#tumblr fought me for an hour to let me post this ugh

[lover-of-mine]

#good thing dude said almost

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 4]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 4)

ie. So the saying goes, 'nothing gold can stay.' Or, the Prefect is facing yet another Overblot and it drags some unpleasant dilemmas to the surface.

A/N: I have been fighting this for a solid hour now, and Tumblr is just being an absolute nightmare and not letting me add any more tags without crashing/refusing to save the post, so if you got kicked off the list, my sincerest apologies

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

There was a curt knock on Mozus Trein’s door.

The aging professor fought the inelegant urge to drop his head into his hands. After taking a moment to silently curse every other damned member of faculty at this college, he schooled his expression into a vague attempt at neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Enter.”

Divus Crewel and his ridiculous ensemble strutted into Trein’s office, and the historian barely bit back a sneer. He and the other professor had never gotten on at the best of times. Perhaps they would tolerate one another for the occasional game of chess, but the other man’s opinions on more or less everything (especially dogs. Ugh.) rankled something unpleasant in Trein’s chest. Call him old fashioned, but intentionally sharpening oneself into something miserable, and cold, and alone all in the name of maintaining an appearance of sophistication was something he would never respect.

Lucius growled from his place by the windowsill, and Crewel very noticeably fought to keep himself from raising his hackles in return. The black-and-white monstrosity leant forward and placed a bottle of red whine on Trein’s desk with a clack.

“What is it now?” Mozus frowned.

Divus didn’t bother to sit in the chair opposite him. He never did. He paced along one of the bookcases for a moment, trailing his crimson gloves along the leather spines.

“More of the same, I suspect,” he finally huffed.

Trein sighed and rifled around in his desk drawers to unearth his chest set. Not the good one—the one with hand-carved, stone, pieces that his daughters had given him for his birthday two years ago. This set wasn’t terribly ugly, and it did the job well enough. Plus, the worn colors lining the board always made something in Crewel’s jaw tick.

“Well,” he grumbled, setting the pieces into place and reaching for the wine. Divus Crewel was entirely unpleasant, but at the end of the day, Mozus had never been one to deny a willing student. And oh if there wasn’t so much that this egomaniacal alchemist still needed to learn. “Get on with it then.”

.

.

A part of you was sort of expecting to see one of those ‘WELCOME HOME, CHEATER’ banners nailed to the Rogersons’ front porch.

Which, firstly, come on. It’s not like you maybe vaguely starting to not loathe your time spent with Crewel with every fiber of your being was a crime. And you were still miserable and mad. Stupid, no good, stuck up, no-dad-being, emotionally unavailable—ahem. Excuse you. But you had eaten a few of those fancy cookies. And you were certain that Poe and Perdy would smell Jasper and Badun’s cuddles a mile away. And as much as you rationalized it forwards and backwards that you weren’t wrong, a part of you still felt… traitorous.

Secondly, the Rogersons were genuinely nice people. And you should have known at this point that they of all the adults in your life would hardly judge your for accepting any scraps of kindness being offered to you. (Unlike a certain Old Crow with whom you were well acquainted.)

All that being said, you were still a bit hesitant when you knocked on their front door that evening. Nevertheless, you were met you with a wave of enthusiastic greetings (plus a knitted set of gloves and a hat), as they ushered you back out the door with the promise of new and interesting things.

“We thought it’d be a nice change of pace,” Mister Rogerson explained. He and Annie were holding hands as you all walked down their quaint street, tucked up neatly in one of the roomy pockets of his overcoat. “And you didn’t get to come with us over the Holidays either.”

“There isn’t much else to do on Sage Island for most of year,” Annie said. “But the Winter Festival is always really lovely.”

The Winter Festival was like something out of a story book—all toned in watercolors and lit with a golden warmth that didn’t really seem feasible when the weather was otherwise so frigid. Magic, probably. Everything wonderous here was always magic. The air smelled honey-sweet, and you could feel the rising heat from dozens of outdoor ovens warming your cheeks.

“It’s busiest over the holiday period,” Annie explained merrily, reaching out to adjust the new hat on your head. “But most of the stalls stay open a few weeks later.”

“You missed all the rides unfortunately,” Mister Rogerson continued, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “But if you’re still around next year, we’ll make sure to bring you when everything’s in full swing.”

There was a decent sized crowd filtering sluggishly through the faire, happy to meander about with their Styrofoam mugs of cocoa and browse the displays. There were more people your age milling about than you would have expected (as nice as this all was, it definitely seemed more like an ideal outing for a retirement home than anyone young enough to still have their original hip bones). Mostly you recognized the clean, crisp, white jackets of the RSA uniform, but occasionally there was a splotch of a more familiar black ensemble darting about amongst them.

“Have you ever had a fritter before?” Mister Rogerson called from his place by a stall that smelled like Heaven compressed into a cubic-meter.

“Not since I’ve been here,” you practically drooled, feeling very much like one of those cartoon characters who could merrily float through the air after the tantalizing scent of baked sweets.

“Do you want the sugar sprinkled? The caramel drizzle?” A laugh then, quick and bright, as he caught sight of the lovestruck (and ravenous) look on your face. “Both?” he offered indulgently.  

There was another laugh then—raucous and loud. And a familiar face darted by with a mouth stuffed full of way too many festively frosted donuts.

“Hey! You get back here!” someone shouted, enraged and shaking their fist. “Free samples’ doesn’t mean a free for all! Did you hear me?! I said get back here!”

But Ruggie Bucchi just kept on running, his fluffy ears perked atop his head and his steel-grey eyes thinned with obvious amusement. He rushed past, and you met gazes just quickly enough to catch a smirk and a wink before he was off and around a corner—surely vanished into areas unknown to enjoy his haul.

You laughed into your gloves and turned back to your escorts for the evening with a beam, ready to suggest maybe just buying out the rest of the stall. Ruggie would love it. He’d probably even help you manage Leona’s tantrums without grumbling for at least, like, a week.

But they weren’t smiling.

The grin on your own lips slowly slipped back down into a flat line, and you fought the urge to fidget. Like somehow you’d done something wrong. Annie just sighed and shook her head. Mister Rogerson pinched at the bridge of his nose with a huff—the picture of a properly disappointed teacher.

“Well, can’t say anyone would expect Night Raven students to not be a handful.”

Something curdled a little in your tummy, and you tamped down the urge to immediately and aggressively rise to Ruggie’s defense. They were only free samples! And he loved donuts! And he never really had much money for anything of his own anyways! And they were free! And!—And…

“Ruggie doesn’t have anybody to buy him donuts,” you said at last, when the vendor handed you your own little paper bag overflowing with fritters.

Annie and Mister Rogerson looked at you curiously, clearly a bit lost, and you huffed.

“Ruggie,” you repeated. “The guy from earlier. With—with the samples.”

You could feel your shoulders hunch, defensive. And you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like—they weren’t going to be mad at you or anything. And Ruggie was your friend. It didn’t seem right to let them just assume the worst of him.

“Oh,” Annie hummed, face softening. “Of course, sweetheart. But maybe he could ask first next time, okay? We’d be happy to treat any of your friends.”

You nodded and nibbled at your fritter. It was warm and crispy, perfectly fried and with a sugar crust that melted on your tongue like the sweetest kiss. It was delicious, really it was. But still somehow not quite as good as you’d thought it’d be.

.

.

When you arrived back to Ramshackle that evening, there was wallpaper on the walls.

You squinted at it suspiciously and tapped one of the glued-down edges with your finger. It didn’t vanish or eat you, so maybe it wasn’t an illusion. But why on Earth would anyone bother to try and give this place a facelift—

The front door burst open and Crowley blew in like a hurricane.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” he boomed. “There’s no one else I trust at this school quite like I trust you, oh wonderful and best of all Prefects! So I’m making you the lead producer for our VDC performance!”

You gaped, too familiarized with this nonsense to be as horrified as you probably ought to be.

“What’s a VDC?” you asked.

“That’s a great question!” Crowley beamed. “But first, let me introduce you to your new roommates!”

When the House Warden of Pomefiore and his entourage walked through your rickety front door, you felt something familiar, and awful, and inky swoop in your stomach.

“This building should be condemned,” Vil Schoenheit sniffed with all the grace of someone who definitely probably had a lot of underlying issues that were about to become your very real problem.

Crowley scuttled forward cheerfully to pin a tag labeled ‘MANAGER’ to your uniform jacket.

“Look how far you’ve come!” he sniffled, wiping dramatically at his gaping, soulless, eyes. “I’M SO PROUD!”

“…You can just put your bags over there,” you mumbled, so far past functioning on autopilot you may as well just ask Idia to turn your brain into an AI and get it over with it.

Epel dropped his suitcase near the living room’s rug and immediately the ancient floorboards opened up like the maw of some ravenous beast to swallow them whole. The group of you watched with varying degrees of distaste as his luggage plummeted to the basement, or… whatever existed below the crumbling wood. You’d never checked.

“I have the upmost faith in you!” Crowley chirped before jetting back out the door as quickly as he’d come.

.

“You did what?!” Crewel snapped.

“What!” Crowley whined. “Isn’t giving your child more responsibilities a sign of trust?! An act of faith between parent and spawn?! DOES THIS NOT SHOW HOW MUCH I VALUE THEIR COMPETENCE?!”

“No,” Trein groaned, burying his head in his hands.

.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Vil said, with all the cheer of someone undergoing a root canal. “I have nothing but well-wishes for Neige Leblanche and his many, worthy, successes.”

Buzz buzz went Ace’s phone as another of Neige’s advertisements lit the screen.

Drip drip went the heavy, black, magic curling around Vil Schoenheit’s soul.  

You fought the urge to put your head through the wall.

.

.

The next evening came, as did another bottle of too-expensive wine.

Trein swirled the crimson liquid miserably in his glass.

“Do you know that I chastised the Prefect once? For calling Crowley incompetent?”

Divus sounded worn in a way that he most likely had no right to be, but progress was progress Trein supposed. The alchemist snorted sardonically into his own glass. Normally the wine was a bribe for the elder professor alone, but tonight it was a truce to be shared in bleak solidarity.

“Time makes fools of us all,” Trein hummed.

“What is he even thinking?” Crewel seethed. “As if the Prefect isn’t under enough stress as it is. What exactly does he think these stunts will accomplish?”

“I don’t think he’s thinking very much at all, to be perfectly honest with you,” Trein grumbled. “But then again, making impulsive decisions in the name of parental affection is far from a novel concept.”

Divus scoffed. “Ah, yes. Because that’s what the runt needs. A mockup of fatherhood bearing down their neck at every turn. It’s like he’s not even bothering to actually try.”

“Someone ought to be,” Mozus said, pointed. (And it certainly wasn’t going to be him. He had two, lovely, wonderful daughters to fill his heart. There wasn’t much room left for anything else.)

Crewel glowered at him miserably and sighed in a drawn-out sort of way that was not dissimilar to someone taking a too-long drag from a cigarette.

“It’s not something that fits with…” he hesitated, as if trying to chew over the words into something palatable. “I have no desire to give up everything that I’ve ever wanted to see in myself, to give up everything I’ve worked for, just to mold myself into some—some glorified babysitter.”  Something stuck unpleasantly in his throat and he had to clear it twice before continuing. “Especially for someone who may very well be leaving this world forever in a few months as it is.”

The clock on the wall ticked obnoxiously through the silence. Each little second fell in a heavy clunk. clunk. clunk. that echoed around the room with all the gentility of a gong. After a long moment, Trein sighed into his glass.

“Being a parent is not about sacrificing your own sense of self in order to cater to your child,” he huffed. “It is about being there to nurture the development of their own.”

Crewel pointedly averted his gaze to one of the ugly, cat-centric, paintings on the wall.

“And perhaps for you a handful of months may not be sufficient,” the older man continued, swirling his wine. “But I’m sure for the Prefect, it would make all the difference in the world.”

.

.

Detention continued, despite your stacking ‘managerial responsibilities.’

Thankfully, it had mostly turned into you sitting in Crewel’s office while you sorted through whatever paperwork you were expected to file and complete. Sometimes a good chunk of the pages would disappear from your ‘in progress’ pile and reappear—perfectly completely and in order—at the end of the evening. You were dead set on never addressing it ever, because if you did he might stop. And he was probably the only reason you were managing to get any of it done on time at all.

Even with Professor Crewel’s help, you were still slow today. And as the night crawled to a close, you found yourself staring at a stack of blank pages without a thought to go with them. The only thing swimming in your head was murky tar and the cloying taste of black magic that came with it.  

“Is there something you want to discuss?” Crewel called from his desk across the room. “You seem distracted.”

“I can’t,” you grumbled, something wobbling in your jaw. “Not to the people I want to talk about it with at least.”

Something shuttered slipped across his expression, and he nodded and went back to his own work. You stared at him for another moment, debating.

“What do you if—” you froze and hurriedly looked back down to the pen in your hands.

“If…?” Crewel pressed.

You sighed. “You know, sometimes you care about people, yeah? And maybe they’re not always perfect, but you still care. But then…” You chewed at your lip. “I don’t know. Can people still be good if they do bad things sometimes? Like, if you’d disagree with them completely, but they see it as right anyways?”

‘They’d be taken away?’

‘I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?’

You thought of Riddle, and Leona, and Azul, and Jamil. And now Vil. You grit your teeth so hard they started to ache.

Professor Crewel looked a bit startled, and you couldn’t really blame him. It was the most you’d spoken to him in weeks.

“I suppose that would depend on you,” he said after a moment. “And if that ‘disagreement’ was big enough to change how you viewed them entirely.”

“I don’t know…” you frowned. It certainly felt like something big. But...

“Well, what have you done about it?”

You blinked. “What?”

He waved his hand at you, and that pointer of his snapped across his palm. “Have you told this person that what they’ve said bothered you?”

“…well, no,” you mumbled.

“Then that’s what you need to do first,” he said, firm. “You won’t have an answer to anything you’re fretting about until you can face that at least.”

“And then what?”

Professor Crewel hesitated then, his mouth working as if he couldn’t really decide what he wanted to say. Or maybe like he was thinking over his words very, very, carefully.

“Do they know that they’ve done wrong by you?” he asked at last, not quite as sharp as before. “And—more importantly—if they know they’ve upset you, are they trying to make it right?”

You had a sudden feeling that he wasn’t really talking about your question anymore. The words settled heavily in your gut, but not in a way that was entirely unpleasant. More like the comfort after eating a full meal rather than the all-encompassing dread that so often took residence there instead. You thought of fancy cookies, and dogs, and cozy coats that were warmer and softer than the best blankets you’d ever used.

“Right,” you said after a moment, and glanced away with a secretive sort of smile. “I guess that would be the most important bit.”

.

.

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[writeradamanteve]

Lucy Carlyle & Holly Munro

I want to talk about this dynamic as it’s truly one of the most polarizing relationships in the book, for various reasons, and yet it’s really one of the best written ones, also for many reasons.

So, sit down and grab a cup of tea. This will take a while, and Reader, I don’t plan on holding back.

Race and Diversity

Let’s talk about diversity for a moment. For those of you who’ve read the books, you know that until Holly made an appearance in the series, the Lockwood & Co. books were lily white. It was so white. There wasn’t a whisper of there being any people of color.

I cannot claim to know Jonathan Stroud’s values, but having watched the show before reading the books, it was clear to me that Stroud, at least, wasn’t consciously or maliciously being racist when he first wrote these books, and that he did, in fact, acknowledge the lack of diversity by Doing Better, first by introducing Holly in The Hollow Boy, and then ultimately, while collaborating on the TV series, readily allowing for a wealth of diversity, even going so far as giving one of the lead roles, which was canonically white, to a man of Iranian ethnicity.

So whatever prompted Stroud to introduce a person of color in the Lockwood & Co. book series, he clearly wanted to do it right. He didn’t retcon existing characters like other writers I know (looking at She Who Must Not Be Named “He’s Actually Totally Gay! Even If It’s Not In The Books!” ~ugh~), nor did he tokenize them like Ms. Voldemort over there (“All The People Of Color in My Books Are Sidelined and If They Have a Speaking Part, Either Stereotyped or Tends to Be Mostly Unbearable.” ~what a cunt-). Holly was a real, fully fleshed out character, who had a positive, and/or complicated, impact in the story.

Now, if I didn’t read the books and just went by all the posts about Holly’s relationship with Lucy in my Tumblr stream, it would seem like a simple case of opposite personalities clashing, at best--jealousy at it worst, but this relationship is not simple like that. I don't want to call it complicated, either. What it is, is nuanced. There is a lot of nuance to Holly & Lucy.

"Welcome, Holly!" Said Lucy, Never

With Lockwood & Co. all narrated from Lucy’s POV, we are introduced to Holly with Lucy’s reactions, perceptions, and biases.

It is clear, then, that Holly’s sudden appearance in what Lucy considered her Safe Space was jarring and intrusive. Lucy was neither consulted on this nor forewarned, but in a world of landlines, archives, and dewey decimal shelving, there is no way to contact a person in transit, there is no instant messaging, and I don't even know if there are answering machines. In this case, Lucy was traveling to her rural hometown which was hours away, for a couple of days, for the obligatory visit to the family she had left behind.

Consider for a moment: Lucy’s trip home was not a leisure vacation by any means. In fact, it only cemented Lucy’s resolve that she belonged in London, and that she missed being in 35 Portland Row, her found family (a.k.a. Lockwood and George), and her independence—all of which Lucy fought HARD to attain and preserve. None of these things came easy for her, but she did earn it, and she was assured enough in her accomplishments to pay a visit to her hometown voluntarily. We all know how it is--when we're not in a good spot in life, we generally don't feel like reconnecting with people like former classmates or family we left behind. It's too humiliating to tell them that we aren't doing so well, but if we've been successful in our pursuits, those class and family reunions are So Welcome, like--"Sure! I'd love to see you all!" In Lucy's case, she wasn't terribly enthused to see her family again, but she felt strong enough to weather the doldrums of it, knowing full-well that she could tell her mother to Shove It.

So given all that background, Lucy is understandably pissed that Holly comes sashaying into Lockwood & Co., highly recommended, with Lockwood hastily making space for her and keeping her comfortable. Not to mention George instantly liking her.

Holly seemed to have effortlessly settled into Lockwood & Co. without the trials and tribulations Lucy had to endure. It probably didn’t help that by all appearances, Holly’s had it easy most of her life.

Holly was beautiful, refined, classy, and educated. We don’t know much about Holly at this point, but it is implied she is possessed of a pedigree equal to Lockwood, except that she wasn’t orphaned at a young age and that her parents were there to nurture her talents.

It absolutely did not help either that Lucy, as a person, has zero social skills. She, with her Blue Collar upbringing, was not raised to make nice or be diplomatic. We hear her thoughts because she is the narrator, and we think her thoughts judgmental, but thoughts, by their nature, are unguarded. If we’re being completely honest, we all make snap judgements about the people we meet. Some of us may be snarkier about it than others, but a lot of our thoughts are not always positive. I wouldn’t call non-positive thoughts negative, just stripped of the diplomacy and niceties we were taught worked best in social settings.

So Lucy does tend to sound a bit nasty sometimes, but is she, really? Or is it just that we see into her mind without the filter of social norms. The show portrayed it perfectly--Lucy is an observer, and some of those snap judgments make their appearance in her words and actions, but is it more extraordinary than some of ours?

So Lucy, for her part in the introduction of Holly, did pretty well, and her thoughts were quite straightforward: She was pissed about the whole situation with Holly, hired without a proper heads-up to her, without the hoops that Lucy had to jump through, and both Lockwood and George appeared to like Holly better than they ever did Lucy. That was Lucy’s knee-jerk reaction.

In the coming weeks, we see how Lucy fully acknowledges how beautiful and fashionable Holly was, and how efficient, doing exactly what she was hired to do with breezy, confident ease. She cleaned their disaster house, organized their schedule, fielded nuisance inquiries, and booked them profitable, resume-padding jobs. Oh, she can be a field agent, too, but she was a bit rusty, so it was the least of her talents.

Lucy clung to that last bit as her security blanket—something she had over Holly, who otherwise seemed so aggravatingly perfect. So when Lockwood, like the good boss he was, was very much willing to reignite Holly’s skills on the field with gentle support and enthusiasm, this again, made Lucy simmer in resentment.

Keep in mind that while all this was happening, Lucy was trying her best to make it work. She hated that Holly was trotting around like a responsible adult, cleaning and trying to make everyone eat healthy. But Lucy was mostly civil.

The tension between Lucy and Holly was palpable, but you can tell that Holly wasn’t trying to annoy her. They were both trying to make it work, and that Holly was sensitive to Lucy’s triggers.

Lockwood & George

Most of Lucy’s resentment stemmed from how much better Lockwood and George treated Holly than they did Lucy—at least from Lucy’s perception.

So I examined that. Is that true? Did they treat her so much better?

