know. It’s just—god, it’s just stupid stuff, but it’s like my brain is going absolutely mad over it,” Rose blurts out. “Just stuff like, they were working on the lift, so I had to use the stairs, and I spilled my tea on the way back down, spilled it all over my shirt—” and she gestures at the front of her blouse, which is indeed no longer pale pink, but now light brown with the ghosts of teastains past— “and that was right before we had that big meeting with Ripley’s team and the French delegates, and I didn’t have anything else to change into, so I had to go in to this big important meeting looking like a total nightmare, and the meeting went on for so fucking long, it was hours, I had to get up to wee like five times.”

She absentmindedly rubs her growing belly-bump, trying to calm herself. “I really liked this shirt,” she continues, sniffling. “One of the only maternity shirts that doesn’t just look like a horrid flowery muumuu. S’like, you get pregnant, and you’re not allowed to try to look pretty any more. You’ve served your purpose, you’re not a woman anymore, now you’re just a whale on a one-way-train to Frumpy Town. Not like I care what other people think but I still want to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see, you know? And god, the taxi smelled so badly of smoke I thought I was going to vomit. That sort of thing never used to bother me, but so many smells do, these days. And I’m a puffy horrid mess, and my hair’s doing funny things, and everything aches, and I know nothing’s wrong, not really, but sometimes it’s like there’s this high-pitched squeal in my head screaming that everything’s bad and awful and scary all the time but I can’t take my anxiety meds anymore cos of the pregnancy—and—and—”

She can feel her face crumpling with effort, straining not to burst into the world’s ugliest wettest snottiest tears right now. “—and I just remembered I ate the last of the raspberry lollies last night,” she says plaintively, her mouth twisting in abject misery. “So we’re out.”

“No, we’re not.”

Rose hiccups, thumbing tears off her cheeks. “What?” she asks thickly.

“We’re not out,” says the Doctor, gesturing to the fridge. “I picked some up on my way home.”

Blinking rapidly, Rose bites her lower lip, hardly daring to hope. “Really?”

“Yeah. I thought you might like a lolly or two after dinner, so I made a stop.” He walks over to the refrigerator, pulls open the freezer door, and plucks out a lolly, extending it her way. “D’you want one now?”

Now Rose’s eyes are filling with tears for a completely different reason, her vision growing suddenly blurry and wet as she fights back the pressure with a sob. Through the haze, she can just barely make out the worry spreading across the Doctor’s face.

“Rose?” he asks, panicked, like he’s afraid he’s done something wrong.

“I love you,” bursts out of Rose’s mouth. She launches herself out of the chair and toward the Doctor, snatching the lolly out of his hand and ripping off its plastic wrapping so she can take a huge bite. And oh—

Oh.

Oh god, it’s good.

The scent of sweet raspberry hits her nostrils, first, with an ice-cold bite that predicts the joys to come. She bites into the treat and her eyes shutter at the delicious tartness of the juices, the cold of the ice, the satisfying crunch-slush of it all. Sweet and tart and cold all sing a delightful harmony in her mouth, washing away the dregs of the unhappy world outside, soothing her aches and pains, painting her mind with calm. Another bite floods her veins with sugary pleasure and cool relief in equal turns, and Rose chokes back tears of pure, unfettered joy. 

“I love you so much,” she sobs.

“Just to be clear,” says the Doctor, a small smile spreading wryly over his face. “Are you talking to the lolly right now, or me?”

“Yes,” says Rose, before taking another bite.

 ***

 4. 

 She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen his eyes grow so comically wide before.

“No,” he chokes out amidst the sirens wailing all around them, waving smoke out of his eyes as he heaves himself up from the debris-strewn floor. “Rose, you shouldn’t have—”

“What?” Rose shoots back, hoisting the giant gun high on her hip. “Come to save your skinny arse?”

“You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me!” the Doctor snaps. “Especially right now!”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have surrendered yourself to hostile forces, so I guess neither of us got what we wanted, huh?”

The Doctor glares at her. “I did what I had to! You, on the other hand—”

“Look, can we argue about all this later?” Rose interrupts, rolling her eyes. She gestures to the door behind her (rather, the “door” she just forcefully improvised thanks to a blast from her giant gun). “My back’s starting to hurt,” she complains.

“Which is precisely why you should have stayed put!” the Doctor retorts, anxiously running his hands through his hair. “I told you this would happen, Rose. I told you people would come after you and the baby—!”

“So what, you decide to offer yourself up instead? Without even talking to me about it?”

“Yes!” he shouts, glaring as he stands over her. “I will do whatever I have to if it keeps you safe, and I don’t require your approval and I sure as hell don’t require your permission! Do you underst—”

An explosion rocks the ship, knocking the Doctor flat against the wall behind him. Her belly big and heavy as it is, Rose’s low center of gravity keeps her pretty well-grounded; she doesn’t budge.

“Right,” she says, as nonchalantly as she can while the ship burns and shakes all around them, “d’you want to keep arguing, or would you maybe like to escape the burning spaceship with your very, very pregnant girlfriend?”

He’s still glaring at her, but there’s a smile threatening to tug at the corner of his mouth now. “Fine,” he says grudgingly, pushing off the wall. “But only because you’re very compelling at eight months pregnant, with a giant weapon.”

Rose laughs, swiveling the gun out of the way so she can plant a hard kiss against the Doctor’s lips. He tastes like soot and dirt and sweat and god, she’s so glad he’s all right. That he’s going to be safe, soon. With her.

“I love you too,” she says, and she grabs his hand, and they run.

 ***

 5. 

 It isn’t like they show it in the movies—or it isn’t quite like that, rather. It takes so much longer, and it’s so much messier, and it’s loud and then quiet and frantic and then calm and there’s sweat and blood and pain but there’s elation, too, even before the nurses place the baby in her arms. It’s all compounded when Rose looks down, seeing her child for the first time, all red in the cheeks, ten little coiled fingers and ten little pruny toes and eyes screwed shut and mouth crying out against the harsh light and sound of this strange new world. Rose holds the wailing baby close and her heart swells so much she’s almost surprised her ribcage isn’t cracked from the force of it.

Tutting through her happy tears, Jackie rubs the baby’s back, murmuring words of reassurance, much like she has been throughout the last several hours. Not for the first time, Rose is immensely grateful for her mother’s attention and support. Jackie was surprisingly calm throughout the entire ordeal. She’s surprisingly soft, now, in a way Rose isn’t sure she’s ever seen her before. Being a grandmother suits her, Rose thinks.

Slowly, the baby quiets and relaxes, heavy and solid against Rose’s chest. She smiles. It’s almost too much to bear, all the love that fills her at the sight of this child. She wonders if the Doctor will feel the same way.

(She is not upset that he’s late. He’s been doing so much better about all this sort of thing these last few months; he wouldn’t miss this without a good reason. It’s simply a matter of when he arrives, she tells herself. When. Not if.)

Rose has half-started dozing off when she finally hears his voice.

“Where is she?” his voice echoes loudly in the hall outside. “Is she all right? Did I miss it? Did—”

The door swings open and there stands the Doctor, mouth open and hair mussed and clothes totally disheveled. Rose watches as he frantically takes it all in—the hospital bed, Rose in the hospital bed, Rose in the hospital bed with a tiny new baby slumbering heavily in her arms.

“You’re here,” Rose says, smiling, her voice dreamy and soft.

The Doctor’s mouth closes and his throat constricts, Adam’s apple bobbing with emotion. His eyes flicker up to Rose’s, and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, she can see it written across his face as plain as day—but he doesn’t seem able to push the words out. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, nervous and unsure.

Next to the bed, Jackie pats Rose’s hand. “I’ll leave you two to it, shall I?” she says, kissing Rose’s forehead before she rises. On her way out the door, she stops long enough to give the Doctor a quick hug, pecking him on the cheek for good measure afterward. “Congratulations, dad,” she says, her voice fond.

The Doctor can’t seem to respond, can’t even seem to move, his feet glued to their spot on the floor for several long seconds after Jackie leaves. His gaze lingers on the baby, like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing, somehow, or maybe he just can’t believe it.

“Come on in,” Rose teases. “Stay a while.”

Shaking himself, the Doctor starts. “Rose, I’m so sorry,” he rushes. “I had to deal with these people, these bloody water pirates, and they had all these warships and I met this robot worm and he knew who I was somehow and I got dropped in the ocean and I lost my mobile and I had to steal a boat and I might’ve shot a pirate in the foot and—”

“Doctor?” says Rose, patiently.

“Yes?”

“Tell me about it later?”

“Of course.” He grimaces. “Rose, I really am sorry.”

“I know.” She smiles. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not, though. I should have been here.”

Her heart breaks for him a little. “You should have been out saving the world,” Rose tells him gently.

He looks very much like he doesn’t believe her.

“You didn’t miss much, anyway,” Rose adds. “Just the gross stuff. I actually don’t mind you missing that bit, don’t much fancy you seeing me bleeding everywhere or pooing the bed.”

“Are you all right?” the Doctor asks, pushing a hand anxiously through his hair, which only serves to muss it even further.

Rose nods. “They gave me drugs for the pain. I think it’s the loveliest I’ve ever felt.”

The Doctor laughs humorlessly. “But overall, you’re all right?”

“Yeah, Doctor. I’m fine. I’m gonna be sore for a while. But I’m okay. Really.”

“Okay. Okay. Good. And—”

The Doctor swallows hard, his gaze flickering between Rose and the baby. “And, the child...?”

“Also fine. Would probably like to be called something besides the child, though.”

Relaxing a little, the Doctor laughs again and the sound has a little more warmth this time. “I seem to recall that I generated a good deal of names, only for each of them to be shot down,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s got to be something people can pronounce. Human people,” Rose adds before the Doctor can interject. “From Earth. In this century.”

“Cassiopeia’s a perfectly pronounceable name!”

“It’s a mouthful,” Rose laughs.

“And it lends itself very well to diminutives. Cassie, Cass, Cas,” the Doctor continues, counting off a finger for each. “Peia. Cassio.”

“Whatever. Just shut up and get over here, yeah?”

The Doctor smiles. “Yeah,” he says, and he bridges the distance between them, dipping down so he can frame Rose’s face in his hands and pull her in for a kiss. It’s only a little desperate, his hold on her, the slight tremor in his hands; Rose answers by pouring as much love and reassurance into the kiss as she possibly can.

She’s surprised to realize she’s shaking just a little, herself.

After a moment, the Doctor breaks the kiss, one hand cradling the back of her head, his forehead pressed to hers. “I really am sorry,” he says softly.

Nodding, Rose thinks that this would be a good time to reassure him again, let him know he’s forgiven, that what really matters is he’s here now, and he keeps being here. That she knows he needs her, and that’s all right. She needs him, too.

“Hold me?” she says instead, her voice small.

Wordlessly, the Doctor shifts back, lowering the siderail of the bed. Rose expects him to simply lean over the side for a little half-cuddle and is pleasantly surprised when he toes off his shoes and clambers into the bed with her instead, propping himself up on one arm so he can snuggle up against her side, pressing fully against her. The weight of him next to her is comforting, soothing any residual uncertainty or anxiety that might have been lurking in the corners of her mind, and Rose nestles into him gratefully, relishing his solid warmth. She watches him as he reaches out, almost hesitantly, to touch the baby sleeping on her chest, safe and snug between them both.

He gently strokes the baby’s head, his face alight with a quiet wonder, not unlike the expression he wears when stepping onto the surface of a new planet for the first time, Rose thinks. But his gaze is so much tenderer than she ever saw it, any of those times. Soft and open and a little afraid but still so, so full of wonder and awe.

God, she loves him so much.

“You almost forget how small they are,” the Doctor says softly, reaching down to one of the baby’s hands, inspecting five little tight-coiled fingers. “Can you believe all the potential packed inside that tiny little body?”

“It’s pretty incredible,” Rose agrees.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was blinking tears out of his eyes as he turns to bury his face in her hair. “You’re incredible,” he says, his voice thick.

Happy contentedness fills Rose’s head like a candyfloss-cloud. “You’re not so bad, yourself,” she says sleepily, and the Doctor chuckles, wiping his eyes.

He loops his arm around her and the baby both, holding them close. He’s unusually quiet as he watches the baby sleep, and Rose wonders if his thoughts are anything to match. Maybe he’s cataloguing everything about their child, about the downy-soft head and warm red cheeks and little button nose, filing every detail away in that massive memory of his, his mind already racing with revelations about the past, how they’ll inform plans and ideas for the future. Or maybe he’s just allowing himself to be present, for once, in the here and the now, with Rose and the baby, no ghosts or worries or unspoken nightmares haunting him for just a handful of moments. Maybe he’s allowing himself these rare few minutes of quiet calm, before the world starts spinning again.

