#Hope you like the title because I'm not spending any longer thinking about it.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 1

I am finally ready to show you all the Sugar Baby!Steve/Sugar Daddy!Eddie fic I've been working on. I'm not sure how long it will go, but Steve's going to go on a journey with this one.

But I feel I need to go into the title of this fic a bit, because I feel it’s important to talk about before starting the story.

The Caged Bird Still Sings, because they are well taken care of and has every need met. They will never starve, or thirst or get too hot or cold, they will be cared for if sick or injured. The only price is the cage.

It’s like that owl that got released from that zoo by well-meaning ‘animal advocates’ that died by flying into a high rise building. If it had still been in the zoo it would have lived for another thirty years.

So in this story Steve starts off thinking that Eddie’s love and attention is only temporary and is actively trying to get a job, make money of his own, and move out and away from needing Eddie’s money and gifts to survive so that they can be on more even footing.

But as the story goes on and he can’t get work and he meets Robin, he slips into this melancholy for awhile thinking that if he wants to continue living like this there has to be some sort of trade and thinks it’s about sex.

Which is why Eddie refuses to have sex with him during that time. He wants them to be couple and knows that Steve isn’t there yet.

It’s only at the end when Steve realizes this isn’t temporary, that Eddie isn’t just trying to buy sex from him, that he settles into being taken care of. By Robin, by Eddie, by the rest of the band. Not because they don’t think he can take care of himself but because they love him.

There will be only two sex scenes in this. Once at the beginning before the Arrangement, and once at the end when they are both on the same page and they consummate their relationship.

If you think this isn’t your cup of tea, no problem. Let me know in the comments, tags, DMs, or even asks (I’ll answer privately) and I’ll take you off the list. I already have one that has told me upfront that they aren’t interested and won’t be tagged.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little story.

~

Steve sat in his Bimmer, head hung low between his shoulders, tears streaming down his face. Everything he owned was in the trunk and backseat of the car. It was his car. The title had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen.

He was still wearing the stupid little green vest and name tag that bore the name Family Video. A place he no longer worked. He’d have to return them to the store in the morning, but for now, it created the illusion of still being employed.

When he woke up yesterday morning, he had three things; a home, a job, and a boyfriend. And now he didn’t have any of that shit.

All because last night his parents came home to find him and Tommy on the sofa with their hands in each other’s pants. Leaving no doubt about what they were doing.

They kicked Steve out mere minutes after Tommy fled, his father screaming that he wouldn’t have a dirty whoring fag in his house. All while his mother cried about losing her baby to those ‘horrid queers’.

Steve had called around to his friends looking for a place to spend the night, but they were all too afraid of his dad. His father roared with laughter each time a friend turned him down.

“They don’t want a dirty fag in their house either,” he said with a sneer as Steve hung up on his last hope.

“Now get the hell out of my house.”

Steve did as he was told and spent the night in his car in the parking of Family Video. When it came time to open the store, he grabbed his clothes and work vest and got changed in the bathroom.

By noon, his life was over. Keith had sat him down in his office and told him that due to morality clause that Steve had violated, he would no longer be working at Family Video. He handed Steve his last check and told him he had to return the vest cleaned with his badge by tomorrow or he would be forced to pay for them.

Steve cashed the check. It wasn’t much as it was only the beginning of the new pay period and he had barely worked eight hours before he had been fired.

He had some money in his savings account, another thing that had been signed over to him when he turned eighteen. But not enough for a hotel. So he went to the bank and closed out the account. All total it was only fifty bucks. That might get him a night at a cheap motel, but nothing past that. He would be homeless, penniless, and friendless if he tried.

But there was another way to get a warm place to stay at least for the night without spending everything he had.

He got dressed up in the sluttiest outfit he had. He pulled on tight leather black pants and yellow shirt that barely grazed the top of his belly button. He put on a little eyeliner and mascara, then he added strawberry lip balm to make his lips pop.

Steve opened his wallet and pulled out his fake ID. The one he got when he was sixteen off his cousin.

They looked close enough to be brothers and Scott was easy to change to Steve and ta da! He put it in front of his actual ID and drove out to the Hideout.

He parked far enough away from the bar so people wouldn’t see all his stuff in the back and then walked up to the line. He was so focused on getting in that he missed all the signs.

The lack of variety in clothes from those in the line, the bouncer asking for a high cover charge, higher than normal, and the most glaring? The great big fucking stage setup with the huge ass banner that said in bold fucking letters: CORRODED COFFIN.

Nope, it took getting a seat at the bar and the bartender straight up asking if his girlfriend was a fan of the band before Steve realized his error.

He was a prep surrounded by metal fans all there to see Corroded Coffin. Steve was familiar with them. But then again you had to be dead not to know the name of the biggest band to make out of Hawkins, metal fan or not.

Eddie Munson was older than Steve by a decade, so he was only ten when the older man took his band to LA and made it big. Which if you had listened to any of his teachers or even just anyone over forty at the time for longer than two seconds they would rant about how they never thought he would amount to anything. That making music was a pipe dream and to just accept taking his uncle’s place at the manufacturing plant on the outside of town.

He also knew that they made sure to stop and play here at the Hideout every time they did any American tour just to fuck with those assholes.

So he had really picked the worst night to have his life completely fucked over enough for him to even think about coming here to get laid. Because chances were, he wasn’t gonna. He just hoped that someone took pity on him enough to buy him his drinks so that he could shit-faced enough to endure sleeping rough again.

He ordered a dirty martini and hoped to be left alone at the very least.

~

Eddie was in the back tuning his guitar when Jeff came in shaking his head.

“What’s up, man?” he asked looking back down at his sweetheart.

“Some poor bastard wandered in on the night we perform,” Jeff said with a chuckle.

Eddie raised his head and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come here, come here,” Jeff said, waving him over.

Eddie set his guitar down and walked over. Jeff pointed at the guy at the bar. Bright yellow shirt and shiny leather pants.

“Ooh...” he said with a wince. “Poor guy. Probably had a shit day and wanted to blow off some steam and now his day is just going to get worse.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, I’m half tempted to at least buy the guy a drink for the sheer fact he fucking stayed. The balls on that dude.”

Eddie watched as the guy fondled the stem of his glass. He licked his lips slowly.

“Oh no,” Jeff said, face palming. “I know that look. And absolutely fucking not. He looks super young, Ed.”

Eddie just shrugged. “He’s at least twenty-one, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past Monty.”

Jeff raised his head and blinked at him for a moment. Monty was a good bouncer who could spot a fake a mile away.

“Yeah, okay,” he huffed. “Objection retracted.”

Eddie clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Tell Chrissy to start a tab for this guy and have it be in my name and to put the word out that if anyone is seen harassing him will get kicked out.”

Jeff sighed but did as he was told. Eddie sat back down and began tuning his guitar again. He thought tonight was going to blow, but a little yellow canary just made things a hell of a lot more interesting.

~

Steve was sitting at the bar nursing his one drink for the evening and keeping his head down when a perky blonde slid up next to him.

“I need five bottles of Miller,” she told the bartender and then turned and gave Steve a once over. “And something for the fine gentleman here.”

Steve turned to look at her. Her hair was actually closer to red than blonde but she was cute in a preppy cheerleader kind of way.

“All these going on the same tab?” the bartender asked, handing her the five unopened beers.

She smiled up at him. “Yep! And all his drinks, too. All night. Whatever he wants.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow and then looked over Steve up and down. “God damn him. He’s doing it again?”

The woman just giggled and winked at Steve before taking her prizes with her.

Steve wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth so downed his drink and ordered a Tequila Sunrise to replace it.

But curiosity won out. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

The bartender chuckled and shook his head fondly.

Steve thought about saying something bitchy, but he really wanted his drinks for free and poking the bear was not a plan if he wanted that to happen, so kept his mouth shut.

The band came out and Steve knew he was in trouble. He objectively knew what the band looked like and vaguely knew who was who even. But all that blew out the fucking window in the face of Eddie Munson in the flesh.

Tight pants, leather jacket, shredded t-shirt, combat boots, and his hair whipping back and forth?

God, Steve was instantly horny and just as hard. He shifted in his pants and prayed that the tight pants kept his dick from showing too much. Otherwise, this was going be a very awkward evening.

He was listening to the band and bobbing along to the music when some dude over fifty came up to him.

“Name three songs off their third album,” he growled.

Steve blinked at him for a moment and then raised one eyebrow. “Dude, I’m just here for the booze. I’ve had a shit day just want to relax.”

“So you’re some townie who thinks that because this your fucked up hell hole that you can just take the spot of some real fan who wanted to see them more than you?”

Steve really didn’t know how to answer that. Because, yeah. That’s exactly what he thought.

“It’s not that serious,” Steve said, turning back to his drink. “They’re playing in both Indy and Bloomington. They can see them there instead of this dimly lit bar.” He mouthed ‘sorry’ to the bartender, who shrugged and tried to hide his smile.

“And how would you know that, asshole?” the guy growled.

Steve sighed and pointed to the sign behind the bar listing Corroded Coffin’s tour dates.

The guy whipped his head to look at the sign but before he could say anything else, Monty came up to the guy and quietly ushered him away, whispering furiously as the guy’s face paled.

The bartender shook his head. “These dudes never learn.”

Steve took a sip of his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“That the guys,” he pointed to the stage and Steve looked over his shoulder at the band kicking it on stage, he nodded, “don’t like it when fans try and gate keep. They can’t do jack shit at larger venues but place like this? They absolutely refuse to let that kind of shit go on.”

Steve looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Eddie winking at him. He blushed and turned bright red.

The bartender laughed before he moved on to take another order.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33

[mattmurdocksscars]

Tuna-Tober Day 1

Hello everyone! As the title suggests, this is Day 1 of Tuna-tober! We're starting the month off with a new character! I hope you all enjoy!

Tuna-tober prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room

Word count: ~850

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

It all happened so fast. The fight breaking out, Logan unsheathing his claws to scare them, you seeing a man with a gun pointed at Logan. In the moment, you panicked. You forgot about Logan's healing factor and you just moved. You tried wrestling the gun from the man but then it went off and that was really the last thing you remembered. 

Now, you're slowly joining the realm of consciousness. You hear a steady beeping and the sound of someone's soft breathing. Opening your eyes, it takes you a second to recognize where you were. 