The immediate thought is that yes, they do treat Holly with a level of reverence and care that wasn’t exactly there with Lucy, but if Lucy thinks it’s because they liked Holly better, that would be an oversimplification of how Lockwood and George regards Lucy.

First of all, Lucy and George butted heads immediately. Lucy’s lack of social skills and George’s lack of filter was just an inevitably tumultos brew. They did eventually grow to appreciate one another, deeply and sincerely, but that's because they both saved each other's lives. That's what it took. They love one another now, but they had to go through a lot to get to that point. Also, they never stopped being snarky to each other, so there's that.

Lockwood, however, treated Lucy with respect. He was confident of her abilities and he made space for her, too. He offered her his room, for God's sake, and he didn't think twice about her missing 4th levels. He trusted in her skills well enough to bring her along for jobs, immediately. He was impressed by her Listening talent, and was even excited by how, with her, the agency would thrive.

So it wasn't that Holly was treated better; she was treated differently. Lucy is an field agent. By all appearances--her short brown, low-maintenance hair, her practical clothes, and the rapier at her hip, she was ready for action. She did not sweat details. She did not bother with the tidiness of her room. She certainly wasn't the type to pick up after the boys. Why the hell would she? She wasn't their mother. And she gave as good as she got. She didn't appear shocked or stymied by course language or behavior. She was not a delicate flower, so George and Lockwood treated her like the tough cookie that she was.

Lockwood and George respected Lucy this way, just as they respected Holly that way.

So while we understand Lucy's resentment, we have to keep things in perspective here.

Lucy vs. Holly

Lucy felt that Holly was patronizing, that she looked down on Lucy, and that Holly could do no wrong. It did not help that Lockwood was not acknowledging Lucy's feelings.

To Lockwood's mind, Holly was a godsend (she was), and that Lucy can try a little harder (she couldn't--that was truly the best she could do), and he seriously had very little time to make Lucy feel better about the entire thing. His patience was wearing thin.

Was it all Lucy's fault? No. Was it Holly's? No, but while Lockwood was making all the right moves for the agency as its founder and CEO, Lucy was not only doing her best to make her relationship with Holly work, but she was also grappling with her growing Talent and the use of it. Lockwood did not approve of what Lucy was trying to achieve with her Listening talents. It was dangerous to both Lucy and the rest of them--so much so that he threatened to fire her if she didn't stop.

We all know that Lockwood's threats of termination were empty, because in The Creeping Shadow, we were told that Lockwood did not want Lucy to leave and that he did everything to get her back. This threat was more a desperate attempt to curb Lucy. He is perfectly aware that Lucy cannot be stopped by normal means, but he needed her to stop, because what she was doing was risking her safety, and he would not have her killed because of it. Lockwood believed that by withholding his warmth, Lucy would realize how serious he was and come to her senses.

Because of all this, Lockwood grew distant and Lucy felt that keenly. That Lucy was turning to Skull as her confidante showed how lonely she grew in the midst of it all.

As we come back to Holly and Lucy's relationship, we begin to see that whatever Lucy's feelings for Holly were, they were being processed amidst all this upheaval, so Lucy was not having an easy time of it.

When we truly look at Lucy's and Holly's interactions, both of them were really doing their best, and they carried on well enough, but there was an inevitable breaking point.

Things would eventually come to a head at Aickmere's, brought there by the Chelsea Outbreak. Lucy and Holly would have it out, stirring the poltergeist.

From their argument, we find out that Holly was just as insecure about Lucy's gifts as Lucy was of Holly's. They both thought the other was being patronizing, and that neither of them actually looked down on the other. They picked a bad time to have this discussion, but it was had, and while it stirred the haunting to disastrous levels, it DID give Lucy and Holly a better understanding of one another. It was Growth at a Time of Poltergeist.

In Lucy and Holly's brief time working together to stay alive, we saw exactly how they would get along, how intuitive they were of each other's strengths and weaknesses, and how amidst the arguing, it was totally conceivable that they could come to like one another.

At the end of The Hollow Boy, when Lucy comes to the decision to leave Lockwood & Co., we know for sure it isn't because of Holly, even if everyone thinks it is.

Holly & Lucy

I am still absolutely tickled by the fact that Holly actually tells Lucy in The Creeping Shadow that she misses her, and that Holly wished Lucy had stuck around so that she would have someone to talk to. I did briefly, actually think that Holly might have had a crush on Lucy, because Lucy gives out bi-vibes (or maybe that's just me, Idon'tknow), but as I thought about it more, that would be a pretty annoying trope, where everyone falls in love with the heroine, so no. I think Holly was actually setting her sights on someone else, though Holly absolutely did miss Lucy, and she genuinely wanted to be besties with Lucy, especially because Holly thought Lockwood and George were so hard to crack (and by the way, this is so telling. Again, more proof of how differently George and Lockwood treats Lucy and Holly--not better, but differently. They are at their best behavior with Holly and as a result, they aren't vulnerable with her. The boys, however, treat Lucy like one of them, so she knows them the way Holly couldn't).

Holly's contributions to the narrative of The Hollow Boy were significant, in the same way that Kipps's contributions were significant in The Creeping Shadow. The Empty Grave treated us to the dynamic of having Kipps and Holly round out Lockwood & Co., fully entrenched into its maverick ways and the secret of the Whispering Skull.

Lucy and Holly's relationship found an easy cadence, and I especially loved how Lucy and Holly banded together instinctively to comandeer the two-bed room at the inn, leaving the boys to grapple with the second bedroom arrangements.

I cannot stress enough how well Holly and Lucy's relationship turned out, and how I will marvel at its development. I will always think of this relationship as well-earned. It was a journey, human and interesting. Stroud did a marvelous job forming it.

[akp-1327]

dear diary // chapter ten

Auditions have arrived...O_o

Fair warning, I don’t know much about drama...anything? So I did a bunch of research from the original books, websites, and friends with experience...so let me know if any of this is inaccurate!

Also...hello! It’s been waaaaaay way way too long since the last update, but I’m beyond happy to be back! :)

As always, find the series masterlist here (Tumblr) or here (AO3) to catch up! :)

Pairings: Ajay Bhandari x f!MC (Charlotte Parker), Skye Crandall x f!OC (Leila Maciel)

Word Count: 6.5k

(*) Warnings: the briefest mention of dementia, otherwise there’s just a roller coaster of emotions in this chapter!

After one of the fastest weeks known to man, it was the day that classes started

This morning was all too familiar; the sudden remembrance of signing up for the morning classes, then the curse as I woke up with the sun. However, it was comforting to have this routine again. It made me feel normal, which had been a feeling I missed all summer back at Dad’s.

Walking to class on days like these, where the sun was warm and the sky was clear, had been another thing I missed. Birds chirping, the light foot traffic around campus, the smell of coffee wafting on the light breeze...

I could only think of how many hours spent pouring over the script for The Enchanted Kingdom. There were also points where Rory physically had to tear me away from the script to get outside, which to say, was not a task he succeeded at...

“C’mon! It’ll be fun! We can go find you some new blazers or something, since you insist on wearing them all the time.” Rory was slowly easing a highlighter from my hand. I gave him a death glare and he backed away, “At least take a break? You’ve been hunched here for hours.”

After a pointed look into his eyes, I focused my attention back on the script in front of me.

“I’m completely fine. Also, while I would love to get a few new blazers, I don’t have the time right now.” My voice was rough. I hadn’t been able to sleep much or eat anything but instant ramen for the past couple days. Though, I was feeling adventurous this morning and drank a piping hot cup of coffee. That felt like it did the trick, at least for a good while...until I fell asleep on my script for an hour or so. Ever since then, my eyes have been pretty droopy.

“Just let me be, Rory.”

Without another word, Rory sighed and left with a frown.

...was I a jerk that day? Maybe. But that was my nature; I’m a director and I’m supposed to be that way.

Another drift of wind caught the unbuttoned flannel I wore. Flannel was definitely a go-to right now, especially since all my blazers were much too warm for this kind of weather. Also, who knows who I’ll see?

I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders with a heavy sigh and tightened my grip on the straps. Something about today felt different from first days of class in the past. Could it be how nice the weather was today? It’d been raining on the first day for the past two years...

Maybe it was about where I was going? Performance Theory wasn’t the most interesting thing on the planet, but it was also something I’d taken the past two years. By now, it was something to wake me up in the morning. So why would that make me feel weird?

I shook the feeling away and continued to walk at a relaxed pace, focusing on something else.

Naturally, my eyes traced over campus. A big group of students laughing in the shade of a tall maple tree, a few couples walking shoulder to shoulder, and many stragglers like me with their textbooks in hand.

The environment was serene, and it was definitely one I enjoyed. The long summer of renting out that spare room at Dad’s apartment was, at last, something I didn’t need to worry about for a while. Or...ever again, now that I’ve visited Amma.

Maybe that was the feeling? Amma looked so happy to see me, and so did Mo. I guess I missed them more than I thought...

My feet fell onto a familiar path towards the arts building. I was almost there; only a few more steps and a small staircase until the doors--

“Ajay!” A voice shouted from behind me, making my eyes roll. I fought the urge to keep walking and just ignore them, but I knew that’d be a bad choice with who this was.

Craaaaaap.

“Danielle.” I greeted through gritted teeth. I turned around to face her. “Hello.”

She gave her normal maniacal grin, creepy as always.

“Auditions are tonight, yeah?” She asked, and then held up her already battered script for me to see. There was bright yellow, green, and pink post-its peeking out from the pages. She’d always been dedicated to her auditions...but she just couldn’t execute.

Honestly? That was okay. She was an alright person for ensemble roles because she’d been a good dancer. But that doesn’t mean she was a great actor.

“They are, so make sure to be at the auditorium by four.” I sounded a little annoyed, but Danielle was oblivious. She wouldn’t notice; even if she did, she wouldn’t care. “Don’t be late, otherwise I’ll make sure you can’t audition.”

Her eyes widened a little, but otherwise that annoying smile still stretched across her face. Ugh, absolutely obnoxious.

“I won’t let you down! Oh, and tell Rory to save me a seat!” Danielle said before walking away with a wave. Once she was out of sight, I rolled my eyes with a shudder and started walking to class again.

*

*

As expected, classes were already boring. One lecture after another, going through all those stupid, stereotypical ice breaker games. Your name, your birthday, your major, your entire life plan...

I didn’t have another class until noon, and that was about an hour and a half from now. To pass the time, I decided to pull out my script. The sun reflected off the white paper and instantly obliterated my retinas, so with a watery blink, I looked away and tucked it back into place in my backpack, vowing to look at it later.

There was...nothing left for me to do.

Wait, is this what people call a break? This is what breathing feels like? Wow, this is so surreal...

Something about the moment just felt wrong. I shouldn’t be idle like this.

Students were laughing as they walked by. I recognized a few of them, but only by their faces. Some I recognized from past classes, others from past ensembles, a few from Lafayette...

Then, though, I found a familiarity within the group.

Erin.

“Ajay,” Erin smiled, looking relaxed as she sat next to me, “didn’t expect to see you sitting here.”

I gave her an eye roll. “Is it...illegal?”

Her loud laugh drew the attention of people around. “In the book of Ajay, it definitely is. It’s almost concerning to see you so calm on audition day.”

So it was noticeable. Huh. Immediately, my posture straightened and I crossed my legs, prompting Erin to laugh a little.

“I guess it’s just weird coming from you. I’m not a drama nerd, but I know this isn’t how directors normally act when they’re hours away from auditions.” She slowly turned to face me before continuing. “Anyway, what brings you to this bench?” 

Her voice was surprisingly even. She looked like she’d been doing a lot better, but I could still see the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes. Erin had always been extremely resilient and level-minded, but even she could only handle so much stress at once. 

“My next class is at noon so I figured I’d sit for a little while.”

Almost immediately, she sighed. “Preach. I have psych, so I’m in for a treat.”

Then, silence. It was thick, deafening, excruciating...I quickly wracked my brain for a question to get rid of it. Her confession about her grandma came up, then so did something else.

I hated to bring it up, but my mind wouldn’t forgive me if I chose something else to talk about.

“Erin, what happened to your grandpa?”

The question was met with another sigh, but this one was heavier. Regret already plagued my brain, but it was too late now. Nice job, Ajay.

“Let me guess, Rory told you?” Her expression wasn’t much different, but it definitely solidified into a more serious one than before.

“Yeah, on the first day back. With your grandma and all, I was wondering if they were both...”

Before she spoke again, she took a deep breath. “No, no. You’re right to wonder. It’s nothing concerning, though. He just didn’t like the idea of being separated from my grandma while she gets treatment, and so he let out a lot of his frustrations on me in an argument a few days before I came here. Said he didn’t like everyone he loved leaving him,” she shrugged, shaking her head, “I called Rory afterwards, since his parents were the same way when he left for college, and that ended up being a three hour-long conversation.”

I nodded when she took a break, and in that moment, I wondered how she worked through this. It was terrible, especially when her family was so far away.

“It hurt when I left this time, of course, but I think it’s good for me to get away from them for a while. I just need some space to process everything.” She shook her head, almost like she was shaking the thoughts away. Instead, she changed the topic. “Did Rory say something bad happened to my grandpa?”

Another nod, and Erin clicked her tongue.

“Rory was just being a gossip like always, then. Pops is just adjusting,” A genuine smile came back to her face, which was always reassuring. “So, I heard you went to your mom’s house? How was that?”

I groaned. “Can we talk about something else?”

She laughed loudly and, again, prompted lots of attention to our bench. “That great, huh?”

I sighed. The weird feeling from earlier came back, slowly eating away at my thoughts once more.

Erin quirked an eyebrow. “You’re making a face.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, challenging her gaze. “I always make a face. Everyone makes a face. It’d be concerning if someone didn’t make a face.”

That answer only made her eyes narrow even more.

“You’re rambling,” With this realization, she looked me over, “are you...okay? You never ramble.”

I could feel my leg start to bounce. “I can assure you that I’m fine.”

She hummed loudly, and I noticed my hands were starting to sweat a little.

“Add that to the pile of other lies you’ve been telling Rory for the past week. He’s been keeping me in the loop since, y’know, you never text me,” her elbow nudged my arm with a force that made me let out an uncharacteristic squeak, “so I’m sorry, but I’m not buying any of that crap. I can easily tell something’s bugging you.”

“I’m just stressed and on edge for tonight. That’s all.” Was all I could say. Knowing Erin, she wouldn’t take that as a viable answer.

“You’re never on edge for auditions. You say it’s one of the most laid back parts of the process...” Erin’s voice was accusative. She could see right through me. Sadly, that had always been one of her talents.

“Sometimes auditions are easy, but this isn’t one of those times,” I heaved a loud sigh and rested my chin on my ever-so-slowly tightening fist, “It’s a big cast, and so that a lot of decisions need to be made.”

Erin was quiet for a second. I could hear her drumming her fingers against the cover of her textbook softly, and then she spoke. “Sure, I get that part, but you’re off, too.”

I whipped my head towards her and found a teasing smile growing on her lips. “How so?”

She cocked her head to the side and playfully squinted. “You’re not wearing a blazer, for one,” she was keeping a tally on her fingers, “you’re too relaxed, you’re bouncing your crossed legs, your posture is super straight, you’re rambling, you’re defensive, you’re even a little jumpy...”

I slouched back down at the mention, and this only made her smirk grow into a full-blown grin. “You’ve been pretty quiet about the show, too. By now, I’d usually hear you going on and on about them like a proud grandma.”

“Erin--”

“Oh, this scene will be so interesting to choreograph, and this scene will bring an audience to tears, and even this--” Erin’s voice was mocking. Of course she was fairly accurate, but it still got on my nerves.

“Okay, I get it,” A helpless sigh escaped me, and she had that knowing look in her eye that made me want to gag.

“What’s up with you?” Erin laughed, narrowing her eyes a little in curiosity. “Don’t leave a poor girl in suspense!”

The truth was something I could barely admit to myself. It was the thought of a feeling I never, ever wanted to experience again. Heartbreak.

“Ajay, you’re blushing...” Erin was smiling now.

And then it hit me. All hope was lost when she covered her mouth and squealed. I’ve never, ever blushed in front of her.

“Ooooohhhhh, do you like someone?” Erin started to cheer. I opened my mouth to stop her from getting too loud, but she was already squealing again. There was no stopping the stares from the passing students now. “Oh. My. God! And that someone is making you nervous, right?”

I grimaced, the reminder of why I kept quiet surfacing for the millionth time. People always make a big deal out of your feelings, so that’s why you never show any emotion.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t--” The heat sweltered on my cheeks, and I knew it was still visible when Erin clapped. She looked so relieved while I wanted the world to open up and swallow me whole.

“Oh, I called it! I so called it!”

I looked up at her and found her grinning with some emotion I couldn’t quite place. She looked like she was about to scream! “Erin, if you tell anyone, I swear to any and every deity in this damn universe--”

“Anyone does not include Rory. He needs to know!” Erin said excitedly.

“He does not need to know! That information is not on a need-to-know basis!”

And he’ll know exactly who it is!

“Ajay! This is awesome! It’s been so long since you liked someone!”

Awesome? Awesome?

“Awesome is one of the last words I’d use.” I could practically feel the blush on my cheeks slowly burn me from the outside in; it made me wonder if there were actual flames dancing on my skin. “They might be auditioning. I...can’t let something like that distract me from the show. You know what happened with Kelly.”

Finally, Erin let her smile turn into something more composed.

“That was two years ago. Plus, not to mention, it was with a girl who was as blind as a bat.” Erin lifted a hand onto my shoulder and patted it gently, “You’ve changed since then, so I think it’s safe for you to let that fear go.”

“I know I’ve changed,” I was basically whispering at this point, “but I guess I’m just...”

She patted my shoulder again. “You’re scared.”

Before I could bite my tongue, I blurted, “Terrified.”

She sat in silence for a minute, but then, that sly grin of hers was back. “Well, then.”

“What do I do?”

Erin placed her hands on my shoulders. “One of the healthiest ways to overcome a fear is through exposure therapy. So, maybe...you could tell me who they are?”

I searched her eyes, and much like her grin, all I found was warmth. It was the warmth that’d been missing from Erin since we’d arrived on campus. It was nice to see her start to heal from her summer and return to her normal self.

Still, I blurted the one word on my tongue. “No.”

She sighed, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “Ugh, fine. But just build the courage up sooner rather than later, please? I don’t handle anticipation very well and I’d very much like to know who made you this way.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You think I’m ready for that?”

Erin stood up, suddenly, and laughed. “That’s up for you to decide. Though, from an outsider’s perspective, I think you would’ve been just fine two years ago.”

Her gaze went soft for a second, but it was gone before I could decipher more. “Anywho, text me if you need help asking this mystery person out. You know I’d be happy to help!”

She was off with a sly wink before I could retort, already whipping her phone out to text Rory. Even if I didn’t want that to happen, I smiled.

*

*

My noon class was both a bore and a nightmare. Calculus was all gibberish - well, all math was - so I did my best to not pay attention to the professor. I needed to keep my head screwed on straight for later, so instead, I focused on reading through the script and notes I added in the margins. It ended up being quite nice, actually.

After the class spawned from the fiery depths of hell finished, I had a quick lunch consisting of a pack of rainbow goldfish crackers and hurried across campus to my next class.

Theatre arts was the perfect class for today, especially with it being audition night. Prime location and a great way to get back into the swing of things.

When I arrived, the auditorium entrance was buzzing with people. The drama building has never been a popular destination during the day, so what gives? Were auditions really something special this year?

Among the many faces, I spotted Rory, Skye, Leila, and Charlotte all huddled around a bulletin board on the front lawn. From the looks of it, they were...arguing, I suppose.

“...but wait! Skye, you’re good with computers!” Leila gasped, pointing at whatever was pinned on the board. “There are still tech spots available! And there isn’t an audition necessary for them.”

I watched Skye shake her head. Her hair was down, per usual, and she looked uptight. That was normal for her. But she also looked anxious when her eyes were looking at the bulletin board.

“Leila, you never need to audition for a tech spot,” Charlotte sighed, shaking her head, “can we please just let Skye make her own decision?”

“But there always needs to be more tech people! And it’d be fun to have another friend be at rehearsals.” Rory was pleading. He looked at Skye like she was his saving grace. “Please, Skye?”

It wasn’t an exaggeration at how small the tech crew was. Everyone in the drama program wants to act, not do tech. So, if anyone in the cast or crew heard about another tech, they’d jump at the opportunity and recruit them.

Skye gave everyone a look of dismay, then before she spoke, her eyes met mine.

“Ajay,” Skye said loudly, waving me closer. I hurried over and became apart of the huddle, and somehow fate was nice enough to put me next to Charlotte. “Does the drama program need more tech people?”

She was about to hate my guts.