“How long are you gonna stay with us?” Rose murmurs sleepily, and the Doctor’s hold on her tightens.

“Forever,” he says.

******

Find me on AO3 ♥

[idreamtofthereaper]

Trouble Waiting to Happen... iv

bigbrother!jaehyun x sibling!reader x loveinterest!jaemin

𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘺. But Jung Jaehyun knows better, and that’s why their group remains superior and unbothered -only you didn’t.

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: reader x nct jaemin

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, fluff

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: mafia theme, gets dark a little later, mentions of kidnapping, deaths, threats, mature theme, cursing/swearing

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧: hi-  I still haven’t moved on from jaehyun’s kick it get up. reach out to me in anyways if you want to be included in the taglist!

M A S T E R L I S T

Taglist: @hiqhkeybby​  @huangxx @shyshybabyy​‘

When Jaemin got to school on his first day, he was surprised to see he wasn’t the only one late. Considering he heard from his brother and Donghae that Golden Valley University is an uptight school and if you can’t back it up using your academics, you must be an exceptionally good at pulling your shit in extracurricular activities.

As it was Monday, he wasn’t sure if you have any classes the same as he does. He hasn’t seen you around the halls and he wasn’t sure if it’s because you were late again or you were already in your class.

When Jaemin took a seat for his first class, briefly greeting his classmates while waiting for the teacher, you were in the car on the way to school currently arguing with your brother. 

“I won’t be late! I still have 10 minutes before school starts. Doyoung-oppa please pull over-”

“No don’t pull over. Coffee makes you cranky and weird and night.” Jaehyun answered, looking at Doyoung through the rearview mirror who replied with a nod, Yuta on the passenger seat jamming to whatever music he’s listening to in his earphones.

Normally, Jaehyun wouldn’t be with you on the way to school but since Doyoung and Yuta are assigned to you, he said he would now be with you when you’re being dropped off. 

Today is also one of the days where a school program is approaching and your family’s company has become the regular sponsor in this events.

When the car pulled to the school, Yuta went out to open the door for you, Doyoung tapping his hands to the steering wheel. With Yuta’s help, you got out the car and waited for your brother to come out.

He said a few instructions to Yuta and Doyoung before the both of you walked in the school, some eyes making their way to the both of you- some doesn’t even tried to hide it.

Your brother is well known, not just to be a smart and young bachelor businessman but also for being a pretty face. It’s something he uses to tease you with and something you use to tease him too.

Aera was waiting by the entrance when you came in, Jaehyun greeting her briefly before he gave you a kiss on the top of the head, excusing himself to go to the office before telling you a last warning to not in take anything with caffeine in it.

“I hope your brother stays single until I get into my glow up stage.” Aera said with a sigh, dreamily looking at your brother’s back- just like the rest of the students.

You look at her with disbelief and slapped her arm jokingly, snapping herself out. “What? Who would you rather be with your brother, a person you barely know or me?”

“Anyone but you. Let’s go, I don’t want to be late again. And stop talking about my brother.”

--

The thoughts of Jaemin wasn’t that prominent anymore but seeing him during lunch with his brother and brother’s friends made you remember him again. Though, you pushed the thought away and continued eating with Aera in peace.

However, Jaemin couldn’t escape you. Everyone was just gushing about your brother, which made him more curious as to who exactly your brother is. As soon as lunch hits and he saw Jeno, he immediately asked- “Who is Jung Jaehyun?”

“Oh no, you too?” After seeing a photo, he realized he was actually the CEO of that company Jeno and Donghae was trying to make a deal with. Which made him more curious- one of the main questions being do you know your brother’s other part time job?

Every time Jaemin would even walk the same path as you, you would immediately steer away with your friend in tow. He admits, he was a little intimidated about you.

With the uncertainty with the schedules, he opted to do something to make sure your paths will cross somehow, he joined the Film/Movie club. Jaemin doesn’t know, he’s confused.

When he opened the door to the meeting room, you were the only one there as you were the president of the club. You were about to greet the person on the door, but when you turned from the board to Jaemin, your smile instantly left.

“Hi.” Jaemin greeted timidly, his more polite and soft tone in contrast to his confident tone of last week.

“Oh it’s you, I didn’t know you were a member.” You said lifelessly, turning your attention back to the board. “Go and take a seat or grab a snack, you’re big enough to figure it out.” 

Jaemin didn’t know how to respond. Last week, you had comebacks for him but now it was as if everything he would say will be something bad. “I- I just signed up today, as a member.” 

“Okay, go and take a seat or something. The others still have classes so it’s going to be a while.” You answered, continuing to write on the board, noticing Jaemin on your peripheral vision just standing there before moving to take a seat.

It was hard not to notice him, the uniform fits him nicely and he looks good in it. He embodied the rich and rebel look without losing its taste.

Jaemin could say the same to you, especially with your current attitude. The uniform made you look like you were born to possess all power there is. You look good in it.

Jaemin was just fidgeting in his seat before thinking ‘Fuck It’ and stood up, leaning by the board so it was hard for you to miss him. “I did something really wrong and I’m so sorry.”

You glared at him, putting the marker down and crossed your arms. “Apology accep-”

“No, no. I don’t want you to accept my apology just yet. I don’t exactly know what I did and I want to make sure I don’t do it again.” Jaemin said, his body now straightening as he looked at you softly. “What did I do? I’m sure it was something I said about the rumors. I’m really really sorry.”

You tried surpassing a smile, which you manage. You could sense the sincerity in his voice and before you could say something, he continued his words. “I’m pretty sure that bar comment was out of line and I’m so so sorry. I never thought of you like that. I’m sorry.”

Before you could reply, the door opened to the door and your club members came in, talking among each other loudly and some greeted you, which you greeted back with a smile.

You turn your attention back to Jaemin. “Let’s talk later, take your seat.”

Jaemin felt like his apology and explanation worked, your face when he left lit up as if the life that swept out when he appeared came back. He also noticed how you were more laid back when discussing the movie the club has watched previously (it was Smaller and Smaller Circles) 

Jaemin admired how you explained the movie in the most intellectual way. He joined the club in hopes to get closer to you, but now he was fully interested with it as you explained important scenes of the movie

“And when you look at this shot, it tells about how the killer sent the boy to the afterlife by the light shining in front-”

“Like the one in Mr. Bean?” Jaemin asked, earning a laugh from the group. Which confused Jaemin since it was a serious questions but when he saw you chuckle as well, he didn’t really mind. “You know, the opening when they dropped Mr. Bean?”

“Yes exactly, that’s what this scene is telling. Now moving on, this scene right here then shows why the title of the movie is Smaller and Smaller Circles.” You said before pressing the clicker which prompted the projector to change into a different photo, showing a scene where the camera is showing the view of a spiral staircase.

The club discussion continued for a couple more minutes, the other members noting their own thoughts and interesting findings of the movie. Before dismissing everyone with an assignment to watch ‘Spirited Away’

Jaemin waited for everyone to leave, waiting behind as you fixed your stuff. When you finished chatting with a member, you noticed how Jaemin was still there. “Why are you still here?”

“Well, originally I wanted to talk to you more but I became more interested with movies now.” Jaemin said, walking up to you with a smile.

You return the smile as the both of you went out the room, Jaemin opening the door for you as the both of you walked leisurely on the way out the school. “Look, you don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” Jaemin asked, complete confusion on his face.

“THIS. Talking to me and stuff, I already forgive you. Last week was a misunderstanding and it’s fine, I understand that it was unintentional. We’re good.”

Jaemin shook his head with this before scoffing with disbelief, making you look at him. “I’m genuinely interested with you though.” Like, do you know your brother is one of the most dangerous person out there?

“Well, what’s so interesting about me, Mr. I am the adopted son of one of the richest people in the world and was kicked out from my previous school because I was skipping so much but beyond that you couldn’t find anything else about my life?”

“I knew you found me interesting! You googled me!” Jaemin has a smile on his face as he said this, nudging you slightly, even teasing you a little by making noises you couldn’t even describe.

When he calmed down, he finally answered. “Well get this Ms. I am the daughter of one of the most known family in the world but for some reason still works like a nerd, what if we discuss our super boring life over coffee?”

“I don’t trust you and coffee.” You answered, making your way down the stairs. You wanted to accept his offer, but with your brother putting Doyoung and Yuta in charge over you- you couldn’t simply sneak out like you did before.

“You pick the place and your drink.” Jaemin said, blocking his body to prevent you from coming out the building. “I’ll pay.”

You look at him in disbelief, jokingly acting to be offended. “Excuse me I could buy the entire coffee shop if I want to, I just think I’m a little booked this week.” You said, trying to pass on his other side but he moved as well.

“Please? I really want to get to know you better, we barely have classes together.”

You were about to respond when your phone started ringing, giving Jaemin a look before accepting it without looking at the caller. “Hello?”

“We’re outside, is that you at the entrance? You need help?” You recognize Doyoung’s voice, peering over Jaemin’s arm and saw a car was indeed waiting for you outside.

Since it was just you and Jaemin in an empty hallway, Jaemin could hear slightly the caller. “No, I’m okay. I’m about to head out.” You replied while looking at Jaemin, turning the call off without looking at the phone. “My service is here, I need to go.”

“Wait, wait. Can I get your number at least?” Jaemin said, his eyes pleading at you. 

You gave this a thought, before giving him an apologetic smile. “I don’t have a phone.” You finally managed to push past him and walk towards Doyoung and Yuta, who again opened the door for you as Jaemin watch your figure disappear from the vehicle.

Jaemin has never been more determined to do something in his life.

[that-bajan-kid]

Boku No Hero Academia Chapter 269 SPOILERS

(Since the three of us couldn't be here allow the two of us to kick your ass on his behalf)

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All aboard the LoudEraserMic angst train!!!

(Edit: Not that much angst but still sufficient to make an impact on my heart (T^T))

Right so, Enji is checking over Miruko's wounds and he's like "This shits pretty deep fam imma have to cauterise it" and Miruko says "Inside" cause Shigaraki is only important thing in this situation apparently. Enji then says it hasn't even been 5 mins since she first radioed in. I thought it was much longer. There is no way she did all that damage in less than 5 mins.

(Edit: Oh shit guys Miruko's leg ain't looking to good. And by that I mean it's barely hanging on. Is my prediction about her loosing a leg coming true? I knew her fucking leg in the colour page last chapter looked too metallic. Horikoshi and his goddamn foreshadowing)

Enji starts to cauterise the wound, a skill he really should teach Shouto how to do, and tells Miruko he still owes her for Kyushu so please don't die. Miruko, who is still having her wound cauterise btw, responds with "what do I owe you now" and this nice moment is abruptly and rudely interrupted by the fucking Feme Fatale Noumu istg.

Noumu can you fuck off for five fucking minutes? Can't you see he's actually doing something productive. Shit.

NO FUCKING THANKS TO YOU!

Crust you useless peice of shit you haven't done a single thing since you showed up on screen. Why are you even here? How are you the No. 6 hero in all of Japan? Istg I'm gonna jump through this screen and kill him myself.

Anyway, Miruko tells them that Shigaraki ain't your average villain no more and that they should really make sure he doesn't wake up. She also tells them about the Doctors remote for waking the Noumu and that they should probably go get it.

Again, I don't know why Miruko was so hellbent on breaking the tank if she didn't want Shiggy to wake up but I'm not the badass heroine here.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this very important announcement: Aizawa Shouta is sexy as fuck. That is all.

The last time reinforcements were on their way Miruko lost an arm and maybe a leg cause that shits mangled to all hell, and got a wound so bad Enji had to set her on fire to fix it. So yeah those few seconds are definitely gonna be a huge problem. If BNHA has taught me anything it's that you can't depend on your backup to show up in time to actually help.

... Aizawa, listen. I know your a badass. I know that. And if these were regular villains I wouldn't have a problem. But these aren't regular villains, these are Noumu. You know, like the one that beat the shit out of you at USJ. Except it's not cause these are stronger!

"I almost died taking on one Noumu, so the only logical decision to make in this situation is to send off my fellow heroes, who both have long range combat oriented quirks, and take on these three Noumu, who are much stronger than the one that almost killed me, all by myself. I'm sure nothing bad could possibly happen." Are you fucking stupid? Did you hit your head too hard on something? Do you really think Enji can't handle this by himself? I mean he probably can't but that's not the point! Come on man, you're smarter than this Aizawa. And you really think Mic is gonna be ok with Mister I-haven't-done-anything-usefull-yet Express over here?

