#when she's neither of those things. like explicitly in text neither of those things

[spekktors]

I'm tempted to blacklist Kipperlilly Copperkettle because people are so goddamn annoying about her

#babbling #which is a shame because i find her to be an interesting characted and a compelling villain #but I'm neither interested in pretending she's evil incarnate nor secretly right and incredibly sympathetic #when she's neither of those things. like explicitly in text neither of those things #she's a teenager predisposed to anger being influenced by a corrupted deity to turn her worst impulses up to 11 #that's interesting! that's compelling!! but who she was before was neither irredeemably evil nor overly sympathetic #she was just a flawed petty child #whose misplaced anger is being weaponized by something so much bigger than her #i probably won't do it because she's such a central character at this point that it would just decimate the fhjy tags #and there's a lot of good stuff in there too #but jfc

[chaifootsteps]

The issues with Stella are so goddamn easy to fix it's actually painful any time she comes on screen and they have to find a way to bend over backwards to make her as unlikable as possible to artificially prop Stolas up as well as avoid the classism plot that THEY WROTE INTO THE SHOW.

Just establish very clearly AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SHOW that both of them were okay with the other sleeping around (since neither liked each other and neither wanted to get married) but have Stella get mad specifically because Stolas was caught sleeping with an imp, and that reflects badly on her. If you want her to be a villain, you don't need her to be cartoonishly evil and completely bereft of personality and likeability beyond bitch (derogatory) even as a child; she can just be classist and obsessed with status. (Also maybe don't make her stupid? Maybe don't have her creepy incest-vibes brother around at all? Give her some agency as a villain, you know? Maybe let her be funny? MAYBE LET HER TALK TO HER FUCKING DAUGHTER ON SCREEN?)

But fixing Stella would force the show to actually acknowledge the classism that they've set up and have been trying to ignore in lieu of writing fluff one shots of their favorite ships. And it sucks because she could be a really, really interesting and entertaining lens into how the upper-crusts of this setting actually behave. She SHOULD HAVE BEEN the face of that plot. If you want her to be this evil scheming funny girlboss bitch (affectionate), LET HER BE ONE. Hell, she can even be sympathetic and redeemable if you play up the fact that her behavior comes from a fear of being othered by the Goetia.

As a side note, why are arranged marriages even a thing when divorce exists and vice versa? If it's a eugenics thing for blue bloods why is marriage even a factor when they could just have the kids without it? If they're immortal outside of specific weaponry why do they need heirs in the first place? How DID Striker get all of his angelic weapons? How did Stella even meet Striker, who HATES the upper classes? Why does Striker even work for her when she's the ONE CHARACTER explicitly shown in-canon to embody the things he hates about the system at large?

I guess my point is that fixing Stella's writing would kind of cascade out into actual worldbuilding, stakes, more screen time for female characters, and more coherent better-constructed plots so Spindlehorse won't do it because they want to focus exclusively on a middling romance between two characters who have ZERO CHEMISTRY. If they wanted to focus on that, great, but why on EARTH did they set up all of this other shit? Season one set up conflict and interest and season two has done nothing but blue-ball me by dangling those plot threads in front of me and yanking it away at the last possible second. I WANT the show to be good, but it desperately needs better editing at the script level which I am CONVINCED only goes through one draft and are written several weeks apart.

ALSO THE LATEST EPISODE GAVE ME MOTION SICKNESS WHY WAS THE CAMERA MOVING SO MUCH WHEN THE CHARACTERS WERE STATIC HOW MUCH BUDGET AND TIME GOT WASTED WITH THE UNNECESSARY FUCKING SHAKY CAM?

(Sorry for dropping this huge chunk of text on you, it was supposed to just be about Stella originally but holy fuck that last episode made me nauseous and I got a bit carried away.)

No apologies needed; it was an excellent chunk of text.

Stella deserved better, and we as an audience deserved better, which isn't to say she needs to be redeemable or even likeable. But she does need to be human...to do something outside of scream and drink wine and exist. She needs to do more than just prop up the show's main ship. Give her something she thinks about, cares about, and like you said, let her talk to her fucking daughter.

Nothing about this shaky-cam show makes sense or feels fleshed out. Agreed completely that there's no way it's going through multiple drafts, and the longer these 30 car pileups of plot holes and characterization problems continue to go on, the closer the show gets to a point where no amount of revising is going to save it.

#Anonymous #hb stella #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss critical #vivziepop critical #actual blog post

[ridleymocki]

So I finally watched Netflix’s Persuasion and yes, I pretty much hated it, but not for the reason you’d expect. My Austen-loving friend and I set aside a whole night for this. We watched three films as follows:

Appetizer: Persuasion (2007) with Sally Hawkins and Rupert Penry-Jones

Main course: Persuasion (2022) on Netflix with Dakota Johnson and Cosmo Jarvis

Palate cleanser: Emma (2020) with Anya Taylor-Joy and Johnny Flynn

Watching things in this order really threw some things into relief. Now, obviously as an adaptation Persuasion 2022 is inaccurate in ways people have already explained. There are significant disparities between the film and the source text (Anne’s a wine lush now?). There are also egregious anachronisms in costuming, hair, and makeup (through pure oversight the side characters end up being the most historically accurate). But, that aside, in my writerly opinion this isn’t even a competent stand alone film. You know the whole rule of “show don’t tell”? This film is fundamentally incapable of following that rule. Everything its told -- verbally, explicitly, almost condescendingly -- to the audience.

There seems to be a fundamental lack of trust in the audience, and our ability to interpret visual cues like facial expressions and tone of voice. There literally is nothing in this film that is conveyed subtly on good faith that people will understand what’s going on.

This is a faith that Austen herself and previous adaptations had in abundance. A key theme in much of Austen’s work is that because of social mores and the rules of propriety, people couldn’t just say what they meant, but had to obfuscate and convey intention through subtlety like double-speak, tone, facial expressions, etcetera. Think Darcy helping Elisabeth into the carriage in Pride & Prejudice (2005). Emma (2020) also does this particularly well; a good example is when Mr Martin runs after Harriet to advise that the road is flooded and she should take another route - meanwhile their facial expressions are full of an aching longing and pain, and while he’s talking about roads he’s really saying I still care for you even though you rejected me. And the Sally Hawkins Persuasion (2007) spares no amount of film in showing longing, yearning looks between characters, while Hawkins does something I would call ‘lung-acting’ where she conveys emotion merely by how she struggles to take a breath.

Netflix’s Persuasion wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit it over the head. The writers, for example, presume that we need not only the image of Anne crying in the bathtub to understand that she is sad and anguished, but that for proper comprehension we also need Anne telling us directly how awfully terribly sad she is (and this is one of the better parts of narration she has).

The choice to have Anne talk directly to camera, in some misguided attempt to replicate the charm of Fleabag, means that Johnson spends much of her dialogue in pure exposition which is neither interesting nor necessary. Plot points that could be made obvious from making the characters actually, you know, interact are substituted with sweeping faux-prophetic explanations of Anne’s relationship to others from her own mouth.

Moreover, other characters make a particular point to express how wonderful Anne is, verbally and very on-the-nose. I can’t direct-quote because I can’t bring myself to watch it again, but Louisa, Mr Harville, Mr Elliot and others all verbally extol Anne’s virtues in a rather heavy-handed attempt to convince the audience that Anne is really, truly, a very good and clever woman. But the thing is, you don’t need that if your character is behaving in a way consistent with those aforementioned virtues. Because then we can just see it. Show, don’t tell. And fundamentally, Johnson’s Anne Elliot does not behave consistent to how others describe her.

In the 2007 adaptation with Sally Hawkins, we as the audience see her exhibit deeply capable and compassionate behaviour, so that when characters later on sparingly praise these characteristics in her, the audience already agrees with it from the evidence of our own eyes. By contrast, the Netflix adaptation alters some fundamental points at which we see these virtues displayed.

When Little Charles falls from the tree, this is how it plays out in the book: “ Anne had every thing to do at once; the apothecary to send for, the father to have pursued and informed, the mother to support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend and soothe; besides sending, as soon as she recollected it, proper notice to the other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened, enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.”

Ron Bass and Alice Winslow (the writers of the script for the Netflix adaptation) have Johnson’s Anne peace-keepingly agree to miss the party and watch over the boy purely to diffuse Mary’s complaining. Then, she gets drunk on a windowseat overlooking the party, presumably while the child himself is asleep downstairs. She opens the window and yells out to Wentworth, ducking down below the window when he hears and looks over. She accidentally knocks over a gravy boat in her inebriated stumbling and the gravy drips onto her head where she sits hiding on the floor.

This disparity between book and film is not just a quibble about wanting the source material accurately honoured. It is a problem because through making this change to the plot the narrative loses the characterisation of Anne that it fundamentally needed in order to be coherent. The audience requires scenes of her deftly handling the crisis with little Charles’ fall in order to validate Anne’s characterisation as capable, good in a crisis, level-headed, and strong. We need to see that this is the case, not merely be told it is so.

For another example, the case of Anne and Mrs Smith is treated thusly in the book (skip to tl;dr if you cbf): “ Anne had gone unhappy to school... and Miss Hamilton... had been useful and good to her in a way which had  considerably lessened her misery, and could never be remembered with indifference... ”

And also: “She was a widow and poor.  Her husband had been extravagant; and at his death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully involved.  She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these distresses had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple.  She had come to Bath on that account, and was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of course almost excluded from society. Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from Miss Elliot would give Mrs. Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in going.  She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home.  It would excite no proper interest there.”

and: “ Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation.  Neither the dissipations of the past--and she had lived very much in the world--nor the restrictions of the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her heart or ruined her spirits.”

Tl;dr: Mrs Smith is Anne’s old school friend who is widowed and poorly. Despite being of significantly higher social status than Mrs Smith, Anne goes to visit her in Bath on the pretense it will raise Mrs Smith’s spirits and doesn’t tell her family about it. Anne rekindles an affectionate friendship with her, even admiring her for her optimism.

But... Mrs Smith is erased from the Netflix version.

Again, this is not a quibble about accuracy, it’s about whether the text can actually function coherently.

In losing Mrs Smith, we lose everything that this friendship contributes to the text. We lose the understanding that Anne values the qualities of other people’s characters over their social status or wealth (particularly when we contrast her like for Mrs Smith with her dislike for Lady Dalrymple). We lose that insight that she has this mentality contrary to the values of the rest of her family who are insufferably social-climby -- i.e.: unlike them, Anne’s not a snob. To wit, we lose the evidence that Anne’s rejection of Wentworth eight years ago was definitely not for classist reasons, as here she is having a social connection to a poor and disabled widow without a care for their class difference. We also lose the second example (along with Wentworth) of how Anne’s affection for someone can be long-running and endure many years without contact, and thereby, how in this respect her character is constant and loyal despite the logical conclusion from her mistake eight years ago and Wentworth’s suppositions.

We as the audience not only need these things, the other characters need it, too, in order to judge Anne’s character as highly and praisingly as they do. The showing of these qualities in her through her actions legitimises all the conclusions other characters make about her, and helps those characters and the audience both to comprehend how and why the plot plays out as it does, with Anne and Wentworth’s eventual reconciliation.

The absence of this observational evidence from the Netflix adaptation means that the other character’s insistence on Anne’s virtuousness is compensatory. It aims to do what the movie visually and narratively has not provided. I can only presume that the writers realised they were writing-out these character-building moments in favour of snappiness and comedic scenes, and sought to reinstate Anne’s integral characteristics through dialogue.

But, it doesn’t work.

We end up with characters doing one thing and saying another. And I as an audience member felt particularly patronised for having all the authorial intentions spelled out to me.

And so, even if I put some mental blinkers on and pretend the source material doesn’t exist. Even if I pretend the anachronisms in the worldbuilding, dialogue, costuming and plot are deliberate and considered a-la Bridgerton. Even if I try to the see the merits of the film for themselves (I thought Cosmo Jarvis was quite good and wish he was in a better version, and Mia McKenna-Bruce was kind of delightful as Mary in a way Mary never is). Even with all that, the Netflix version is not a functional text. And it’s not bad because of any of those other reasons, it’s bad because of that. It’s badly written. It condescends its audience. And the facts of the events don’t match the testimony of the characters. It just, makes no sense.

#persuasion #netflix persuasion #dakota johnson #jane austen #pride and prejudice #persuasion 2022 #emma 2020 #austen

[jewishdainix]

Ok so I think I finally figured it (my opinion) out.

Basically, I think that Robin Hobb not making Fitzloved explicitly canon was not homophobic, but her going against the queer reading of them is.

Because those are two entirely different things.

Fitz and the Fool's relationship being ambiguous is kind of the point. The whole thing is not to be defined by labels (which is also why I think labeling them as strictly platonic or strictly romantic is missing the point. Theyre both and their neither. Theyre their own thing and their own way*).

Leaving the exact nature of their relationship up to interpitation is also fine, in my opinion. Because queer characters don't have to be capital C Canon (Word Of God, explicit confession, etc) for them to be queer, especially if literally everything in the text points to them being queer.

Robin Hobb going against the homoerotic reading of Fitz and the Fool, however, is homophobic. It fits very very neatly into the trend and context of straight people staying in denial about completely obvious queer characters, all while calling queer audiences delusional or not "letting guys just be friends" or anything else someone might say about an obviously accidentally queercoded character or straight up queerbaited character.

I don't actually beleive Robin Hobb is homophobic herself** or went against the homoerotic reading of them for homophobic reasons.

I believe that she saw people (rightfully imo) interpriting what she wrote in a way she didn't intend to - "When I write, I want to tell my story directly to you. I want you to read it exactly as I wrote it." (Robbin Hobb, The Fanfiction Rant) - and had a freakout about it which resulted in something that ended up being homophobic*** when looked at with the context of the trend I mentioned before.

* You might say qpr! I generally agree that their relationship is queer platonic, but (and it could be just me with my semantics) I beleive that the lebel qpr is still a label which would still go against the whole theme of not having a label. Same thing with the Fool's gender (imo), hes not nonbinary/genderfluid but his gender is fluid and out of the binary.

But again, probably more of a semantics thing than anything else (I know about The Conflict of Interpitations from a video essay about The Lion king, but I'm pretty sure it mentions a similar issue to this).

** While I think it's more of an issue of a straight person saying something homophobic wirhout holding homophobic views, as often happens, it does seem like Robin Hobb does have biphobic views. As far as I am aware she asked something along the lines of "why invalidate Fitz being with a woman by making him be with a man". (Which also, interestingly enough, labels the Fool's gender, which still goes against the stuff that happened in your book, Lindholm!).

I wish a had a direct quote here, though. Unfortunately, unlike The Fanfiction Rant I can't find where she wrote her opinions on Fitzloved.

*** And explicitly biphobic

#realm of the elderlings #this was in my drafts for a week now lmao i foegot to post it

[viola-ophelia]

I'd like Russingon so much more if people weren't annoying about it. Like, it's genuinely interesting as an epic friendship chivalric bond type relationship, and I like both characters, the dynamic between them and how it affects the text, but, to me that's so much more interesting than 'oh, of course we were secretly married the whole time, undeniable canon ship', like, it's so irritating and it lacks depth and also? They're not canon. I completely understand people who do want a major queer relationship, but. It's not canon. If anything, the relationship Tolkein maybe consciously wrote as intentionally homoerotic is Turin and Beleg. And at this point I'd genuinely be more interested in something that approaches Maedhros as Fingon as having a platonic relationship based around the chivalric narratives I'm pretty sure Tolkein was inspired by. And I hate the take that if you don't ship russingon you're automatically homophobic.

Also I'm so agreed on the Eol thing, like, yeah, that story has some pretty hideous racist subtext and I get people wanting to change it but idk why they always do it by a) making Aredhel 100% in love and happy with a man who refused to let her leave his house and who later killed her by trying to kill their son OR b) slutshames and villanises Aredhel, usually by portraying her as an abuser (sometimes having the gall to call it feminist and empowering like. If you think a woman being a rapist us empowering you need serious help) And I'm also not sure why she gets called the slutty cousin when one of the first things we know about her is 'she gave her hearts love to none', and when she did get married she was at least partially coerced into it? Like, aside from how horrible slut shaming random female characters is, Aredhel seems like the least likely candidate? She and Celegorm are always so mischaracterised, one thing I really hate about fandom is how it seems to have this set of archetypes it shoves characters into even if that's not how they are in text, to make them more palleatable and understandable I guess? Like, Celegorm was probably a bit on the wild side, but we know he's a linguist and an orator and a skilled commander who actually seems to have taken the initiative in the Nargothrond coup, like? He's always made into a dumb jock and Curufin's always so bitter and bitchy and neither of those seem particularly accurate to how they are in canon? (Also have to agree on the Celegorm/Curufin side, I've read some good fic)

I think one of the biggest problems in the Silm fandom is a) people whitewashing their faves and picking sides in a way that seems really unconscious of how the text emphasises that this is about complex people with incompatible goals and b) people always wanting their ships to be canon to the extent that they end up putting them as the focus of the story, and twisting the text to try and validate them which like? I like a fun ship as much as the next person, but something's aren't canon and that's literally fine? Like, I'm really into Melkor and Sauron as characters, and I do really enjoy Angbang as a ship, but the amount of people who claim they were 'literally married' when we don't have any textual indication for their relationship other than one-sided fanatical devotion on Sauron's part and a level of trust and respect on Morgoth's, is seriously annoying.

Sorry I've been ranting please feel free to ignore this

sorry for taking so long to respond, work was crazy today! but i completely agree with a lot of this, thanks for sharing!!

i think the question of whether or not there’s a “canon queer ship” in the silm is dubious for a bunch of reasons, but i totally agree, if anything it’s turleg! it just doesn’t make sense for tolkien to have explicitly condemned cousin marriages between elves but also to have intended russingon to be read romantically. of course, you don’t have to stick to tolkien’s intent in your hcs LOL- that’s why fanon exists- but his intent does shape what is canon and what isn’t, and he was writing and living in a different time. which is why the argument that anyone who doesn’t ship russingon is homophobic annoys me lol. and even if russingon WAS canon, it wouldn’t be homophobic not to ship it, that’s not how that works lol.

