#50th anniversary seems like a good time

[laylaeelfaouly]

ok but if I dropped a copy of my masters dissertation on goncharov (1973) would anyone even want that

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Patti Smith - Max's Kansas City, New York City, September 1, 1974

Patti Smith popped up on Instagram this week to mark the 50th anniversary of her epochal independent single "Piss Factory / Hey Joe (Version)," recorded on June 5, 1974 at Electric Lady on W. 8th St.

"A 3 hour session financed by Robert Mapplethorpe and produced by Lenny Kaye. It features Lenny, our beautiful late pianist Richard Sohl and Tom Verlaine on Hey Joe. I can still remember the sense of wonder recording this single in Jimi Hendrix’s studio. Never dreaming we would be back in a year recording Horses."

Listening to it five decades later, it still sounds weird and feral; like Television's "Little Johnny Jewel," its spiritual twin seven-inch, the music here seems to suggest other possibilities; not really what became known as punk per se, but an unearthly fusion of beat poetry, art-damaged garage rock and pure NYC energy. Even compared to what came after for Patti, Lenny and Richard, it's unique!

Also unique is this audience tape of the trio performing at Max's in the late summer of '74. Television opened up — you can hear a recording of them from this run over yonder. Without a drummer or bassist, Patti and co. are spare and skeletal, but not without a revved-up sensibility; the opening cover of "We're Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together" tells the audience this ain't a poetry reading.

From there, they bounce around from torch songs to embryonic originals that would end up on Horses to a handful of novelty songs. The latter category is interesting — Patti had previously played cabarets and you can see how she might've fit into the world of, say Bette Midler at the time. An odd confluence, but hey, it was 1974 in NYC. Anything goes, baby!

[blueiscoool]

Connie Converse: The 'Genius' of a Singer Who Was Ahead of Her Time - Then Disappeared

Connie Converse failed to find fame as a singer-songwriter in the 1950s, then mysteriously disappeared without a trace. On the 100th anniversary of her birth - and approaching the 50th anniversary of her disappearance - she's now remembered as a great lost talent.

In January 1961, an unknown Bob Dylan arrived in Greenwich Village with a guitar in his hand and $12 in his pocket, on his way to revolutionising popular music with his poetic, personal songs.

Maybe he brushed past Connie Converse as she went the other way. She moved out of the New York neighbourhood that same month, after a decade of struggling to get significant attention for her own intimate, sophisticated and beautiful songs.

There is a parallel universe where Converse was the one who got the big break, and she is a household name.

At least, that’s the theory put forward in a recent book called How To Become Famous – not a manual, but about why some talented people become successful and others stay in the shadows.

It imagines a world where Converse is "widely known" as "the most original, and perhaps the greatest, of the folk singers of the 1950s and 1960s", who influenced everyone from Dylan to Taylor Swift, and for whom "a Nobel Prize is not out of the question".

Musician and author Howard Fishman, who published Converse’s biography, To Anyone Who Ever Asks, last year, also thinks Converse could have made it big.

"I love to think about an alternate reality in which Connie Converse’s music did receive the recognition it deserved in its own time, and she became a recognised for the musical genius that she was," he says.

"I almost think a better version of American cultural history could have happened, had that been the case."

But How To Become Famous author Cass Sunstein concedes that Converse wasn't better than Dylan. She also faced barriers because she was a woman. And perhaps her clever, melodic and mostly melancholic songs just never quite had mass appeal.

They dealt with subjects like loneliness, promiscuity, quarrelling lovers, and frequenting saloons in the afternoons. It's certainly hard to imagine them really catching on in the early 50s, an age dominated by schmaltzy crooners, folk purists and show tunes.

"She didn't sound like anybody else that was making music in her own day," says Fishman. "And she doesn't sound like anybody else making music now, to my ears."

British singer Vashti Bunyan became a Connie Converse convert after a recommendation from US DJ David Garland, the first person to play her songs in 2004.

"I couldn't believe that they were [recorded] so long ago, it was the 1950s," Bunyan says. "And just to hear her speaking in a way that I would have always wanted to speak was very moving.

"She was completely ahead of her time, and it must have been very hard for her. She must have felt isolated.

"If she had any ambition for her songs, she must have known how good they were, how clever and funny and wonderful they were, and poetic. But other people didn't seem to recognise that kind of genius writing at the time."

Bunyan knows what it's like to have her music "rediscovered" decades later. She released an album in 1970, which has gained cult status in more recent years. She says their stories are very different, but agrees there is an allure to the idea of "the discovery of something from so long ago".

"And how lucky that she was recorded," she says. "Connie was recorded by her friends, and none of those recordings were supposed to be commercially released.

"But it's so wonderful that they have been, that they have been found. And it makes you wonder about all the other people that weren't."

Converse was recorded at the home of one of her friends and champions, Gene Deitch, but she never released any music in her time. She performed for small groups of supporters, but never played a proper concert. She made one TV appearance, but that led nowhere.

Ellen Stekert, a folk historian who was also performing in the 1950s, believes Converse was just "too different" to have "made it".

"I think she was wonderful. I think she was totally out of sequence of any kind of cultural impulse," she says.

"She was self-contained, and also self-isolated. It was too bad somebody could not break through that."

Converse did have her supporters, but any female singer at that time needed to be backed by a man with the right connections, Stekert says. And Converse was socially awkward, and not good at self-promotion.

"Unfortunately, she didn't have much social understanding of things. She did not have a very good rapport, I think, with people.

"Evidently, she had very bad teeth and her body odour also was fairly prominent. And those are two factors in middle-class America that will make sure you don't make it any place."

Converse worked for a printing company and then for the Institute of Pacific Relations. After leaving New York in 1961, she became editor of the Journal for Conflict Resolution in Michigan, and her intellectual activities, and peace and anti-racism activism, were highly regarded.

But then, her life seemed to lose purpose and direction. On 10 August 1974, a week after her 50th birthday, she posted letters to family and friends, telling some she was returning to New York.

She drove out of Ann Arbor and has not been heard from since. Neither her body nor her car was found.

A new life?

"As far as we know, she never made it to New York," Fishman says.

"As far as we know, she never made it anywhere.

"I'd love to think that she started a new life somewhere else, and that she lived more years. But who knows?"

On Saturday 3 August, exactly 100 years after Converse’s birth, Fishman is in her home town - Concord, New Hampshire - for a ceremony to give the singer her first official recognition.

Her music has gradually spread over the past 20 years. So, too, has her story, and the mystery of her disappearance is often the first thing that gets people's attention.

"The unfortunate and darkly poetic thing is that she needed to disappear in order for us to see her," Fishman says. "That was the hook that was needed for us to pay attention to her.

"But what I always say is, don't focus on how she disappeared, focus on how she lived, because her life is so much more fascinating and meaningful, and has so much more to teach us than the fact that at age 50, she felt that she had to vanish."

By Ian Youngs.

[filmofhybe]

Smallest among Millions - Jake Sim - PT2

synopsis : you know you aren’t well known in your company, but when your company is having a celebration of their 50th anniversary, you went all out, coming out of your comfort zone. Causing your boss - Jake, to admire you more than just you in the office building.

Pairing : jake sim x fem! Reader

genre : Boss x employee AU! , fluff

word count : 967

© filmofhybe on tumblr — do not copy , translate or share.

a/n: part 2! I hope you enjoyed this :)

part 1 | part 2

Everyone all cheers together along with the CEO after he finished his speech. I was sat opposite of Jake on our table, as the waitress brings out the elegantly decorated food out the kitchen. People around us was all chatting and laughing. But among those conversations and laughter, Jake and I found ourselves stealing glances at each other. We continuously shared secret smiles and even small little conversations that made my stomach do flips. Unfolding a different type of comfort in our unspoken connection.

“No but seriously your really good at your job y/n..” He chuckled as he pick up his glass and sipping his champagne out of it. His head tilts back, showing his sharpe jawline. I mumbled a small “thank you” before sipping on mines. I can feel jake’s eyes on me as more colleagues continue to ask me questions. Asking why I’m not in a bigger position and why would I want to stay in this department. “Well I just like it here more, It’s a safe place you could say.” I told them before turning my head to jake. Who already has his eyes on me, before throwing me a smile.

As the night progressed, Jake couldn't resist the urge to express his feelings. He discreetly invited me to the balcony, a secluded spot overlooking the city lights. With a gentle touch on her arm, Jake started speaking.

“Y/n, thank you for staying in my department. Knowing someone like you, being so dedicated to this job means a lot to me. Your sweet and kind personality really is capturing more attention to this department. And I must say, your smart and independent side made me fall so in love with you, to be honest I don’t even fucking know what I’m saying right now, but all you need to know is I like you, I love you. I thank you everyday for staying and I would never ever take you for granted because without you I don’t even think we would be here tonight.”

As jake reveals the depth of his emotions. My heart skipped a beat, and a radiant smile illuminated my face as I reciprocated those feelings. I grabbed his tie before pulling him into a sweet kiss. His hands travels to my cheek. Stroking it softly before pulling away. Our smile shining brighter than the moon above the dark night.

In that magical moment, time seemed to stand still. Both newly couple reveled in the joy of their newfound connection, feeling an undeniable bond between them. Jake, being a kind-hearted and considerate person, offered to escort Y/N home. They walked side by side, sharing stories and dreams as they strolled through the quiet streets to Jake’s car. Y/n admiring the city lights as Jake sneakily look over his gorgeous girlfriend time to time. Hoping this isn’t some sick dream he’s in.

When they finally reached y/n’s doorstep, a sense of bittersweetness filled the air. Jake leaned in, gently placing a kiss on y/n’s forehead, cheeks and her soft lips, bidding her goodnight. They exchanged loving glances before parting ways, thanking each other for this sweet memorable night, and making the promise of a bright future lingering in their hearts.

The following day, the news of Jake and y/n’s enchanting evening spread throughout the department like wildfire. However, instead of judgment or gossip, the employees embraced their relationship with open arms. They recognized the genuine connection between Jake and Y/N and admired their courage to follow their hearts.

As time went on, Jake and Y/N's relationship served as a testament to the power of love, resilience, and mutual respect. Their story became an inspiration within the company, reminding everyone that love could bloom even in unexpected places.

taglist : @surefornext @spilled-coffee-cup @skepvids

To be on my taglist, please comment or reblog to be added :)

[marina41trench]

Tamaki & Ryuu - Shuffle Talk 2024 [1/3] - The King's Favorite

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

*Click*

Tamaki: Ah, Ryuu-aniki, good morning!

I thought I’m the first to arrive!

Ryuu: Good morning, Tamaki-kun!

I was looking forward to it so I came as fast as I could.

Tamaki: Me too! When I arrive first, I’ll hide somewhere and when you come, I’ll surprise you. I’ll do that next time.

Ryuu: I-I’m sure that day will come, I guess?!

It’s exciting…!

Ryuu: Anyway, let’s start the today’s discussion of “Monthly World Travel”!

Tamaki: Sure! I memorized the proposal!

Tamaki: A special serialization commemorating their 50th anniversary!

This is a joint project with IDOLiSH7, TRIGGER, Re:vale, and ZOOL!

Tamaki: The members in the shuffled group are decided by lot, and the mission is to travel to countries around the world!

We’re in charge of Belgium!

Ryuu: That’s amazing! You really memorized it…!

Tamaki: Hehe.

I received an applause from Sou-chan too this morning.

Ryuu: Just as expected.

Don’t you look a bit more motivated now?

Tamaki: What do you think is the reason?

Ryuu: Eh! I wonder why……?

Tamaki: It’s because I’m with Ryuu-aniki!

Ryuu & Tamaki: Yay!

Ryuu: Likewise, I’m really happy that we’re together……!

Ryuu: Let’s do our best on our mission to tell everyone the goodness of Belgium!

Tamaki: Yeah, since we’re the first!

