#I've written a good handful more thoughts on why I disliked it since the last rundown I had posted

[blubble-lake]

it's been over 2 weeks and this thing (unfortunately) still has a grip on me

#rant in the tags coming so please do scroll away if you enjoyed the finale 🙏 #you know how with some things you'll be like 'I had some negativity towards this thing but-- #now that it's been some time I feel better towards it'? #my thoughts on the finale have only gotten worse since it released 🥲 #being given more time to think on it made me notice more things I had wrong with it #like I really wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt but it is so difficult #when I tried ranking the episodes from best to least favorite #I'd come to realize that I couldn't put either finale episode above the other for the bottom two #they both gave me the same feeling of being doused in ooze 😭 #I've written a good handful more thoughts on why I disliked it since the last rundown I had posted #though I'm afraid if talking about this is considered cringe or old news now that it's been a minute since the eps came out lol #I've watched the finale in full two times just to take everything in but I don't think I can do it again anytime soon #I think there's about 8-10 mins of the finale that I genuinely enjoyed #the rest making me want to cry in disappointment or was just 'okay' to me #just gotta 'it is what it is' my way through knowing the show ended like That. we stay silly! #however- writing about it does give me a little bit of relief lol #adventure time #at #fionna and cake #petrigrof #simon petrikov #betty grof #my post #my art

[drabbles-mc]

Let Me Know

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

For Week 7 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer: Who's This?

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst, mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: Roommates to lovers?? Don't mind if I do! 😂 It was so fun to write for Bucky again! I haven't written much for him as I've been doing other events for other fandoms, but trust he is still bouncing around my head always haha. This got away from me in the best way. Hope you enjoy!

MCU Taglist: @artemiseamoon @garbinge (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You hadn’t heard from Bucky since he left for his last mission. That wasn’t something that was necessarily unusual—it wasn’t uncommon for him to drop off the radar for a couple weeks at a clip. You’d known that was part of the deal for a long time, long before the two of you had started whatever relationship it was that you had now.

At first you two were just roommates. Hell, you didn’t even want to refer to the two of you as friends for a while at the start. It wasn’t that you disliked each other, but Bucky didn’t seem like he was really the type who was keen on making friends. He was civil with you, cordial, but it wasn’t as though the two of you spent a lot of quality time together. He spent most of his time in his room unless he was showering or cooking. The times when he was home alone you’d come back to the apartment to find him in the living room, but once it was the two of you again, he’d soon retreat back to his own space. You mentioned to him on more than one occasion that the living room was considered a common area for a reason—it wasn’t as though only one of you could be there at a time, but he always found a way to brush the comment off.

It wasn’t until he came home in the middle of the night from a mission while you were in the kitchen making yourself a midnight snack that the two of you had any interaction of real substance. You heard the apartment door open and you were automatically on-edge. Bucky was known to come and go at all hours, and while no one had ever tried to break into your place, you knew that there was always a first time for everything.

So, you grabbed a knife from the knife block and slowly crept towards the door. You heard someone let out a soft grunt, followed by heavy booted footsteps on the floor. Your grip around the knife handle tightened as you held your breath. Reaching around the corner, you quickly turned on the lights and stepped around the corner, effectively not only scaring the shit out of Bucky, but also yourself. You were a lot of things, but one thing you were not was someone who thrived in fight or flight situations.

“Jesus,” Bucky said, bracing himself against the arm of the couch, recovering once he realized it was you. He made a small gesture to the knife in your hand. “What the hell are you doing?”

You huffed, heart still pounding inside your chest as you let your arm drop carefully back to your side. “What the hell are you doing?” you shot back.

His brows knit, confused, like the answer was perfectly, obvious. To his credit, it was. “Trying to come home?”

“It’s almost 2AM. Why didn’t you just stay—”

“I wanted to be in my own bed,” he cut you off. He shook his head at you. “Why am I getting interrogated for wanting to be in my own apartment?” He paused. “Why are you awake at 2AM?”

You pointed back towards the kitchen with the knife, which would’ve been more amusing if either of you were less frustrated or less exhausted. “Wanted a snack.”

He huffed out a laugh, one that almost sounded a little bit amused. “Right.”

“Want some?” you offered, like an olive branch. “Quesadillas.”

“At 2AM?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t have to have any of it. Just thought—”

“I’m good,” he cut you off, “but thanks.” He watched as you nodded, both of you still just standing there, occupying the same space because neither knew what move to make next. “Goodnight,” he finally said, prying his hand off the couch so he could slowly keep making his way towards his room.

You stepped to the side, letting him pass. You couldn’t help but notice that he was moving slower than usual, not quite limping but definitely stiff. “Do you need—”

“I’m good.”

You sighed, letting your head drop back so you were staring up at the ceiling. Someday the two of you would get through a conversation where he actually let you finish your sentences. Once he shut his bedroom door behind him, you shut off the lights in the living room again, retreating back to the kitchen to put the knife away and finish making your snack.

You were just putting the dishes in the sink, thinking you’d rather do them tomorrow than right in that moment. Right when you reached to turn the kitchen light off, you heard footsteps again. Lighter this time, but still slow. You stopped and waited.

Bucky came all but hobbling into the kitchen. He made a beeline for the refrigerator, opening the freezer side and pulling out a frozen water bottle. Immediately he brought it down to his leg, rolling it against his thigh over the lounge pants he’d changed into.

You frowned slightly at the sight. “Anything I can do?”

He shook his head, eyes still fixed on his leg. “No.”

You nodded, not looking to push things with him, especially not at the given hour. “Okay. Well…you know where to find me if…” you trailed off, not really sure how you wanted to end the sentence. Really, you didn’t know what you could offer him that he wouldn’t be able to do for himself. It felt wrong to not put the offer out there, though.

He nodded, still not looking at you. “Thanks.”

You turned and were going to start heading back to your room. Just as you were going to round the corner into the short hall that separated your rooms from the rest of the apartment, you looked back over your shoulder to see Bucky peering into the fridge again, this time looking for something to eat rather than just an ice pack.

With his back to you, you could see a stripe going down his shirt, just beside his left shoulder, where he was bleeding through. You frowned, considering for a moment if you should say something or not. He’d never been one for unsolicited commentary.

“Bucky?” you said, leaning against the wall.

“Yea?” he responded, still digging around the fridge for something that required no effort to eat.

“I, uh, I think…I think you’re bleeding?” You watched as he finally looked at you, glancing back over his shoulder like he was trying to figure out if you were being honest or not, not that you’d lie about something like that but he still didn’t trust anyone off the rip. You made a vague gesture to the area where the blood was, not that you were really close enough for it to matter. “Your shoulder.”

Recognition washed over his face, quickly followed by annoyance. “Shit.”

“I’ve got bandages,” you nodded towards the bathroom. “If you want, I can…I mean just so you don’t bleed everywhere.”

The apprehension was clear as day on his face, but he knew you were being practical. Plus, he really didn’t feel like having to get new shirts and sheets if he didn’t have to. He sighed, finally giving in with a nod. He shut the fridge door, opening the freezer and tossing the water bottle back into it with a little more force than necessary before shutting that door too.

When you came back to the kitchen, you found him sitting at the counter. His back was to you, his shirt clutched tightly in his metal hand as he braced himself on the edge of the counter. You didn’t say anything as you set the box of bandages down next to him, taking a couple out so that you could try to completely cover the cut that was running along his back.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him without his shirt on. He was always at least in a tank top when he came out of his room, always made sure he dressed before stepping out of the bathroom after his showers. Until now you’d thought it was just a courtesy thing, the same way he never really stayed in the living room or kitchen with you for too long. But as you looked at his back, seeing the scars and the bruises, you had a whole new understanding of it all.

“Is it bad?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You shook your head, and it took a moment for you to remember that he couldn’t see you. “Not too bad. You won’t, uh, you shouldn’t need stitches. Bandages for a couple days should be find until it scabs over a bit.” You paused, delicately placing the first bandage on the upper half of the cut. “This is gonna sound stupid,” you started with a laugh.

You heard the sharp exhale he let out through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d heard from him in a long time. “Good. Love that.”

You laughed a little harder, heat flaring up in your face. “I just, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t realize that you could…I just thought that since you’ve got that super soldier thing…”

“I’m not invincible,” he said, his tone sarcastic but not nearly as mean as it could’ve been. “Takes more to do damage. Heal quicker. But I’m not…yea.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in acknowledgment as you applied the second bandage.

“What?”

“No, nothing, I just, I didn’t know. Feels weird to ask.” You chuckled nervously. “God forbid it sounds like a weird threat.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, looking exhausted but also a little amused. “Didn’t want to ask what it would take to kill me?”

“That’s not what I said,” nervous laughter spilled out of you, your entire face and neck feeling like they were on fire. Stepping away, you threw the little slips of paper from the bandages into the trash, finally looking Bucky in the eye again once you did. “You should be all set. Honestly, if you really do heal quicker, you’ll probably only need those on for the next day or so.”

“Thank you,” he told you as he got up off the stool at the counter.

You nodded, offering up a quiet, “You’re welcome,” as he went back to the fridge again, t-shirt still clutched in his hand. You chuckled softly. “There’s enough to make another quesadilla if you want.”

Things had started to change between the two of you after that. It was slow, gradual, but you noticed it. You never went out of your way to bring up what had happened that night, because really it wasn’t that big of a deal—it wasn’t like you’d had to reattach a limb for him. It was just a couple band-aids. But it was enough to tip the scales just slightly. It started off with small things. When Bucky would cook while you were home, he made enough for both of you. Depending on what you were watching, he’d accept the invite to sit in the living room with you to see whatever show or movie you had on.

Over time, your conversations stopped being quite as one-sided. You didn’t think that Bucky was ever a chatterbox even on his best day, but it did eventually get to the point where he was giving you answers that were more than two or three words at a clip. He’d ask you questions instead of just you asking him things. Not only that, but it seemed like he was actually listening to the answers.

After that first night in the kitchen when you’d been ready to stab Bucky with a kitchen knife, he promised that he’d make sure to text you whenever he got back after a mission, giving you an ETA so you wouldn’t freak out again. It was a small but appreciated gesture. No matter the hour, you were pretty much always up, and always cooking or eating something when he got home. In the back of Bucky’s mind he knew that you did it on purpose, one gesture in return for another, but he didn’t allow himself to process the full weight of it, the real comfort that he could get from it. Too afraid to acknowledge it out loud in fear that it was going to get taken from him.

Then one night after he got home from a mission, walking into the apartment at an hour that was too late to be nighttime but too early still to be morning, he found you standing at the stove in the kitchen. He lingered in the doorway, every muscle in his body feeling exceptionally heavy after how things had played out in the field. As much as part of him had wanted to come straight home and collapse into bed, another part of him was looking forward to the exact sight that was in front of him now.

“It’s nothing fancy,” you said with a laugh as you turned around, one plate in each hand, “but—” You stopped short when you looked up and saw the state that bucky was in. “Holy shit.”

His eyebrows lifted just slightly at your reaction. He knew why you’d reacted that way, but he was too tired to get into it all. You set the plates down on the counter with a light clatter before quickly making your way to the other side of the counter to him. His face was littered with bruises, a small cut through his eyebrow and a few others on his cheek. Nothing that required a doctor’s visit, but you knew that if his face was this bruised, the rest of him was too.

“What happened?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face before you could think better of it.

He flinched slightly at your touch, and it was only then that you realized what you were doing. Bucky saw the panic flash across your face and he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get it out. It’d been a long time since someone had been gentle like that with him.

“Long story,” he finally said with a shake of his head.

You nodded, trying to be understanding while also knowing there was no way you could try to wrap your head around the situation. “Right.”

Bucky saw the way that your eyes would drift from his to the bruises, worry in your expression as you tried not to stare. It was the most visibly beat up he’d been in a while upon getting home from a mission. Reaching out, Bucky rested his right hand against your shoulder, his grip gentle, warm even through the fabric of your t-shirt. You were extremely aware of the fact that it was the first time Bucky had ever touched you like that, given a passive form of affection.

“It looks bad,” he conceded with a weary chuckle, “but I’m alright.”

The ends of your mouth turned up just slightly as you nodded. “Okay.”

When he came back to the kitchen after changing and dropping off his things, he found you sitting at the counter patiently waiting for him. He plopped down heavily in the seat next to you, neither of you saying much for the moment as you ate what was essentially going to be an extremely early breakfast.

You grabbed both your plates when you’d finished, bringing them to the sink. Checking the time on the stove, you sighed, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fall back to sleep at that point. The best you were going to be able to hope for was going to bed extremely early the next night to make up for the lost time.

“I’m gonna make coffee,” you said over your shoulder as you grabbed a mug for yourself. “You want some? I know you’re probably just gonna pass out.”

Bucky stared at you, watching you going through the motions of something so simple, something he had definitely seen you do plenty of times before. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take one. I slept on the plane back,” he lied, desperately wanting to sleep but now tempted to try and stay awake with you at least for a little while. “Won’t be able to pass out for a bit.”

He listened to your hum of acknowledgment as you reached up to grab a second mug for him. He sat for a moment, trying to piece apart all the different thoughts and feelings racing through his mind. It was impossible for him to look at anything but you as you leaned forward, bracing your hands on the edge of the counter to keep yourself upright while you waited for the coffee to brew.

Getting up off the stool, Bucky walked over to you. Your mind was miles away, and you didn’t hear him walk up behind you. It wasn’t until he tapped your shoulder that you snapped to attention. You flinched, spinning around since he caught you off-guard. You nearly smacked into him, not expecting him to be standing so close to you. He always managed to leave a buffer between the two of you.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice unsteady when you didn’t mean for it to be.

He nodded. “I’m good.” He paused, racking his brain for the right words. “Thank you,” was all he managed to come up with, but it was better than nothing.

You laughed, a little breathless from the fact that he was still standing so close to you. “It’s nothing.”