“There’s never enough of them,” Memories of failing to do sound board last year flooded my mind, “don’t mind me asking, but would you be willing to give it a shot?”

That’s what made Skye groan. “Ugggg, you too?”

Her response made Leila laugh, but that was the only sound before a few moments of complete silence.

Finally, Skye sighed in defeat. “Depends. I’ll have to see what the software looks like first.”

I’ll take that as a yes...for now.

“Auditions are--” I started, but then Skye rolled her eyes.

“If I hear about auditions being tonight one more time, I swear...” Skye said, a hint of a smirk coming onto her face as she started to laugh. That was different, too; I don’t think I’ve ever heard her actual laugh.

“So does that mean you’ll do it?” Rory asked eagerly.

Skye smiled; it was small, but it was genuine. All the anxiety in her eyes vanished. “We’ll see.”

“Don’t feel forced to, though!” Charlotte squeaked, her voice cracking a little. “There are plenty of techs out there--”

“No! Don’t you dare rub her the wrong way!” Rory exclaimed, making Charlotte giggle.

It was cute. That thought alone made me blush a little.

Then, Leila gasped, her eyes widening in panic.

“Oh crap! I have to go!” Leila yelled, checking her phone. I decided to check my watch, and it read that it was almost two. Then she piped up again. “Skye, wanna walk with me?”

Skye let out a soft, surprised gasp. Her cheeks visibly reddened against her pale skin as she nodded.

“Sure,” Skye said, clearing her throat, “uh, maybe I’ll see you guys later,” she waved, allowing Leila to quickly drag her away by the arm, “jeez, lady, slow down--”

“Bye guys!” Leila yelled over her shoulder, then disappeared with Skye down the sidewalk and into a crowd of students.

Rory was the first one to speak, looking right at Charlotte. “Let me guess, you gotta go to the drama building?”

She nodded. “Whoa...it’s almost like I told you that when I got here...”

The two kept joking around as we started to walk into the building, but I kept thinking about what Erin had said about forgetting the whole Kelly situation. It felt like a great idea, but I couldn’t shake away all the fear associated with it.

It was another one of those things that’d eat away at my brain, but I guess that’d be okay. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now...

*

*

Theatre Arts wasn’t as boring as usual, but it was definitely a lot more chaotic. Commands for props here, calls for help with setting the lights up over there, and somewhere in between, lots of laughing coming from Charlotte and Rory.

It looked like Charlotte was blushing from here, but I couldn’t exactly tell. She and Rory were on the complete opposite side of the auditorium.

Professor Olson and I were skimming through the lists we had in front of us. It was hard to focus on the character descriptions I’ve read a gazillion times when I heard Charlotte’s vivacious laugh in the background.

“Alright,” Olson said, sounding exhausted already, “I’ve had some people hang posters around campus, so this shouldn’t be a hard place to find. Hopefully we get some new faces around here...”

Instantly, I looked over to Charlotte, still laughing at something Rory had said. Her smile brightened tenfold when she met my gaze, and she eagerly waved. With a small smile, I shook my head and looked back at Olson.

“That shouldn’t be too much of an issue,” I pulled out the form with all the auditionees on it and pointed to her name, “Charlotte Parker. Freshman.”

He nodded quizzically. “Anything unique about her?”

A lot, my brain immediately responded, though I shook the thought away.

“She performed at the Spotlite festival in London as a lead a few years back,” The professor’s eyebrows shot up, “and her school won. So I’d say she’s a pretty strong contender tonight.”

The fact that she was auditioning made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut by the universe. Exactly what I wished to not happen...happened. Though, at the same time, I couldn’t help but be a little excited to see what she could do on stage.

“That’s quite the accomplishment. Is there anyone else you know?”

As we ran through the list once more, a few names stuck out like sore thumbs; Rory, Danielle, Natalie, Clint, Jordan, and some frequents I’ve seen over the past couple years.

What finally tore my attention from the conversation was a gleeful scream.

“Skye!”

Charlotte. Duh.

Then, rushed footsteps up the aisle and towards the doors. A collision, then a groan of “why”. My guess: there was a hug and it’d been extremely one-sided.

That was Skye, alright.

Wait, my thoughts started to jumble together in panic, it’s already four?

Sure enough, I checked my watch. It was already a quarter til four.

“I hope you’re ready. It looks like this’ll be a long one.” Olson gestured back to the doors where Skye and Charlotte had still been talking. Several people were starting to flood into the seats, all with scripts in hand, and began to mingle.

“Jesus,” I mumbled.

As the start time approached, I got a little more nervous when thinking about the inevitable crashing and burning of this show if I let my feelings come before my job as a director.

Then, a loud timer rang off of Olson’s phone. He leaned over and whispered. “Show time.”

*

*

“Next, please!”

Already an hour in and we’d only made it through half of the list.

Jordan was on stage and running through their lines. They had a great way of controlling their emotions, but it all felt a little bland. However, it could’ve quite possibly been the scene they chose; a scene of the princess or prince daydreaming about the knight. 

I knew it’d be a popular scene for auditions; it really goes into the character of the princess or prince by going through ranges of emotion, from happiness and love to humiliation and regret. The scene is extremely captivating and is a great choice for actors to showcase the abilities they could bring to the table if they got the role. 

What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was the majority of the people auditioning for the role to use the same exact scene. Especially Jordan, who was usually someone who chose scenes that’d be risky for others. 

Strange.

“Alright, thank you, Jordan.” Professor Olson said, composed as ever. It took him a few moments to finish writing in notes next to Jordan’s name, but then he finished and glanced at the auditionee list. “Next, I’d like to see Danielle. Start whenever you’re ready.”

My eyes rolled. She scampered up onto the stage, script in hand, and started with a completely different tone than the millions of other scenes we’d heard. I quickly searched for the passage she’d been reading from in the never-ending stack of papers on the table.

She was reading for the witch, surprisingly enough. Her voice was startlingly dark. It was deep, it was evil, it was rich, it was...what we’d been looking for in a witch. However, her downfall was the lack of control over her emotions.

“Alright, Danielle, thank you.” Olson held up his hand, jotting a quick note down next to her name. Voice: dark, brooding, menacing. Emotions: uncontrolled.

During the transition, I took a glance back at the list to see who’d be next, and my heart stopped. It’s like I couldn’t feel it beat in my chest; it’d felt like it stopped entirely-

“Kelly, whenever you’re ready.”

My eyes snapped up to the stage, and there she stood. For the most part, she’d been the same Kelly I fell for two years ago, but this time, I didn’t get the butterflies in my stomach. Instead, the sight made me a little uneasy. Obviously it wasn’t her appearance, because that was the same, but her very presence.

The only feelings I had were irritation and sorrow and cowardice and regret--

“Ajay, are you ready?” Olson asked. The room was silent, and so I realized they’d been waiting on me.

“Oh. Um, yeah, go ahead.” My voice was rushed, but I barely noticed as the nostalgic feeling of her chocolate brown eyes burning into my being washed over me. It didn’t make me nervous like it used to, nor did it render me speechless.

“Right. Um.” Kelly said anxiously, fiddling with her script before she started to repeat the average line for the prince and princess roles. I noticed that her voice had the same lilt, but something didn’t feel right with it. 

It’s not for the right character, that’s why.

I tapped Olson’s shoulder and pointed to another character on the list, watching as he nodded.

“Kelly,” He interrupted her mid-sentence, and a look of fear glazed her eyes, “have you read over any lines for the witch?”

She shook her head, the look of fear melting into one of utter confusion.

“Flip back a page in your script and choose a line from the witch, then read it as you see fit. Take your time.”

I was so happy Olson was the one doing all the talking. I’d probably just tell her to move on at this point.

After a few moments, Kelly nodded and took a deep breath. Much like Danielle, she had the sharp undertones we’d been looking for, but they weren’t as clear as Danielle’s. Kelly, though, did have more control over her emotions.

I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but I hoped Danielle would have more advantages over Kelly. I just didn’t want to work with her again, not after what happened.

“Alright, Kelly, we’ll consider you for both options. Thank you.” 

At this point, Olson sounded exhausted beyond belief.

Kelly left the stage with a nod. My eyes met hers just before she vanished, and there was some emotion in them that I couldn’t quite place. Guilt, annoyance, confusion...I really didn’t know.

When she left the stage completely, it felt like there was a heavy weight lifted off of my shoulders.

“Well...let’s see here...” Olson mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his coffee before he pointed down at one last list of names. “Only a few more left. How’re we looking?”

There’d been several great candidates for each role; this was always great, since then we’d have understudies and members for a complete ensemble.

“Like we’ll have some decisions to make, for sure,” I ran a hand through my hair as I read through the notes I made for each auditionee, “especially for a few of our veteran actors.”

It was true. Some were better for other roles, some didn’t have the strength or spark they did last year, some were improving...

“People change, scripts change, expectations change. It’s just a new journey to start,” When the exhausted professor smiled, the faintest purple bags beneath his eyes deepened, “and new journeys require a fresh and open mind.”

*

*

Somehow, Charlotte was the last to audition. When she was called to the stage, it was almost eight. Everyone in the house seats looked like they wanted to go home.

A familiar fluttering in my stomach appeared when she looked at me from beneath the stage lights. She looked like she’d been in her element, her smile shimmering and her eyes sparkling as she looked around at the red velvet seats in front of her. The script she held was neat and shook a bit, but her resolve remained calm and composed.

A good stage presence, I noted.

“Alright, Charlotte, because you’re new, do you have any questions I can answer before you start?” Olson’s voice gave way to his fatigue from asking the same question all evening, but Charlotte shook her head.

“All of my questions were answered throughout the evening,” She smiled, her voice smooth, “but if I have any, I’ll be sure to ask.”

That was an answer that made Olson blink in surprise. He wasn’t someone to be speechless, but those few seconds were definitely silent. It was clear she’d impressed him with just a sentence.

I definitely know the feeling...

“Excellent, so I believe you’re ready to go,” Olson wrote a few notes on his paper, then looked back up, “any specific role you’re auditioning for, or are you open to any?”

Charlotte cleared her throat and glanced at me before she focused on Olson once more. Her posture visibly straightened.

“I’d be open to any role. Lead, understudy, or ensemble.”

Jeez, she really does carry herself well.

“Sounds good...” After another scribbled note, Olson waved at her to continue. “Alright, whenever you’re ready.”

Her shoulders rose with a deep breath and she closed her eyes. It stayed that way for a second, and I couldn’t help but continue to admire her. It took strength to be that calm in front of a crowd.

She’s looks so natural up there, almost like that stage was built for her...

When her eyes opened, it’s like she’d transformed into an entirely new person. Her expression radiated innocence and her eyes filled with life, even more so than usual.

Then, she started to speak from a scene we hadn’t heard at all today. It was one where the prince or princess would come across the witch for the first time; this was a powerful and somewhat challenging scene, as the actor needed to portray multiple emotions at once while still keeping themselves under a neutral mask.

A minute passed, and then two, and then maybe even three. I had no idea. But, what I did know for sure, was that her acting was out of this world.

From what she’d put forth so far, it looked like she’d barely broken a sweat. Her voice was perfect and her control on her emotions was even better. She wasn’t overconfident, but calm. She was a force to be reckoned with on that stage, and it was equally empowering and terrifying. She had so much power, so much passion, so much potential...

She had everything we were looking for in this role.

Olson leaned over with wide eyes. “Wow. I...would like to believe we just found our princess.”

I couldn’t help but smile when the response left my mouth. “Absolutely.”

Then, the sudden horror dawned on me.

Princess. Charlotte...was princess.

*

*

It’d only been about ten minutes after she left the stage with a polite bow and dazzling smile that the entire auditorium started to empty out. Only a few stragglers were talking by the stage or the exits.

One of them in particular smiled and sped over to me.

“Ajay,” Charlotte grinned, “hi.”

“Charlotte,” I responded, “how’re you?”

She puffed out her rosy cheeks before letting the air out in a long sigh.

“So tired,” She was lightly laughing now. It was a little out of place, but it was cute. “Since I just decided to audition a few days ago, I’ve been pulling all-nighters with Leila to get my lines right.”

I feigned a smile and let a white lie slip through my teeth. “I’m glad you decided to audition.”

“Me too. I’m excited to see your directing skills in action,” She said this with a wink, “because it’s all I ever hear about from Rory.”

“Really?” Why does he talk about my directing...?

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He gushes about how great of a director you are, like, all the time. You really haven’t heard any of this?”

I gave her a deadpan look, and she huffed out a laugh.

“Well, you should ask him about it. I’m sure he’d gladly tell you about how amazing you are,” she said thoughtfully, “he looks up to you, you know. It’s easy to see by the way he talks about you.”

I can’t imagine why...

“That’s surpris--” Before I could get through my sentence, I watched Charlotte stumble forward into me. Everything felt like it’d been in slow motion; her eyes widening slowly as her arms opened to hold onto me. Without another thought, mine did the same, wrapping around her small form carefully.

“Whoa!” Charlotte gasped with her arms tight around my torso and cheek pressed against my chest. I felt my heart start to pound, so I started worrying she could feel it thumping against her cheek.

The sound of laughter could be heard behind her, and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of Danielle and a few others sauntering away. I glared at their backs, my grip on Charlotte tightening by a fraction.

Danielle better keep to herself from now on, because if that happens again--

The thought made a snarl appear on my face, and I quickly shook it away.

“You okay?” I asked, instantly feeling her rapid nod against my chest. I expected her to move...but she didn’t.

“Y-Yeah, just caught off-guard, um, I’m good.” Her voice sounded panicked. She pulled away from me slowly, looking up into my eyes with a deep red blush. “Thanks for not letting me fall.”

“Well, you didn’t really give me a choice.” I teased, watching her eyes widen for a second before she looked away.

“Right. Well. Uh, I should probably get going. I already have a ton of homework,” she hummed, smiling once more, “I’ll see you...sometime this week?”

I nodded, returning her smile. My heart felt like it was floating.

“Of course. Good night, Charlotte.”

“G’night,” She smiled and waved, awkwardly walking out the door. This whole goodbye thing felt like the new normal - that is, watching her run off while I stay glued to my spot, still living in the previous moment and imagining her eyes, her voice, her smile--

“Ajay! C’mon, man,” Rory shouted from the stage, “let’s go get dinner before we starve.”

It was like I snapped from a daze when I blinked.

The effect she had on me was maddening, but I realized I couldn’t get enough of it. Everything about her was just so frustratingly perfect--

“I’m in the mood for some absurdly overpriced pizza,” I said abruptly, walking with Rory out into the cool September night air. He laughed, nodding in agreement.

“Ohhhh, me too!”

I could swear the scent of her perfume drifted along in the breeze, but that was probably just my mind playing tricks on me.

*

*

It was hard to fall asleep that night. Maybe...maybe greasy pizza wasn’t the best idea.

I kept flipping over, hoping to find that one magical position and miraculously succumb to sleep.

But I just couldn’t get her out of my head.

This shouldn’t even be happening. Why did I let this happen? She was definitely involved with the show now. My rule still applies to me!

But...Charlotte. Sweet, kind, talented Charlotte.

Ug. The temptation to scream into my pillow was terrifyingly high.

For the love of...

Then, a thought. With a blink, I reached over to grab my glasses and a pen. After I turned my phone’s flashlight on, the feeling of a leather book from underneath my pillow brushed against my fingers. At the feeling, I sighed.

*

*

September 17th, 2020

Dear Diary...

Why does life have to be so complicated?

*

*

It wasn’t anything extensive, but my brain felt tired after writing all of that. So...short entry it was. Oh, did I sign it?

Too late. It was already closed.

I still felt like I was going to explode, but it was less severe than before. Progress. Maybe I could fall asleep now.

When I put everything back and folded my glasses, my head dreadfully hit the pillow with a soft thud. To make matters even better, I thought about her audition. How it was breathtakingly powerful and absolutely stunning. About how her voice was perfect for the part. About how...

It’s going to be a long night.

[nevertherose]

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight: Chapters 1-8

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

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

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

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

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

But I wanted it to exist here as well.

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

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

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

One Hundred Seconds to Midnight

Chapter 1- The Eleventh Hour

“Who are you?”

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

Midnight.

The witching hour.

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

It was nearly midnight on the Imagination’s border.

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

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

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

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

But not tonight.

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

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

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

That was the only reason Roman kept looking back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He liked to think he was handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

Roman had only been planning this for weeks.

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

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

Logan adjusted his glasses.

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

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

“Ah ha, here we are!”

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

The nerd did not disappoint.

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

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

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

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

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

Usually, it was an emotion.

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

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

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

Roman had to bite back an ecstatic giggle.

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

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

…and then some.

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

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

How could he not?

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

But now?

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

And then these last few months had happened.

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

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

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

He knew he needed to be better.

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

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

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

Chapter 2- Human Nature

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He cleared his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I am right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan glanced down at himself for the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yet somehow my hands just…know.”

Roman leaned casually onto the console.

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

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

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

It had proven useful so far, after all.

Roman shot Logan a fierce grin.

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3- The Witch’s Familiar

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

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

He sighed, and dismissed his drink.

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

Well. It was what he had.

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

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

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

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

“Patton?” Janus whispered.

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

Janus drew in a sharp breath.

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

To learn their arguing styles, of course.

Not because he had any desire to join those discussions.

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

That wasn’t really the issue.

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

That was cruel. That was insulting.

It was too far, even for Remus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should Janus say something?

Would Patton believe him if he did?

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

But Janus, well.

Janus was still a liar.

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

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

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

So.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patton trailed off.

“Fragmented? Chaotic? Disturbing?” Janus supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

Janus bit back a smile.

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

Patton ducked his head.

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

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

Damn it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And whose TARDIS is this?

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

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

Too dark, too full of shadows.

An awful suspicion rose up in his mind.

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

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

It was a sonic laser.

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

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

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

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

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

Patton’s heavy footsteps clattered behind him.

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

Janus whirled, lips curled in a snarl.

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

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

“Clearly, I am the Master.”

Chapter 4- Nightmare in Silver

“You think he knows what he’s doing?”

“I’m not sure I’d go that far.”

Patton rested his arms against the console and sighed.

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

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

Janus stalked past again, grumbling to himself.

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

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

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

Silence.

Patton didn’t know what Janus was expecting.

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

They’d see straight through it.

“It takes a liar to know a liar.”

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

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

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

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

“What are you, a middle school librarian?”

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

The screen burst into static.

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

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

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

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

Patton was trying.

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

Janus wasn’t evil.

He never had been.

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

They all did.

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

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

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

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

He would not make those mistakes again.

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

Patton had to believe that.

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

The screen in Janus’s hands cleared to reveal…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman’s face reappeared, solemn and deeply annoyed.

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

“Very reassuring,” Janus quipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 5- The Long Game

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

Logan sighed.

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

“Remus,” Roman hissed.

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

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

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

Roman made a sound of disgust deep in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe it was the stress, or the unfamiliar environment.

Or maybe it was the Rose Tyler outfit.

That skirt ought to be illegal.

Logan deliberately focused on the screen, his cheeks warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan bit back a sigh.

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

#

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

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

“Patton asked for my opinion!”

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

Silence.

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

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

“I didn’t make him take it!”

Deceit sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

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

Logan bit his lip.

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

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

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

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

A strange thought entered Logan’s mind.

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

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

“Well…” Logan trailed off, troubled.

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

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

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

Deceit had laughed then, high pitched and bitter.

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

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

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

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

“Deceit—” Logan started.

“Janus.”

“What?”

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

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

Self-preservation.

“It suits you,” Logan said quietly.

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

“Thank you.”

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

Janus looked at him intently.

“Let me speak to them as you.”

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

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

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

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

Janus snorted.

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

Logan shrugged uncomfortably.

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

Logan pursed his lips.

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

“I didn’t have your blessing.”

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

Logan stared at it, torn.

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

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

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

Those were just the facts.

Janus sighed.

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

He offered his now bare hand to Logan again.

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

“Please,” was all he said.

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

#

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

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

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

As Logic, Logan needed to remember that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scans pulled up nothing.

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

Janus grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “lucky”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

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

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

Surely not.

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

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

Remus giggled as Logan exchanged a shocked look with Roman.

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

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

“Roman, what—” Logan started.

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

This he roared at the screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6- Asylum of the Daleks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Logan probably could.)

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

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

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

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

Roman folded his arms, stung.

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

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

Logan sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman covered his mouth to keep from snorting.

The snake would not make him laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They turned their forward face to the four again.

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

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

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

“But that was just Daleks!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did Patton even realize what he’d almost done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman huffed, and looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if we refuse?” Roman said evenly.

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

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

The alien Janus shrugged, spreading their hands.

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

“Is that so.”

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

There was a shocked silence…but no retaliation.

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

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

“Roman,” Logan warned quietly, pointing.

Roman looked.

The white Dalek’s shell was…laughing?

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

Each word bit like sandpaper against Roman’s ears.