But, what does Belgium have?

Ryuu: Ah, the editor gave me the previous Belgium’s special serialization for reference.

Ryuu: It seems that the contents of the mission will be announced at the site on the appointed day. Since we don’t have much information as reference yet, we should check this.

Tamaki: What’s in it……?

Ah, it’s chocolate! It says chocolate is popular!

Ryuu: It is! And then, waffle……?

Tamaki: No way! Belgium is so good!

Ryuu: It really is! I’m looking forward to it……!

Ryuu: Also, it seems like it’s winter currently so we should warm ourselves!

Tamaki: Oh yeah, Yama-san said “Bring your haramaki[1] so your stomach won’t get cold”

Ryuu: Haramaki sounds good! Does he usually use it to fight against the cold?

Tamaki: Yeah! I see green on his stomach sometimes.

Ryuu: I see! That’s cute.

I have excess yarn so I should try knitting some.

Tamaki: Eh! Then make one for me too!

Ryuu: Really? I only have one color left so we’re going to match, so if you’re fine with it…

Tamaki: It’s alright! Or rather, I’d like a matching one!

I’ll brag it to everyone!

Ryuu: Ahaha! I’m not sure if it’s something to brag about, but if you say that then I’m happy.

I’ll prepare until the appointed day!

Tamaki: Yaay! I’ll really look forward to it!

Tamaki: We’re here! So this is Belgium…..!

Ryuu: The townscape looks lovely as well……!

It seems like you can get lost in a world of fairy tales.

Tamaki: It’s really exciting no matter how many times you go to a foreign country!

I’m more at ease if I’m with you!

Ryuu: I know.

We’re already pointing at things, so we should do the usual roll-call!

Tamaki: Here! I’m Yotsuba Tamaki!

This is the King Pudding pouch where I put everything important!

Ryuu: Here! I have checked mine!

I, Tsunashi Ryuunosuke, have also confirmed my baggage!

Ryuu: And then I’m wearing my haramaki!

Tamaki: Yay! I’m wearing the haramaki Ryuu-aniki knitted!

Ryuu: Ahaha! Now now, don’t roll up your clothes!

It’s perfect against the cold!

Accompanying Staff: Thanks for your work on your arrival to Belgium.

We’ll be in your care for this day!

Ryuu & Tamaki: We’ll be in your care!

Accompanying Staff: Please do not mind the cameras and enjoy travel as you please as we will accompany you for the photographs.

Accompanying Staff: The mission and hint is hidden in this envelope!

The map for the exploration area is enclosed as well, so please take a look!

Tamaki: Alright! What’s in the mission?!

Ryuu: I’ll take a look!

Umm…

Ryuu & Tamaki: “Let’s search for ‘The King’s Favorite’!”......?

Ryuu: With the word King in it, this probably refers to the King of Belgium.

Tamaki: ……Ryuu-aniki.

I think I know the answer.

Ryuu: Ehh, already?!

Tamaki: The answer is……!

Tamaki: King Pudding!

Ryuu: I see. Because they’re both kings……!

Tamaki: Even the king would acknowledge that it’s tasty, y’know!

Accompanying Staff: Unfortunately, it seems that they don't sell it here……!

Tamaki: Really?! I’ll do my best in my personal mission to propagate King Pudding.

Ryuu: I-It looks like we’re going to have an amazing trip……!

Ryuu: Ah, right, the hint……

What’s this, there’s a mark drawn on it……

Tamaki: That kinda looks like a lion.

Ryuu: I get it, this is Belgium’s coat of arms!

Tamaki: Coat of, arms……

I don’t really get it, but it sounds like the guy’s very important!

Does it have something to do with the king?

Ryuu: You’re right! Let’s find a place with this mark!

End of Episode 1.

-

TL Note:

[1] - Haramaki, or belly band, is a piece of clothing worn on the stomach, usually for warmth. Historically, it was an armor to protect from attacks.

[engineer-gunzelpunk]

Traintober 2024: The Film (A Steam Train Passes)

This next loco doesn’t need all that much introduction. Though my special interest is the Victorian Railways, it would be remiss of me to exclude the great 3801 from my sentient train AU; not just because of her fame as Australian’s best known engine, but the part her presence played in preservation and railfan culture generally.

Coincidentally, a celebration the 50th anniversary of the release of the film A Steam Train Passes featuring 3801 in the starring role has been announced this week for next year!

Off Camera

"01, you can't be serious...", moaned the scriptwriter.

"Does it look like I am laughing? I want you to put them in the opening scene…’

3801 gazed imperiously at the scriptwriter from her berth as they were working out ideas for the film they were shooting.

When the director came up with the idea of making a film about a day in the life of 3801, all parties involved needed to be consulted. The star herself was not short on suggestions.

"This is bizarre, most people won't even recognise the engines as a reference to the Railway Series..."

"Believe me, people in the know will get the hint, however subtle... to those who don’t, it will just be shots of nice looking steam engines… I am not asking you to paint one of my remaining C38 sisters in blue and call her Gordina…’

‘Also I’ve seen you humans put in things that you like in fillums all the time… Even if they gave nothing to do with the plot…’

I’m being lectured on mise en scene by a giant pickle on wheels…

Who is showing films to this machine for Christ’s sake?

‘3616 Giesel is an emerald green 4-6-0, an obvious stand in for Henry…’

‘I suggest a shot of H381 as a nod to James’

"But he's doesn’t even look like James in the books…’

3801’s face barely flinched.

"So? The suggestion of a brass dome and red paint is plenty! The kids can put two and two together. I shouldn't have to lecture you on the use of color and shape as an evocative motif…’

How does an engine know about film making techniques?

She was implacable. The scriptwriter had heard she could be very strongwilled when it came to things like this.

He had never worked with a machine that talked before, and was finding it a bit of an experience.

Particularly one who was as switched on to the importance of image and perception as she was. She was far, far too clever about the power of images for a mere machine.

They continued reading the script together, making changes here and there.

"One more thing... I want you to put a lingering shot of the scrap roads in the opening scene..."

‘It would have a of a bit of a depressing effect…’ he said.

Her face for the first time since the meeting started changed, from stern careerwoman to aggrieved survivor; her smooth forehead creasing up.

She blinked, recomposed herself and her stern expression returned.

‘It’s not meant to be depressing, it’s meant to be sobering and bittersweet…’

‘I don’t need to impress upon you the gravity of our situation even in preservation…’.

The scriptwriter looked at her straight on and tilted his head.

‘’01, I do get it. It hasn’t been that long since you were set aside… and it’s still raw for you…‘

‘lt’s not just that. The scrapping still continues, even with me in preservation… I can’t help but think of one’s that were not so fortunate…, my other streamlined sisters…’

‘If I can’t save other engines directly, I can at least use my fame and influence to win over hearts and minds to us… what good am I to what remains of the NSWGR fleet if I don’t do that?’

Silence for a while.

‘I see you’ve learnt how human propaganda techniques work, ‘01…’

She smiles.

‘When you get to be as famous as me, and then you lose that love and adulation, and manage to claw it back through luck, guile and a bit of help, you really do learn what humans seem to like…’

The scriptwriter looked thoughtful.

‘Shall we bring in your driver and fireman then?’

‘Yes…’

‘Shall we bring your old friend Jack Sparkes in, too?’

Her face softened and her eyes brighten.

‘Of course!’

[hinerdsitscat]

Coming Soon: "The Day of the Mistress" (Doctor Who Fanfic)

I finally managed to finish something I started back in 2021: an AU version of the 50th Anniversary Special starring Missy as a very unwilling substitute Doctor. It clocked in at 40,000 words and 8 chapters and it's finally done!

I'm still finishing up the editing process but I plan to start posting it in another week or so, with one chapter per week after that (timing it so that the final chapter will post on this year's anniversary).

Update: it's posted!

In the meantime, here's a (lengthy) preview: in which the Eleventh Doctor dies and wakes up in the "afterlife":

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

The Doctor woke up.

That was a surprise. 

He sat up and took stock: same clothes, although the bowtie was a bit askew (and quickly adjusted). After running his hands over his face and through his hair, he knew that he hadn’t regenerated—not that he could have, since he didn’t have any regenerations left.

He wasn’t injured, which was both a relief and a bit troubling. He’d been very certain that he was dying only moments before, which meant that something must have happened to his body. He couldn’t remember what had happened, though—his memory of the very end felt like a frayed piece of cloth: unraveled and full of loose threads. 

So that was one very big mystery. The next mystery: where was he now?

He looked around and saw that he was sprawled beside a fountain in the center of a very ornate courtyard garden, which was peculiar enough that it took him a moment to notice the woman in the dark dress heading in his direction with an expression of absolute fury on her face.

And because he was still seated on the neatly-trimmed lawn, he didn’t have an opportunity to dodge the folded-up umbrella that she swung at his head.

“Ow!” the Doctor exclaimed, rubbing at the sore spot just above his right ear. “What was that for—”

“What in blazes are you doing here?” his mysterious attacker bellowed. “Of all the people to turn up—what did you even do that you—” She made a wordless scream of aggravation. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

Her Scottish accent was very well-suited for furious ranting, the Doctor thought to himself. Despite the shouting and the head trauma, it brought back pleasant memories of Amy Pond.

“Some sort of pointless self-sacrifice, I expect,” the woman continued, giving the edge of the fountain a good thwack! with her umbrella. “Some doe-eyed human with three-to-five distinguishing characteristics pouted and then you threw yourself into an inferno or slapped a Dalek or did something equally foolish! And even worse—” She pulled out a pocketwatch and glared at it before redirecting the glare back in his direction. “—it’s too early! I had at least another year to go before reaching a decent population threshold, and now it’s thrown into chaos because you keep blundering into things!”

The Doctor squinted up at her. “Have we met?” She really did seem to be taking this all rather personally—

“Ow!” This time, she raised the umbrella over her head before bringing it crashing down onto the top of his skull. “Why do you keep hitting me!?” he sputtered.

The woman stabbed the umbrella tip-first into the ground, which held it in place and sent a tiny divot of sod flying through the air. “Why didn’t you regenerate?” she demanded.

“I… what?” The Doctor tried to get a closer look at her face, but the woman had begun angrily pacing around the fountain.

“Was it another anaesthetic problem?” she asked. “That kept you out for at least a couple of hours the last time it happened.”

He blinked in surprise. That had happened lifetimes ago—back before the Time War. He racked his brains trying to figure out how he knew her, because there was something oddly familiar about her the more she ranted.

“But you still ended up here somehow,” she muttered, tucking the pocketwatch back into her jacket and pulling out a device that did not look like something normally found in their current environment. Of course, the Doctor wasn’t entirely sure what environment he was even in.

He scrambled to his feet and took another look at his surroundings. Just a pleasant garden, but something about the whole place was odd. Was it the smell of the flowers? The angle of the sunlight? 

He picked up the umbrella, partly out of curiosity and partly because he would rather not get hit with it again. 

Even the umbrella was strange, and just like everything else he didn’t know why.

“I wonder if I can just boot you out,” the woman muttered, still examining the device in her hand. “Maybe kickstart the regeneration somehow?”

“How do you know about regeneration?” the Doctor asked. She gave him a withering glare and went back to grumbling at the device in her hand. “How do you know me?”

She made a snort of derision. “You spend all this time going around proclaiming your ‘name’ to everyone—” The Doctor could hear the implied quotation marks around that particular word, “—and you’re actually surprised when people recognise you? The brilliant, all-powerful, sanctimonious saviour of all of space and time, adored by every little fly you deign to acknowledge with your holier-than-thou false modesty? Drop what you’re doing, everyone, because look who it is: the Doctor!”

Her icy blue eyes were full of a bitterness that seemed very familiar… but the Doctor didn’t have the opportunity to even try to identify it because there was something else that he did recognise when she said his name.