Neither of you moved, or spoke, you hardly even breathed in the next few seconds that passed. Bucky didn’t take his eyes off yours and it had you feeling like you were about to melt into the floor. Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, you reached up towards his face again, your fingertips gingerly touching his cheek. He didn’t pull away, determined not to make the same mistake twice. A smile involuntarily spread across your face at the acceptance of your touch, your hand shifting just slightly so that you could better cup his cheek, your thumb lightly grazing his cheekbone. Your touch ghosted over the bruises blooming over his skin.

You were about to ask him if he was sure that he was alright when he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. It was a split second, over just as soon as it started as he pulled away, trying to gauge just how big of a mistake he’d just made. His eyes searched yours, heart pounding in his chest. You beamed at him for a moment before bringing his lips back to yours, kissing him with purpose, feeling the way that he was instantly trying to meld himself into you.

As the days and weeks ticked by after that, it was as though the two of you started to forget that your apartment had two bedrooms. Most of the time Bucky stayed with you in yours, but every now and then you’d find yourself tucked safely under Bucky’s comforter and in his arms in his room too. There was never a conversation about it, and in the back of your mind you knew that maybe there should’ve been. But it was working so well, the last thing you wanted to do was complicate it, potentially ruining something that was so precariously created between you.

And now here you were, pacing the expanse of your apartment’s living room, waiting for some sort of confirmation from Bucky that he was back home and in one piece. You were used to him going silent, but you usually heard from him before anything about his work hit the news. The fact that the television going in the background had running coverage saying that there had been another successful mission, saying there were more details to come even though there never were, had you on-edge when your phone refused to chime with a message from Bucky.

You spent a few more minutes waiting, pacing, before finally deciding that fuck it, you might as well show up and hope for the best. So you grabbed your keys and took off out of the apartment, making sure that you locked it up on the way out.

You found yourself standing in the lobby of the building, helpless to do anything but stare and gawk at everything around you. You’d never been to their base in Brooklyn—never had a reason to when Bucky lived with you. You didn’t even know where to start.

Luckily, you didn’t have to stand there overwhelmed on your own for too long. You turned your head towards the sound of someone clearing their throat. You knew who he was, because Sam Wilson’s face was everywhere these days, but he had no idea who you were. You would’ve assumed that even if he didn’t have a mildly confused look on his face.

“Something I can help you with?” his tone was cautious.

Clearing your throat, you nodded. “Yea. God, I’m, I’m sorry. I know I probably shouldn’t just,” you fumbled, trying to get your sentences together, “I just, shit. I’m looking for Bucky?”

The confusion on his face intensified. “Bucky?”

“Yea, I’m—”

Whatever the conversation was about to be between you was cut short by the sound of Bucky saying your name. He sounded just as confused as Sam had, only Bucky had a thick layer of annoyance layered on top of the confusion.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, brows knit tightly.

“I just got worried when I saw the news but I didn’t hear anything from you. I thought you—”

“You can’t just come down here,” he cut you off, and for a moment your mind flashed back to how the two of you were months and months ago now. It stung more than you’d bargained for.

“I waited but then I got worried, alright? That’s not, you know, that’s not ridiculous of me. You always tell me when you get back.”

“Sorry,” Sam was looking back and forth between the two of you before his gaze finally landed on Bucky, “but who’s this?”

You both answered simultaneously, but the problem was your answers weren’t the same.

“His girlfriend.”

“My roommate.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up as he looked back and forth between you. You felt like someone had let all the air out of your lungs, like you were about to deflate and crumple right onto the tiles beneath your feet. Bucky’s annoyance faded only slightly when he registered the words you’d said, but he was still too off-kilter and confused about the entire thing to say or do anything.

“Right,” Sam said, clearly a little uncomfortable. He turned to you. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you two to…this.”

You shook your head, trying to ignore the sting of tears in your eyes, the smoldering anger you could feel in the pit of your chest. You made sure not to take it out on Sam. “I’ll leave. I’m sure you have important things to take care of. It was really nice meeting you, Sam.” You turned your head to look at Bucky. “Guess I’ll see you at home, roomie.”

Bucky only got half your name out before you turned on your heel and started to take off for the door. He sighed, chin dropping to his chest. Finally picking his head back up, he looked over at Sam, who was just shaking his head at him.

“What?” Bucky snapped.

“You messed up,” Sam said with a laugh, clearly not feeling any pity for the man standing with him.

“Helpful. Thanks.”

Sam shook his head. “She was just worried about you, man.”

Bucky sighed, not wanting to get into all of it. Nodding towards the elevator he said, “Can we just wrap this up?”

Sam chuckled, getting more amusement out of Bucky’s situation than he should’ve. The damage done wasn’t irreparable, which was the only reason he found any humor in it. “Sure.”

When Bucky got back to the apartment later that night, he opened the door to find all of the lights off. He let out a deep sigh as he stepped inside. He dropped his bags just inside the door, untying his boots and leaving them there as well. He maneuvered through the apartment in the dark until he landed himself outside your bedroom door. He saw the thin strip of light coming out from underneath it, so he knew that you were home and most likely still awake.

Taking a deep breath, he gave your door a couple light knocks as he said your name. When he didn’t get a response, he rested his forehead against the wood paneling of the door. “Please let me in.”

After a few long seconds of silence, you said, “It’s open.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief as he turned the doorknob and let himself in. Once he stepped inside, he shut the door behind him again, like it was an extra layer of privacy in your already empty apartment. He leaned back against the door, giving you some space as he watched you purposely not look up from your laptop.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, resting the back of his head against the door.

You shrugged, fingers flying across the keyboard, still not looking up at him. “Is there something you think we need to talk about?”

He knew that he deserved some of the attitude. It was only fair. Letting out a sigh, he pushed off the door and walked over so that he could sit on the edge of your bed. “I didn’t expect you to show up like that. It caught me off-guard.”

You finally looked up at him, anger in your eyes but sadness too. “What would you like me to do instead next time I think you’re in a hospital or dead somewhere, Bucky?”

He tucked his chin towards his chest for a moment. “Things just got hectic. I didn’t have time—”

“I get it,” you said, and honestly you did. But it did nothing to mitigate your worry. “But do you get where I’m coming from? I,” you shook your head, “I count on you to tell me you’re alright because no one else will. Your team doesn’t know me. I’m not gonna get a phone call or a visit from someone who works for you guys. I’m just your fucking roommate so—”

“Hey,” he cut you off, resting his hand on your arm as he did, “stop.”

You leaned back against your headboard. “Your words, not mine.”

He frowned as he nodded. “I know.”

“That was shitty.”

He nodded again. “I know.”

You sighed, finally setting your laptop off to the side. “I know that we never really talked about everything with us, and that’s, you know, that’s on me too.” You paused, waiting for him to look you in the eyes. “But do you really just think of me as your—”

“No,” his voice was as genuine as it’d ever been. “I just, I froze up. I wasn’t expecting to see you there, wasn’t expecting Sam to—” he huffed, stopping himself short as he shook his head. “You’re not just my roommate.”

A weak smile crossed your lips. “Good.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he confessed.

You shook your head. “I don’t wanna lose you either.” You let out a soft laugh. “Which is why you gotta let me know you’re okay when you get home.”

He smiled, nodding. “That’s fair.”

Letting out a deep breath, your body relaxing a bit for the first time all night, you took his hands in yours and pulled him into you. “Come here.” You draped your arms around his neck in a hug, feeling the way his arms wound around your waist.

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m sorry.”

You let your head rest in the crook of his neck for a moment before pulling away so you could get a good look at his face. You gently cupped his cheek. “It’s okay.”

He let his forehead drop to rest against yours. “We okay?”

“Depends,” you said, a little bit of laughter in your voice. “If I’m not just your roommate, does that mean I’m your girlfriend?”

He chuckled, nodding. “Yea, it means your my girlfriend.”

You beamed, leaning in to kiss him. “Good.” Pulling away from him, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up and holding your hand out for him to join you. “Come on.” You saw the confusion on his face as he put his hand in yours and elaborated. “There is still plenty of time for our homecoming snack.”

He smiled as he let you tug him off the bed. “Lead the way.”

#hotbuckysummer2023 #week 7 #who's this #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[i-cant-sing]

Wait, are oikawas fangirls genuinely yanderes for us, or are they just doing it all of oikawa?

I mean, they started off and still are majorly yanderes for Oikawa, but you... have grown over them a little. Sure, they hated you at first but when Oikawa made it clear how he viewed you as a little sibling, you became way more tolerable to them. Of course, there were still times when they disliked how openly you admitted to hating Oikawa, not even bothering to hide your disgust and annoyance of the man, but when they cleared up a few misconceptions and threatened you, you also started to sing his praises like they did, even if they had to tell you word by word what to say exactly.

Eventually, when the fear washed off and all of your friends abandoned you, you started to befriend some of the fangirls too. And they had also started to see what Oikawa saw in you- you're just a soft, naive idiot that needs to be protected because you clearly don't know what's good for you.

And since you had befriended them, they also started easing up on you- letting you stay up past bedtime to play games, letting you keep your socials, even allowing you to go on dates.

The last thing was something Oikawa was definitely not happy about when he found out. And it was one of the few times when Oikawa genuinely lashed out at his fangirls, letting them witness just a crumb of his unbridled rage and sadistic controlling nature.

"Why the fuck would you let her date ANYONE?!" He yelled at one of the leaders of the fanclub, who all but cowered at his harsh tone.

"Tooru- I just- we- I thought that it would be nice for Y/n! She just spoke so fondly of this guy, her crush! And I just thought that she deserved some love too! The same way you love us, right?" But Oikawa all but grabbed her by neck and pinned her to the wall as he glared at her with murderous intent.

"No."

No?

"No. Y/n will not date anyone. She will not fuck anyone. She will not kiss, hug or even talk to anyone except us. My love and your love should be enough for her. Don't fucking spoil her and make her a whore like yourself." Oikawa let go of her neck, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. "You will go and find her right now. I want her in the girls dorm in an hour. You know better than to disappoint me, don't you?" He asked the fanclub who all but nodded in agreement before beginning to leave.

"And girls?" They halted.

"You better hope that crush of hers doesn't touch her, or else I'll be crushing all of your legs."

The fangirls left, all with one worry.

How the fuck are they gonna stop Bokuto from touching you?

The man literally hugged the fangirls when you agreed to go on a date with him.

I wasn't sure who to make reader date? Initially, I wanted Ushijima but I've written a lot for him. Then Kita, Kuroo, Bokuto, Miya twins, etc came to mind.

I just miss haikyuu a lot

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyu x reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere bokuto

[yutaleks]

weirdly enough, gojo is like sasuke to me .-.

i don't mean personality wise, it's just a very personal thing where i would dislike sasuke because everyone and their mother would cream over him and write fanfics where... idk i just thought he was a douche yk (<- the reason why that didn't happen with naruto is because i had a childhood crush on him + literally the first scene i saw with sasuke was him trying to kill naruto so.. that wasn't a good meet cute for sauce gay and me yk) (<- <- the reason that didn't happen with kakashi (who also has that gojo effect thing imo when it comes to how the fandom thinks/interacts with his character) is bc i was 10 so i had the chance of not living the Kakashi Experience first hand)

and that's honestly the same thing with gojo, he irritates me so much somehow DHSHAD but also i think he's like sasuke to me in the way that, once i was "forced" to roleplay as sasuke (long story), i decided "well imma still be in character since i'm a GOOD roleplayer" yk? so i started thinking more and more about how he'd feel and think, his life etc, and that made me portray a sasuke that was accurate and well-liked (from what i gathered at least, and i really hope that was the case), but also that helped me separate him from the vision the fanworks i had consumed had made of him, idk if it's clear?

i mean if people wanna make sasuke ooc they should go for it, it just made me hate him as a character so that's just me LOL

and anyway i was thinking "hmmm i really wanna write a satosugu" when... tbf i don't really care about geto (he's interesting as a character but i don't care much about ANY jjk character tbh dshdhs except toge and maybe noritoshi), and honestly i just highly dislike gojo because of all the noise there is around him (Underrated Character Fan Behaviour 101 ik ik)

i just really like the dynamic and story of stsg, it's tragic lovers 101, especially with the last line gojo tells geto, that we don't hear but ykw i've read so many posts about it being "i love you" and how it's a curse/not a curse depending on the pov, it's driving me insane (/pos)

but yeah i was thinking i wanted to write a stsg and usually my fics dive more into the psychological aspect of things than just some light-hearted shit, and even if it's light hearted i need me some character analysis yk? and anyway that made me think "wait. that's basically what happened with sasuke. so... i don't hate gojo (i knew i didn't hate HIM tho), i just hate how the fandom loves him and i just wanna play with my new barbie on my own" LOL

tldr i'm a hater

LOL that’s funny to come to a realization that way!! Tbh the way that these popular characters are written is often time off-putting and will turn you off from them. I love Sasuke to bits but I don’t dare step into the fic tags lest I be subjected to toxic and abusive relationships 💀 I think Sasuke’s written a lot better in sns ship fic (tho maybe I’m just biased haha). I think I’d say the same for gojo tho I haven’t read a lot of reader insert fic I just see a lot of it in passing / hear about it from gojo-loving moots. Maybe for characters such as these it’s better to form your own opinion and not take into account the fandom perception of the character… like I love gojo but I don’t really interact with the greater gojo fans yk? Same with s*susaku oriented Sasuke fans, since they are always dead wrong about him 💀

I’m definitely very protective of Sasuke in my mind like. Only people who are right about him can play with the Sasuke doll. To everyone else he’s off limits. LOL

#ϟ asking aleksandria #fwb anon

[ariadynamics]

Hi Aria! Are you planning on writing more of (want you) more than anyone else?

I've had this ask since April 27, so I'm not even sure you'll see this nonny.

I've been ignoring it for a bit (sorry, nonny) because honestly, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to write more of the Galex WIP.

Uh, apparently, I've written some? This is EXTREMELY rough and also will likely be heavily edited by the time I'm done. But anon, if you ever see this tho, I hope you like it!

Chapter 5, Galex WIP

There’s something weird today about George. Obviously, weirdness and George aren’t entirely two disparate things. After all, George is weird most of the time. The kind of weirdness George is projecting tonight isn’t new or singular. This feels different, though, and Alex can’t pinpoint why. He can’t think of the exact words to describe why George feels off. Just that George does feel off.