Oh so he can throw the shields Captain America style. Literally the only productive he's done since his first appearance.

Crust if you let my man Aizawa die-

"I'm counting on you..." I'm scared for them. They're both teachers and we all know how shows like this likes to treat mentors and teachers.

Mic strikes a pose, presumably getting ready to yell and Ujiko starts going off about how most of his equipment is done for but the data is still there and, oh shit, he's gonna wake up Shiggy before more damage can be done.

OH SHIT! MIC SAID I THINK THE FUCK NOT AND USED LOUD VOICE ON THESE FOOLS! He completely ablitarated the lab.

But a lass, he shattered the tank and I'm not ok with that. They realise that when they do that there's nothing stopping him from waking up by himself, right?

Ha, Ujiko looks like a balloon that got caught in a wind storm.

Shiggy is on the ground unconscious but we don't care about him rn.

Oh boy.

Mic is winding up for a punch while thinking back to presumably before they left for the raid. Aizawa says if Yamada is going then he'll follow and I don't think my heart can handle this much emotion.

YES! BEAT HIS ASS HIZASHI! DJ PUNCH!!

My man Mic really said "Clone check" lol. Also roll credits.

Uh... so Express went to pin down Shiggy and, in a genuinely shocking turn of events, Shiggy isn't breathing and his heart isn't beating. He is, essentially, dead and I really don't know how I feel about that. Ujiko said he put Shiggy in "a state of suspension to lighten the burden of stabilisation" and that the tank was supposed to accelerate the process, support his system, and then resuscitate him when he's ready. Whoops.

Ujiko starts crying saying he lived for Shiggy's sake. I don't buy any of this. Horikoshi wouldn't just hype up his main villain to be super OP and then immediately kill him off. This is Shigaraki fucking Tomura we're talking about.

The other heroes are finally here, after the main threat has supposedly been dealt with. The heroes are all like "THIS IS THE END..."

Despite what the heroes may think, I'm quite certain this isn't over. For one, it's too anticlimactic. And two, we haven't seen the main protagonist since the raid first started. We have no idea how the evac is going. And don't even get me started on Hawks and Tokoyami.

I want to see how my babies are doing Horikoshi-sensei (T^T)

Until next time.

[ellaenchanting]

Request Fic for @ragezdasta

Prompt:” Normal hypnotherapy uncovers a person's dark hypnokinky past that was previously erased via intense memory play. “

Warning: This is not how any of this actually  works. 

Mistress owns my body. Mistress owns my soul. I am broken for mistress. Mistress owns my body. Mistress owns my soul. I am broken for mistress.

The voice droned on and on.

Clara was beginning to panic. She looked over at her couch and her frenzied client. Marianne's eyes were open, staring vacantly at nothing. Her voice was pitched high and frantic, like she was pleading with someone or engaging in some ecstatic ritual. Her breathing was high and fast. Her body was frozen as though in terror- except for one hand that slowly and absently rubbed at her cunt.  

Clara pulled her limp hand away.

It lingered in the air for a moment before resuming its’ teasing.

It was though she couldn't even feel it, Clara thought.

For the first time in her hypnotherapy career, Clara had no idea what to do.

After last week's disastrous meeting, she wasn't surprised when Marianne had called to schedule an emergency session a few days later. During her first few sessions, Marianne and Clara had decided to try a memory regression to help discover the cause of Marianne's sexual reluctance with her fiance.  But last week, when the regression had actually happened and Clara began to question her, Marianne had stiffened like a frightened animal. A look of shock had come over her face and she began reciting the same statements about being owned and broken, over and over. Her voice was both detached sounding and determined. It reminded Clara of watching possession movies.

Clara had tried to question Marianne further. She had even taken great pains to reassure her that she was safe and that it was OK to remember. But, despite everything, Marianne would only stare, recite, and touch. All Clara could do was talk her through an old trauma amnesia procedure- showing her how to box up this side of herself for the time being. She had been incredibly relieved when Marianne had come back to her regular self by the end of their session. At least, Clara thought,  that would give her another week to think about what to do next.

Clara didn't get her week. Marianne might not have remembered what happened during her regression- Clara had been careful to help her repress THAT information- but apparently Marianne had been suffering from ill effects anyway. She had told Clara that she hadn't been able to work, she hadn't been able to spend time with her fiance, she hadn't even been able to THINK properly since their last session. She found herself awaking from stupors only to realize with dread that hours had passed. Sometimes Marianne "woke up" wearing different clothes or in places that she didn't recognize. The only thing that Marianne could blame was her hypnotherapy appointment. She called and demanded that Clara see and fix her immediately- and threatened to sue her for malpractice if she didn't.

Clara desperately contacted all of her mentors before the session began to get help brainstorming how to help with Marianne's memory block. No one had seen anything like it before. Clara had taken notes on their ideas and tried all of their suggestions anyway . She even tried the "boxing up" trick that had helped last week.

No luck.

Clara looked at the masturbating woman across the room. If anything, Marianne had seemed to retreat deeper and deeper into herself over time, becoming more and more lost.

She began to have a sinking suspicion.

The mantras Marianne recited sang out to Clara. They were familiar, like the lyrics to a forgotten childhood song.  A few times, she even had a vivid flash of herself, lying in a similar position and brokenly reciting the same words of devotion. It was worrying- like feeling a new ache in a tooth that had long since gone dead.

It wasn't Clara who had broken Marianne. But she recognized the work of the one who had.

She decided to call Desiree. Her first mentor.

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

Fortunately, Desiree picked up on the first ring.

"Clara, dear, how are you? How's your practice? I've been sending you referrals, you know!"

Desiree's voice was cheery and kind. Clara reluctantly noted that it still pulled on her attention, giving her little sparks of happiness that felt particularly unwelcome in her current circumstances. She respected Desiree's skill immensely but she knew she could never trust her. Not after what had happened between them.

She wasn't going to get pulled into Desiree's chit chat. "Do you know a Marianne Thomas?" Clara replied, accusingly. 

Desiree seemed puzzled. "I don't recall that name. Did she mention knowing me? Clara, dear, you sound so strange! What's wrong?"

Clara sighed. Took a picture of her masturbating patient. Hit send. Waited.

There was a long pause from the other side of the line. "Oh," Desiree finally replied, hesitantly. "I forgot that she was Marianne now."

Clara let the silence play out. She was too pissed off to speak.

When Desiree continued, her voice was regretful. "Laura- or I guess Marianne now- was my first. Twenty years ago. She was like you were when you were younger- she came to me saying that she had no limits and wanted to be completely broken. Completely brainwashed. There were...I didn't know exactly what I was doing at the time. There was no one to ask, no idea that that could be done safely. We didn't WANT it to be done safely. And we were both consenting adults.”

“I was curious about what I could do to her- what the limits were. I read up on cults, on psychological torture. I had all sorts of plans. I would keep her up all night, feed her very little, make her listen to my voice in her sleep. I knew she was becoming REALLY mine when she would only focus on her brainwashing. She started to punish herself for disobedience without prompting- and she'd reward herself the more mindless and obedient she became. That was really hot. I didn't want it to stop. Even when I felt like I was losing control of it, it was hot. I didn't...I didn't quite believe it was real back then. I thought we were mostly roleplaying, engaging in a collective fantasy. I was only doing what she wanted.”

“But, over time, Laura began to fade and disappear. She quit her job. I was fine with that- I made enough to support her and I liked having a brainwashed housekeeper in the home. She stopped seeing her friends. She even stopped responding to her name. It was like her personality just drained out. Towards the end, when she wasn't actively obeying me, she would just sit there in a stupor. Like she wasn't even a person.”

“At one point I even tried to get Laura back. I would tell her that she WAS Laura right now, that she could act like Laura. And she would..for a few minutes. But she couldn't sustain it. Laura wasn't there anymore-not really. She was only my slave.”

“And- well...that wasn't what I wanted.”

“I felt responsible for her, of course. I stayed....another 6 months after I knew it had to end. But- I couldn't condemn myself to be stuck as her caretaker forever. Not over a genuine mistake.”

“I did my research- even tracked down and  paid a good amount of money for some black market MKULTRA info. I figured out how they built a new personality in their sleeper agents, one that could function in day to day life. One that would feel real and whole to my slave in a way that Laura didn't anymore. One that didn't have to remember what Laura had been through.”

“And so...that's when I made Marianne."

Desiree's usually-confident voice had become more and more shakey as her story went on. She sighed.

Clara felt no sympathy. "So why is your Marianne stuck reciting mantras on my couch?" asked Clara, shortly. "And how do I fix her?"

"I'm guessing you tried a regression?" asked Desiree.

"Yes," said Clara, her voice cold. "She was having sexual compatibility problems. With her fiance."

"Fuck," said Desiree. "Of course she was. I never thought she'd manage to HAVE a fiance. OK, so you must have gotten her under deeply enough that she remembered her old self. It's like her old slave programming is coming through and she's trying to erase Marianne in the same way that she erased Laura."

"We've been here for 3 hours," said Clara impatiently, gripping her phone. "Her fiance will be looking for her soon. This is your responsibility. You need to come here. Fix her."

"That's a bad idea," frowned Desiree. "I think my going there would just...encourage the process. She needs more help than you'll be able to give right now. Let me think. Can I put you on hold for a minute?"

"What?! No you can't-"  Clara exclaimed, just as the phone went mute. 

She paced her office, frustrated and angry.

After some time, Desiree's voice came back on the other line. She sounded calmer now. More in control. Clara felt something inside her shift.

"OK, Clara- listen carefully. This is what we're going to do. You're going to call and arrange for an involuntary commitment for Marianne at the Cedar Crest psych hospital. Tell them that she's hearing voices that are telling her to harm herself. You may even want to suggest to her that she HEARS voices before you go- she's way more open to suggestion right now that she appears. You'll drive her to their admissions department. Dr Marshall will meet you there- he's a close friend and I've told him enough that he can handle the situation. A commitment will give him a few days to do so more thoroughly. Dr. Marshall can contact Marianne's fiance- you needn't bother. You'll return to your office and call me back. Understand?"

Clara wanted to object. This was completely unethical. She shouldn't let Desiree talk her into participating in this.

"I understand, ma'am", she heard her voice saying, as if from a great distance.

Desiree sounded relieved. "Good girl. Now go make your calls."

Clara hung up the phone, feeling clear and steady. She knew what she needed to do next.

[randomoranges]

these blurbs are recycled. back in 2015, i had written these for another teacher au verse for another fandom. i never got around to posting them for the other fandom [i don’t think so. if anything they’re on my old LJ somewhere, but anyways.] i decided to re-read them and update them a little. these are based on true events and some wishful thinking. 

the wishful thinking part is that i really would like to have an Edward lamao. 

Teaching AU

Planning

Étienne had no idea what it was that had possessed him, when he agreed to this contract. Sure, he had a degree that said he could teach, yes, he actually did want to work, but he had no idea how to organise his lessons and the curriculum only helped him so much. He could do anything he wanted and the idea was overwhelming to say the least. That was the way art was – basically, he could have the kids do whatever project he so desired, so long as they ended up learning whatever it was the Progressions of Learning said. It didn’t matter how it was the students learned about primary colours, so long as they did. Étienne would have preferred some guidance – some left over projects from the year before to at least get him started and guided.

 He was still a little shell-shocked. This was his first contract, the staff was nice, but the school was enormous and he felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. It didn’t help that he was the only art teacher in the building and therefore had no other art colleagues on hand, (why had he agreed, why?) He would have liked to been able to exchange ideas with someone else – someone who knew the program and had done this for a few years – who knew the school.

 Étienne sighed and tried to calm down his racing heart. He hated feeling like an incompetent. He could come up with projects easily, but – would the students enjoy them? Would they be able to do them? Would they breeze through the project in thirty minutes instead of the four periods he had planned? And then there was the grading – the groups – so many groups, so many projects and thus, so much grading. How did one manage it all? How did teachers not sign their souls over when they started?

 There were high hopes riding on him and he didn’t want to disappoint.

 If he was honest with himself, Étienne would admit that he had spent the past two weeks fretting during sleepless nights over this job and that so far, it was more stress than fun. He hated this. He missed his free time. He missed going home and doing something for himself. Something fun. He was always bone tired when he got home and there was always something work related to do; e-mails, grading, planning, preparing, thinking – thinking – thinking. Even when he tried to sleep, his brain would kick into gear and play over the days lessons and over think the upcoming ones. There was no break. Ever.