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

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

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

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

“Why must you make everything difficult?”

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

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

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

“You’re lying,” Roman said tonelessly.

Remus’s whiny voice grew hard.

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

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

“How are you so sure?” Roman frowned.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call him that,” Roman spat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roman slammed the Dalek shell against the floor.

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

Like looking in a funhouse mirror…

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

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

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

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

“They will prevent—” the Janus started.

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

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

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

Patton hesitantly raised a hand.

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

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

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

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

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

Whereas Janus…probably did.

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

Typical Deceit. Protecting his lies.

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

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

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

There was a push, and they were falling.

Chapter 7- Oxygen

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

“Space doors are supposed to go shuk shuk.”

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

Janus was done.

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

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

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

The gravity beam had split into four as it hurled them at the planet, but Janus was reasonably sure at least one of the others had landed nearby.

He hoped it was Patton.

Not because he was concerned or anything. It was just that either of the others would be absolutely insufferable company, that’s all.

“Janus!” a metallic voice called, and Janus breathed a sigh of relief.

Patton’s Cyberman body clattered awkwardly down a nearby snowbank, sliding the last few feet to land in a heap.

“It is all kinds of chilly down here.” Patton stood, and waved rather nonsensically. “Hullo there, Janus, so ice to see you.”

Janus rolled his eyes. (He would deny to his dying day that the corner of his mouth twitched at the ridiculous pun.)

“If this scenario is consistent with its source material,” he said, gesturing to the closest ridge, “there should be an escape pod from that crashed ship nearby. Come on.”

He set off across the snow, Patton following in his wake.

“Say, what do snowmen call their offspring?”

Janus exhaled carefully. Hoo, boy, maybe Logan wouldn’t have been so bad…

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“Chill-dren!” Patton chortled at Janus’s grimace. “What did one snowman say to another?”

“St. Genesius spare me,” Janus grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did one snowman say to another?”

“‘Do you smell carrots?’”

Janus quickly covered his mouth.

“You smiled,” Patton crooned.

“I most certainly did not.”

“Okay, okay, one more.” Patton scurried ahead and turned around, so that he was walking backwards. “Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Janus said flatly.

“Snow.” Patton hooked his thumbs into the metal rim at waist, like one might on a pair of pants. Janus swallowed and looked away.

“Snow who?”

“Snow laughing matter, Janus, I don’t know why you’re smiling.”

Janus snorted before he could hide it, and cleared his throat.

“I am not smiling, how dare you.”

“That’s twice now!” Patton cackled, the sound coming out all distorted. “Admit it.”

“I refuse,” Janus said, drawing himself up. “You won’t make a liar out of….”

Liar.

He felt the joke fall flat and cringed. Even though Patton’s metal face couldn’t react, those metal shoulders visibly stiffened.

Too soon.

Liar.

Too much history between them.

Besides, you are a liar, his mind whispered. Lies of omission are still lies, Deceit, and you’re doing that right now.

Janus gritted his teeth. They topped a ridge; the expected escaped pod lay half-buried near another ridge, across a flat stretch of snow. The two Sides glanced at each other and continued their journey in silence.

Patton seemed disinclined to continue his little pun war.

Janus badly wanted to say he hadn’t minded the punning, but truthfully, keeping silent was easier. Patton’s baffling ignorance over the state of his own “flesh” was starting to wear on Janus’s conscience. He knew the longer he kept it secret, the worse the fallout would be when Patton finally learned the truth.

The urge to come clean was an unfamiliar one for him, and extremely uncomfortable.

Ironic, the master liar, conflicted about maintaining a lie.

The old him would have laughed, but…the old him hadn’t heard the sincerity in Patton’s voice, when he’d spoken Janus’s true name aloud for the first time. The old him had assumed Thomas would reject him forever…because of Patton.

And then, with Janus still smarting from the sting of Roman’s mockery, Patton had said his name.

Patton had trusted him to take care of Thomas in his stead, when the moral Side knew he had failed at it. The memory still made all Janus’s scales tingle and his heart beat a little sideways.

The new him…this him…couldn’t find it in his small, shriveled, but very much present heart to risk pushing Patton away.

They reached the pod.

Muffled shouts and something that sounded like blaster fire filtered up from inside, making them exchange another glance.

Janus set a hand on the ice-crusted latch.

“Remember, we’ll have to fight our way through a bunch of dead Dalek puppets,” he reminded Patton.

“That’s a lot of noise for just a few puppets,” Patton said softly. “That canonically shouldn’t even be awake yet.”

“I know, and that is strange,” Janus agreed. “Maybe someone got here before us. But we won’t know exactly what to expect until we get down there.”

Patton sighed, a cloud of frost puffing out of his small, rectangular mouth.

Janus pushed the latch, popped his head in, and was met with a scene of utter chaos.

About six or seven human-Dalek puppets, with stalks sticking out of their heads and blasters sticking out of their hands, were locked in a fire fight with a horde of robotic humanoids that looked like they came from the Fourth Doctor’s era, if Janus remembered correctly. Round, bulky shoulders and faces that looked like metal sunbursts.

Both puppets and robots were using the seats as cover, blaster fire zinging back and forth and exploding against the walls in little showers of sparks. Janus and Patton would be directly in the blast zone when they jumped down, a little closer to the robot side.

“Well, someone definitely got here before us,” Janus muttered.

He withdrew his head and studied Patton. Honestly, with his metal body he’d be in far less danger, and those guns in his arms would actually be useful in this situation…but telling Patton he was a walking weapon, now, would definitely not go over well.

“The hatch down into the asylum should be in the cockpit of this thing,” he informed Patton. “There’s a lot of blaster fire, though, so—”

“—don’t get cold feet and hesitate?” Patton finished.

Something in Janus’s heart twisted…something he didn’t dare examine too closely.

“Say, Patton,” he said softly, looking away.

“Yes?”

“What did the hat say to the scarf?”

Patton turned his black Cyberman eyes on Janus.

“What?”

“‘You hang around, and I’ll go a-head’.” Janus let a smirk curl his lips.

Patton was silent for a moment, but then he began to giggle, covering his mouth.

Janus pulled out his sonic laser.

He dropped into the pod with a swing of his legs, catching one of the robots in its metal chest. It fell with a screech, careening into another of its kind, but by then Janus had gained his feet and ducked behind a seat. Patton clattered down behind, with less grace and far more noise…and a random Tivolian tumbled in directly after him.

Patton caught the rodent-faced alien with a startled shout, immediately dropping them again when they screamed and struggled. Janus blinked; where the hell did they come from?

The Tivolian tumbled across the pod’s floor, only making it a few feet before getting cut down with blaster bolts. Janus saw Patton cry out, and caught the Side before he could leap out and draw more hostile fire.

“It’s too late!” he shouted over the noise.

“I should have hung on!” Patton, if he’d had a proper face, would probably be in tears. He hated death. “I don’t know why they were so scared of me!”

Janus could answer that…

“I’m more curious about where they came from,” he said instead, frowning. “They surely weren’t up on the surface with us. It’s like they just teleported in, but Tivolians don’t teleport. They don’t have the technology—”

A blaster bolt exploded across the top of the seat they were hiding behind, showering them in sparks and forcing them both to duck.

“Janus!” Patton snapped. “We need to get out of here!”

“Right.” Janus brandished his sonic. “We’ll just have to run for it.”

He leaped out, activating his weapon, and discovered that a sonic laser had a very satisfying range and kickback. Forget the Doctor’s screwdriver, he thought, blasting a Dalek puppet aside and ducking another gun blast. I wonder if the Imagination will let me keep this…

A cold, dead hand seized the collar of his jacket, yanking him back.

Then there was a yell, a clatter, and Janus turned in time to see Patton blast a puppet with a fire extinguisher. The moral Side chuckled at Janus’s shocked expression.

“I’ve seen this episode too, you know,” he pointed out.

Janus huffed.

The two dodged and fought their way to the cockpit; Janus used his laser to seal the door behind them. For a moment they simply stood there, catching their breath.

(Well, Janus caught his. Did Patton even breathe, in that form?)

“Unauthorized personnel may not enter the cockpit.” Remus’s high-pitched voice came over the speaker system. “Unless it’s an actual pit full of cocks, in which case, where’s my invitation?”

Janus was going to need something a lot stronger than tea, once they finally got out of this mess.

“Remus, for god’s sake,” he grumbled.

“God has nothing to do with my cock, but if that’s how you want to roll…” One of the cockpit screens flickered to life, and there was Remus in all his ruffly, sparkly, mustached glory. Clara’s warm, messy cove spread out behind him, reds and yellows clashing horribly with the green of his sash.

Janus moved so that his chest and shoulders blocked the screen, to prevent Remus from catching sight of Patton. If Remus saw Patton as a Cyberman, Janus would never be able to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

“All right then, where do we find you?” Janus said. “And where did the others land? Not to mention our dear missing ball of anxiety.” He leaned forward, putting on his trademark smirk. “Come on, Re. You must know. One Other to another, you can tell me.”

“Aww, Jan Jan,” Remus crooned, also leaning forward. “You care.”

“I most certainly do not!” Janus sputtered, and cleared his throat. “Patton was worried about Virgil, that’s all.”

“I was?” Patton asked from the other side of the space. “I mean, of course I am, but—”

“But surely you can at least tell us why this scenario isn’t playing out quite like the episode it comes from,” Janus interjected smoothly. He didn’t want Remus to notice the metallic quality of Patton’s voice.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already told you everything that I know.” Remus shrugged. “Roman really did give the Imagination too much freedom.”

Janus frowned.

“Then how do you know the scenario will end when we find you?”

“I actually don’t! Isn’t it great?” Remus crowed, clapping his hands. “I love stories where anything could happen. We could all get vaporized, or have our flesh eaten by—”

“Remus, focus.” Janus pitched the bridge of his nose. “So, given what we know of this particular episode, you’re assuming that our main tasks are to come get you, and to drop the forcefield on the planet so the Daleks can blow it up.”

“That’s the idea, Double Dee!”

Behind him, Janus heard Patton make a weird, choked noise, and grimaced.

“By the way, Roman and Logan are already inside the asylum.” Remus grinned, the whites of his eyes flashing. “So if you want to catch up, you’d better scute those scaly asscheeks along. Check the floor for a breach; that will be your way out. A breach, ha! Like a butth—”

Janus pointed his laser and fired on the screen, cutting the transmission and sending sparks flying all over the cockpit. An awkward silence fell in which he turned to face Patton, who of course wore no visible expression.

This, and all the reasons for it, annoyed him further.

“I swear if you ask one question about scutes or scales,” he warned, holding up a finger.

“I wasn’t…going to.” Patton held up his hands. “Logan kind of taught us how to tune out the more, er, naughty things Remus says. But I am wondering,” he added hesitantly. “Are you…feeling okay?”

“Fabulous. Peachy,” Janus said flatly, kneeling to feel around on the floor. “Fantastic, allons-y, geronimo, what have you.”

“It’s just, you seem a little angry,” Patton went on. “And you remember, that’s, that’s the first step in being converted. Maybe you should wear the bracelet for a while? We can trade on and off…”

Patton’s fingers went to his wrist, but Janus stopped him with a gloved hand on top.

Tell him, an inner voice whispered. Tell him now, before this gets any more awkward.

“That’s sweet of you, but no, I’m merely frustrated,” Janus admitted. “I would very much like to get out of here, so I can return to the pleasant evening I was having before all thisss.”

He gestured irritatedly around them.

Patton joined him on the floor and together they found a person-sized hole, with a rope ladder hanging down.

“Hey, Janus,” Patton murmured, as they were about to start the long climb down. “Can I ask you something?”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to ask no matter what I say?” Janus said wryly.

“Do you remember when that puppet attacked you in the main part of the ship, and I fought it off with the fire extinguisher?” Patton ducked his head.

Janus raised an eyebrow.

“They hesitated, when they saw me.” Patton’s unnaturally black eyes met Janus’s. “That’s why I had time to grab the extinguisher.”

Janus swallowed, his heart starting to pound.

“Well, I’m sure they aren’t used to anyone fighting back—”

“No, they hesitated like…like I scared them or something,” Patton pressed. “It was weird, Janus. Please. If there’s something you need to tell me…you know you can.”

Janus’s mouth compressed into a flat line and he looked away, bitterness welling up inside him.

“Can I, Patton?” he asked softly, holding up a gloved hand. A yellow indictment of everything he was. “Can I really?”

Patton sighed, long and deep.

“Touché.”

Chapter 8- Extremis

“Something’s coming. And I’m blind. How can I see them when I’m lost in the dark?”

Logan awoke to someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to an expanse of blurry blobs and color splotches, and Roman’s sharp, frantic face very close to his. His eyes have amber flecks, his brain noted inanely. But why is he clear when nothing else is…?

Roman threw his head back and exhaled in obvious relief when Logan groaned, blinking rapidly to clear his vision.

“Singing chimeras, Specs, I was starting to worry.”

Logan sat up and touched his bare face. Ah, there’s the problem.

“Where are my glasses?”

Roman was quiet.

Logan leaned closer to the other Side, squinting. Bad eyesight was such an annoyance. If only Thomas’s developing brain hadn’t decided early on that “smart and logical” also meant “stereotypically nerdy”, and pigeonholed his own sense of Logic into actually requiring corrective eyewear.

“Roman?” Logan tried again.

“Um. About that.”

Roman bit his lip, and handed over a smashed set of frames. Logan’s stomach sank as he examined them; the lenses were shattered beyond repair.

“I found them next to you like that, when I woke up,” Roman explained. “I’ve been trying to summon another pair, but for some reason the Imagination won’t let me!”

Logan pushed down a growing sense of dread, that he’d have to navigate the rest of this adventure half-blind.

“My glasses getting broken is obviously not your fault. We did fall down a rather deep hole,” he pointed out. “But what do you mean, the Imagination isn’t letting you?”

“I mean it’s not letting me!” Roman threw up his hands. “I could summon things on the TARDIS just fine, but now…” He sighed. “I am Creativity, right?”

Logan tilted his head and frowned.

“Is that…Roman, that is a nonsensical question. Of course you are.”

“So summoning a tiny object in my own dream scenario should be easy.” Roman hung his head.

“How long have you been trying?”

“Twenty minutes, maybe?” Roman shrugged, still not looking at him. “All that time, and yet still I fail.”

Logan resisted the urge to point out that twenty minutes should be long enough to realize a thing might be outside of one’s control, and to start brainstorming other options.

Stubborn fool.

“Maybe it’s just as well we picked the wedding over the callback,” Roman added darkly, an uncharacteristic glower twisting his face. “When Thomas’s Creativity apparently can’t even control his own dreams.”

Oh…this isn’t about glasses at all, is it? Logan swallowed around an achy sensation in his chest; the one he always got when something was wrong and Roman made that face and he just…needed to fix it.

Native English speakers have a passive vocabulary of around forty thousand words, he thought, frustrated. So why, in situations like this, am I constantly struggling to find the right thing to say?

The resigned set to Roman’s jaw prompted Logan to try.

“Your inability to summon things may not be your doing,” Logan said, laying a hand on Roman’s knee. “Perhaps the Imagination is attempting to impose a sense of realism on this adventure.”

“Realism,” Roman echoed flatly. “In Doctor Who.”

Logan huffed. “You must admit, summoning objects out of thin air does defy even time-traveling alien logic.”

Roman’s face twitched in the tiniest of smiles. “So why did it work before, Teach?”

“Maybe it only worked on the TARDIS because the ship already defies every known rule of physics.” Logan shrugged. “I admit I cannot possibly intuit the inner workings of the Imagination; I can only theorize from what I have observed thus far.”

Roman chuckled softly to himself, and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Aww, Nerd, I’m touched. You’re trying to logic me into feeling better.”

“Is it…working?” Logan asked.

“Kind of?” An unreadable expression flitted over Roman’s face. “At least one of us is still grounded in reality.”

“Where else could one possibly be grounded?”

Roman laughed outright at this.

“Oh, Logan. Never change, okay?”

He stood up, and pulled Logan to his feet as well.

“Where are we?” Logan asked, squinting.

He could tell they were in some large, open space; all blacks and browns and dull grays. Blurry domes of copper were scattered amongst what could be bits of fallen scaffolding or machinery.

Logan was also hyperaware of Roman’s warm arm pressed against his, and his own hand clasped tightly within the Prince’s larger grip. With everything else blurry, physical sensations were all the more distracting.

“Don’t panic, okay?” Roman started.

Logan scoffed.

“You are fortunate that I am not Virgil,” he commented wryly. “Because starting a sentence like that would almost certainly have caused him to panic.”

“Well, it’s just, do you remember that scene in the Dalek asylum episode where Rory wakes up in the hanger full of dead Daleks who turn out to be not actually dead?” Roman said in a rush. “Because…yeah.”

Oh. Logan swallowed.

“So, I am guessing that those copper domes are actually Daleks?” he said softly.

Roman snorted.

“Copper domes? Jeesh, your eyesight sucks.”

“I am aware,” Logan said flatly. “Which means you will have to guide us out. If I remember correctly, as long as we are quiet and don’t kick any pipes on the ground, we won’t wake them up.”

Roman let go of Logan’s hand… and replaced it with an arm wrapped around his waist. Logan only held back a squeak because it would have been extremely undignified.

“Hey, relax, I got you, Specs.” Roman’s breath ghosted over Logan’s ear. The Prince’s shorter stature allowed him to fit snugly against Logan’s side; if Roman turned his head, he could comfortably tuck his face into the crook of Logan’s neck.

Not…not that Logan imagined him doing any such thing.

Roman drew his sword with a metallic rasp, prompting Logan to pull out his screwdriver, and they set off across the floor.

It was a strange, vulnerable sensation, Logan thought, being this close to another, being forced to rely on him for direction…or maybe it was just that Roman’s Rose Tyler outfit left so much more skin on display than his usual royal attire…

To be fair, Roman’s bare arms and short skirt and leggings were the only non-blurry things in Logan’s line of sight at the moment.

“You know, I am not sure how much good a sword will do against a Dalek now,” Logan said dryly (to distract himself). “Since it would seem that the Imagination is now attempting to be realistic.”

“It’ll be a lot more useful than a screwdriver,” Roman retorted. “Honestly, the War Doctor had a point. The later seasons really do start to treat the sonic like a weapon, and it looks ridiculous. There’s an oily-looking puddle to your left.”

They dodged around it.

“The sonic screwdriver is an ingenious, multipurpose tool,” Logan argued. “Fitting for a character who is, at heart, a pacifist. In the right hands, it most certainly could serve as a weapon. For example one could scramble a Cyberman’s circuits, short out fuses, or calculate the precise amount of blunt force needed to take down an enemy.” Logan waved the hand with the screwdriver around them. “All things that a sword could not accomplish.”

“Sure,” Roman drawled, leading them around one of the still, silent Daleks, “but you don’t point a sonic at an oncoming Dalek and expect to survive. Even the Doctor had more sense than to try that. At least a sword could cut off its blaster arm.”

“We don’t know how strong Dalek amor is down here,” Logan pointed out. “You could end up breaking your sword and then where would we be?”

“Better off than we’d be while you assembled a cabinet at them!”

Logan’s foot collided with a metallic something that made an awful CLANG and went skittering across the floor. Roman pulled them up short, his face going pale.

All around them, round blue lights began to flicker on, one by one.

“I kicked the pipe, didn’t I?” Logan said, his heart starting to pound.

“You kicked the pipe,” Roman confirmed in a sick voice.

“EGGS…!” a crackly Dalek voice next to them stuttered, making them jump. “EG-EG-EG-EGGS…!” Its twin lights flashed erratically as it spoke.

“Roman,” Logan started.

“‘Eggs, you may laugh and that’s great…’” Roman sang in a wavering voice. “‘Your smiles are what make my day’…”

The Dalek rolled toward them creakily. “EEEEEGGS!”

Logan’s breathing sped up. Another Dalek rolled in from the other side, causing him to stumble. All around them, mechanical creaks and groans and a chorus of digitized voices rose up…

“EG…EG-EGGS…TERM…”

“Roman, I believe we need to run.” Logan could see the Dalek almost clearly now, its eyestalk glowing, its gunstick rising up.

“…IN…ATE…”

Blurry, flashing lights closed in.

“‘My self-worth’s fragile like an egg,’” Roman sang. The hand gripping Logan’s middle tightened painfully. “‘When it breaks it’s tough to put together again…’”

“EX…TERM…IN…ATE!”

“Roman!” Logan shouted. “Get us out of here!”

“EXTERMINATE!”

A blaster bolt warbled past and exploded over their heads.

Roman shuddered and seemed to snap out of it, seizing Logan’s arm and pulling him so hard he nearly fell. Logan staggered, hanging onto Roman’s hand for dear life as they ran, and ran, and blaster bolts burst at their feet and shattered around them.