AGREED re: aredhel and eol! i am really not a fan of any analysis of them that somehow tries to spin it around so aredhel was the abusive one. of course, to each their own, but i don’t personally see anything progressive about that and also don’t feel it’s a compelling read of canon. the thing that i think some people don’t get about aredhel is that she can be the victim in an abusive relationship AND a strong woman and an important character beyond that abuse. those things can coexist, and they do. aredhel was groundbreaking! she (and galadriel, i think?) were the only women who survived the helcaraxe! aredhel was the only woman involved at alqualonde! she’s the only female hunter in tolkien’s works! she’s so much more than just some vessel for birthing maeglin and then dying, ugh. even though she didn’t survive the horrible situation she was put in with eol, doesn’t mean she was weak or irrelevant and also doesn’t mean that the only “progressive” interpretation of her needs to be that she was in the wrong somehow.

re: the idea that celegorm is dumb… YES! people forget that he’s canonically a great public speaker, and i think he might’ve had the best “people skills” out of his brothers- remember, he singlehandedly stirred everyone up for the second kinslaying (for better or for worse lol). and he knew more about the forest and about animals and nature than pretty much anyone else due to his training with orome, and the fact that he could understand/maybe speak to animals shows he had linguistic skills that went WAY beyond most other elves.

and curufin… one curufin moment that the fandom seems to collectively ignore, but that i LOVE and that seems really at odds with his characterization as a cunning scheming bitch, is the moment where he runs into eol in pursuit of aredhel and confronts him, telling him off for having forced her into marriage and basically telling him to get the heck out of himlad. he clearly cared a lot about his cousin! he clearly does have morals LOL!

#thanks for sending this! this was super interesting to read! #silm #silmarillion #ask #cat's meta

[sauntervaguelydown]

From Feather Unpacks the Hobbit (ep 6):

"Which brings us to Beorn, and their time with Beorn. 

Beorn is a problem. Beorn is one of those things that sticks in the easy understanding that the texts do lay out to us in a way not dissimilar to Tom Bombadil, where it's not immediately or transparently explained how he fits into the world as we understand it - especially as The Silmarillion explains it to us. 

Beorn is described by Gandalf (or at least by Narrator Bilbo speaking through Gandalf) thusly: 

He is a skin-changer. He changes his skin: sometimes he is a huge black bear, sometimes he is a great strong black-haired man with huge arms and a great beard. I cannot tell you much more, though that ought to be enough. Some say that he is a bear descended from the great and ancient bears of the mountains that lived there before the giants came. Others say that he is a man descended from the first men who lived before Smaug or the other dragons came into this part of the world, and before the goblins came into the hills out of the North. I cannot say, though I fancy the last is the true tale. He is not the sort of person to ask questions of.

At any rate he is under no enchantment but his own. He lives in an oak-wood and has a great wooden house; and as a man he keeps cattle and horses which are nearly as marvellous as himself. They work for him and talk to him. He does not eat them; neither does he hunt or eat wild animals. He keeps hives and hives of great fierce bees, and lives most on cream and honey. As a bear he ranges far and wide. I once saw him sitting all alone on the top of the Carrock at night watching the moon sinking towards the Misty Mountains, and I heard him growl in the tongue of bears: "The day will come when they will perish and I shall go back!" That is why I believe he once came from the mountains himself.

Now there are a few other things we know about Beorn, and one specifically is that is he mortal (or at least that other people thought that he died at some point): his son is the lord of the Beornings by the War of the Ring, and there are reputed to be at least several other skin-changers in the lot of them, so presumably at some point Beorn sired children, and he's not around by the War of the Ring. 

[...]

One possibility is that Beorn himself is one of these Maiar. It would explain his ability to change his shape; it would also explain why he brooded resentfully over the idea of having lost the Misty Mountains to the orcs, and so on. However, given that Grimbeorn his son is explicitly and continually identified as his son, this would require either that this be untrue (and that stories of the Beorning skin-changers also be untrue) and Grimbeorn be somehow adoptive, or it would require that a Maia sired a child with an Atani [human] woman in the midst of the Third Age, which feels a bit off. He'd also have to be both willing to muck around as much as he did, and where he was living, and yet not have attracted Sauron's hostile attention, which seems unlikely. If this were the case, presumably either he did fall afoul of Sauron at some point, or he went off whenever his son got old enough. 

That one also feels a bit off because I feel like it would be hard for even huge numbers of orcs to run a Maia who still has access to a bear-shape off his patch. But it's a possibility. 

However, the more suggestive and compelling possibility to me is that despite the Eldarin claims, Melian was not in fact the only Maia ever to fall for, or procreate with, one of the Children [elves and humans]. 

That she was by far the most powerful, definitely, and I suspect that the occasion for any other would have to be just about as remarkable and spectacular. But I don't think it's beyond possibility that once upon a time, a Maia of Yavanna or Oromë living somewhere in the mountains - very possibly as a bear, but maybe mostly as something else - encountered an Atane at least close to being as special as Beren was, or equivalent to Elu Thingol but mortal, and had a child with him, and that as a result much like the lineage of Elros keeps throwing up these astonishing healers and people who can have a power-level wrestling match with Sauron via palantír and win, there's this other lineage that keeps throwing up Atani who can change their skin - and, as it happens, talk to animals. 

Given that Oromë was a hunter, Beorn's specific avoidance of eating meat and his tendency towards cultivation with his home suggests to me that his lineage comes from Yavanna, which would also contribute to his inclination to like Radagast (who is himself one of Yavanna's Maiar). It would also help explain his a priori dislike of the Khazâd, as Khazâd due to Aulë's not telling his wife about them lack certain harmonics that would make them resonate with living things rather than things-of-craft, and that sets up a tension. 

On the other hand he has a lot of hounds, and Oromë and hounds are a very strong association. 

That's all speculation; we have no real answer. But it's a possibility that makes sense to me, and sometimes speculation is fun. "

#the hobbit

[serenemy]

Creative Writing Prompt: dude you had shitty casual sex with over a year ago won’t stop sea lioning you on the internet about whether you think he is a racist

The reason I don’t have an opinion about whether you are racist is I simply don’t care to spare my attention on the matter. I know you are a sexist, a misogynist and a sex pest. Those are the things I cared about and those are the things I tried repeatedly to discuss with you in private

But since you have pestered me about this repeatedly I have now remembered the following examples:

You once told me you had mind blowing salacious “gossip” and it was apparently just that a white man in our group chat has a black wife? You also sent a half-dressed picture of her iirc. I remembered that on 10/23 after you had pestered me about this again either that day or the prior day for like the third or fourth time since the topic first arose on 8/4. 8/4! that is how long you’ve been bothering me with this asinine shit!

You once told me you “don’t like Jewish people” “because [you] grew up around a lot of them.” I remembered this last night after you again pestered me about it despite me having made clear multiple times and in multiple ways starting 9/1* that I want you to leave me the fuck alone. you have been harassing me for four months now

If you are wondering how I could have forgotten these things, that is simply how little space you have ever occupied in my mind

You know the agreement was we could say anything to each other in DMs and we both knew it wasn’t “real” unless we changed the arrangement ahead of time and both agreed. and neither of us ever did. neither of us ever asked to. when the girlfriend you claim i’m jealous about BROKE UP WITH YOU BECAUSE SHE IS IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE and you were despondent and talking again about the hopelessness of existence because the world hasn’t yet perceived what a big special boy your unmedicated brilliance makes you—i said if you wanted me to i would consider a real relationship, that i couldn’t be sure what my answer would be, but i would give it real consideration. i meant what i said but i was also trying to get you through to seeing a doctor, which you had been promising me you would

You know specifically that I wanted the arrangement we had because I have a problem leading people on and ghosting them. You know I explicitly addressed wanting to be able to say romantic, loving things to you but only if I knew for sure you DIDN’T really reciprocate. We put this shit in writing, we revisited it frequently, every line of that text still exists and you fucking know it

In any event my unreliability on these matters is why I —twice—used the line on you about the scorpion and the frog: “I am the scorpion and you are the frog and the story only ends one way, 100 times out of 100.” Here is the part where you find out

Before I begin though, let’s be clear. I tried repeatedly to let you drop this. I asked repeatedly for you to leave me alone. I had THREE people warn you I would do this if you continued to bother me. Beyond them I told our closest mutual at least twice I didn’t want anymore to do with you. I told our second closest mutual months ago you had made me uncomfortable, I didn’t want to encourage your participation in our groups and i was concerned about your mental health. I specifically stayed in the one chat you left and when i didn’t follow you over to the new ones YOU CAME BACK

so let’s do it

First, you’re not good in bed. That was the first lie you told and it was explicitly the only reason I agreed to flirt in the first place. I have never experienced sex so shitty in my entire existence. To be clear, I’m not accusing you of thinking you’re good in bed and being wrong. I’m accusing you of lying.** I don’t think that because the sex was shitty. I think it because of the stories you later told me about other women

Second, you have at least three physical variances that add up to a pretty serious sexuality complication you withheld from me and didn’t acknowledge you even knew about until like part way through the vacation. That whole time I was thinking you maybe seriously didn’t even know and that was part of why it all became so complicated for me to handle in the moment. It’s super unethical not to divulge that stuff ahead of time to your lovers

In contrast, I told you ahead of time my pictures were catfishy, described my actual size and shape, explained I hadn’t had sex since before having a baby more than fifteen years ago, detailed years of serious health problems and admitted I wasn’t sure what all might go wrong when I tried sex again

In fact having sex with you the first time is how I learned I now apparently leak pee during sex. (Or I did then anyway; I’m supposed to be doing the exercises.) I didn’t want to have to explain to you right there in the moment in the hotel room and thought I would wait until after we were back in DMs and it could be funny

Which brings me to the third problem. That experience—combined with your failure to explain your situation to me—is why I tried repeatedly to shut down the sex for the entire rest of the time you were there. The agreement in advance had been no expectations of sex unless we both still felt like it and if not we would have fun together as friends.

That was another lie though because you continued being a sex pest and a sex boundary pusher until it was honestly easier to just try to get you off so we could go back to watching movies

Fourth, what you are doing online now is also weird, creepy and stalker-ish. I don't want to interact with you. I've made that clear. I’ve been making it clear for four months now. I've made it clear directly to you and I've made it clear through intermediaries. I have consistently resisted and tried to ignore all of your attempts to get me to interact. Yet still you will not stop

That is exactly how you were about sex

Fifth, it's transparently obvious you invented the stupid racism thing to derail me from being able to talk about these other things without seeming like a confused hyper-woke shrew. For the record, I almost never think someone is “a racist.” Usually what I think is that they are (often without awareness) perpetuating systemic racism they don’t even know is there. And when I think someone is doing that—or in the limited cases i have concluded they are “a racist”—usually because they identify that way—I just say so, directly

Like when I don’t want to have sex anymore

To be clear, I don’t think anything you did was a crime. I went along because at the time I felt bad for you—and was myself touch-starved—not because I felt threatened, scared or unequipped to enforce boundaries. I just think you’re an unethical, disgusting person and I don’t care about you and don’t find questions about your character interesting or worth mental bandwidth

Anyway, you wanted to know if I think you’re racist. These are the only thoughts I will ever have on the subject

————————-

p.s. you are literally (literally literally) the disappointing male mundane in this story i wrote in MAY whose spells fucking failed for possessing not one drop of magic of your own

*yes i sent two non-interactive messages after that date. they were both in their own way related to concerns i had about your mental health. i felt ethically bound to send them for reasons i’ll divulge publicly if that’s what you want. i simultaneously made clear through our closest mutual that i did not want to resume any relationship with you. i told our second closest mutual you had made me uncomfortable, i therefore wouldn’t encourage your participation in our circles, but that i was worried about your mental health. and, again, they were non-interactive, non-public, non-adversarial, and drafted with your mental health in mind. thereafter you resumed the bullshit. at that point i had mutuals/moderators intervene and tell you to desist contact and interaction of any form. and when they did i showed them the language i had used on 9/1 and said “that’s what i want” but i added more to broaden it. i also mentioned at that time one of these messages, the one that doesn’t reveal any personal information about you but consisted of me apologizing that i hadn’t understood sooner that by “calling out” you meant you didn’t like being disagreed with at all in front of others. except you fucking asked me to engage substantively with your “i’m so edgy i’m an authoritarian socialist” bullshit and complained bitterly and repeatedly that no one else did. and like i literally don’t even think it’s true anymore that you dislike public disagreements because you’ve feasted on calling me out and disagreeing with me. so now i’m back to being confused and thinking it’s part of your entire bizarre shtick

** i used to be 50-50% on this. but i’ve been ruminating and i keep remembering more stories you told me about other women. you at least have no good faith basis to believe this. no woman has ever told you this, for sure. you don’t give them an opportunity for feedback and maybe that’s another reason to suspect you do know. anyway this isn’t a court of law but i’m more like 85%-15% now

[seths-wife]

What did Gammon Loop Octopus see in the temple of Alicegrad? (for real this time) part 1 - secret hints from the crime novel

This is one of the most mysterious and vague plot points in the “crime” novel; of course, in this article I won’t be able to give a definite and certain answer to what happened in that particular event. Instead, my approach will be to analyze the scene in question and try to advance some rational hypotheses that can explain it. 

The scene I’m referring to in this article can be found in the fourth chapter of the crime novel, specifically in the third scene. 

“—That’s why I came here to see for myself. Whether the queen was alive or not.”

“Oh yes, I think that’s quite sensible of you. Neither I nor Miroku could stand to be made out as villains based on a mere theory alone.”

“…I think I can say with some conviction that you’re ‘evil’ nonetheless. However—”

He raised the gun, and then struck me hard on the temple with the stock.

“Ow!”

I crumpled on the spot.

“—Right now my first priority is to check what’s inside there.”

So saying, Gammon entered the temple.

.

…Hahaha.

Well now, Gammon.

What you will see inside that temple—

And what will happen to you after you have come face to face with the “queen”—

Even I don’t know.

.

I stood, and headed for the edge of the courtyard.

I opened a trapdoor that had been obscured by dirt.

From here I could slip outside the castle without being found by anyone.

.

I entered the passageway, and right before I closed the door to its entrance–

I heard someone scream from inside the temple. (“crime”, chapter 4, scene 3).

So, as we can read, Gammon Loop Octopus wanted to enter the Leviabehemo temple to check on the state of the queen (part in bold), and when he did so, Seth reported someone screaming from inside there. 

Without giving further context, I want to point out four interesting things about this passage:

Seth knows the truth. You can see from the way he speaks in the part underlined in purple. 

In the same part, the word queen is put between quotation marks. That can point out to the hypothesis that something did happen to queen Alice, whether she’s not there or she had been replaced by someone or something, or brainwashed. Alternatively, she can be in a very sorry state like dismembered for example. There is some oddity about this, though. I will explain in due time.

By the way Seth speaks, it really looks like there’s either something dangerous or really shocking inside the temple.

What you will see inside that temple—

And what will happen to you after you have come face to face with the “queen”—

Even I don’t know.

In particular, Seth states that “even he” doesn’t know what Gammon is gonna see or what will happen to him after entering that place. That’s a very vague and suggestive statement of something dangerous or shocking lying ahead of him.

It is true that Seth could be also exaggerating, as the eccentric man that he is…still, that claim read…kinda genuine to me, since he was talking to himself at that point, and therefore he didn’t have any reason to lie.

4.  Now, this may sound stupid, but hear me out. The text actually speaks about “someone” screaming from inside the temple. Who gives us the certainty that this someone is Gammon? After all, akuno tends to make those jokes quite a lot when he doesn’t explicitly refer to someone both in his songs or other material.

Take as an example the pv of “escape of salmhofer the witch”, specifically the part of the eve’s lookalike right before Meta’s capture.

 The pv never stated that the character was Eve, yet akuno tricked the fanbase into thinking she was, using the same appearance as the girl and similar lines that Eve would use. 

That means…with the vague information we have right now, it could have been someone else screaming as he saw Gammon entering the place, for example. 

For simplicity’s sake, in this article, I will assume that it actually was Gammon the one who screamed from inside the temple (only because it would be very difficult to assume who did otherwise, since there is no clue). 

Whatever the truth about this situation may be, Gammon still came out of the temple with great shock in his heart. In fact, he was so shocked that his behavior changed radically from before to after that event…and that is a significant clue we have in our hands in order to figure out what happened.

Before that scene, Gammon was pretty calm and optimistic about the “project ma”’s eventual success; see for example how he reacted when he understood that Eve Zvezda could not be used for his and Adam’s ambitions anymore:

Gammon lightly shook Adam’s shoulder.

“I know you’re upset that the plan failed…but don’t drag this out. We still have plenty of time before the ‘gear of twilight’ that the prophecy spoke of. We…should start over again.” (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 17).

You see how Gammon didn’t panic at all when the plan with Eve Moonlit failed.

But there is an even more important point…

Gammon wasn’t really that interested in the “prophecy’s” contents at all before the temple event; he took part in the project because he was ordered to by his father, Miroku. 

About a year had passed since Horus went missing.

Adam and Gammon received a summons from the senate.

Then they were ordered by senate head Miroku to carry out project ‘ma’. (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 8).

From the illustration attached to the same event, you can clearly see how Gammon wasn’t exactly…enthusiastic and interested in all of that.

(Coloring by me). Look at the face of someone interested and excited by something (and not bitter towards his own father).

Moreover, Gammon took advantage of the project and his conspiracy with Adam simply to carry out his original plan of an anti-government coup against his father who rejected and mistreated him (*).

“…Alright. I’m on board,” Gammon said as he opened his eyes, holding out his right hand.

“—Thank you.” Adam gripped his hand tightly and shook it. “…Frankly, I thought you’d say no.”

Adam was being honest there.

He’d seen a clear unease in Gammon’s expression while they’d been talking.

“…I said this long before,” Gammon quietly murmured, “But I am not satisfied with the current state of things.”  (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 9 ).

(*)Despite being the eldest born son of the Loop Octopus family, as he was magically impotent he had been shunned by his father, and ultimately cast out of his inheritance. (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 6).

In fact, Gammon even conspired with Seth (as Horus) to do that very thing, long before the alliance with Adam Moonlit.

“So you know. Of the relationship between Horus and I.”

“You were plotting with my father to start some kind of anti-government coup. I imagine it would be quite unfortunate for you if that went public.” (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 6)

In truth, Gammon had been preparing to start a revolt against his father long before Adam had spoken to him.  (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 12).

But…Gammon didn’t carry out the original plan back then, because:

his only reason for hesitating in carrying it out was out of the fear that it would mark him as a traitor—but if he had the queen as his ally, it would be a different story.

The new queen, Eve, would recognize his revolt as a just deed with the country in mind…that was the gist of the plot exchanged between Adam and Gammon. (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 12).

So, now you can see clearly how Gammon initially just exploited the project for the sake of his anti-government plans, he wasn’t interested in it in itself. 

Further proof of it is in here: 

Gammon lightly shook Adam’s shoulder.

“I know you’re upset that the plan failed…But don’t drag this out. We still have plenty of time before the ‘Gear of Twilight’ that the prophecy spoke of. We…should start over again.”

But Adam brushed his hand away and said to him, “No…I’m done. I’m withdrawing.”

“…What?”

“Seizing control of this country, revolution…I no longer have any interest in such things. You…can do whatever you want by yourself, without me.”

“…There’s no way I could carry out project ‘ma’ by myself.”

“So just go back to your original plans of a revolt, then.” (“crime”, chapter 3, scene 17).

As long as the project failed and lost Adam Moonlit’s collaboration, Gammon just went for his original plans of a revolt (what it’s displayed in the novel in chapter 4*).