 But he wasn’t one who gave up.

 He would show them, damn it. He would show the man who hired him that he had made the right choice.

 Even if it meant more sleepless nights and more after hours at school trying to keep his head above water.

 Étienne sighed and opened up another tab on his computer, looking for some inspiration. At least the school was quiet now.

 Printer

Edward didn’t know why, but somehow or other, he had decided that this year, he would make the new science exam, since apparently, the one the school had used last year was garbage and he had So Many Great Ideas.

 Even though he had three other colleagues who equally taught fifth grade science, he had volunteered to do it, to show that he was willing to be part of the team, help out, and get involved. Or something equally wonderful and daft.

 That was fine, except now he found himself alone, in the teacher’s room, on a Friday night, two hours after classes had let out, trying to coax life into the printer.

 He wanted to go home.

 These exams needed to be printed now, so that they could be looked over on Monday and then distributed by Tuesday. Therefore, now was not the time for the printer to stop working, thank you very much.

 Edward would have gone to a different printer, but this was the only decent photocopier that could staple and hole punch the documents as well. He would have asked another teacher, but it was past six and no one was left in the school. Well, no one he knew of. No one in their right mind, really.

 He was tired, hungry, on the brink of a nervous breakdown because of this stupid printer, stressed, anxious and overworked. He had piles of marking to do this weekend and he had lessons to plan. To top it all off, today had been a day six and he hated those. (It was the one day in his schedule where he didn’t have a specialist and of course it fell on a Friday, when the kids were more excitable. He’d tried to make his afternoon easier by putting on a movie, but that had been met with only partial success.)

 It was a lot. It was too much. Why had he ever agreed to any of this? Why did anyone ever agree to this? And most importantly, how could anyone ever even think that teachers’ had it easy? This was anything but. Sure, he loved his students, would do anything for them, but.

 He let out a frustrated cry and slammed his hand on the printer. There was no way the paper was still jammed or that the ink cartridge was low. He tried rebooting the machine, but he got the same error message as before.

 He was going to give up.

 He had let everyone down.

 He knew he shouldn’t have gotten so involved; he should have kept his mouth shut.

 He should have minded his own business.

 He should have – he let out a mangled sob and then heard a soft cough from the door.

 Edward spun around quickly and wiped his eyes. He wasn’t alone anymore.

 He squinted at the door and saw the new art teacher – Étienne. What was he doing here? At this time? Why wasn’t he home?  

 “Late night?” He asked, all smiles and casualness, but Edward had a feeling that Étienne was just hiding his own exhaustion behind his friendly smile.

 “No – I mean – yes, I mean...” He looked at the printer and wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

 “Printer problems?”

 “Yes... and I was almost done. Well, for the day. Not like we’re ever done.”

 Étienne laughed and stepped inside the dimly lit office. There had been daylight before, but he hadn’t bothered turning the lights earlier, too absorbed in his work.

 “Mind if I take a look?”

 “Go ahead. It can’t get any worse than this. Although, if you fix it, I might just want to kiss you.” He joked and then realised how that sounded. He was about to apologise for the comment, but Étienne offered him a smile and a soft laugh instead. Edward stepped aside and let Étienne have a look. Étienne turned on the lights and Edward squinted at the sudden bright lights.

 Étienne looked at the printer and hummed in concentration. He opened the tray, checked for a paper jam, and Edward wanted to tell him that he had done all of that already, but, well, Étienne could have the pleasure of finding that out for himself.

 It took Étienne a little over an hour, during which they exchanged polite conversation. Edward tried to print his document, when it seemed that it would work, but every time, without fault, the printer stuttered or printed out blanks, much to both of their discouragement.  

 Finally, after four threats of setting the damned thing on fire, three litanies of curses and one break to cool off, the photocopier finally spat out Edward’s document.

 Edward first kissed the stack of freshly printed-paper and then launched himself into Étienne’s arms.

 Art Room

Edward looked at the small mountain of exams he still had to grade and groaned. He hated the end of term for many different reasons and this was definitively one of them.

 He had more grading than he cared to do and the report cards needed to be filled in afterwards as if he didn’t have enough to do already.

 It was a good thing he was on top of his grading.

 He could only imagine what it would be like if he wasn’t.

 Actually, he didn’t want to imagine.

 At least he only had twenty-eight students to deal with. He had no idea how Étienne managed. He’d drown. He’d never be ahead. There was no way. Sometimes, he looked at Étienne correct projects and he wondered how he did it – how he decided what was full marks and what deserved less. Étienne had explained it to him once; had shown him his very detailed rubric, but even then.

 Edward threw his red pen down and fished out his cell phone. He needed a break. He wanted to go home and forget about all of this. He wanted to pretend he was a regular man with a regular 8 to 4 job that didn’t follow him home. He wanted to go on a date with his boyfriend and not pass out on the sofa by nine-thirty like some ancient dinosaur man.

 He opened up his conversation with Étienne, typing out a new message quickly.

 “Are you almost done?” He typed out. Maybe, if Étienne was nearly done, he could use it as an excuse to head home.

 The reply came a few seconds later, “Not even close. You?”

 Edward sighed; so much for an earlier night. “Likewise. I need a break. Mind if I pop by yours for a bit?”

 “God, please. I need a distraction something fierce.”

 Edward put down his phone and stretched luxuriously, letting out a groan. His neck was stiff and his shoulders were sore, but standing up felt good.

 Étienne’s art room was two floors below his own classroom and they had made the art room their own little meeting point when they wanted to sit together away from everyone and everything else. The art room’s doors had no windows, there was a comfortable plush couch in the back of it, and there weren’t any other classrooms beyond it. Therefore, it was the perfect place for some quiet time together.

 Edward made his way towards the other room and took a moment to listen to the quiet of the building. There was something soothing and a little eerie about a quiet school in the dead of the night. He thought it was calming. It was different from the regular hustle and bustle of the day, with the students running down the stairs after class, before class, during class being their rowdy selves. Now, he could hear himself think and breathe.

 “Fancy meeting you here.” Étienne greeted him at the door with a pleased little smile.

 Edward couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He liked the fact that he could meet up with his boyfriend like this. He had friends who wondered how it was they ever had anything to talk about when they worked at the same place. It worked for them. They made it work. If anything, it meant that Étienne understood his work reality and vice versa. They both knew how demanding it was to teach and so, they never fought over the other “being lazy and not having done a chore” or something. Edward liked that they had the morning and evening commute together, even if they didn’t say anything. Just being together and sharing the same space was enough.

 They exchanged tired, fond smiles and Edward closed the door behind him, before pulling Étienne close for a hug, leaning back against the door.

 “God, you look how I feel.” He told Étienne.

 Étienne laughed and gave him a one over. “I can say the same about you, Murphy, and yet you’re still a sight for sore eyes.”

 “Kind as always, Maisonneuve.”

 “Only for you.” Étienne said, soft, and closed the distance between them, cupping Edward’s cheeks with his hands to press a kiss to the corner of Edward’s mouth.

 “No. Kiss me proper, damn it. I need something to survive this hell night.” Edward pouted.

 Étienne’s laugh was more of a rasp, but he was never one to refuse Edward a kiss. He pulled him closer and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, looking into those eyes he loved so much, before he kissed him properly this time. Edward sighed against him, held him closer and chased another kiss when Étienne made to pull back.

 This was by far the greatest perk of working with his boyfriend. It wasn’t as if they used every chance they got to make-out, but it was nice to know that they could. That when Étienne needed a hug they could sneak one in behind closed doors and that when they were both doing their usual unpaid overtime, they could indulge in a little moment or two to make the night a little easier.

 After Hours

Parent-teacher interviews were finally over and the desks and chairs had been put away. Tomorrow was a PED day, but at least it meant a reprieve from the kids, even if they still needed to be in at the same time and then have to sit through meetings that could always be summed up in an e-mail but never were.

 Even though Étienne was exhausted and he wanted nothing more but curl up in bed and sleep until spring, there was a get together in the staff room and he could go for a little socialising. It wasn’t as if he had time to see his friends anymore anyways.

 Being the new teacher, he hadn’t really gotten the chance to make new friends, but Edward was there and so he figured he could hang out with him. If anything, there was free booze from the looks of it and that in itself would make this a little more interesting.

 Luckily, being the art teacher meant that even if he didn’t really know the other teachers, they knew of him and that he existed in the school. They all exchanged polite hellos and congratulated themselves on surviving the night, before toasting to that.

 Étienne found Edward by the back of the room, sitting on one of the couches. He seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with the other fifth grade teachers and Étienne figured he might as well join them, even if just to sit somewhere.

 “Excellent, I thought you had left.” Edward said with a bright grin and Étienne thought that maybe this wasn’t Edward’s first drink, judging by the pink of his cheeks.

 “Nah, you’re my ride home, or did you forget?” He joked. Honestly, the rides home and to school were a life saver. He needed to get Edward a proper Christmas thank you gift just for that. And also because Edward had offered him friendship when it seemed as though he would be alone in this new school and drown in his own feelings.

 They exchanged a few anecdotes from the night, until one of the gym teachers showed up with a special bottle of whiskey and a stack of mismatched teacups.

 “Looks like things are going to get interesting!” Edward grinned at him. Étienne could only nod as he was handed a cup.

 The janitor came by to kick them out around eleven, when he had to arm the school. They didn’t mind, really, since they did want to head home and they did have to show up to school the following day, even if the idea of calling in sick and sleeping in seemed oh so alluring.

 Étienne’s head was spinning a little and he wasn’t sure if it had to do with the extra cup of whiskey or the fact that Edward had been pressed close to his side, all evening long, with their legs touching and shoulders bumping into each other. However, for once in his life, he was happy to have the cold November air blast him in the face when they stepped out.

 If anything, it had been an excellent way to end the evening and he had connected with a few other teachers. Especially Edward. Edward was fast turning into a potentially Real Friend. Friend he could meet up with outside of school type.

 “You ready to head home?” Edward asked, bundling up in his scarf and coat. Étienne liked the rosy tinge to his cheeks and wondered if it was the cold, the booze, or a blush. For half a second Étienne had a vision of going to home to someone – of going back home with Edward and he mourned the fact that he wasn’t – that there was no one home waiting for him and to kiss him goodnight.

 “Yeah; I’m beat. You?”

 “I’m okay. I guess I’ll pick you up tomorrow? Around 7h30?” At least he could sleep in an extra thirty minutes.

 “Sure looks like it. Wanna grab lunch during break?” He threw out, feeling bold. They’d never done lunch before. They kept it at the lifts, which were already nice, even if sometimes they were quiet. Edward seemed surprised, but recovered quickly. His cheeks taking on an interesting shade of pink that Étienne wasn’t sure if it had to do with the cold, the booze, or something else.

 “Sounds like a plan.” He finally said and nodded to himself.

 Étienne grinned feeling light-headed and giddy.

 FIN

[yuthoe]

Schedule Changes (PENTAGON: Adachi Yuto)

HELLO, IT’S 12:48AM AND I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF.

I had to churn this out because it won’t leave my head. I’d like to thank my irl friend @shiiiiiiiiinwun for inspiring me to write this collection (yes, I’m gonna be doing one for all of ot9). And for someone who’s been watching anime since she figured out how to use the internet, you’d think I could’ve come up with better names, and faster.

EDIT (06/29/20): Hi! it’s my first time making an edit like this, so i’m kinda insecure abt it lol, i hope it’s okay. this is the 2nd yuto version i did, so it’s slightly better than the first one. tumblr rlly doesn’t want us to go overboard on image size huh

WARNINGS: n/a; some angst, maybe? who’s proofreading idk her. WORD COUNT: 3,314 it’s so fucking long.

---

Minister Sakaguchi,

Unfortunately, Her Majesty will not be available for your meeting today at 3PM; urgent matters have arisen that need her immediate attention. If you would like to reschedule with her, please reply to this email.

Thank you very much for understanding.

Regards,

Y/N L/N

Secretary to the Queen

You sigh, wondering if the email you’ve typed is in the appropriate tone that won’t offend Minister Sakaguchi; in all the years you’ve been working for the royal family it doesn’t get easier writing and replying to the emails of government officials, invitations to interview Her Majesty for magazine features, requests to attend public functions like galas and balls. The ridiculous amount of mail she gets, that are automatically forwarded to you, is mind-boggling, in anyone else’s eyes. It doesn’t surprise you anymore, though.