The hospital. Being shot. So much blood. A fuzzy face above you. Logan! 

You immediately try to sit up but pain lances through you at the motion. You hiss out in pain and it causes the person beside you to shift. It catches your attention and you turn your head to see who it is. A smile immediately grows on your face as you realize it's Logan asleep in the chair next to your bed. He looks a little rough, his beard grown out and bags under his eyes. He's in sweatpants and a hoodie and his massive form barely seems to fit in the little hospital chair they've given him.

“Oh, Lo.” You whisper, aching to reach out and touch him. But he'd made it clear to you in the past that he wasn't to be touched in his sleep. He didn't want to risk hurting you. So you leaned back in the bed and watched him for several minutes. You knew he would've wanted you to wake him up but you couldn't resist getting to see him so at peace.

But your time watching him was short lived as the door to your hospital room opened, waking Logan and startling you. Charles rolled through the door and he smiled when he saw you awake.

“It's good to see you awake, my dear. You gave us quite the scare.” He told you. You felt your cheeks warm and you looked down at your lap.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone worry. Is everyone else okay?” You asked. You hadn't been out with just Logan, after all. Jean, Scott, and Ororo had been there too.

“Everyone is fine. Don't you worry about them. For now, your concern should lie with yourself.” You nodded slowly. You could feel Logan's stare burning into the side of your skull, but you steadfastly ignored him for the moment. 

“Right. Am I okay? I know I was shot but things get fuzzy after that.” You tell Charles. He nods and moves a little closer.

“You're going to be just fine. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, thankfully. You'll just be spending a few days here in the hospital so you can heal.”

Charles looked between you and Logan and smiled.

“I'll leave you two be. We'll see you soon.” And with that Charles wheeled himself out of the room. Now, you couldn't ignore Logan's angry stare any longer and so you slowly turned your head to face him.

“Lo-”

“What the hell were you thinking? Huh? Have you lost your mind? Is that it?” Oh, he was seething. You looked down at your lap again and tried to ignore the stinging in your eyes.

“Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you. This is important. You don't ever do something like that again. Do you hear me?” 

“I can't promise that.” You tell him. 

“Why the hell not?” He stands, towering over you. It's as if he's trying to intimidate you into doing what he wants and that's what finally pisses you off. You whip your head up to glare at him, tears stinging in your eyes again.

“Because I care about you, Logan! Fuck. You're right, I wasn't thinking. I just saw the gun pointed at you and I panicked, okay?!” 

“Not okay. What if you'd been hit somewhere vital? You don't heal like I do! You could have been seriously hurt. Or killed. You think I want that to happen?” 

“Of course I don't think you want me to die. But Logan, I don't want anything happening to you either. Logically, I know you can take a bullet and be fine, but that doesn't mean I want you too.” You tell him. His face softens a little at that and he sighs, sitting back down and scooting the chair close to your bed. 

“Just don't scare me like that again, okay? I can't take it.” He tells you. You reach for his hand and you're pleasantly surprised when he gives it to you. You lace your fingers together and give him a squeeze. 

“I'll try not to. I didn't exactly enjoy being shot.” You tease and are happy when he smiles. 

“All the more reason not to do it again.” He tells you. You two stay like that for a while, bantering back and forth. Something you were more than happy with. He may not have confessed his feelings to you, but he did admit he cared. And that was enough for you.

[confusedemiposts]

Hello! Love your blog's aesthetic, I'm new to Tumblr so I'm not sure if this message is sent through? Hehe if you don't mind can I request ranpo x reader headcanon/scenario where reader occasionally distance themselves from him because the more they like him, the more they're in denial. reader kept insisting they strictly adore ranpo as a friend but ranpo knew that wasn't the case.

I want something sweeter~

Summery: Reader being in denial about crushing on Ranpo

Tags: Fluff, gn reader, slightly oblivious reader, not proofread, bad grammar ,might be oc, use of nicknames (sweets, sugar)

Format: Headcannons/ scenario

Notes: I hope this is okay,I'm not used to writing Ranpo. Title is from Sweeter by Jess Penner

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡🍰<3୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You loved being friends with Ranpo, after all who wouldn't?

He may have been difficult to understand at first but you quickly got along with his childish behaviour.

You would spend your time together eating snacks and playing video games when you could, always being amazed at his intelligence.

You found yourself feeling like a giddy child around him.

Heart racing when your fingers and any other body part brushed against each other, that was a normal feeling of course because of the sugar, duh!

He would know you liked him before you even did yourself

You who's mistaking your own innocent crush as just a really big affection for your friend.

I don't he'd bother with it till you figured it out yourself, after all you seem happy enough.

Unless he likes you too

He'd be more childish with you such as play fighting, sitting in your lap for no apparent reason or just holding your hand so neither of you get 'lost'.

He keeps his hand on you for much longer than needed, which he knows you unconsciously love.

Your hand always tingling after

You love when he's says he's feeling tired and dosent want to move at all even though he wants to eat his snacks, so what better is it than to feed him yourself he suggests.

You don't really protest, it's an excuse to be even closer to him

Bringing the sweets to his mouth that he has wide open, warm breath on your hand

You drop the jellybeans into his mouth and watch him eat

Your face unconsciously flushes

You wonder if he's lips would taste as sweet as what he eats-

Oh what was that thought just there?

Wow what a silly thought to be thinking about your really good friend like that

You ignore the thought at first but then even more similar one started appearing

The feeling of his soft hand in yours and wondering how they'd feel holding your face

You wouldn't dare go to a doctor because deep down you already know what's happening

The sight of his pout and lip jutting out, how you just want to kiss it off him-

Nonono those aren't supposed to be thoughts you should have about your friend!

But you can't help but feel those butterflies in your stomach

Suddenly growing nervous as he holds your hand

You 'mistake' these emotions as feeling sick

By "mistake" I mean trying to gaslight yourself into thinking that you are not in love with your best friend

It fails miserably as just the sight of him makes you heart beat 10x faster

You decide to stay home to get better from this 'illness'

You don't really get time to distance yourself because Ranpo will just confront you

He doesn't like letting unnecessary problems fester if he knows it's happening

Especially as something that he considers as small as a silly crush

He's very direct

It's been one week since you've started avoiding Ranpo, your hoping to recover from this 'illness' but your every single thought is about him and it makes you insides all warm and fuzzy, your face is always flushing and your palms feel sweaty, it must be a fever!

You'd be stupid to think he doesn't know that you've been ignoring him but what hopefully he doesn't know won't hurt him your lying to yourself . You know very well that he knows with that stare he gave you when you finally realised you liked him more than a friend.

Your face is flushing even at the memory when you realised your feelings weren't as platonic as you thought they were. You inwardly cringe when you remember you just ran out of his dorm while in the middle of a game, freaking out when he opened his eyes when you finally realised, and you finally knew he knew all along.

You cover yourself in your blanket as if to hide your embarrassment from the world. It's not that your ashamed to like Ranpo as more than a friend, it's just someone as cool as couldn't possibly return your feelings.

Your self pity is disturbed when you hear a knock at your door, standing up and heading to the door you didn't think much until you nearly slammed the door shut in suprise when you opened it.

Ranpo is standing there with a lollipop in his mouth and he leans over the door before you could close it, a cheshire cat grin on his face. "Heya sweets, what have you been up to?"

Your flustered and suprised and you couldn't do anything to hide it, you want to close the door but you can't, his arm is leaning on the door frame and you don't want to hurt him. His grin never falters as if he knows what your thinking, there's a light blush on his face.

"Ranpo what are you doing here?" You try to keep cool but your face is heating up as you watch the lollipop in his mouth. He leans forward teasingly, taking out the candy that was just in his mouth.

"You should know that sugar" You can't keep your embarrassment hidden as you blush at the nickname, how red could you get? "I mean, after all, why wouldn't I be here? You have a crush on me, meaning your someone someone who noticed my amazingness, and I love people who see that!"

"Wait, what—no, no, that's not—Are you actually—no, wait." He sighs as you attempt to convey that you don't have romantic feelings for him which definitely is not the case.

"Y/n. I like you too"

Your brain practically breaks at the words. You babble random things like "no that can't be- that isn't-"

He pouts, growing impatient with your failure of self sabotage and cuts you off by leaning in and kissing you on the mouth.Face instantly flushing,the contact only lasts a second but it feels like bliss. When the kiss breaks you unconsciously lick your lips, tasting the sticky strawberry flavour of the lollipop.

He exaggerates his reaction with a loud "haah! That was brilliant"

Your speechless and staring at him with your mouth agape, his eyes open and your face flushed, he has a smug expression from seeing your reaction.

"See! I am telling the truth! Now let's do that again"

I feel like I didn't do this justice and might rewrite it again 😞 (I lost my original draft so sorry if this seems lazy)

[jawnscoffee]

Sherlock's Wedding Speech

ok so this is a very random onehsot i've head in my head for AGES and it rained today and that means: perfect day to stay inside and write :D

the title says everything (even though i have NO idea if sherlock would actually say sth like this but i just love his best man speech way too much). hope you like it!

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

Ladies and gentlemen, family, friends, and...uhm... others. 

When I stood here for the first time, I was babbling something about telegrams that John received, which, in case you forgot, are still not actually telegrams; we just call them telegrams. I still haven't figured out why, by the way. I guess I'll just have to be content with the fact that it's a wedding tradition.  

When I stood here for the first time, I thought telegrams were stupid because I didn't know what it was like to receive telegrams myself. I didn't understand why people would congratulate you on something like a wedding or on finding somebody you want to spend the rest of your life with. I thought it was stupid since a wedding is nobody else's business anyway, and after all, it is very rare that you actually do end up spending the rest of your life with the particular person you married that day.  I didn't understand because I didn't know back then what it felt like to have found someone you knew you would love for the rest of your life and even longer still, no matter what. I didn't understand because I didn't know what it felt like to be loved by this particular person just as much in return. 

When John Watson asked me to marry him, I suddenly did.  

John Watson. My friend, John Watson. My...love. 

When John first broached the subject of getting married, I was confused—even more so when he asked me to be his best man.  I confess that at first, once again, I didn't realise he was asking me. It took me a little longer to understand what he was saying than when he asked me to be his best man and why he, all of a sudden, knelt down in front of me. I couldn't express just a scrap of emotion, which, understandably, unsettled John a bit.  Looking back at it, I think the reason why I couldn't do it was because, just as I didn't expect to be anybody's best man or best friend, I didn't expect anybody to ever kneel down for me. Or, well, propose to me, as I later understood.  