This is enough proof of how Gammon didn’t care about avoiding the words of the false gods coming true, he was just exploiting the project for his own personal interests.

*From where I’m sitting, Gammon Loop Octo’s rebellion seems little more than the result of him becoming desperate.

Well, that’s looking on it with a fairly cold eye, but it looks like it might be unexpectedly successful.

Those members of the senate, starting with Miroku, were simply too complacent with peace, I suppose.  (“crime”, chapter 4, scene 2).

Now, considering all of this, let’s see how Gammon’s behavior changed after he went to check on the “queen” inside the temple. 

Seth states the following about the subject in chapter 5: 

“But that’s not so for Gammon. He has met with the queen personally—and most likely came into contact with the ‘truth’. Though I don’t know the specific contents of it. At any rate, he has privately become quite desperate to stop the world’s destruction. To the point where he is no longer concerned with keeping up appearances.” (“crime”, chapter 5, scene 8).

So…Gammon has come into contact with the “truth”...and because of that, he privately became quite desperate to stop the world’s destruction.

What does it mean?

Well…avoiding that the original prophecy of the false gods Levia and Behemo came true, in other words, Alice’s “prophecy”. 

“Our beloved daughter Alice, you must now create and offer up vessels for us”

“The gear of twilight…If you do not accomplish this before its time arrives, the sky and the earth will be filled with our wrath, and everything will be reduced to ashes”  (“crime”, prologue).

You can also see the eagerness of having a successful project in this scene as well: as long as Hansel and Gretel were born, Gammon encouraged Seth to have them prepared to be used as Levia and Behemo’s reincarnation bodies as soon as he could. 

Gammon gazed upon them from before the cylinders.

“—Are they alright?” he asked Seth, who was standing next to him.

“Yes. They had trouble breathing on their own right after they were born…but they’ve recovered. Now they’re in the life support system just for caution’s sake.”

“I see…I’d like to take these twins to the castle as soon as possible. Make preparations.”

“Understood. I should be able to get them ready in…one week.”  (“crime”, chapter 5, scene 9).

In other words…after Gammon entered the “temple” to meet the “queen”, he started taking the “project ma” seriously, unlike before. That is interesting as a sort of a hint about what happened to him.

But it’s not enough as a clue, is it?

Well, there is another one…this time more subtle. 

After the temple event, Gammon also became much more knowledgeable about certain things…specifically about the “swap technique” and the fact all the queens in Levianta could perform it. 

“The ‘swap technique’. It is a secret art that can move a soul to a different body…right now in Levianta there is only one person who can perform it—queen Alice.”

“…So you’re saying there used to be others who could use the ‘swap technique’?”

“It’s said that all of our queens have historically been able to use it [...]”  (“crime”, chapter 5, scene 9).

About this, Seth comments: 

You’ve become quite knowledgeable, haven’t you?

As far as Seth knew, the old Gammon was a brusque man who specialized only in swords and guns.

Has he been studying more since taking on the position of senate head? …I hardly think it’d be just that.  (“crime”, chapter 5, scene 9).

I think the most interesting part of the comment is the part in bold. Seth thinks that this big knowledge is unlikely to be due to just studies on Gammon’s part. It might be a little bit of a stretch, but I would like to link this knowledge to the temple event since it’s about the queen.

So, now I’ve collected all the clues from the novel regarding the consequences of the temple event:

Gammon becomes desperate to avert Alice’s “prophecy”.

Gammon potentially gains knowledge of the swap technique and of the fact that Alice and all the queens in the past could use it. 

So, what happened to Gammon?

In the next part part, I will explore various possibilities of things that may have happened to him, asking for each three questions.

a) Does it have those two events in the hints happening as a consequence?

b) Does it make sense in the context of the novel?

c) Why would Gammon "sceam" for it? Would it make sense?

#evillious chronicles #evillious #adam moonlit #eve zvezda #eve moonlit #seth twiright #gammon octo #gammon loop octopus

[sabineelectricheart]

Secreterial Duties

Summary: Byleth takes her job very seriously, especially when her boss go MIA for two days.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1800

Notes: A bit of a workplace romance meets broken Dimitri. Hope you like it!

It was not too uncommon for Dimitri to close himself off when his lack of sleep and hallucinations about dead people started to get the best of him. He would retreat away for a day or two, then appear refreshed and even sunny, for lack of a better term, once he had gotten word of a new project to work on.

This programming company was her boss’ very life. She would wager her bottom dollar that the business was the thing he cared the most about, on what he sunk the most effort and love to have it prosper. Considering he had just an estranged step-sister in the way of family, and all his friends were employed in that office, one would find his dedication almost reasonable.

Yesterday, Sylvain had confirmed that they closed on a large project and that they should start working on it right away. However, this has been Byleth’s third time calling her boss, her second voicemail and still there is no reply.

The prospect of a new project has always managed to break Dimitri out of his funk, allowing him to focus on something other than the thoughts that constantly plagued his mind. Alas, it seems, that he has dug himself a little too deep this time around, and even his prized company has not been positioning itself as much of a prospect to break him out of it.

Pulling the device away from her ear, the secretary caught eyes with Felix. His gaze was slightly hopeful as he was also unable to get through to Dimitri. Yet, with a small shake of her head, she signalled she also has had no such luck. The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before quietly going back to his desk and concerning himself with his work.

Byleth decided to follow suit the example and focused on the open spreadsheet on her computer screen. The Winter Solstice would come sooner rather than later, and she had to organize the yearly bonus pay-out and the taxes for filing season coming the New Year. There is much to be done, even if the boss was not around to check on it.

It was only after she had all but finished her day’s work, as the other employees pick up their jackets and leave, that she thought about the blue-eyed owner of the office behind her chair.

The blue-haired woman checks her phone once more to see if she had missed a call since the afternoon. Seiros, at this point, she would be more than content with anything, even a reassuring text. However, nothing had come through.

So, once she tidied up her desk and made sure she was completely alone, Byleth opened a locked drawer from her desk and fetched a key card. It was time to pay her favourite programmer a visit.

The blond man had given her a key to his home in confidence, and she made sure to honour it. She kept it very well hidden in her work station and refused to use it unless she was explicitly asked or it was a serious emergency. Neither scenario has ever played out before, but such a prolonged absence in such a critical moment certainly demanded drastic action.

The blue-haired secretary walked through the loft with her chin held high as her stiletto heels tapped against the marble floor, using the key card to call on the elevator that would take her to the penthouse.

It was the first time she has been here. She does her boss’ taxes every year, along with the company’s taxes, and so the opulence of the place is of no surprise to her. The software business brought in a decent income, even with the generous terms that they treated their employees, but that is little more than a drop in the bucket, pocket money in those obscene accounts. He earns more than she will ever do in her lifetime on his passive investments alone.

The Blaiddyd name is linked to the old aristocracy in Fhirdiad, and even if she never really cared for society pages, she knew that they were wealthy and influential. It was hard to, since the bus she rode from her home to her job every morning passed straight in front of a castle that bore the epithet.

It had been abundantly clear to her, even before she began working for Dimitri, that he did not really need to be there. She finds that her boss works hard because he believes in what he does, because he enjoys the hard labour, and she finds that she respects that.

She rang the buzzer, and Byleth waited patiently for his voice to be heard from the device. However, after a few minutes of waiting, there was no answer.

Sighing heavily, she rang the buzzer again. The woman knew very well that the blond was home for the night as she had managed to catch a glimpse of a light being on from under the door.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The soft, sore voice sounding from the device scared her, almost causing her to lose her composure. She bit at sher lip, stepping closer to the door.

“Dimitri, I had to make sure you were okay. You missed my calls today about the new project we got.” She pointed out.

She was hoping that the argument would be enough for him to open up the door for the to talk, or at least for her to have a good look at him. For her, it was important to have more of a visual confirmation that he was truly well, but the door only offered her silence in return.

“Dimitri?” Byleth called. “Can I come in?”

Still, no answer came from the apartment.

The secretary figured that he did not want her to be there, and it was best not to push too much. Perhaps she could stop by before going to the office tomorrow, or call Felix and hope he has more luck than she did.

Feeling disheartened, she sighed, pulling her coat tighter around her as she turned to catch the elevator down.

She only made it a few steps away from the apartment before the open swung open behind her.

“What… What is this business about a new project?” Dimitri asked quietly.

The puerile quality to his question made Byleth smile and nod as she turned around to face him.

“Yes, Sylvain finally managed to land the contract with the Ministry of Health this week.” The woman informed him. “If you want it, I can give you the brief tonight. I think we are missing a certain touch.”

The blond smiled at her words, stepping away from the doorway to let her through. He helped her out of her coat and hung it on the closed, letting her get comfortable before guiding she to the bar stools in his kitchen.

“So, this new project.” Dimitri segues. “What has Sylvain said about the minutia with the contract?” 

Byleth went on to explain all that she has heard and show him the documents she had notated these last two days of work, making sure he knew every detail that she could possibly transmit ahead of a team meeting.

“I guess I have to go into the office tomorrow.” He concludes, energized. “Can you let the others know? We should sit down and discuss the software plan, there are some things I want to change to incorporate the comments from the Ministry officials.”

The secretary reached for her work bag, so she could pick up her mobile. “I’ll send them an email tonight.”

He picked at something on the counter, a slight frown falling darkly over his features. She lifted her hand from her lap, hovering just above his shoulder when she stopped.

“May I... Touch you, Dimitri?” The secretary asks, softly.

A belated breath later, he nodded. Sighing at the warmth of her hand as it made contact with his sweater. A small part of him wanting to lend into the touch, yet he kept himself upright as her thumb rubbed gently circles. That almost made him melt.

“Have you eaten anything today, Dimitri?” Her voice soft and gentle as she spoke, and with a small shake of his head, she stood from her seat.

Byleth offered a small pat to the man’s shoulder before heading into the kitchen to make him something simple. She knew, after so many lunch disasters, that her boss is majorly ambivalent about food, being able even to stomach the terrible cooking from her cousin Flayn, but he only actually enjoyed a very limited number of dishes.

A moment later, a cheese gratin, made out of that annoyingly fancy cheese which was Sylvain’s go-to choice for any gift giving occasion, was pushed in front of him. He looked up surprised, finding her sweet smile as she nodded for him to eat before starting to clean up the mess she made.

He ate, pleasantly reminded once again of the care and attention his secretary dispensed over him. He held back tears as he ate what he could, already feeling the onset of sickness creep into the pit of his stomach.

He pushed the plate away, letting Byleth quickly grab it and take it away before he could stand from his seat and bring it around the island.

“You don’t have to do that.” The man said, rather embarrassed.

She shrugged, rinsing off the dishes and quickly cleaning them before setting them up to dry.

“I made the mess, so I’m cleaning it up.” She stated, pragmatically. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

He nodded, smiling shyly as she finished up in the kitchen. Following the man into the living room and placing herself beside him as he turned on the tv for background noise.

Byleth let him talk freely, and they had a good time together, with no regard to the action-packed movie going on the cable channel in front of them.

It was easy to have a brief moment of distraction.

At one point, Dimitri fell asleep in a peaceful nap. He woke a few hours later, his eyes thick with sleep and an unfamiliar weight settled against his chest. Looking down, he found his secretary, the woman he was secretly interested in, snuggled into his sweater.

Glancing around for a clock, he chuckled silently to himself. For the first time in weeks, he had managed to get five hours of sleep with no interruptions from his plagued mind. He would accredit her with being the reason he slept as well as he did.

It might not be the perfect situation, and it will be painful to deal with it, but for now, he would enjoy the moment of warmth and comfort he found with Byleth.

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

#fire emblem #Dimitri Blaiddyd

[inafb]

Are These Friends?

I think I've addressed this before but my "blog" is more so my place to vent and find other like-minded, stressed, and generally 'done with the bullshit life has had to offer' individuals.

What brought me to tumblr? Well it's free for one but it's mainly because I don't really have an outlet in which I feel I can just release my frustrations and not feel like I'm annoying someone else or feel like my friendships are one-sided.

I have like two friends and I am constantly battling in my head insecurities and thoughts about "am I annoying" or "am I unloading my problems on them too much?" I try not to overthink but it's hard when their actions and responses or no response at all leave me feeling like I definitely am.

One of these friends is great when I talk to her. She listens for hours and she's very supportive. Yet, whenever I call her she doesn't pick up. Maybe once every blue moon but it's very rare and when I text her she doesn't respond either. Now, granted, she's not a texter and neither am I which is why our conversations are always phone based but still. She could still send me back a voice message.

It makes me feel weird, like she's screening my calls but whenever she calls me I pick up. I also feel like that makes it hard to say no when she wants to use my afterpay because I really don't like mixing friends and money due to a really bad experience with that.

Then the other friend I have we used to be super close in the past but we had a falling out. We are talking now but it's not the same and it will likely never be. She has a tendency to leave me on read and not respond and then the next time we talk is because I reached out to her. Previously, I have ended a friendship because I felt like I was always reaching out to them to talk and I felt like I was trying to hold onto something that was fading away.

With her, I feel like I'm trying too hard and overthinking every text. Like "Oh I probably shouldn't say this because she'll stop responding." Even if she doesn't stop responding because of what I'm saying, the fact that she doesn't attempt to reach out after a couple or more days pass is what really bothers me. How is it that I'm left on read but I'm the one to reignite the convo? AND the only reason I need to is whenever I'm in crisis or need to vent because if I don't get some of this stuff off my chest, I will truly be a fucking sobbing mess.

And nobody wants that.

I want friends who want to talk to me, friends who don't leave me on read for 5 days or not answer my calls because they don't want to talk to me when I need them but call me when they need me. I have NEVER had an equally balanced friendship and all of those friendships have disappeared or died violently.

I truly want to say something but at this point I'm self-conscious about even that. I can hear their thoughts in my head once I address it. Like "damn bitch, you always got a problem with SOMETHING!" They'll most likely decide that they do not have time or the patience to be dealing with me and all my problems and gaslight me saying I'm overthinking things. But I'm not really overthinking anything, their actions may not have the intention of making me feel like they don't want to talk to me but they also aren't explicitly saying "I'm not answering right now because of xyz..." so I have to interpret these actions based on previous experiences. My previous experiences with all kinds of people have led me to this conclusion.

At this point, I am just going to try and keep my shit to myself or tumblr because being in constant turmoil about how people feel about me is exhausting.

At this point, I am completely alone. No real emotional support from family or friends so I am trying to find a way to rely on myself or other people who feel the same so I don't feel so lonely in my sadness.

#loneliest #sadnees #fake friends #no friends #no support #emotional support #emotional suffering #crying real tears #escape #frienship #broken #damaged goods #kill my brain #kill my feelings #kill me

[fratboykate]

yelena is aroace, why is it so hard for you to admit it???

I’ve been staying away from this because it feels like such a pointless thing to argue about. Despite me having my own tagging system that keeps me out of the show, character, and ship tags a seemingly endless amount of you have been ceaselessly hounding me for days, trying to police what I say and do on my blog. I've finally reached my breaking point so…here we go I guess.

Let’s start with the basics since it appears that most of you fail to grasp even that. There’s two distinctly different concepts that fandom conflates and/or tries to use interchangeably because evidently only a handful of us took a literature class in school. Time for a lesson.

CANON: Canon are the elements of a fictional story that are officially a part of it. Canon is IRREFUTABLE information provided directly from the media to the audience. In movies and TV this would mean things like action or dialogue that happen ON SCREEN. In a book or comic it would be things EXPLICITLY said or shown on the page. Canon isn’t fan interpretation/speculation, fix-its, headcanons, what-ifs, something an actor said at a con in front of 200 people or that they “thought maybe that’s a thing their character would do” at an interview in a press junket. Canon is what is IN THE TEXT. End of story.

AUTHORIAL INTENT & DEATH OF THE AUTHOR:

-Authorial Intent: An author can have an “intention” with a piece but that ends the moment the story is out of their hands and the reader/viewer takes ownership of it. Why? Because none of us see the world the same way. Literally. The author simply cannot control how an individual will read their work, cannot dictate how we embrace what they supposedly wrote, and cannot force us to throw out our own takeaway of the text. It is entirely possible that my experience with the text or the characters is vastly different than what they “intended” that to be and there is nothing wrong with that. Once art is out in the world it is going to take a life of its own. That is how subjectivity works.

-Death Of The Author: TV Tropes defines Death Of The Author as follows: “It holds that an author's intentions and background (including their politics and religion) should hold no special weight in determining how to interpret their work. This is usually understood to mean that a writer's views about their own work are no more or less valid than the interpretation of the reader.”

Now that we’ve established both those things let’s break down Yelena’s case in particular.

Let’s start with the ��Ace” part. It is more than obvious that you guys are taking AUTHORIAL INTENT and confusing it with CANON. One of the authors wrote an obscure blog post where they expressed some thoughts. Let’s highlight key quotes from the post:

“Most scholars agree that the first official use of “aromantic” was documented in 2005. That’s thirty-five years after I was born, six years after Yelena was invented, and—fictionally--approximately ten years after Yelena would have come into being (in the version of events where she was born rather than cloned).”

Oh well...right off the bat, Authorial Intent seems to be out the window. The term didn’t even exist when they created Yelena ergo it is impossible that they set out to write her as “ace”. Next.

“But now, let’s talk a bit about Yelena. When I first invented her, I didn’t give much thought to her romantic life or sexuality because neither factored into the story I was telling at the time. Later, when I had lived with her a little longer and someone asked me if she might be ACE, I thought that actually made a lot of sense for her.”

This is an "afterthought" situation. I’m not saying this to undermine the writer as a person, saying they have ill will, or calling them a liar. But this is - as clearly stated BY THEM - an afterthought. Yelena was not created as an "ace" character. Next.

These are going to be two quotes:

“I like the idea of her being ACE and hope they go with that, but despite my 20+ years writing comics, there isn’t even anyone there I can mention that to. That’s not how comics work. Even if I said she’s X or Y or X and Y, Marvel might be a day away from releasing something that takes her in a totally different direction. Ultimately, my ideas about how Yelena identifies are no more right or wrong than yours.

I have a lot to say about how unfairly creative IP is handled in this industry, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss. What I do want to impart is that it’s a bad idea to trust multibillion-dollar corporations to represent you and your community.”

and

“I am a fan-fic writer and RPer, though, and I firmly believe that when you write or play or draw a character, you get to decide what is and isn’t true about them. No one can tell you you’re wrong (except, perhaps, your GM) – that’s the entire point. So if your question is really, “do you think it’s okay if I write/play Yelena as X or Y or interested in Z,” I am always going to support your choices. 100%. Do what you think feels right and makes sense. FWIW, you have my blessing."

The writer is LITERALLY TELLING YOU, in black and white, to headcanon Yelena as whatever you want because...

Their own ideas of Yelena are basically headcanons at this point.

They understand the inherent importance of representation and they agree that it would be cool that she could be this one thing but that they do not make and cannot make any creative decisions about what the character is or isn’t.