The queen as a monarch takes the backseat to running the kingdom, to any foreigner that decides to take a look at articles from international news sources. Her name isn’t mentioned as much as the king’s when it comes to referencing big developments in the state. Rather, the local newspapers and online sites have her name and face on some article at least once a week. The queen takes care of the little things, smaller projects that delve more into social welfare than her husband’s institutional programs. She is a strong advocate for women’s and children’s rights, as well as a figure in health outreach programs for the poorer sectors of society. Her compassion and dedication to her job is what made you want to work for her; she was like a role model to you, along with her husband.

It was a stroke of pure luck that got you this job; your first day as the secretary for Minister Yamazaki turned into you being his substitute with only a day’s notice. He had gotten sick with the flu and you were immediately thrust into a role you knew almost nothing about. So you took all the files related to the subject of the meeting and studied up on them the night before, turning up the next day and pulling out opinions as if you yourself spearheaded the project. The queen, upon finding out that you were new, was so impressed and had talked to Minister Yamazaki (who was still in his sickbed) over the phone about enlisting you under her employ.

It’s been five years since then. Five fast-paced, fulfilling, exciting years working closely with the royal family. At this point, your relationship with the queen is more of a friendship than strictly professional, and you’re grateful for it. The people you interact with on a daily basis are mostly considerably older than you--ministers, program leaders, the palace staff--and the talk is all business. So you’re grateful for your weekend teatime with the queen, sometimes with her children joining you, who are some of the only people your age you talk to on a regular basis, apart from the younger maids and kitchen staff. The afternoons out in the garden are the queen’s time to unwind and review everything that happened the previous week, as well as scheduling the succeeding weeks. The stress of planning therefore comes to a head on Saturdays so the week can sail by calmly.

Today is one of those Saturdays. Minister Sakaguchi had scheduled a dinner meeting with the queen yesterday--something about the upcoming fair for disenfranchised women, although you suspect Minister Sakiguchi will try to sneak in pitches for other programs she has in mind. The queen had agreed, so you penciled in the meeting into your schedule. However, the queen seemed under the weather when she came out earlier, that you had advised her to cancel it, assuring her that Minister Sakiguchi would understand. 

The queen takes a sip of her favorite rosehip and lemon tea, fingers delicate on the porcelain, and you send the email, huffing out a sigh. You place your phone facedown on the glass table and take a sugar cookie from the plate. “Just sent the email, Your Majesty,” you say. “Now you can just focus on resting tonight.” You smile as you take a bite.

Your boss smiles as she replaces the teacup on its saucer. “Thank you,” she says, relaxing against the lounge chair. “To be honest, I didn’t think Minister Sakiguchi would talk so much about the fair anyway. She probably suggested a meeting to tell me more of her ideas for the women’s sector.” You smile. Bingo. “Is anything else scheduled for tomorrow?”

You glance at your open laptop, as well as the printed-out spreadsheet on your lap. It’s an organized mess of colors and times and places and people. “Just the charity gala tomorrow night. I’ve coordinated with Subaru and she said the king will be late by an hour. Will you go alone?”

She tilts her head in thought and hums. “I don’t want to be late. Is there anyone available?”

You click through the several pinned tabs on your laptop to the tab for the royal family’s shared schedule. “It seems Princess Akari is free, as well as Prince Yuto,” you say after a moment.

“Ah, Akari will be busy designing something for the fair, I think, so maybe she won’t want to go,” the queen muses.

“So you’ll just take the prince, then? I’ll contact Daiki and ask him to notify the prince.”

“No need,” a deep, disembodied voice comes in from somewhere in the hedges before Prince Yuto pops his head into view. He walks towards the table as you clear up a space for him, closing your binder and putting that on top of the clipboard among other printouts on one of the spare chairs between you and the queen.

The prince strides across the grass in his black dress pants and long-sleeved shirt, to greet his mother. He places his hands softly on her shoulders and leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek. The queen smiles and accepts the kiss, patting a hand over one of his; her mood instantly lifts, and her posture relaxes further. As the youngest son, she dotes on him a lot; he in turn always keeps his mother company and can rarely be seen in public not by her side or his father’s. You think their relationship is sweet, and so do the many news articles posted online about it.

Prince Yuto takes a seat on the only empty chair and fixes himself a cup of tea while saying, “What’s the gala for?”

“The orphanages in the farther provinces,” the queen says as she takes a saucer and stacks it high with dark chocolate-coated cookies, pushing the small plate at her son’s direction. “Some dignitaries from other kingdoms as well as celebrities will be attending. And I will announce the new scholarship program for our state schools. There’s a chance your father won’t make it, so I’d like a companion.”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Mother,” Prince Yuto says after swallowing a bite of cookie. He turns to you. “What time is it?”

“Call time for the royals and major government officials is 7PM, and the program starts at 7:30. I’ll contact Daiki with the details as well,” you say.

The prince shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns to the queen. “It’s such a shame, I thought you two were talking about Y/N transferring to my office,” he jokes. It’s a bit that he’s brought up many times before, and both you and the queen take it as a joke since you figure he just wants someone closer to his age with more experience than Daiki, who is about four years older and has only been working with him for two years.

The queen lets out a laugh and takes her teacup again. “What’s the matter with Daiki? He seems to be doing a good job.” Her eyes meet yours as she takes another sip, glinting in amusement.

Prince Yuto is smiling his bright, beautiful smile that the camera loves as he looks fondly at his mother. He probably got wind of her feeling run-down and hurried here to try to distract her. You know the queen is the most important person to him, and the queen may not know it, but it’s obvious to everyone else. “Well, as you know, Y/N is better,” he continues, “and Daiki-san is a stick-in-the-mud.” The teasing makes you huff out a laugh, immediately raising a hand to cover your mouth; Daiki is truly a stick-in-the-mud, even more than you are.

The queen laughs boisterously, throwing her head back. “Oh, you’re such a jokester, Yuto.” She sighs, fully relieved, and you’re thankful he decided to stop by. The queen finishes her tea and says, “Well, this was a fun teatime. I have some paperwork I have to sign, so Y/N, you may go.” She turns to her son. “It’s so nice of you to stop by, sweetheart,” she says, and leans down to drop a kiss on the crown of his head. “I’ll be seeing you both.” The queen glides away, and you briefly wonder how she can walk that gracefully in heels over damp, unpaved grass--but then you remember she’s the queen and has been doing this for years. She turns around the corner of the hedge and disappears.

You sigh and shut down your laptop, gathering your stuff as you message Daiki about the charity gala. You slide the laptop in your bag, and put all the printouts in order into a folder, before slipping everything else inside. You’re just about to get up to leave before Prince Yuto’s voice stops you.

“You sure you won’t consider transferring to my office?” you hear the prince suddenly ask. He’s looking at you, piercing eyes that make everyone in the kingdom, young and old, swoon. And if you didn’t talk to him everyday and your self-control had been any less, you would probably give in to whatever he wanted.

So you try to mask your rapidly beating heart behind a fond, teasing smile. “Well, I don’t really have a say in it. Don’t think the queen wants to let me go, anyway,” you say, taking a proffered dark chocolate-covered cookie from the prince and biting into it. The rich, slightly bitter punch of the chocolate explodes on your tongue.

The prince looks at you with a small smile. “I was serious, you know,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t be as busy so you’ll have more free time, and the stuff I do is just small, as a minister for cultural arts. I split it with another person.”

You’re already shaking your head. “I like my job. I love working for the queen and seeing the results of what she’s done. You know she’s been my role model since I was a teenager, so this is a dream for me. And as much as I want a break sometimes, I can’t let this opportunity go.” You sigh, heart heavy now, and stand. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

He stands with you. “I know I’ve told you to call me just ‘Yuto’ before, didn’t I?”

“But decorum--,”

“Yeah, fine, practice etiquette in public, but when we’re alone you can just call me by my name.” You don’t answer, and hesitantly purse your lips. And then the prince begins to pout. “Come on, if you don’t wanna work for me, at least call me Yuto.” He presses the tips of his index fingers together and says, “I miss you,” so cutely, with his big puppy dog eyes and hilariously deep voice that’s sorely out of place for the cutesy thing he’s trying to do.

You have to laugh, bending down at the waist and steadying yourself with the table as you cackle. “Fine, fine,” you relent. “I’ll call you Yuto in private from now on.” You heave your heavy bag up onto your shoulder with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

***

“You look beautiful tonight,” someone says behind you. You turn carefully, eyes meeting Yuto, in another black ensemble: turtleneck under an overcoat with black dress pants and boots. His hair is slicked back artfully, apart from the stray locks of hair that insist on falling over his eyes. Simple, but very handsome; the paparazzi and journalists must be having a field day with that outfit.

And you look down at yourself: standard black satin-and-chiffon off-shoulder gown that you usually wear to these types of stuff. Your shoes are your everyday pair, and you’re thankful that the dress comes all the way to the floor because they are getting scuffed at the tip. Your hair is wavy, the result of sleeping in a braid through twelve hours, but you manage to tame it into a loose bun that’s mostly out of your face. The only accessory you have is the necklace you’ve worn since your mother passed down to you six or seven years ago. Makeup is minimal because you are here to assist, not be the center of attention. Everything you put into your appearance tonight is just to make sure you look clean and professional. And invisible.

You roll your eyes at the prince. “Your Highness, I look like this everytime the queen needs to go somewhere fancy. I don’t think ‘beautiful’ is the right word.” You know he means well, but you’re just plain, from your shoes to your face to your position in society, you’re just simple, unremarkable.

The prince furrows his brows and takes his place standing beside you. “You are, though. You may not see it, but I do.” He casts you a quick glance before turning his focus to the stage, where a popular singer is performing one of her new songs onstage as an opening act. “And those photographers over there see it, too.”

You whip your head at him before scanning the event hall for any cameras pointed at you, heart pounding hard in your chest. You don’t spot any, but you still say, “I think you had better take your seat, Your Highness. I bet those people just want to make a scandal out of nothing.” Prince Yuto may be the youngest out of the royal children, but that does not mean he is risk-free. He is being trained for the position of Minister of Culture and the Arts; he has a large following of young people who look up to him as a leader and as a person; he is one of the most important people in your life, and you can’t bear for anything bad to happen to him.

The work tablet you brought is getting crushed in your folded arms from how tight you’re clutching it. “I’m going to find Daiki--,” you say softly, making to leave, but getting stopped once again by the prince.

He’s holding one of your arms gently, but strong enough to pull you back beside him. “It’s okay,” he says. “Let them. It’s fine.”

You pull your arm away. “Your Highness, it’s not fine. You can’t risk a scandal blowing up on you right now. Everyone has eyes on you, even if you don’t think so.” You’re worried. The last thing you want is for him to get in trouble because of you.

The prince sighs. “Y/N, there’s not gonna be a scandal if we’re actually together.”

You take a moment to think. “What? You want us to pretend to be a couple? I don’t think it’s a good idea; people might get the misconception that you’re slacking off, or--,”

“No, I mean--,” he sighs frustrated, more at himself than at you, but he keeps his composure and his face remains stoic; you both are still in public, after all. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now, but I just didn’t know how to say it, and I certainly didn’t plan on telling you at a charity event where hundreds of people could hear.” He’s rambling--a sign that he’s nervous, unprepared.

Prince Yuto takes a calming breath before fully facing you. “I like you, Y/N,” he says softly, aware of the number of ears that are possibly listening in. “I’ve liked you since the day you started working for my mom, and I liked you even more the longer you stayed. You’re a hard worker, you’re dedicated to your job, you genuinely care for the queen and the things she does for the people. And I’m thankful that I got close to you as much as I have because you do mean a lot to me. I know I don’t show it, because I’m not sure how to show it, and I don’t know how you would react to it. But I do like you. Very much.” He releases a breath and looks you in the eye. “So will you try? To be with me?”

All this you take in with wide eyes and a shocked-open mouth. You know the prince is not the most outgoing person; he’s most relaxed when he is with people he knows, which are limited to his family and their secretaries, along with some of the senior palace staff. You’ve never seen him in a pickle of trying to get someone’s attention, but you do remember him offering to carry your heavy work back once or twice and you insisting on carrying yourself; him telling you that you look beautiful even if you wear the same plain things all the time; him giving you a box of (really expensive) chocolate for Valentine’s Day on the excuse of “I gave all the royal family’s employees chocolates”; him giving you a piece of his favorite chocolate cookies, even though you’ve never seen him offer them to anyone else.

All this time he’s been telling you how he feels and you’ve never noticed. And you yourself can’t even tell him the same because you don’t want to risk the prince getting hurt, you getting hurt, the queen getting hurt because of your selfishness. Your work is important to you, and you can’t jeopardize it for your happiness.