Alex hates it.

Not that George being different is a problem. Whatever, he’s pretty sure there isn’t an iteration of George that he could ever dislike. No, the thing that grates at Alex, the thing that makes him feel itchy and restless, is the feeling of not knowing something about George. Alex can’t stop rewinding his interactions with George over the last couple of days, like a healing scab on his skin he can’t stop picking at. When did things suddenly change? 

Was there something Alex had done? Had said?

When did they become the kind of people who kept secrets from each other? 

Alex wants to know everything about George. He wants to learn every atom, every molecule, every little thought that crosses George’s huge, giant head. 

Fuck.

Maybe he’s the weird one here, not George.

After all, he’s the one who wants to be an inextricable, immovable part of George. That’s weird, right? Admittedly, he’s not the most well-versed when it comes to friends-with-benefits etiquette, but Alex is reasonably sure the thoughts he’s been having all morning about George aren’t exactly buddies. 

He can’t help it.

Alex just. Fuck. Alex just wants.

He wants a lot of things. Alex wants to tug at the curls at the base of George’s neck. He wants to beat him on the track and then kiss him stupid while they’re damp and sticky from champagne. Most of all, though, Alex wants George to turn around and look at him. He wants to handcuff George to himself and drag them both away to where they can be alone.

“We can probably spare half an hour or so, right, Alex?” George asks, taking Alex out of his head.

He blinks, hard, when he finally digests George’s words. “Uh, sure?” Alex grunts. “I missed that; what are we doing again?”

“Beach volleyball. We were hoping for a couple of extra people to join us,” the guy with dimples says, shooting them a toothy grin. Alex feels irrationally angry at how white this guy’s teeth are under the Grecian sun.

This guy’s not even that hot, Alex thinks, glum. He can’t place the guy’s accent at all. He sounds like an experimental mash-up between Sebastian and Stroll. Completely, utterly unsexy.

Even if the guy’s dimples can probably bring about world peace.

“I don’t know if it would be fair for us to join,” Alex says. If he sounds a little haughty, well, he’s just looking out for Smiley McSmiley over here. They’re athletes--it would be rather unsportsmanlike of them to play volleyball with a bunch of unsuspecting regular Joes.

The guy raises one of his thick, well-manicured brows. “Oh? Why’s that? You any good at volleyball?”

Alex shrugs. “We’re, you know. Athletic.”

George nudges their shoulders together, and the heat of George’s skin against his makes him shiver. “Way to sell our abilities, Alex,” George grins, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him. We’re not superstars or anything, but we probably won’t be complete liabilities.”

The guy laughs, throwing his head back jovially, the long lines of his neck in full view. “Good enough for me. I’m Nico, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“George. And this guy right here is Alex.”

Nico shakes both of their hands before pointing to a clearing close to the beach. “My friends are just over there. Shall we?”

#I have 15 minutes before midnight #this still counts as #wip wednesday #also apparently I've decided that inserting random hockey cameos in very non-hockey fic is my brand now #pardon the typos aetc etc #galex #anon #aria answers #my fic

[noisyballofvoidmuffin]

I just finished the second season of Good Omens and that was the most heartbreaking thing I've ever watched. That said, I must go on a rant. (/pos)

Ok, unlike the first season, I've had a couple moments where I was feeling second hand stress and had to pause before resuming my watch. Which just means it was very well written, directed, and acted out (!!!), but man 😭

Ok so spoilers ahead from now on. This rant is vaguely structured but mostly chaos bc I'm writing my thoughts as I think them. This is your last warning to avoid spoilers.

Won't check if anyone's still reading bc I'm mostly writing this for myself, so. I'm kind of like Agnes that way. I publish my thoughts just for the free copy of the book.

Anyhow, yes.

The way Aziraphale's behaviour so dramatically changes the moment he's no longer bound by heaven's rules, already seen on the bench scene at the end of season 1 is so??? Goodness, like, it becomes so obvious that Aziraphale had to control himself so many times so as to not get in trouble with heaven.

He lies, doesn't just avoid answering questions like Gabriel did. He tempts people, or perhaps it may be better said that he manages to persuade them very well, but he managed to get everyone to come to the meeting he planned. He bribes some of them, too.

I honestly don't believe any angels are going to fall. Or at least there's no plan for them to be up until now (end of s2). There's no word (in the series) of any Angels falling since the original war. So far at least. Don't think heaven wants any of their angels falling. Aziraphale would've likely fallen twice over if that were the case.

I absolutely dislike Metatron btw. Don't get me wrong, he is doing his job just fine in the narrative, more than such. But somehow during the series I had the feeling that Heaven was a greater evil/threat than Hell ever was and Metatron is just the icing on the cake.

The moment his facial expression dropped before following Aziraphale out of the bookshop just oooooh [seething, subdued adoration for how brilliant that tip off was].

Another thing I immediately had to glare at was when Aziraphale got into the elevator with him and his shoulders dropped. As if he wasn't sure Azi (getting tired of writing out his entire name :')) would get in with him. As if he was unsure.

Also, what's up with all the angels talking about the Great plan? It's not the ineffable plan, they won't call it that, their behaviour sure points towards that. The angels under Gabriel didn't seem to know the answer to Aziraphale's question about whether the two were the same thing. Metatron was much more secure in his wording. I suspect he's not actually acting out on God's will. At least not just that.

Metatron also didn't seem at all surprised at Crowley not taking up the offer to become an Angel again. He didn't react on it at all actually. And again, he said he met him. He said he remembers him and his questions. I presume he's at fault for Crowley's fall.

The angels seem to be so blindly obedient to the Metatron. So trusting.

Yes, a second Prince of Heaven falling would point out the issue in heaven. Even more so than, idk, the fact that an unknown but probably huge amount of Angels fell in the first place.

Talking of which, there was an actively decreasing amount of warrior demons. Where/Why/How was that happening? What were they dying to? If not dying, what were they doing?

Heaven is also rather empty from what it seems. Could be on purpose of course. But, egh. Logistics.

Also, Aziraphale. You lovable DUMBASS. Crowley is the one demon who likely knows best why neither Heaven nor Hell are good sides to be on.

Why did you get on that damned elevator after hearing there would be a second attempt at Armageddon???

Didn't you literally fight to stop the first one??? Okay sure, perhaps it was bc you think you can make a change but come. On.

Onto the acting, because I am not over it. Not at all.

The way the expressions and tones of voice, and the inflection, and just qjfkgkkbmamfvn

If you can't tell that kiss killed me inside. Both before and after.

Perhaps I am heavily biased towards the theories I've read before watching the series but come. ONNNN!!

Back to the series, i have seen someone point out how it seems to be from the pov of Aziraphale, as shown by the diary/journal entries we seen. I won't get too into that, but I do hope we get some of Crowley's perspective of some stuff next season.

Kind of funny how both heaven and hell seem to demand unquestioned obedience from their people. And that neither of their highest in command (God/Satan) are the ones to actually run things.

I've ran out of juice, might continue this rant another time but.. Idk

Feel free to add onto anything I might've mentioned on this. Do keep in mind to keep spoilers under a read more if you do please.

#good omens series #good omens 2 #Rant #Theories #good omens spoilers #Good omens theory

[belteppismo]

Controversial personal opinion (actually a rant) about RDARB because I'm still so annoyed about that novel

"Red, White and Royal Blue" is without any doubt one of the most annoying books I've ever read and I really can't understand how it managed to become so popular when it's so blatantly... Bad

I think the horrific Italian translation made me dislike it even more, but there were so many problems with it already

First of all, the side characters. Absolutely useless. I'm not even joking when I say that I had to stop for 5 entire minutes to try to remember who the heck was Leo. To me, it makes perfect sense that they decided to get rid of a lot of them in the film, they shouldn't have been there in the first place

Secondly, the dialogues. They couldn't have felt more surreal. You're telling me that the Prince of Wales, who's been getting PR training and etiquette lessons ever since he pronounced his first word, actually expresses himself like a dockworker? It all felt forced, like the author was trying way too hard to make every single line witty. But it didn't make me laugh, I just found it cringe

Thirdly, the emails. Once again, I had to stop because the second-hand embarrassment was becoming unbearable. God, I wanted to wash my eyes with bleach. Especially because the terrible prose (we'll go back to this later too) of the characters was associated to the writings of some actual intellectuals and poets. It was also a very unrealistic plot device to cause more drama. Basically a disaster under every possible point of view

And what can I say about said drama? Every single conflict was solved within 20 pages. While some superflous parts of the plot strecthed out for an eternity, issues found their solution in an instant. How can an international scandal involving the White House and the Royal Family last for the space of a chapter? *insert Italian boh*

Now, just a couple of thoughts about the main characters. The enemies to lovers trope was objectively badly executed. Their rivalry just felt very childish and based on nothing, so it consequently lacked tension (but no problem, the enemies part came to an end in less than 100 pages). And one thing that annoyed me was that they were supposed to be in their 20s (setting aside the maturity that they were supposed to have because of their respective roles) but they acted like teenagers. After they kind of got together, their in-person communication pretty much stopped existing because they spent every single second together having sex. What sort of development is that?

A word or two about the political sub-plot too. Apart from being uninteresting and very one-dimentional (I agree with the author's political views, but you cannot make such an absolute distinction between good and bad, we don't live in fairytales), it was also totally predictable. Like, Rafael Luna's "big secret" was pretty much spoiled 200 pages before the reveal, so I was just waiting for it and it wasn't surprising at all (just like the results of the elections, for instance)

Lastly, the style. As I've already said, part of my disdain probably derives from the translation. But still. This thing has really been checked by an editor? Most of the descriptions sounded like my brother's composition about his PE teacher written on his first year of primary school. And then, out of nowhere, the author changed register and started to wax poetry about the most mundane details. Just tell me why. I've read better fanfiction

I'd have so much more to say but I think this is enough. If you liked the book, good for you! Your opinion is totally valid and the majority of the world shares it so you're probably also right. I wish all that enthusiasm could change my mind since I bought the novel with high expectations and spent time reading it only to be disappointed and enervated by it

#had to get this out of my system #too much to handle #benny reads

[kuronanox]

I just wanted you to be happy-Nacht

(Author note: hello everyone I know I’ve been gone for awhile because I needed a break but I’m back and finals are around the corner so after that expect more stories!)

WARNING: Implied suicide

“Hey who's this hottie you've been sulking about?" Vanessa pokes her side as they sipped on red wine and ate some cheese and crackers. Swirling her wine glass she leaned on one elbow and sighed. Reminiscing the times her and Nacht had together.

"He's just a old fling, nothing much. You'd be surprised how important he is though." (Your Name) grinned tipsy and borderline drunk. Staring at the red wine she stop grinning and slowly knitted her brows.

"Doesn't seem like a fling to me girl." Vanessa smirks but doesn't budge on the topic any longer.

(Your Name) sat still leaning on her elbow and staring at the wine. The color was reminding her about blood and how it haunted her every night.

"To think I was the most important in your life."

"Why do you hide in the shadows Nacht?" She asks as they sat by the tree feeling the breeze.

"I don't always." He responds back with a smile on his face. The very one he always had with his eyes closed.

She knew he was dangerous, he would never hurt her but mentally she couldn't open him up as much as he said she helped him. Letting down his hair she brushed it between her fingers and hummed a song.

"(Your Name)?" Nacht says hesitantly as she tugged his hair for him to continue.

"Your the most important person to me." He continues acting out of character as she blushed and hugged him from behind.

After Vanessa and her downed four bottles of wine that night she was stumbling back to the room and refused help from Finral and Asta who insisted. She needed to be alone, after remembering memories of her love it was painful to not cry and scream.

Opening the door to her room she stumbled into bed and cried in her covers. It was pure torture she didn't know where Nacht was or his whereabouts.

"I hate him." She yells and chokes a sob once more. "I hate him so much."

Trying to regain her breathing (Your Name) made it to her desk and open the drawl to reveal the only picture she and Nacht had. He hated pictures but he had agreed that day to take one.

Placing the picture by her bed she laid down as the room started to spin and she blacked out with no more tears.

"Please can we take a photo!" She begs Nacht dragging his arm to a spot under a stall that had lights decorated for a festival they attended.

"Absolutely not. You know I don't like them." He softly tells her as she frowned and looked down to her feet in complete silence.

Nacht sighed and lifted her head and gave her a smile. "I suppose one doesn't hurt love."

Holding the only memories captured of them he wore the biggest smile he had in his entire life. To say he was the happiest that day was true. (Your Name) had planned a small date because he was feeling down. Even if he didn't tell her she could tell he was not feeling well.

Nacht hated the black bulls, he hated coming here but he always came to check up on (Your Name) every once in a while. Walking through the main room he saw the many liquor bottles that were opened and finished. "I dislike people who can't hold their liquor."

"But for her I couldn't."

Appearing into her room it was pitch black except for the small crack of the moon appearing between her blinds. She was faced face down on the bed still in her uniform. Nacht was always quiet when he visited her and that's why she never knew.

Flipping her gently he placed a pillow by her side and covered her body in a blanket and leaving her feet out because he knew that's how she preferred sleeping.

After he looked at the photo she had left out. With a sharp pain in his heart he sadly smiled at it as he brushed it gently with his hands. Nacht was complicated through out their relationship and (Your Name) tried so hard to keep it together only for him to throw it all away.

She sacrificed her own happiness so he could feel that emotion he missed out on part of his life.

"Are you leaving again?" She asks one night as he came into her room with a dark face. Today was different he didn't want to deal with anything but just run away from everything.

"Yes." He plainly answers turning his back to her as she sighs.

"What's wrong Nacht? You know you can talk to me."

With sheer anger he took her dagger and tried to slash himself to put himself out of misery of feeling guilty to haven to be the twin that lived and not his brother. 

"Nacht stop!" She screamed and reacted quickly enough for him to slash her arm instead. The blood trickled down her as she yelled in pain and stumbled back a bit in surprise.

"I-" he says as she falls to the floor and cries.

"I really try to be there for you, you know I would never judge you. I put away my happiness to make you happy. I know it's stupid but I care so much for you. I don't get to see you often so I try to make the best of each moments Nacht. So please nothing was your fault."