He had gotten used to the TARDIS translating everything in his head with near-perfect clarity, but after so many years away from home he had forgotten the almost-imperceptible lag compared to hearing the language of his birth.

There wasn’t a lag this time.

She called him ‘the Doctor’ in Gallifreyan.

So he repeated his earlier question, this time in that same tongue: “How do you know me?”

The woman froze ever-so-slightly, and a certain kind of wariness overtook her body language. Then she exhaled impatiently and began to recite while counting on her fingers: “Original, Pocket-Sized, Motorist Fop, Teeth and Curls, Dumb Blond with the Celery, Hideous Coat, Terrible Hat, the Pretty One, the Granddad No One Invites to Christmas Dinner, Leather Jacket, Specs and Sandshoes, and then you. You’ve still got one regeneration left. Why are you here?”

The Doctor wanted to point out that it would be a lot easier to explain why he was here if he had any idea where ‘here’ even was, but that was far from the most important thing on his mind at the moment, because if the person he was talking to knew how to speak Gallifreyan, knew about regeneration, and knew about all of his former regenerations—including the one from the Time War—she had to be another Time Lord. 

Someone else had survived. Someone he knew.

She was obviously furious with him, but seeing as the Doctor was the one who used the Moment and destroyed every other Time Lord and (almost) every Dalek, the rage was certainly justified. 

However, she had also spoken to him in a way that indicated that she definitely knew him personally and not just by reputation.

And seeing as she was apparently hard at work on a project that he had ruined just by showing up, he could make a pretty good guess as to who she was: “Rani?”

Even though he was holding the umbrella as a sort of defensive weapon, she was still faster—the woman slapped him across the face hard enough to nearly knock him over. 

“Are you serious?” she shouted furiously as she yanked the umbrella out of his hand. “You think I’m the Rani?!”

The Doctor rubbed his cheek and hastened to get out of range. “Just a guess,” he muttered. He was going to have to be very sure on his next attempt, because she was holding that umbrella like a cricket bat and looking absolutely murderous—

Oh no.

He could have slapped himself, really—how did he miss such an obvious clue?

‘Was it another anaesthetic problem?’

That was San Francisco, back before the War. There was only one other Time Lord who would have known what happened there.

At least the sensation of horrified recognition in the pit of his stomach was familiar.

“Nice, er… hat?” the Doctor ventured. “Really suits you. A lot better than the usual beard thing.”

The Master rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“How did you escape Gallifrey?” he asked.

“My question first: why haven’t you regenerated?” she demanded yet again.

“Why is that important?”

“Because you’re not supposed to be here!”

“Where is here? Is this some sort of afterlife?” 

“Yes!” she snapped. “It’s a long story, a very cunning plan, and none of your business right now! You’ve got one regeneration left—use it and scoot!”

“I don’t have any regenerations left!”

“Yes, you do!” she insisted. “I counted them off—so unless you’ve been very sneaky for the first time in your life, this isn’t your final one!”

“Yes, it is!” He had no idea why the Master was so hellbent on arguing with him about this, so he might as well tell her the truth. “There was a metacrisis thingy—I used up one of my regenerations in the process.”

She looked dumbfounded. “When did that happen?”

“Before this one,” he explained wearily. “You were busy being dead at the time. But the main point is this: I’m out of regenerations and I’ve apparently died—though I didn’t expect there would be anything after that.” He gave the garden another once-over. “Topiary, for example. Now it’s your turn to answer some questions.”

But the Master’s expression had morphed into one of complete horror—no, not just horror: panic. “No…” she breathed. “No no no… you’re not supposed to be dead. That’s not supposed to happen: you need to be alive, you can’t die!”

He blinked in surprise. “Why are you upset?”

“If you’re not alive, then you can’t do your little ‘saving the day’ shtick!” she protested. “You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, you can’t just up and die on me!”

“I assumed you’d be happy about that!” the Doctor sputtered. “Isn’t that the thing you’re always complaining about? Isn’t that the reason why you’re always trying to kill me? Well, good news: I’m dead, so I can’t stop whatever plan you’ve concocted! What’s the downside for you?”

“Because you’re supposed to save me!” she shouted. “Remember our last encounter? When I jumped through that portal Rassilon had opened with the White Point Star—you’re welcome for that, by the way!”

“Oh…” He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, er, thanks for the assist and all that.”

“Then I shoved about a hundred of those damned Stars down Rassilon’s throat—which was incredibly cathartic—but then realised that I had just thrown myself into the final day of the War with no way out! And then—as usual—the Doctor showed up to save the day! Not just the Doctor, in fact: every single one of you popped in out of nowhere to punt Gallifrey into a pocket universe and presumably let the Daleks blow themselves to bits. Escaping the end of the Time War? Difficult. Escaping a pocket dimension? I could do that in my sleep.” She stepped in closer and gave his nose a not-so-gentle boop. “And do you know how many Doctors there were? All thirteen. You do have another regeneration, so hop to it and go.”

“I can’t,” the Doctor insisted. “It’s too late. There’s no way for me to go back.” He decided to focus on the specific agony of that rather than the implication that he somehow found a way to undo the biggest mistake of his life. There was too much hope bound up in that—a very dangerous thing.

The Master’s upper lip twisted into a snarl. “Well, either you regenerate or we have a very bad paradox on our hands, one that will inevitably resolve by sending me back to the Worst Day Ever, and that is not how I intend to end things. So you can’t be dead.” She let out another growl of aggravation. “All right… not a disaster… this is fixable… I bet I could go back a few years, give the Cult of Saxon a few more instructions—” She frowned. “A ring would be the easiest way to forge that connection, but given your recent interpretation of the term ‘fashion,’ unless you’ve been secretly married this whole time you probably wouldn’t be wearing one—what?” Apparently his expression had changed somewhat, because she grabbed his hands and examined them. “No ring… what was that about?”

“Er… might have gotten married recently?” he said with a wince. Why did he feel so awkward about that?

Oh no… River was going to be crushed once she found out he had died. After everything she’d done to save him—including sacrificing her own life for his…

“Who?” the Master demanded. If the Doctor didn’t know better, he would have thought she was jealous.

“Doesn’t matter!” he said, hastily prying his fingers out of her grip. “Besides, if you’re going to meddle in the past anyway, I’m sure you could find a way to slip a ring into my pocket at some point. I barely keep track of what’s in there.”

She sighed. “I’ll have to get in close, which is always a risk but—” She froze. “Oh, damn it.”

“What?”

“I forgot the other part of it: I had to burn up a regeneration to resurrect, which is something that you don’t have because that’s what started this whole mess to begin with.” She started pacing around the fountain again. “If there was a way to get you to Gallifrey, we could probably get you topped up with a new cycle, but with the growing paradox we might be locked out…”

The Doctor was still a bit bewildered at the very new experience of the Master actually trying to help him for once, which is why it took him a few seconds to ask the right question: “I must have found a way back to Gallifrey somehow if I was able to save it. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “I was a bit preoccupied at the time with the possibility of dying in the cataclysm I thought you were about to unleash.”

“Maybe I’ve already done it?” he suggested. “Interactions with past regenerations can tamper with memories—my supposed-next regeneration would be the one to retain any of them.”

The Master shook her head. “It’s still the same problem: with you dead now, he won’t exist to be there on Gallifrey. Which means that…” She suddenly got a nauseous expression on her face.

“What—” But then the answer occurred to him as well. “Oh no,” the Doctor said, just as appalled as the Master seemed to be about the idea. “You’d never be able to keep it up.”

“Why not?” she demanded, sounding a bit offended. “I’ve spent far longer undercover for far pettier reasons than this. Besides,” she sniffed, “I know you better than anyone, even that mysterious new spouse of yours. I’ll pretend to be your next regeneration and play along with your little do-gooder role until that event occurs—on Gallifrey—at which point I’ll boot you back to normal and we can go our separate ways.”

“Will you really?” the Doctor asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Once you’ve saved your own skin by saving Gallifrey, there’d be no point in bringing me back to life.”

She tapped her chin with a finger as a wicked smile appeared on her face. “That’s a very compelling point, you know…” The smile vanished. “But since the original version of events involves your next regeneration, it’s best to keep that part intact. Besides, I have a vested interest in staying on your good side since I’m going to need your help convincing everyone that I’m you.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that, seeing as I’m here?” the Doctor demanded impatiently. “I can’t exactly follow you around like a ghost.”

The wicked grin was back. “Ah, but you can.” She gestured at their surroundings. “This is merely a repository of consciousness—think of it as a miniature version of the Matrix on Gallifrey. I can upload your consciousness into a portable telepathic device and take you along like one of your little pets.” The Doctor felt himself bristle at her use of that word, which quickly became a spike of anxiety when the Master continued: “Speaking of which, there is the matter of Miss Oswald…”

“You’re not going anywhere near her,” the Doctor snapped. 

“Well, that’s very rude,” she replied grumpily. “Especially since I’m the one who introduced you to begin with.” She adopted a different accent: “‘Computer helpline, love. That’s the one. Best helpline in the universe.’”

His jaw dropped. “You’re the one who gave Clara my number?”

“And she’s been driving you mad ever since, hasn’t she?” the Master asked. “The control freak and the man who hates being controlled. But you can’t seem to drop her, can you? Too many secrets around her, too many mysteries, too many things you can’t figure out, driving you to distraction… You’re too busy thinking of her as a puzzle to think of her as a person.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is!” she retorted. “That’s why I put you together: she’s like methadone for your pesky human addiction. And once you’ve finally kicked it, you can move on and stop using Earth as a perpetual plot device for the Thrilling Adventures of the Doctor, Saviour of All the Little People.” Her eyes flashed. “You always acted like you were different, like you were special. Well, you’re not. You’re no different from me.” She straightened her posture and planted the tip of her umbrella back into the ground beside her. “And now, I have a chance to prove it. I’ll show you what the Doctor can really do.”

“Good luck,” he replied, trying not to shake with anger. “It’s not as easy as it looks.”

She laughed in his face. “What, to be adored? A couple of well-placed falsehoods, a few mental tricks, and then basking in the glow of your own self-importance. Being hated, on the other hand… that takes work. That’s one hell of a burden to bear. Even if you had destroyed Gallifrey at the end of the War, you got off easy: there was no one left to despise you.”

“You claim to know me better than anyone else,” the Doctor said, feeling his voice tremble. “That doesn’t mean you understand me.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied airily. “I was there for all of it, wasn’t I? Every face, before and after the War. Who else can say that?”

“Clara.” The Doctor’s eyes widened as the name escaped his mouth.

The Master frowned in confusion. “What?”

Even as a disembodied consciousness, his hearts could apparently beat like mad. “I remember how I died.”

[nowoyas]

(un)professional (NSFW/suggestive) - Nishinoya Yuu/Reader

m.list - Ao3

A/N: written at the suggestion of an anon! I'm very likely going to write a follow-up to this.

Summary: It's your company's 50th anniversary, and it's kicking off a month-long anniversary celebration with a mandatory work banquet. Formal wear, impress the clients invited to the event, oh—and bring your partner. Surely, Noya can be trusted to keep his hands off you for one night, right?

Warnings: suggestive, suit kink, semi-public, making out, biting (I mean come on it's a fic I wrote you can just kinda expect it at this point)

Words: 2300+

You are quite sure that you've been this stressed at least once before in your life, but nothing really comes to mind. Entrance exams, maybe? Waiting to hear back on whether or not you had a future?

None of that compares to this.

This, of course, refers nearly every waking moment of the past few weeks: preparing for a month of work events, of 50th anniversary sales, marketing marketing marketing, long nights at the office and coming home to your pouty, early-to-bed boyfriend who misses you the way a puppy might—half-asleep but excited to see you all the same.

He's been so good in the past few weeks. Making sure you ate, sending you reminder texts to take a nap and that he loves you, and you adore Noya with your whole heart for being there throughout the crunch.