But here he is, Prince Yuto. Being brave enough to know the uncertainty of what lies ahead and being prepared to face it, if you answer him; if you push aside your fear of messing up and tell him you like him back; if, for once, you look to your heart instead of thinking of your work.

He stands tall beside you, an imposing figure of grace and compassion. A man people look up to. A leader who is innovative, yet respects traditions. A role model for young people who are inspired by his music, his acts of service to everyone. A son that is loved by his parents, a brother that is loved by his siblings. A friend who listens and is always there, but always pushes you out of your comfort zone.

How can you not fall for him?

How can you say no, when everything around you points to yes?

You’re nodding your head before you know it, still too shocked to properly process the last five minutes. “Yes. Yes, I’ll try being with you.”

The blinding smile is back, and you can’t help but return it. The prince nods, unable to suppress the grin on his face and gestures to the audience, milling about finding their tables. “I’ll be on my way, then. Find my mother.” He clears his throat, fidgets about with his coat and pockets. “Good luck for the rest of the night,” he says with a nod, before leaving.

You just curtsy, still beaming and your heart is drumming in your chest like crazy, but it feels light. Like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and you can take flight at any moment, straight into his arms.

[hydrus]

Version 420

windows

zip

exe

macOS

app

linux

tar.gz

I had a great week fixing a whole bunch of bugs.

bugs

I fixed taglist drag-select, which was not moving the to-be selected indices down with the scroll. Sorry for the trouble here. You can now also ctrl+drag-select to deselect.

There was a bug in the new virtual siblings and parents lookup system that meant some grandparents and siblings were not appearing. For instance, for parents, 'samus aran' might have 'metroid', and 'metroid' would have 'nintendo', but 'samus aran' would not have 'nintendo'. Thanks to help from users, I was able to reproduce it and fix the problem. When you update, the client will spend a few seconds regenerating the lookups and finding the missing links. It will queue up a bit more work for the background display sync to do later on. In my test situation, the PTR went from 189,000 sync rows to 192,000.

Autocomplete results in manage tags now list parents beneath every tag they apply to. Previously, parents could only exist in the list once, so they were accidentally de-duping and only ending up beneath the last applicable tag. Now you get plenty.

Also, these 'write' autocomplete results now show sibling and parent data for the tag that matches your input text even if that tag has no count. When that tag has sibling data, all the siblings are loaded as well. This sounds obscure, but you'll notice when you next start entering tags on a service with a lot of siblings. It should make it easier to quick-type complicated tags in manage tags.

Typing to get autocomplete results in search pages with thumbnails is now significantly faster and more responsive when 'searching immediately' is turned on. This routine gathers count-accurate results based on the thumbnails in front of you and then sends that data down to the database for sibling population. This suddenly got laggy with the new virtuals system, but I have improved how it schedules its searches and performs its tag lookups, and it should be much better now.

An unusual situation with a 'null character' tag that could not be displayed in the client should be better. This tag is detected, the rendering problem caught, and the user notified. The database routine that corrects bad tags now also fixes this tag and forces a tag presentation refresh once it is done.

speed

I spent a bunch of time in the siblings and parents system this week, and autocomplete and tags in general, running profiles on complex data and optimising various calls. I also sped up a critical new optimisation used across the program. Tag searches, autocomplete lookups, tag processing, tag display sync, and anything that runs frequently in small amounts should now be a bit faster. The only thing that may run a bit slower is tag display sync for very complicated tag parent situations, due to the more thorough logic in the fixes above. Thank you to users who helped with profiling here.

Tag display sync now only tries to run every 30 seconds (up from every ~3 seconds) when allowed to run in 'normal' time. It also takes breaks when it thinks a bunch of other work is going on. It was running hotter and faster than we needed, and it made the client too laggy, so I am pulling it back until I can make it more intelligent. I am also considering breaking the main display sync maintenance job into even more granular pieces. I will keep working.

full list

misc:

fixed the bad position indexing when drag-selecting taglists that were scrolled down. this also caused some weird selection when scrolled and clicks included a little mouse movement. sorry for the trouble!

ctrl+drag-select now deselects!

fetching tag autocomplete results when you have thumbnails and 'searching immediately' on, which has been way too slow recently, now cancels much faster. in some large page situations, it was adding multi-second lag on the first character-press. it also runs faster overall

hydrus should now deal better with invalid tags that contain the null character (there it one we know about on the PTR, from a decode of botched Shift JIS, which could crash the client from too many errors during critical paint periods). when a tag like this turns up in a taglist, thumbnail, or canvas background, it now renders as an appropriate 'invalid tag' string, and a one-time 'woah, bad tag, run fix tags now' popup appears

regular tag cleaning now looks for and removes null characters, so all new sources of these bad tags should now be eliminated

_database->check and repair->fix invalid tags_ now fixes tags with the null character. it also fixes tags so broken that after cleaning they have no subtag left. it also now forces a full media tag reload when it is done for all media

the 'regen storage mappings', 'regen display mappings', and repopulate from cache' database routines now have an additional step where you can order them only to work on one tag service, so regenning or repopulating local tags, which usually takes a couple seconds, doesn't need to wait two hours for the PTR to go as well

added some menu help to the 'profile modes' debug menu, and gave 'reducing program lag' help page a pass

fixed virtual display regeneration on service delete

.

parents and siblings:

fixed situations where some grandparent and sibling relationships would not appear in the virtual system. it was a bug when certain links of a multi-part display 'chain' were updated at different times. when repopulating chain data, the sibling and parent update routines now correctly chase their complete chains both when wiping ideal data and repopulating from raw data, hitting all levels of the chain, ensuring to go back up and down chains when there are multiple grandsiblings/children/parents, and chasing parents where one or both members have better siblings. thank you to the several users who reported and helped figure out this problem, which was not simple to reproduce (issue #725)

your ideal display data will be regenerated on update, which should not take more than a couple of seconds. it will likely correct some siblings and add some grandparents to be filled in by the siblings/parents sync. my PTR test environment went up from about 189,000 display rows to 192,000

while sibling and parent lookup is more thorough (and hence more expensive), I also optimised many parts of lookup week. I believe tag display sync and tag processing will be much faster for tags with simple sibling and parent relationships, and slightly slower for tags with complex relationships and many instances to files on your drive. as always, let me know what sort of processing speeds and lag you get, and if you know how to make a db profile, please send them in when it gets bad

when a 'write' autocomplete results list includes parent expansion rows (as in _manage tags_), parents now show duplicated and properly for all the tags that have them, including siblings and other children/grandchildren (previously, a parent label could only exist once in a list, which meant parents were ending up hanging off the last valid tag for which they applied)

'write' autocompletes now show results that exactly match the text entry, and all their siblings, when they do not have count but do have sibling or parent data. so, if you type in 'samus aran', and it has a sibling to 'character:samus aran', but 'samus aran' doesn't actually have count, you now get it and all siblings anyway. this may need tuning, but it solves a persistent and annoying lookup and quick-sibling-access problem in _manage tags_

copying tags and their indented parents now removes the parent indent whitespace

tag sync display now takes way longer breaks (now 30 seconds, was 2.5) between 'normal' background work periods. this thing was hammering people far harder than needed and could clog up db write/commit time and nobble UI responsitivity when big bumps collided

the tag display maintenance manager now also tries to detect when many siblings or parents are streaming in (from a migration or a repository process with a heap of data), and pauses work while that continues

greatly sped up mass imports of sibling and parent data, either from tag migration or big dialog pastes. what was 40 rows/s should now be about 1,000 rows/s

fixed the database menu's 'regenerate tag parents lookup cache', which wasn't hooked up

.

boring changes:

gave tag parents and siblings update, regen, and chain fetch a full pass, correcting bad queries to fix the above, fixing raw pair chain level navigation and parent-sibling idealisation, and optimised these lookups as well

fixed some tag_id vs ideal_tag_id nomenclature (and related bugs) in tag parents cache

optimised 'all known tags' autocomplete count fetching a little. tag autocomplete and search should be a bit faster in this domain

reduced display sync pre-processing overhead by about 30% with a better random pair sampling routine

reduced the overhead of my now very commonly used single integer memory table select optimisation. this now recycles tables after use, which reduces overhead about 50% in small number scenarios. all features of the database will enjoy this speed improvement, particularly small repetitive tag lookup jobs (such as the new display sync and repository tag processing)

reduced overhead on some sibling chain lookup code

reduced overhead on the sibling lookup used by manage tag dialog taglist

reduced overhead on some parent chain lookup code

tiny optimisation on single sibling chain lookup

sped up the ancient OG single tag->tag-id fetching routine, seems to work about twice as fast now

more misc optimisations, mostly list/set/dict comprehension rewriting to reduce overhead, across virtual sibling and parent code

added a full combined siblings and parents unit tests for the main missing parent chain link problem solved this week

added a full combined siblings and parents unit test for large real world data added in multiple pieces

'a file identifier was missing!' critical errors now print a stack trace to the log for further debugging info

updated the 'help my db is broke.txt' document with a couple new comments

next week

I want to do some code cleanup, catching up on bad old code and making the duplicate potentials search non-interrupting. I'll also prototype a database mode that may improve performance on HDDs. Other than that, I want to properly plan and start work on the big network improvements that I will finish the year on.

[paracosmists]

Six Simple Tips For a Healthier Life

Are you looking for simple ways to get you from where you are now to where you need to be? Maybe you feel that you could do better than your current situation.

You're not alone. Most, if not all people have at least one of the following aims:-

To be joyful, to be healthy, to look beautiful, to be slim, to be healthy, to stay young, to succeed.

The following tips may help get you from where you are to where you want to be. They will however, be of no use until you need to change. You will need the desire to create that shift. It's of enormous help if you can imagine yourself in that better position.

After you can imagine how that better position will feel you'll find the motivation to take actions .

If you can turn off the TV and get up of the sofa it is time for;

TIP #1: START MOVING. Get up and go outside. Then walk into another corner and back. That's it. You've made a start on improving your own life. Try and walk daily or at least three times per week to start. Walk a bit further every time, but do not overdo it. If the furthest that you've been used to walking would be to your vehicle and back then you might find stiffness in your calf muscles initially. This will pass as your body becomes used to the new expectations. In addition to increasing the distance and for that reason the time that you're walking, endeavour to walk more briskly. Walking faster will, initially, make you somewhat breathless. Don't over exert yourself. Finding a little breathless will indicate that your heart is beating a little faster and that you're building your cardiovascular endurance. Your heart is a really important muscle and giving it some mild exercise is no bad thing, especially when connected to increasing your lung capacity.

TIP #2: STRETCH. You might have seen professional athletes stretching before doing or when heating up. Your stretching isn't in readiness for your entrance to the Olympic Games but,it's just as important. You need to stretch before and after your walks. Inactive individuals have tight hamstring and chest muscles due to prolonged sitting, so it should be your priority to stretch these muscles out. In addition to helping build and protect these muscles you'll also find a remarkable improvement in your posture. Long periods of sitting or childbirth or of slouching can mess up your posture and make you look old before your time.

TIP #3: IMPROVE YOUR DIET. Watch what you eat. No more fast food. What's in that stuff anyway? If you do not know what is in it why are you putting it in your mouth? Here is a little test for you. Go into a grocery store and get a ready meal. Look on the back and see the listing of components. For a start the quantity of sugar and salt in that 1 packet will likely be greater than the recommended intake for a week. Then what about that list of unpronounceable ingredients? How many of them do you understand? How many can you pronounce? I'm not a gambler but I'd bet that the longer the title, the less probable it is it will be good for you.

Eat regularly. Four or five small meals a day is significantly better for you than that one huge evening meal.

TIP #4: Eat five servings of fruit and vegetables per day. Attempt to make them organic where possible. Do try to get them unpackaged. That lettuce at the cellophane pack might seem fresh but it's probably been washed in detergent. Do wash all products, not only for any detergent but also for the elimination of any harvest spray.

Occasionally cakes can get boring, so do a bit of research and find new items to include. The health benefits of sprouting seeds is monumental. You can grow them yourself quite cheaply and have them fresh daily.

TIP#5: JOIN A GYM. With such a sizable part of the populace at risk of being diagnosed as clinically obese, it's of no surprise that health clubs are all the rage today. You should do a bit of research before you join . Bear in mind that a gym that has a fantastic reputation doesn't need to resort to aggressive advertising or create dubious offers.