They are making it clear to you - the fan - that they do not get to dictate canon because they do not own the character. Disney/Marvel does. They are telling you that “you as an individual decide what her truth is and how you want her to represent to YOU” and yet somehow you guys turned that open invitation into “I must hound everyone who disagrees with my personal interpretation of how I want her to represent ME”.

Now, relevant quotes excerpted…beyond this one blog post there is no other actual canon evidence in any of the comics of Yelena verbalizing anything about her sexuality. At all. Anywhere. If you have it, please make me eat crow. Correct me. But I’ve been doing vast research on it for a couple of days now and have even asked people to provide it and no one can which is pretty strong evidence that there isn’t. All that anyone can come up with is the author's blog post and another interview where they have yet another throwaway sentence of Authorial Intent. This is it:

"PROBABLY MORE LIKELY". That is an opinion, my friends. This is all you have. Intent and Opinions does not canon make.

Now, onto my absolute fucking favorite part of this whole thing...

You want to know what IS canon? You want to know what you all conveniently and willingly choose to gloss over and never mention because it doesn't serve your narrative?

1) The fact that CANONICALLY Yelena is a lingerie model and a sex worker who owns a soft-core porn empire. [x]

2) The fact that in this scene she has an entire conversation with Natasha about how she chooses to use her body to sexually manipulate targets to get what she wants:

Interesting how I had to start doing research into Yelena to learn that because in this entire conversation about “representation” sex workers and sex positive, feminist women had never once come up. Funny how apparently sex workers don’t deserve a superhero then? Hmmmm...

I’m not saying one is more worthy than the other, just a point I figured was worth flagging because it just seems oh so very curious to me.

--

Let’s move onto the “Aro” part because this is the real doozy. This is the one y’all truly bent yourselves into a pretzel to come up with. At least there is some sort of something you can cling to on the "ace" front but on this one you really just went for the mountain of straws and started to grasp.

The "proof" you guys use of her being "aro" is a single panel of her saying "I'm not...anything". Here's the entire scene instead of just the one frame you guys use out of context:

I'm going to use two different sources here to debunk this one.

- This person had already read the whole series the panel you guys chose to extract that ONE frame from and completely misconstrue to support your point. Here are a couple of excerpts of the ask they answered:

“…It’s more people seeing that one panel and misunderstanding it.[…] The panel where she says "I’m not anything" is a reoccurring theme throughout this series specifically about her not seeing herself as the Black Widow and her dehumanization of herself. The full page itself is about the woman she was talking to goading Yelena by asking if she was into BDSM.”

I then had a DM conversation with the person to find out more because I wanted to get further context about the series as a whole since they had the full picture. I specifically asked them questions about this part. They said the following:

“The way she [the woman] degrades her [Yelena] and calls her worthless is supposed to be feeding into Yelena thinking she isn’t as good as Natasha and how she’s not truly the Black Widow. The "I Am Nothing" is the writers very badly trying to ham fist their way into having Yelena saying she is nothing as she is not the Black Widow, which is the main point of the comic."

Without having read the rest of the comic, if I were to see these panels in isolation, I would have a slightly different interpretation of the scene, because...again...no one digests texts the same way. This is a prime example of that. What I would gather from it is that Yelena would be saying “I am nothing” as in “I don’t label myself as anything” rather than literally just jumping straight to “I am aromantic”. Like…that is such a giant stretch that it’s almost laughable.

The second person I'm quoting is an AROACE person who made a whole thread on twitter agreeing that Yelena is NOT canon aroace and sharing pretty solid (and similar) factual evidence as to why.

[Full disclosure: I was sent this link as I was in the process of finishing this post by someone who knew I was writing it and I figured it was worth adding an Aro/Ace voice to the mix as well].

Here are some good excerpts:

"...in said interview grayson talks about yelena being asexual then proceeds to describe yelena as aromatic instead, making it clear that she doesn't know the difference between the two orientations..."

The writer then proceeds to break down and analyze the same misconstrued panels I was quoting above. She runs through several possible scenarios of what that scene could mean, all just as likely as the other. All valid interpretations. All different versions of Yelena as an LGBT character. This is the most important part to me tho:

"...once again think about the time and place yelena grew up in. you're going to try and tell me yelena knows what asexual is and what it means? muchless aromantic? she grew up in approximately 70s russia... expecting her to know her sexuality at that point is kinda weird?

now with all this in mind (especially the last three!) it pretty much completely erases any chance that those panels are meant to be her saying shes aroace. as far as im aware these are the only two pieces of evidence people try to use to confirm yelena as canonically aroace. both are very easily debunked.

i am by no means here to tell anyone not to write yelena as aroace, she's your character do what you want! i'm only here to educate people on this topic. and as someone who is BOTH aro and ace its absolutely my place to speak on this. [...] all i want is for this non-existent canon to stop being continuously shoved down everyone's throats."

And finally:

"i'd also just like to add the way a lot of people tend to handle this topic of conversation is very weird. if your first instinct when you see an aroace character is to say they cant be shipped or cant have sex... that's weird! aroace is a spectrum! not all aroaces are repulsed by sex and relationships! yes, some aroaces are! but not all of them. to immediately force her into that box with no evidence is extremely stereotypical! a very good majority of conversation based around aroace yelena is riddled with stereotypes."

--

I'm going to revisit the opening lesson for a beat because it has to do with my final point. Let me quote myself in case we already forgot:

"Canon is IRREFUTABLE information provided directly from the media to the audience. In movies and TV this would mean things like action or dialogue that happen ON SCREEN."

Why am I circling back? Because with this new wave of IP and adaptations that we're living in. So many pieces of IP are getting adapted from podcasts, comics, books, etc into TV/Film. Changes are always going to be made from the original to the screen. Always. ALWAYS. What is canon in one is not necessarily going to be canon in the other. They're two completely separate pieces of media. Every single time. They immediately become divorced and stand-alone from each other as soon as a derivative is created.

It's why you see things like couples being "endgame" in books but not in shows/movies. Or people being alive or dead in books but not in TV/films. Or major story points being changed. Or new characters being introduced or omitted from adaptations at all. They are not the same thing. Canon on text is one thing. CANON ON SCREEN IS ANOTHER. Shut up already about "what's canon here must be canon here" and learn the difference.

Do you want to know how much characters/relationships have changed from Marvel comics to the MCU? Let me list a few things that are canon in the comics just for quick references.

Black Widow had romances with Bucky, Hawkeye, and Daredevil.

Hela is Loki’s daughter not his sister.

Pepper was never married to Tony.

Black Window and the Hulk have never been on the Avengers together.

Natasha and Yelena are rivals not sisters.

I could keep going but I think you get the point. Marvel Comics are not the MCU. I'll repeat:

MARVEL COMICS ARE NOT THE MCU.

Simply because something happens or is true is one does not mean it must be true in the other. It is especially important to drive that point home in this case because "Yelena is aroace" isn't even a canon fact in the comics. It's farfetched at best. At best.

My goal with this is not to tell you to not headcanon Yelena as aroace. If that is important to you, dear god fucking do it to your heart's content. No one is trying to fucking take that from you. Matter of fact, if you want to string two whispers of a stretch together and pretend in your delusional little head that it’s “canon” be my guest. Where the issue begins is that you are now trying to militaristically enforce this “canon” myth when it is nothing more than that…A MYTH. And you are trying to force it on people who weren't fighting you on it to begin with. People like me who were just over here in my own corner of the internet minding my own business. I wasn’t invading your spaces, arguing with any of you, or trying to debunk any of your beliefs until you all insisted on coming to me with this bullshit over and over and over again.

All I - a casual viewer who had zero knowledge of the comics or the backstory - wanted to do was calmly enjoy and interpret these two characters and their relationship however the show had established them which was...AS A BLANK SLATE. Right now in the MCU they are non-denominational. They have never said Kate is [XYZ] and Yelena is [ABC] therefore I am free to construe them and pair them however I see fit. It is not up to you to tell me otherwise.

Now, with all that settled, leave me the fuck alone.

#i dont want to hear it again i dont #im even going to put something in the yelena tag for the first time so you see it read it and know to leave me alone #for the rest of fucking time #yelena belova #kate x yelena #hawkeye #ybelova #answers #anonymous #i said i wasnt going to have time today but....i made it #hawkeye meta

[thefanficmonster]

Soulmates

Ranboo & Wilbur’s Sister!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing (?)

Genre: FLUFF, Platonic Fluff, CUTENESS, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Few of the many highlights of Ranboo’s trip to UK where him and Wilbur’s sister Y/N meet in person for the first time.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🤗 Hope this is your best one yet and I hope you spend it marvelously with people you love. Have fun on your special day and save me a slice of cake 😉 I hope you like my birthday gift for you! Wish you a long life full of success and happiness 🌺 Lots of love, Vy ❤

The day Y/N mistakably wandered into Wilbur’s recording room, assuming he wasn’t streaming, to complain about her then-boyfriend who had pissed her the hell off should be written down in history.

Because that’s the day Y/N met Ranboo. That’s the day Tommy and Wilbur knew that a beast of a friendship has been kindled.

Oh, if only they knew that their terminology didn’t even scratch the surface.

A few months of daily texting, video chats and calls between him and Y/N, much to the surprise of both his friends, Ranboo called them one beautiful grey morning, asking for one of them to haul ass as soon as possible and pick him up from the airport.

Y/N, who overheard the call because of how loud the boy had to yell to outshout the wind howling outside, took the ‘as soon as possible’ part super seriously, therefore ushering her brother into the car, speeding a little over the speed limit - with thankfully no repercussions - towards what turned out to be the best weekend of her entire life. Now, eighteen years might not be a long time, but if we consider what memories of these past eighteen years will stick out in her memory in the future eighteen years, this weekend will definitely be at the top.

Little did she know at the time that the same would apply for Ranboo, but also for the people who watched the vlogs Tommy and Wilbur shot while touring their friend around the beauty of London and Brighton - sights he saw so little of considering his eyes were so transfixed on the girl who he found to be his literal soulmate.

Allow me to give you a few examples in chronological order.

The Airport, Friday 29.04.2022, 10:30 AM

You know those moments in rom-coms when one character meets the other at the airport after being apart for what to them felt like an eternity? Ok, now imagine that exact thing but between two friends. Got the mental image? If not, don’t worry, I’ll describe it to you.

Wilbur has barely parks the car when Y/N leaps out of the backseat, scaring the driver and Tommy, who is in the passenger seat senseless. Her brother has every intention of scolding her when he too gets out of the car but is stopped by what he sees - the wholesomeness of the scene in front of him.

Just like in those cheesy movies, Ranboo has abandoned his luggage to catch the excited girl, locking her in his embrace as he spins her around, provoking a fit of giggles from her as she holds onto him for dear life.

Only once he’s set her down the height difference becomes explicitly visible, standing at a foot and then some, forcing Y/N to crane her neck every time she tries to look the boy in the eyes.

“So, if I run at you at max speed, I’ll get the same treatment?“ Being the last to emerge from the vehicle, Tommy calls out to Ranboo from afar, as if giving himself time and space to pick up speed if he gets an affirmative answer.

“Don’t even think about it!“ Ranboo sticks out the arm that isn’t wrapped around Y/N’s shoulders to signal for Tommy to not pull a stunt like that, “Special treatment for special people.“

“Oh you...“ The blond starts but is cut off by the second tree-of-a-man present.

“Let it go, Tommy. At least you’re not the luggage boy.“ He hisses, turning his gaze at his sister and her new best friend as he picks up the aforementioned abandoned luggage.

Neither of them notice though, both turned to one another as they’ve already started a random conversation. That’s how the other two Brits immediately know this is gonna be one hell of a weekend for all parties involved...

The Soot Home, Friday 29.04.2022, 09:00 PM

The plan was to watch a movie before Tommy has to go home for the night despite being invited to stay over countless times. Yes, that was the plan. However, what this night inevitably turned into is a recreation of the moment in the cinema when a couple of people sitting close to you just keep chatting, albeit in hushed whispers, it’s still distracting.

In Ranboo and Y/N’s defense, though, the movie is hella boring. Even Wilbur and Tommy started drifting off about half an hour into it but still, as the oldest of the bunch, the first-born Soot frequently felt the need to shush his sister and his friend, more as to not wake up the sleeping Tommy than for him to be able to hear the dialog in the movie.

But, as you could probably imagine, the warning has effect for about two minutes before the two break out in chatter.

“Ok, with the speed we’re going at we’ll find solutions to all the world’s problems. But before we stray that far, tell me: what places do you wanna visit specifically?“ Y/N asks the American who, unbeknownst to her, is having a really hard time registering her words because of how awed he is by her accent. It’s far from his first time being faced with the charm of Brits, but man, yours is on a whole new level.

That’s why he takes a moment or two to respond, pretending he’s thinking up an answer when in reality he’s picking up the fragments of what he did hear you say, trying to fit them together to form what is it you probably said, “Um...well, wherever you think it’s a worthy place to take me to I’m all cool with.” He follows that up with an unspoken: “As long as you’re the tour guide, I’ll be happy anywhere.”

Y/N bites her lip, gaze growing a bit unfocused as if she’s racking through her memories to find a place she thinks is worth a visit and a place he’d also enjoy visiting.

Before she can think any better of it, she blurts out: “My favorite place in London is the pier my the bridge. The actual bridge is pretty nice, but I love the pier, you can see the cutest sailboats and, if the weather is gloomy - which it always is - in the late afternoon, they turn on the decorative lights. I’m telling you, you’ve never seen a prettier sight.” She pauses for a second to catch her breath and put her gushing on hold for the purpose of realism, “But it’ll probably be too windy so...”

“So that’s where we’re going. Wind be damned.“ Ranboo says without missing a beat, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles fondly at this bubbly girl who’s currently exhibiting the most innocent and child-like joy with her sparkling eyes and the grin on her face. 

She straightens in her seat, enough to be able to wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. The pier will need to take the second place on the list of things worthy of Ranboo’s attention tomorrow. In fact, that will be the last thing he’s looking at if Y/N will be this happy all throughout the journey.

Her smile, her happiness - it’s a sight he doesn’t want to leave without embedding into his brain first.

The following morning...

“So much for going home.“ Wilbur says to Tommy who’s just awoken from his spot on the floor where they’d littered a bunch of pillows for him to be comfortable while watching the movie the night before.

He too had dozed off on the couch, somewhere near the hour mark of the movie so he hadn’t thought to wake up his friend, nor had he noticed the other two cuddled up eighteen-year-olds on the opposite end of the couch who too had fallen asleep, just significantly later than the other two.

With a single conspiratorial smile exchanged between the two blondes, the taller one goes and grabs a polaroid camera - gifted to him by Y/N - and snaps a picture of the two slumbering friends.

Project ‘Memories in the making’ has commenced.

The London Bridge/Pier, Saturday 30.04.2022, 12:30 PM

“Before you go and make fun of out hair in the comments just know that this entire expedition was Y/N’s idea! Y/N!“ Tommy, whose arm is already starting to go sore from holding his camera up vlogger style, looks over his shoulder to seek out the perpetrator of the crime against his and Wilbur’s hair.

He finds that she’s occupied with something at the moment.

With what?

Well, her and Ranboo have fallen behind but it’s not even a surprise anymore. They’ve taken stop after stop, just to talk, each time bringing Wilbur and Tommy, the parents of the group, closer to shoving them back in the car and driving them home. Although they probably wouldn’t find anything wrong with that  either.

As of what Y/N’s occupied with - she’s standing on a bench to give her some leveling with Ranboo’s height. Her hair is just as wild as theirs and so is Ranboo’s but Y/N’s currently tending to the case with the power of hair clips, using them to keep the boy’s hair out of his eyes. To top it all off, they’re butterfly and flower shaped so the sight of Ranboo once the girl has finished with her work is that much more adorable.

As annoying as Wilbur’s been pretending to find these two all this time, he can’t help but smile. He hasn’t seen his sister this happy in what feels like forever. It’s a moment he wants to commemorate for their sake as well as his.

And so he takes a few more pictures - one while Y/N’s still working with Ranboo’s mess of hair; another when he looks at himself with his phone’s front camera and they both burst out laughing; and a third one when he picks the girl up in his arms, whirling her around briefly before setting her down. 

He contemplates taking another shot of t he moment they share, looking into each other’s eyes so adoringly, but he finds it too personal for him to photograph although he’s pretty sure it’ll be forever photographed in their own memory.

He does, however, snap one more shot when Ranboo ruffles Y/N’s hair and pats her head lovingly afterwards.

The London Bridge/Pier, Saturday 30.04.2022, 04:00 PM

After setting up the tripod for a group picture, the four strike a pose: Tommy crouched in front of everyone else; Wilbur on Ranboo’s left, standing tall and proud with a purposeful and faux serious look on his face with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans; Y/N piggybacked on Ranboo’s back, her arms wrapped around his shoulders for her own security despite his hands holding her up by the backs of her knees.

The camera has been set up to take several shots at even intervals so they can strike different poses for each shot.

Reviewing them afterwards reveals that the best one, without a doubt is the one that was captured a mere two seconds after Y/N cracked a joke that’s got all four of them laughing their butts off. A small detail making the picture better is the fact that Ranboo turned his head to the side to be able to look at her over his shoulder. It’s an adorable moment to be caught between them, much like the one Wilbur chose not to photograph earlier.

Faith has a way of playing its way whether we play accordingly or not.

“Hey, is anyone hungry or is it just me?“ Tommy inquires after having gathered the tripod and has resumed vlogging.

If he hadn’t mentioned it, neither of the other three would’ve noticed the growling of their own stomachs, but since he luckily did, they immediately confirm that they’re in the same boat as him.

“There’s that diner we frequent like two minutes down the pier. What do you guys say?“ Wilbur suggests, turning to his friends and sister who’s now become a package deal with Ranboo. Yes, he refuses to set her down.

“I’m down, as long as I can walk there myself.“ Y/N complains, her arms still clasped around the boy’s shoulders to avoid having her return to ground be a graceless plummet.

“No way. Guide me there.“ With that said Ranboo takes off running, marking it the first time this entire trip that they have been ahead of the two blondes.

Chucking exasperatedly to themselves, Wilbur and Tommy follow suit, all the while being able to pinpoint exactly where the other half of their group is because of Y/N’s squeals of Ranboo’s name all the way to the diner.

Will didn’t get a chance to snap a pic of that, but Tommy did catch it with his vlogging camera so the moment won’t be lost in time.

The Amusement Park, Sunday 01.05.2022, 02:00 PM

“No, no, no, Y/N. You can’t go on that ride, you need at least another two inches to qualify.“ Ranboo tells the girl who’s looking longingly at the ride she might actually not be tall enough to ride but is too afraid of disappointment to actually go to the measuring stand.

She might be a little more than half his height, but she’s got more than enough fury capacity to turn around and glare at him, even if that means tilting her head back a comical amount.