It's almost over. Soon, it'll be the actual events, instead of the million tasks required to prep each one—kicked off with a banquet. Dinner, mingling with coworkers, other departments, and some of the bigger-ticket clients. Formal wear. And, like everyone else in attendance, you are expected to bring your partner.

He'd agreed. That was the worst part. You'd offered to take a friend instead, but that had only made him mad—and let everyone think you belong to someone else? Hell no. He didn't have anything going on, his work actually gave him the time off, and, since you were busy ripping your hair out, he assured you that he was getting a suit with friends—and, he'd added, with Asahi, the fashion designer, and not Ryu, the one who only seems to encourage his chaos—and that everything would be ready in time for the banquet. He'd sat back and patiently waited for you to detail boundaries for the night, but still it wasn't enough.

The thing isn't that you don't trust him. It's that it's Noya, your Noya, who you love. Ever since you moved in together over a year ago, his hands have rarely left your body at home, and you frequently find yourself interrupted with dizzying kisses before he goes back to whatever he's doing. He thrives on showering you with affection, and you adore him for it, adore the little boost of self-esteem at knowing just how much he wants you, but… you don't exactly want him pausing to affectionately plant a kiss on your neck where your boss can see.

"No grabbing my ass tonight," you call over your shoulder as Noya gets ready in the bathroom. You're already ready to go, frantically cleaning up the bedroom in an effort to work out the nervous energy. "I do mean that."

Noya groans from the bathroom. "But it's perfectly shaped for my hand!"

"One of our biggest clients, and also my boss, are going to be there. No."

He whines in reply, and you let out a nerve-riddled sigh. "Please, Noya. I could lose my job if they think I'm unprofessional tonight."

"You're not gonna lose your job. I promise. I can be good, you know?"

You straighten up, having re-made the bed for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-minutes. "I know, I just—"

You turn and there's Noya: fresh cologne, chapsticked lips pressing sweetly against yours. "Baby. I'm gonna be the perfect coworker's boyfriend tonight. Hand on your waist, no sliding lower or higher, at absolute worst one or two completely workplace-appropriate kisses. Professional as fuck. The only PDA is gonna be Professional Displays of Affection. Alright?"

You sigh, letting him kiss you one more time. "Alright. I trust you."

"Gonna be the best arm candy. Gonna make them think I'm your trophy husband," he teases as he peppers kisses on your cheeks. "Some old dude is gonna make a boring joke and I'm gonna giggle like a sugar baby so you look smarter just by standing next to me."

You giggle, pushing him away. "Stop that."

"You could replace me with a purse dog tonight, that's how good I'm gonna be. The most professional little pomeranian in an overpriced bag. They're gonna think I'm a stuffed animal for the first hour until they notice all the food on my plate has mysteriously disappeared."

"Oh my god, Noya—"

He stops and sighs, and you sigh with him, flashing a dopey little smile. That's about when you open your eyes and really look at him, and oh.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you take him in. Noya's slicked his hair back, leaving his trademark little tuft of blonde spiked up the normal way. He's already mostly dressed—well-fitting pants, nice shirt, a fucking vest that cinches in his waist a little. His tie hangs, loose and not-yet-tied, around his neck. In short, he looks delicious, and you're reminded that you maybe have been avoiding eye contact with a little bit of a thing for suits for a few years, now.

He grins sheepishly. "I haven't had to tie a tie since I graduated middle school. Could you, uh…?"

You nod. Fumble a little as you reach for the tie. Try to blink away the fog that has suddenly clouded over your thoughts. "Y-yeah, of course."

"Something wrong?"

"No! No, of course not, just—you did good by bringing your friend to get the suit. It's perfect," you manage. Of course, what you mean is something more along the lines of I need to jump your bones right this instant, but you've got fifteen minutes before you have to leave so you get there appropriately early, so instead, you try not to call attention to it, and instead focus on his tie.

"Good, right? Asahi-san said I should match it to you, so…"

Oh. It does match. You're not in identical suits, but his vest matches your jacket, his tie your vest. Your own tie melds well with your outfit and his, and your heart melts a little at the thought. "Thank him for me. You look great."

"Great?" he repeats, waggling his eyebrows with a smug look.

"Fantastic," you assure him as you secure the knot. For good measure, you smooth down his collar, and then, as you lean in to kiss him, you tuck the tie down his vest. "Got your jacket?"

"In the living room. Am I driving?"

"Please."

"Got it, babe." He flashes a smile, and you watch appreciatively as he slips into his suit jacket, effortless, and fastens the button.

"You're the best," you reply, eyes lingering on the curve of his waist, the fit of his pants on his ass.

You are so fucked.

~

You're glad you made Noya drive; for one thing, you're better at navigating from the passenger seat, and for another, you can't fucking tear your eyes off him. He keeps a hand on your thigh the whole way there, thumb rubbing circles into the fabric the way he always does when he's trying to keep you grounded. It's his silent way of saying: breathe. I got you.

So you breathe. You try to compose yourself on the way to the hotel, try to get ahold of your brain so you're not blatantly staring at him the whole night. But it's hard, okay? It's fucking hard. Noya lounges around your house topless, in sweatpants, during the summers and in a loose hoodie and pants in the winter. He's a t-shirt and basketball shorts guy. You've never seen him dressed up like this. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy.

And he's just as perfect as he promised he'd be: he walks you in, keeps his hand in E-for-Everyone-rated placements, makes charming small talk with the coworkers you've been sat with. When it comes time to mingle, you mingle, and he does a better job of chatting up the clients and executives than you do. If you could think about anything except his shoulders in that jacket, you might be thinking something along the lines of how he's practically earning you a raise by himself.

He lets you handle the polite refusal of champagne for the both of you, gushes over how hard you've been working for your company's 50th these past few months, how proud he is of you. For the millionth time, you're reminded of how easy it is to love him: he's so bright, so good with people, so effortless in how he navigates the social waters. And he's hot as all fuck.

He's so good that you don't even mind when he excuses himself to find a restroom—you're engaged in conversation with your boss and one of your favorite coworkers, able to ride the high of him behaving himself while you charm all the right people. You channel Noya in his absence, and it's easy—everyone else is at least tipsy, but the two of you are not, and it makes it all the easier.

They're quick to gush about him in his absence—how nice he is, how charming, how utterly professional in comparison to one of your seniors, pulled away from nearly sitting in her husband's lap in the corner. You preen under the attention, more proud of Noya than you ever have been of yourself, and chat with them until, at last, you're starting to feel a bit suspicious.

Noya's been gone over twenty minutes.

"I'm gonna go looking for him, actually," you say with a smile. "He probably got caught up talking to someone."

"Good luck," your boss says, grin wide. "And keep up the good work!"

You scan the room for him, to no avail. You'd know his voice anywhere, know where to find him in an instant—even when he's not being loud, like tonight, your ears are specially tuned to the sound of his voice. And he's not here. Frowning, you slip out into the hall in search of the bathrooms, and in the cool quiet of the hallway, away from all the people, you let out a sigh of relief.

You hope you find him soon.

You follow down the dim hallway, eyes scanning just in case a certain someone decides to try to scare you—

And yelp as you're dragged, wrist-first, into a dark closet.

You find yourself staring into familiar brown eyes, warm and molten as you're pulled flush against a too-familiar body. "Hi," Noya whispers. "Been looking for you."

"You're supposed to be my emotional support extrovert!" you pout, hitting his chest lightly. "You left me to socialize all by myself!"

"Well, I had to get you away somehow." He flashes a wicked grin, and the discomfort that's been brewing between your thighs all night rears its head once again. "Someone can't keep their eyes off me today."

"I-I think you're projecting," you mumble, eyes lingering on his lips.

"Am I? I can feel your eyes on me, you know," he teases. "I think you're supposed to be attracted to your boyfriend."

"You look really good in a suit," you admit at last. "Like, too good."

"There it is. That can't have been that hard to say."

"Oh, shut up," you snap. His thumbs hook into your belt loops, tug you forward until his thigh is firmly pressed between yours. You gasp at the sudden pressure, the grind of him against your heat.

He stifles a laugh. "We gotta be quiet, [name]. You don't want anyone to think you're unprofessional, do you?"

"Oh fuck you."

"That's kind of the goal, babe. You spent all week telling me to be good tonight, and you can barely stop checking me out for a few seconds."

Frustrated, you grab at his tie, tug him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss. His hands slide—one gripping your ass, the other unbuttoning your suit jacket just to rest on your waist—and his lips are hot against yours as he kisses you senseless. He tastes more than pleasant, and you're pretty sure he reapplied his chapstick while he was waiting for you.

When you break away, breathless, you drop your head against his shoulder. But his hands don't stop moving: he loosens your tie, begins unbuttoning your shirt.

"Noya," you breathe, pushing at him lightly. "We can't."

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he replies, and then he's pushing the collar of your shirt aside, attaching his lips to your collarbone.

"Yuu," you whine.

He doesn't stop, and you don't tell him to. He scrapes his teeth against your flesh, finds the spot he's memorized just to make you melt as you drag your hips against his leg.

You shouldn't be doing this, but you find it hard to care with how easily he wrecks you, how easily he has you a puddle of mush at his feet. You think you might go completely insane if you don't get his dick in your mouth just like this—him fully clothed, you disheveled and waiting for him, but he has other plans as his hands continue their adventure in mapping out your body.

He moves from your collarbone only to kiss you again properly, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan softly around his tongue, eager for more, his hands sliding down to slip below your waistband, closer and closer to your soaked panties—

And tucking your shirt in neatly as he pulls away all at once. You chase his lips with a whine, pouting even harder when he begins buttoning your shirt back up with a snicker.

"Yuu, what are you—"

He smiles as he smooths down your collar. "I promised I'd behave, didn't I?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do," you grumble.

He fixes your hair. "You can hate me when we get home. Right now, I'd focus my energy on not walking out of this storage closet looking like you're ready to ride me in front of all your big-ticket clients."

You groan, drop your head against his shoulder again. "Fuck you. Seriously, fuck you."

"Not here," he teases. "It wouldn't be very professional to do it here."

You're either gonna marry him or kill him by the end of the year. You'll decide in the car.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

[buttherainbowhasabeard]

Unpopular Opinion: David Tennant Should Never Have Returned To Doctor Who

When a teary eyed David Tennant as The Doctor uttered the words “I don’t want to go” in his 2010 generation scene, it was a heartbreaking moment for fans. Saying goodbye to such a universally loved incarnation would be hard, but this was Doctor Who. Change was inevitable, and often, exciting.

So when the BBC announced that Tennant would be returning to the iconic role 15 years on, as part of a series of 60th anniversary specials, I was sceptical. 

It looked like I was the only one though, as the internet erupted with anticipation and jubilation. I, however, thought the 14th Doctor reveal was a huge distraction that disrespected both the outgoing and the incoming actors.

Don’t get me wrong, Tennant is one of my favourite modern Doctor’s. His mid 2000s run as the 10th Doctor was funny, frightening, heartfelt and unforgettable. He had some of the best companions and villains, and some of the smartest and most compelling stories. But all good things come to an end, and now his emotional first exit felt a bit hollow. 

His return really took the shine off Jodie Whittaker’s finale. Yes, her years as the 13th Doctor were responsible for some of the worst Doctor Who storylines in recent memory. But this was hardly her fault, and instead of enjoying her last moments as The Doctor and reflecting on the good bits (the first female Doctor in the show’s history), fans were shouting at their screens for her to hurry up and regenerate so their favourite could return. It was almost like the show was doing a reset and hoping we’d forget about her.

It also meant that the now 15th Doctor (Ncuti Gawta, the first gay, black Doctor in the show’s history) had to wait a little longer to make his debut, which seemed on-the-nose too. 