So why join a gym in any respect? Because, it's where to go to burn calories and build muscle. Some might be put off by the notion of being surrounded by beautiful people and super healthy bodies. Do not worry. These people used to be where you are now and with a little discipline you may combine them in feeling good and looking great.

You're going to have to begin with a resistance training program in addition to a cardiovascular program. For the best benefit in addition to all over fitness, this is the best approach. We're not making recommendations concerning the particular routines or exercises on which you should be focusing as such will vary widely dependent on several things. Age, height, build, gender etc.. suffice to say you will need the recommendation of a recognised authority on the topic. In a fantastic gym you'll find no shortage of enthusiastic help if you need it.

TIP #6: GET A BUDDY. There may be no greater incentive to get you to the gym than knowing that someone is there waiting for you. Nobody enjoys letting down people and in this instance it's to your mutual benefit.

Start looking for a gym partner that's not too strict or too indulgent in their service. Start looking for somebody who will be supportive but firm in keeping you on track. You should also think about finding a partner who will mesh well with your personality in addition to schedule and location. It sometime helps if you're new to getting healthy, you can be a help and an inspiration to one another. Are you looking for more tips about healthy living. Visit PARACOSMISTS

3 Essentials To A Fuller and Healthier Life

Among the most frequent misgivings people have when it comes to embarking upon a healthy living program is they believe it'll be prohibitively costly to implement. Gym memberships and fitness equipment do not come cheap and a enormous number of the supplements on the market, certainly in the gym, look hugely costly. However, it isn't all bad news.

You may create some hugely significant changes to your life at no cost! In this day and age with everyone living such hectic, stressful lifestyles it's easy to overlook the basic principles of healthy living, and to focus on the latest fad diet or exercise gimmick to supply us with the quick fix that so many folks crave. So lets just have a moment to check out the 3 fundamentals to leading a healthier lifestyle, things we could implement right now without spending a dime.

There's a magical elixir that can cure all ills and is completely overlooked by most people. It's Water! For years, physicians, nutritional experts and exercise trainers have advocated that drinking eight 8 oz glasses of water every day is an absolute necessity to keep good health. Drinking more will help burn more fat by increasing lipolysis and mobilizing stored fat.

Of course there have been innumerable research into this. The University of Utah completed among the most recent. They found that those who consume the most water have higher metabolisms. In this study, subjects drank 4, 8, or 12 cups of water every day. Those who drank at least 8 cups reported greater concentration and greater energy levels, and tests revealed they were burning off more calories than the 4-cups-a-day group. As we all know, higher metabolisms lead to greater fat loss, a very important tool in any weight loss quest.

The National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey quantified where most of our calories come from and found, to their horror, the group making up the greatest proportion of our calorie intake-over 7 percent in fact-was not a food in any respect. It was soda!

These carbonated drinks contain loads and loads of sugar and empty calories (or health zapping artificial sweetners). Additionally, they can cause bloating and water retention. The bottom line here is steer clear of the fizzy drinks and unhealthy juices and stick to water in the event you possibly can. Many times fat will melt away with this one little change.

The next element to use in any healthy living program is that most natural of sleep! I can not begin to stress the importance of a great night's sleep, at least 7-8 hours if at all possible. Lack of sleep has been demonstrated to cause numerous problems, including severe mood swings, lack of memory and chronic fatigue. It has also been associated with high blood pressure, metabolism and weight problems, and depression. The essential point here is that too little sleep leaves us completely unable to work at our best. How on earth can you expect to lead a healthy life if you aren't getting enough sleep?

Now there are many tips on the best way best to get a better night's sleep and we could probably fill another few pages on the topic, nevertheless, here are only a few to get on with. Firstly, commit to creating a regular around your bedtime. Go to bed at exactly the exact same time each night and get up in the morning the exact same way. Keep your bedroom free of white noise and unnecessary distractions and try to keep the room cool and dark. Experiment with the amount of pillows etc to ensure that your bed is as comfortable as you can. Whatever it takes, get some sleep!

Last, let us take some time to CHILL OUT!! Anxiety is perhaps the biggest killer in the western world. There appears to be so much anger and pressure in our daily lives that it is little wonder we find it so tough to follow our healthy living regime. Yoga, massage, meditation, prayer, painting, composing, singing, dancing or making love. Whatever it takes for you to unwind and get some perspective on life.

These 3 principles are relatively straightforward to put into action, but when it comes to making some positive changes in your life they're only the tip of the iceberg, though you ought to aim to make them an important part of your healthy living plan. Whether you are attempting to drop weight or not they will still constitute good information and must be heeded.

The terrific news here however, is that you're not alone. Changing your life for the better could be challenging and you'll need all of the help you can get. Grab a buddy for assistance or hire a coach who will hold you accountable to what you state you desire.

[combat-wombatus]

Scavenger Hunt

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of crack :p

Warnings: uhh slight injury? nothing too serious

WC: 2.2k

Summary: Mina has planned a New Year’s party and a scavenger hunt to go with it. Thanks to her and the rest of your scheming friends, you get more than you bargained for��

(A/N): this was for my 20-21 new year’s event!! (again i’m revamping my blog lakdsjhfakfjh bear with me here)

14: “You’re so cute when you’re mad.” 24: “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

“What? A party? I’m not fucking going.” Bakugou snarled. “Staying up past midnight is overrated. I need my sleep.”

“But Bakubro,” Kaminari whined. “We’re hosting! Mina planned it all, and she spent a lot of time doing it! You should at least go. You don’t have to stay up that late.”

“Tch. As if I care.” Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped forward even more. “Pinky can waste all the time she fucking wants to. I’m not going.”

“It’s our last year at UA! Come on,” Kirishima joined in. “You can leave early if you want to! It’ll be mostly in the dorms anyways. Mina did plan a scavenger hunt though, in Gym Gamma. She says that she planted “mementos” of our school experience. Isn’t that fun?”

“Fun my ass. It’s stupid, is what it is.” He glared at Kirishima. “Should’ve visited my parents. Even the old hag isn’t as loud as all of you extras in the dorms.”

“You say that like you didn’t blast a hole in the wall just last week,” Kaminari pointed out.

Kirishima winced. “Denki-”

“WELL WHOSE FUCKING IDEA WAS IT TO PRETEND THAT THEY WERE FUCKING KIDNAPPED?!?” Bakugou waved a fist wildly in Kaminari’s face.

“Fair point, fair point. You should’ve seen the look on your face though! (Y/N) thought you’d murder her!” Kaminari cackled.

“I’D NEVER FUCKING MURDER HER! ARE YOU INSANE??” Bakugou’s palms started crackling.

“Hey, chill bro, we know that.” Kirishima tried to calm him down.

Kaminari was not so lucky. “Why? You joke about murdering us all the time. What’s so different about her?”

Bakugou turned, a quick retort on the tip of his tongue, before he realized that Kaminari was, actually, right for once.

“She’s…she’s…” He stuttered.

Kaminari let out a hoot of laughter. “I knew it!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bakugou’s face turned beet red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Suit yourself. We know the truth.” Kaminari patted Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, Bakubro! (Y/L/N)-chan is going to be at the party too! Why don’t you confess to her there? That would be fun! And then Mina will forgive you for leaving early too!”

Bakugou’s left eye twitched. “There’s nothing to confess, Shitty Hair. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what Mina thinks.”

Kirishima and Kaminari looked at each other, then turned back to Bakugou.

“Sure,” Kirishima smirked. “Nothing at all.”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Mina ran up to you. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

You turned to face her. “Sure am! Who isn’t? It’s in the dorms anyways so there’s not much of a point in not coming, right?”

Mina sighed. “Kiri and Kami are having a hard time convincing Bakugou to come. Something about his sleep schedule?”

You were a little disappointed, but it was to be expected. Bakugou didn’t participate much in team-building activities anyways. “Can’t relate. My sleep schedule has been fucked to high heaven.”

“Right? What a crappy excuse.” Mina rolled her eyes. “Anyways, Sero’s waiting for me in the gym to help set the scavenger hunt up. See ya later, yeah?”

“Sure! Do you want more help? I can help you guys set things up if you’d like,” you asked.

Mina leaned forward, smiling mischievously. “Nope! It’s all good! And besides, I want you to participate in the game, so you can’t help!”

You smiled. “Ah, okay. Well, I’ll see you later then!”

“See ya!” Mina winked and gave you a little wave.

“So, the rules of the game are simple: whichever team finds and touches our very own 3-A New Year’s Ball, together, wins!�� Mina exclaimed from her place on the couch.

“What kind of shitty game is this?” Bakugou growled, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Mina pouted. “Hey! Sero and I spent a lot of time making this happen!”

“Yeah! They were amazing!” Ochaco jumped up too. “Stop being ungrateful!”

“Fine, whatever.” Bakugou crossed his arms. “Get on with it already. We don’t have all night.”

“Actually, we do! Not everyone here has the sleeping schedule of an old man,” Kaminari piped in.

“Shut up, Dunce Face. Nobody asked.” Bakugou scowled.

“Hey! Back to the regular program. You get to choose your own partners! Isn’t that exciting?” Mina waved her piece of paper around wildly. “Now get to it! You have three minutes!”

You looked around the room. You would’ve asked Mina, but she and Sero weren’t participating since they were the ones who hid it. They had also apparently hidden clues all over Gym Gamma as to where the location of the ball was.

“Ocha-” Oops. She’d already teamed up with Iida.

“Oi, Shitty Hair, come over here!” Bakugou yelled across the room. You sighed. Of course.

“Sorry Bakubro, I already have a partner…” Kirishima said rather sheepishly.

“…you WHAT?”

“Yeah…Momo here didn’t have a partner yet and…well…Mineta was hot on her trail,” Kirishima tried to explain as Momo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Shuckers!” Mineta faceplanted onto the couch. “I never get what I want”

“Hmph. Karma’s a bitch.” Jiro smirked from her position next to Kaminari.

“Dunce Face, you got a partner too?” Bakugou sighed, exasperated.

“Right next to me!” Kaminari pointed to Jiro with his thumb. You smiled in satisfaction. They were honestly adorable.

You turned to the rest of the room. Hagakure had already snagged Ojiro, Midoriya had, unsurprisingly, paired with Todoroki. Shoji and…Tsu? Koda had paired up with Sato, and…you snickered a little at the last pairing. Tokoyami had been bombarded with Aoyama’s relentless chatter. Which left…you and Bakugou.

Huh. That was weird. You swore that not everyone had a partner just a minute ago. And it was awfully strange that Tokoyami would choose to pair with Aoyama instead of you or even Bakugou, but…you supposed that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“So. (Y/N).” Bakugou cleared his throat. “Partners?”

“Uh…yeah,” you replied, fidgeting slightly with your hands.

“Ok! Everyone is paired up and ready to go?” Mina was practically bouncing.

“Yeah!” Most everyone chimed in unison.

“Let’s do it then! Sero, come on! Lead the way!” She jumped down from her place on the kitchen counter.

“What the fuck? Pinky and Tape Arms hung that thing all the way up there?” Bakugou swore.

“You can use your quirk to get up there though, right?” You looked at him, brows furrowed.

“Duh. But what about you?” He looked you up and down. “Last time I checked, you couldn’t fly.”

“Easy! I’ll just ride on your back!” You chirped. “Unless you can’t carry me?”

“Tch. As if. Get on.” He squatted down, letting you scamper onto his back. “Ready?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist.

You leaned into the crook of his neck, breath lightly fanning his face. “Ready,” you confirmed.

Cackling gleefully, Bakugou shot up into the sky, palms ablaze.

And as quickly as he flew, he was dropping to the ground even quicker.

“DAMMIT!” He glared daggers at the ice wall that had appeared over your heads. “Fucking Deku! And that IcyHot bastard!”

Spiraling, he tried his best to save the two of you from a hard impact on the ground, but he was only successful in twirling around in the air like a ballerina.

“Shit!” He tried to flip upside down in order to land on his feet, but the momentum was against him.

With an “oof”, the two of you landed in a pile on the (luckily) snow-covered ground.

“You alright there, idiot?” Bakugou said gruffly.

You groaned. You weren’t sure how, but you definitely sprained something with the way you landed. Ankle? Wrist? Perhaps both?

“Hey. Hey!” Bakugou climbed over the snowdrift to reach you. “Get up! The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down, Bakugou!” You pushed his hand away. “It’s just a sprain,” you pointed to your ankle.

“Nothing else?” He seemed intent on picking you up, so you let him.

“Nope, everything’s fine,” you assured him.

“Sorry about that!” Midoriya called out from atop his perch on Todoroki’s newly-formed glacier. “We got a little carried away!”