“I’m not short, you’re a tree!“ She complains, arms crossed over her chest, a pouty lip, the whole nine yards of looking exactly like a child among the actual children at this amusement park.

Sparing her any potential neck pain, he bends down so they’re at an approximate eye level, the crinkled corners of his eyes letting her know he’s getting one hell of a kick out of this even if his mask is shielding his smile, “And you...” he boops her nose, “...are a treat. A treat of a friend.”

“We’re going on the goddamn ride without you two.“ Tommy calls out to them from five feet away, where him and Will have been standing and observing the interaction before them.

“You know what, go ahead.“ Ranboo motions to the ride, encouraging them to do just that, “We’ll grab some cotton candy and I’ll win Y/N a stuffed animal or two.”

With an arm wrapped around her shoulders, he guides her to the few carnival games that are a part of the amusement park. Although she complies, she doesn’t do so without a complaint, “I can win my own stuffed animals.”

“I’m sure you can Sharp-shooter. Sorry, Short-shooter.“ He teasingly replies.

“Ranboo!“

Luckily, that nose boop was caught by Wilbur’s perfectly on time reflex to snap a shot of that adorable argument. Another wholesome memory to add to the collection.

The Airport, Monday 02.05.2022, 09:00 AM

You know that heartbreaking scene in rom-coms when the two main characters have to say goodbye because one of them is leaving the country for one reason or another? Yeah, imagine that with two best friends instead....again. As before, if you can’t picture it, I got you, no worries.

“But you’ll visit us again soon, right?“ 

This is the millionth time Y/N has asked Ranboo this question and yet the answer still, to her delight, has remained the same. “Of course I will! Either I’m coming here or you’re coming to the US.“

Standing some ways away to let the two exchange goodbyes in peace are Wilbur and Tommy who are genuinely upset to see how heartbroken the girl is.

“They really love each other.“ Tommy says, he too getting slightly emotional at the thought of saying goodbye to his friend.

“They’re soulmates. Soulmates first, friends second.“ Will tells him, his movements unsure as he lifts the camera to capture the second to last picture of Ranboo’s visit.

The very last one is the selfie he takes of the entire group right before Ranboo has to go through the gate, leaving the three behind with a heavy heart that keeps screaming at him to stay although he can’t.

Wilbur drapes the camera’s safety strap around Y/N’s neck, snapping her out of her thoughts as her hands gently take hold of it, inspecting it closely, not having seen it since she saw Wilbur unwrap it on his birthday two years ago.

“I completely forgot to remind you of this. We could’ve used it to take some very cool pictures this weekend.“ She sniffles, pulling herself together after being in tears for the past twenty minutes.

Wilbur smiles quietly to himself, a hand on her back leading her out to the car where Tommy’s already waiting for them, opting to sit in the back as to keep Y/N company and comfort her on the drive home. 

“Don’t worry, it was utilized well.” He responds cryptically and is relieved when she doesn’t ask what he means by that.

Instead, she quietly sits in the backseat, cuddling into Tommy’s side to take a nap after pulling an all-nighter with Ranboo.

The meaning of what her brother said is revealed when she wakes up in her bed a few hours later. On her nightstand, she finds a pocket-sized book which she figures is a polaroid picture album. 

In the first slot, instead of a picture, there is a piece of paper with the question: “What’s a soulmate?” printed on it in cursive lettering.

Flicking through the other pages, she’s stunned to see the many pictures Wilbur took of them throughout this weekend, pictures she’s seeing for the first time.

By the time she gets to the end, she’s in tears all over again, and the final page doesn’t help - it’s another piece of paper instead of a picture and with the same lettering but bolder is written: “THAT” with a heart beneath it.

Wilbur couldn’t have been more right - that, that right there, what Y/N and Ranboo have, it proves that soulmates exist. That in this world, there is someone for everyone, be it romantic, platonic or otherwise.

They have each other.

#ranboo #ranboo fanfic #ranboo imagine #ranboo x you #ranboo x reader #ranboo x y/n #ranboo fluff #ranboo fanfiction #ranboo fic #ranboo our beloved #ranboo one shot #cc!ranboo #wilbur soot #wilbur soot fluff #tommyinnit #tommyinit #dsmp #dsmp wilbur #dsmp fluff #dsmp fandom #dsmp fanfic #dsmp ranboo #mcytumblr #wilbur mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom

[hamliet]

Dabi’s Missing Heart

So I’ve been seeing two main responses to Dabi’s character as portrayed in BNHA 292, both of which I feel touch on a very surface understanding of his character and role in the story despite seeming like opposite takes.  

Take #1: 

Dabi is an unfeeling monster created to show the redeemability of Shigaraki and Enji in contrast with his true eeeevil villainy! He will never be redeemed! 

Take #2: 

Dabi is a sweet softy who did nothing wrong! He will never be redeemed because of this chapter which is so out-of-character! 

Note how they both have the same endpoint. I’m not actually gonna address the redemption question much because I can’t fathom what this panel foreshadows if not Touya’s salvation (alive): 

I’m not looking to debate this either; I’m just putting it here because I know it’ll come up if I don’t.

Instead, I wanna address Dabi’s character. He’s my favorite, and I’ve been asked a few different times whether I enjoy him as a villain or as an uwu poor baby, and my answer is always both. 

Dabi is a villain. This chapter’s rampage is, in my opinion, not remotely out of character for him. But neither is it the summation of his character, and he surely is not meant to make Enji look good by comparison. 

So, who is Dabi? 

Dabi is kind of a flaming jerk, and that’s why I like him. He’s an abuse victim who gets to be angry and crass and sharp. He pushes people away because he doesn’t want to open up to them and get burned (heh). He’s just like Shouto in that, except with a dose of murder. 

Believe it or not, this is a very realistic response to abuse, and very common too. It’s good to see that representation. If the writing was indeed just “he’s bad get rid of him,” well, that would of course be a terrible representation. But seeing a mean victim get redeemed? Now that’s some good sh*t I’m here for. 

If you want a sweethearted, misunderstood soft victim, there is one in MHA, and that’s Shigaraki. Dabi is not these things, but that does not mean he’s not a victim or that he’s somehow an unfeeling monster.

You see, Shigaraki is a heart character. Dabi’s the mind. (Heart and mind characters are a literary pattern that is utilized in literature across the globe; it’s not an eastern/western cultural thing. It has its roots in alchemy.) The problem is that you can’t have a heart without a mind nor a mind without a heart. If you lack one, you’re missing half the picture, and you won’t accomplish anything. 

We see this with Shigaraki in his quest to look for ideals, something to believe in, purpose to justify/enable acting on his feelings/emotions. 

Dabi, in contrast, has conviction and ideals, but eschews any kind of personal connection and care. 

So, both Shigaraki and Dabi struggle to unite heart and mind--but they need to do precisely this. 

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki expressly envisions both Dabi and Himiko when musing on what his purpose is. 

Yet Shigaraki is able to unite more easily with Himiko as opposed to Dabi because Himiko is also a heart character. She claims to be motivated by extreme empathy that warps around to become a lack thereof (wanting to be who she loves).

Shigaraki’s motivations are basically revenge for hero society not saving him--which encompasses both a deep internal and external (societal) need for empathy and a need for better ideals. Shigaraki needs Himiko and Dabi. They’re a trio, and all of them need each other to grow. But Himiko, being similarly driven expressly by emotions, is easier for Shigaraki to understand and work with. 

The irony is that Dabi is actually a very, very emotional character as well. But what he does (as is typical for a mind character) is repress them, compartmentalize, dissociate. He constantly pushes people away, yet admits privately, to himself, that he’s primarily (and paradoxically) motivated by family. This is emotional, yet Dabi claims he “overthought” and, according to other translations, “snapped” can be actually be read as “went crazy” as a result over overthinking (note: both are mind allusions). 

Dabi repressing who he is--Todoroki Touya--is symbolic of him repressing his emotional side, because again, family and emotions are tied together for his character. Now his identity is acknowledged, and Dabi claims to be losing his mind (again), claims that he can’t feel, and yet is completely consumed by emotions. Like, does anyone think he’s being methodical and calculating this chapter? 

It’s not just negative emotions (rage, hate) that drive Dabi in response to his family. His seeking belonging and emotional connection is present even in a chapter where he tries to murder two members of his family and laughs off the risk to the life of another. 

See, Dabi first asked Shouto to validate his pain:

But like, given the circumstances, of course Shouto doesn’t really respond well. How Shouto responds is this: 

Shouto’s words are triggering. And keep in mind I am not blaming Shouto: he’s in shock and he’s a kid. I’m merely trying to explain how it likely comes across to Dabi. 

You’re crazy. Your feelings don’t matter. You don’t really care about Natsuo! You’re a villain and that’s ALL you are. Not a brother or abuse survivor. Just a villain. 

So, uh, yeah, Dabi then retreats back to being unable to feel, dissociating as has always been his coping mechanism. But that’s not all: Dabi’s been repressing for so long that of course he’s gonna go a little insane in response to the dismissal of everything he’s trying to point out. Why wouldn’t he? His family dismissed his pain back then and now again, and so, without that heart, without those emotions, principle is all Dabi has. This has been present since long before Stain’s ideology came into his life: 

Now, he answers this question of existence through Stain’s ideology.  Purpose is all he has, and to him, Shouto and Best Jeanist are dismissing that too. Why are they dismissing it? Best Jeanist dismisses him for an ideal: the overall good of hero society. Shouto has a mixture of this ideal and also like, genuine shock and pain. 

Back to Dabi. Dabi’s summation of himself and his purpose is incorrect and harmful to himself and others. I’m not excusing him or justifying, just explaining. It’s a tragic reflection of what Endeavor raised both Touya and Shouto to be (and thereby ironic that BJ uses an ideal to dismiss him): 

Instead of being raised to be the symbol of hero society--as Endeavor intended--he exists to destroy it. The root is the same: Dabi assumes he exists for hero society, as a tool. He dehumanizes himself, hence why his quirk physically harms him (which also fits his almost religious zeal for Stain’s ideology). But it is not all Dabi is. He’s not a tool, he’s a person, but to acknowledge he’s a person involves acknowledging his heart/emotional desires, and that gets to my next point.

Dabi’s not a reliable narrator about himself. At all. I’ve written about Dabi and dissociation before. So let’s look at Dabi’s devotion to his ideals, the ideals he puts above people and claims he only cares about... because there are moments where Dabi goes against those ideals. 

For one example, Dabi’s gone against those ideals when he’s allowed his personal need for revenge (an emotional/heart motivation) to overcome his longterm plan. Like, he was fully about to get himself killed here, even though that would likely mean no one would know the corruption of the Todoroki family and hero society, just for the chance to prove to his father that he hurt him. 

In addition, I’ve talked before about how Dabi’s the only character in the entire damn manga to comment that maybe using child soldiers is not okay. While it’s not explicitly stated, it’s reasonable to conclude that Dabi considers the abuse of children in hero training a sin of hero society that ought to be purged (hence, part of his ideals). 

That said, I have also pointed out that Dabi has gone after children in the past when it benefits his mission (Bakugou would like a word). So let’s look at four examples of Dabi and his principles concerning kids--since, after all, he claims to be motivated by heroes who hurt kids. 

Firstly, Dabi’s “save the cat” when he spared Aoyama. 

Why did he spare Aoyama? We can only speculate, but it seems quite likely there are two reasons: 1) hurting Aoyama would not add anything to his overall goal of downing hero society, and 2) a terrified, cowering kid might just have been a teeny bit familiar to Dabi. Here, his ideals--destroying hero society--either take a backseat to a reflection of his personal pain (and)/or his ideal of not abusing kids directly contradicted his ideal of bringing down hero society. But the important part is that in this instance, Dabi chose mercy and the goal of bringing down hero society was jeopardized as a result. 

So then why did he attack Tokoyami, Nejire, and Shouto this arc? Well, Dabi does things he knows are wrong for the sake of accomplishing his overall purpose. He does things he knows hurt himself for this purpose. This isn’t new. If he can’t be acknowledged, can’t exist as a person with emotions, then he at least will ensure he still has a purpose.  

In addition, let’s look at what sets Dabi off in all of these instances. (Again, this isn’t me saying “well actually Dabi’s justified.” He’s not. I’m just pointing to what’s in the text to explain the machinations beyond “bad guy do bad.”)

Dabi tries to reason with Tokoyami, pointing out that Twice was doing essentially what Tokoyami is doing: trying to save his friend(s), but Tokoyami doesn’t listen (also again: not me saying Tokoyami should have listened--realistically, in this situation, it makes sense Tokoyami trusted his mentor!)

Only after his reasoning was rejected did Dabi go to flames mode. He could have just let Tokoyami save Hawks, but instead he really wanted to kill Hawks and that overrode his other principles. Was this just because of his furthering his goal--killing the #2 hero would help destroy hero society--or because of a sense of personal revenge for Twice? That’s open for interpretation (in my opinion, it’s likely a mixture, because again, it tends to intertwine more than Dabi likes to think it does). His principles and/or emotions are brushed aside, and Dabi Does Not Like That. 

Dabi does this again with Shouto this chapter, asking him where he stands on their family issues, and gets brushed aside, and then Shouto goes into his rage mode and Dabi responds. Again, not saying Shouto is rational here or that he should side with Dabi’s murderous plan, but like, his words really don’t come across well to Dabi. 

Dabi going after Shouto after explaining things, asking Shouto for help, and then having his pain dismissed is pretty much a repeat of Tokoyami. When Dabi’s pain is dismissed, he says fine, let’s aim for the highest principle possible: making Stain’s will a reality, and damn any emotional ties. 

Dabi’s obsession with ideals, you might say, is a smokescreen to cover his own pain. Far from feeling nothing, he feels very deeply. (I promise I’m getting to Nejire.) 

So what does this indicate? Well, that Dabi does have a heart and a conscience. But when he lets his heart act, when his heart reaches out, he gets burned. His heart jeopardizes his overall purpose, so he most often dissociates himself from it. But by pretending he doesn’t have a heart, he dehumanizes himself, and he projects that dehumanization onto others (see: seeing Shouto as an extension of Endeavor, when that’s actually the precise image Shouto is trying to shed). 

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki has been unconscious during the entire confrontation with Endeavor, nor is it a coincidence that Himiko has been MIA. But, Shigaraki wakes up a bit this chapter not only when hearing Dabi spout about how hero society needs to burn, an ideal/the thing Shigaraki lacks, and through a less important but still-ideal-driven character in Spinner asking him to accomplish his supposed ideal of destruction, but when Dabi saves Shigaraki and Spinner. 

Dabi doesn’t burn Nejire for lols (not that this makes it better because it doesn’t) or even for ideals. He burns her to save Shigaraki and Spinner, because they are his links to full humanity right now. 

(Again, this is also dissociation and projection: Endeavor did this! No, Dabi, you did. You’re perpetuating violence against kids rather than stopping it.)

But anyways, when Dabi calls upon heart, Shigaraki wakes. He lends Gigantomachia and thereby Dabi and the league power. 

Dabi can only grow and actually accomplish anything related to his ideals (fixing hero society) through accepting a heart--even though that will likely mean some painful surgery to shift his ideals to accommodate said heart, because pure ideals don’t leave much room for humanity. He needs to feel to actually change anything, because right now he’s just making things worse (hence, the need for saving and redemption).

I know the League aren’t the protagonists of the serIes, but their complaints aren’t exactly incorrect either (if anything they’re almost a little too valid). But through growing together, Dabi, Shigaraki, and Himiko might actually be able to accomplish something, and get themselves in a place where they can be reached and saved by Shouto, Deku, and Ochaco. Because to be saved, the kids will have to acknowledge the villains’ pain and complaints, and do something about it. 

#bnha 292 #bnha meta #mha 292 #mha meta #dabi #todoroki shouto #todoroki touya #todoroki enji #hado nejire #toga himiko #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #best jeanist #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha theory #mha theory #league of villains #spinner

[1mechanicalalligator]

Hey so how do you compare Spencer Reid and Abed Nadir in terms of autistic rep? What do they get right, what do they get wrong, what is less of a flaw and more of showing the spectrum... idk, I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

Okay my brain is still mush but I'm gonna try to write a coherent answer to this anyway!! And I'm so sorry it took me like 3 weeks!!

Both Spencer and Abed are interesting in terms of autistic rep because both of them are written such that they are never explicitly confirmed as autistic in the text, which, I'm pretty sure, is just the writers trying to cover their asses instead of worrying about doing something wrong or offensive.

We have Jeff tell Abed, "Well, you have Asperger's," but then it's left at that, and later in the Christmas rap Abed says "On the spectrum? None of your business." Neither of those is a confirmation of anything, but the fact that it's mentioned at all I think is significant.

Same with Spencer -- allusions to "the autistic leanings of Dr. Reid," Blake implying that he has Asperger's and him not getting it (and therefore not confirming or denying it), and the fact that he knows exactly how best to approach every autistic person they encounter (I want to say there's 3 or 4 throughout the series?).

In any case, I do think both Spencer and Abed are autistic-coded and do fairly well in terms of representation, especially in that I don't see them as caricatures of autistic people (Sheldon Cooper syndrome, if you will). I see a lot of myself in both of their characters, for what it's worth, and it's nice to see that represented in media.

The thing I really love most about both characters is how they handle emotions. So often, the stereotypical autistic character appears to have no emotions, show no emotions, and doesn't care about anyone except themselves. Which is in no way the universal autistic experience (if there even is one, which there is not).

But both Abed and Spencer have emotions -- they have big emotions, even -- and often don't know how to handle them. We see Annie lamenting that she "broke Abed" in Virtual Systems Analysis, and in Nelson's Sparrow Morgan tells Reid, "Sometimes you put up these walls, and you can't do that, not right now."

And that, I think, is something that is important to show, and I like that it is shown with these two characters. Especially since at other times both are compared to robots or non-human beings (Abed by showing him as an actual robot in Aerodynamics of Gender, Spencer when Emily says, "He's so lifelike" in The Angel Maker).

One of my favorite things is that we see both Abed and Spencer stimming throughout both of their shows, often in the background, which I think is very nice. Have a couple gifs:

Both characters also display a big fear of change. This is explored especially with Abed in History 101 when he's nervous about graduating and not knowing what to expect in the future, and he's able to eventually talk himself down and get through it. Spencer shows this particularly when people leave the BAU for various reasons, but I don't want to get too far into that because I don't want this to be spoiler-y.

Each character has their own individual characteristics, of course, that I just want to touch on briefly because this is getting really long. But with Abed, we have his special interest (TV), we see occasional meltdowns and shutdowns, he wears a very limited wardrobe of comfy clothes, he really likes his buttered noodles, and he has trouble with things like reading analog clocks, tying shoelaces, and telling left from right.

With Spencer, we see him struggling to get jokes or idioms on occasion, he doesn't really like touching (particularly handshakes with strangers), he will talk forever without realizing he should stop, and he misses other social cues. You could maybe argue that his high IQ, reading speed, and eidetic memory make him an autistic savant, but I don't really know how that is diagnosed or what the criteria are.