The BBC were making it crystal clear who they thought their most popular Doctor was. Tennant has had more screen time than any other modern era Doctor, and now he’s the only one still alive and kicking post regeneration across all eras. Haven’t they ever heard of 'jumping the shark' or having too much of a good thing?!

He had four consecutive seasons from 2005-2008, with a fake regeneration at the end of Series 4 that saw him get cloned and live happily ever after with Rose Tyler on parallel earth. From 2008-2010 he travelled sans companion in a series of specials, before reluctantly regenerating into Matt Smith. In 2013, he made an appearance alongside Smith in the 50th anniversary special.

And now in 2023, he’s done three extra episodes alongside Catherine Tate reprising her role as his much loved Series 4 companion Donna Noble. These specials ended with him bi-generating (one Tennant Doctor, one Gatwa Doctor - don’t ask!) and continuing on as The Doctor, complete with his own TARDIS. He will, he says, stay put on earth to let Gatwa go off and have his own adventures. How generous of him! 

Firstly, Tennant’s latest run didn’t feel like a 60th anniversary either. Instead it felt like a very late follow up and conclusion (or even an alternative ending) to Series 4, so the opportunity to include other cameos and celebrate the show’s rich history was lost.

In ‘The Star Beast’, the monstrous Meep really just provided a reason for The Doctor to see Donna again. In ‘Wild Blue Yonder’, The Doctor and Donna fought creepy doppelgängers of themselves (again, talk about self-indulgent!), and in ‘The Giggle’, Neil Patrick Harris’ promising Celestial Toymaker did little more than put on a funny accent and do a funny dance.

Sure, it had some fun and heartfelt moments. I'm glad the DoctorDonna Human-Time Lord metacrisis has been resolved. The Doctor's tender moments with Donna were nice. His two redheaded companions (Donna and Mel) holding his hands as he "regenerated" was touching. Even Tennant and Gatwa's interactions were surprisingly sweet. However, the whole jaunt just felt like an excuse to reunite Tennant and Tate and capitalise on their lingering popularity. Which leads me to my second point… 

No other actor has been able to continue on as The Doctor, so the fact that this is the first exception to the rule shows that the studio is very obviously playing favourites. They are keeping Tennant’s sprightly sneaker wearing, pin stripe suited spaceman up their sleeves to roll out whenever they please. If the ratings plummet, they can bring Tennant back. If the fans want it, they can bring Tennant back. If Tennant wants it, they can bring Tennant back. Does anyone else smell a spin-off?

Thirdly, I don’t buy the idea that The Doctor can be - and wants to be - domesticated at all. Despite everyone telling him that he needs to stop and slow down, he has never once done so. In every incarnation, he/she is an energetic, chaotic and forever on-the-go entity that can’t stand waiting or having to sit idly by.

So, all of a sudden we're expected to believe that he’s going to stay with Donna and her family and just hang out on earth like a regular human? I doubt it. He even said it himself to Rose in Season 2, when trying to justify why he can’t settle down. "You can spend the rest of your life with me. But I can't spend the rest of mine with you." If bi-generation had have happened to Peter Capaldi’s 12th Doctor, I might have accepted it better because he said he wanted to rest. It would’ve made more sense there.

And lastly, but probably most importantly, everyone loves a bit of nostalgia, but bringing beloved characters back from the dead to get ratings up again isn’t a good enough reason. In reality, it just reeks of lazy writing or a lack of creativity, and in turn, a lack of closure. The whole point and poignancy of a show like Doctor Who is that The Doctor must change and move on, as we, the audience, have to move on.

When someone plays The Doctor, they do it for a limited time but they leave a lasting legacy. Having Tennant on standby undermines that. I want the writers to invest in their new actors and have faith in their new adventures instead of having earlier models waiting in the wings.

So for me, the best thing about these three specials and the finale wasn’t that Tennant didn't have to say goodbye this time. It was that Gatwa finally got to say hello...

[regicidal-defenestration]

ROWAN I wanna start watching Old Who, where should I start

Doctors 1 thru 7 are on tubi but they don't seem to have 8 for some reason :( I could also dig up the TV movie or something, i remember watching at least 1 doctor who movie on vhs at my grandma's but I don't know which one it was

OKAY SO the first rule of watching Classic Who is having fun and being yourself

Further than that:

First Doctor - Start at the start!

Classic move! Put on An Unearthly Child and watch them all in the order that God, or at least the BBC*, intended

(*disregarding the ones, all from the First or Second Doctor's runs, that were purged from the archives as part of due process back then. Some have been reconstructed in a variety of ways, others remain entirely lost)

Pros of starting here: Easy! You get to watch the show develop into what it is today and you don't have to piece together context in ways you might have to to be willing to starting elsewhere

Cons of starting here: The show started very differently to what it is today. The pacing is sometimes slower, sometimes just by the nature of the story, sometimes because they had 2 episodes worth of plot they had to fit into 6 parts

Seventh Doctor - Start at the... end?

The Seventh Doctor, particularly when he's joined by Ace McShane at the end of s24, is arguably the most similar to modern DW. The first Classic Who episodes I ever watched were Dragonfire and The Happiness Patrol after I was given them on DVD as a gift

Pros of starting here: we've got drama we've got a Doctor who's a little bit fucked up with his schemes we've got a teenager willing (for better or for worse) to jump into the fight, it's often familiar to a modern DW watcher and as good a place as any to start. Also has a incredibly high proportion of banger serials, something I realised later down this post when trying to pick a few to recommend

Cons of starting here: plot threads that never develop into what they promise, due to the show getting cancelled in series 25. You may also be left with the reasonable question of "okay so I've watched the end bit of DW, now what?"

Eighth Doctor - Why is my tumblr mutual abnormal about this man

Never got a TV series :(. He has like three televised appearances: a minisode made for the show's 50th anniversary, a cameo in an episode made for the BBC's 100th anniversary, and the TV movie Doctor Who (1996), which was an attempt at bringing the show back after it got cancelled in 1989

Pros of starting here: doesn't directly follow on from any previous stories and since you already know who these guys (the Doctor and the Master) are, you know all the relevant backstories (other than a few new pieces of lore they throw in just for this film, to really piss off a certain kind of diehard DW fan)

Cons of starting here: as much as I love it dearly, and regard it as a masterpiece of cinema, I do acknowledge it would be massively improved by, for example, a coherent plot. There's a reason it took until 2005 for the show to come back properly and it wasn't because everybody at the time loved this film

Addendum - Watching orders are overrated

The order I've been watching Classic Who in has gone 7 -> 5 -> 3, excluding the odd single serials I've watched from 1, 4, and 6. The world can be your oyster if you're willing to sometimes skim some character's wiki page to find out who they're supposed to be. Some ones I recommend(*) and ones I haven't seen but have been reliably recommended by friends(+) are:

First Doctor

The Romans (+)

The Gunfighters (+)

-> DW's first musical serial!

Second Doctor

The Tomb of the Cybermen (+)

Fury from the Deep (+)

The War Games (+)

Third Doctor

Spearhead from Space (*)

Inferno (*)

The Curse of Peladon (*)

-> Really this is because I am just so delighted by Alpha Centauri whenever it appears

The Green Death (*)

Fourth Doctor

The Ark in Space (+)

Horror of Fang Rock (+)

City of Death (*)

-> Co-written by Douglas Adams this one, and is one of those stories that's pretty much as good as everyone says it is

Fifth Doctor

Castrovalva (*)

-> Does follow directly on from the previous serial Logopolis, featuring companions introduced throughout s18, but at the time of writing I still haven't watched Logopolis so you're probably fine? Good serial for fans of fucked up architecture and blonde men in distress

Earthshock (*)

The Caves of Androzani (*)

Sixth Doctor

Vengeance on Varos (+)

Revelation of the Daleks (+)

Seventh Doctor

Remembrance of the Daleks (*)

The Greatest Show in the Galaxy (*)

-> Occupies an interesting place in DW history as it is in pretty much direct response to fans at the time, to the extent they kill off a parody of an obsessive DW fan who may or may not be Chris Chibnall. Mostly I'm recommending it because it has really really good clown costuming

The Curse of Fenric (*)

Survival (*)

-> Lesbian furry serial

[atopfourthwall]

Getting caught up on Dr Who (hadn't watched anything since the 50th anniversary special) and I was curious for your thoughts on Heaven Sent and Hell Bent.

Heaven Sent is amazing! Moffat at the top of his game and one of my favorite type of stories - the mystery that makes no sense. The journey is incredible, great pay-off and the music some of Murray Gold's best. The Doctor telling the story of how many seconds in eternity is awe-inspiring, a motivating reminder to persevere even when things seem hopeless or at their lowest. It's scary and hopeful and I in fact have "How Are You Going to WIN?" on my whiteboard right now. I'll rewatch it any time. Hell Bent is garbage! Wasting multiple plot threads on a mediocre, nonsensical conclusion to the plotline about Gallifrey being lost AND the Hybrid thing. It introduces a bunch of headscratching nonsense and lore to the Doctor's past and continues the trend of making the Time Lords pathetic and weak compared to how super-duper-awesome-amazing the Doctor is and makes him obsessed with saving Clara above all else to the point of trying to screw with time even though he has espoused on how wrong it is multiple times, not just in Classic Who but New Who and feels really insulting given everyone else who he could have done this for but chose her for no good reason. It continues some of Moffat's worst writing tendencies, caring more about showing how clever and cool the Doctor is and throwing in stuff that's supposedly cool and neat fanservice but really doesn't make any sense the more you think about it. Any good parts of it are buried in the nonsense and I never want to revisit it, continuing a trend that Moffat had for a couple stories where he has great lead-ins to the finale, but the actual finale was massively disappointing (breaking only with 12's actual finale, but it seems plenty dislike Twice Upon a Time [I personally like it] and probably view that as the true finale and thus the actual season finale "The Doctor Falls" would be its superior lead-in). Also, "What if the hybrid isn't one person, but two?" is one of the dumbest lines of dialogue ever BECAUSE THEN IT'S NOT A HYBRID.

[door]

1! 6! 11! 25! 26! 33! 41! 42! 48! 52! 54! 69! hoo boy that's a lot. also how's 30s

hi! oh wow that is a lot. enjoy??? (for the 30s ask meme)

gonna answer the last thing first because honestly i've loved my 30s, and since i'm going into my final year of them it seems apt to reflect. i figured out i was queer like a month before i turned 30, so my 30s have been about queerness and community, about taking risks on things that previously i thought i were too old for. i moved cities and careers, i got a masters degree, i found sooooo much friendship and interests and hobbies and got every single one of my tattoos. i am more myself now than i have ever been before. i used to joke that i had been waiting my whole life to turn 30, but i think that was true actually. getting older rules.

What was the first piece of furniture you bought?

off with a BANG. i think it was probably a knock-off saarinen tulip table i got from craigslist when i was in grad school the first time, long long ago. i think the guy had found the base (which may in fact be genuine) and he built a wooden top for it. it's lovely and i think i paid $100 for it. we don't have room for it in the current house (it's dining room sized, about 5 ft across), so it's hiding in my aunt's basement for now.

6. Most precious thing one of your pets has destroyed?

this wasn't actually one of mine, but my parents' dog punkin. the first and only thing i won at auction was a poster for the 1976 50th anniversary of the 1925 exposition des artes decoratifs (which cemented the art deco style and later contributed its name), and punkin ate it. i can still barely talk about it. looked like this:

11. What’s something you saved up for and then regretted buying?

weirdly the first thing i think of is an inflatable chair i got from kb toys in the mall when i was a kid. i thought that thing was going to change my life. it didn't. i cried. my mom helped me return it.

25. Favorite old person activity?

playing solitaire with real cards. when i was a kid, while the rest of us were rolling in the sand and getting our teeth knocked out by waves at the beach, my grandma would sit inside and play solitaire. one year i joined her. she taught me SO many varieties of solitaire and i remember em all.

