aalissy

[aalissy]

marinette dupain-cheng, they could never make me hate you

[aalissy]

idk if i ever posted this on here but kagaminette forever

[aalissy]

Bugnoir🐞🐾

[aalissy]

Yogtober 2024 Day 6: Gourd with Art Fright palette Dying Embers

[aalissy]

“Whoa I feel like that was like ten years ago” thank you, shout out to miraculous ladybug for being real and also forcing me to remember how long I’ve been obsessed with this show

[aalissy]

This was cute

[aalissy]

Let me tell you a story.

[aalissy]

I love them♥︎

[aalissy]

⏳

[aalissy]

not now sweetie, mommy is watching how the massive girlbossification of female characters has led to the belief that weak and vulnerable female characters are badly written characters because apparently every woman needs to be outspoken and witty and snarky and brave in order to be considered “complex” and have any value in a piece of media!!

[aalissy]

Yogtober 2024 day 3: Patch

[aalissy]

Yogtober 2024 day 2: Friend

(It’s supposed to be, like, an employee picture at Yoglabs)

[aalissy]

It Ain't the Being Alone

Rose Tyler, Thirteenth Doctor, Tenth Doctor

Word Count: 1.57k

Fandom: Doctor Who

Song Inspiration: Unknown / Nth by Hozier

Summary: Rose Tyler runs into a couple of strangers who don't really feel like strangers.

a/n: I hope people who need closure from the Doctor and Rose find this fic; I wrote this because I would've loved to see the dynamic between Thirteen and Rose, so hopefully people enjoy my spin on it! Special thanks to my dearest @vorsdany of course for proofreading and being so generous with her encouragement!

Rose Tyler often felt like she was being watched. It wasn’t the typical feeling; it wasn’t anxiety-inducing, nor was she on her guard. It felt as if the stories from her childhood of fairy godmothers and angels watching over you were true; she felt almost protected or safeguarded. Only, she couldn’t pinpoint the source of the feeling.  

 Maybe it was the tall, gallant-looking man wearing a fez and bow tie visiting Henrik’s when she was on shift, flashing her a bright smile in passing that she felt deep in her soul. Perhaps it was the grey gentleman in the velvet waistcoat who passed her as she boarded the bus across town one day, his scowling demeanour fading when she turned toward him.  

 It could’ve been the man she ran into after leaving her mother on her way home on New Year’s, hiding in the shadows and groaning oddly. 

 “You alright, mate?” she’d asked. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself as the snow caught in her golden hair. 

 “Yeah,” he replied, not meeting her gaze.  

 “Too much to drink?” 

 He took a moment to catch his breath, before standing to his full height. In the poor lighting of the alley, she could just make out his umber trench coat and navy suit underneath. He appeared to be wearing a pair of maroon Converse high-tops; an interesting fashion choice, she thought. “Something like that.” His dark eyes settled on hers, and even in the darkness, she could sense some kind of affliction deep in them, something other than intoxication.  

 She smiled softly at him anyway. “Maybe it’s time you went home,” she suggested amiably, no ill intent in her words. 

 “Yeah,” he agreed. His eyes never left hers. 

 “Anyway,” she grinned, bending her knees and leaning forward in a friendly gesture, “happy new year!” 

 “And you.” 

 She took her leave, her scarf swaying around her legs as she began sauntering home, frowning curiously as she pondered the encounter.  

 “What year is this?” 

 She spun back round before fully processing his question. A chuckle bubbled up in her chest and she couldn’t help but let it out as she asked, “Blimey, how much have you had?”  

 He made a strangled, throaty sound, shaking his head slightly, as if to confirm that he’d had, in fact, quite a lot. Her smile faded slightly in concern. “2005, January the 1st,” she said. 

 “2005,” he repeated breathlessly, and she nodded, blinking rapidly. “Tell you what,” he continued, “I bet you’re gonna have a really great year.” 

 Her smile reappeared. “Yeah?” She couldn’t believe she was taking a random drunkard in the street seriously, but there was something incredibly inviting and reassuring about him. The grin he gave her in return, although somewhat rueful for some reason, warmed her to her core, and she looked away shyly, before turning to him once more. “See ya!” With that, she bounded across the street to her home, only looking back once she’d made it inside. He still stood there staunchly, as if frozen to the pavement. She tried to put him out of her mind as she made her way upstairs to her apartment. 

 Ever since that night, the feeling had only intensified, and while she didn’t mind it that much, it was almost impossible to ignore. 

 One day, she’d run off to Potters Field Park, flustered and bothered after a disagreement with Mickey. She couldn’t go home just yet, or her mum would end up complaining about something or other, like her favourite show not being on the telly, or Jimbo not answering her calls. Not that she minded, she just wasn’t in the headspace to be dealing with that right now.  

 She found herself a park bench facing Tower Bridge, the dew from the grass permeating through her sneakers and the cold air seeping into her bones. She sighed as she sat back and regarded the bright, cloudless sky and the world before her blankly. In her zoned-out state, she barely noticed the blonde, wiry woman approaching her softly and slowly.  

 “Hello,” she began, startling Rose out of her daze. “Mind if I sit here?” A thick Yorkshire accent imbued her words with a gentle excitement; Rose couldn’t help but think she must be a long way from home.  