Dropping the dagger he fell on his knees and covered his eyes. His vision getting hazy from the blood on his hands and a mix of tears.

"Stop! Stop trying to act like you know me!" He says but regrets saying it to her. "I don't need your pity! That's why we are here right! Because we are broken, damaged and good for nothing losers!" He screamed at her as she holds her arms to stop the bleeding.

"Nacht don't-"

He looks down at the floor as they sat across from each other breathing heavily.

"I don't need you (Your Name) if I'm the cause of your pain I should just leave."

(Your Name) shakes her head and tries to touch him but he slapped her hand away and got up walking towards the door.

"It's best this way, we both won't be hurting no more."

Nacht swallowed his salvia a bit remembering that painful memory as he placed the photo back. Sitting on the side of her bed he watched her sleep peacefully. She had been crying and he could tell cause her eyes were puffy and still a bit red.

"I don't deserve someone like you."

Grabbing her hand he brushed around the scar on her arm and placed soft kisses on them and a final one on her forehead. "One day I hope you forgive me."

"Because it's people like you that I like."

Taking one last look at her sleeping Nacht left quietly in the night.

Waking up the next morning (Your Name) felt like shit. Her head was pounding and she felt wozy. Groaning she turned her head to see a glass of water and a couple of pills on the desk. "Oh bless whoever left it there." She says and happily takes the pill and drinks all the water.

As she swallowed all the water her eyes averted down to see a small piece of paper and a N written on it. Her eyes widen as the glass dropped and choked a bit.

"He's been watching me."

A feeling of anger came towards her as she stomped down to the main living room and looked around only to see the same chaos and no sign of him.

"What's gotten you angry?" Yami says blankly as he smoked his cigarette and she straighten herself and scoffs. "Um it's nothing."

Taking a seat she whispers to Yami. "You wouldn't have seen Nacht recently?" She slyly asks

Yami laughs and blew his smoke out. "I haven't seen that man in ages! Sorry kid. Your secret safe with me though."

Watching everyone's chaos so early in the morning only made her hangover worse as she walked back to her room.

"Just where are you Nacht." She whispers softly.

"I'm right here." He lovingly response back touching her shoulder with his hand. As much as she wanted to be surprised (Your Name) was already use to him popping out of nowhere.

"Why were you in my room last night? I thought you didn't care anymore?"

He sits next to her and places his hands in hers.

"The emotions we hold are very strong sometimes it makes us regret our actions." He speaks looking down at their intertwined hands.

"You tried to kill yourself, I was so scared and I felt helpless when I wanted to help."

Nacht doesn't say a word and pulls her into a hug.

"I've been working on myself since I left." He explains truthfully feeling guilty for leaving her in the dark and casting his darkness on her.

"I just wanted you to be happy."

"I know and for that I am grateful."

There was a moment of silence between the two as they knew things weren't going to be perfect and happy all the time. The life they lived and chosen made them on this path.

"I'm sorry." Nacht says to her feeling the pain of lost. One which he felt before and now he decided that someone was there for him and he would accept it because truthfully he never wanted to leave her.

"You never have to be sorry for the way you feel." She tells him as he clung to her tighter now.

"And this is why I love you so much." He smiles lovingly to her as she smiled back.

#nacht faust #black clover #black clover oneshots #black clover x reader #yami sukehiro #vanessa enoteca #black clover imagine #black clover images #black clover nacht

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

Ok hold on I thought we hated Jensen a few months ago now we hate Jared? Wasn't Jensen a dick and being homophobic about the whole destiel thing? Genuinely what chaos has happened because I dropped out of supernatural somewhere around "God is a horny white man living in his own fanfiction with an evil sister"

well, that's... that's a fair criticism of the show; i lost enthusiasm around the same time as well. (although the last season truly was original and well-written, with a fascinating story arc.) but no, i've never hated jensen, and i think that those who made a meme out of calling him homophobic blew things vastly out of proportion.

jensen has made some negative comments about destiel in the past, but i don't believe he's homophobic or a dick. in fact, it's my opinion that he's queer himself. he and danneel are vocally supportive of lgbtq causes, and i've heard a bunch of stories from gay and trans fans who've had extremely supportive experiences with jensen. here is a post full of examples.

if you want to know why, then, he made those anti-destiel comments, i wrote some thoughts about it in this post, but i have to warn that much of it is predicated upon cockles. for the people who think i'm crazy for cockles truthing, i made the cockles masterlist.

jared, on the other hand, has done plenty of shitty things over the years, which have mostly flown under the radar due to his popularity and how good he is at presenting himself as a lovable goofball. notably, he has more than once taken photos of service employees who have displeased him and posted them on his twitter/facebook and tagged their company basically demanding they be fired. a couple years ago he got drunk in a restaurant and assaulted two people, got arrested, and never apologized or faced any consequences.

however, the jared hate has skyrocketed since the finale, for reasons that i went over in this post, and then intensified even further with the prequel announcement fiasco.

the short story on that: jensen and danneel's production company, chaos machine, is planning on making a spn prequel about john and mary, and apparently they did this without mentioning it to jared. jared should could have just called up his buddy to say "hey why didn't you tell me about this" but instead he took to twitter to passive aggressively complain that this is the first he's heard of it and how disappointed he is that he sam isn't involved.

he acted like a whiney baby in front of millions of people, didn't apologize, and waited til the next morning to go "hey please don't harass anyone over this uwu" WELL after his nasty hordes had done their damage. apparently jensen had to call him and smooth things over, he made another smarmy tweet, jensen made a tweet that, amusingly, included stuff about how they "used to" talk but they're both "busy" now.

for further reading, here is a summary of the "j2 fallout theory" that has been formulating since the finale.

so in summary, if you want to dislike jensen i'm not going to argue with you, but my perception is that he's a sweet guy who's had enough of jared's bullshit. i used to make excuses for jared because i thought he had a good heart despite the stunts he pulled, but i'm also sick of his shit and i'm firmly "fuck that guy" by now.

it's a big complicated mess of drama, but i hope that explains it.

#spn cast #anonymous #ask #prequelgate

[writer-dreams]

Colors (Draco Malfoy X Reader)

I'll be honest, I've had this one fully written since last week. I've just been very nervous to post it because the ending is so bad 😅. I haven't been sure how to fix it and I've re-written it several times. This fic is definitely rushed but hey, it's a one-shot (and I wanted to try writing something short and sweet for once). This is still part of the Cliche Month Challenge by @wreckofawriter (sorry this was so late). I've finally gained enough courage to post it and I hope you enjoy this messy fic.

Prompt: An AU where you can only see the shades of your soulmate's eyes until you first touch.

House: You choose

Blood Status: You choose

Warnings: Possible swearing

Note: Again, very messy. Not sure I like this one too much. The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns.

Word Count: 1,694 words

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

3rd Person POV

Y/n opened her eyes to see the world was still the same shade of steel grey. She longed to know what the world truly looked like, to see actual colors other than this grey. When she was younger, she was ecstatic to learn that someone out there was destined to be with her. She used to fantasize about meeting her soulmate, seeing in color and her falling in love. She imagined what her soulmate would look like, what their personality was like, their likes and dislikes.

Now, as she grew older, she began to develop fears. What if they didn't like her? Even if the universe had put them together, there was still a chance they could reject her. What if she didn't like them? She never considered herself to be a picky person, especially when it came to love, but that didn't mean that they couldn't have a horrible personality. All of her friends have already met with their soulmates, and it did seem like they matched each other perfectly. They always talked about how beautiful the world was and how they couldn't wait until she could see the colors too.

She snapped out of her thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she walked off to the courtyard, hoping a good book could distract her from the whole soulmate situation.

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

Y/n wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally finished her book. A few hours, at least. She looked around the courtyard, seeing that she was the only one there. She sighed, deciding to go back inside. Y/n looked at the sky, dreaming about the day she could finally see the blue sky her friends talked about. She wondered how beautiful the night sky looked when it was in full color, how pretty a sunset could be. Yet, all she could see was grey. She was almost at the point where she would begin to resent the color. Still, she remained patient, still trying to hold on to the small shred of hope that she would someday meet the one.

On her way in, she bumped into someone rather harshly. The two fell back, Y/n closing her eyes and rubbing her head gently from where it hit the ground. When she opened her eyes, her mind was blown as suddenly, she could see the world in color. Amazed, Y/n slowly took in her surroundings, admiring the green grass and the blue sky. She looked at the bark of the trees, the castle, the white fluffy clouds. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she slowly let it all sink in. She could see, she could finally see! It was all so much more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

The boy in front of her got up with a groan. In her dazed state, Y/n had almost forgotten about him. She looked back at him to see platinum blonde hair and grey eyes looking back at her. Her face immediately became shocked as she recognized that familiar face, those eyebrows, those thin lips, those sharp cheekbones. Draco Malfoy.

Said boy looked back at her with the same shocked eyes. He glanced quickly around him, an astonished expression on his face. His grey eyes landed back on her, almost in disbelief.

"You're my—" They both whispered.

Y/n couldn't do this. Even when he didn't know they were soulmates, Draco Malfoy was a bigoted twat. How could the universe possibly pair her up with him? Y/n shook her head, before she got up and quickly retreated to her dormitory. She could hear Draco calling after her but she ignored him and simply kept running.

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

When she arrived, most of her friends were already there, talking amongst each other on their beds. At the sound of the door opening, they all turned their heads and greeted her. Y/n still couldn't believe that she could see in color because of Draco Malfoy. Now, she could see the color or her friend's hairs and their eyes. She turned to a mirror and examined her reflection, playing with her (h/c) hair. She could see that she had (e/c) eyes, which was so surprising, considering that she had only seen a grey version of herself for years.

"Hey, Y/n! I just want you to know that you're beautiful and you better not be saying bad things about yourself to that mirror!" (F/n) said.

"I'm not....I just...."

"You'll find your soulmate eventually, Y/n. Then you can finally see how pretty you are." Another friend reassured.

Y/n smiled back at her, not sure if she should tell her friends that she met them and that it was the worst possible matchup ever. She decided against it, telling herself that the universe had made a mistake. There was no way that Malfoy was her soulmate, she refused to believe it.

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

Almost a week had passed after that incident and Y/n was still avoiding Draco. She could see him trying to reach out to her but she would quickly lose him in the crowded hallways. Everyday, every hour, she was playing a game of avoidance cat and mouse. She had gotten pretty good at it too, swiftly navigating her way through all the students.

Today was just another one of those days. There she was again, quickly walking through the crowds, afraid that she would see Malfoy and have to talk to him. Luckily for her, she managed to make it to class without running into him. She settled into her seat next to her friends, who were quietly gossiping to each other.

"Malfoy's been pretty quiet lately. Hasn't been taunting Potter or anything. He's not even picking on any first years."

"Maybe Dumbledore's finally had enough of his behaviour. Or maybe his father threatened to ground him or something."

Y/n stayed silent, listening in to their conversation. Great, even if she could physically escape Malfoy, he was still there in conversation. It really seemed like the universe was insistent that it was right with this pairing.

"Could you guys stop talking about Malfoy? He's old news anyway. Who cares if he's not bullying anyone for once? Maybe he's actually become a decent person." Y/n snapped.

Her friends looked at each other. "What's gotten you so riled up? You care about him or something?"

"Nothing. I just don't wanna hear about him. Let's just focus on the class, okay?"

Her friends nodded slowly, looking at her suspiciously before they changed the topic of their conversation. Why did she defend him? Everyone, including her, knew that he was a prat and that wasn't changing. Y/n sighed quietly, feeling frustrated. Another thing she had kept to herself was a feeling of longing for the blonde male. He appeared in her dreams like a prince offering to sweep her off her feet. She'd feel drawn to him when she saw him in the hallways, even when she forced herself to stay away from him. Y/n was afraid as to what it could mean, she couldn't accept the truth.

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

After classes ended, she continued through her usual route back to her dormitory. Unfortunately for her, Draco Malfoy was waiting for her right at the entrance. She quickly turned to try and make a getaway but he grabbed her arm.

"Wait. L/n, can we please talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" Y/n asked coldly, even when her heart fluttered at his touch.

"Just, come with me." Draco began pulling her away as Y/n rolled her eyes and allowed him to drag her.

He took her to an empty hallway, where he finally let her go. Y/n looked at him expectantly, putting her hands on her hips. She knew this was coming, there was no avoiding it, especially when the universe constantly pushed them together. The universe can rot in hell.

"So...we both know that we're.....soulmates. Why do you avoid it?" He sounded hurt, and Y/n's heart ached at the thought of that.

"Because, you're Draco Malfoy. You bully Potter and practically everyone else in this school. All you care about is blood status, the Slytherin house, and impressing your arsehole daddy. You're a spoiled brat who acts like you're entitled to everything, and I refuse to be one of those things just because I'm your 'soulmate'." Y/n growled at him.

He seemed to take everything she said into consideration, which was extremely out of character for him. "I can change, Y/n. I can change for you. In fact, I already have. Haven't you noticed how silent I've been? It's been the talk of the school this entire week." He said, desperately. Y/n wondered why he was so persistent, why did he continuously chase her, even when she actively ran away?

"You feel it too, don't you? A pull to me, like a bond?" Draco asked, watching her carefully. Y/n didn't answer but her silence gave her away. "I feel it too. I see you in my dreams and Merlin, I feel my heart race when I see you. I know you think this is a mistake, but the universe doesn't make mistakes. I love you, Y/n. Just give me a chance to prove it." Draco took her hand softly.

Y/n felt it. Some sort of invisible bond tying her to him. The universe had her in its clutches and it would not let her go. She felt her heart tighten and she sighed. What could it hurt to try? Clearly, the universe wasn't giving up on this and maybe there was a good reason for that. She remembered that feeling of longing for the Slytherin boy and bit her lip.

Damn it all.

She took Draco's face and smashed her lips against his. It felt like everything clicked into place as he held her face and kissed back. His lips fit perfectly against hers and she could feel the world around them stop. It was as if the universe was satisfied with its work and was allowing them to enjoy their moment. She pulled away and opened her eyes, the colors around her seemingly more vibrant than before. Draco looked at her with the widest smile on his face.