26. Would you rather sit on the porch drinking sweet tea or sit by the lake drinking beers?

i don't drink alcohol so sweet tea gets my vote. lake vs porch really depends on the breeze situation, but most likely lake. i love a body of water.

33. What’s something you collect?

edward gorey books, including paperbacks he did covers for. also linda ronstadt records

41. What’s the oldest thing you own?

i don't know! i have a lot of old furniture i inherited or found in thrift stores so i really don't know how old any of that is. it might be a ring that belonged to my great-grandmother. it probably dates to the mid-19th century.

42. What’s an unjustifiably expensive appliance that you really want?

a roomba! which is unjustifiable in part because of the weirdness of our house. but how will we know until we try it!

also: this coffee grinder (unjustifiable because we have a perfectly good one already but this one is red) and this milk pan.

48. If you could build your home from scratch, what outrageous feature would you want to build into it?

A CONSERVATORY!!! i want a glasshouse i want to fill it with plants and enjoy the OUTSIDE while INSIDE. that's the dream.

but also like. so many secret passages.

52. Did your relationship with your parents get better when you stopped living with them?

i think it got worse, actually.

54. Do you decorate your house for holidays? Which ones?

i decorate the yard for halloween (full graveyard babey), but any spooky decorations that go up inside the house usually become permanent. we don't have room for anything more than stockings in the current house, but i put christmas lights up on the porch and around a doorway inside.

69. What are you looking forward to next week?

my paycheck lol

[danielfeketewrites]

DOCTOR WHO TOP 10 - 11th Doctor

My favourite of the New Who Doctors. I started with his era and it changed my life.

10. The World Tree

A recent addition to this Doctor's EU canon, I utterly love this little story. It's another winner of the Paul Spragg Memorial, so you can download it for free on the Big Finish website. I urge you to do so.

9. The God Complex

Having previously written School Reunion and Vampires of Venice, I presume Toby Whithouse's reputation in the Who fandom was something along the lines of "he writes the fun, fluffy ones". The God Complex is his first darker and, well, more complex script. And it really, really works. I have a soft spot for most of his episodes anyway, but The God Complex is probably the most ambitious one. I adore the visceral liminality of that hotel, it's so good. (Also, I choose to ignore that nonsense reveal in The Time of the Doctor.)

8. Apotheosis / The Child of Time

These two basically form a two-parter, so I'm putting them together. Although, for the record, I prefer Apotheosis, contrary to what Jonathan Morris presumes in his commentary at the end of the comic strip collection. Mostly because I love Dan McDaid's art so bloody much, but also because of the atmosphere, setting, clever use of the medium (the stuff with the beard ROCKS), and nuns with guns. But The Child of Time is also pretty great as a big, satisfying finale full of fun twists. I said it before, I'll say it again - Morris is a great chameleon, perfect at writing excellent Doctor Who stories while using voices of other excellent Doctor Who writers. I mean, he admits in the commentary that he wanted to get the strips close to Moffat's style and I think he definitely succeeded.

7. Amy's Choice

It's a shame Simon Nye never wrote any more Doctor Who, because Amy's Choice is a stellar character piece. Toby Jones' Dream Lord is such a memorable presence and the connundrum this episode presents is really fun and unique.

6. Space in Dimension Relative and Time

one best the is it but One Year Doctor's eleventh in one-shot experimental only the not It's. clever really, really it's yet, simple It's. it read go all should you and story timey-wimey unique and fun really a in potential full it's to medium the uses Williams Rob.

5. The Eleventh Hour

The episode that hooked me. The episode that changed my life. I fully believe this is the best episode to show to someone new to Doctor Who.

4. The Rise and Fall / The Other Doctor

A two-parter, with the first part written by Al Ewing and draw by Boo Cook, and the second part written by Rob Williams and drawn by Simon Fraser. I've only read Year One of eleventh Doctor's comics published by Titan, but I strongly feel the story of the Doctor taking on SERVEYOUinc. In a way, the story feels like a conversation not just with Doctor Who's past and present, but also with it's future... It feels like the perfect antidote to Kerblam!.

3. The Day of the Doctor (and The Day of the Doctor)

Listening to Steven Moffat talk about The Day of the Doctor is weird. Everything around the writing and production of the 50th anniversary special seems like hell. And yet, the end result is something that's not just extremely good Doctor Who, it feels like it knows it's good Doctor Who. It looks simple, seems self-assured, appears to know exactly what it's doing. It's a minor miracle. And it's also amazing. Gallifrey falls no more. All thirteen and all that.

Note: This spot is shared between the episode AND the novelisation. I love both of them very much. Go read the novelisation if you haven't read it yet. It's really, really fun.

2. Vincent and the Doctor

Nearly everyone loves this episode and, well, I can't really argue with that. It really is special. I adore it, the greatest celebrity historical the show ever did.

1. The Doctor's Wife

My favourite New Who episode.

So, I am a huge fan of Neil Gaiman. That is probably not a shocking take on this website. My collection of his work currently includes 12 books (1 in Czech translation, the rest in English), 6 comic books (1 in Czech translation, the rest in English), and 1 script book. I love Neil Gaiman.

I love the idea of the Corsair. I actually roleplayed as an incarnation of the Corsair in a game of Cubicle 7's Doctor Who TTRPG at a Red Dwarf convention recently. In front of an audience of like four people.

Hell, I even made a fanart of the Nephew like 6 or 7 year ago. I love the poor Ood and I love the horror aspect of the episode, with TARDIS becoming an abject and unfamiliar place when she gets possessed by the House.

But the reason I love this episode the most out of not just the eleventh Doctor's era but all of the 2005 series is... Well, it's the relationship. The Doctor and his TARDIS. Or, the Thief and his Sexy. It recontextualizes the whole mythology, it recontextualizes the entire series in a way that's so moving and poetic and just... perfect. I love The Doctor's Wife.

[infintiandbeyond]

Marigolds don’t taste like honey || Bakugou x GN!Reader

Prompt: Reader catches hanahaki disease for Bakugou. Will he figure it out before it's too late?

This is my first real completed fanfiction work. Please be nice. I tried to make this gender neutral and non discriminate so everyone can enjoy. Constructive criticism is welcomed. No beta so if there are mistakes please let me know. Thank you and enjoy.

Warning: Angst, happy ending, mentions of blood, near death experiences, self-sacrificing behavior, oblivious boys, tears and cursing. 

Word count : 5.5k

Read this on AO3 as well

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

You and Katsuki had been friends for exactly 7 years, 11 months and 29 days.

You were on the verge of spending 8 years by the side of the rudest, self-centered, egotistical megalomaniac and could not think of any other way you would have rather spent your time. Because no matter how much Katsuki pushes your buttons, it's hard to hate the love of your life. And it’s moments like today that make you realize just how gone you are for your best friend. 

You glanced around at the pieces of marigolds scattered around and the splotches of blood that stained your favorite Dynamight graphic tee as you gaze at the last few moments of the sunrise over the horizon. You reached your hand up and brushed against the trunk of the tree that had been here for years. Childish scratches had been carved into the trunk. 

Katsuki + (Y/n)

Well…at least he won’t be alone. You looked at the brightening sky one last time and whispered your final goodbye as the heaviness in your body finally caught up with you, closing your eyes to the sound of firecrackers in the distance.

___________

A day ago…

“Mina, I really don't think this is a good idea.” You threw yourself onto the bed inside your apartment, suppressing the urge to hide inside the closet and never see the light of day again.

“(Y/n), think how romantic it would be for you to confess to Bakugou on the anniversary of the day you guys became friends. I can't think of a more adorable get together story.” you could hear Mina swooning over the phone at the thought of how picturesque that moment would be in theory. However, in reality, that is probably the furthest thing from the truth that could happen. 

“You mean how suicidal it would be to confess to an emotionally constipated man that could kill me without a second thought,” you moaned in frustrastion. “We’ve been friends for forever and I would hate to ruin the years of trust built into that bond over a stupid crush.”

You got off the bed and started to head to the small kitchen down the hall for a glass of water. They could feel the start of a sore throat beginning, maybe karaoke night with Mina and Denki wasn’t the best idea in hindsight. 

“But it isn’t stupid, you won’t ever know if those feelings are reciprocated if you never give it the chance.” Mina was a sweetheart, really, but when it came to matters of the heart, her approach tended to lean more towards the hopeless romantic side of things. You could tell she meant well and maybe she was right, Kats might feel the same way. 

Or he could hate her for even suggesting such a thing. Honestly there is a 50/50 chance here. 

“Maybe you’re right Mina, I'll go see if he wants to hangout after patrol next week and maybe I will have the courage to confess by then.” You continued to take some more sips of your water. Geez, I might have to grab some cough drops. The tickle in your throat seemed to get a little worse with the addition of the water. you feel the phone vibrate on your face, indicating an incoming message.

BoomBoomBoy:

Hey idiot, I left my lunch in my fridge so I have to order takeout. I’m getting some curry from the place on 50th, and I don’t want to hear your fucking complaining about how I ate it without you. Meet me in my office in an hour. 

“Speaking of the devil, he just demanded I spend his lunch with him so I gotta head to the office now. Maybe I'll be able to ask him to -” You began to cough very hard, as if there was something stuck in the back of your throat. “Sorry Mina, I think I'm coming down with something, but I am going to start getting ready now.”

“No problem, I hope you feel better, and remember even if he says no, there's still a place for you in my heart.” you loved Mina, truly. They hung up the phone and left to get ready to eat lunch with Bakugou, not noticing the three flower petals lying precariously next to the glass of water. 

___________

At the office…

You march your way into the building, past the receptionist and into the elevator that was specifically reserved for Midoriya and Katsuki. You pressed the button for the top floor. As the numbers on the screen begin the increase, signaling your ascent to his office, you couldn’t help but feel a heaviness weighing in your stomach. This is the kind of confession that could change the course of your life. You and Katsuki had been friends for so long and much of your lives were ingrained with each other’s presence. Movie and dinner nights when he was free from patrol, quick lunch outings when he couldn’t get away from the office, quiet brunches at the coffee shop when you were having trouble sleeping or when work got too stressful. He was a pillar in your life that you didn’t think you could afford to lose. 

The elevator rang, notifying you that you had finally made it to your desitination. You walk briskly down the hall to your left, hoping to not lose your nerve. As you get closer to Katsuki’s office you can hear the gruff rumbles of his voice through the walls.

“Of course I don’t know what to fucking do Shitty Hair, i’ve never been great at this type of shit.” Bakugou sounded very frustrated with the topic of conversation. You start to slightly open the door, aiming to signal your entrance, just in case this was a sensitive topic. However, before you could peep your head around, the next words that tumbled from his math stopped you in your tracks.

“You know it’s not that fucking simple, dumbass. I can’t just tell them how I fucking feel. I think I might actually love them- No, I know I fucking love the shit out of them and I can’t do anything about it.” There was a slight pause where you assumed Kirishima was answering him. “FUCKING FINE!” He lowered his tone, “I’ll talk to them tonight about it and see, but if this shit doesn’t work and I lose her, you're gonna wish I had killed your ass.” His voice had sounded more serious than you had ever heard him before. Even more than when he had declared that he would stop at nothing to be Number One. 

I felt something drop on your hand, and looked down. Water was dripping from your hand. You quickly touched your face…no that wasn't water. You had started to shed tears and didn’t realize it. You released the door like it was on fire and ran to the nearest restroom. 

Katsuki is in love… 

You grasp at the edges of the sink as you try to coach yourself to breathe. You glanced up at the mirror and grimaced at the puffiness of your face and the redness of your eyes. Grabbing some paper towels you start to wipe your face with some cold water to try and salvage your demeanor before you have to go back. As you finally get cleaned up and start fixing yourself to head back out the door, a sudden wave of dizziness starts to overtake you. You lean over the sink and begin to hack and cough as if something was lodged within the back of your throat. Little splatters of blood began to cover the white porcelain sink and you watched yourself in horror as little by little, bunches of yellow petals began to litter the rest of the sink. When you had finally finished with your coughing fit, you looked at the sick. In utter despair you fell to your knees at the sight of 3 rather large marigold flowers on top of the pile of petals. 