For a very long time, I thought that a wedding was nothing short of a celebration of all that is false, specious, irrational, and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. I considered a wedding to be nothing but honouring the death watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time, one feels certain, our entire species. I, unfortunately, stated both of these fairly openly, if anyone has trouble remembering.  

When John knelt down in front of me and asked me to be his husband, though, this mindset died just like my false belief about telegrams, and I finally started to understand. 

John Watson right here is not only my helpmate during my adventures, which I consider to have been ours for a long time, actually. John Watson is not only the bravest, kindest, and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing, even though this is, by any means, the case. 

This man, whom I am lucky enough to call my husband from now on, is far more than that.  

John Watson is the person I have never even imagined meeting, since it takes a good bit of luck to meet your special someone. But I did have this luck. Because John Watson is my special someone.

He is the person I will love for the rest of my life and even longer, and he has saved me from so many misfortunes I'm unable to put into words.

He is not only my best friend and the one whom I love most in this world, but also the one who showed me what it's like to be loved in return. He showed me that receiving felicitating telegrams is actually not a stupid thing at all, because sometimes even I cannot believe how lucky I am to have found my very own kind of forever.

He showed me that weddings are not a death watch beetle that is the doom of our society, but rather a promise that I am more than willing to make.  

This time, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion, John. I'm still an utterly ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship and...love. But, nevertheless, I will happily thank everyone who congratulates me. 

When I say I love this man and will love him until all eternity, it is the truest promise of which I'm capable.

I won't say that I love John more than anybody has ever loved anyone before, since you cannot and should not compare one love to another. However, when I say I love this man, I mean that I love him more than anyone will ever love him and has ever loved him before, and that I have a lifetime ahead to prove that.  

With the bright rings on our ring fingers, I've made an even brighter promise I will never forget to try to fulfil. 

John, when you knelt down, you made me, and this is something I can say for certain, the happiest man on earth.  I wish I could describe it more in detail, but I simply love you more than words can say.  

With the rings on our fingers, you stole the very last piece of my heart, and I'm not afraid to call myself a heartless man any more. 

I don't need legal papers to say that I'm yours and you're mine, because I already am and will always be yours. But if this is the way to celebrate the luck I've got, I'll be more than happy to raise my glass to the man who is not only my love but also my husband from this day on.  

I love you, John Watson, more than everything I've ever loved before. Thank you for making me the happiest I've ever been.    

tagging: @topsyturvy-turtely @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @just-a-fixed-point-in-time @dw91165 @writingloud @7-percent @blogstandbygoy @johnlockifconvenient @kat987 @mary-johnlocked @meohmycroft @consultingtribble @paulineholmes02 @jameshavinganxiety @lastsociopaths @catlock-holmes @jobooksncoffee (hope that's okay! tbh still don't get when and what people you're supposed to tag...)

[weirdkpopgirl]

Promise | Jaemin Imagine #8

Title: Promise

Genre: Angst

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and breakdowns

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: I'm aware that anxiety often takes center stage in my stories, and yet, here's another one I've penned, this time focusing on Jaemin. Drawing from my own struggles, I aimed to portray the challenges of being close to someone dealing with mental health issues. Even with a strong support system, it doesn't guarantee that your problems will vanish miraculously. To all those who grapple with similar issues, I hope this story encourages you to seek help if possible because you deserve happiness and good health.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

From the beginning, you and Jaemin had a fairly healthy relationship that was envied by your friends and family. Apart from the initial awkwardness (primarily on your side) during the early stages of dating, both of you treated each other with plenty of tender loving care. 

You could truthfully say that Jaemin wasn’t just your boyfriend, but also your closest confidant. Perhaps it was the fact that the two of you had been friends for a substantial period before dating. Being each other’s partners allowed a deeper understanding of one another, resulting in almost no arguments between the two of you. That being said, because he knew you so well, there was one factor that occasionally led to turbulence in your relationship.

Anxiety has been a constant companion throughout your life. It was much like a friend you recognized as toxic but still chose to spend time with. Lacking a proper support system during your childhood, coping with life as an adult became significantly more challenging. For you, anxiety has been this silent struggle you had been battling alone. However, you didn’t realize the effect it was having on your otherwise, perfect relationship.

The irony was that Jaemin was the most supportive presence in your life. However, the issue lay in your reluctance to accept his support. Whenever you were in a state of distress, you tended to distance yourself from him and withhold your true feelings. He had witnessed you break down before, and it bothered him that you pushed him away.

One evening, after returning to your apartment late, Jaemin could see in your eyes that it was more than the part-time job that was taking a toll on you. He could discern from the restrained smile on your face that you had no intention of sharing it with him. At that moment, Jaemin reached the point where he couldn't bear it any longer.

The warmth of his hand atop yours gained your attention. Gazing at you softly, he asked, “Princess, can we talk?”

“Why? Did I do something wrong?” you responded with a tinge of concern in your voice. You searched your memory for anything you might have upset him, but couldn’t think of anything specific.

After taking a deep breath, Jaemin met your eyes brewing with perplexity. You had no idea what he was about to say, which made him briefly consider retracting his words. However, he knew that he couldn’t allow anything to stop him.

“It’s about your anxiety, (Y/n),” Jaemin began to explain, using his most gentle tone. “I’ve noticed how much it’s impacting your physical and mental health. And I think that seeking help from a professional can make a difference.”

Yet no matter how delicately this subject was being brought up to you, your shoulders tensed and you withdrew your hand from his grasp.

Your eyes flashed with frustration. “Jaemin, therapy isn’t necessary—I’m fine.”

“But you don’t have to pretend you’re fine all the time. It’s okay to ask for help and lean on others. I just want what’s best for you, (Y/n),” he stressed. He could sense you retreating behind your wall, and he refused to let you block him again.

That was how this conversation escalated into the most intense argument you had ever experienced with Jaemin. He made a sincere effort to stay composed, but it proved challenging when you continued to shut him out and maintained your insistence that you could handle everything on your own. 

Nonetheless, voices were raised from both parties and the words that left your mouths stung immediately after they were said. So as quickly as the argument had started, it ended with you pushing away from him and storming out of the living room with your eyes glossed over with tears.

Guilt quickly consumed him and his previous frustration dissipated. After waiting a few minutes to give you some space, Jaemin quietly moved down the hallway in search of you. His feet stopped at the bathroom door when he saw the faint light seeping beneath it.

On the other side of the door, your shoulders shook as silent sobs wracked your body, leaving you barely able to catch your breath. 

Eventually, you heard a gentle knock on the door. “(Y/n), please let me in.”

A part of you wanted to tell him to go away and leave you alone. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he was done fighting. Yet, you couldn’t convince yourself that you deserve forgiveness. Not when the entire argument was your fault. Even though he had been nothing but patient and loving, it was you who didn’t have the courage to acknowledge your mental instability. You were the problem.

When you didn't respond, Jaemin decided to take matters into his own hands and cautiously pushed the door open. Inside, his heart ached when he found you seated across from the sink, your face buried in your knees, every part of your body trembling. He hadn’t intended for things to go this way.

Without any further hesitation, Jaemin joined you on the bathroom tiles, scooping you up into his arms. The comforting feeling of being held made you instinctively cling to him. Your tears soaked his shirt, but that was the least of Jaemin’s worries.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” he whispered, his chin resting against your forehead as he stroked your hair. “I didn’t mean to pressure you like that.”

You grimaced inwardly as your voice wavered. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. I... I know I just push you away when I’m having a hard time. But you already do so much for me, and I just don’t want to be a burden."

“You could never be a burden, (Y/n),” the tips of his fingers lifted your chin slightly, allowing you to meet his sincere gaze. “You’re my everything, and I can’t stand to see you hurting alone.”

His simple, yet sweet words made you feel so warm inside. It was that moment you realized Jaemin was never going to leave your side, even if it meant seeing you at your worst. Your wall of emotions remained resolute, refusing to crumble any time soon. However, the better half of you wanted to let Jaemin break down those barriers.

Before you could say anything, Jaemin could feel the resistance in you slowly fade away. Your hand slipped into his, intertwining your fingers as you released a light exhale. “The idea of seeking help is terrifying. But if you’re with me, I think I can do it.”

“It makes me so happy to hear you say that,” Jaemin smiled and squeezed your hand reassuringly. “And I promise, we’ll face your anxiety together.”

Your cheeks warmed when he pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. Then, he leaned in for a tender kiss on your lips, his fingers gently weaving through your hair. Your grip on his sweatshirt tightened as the kiss deepened, conveying all the love and understanding that words could never fully express. Jaemin's other arm remained securely wrapped around your waist as if it could shield you from all your worries.

When you finally pulled away, tears in your eyes had transformed into tears of happiness. "I love you, Jaemin."

"I love you too, Princess," he replied in a sing-song voice.

In that heartfelt moment, as he held you close, you both understood that your love had the strength to endure any storm, even the ones that threatened to tear the two of you apart. Despite the relentless assaults of your own mind, the love you shared with Jaemin served as a reassuring reminder that you could overcome it all, together.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[fancyfade]

Tim and Damian for the ask game bc I'm predictable

12, 21, and 23 :)

12 What’s a headcanon you have for this character?

Damian: That he spends half is time with Talia <3 I also headcanon that if he did think Bruce and Talia would get back together again he would be outwardly supportive but inwardly suspicious (after like everything has happened, and he's 14, not 10) becuase he doesn't want to get his hopes up for nothing.

Tim: I headcanon that his hair doesn't grow back after hte explosion at the end of Robin. I just think its neat when characters have scars. Everyone's on tim's missing spleen but not Tim's burnt back of head?????

21 If you’re a fic writer and have written for this character, what’s your favorite thing to do when you’re writing for this character? What’s something you don’t like?

Damian: I really like when Damian draws comparisons with how he's treated in different situations by different people, often misunderstanding the people involved due to his own experiences (like assuming Talia is constantly evaluating his skills and judging him when she just meets him in The Way My Mother Didn't Raise Me, like she's another trainer).