“This way, boys and boys,” Remus’s voice sing-singed across the room. Roman yanked them hard in that direction.

“REMUS!” Roman shouted as they ran, and Logan was impressed he had the breath for it. “Remus, you better open that door like you’re supposed to or we are DEAD!”

“Oh, keep your pants on, brother,” Remus snarked, sounding a little closer. “Although maybe Logan would prefer that you didn’t—”

Whatever else he said wasn’t audible over a hanger full of jabbering Daleks and firing blasters.

They reached a wall and Roman shoved Logan down.

“Straight ahead, crawl. Go, go, go!” he said, turning and brandishing his sword.

Bless that Prince and his stupid, stupid bravery.

Logan went, nearly tripping over his coat as he crawled under the barely lifted hatch door. Once he was past the threshold Roman flung himself under and through, knocking into Logan and sending them both sliding across the floor.

There was a hiss and a heavy thud that Logan hoped was the door shutting behind them, and finally, blessed silence. They both leaned against the wall for a moment, catching their breath.

Roman thunked his head back.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” he muttered.

“Your welcome.”

Remus’s voice crackled through the hallway. Roman growled and sat up straighter, looking around as if his brother would magically appear.

“I did just save your lives,” Remus added. From the direction of the sound, Logan guessed he was talking through a speaker somewhere on the far wall.

“Yeah, and I’m still gonna whip your butt when this is all over,” Roman groused.

“Oooh, do I get to choose the instrument?”

Roman sputtered, but Logan grabbed his arm before he could yell back.

“You know he just likes to get under your skin,” he murmured, and raised his voice. “Thank you for opening the door, Remus. We are grateful for your help.”

There was a silence on the other end, with a quality that Logan would have described as shocked.

“Well. You two lovebirds better move along,” Remus drawled finally, shrill as ever. “Before the Silurian army shows up.”

“Excuse me, the WHAT?” Logan exclaimed.

No answer.

“Remus!” Roman clambered to his feet and helped Logan up.

Nothing.

Except now that Logan was listening for it, he definitely heard approaching footsteps and murmuring, heavily-accented voices. And they were getting closer.

“That dick,” Roman grumbled through gritted teeth.

“To be fair, I think he is trying to help,” Logan pointed out. “In his own way.”

“Don’t be fair to my brother when he’s just led us out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“We are neither in a pan nor on fire, Roman; I have never understood that saying—”

The lights dimmed and flashed an eerie purple; Roman silenced him with a hand over his mouth. There was a voice…not Remus’s, not alien, not like anything Logan had ever heard. It chanted something, over and over again, before fading out.

The lights flared back to normal.

Logan waited, counting Roman’s shallow breaths against his neck.

Nothing.

“What was that?” he asked softly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” Roman responded. “But I guess that’s our cue to go. Stay close, Mr. Magoo.”

Logan grumbled, but allowed Roman to recapture his hand and lead them in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps…which had resumed the moment the purple light vanished.

Next time Roman asked him to come on an adventure, he was bringing a spare set of glasses.

[trulyyoursbelle]

The Quiet

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1,515

Concept: The first conversation right after breaking up.

A/N: This is my first time posting here and just really making an account in Tumblr (I just free-roamed before this) so I’m confused as heck. I’m threading in unknown waters XD, I hope I can improve my writing in my time here. Now, presenting this short work that I hope you enjoy!

It was quiet, the blurry kind. 

Beeps and honks of traffic sprouted from different areas of Seoul, along with flashy lights from towering hotels or corporations. However, they all fell muffled from inside his dim room.

There was another kind of quiet in that room.

It was the tense and heavy kind. 

You were sitting on one of the comfiest beds this country could provide. HOMELY, the furniture brand had its name to speak for itself. Still, the high quality it was made of did nothing to make you relax. You were suffocated. A massive weight rested on your chest, almost pulling you down to sink in the mattress if it were possible. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your eyes flicked to your right. There it was again, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his notebook as he stared into the view outside the window. He had stopped a few minutes ago and now resumed. 

A silent chuckle left you, but you immediately masked it by licking your chapped lips. It was funny. It wasn’t actually that quiet. There was his tapping, the air-conditioner humming, and the city being alive.

 However, it was quiet. For you, it was. It had been an hour since you two exchanged any words.

You’d been sitting in this silence. Throughout the ticking seconds and minutes, you thought of something to say, but came out with nothing. And, for you, it was justifiable. That was because before the hour of silence, he uttered three words to you. Three words you’d seen coming for a while now, but it didn’t matter because your entire being still drowned when you heard it.

‘Let’s break up.’

When he said that, a tight smile formed on your lips, but you were sure it looked more like a wince than anything. You responded with a decisive nod, then came this silence because what else could you add to that?

Strangely enough, you weren’t crying.

 It was as if you swallowed a handful of pills, and all your energy drained out, but you weren’t crying. The one thing you expected to happen didn’t. Now, you sat half contemplating what to say, half wondering that, hm, maybe you had used up all your tears.

No. Maybe you should just leave. You already settled the matter. There was nothing to stay behind—

“Did you regret it?” 

You breathed in sharply. At the sound of his rough whisper, the weight on your chest grew heavier, almost unbearable, leaving you breathless. Hesitant, you tore your gaze away from the wide view the fixed window gave, and turned to your right where a pair of tired eyes was already looking back.

You already knew what his question meant, yet, with a croaky voice you asked, “What?”

Silence, again.

You stared into his eyes, oh, his eyes. The dead giveaway to the emotions he hid. His eyes shone with excitement when his whole exterior showed boredom. They were what exuded love while he grumbled at you for being too careless back when you got a high fever. 

However, at that moment, all you saw was the shallow reflection of the city’s sparkling lights that did nothing to hide the pure exhaustion in them. It made him seem child-like as opposed to the visible dark circles under his eyes.

“Us,” he said, keeping his gaze locked with yours. His eyes screamed for answers, yet you swore you could see fear in them, fear of what you could say. But what did he have to be afraid of? You didn’t know. “Did you regret us?”

As if his question wasn’t clearer to you, he added, “Did you regret being with me?”

You licked your lips, returning your eyes to the night view of the city. “What—“ a dry chuckle left you, “What made you ask that?”

He snorted, a forced smile on him as he removed his gaze from you and back to the view outside. 

After a few seconds without an answer, your brows furrowed as you stared at the side of his face, which was as unreadable as ever. “Yoongi?” you whispered.

“You…” he faltered, licking the edge of his mouth. You leaned closer to peek at his face for a hint of what he was feeling, and the sight before you made your lips part. His passive facade broke, his dark eyes darting around while he huffed. “I’m not dumb, you know? You spent a lot of time on me and I just…you—ugh.”

Yoongi wiped his face, his mask breaking further when he hunched over, leaning his weight on his legs. Seeing him at this state, you raised your hand to touch him but froze. Any minute now, any second, you’d be leaving this room no longer his significant other. You immediately retracted your hand. 

You should get used to this.

Silence fell between you two again. It was not unusual. Yoongi always preferred the silence, and you basked in its comfort as well. You used to spend hours together just enjoying each other’s presence. This moment, however, was not the same case.

He sighed, fingers picking on his skin. “I just feel that you wasted a lot of yourself on me.” With that, a crack in your heart grew, and it was too late to look away when Yoongi raised his gaze and that crack took away a piece of you. Tears had formed in his eyes. “Did you regret all the time you wasted on me?”

A shuddering breath left you, and you diverted your gaze to the carpet floor. Flashes of your time together, every moment, every memory, ran through your mind. In a moment, you could feel his lingering touches, his soft, hesitant kisses, and his smile. You could hear yourself crying whenever you fought, his usually quiet voice thundering, the chilly nights alone…everything.

And you knew your answer.

“No,” you whispered, turning to see his head perk up and, this time, his eyes genuinely lit up. It broke you further.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing at your answer. It was the smallest of movements, but ones you learned to catch in your relationship. “No?”

“No.” One edge of your lips curved up. “No, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Not one bit.”

Questions swam in his eyes, making you wait no longer and continue, “Just because we didn’t work out, doesn’t mean I didn’t treasure us…doesn’t mean I never treasured you. We had our moments, and eve—even if it won’t be like that anymore, I got to…” You paused, taking a sharp breath, “I got to love you.” 

With a burning throat, you let out a shaky breath as those last words echoed in your head and your vision turned blurry.

Yoongi snapped to action, lifting a hand to wipe your tears, but just like you, he froze mid-air and in that moment you could see the thousands of emotions run through him. You placed your hand over his and gently placed it on the bed. His warmth from your hands touching was too comforting, too much for you to linger a second longer, and you immediately pulled away.

It seemed you two had the same mindset. It was time to let go of such gestures, even if you didn’t want to. Doing such things wasn’t wrong, but it was as if you were sealing the deal, preventing feelings to return from such intimate acts. 

You wiped the tears yourself a bit too roughly. With your vision cleared, you sniffed and smiled at him. “I got to love you, Yoongi. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he turned away, the city lighting up his face. You turned away as well. Letting out a thin stream of breath, you could feel the weight on you lighten up the tiniest bit. This was good, for now. You didn’t need to hear his reply. He wasn’t obligated to. Besides, the only reply you could hear from him was that he didn’t—

“Me too,” he said with a small voice, and if you were careful, you could detect the crack in it.

And that was it.

Your body went rigid. All it took was his hoarse whisper and two words for all your walls to crumble down, and you didn’t even realize it had until a trembling whimper escaped your lips and your cheeks became wet with tears. Your entire form shook as your cry filled the silence of the dark room.

Your time in his studio, watching him as he worked in all seriousness, your small unrevealed mukbang videos with him…everything, everything came crashing down and all you could do was cry, like the baby he always teased you are. 

In all that trembling, he said nothing, but you could feel his hand nudge yours and you were more than willing to take it as your own wrapped around his pinky. Not too much touch to resurface feelings, but just enough to know that he was there. 

Maybe he wouldn’t be soon, but right now was all you had.

 …

 It was quiet, the painful kind.

One where you knew there were no other words needed to say. It was over. In this dark room, illuminated by Seoul’s flashy lights, your frail cry echoed, but it fell muffled to the wide world outside the window.

[eirenical]

Granting You A Dreamlike Life | Xu Ni Fu Sheng Ruo Meng  |  许你浮生若梦, Ep 02, The Motorcycle Scene (2/2)

If someone has a heterosexual explanation for this, I would love to hear it. (3/?)

My favorites:

And because there’s still SO MUCH going on here... behind a cut we go for more meta and silliness.  ;D

OK, so two of my favorite character moments came out of this half of this scene:

1) Luo Fusheng straight up telling Xu Xingcheng, “The only person who can order me around is you.”  And that plays SO HARD into my fealty kink, I can’t even tell you.  You have super badass, dangerous Luo Fusheng, who once took down 100 MEN BY HIMSELF IN UNDER AN HOUR and he straight up tells his soft, sensitive doctor friend that no one else can order him around but him.  I straight up MELTED, OK?  And then two seconds later, HE PROVES IT. 

“Let me feed you,” XXC says.  “I’m not eating,” LFS responds. XXC: *shoves dumpling into LFS’s face* LFS: *eye roll*  *sigh* Fiiiiiine.  If you want to feed me that badly...  *eats dumpling*

TOO CUTE.  XD

The other half of that character moment is Xu Xingcheng who is SO EXCITED by the dumplings; he’s so happy; and he’s lit up like a Christmas tree to get to eat the dumplings... and he STILL gives the first one to Luo Fusheng.  And I’m just... *clenches fist*  *wobble eyes* ...COME ON.

2) I am now CONVINCED that of these two... it’s not the soft, sensitive doctor who’s the romantic in this relationship.

I’LL EXPLAIN.

So, which actions did XXC initiate in this scene?  Feeling up his friend, for one thing.  “I finally caught this amazing specimen, MUST TOUCH.”  And for another thing (I’m sorry, but I have to go here...) STUFFING SOMETHING INTO SAID FRIEND’S MOUTH AT THE FIRST AVAILABLE OPPORTUNITY.  And I mean... you don’t have to be Freud to read into THAT one.  XD

And now for contrast... Luo Fusheng.  Who fought a potentially VERY embarrassing battle in the last episode to secure his friend's favorite food for him so he can eat them soon after he arrives, when he’ll no doubt be starving.  Who knows his friend well enough to know that he’ll be fretting over having forgotten himself while overseas and not only provides verbal reassurance, but an immediate concrete reminder of who he is, so he won’t have to worry for long about having forgotten.  And then the coup de grace of DECLARING HIS UNDYING AND UNSWERVING LOYALTY.

Just... Luo Fusheng IS the sappy romantic in this relationship and that IS a hill I will die on, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.  XD

Motorcycle Scene Tag: #motorcycle grope No Heterosexual Explanation Series Tag: #GYaDL no heterosexual explanation sets

Because tumblr is being a little something or other about HIDING MY POSTS FROM THE TAGS with those links in there.  UGH.

[sebastianstanish]

A dead man half way to hell (2/?)

A/N: so this got even more depressing. Again, I apologize for possible lgrammar or spelling mistakes English isn’t exactly easy for a non-native

Part 1 https://samthesouless.tumblr.com/post/172483618917/a-dead-man-half-way-to-hell (Idk how to work tumblr very Well Sorry. If anyone wants to teach me how to get the link into that kinda ”part 1” thingy pls pop up)

Warnings: abuse (mental and physical), swearing, angst

(Not my gif)

———————-

If looks could kill, he would a be a dead man half way to hell already.

”I stayed with you for fuck’s sake (Y/N)! Okay maybe I got a bit angry every once in a while, but I was there for you! No one else ever was! And you blame me for getting angry with you! There is a fucking reason everyone left you! That reason is you!” He screamed at you. You were standing outside your apartment, because there was no way you were letting that psycopath into it, but his words were getting to you, because you knew them to be true. ”You’re so deep in your own ass that no one wants to be there for you! You get everyone sucked into your delusional world of your own self loathing!” The tears were now streaming down your face, but you fought back.” My self loathing?!?! Who made me like this!?!?! Who?!?! I’ll tell you who!The people who told me that I was annoying, that I was a waste of space! You were fucking one of them!!! You tried to control my entire life! And you got a little angry?!?!Excuse me??? You caused me more pain than anyone ever could!! All that I am now is what you left for me to pick up from the shattered human that you broke!!!” You were now a mess. Sobs escaped your lips and that’s when you entirely broke down. Your knees hit the ground as tears rolled down your right cheek. ”Just leave me alone please...” your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it. Not that he made any moves to actually leave, just to get closer to you. ”You’re making a scene, (Y/N)”, he sighed, annoyed. ’Oh I’m the one making a scene...’ He grabbed you fiercely and pulled you up from the ground by your wrist. ”Open the door. Now!” He ordered you. You were scared of him in this state and obeyed him. You opened the door and he stepped inside, pushing you aside. You took your key from the door with shaky hands. In fact your entire body was now shaking and you could barely breathe. It felt like your heart was about to burst out of your ribcage.

This wasn’t what you wanted. All you wanted was to be alone and sleep, but instead you had to deal with him. You knew you were going to break any moment again, but you didn’t want him to see you like that. You didn’t want to seem weak in his eyes.

He took a seat on your couch, looking like he owned the place. Everything inside of you was tense. You closed the door carefully and went to the kitchen. Scared to even raise your eyes to look at him. You felt his eyes follow your every move even without glancing up at him. He still hadn’t answered your question, though. What was he even doing here?

You opened the fridge’s door and hid behind it, pretending to look for something. ”What’s missing?” he asked and got up from the couch, walking to the kitchen. ”Nothing... I’m just looking for something to eat”, your voice was silent and shaky, but you were trying so hard to not let it break. He was right behind you, looking into the fridge. You closed the fridge and turned to him. ”Umm... What are you exactly doing here, Josh?” You asked with a shaky voice. He put his hands on both sides of you on the fridge, leaning on them. ”I was wondering how you were doing; that’s all”, his face was only an inch away. His voice was so soft. It sounded like an angel’s.

There were these moments, where he would be as gentle and loving anyone ever could be; and those moments you cherished. They were your safe place. No matter how bad the relationship was aside from those moments, it could never break that feeling of being safe in his gentle embrace. Oh, how you longed for that feeling. And you broke down again... but this time he wasn’t annoyed. He was concerned. His expression was saddened by how you were. And for once again you felt those arms keep you away from all harm.

His arms took you off the ground, carrying you to your bed. It wasn’t right, but you needed this. So, let him. He laid down next to on your bed, taking you into his arms. You could’ve help, but to lean against him. His very familiar cologne helped you fall asleep. For the first time in a forever you felt safe, even though it was in the arms of the man you feared the most.

He was still there in the morning, holding you. You didn’t understand, how you could let him in your bed again. There was only one way this could end and it wouldn’t be pretty. But you didn’t have time for that now. You needed to get to work. You tried to get yourself free from his embrace, but for nothing. You needed to try a different method. You turned yourself around to face him in the little space you had. ”Josh... Josh wake up please”, you said. He groaned, opening his eyes a bit. ”Good morning”, he smiled sweetly to you. ’How could a man be so sweet yet so cruel’ you couldn’t help, but to smile back. You wanted nothing more than to have it like this at all times. ”Good morning. I need to get to work, Josh”, you said, trying to get away from him. ”Can’t you just call in sick, please?”, he gave you his best sad puppy eyes and held you even closer to him. ”I’m sorry, but I would’ve needed to let him know of that few hours ago if I would’ve”, you explained and sat up. Your hand found it’s way to his left cheek and you looked into his eyes. No matter, how bad the relationship was, you missed it. You missed these kind of moments. Where you two would just be able to stay in bed, talk of everything and nothing at the same time. Tears threatned to slip down your face. Josh placed his hand on yours. His eyes were closed and his head was leaning against your hand. ”I need to leave.”

You got everything ready and got into your car. Josh stayed in your apartment. ’FUCK FUCK FUCK HOW COULD YOU LET YOURSELF FALL FOR HIM AGAIN YOU IDIOT’ you mentally shouted at yourself, hitting your head against the steering wheel. You had tears in your eye once again. You still started your car and drove away to Sebastian. Once you got there, you wiped away the tears and made yourself look presentable. You took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down.

You walked over to his apartment door and opened it. You had your own key after all. ”Good morning, Mr. Stan”, you said cheerfully, wearing your best fake smile. He was already up, sitting in his kitchen eating some cereals. ”Morning”, he said simply. ”There isn’t much for today. Can you go to the store and then I need someone to rehearse some lines with me”, he didn’t even look up to you. ”Of course.” ”I made a list for what I need. It’s on the fridge”, he simply said and didn’t even give the list to you even though he was right in front of the fridge. You mentally cursed him and walked over to get the list. As you reached for the list, Sebastian glanced at you and asked; ”What happened to your wrist?” You took a look at your wrist, seeing that it had bruising all over. It must’ve came from when Josh pulled you up. ”It’s nothing”, you said quietly, looking down at your shoes. He didn’t really care so he just shrugged it off and let it be. For that you were grateful, because you didn’t know how you would’ve explained it.

Your grocery shopping went by fast. There wasn’t much on the list and you could get them all from just one store. Sometimes you had to go through 4 or 5 stores to find what he wanted. You saw happy couples into the store and you envied them. It made you angry and sad at the same time. You couldn’t act on it, though. You would’ve seemed crazy. You might actually even be. After everything you’ve been through, it wouldn’t come as a surprise. Instead you let your mind wonder to last night. ‘Maybe Josh wasn’t so bad after all? Maybe he changed a bit? No. Don’t you dare. He already hurt you enough. But he was so sweet last night... ugh what am I supposed to do? I still love him. He was right, he had been there for me when no one else was. He’s probably going to be at my apartment, when I get home...’

You got back to Mr. Stan’s apartment. You went to the kitchen with few bags worth of groceries. You put everything away to the fridge and cabinets and joined Sebastian in the living room, where he was rehearsing his lines for his upcoming movie, ‘The Bronze’. He didn’t notice you enter the beautifully done room. The walls were simple white and the furnitures were either white or black. The sofa was a beautiful L-shaped black, leather sofa and before it was a beautiful white coffee table with a glass center. On the walls were hanged black and white pictures of his family and friends. Everything was so color themed. 

Sebastian sat comfortably in the corner of the sofa; his ankles were crossed on the sofa. He looked so focused on the script. His semi long hair was pushed back with a few strands of hair falling out on his face. You coughed a bit to make your presence known and walked over to him. “You said earlier that you needed help with the lines”, you said quite awkwardly. Like you had not just been staring at him. He kept his gaze still in his script. “Yeah. Here. I got two copies”, he said, handing you the pile of papers that were laying next to him. You took them from his hand and took a look at the first page. “Who are you in this movie again?” “Lance Tucker. Skip to the part where I come in”, he said, still staring at his lines, focused. He had one of his hands close to his mouth; he always did this when he tried to concentrate on something. It was just a small thing you had noticed of him. 