Katsuki is in love… and it's going to fucking kill me.

___________

You finally were able to manage and get yourself together enough to exit the bathroom. Bless whoever has to clean up that mess. You shakily made your way to the frosted glass door labeled: DYNAMIGHT. You slowly knock on the door, interrupting Katsuki’s current conversation.

“I ALREADY TOLD YOU FUCKING EXTRAS THAT IM TAKING MY LUNCH AND TO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” his voice bellowed throughout the hallway, bouncing off the walls. You opened the door anyway and peeked your head in the door. Bakugou sat upright at his desk and hurriedly hung up the phone, not even bothering to tell Kirishima goodbye. You resist the urge to not feel offended as he laid his eyes on you. His features visibly softened as he recognized who had knocked on his door and graced you with a wide and vicious smirk. 

“Hey shortcake, what took you so fucking long?” To an untrained eye, he looked as if he had been waiting for you to come this entire time. But you could tell, outside of walking in on his earlier discussion, the slight sheen on his forehead, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his desk and the shakiness behind his shit-eating smirk very much signaled that he was nervous about something and DID NOT want to talk about it. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest. 

“Hey Firecracker, what are you up to?” You secretly hoped that he would clear up the fog of confusion in your brain. You’re his best friend, he told you everything. The day that he thought about leaving Endeavor’s agency and starting his own, he spent the night with you planning out everything to get started. The nightmares he had about the LOV, were comforted by you. You were there for everything, and as much as it would pain you, there’s no way you wouldn’t be there for this. 

“Absolutely nothing, just dealing with some goddamn PR nightmare. Some dumb shit about my image not being too great.” Your heart dropped. He had lied to you. He lied to you. He LIED to you.  Katsuki is in love with some women and didn’t even plan to tell me about it. Your shaky smile dropped fiercely, but you quickly recovered and attempted to give another smile but only managed a bleak grimace. Bakugo, mistaking that look as a response to his answer, gestured for you to come and sit at his desk with him. His usual client chair was replaced with a comfortable armchair in anticipation of your visit. He knew that the chair was unbearingly uncomfortable on purpose to make his clients uneasy in his presence but switches it out for something more comfortable when you visit him. 

“Come sit the hell down shortstack.” He had also taken to calling you aggressively affectionate names after a small incident in which you yelled at him that calling you a ‘dumbass idiot’ all the time wasn’t the most friendly experience. Thus these ‘sweet’ insults were formed. 

You walked your way over to his desk, why he had it at the absolute other end of the room still astounded you but you’re starting to believe everything about his office was an intimidation tactic. Usually it doesn't bother you but after the events that just occurred, it starts to nip at your nerves, leaving you a little unsteady. Once you had made it to your designated chair, you were shocked to see that in place of the mediocre curry that you were expecting from Mrs Lee’s cute little curry shop down the street, Katsuki had placed you very beautifully made bento boxes on his desk. The smell of his signature curry wafts up your nose and you look at him in confusion. He gave a slight smile in response.

“You really think I’d feed you shit that wasn’t the best, huh?” He raised his eyebrow in question. “You know know my food is the fucking best, and I don’t settle for anything less than perfection.” And while those words would usually send your heart soaring at the gesture that is so unapologetically Katsuki Bakugou, you couldn’t help but feel a faint pang in your heart at those words and you feel your throat start to close up just a bit. You gave a strained smile back at him. “Damn Kats, you didn’t have to do that. How am I supposed to hold up my end of this friendship if you’re always trying to one up me?” 

“You’re not. I’m the fucking best.You can’t compete with me.” He looked at you proudly, as if he was pleased that he could do shit like this and leave you feeling swept off your feet. You sat down in your chair, feeling a little lighter than when you came in. You both began to quietly dig in, but you could still feel the nervous energy radiating off him in waves. You glanced up at him and noticed that he was already staring right at you. 

You blinked at him, “Suki are you okay?” you gently grabbed the hand that was still tapping away at the edge of the desk. That was the name reserved for the softest of moments, when he knows you're genuinely concerned. 

He blinked back, shaking his head and gave you back a shaky smirk. “Yeah, just going through a lot of shit at work, but we’re not here to talk about that bullshit. We’re here to enjoy a nice lunch by yours truly. So don’t worry your pretty little head, ya little ankle biter.” He ruffled the hair on top of your head. You swatted his hand away, and he gave a deep chuckle as you attempted to readjust your hair back to its original state. You spent a lot of time looking presentable… not that you’d be able to do what you planned to do anyways. 

“I got a couple of things to do after work today but I’m coming over tonight.” Bakugou had a way of inserting himself in your life without asking but knew when he was welcomed. You were sad. Would he go confess his love tonight and tell you in the aftermath? Am I the asshole if I tell him to fuck off? You shook the thoughts away. “Okay, i’ll pick out some movies then.” You hate your life sometimes. 

“Not any of that psychological thriller shit either, can’t get a good night's sleep after that.” He frowned at the thought. 

“All Might’s new documentary is out.” You suggested, knowing that he couldn’t resist seeing his hero. His eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking, tiny.” You finished your lunch in companionable silence. 

___________

Home…

Once you made it through your apartment door, you raced to the toilet. The next several hours were spent in a pattern of throwing up bloody golden petals and researching the hell out of what you hoped you weren’t experiencing. You stared at your phone.

WebMD

Hanahaki Disease (花吐き病) : a disease in which the patient coughs up flower petals when they suffer from a one-sided love. It can end when the object of thier affections returns thier affections (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. It may be cured through surgical removal, but with the infection goes all romantic feelings for thier beloved. 

No.Fucking.Way.

What the hell does WebMD know? I need a medical professional, because I can’t possibly be going through the dumbest shit in history. You call up Recovery Girl, having gained a more personal relationship with her during your time in UA. She was able to make some room for you in her schedule. 

When you made it to her office, she was already set up and waiting for you. You made your way over to the medical bed and began to explain what was going on as she checked your vitals. When you mentioned the pile of petals that began to appear seemingly overnight, she looked at you with a horror stricken appearance. It did not look comforting. She confirmed your self-diagnosis, it was Hanahaki and you were in the final stages. 

“Oh dearie,” she paused with a heavy sigh, “I can have you scheduled for the surgery in three days. You’d have to avoid whoever it is until then, or risk furthering your condition even more, and considering you’re in the final stages already you’d be facing a fatal end.” She hung her head and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Everything will be oka-

“I don’t want the surgery.” You said it before thinking, but you were sure about your decision. Losing feelings for Katsuki, means losing everything they had built over the past almost eight years. They’ve been through so much together and you’d be damn to have to lose it all now. You looked at her in a false determination. “I’m going to talk to him. There’s gotta be something we can do. I refuse to take the easy way out here.”

She tried to stop you as you began to collect all your things and head to the door. “But dear, if you confess and he doesn’t return those affections then you could die.” She looked as if the room might collapse on her at any moment. She had grown fond of you in the past few years you’ve known each other and would hate to see you risk your life. You shook your head and walked out the door, missing the small tear that ran down Recovery Girl’s face.

“Young Mr. Bakugou better realize his feelings for them before it's too late.”

___________

As you pulled back into your apartment complex, the panic and reality of the situation had started to settle in your mind. You began to hyperventilate. How the hell are you going to save yourself and your friendship? Can I really hope for the best and confess? Even if I don’t, I still have to explain the gravity of the situation. Would it be delusional to hope that maybe Kat’s mystery girl was me? You started to feel a little hope in the pit of despair you call your heart. 

You were greeted on your own front door steps by the man in question. Katsuki Bakugou stood firmly in front of your door with bags in his arms, irritation on his face and knuckles poised to knock fiercely again. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR, (Y/N)! I KNOW YOU HEAR ME FUCKING CALLING YOU.” 

You rushed to his side and grabbed his hand, nerves sparking at the touch. “Don’t burn my door down, you damn spitfire. I just went out real quick. Geez, you’re so impatient.” You open the door to let you both in, he makes his way straight to the kitchen. Placing his overnight bag by your door and the snacks he bought in the living room. Throwing his jacket on the coat rack, he made himself at home on your couch, scrolling to the All Might Documentary scheduled to come on. 

“You know I hate waiting, it's not like I was worried about your ass or anything.” What you didn’t manage to catch was the small blush on his upper cheeks at his behavior as he faced away from you and fiddled with the TV remote. 

Once you go and get comfortable, you make your way onto the couch right beside him. This was a common occurrence between the two of you. Days when you both were free from responsibilities and work, you’d cuddle up on the couch and binge whatever TV trash was on today while sipping on some handmade cocktail Katsuki had made for the two of you. They were always good and ALWAYS strong. It was a nice distraction from the woes of everyday life, which was particularly helpful on days like today.

Before you were even aware, you’d both fallen into easy conversation, drinks were flowing and it had begun to reach further into the night before you had gained the confidence to finally have a conversation with him. You both stared at each other, a moment of silence had passed, and then you both opened your mouth.

“I need to talk-”

“I have a question-”

You both stopped and blushed in embarrassment at the moment. You swallowed your nerves and let him go first.

“So (y/n),” he never really says your given name unless it's urgent. He swallows hard. “There’s been something that i’ve been meanin to talk to ya about. I’m not really sure how you’ll take it but it’s important that you understand that I would never want to hurt ya, and your friendship means the absolute fucking world to me.” He gets a little choked up. “Um..there’s this girl ya see… and i kinda like the little shit but i’ve just been uh… a little too distracted to talk to her. It’s not because I'm nervous or any dumb shit like that… just a little overwhelmed with some things. But tonight is the night im gonna tell ‘er.” He was breathing a little too heavy as if these were dying words. “(Y/n), I really fucking like - no im in love with-”. His dialogue was discontinued by a loud ringing sound coming from his phone. He looked really frustrated at the interruption. He picked up his phone and glanced at the caller. You were only able to glean the name from the top of the phone before you swiped right on the caller and looked at you - Round Cheeks.

“Sorry, (y/n) - fuck, i really need to take this right now. Just hold on a sec.” He raced to the spare room and closed the door. 

You sat on the couch frozen. You weren’t sure how to feel. You were almost sure you had a chance at this, but from what it sounds like…you’ve been friendzoned pretty hard. For fucking Uraraka. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. The blood rushing to your face at the utter embarrassment you would’ve just made of yourself had you confess your feelings for this man. This man who valued you as a friend, and apparently nothing more. Your chest started to feel constricted. Your airways are closing. You were overcome with several emotions all at once. Anger, jealousy, despair and of course… fear. You were gonna die unless you got that surgery. 

He exited the bedroom, looking very relieved and almost… happy. You guess the phone call went well. He walked in big strides to your side and grabbed your hands. They were sweaty like always, it was one of the things you had always liked about him, no matter how self-conscious it made him. You both stared into each other's eyes. You could feel the oncoming signs of another floral arrangement, and if he said those fatal words to you, you didn’t know if you’d be able to take it. He started to open his mouth again, but before he could finish his thought, you stopped him in his tracks. 

“Hey Katsuki, i don’t think i’m feeling too well. Could we maybe raincheck for another day. I think i’m going to be sick.” You start to clean up the snack wrappers from the living room. He immediately looked concern. 

“If you’re feeling sick, munchkin, then let me help ya.” He started to walk away to maybe make some soup or grab medicine like he always does, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted him to go. 

“No, Katsuki, I think I'm all good here by myself. I’ll just go to the doctor’s tomorrow.” You hated turning him away, but it was for both of your own goods. 