Tim: I haven't written any Tim centric fanfic yet RIP even though I have ideas for some... but currently I guess (and this is my favorite thing for almost all characters if you can't tell :P) when his perspective informs his narration, like I wrote this line

This time, Damian gives him a longer look. He’s narrowing his eyes, threateningly.

in Batman and Son Rewrite (my first DC fanfic so there are things I'd change but not this part) and initially it was "He's narrowing his eyes, suspiciously" because Damian just genuinely was suspicious and uncertain of Tim's intentions. But I'm like wait Tim didn't know that, Tim doesn't really have the most charitable read on him. So I re-wrote it so it was influenced by Tim's POV rather than what Damian was thinking

Something I don't like.. hmm well I try to avoid writing it if I don't like it, but I guess for my past work I think both characters seem a little too soft at first. Tim is written back when I just new him from Batfam crossover events, Nightwing, and Batman comics (which I read a ton of, so there wasn't no comic basis) but before I read his solo title which I think really helps flesh out his character and I would have a lot different ideas for him now... Damian I think I overdid a bit on how ... hmmm IDK how to describe it. But sometimes in my fic i Published a bit ago he comes across as a little too vulnerable (on the outside) even if I was trying to avoid it.

23 Favorite picture of this character?

For Damian: Pick any one of these smug Damian faces by Patrick Gleason, that's peak Damian (link)

For Tim, probably one of these images I drew (link) where I re-imagined early Robin Tim who was joking about how small he was as. actually a young teenager and not miniature adult XD

Ty for ask! Asks from here (link)

[mrsfilipchibstelford]

Soooo, this doesn't have a title and im not sure if I'm even going to finish it but here it is. All the appreciation and love to @darqchilddaydreamz for helping me with this

Chibs sat on the plane quietly and bit his lip. He glanced over to where Fiona and Kerrianne were and while he was happy to have them around and spend time with them again, especially his daughter, he was worried about Y/N's reaction. They had fought for weeks before he left for Ireland and he hadn't really talked to her while he was gone. She had no idea he was bringing them back with him and that his family were now going to be living in Charming. Y/N  was going to lose her fucking mind and he could only hope to be able to talk her down. She was highly insecure about the situation with Fiona and she also couldn't stand the woman for what she had done to Chibs years back. She wasn't one to forgive and forget.

"You ok sweetheart? You've been really quiet since we left." Gemma's voice drew him out of his thoughts and he threw a weak half smile at her.

"Aside from the fact that Y/N is probably gonna leave me? I'm fucking great," he sighed. The last thing he wanted was to lose her, but he had to make sure that his family was safe. And now thanks to that bastard O'Phelan, Ireland was no longer safe for them.

 Gemma nodded over to where his family was sitting.

"You think Fiona is gonna start shit?"

"I think Y/N is. We were barely on speaking terms before I went to Ireland and I am not looking forward to any of what's waiting for me when we get home."

"Maybe if you start with the fact that you're now divorced she'll be okay."

"I fucking doubt it. I'm pretty sure I'm about to lose the only good I have in my life. Don't get me wrong I love the club and my brothers and you too of course but Fiona's always had a special talent for ruining my life and if I lose Y/N…”, his voice trailed off. “I don't want to live without her Gemma."  

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

Y/N watched as everyone reunited, she was about to go to Chibs when she spotted Fiona and felt her heart drop. Y/N could feel his eyes on her as she turned towards the garage and walked away. It seemed pretty clear to her where her relationship with Chibs stood now that he had brought his wife and daughter back with him. She had found out while Chibs was in Ireland that she was pregnant and had planned to tell him when he got back but now she wasn't sure she should. She also wasn't about to stand there and listen to whatever excuses he had come up with on the plane ride home so she grabbed her bag from her brother's workstation and headed towards her car. She went to open the door when she felt it shut. Without looking, she knew it was Filip.

"Can we talk, love? I promise it isn't how it looks."

She shook her head and swallowed back her tears. "I don't wanna hear it."

"Y/N, let me explain before you do something we both regret. Please."

Chibs could feel the tears coming and it was getting difficult for him to breathe. He was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack and it didn't look like there was anything he could do about it. He knew her brother was watching them to see how it played out and he also knew that if Y/N began to cry, Tig wouldn't hesitate to start throwing punches.

"You don't need to explain anything. I'm not stupid so can I just go now?"

He thrust papers into her hands as soon as she turned around to face him.

"I'm divorced now, my love. Only reason they are here is because it's not safe for them to stay in Ireland anymore. Trust me darlin', Fi is just as pissed off about being here as you are. I know things between us haven't been good for a while but I love you more than anything. I don't want to live without you. I can't. You're the only good in my life aside from Kerrianne. Can we please just go back to how it was before? We could ride to Vegas and get married. Or do something here. Whatever you want."

"Getting married isn't going to solve our problems, Filip."

Chibs grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him and hugged her like it was the last time he'd be able to touch her. He buried his head in her hair and whispered that he was sorry.

"I'll fix whatever I have to. Just tell me what to do."

Y/N didn't really want to be in Charming anymore and she knew if he knew about her being pregnant he would never allow her to leave. But she also didn't want to keep him from their child, and especially after what had happened with Kerrianne.

"I want to go home. Clearly, I don't belong here anymore" she gestured towards his girls.

[faefum]

haha jumpscare, a nerve exploded and then i had the idea to like revamp my twst OCs in a major and minor way, if there are typos I'm not sorry

I WANT ENGAGEMENT PLEASE SHARE TO ME YOUR OCS AND HOW THEY MIGHT INTERACT WITH MINE IM BEGGING

CHANGES:

- Carmin's a girl now (for nearly two years, i kept on switching between the character being a boy, girl, or straight up just being non-binary or genderfluid. after thinking about how i would want her character + story to develop as similarly as i can to Eilonwy's arc, i left her as a girl)

- Thora's still the same (i really should give him more attention bruh)

- their looks idk man

Thora Griffith (left) 🛡️

Erinne Pelagic (right) 🌘

Erinne Pelagic

Clothed in white, continuously shining, and the glowing pride of the Moonbrine, Erinne has no shortage of power that she uses well to her people's needs. Mostly the judge, but often the executioner.

BIRTHDAY: March 3rd (Pisces)

AGE: 18

HEIGHT: 179 cm (5'10" ft)

DOMINANT HAND: Left

HOMELAND: Moonbrine

SCHOOL: (was homeschooled, still)

HOBBIES: Signing documents

PET PEEVES: Mistreatment

FAVORITE FOOD: Aberffraw biscuits

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Escargot

TALENT: Bargaining

BASED ON: Eilonwy (The Black Cauldron, Chronicles of Prydain)

PERSONALITY

She is a level-headed, graceful, and stern individual who will not spend a single moment second-guessing her every move. As the Princess of the Moonbrine, Erinne is responsible for a shockingly vast majority of the kingdom's local and overseas politics, showing herself off as a worthy member of any court. Despite her rather daunting titles and positions—however vague those could often be, Erinne never lets the status get through her head, remaining humble yet mindful of what her mere presence could offer.

Knowledgeable of both traditions and laws, she is quick to correct those who break them but provide second chances when necessary. Erinne is open-minded to change and latter perspectives, acknowledging faults and differences in her or others' decisions and/or plans. Having been taught personally by the enigmatic Moonbrine Queen herself, Erinne is well-educated in nearly all matters of life. With this knowledge, she spoils her friends. "Not my money," she says. Technically.

But despite her amiable yet regal, external persona, Erinne is no doormat. Her hair looks like fire for a reason and controlled inside her head is an anger that very rarely explodes. While her patience often puts her as a saint, one might see a tiny slip in her expression—a twitch of the eye or a falter of her smile, and could only hope that the room has enough escape routes. Stay enough for longer, and one might even hear her curse. And also yell. Make sure to get a lobotomy right after for privacy's sake. Another part of her is that no matter how she is kept in the palace with duties and such, she makes time to roam around in the wilderness nearby. Often barefoot. It's a habit and a way of relaxation she still hasn't lost and wouldn't dream of losing it. Because who cares.

To whoever read the last post about these two with my Yuu in it, I mentioned something about the aunt—the name I haven't decided yet—not being an actual family member. Erinne is mighty suspicious of this but despite her own status, cannot do much about it because the queen is currently untouchable. Think of that as you will.

UNIQUE MAGIC - 'Luster Revelation'

Luster Revelation summons a glowing, golden bauble that Erinne could either hold or set flying in the air—she can control its direction. Whatever the light of the bauble touches reveals what she yearns to know; magical traces and their owners (who - the true name, what - the spell casted, when - the date).

It takes a bit of mana, but it's nothing Erinne can't handle.

TLDR: Erinne makes a floating scanner and fact checks you live. May or may not cause mental damage.

Thora Griffith

The stalwart vice-president of Royal Sword Academy's Fencing Club and a diligent second-year of the school. He co-leads his club and his class with a mild demeanor, a deadpanned expression, and a mysterious past. Mostly the executioner, but often the jury.

BIRTHDAY: October 27th (Scorpio)

AGE: 17

HEIGHT: 189 cm (6'2" ft)

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HOMELAND: Moonbrine

SCHOOL: Royal Sword Academy (Sophomore)

HOBBIES: Fencing

PET PEEVES: Laziness

FAVORITE FOOD: Pot roast

LEAST FAVORITE FOOD: Charred food

TALENT: Blastcycling

BASED ON: Taran (The Black Cauldron, Chronicles of Prydain)

PERSONALITY

Thora is as stoic as he looks, a well-put young man with a glare that could either send comfort or send folks running. To both teachers and peers alike, he is a responsible and reliable student who puts studies first and indulgences later. Saying that, he crams because he's often too busy playing with his cat. In the classroom, he'd be the type to let you sleep but wake you up when anything happens because, well, you're still in class. In the sparring field, he'd beat you ruthlessly and help patch up your wounds afterwards.

I would like to add that a lot of his personality, with a few add-ons and changes, he got from Erinne from basically sticking with her during their childhood. Their relationship is that they're both close childhood friends with sometimes way too much time on their hands that they end up making calls late at night just to trash other people. Thora's personality definitely helped simmer Erinne, but in turn she ignited a few un-gentlemanly parts of himself. For one, he is actually petty. Overall, Thora is a good person who would hold himself to his promises (he'd die if he won't /j), and respects and honors even his opponents. But by the Seven, you do something that even inconveniences him in the slightest, he'll do something about it. Hate is one thing but annoyance is another, and Thora's usually so easy-going that it's hard to get him to actually hate people. He can be mean, but make sure that it never happens. Thora feels low-key ashamed of it but he still acts like a hater.