"I'll take that as a yes?" He chuckled.

"Don't make me regret it, soulmate." Y/n smiled back.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Permanent Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you for some reason):

@my-name-is-jazzy-x

**********************************************

Thank you so much for reading! This was pretty hard to write (I guess I'm not that good at soulmate AU's yet 😅). I hope it wasn't too horrible to read. Yes, I am still working on requests while I'm writing these things (I promise). Thank you again for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Until next time.

-Jade

#hp #harry potter #draco fic #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x you #cliche month #cliche #Cliche month challenge #malfoy imagine #malfoy fanfiction #malfoy #malfoy fic #malfoy x reader #malfoy x you #draco fanfiction #hp preferences #hp imagine #harry potter preferences #harry potter imagine #soulmate #soulmate au

[palimpsessed]

So @captain-aralias​ did one of these and invited other writers to do the same. And I wasn't really going to because it feels a bit late now and also I've done quite a few other year in review posts for 2020. But then I got to thinking that it would be really nice to have one of these for each year to look back on and compare, which convinced me. So, here we go!

If you’re a writer, I’d also encourage you to steal this. Tag me on your post so I can see your thoughts! 🥰

List of Complete Fics for 2020 1. At the Top of a Tower, With You- General, 900 words 2. Use Your Words- Teen, 16k 3. A Man of Letters, or Five Times Baz Retreats and the One Time He Doesn’t- Teen, 54k 4. To the Manor Borne- Teen, 43k

Total: 4 fics, 113k words

Every one of these fics was written for an event, which, realistically, is the only reason they got finished. I have so many ideas I'm working on all at once, and I came into fandom with a focus on making art, so to actually find the motivation to sit down and write/finish/post a fic was entirely deadline based. And it's a technique I'm sure I will also employ in 2021.

Best/Worst Title?

Well, I've mentioned a few times before that I usually have a title before I have much in the way of a fic concept. I don't really dislike any of the my titles, because they all did exactly what I needed them to do, which was help me focus on what I wanted to accomplish in the fic. Comparatively speaking, though, I can answer this.

Best: Use Your Words - succinct, idiomatic, a book quote/motif that also has the potential to be a spell, does what it says on the tin, is probably what all of us are constantly yelling at Baz and Simon to do throughout the books and the fic itself

(Honorable mention to A Man of Letters because that title forms a perfect heart shape when viewed on mobile on AO3. ❤️)

Worst: At the Top of a Tower, With You - this is also a quote and it fits the fic perfectly, but it is a bit of a mouthful and it has a comma in the middle of it, which, while I love commas, feels a bit off-putting in terms of a title - also, it's always kind of bothered me that it's a Baz WS quote used for a CO-era Lucy POV

Best/worst summary?

Again, I don't really dislike any of my summaries.

Best:

To the Manor Borne: The gang decides to spend Christmas together at Pitch Manor. Romance, hijinks, and holiday cheer ensue.

Anything that lets me use the word hijinks is always good! - it's short and sweet - it does a fair job of setting up the premise for the fic and giving highlights, without giving anything away

Worst: A Man of Letters

I'm not going to include this one because it's so long, I had to cut down the version I posted on tumblr to fit in the AO3 field, which is really why I rank it below my others - it effectively sets up the world of Simon and Baz in Regency England prior to where the story starts, but it is prohibitively long - and it's set up, not summary, so it also loses points for not doing what it purports to do - I could have said exactly what this fic was in one sentence: "Simon and Baz meet at several Regency-appropriate venues over the course of a London season and reflect on their acquaintance in letters", but instead I did the full book jacket version because it was more interesting to me.

Best/Worst First Line?

Oh, this is interesting. I can honestly say that I have no idea where this will go. Going to pull up my docs and find out! Okay, since I only have four fics to consider, and I'm feeling split, I'm going to do two for each. I feel good about my words, but I will say that half of my first lines actually provide information, and the other half are incomplete thoughts. Those were stylistic decisions I made, but when taken alone, it does somewhat limit the effectivness of a sentence when it can't stand without the rest of the paragraph. Perhaps that decision will lure readers in for more?

Best:

In the end, we wind up at Pitch Manor. (To the Manor Borne)

I know that you won't be surprised when I tell you that I do not like writing letters. (A Man of Letters)

Kind of interesting that these both contain key words from the titles 🤔

Worst:

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this. (Use Your Words)

I love how the title seems to be answering Baz's question when the two are put together like this 😂

Strange that it should end here, where it all started. (At the Top of a Tower, With You)

The title also seems to complete the first line in this one, too. I'm learning about my writing as this goes on, so that's cool!

Best/Worst Last Line?

Hmm. Okay, again, no idea. Also, a little leery of including last lines for anyone who hasn't read the fics they're from yet. (Tho I guess it's unlikely those people would be reading this😆) But let's see what we've got.

Use Your Words and A Man of Letters have very similar final lines, and both are somewhat spoilery.

Best: The ending of A Man of Letters felt risky to me, in the way that it is formatted and changes tone from the rest of the story. It was something that happened as I wrote it and I loved it. I had no idea if readers would like it, if they would feel like it worked as an ending, but I felt strongly enough about it to let the entire fic hinge on that and I think it really paid off. So, without giving you the actual last line, which is only one word, I'm going to say that one is my best ending.

Worst:

To the Manor Borne: "Carry on, Simon."

It's not bad, it's just not mine.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, fewer than you thought, or about what you predicted?

I did not set out to write any fics in 2020. I was supposed to be taking a break from writing. I've been an aspiring novelist for half my life now, and have been going through major ups and downs with my writing. I decided I needed to re-evaluate and figure out if writing was something that was even going to be able to make me happy anymore. The answer is: YES! Just…not original fiction. At the moment. I'm happiest when I can write for the sake of writing and not have to DO something with that writing. Which is why discovering fan fiction was AMAZING!!!! 🥰🥰🥰

To actually answer the question, yes, I wrote more than I thought I would. I also wrote exactly as much as I thought I would, simply because these were all things I signed up for (with the exception of my Countdown fic, but I committed to it as if it were something that required a sign up).

I have a lot more ideas for 2021, but I don't know how many of them will come to fruition. I'm not putting pressure on myself to have to do anything beyond what I sign up for again, because it did work out so well for me starting off.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I mean, the pairing and the fandom were in no way a surprise. 😆 They're my only ones, so those were both a given. The genre is also not surprising.

What's your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest?

A Man of Letters, without any hesitation. I adore it so much. It's the kind of fic I know I will unabashedly sit down to read over and over, even if I'm the one who wrote it. I had one reader to please and it was ME. By far, my most self-indulgent fic.

Okay, NOW your most popular story?

That depends on the metric.

To the Manor Borne leads in Comments (107), Kudos (153), and Hits (1992), and Use Your Words leads in Bookmarks (26).

But since To the Manor Borne is top in 3 out of 4 metrics, I'll say that one.

Story most upderappreciated by the universe?

I mean, the least popular by a wide margin is At the Top of a Tower, With You, but I don't know if I'd call it underappreciated. It's short, it's angsty, it's got a very unusual style, it's Lucy POV, it's the first fic I wrote and posted. I didn't really go into it with high performance expectations. I'm proud of it, I just didn't expect it to be popular. It would be nice if more people read it, but I'm not broken up over it.

Story that could have been better?

I'm not even going to touch this one. Everything can always be improved upon, but if I go down that route, nothing will ever be done. This is one of the things I have come to appreciate about traditional art versus digital. With traditional, there is only so much you can do before something is permanent and you have to live with it. It's an exercise in letting go and acceptance. Digital is flashier and more flexible, but I could (and have) spend months on a single piece and never feel satisfied, never stop tweaking. I think that's also the reason I started to hate my novels.

Sexiest story?

Based purely on overall vibes, I find the understated tension of the Regency the most appealing, so I'm going to say A Man of Letters. I didn't actually stray into sex territory in any of my fics (though Simon and Baz have had sex by the time To the Manor Borne starts, and refer to it, and probably do it "offscreen"), but A Man of Letters is the one that feels sexiest to me. Lots of thirsting!Baz and feral!Simon and sensual hand touching (how risqué!) - and YEARNING. That, to me, is the sexiest vibe of all. So. Much. Yearning.

Saddest story?

At the Top of a Tower, With You - for this one, I tagged "angst without plot" and I stand by that. It's Lucy losing her connection to Simon at the end of CO and trying to find a way to reconcile herself to leaving him alone again. I gave it as much of a hopeful bent as I could, with the refrain of Baz's spoken "love" to cling to, but it's very sad.

Most fun?

To the Manor Borne - All of my fics have their fair share of angst, but this one also has some good, silly, holiday fluff thrown in. Since I wrote it for the Countdown, each chapter was based on a different prompt, which led to this one going in all sorts of directions no single fic probably ever should. Plus, it has the most Shepard, and Shepard always makes things more fun.

Story with the single sweetest moment?

Oh my god. I don't know. No, never mind. I do. It's To the Manor Borne, but it's split between the two gift giving scenes, the Constellations and Secret Santa/Gift Giving prompts. These were private moments between Simon and Baz, sharing themselves with each other, being vulnerable, and communicating. It's the gifts they give each other, yes, but it's more so the reasons they chose those gifts, and how they show part of themselves and share their love for each other, through those gifts, that had me in tears writing those two scenes. I'm super proud of them.

Hardest story to write?

Use Your Words - it was written for an exchange and that made it really hard to write it knowing there was this pressure of making my gift-ee happy with the fic. I'm proud of it, and they really liked it, but the anxiety was too much for me.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

A Man of Letters - if there is a fic better suited to me as a writer, I haven't met it. I started writing after reading Pride and Prejudice in high school, so I started out writing Regency and I spent years and years and years of my life obsessed. When I transferred into college, an administrator I had never met before heard my name during orientation and said, "Oh, you're the Austen scholar." (It is a small, private college, and I was a transfer, so the pool of students was even smaller. But still. Many years later, I'm clearly not over it.) I also did my senior thesis on an epistolary novel (Frances Burney’s Evelina), and my English Lit emphasis was for that time period. So, I felt like I had been preparing for this fic my entire adult life. 😂

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I don't think so. I tend to let my writing be dictated by the characters, so I'm always following their lead. Sometimes they'll do or say something that surprises me and takes me down a route I didn't necessarily foresee, but I don't think there was ever a point where one of them did something that made me rethink who they are as a character.

Most overdue story?

I will say A Man of Letters, since that one felt like a culmination of my seventeen-year-old self's wildest writing dreams. But I should probably say the Scooby Doo AU I still haven't managed to finish, because that one has been a WIP since I joined the fandom. Oops. (I'm hoping when I look over this in a year, I can feel smug that it's finally done.)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Writing at all was a risk for me! And writing fan fic for the very first time! Writing an entire fic told only through letters. And then ending it in a completely different style from the rest of the fic. Doing a multi-chaptered fic for the Countdown, using a different prompt for each chapter, and publishing a chapter every single day for thirty days (with the exception of two days that had art). Signing up for fandom events in the first place!

What I learned from taking risks in my writing is the same thing I learned when I took risks in my art this year. I have a much better appreciation for what I've done when I push myself, I feel better about the end product, and I like it longer. I think it's really good for me to challenge myself creatively.

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most?

Oh boy. Um. Therapy! Both Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne had their big HEA moments built around sending Simon and Baz to therapy. I don't think that's likely to change for future fics, either. I feel like therapy as the theme for 2020 seems very fitting. (Also, I think I keep sending the boys to therapy because I'm trying to get myself there…)

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Just to write what I want to write, have fun, not put any pressure on myself, and to take risks in my writing and my art because it will help me to grow.

#fan fic year in review #my fic #at the top of a tower with you #use your words #a man of letters #to the manor borne

[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.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #ts fanfiction #doctor who #thomas sanders #canon compliant #action #adventure #romance #roman sanders #logan sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts sides #ts roman #ts logan #ts deceit #ts patton #ts remus #ts virgil #logince #moceit #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #bickering #enemies to friends #rivals to lovers

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Haikyuu Masterlist

Keiji Akaashi x Famous!F!Reader

Song ~ Ass Back Home - Gym Class Heroes 

Genre ~ SFW Fluff

Word Count ~ 1.8k

Posted ~ 11/08/20

Akaashi sighed as he once again read another article about Y/n L/n and Jason Derulo, or some other artist always presuming that they were together. He didn't want to be jealous, but he couldn't help it when he saw his girl with some other guys, wasn't that normal? 

He knew it was going to be hard when he asked her to be his girlfriend. He knew she would be away often she would be travelling for tours and of course, meeting up with other artists to collaborate on songs, even though he knew that her new song would be a collaboration with Jason Derulo. 

He trusted her, the same way that Bokuto would trust his sets back in high school, the way that Bokuto would always know that Akaashi would always get the ball to him to spike. He knew she would never cheat on him, that wasn't who she was. He knew by the excitement in her voice when he answered the phone, "Kei!" The excitable giggles paired with the massive happy grin he saw on video call on the rare occasions that she could. Usually, it was voice messages or texts with the time difference, but some times she would stay up late so they could video chat, he would let the small smile grace his features when she would rub her eyes cutely and yawn. The way he would tell her to go to bed cause she is tired and she would pout innocently saying that she wasn't worn out. She would ask about his day listening as she slowly doses off, he didn't take it as an insult he just knew she was exhausted. He would sit there smiling at her sleeping face, looking like an innocent child, where she still had her phone in a light grip facing her.

"Good night, my Juliette sleep well. I love you."

"I... l-love you too my Romeo" would often be mumbled back, in her half-dazed state. With Akaashi's love of literature, Y/n just slipped it out once called him her Romeo and ever since it stuck.

Running his finger around the rim of his glass he sighed, it had been a few days since he had heard from her, he knew she was busy he had seen on her Twitter and Instagram that they added more tour dates in America as they stadiums had sold out. It had been eight months since the pair were actually in person together. 

"AKAASHI!" He flinched at Bokuto's sudden loudness as said boy appeared next to him. "Why so, mopey? Oh, you're missing Y/n aren't you!" 