Anyway! This got really long! But the point is that I think both characters are pretty good autistic rep, even if the showrunners are too scared to make them explicitly autistic, and I find them both very relatable and also very awesome, and I hope this answered your question <3

#autistic spencer reid #autistic abed nadir #criminal minds #nbc community #autistic representation in media #ask

[loupettes]

Some Ten/Rose domestic fluff for the DoctorRose Fic Marathon, mostly to soothe my mental health but who doesn’t need more Ten/Rose in their lives?

T W E N T Y   O N E

SUMMARY: Ten/Rose. It's Rose's twenty-first birthday, and she's invited the Doctor along to a party thrown by her mum. A night of pub celebrations, boisterous friends and family gatherings, quizzes, a little bit of jealousy and some hard truths ahead, the Doctor must grit and bear the domesticity for his best friend — well, the love of his life. If only there was something to make it worthwhile..

TAGS: fluff, domestic, romance, jealousy, pub quizzes, everyone loves Rose Tyler (the Doctor being top of that list), mutual pining, longing, etc etc

Read on AO3: twenty one

***

“See you’ve found a way to pass the time,” she muttered once Laura was out of earshot, slipping her arm out from his and grabbing the napkin from the bar. She looked at it distacefully for a moment, before she passed the napkin to him.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, she seemed irritated, and when Laura put the drink in front of her and begrudgingly took the tenner from the Doctor, Rose seemed to only sadden as she swirled her straw around in her drink.

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

Rose looked at her drink for a moment, a pinch in her brow that he couldn’t translate. It wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t even the irritation she was projecting on her voice, but he wasn’t fond of it, he knew that much.

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

***

It was one of those days, the ones he hadn’t really ever had to subject himself to in his many years of life, and he calls them ‘obligatory domestics’. The kinds of days where he needs to drop Rose off so she can do a bit of ‘life admin’: check in on her grandparents, nip to primark to get some basics, cash her birthday cheques, all that sort of stuff.

And then, of course, there were the days he needed to attend parties.

Now, he wasn’t a party person. Awkward small talk, terrible music — depending on the decade, of course — dreadful finger food, that annoying needless obligation to stay and ‘enjoy yourself’ when all you really wanted to do was leave. This was one of those days where Rose had a party to attend, and had asked him to just drop her off back at home for the night and they could get back to travelling the next day.

The problem was, it was her birthday party.

Now, if it were his birthday — if he even had a birthday — then he wouldn’t exactly call it a mark for celebration. Not even at the turn of a new century, and he most certainly wouldn’t call turning a thousand a celebration, which he was sure was coming up soon. And the funny thing was, Rose didn’t feel the need to celebrate birthdays, either. Well, unless they were somebody else’s; she would go out of her way to make that day astronomically special for them. So when she had turned to him last week, when they were out enjoying a milkshake in a diner on Panvorix, and told him, regrettably, that her mum wanted to throw her a birthday party with her friends and family for her twenty-first, which he was sure meant something to humans, he wondered whether he really needed to be there.

But, and this is where he finds it difficult: he somehow knew she wanted him there. She hadn’t explicitly said so, she had just sort of shrugged and said ‘you can come, too, although I doubt you’ll want to’. But other than that, she had talked about it as though she was going to go, not they. And if he only paid attention to her words and what she was saying, like he thought most humans — and, well, every other species in existence — did, then he would have felt no obligation whatsoever to join her. But these humans, and especially the British, have this odd sort of way of communicating where they would say one thing with words but also without them, and usually, the things they weren’t saying was quite different to the things that they were. And it seemed as though this was the case with Rose. Her lack of eye contact, the slight reddening in her neck, the indifference that he just knew wasn’t as indifferent as she would have liked it to be. She’d slurped her milkshake and changed the subject and that was that — no need to dwell. But once she had gone to bed that night, he wondered. He tinkered away in the control room and tried to interpret all those little things and he just couldn’t, so he gave up and decided to take her for her word. So he told himself, if she brings it up again, if she asks-but-doesn’t-ask him to come, then he’ll go with her. Otherwise, he’ll leave her with her mum for the night and come back for her the next day as she asked.

That was until Jackie called.

“You’re coming,” she had said flatly, and she had said it in such a frighteningly threatening way that he only nodded and agreed.

Rose had seemed most happy when he had said they were getting to her mum’s for midday on Saturday. She had quickly tried to hide it, and once more he got the impression that she was only acting nonchalant. But he wasn't quite sure, so he double checked just to be safe.

“You sure you want me there?”

She had frowned, and again shrugged without looking at him. “Course, you’re my best mate.”

And so here he was. Waiting in the control room for her, in a blue suit this time, while she packed her things in an overnight bag.

Today was her actual birthday. Her mum had called her all excited, wishing her a happy birthday — even though she was about to see her in a couple of hours. The Doctor had made her a cup of tea and said happy birthday, too, but Rose’s cheeks had flushed pink and he took that to mean that was enough making-a-fuss over her birthday for the day. Other than that, he hadn’t seen her all morning, and so when she entered the control room freshly showered and now in her jeans and a hoodie, her backpack slung over her shoulders, she grinned quite sheepishly and said,

“Hello.”

“Hello,” he echoed, a little less nervously. “All packed and ready, then?”

“I am indeed,” she nodded, and skipped over to him with a bit more gusto. “You mentally prepared?”

‘Oh, absolutely not.”

“Me neither,” she chuckled, and tugged on his arm. “You didn’t see mum on my eighteenth — she gets several octaves higher, just to warn you.”

He shuddered. “Well, lucky for you— and me, I suppose— my capacity to detect high pitches gets less and less with each passing century.”

“That’s good to know.”

   After they had gone to Nando’s for lunch, Jackie had asked the Doctor to join her and help set up at the pub while Rose got ready back at the flat with a couple of her mates. He hadn’t been in love with the idea — a few hours alone with Jackie filling him in on the gossip of somebody called ‘Bev’ while various 90s pop songs echoed through the room, that was — and she certainly did like to talk when she was excited. They had pinned a few ‘Happy 21st Birthday!’ banners around the room, chucked a lot of small plastic ‘21’s across the floor and the bar, and, by the time Rose called to say she was on her way, the room had filled with quite a lot of people indeed. Some family members he was sure he had met before, little kids of cousins he definitely hadn’t, and a few of Rose’s friends who seemed to know her family quite well. It was the first time that day he had sort of warmed, seeing that Rose had grown up with such a loving group of friends and extended family, and he even loosened just a little as he chatted to a few while they waited for Rose to turn up.

“Everybody, she’s at the bottom of the road!” Jackie called out loudly, when she received a text from Shareen. At that, people picked up nearby birthday poppers and whistles, getting to their feet with excited and anticipatory smiles — the Doctor even had a confetti cannon himself ready to go for when she walked in.

But of course, when she did walk in, he couldn’t do anything at all except look at her.

As people called out excited ‘happy birthday!'s and set off their poppers, the Doctor found himself completely anchored to the spot while the room only burst with colour and into life. He had always found her quite beautiful, especially when she was giggling away or saying something particularly clever, and he had even found himself breathless once or twice to watch her. But tonight, goodness — he wasn’t convinced he had two bloody hearts because neither one was beating and certainly neither of them were supplying oxygen to the rest of his body.

It was her smile, without a doubt. It was different somehow, like an old smile he was sure she must have used before she met him, to see all these familiar faces of her loved ones. That, and her cheeks were dusted a delightful pink, a little shy he knew she must have been to have so many people around her for her. Her hair was wavy for once, and she wore a black dress that the Doctor was momentarily ashamed to find himself looking at; the way it sculpted her curves and defined the most enchanting silhouette, cut mid-thigh and exposing her legs — and he was especially ashamed for his gaze to linger on those, but she was simply so exquisite, everywhere, that he soon felt instead the same overwhelming awe he gets when he studies a painting, ones in which the colours tell a compelling story and the shapes express feelings that words could not completely.

He still hadn’t managed to find his breath by the time she caught his eye, and he found himself desperately trying to cling to coherent thoughts when she nervously made her way over to him.

“Hello,” she said again when she got to him, pausing for a moment before she reached up on her toes to give him a hug. He had just enough semblance of normality to return the gesture, albeit weakly — still trying to process his thoughts as he was.

Tell her!

“Happy birthday,” he whispered instead, and he heard her giggle by his ear before she released him, and there was a moment where he could have told her just how breathtaking she looked, but of course, he didn’t.

Instead, she scratched her arm and looked around the room. “Thanks for helping mum set all this up.”

“Oh, right—” he cleared his throat “— sure, no probs.”

“You’ll have to fill me in on all the gossip later.”

“Don’t worry, I took notes.”

She chuckled, and her eyes softened as she looked at him, taking him in, and they seemed to even darken somehow, which sent an odd sort of sense of affirmation through him — he was right not to shave today, then.

“Listen, er—” she began, her brow creasing in awkwardness, and she started scratching her arm again. He watched her curiously, wondering what she was about to say and feeling strangely nervous, all of a sudden. “Please don’t — I mean, thank you for coming, it— I just wanted to say please don’t stay, if you don’t want to— if you’re feeling awkward or anything just feel free to, you know—”

“Rose, it’s alright,” he grinned, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be alright.”

“I know, I just didn’t want the last of the Time Lords to perish here in this pub in Southwark out of boredom.”

“Yeah, would be a dreadful end to their race I must admit.”

“Not one for the textbooks,” she giggled. “Nor one I’d particularly like on my conscience, either.”

“Blimey, you’re right — lot riding on the entertainment this evening, then.”

“Well in that case, I should remind you that mum planned this party.”

“Oh,” he groaned, and sighed defeatedly while she only continued to chuckle. “It’s just a couple of hours. I can do it.”

   He sort of regretted saying that. Well, no, he definitely regretted saying that.

He’d spent the first hour or so meeting Rose’s family, and then after that getting to know five or six of Rose’s friends, sat around in a booth. They were all friendly enough, inviting him in as one of their own and of course, he thought, Rose’s friends would be charming, since they were Rose’s friends after all.

And then there was Callum, he thinks his name was, and at first the Doctor was able to maintain a calm composure despite his irritability when the lad put his arm around Rose, but after twenty minutes or so and he still hadn’t moved, the Doctor started to sincerely regret his decision to come here tonight and wondered whether he could quietly slip away and narrowly avoid some other, less painful end. But then Rose would give him that look, that smile that just seemed to settle him if only for the fact that it was hers. And so he stayed, listening to stories of their school days and joining in with their laughter until it became just a little too much, when Callum started whispering things to Rose when nobody else was paying attention. Rose didn’t seem particularly bothered by him, nor was she giving off any signs that she was uncomfortable, but he certainly seemed to have more of an agenda than she, and just enough that it pissed the Doctor off enough for him to excuse himself to get a drink instead.

“Just a Coke, thanks,” he said as he reached the bar, but the bartender looked back at him apologetically.

“Pepsi alright?” she said.

His shoulders slumped in disappointment because why would he want a Pepsi if he was ordering a Coke—

“Just kidding,” she grinned, reaching down for a glass and picking up a glass bottle of Coke. “Wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh,” he only half smiled, and loosened his tie just a little to finally just be able to breathe. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“You look like you could use something stronger, though.”

“Do I?” he frowned, somewhat surprised but not entirely that he must look exhausted to others. It was exhausting, realising that he was far too in love for his own good. But the bartender didn’t look like she thought that, not at all, as she grinned over to him.

“Parties don’t really seem like your sort of thing.”

He shook his head, resting his elbows on the bar. “No, not really.”

“So what is your thing, then?”

Earth wasn’t quite ready for the question to be answered with ‘time travel, mostly’, so he flustered a little in search of an answer more reasonable for the time period. “I tried soap carving, once. That was fun.”

She looked back at him completely confused for a moment, and he only added the admission to the long list of things he was regretting about this evening, before she gave him a friendly smile.

“Not something I would have expected you to say.”

When the Doctor only shook his head in hopeless exasperation, she grinned,

“I’m Laura, by the way.”

“John,” he retorted, as she placed the Coke in front of him.

“Nice to meet you John — this one’s on me.”

It took him a second to realise she had just bought him a drink — of Coke — but a common gesture nonetheless he was sure indicated flirting. “Oh— er, thanks.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn to serve any of the other guests, not that it was all that busy up at the bar, anyway. “So, John. Did you, er, come here with anyone tonight?”

As dreadful to admit as it was, he couldn’t say that he had. And it seemed so odd to him to think about, because he went everywhere with Rose, but he had never been anywhere with her. It wasn’t really something he had ever considered, whether he would like to start going places with Rose as his and he as hers, but now, as he thought about Rose with that slimy little git behind him, he rather wished that he didn’t have to fret. Not about the dreadful moment she tells him tonight that she’s going back to Callum's, and not about any other time in the future she would admit to having fallen in love with somebody else. It wasn’t a possessive thing, he didn’t want for nobody else to want her because she was his, but he wanted to just love her and be free to; no more of this pining and hiding and instead just be able to say that he was so terribly in love with her and that wasn’t going to change, no matter how much he wanted it to. Except he highly doubted she would want that, this nine-bloody-hundred-year-old alien who had murdered and cowered to be hopelessly devoted to her when she didn’t exactly ask for it. So, he swallowed, feeling his hearts sink in defeat as he did.

“No. Just me.”

Laura’s lips curled in triumph, and she leant in a little bit closer. “In that case, what are you doing tonight?”

If he was just that little bit less in love, he might have been tempted, he had to admit. But he was far beyond the point now of needing a distraction to this dreadful torment, he was much too in love with Rose to even be able to be distracted in the first place. Yet, he couldn’t quite find his voice to decline, so he only started to fluster as he broke eye contact, and took a sip of his drink in the meantime.

“Tell you what,” she smirked, taking a napkin from the bar and began to scribble something on it. “I finish at eleven-thirty. Here’s my number, just in case.”

As he helplessly watched her, he felt somebody put their arm through his as they approached the bar from behind, and was somewhat mortified to find Rose appear beside him. She looked quite peculiar indeed, an expression he had seen a couple of times aimed directly at the woman in front of her, and he glanced down in confusion when she placed her other hand on his arm.

“Malibu and Coke, please.”

Laura looked over to her, then down to her arm, then back up with a look that only seemed to mirror Rose’s. “Got any ID?”

Rose scoffed. “This is my party, you know.”

“Can’t serve you unless you’ve got ID.”

“Tell you what—” the Doctor interrupted, reaching into his pocket for the psychic paper as he heard Rose about to counter “—this one’s on me. Can’t have the birthday girl paying for her own drinks.”

Laura only looked back at him in disillusionment, her eyes flickered back to Rose. “Okay, but it was just you I was buying the drink for.”

Rose scoffed incredulously, and wrapped her arms around the Doctor’s only tighter as the two women seemed to be engaging in a fight without actually fighting. Or from what he could tell, anyway.

“See you’ve found a way to pass the time,” she muttered once Laura was out of earshot, slipping her arm out from his and grabbing the napkin from the bar. She looked at it distacefully for a moment, before she passed the napkin to him.

“Enduring terrible flirting and being come on to is just one of the many things I’m voluntarily subjecting myself to to be here with you tonight.”

“How hard that must be for you.”

He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, she seemed irritated, and when Laura put the drink in front of her and begrudgingly took the tenner from the Doctor, Rose seemed to only sadden as she swirled her straw around in her drink.

“Just didn’t think you were interested in this sort of stuff, s’all,” she shrugged.

He frowned; he assumed she must have meant flirting. “I’m not.”

Rose looked at her drink for a moment, a pinch in her brow that he couldn’t translate. It wasn’t indifference, it wasn’t even the irritation she was projecting on her voice, but he wasn’t fond of it, he knew that much.

“Only got eyes for you, promise.”

She seemed to only laugh in spite of herself at his words, and seemed to receive his joke — although he couldn’t be certain he had meant it to be one. She looked up at him through those devilishly long eyelashes of hers and he tried desperately to think of just about anything to say to change the subject.

“Having a nice night?”

Rose pulled up a bar stool and hoisted herself up, wiggling about to get comfortable. “S’been nice, yeah. So many mates I haven't seen in forever — not since we all went to get our GCSEs.”

He gazed to the side of her in thought. “Five years ago, that must be now?”

She raised her eyebrow, but didn’t smile. “Yeah. Can’t believe it.”

She started poking at the ice in her drink now, but not consciously. She was distracted, seemingly saddened by the thoughts running through her mind. He watched her hand, her nails recently painted, wearing the ring her mum had got her for her birthday.

“I’m twenty-one,” she almost whimpered.

“Wait till you get to nine-hundred.”

He was relieved to hear her laugh, a real one, and she glanced at him with kind eyes, her eyes, not those strangely woeful ones she looked at her glass with. “Yeah. If ever I’m feeling old, I’ll just think about you instead.”

“There are some benefits to being ancient, then.”

She giggled, and it only seemed to tickle her more until he saw her completely, Rose as he knew her returned back to him. It relieved him, and he realised he had stiffened to see her so glum. She glanced once more down at the napkin and he sighed, unsure exactly what she was thinking, before something told him to lift up her glass and place it underneath instead. She turned to him with a shy smile, her lips thin as she tried to hide whatever emotion was surfacing, and she was unable to hold his gaze for long when she leaned against him to nudge his arm with hers. An apology, he guessed, and he himself tittered in response. She was less saddened certainly, but her silence was not quite unburdened, so he sought,

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?”

“You,” he said softly. “I know you don’t like your birthday, but something’s up.”

She once more gave him one of those thin smiles, a smile he recognised was one she was trying to put on for him but unsuccessfully — he knew her, afterall. She sighed, and shook her head.

“Everyone’s… it’s just so strange. Being back, after having been away. Things have just… happened. Like Charlie’s had a baby, can’t believe it. She’s younger than me.”

So that was it. He felt an odd sense of guilt in the centre of his chest that only sank lower, and he realised she had only been confronted with how much she had missed since travelling with him. How much she was missing out on, and how much he had taken from her while he only wanted to keep her for himself. But he didn’t suppose she needed his self-loathing tonight, so instead, he frowned as he thought.

“Charlie’s your…” he began, trying to remember as he scanned the room.

“Cousin.”

“Right,” he nodded. He was surprised to find her watching him with a gentle smile when he looked back at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she grinned, sheepishly, looking down briefly as her smile only grew less so and slightly more endeared, might he say, instead. “Just you, trying to learn all my family and friends.”

“Trying being the keyword there — there’s a lot of them.”

“I know, but it’s funny,” she teased, that tongue sticking out of her teeth that he had to quickly avert his gaze from, “You can remember something complex and yet still get lost remembering the names of my family.”

“My mind sadly is not a TARDIS,” he jibed, and she chortled delightfully into her glasses as she took a sip. “Everytime I have to remember one of your cousin’s names, I have to forget about something else. I’ve forgotten Einstein’s special relativity equation to remember you have an Aunt called Jeanette.”