He could be quite grateful to whoever helps him out and vows to be with them in their trying time, like Silver except if Silver had a mean bone in his body. Thora is fiercely loyal. He'd be an aggressive supporter and would definitely kill for his loved ones. Great! This goes the same for animals. Since he was a stable boy in the past, he would rather die than harm an animal, especially if they're fuzzy.

Thora doesn't talk much about his past, not that there's anything worth talking about, but because he just doesn't know the extent of his lore (and I'm still figuring it out). All he knows is that he was found as a baby, adopted, and goes to RSA. No information about his birth parents or anything. His adoptive father deflects his queries and Thora has learned to let it go, but of course, he still thinks about it.

UNIQUE MAGIC - 'Bladed Ambition'

Emitting bright energy from his person, Thora summons a massive white sword that he could control with a wave of his arm. The sword stays at a constant size of a two story building and destroys the space around it to make room for itself (when summoned). It lasts for roughly a minute before it dissipates, leaving only rubble. Rather simple.

Takes a HUGE amount of mana, so he's wary about using it because of the blot.

TLDR: Thora makes a giant blade Raiden Shogun style, and deletes your world.

TRIVIA

A few of Thora's close friends assume he has, like, a long-distance girlfriend or something. Thora only rolls his eyes but he thinks it's rather funny.

They're both very strong mages, like, very. In their lore, Thora mostly got his tutoring from Erinne herself who was getting tutored by the queen all the while (sharing the hack, basically). They learned both swordsmanship and magical techniques. Thora excelled more with swordsmanship and hand-to-hand, while Erinne excelled with magic. Ironically, Thora's UM is more destructive than hers.

Mentioned in the previous post some time before but I wanted to expand on this, Thora secretly keeps a small kitten within his dorm room, of which he shares the secret with his roommate. How he got the thing into his dorm was the most frazzled he got; Thora was nearly caught by his own housewarden when he snuck it in. Luckily, he's a swift runner. (I placed him in the hypothetical Alice dormitory until there's confirmation of the dorms in RSA.) More about the above, his housewarden eventually found out but didn't care enough to do anything about it just as long as the kitten was fine (and just as long as he could pet it when he wants). Erinne knows about this.

Despite not seeming like it, both use chronically online terms whenever they're chatting or alone together.

Erinne, when she was four, tried eating a snail and probably would have died if she hadn't slipped on the mud instead. She never shares this vivid memory to anyone.

Erinne is NOT a crowned princess.

I got tired of RSA's uniforms and decided to branch out entirely, barely keeping a few motifs but Thora's attire looks entirely new and might resemble RSA if you look hard enough.

Regarding Erinne's character history, she had many names starting with the oldest that I could remember; Elowyn, Elvira, Eiran, Eryl, Elias, Elissa, Adhika, Enlli, and Carmin. Each rendition alternated between boy and girl, the blue eyes staying consistent (with the exception of Carmin) while the hair ranged from being a light orange, blonde, black, white, pink, red, and red-golden. Her earliest concept was a Royal Sword Academy second-year with long, light orange hair.

About their hobbies; Thora is based on Taran, whose name might be based on the Celtic God of Thunder, Taranis, who was associated with the wheel. I decided to make the genius decision to have Thora be an absolute demon in doing crazy stunts with his blastcycle. He's a biker, basically. For Erinne, signing important things gives her a sense of power-tripping and it makes her feel happy and terrible at the same time.

A bit more of Thora's lore, Hen Wen from the movie and the books was supposed to be his adopted sister in her TWST form. That, or she is an orphan Yuu and the rest will meet during the Halloween event I'm still writing. This, or she becomes both Thora and Erinne's unofficial little sister who kicks off the events.

Erinne knows how to use a bow. She sucks at it, actually.

If in-game, Thora commonly uses fire attacks while Erinne does water ones. Both are heavy damage dealers.

In the original stories of both my sources (lol, click off if you haven't watched The Black Cauldron or read the Chronicles of Prydain and don't want spoilers), Taran and Eilonwy get together and even marry in the pentalogy.

[not-poignant]

hi, I hope you're having a wonderful day!!! my apologies if you've answered an ask paramount to this before, I went through the ice plague tag on your blog and couldn't find it. I just wanted to know; what exactly happened after the battle with olphix, politically? did the power return to the seelie court? or has it fallen forever, and now Gulvi is dual-queen-in-lieu? does the power ever return to the crown that eran has? also, if the seelie court has fallen permanently, is this something that mosk can fix? would he, hypothetically? basically just what happens in the grander scheme of things in the fae world?

Hi anon!

So some of this stuff I'm not comfortable answering in case I ever come back to the universe in a decade or something and decide to write it out but:

I just wanted to know; what exactly happened after the battle with olphix, politically? did the power return to the seelie court?

There was no power to return to the Seelie Court after Olphix died. It has - like it was explained - fallen forever. The power that even created it was destroyed because Olphix took it back.

It's not something Mosk can fix, because Olphix and Davix could only create the Seelie (and Unseelie) Court as we knew it because (this was explained by The Raven Prince to Mosk in The Ice Plague) they ripped away people's heartsongs to get that much power to do in the first place, and Mosk will never do this to other people.

(He used his 'extra' heartsong to bring back the Aur forest, he doesn't have another one to spend now).

(I also think Gwyn would prefer the Unseelie Court also get taken down, rather than the Seelie Court resurrected - so he'd have a lot to say about that.).

Gulvi is just the Unseelie Queen right now in every meaningful way, since Gwyn doesn't plan on coming back to the role, it will naturally fall to her after the allotted time has passed. Albion didn't make her 'Seelie Queen' and tbh Gwyn never thought the title applied to him either, so he won't take it.

You'll notice at the end of The Ice Plague anon that Gwyn gives Eran the Seelie crown. That's a very strong hint of what might happen to the Seelie realm in terms of Gwyn bequeathing a crown to someone who was always intended to rule his people, who is also Seelie, and who is also the guardian of the dragons.

There are answers in the story itself, since Gwyn would never give the Seelie crown to just anyone. He made a very strong choice. As he says:

‘The truth is,’ Gwyn said, putting the pack down, ‘I think there may come a time when you’ll make a fine King. You’re concerned about the wellbeing of others, you were being raised to be a chieftain, you’re protective, just and kind, and for a Seelie fae, you’ve grown a capacity for understanding nuance in difficult situations. And you are not in any way inclined to be martial. You understand war and battle and the pride of it all because you are afrit, and yet you chose peace again and again. You have a good heart, Eran. It may even be a King’s heart.’

What happens to the Seelie Court is no longer up to Gwyn, he's made it clear who this decision belongs to!

[simlicious]

Personal update

It's been a while since I wrote a longer personal post, so here we go. Long wall of text incoming!

I am not focused on making patterns so much as I am trying to make a tutorial on making them. Yesterday, I dived into making an explanatory animation and editing a short video clip I recorded. But adding transitions, titles, hints, etc, that stuff takes AGES. I have definitely gained a new level of respect for YouTubers!

Generally, I struggle a lot to get into any project and keep working on it. I'm 95% sure I have ADHD because the struggles I face are textbook ADHD. I have watched a lot of videos recently on ADHD, and especially also how symptoms manifest in women. I was the kid who always daydreamed in school. Who would go "ssssh!" angrily to classmates who were giggling/disrupting, because I got so distracted by it. I had to put all my energy into paying attention. I studied for tests on the last day or during the break before the lesson because I had no motivation beforehand. I had a hard time doing homework, I was just not motivated to do it and made a lot of careless mistakes too, especially with maths.

TBH, I've always felt really bad about showing so many WIPS and getting people's hopes up, and whenever I promise to get them done in a certain timeframe I meant what I said. But I often disappoint myself and you guys too because I often cannot pick up or work on a project. I know I want to finish it and that it would get me a satisfying feeling and probably praise from you guys, but it's still not enough motivation. It's like there is an invisible barrier and I cannot get through it. I often do not know myself why I can't do it. Whenever I do manage to pick up a project, I often have a good experience and at least make some progress on it. But it does not mean the next time is any easier 😭

I have some projects that are almost done, and there is just a little something to do and I just cannot bring myself to finish them. It's really frustrating. I have periods where I can just go with the flow and pick up whatever I can do and do not agonize as much about not being able to tackle bigger projects. But the tutorial project is one of the few goals I set for myself this year, and the year is more than half over already. I want to finally make some progress!

I realized why I am good at making patterns: They take a short amount of time, often between 15 minutes and 4 hours depending on the complexity, though most I can finish in an hour. I do not have to wait long until I can first test the new CC in my game, which is generally a very gratifying experience., since most of the time, the patterns are fine. But whenever they need to be tweaked again, I tend to put that off. It's really hard to pick them up because the gratification is not as high as the initial loading up. My brain is just not getting a high enough dose of dopamine from it, and it's like nope, why bother.

I also get into phases of hyperfocus, and in those, I can work 8 hours straight on a mesh, but once that streak is over... well, RIP WIP. And I can never finish a meshing project in one go. The base mesh might be finished, but then I need to make LODs, morphs, the textures... I often spend an initial 8 hours on one creation, and 20 more to revise stuff later on. I am also bad at judging how much time something takes, with some of my projects it's probably more like 40 hours that went into them already. Most notably a project I titled Exquisite Comfort Sweater. I have revised it 3 times I think, and I am still not done or satisfied with it:

The problems are not obvious from screenshots, there are texture flaws (which can be hidden nicely with patterns, and since the pattern tiling is so good I have used that cardigan often as a way to preview my patterns), but also bone and morph problems. I would not want to release a creation that is broken in my eyes. It might still work for posing and screenshots, but I want people to be able to play with my creations and not get distracted by terrible bone assignments. With this example, the custom bulky sleeves are what create a problem with the bones and morphs. They are just too different from EA's stuff and there is no good reference to clone those from. Hence I need to do manual edits, but that also involves a lot of trial and error. I recently learned how to tweak the bones manually in Blender, so I know I have the tools I need to elevate that to the level where I wanted it all along. But motivating myself to open that blender file still seems impossible.