"Hey my Romeo, I'm sorry I haven't called or texted you in a while, the tour has gotten so hectic recently we are doing two shows a day, so most of my fans can come, and watch and my manager wants to add even more dates." He smiled, enjoying the sound of her voice even if it is over voicemail, and she sounded exhausted. He had woken up for work and seen that he had missed a call from her at three am. "I know you're going to ask when I am going to be home, but I don't know at the moment, but soon I hope I'm going to tell my manager that I need a break. I hope to be home for Christmas." 

Rolling his eyes, he shrugged and gave a slight nod to Bokuto's question.

Bokuto suddenly felt terrible for Akaashi. He didn't know how he felt. He didn't have a love like Akaashi. His passion is for Volleyball is his true love right now.  He remembered the day he introduced Akaashi and Y/n. She was at an after-party of a game that the Black Jackals won and Bokuto dragged Akaashi along. It was like the couple connected instantly and they soon got together. Bokuto would often turn up at Akaashi's find them sprawled out on the sofa, Y/n with her head in his lap, his fingers running through he hair as he read a book to her. Bokuto had gotten many pictures of them like this. He loved how relaxed Akaashi was around her, a way he hadn't seen with anyone else. 

He knew that she was going to say that. 

"Anyway I miss you my Romeo, I cannot wait to be home and in your arms again. I want to be in our little bubble of love and cuddles, of you reading to me while you play with my hair. I want to be in the studio with you listening to me sing my new songs and telling me which words would work better with the lyrics I have written." He laughed he did often sit in the studio with her after he finishes work, reading over her new lyrics and crossing out the odd word and putting one that worked better with the theme of the song. He loved watching her pick at the strings of her acoustic guitar playing a few cords and seeing if they worked when she ran her fingers over the keys of the piano. He loved that she could play different instruments.

"I love you so much, Romeo. I hope you sleep well. See you as soon as I can. Bye-bye, my sweet Romeo."

About three weeks later he was sat at his desk eating his lunch, watch the recent interview Y/n had with OK! Magazine. 

'So Y/n, when the tour is over what is the first thing you're going to do?' Chloe, the interviewer, asked 

'I think it will be sleep we've had some busy months recently, most days doing two shows to it is hard work.' He laughed along with his beloved. 

'We've been keeping up to date on your social media, who is this Romeo you keep mentioning, we often see and I quote, I miss you my sweet Romeo, or I love you, Romeo.' He would always reply, but his account was private so no one unless they followed him and accepted it. 

'My Romeo is waiting for me at home; I promised him I wouldn't mention him until he is ready for the spotlight as he isn't an actor or musician. But he is my Romeo, and I am very excited to get home and be with him again.'  He was so glad that she didn't spill the beans about their relationship. He already had enough of the spotlight with being friends with most of the Black Jackals team, he already has his pictures in magazines when the team goes out, and he gets dragged along with Kuroo by Bukoto and Hinata. 

'Can you tell us one thing about him?' Chloe pushed for more details about him. He loved how Y/n's nose would scrunch up, and her left eyebrow would shoot up as he tapped her chin in thought. 

'He was a volleyball setter in high school.' She smiled. Akaashi smirked at the fact she gave, there were many setters across the world, and narrowing down to him would be hard. 'And he is my bookworm,'

'A setter and bookworm, those don't often go together!' Chloe laughed, with Y/n soon joining her. 

'I know, and I have Shoyo Hinata and Kotaro Bokuto. But honestly, if it wasn't for him I'm sure some of my songs wouldn't make sense, a lot of my lyrics in my book have his scribbles in changing the odd word here and there, I would often wake up finding him hovering over my lyrics book a mug of coffee in hand proofreading them for me.' 

He couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips at the dig at Bokuto and Hinata's dislike for books.

'He sound's like a gem! But back to the fact you've met the Black Jackals numbers twenty-one and thirteen. What are they like?" 

"I've met them all I know all the Black Jackals, all their school friends too, I met them all after a match against the Cheehle Ekaterinburg, an old friend Morisuke Yaku I knew from my middle school days invited me along, and that was where I met them. Those two boys even though they were bouncing around the court like anything they still had so much energy, I was shocked that anyone could keep up with them, it was like they were children who had just walked out of an all you can eat sweetshop.'

This caused Chloe to giggle. He liked the way Y/n slyly slipped in how they met.

'this Romeo of yours you didn't happen to meet him through your old middle school friend, did you? At this party' Akaashi's eyes widen as the interviewer hit the nail on the head, he was impressed at how Y/n kept her facial expression in check, just the usual smile she used for interviews, 

Saturday 5th of December 2015 was the day that Y/n finally returned home. She didn't tell Akaashi she was on her, she knew from Bokuto that they would be at his favourite restaurant that serves his favourite food, Nanohana no Karashiae, in a private room at the back. She drove her car into the car park of the restaurant, taking a deep breath she pulled on her cap and her dark sunglasses as she got out and walked into the restaurant, telling the waiter that she was here for the Bokuto party he nodded and showed her to the door. 

'Ah, well it was through mutual friends that we met.' He loved how she deflected the question, not letting them on that it was at the party they met.

He leaned his phone against the pen pot on his desk, leaving the video to play, while he got on with his work, the questions had now turned to make-up and what shampoo she was using. 

"Thanks, I'll be fine from here." She knew from the photo that Bokuto had put up on Twitter that Akaashi had his back to the door, purposely done for this exact reason. Pulling off the hat and glasses, she quietly opened the door slipping in and once again quietly shutting it. The room slowly went quiet as eyes suddenly locked on to her figure. Akaashi frowned at his friends, why did everyone stop talking all of a sudden and why Bokuto and Kuroo had whipped out their phones, pointing it at him, till he started to follow their line of sight.

"Happy birthday Romeo." She giggled as he slowly placed her back on the floor, their foreheads resting against one another.

"I'm home, my Romeo." His eyes instantly locked with hers the second he heard her voice, as the smiles so wide crossed their faces as he flew out of his seat wrapping her up in his arms, tightly as if he loosen his grip she would disappear again, he spun her around. He was ecstatic she was home.

Nine months, eleven days, sixteen hours and thirty-eight minutes since the last time he held her in his arms. Since he lasted kissed her. Since he last looked into her beautiful deep e/c eyes.

"You are the best birthday present I could ever ask for." He said as he entwined his fingers into her hair, pulling her into a deep kiss that was long overdue.

©️ All content  belongs to lilmissbeanie, do not copy, edit, repost or translate. 

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[roswelldetails]

RNM 2x07 - Como La Flor

Apologies for being so late this week!! Lots of translating to do, and research. Mucho gracias to @queenrikki for reviewing this one for me!

EPISODE SUMMARY:

OLD WOUNDS — Liz (Jeanine Mason) is forced to revisit a painful part of her past when her mother Helena (guest star Bertila Damas) shows up at the diner unexpectedly. Michael (Michael Vlamis) urges Maria (Heather Hemmens) to seek help after she experiences a strange vision, and Kyle’s (Michael Trevino) attempt to get Steph (guest star Justina Adorno) to open up doesn’t go as planned. Finally, Helena’s arrival in Roswell sends Rosa spiraling. Nathan Dean and Lily Cowles also star. Barbara Brown directed the episode written by Danny Tolli & Carolina Rivera (#207). Original airdate 4/27/2020. 

DETAILS:

Max and Isobel both describing to Rosa how it feels to use (and control) your powers.

Isobel:

"Ground your intention.  Feel the current running through your body, your hands guiding it with purpose."

Max:

"Okay, draw energy from your spine…"

Arturo on Rosa:

"I heard a little mouse crying in her room this morning."

Escamoles - like Liz says in the episode, they're ant larvae. One article I found called them "the Caviar of the Mexican desert". 

Helena calls Liz "mi corazón", which means "my heart".

"Arturito, te ves bien."

Arturo, you look good.

Adding "ito" to someone's name in Spanish can both be positive or negative.  It can refer to smallness or also tenderness (like an affectionate pet name).

@tasyfa pointed out that there was a little timeline error in this scene.  Arturo says that he hasn't seen Helena in 7 years, since Jim Valenti's funeral, but last season it was established in 1x12 that Valenti died in 2014.  Also, remember the show is a year behind reality right now, so it's still 2019. So off by 2 years.

The reason for Helena's visit - transferring her ownership of the Crashdown for Liz so that Liz can sponsor Arturo's residency for citizenship. I did a lot of research trying to understand and clarify why this is.  Thanks to those who weighed in when I was struggling to find a clear answer. Eventually I reached out to Define American, the non-profit org that provides support to the show on racial and immigration related issues.  Here's the response:

The short version is that Liz has to meet minimum income requirements in order to sponsor Arturo, because she has to be able to certify that she can financially support him.  Since she's currently unemployed except for the Crashdown, transferring half of the ownership to her makes her a business partner and helps her to meet the income requirements. 

The Spanish:

"¿Cuánto quieres, Mamá?" 

How much do you want, Mama?

"She has a very thoughtful manicure."

If you don't understand, it's cool. I'm not going to explain here.  Feel free to DM me though! I won't judge, promise!!

Narrative thread about Max's nightmare/memory continues from 2x03 and 2x06.  Don't forget that 2x03 was just Isobel remembering it. Max was a hallucination. So when he brings it up here, it might be something they haven't discussed in a very long time.

The Spanish from Rosa on her red jacket:

"Eres una mujercita."

Basically translates to you're a little woman or young woman.  I assume the "cita" is supposed to be diminutive here.

"Mom is an opportunist.  If she found out she had a kid who came back from the dead she would use you to get to Anderson Cooper. And then she'd use him to promote her latest lounge singer gig."

"Isobel pays double.  Becky tax." 

A Becky, according to common colloquial use, is an annoying white woman, usually entitled and privileged.

Lead bartender quit..meaning there's a job opening at the Pony…hmm. Wonder if any of our characters need a job... 🤔

Maria's vision:

Michael drops the change

Flash to Kyle dropping his keys & bending down to pick them up.

Kyle staring into a bright light.

Maria shouting his name.

"My heart was broken.  Liz ended things and a part of me died."

Max's story to Valenti… not all THAT far off from the truth.

Note: has anyone told him about Valenti investigating him? We know Liz and Isobel were questioned.  Michael was present when Liz was questioned. Kyle knows the whole theory his mom was pursuing. And he just wanders in there like nothing happened?

"Try leading several short staffed investigations with the mayor breathing down your neck."

Another subtle reference to the mayor, including the election banners hung around town in S2 and his "anti-immigrant agenda" which was referenced in S1.

Max has been with the department since he was 18 - this is the first time we learned that.  In 2x05 we learned he was there at 21. So that timeline has now been further clarified. Which also means he was hired during Jim Valenti's time as Sheriff.

"I need eyes on you at all times now."

Definitely implies a lack of trust, or possibly still wanting to keep an eye on him for the purpose of her investigation (not a fact, just a theory).

Steph tells Kyle that she's always hanging around the hospital because she's doing admin work for her dad.

"I'm starting to feel like you're a ghost who only I can see."

"Ask them if they can see me. Or if you were just talking to a ghost." 

Note that ghosts have been a running theme this season with Rosa returning from the dead. This seems to be in line with that. Or are they subtly tying Steph to Rosa (I'm grasping at straws here, probably).

Liz leaves the safe on 3...but before she changes it is on 81. Helena leaves it on 78 after stealing the ring. Good continuity, RNM!

The whole "my mom hates cops" theme is a little confusing to me.  I mean, it makes sense given what we know about Helena. Except that she had an affair with Jim Valenti, who was… a cop. And also an addict.  Maybe it was different because they rehabbed together (just an assumption, not a fact). Or maybe the Jim experience contributed to her dislike of cops.

Liz...might be grasping at straws when she refers to police work as "something you love" to Max.  He didn't exactly seem enamoured by the job when we first met him in Season 1.

First time we learn Max and Isobel's father's name. And it is… Dave. 🤔

The Spanish Helena uses when she meets Max:

"Pero que guapo estas."

But how handsome you are.

"Cuidado Arturito."

Careful, Arturo…

Helena found Liz and Diego's wedding registry online. 

“Look there are medical reasons for non-drug-induced hallucinations - epilepsy, schizophrenia…”

“My mom has a degenerative brain disease. My grandma did too. I've always known I'd be next.”

Helena wanted to be Selena.

Which fits with Liz's lounge singer comment earlier.

And the "drunkenly singing in the car with your daughters in the backseat" fits with the story Liz and Rosa discussed in 2x02 about the car accident they got into as kids with Helena driving drunk.

Helena shows Liz her ten years sober chip, suggesting that she's been sober since Rosa died, but Rosa finds pills in Helena's car later in the episode.  Oxycodone. The same drug that Rosa used to steal from her mom as a kid (which we learned about in 2x04) and the same drug that she and Kyle discussed when he was checking her health in 2x01.

During Helena's toast to Rosa:

Preciosa = precious

Rosa Linda… still not sure personally if this is a continuity error or a pet name.  I’m inclined to go with a pet name. Throughout the whole episode Helena uses lots of pet names, nicknames, diminutives to address people. Rosa Linda may be just another version of this since Rosa's middle name was pretty well established as Helena in Season 1 between her grave, memorial pamphlet, etc.

Kyle calls attention to Steph's bandage on her arm.  She says she gave blood, but it feels like she's evading.

Also she calls him McDreamy, which is a Grey's Anatomy reference. Kyle called himself McSexy (another Grey's nickname) in 1x08 as well.

Note: I've seen some people talk about the speech about his sick friend as being about Maria, but I think he's really talking about Steph.  Or both, vaguely. He's certainly trying to get Steph to open up to him. Here's what he says:

"I just found out a friend of mine is sick. And I can't do anything to help her. And I hate feeling helpless."

Only after Steph puts her walls back up, does he gesture to Mimi's files.

The Spanish:

"Oh, ándale, gùero."

Ándale is like, go! Or let's go! Gùero we discussed earlier...basically white boy.