Bakugou stilled. You winced. Midoriya was in for a rough time.

“Deku…” He ground out. “What the FUCK do you think you and IcyHot are doing?”

“I-I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to knock you down from the air!” Midoriya started gesturing nervously. “I-I swear it was an a-accident!”

Todoroki sighed. “It was an accident. Let it go, Bakugou. And (Y/N), we are very sorry for having injured you. Would you like for us to accompany you to Recovery Girl? The game is over now.”

“The fuck did you say, IcyHot? No fucking way. I’m taking her.” He stomped towards Recovery Girl’s office, you firmly nestled in his arms.

“Think we succeeded?” Todoroki turned to Midoriya. “They seem to be getting along fine.”

“I…I’m not sure. It’s not great that (Y/L/N)-chan had to get injured for this to work, but…Recovery Girl will fix her up fine and Kacchan might finally realize that he has feelings for her…”

“Hey guys! Great job!” Sero dangled Mina from a tree branch overhead. “Look at them go!”

“It’s all according to plan…” Mina clapped her hands together. “Now, we just have to wait for the clock to chime twelve…”

“Fucking assholes.” Bakugou hadn’t stopped muttering underneath his breath since you’d left.

You giggled. He was so angry over such a small thing. It wasn’t like the fall was intentional; you’d both just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bakugou stopped walking and stared at you. “What?” He frowned at you. “Why are you laughing? Did you knock your fucking head on the way down too?”

You started full-on laughing this time. “No, Bakugou. It’s just…you’re so cute when you’re mad,” you tried to explain. “Your eyebrows scrunch up and you purse your lips and…”

By this point, Bakugou was a blushing mess. No one had ever called him “cute” when he was angry before.

After a while, he broke the silence. “So…I don’t scare you?”

You laid your head on his chest. “Not at all.”

“Tch. You should be scared of me, dumbass.” He turned your body so that you were facing him, shielding his tomato-hued face from your gaze.

“And why should I be?”

“Because…because…I’m Bakugou Katsuki, dammit!” He clenched his fists, bunching up your parka.

Snickering, you decided to tease him. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I thought you were Midoriya Izuku for a second.”

“You WHAT?!?”

The two of you bantered playfully all the way to Recovery Girl’s office. She took one look at you and frowned.

“Tsk. I thought there wasn’t training today?” She rifled around for an ice pack.

“There wasn’t. We played a game and I just sprained my ankle.” You explained sheepishly. “And possibly my wrist.”

Recovery Girl tapped her cane on your knee and sighed heavily. “You guys don’t know how to take care of yourselves! Playing a game and getting injured?” She rubbed her temples. “The hospitals are going to have a field day with the lot of you once you become pros.”

“Sorry. I promise I’ll be more careful next time.” You held in a wince as she prodded your ankle.

“Minor sprains. I’m going to wrap those and give you some gummies. Take this ice pack with you when you go. Ice for 10, leave for 20, and repeat for 3 hours. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am!” You held out your wrist for her to bind.

“And don’t you go do anything else dangerous now, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear!” You hopped nimbly off the table, landing on one leg, and was promptly scooped up again by Bakugou.

“Hey! Let me down! I can walk!” You protested against his arms.

Bakugou turned to Recovery Girl. “Look at her. You really want her to walk?”

“As a matter of fact, I do not. Stay still, young lady, and let him carry you,” she admonished.

You slumped in defeat, and Bakugou carried you out of the room.

“Ahh…young love,” Recovery Girl stared wistfully at your fading silhouettes. “I remember…”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!!”

“HAPPY NEW YEAR’S!!”

The class was situated in the common room, spread out over the numerous couches and munching on fresh cookies (courtesy of Momo and Sato).

And as the clock chimed 12, you looked to Bakugou, sitting right next to you.

“Can…can I…” You started nervously, fingers fidgeting with your ice pack.

“What? Spit it out,” Bakugou stared at you.

“Canikissyou?” You blurted out as fast as your tongue would let you.

He smirked. “What was that? I couldn’t understand you.”

You sighed. “Would…would you mind if I kissed you?”

Bakugou’s lips pulled into a wolfish grin. “All you had to do was ask, dumbass.”

Epilogue

“Do you think they caught on?” Mina whispered excitedly to Sero. “I wasn’t sure if they saw me leading Todoroki and Midoriya to the ball.”

“Nah, I think we’re fine. Besides, it’s not like he can complain. He got a girlfriend thanks to us, right?” Sero chuckled.

“Ok…if you say so…”

Suddenly, they heard a growl coming from the doorway to their left.

“Shit.”

“Run!!”

“I won’t let you bastards get away with this!!”

Coco’s New Year Celebration 20-21

Masterlist

[etirabys]

During the six weeks (??) I have off from work, I’d like to treat “getting my brain in shape to work again” as a full time job. Here are some starting thoughts on what the problems are and what I should do about them.

Problem: Social media is terrible for my attention span. I need to fix my habits. I’m horribly used to “flinch from aversive work thing” -> “immediately open a Distraction” -> “hit of temporary relief”. This wasn’t so bad last half, when I was somewhat engaged by my work project and was better at resisting the call. And then I started hating work, and I was spending every day rapidly hopping from thing to thing – start a new task to avoid that other task I’m stuck on, oh right I’m stuck on this too, ANGUISH, check discord to see if there’s anything good. I think this fucked with my head a lot, and I got used to not having to hold a thought, because it would get dropped anyway. Not being able to tolerate boredome is a long term problem that I’ve never gotten a good whack at.

Get back to meditation

Really stay off social media during the ‘work day’, which I’ll start off defining as ‘when I wake up’ to ‘6pm’. By social media, I’m talking about anything that might deliver a reward of some sort if I open it again, so email counts. I expect this to be easier now than during work, because work was full of things I hated thinking about and wanted to get away from, and now I can choose what I want to work on. Ideally I should start with very low-aversion things like reading books and painting, and work up to more challenging stuff.

Generally, set task environments and goals and rewards such that I can keep focusing on it. I think 1 hour for easy tasks and 20m for medium-aversive tasks is a good starting point, and I’ll ramp up.

Problem: I get so little out of meetings. I can’t pay attention to what people are saying unless I really care – this has been a lifelong issue, speaking is so slow (unless it’s too fast and I miss it!), so full of individual variations that are annoying to parse, people are weirdly incoherent and nonlinear.

Just train this like a muscle. Set a timer and listen to Economist articles’ audio and force myself to pay attention. If I zoned out, go back.

Friend Matthew has recced Crimetown, The City (“covers the history of an illegal dumping ground in Chicago that conceals a much larger story about corruption in the city, state, and federal governments”), Manifesto! A Podcast (“where the hosts read manifestos and political literature and then talk about them for extended periods of time”) as podcasts where the podcaster doesn’t ramble or joke or be friendly that way that makes me want to throttle them

Pay some people in the periphery of my life to come explain something they know well that I don’t. Instead of nodding vaguely when I didn’t get something and don’t want to talk about, ask more questions. Really try to copy information from their mind to mine. This is also good for the next problem.

Problem: I’m anxious and will play all sorts of tricks on myself to not talk to people when I must.

Improv has been good for this, so keep doing that.

Fine, I’ll get therapy for this. >:(

Force myself to comment on LessWrong posts if I notice I have a question or a thought? This is about half as difficult as talking to coworkers.

Problem: I’ve developed a psychological block around learning things. Last week I sat down with a Clojure tutorial and crumbled at the first roadblock, convinced I couldn’t understand this ever. Learned helplessness from not getting anything done at work.

Dumbass, start with something dissimilar from programming and then get closer. Finish the last third of Sapolsky’s Human Biology lecture series on youtube. Learn more math – probably statistics? Hit up @eka-mark for some of this.

Problem: Meds not sustainable. I’m doing 15mg/day five days a week, and in school it was more like 10mg/day four days a week, with natural breaks during holidays.

...This one’s hard. I’d like to put in a month of firebreak twice a year in the form of regular unpaid leave, but I doubt my employer will go for it. Bring it up anyway?

If I use the leave time very well, I ought to improve at getting things done without medication.

Oh yeah, I should stay off caffeine during this time as well.

Stretch goals:

Exercise more (tennis, running, climbing)

Sort out finances

See where my sleep schedule naturally settles and make it consistent for the period I have

Learn how to cook

Also, log what’s working and not. Have daily and weekly reviews. (Actually, I want tighter loops to start with – every 3~4 days.) Iterate quickly.

[helloreminiscence]

What I completely missed out on

How many times have you watched a personal growth Ted Talk, or listened to a spiritual master, or read a book, or viewed a blog online designed to change your life? I am sure you are already aware of the number of times you did get a high when you completed the program.

Personally, I have experienced that this high slowly starts to dissipate and leaving me exactly where I was before I started. What's even worse is that it leaves you at a place where it is reinforced that nothing can actually change in me. I am going to continue to be my miserable self.

So what is it about these techniques that do not work? How can something that connects the dots of human psychology and aspects of the laws of the universe not work for me? (Do not tell anyone but I have also imagined I may have been an alien for whom these things just don't work!)

Based on everything we know about change, they should work.

Every time I have started to rigorously follow my Goals list it has dwindled in the first few hours. My weight post watching hours of tutorials on YouTube should have dropped and I would have by now reached my summer body given my data consumption. My Six Sigma Green Belt Training would have by now changed all the processes at my work place and we would be working towards the next big concept. (Do not do the course trust me! It's just common sense written in Japanese lingo ssh....)

Let's take a simple example. I will take mine as who else to bash up better given the years of experience :) I am a pretty regular procrastinator; until sometime back I would have called myself a Perfectionist but we all know the truth by now so what are we even hiding :) I always leave things until the last minute. As a result, I am anxious most of the time and sometimes I turn things in late, which subjects me to the disapproval of the stakeholder. In fact, I have heard all these people tell me, "I would like to consider you for X and Y, but I can't as long as you keep delivering things late".

That is when you really feel bad and decide you must change and you really want to change. So what do you do?

You now come up with a step by step action plan (Bollywood tempo music playing in the background) 1) Let us start prioritizing our activities, assuming that it will help keep the focus on what's most important. 2) Create a reward system a.k.a. Food because let's face it I always need a reason to emotionally eat (We will talk about the justifications for this some other day). 3) Come up with a schedule so I can divide my time in an optimized fashion (Apologies for the corporate lingo, I am trying and I really want to get off it) 4) I now set up reminders - mostly on Outlook and on my phone. The ones on outlook still work but the phone ones are already in the middle of 40 other notifications. 5) I go ahead and prematurely announce this to those people who mean a lot to me!

So now I have gathered all the information and resources I need to get this done on time. And I have several strong reasons for doing it: the reward system and definitely this reassures me that my constant anxiety will be reduced.

But let's be honest! After I have done all this, plus all the other variations, has my attitude really changed? By that means, Intention and my Will Power should have been equal to the Desired Result. So this formula should necessarily enable me to achieve things right?

Let's say out of will power and the embarrassment of again not giving up, it does work for a few days, even weeks. So if it does today, does it continue to be easy month after month? For most of us, the answer is no.

My resistant mind kept saying that this is in no way a valid assumption. I can't let it chatter so let me give it some more data. Consider all the times I have committed to some change in my life, made tall claims and promises, but for some inexplicable reason I failed to follow through. This list was long and almost a hard hitting reality. Why?

I completely missed one component in my equation - My Belief System. My version of the truth. It's always easy to ignore this component because a lot of it depended on my emotions and attitude. Another quote from self help here - Give up your Emotions and stay committed. It does not work that way even a bit! It is this belief that is of my own unlike all the forcefully fed data. How can I disregard something of my own?

Here are some of the examples of what I really feel like deep down.

I am not worthy.

Nothing I do can ever be good enough.

If I do not do something perfectly, it makes me a horrible person.

Making mistakes and experiencing failure is bad.

I am not capable.

I should never be trusted.

With this kind of a belief system, I have noticed that it is far more easier to have people upset with me for not completing something than to make a mistake(it's wrong!). This is very easy to achieve because anyway nothing I do can ever be good enough, then people are bound to find out that I am really not capable and I will be my anxious mess because I have my entire self-esteem based on the fact that I need to do things perfectly.

I did have the facts and the will, but what I never even considered was my belief system. It is this current behavior that I want to change which is also because of what I feel about myself. I kept on fixing the symptoms without working on the root cause. Any change is meant to happen naturally and effortlessly; pressure is only needed during the morning routine :)

[awesomelephuoclocblog-blog]

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