My perfectionism compels me to enter a loop of creating, testing, seeing something I do not like, and having to do the cycle all over again. Because often, fixing a tiny thing also means I have to redo morphs,. LODS, textures, it takes ages to fix something. And then if I still don't like it, I have to do it a third time. Once my hyperfocus is over, the thing is just left in whatever state it was when I stopped.

I cannot bear to throw away any of my works in progress, because I do go back to some of them sometimes. But it really only happens very rarely that I finish something.

I spend a lot of time meshing and creating stuff, but it just never gets to a releasable state. So I probably have the same experience as someone who has published 100 meshes but I just have nothing to show for it. It sucks so much 😭

And I have been wanting to make tutorials about creating CC for AGES. In the past, I've written down written ones on a whim, but this time, I want to make video tutorials, because most people find them easier to grasp and more digestible. I have good ideas, and I have the knowledge to pass on, it really makes me sad to see so many people wanting to create CC but struggling to find good tutorials and resources. I want to help, I have the knowledge, but I struggle so much with getting things done. I start and I get overwhelmed. I get lost in details. My anxiety perks up. To say this is frustrating is an understatement. Whenever I publish a pattern collection, it feels as huge as writing a term paper. And I feel proud of myself when it is done and out, but it also exhausts me. I really wish I could put out content more frequently. That it wasn't such a huge deal, such a struggle.

I hardly even make goals anymore because most I never reach anyway, because I cannot walk that road. It's like I get off the path and get horribly lost.

And I really am sorry about not being able to keep promises. I often don't even mention stuff I am working on, but I sometimes do need the input/dopamine from my lovely blog readers to keep going.

I think if I declare a deadline, that will help me finish a project. It sometimes works, but then sometimes it does not. And it sometimes makes me want to write "unreliable" in my tumblr profile, but that feels so harsh and I need to show compassion toward myself if I want to make progress.

Lately, I have watched a lot of "tips and strategies for ADHD" videos. One video addressed something very important: the fact that people with ADHD can get bored with a certain strategy and then it just does not work anymore. So I cannot trust a habit to work forever, because out of the blue, that trusty strategy may just stop working.

Finding strategies that work is difficult, and getting into a new habit is even harder. I feel like life is rigged against me and my struggles are mostly unseen because my wins are not flashy at all. For me, cleaning my apartment is a big deal. Taking a walk with my best friends 2 times a week feels like a full week. We even go when it's raining. Two years ago, I would never thought this possible, but this shows me that I am making progress. The progress is just in areas that remain unseen, that do not produce big results, nothing to put in a resume, or in a portfolio.

I'm writing all this because I have been especially upset and frustrated with my inability to work lately. And I'm sad that I cannot create the resources for you the way I want to. That everything takes me so much longer than I anticipated. That I make promises that I cannot keep.

I need to get my frustrations out of my system so I can focus on small wins and hope they eventually add up to a big one.

If you happen to know some good ADHD resources or strategies that you have experience with, feel free to share them, they are much appreciated!

[love-in-the-time]

Doctor/Donna Tropes, Part 1: Co-Sleep

I've had this idea seeing all the posts since the 60th about what the Doctor's life is like with Donna.

Title: Co-Sleep Author: love-in-the-time Rating: Harmless Summary: Donna hasn't slept properly in fifteen years. Some nights she woke up crying, others she never closed her eyes at all. The Doctor sleeps too little for anyone, human or alien. Takes place post-I Get To Keep You, which is my first Fourteen/Donna and establishes their life together at his house in France.

You know, I initially thought the intention was for him to live on the TARDIS parked in her back garden but Russell says he bought a house in France? So I went with that??? So assume this takes place in that house in France. Timeline is during the first days of Donna moving in permanently.

About two o' clock in the morning, Donna comes to stand in his doorway, holding a pillow. He looks up from his book, his glasses perched on his nose, his ankles crossed. "Hello," he says, grinning. He looks like any other bloke, aside from the wild hair, which never seems to lie flat except when it's wet.

"Wotcher," Donna says, coming to climb into his bed beside him.

"What d'you want, then?" he asks playfully. Donna settles herself on her knees, facing him alongside his outstretched legs.

"I've come to have a look at you," she pronounces, unable to contain her giant smile, "because you have come back to me and you look the fucking same and I can't get me head 'round it, and I want to look at you."

"Look away," he says, abandoning his book. "I'm at your service." He opens his hands in front of her. In response, Donna moves closer on her knees, leaning forward to inspect his face. She's so close he's expecting her to kiss him. And she does take a long look at his mouth.

"You still have that lower lip," she says. "Turned down, ever so slightly. Always thought that was nice." Her eyes roam over his face, taking him in intently. "The same eyes, how the fuck did you do that?"

"I wanted you to see me and know me so you would love me," he says simply, and she smiles.

"Sentimental git," she says affectionately. "I adore this face."

"I know," he says.

Her blue eyes focus on his. "You look older," she says, as solemnly as the first time.

"Lived longer," he says simply. 'Come here." He puts a hand on her hip and she climbs into his lap, embracing him loosely and proprietarily. He rests his hands on her behind. "So? What do you see, Donna Noble?"

He sees that she's really looking, and waits for her to answer. She tilts her head. "I see a face I love so much and never thought I'd see again," she says contemplatively. "I see pain." She caresses his cheek. "I see love. I see exhaustion. I see hope."

"I feel all those things," he says.

"I see wanting," Donna says, and he huffs a little laugh out his nose. "And I think I see relief." His hands flex on her behind. "When was the last time you slept?" she asks, because she knows him so well.

"I have no idea," he says, smiling at her ruefully. She gives him an exasperated look.

"Thought you'd get more sleep around here," she says. "Thought I'd be a bit more useful to you that way."

"We used to sleep on the TARDIS," the Doctor says, his eyes full of the memory.

"Yeah, we did," Donna says. "And you got this house so you could do that here too." She smooths a hand across his forehead. "D'you want to go sleep on the TARDIS?"

"Nah," he says. "This bed's as good as any, isn't it?"

"Are you tired?"

"Not when I have time to spend with you," he says immediately.

"Well, Spaceman, I like to sleep," she says, and shifts off his lap so she can lean against him in the circle of his arm.

"Is that why you came in here?" he asks. "To sleep?"

"Didn't want to sleep alone," she says, and then smiles at him suggestively. "Disappointed?"

"Nah," he says. "Not like you wouldn't be panting for it if I got you started."

"Well. Truth is truth," Donna shrugs. She pulls his blankets out from under him, covering them both. "Don't mind me," she says. "I just wanted to be in here with you." She rests her head on his chest.

Instead of going back to his book, the Doctor burrows down into his covers a bit more, and they both lay their heads on a pillow, facing each other. "I'd rather talk to you," he says.

Donna smiles, still so pretty sideways and lying down, her red hair draped over the pillow underneath her like a sheet of silk. "Right then," she says. "What about?"

"I dunno," he says, his eyes roaming her face. "Anything. Tell me about the day Rose was born."

"Oh," Donna says. "That was a very good day." She smiles gently at the memory. "She was late, my girl. I was four days overdue and I was livid." The Doctor huffs a little laugh at that. "I went into labor around six in the morning. I was with Shaun in the house until I couldn't take it anymore and he took me to the hospital about noon. And then I was in labor for thirty more hours." The Doctor grimaces. "They said if she didn't come in a day or so they'd give me an emergency c-section, but eventually she decided to come out. She was born about eleven AM two days after I went into labor. And she was perfect, and she was mine." The Doctor can see the love in her eyes, the shining pride for her daughter that Donna holds so dear because she was deprived of it herself.

"Was she a good baby?"

"Very," Donna says. "I hardly slept those days anyway so I was always up with her, and we were best friends even back then." Her face changes, a look of profound sadness. “I wish you had been there to see her.”

“Me too,” he says. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

She composes herself quickly enough, shaking her head a little. “Anyway, she grew and she grew and she became the glorious creature you see today, and she is my pride and my joy, and I am very lucky.” Her smile is laced through with an ancient, heartbreaking pain. "I love her better than my mother ever loved me, and that's the lesson I learnt from my childhood. Never let them feel like you were made to feel."

"I love you better than your mother or anyone else has ever done," he says. "So now you never have to feel that way again."

Donna's eyes are a little teary. "Oh, Spaceman, that's an old, old pain," she says. "Some things take as long to heal as they did to inflict. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," he says. "Well. Why don't we change the topic? Something a little lighter? Actually," he says, sitting up. "I have an idea. I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He gets up out of the bed, adjusting his pajamas. "See you in a minute."

"Where are you going?" Donna asks, sitting up immediately.

"To a store," he says. "I'll be back, don't worry." He puts a jacket over his pajamas and is out the door before Donna can ask anymore questions. She hears the TARDIS wheezing from the garden and thinks that she'll never quite recover from him leaving in it without her. But he keeps his promise-- he's back in a little more than ten minutes, holding a black plastic shopping bag.

"What's all this then?" Donna asks, and he overturns the bag. Onto the bed spill out several colorful packets and a glass tube with a pre-rolled joint in it. "Oh, Spaceman!" she says. "You brought us a party!"

He hands her one of the packets. It's a Quality Street mix, ten pieces at 100 milligrams of THC per piece of candy. There is a box of Smarties, 10 milligrams per candy, and a packet of Jelly Babies, six in a packet at 100 milligrams of THC each. Donna smiles from ear to ear. "Where did you get all this?" she asks.

"New York City," he says. "It's legal and there are tons of places to go."

Donna picks up the Jelly Babies. "How did you find British candy in New York?"

"Specialist dispensary," he shrugs, waggling his eyebrows at her. "Shall we?"

"Which do I take?" Donna asks. "They all look very appealing."

"I would say one of the 100 milligram sweets would be more than enough," the Doctor says. "Probably put you to sleep."

Donna picks out a green triangle from the Quality Street mix and pops it in her mouth. "Delicious," she says. "Which one do you want?"

In response he opens the Jelly Babies and downs them all. Donna's eyebrows go sky-high. "What?" he says. "I'm not human, it takes a lot more of these Earth chemicals to get me stoned."

"But it'll work?" Donna asks.

"Oh, yes," he says. "Don't you worry."

For about an hour they sit around discussing the methods by which game shows structure their scoring systems, until Donna starts to smile uncontrollably.

"Donna, probability tables aren't funny," the Doctor says.

"You look so fucking adorable explaining all this stupid maths shite to me!" Donna says, reaching out to pinch his cheeks gently. "You fucking alien! What the fuck are you doing here?"