“I have no control over what people talk about. Take that up with the god of gymnastic-” “I am the fucking god of gymnastics! You’re talking to fucking Zeus”, Sebastian’s acting was amazing. It was a privilegde to be allowed to follow his career from so close. There was always something new about him that you found out about him. Sometimes it was simple things like few of habits, like the one where he places his hand near his mouth when he’s focused, but sometimes it was something so much more. You had seen his passion for acting from so close it had made an impact on you, not that you let it show; and how he was with his fans. He was always so nice and never turned down a fan, no matter what. You smiled at this thought. 

Sadly, the night was coming close to it’s end. It was nearly 10 pm already which meant it was time to go home. You were sort of scared of going home. You were scared of what kind of a mood Josh would be in, hoping he’d be in the loving mood, but scared for the worst. You didn’t exactly want to take that risk. “Do you need anything else before I leave, Mr. Stan?” you were hoping he’d give you a 1000 page long list just to avoid getting home. “Not really. You’re free to home. Good night”, he said, putting down his script and standing up from the sofa. You didn’t want him to know that you were desperate, but you were. So you asked again:”Nothing? I’m here to help y’know, Mr. Stan.” “(Y/N). I already told you, You’re free to go home”, he said, sounding a bit annoyed with you. You sighed. You really don’t want to go home, but you don’t want to tell him about your personal life to him either. ‘Should I tell him? Of course not, but this is my only choice if I don’t want to spend the night on the streets or go home.’ you thought to yourself. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stan, but there is a thing going on in my home that makes me unable to go home for tonight so I was asking for something to do so I wouldn’t need to spend the night on the streets”, you tried to make something up. “What kinda thing? Why wouldn’t you stay at family or your friends?”, you needed to tell the truth or make some more shit up. To be honest, you didn’t want to lie to him. Maybe he’d even understand if you told him, but you were sure you’d break down if you told everything. But you did decide to go with the truth. “I don’t exactly have friends nor family...”, you told him with your voice getting more quiet as you went along the sentence. You looked at him and saw confusion written all across his expression. “Not even a single friend?” You shook you head. “I’m sorry for this, Mr. Stan. Maybe I can find a motel of some sort to stay the night. Sorry”, you apologized with your head down, thinking that you shouldn’t had said a word. “No, it’s fine. You can stay here for the night. Hope you don’t mind the couch. I’ll go get a pillow and a blanket for you. You need something to sleep in?” he gave you sad smile. ‘Awesome... Pity...’ You nodded your head: “Thank you, Mr. Stan.” “No problem”, he said as he left the room. 

Sebastian came back to the room with a blanket and a pillow for you and set them down on the sofa. He left the room again, but returned soon with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here”, he handed you the clothes. “Thanks”, you said and went to the bathroom. As you closed the door behind you, you got a text:

Josh: Hey are you coming home soon?

You: Sorry I’m stuck at work. I’ll be home tomorrow evening

Josh: Alright. I’ll be here waiting for you ;)

‘Fuck... why did I let him in? Oh, yeah. ‘Cos I’m scared to death of him.’ 

[gurubuckaroo]

A Tumblr looks at 50

Tomorrow, the 21st of February, I turn 50 years old.

#what are you going on this hell site #delete your account #go pay taxes or something #hes literally twice the ops age

Go ahead, get it out of your system. Those are all things I’ve had replies to me tagged with. A lot of people think a lot of things about people my age being on Tumblr, and they’re not shy about saying it. If there’s one -ism I’ve learned that’s perfectly acceptable to most Tumblr users, it’s ageism. That doesn’t bother me. The last time I got anonymous hate, I donated to the ACLU on their behalf.

There are a lot of things being old (ugh) means. There are a lot of things it doesn’t mean. I don’t deserve your respect because of my age. It doesn’t make me better, or wiser, or smarter or more educated. It doesn’t make me more interesting.

The only thing I’ve got on you is that I’ve had a lot more time to make mistakes than you have. And boy have I taken advantage of those opportunities.

They say people can’t learn from the mistakes of others - they have to make their own, and only then do they learn the lesson. Well, that may be. Maybe it’s true for my generation but not yours. Maybe if I can prevent just one person from making some of the mistakes I’ve made in my life, this will be worth it.

Stop hating yourself. There are plenty of people out there willing to do it for you. Don’t be like them.

Stop berating your talent. You think your art is bad. Your music is bad. Your cosplay is bad. You know what? Everyone who has ever expressed a talent feels the same way about theirs. If there’s one constant about artists, it’s that they always feel like their own stuff is trash. Stop being your worst critic. Again, plenty of other people out there willing to do that job. You don’t want to be like them, so don’t agree with them.

Drink. Do drugs. Or not. But always in moderation. Moderation in all things - including moderation. Be moderate in your moderation. Although stay away from crack, cocaine, heroin, and anything prescribed - unless it’s your prescription (more on that later). I’ve seen those first three kill far too many friends. Worse, some of those killed are still walking around, pretending to be alive.

If you’re going to do LSD or other hallucinogens, do it with someone you trust who’s done it before. Bad trips happen - but almost always because of something you or your tripmates bring in with them. An experienced tripguide can walk you back out of a bad trip. Never do it alone. It’s almost impossible to have a bad experience on shrooms, but they might give you stomach cramps - if so, make tea out of them instead of eating them.

Take your Brain Pills. If you’ve been prescribed antidepressants or some other psychoactive meds, take them. My first psychologist appointment was when I was 5. I’ve literally fought clinical depression my entire life, to the extent that I was hospitalized for 45 days just before my 18th birthday. It’s not something to be ashamed about any more than having Diabetes or Sickle Cell or Grave’s Disease or Autism. Depression, Schizophrenia, Bipolar, these are all brain diseases, not failings, and taking medication for them is how you treat them. If you’re terrible about remembering whether or not you’ve taken your meds, they sell pill bottles now with caps that show how long it’s been since you opened it last. They’re great for my chronic pain meds. If you can’t afford them, you’ve got a Tumblr - make a draft post and update it every time you take a pill.

Don’t over-rely on safe spaces and trigger warnings. I can hear you now - “Oh here he comes, about to call us all snowflakes or something.” On the contrary. Safe spaces are wonderful. My wife is a survivor of childhood sexual abuse and teenage sexual assault. I worked for most of our (so far) 27 year marriage helping her to heal, only to see so much work thrown out because of a well-placed trigger from someone who proudly considers herself a SJW and doesn’t care who she offends.

The mental immune system we build up in our psyche is every bit as important as the biological immune system we build up in our bodies. Excessive trigger warnings are no less damaging than refusing vaccination, and can in some cases be triggering themselves. In both cases, the individual will be perfectly fine living in a sealed bubble, but will be completely unable to survive in the world at large. Like biological defenses, the young brain is the best at developing coping mechanisms. As individuals age, those systems become more difficult, and more traumatic, to develop. I’m not suggesting that there should be no trigger warnings or safe spaces. I am suggesting that, like in all things, moderation is the best course.

Fact-check. Snopes is your friend. Google Reverse Image Search is your friend. You may really want to believe that new rumor from a .info site. It takes 20 seconds to check before you powerslam “reblog.” It could save your reputation. It could save someone else’s. (Oh, and any website ending in .info is trash. That domain costs the least to register, so it’s essentially disposable). And for god’s sake, don’t believe everything Anonymous says. Bryan P. Willman, a part-time police dispatcher, had his life ruined because Anonymous claimed he was the shooter who killed Mike Brown, and half of Tumblr and Facebook reblogged the accusation without pause.

Be yourself. Shakespeare said it - “This above all else: to thine own self be true.” Of course, knowing him, it was probably an elaborate dick joke that I still don’t get. But it’s still true. Capital-T True. Possibly the biggest Truth I’ve ever learned.

See, we all like to have friends. And we start off thinking that the best way to have friends is to be what our friends what us to be. Doesn’t help that we probably don’t really know what our friends want us to be, but that’s beyond the point. The problem starts when we end up feeling like we’re being drawn and quartered - because we are trying to be all things to all people. God help young people today who have potentially hundreds of friends through Tumblr or such - they’re trying to be perfect in the eyes of too many observers. Throw social forces into this, and we start to try to be perfect to entire movements. It cannot be done.

There’s another perfect truth we have to realize. It’s simple and absolute: People are jerks. Not all the time, and not to everyone! But we are. And here’s why: We’re all individuals. At some time, we’re going to rub someone the wrong way. And if we’re trying to be exactly what everyone else wants us to be, we’ll end up being jerks to everyone. If we’re true to ourselves, we’ll only be jerks to those who just naturally deserve it. Because we aren’t trying to be perfect for the wrong people.

Be yourself. First and foremost. Be the best yourself you can be, but be it because you are it, not because someone else wants you to be it. Let’s face it, other people quite probably don’t have your best interests at heart. If being yourself means that you don’t fit well with a few people, that’s OK - because it means you will fit better with some others.

When you first met the people you call friends, you probably acted like yourself. Because you didn’t know what they wanted yet. Imagine how much more they’ll like you when you go back to being that person they first met, rather than being a mirror.

Regrets are OK. Self-recrimination is not. There are so many decisions I’ve made in my past that I regret. One decision I made I will never be content with, even though I know (then and now) it was the correct action. My regret from that is purely for my own lost chance. Every once in a while I look back through hindsight and say “well maybe it would have been OK to make the other choice”, but I know I’m lying to myself. I just end up wallowing in self-pity over having lost the experience. Don’t be like me. I’m still trying to learn this one. It’s possible I never will.

You will hurt people. Don’t be afraid to apologize.  Some of my actions ended up hurting people - some accidentally, some deliberately, some through sheer childishness. I’ve managed to apologize to most of the people I’ve hurt. A few have left this world before I got the chance, or the courage, to face my own failings. And in almost every case, it was my own failing that hurt them. Growth comes when we recognize our own failings, and learn to overcome them. And if we’re going to grow, we’ll need a good ecosystem - and that means friends, who may be hurting because of what we did.

Life is too short to spend with toxic people. There can be a case made that you become an “adult” when you no longer need to tolerate toxic people. This is especially the case regarding parents. I first cut my father out of my life (to my mother’s delight) when I was 11 and refused to come visit him over the holidays. Later we attempted a reconciliation - that experiment lasted 3 terrible years. Since then, I’ve exchanged maybe an hour’s worth of words with him, over three in-person visits and a few phone calls. I doubt I’ll attend his funeral, should he ever get his shit together enough to die.

Unfortunately, there will always be times when you have to tolerate toxicity. Usually at the workplace. The really nasty stuff can often be abated (but not always cured) with a trip to Human Resources - but not always. At least, not yet. Things in the workplace are better now than they’ve ever been, regarding this at least. One can only hope the trend continues.

Life is an experience. Don’t be afraid of it. Imagine yourself on a roller coaster. You’re locked into the car, and slowly it starts climbing the first hill - clack clack clack - and the ground is falling away, and ahead you see the turn. Excitement builds. You crest the hill - and pull quietly into the station. Oh boy, can’t wait to try that again, right? Life exists in the dips, the valleys, the turns and rolls.

Every day you keep pushing through, every day that you groan and pull yourself out of bed anyway, every day you curse while tying your shoes, pulls you kicking and screaming through life. I’m not going to promise you it’ll put you one day closer to your dream job, or one day closer to happiness, or contentment, or whatever. Life isn’t about reaching a goal. It’s an experience. And every day you keep moving, you get to keep having that experience - the highs and the lows. And the highs make the lows so very much worth it.

If you’re still hung up on my age, and think someone my age doesn’t belong on Tumblr, tell me - at what age are you going to give up your fandoms and delete your account?

[drabblemeister]

a Study in Red {ch2}

Read me on Ao3! Look at the art collabed with this story! Author: Ladelle Comments: Holy bananas, I was not expecting to have so many people enjoy this story. Thank you so much for the notes and feedback on Chapter 1, and for all of the amazing comments left on Ao3.  I still haven’t decided on a posting schedule; I’m working on the last chapters now and I need to make sure I can come back and add a few details here and there if I need to, for flow. Tumblr Chapters: One | Two Chapter 2:

The next two days were indistinct blurs.

Tim half-remembered the corporate brunch, from which Bruce had made him promise to take leftovers home. He’d nearly missed the subway stop for college and had stumbled in late to an afternoon lab; he hadn’t trusted himself to do anything that took too much precision, and his partners had gladly agreed to mix chemicals in his stead.

Dinner consisted of coffee and the college café’s last bagel, and Dick had dropped by to give Tim a lift to Wayne Manor, where a Family Meeting™ told them to stop running into each other on patrol; and, in a direct attack to the dark circles under Tim’s eyes and his very loud and grousing stomach, Damian had dropped a box of protein bars into his lap.

“Charitable giving,” he’d said with a scoff.

Tim had countered with, “One day you’ll be old enough to file it on a tax return.”

Afterwards, Dick had given him a ride home and in a very serious, very Nightwing tone had told him, “No patrol tonight, got it?”

Tim itched at the idea that he’d been given an order and rebelled by spending four hours catching up on school assignments. Like most nights he dedicated to homework, he ended up asleep at his coffee table, the alarm on his phone eventually beeping him into a panic-stricken awareness; and, as usual, he awoke with a sheet of loose-leaf paper clinging to his cheek.

Classes the next day were a blur, and all Tim really noticed was that he hadn’t heard from Jason. Partly, he wondered if Jason had decided to wing the exam on his own, and Tim couldn’t help but feel disappointed; it was odd, but Jason was a mystery to him, and Tim, more than anything, enjoyed puzzles.

For the second night in a row, he received a message telling him to stay home; he’d stumbled through a two hour intern tour at Wayne Manor with a jittery sense of excitement that only compounded espresso shots could inspire, and he supposed that someone somewhere in the building had passed the message upward.

On some levels, he supposed it made sense that Timothy Drake-Wayne, heir to a corporate empire, shouldn’t look like the living dead – but since when did anyone in college look like they were thriving?

Since he had plenty to work on, Tim simply formed a line of energy drinks and worked his way through, staying wide-eyed through the midnight hours reading chapter after chapter about the repercussions of economic downturn. The time finally arrived when his eyes simply couldn’t stay open; he barely managed to push himself up from the table and stumble into his bedroom, where he collapsed onto a bed that was half-blankets, half-laundry.

Sometime later, in a very hazy dream, he imagined his bedroom window opening to let huge kernels of corn through; with sharp, popping sounds they exploded to form popcorn – so loud that he found himself shooting awake, heart pounding when he caught a shadow dancing idly on the floor beyond the foot of his bed.

“What the hell –” the person said, and it took a good span of seconds for Tim to wake up enough to pair the voice with Jason – and to realize that he’d come in through the window and effectively landed on spare bubble wrap that Tim had attempted to wedge in the corner. “You’re fucking Red Robin and your security is packing material?”

Tim flopped back down onto his bed and felt around until he found a bundle of socks and tossed them half-heartedly in Jason’s direction. “Red Hood,” he stated, his voice groggy and deep. “Caught breaking and entering, stepping on bubble wrap.”

Jason tripped, falling halfway onto the end of Tim’s bed as he scrambled to find his way in the darkness; he stepped on something a bit more solid and said, “Uhh…” at the same time that Tim let out a whimper and murmured, “Did you break my box?”

“Maybe?” Jason asked. “Are you alive? I thought you didn’t sleep?”

“I need that box,” Tim whined, using all of his energy to push himself up. “And you’re right. I don’t. I’m crashing. There’s a light switch on the wall.”

“Crashing?” Jason echoed, and he moved in the darkness, a shadow against darker shadows, cursing as he stumbled over even more discarded junk scattered on the floor of Tim’s room.

When the lights came on, Tim scrunched his eyes closed.

“Oh. Wow,” Jason said, and Tim heard an energy can crunch beneath his foot. He was sure it was one of nearly a dozen that peppered his carpet, and he blinked his eyes open when warm fingers wrapped around his forearm and tugged him forward. “Come on, you need to eat something.”

Tim stumbled out of bed, too tired to care. Back when he’d had time to sleep, he’d been a night owl; waking definitely wasn’t his forte.

“Do you even have food?” Jason asked, and Tim stifled a yawn and attempted to stretch, drifting past his kitchen and to the living room, where his homework and tech projects lay scattered.

“I think I have brie?” he answered absently. “Oh, D gave me some protein bars…”

“Dick knows you live like this and he gave you protein bars?”

“No,” Tim mumbled, shaking his head. “No, no. I mean, Dick has been over, but the protein bars are from the other D. Little D. Did I just call him that? Ugh. Damian. The child.”

Pantry doors clamored and Tim heard his refrigerator open more than once, and as time ventured on, Tim slowly defeated the grog. By the time clarity gripped him, Jason was standing in front of him, holding out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. His eyes, however, were drawn to the line of energy drinks Tim had situated for his study session.

“How many of those do you drink?”

Tim took the sandwich, nodding his head in thanks before saying, “Not enough, apparently. Okay, so what are we working on tonight?”

Drifting to the space between his coffee table and couch, Tim kicked away various items – blankets, cans, bags, wires, two tablets – and moved on to carefully closing his textbooks, saving his pages with color coded tears of post-it notes he’d stolen from the receptionist at WE. He welcomed Jason to join him on the couch with a gentle pat-pat on the cushion beside him, but Jason simply stared, as if he hadn’t decided whether or not Tim’s window had been a door to an alternate dimension.

“Well?” Tim queried.

“I’m sorry, I feel like I just walked into what will eventually need an intervention, and I’m trying to decide how I feel about it.”

“You feel like getting a GED,” Tim told him. Pat-pat.

Jason moved like a man thrust into unfamiliar territory, like his entire world had just been shaken, not stirred, and here he was trying to make sense of it. He stepped on something that snapped and immediately darted forward, sitting beside Tim, dipping the couch between them.

“Probably a pencil,” Tim murmured around a bite of sandwich, and when Jason looked back, he saw the cracked remains buried in carpet, in need of an excavation. “Also,” Tim added, “My apartment doesn’t need security. Would you rob it?”

Even though Jason remained quiet, as if politely contemplating the question, his eyes gave him away.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

“Well, uh,” Jason stated, and Tim watched as he let a backpack slide from his shoulders – it was interesting, seeing Jason with a backpack, looking like someone Tim might run into on campus. It brought back that feeling, the one that made him say stupid things before self-preservation slid in to stop him. “I guess we could finish the math section, since we were working on that the other night…”

Tim nodded before holding out his hand, marveling at what a difference light made when getting a good look at the workbook Jason was plowing through. It wasn’t old so much as it was abused; Tim decided he must have been staring at it a moment too long, because Jason moved to snatch it back.

A smothered, “Hey!” was forced from Tim’s lungs as he struggled to keep the book at bay, holding it as far away as he could – pulse racing as Jason nearly folded over him in an attempt to retrieve it.

A thousand thoughts bombarded Tim’s brain, things like: so this is what his aftershave smells like, and: oh, I didn’t realize his eyes had green in them. If Tim hadn’t been fully awake before, he definitely was now, and his sudden, stuttered silence had enough gravity to bring Jason’s gaze crashing to his own.

“Obviously, I couldn’t use my own name,” Jason stated, and Tim tried not to watch the way his mouth moved to form the words.

Instead, he kept his eyes glued to Jason’s and let out a blunt and very articulated, “What?”

The expression on Jason’s face came close to disbelief, though unamusement tugged the corners of his lips closer to a frown. When he sat back, Tim followed, eyes drifting to the book’s cover, where a name had been jotted in Sharpie.

“Peter…Jackson?” Tim raised an eyebrow, bringing the book back to his lap. “Is this, like, your GED alias?”

“Oh, like Alvin Draper was a winner,” Jason shot back, and Tim’s expression dissolved into pure, unadulterated judgment as he pointed a finger in Jason’s direction and tossed back, “Alvin Draper didn’t direct Lord of the Rings, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes went wide and his mouth parted, only to snap closed – only to fall open once again.

“That’s why it sounded so familiar….”

This time, Tim laughed outright. “Dear diary,” Tim joked, leaning forward in an effort to snag his phone from the table, which Jason deftly fought to avoid. “I’m so gonna post a tweet about this–”

“No. No you’re not –”

“GED. The one diploma to rule them all —”

“They’re our middle names!” Jason huffed, long-limbed enough to flatten a palm against Tim’s chest to keep him from being able to reach his phone. “Peter. Jackson,” he reiterated, before dropping his tone to its typical, steamrolled sarcasm. “But thank you so much for inviting me to your apartment without belittling me once.”

The whole idea caught Tim off guard. Why on earth would Jason choose their middles names? It was even more impressive, Tim thought, that Jason even knew his. Well, and that he’d use it for something.