“Well, that's a bummer for relativity, because my Aunt’s called June.”

He frowned at her, momentarily fooled, before he rolled his eyes. “No she’s not.”

Rose scoffed with her mouth agape in shock. “Yes she is!”

As she giggled away, he vaguely recalled meeting a month, before his eyes widened and he blinked in defeat.

“Blimey, right then.”

Rose put her drink back down on the bar and struggled to contain her giggles and, goodness, he simply couldn’t look away. Her eyes scrunched shut, her nose wrinkled and smile so bright, she was impossibly beautiful when she was like this, her laughter sounding so pure and so wonderfully joyous. He wasn’t convinced she was laughing solely at his complete inability to remember anything remotely related to something so important as her family, because he only imagined it to be quite disappointing, but he wasn’t about to step in and stop her, especially not when he felt his own smile begin to grow at seeing her this way. She shook her head and opened her eyes as her giggles subsided but smile remained and she looked at him in the most breathtaking way and he could feel himself falling, needing to physically stop himself from leaning in closer to her.

There was a moment, one terribly long agonising moment, where he thought he might just falter. Despite everything inside him begging him not to, he found himself unable to hear himself when her eyes locked with his in such a way, in fact, the only thing that was able to prevent him from kissing her was knowing how terribly awkward it would be when she pulls back, wondering what on Earth he was thinking to presume she would want him to kiss her. So he swallowed, and looked away, back down at his drink and he took another sip.

Thankfully, before he had a chance to make a fool of himself and try to string a sentence together, he was interrupted by a voice sounding from a microphone behind them. They both turned, and, over at the corner of the pub stood two of Rose’s girlfriends, both of whom he remembered were with them at the table earlier, standing with a few pieces of card in their hands.

“Ahem — can we have everyone’s attention, please?” one of them — he was sure her name was Grace — announced, a smug anticipatory smile donned her slightly flushed face, and the room went quiet a moment before the music turned down, too. “Hi! Good evening, everyone! So, in case you aren’t all aware yet, today is our very own Rosie Tyler’s twenty-first birthday!”

The room broke into applause, a few cheers and the odd wolf whistle as many turned to look at Rose beside him.

He teased quietly only to her, “Rosie?”

“Shut up,” she muttered as she elbowed him, but couldn’t stop grinning despite herself. “Little gits know I hate being called Rosie.”

“So before we get started, a very happy birthday to you!” the other girl — Cara, was it? There goes Euler’s equation, he surrendered — said into the microphone. “We hope you’re having a great night, and we love you—”

“Even if she did nick my GHDs.”

Rose snorted when Grace stuck her tongue out at her. “I did not! I just forgot to give them back to you!”

“Hmm, how convenient— anyway,” Grace stressed, and the room was chuckling to their playful teasing. “We thought we might play a little game, before we start the, er, slideshow in a bit—”

“Oh, god,” Rose muttered under her breath, and the Doctor sniggered quietly.

“— just a quick ‘How well do you know Rose Tyler’ quiz. No teams, no competition, strictly for embarrassment purposes alone.”

“Get me out of here,” Rose whispered to him, but he stayed firmly put.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m staying for this.”

“Then I’m going to fly your ship myself and leave you here stranded.”

“Fine by me, I want to see all those pictures you’ve been so adamant remain hidden away in a box every time we go round to your mum’s.”

She groaned, and hid her face in her palms.

“So, without further ado: question one.” Grace paused for dramatic effect, reading the words on her paper with a teasing smile. “What was the name of Rose’s first boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, my mum’s here—”

“Jimmy!” one of her friends shouted, and the Doctor felt Rose bury her face against his arm.

“No,” she whispered, about the same time Grace called out,

“Incorrect!”

“Craig David!” a male voice shouted, and Rose groaned loudly as the room went quiet.

“That is correct!”

The Doctor scoffed next to her as the rest of the room erupted into laughter. “Oh, come on.”

“Rose absolutely believed she and Craig David were meant to be back in year six, and told everyone they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” Cara giggled, and the Doctor only chuckled to hear Rose repeatedly whispering ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god’ into his arm.

“Had to get her a poster!” Jackie called with a squeal of delight.

“Get me— you’re a Time Lord for god’s sake, go back in time and stop this from all happening!” Rose urged.

“Not a chance.”

“Question two!” And once more, the room went quiet in anticipation. “And a little less embarrassing, maybe—”

“Thank God,” Rose mumbled. At that point, he couldn’t really stop himself from giving her arm a gentle stroke.

“— Which film was Rose obsessed with at the beginning of secondary school?”

“Easy! Back to the Future!” another one of her friends called out.

The Doctor scoffed, “You’re kidding?”

Rose pulled away, then, unashamed. “Marty Mcfly, hottest fictional character in the world, I stand by it.”

“If I dress up in that puffer vest and the TARDIS gets her act together to disguise as a DeLorean, are we just playing out your secondary school fantasy?”

“Why do you think you had me so hooked with ‘did I mention it also travels in time’?”

“And that is correct!” Grace called, and just on queue, The Power of Love began to play through the speakers. Rose shook her head, and broke into a timid but unabashed smile.

“How many gigawatts to travel in time, Rose?” Grace called.

“One point twenty-one!” she volleyed, unashamed.

“Is that all? I’ll remember that for next time,” the Doctor whispered, and she elbowed him with a smirk.

“Question three — and sorry, Jackie — but why did Rose get two weeks of detention in year eleven?”

“Oh my god no!”

“Two weeks!” The Doctor kept his exclamation hushed, and once more Rose turned back around to face the other side of the bar, but he tugged on her arm to bring her back around, leaving her unable to hide her embarrassment and red hot cheeks.

“For skipping maths to snog Jimmy in the art room!”

“Rose!” Jackie gasped loudly as the room cheered.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened in my life ever,” she groaned to the Doctor, and he only found her that much more gorgeous as she looked so delightfully mortified.

“That is correct!”

Rose whimpered quietly to the Doctor as the rest of the room erupted into laughter, “Please do that thing again where you make me forget all of my memories.”

“The snog wasn’t that great, then?”

She shuddered. “Far too much tongue.”

“How delightful,” he chuckled, feeling a peculiar sense of victory.

“Question four!” Grace called, and waited for the room to settle. “Which medal did Rose win in the county gymnastics?”

“The bronze!” the Doctor called, surprised but unashamed for calling out himself, and the room roared in cheer and a thunderous applause broke out.

“And quite right!” Cara hailed into the microphone, and Rose bumped arms with the Doctor.

“Was only the bronze,” she mumbled.

“Hey!” he denounced, “The bronze is bloody excellent!”

Her smile was thin and bashful and begged to be attended to; he responded without thinking by pulling her into his side and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Okay, okay, our last and final question—” somebody at one of the nearby tables began to perform a drum roll as Grace paused to read the card “— What did Rose do on her eighteenth birthday?”

“Get absolutely hammered?” someone suggested, and by the way Rose only hid herself further into his chest and shook her head, he imagined they were right.

“More detail needed!” Grace called.

“My whole family’s here,” she whimpered quietly.

“How PG are we keeping it?” one of the boys from the table they were all sitting at earlier shouted, and they giggled amongst themselves.

“Oh god, was it that bad?” he whispered to her, but she just kept shaking her head.

“More PG than your eighteenth, Liam,” Cara pointed out, to which Liam held his hands up in his surrender.

“Didn’t you throw up at Tottenham Court Road bus stop?”

“That was not me!” Rose called out, releasing her hold on the Doctor. He folded his arms, now very aware that the rest of the room was looking at them. “That was Shareen!”

Shareen gasped somewhere in the crowd. “You little grass!” She slammed her hand down on the table and stood up. “And for that, I’m breaking my silence — on Rose’s eighteenth birthday, she got drunk and performed ‘Steps, Tragedy’ up on a table on Carnaby Street in front of the entire street with accompanying dance moves — and she fell down at the end.”

“And we have the video to play to you all later!” Cara beamed, just as the room erupted into an excited cheer.

Rose shrieked in protest, her cheeks burning red and the Doctor only cackled at the image of Rose drunkenly bearing her heart and soul out to what he knew was her favourite girl band of the 90s, so he could only imagine how animated that performance must have been. People had got to their feet, cheering and clapping as Rose hid her face in her palms and Tragedy began to blare through the speakers. Some chanted along, some were too lost in their own giggling and retelling of old anecdotes, and some flocked to Rose to give her gleeful hugs and cheer her on. But something about it saddened him all of a sudden, watching as Rose was swallowed up by the love of her friends so fierce and unashamed, a dull and remorseful ache somewhere in his chest that he couldn’t quite place but certainly didn’t like.

He turned back around and spotted Laura, now leaning against the back bar, and he caught her eye.

“I’ll take that stronger drink, now.”

She glanced over at Rose, now completely lost to the crowd, then back at him, and nodded.

He didn’t drink often, not at all, so he insisted only on a single, handing Laura a fiver and telling her to keep the change. He got to his feet, grabbed his jacket, and slipped quietly outside and into the pub garden.

The night was pleasant, the stars for once visible over London, but he imagined most might not catch them so clearly amidst the surrounding light pollution. There were strings of warm fairy lights hanging from the brick wall that surrounded the quite large garden, a few pub benches dotted around with even less people quietly chatting amongst themselves over a beer and the odd cigarette. What encouraged him the most was the quiet, the peacefulness that greeted him as he stepped out of the pub, sitting down on one of the vacant tables just under a tree with yet more fairy lights hanging from it.

He sighed deeply, but he found he wasn’t quite fully able to breathe in all the way, like something caged his chest and prevented it from fully expanding. He took a sip of the — what he discovered was — whiskey and shuddered to feel its heat trickle down his throat, settling something that had been rising in his body all night. He looked down at his hands, quivering now although he was not cold, and swallowed thickly.

He was in love, he had known that for a long time. But tonight he had realised how terribly irrevocable it was, how awfully trapped he had made himself in his dreadful and unavoidable addiction to her, how he had known this was going to be devastating and he was going to regret it but yet hadn’t cared. And now here he sat, alone as he always was and always would be, wondering just how he might survive this in the end.

It wasn’t that he worried about the day she would no longer be with him, although that wasn’t a thought he liked to entertain. It was this horrible ache, a dullness in his bones, a contradiction to the life she inspired within him. It was twisted, it was confusing, and it was devastating.

He looked up at the stars, a universe above him that he knew and yet didn’t. Taking another sip of his whiskey, and following another subsequent involuntary shudder, he closed his eyes to the return of that hollowness in his chest. The vacuum above felt infinitely small in comparison, and he knew there was no fighting it’s torture except to grit and bear it for as long as she stayed with him, and even longer than that.

He didn’t shudder when he took a third sip of his drink.

He had been so lost in his thoughts for so long that he only realised the environment had altered when a figure sat beside him. There were less people now he realised, only one or two at a table a few away from his, but none of that seemed to matter when he saw it was Rose who had sat down next to him.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

She shivered, and looked down at his drink. “Bit too much back in there, yeah?”

He couldn't reply at first, but his lie found his tongue at the time that he swallowed. “Na, it’s been alright. Just needed five outside in the quiet.”

Rose grinned, a warm smile he knew well, and shivered once more. The goosebumps began to line her skin, soft hairs rising on her arms, and he glanced down at her things to see the same pattern emerging there. He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, attentively hanging it over her shoulders and she looked down with a smile, pulling it tighter around her.

“Thanks,” she whispered, a soft sound that settled on the air and he closed his eyes to it, trying to still what it did to his hearts. Once more, he breathed deeply, now that he could as she sat close to him, and when he opened his eyes on his exhale he saw her looking down at the table, mulling over something in her mind.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, and she closed her eyes to that.

“Mmm. Just needed to step out — don’t like havin’ all the attention on me, you know that.”

Funny, he thought, if she knew just how much she claimed all of his attention, his thoughts and dreams, his hopes and longings, even down to his physiology and heartbeat, she would flee.

Her legs had started to bounce — anxiously or because they were cold, he didn’t know — but he found himself looking at a mole on her thigh, one he of course had never seen before. He closed his eyes once more in a desperate plea to try and stop the thoughts from drowning him, of how much he wanted to see every piece of her, to know all her moles and the feel of her skin under his fingers, to learn her and know her in a way nobody else did or ever could possibly again.

“Y’know, I remember the first time you met all my family, when we were huddled in my mum’s living room watching the telly,” she grinned, and her voice encouraged him to avert his gaze, and, thankfully, his thoughts. “Said you didn’t do domestics and all that.”

“I still don’t,” he pointed out, and she sniggered. “I have no idea how I keep finding myself in these situations so often.”

“I think you like them, really.”

“I like you, there’s a difference.”

She chuckled, “So if I’m understanding you correctly, the last of the Time Lords bends to nobody’s will except mine?”

“You understood that correctly, yes.”

Her gleeful hum in response was enough for him to let her believe he was exaggerating. After a minute or two, she spoke again.

“I used to come here all the time. Most Thursdays after work. Sometimes it’d be all of us — it was quite central for where we all worked — and sometimes it’d just be me and Mickey.”

He grimaced as she rubbed salt into the wound unknowingly. He was reluctant to admit to himself just how many hours he had spent thinking about them, of their dates in the park and stolen kisses in her lunch break, of nights spent together and mornings in love. He glanced back down at the mole on her leg and knew of course he wasn’t going to know her as nobody else did, he never could even if he did ever give in to his hearts.

“It’s like a different life,” she sighed. “I always thought this sort of stuff would hit you in your thirties, lookin’ back over your school days and realising how much had changed since then. But I’m twenty-one, and it feels like a completely different me and it was only two years ago!”

He was still while she spoke what was on her mind. He didn’t get the feeling that she regretted it so much, and he was a little relieved at that. But he thought perhaps it was more the speed of time passing that stunned her, her perspective of it all shifting and she wasn’t quite ready for it. As a Time Lord, he so wished he could slow it down for her, make it just that little bit more manageable because, truthfully, it terrified him sometimes, too.

“It’s only that you fill your life with so much that it feels that way,” he tried, and she sniffed in the cold. “It feels a bit like time passed you by because, well, it has. You didn’t even see it go, you were far too busy moving and adapting but it passed, at the same rate it always does. But you didn’t.”

She frowned, and gave him a lopsided smile. “I suppose you would give me some nonsensical explanation of time that oddly makes sense.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Really?” She scrunched her nose. “I thought you were here to protect time.”

“Whoever told you that?”

She rolled her eyes with a more symmetrical smile now, her hands moving to cover her face as she attempted to hide just how funny she found his joke. “If it’s this bad at twenty-one, must be bloody awful for you.”

He inhaled sharply, making her giggle more. “The trick is not to think about it.”

“Take each day as it comes,” she reflected, and he hummed beside her in agreement. “They were right, all those adults. Everytime they said to live each day to the fullest.”

“That they were.”

And then she seemed to sadden again. After a moment, and with a quiver to her voice, she whispered,

“If only it didn’t make time pass faster that way.”

He nodded slowly in agreement, although he protested she be thinking such morose concepts on her twenty-first birthday. She began to pick at the skin around her nails, the nail polish on her thumb had chipped and he knew she must have been doing this all night, then.

“Why don’t you like your own birthdays?” he asked, realising that he never had.

She shrugged. “I used to love my birthdays. Birthday cakes, party bags, trips to the London Fields Lido and all that stuff.”

“Then what changed?”

She hesitated, and frowned. He waited while she thought, but he realised at some point she wasn’t searching for the answer, she was only debating whether to give it to him. Eventually, she swallowed, and spoke flatly,

“I met a Time Lord.”

And there it was. He felt his thoughts click into place, then, that strange sadness about her all day that he hadn’t quite been able to interpret finally making sense. It was, truthfully, his biggest regret, although he should have seen it coming, and he only gritted his teeth at his own negligence.

“Rose—”

“No, but think about it,” she insisted, and for once he found himself wanting to listen to her, to hear her worries about something he considered constantly. She seemed too intent on bearing herself to him here, in this garden, on this night, and he could only let her. “Every day I get older—”

“You’re twenty-one, that’s hardly you getting older—”

“But it is!” she retorted, a strange smile that wasn’t a smile by any means only holding back her tears now and he didn't know how they had got here, but his hearts ached to see her like this nonetheless. Her mouth hung open as if to say something else, but she seemed unable to and only let out a small croak instead.

“Hey,” he murmured, and he took the opportunity to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, curling his fingers as he dared himself to brush her cheek. “I do not want you to miss out on any of this because you’re afraid of getting older next to me.”

“M’not afraid of getting older,” she contended plainly. “I’m afraid of leaving you all alone.”

His breath was uneven as he exhaled, but he didn’t think she would have detected it. He dropped his hand back down to the table, and she sniffed wetly, seemingly annoyed by herself for some reason. She bit down on her bottom lip with her eyes closed before she opened them to find his, holding his gaze firm. He saw all of her, then, the things she didn’t want him to see in her eyes even in this light, and he knew she must be seeing all of him, too.

Because it consumed him to learn that this was how she felt. That she regretted each passing day because it was one less day — not that she got to spend with him, but that he had left to spend with somebody. The dreadful wringing of his chest at that, at knowing how much of her life and how many of her days she was spending in fear for his inevitable loneliness when that was only his worry, his concern. Rose wasn’t supposed to feel any of that, much less break her own heart every day, and he realised he must have been doing a terrible job at keeping those worries and concerns to himself. Rose only ever wanted everybody else to be okay, and now, on her twenty-first birthday, she was furious with her own mortality for getting in the way, stopping somebody she cared for so deeply from hurting.

So he had no alternative, really, when he leaned in to her this time. He just about had enough control to pause, give her the chance to pull away if she so wanted, and it seemed as though time completely stopped as he did. He could hear her breathing shallow, see the goosebumps line her neck and he took that moment, those few seconds, to learn her as he had wanted. His eyes found another mole on her collarbone, and upwards, the pulse in her neck at having him this close to her. A quiet and strained whimper on her lips, a plea, and then the feel of those lips against his.

He had always wondered how she would taste. The time he had kissed her on Satellite Five, he had only done so to take the time vortex from her, and for that his senses were mostly dulled. Now, as time slowly began to resume once more, he couldn’t taste a thing either; all he could do was feel. This overwhelming relief surging through him, his hearts beating as they should to feel this alive, and, for a moment, an assertion that nothing could tamper with his hope.

And then she gasped; her mouth opened and that’s when he could finally taste her. And he did, the tip of his tongue finally tasted home as it explored the texture of hers and everything he was learning about her he already knew. Because she was familiar, she was her, he knew her lips already and running his tongue along them told him nothing new about them but yet wanted more even still, to know how her bottom lip felt between his teeth, and he was a quick learner, picking up on the sensitive spots that would draw her moans and which of them would catch her breath in her throat.