He laughs. "Oh, I see," he says affectionately. "The THC is activating, Donna Noble."

"Ain't it just," Donna says, absolutely beaming. "Hello, Spaceman. It's been far too long since I got to say that. Hello, Spaceman."

He can feel the edges of his consciousness softening with the 600 milligrams he'd taken. Should do the trick, he thinks. "Hello, Donna," he says back. "You look absolutely smashing, if I may say it."

"Do I?" she asks, preening outrageously. "I've even put me lotion on already, so me elbows are smooth."

"Ah, that's elegant," he says. "Could always count on you for elegance and restraint."

Donna absolutely falls about laughing at the look on his face. "Shaun can't make me laugh like this," she says, and then sits up straight, her face changed immediately. "Oh," she says. "That came out a bit easy."

The Doctor's face is a mix of smugness and joy and love. "Ah, you can say it to me, remember? State secrets. Your husband's a bore."

"Not my husband anymore," Donna says, sighing. Then she shrugs. "Well, I'm not interested in marriage anymore anyway."

"Good," the Doctor says. "Because I have no intention of marrying you."

"Good," Donna says, equally firmly, both of them trying not to smile too much. "Don't want to marry you."

"Good," the Doctor says again.

"Long as you fuck me the way you do I'm very happy," Donna says. "Don't give a shite about a ring."

"Oh, don't worry," he tells her. "The fucking's on offer. Free and unlimited. Whatever you want." He takes a great deep breath. "I think the THC... is activating in me."

"Marvelous, join me," Donna says. "S'nice up here." She fists the soft duvet in both hands and says, "C'mere. I want you." It's a sentence she has not said for a long, long time, but it is at the forefront of her memory now.

So he gets back under the covers with her and she bats his hands away from her breasts, giggling. "Wait," she says. "I'll shag you later. I told you a story, you tell me one."

"What about?" he asks. His eyes look heavy-lidded and happy.

"About... about a Spaceman and an Earthgirl who found each other three times," Donna says. "And this time they're not letting go."

There is a small pause. "I think you just told the story yourself," the Doctor says. Donna huffs a little laugh.

"Maybe I did," she says. "And look, it had a happy ending. Love that." She pokes him gently. "I told you a long time ago there are no happy endings except with you."

He smiles. "Goritania. You did look very fetching in all that princess gear, you know. And teaching your ladies to read, very hot."

"I know you liked those corsets and necklines," Donna says ruefully. "Stupid fucking Rudolph."

"No man is good enough for my Donna," he repeats to her out of their memories together.

"That's why I'm here," she says.

There is a long pause where they both kind of just settle into each other. Then the Doctor says, "I have an idea."

"Do tell."

“I have a hidden talent,” the Doctor tells her, looking mysterious.

“You never,” Donna says, widening her eyes. “What is it, then?”

“I can summon a snake,” he says.

“No, I don’t want a snake in our bed,” Donna says. 

“No, not a real snake, Donna,” he says. “A fake snake.”

“Well, that’s not nearly as good,” Donna says.

“Don’t be so sure!”

“Right, then, let’s see.”

“No, you’ve doubted my talents and my truth telling.”

“Do it,” Donna says.

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor says, crossing his arms under the blanket.

“You wanker,” Donna says. “Show me the snake.”

“No,” he says again, smiling at her.

“Show me!” she says again, poking his arm. “Show me the snake! Spaceman!”

He bursts out laughing alongside her. “I shan’t!”

“Spaceman!” Donna exclaims again. “Show me the snake!” She’s laughing so hard she can hardly catch her breath. “Show it!”

“Okay, okay,” the Doctor says, and turns away from her to adjust his hands into a shape. She can hear him laughing to himself. When he turns back to her his hands are formed into a snake head shape, and Donna positively screams with laughter. He opens his fingers and his pinkies are protruding like a snake’s tongue, and Donna wheezes.

“Oh, my god!” she cries, wiping her eyes. “Fucking hell. That’s fucking hilarious.”

The Doctor drops his hands, delighted to see Donna laughing so hard and so freely. “I told you,” he says, when he stops laughing so hard. “Hidden talent.”

“Oh, god,” she says. “That was amazing. Where did you learn that?”

The Doctor shrugs. “You pick random things up over the years.”

“Well, a hidden talent indeed,” Donna says. “Impressive.”

“Thank you,” he says. “How are you feeling on that 100 milligrams?”

“Like everything is amazing, I have exactly what I want, and I can actually feel it?” Donna says, stretching a bit against him. “I’m so used to being behind that wall of sadness. It’s work to come out from under it and actually live in the moment. I’ve been working on that.”

“Hard to do,” he agrees. “Lots to brood about.”

“Yes, says the Broodmaster himself,” Donna says. 

“Yes, I’m the expert,” he says. “Take it from me.”

"Well, this was the perfect idea," Donna says. "I have needed the chance to break through all these emotions and just be for a while, you know?Just breathe." Once again it occurs to her that she had witnessed him literally split himself and his consciousness and his body in two. And it was in her mind almost as soon as it happened that this face, this man out of her past, he was supposed to go with her when it was over. He didn't figure it out until later, but his face-- Donna will never forget the grief mixed with hope, the thin, sad face with eyes she never forgot.

"What're you thinking about?" he asks.

"Everything," Donna says, and he huffs a little laugh of recognition.

"Yeah," he says.

"Those doubles of us, on the ship," Donna begins.

"Yeah?"

"They were sexy."

He laughs out loud. "Right!"

"No, they were!" Donna says. "I didn't know that's what I look like. Would've been fun to see them shag."

The Doctor laughs even harder. "Fair," he says. "I'd watch."

"Right? Observational," Donna says. "For research."

"Well, they were soulless, amoral beings bent on destruction, so the best they would have gotten from it if we let them go was slaughter an entire planet and fuck on top of the remains and we all know that isn't on," he points out.

"A good point well made," Donna shrugs. "Still. I'd like to have seen if he was like you all the way down."

"Oh, he'd be a convincing fake at best," the Doctor says.

"Of course," Donna says. "Two heartbeats, two blood sources, for only one cock... just... it's a natural marvel."

"You'd be well busy if you had both of us," he says.

"Nah," Donna says. "My double would keep you both entertained for hours."

"I don't want the fake," he says immediately. "Authentic article only. Couldn't get hard for a fake, two hearts or no." He thinks back to when he'd first lost her, all those lifetimes ago, how he'd sought out any redhead woman, anyone, how he'd had sex with this girl who looked so much like Donna, a stranger he didn't know and who he'd overpaid with a guilty conscience and left in Edwardian London where he found her. The madness with Elizabeth, who, no matter how hard he tried to see Donna in her, never quite measured up. Even Amy, beautiful Amy who his new self had loved so much, was not Donna.

"How would you know?" Donna asks.

The Doctor brings his face very close to hers. "I would always know," he says. He is firm. "You've spent fifteen years on this planet trapped with the wrong man and a life you were settling for," he adds. "I would know you anywhere."

"You wouldn't shag your clone?" she asks.

"No, isn't that masturbation?" he asks.

"What? No, it's a whole separate being," she says.

"Yeah, but it's myself. So if I fucked my clone wouldn't I just be fucking myself, which is masturbation?"

"Not if it's a separate being," Donna says. "If I shagged the Not-Me--"

"I'd watch that," the Doctor says immediately, and Donna smiles.

"I bet you would, you Martian pervert."

"I'm not a pervert, I'm a sexually-mature adult being and you are a person who is both extremely fuckable and someone I love, so it's rational."

"If I shagged the Not-Me," Donna continues. "It's still a separate body, even if it's a copy of my body, it's a copy. I wouldn't feel what I was doing to her."

"She would, and I would love to see it," he says.

"D'you think he could do all the same stuff as you?" Donna asks.

"Probably."

"That's not good when you zoom out."

" That's right," he says. "So they had to go."

"Wild, though," Donna says. "You know the double of me was really a double of the DoctorDonna," she says after a short pause.

"Yeah," he says. "I know."

"Also not good when you zoom out."

"No," he says. "Again, the genuine article."

"I still don't think it qualifies as masturbation," Donna says.

"I remember you left your video link on for me sometimes," he says. "On the TARDIS."

Donna smiles. "Little show for you, Spaceman."

"And in the shower," he says.

"I like the way you look at me," Donna admits, biting her lip.

"I'll look at you right now, I don't even know why you wear clothes around me anyway," he says.

Donna yawns, burying her face in his shirt. "I just love that you're wearing actual bloke pajamas," she says. "Just pajama trousers and a t-shirt like a normal bloke."

"It's not comfortable to sleep in a suit, is it?" he says. "The tie gets caught up and all. The shoes on the bed and whatnot. It's just too much."

Donna laughs. She shifts herself and climbs astride him, both of them fully clothed and comfortably stoned, and he folds up to accommodate her, his hands going right back to their usual spot on her hips. "I want to go to sleep," she tells him, and kisses him a few little times. She moves to his cheeks and his forehead and one on top of his head, and puts her fingertips to his temples. He does the same to her so they can communicate, and feel what effect THC has on their connection.

It feels good, they both agree, more loose and sensual, as if their consciousness has developed a sense of touch. Might be nice to get some sleep, he comments in their minds.

You think?

To defend myself, you are also not asleep at three in the morning.

These are my favorite hours, she tells him. Before you came back for me I used to spend these wee hours with Rosie when she was a newborn. We would sit with each other and I would read books and sing little songs and I'd make up poems. Sometimes we watched telly.

I'm glad I came back.

Donna moves so that her hips are flush against him. When I sleep off this chocolate, I'm going to positively jump you.

What, not now?

No, I'm tired.

Okay, tomorrow.

Donna's laugh is out loud and he smiles with her, both their eyes closed. She makes a few leisurely circles of her hips against his and he responds. She gives him one more kiss and climbs off him, settling herself next to him under the covers. She turns onto her stomach, which is how he knows she really means to sleep as she always slept that way, and tugs his sleeve gently. "Give it a try," she says. "For me."

So he pulls her against him, her back to his front, wraps an arm around her, and says, "For you."

Donna is asleep fairly quickly after that, but it takes him a while longer of convincing himself he'd benefit more from the sleep and the proximity with Donna, so desperately needed, than he would sitting in a silent house in the middle of the night.

He sleeps.