Swallowing, he repeated, “Peter Jackson,” and the name sat between them for less than a second before Tim dissolved into laughter again, despite the fact he knew the truth behind it. “Jason, you have made my life.”

“Congrats on being easily pleased,” Jason offered with a sigh, and Tim smiled when his eyes chanced the Sharpie’d cover, just before he flipped open to where they’d left off before. He reached for an unopened energy drink and popped the tab, not at all bothered by the fact it was now room temperature.

“So,” he stated, feeling Jason’s gaze dance between him and the caffeinated beverage at his fingertips. “Where should we begin?”

***

The next morning didn’t arrive in that Jason had shown up around 1am and so Tim had already technically been awake. The sun certainly made an effort to climb a stack of clouds to reach his zenith, and the entire time, Tim danced to his same routines.

As usual, he was late to Wayne Enterprises, courtesy of a subway delay. Also a common occurrence, he impressed a room full of stockholders with a detailed report on the growth of the company with an emphasis on new projects scheduled to roll out over the remainder of the year.

Several people had questions; Tim always had an answer. Bruce arrived nearly fifteen minutes before the meeting was scheduled to end and enamored the small crowd with his easygoing air of confidence, which many of the shareholders treated like sunlight, and basked.

It was the one day of the week that Tim didn’t have class, aside from weekends, which meant that it was the only chance he had to do the various things he needed daylight for, such as fix his bike.

His complex came with pricey little storage sheds, and he kept Little Red tucked away in an effort to keep her from being stolen. As tech savvie as he was, there was no way he could prevent her from disappearing if he simply threw a tarp over her and abandoned her to some garage.

So, on days like today, he wheeled her out and tinkered, constantly putting his mind to work. It felt good to be busy.

It was nearly dark when he decided to check his phone, not quite expecting so many texts. Most were updates, the typical ‘hope you’re doing okay’ type check-ins, and surprisingly, a message sat, unread, from Jason.

If tonight’s slow, you know where to find me.

“If tonight is slow,” he mocked, because this was Gotham and that was a rarity. Still, the invite had Tim looking at the time, remembering the night before and the content they’d reviewed - the moments that Jason had gotten certain answers correct and how success had painted a rare smile that lit the edges of his face.

It was such a simple thing, but it made Tim feel an unfamiliar warmth; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that type of accomplishment, and seeing the excitement in Jason’s eyes was enough to get a secondhand high. It made his pulse do silly things, like stumble.

I’ll let you know, he replied, because, with crime the way it was, that was the best he could do. Somehow though, Tim knew they’d both find time.

***

And they did, thus beginning the routine of Tim and Jason racing to complete patrols; a steadfast habit that soon turned into a competition to see who could beat who to the weather-vane topped warehouse. Though most of their study sessions were spent legs-dangling over the old, crumbling rooftop ledge, they once ended up sitting across from each other at a neon-lit diner in a darker part of town.

Tim had forgotten the feel of a full stomach and downed a milkshake just because he could. When Jason teased him about it, Tim stubbornly ordered a second, intent to relish the sugary rush that made his head feel light and coolness that had his skin prickling.

Napkins littered the space between them, peppered in scribbled notes. Drops of dewy soda spotted the table, trapped between smeared rings of condensation. Plates pushed aside, workbook center-table, Tim remembered lifting his eyes, just once, to catch Jason’s attention lingering on his face.

“What?” Tim had asked, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Ketchup?”

Jason’s expression hadn’t given anything away. He answered, “Ketchup.”

It wasn’t until later that evening that Tim realized his sleeve had come away completely clean.

With such a minimal amount of time standing between them and Jason’s exam, every spare bit of time seemed to count – from the nights they managed to flip through flashcards to Tim’s hectic, run-around-town days.

“I’ve got to go; I’m headed into a meeting,” Tim would say after talking Jason through the laws of thermodynamics, fingers tangled in the knot of a half-formed tie.

Halfway through another day, he might be fighting for a lecture hall chair, carefully listing out the order of operations for a particularly complex math problem.

“Class about to start?” Jason would ask.

Tim would reply, “Yeah, but you’ve got this. Try it again and we’ll touch base later.”

The days became quick rushes of midsummer haze, Tim darting here-and-there, only half awake but somehow brimming with energy. A visit to Wayne Manor earned him a care package from Alfred and at some point, his midterm grades posted. Tim had nearly forgotten he had been waiting for them.

With a life so fast-paced, Tim hadn’t noticed how normal it had become for he and Jason to text here and there. In fact, Jason probably knew more about his schedule than anyone else.

Still, it had not occurred to Tim, for instance, to text Jason to let him know he’d been shot (grazed, really) and was on bed rest (Alfred’s orders, Batman’s decree). It was the one night that studying got shoved to the backburner – Jason was across town, doing whatever for Roy’s birthday, and Tim was unequivocally down-for-the-count, not used to checking in with anyone.

It also had not occurred to him – even once – that Jason might come looking for him; that the Red Hood might brave Tim’s apartment one more time – that Tim might awaken from a deep and fantastical dream to the sound of panicked popping and a poison-laced, “Mother fucker!”

Of course, he also did not predict the following, crunching, snap.

“The box,” Tim whined.

“Dick told Roy who told me what happened – are you okay?” Jason asked, and his shuffling made it apparent he was attempting to untangle himself from sticky sheets of plastic. A step forward sent him through a tower of cans. “For the love of—“

Jason hit the light.

“My eyes,” Tim moaned, before trying to rollover, only a slurred groan bled from between his lips. “Ah, my arm…”

“Tim,” Jason stated, deadpan. “You’re bleeding.”

Tim blinked blearily, his head a cottony sort-of chaos. The room around him seemed floaty and he felt he weighed less than a penny. “What?” he asked, head lulling sideways until he saw the seeped-through bandages and his blood-blotted bedding. “Oh. That.”

Jason’s steps were easy to follow; he came close enough to the head of Tim’s bed to block out the light from Tim’s lamp. A shake-shake of pills followed, along with Jason’s question of, “These from B?”

“They’re for me,” Tim murmured, sleepily. “I’m bleeding.”

“Yeah, we’ve covered that,” Jason replied, and then his fingers found Tim’s good arm and tugged him upright, forcing Tim’s legs to spill over the edge – Tim wobbled dizzily for a moment as Jason’s palm held him steady.

“You should be studying.” Tim’s words clung to each other, like one sweep of sound.

Jason let out a breath through his nose. “When’s the last time you changed these?”

Tim turned his head to watch Jason’s free hand fiddle with the ribbons of medical tape that kept patches of sterile pads pressed to his skin and felt vaguely offended. “One does not simply change their own bandages,” he stated loosely, but when Jason’s eyes flickered to his, showing more concern than anything else, Tim merely shrugged.

“Too tired,” he explained, because it was the truth. After taking pain meds the night before, he’d crashed, and this was as coherent as he’d been since.

“Yeah, well,” Jason didn’t look surprised, and his gaze drifted to the pills on Tim’s nightstand. “Are there stitches under here?” he asked, carefully peeling back tape.

“Yes,” Tim nodded, unintentionally dragging out the s.

“Was it deep?”

“Mmm,” Tim hummed, catching himself as he drifted sideways. “Yes.”

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Jason questioned, and Tim hadn’t realized he was staring at his bedroom door until Jason’s forefinger settled under his chin and guided him back.

“Bathroom,” Tim answered, somehow aware of each time his lungs filled to take in a breath. It was some sort of hyper awareness, but the kind that couldn’t quite stay focused on one thing in particular.

Jason stood up and left Tim to his own devices – which weren’t much, because the fog of exhaustion made his eyelids feel weighted with gold. Quietly, he slipped sideways, curling atop his good arm over the plush fabric of a fleece blanket.

It felt like hours before he was being pulled upright again, Jason’s hands much warmer than his tone, which sounded torn between concern and frustration.

“You gotta stay awake, Timbo,” he said.

“Mm,” Tim acknowledged, noncommittal. He felt Jason trace the jagged line of stitches with his finger and hissed when a damp cloth blotted the edges, gritting his teeth tiredly against a not entirely unfamiliar ache. After all, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“Did you do these?” Jason asked, and Tim had to focus on the words to follow Jason’s train of thought.

“Th’stitches?” he asked, just before shaking his head. “Um. B. It’s gonna scar, ‘sn’t it.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement; Bruce’s first aid was quick and practical, if nothing else.

“You think after so many years this would look slightly less med-student,” Jason commented, apologizing when he prodded one particularly sore spot. “When did you get home this morning?”

Tim’s head lulled backwards and he stared at his popcorn ceiling in thought. “Mm…maybe two?”

The hypersensitivity returned, only this time it clung to how warm Jason was; he was so close that Tim felt heat coming off him in waves, which, he deduced, probably meant he had a fever.

“Is it infected?” Tim questioned.

“No,” Jason said, and the word spilled across Tim’s ear. He couldn’t help the goosebumps that erupted on his skin, didn’t want to help them, didn’t want to disturb the careful application of anti-bac cream on the sore flesh of his bicep. “You’ve been out all day though. When I’m done, let’s make something to eat.”

The idea was inviting.

At least until Tim dissected the words.

“All day?” he said. “No, no–” he murmured, and then he was trying to move, which brought Jason’s palm back to the soft cotton tee he was wearing. “I have a meeting. And a class. What time is it?”

Jason’s palm drew back just enough so that he had a finger pressed to Tim’s sternum, and his tone dipped low. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But—”

“Ah,” Jason made a buzzer-like noise and followed it with a shoosh . “You need to eat and you need to sleep.”

Tim grumbled but gave up arguing; his eyes slipped closed as he gave in to the rhythmic motion of Jason re-bandaging his arm, answering any of Jason’s lingering questions with small, tired yes ’s or no ’s.

The journey to the living room was a tiring trudge, and Jason abandoned him on the couch in order to scavenge the kitchen. Tim stared thoughtlessly at his phone, which he decided he must have left on the coffee table the night before.

Between opening and closing cabinet doors, Jason stated, “Congratulations on having the world’s tallest pile of dirty dishes, by the way,” and Tim grunted.

“I’m in between maid services,” he stated as the other returned with bits and pieces from the care package Alfred had put together. At the sight of sausage, cheese, and crackers, Tim thought he’d never been so hungry in his life.

“Don’t take any more of those pills,” Jason advised, and Tim wondered how desperate he must look, tearing chunks of smoked sausage from the link before jamming them between his lips. “I mean,” Jason added, “do you even feel anything?”

“Nothing,” Tim confirmed between bites.

“You’re sleep-eating.”

“Starving,” Tim hummed, making a grabby hand for a glass of water that Jason had brought for him. While he worked his way through the plate, Jason dragged out his workbook, which made Tim shake his head forlornly. “I can’t help you today.”

Jason snorted. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. Just get some rest. I’ll stay until later.”

Tim passed forward a plate full of crumbs and tipped backwards, sagging into a corner crevasse of his couch. His arm ached and he felt buzzed, and he was definitely fighting a losing battle against sleep.

“Is this a dream?” he found himself asking, because really, he couldn’t be sure. Jason’s shoulders were less than an arm’s reach away, and all he could smell was that damn aftershave.

“Nope. But you probably won’t remember any of it, anyway.”

“Mmm...” Tim hummed, content. It was nice having Jason around. It felt good not to think. It felt good to feel good and for once, his heart rushed in a way that made him feel like he’d stumbled across some incredibly obvious thing that he’d somehow never quite completely acknowledged. With slow-dragged, sleepy vowels, he murmured, “Hey,” and then, “are you good at keeping secrets?”

Jason’s pencil paused mid-scribble. “What?” The word was tinged with humor, but also something else. Responsibility, probably, because Jason was, at heart, a good soul. “Uh, no. No I am not.”

“Oh,” Tim breathed out, disappointed. Then, “Because I think I like you.”

The words hung; Tim’s eyes had long fluttered closed, and so he only heard, distantly, Jason ask, “What?” too long after.

The exhaustion was real now, and Tim could feel the warm tug of sleep pulling him under. It was all he could do to breathe, “Shh,” against his pillow, and then, with a long sigh, “It’s a secret.”

Outside the window, the world hummed.

***

Consciousness was a fickle thing, a colorful ribbon that slipped between Tim’s fingers. The smallest fuzzy fragments were just beyond his grasp, memories that blurred together, lost to passing time.

When Tim woke, he was alone.

Had he imagined Jason? He suspected it was possible; the images that attempted to drag themselves from the depths were vague and simplistic – the curve of Jason’s neck from behind, the way Jason’s mouth moved as he read silently to himself, the temples of his glasses, sloped against his ear…

Tim frowned.

Glasses?

Since when did Jason wear glasses?

“Ugh,” Tim groaned just before dragging his hands down his face. On a scale of 1 to that time he’d tripped while waving hello to Superman, Jason Todd babysitting him landed a hard 7.

Also, Tim wasn’t even entirely sure he was in his apartment?

Looking around, it was…clean. Too clean. Gone were the cans scattered on his floor; stacked were the books he’d dropped here and there and never bothered to pick up. Weeks of smeared spills, wiped clean – and if Tim tilted his head at just the right angle, he could see that his mile-high stack of dirty dishes was no longer threatening to fall victim to physics.

It was unsettling; Tim didn’t really like people touching his things. It was a product of paranoia – having a secret identity had that effect. It felt awkward though, knowing Jason had picked up after him; Tim had no reason to feel embarrassed but he did, and as his mind skittered through all the possible projects Jason could have busied himself with, he felt his heart do a little lurch.

He wouldn’t have… gone through anything, would he?

Tim wasn’t sure. He was up in an instant though, wandering down the hallway that led to his room, fingertips brushing the wall just in case he needed balance. He hated the feel of after-medicine grog, where the world felt foreign and his thoughts seemed to stumble.

The first thing he noticed was that his bed was stripped; he vaguely remembered blood on his comforter. The second was that this room apparently had carpet. It was beige.

Tim’s eyes darted, searching. They found what they sought – a box at the end of his bed, crumpled, he assumed, because Jason had stepped on it again. Other than that, it seemed untouched; Tim dropped to a crouch and examined it, breathing a soft sigh of relief. For a moment he was tempted to open it.

He decided not to.

After all, even if it was damaged - well, it didn’t matter. Tim tucked it under his bed frame, thinking it might fair better with shelter, and took a deep breath.

He had to keep it safe.

Shortly after, Tim hunted down his phone, not entirely surprised to see a slew of texts. Bruce telling him not to come in; Dick making sure he was alive. A message from Tiffany, his assistant, said that his meetings had been rescheduled for today and the next, along with a succinct, I’ve got everything handled.

With a sigh, Tim sent a message to Jason, more out of habit than anything else.

So. About last night.

He waited a moment, resisting the urge to ask what exactly happened before Jason had a chance to reply. After all, it was the perfect opening for Jason to be Jason and turn the whole ordeal into a joke – which is why it caught Tim by surprise when a message came through that read, simply:

Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?

Tim frowned. His apartment wasn’t that bad.

I’ll cook, Jason added.

...unless Jason had found something sentient in the fridge, which wasn’t an impossibility. How long ago had be bought the brie?

Sure, Tim texted, not willing to ask. He added: also I refuse to feel embarrassed about all this.

Jason shot back: Good.

Tim blinked. Then he shrugged.

Nothing much must have happened at all.

[dieingontheinside420]