Por favor - please 

Rosa's art that we first saw in 2x05 now looks finished:

Isobel's graffiti "In Pod We Trust"

Both Isobel and Rosa's graffiti:

Isobel's assessment of Rosa's art

"That's a black hole. An unstoppable force of destruction. And it's getting closer. I see a girl looking into her own doom. She thinks it's inevitable, that she can't stop it, but she can. See, she created it. That means she can destroy it."

Rosa on Isobel's efforts to help her:

"You and Max, you keep talking about harnessing emotion and grounding myself, right? But I can't do that.  It is in my DNA to be screwed up. Literally. My mom's mentally ill. So, so am I. I was broken long before Noah did what he did. That's why he chose me to prey on.  That's probably why he chose you too."

Maria on her grandmother:

"When I was a child my Grandma Patty was the only adult who understood my make-believe world. Thing is, I was six.  So my favorite things about her were just illness, I guess…"

Maria on her mom:

"She was always kind of out there.  By the time I realized it was more than that, I just became obsessed with money. Wanted to be able to take care of her. I invested everything Grandma Patty left me, and I worked, scrounged.  It was about three days after my mom was finally fired from her job at the Pony, I bought the place."

Maria's blood does not contain the alien protein that Kyle found in the Pod Squad and Rosa after being in the Pod for a decade. (and yes, he actually said Pod Squad, which feels like an OG fandom victory)

"Look, there is one thing I noticed in your grandmother's file. Her insurance company is the same one that paid for my dad's cancer treatments...My dad got cancer because of an alien incident at Caulfield Prison. A fake insurance company established by Project Shepherd covered his bills."

"Okay so my grandmother got sick at the same alien prison where your mother died?"

More Spanish (there's lots of it this week).

Helena, when she gestures to the present:

"Abre tu regalo."

Open your gift.

Quinces is just slang for Quinceanera.

Just in case you're not familiar with quinceaneras (Liz's was also referenced in 1x02).

"Mija, me enseñas tus prom photos?"

Daughter, show me your prom photos.

Regarding the power outage.  Liz thought it was Max. Max thought it was Rosa. But the wire is frayed, like it was cut or chewed through. So it wasn't alien power related.  When Arturo finds the wire though, he says, "Must have been a little mouse." Which is how he referred to Rosa earlier in the episode. So the question is, does he actually think it was a mouse? Or does he think Rosa cut the wire? And if Rosa did cut the wire, then why? To distract them while she goes after her mom's car?

In the big Liz/Helena argument, Helena calls Max “a güerito cop”.  Güero means white person, similar to the more commonly used gringo.  But by adding the “ito” onto the end (like discussed before), Helena is basically diminuitizing Max.  She’s using the “smallness” above to basically imply that he’s some white nobody.

“I may not be the PTA mom who made cookies for bake sales or hosted sleepovers, but I sacrificed everything to come to this country to give you a better life.”

This is...not actually true.  Liz and Rosa are both natural born U.S. citizens, born in Roswell.  So she didn’t “come to this country” for that reason. She was already here when Liz and Rosa came into the picture.  And it’s not like she came pregnant with Rosa or anything, since Rosa is Jim Valenti’s daughter.

The ring that Helena took was ARTURO'S mother's ring.  It wasn't even Helena's family's heirloom.   

Liz and Arturo sharing flan for dessert.  At the start of the episode before Helena arrived they discussed making flan for Rosa.

Arturo admits that he always knew the truth about Rosa's heritage. (*fistpump* that's one of my headcanons coming true). 

"Rosa es mi hija, siempre y para toda la vida."

Rosa is my daughter, always and for life.

"Maybe you're right. I am playing the hero. Just like you're playing the politician's perfect arm candy.  See, I did a little digging. And your boyfriend, Dirk-- he ran for city council. It's very impressive. But there's no mention of your daughters. I'm guessing Dirk doesn't even know about Liz or Rosa.  Does he know anything about you, Helena? 'Cause it would be such a shame if he found out about a little town called Roswell."

Helena gives Max the ring, but keeps the box… maybe that's what Helena really wanted?

Huevos = eggs.  Basically, slang for balls.

"I know that face.  You uncovered a massive conspiracy."

"I checked the Caulfield drives. No sign of a Patricia DeLuca, but there was a Patricia Harris. Her maiden name. She signed up to participate in an experimental trial. Government was interested in weaponizing alien abilities. They wanted to create super soldiers. Your grandma was one of the first human subjects."

"Kind of wish I was an alien instead."

"What happened to the experiment?"

"It was a total failure. Caulfield shut it down in the '70s after people started dying. I don't understand how your grandmother got involved."

"I do. Henrietta Lacks, Tuskegee, Holmesburg.  The DeLucas aren't the first black people to be secretly experimented on."

Highly encourage you to read these if you're unfamiliar with any of these references.  It's African-American history (and really a black mark on U.S. history) that's rarely taught in schools.

Henrietta Lacks:

Tuskegee:

Holmesburg:

Reality versus Maria's flashes… great gifset by @rosaortecho on this here:

Kyle rips his jacket, staggers out to the parking lot, drops his keys, and is almost hit by a car, but Michael throws him out of the way with his powers (and Kyle still ends up injured because he lands on a glass bottle).

"Now that we know your illness is related to Caulfield we can find a cure for it."

"Maybe it's not an illness. I saw the future today, Guerin. When I first found out Grandma Patty was experimented on, I was furious.  But what if my genetic inheritance isn't just injustice? It's also actual superpowers. Saved a life today. And not just any life-- Kyle Valenti's. Tomorrow he's gonna turn around and save five more lives."

Liz and Rosa's dueling big sister act is super fascinating.  Rosa admits that she wasn't going to burn the car, and then she saw Liz crying, felt helpless, and that's when her powers went all wacky and caused it to explode.

Meanwhile, Liz has spent the whole episode trying to keep Rosa safe from Helena, and is trying to comfort her here by talking about Helena's sobriety.

But--Rosa stole Helena's pills, so she knows Helena is not sober, and she doesn't tell Liz that.  Why? To protect her.

At some point these two should probably stop keeping secrets to protect each other and start actually sharing what they know.

Kyle stitches himself up.

Steph quoted in this scene:

"I was up in the gallery contemplating American downfall thanks to progressive socialism."

"People tend to bail when things get real. I'm not into that."

Cameron's car was impounded a couple hours away.

Max is turning in his badge and gun and is turning down desk duty to search for Cam.

Isobel and Michael's discussion at the Pony:

"Do you think that Noah chose me because I was already broken?"

"I think you are the only one of us who ever keeps it together."

"I'm serious, Michael. The night that drifter attacked me, why am I the only one who started blacking out? I mean, Max literally murdered a man, but I'm the one who breaks?"

"You were traumatized. We were kids. At that age, trauma gets etched on to your soul."

"But what if it's not in my soul? What if it's in my DNA? Look, my whole life, I've played Stepford wife, because I thought that's what I was supposed to do. But...I need to understand myself now. I need to know where I'm from.  And if I don't know who my biological parents are, how am I ever gonna know who I really am?" 

"What are you saying, Iz?"

"I know that we said we shouldn't look into the past, but…"

"It keeps pulling you back. Me too. I spent my whole life thinking I'd build a ship and blast off into the ether. And then the minute I decide to leave that all behind and focus on this good thing in front of me, I'm sucked back in. Maria's family was experimented on at Caulfield. I need to find out more so I can find a cure for her illness."

Rosa takes one of her mom's pills. 😭

MUSIC:

1. Cactus Groove "This World"

2. Shelly Fairchild "Drive"

3. Mathis Hunter "Mrs. Vinegar"

4. Big Stone City "Good For Zero"

5. Big Stone City "Way Down Below"

6. Selena "Bidi Bidi Bom Bom"

7. Elizabeth Moen "Best I Can Do"

8. Wagons "Keep Coming Back"

9. AG "Where Is My Mind" (Pixies Cover)

#roswell new mexico #details #rnm season 2 #episode details #long post #rnm 207 #como la flor

[lovelesswiki]

i've really respected your creative and analytical work with loveless for years (i actually remember reading your house crossover fanfic in like 2011 maybe?) so i've always wanted to know your general take on soubi's character? if you have time and haven't already written about it before, id love to see a general character analysis!

first of all, thank you so much! it’s fantastic to know that you like my analytical work and that i have partially redeemed myself from those weird fanfics i used to write. you know how we all look back on our past fanfics and other creative work and laugh at ourselves? well that’s what it’s like with me except i wrote about a crossover between an american medical drama and a gay catboy manga and i can’t look back on it without crying in shame. 

BUT I DIGRESS. thank you for sticking with me!

NOW. youve asked me about my favorite topic (i’d make a ‘my favorite topic: myself! agatsuma soubi’ joke here but i think i already made that joke in this post and also on deviantart and probably in a couple other places) but holy shit do i love talking about soubi. hes kinda my favorite character analytically. SO, LET’S TALK ABOUT SOUBI (and i apologize if this jumps from one topic to the next bc i have many thoughts on this tall child)

soubi is a very peculiar character because more than any other character in the series, he changes. beginning-series soubi is this incredibly creepy, weird, myseterious guy who constantly says the worst and most creepiest things possible and seems to prey on children and constantly asks about killing children and frustrates the reader to no end with his whole insistence that he can’t say shit about anything. see, the thing is that you’re not supposed to like beginning-series soubi. he’s a fucking predatory asshole who is creepy and weird to no end. however, people fell in love with him because this manga was marketed as a yaoi/BL manga, which made soubi fall into the bishie trope where it is completely acceptable for the ‘dominant’ character to act in a way that is very creepy towards the other characters.

so, this really, really divided people’s opinions on soubi’s character. some people hated soubi or strongly disliked him, which was close to the correct response you’re supposed to have to soubi in the first few volumes. others fell in love with him and the bishie trope and either fell off the series or were confused when soubi’s real characterization came to be. regardless, though, i strongly dislike beginning series soubi, but now that we have an understanding of his character, i know why he acted the way he did.

let me put this into perspective. agatsuma soubi was raised in a violent society. for twelve years he was completely isolated in a small town in the mountains in a school where he was taught how to violently battle other teams. this is literally all he knows. soubi himself says that he does not remember his parents well and he was six when his parents died. developmentally, six is a huge age because it’s when a child actually begins forming long-lasting long-term memories. not a lot of people remember much before they were six years old. i like to believe that this age was chosen for soubi to lose his parents because of this, but with yun i can never be sure. just let me try to believe that this was done on purpose pls. 

so soubi does not remember not being in this world. this is all he knows. on top of all this, there’s ritsu. ill get to ritsu more in a bit because i fucking love talking about the horrible dynamic between these two (and i mean that in the best way possible), but ritsu completely destroyed soubi. he took a child and destroyed him so thoroughly that soubi has no fucking idea how to function without him. ritsu filled soubi’s head with the idea that soubi would lead a subservient life where he’d be nothing more than a tool. he beat soubi constantly and used him as a way to get back at akio. even then, soubi was nothing more than a replacement for something missing. and this was how soubi came to identify. as nothing. as a fighter. as someone who would never lead and who would never have any sort of power, as someone who would lead a life of pain and fear of failing. and soubi accepted this, because he was a child and knew nothing else.

on top of this, there’s soubi’s idea of love. i have no doubt that soubi wanted to believe that ritsu loved him, and the only proof of this he could come up with was physical affection that was given to him, affection that went way too far until it resulted in soubi’s rape. however, soubi doesn’t seem to think of this as ‘wrong’ because of the simple fact that he was never exposed to anything else. you can probably guess where im going with this by now.

now we have beginning series soubi. by the time we first meet him (and we don’t learn this until later), soubi has become incredibly depressed and doesn’t seem to see the point in living anymore. other units are telling him to his face that he should’ve already killed himself, and the thing is–soubi doesn’t actually seem to disagree with this. his entire argument is that he has an order to carry out, but he seems to have wanted to go with seimei. soubi is depressed and on top of this, he no longer has seimei. by this point, soubi is twenty years old and for his entire life, he has never not had someone telling him what to do. for twelve years, he was isolated in the mountains and for the past three, soubi has lived in the real world, but under seimei’s rule, where he was still heavily isolated and controlled. and in the few times he doesn’t have seimei, such as at his university, he fails miserably at interacting in a real, meaningful way with his peers and environment. to put it simple, agatsuma soubi has no fucking idea how to function in life.

we have a guy who’s never functioned without someone heavily controlling him like a puppet and who has been extremely isolated his entire life, someone who is so fucking depressed that according to kio, he hardly functioned for months after seimei’s death, and someone who’s only reason that he didn’t commit suicide was because he had an order from a dead guy to carry out. and that order was to love a twelve year-old boy. 

what’s more is that, as i explained above, soubi has an extremely warped idea of love. he does not associate it with a feeling. he associates it with physical actions. so when seimei tells soubi to go become ritsuka’s fighter and to love him, soubi’s idea of this ‘love him’ thing is a lot different from a normal person’s. soubi still seems to hold onto this idea of physical affection=love even in the later volumes, but he’s definitely less insistent with the inappropriate touching and actions than he was before. 

but this doesn’t fully explain his annoying behavior in the first few volumes. he was irritating, constantly speaking in riddles and withholding information and teasing and just generally being terrible. and i think one point of information is very important in examining this behavior–that soubi got worse after ritsuka repeatedly told him that he wouldn’t punish him.

basically, soubi’s behavior is like a toddler acting out when they’re told they can’t have something. except, it’s a little different. it’s not that soubi wanted it, persay, it’s that punishment is all he knows and that it’s a main mean of controlling him. this is when, i think, it dawned on soubi that ritsuka and seimei are different people. even from the first fucking chapter, soubi looks more than a little confused when ritsuka grabs his hand and asks him to take pictures with him. to him, this is absolutely not the way people (his masters) are supposed to act around him. the look on soubi’s face when ritsuka starts talking to him so casually is actually kind of hilarious.