His heightened senses had thus far only proven to be most valuable, until now, because she consumed all of him to a point where it was too much, and he had to break away, just to focus. But she didn’t hesitate to keep going, so keen was she on tasting him too, and she trailed her kisses across his cheek and along his jaw and this was new, feeling her learn him with her own senses, the moans she drew out herself at certain points on his skin.

“Rose,” he breathed, a plea and a promise in itself, and she brought their lips back together once more.

She began to shift without breaking their kiss and he felt her move one of her legs over him, soft chuckles she released onto his lips as she fumbled onto his lap on the most uncomfortable bench he could remember sitting on. But he quickly lost all conscious recognition of the world outside him, outside them, when he felt her hands move to cup his neck before her fingers slowly trailed up and through his hair. Her lips curled when he groaned and a second later so did she when she ran her nails back down. Their kiss was broken when her head rolled back to the feel of his hands on her thighs, sliding up to her waist where they held her hips close to his and in their respite, his lips found her neck and he sucked, just over her pulse, her breath catching in response. He felt her hands loosen as they became less conscious of their actions and more reflexive to her feelings and he felt her pulse drum fervently beneath his lips. With a final nip to her skin, he released her, the darkened bruise forming he could see even under this light, and pride raptured his veins to have finally claimed just a part of her as his. But then the trouble was he wanted to claim all of her as his, if she would let him, and by the way she rocked into his hold when he pulled away only confirmed that she would. As her lips began their descent once more down onto his skin, pressing sweet and messy kisses down the bridge of his nose and to his lips, he realised he couldn’t find the trouble in it at all.

He deftly slipped his jacket off her shoulders and shuddered at the speed in which her goosebumps prickled beneath his fingers, before he dragged them slowly across her shoulders and down her back, as far as her dress would allow. One hand stayed where it was, exploring the planes of her shoulder blades as they contracted with the movement of her hands, and the other travelled south and to the small of her back where he pressed, gently, until she arched into him. That move released another sound from her lips, much lower this time, much deeper and hungrier and his was only lustful in response. She tore her lips from his to bow her head to his shoulder, pausing only to catch her breath with the intent of resuming, so he peppered his kisses this time further down her neck, softening as they pressed across her shoulder until he felt her lips on his neck, her teeth grazing his skin as she matched the mark made on hers. He shivered to know she was doing the same, marking him, and he moaned into her skin as he allowed her to.

“I want you,” she breathed, he was sure she was trying to sound firm but her need strained her request. “But not here.”

He remained still as his surroundings began to settle into their rightful place and he remembered where they were. He was in no way ready to pull back, but he couldn't exactly keep going, so instead he kept his eyes closed as he followed the trail of his hands on her body, slowly tracing the curves and dips of her frame. She didn’t move either, but it seemed she too was focused only on his hands, as she had since stopped exploring him herself. To feel her in this way, to roam freely as he wished while she remained compliant and willing above him, prevented him from asking if she was sure she wanted him, and if was even a little bit more level-headed than he was at the moment, he would ask if she had really thought this through.

But all he could seem to focus on was her words, the sound of her telling him she wanted him. After that, nothing else mattered.

“Doctor,” she whispered again, and he opened his eyes to find that mole on her collarbone beneath him. He swallowed, and with considerable difficulty, and pressed his lips to it before he finally pulled away.

She cleared her throat and started to shift off of him and he spotted the other table glance over in their direction. Right, he thought, scratching the back of his neck and neatning his — he was sure — disheveled hair. Public decency, must remember that one.

Rose was grinning sheepishly by the time she settled down next to him, and for a moment, neither looked at the other. He swallowed, now that he was finally able to, and ran his palms over his trousers to neaten them down just a little. Rose tugged on the hem of her dress to bring it a bit further down her thighs and he swallowed again to see her legs bare, having only very recently felt them beneath his hands, and the tips of his fingers tingled at the memory.

Rose let out a breathy laugh, then, and he glanced over to her just at the time she looked up at him. She drank him in, her eyes flickering across his face, but he couldn’t quite do the same; he found himself transfixed only on her eyes.

“C’mere” she grinned, licking her thumb and rubbing it across his cheek. “You’ve got lipstick all over you.”

He nodded, before he gestured to her. “Funnily enough, so do you.”

She pressed her fingers to the side of her lips and giggled while he fumbled around in his suit pockets for some makeup wipes, and then she brought them down to her neck to press gently into the bruise beginning to form over her pulse.

“Bit more worried about everyone seeing that.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Didn’t hear any complaints from you when I was giving it to you.”

“Nope,” she affirmed smugly. She tugged at the wipes when he pulled them out, taking one and began cleaning up his face. “Think I’ve got some concealer in my bag, anyway.”

“Your bag’s inside.”

“Bugger,” she cursed, and he chuckled. “Reckon you could go and grab it for me before anyone sees?”

He pointed to his neck. “I think we just have to own this one, Rose.”

“It’s a lot easier to own it when everyone doesn’t know you.”

“It’s only you they know.”

“Right,” she beamed, “so you won’t have a problem going and getting my bag then, will you?”

“Bugger,” he cursed, and she chuckled.

He watched her, then, the golden lights shimmering in her eyes as she smiled, her lips still a little swollen and hair messier now. She wasn’t aware of him watching her, he didn’t think, so she was caught off guard when he began to smooth down the strands, running his fingers softly through her hair to bring back a bit of order. As he did, his gaze remained fixed on her, the shy way she kept herself still and allowed him to sort her out, to fix her back up as if she needed fixing in the first place.

“You are…” he tried, but the word was lost on his lips. He had no way of surmising her beauty at that moment, and he supposed that's why people looked to poetry or song in times where words weren’t adequate to suffice.

Perhaps she didn’t need any of that, because she seemed to understand exactly what he was trying to say, or at least the depth of it. She took his hand then, which had since frozen in his quest to articulate just how captivating she was, and brought it to her lips. She kissed each of his fingers deliberately, carefully, attentively, her eyes closed as she spoke the words caught in her throat on his skin and all he could do was listen.

God, she was divine. He felt the way his hearts completely responded to her alone, their slight quickening as her lips brushed his skin and the harder they beat for her when she released him. He was sure they had a song about them, her song, and he could have them converse with her for as long as he lived.

“What are you thinking?” she murmured, and he had been mostly — no, completely — unaware of her watching him. He wasn’t quite ready yet to translate his hearts’ intent, so instead he leaned back into her, touching his lips to the corner of hers to kiss her where he was hesitant to pull back, captured instead by a sweetness that lingered on her skin. When her lips curled beneath his, he finally did pull away; not too far though, just enough for her to hear the words he didn’t speak.

Neither said anything, for a while. Not through their searching for something to say, but simply because this was unlike them to be so close and they were familiarising themselves with it.

He was falling in love with it.

“You know,” she whispered with a smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever known you to say so little.”

“Would you prefer it if I were babbling away instead?”

“God, no,” she chuckled as he pulled away. “Think I can safely say that’s one of my preferred ways you’ve made use of your tongue.”

He raised his eyebrow and her cheeks flushed pink furiously.

“Oh my god, no! I didn’t mean— not that!”

He raised his other eyebrow and, after quickly searching his eyes, she raised hers.

“Wow, okay so maybe that, if you’re—”

He chuckled, and kissed her shoulder before climbing to his feet. “I’m going to go and get your bag.”

“Or—” she grabbed his hand to stop him “— how about we both go back to the TARDIS and pick up where we left off?”

He snorted. “No chance am I missing your drunken Steps performance.”

“Not even for a good shag?”

He stilled to hear her say it, and only then did it occur to him that that was where this was heading. It was sobering, but he couldn’t say in any way it was repellent — not at all — only completely unbelievable.

“Oh god—” she slapped her hands to her face “—you didn’t— that’s not what.. what you— oh my god you didn’t say that’s what you wanted—”

“Rose,” he stressed, although gently, pulling her hand away as he crouched down in front of her. He tried to look at her, peering up from underneath her, but she wouldn’t look back at him. “I don’t think we’d be fooling anybody if I said I didn’t want that, too.”

She nodded firmly, still unable to look him in the eye. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers as they rested firmly in his, still a little nervous was she while he was completely certain.

“But it’s not all I want.”

“Yeah?” she said as she chewed her bottom lip. He nodded, and she paused for a moment, hesitant, before she spoke. “But…”

And then it was lost on her, either the rest of that sentence or her confidence to say it. Her fingers began to fidget in his, and he loosened his hold but not entirely, simply only allowing her the freedom to dwell without letting her drift entirely.

“But what?” he probed.

She looked even further down now, her chin tucked to her chest. “Wither and die, and all that.”

Ah yes, he grimaced. That.

The truth was, of course that’s all he could think about. And he regretted saying that to her every day since he had, because it shouldn’t have been her problem and yet he had made it her problem. By only showing her how much it anguished him, she had taken it upon herself to fix it for him, only to realise that she couldn’t. Nobody could, and for that, she couldn’t simply rest and allow herself to be happy while he only awaited misery. He wondered, then, if that was why she was so hesitant — not because she didn’t want this with all her heart, but because he had given her reason to believe he was petrified for his own survival, for a future of solitude without her but it was specifically that last part that tortured him now.

Without her. How could she possibly begin to resolve her heartache when she worried tirelessly over something she couldn’t control? He had to unburden her, assure her that he wasn’t scared for him, when truthfully he felt sick by his awaited grief. So for that, he bent his head to kiss her knee, and swore to inherit all her anxieties himself and free her of them.

“I know you’re a whole twenty-one-years-old now, but I don’t see you withering anytime soon.”

She didn’t laugh, but he still smiled reassuringly, intent on fulfilling his promise.

“But I will, one day,” she countered, and he fought back a sigh. 

“Are you always this miserable on your birthday?”

“Doctor!” she pleaded, but she was beginning to smile despite herself. “This is serious!”

The worst part was that he had had this exact argument with himself, time and time again, only he was normally on her side himself. But it had all changed when he had heard her tell him she wanted him; up until then, those arguments with himself were a response to the very hypothetical situation she might want him, but now that she actually did, he found himself quite unable to see her side now.

“Alright, alright,” he held up his hands in defeat. “You’re right.”

She didn’t exactly bask in it, but he knew he wasn’t about to give up anytime soon. So he perched himself down next to her, the picnic bench groaning as he settled his weight. A silence extended between them and he watched as Rose played with her ring, fiddling about with it in the interlude as she tried to find her words. But as the silence passed and she remained quiet, he realised perhaps she had nothing to say unprompted, so he asked a question he was sure he never would in the hope that she might finally release herself.

“What do you want?” he whispered.

She hesitated even still, before her breath carried her answer in a sigh. “You.”

He could have her say it over and over again and never tire of it; perhaps that serenely restful truth caused the words to tumble from his lips so desperately. “You have me. Christ knows why you want me out of anyone else in the whole bloody universe, but whatever you want is yours.”

Perhaps it was the slight inflection on just the right word, or perhaps it was all of them together, but he felt her somewhat loosen beside him. Determined though he was, he was misplaced to hear himself say it, something he only ever imagined might terrify her now only somehow consoling her.

“This is… mad,” she shuddered with a smile. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?”

“I can take an educated guess.”

“And you really want this too?”

He shrugged. “Probably— I don’t know, haven’t really thought it through.”

She whacked his arm with a chuckle she couldn’t quite suppress. “Oh my god—“

“Rose,” he whispered, urged perhaps, and she all but stilled completely to hear him say her name in such a way. He turned to look at her but she had closed her eyes, so he took her hand, small and fragile and soft as it was, and started to settle the ache in his fingers by running them across her skin. So warm, even if she didn’t think so in the cool April chill, and the softness against his, coarse and tired, was sublime.

“Why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“You said I could have anyone in the whole universe, well what about you? You’re a Time Lord,” she breathed the name of his race with such wonderment while he only regretted it, but he kept still. “And you’re the last one! You have literally all of time and space to choose from, why would you choose somebody with such a short life span— somebody who you can’t exactly share the rest of your life with or even a substantial part of it. Sixty years, that’s all I have! That’s all we’ll have!”

“This is a bit like talking about breaking up before you’ve even gotten together,” he pointed out, and she grinned again despite herself at that, and it only seemed to frustrate her that he joked when she searched for an answer much more reassuring. But the fact was, it would seem she had thought about this, and perhaps had even used it to convince herself he didn’t want her in return, which was utterly absurd to him. Joking with her wasn’t seeming to do the trick, lightening the mood in the hopes of lightening her worry was proving to serve no end to her own perceived stalemate, and she wasn’t just taking him at his word and allowing herself this.

So he bent his head to kiss the ball of her shoulder and he lingered there, breathing her in, unable to stop himself from kissing the same spot again. He needed saving from this, he realised, because kissing her seemed entirely unpreventable since he had allowed himself to only minutes ago, and right now she needed his reassurance.

“I’ve seen it all, Rose. Nine hundred years of travelling, I’ve met some spectacular people. But you have something on me that I can’t describe, and I know for a fact it’s irreversibly binding. I know, because I feel it in the way you smile, the sound of your laugh, I know I don’t stand a chance when you say my name as you giggle and I’m a complete lost cause when you touch me in any way. What I’m trying to say is I’ve met so many people in this universe, from so many corners of it across so many ages and none of them have ever given me something so completely tangible to hold on to.” He frowned, realising how he must sound completely bonkers, and he wasn’t exactly the greatest romantic of his time, but he really was limited by his words in describing what she was to him, so he settled instead on one final, simple sentiment. “You’re everything.”

He sniffed, because it sounded so terribly feeble and uninspired, and pulled away. She had been watching him as he spoke his mind, perhaps thinking he was an absolute nutter, but her palm touched his cheek and she leant forwards, brushing her lips to his and only holding on to time, savouring each passing second in this point in time and he felt how overwhelming it was, even to him. All the seconds passed, all the ones following it were immeasurable, literally, and for only a few of them, just one or two, they kissed. When she pulled away, he found himself wondering how he could possibly not chase more of those seconds.

“And don’t even get me started on that,” he breathed, and she giggled delightfully.

“You know, when you told me you were coming tonight, I thought maybe I might be lucky enough to hear you tell me I look beautiful—“

“Which I still haven’t done,” he chastised.

“— I never imagined any of this might happen, not for a second.”

“You didn’t?” he retaliated. “I was spending my day hoping that I could just survive it — and I have to say, there was a moment when your mother was telling me about Bev’s one night stand where I really, honestly, thought I might not.”

“And yet, you stayed,” she grinned, somewhat smugly and a little sweetly. “And you hate domestics!”

“I could get used to them,” he shrugged, and she only looked back at him in surprise. “Well, okay, I could learn how to tolerate them.”

“For me?” she said, still a little in disbelief.

“I told you, anything in the universe, time and space, all of it, is yours,” he assured. “If that includes family gatherings and ‘life admin’ days, then so be it.”

“Christmas dinner?”

“I’m there.”

“Even Mum’s fiftieth birthday bash?”

“Even that.”

“Christenings, baby showers, all that stuff, too?”

“If Charlie pops out any more kids, you bet I’ll be meeting them all.”

Rose scoffed, “Who are you and what have you done to the Doctor!”

“S’what you’ve done to me,” he corrected.

“It’s what domestics have done to you.”

“No, no, it’s definitely you.”

The sound of these giggles in particular, the ones where she was endearingly timid as he all but worshiped her, were entrancing; a new world he had yet to explore lay in their sound and he was a traveller, after all. It was far too tempting, she was far too tempting, and her darkened eyes as she looked at him here and now held a map to a path unknown, a whole universe in itself and he was ready to be lost in this one.

Her eyes flickered to his lips and she licked hers almost straight after, before she met his gaze once more and they were somehow even darker now. He found himself falling before he had even let go; their noses touched and her hand on his thigh sparked, and this was ridiculous, it was completely without sense that it all should feel like this. How many times had he fallen in love, how many moments had passed like this one and yet none of them were like this one, nobody looked as she looked at him, nobody’s touch was as devilishly hypnotic and never before had his hearts drummed so mercilessly for a moment in time to pass and yet remain—

“Rose!”

They both tore away to the sound of her name being called from the door, and all at once it came back: the sounds of merriment inside, the rustle of the leaves above them, the very harsh reminder that they weren’t alone.

“We’ve been looking all over for you, your mum wants to do a speech.”

“Oh, god,” Rose groaned as Shareen trudged over to them. But her steps slowed as she got closer, until she stopped completely just before them, her mouth open as she realised what she had interrupted.

He wished, with everything he had really, to be anywhere else but here.

“Oh my god, are you two—“ she gasped, narrowing her eyes at them before she pointed at their necks. “What! is that a— have you two got hickeys?”

Rose fidgeted excessively, pulling her dress down as much as she could before slapping her hand to her neck. “Shareen— please can you go get my bag?”

She scoffed indignantly and folded her arms. “Concealer ain’t gonna cover that up— what did you do to her!” she teased at the Doctor, and he only hung his head low and desperately willed for this to be over.

“Shareen,” Rose groaned. “Please, c’mon— I got two bloody weeks of detention covering for you when it was both of us skipping science to snog our boyfriends!”

The Doctor scratched his neck and shuddered to realise he was now in a situation akin to snogging his high school girlfriend when he should be in science class. He’d always wanted the human experience but this was not so high up on his list.

“As your mate, it’s my duty to have you completely mortified on your twenty-first — but—“ she insisted, when Rose began to protest “— as your best mate, I’m going to do you this favour and help you cover up the fact that you were out here neckin’ with a bloke none of us have really met before.”

The Doctor leapt to his feet, finally deciding to remove himself from this dreadful situation, but Shareen put her hand on his chest to stop him instead.

“Nope— you stay here, you look even worse than she does,” she smirked, before turning back to Rose with a wicked grin. “Give me two mins, but if your mum finds you in the meantime then I can’t help you.”

“Nobody could,” the Doctor muttered, mostly to himself, but Shareen caught it and giggled in agreement, before she turned to head back into the pub.

“I take it back,” he insisted as Rose got to her feet, too. “None of it, you can have none of it.”

“Nope,” she grinned. She took his tie in her hand and began to fiddle with it, but the look in her eye told him she was doing this deliberately, the little minx, and, worse yet, she knew exactly what it was doing to him. But she released him from it, this torture of being in a very public place when he so very much wished that they weren’t, and stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down for a chaste kiss, smiling into his lips as she whispered, “No taking it back now, Time Lord.”

And it was worth it, he thought, to see a smile he hadn’t seen before. Well, that and the way she had called him “Time Lord” in a way that sent shivers down his spine. But her smile now was one where she was so completely happy and at ease, and he was quite happy indeed to bear the weight of her concerns if it meant she could enjoy her time alive.

He supposed, then, for her twenty-first birthday, he might have given her time itself.

#ten x rose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #dw fic #loup.fic #doctor who #ficandchips #oh god these two

[suneatersupportsquad]

red handed; colby brock

request:  im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons​

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.” 

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

.x

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