“What the hell is up with ya, shorty?” He was starting to get frustrated. Why won’t you let him help? “Just let me take care of ya.” He walked over to your side where your back was turned towards him. He grabs your arm and turns you around. You were crying.

“NO, BAKUGOU! I'M GOOD JUST LEAVE!” You shrugged his hands off you and headed towards the door. He was just making this harder for you, why couldn’t he just understand. He needed to go, the longer he stayed the sicker you felt, but when you looked him in the eyes, it broke down every defense you had, you couldn’t lose your feelings for this man. No surgery could stop these feelings.

“I'M NOT JUST GONNA LEAVE YOU HERE TO FIGHT THIS DAMN SICKNESS ALONE!” He just wanted to help you. He cared about you more than he wanted to admit, and you denying him was something he didn’t know how to take. 

“Fine then,” You put your shoes on and grabbed your keys. You looked back at him as you put one foot out the door. “If you won’t leave then I will.” Maybe you were overreacting here but you couldn’t stand to stay there in that room with him, knowing that any second you’d cough up bloody marigolds and have to explain why you might die there in his arms. You closed the door behind you, coughing on your way out as you struggled to make your way to your car. 

___________

Bakugou wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. One minute he was enjoying the only real piece of comfort he had in this world, and now he stared at a closed door as the love of his life walked out on him. Confusion settled in his stomach. 

What the absolute fuck just happened? He replayed all the events of tonight's festivities. You guys were finally watching that All Might documentary that he had been putting off for ages just to watch with you. You were both a little tipsy but the atmosphere was light and fun. You looked so beautiful. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and you stuffed your face with chips, not worrying about how you might look. He loved that about you. The way you were unabashedly you, how you cared about him, how you seemed to love him. It was that moment that gave him the confidence to confess. He had to tell you now, there’s so much he wanted to do, to experience, to learn with you, and if he didn’t take those steps now, he might never take them. He steeled his nerves to tell you the truth of his heart, but before he could say those important words, Uraraka called. 

Fucking round cheeks has the worst fucking timing. He had commissioned Uraraka and Kirishima to set something of a date up for the two of you, had this evening gone to plan. However, the plans were a bit time sensitive, given that your friendship anniversary was in two days, and he wanted everything to be perfect, this call was important. He swore he had only stepped out for two seconds to confirm the dinner reservation and the schedule swapping he did to ensure that no one would bother him for work duties that day.  

When he stepped back out into the living room, he could feel a change in the atmosphere, but that wasn’t enough to deter him from talking to you. He walked towards you, butterflies in his whole body. He grabbed your hands. They were soft. Comforting. Just like you. But before he could express these thoughts to you, everything went to shit. 

You were sick, you usually were after a few too many drinks but never this early in the night. He went to grab your tylenol from the medicine cabinet, he couldn’t resist the urge to take care of you. Especially, when that’s all you’ve ever done for him. He’s gone through a lot to be the man he is today, and a majority of that he owes to your too-kind-for-your-own-good nature. But today you didn’t want his help, you wanted him to leave, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

He sat on your couch, confused about what to do now. 

Maybe I should call Shitty Hair, it was his dumb fucking idea anyway. He looked around for his phone but couldn’t find it. He walked past the front door, where he saw you had dropped your phone in your haste to leave. He looked at the time 5:36 AM. 

The sun is about to fucking rise and their out there, god knows where, sick to thier goddamn stomach. What the hell am I doing? I need to go find them.

He was about to grab his jacket when he caught a missed call and voicemail from Recovery Girl. He knew you two were pretty close, especially after all the time you spent by his side in the infirmary. He clicked on the voicemail, it must’ve been important if she left a voicemail. 

“Hello dearie, I hope this doesn’t reach you too late. I did some analysis on your bloodwork after you left so I could see if there were some more options for you. Unfortunately, it seems as if you have contracted a very rare form of Hanahaki Disease. This particular form takes place over a 24 hour period and only allows you that time frame to find a cure. I’m not sure when you first started to develop signs but it is imperative that you give me a call right away.”

Bakugou dropped the phone from his hands. Hanahaki Disease? The fucking love disease? You had fallen in love? And with some dumbass idiot who didn’t feel the same way? 

How dare that bastard not love you? You were perfect. You were kind, caring and smart. You didn’t take anyones bullshit and you stood by those you love. Now you were god knows how long away from fucking dying and there was nothing he could do?

No. There was something he could do. He could find you and make this right. Even if you didn’t love him the way he loved you, you didn’t deserve to die over it. You deserved to be happy. He was going to make sure that fucking happened. Bakugou grabbed the door but was met with a wet sensation. There was blood on the door, and a trail of yellow petals greeted him from the door to the parking lot. 

Fuck…I hope im not too late. He jumped in the air and began to search for your figure. You didn’t make it far. Your car was haphazardly parked on the side of the park that you two often frequented together. You were laying by the tree that you two had carved your names in years ago. His heart seized at the sight of so much blood and flowers that surrounded you. 

He landed by your side. Two fingers pressed against your throat. You were barely breathing. He had to get you out of here. 

“Shit, wake up shortcake.” His voice sounded teary. “We gotta find the bastard that did this to ya. I’ll make him pay” He started to pick you up.

You roused a bit from the noise. You had to be dreaming. Bakugou stood over you. The rising sun shining behind him, giving him a golden glow. You smiled.

What a way to go. You raised your hand up to his cheek. Blood smears across his cheek. Even though he wasn’t real, it couldn’t hurt to lift this heaviness off your shoulders. You locked eyes with him and croaked out your last words. 

“I’m sorry for loving you, ‘Suki. You mean the world to me and I wish I could’ve told you.”

Bakugou froze in his panicked state. You loved him? Then why the fuck were you dying? Of course he loved you too. How could he not.

He grabbed you by the face. “Don’t you ever dare be sorry for loving me, because I’m sure the hell not.” He pressed his lips to yours so brutally, you’d think he was waging a war on your face. 

The suffocating feeling in your chest lifted itself so quickly as if it had never been there. You could breathe again.The feeling of being on death’s door had miraculously disappeared, and against all odds you had lived. You had lived because Katsuki loved you and you loved him back. 

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes and you wrapped your arms around him.

“I love you so much Katsuki.”

“I love you too (Y/n). Now let's get your ass home, and into some clean clothes. I can’t let my girl get sick for real.” He quickly lifted you off the ground, not giving you a chance to voice your protests. But you’d gladly be in his arms forever. 

[foster-the-world]

50 years!

We had a nice weekend celebrating my in-laws 50th anniversary. My husband found the perfect venue for a dinner party. Really, really good family style food and nice cocktails. It was at an Upstate hotel so the kids were able to run around the campground. Worked out perfectly. Then all 28 of us went to a YMCA family camp the family has been going to since my husband's generation was little. The kids were in heaven. I wasn't much looking forward to it. Or rather I was looking forward to it for my kids but it was too much togetherness for me. Plus, I always worry about baby boy is going to do. The first morning baby boy and I walked on the river. It was just about as perfect as a morning could be. We threw in about a million rocks and he was his funny self. Listening to him talk on and on is the best. There were def points where it was a little to much on time but overall it went well. Glad my kids have such amazing family to love and support them. My in-laws were very happy.

Back to work today.

I volunteered to host glow parties for all the kids at school who don't get an official graduation ceremony school. I found a reasonably priced silent disco headphone company - that I think the kids will get a kick out of. Looking up glow party stuff is keeping me entertained. I wanted to make glowing drinks but it involved crushing up vitamin B12. Only one tablet per gallon - so totally healthy but I read it may turn your pee green. I didn't want to freak out 200 sets of parents so I think we will skip that. Our Principal is always down for a party. One of the Vice Principals is a bit of a curmudgeon and does not seem thrilled with the idea. When I mentioned food she was like "food, FOOD? no one told me there would be food. Do you understand there will be food all over the ground?" Um lady a party implies food.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #24: 1973

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Tony Orlando and Dawn, Jim Croce, Roberta Flack, Marvin Gaye, Paul McCartney and Wings Kris Kristofferson, Elton John, Billy Preston, Carly Simon, Diana Ross. End description]

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*Turns my chair around so I can sit in it backwards*

So. You were just caught trying to cover up a major break-in into the Democratic National Committee headquarters in order to cement your reelection.

As I alluded to last poll, one major historical event I need to mention is the Watergate scandal. The actual break-in took place the previous year, but the resulting investigations and trials won't start to take place until this year -- after Nixon's reelection. However, there aren't many songs about the incident from this time, or at least not in the charts. Most of the songs protesting Nixon tended to focus on the war.

Speaking of the Vietnam War, 1973 does not mark the end of the war, but it does mark the beginning of the United States' exit. To bring it back to the music, one of the 60's polls included the Monkees' Last Train to Clarksville, a song that wasn't explicitly written about the war, but had the war projected onto it because it's a song about someone leaving home and not knowing when they're coming back. It seems fitting that one of the songs on today's poll is Tony Orlando and Dawn's Tie a Yellow Ribbon[...], a song that wasn't explicitly written about the war, but had the war projected onto it because it's a song about someone coming home and not knowing what his welcome will look like.

Soul music is continuing to have one of its golden ages, with artists like Roberta Flack and Marvin Gaye topping the charts. It's been a while since I talked about Billboard from the business side of things, but the explosion of this genre gives me a good excuse to do so. In 1973, the Billboard chart for R&B songs was changed from "Best Selling Soul Singles" to "Hot Soul Singles". This change may not sound that significant, but it becomes more notable when you see how often this title changes. This article goes more into depth about Billboard's complicated history when it comes to its representation of Black music.

Which reminds me, it's time to start talking about disco. It will reach the polls soon, I promise, but now feels like a good time to set the scene before we get to that point. As I mentioned in a previous poll, the disco scene really came out of soul. Especially Philly Soul, which had lush instrumentation that worked really well with the overall atmosphere of early disco. At this point in history, disco is still an underground subculture, and musically the line between it and soul music isn't that clear. Disco as its own genre of music that could be identified as such by the average listener will come later.

I don't usually talk about the formation of genres until they reach the charts, but I'm going to make an exception here. Because 2023 is the 50th anniversary of this genre, the genre has grown into a dominating musical force across the globe, and it's the only genre I actually studied in college.

In 1973, a Jamaican-American teenager named Clive Campbell (more widely known as DJ Kool Herc) and his sister, Cindy, started hosting parties out of their apartment in The Bronx, New York. These parties would play a lot of funk records, but he wouldn't just play them. Instead, he would play two copies of the same record on a turntable so he could extend the percussion section of the song, also called the break (which is where breakdancing comes from). This would lay the foundation for hip-hop, further expanded by artists like Grandmaster Flash and Afrika Bambaataa. All three of these men are still alive and I've linked interviews with some of them.

Hip-hop and rap are often used interchangeably, but there is a difference. Hip-hop exists both as a subculture and as a style of music. It incorporates art forms such as DJing, breakdancing, graffiti, beatboxing, rapping, and many other elements. That's why I said DJ Kool Herc helped set the foundation of hip-hop. Within early hip-hop culture, the MC was mostly there to bounce off of the DJ and keep the energy up. That isn't to discredit the difficult work of early MCs (trust me, if you were bad at it, the audience would let you know). Rap itself as an art from has a plethora of different artistic roots in Black culture, from scat singing in jazz, to various traditional West African storytelling techniques, to early 20th century gospel groups, to rhyme games, to Black radio DJs. The genre started to get more notice outside of the party scene as wordplay and flows started to expand further, especially as the first hip-hop groups started to form and the MCs became part of the "band". Like disco, hip-hop was still very much an underground subculture, but it would soon take over the nation.

It will be another 17 years before the first rap song reaches number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 (Vanilla Ice's Ice Ice Baby). We won't see a rap song featured on these polls until 1995. But it's hip-hop's 50th birthday, and so much of modern American culture doesn't make sense without its involvement.