‘this is absolutely not what i rehearsed’ 

to put it simply, the first few volumes of loveless are actually soubi falling apart and trying to figure out what the hell to do. he’s in an entirely new situation with himself–he’s making decisions for the first time in his life. he’s suddenly faced with the realization that he’s a goddamn adult and an adult in the relationship he’s trying to peruse. he’s older than the kid he’s fighting for and this kid is an actual kid. he’s not like seimei. i’d say that the first three volumes of loveless are soubi trying to make ritsuka into seimei or force him to act like him, because in his mind, there must be some seimei in there somewhere. 

the turning point, i’d say, for soubi, is somewhere in volume 3. i usually tell people that loveless doesn’t get good until volume 4 or 5, but soubi’s turning point where he realizes that ritsuka is ritsuka is actually somewhere in volume 3. i’d actually wager to say that it might be this scene:

for anyone who doesn’t remember a whole lot of volume 3, there’s a lot of remembering of seimei on both soubi and ritsuka’s parts. this is the volume where we get soubi fully remembering the day seimei told him to go to ritsuka if and when he died. soubi seems to spend a lot of this volume thinking about his past, since it’s also the first appearance of the zeroes and thus, the first appearance of soubi’s past with ritsu, which he also flashes back to in the beginning of the volume. this particular scene with the panel that i posted above is after ritsuka finally deciphers the message he’s been given and enters the wisdom resurrection game. when he does, soubi sort of freaks out and goes over to ritsuka’s house to find him asleep on the desk. the panel above is his immediate reaction and one of the first times we actually get to see soubi’s thoughts. 

when i was young, i like many others interpreted this scene as sexual, but looking at it now, it gives off a completely different feeling of soubi finally coming to the realization that ritsuka is an innocent child and cannot be and will never be seimei. and for a while, it does seem to bother soubi a little, to the point that he actually allows himself to be defeated by the zero girls soon after this scene. after this scene, there’s not a whole lot of creepiness on soubi’s part, though it does take a bit of time to taper off. 

then we get volume 5 soubi, which is where soubi becomes likable. this is where you are intended, writing-wise, to begin actually liking him. prior to this, he’s creepy, but during volume five and onwards, he becomes… human. and this is because this is when soubi actually begins to develop an identity. he starts showing a personality. he becomes an actual person because at this point, soubi has begun to accept that ritsuka isn’t and will never be seimei and he begins to think that maybe–he might be free of seimei. and maybe with ritsuka, even though things are still confusing and weird, it might be okay to develop some sense of a personality. things take their natural course, and soubi does, and he becomes likable to the reader not just because we’re finding out more about him and we’re getting into his head, thoughts, and motivations, but because this version of soubi is actually written as very likable because he’s developing a personality and is not being a meaningless creep anymore whose only personality is being a creep. this is the part of the story that soubi moves into a primary protagonist spot, whereas earlier, he was working against ritsuka, who was our primary protagonist. it’s here that you, as a reader, start to want things for soubi, and it’s because he becomes a ‘good guy’ protagonist.

god, there’s so much i want to talk about in this post. let me move on a little to soubi’s past, which i talked about a bit earlier. i think i may have said this in another post, but i think the primary reason that soubi doesn’t talk about his past with ritsuka isn’t because he was told not to by seimei, because we never actually see seimei telling soubi not to say those things. soubi’s only stipulation from seimei is not to talk about septimal moon or explain anything pertaining to them. however, ritsuka does find out about septimal moon and essentially, the cat is out of the bag after that and ritsuka makes the discovery of ritsu, and actually meets him in soubi’s presence during the WR game. i like this scene a lot because soubi instantly becomes extremely cold and goes against ritsuka’s orders by typing a fucking passive aggressive insult to ritsu by masquerading as ritsuka and that is very funny to me because it’s the most stupidly nefarious thing that we see soubi do in the manga at his own volition. the best part is that soubi was fully willing to keep going if he didn’t get his fucking yelled at when ritsuka immediately found out. 

anyways, soubi completely shuts up or changes the subject at pretty much any time ritsuka or someone else brings up his past with seimei or god forbid even the subject of ritsu. during the scene i talked about in the previous paragraph, soubi goes quiet and stiff when ritsu shows up, natsuo notices and is like “oh, your arm [hand] must still be hurting, so you can’t type, that’s why” and soubi’s fine to just let him think that and doesn’t correct him or anything

he constantly changes the subject when his past comes up and goes so far as to lie to ritsuka about how he lost his ears in an extra (special edition 3, i believe, there’s a link to it on the loveless drive i made). soubi hates talking about his past to the point where i am really getting the feeling that he isn’t doing it for ritsuka’s sake. let me start with this–seimei was weird. seimei knew everything without soubi even telling him. i have no doubt at all that seimei used his past with ritsu against soubi, even to passively taunt him. when soubi got to ritsuka and realized that he didn’t know anything about soubi’s past, it must have been… pretty freeing. because if a person doesn’t know, then they can’t judge you or use it against you, and soubi more likely than not thinks that it’s more painful to talk about it than it is to keep it bottled up, which is completely untrue. soubi doesn’t talk about it in an effort to protect himself from emotional pain.

and that’s the thing–soubi’s character is partially built around the concept of pain. soubi is shown to have a huge tolerance for pain, to the point where it’s just a part of his daily life. this is physical pain, though. i wholly believe that soubi’s entire character can be viewed as an argument to that ‘sticks and stones can hurt my bones, but words will never hurt me’ rhyme, because soubi absolutely cannot take emotional pain at all, and he’s put through an enormous amount of it over and over again. the physical pain was a way for him to shut out emotions, and the ownership over him was a way for him to not have to make decisions about anything, including what to feel. but now that he’s lost both of those, there’s only the emotional pain, and a lot of it. 

anyways, i’m gonna stop there for now and save some analysis for other posts i want to do, but let me know if theres anything in specific you want to know my thoughts or further thoughts on!

#jacknoir #loveless #Agatsuma Soubi #ritsuka aoyagi #aoyagi seimei #minami ritsu #theory #analysis #ask #my content

[awed-frog]

Hi! I've just gotten back into the fandom after a few years break. I've watched SPN since it aired in 2005, but I've left four times, each time for at least a year, because I keep feeling like we're being queerbaited w/Destiel and it really upsets me. In short, I feel like investing so much time, and so many emotions, into this pairing is a waste of time because it will only leave me disappointed in the end. So my question for you is, what keeps you positive enough about this pairing to stay?

Hey, sorry for getting back to you so late. I wrote and erased several answers to this, because, I don’t know, on some days I was trying to be clever and go all meta-stuff but it always sounded pretentious and stupid, and then on other days I felt dramatic and angry and got all upset and it would generally read as too much or not nearly enough, so. And today I really think I left this unanswered for way too long and that if you asked me, then you wanted my opinion on the matter and this is what I should be trying to do - just to say what i think, without too many frills.

So, first of all - I’m a weird person, and sometimes I get too worked up about stuff, and I obsess a lot, and thank God I’ve got people in my life who keep me grounded and remind me about what really matters. And the truth is, Supernatural doesn’t. It’s a good show, and we all love it, and sure, like all popular works of fiction it probably changed someone’s mind and had an impact on someone’s life, but at the end of the day, you come first. As I said, I had periods in my life where I was putting too much energy on the wrong things, and a TV show is definitely the wrong thing, especially if it leaves you frustrated and upset and angry. I say this with a lot of respect, because I know we all love Supernatural and everything, but let’s be honest - it’s a TV show. It’s not real. If it makes you cry for the wrong reasons, get away from it and good riddance. What truly matters in this life is to find a way to love yourself and to be there for other people - to be kind, and to be strong, and to maybe make our world a little better. So if a story helps you do that, embrace it; and if it doesn’t, let it go. It’s just a story.

For me, personally, I had a very emotional time with Destiel (you can read about it here), because I felt cheated and let down and pretty much what you describe - I knew I’d invested so much of myself in the show, and that they’d let me down for stupid reasons. And it was really bleak for a while, so I get where you’re coming from. Back in S9, I spent many days feeling listless and depressed, and quite a few nights ranting and raging and even crying about it, and when I snapped out of it I realized that sure, they were being cunts and cheaters but there was something wrong with me, as well - because, as I just told you, it’s just a show, and it shouldn’t have dominated my feelings in such a way. So I tried to be objective and rational and I thought about it and I realized it was a bunch of things - I was stressed in school, and my grandparents were sick - all I’d wanted was to take a big step back from reality and as a result I’d fallen too deep into the show and that’s why when it let me down, it really felt like a physical blow. And since not getting lost in fiction, my own or other people’s, is not an option for me, I’m learning to deal with real life stuff better so I can tell apart what really matters from what doesn’t. I know I’ve made some progress there because I was really invested in Sherlock and Johnlock, and yet after the series finale I was - normal. I was upset and angry, of course, because it sucked balls, but it didn’t ruin my whole week or anything. My general mood was more a sort of, It’s not real and I can’t change it, so fuck them. 

(I think this is what happens with everything, by the way - most sport fans get so invested in their teams because it’s a sort of victory by proxy and it compensates for those things that are wrong in their lives. So, really - I don’t know you, and I don’t want to tell anyone how they should live their lives, but if this kind of ‘external’ things such as TV shows and movies make you so unhappy, my advice is to get to know yourself and understand why you feel that way. If there is something in your own life you’re not dealing with, the best thing is really to try and be brave and go at it head-on, because life is unfair and bad feelings and bad situations - that’s not something that goes away on its own. And it’s your life - you deserve to live it fully.)

So now - now there are shows I watch because I think they’re objectively outstanding, like Westworld, and there are shows I watch as a guilty pleasure and I’m mostly rolling my eyes at the screen but who knows, maybe it’s healthy to cry once a week so whatever (yeah, I’m a Grey’s Anatomy aficionado), and then there’s Supernatural, which is neither. I guess the reason I keep watching is because most of it is well-written, even if I dislike the fact they clearly have no idea as to where they’re going and what the whole thing even means, and I keep watching because I love the characters, and I keep watching because I met a lot of nice people in the fandom and writing about the show is helping me to get better as a writer (I think). The truth is, I’m an unusual Destiel shipper (if there’s such thing as a regular Destiel shipper, that is), because I’m not that interested in romance and even representation - well, it’s very important and stories should be more inclusive, but a good story can work even without being PC, in my opinion (take Reservoir Dogs, for instance). So what I resent the most in this situation is that they got me to care - they clearly wrote the story one way - and then they made me feel like there was something wrong with me for seeing what I was seeing. This is textbook abusive behaviour, and the fact it was targeted directly at the gay community (because, on the whole, they’re more likely to pick up on subtextual clues about sexuality) made it even more horrifying and wrong. 

That said, I don’t think there was a malicious intent there. I’m sure they knew what they were doing, because that’s their job, after all, but they all seem to be pretty decent people, so it’s not clear if they did not realize how significant a love story between Dean and Cas would be, or how attentive their own fandom was - I simply don’t know. Maybe they were going for some old-fashioned ‘alas, that it shall never be’ nonsense - back in the day, it happened very often that you were left with the feeling of things unsaid and you never knew if you were right or not, and also you mostly forgot about it because real-time fangirling over stuff wasn’t a thing. In a way, that’s also what happened with Sherlock, which became a worldwide phenomenon because of the fandom, something Moffat and Gatiss acknowledged without never realizing, apparently, the full implications of.

I think that, to an extent, we’ve always lived in a world of lies and deceit, and that’s just human nature; but as far as I can tell, the spreading of capitalism and consumer culture, on the one hand, and that of democratic societies, on the other, elevated the importance of honesty to a whole other plane. Corporations lie to us as a matter of fact - all advertisement is a lie, after all - and politicians also mostly lie, both to us and to themselves. This was always bound to have disastrous consequences, which we are now starting to witness. For this reason, mostly, I think it’s more important than ever that artists are honest about the stories they tell - they can talk about anything, of course, and decide which kind of story they want to create, but they should stay true to it. I sometimes feel that, like other important concepts, such as freedom of expression, the idea that a story is its reader’s, and not its creator’s, is sometimes perverted beyond recognition. To say that the story belongs to its readers means that we all come to the story with our own experiences, and that we all get from it what we choose to get, to some extent; this is, perhaps, some form of cognitive bias (we see the world as we are, and not as it is: that sort of thing), and a good writer will create a story that is deep enough all of us can recognize ourselves in a part of it. But some modern creators, like current politicians, intend the concept in a very different way. Their method is to deliberately appeal to everyone in order to get money or votes, and they forget, or pretend to ignore, that in so doing they are bound to deceive a significant part of those who believed in them. Just as the centrism in politics is an illusion, a story which tries to make everyone happy is plain dishonest. When push comes to shove, Dean and Cas are either in love or they aren’t, and it’s not my job as a viewer to guess what they really feel - it’s the show’s creators job to tell me.

So, you know - you ask how I stay positive enough to keep watching the show - it sounds weird, since I write metas every week and I write Destiel fanfiction and everything, but personally, I’m trying not to think about Destiel at all. For me, it is real, in the sense that I still see it in the story, but I think that for a variety of reasons, there will be no steady love stories on Supernatural until the very last season. My hope is that, since a convincing gay story is harder to write than a straight one (because, apparently, many people are still unaware of the fact gay people are a thing at all), the Destiel subtext will get stronger quite soon(ish) if Destiel is indeed endgame. I mean, you see it very clearly from that whole Saileen business - in Sam’s case, two episodes are plenty enough to build a believable love story and make us root for Sam and Eileen and daydream about their darling little house and their fluffy future dogs, but, again, when it comes to gay couples - even if Dean and Cas do get together in the very last episode or something, you need to build that up quite openly and not too late, or it will feel forced to a casual viewer. As I said, I try not to think too much about it because there are a lot of ifs, but - if Supernatural has an end date in sight, if this is a coming of age narrative and not a tragedy, if nothing messy happens IRL - then I think that yes, we still have a chance for Destiel to happen textually. That dreadful Sherlock ending, after all, and mostly the outraged and angry response from both critics and the fandom, should serve as a warning to Dabb and his team: planning to go big and then not going big doesn’t endear you to anyone, because people’s hearts are wild, unpredictable, irrational and beautiful things, and even Hotelling’s law has its limits.  

#ask #destiel #spn ending #queerbaiting #spn fandom #saileen #sherlock #unsolicited life advice #hope you're feeling better btw