Try to get to at least 30 points a day You can customise this diet however you like. This is my personal diet. Calorie intake
0-200 = 10 points
 201-350 = 8 points
 351-500 = 5 points
 501-600 = 3 points
 601-750 = 1 points
 750-950 = 0 points
 950+ = -8 points Water intake
 9 Glasses = 10 points
 8 Glasses = 9 points
 7 Glasses = 8 points
 6 Glasses = 7 points
 5 Glasses = 6 points
 4 Glasses = 4 points 
3 Glasses = 3 points
 2 Glasses = 2 points 
1 Glasses = 1 points
 0 Glasses = 0 points Exercise
1 hr + = 10 points
 45 min = 8 points
 30 min = 5 points
 15 min = 2 points
 0 min = 0 points Hours slept
 8 hours = 10 points
 7 hours = 8 points
 6 hours = 7 points
 5 hours = 5 points
 4 hours = 4 points 
3 hours = 2 points
 2 hours or less = 0 points ------------------------------------- I remember scrolling through Instagram when I was 11 and seeing this photo and not knowing what it meant. I remember standing in front of a mirror and noticing how huge my thighs were and how my body didn’t look anything like hers. I remember feeling disgust in myself for the first time. I scrolled through that blog for hours and looked at the photos of pretty girls I’d never be. I remember the next day when I skipped my first meal. Two weeks later I fasted for the first time. I remember turning 12 and not being around anyone because I had pushed everyone away because I hated how I felt around anyone that I thought was skinnier than I was. I remember my mom telling me that she thought I might be coming down with something because I was suddenly loosing so much weight. I remember my 6th grade teacher pulling me aside one day and asking me if they were treating me alright at home because of how sick I was starting to look. I remember my friends starting to ask me if I was okay and I just ignored them and walked away. I remember when my mom found rotting food in my closet that I forgot to throw away, I remember her yelling at me and asking what it was. I remember my parents searching my room and finding notebooks filled with calories and exercises and dates and self hate. I remember being admitted into a hospital the summer before my 7th grade year because I had gone from 90 pounds to 65. I remember my parents crying and my sister who was 7 asking my why my stomach was smaller than theirs and I remember the day that I tried to kill myself in the hospital using a shower curtain. I was released three months later, five days before my 7th grade year was going to start and I remember that I was finally okay again and I could finally eat a cheeseburger without clawing at my throat and stomach. And then I saw this picture again. I remember almost puking because a wave of emotion so big it almost drowned me washed over my brain. I remember how I deleted the app that I saw it on again but it was no use because I went back to staring at my thighs and how they were starting to rub and touch at the top again and how it disgusted me. And I remember repeating the same process I did back in sixth grade until I passed out because I hadn’t eaten in 5 days and I was scared to drink water because it made my stomach get a little bit bigger. And I remember more hospitals and more doctors. And I remember being nursed back to health once again and how I had no friends anymore and how my parents always fought because they blamed my diets on themselves. Months passed and things were fine again. Years passed and things got harder and tougher but never that bad. I hardly ever went on social media. Things were okay up until a few months ago, the summer before my 12 grade year. And then I saw this photo again. ------------------------------------- The trick to starving I feel like most people assume the trick to starving yourself is through restriction. No eating after 7. No eating white carbs. No this. No that. But, the more you focus on the ‘no’s, the more you want them and that’s where binging comes in to play and going mental. But, honestly it makes it so much harder. What I’ve found is actually the opposite. Not being restrictive, in the sense of not letting these thoughts be so consistently present throughout the day, is what has helped me eat less. If you build of the mentality that you don’t care, and you don’t want it and you don’t feel like eating. It’s so much easier and you’re not thinking about food all the time. You think about other more important things in life, while still being able to lose the weight you want. Just don’t focus on it so much, and eat little bit of healthy food. stay safe everyone. ------------------------------------- Some meanspo I wrote!! Hey fatass, how’s it going? I guess that’s a stupid question, because everything’s probably shitty in your life, what with you being such a fucking whale. Why do you eat so much? You don’t need to eat that much. Your body can survive on way less food than that. You have such high stores of fat that it would probably take you years to die from starvation. You may not be able to loose weight fast enough by just not eating, so what you need to do is start exercising. Like right now. Get up and stop looking at thinspo and actually workout. Do you really think that just sitting there looking at those pictures of skinny girls is going to make you as pretty as them? NO! Its wont. You need to get up off that he lazy ass of yours. Do you really actually want those skinny arms, that thigh gap, the flat stomach? Yes? Well it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it. If you really wanted to achieve it you would be working out instead of sitting on your technology like you have nothing better to do. There is always something better to do. If you’re reading this in public, walk a block or go and buy a cup of unsweetened green tea. It will raise your metabolism, whereas just sitting there will do nothing. Yes, I know working out is hard, but once you make it a habit it becomes so much easier. 21 days is all it takes to make something a habit, so start now. Start taking walks in the mornings and finishing your days off with a yoga sequence before you go to sleep. Start eating one meal a day, and make sure its salad or some other healthy food, as opposed to the fatty shit that you’re always shovelling into your mouth. Aren’t you embarrassed of those huge giggly thighs that rub together when you walk? Aren’t you sick of having a tummy instead of a flat stomach that your lover can rap their arms around? The only girls who flinch away when their stomach is being touched are fat worthless girls. They know they should be ashamed of that tummy the size of a fucking planet. Scrolling through Tumblr, always seeing the GIFs of sexy girls being touched seductively by their partners. If you keep on shovelling your fat face with food, that will never be you. Do you see those other blogs on Instagram, Twitter and Tumblr, where other anorexic girls will do body checks, and other people will reblog them, or post them on their page with the caption #goals? Do you know the reason they are the ones being called goals and not you? It’s because unlike you they actually have some damn self control, and don’t feel the uncontrollable need for that fatty double cheeseburger from McDonalds. You don’t need that, what you need is a sense of self control, a salad and a bottle of water. The only girls who get reblogged are the hot ones. Notice that almost no one ever reblogs photos of fattass girls unless they’re making fun of them? Well, that practically never happens. Yes, society says to embrace your curves and all that shit. But when has society ever stuck true o that, huh? Practically never. The curves they want are a round ass, and huge shapely breasts. They don’t want a huge flappy ass, and saggy titties. So come on, stay with it, and don’t eat that unhealthy food, it will just make you fatter than you already are. ------------------------------------- You fat fuck. How about you pick up a magazine with skinny girls in it before you pick up a fork. can’t you see how big your getting. People don’t tell you this shit just to spare your feelings but your fucking fat. And I hope you fucking get hit by a car because fat girls shouldn’t be able to walk the streets. You fucking retarded shitface, listen if you want to be skinny just DON’T FUCKING EAT. Don’t you get it by now? No food = no fat. Hello? Do you fucking understand? Ugh 😑 I hate fat people, I hate you can’t you see why every time you look in the mirror you fat fuck?fat is ugly, skinny is perfect. ------------------------------------- 100 REASONS TO GET SKINNY THINSPIRATION
1. Imagine how you’ll look in tight clothes. No rolls no shame. 2. You’ll be delicate and small. No longer will you be the fat ugly friend. 3. Collarbones. Imagine having them to touch instead of just looking at them in thinspo. 4. You’ll have a thigh gap. No more chafing and no more disgusting fat just oozing off your legs. 5. Watching the scale go down every day instead of watching it go up and feeling disgusting. 6. Your sister will envy you. 7. Your friends will be jealous of your self control and tiny body. They can preach self love while secretly hating themselves all they want. It won’t matter because you’ll be thin and beautiful. 8. Thin hands and tiny wrists. 9. Delicate ankles and small calves. No longer will you be an elephant. 10. When you walk it will be virtually silent. People won’t hear you coming a mile away with disgusting hippo footsteps. You will be tiny and quiet. A shadow and a whisper. 11. People will ask how you got so thin. Oh they’ll be envious but none of them are strong enough to reach their goals. 12. For once you will be in control. No more binging, no more hunger after already eating. You will be powerful in your decision to achieve your ideal body. 13. You won’t be too embarrassed to draw yourself. 14. You won’t have to only date fat people. 15. In a relationship you will always be tinier than your partner. They’ll be able to pick you up and twirl you around. 16. People will give you piggy backs instead of you giving them. 17. Never again will you be too heavy for something. 18. You won’t be dictated by your fat anymore. Whatever you want, wear it! Everything looks good on thin. 19. Imagine how cute you’ll look in lingerie. Lace will just accentuate your tiny form. 20. Getting naked won’t be embarrassing. Let them stare. You’ll be beautiful. 21. It won’t always be unrequited love. People you didn’t have a chance with as a fat girl will love you. People need to get past the outside to see the inside. Nobody will bother getting past a disgusting fat outside. 22. Wearing makeup will be fun, not embarrassing. 23. You will be your own thinspo. 24. You’ll spend way less money on food. Food is temporary and a waste of cash. Instead spend it on games and clothes. 25. Looking in the mirror won’t make you want to break it. 26. A flat stomach is cute and tiny. 27. Your face will look thin and dainty. No more double chins and disgusting fat cheeks . 28. When people take pics of you it won’t make you want to cry. You’ll be the pretty one. 29. You won’t have to keep your hair short. Long hair won’t make you look like a greasy land whale. 30. Girls will envy you instead of pity you. 31. You’ll be the smallest person in your family. No longer will you be the fattest. 32. People will whisper about how thin you’ve gotten. 33. You’ll be light like a feather. 34. Food won’t control you. Eating is a necessity, not a crutch. 35. Think of bony shoulders. You’ll be defined and delicate instead of a shapeless mass of fat. 36. You’ll be able to count your ribs. 37. When you bend over people will be able to see the ridges of your spine. No more flubber. 38. You’ll have a tiny cute butt. 39. Thigh high socks will fit and look adorable. 40. Boots that travel up your calves will actually fit. 41. Shorts will look good on you. 42. Carnival rides won’t be embarrassing. The bar won’t touch your stomach. If anything they’ll worry you’ll slip out. You’ll be able to ride with anyone because your weight is barely anything. 43. Seat belts will fit easily. No more embarrassing struggle to strap yourself in while people silently judge you. 44. Any style will look good on you. Experimenting with fashion will be fun and interesting. Your body won’t hold you back. 45. You’ll be in the underweight category instead of the overweight one. 46. Your father won’t be ashamed of your weight. Your grandmother won’t keep getting shocked by how fat you’ve gotten. Instead she’ll fuss because you’ll be too thin. 47. There will be a huge difference in your before and after pics, and you’ll be proud. 48. You’ll finally get to fit your aesthetic. No more being ashamed of how you look. You’ll be the cute nerdy book girl instead of the fat gamer nerd slob. 49. Instead of eating you can follow hobbies like painting your nails, doing makeup, drawing, writing, and walking out in nature. 50. If you want some fun you’ll be able to hook up with someone of quality. No sloppy seconds. You’ll be first choice, not oh-my-god-never. 51. In a romance novel you’d be the beautiful thin one, not the tragic never loved fat one. 52. Shopping will be fun. You won’t have to keep looking for bigger sizes. Large will be too large. 53. If you want to you can shop at places that don’t carry plus sizes and be able to fit. 54. Changing rooms will be roomy and you won’t feel squished. Looking in the mirror to see how you look won’t be a disappointment. 55. You’ll fit in tiny spaces. No more bumping into walls when you go by. 56. Your breasts will be small and perky instead of fat. 57. Rings will look cute on your bony fingers instead of squeezing them like fat sausages. 58. The scale won’t make you want to cry. 59. Nobody will recognize you. They won’t be able to believe you went from whale to skinny. 60. Choker necklaces will look delicate and dainty on your neck. You won’t have double chins getting in the way. 61. Your jawline will be defined and sharp. No longer will you be soft edges and squishy fat. 62. You’ll be the pretty one. 63. Guys will actually like you instead of think you’re a blob of disgusting fat. 64. People will date you. 65. When you’re measured against other girls you won’t be the ugly one. 66. You’ll be able to love yourself. 67. At Halloween parties you can dress however you want and look good. No more ghosts or pumpkins. 68. Onesies. Just imagine. 69. Guys will chase you instead of you chasing them. 70. It will be okay to have something nice to eat every once in a while because you’ll be a pro at staying in control and if you do gain half a pound you can lose it just like that. 71. You could be princess carried without breaking someone’s back. 72. It’ll be “You’re so skinny” instead of “You’re not fat”. 73. When you’re at the gym you’ll be the one making people jealous and embarrassed. 74. Your feet will look delicate and dainty when wearing heels instead of like fat blobs. 75. Thinspo blogs will use your picture as thinspo instead of reverse thinspo. 76. ‘Cute’ will be the first word to describe you, not ‘nice’. 77. People will be concerned. Maybe they shouldn’t have called you fat and ugly all those years. Oh well, now you’re thin and beautiful. 78. You could be a model. 79. Crop tops will make you look cute, not fat. 80. No muffin top. 81. At family gatherings your snobby relatives will be blown away by how beautiful you’ve become. 82. Your exes will wish they’d never let you go. 83. You’ll be able to pull of cosplay like a pro. You won’t be the fat version of everyone you cosplay. 84. Every day will be exciting because you won’t hate the clothes you wear or looking in the mirror or stepping on the scale. 85. Shopping for a prom dress will be fun. You’ll look like an ethereal goddess instead of a sausage roll. 86. You’ll be able to pull off a bikini. 87. Going swimming won’t be embarrassing. You’ll be able to wear a sexy bikini without feeling like a joke. 88. You could wear baggy clothes and look stylish instead of like a slob. 89. You could wear your boyfriend’s shirt and nothing but panties and it would be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. 90. People will stare because they can’t believe you’re so beautiful, not because you look like you just crawled out of a gutter. 91. Unhealthy food will taste gross. 92. You’ll have a small stomach so when you eat small portions you’ll still feel full. 93. Eating will become so unimportant sometimes you’ll actually forget to eat instead of binging like a pig. 94. You’ll look like a ballerina. 95. If you’re eating less meat you’re helping the environment and saving animals lives. 96. No matter what else is going on in your life you will have control over your body. Nobody can take that from you. 97. Empty feels better than full. 98. Processed foods are extremely unhealthy. You’re doing yourself a favor by not eating them. 99. You’ll have so much more time and money if you’re not wasting them on food. 100. You will finally love your body. ☆Remember to stay safe. We want to be skinny, not dead. You can’t slay with a killer body if you’re decomposing six feet under. Be kind to yourself. Every pound is progress. ------------------------------------- Dear me, You can eat that piece of cake when you’re at your goal weight.
You can have that burger as soon as your stomach is flat when you sit down.
You can drink that milkshake when your thighs don’t touch.
I promise , you can have anything you want for a day as soon as you reach what you’ve been trying to for 4 fucking years, but right now? Right now, you can drink 8 glasses of water a day, exercise your ass off, skip some meals, don’t eat those sweets, don’t binge, don’t give in. You got this. 
It’ll only take a couple months to get to where you want to be if you try. Just try for me, for us, please. 
That’s all you’ve wanted forever. 
You can’t keep looking at thinspo wishing that was you.
Make it you. -------------------------------------

[kyetalksshit]

Update for the first time in SO LONG

Hey guys! 

So it’s the 4th of july and I’m tipsy. Happy shitty ass holiday to all of u who care about it. I don’t. Fireworks are boring and sound like gunshots and loud ass cis white republican christian people get louder than usual about how “great” this country “used to be,” and get to celebrate the day this country was founded on native american genocide and rape and began an era of slavery and racism and a bunch of other motherfucking goddamn bullshit. 

Anyway. 

I told a storytime on my youtube channel about my ex who I called Gregg (bc he looks like Gregg Sulkin, or at least I thought he did back then. It’s actually a two parter so far. I have yet to get to the part where he dumped me over text and then tried to be friends with benefits with me, I refused, I tried, he refused, we fought a lot, repeat cycle. Wow that was a fucking shitstorm. Finally unfriended him a couple of months ago because of a shitty ass facebook post and I just didn’t have the energy anymore. Plus, he has a girlfriend now, and at this point any desire to communicate with him was based on a pure physical attraction and/or wanting to have some sort of intellectual conversation with him because, as much as I honestly still kind of resent him, I do admire his brain. Anyway.) 

So when I told the storytime, I spent a good hour going through my tumblr for posts about him (and his, for posts about me, which I remember desperately hoping for back when I was still with him or right after we broke up) and it kind of made me miss blogging. 

This has been the longest intro in the fucking world. Oh my god. Ugh. 

Anyway. 

I just kind of wanted to get on here and talk a little bit. 

I don’t remember what my original pushing thought was, since again, I’m tipsy, and I got so sidetracked talking about “gregg” (though let’s be real, if any of you watch that storytime and have followed me for long enough, you know exactly who I’m talking about. He doesn’t even follow me on tumblr anymore. He unfollowed me a long time ago, actually. And now that I’m talking so much about him I’m kind of tempted to text him, which would obviously be a fucking bad idea, but you know. I’m a masochist. We’ll see what I do later I guess. I don’t know.) 

I’m kind of miffed today. And by that, I mean I’m actually hurt but too prideful to say I’m hurt. My family is very clearly celebrating for this shit holiday, which they don’t know that I don’t care about, by the way, and no one even invited me. Yeah I was working most of the day but I got off at 8, and anyway I hadn’t told them I was working. My mother probably just “assumed I had to work and couldn’t make it” again. Even though she promised to make more of an effort to invite me to things. My heart hurts. 

Yeah I don’t care about fireworks, but I love my family and I miss my niece and my sister isn’t talking to me because apparently I’ve changed and she misses “Amber,” not “Kye.” (Oh yeah, I go by Kye now. Just, btw.) 

What she doesn’t seem to realize no matter how many times I tell her, is that Amber, that girl she grew up with that she apparently misses so goddamn much, she doesn’t exist anymore. She was a fucked up piece of shit too, if I’m being honest. I call my past self Amber instead of “past Kye” because I don’t know her anymore. You know why? 

Because I’ve been through so much motherfucking goddamn bullshit since then. I was raped. I left my family for a goddamn year over some slightly shitty but WAY overexaggerated bullshit (that, let’s be real, I’ll never fully forgive myself for) that was twisted into a horror story by the evil ex whose name I can’t even fucking SAY because it makes me feel fucking nauseous. I almost killed myself a couple of times. I cut over and over and motherfucking over again because I was so goddamn depressed, I got kicked out of TWO apartments (once because my roommate was just a bitch and wanted any made up excuse she could find, the other because my alcoholic roommate who sexually assaulted me MY FIRST NIGHT THERE and who is STILL my dm for one of my dnd games and tries to pretend he fucking cares about me, hallucinated our neighbors trying to kill us and made me take him to the hospital and file a police report when it was just his goddamn mind). I’ve been so broke for the past couple years I was a camgirl for awhile. I did live camshows for money. I also sold photos and videos of me naked, sometimes taking requests. It made me fucking miserable and gave me flashbacks but I was jobless and had to pay rent. I’m not going to lie, I’ve been considering starting again because I’m broke as fuck and I want to cry from how stressed I am most of the time, but I haven’t yet. You know why? 

Again, I was raped. And sexually assaulted, not just by that roommate, but also by two family members (like when I was a kid) who will remain unnamed (who never even said I’m sorry, by the way, even when I brought it up. I still hang out with one. How fucking sick do I have to be to still hang out with a family member who sexually assaulted me and apologized to my sister for touching her, but not me?). But also because I’ve been in this deep disgusting ass pit of self fucking loathing recently. I feel fat and ugly and nasty more often than not, every time I get a crush or a lust-crush on someone I start to feel guilty about it because how dare I burden someone with the weight of having to deal with my affection? I feel lonely and also selfish for feeling lonely, I miss my family but I also avoid them. And then I get upset when they don’t invite me to things. 

This is the last holiday I’m ever going to spend living in North Carolina. Connor and I are leaving for Los Angeles on August fucking 5th. I’ll be around for my brother’s and my cat’s birthday (incidentally they’re both on August 2nd), but then I’m gone. I won’t be able to make it to Christmas this year because let’s face it, I won’t have the money. The soonest they’re going to see me after I leave is MAYBE Christmas 2018, and I’m not even sure that’s going to happen. Hell, I’m not even christian anymore, celebrating it feels weird. 

Also, going back to this whole name shit and “I’ve changed” bullshit, Amber was an asshole. She made racist comments and used to say the “n” word back in high school. She literally laughed in boys’ faces when they asked her out if she wasn’t attracted to them, not even just because they were “out of her league” because she (rightfully) didn’t believe in “leagues,” but just because if she was going to say no, she was going to be a bitch about it. I remember one of my best friends’ little brothers asking me out in 9th grade, and he was in like 7th. He was OBVIOUSLY too young for me but I should have been fucking nice about it. Instead, I laughed at him, literally fucking laughed at him, and just said “omg bye.” 

She also didn’t know how to stand up for herself. She was mousy and depressed and anxious and small and hated herself and so who gave a fuck if people used her because what good was she herself anyway? Like yeah, Kye is fatter and her mental health has gone down the fucking drain (no really, my counselor thinks I’m borderline and I really need to be medicated honestly because it’s so hard to function I’m scared I’m going to fail at trying to be alive) but at least she can mostly say no, and she can cut people out her life when she wants to. At least Kye can pinpoint when people are trying to manipulate her (though if we’re being honest here, and holy fuck we really are, since the fucking evil ex aka my rapist, my mind is warped as fucking hell and I don’t know what’s real anymore. The amount of manipulation I have imagined and overreacted to is insane. My uncle wallace won’t talk to me because I overreacted when he had a shitty opinion and posted it on a status of mine, and I took it as him attacking me. I want to cry every time I think about it but I already sent him one long message explaining why, and then the next day I sent a really long apology message. I don’t know why I keep fucking things up with everyone I care about. It feels like Connor and my cat are the only ones I have anymore, and even Connor can drive me crazy sometimes because obviously, that’s how people are who live together and have known each other for 8 fucking years, and I’m so hard to live with and deal with because of the bpd and the fact that my anxiety shows itself in irritability and the amount of times I’ve snapped at them for fucking nothing is absolutely ridiculous. I’m mad that they still haven’t learned how to drive and we’re moving in a month and it’s looking like I’m going to have to drive by myself from one coast to another while they blissfully chill in the passenger seat and doze off or play on their phone or whatever, but in reality they’re probably really anxious about it too and they probably feel bad but can’t make theirself do it and it’s just I feel so shitty all the time oh my god). 

I don’t even know what the point of this post is, I just think I needed to vent somewhere that I don’t have to be careful what I say because no one reads this shit anyway. The second I vent where ANYONE in my family can see it, they’ll all jump down my throat for being “disrespectful to my parents” or some other bullshit. They fucking love bandwagons. One of their favorite phrases is “my army is bigger” and honestly that shit scares me because yeah, it is. And that goddamn army is too fucking prideful (like me) to accept when they maybe should hear someone out, and they will literally cyberbully you if they can. It may sound whiny, but I really do feel like I was cyberbullied that day with uncle wallace. I’m not even kidding (and again, no one reads this so I don’t feel bad saying this because it’s tru) I legitimately wanted to kill myself that day. Everyone was jumping down my throat AGAIN over something I said that hurt my mom when I didn’t even know it hurt her. If I had, I would have taken it down and apologized. They were also attacking me for an immature snapchat saying “fuck you and your shitty ass opinions” which was about my uncle, and yeah I deserved a little of that bullshit but I admitted that was wrong very shortly after. He wouldn’t even hear me out, but I was the bad guy, the disrespectful, ignorant black sheep who treated everyone like shit. I keep trying to pretend I’m over the whole thing but I’m so not. I won’t forget who said shit to me and who didn’t. Because that shit fucking hurt. 

I don’t want to tell Connor how mad I am over something they may not be able to control, I don’t want to fucking rub my sister’s face in how ‘not’ Amber I am (also, just, sidenote, the main reason I changed my is really because I hated Amber and wanted some control over my life and it really has made me happier, but also honestly it was partly because my fucking rapist has never called me “Kye” and so when I’m having fucking rape flashbacks I can separate myself from it so when she insists that Kye is horrible and she hates me now (she didn’t say that but she said I wouldn’t be in her life if I weren’t family and let’s face it, I’m not in her life rn anyway and I may as well not be family with how I’ve been treated recently, not that it’s not partly my fault, but still) and that she misses Amber, who she grew up with, who is the one she misses, not me, not who I am now. Honestly, when we were fighting it felt like she only said that because she needed a concrete reason to be mad at me so she grasped onto the fact that I’ve changed, which my whole family complains about, but

Look at all the motherfucking goddamn fucked up shit I’ve been through in the past few years. OF FUCKING COURSE I’VE CHANGED. It hurts like hell that my ENTIRE family is mad that I’m not the same girl who left them for an abusive fiance. Like yes, I’m kind of a bitch now when I need to be, and yes I overreact to things BECAUSE I’VE BEEN THROUGH TRAUMA U DON’T JUST FUCKING GET OVER THAT, and yes I changed my name and I’m not the motherfucking goddamn same but how dare you want me to be? 

I WANTED TO DIE. EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE. I HAVE NEVER HATED MYSELF AS MUCH AS I DID THEN. I HAD TWO EATING DISORDERS, AN ADDICTION TO CUTTING (for which I’m now getting urges so I’m going to end this soon), I HATED EVERYONE I KNEW, I WAS FUCKING SO DEPRESSED I COULDN’T EVEN, UGH, I WAS ONLY SLEEPING ONCE EVERY TWO NIGHTS SO I WAS HALLUCINATING, I PUSHED AWAY EVERYONE WHO EVER GAVE A SHIT ABOUT ME, I SNAPPED AT EVERYONE WHO WAS NEAR ME WHEN I WAS ANXIOUS AND I DIDN’T KNOW MY TRIGGERS. NOW I CAN AT LEAST SEPARATE MYSELF FROM THE SITUATION SO I DON’T HURT PEOPLE AS MUCH. I DON’T TALK ABOUT THE VIEWS I HAVE THAT CONFLICT WITH EVERYONE ELSE’S SO I DON’T HAVE TO ARGUE WITH ANYONE. I HAVE MADE MYSELF SMALL, THEN MADE MYSELF BIG, AND REVERT TO SMALL WHEN I’M AROUND THEM, BUT IT’S STILL NOT FUCKING ENOUGH FOR THEM. 

WHEN, please fucking tell me WHEN, when will I be enough for them?