 “Yes, of course,” she replied, scooting over to make more room for her. The woman’s long, periwinkle trench coat splayed out across the bench, and she scrambled not to let it encroach on Rose’s personal space. Tucking it underneath her, she made herself comfortable, sitting on her hands and drawing her mouth into a tight, straight line. They sat like this for a moment, in uneasy silence while Rose wondered why she couldn’t have found her own park bench, before she finally spoke.  

 “I wonder if I could ask you something,” she said, turning to Rose with her eyebrows furrowed. “Some advice, I suppose.” 

 Rose raised an eyebrow quizzically. “You’re asking a stranger in London for advice?”  

 “There’s something about you that makes me feel like we’re not really strangers.”  

 Rose was about to scoff at this, but she hesitated, staring back at the mysterious woman. She couldn’t help but feel as if... she was right. She couldn’t put a finger on why, but she couldn’t argue her bizarre point.  

 “Go on, then,” she finally agreed.  

 “I lost someone,” the woman continued, “many years ago. Many, many years ago.” 

 “Blimey, you don’t look like you’ve lived ‘many, many years.’” 

 The woman grinned. “Thank you. My skincare routine is out of this world.” She suppressed a giggle, as if she’d told a hilarious inside joke, and Rose blinked several times, but disregarded it.  

 Shifting awkwardly on the bench, she went on. “I can’t seem to get over it, no matter where I go or how much time passes. I can’t stop myself from going to see her, even just to know she’s okay, or to see that beautiful smile again.” She beamed proudly. “Her smile is one of the most precious things on this amazing planet.” 

 “Ah, so she’s still alive?” Rose clarified. She was struggling to keep up. 

 The woman scrunched her nose. “Well, sort of. Not really, but in a way. It depends.” 

 Rose was beginning to accept that this person was not entirely sane; how in the world did someone’s existence depend on anything? Nevertheless, shaking her head in bewilderment, she asked, “And what advice did you want to ask?” 

 The woman had been distracted by a small, round house sparrow, hopping through the grass in search of scraps, all alone. “Now I’m not sure,” she admitted, still staring at the lone bird. “I suppose just... what to do. How do I keep going with this grief weighing me down?”  

 A twinge of pity pricked Rose’s heart. “This girl really meant a lot to you,” she murmured the obvious. 

 “She was like an angel to me,” the woman concurred, biting her lip and turning her head as the sparrow bounced its way over to them.  

 “How long has it been since you last saw her?” 

 “Ah, now there’s a very difficult question to answer,” the woman laughed as she looked up, but when she met Rose’s exasperated gaze, she cleared her throat and corrected herself, looking away ashamedly. “Quite recently, actually.” 

“Don’t you think, maybe,” Rose suggested, sighing and wondering once again why she was having such a deep conversation with a stranger, “that to get over her, you need to stop seeing her? Unless you’re visiting her grave, I’m still not quite clear on whether she’s alive or not.” 

 “Let’s just go with alive.” 

 “Well, alright.” 

 The woman seemed uncomfortable from being confronted with this point. She mulled it over, grabbing an item from her pocket and rotating it between her fingers. Rose could not discern its purpose or even shape; it appeared to be a distorted shaft of metal, with a glowing amber core running through it, reaching a glowing head at one end. “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured.  

 “I know it can be hard, the loneliness and missing them and what you had,” Rose sympathised. 

 The woman’s face contorted in deliberation. She allowed herself a moment to arrange her thoughts before responding. “I don’t think it’s the being alone that’s worst. It’s more, the being unknown.” Zoning out, she pressed a small button on the hunk of metal, producing a buzzing and whirring sound that startled Rose. “Sometimes I think there are some people who are better unknown.” 

 Rose wondered whether she meant the girl she so dearly missed, or perhaps, herself.  

 The woman stood up abruptly, shoving the metallic item back inside her coat and smoothing the fabric. “Well, I shouldn’t bother you any longer,” she announced, beaming warmly at Rose. “Thank you for your help.” 

 Staring back dazedly, Rose shrugged. “It’s no problem. I hope you are, er, able to find your peace.”  

 The woman’s expression turned rueful. “Thank you,” she replied. “Me too.” 

 As she sauntered away, Rose called after her, “Wait!” 

 She turned back with a small smile and eyebrows raised, almost as if she’d hoped Rose would call her back. 

 “You never told me your name,” Rose said. 

 The woman’s smile grew into a cheeky grin, and she raised one finger to her lips. “Spoilers,” she said. With that, she turned away again and strode off, leaving Rose utterly baffled and ready to go home for a very long nap. 

[aalissy]

These idiots. I love them.

“A cute goth girl. Me doing whatever the hell she wants.”

[aalissy]

"Marinette is so obsessive over Adr-!"

My guy, Adrien almost killed Kim for pranking her (slay)

My guy, Adrien nearly destroyed the world bc he thought she didn't love him anymore (slay)

He's just closet obsessed while she's openly obsessed (failing to hide it lol)

Obsessing over Marinette is like breathing air to Adrien even when he wasn't dating her

Matched each other's freak fr

[aalissy]

sleep well

[aalissy]

Okkkk yall whyyyy does Lila have Sabine’s name written on the walls?? Could this lead into why she’s taking her art classes 👀 👀