[suchine-toki]

hello! I read your Tae meta from last year and just wanted to say it was great and really gets to the bottom of the problems with how Sorachi handled Otae. My (unasked for ;)) two cents is that I think he was going for GinTae endgame but then changed his mind somewhere before Lesson 238 which I read as his way of giving a 'this is how it would happen but I'm not going to do it' resolution for GinTae. And it's fine to drop the romance but knowing he's not going to make any couples endgame and 1/2

Hi! First of all, thanks for reading and taking your time to send this to me, I really like hearing other people's thoughts! I hope you don't mind that I combined both asks, given that they've points in common and I already had a draft of the one I received a while ago 🙈 This made me realize that I hadn't thought about it too much before… Even if I've talked about this topic with other people before, usually, the conversation ends with us agreeing and moving on to other topics lol so I think this is the first time I'm analyzing it. I'll try to do it from both the characters' perspective and Sorachi's intentions as the story's author. Before continuing, I want to clarify that my intention isn't to convince anyone to stop liking it, I just wanted to explore this topic and wow, did I explore it, because it ended up being much longer than expected 😂

That said, I think one of the biggest reasons why many of us thought Tae was going to be Gintoki's main love interest is because of the setup. Tae is the first woman from the main cast to appear in the series, and her dilemma kickstarts the story and allows for the formation of the Yorozuya as we know it. Moreover, she's Shinpachi's older sister and also develops a strong bond with Kagura, so it was expected that she would also develop a strong romantic bond with Gintoki, connecting her to the main trio of Gintama.

However, as I mentioned in the previous post, things started to change with the introduction of Kyuubei, which solidified the Kondo-Tae-Kyuubei love triangle, and then with the introduction of Tsukuyo. I watched a video by Abbie Emmons titled "7 Deadly Romance MISTAKES Writers Make ❌ avoid these chemistry killers!" to help identify some points in the relationship between Gintoki and Tae, although I must mention that I don't think these were mistakes on Sorachi's part, quite the opposite, they were very conscious decisions. I won't go point by point; instead, I'll summarize the intent of the message.

Half of the video is about the development of intimacy between two characters. I think most of us can appreciate that at least until the Benizakura arc, it was clear that Sorachi still had in mind to develop the relationship between Gintoki and Tae romantically because they'd a scene where they were alone, had time to talk, and showed that they cared a lot for each other. However, as the series progresses, we stop seeing these kinds of scenes between them, as well as scenes where they're seen thinking about each other or having physical contact.

And although at the beginning of the series Tae participated more actively in the Yorozuya dynamics, after the introduction of Kyuubei, they're seen spending most of their time together, even when they're with the others. Tae remains an honorary member of the Yorozuya until the end, but it's clear that Sorachi wanted her to represent stability, emotional support, the place they can return to that will welcome them with a smile. So, even though Gintoki and Tae still care a lot for each other, their interactions will continue to be framed within the context of the Yorozuya for the rest of the series.

That said, I couldn't say exactly when Sorachi stopped considering a romantic relationship between them. I'd to look up chapter 238 because I didn't remember what it was about lol (for reference, it's the one where they're at a stall and there're only speech bubbles, in which other characters who look like Gintoki and Tae confess they're in love), and I think your interpretation is certainly interesting. The placement also makes sense, which is shortly after the arc introducing Tsukuyo, and it also follows the trend of other characters being the ones who tease them, and not themselves.

The other half of the video is about how the characters' relationships with the rest of the cast are shown. It's highlighted that there needs to be an emotional reaction from a character to the idea of the other being interested in someone else, something Sorachi showed in many different ways but not with Gintoki and Tae. In her case, at most, she was shown getting annoyed at Sacchan, but only when she was provoked first. When it came to Tsukuyo, there was no reaction. Similarly, Gintoki has no reaction when Kyuubei or Kondo demonstrate their love interest.

The last point of the video, but not less important, is when characters have more romantic chemistry with other characters. In Tsukuyo's case, I think Sorachi was already a more experienced writer who knew his characters better and knew what his story needed. In particular, I think he wanted Gintoki to have someone close with whom he could relate but who wasn't directly connected to his past, among other things. And as I mentioned before, most of Tae's emotional energy in the series is with Kyuubei, followed by Kondo.

But why Sorachi didn't continue developing Gintoki and Tae's relationship romantically? The most obvious reason is simply because he didn't want to lol, but the explanation behind this, I think, is due to two main reasons. The first is that he wanted to keep the relationships within the Yorozuya platonic, and since Tae is an honorary member of the Yorozuya, it felt wrong to establish that there were romantic feelings involved. By comparison, it would be like confirming a relationship between Kagura and Shinpachi. And yes, Sorachi did some ship-teasing more than once between them too, but at the end of the day, he chose not to pursue it, and I think maintaining the familiarity is a cause.

The other reason is that as he wrote the story, he realized that Gintoki and Tae didn't fit well together. Tae can give Gintoki a sense of stability, but what can he offer her? Tae clearly values stability as well, hard work, having money. But Gintoki, due to his circumstances, doesn't meet those standards. If you think about it, the only two occasions when Tae unequivocally showed interest in Gintoki were when he lost his memory (Memory Loss arc) and when Hijikata was in his body (Soul Switch arc). Two occasions where Gintoki wasn't himself. But she liked that he seemed more serious and diligent, which implies that Tae's type is different.

It's also worth mentioning that Gintoki isn't shown making the same gestures towards Tae that Kondo or Kyuubei, the other two characters who are canonically in love with her (which is why I think they're a good benchmark) do. For example, while Sorachi chooses to show Gintoki teasing Tae about her breast size, in contrast, he shows Kondo buying her a kimono that will look good on her regardless, you know, like a supportive partner would. Even with all this, I understand that het shippers might've felt uncomfortable with the idea of pairing Tae with Kondo, and the other viable option was Gintoki. I think Sorachi was also aware of this, which is why he decided to develop Kondo and Tae's relationship in the final arcs.

While we're at it, I prefer kyuutae by faaar. As I've also expressed before, although I think Kondo is a great character, his persistence doesn't sit well with me. But whether it was due to heteronormativity or because Sorachi identified with him as a fellow gorilla, it's clear to me that he decided to emphasize Kondo and Tae's relationship much more. Even when gintsu and kyuutae were stagnating, he continued developing kontae as much as he could (probably because he'd already done the heavy lifting with the other two ships, tbf).

Sorachi didn't plan many things in his story, which I think is both a strength and a weakness. One of the things that reflect this is, for example, that Hasegawa was originally going to be part of the Yorozuya, an idea he later abandoned, but the remnant of Hasegawa's presence in the series remained. In the same way, I think his initial idea was to pair Gintoki with Tae, but eventually, he didn't. It seems that he also had the idea at the beginning to end the series with certain couples, but later decided to leave an open ending in that sense, although some of his inclinations were clearer than others.

I've seen people say there're subtle hints throughout Gintama that they fell in love, and while I don't want to say those interpretations are wrong, I think Sorachi is quite straightforward when it comes to these kinds of things. Even with unrequited loves, like in the case of Katsura and Ikumatsu, he showed that there was love. However, in the case of Gintoki and Tae, during the 15 years he wrote the manga, he didn't, probably because he felt it no longer fit the story after a certain point. That said, I think their relationship works just fine without the need for any labels.

Thank you again for stopping by, if you've another point that you would like to discuss feel free to message me or send another ask 🤗

[misc-obeyme]

This was amusing to me so I feel like sharing it, CC lol I hope you don't mind the newspaper I'm about to print out here :P

So, I've recently read a couple of smut mangas and seen the titles of others while I was at it.

When I first began playing Obey Me in 2019, I thought that the titles of the mangas Levi talked about were crazy and MUST be exaggerated for comical purposes. Even during my #? replay last year I still thought, 'no way the silliness and these long-ass titles are legit in the real world.'

I wasn't curious to delve deeper or research to check whether or not the aspects I deemed to be attempts at comedy were like that in reality, so I ignored it in belief that it's a part of the humour.

Man was I wrong.

Because lo and behold, this many years later I suddenly get image recommendations from mostly smut manga on my dashboard even though I've never interacted with similar posts or accounts before maybe because I used to play 'What in "Hell" is Bad?' or perhaps I was probably just destined to find a silly answer I never looked for. Anyways, I end up liking a portion of what I see and reading the corresponding mangas as a result—only to then make the hilarious discovery that certain titles can indeed be insane in both content (many are as weird as hell) and length (how much longer can one title get?)

After that I wondered why such standards get applied to manga titles and did an immensely brief, fraction-of-a-minute skim on the information: the titles help make the mangas stand out in the saturated market, give readers a sort of 'summary' on what the manga is about, and higher the chances of anime adaptation. There was also something about how title choices will eventually run out since there are so many mangas out there, so longer titles take the cake.

Well...as a writer I thought, 'I could never.' I mean, though I know it's not the same thing at all and this a completely different scenario, I can't so much as imagine choosing for my fics such a lengthy and weird not-in-a-good-way (in my opinion) title.

No offense intended to anyone, of course, but here's the thing: the manga world is a world on its own, with its own themes and norms.

As such, while some titles may be entertaining to read, as writers there are certain things/words that don't tickle our fancy or match our linguistical preferences, so our 'writer side' doesn't deem them satisfying in general or fit for our work in specific, if that makes sense, and we hence can't bear to choose them for or include them in the fics we write. It's almost like I mentally shudder at the thought of titling my writings with a manga-style sentence or a near mini-paragraph lol

I tend to suck at expressing my thoughts, but since you're a writer yourself I suppose you get what I mean, CC?

Now I babbled a lot and announced my belated discovery, I'll see myself out :P

You know quite honestly my favorite thing about those titles is coming up with some whenever I write Levi in a fic. Like it's clearly just for humor and there is no story attached to it, but they can be fun to come up with.

HOWEVER, titles in general are the absolute worst. I find them very difficult because it's like you want something that embodies what the story is about, but you also don't want anything too cheesy? I don't know, I always struggle with the feeling that my titles are cheesy lol.

It's always I either don't come up with anything and post the fic sans title, something comes to me like a bolt of lightning out of the blue, OR I spend untold amounts of time agonizing over it before finally picking a single word.

But I have read about the trend of naming manga with basically an entire sentence. I think it's a little silly to suggest that all the titles will eventually be taken. There are so many words and word combinations in any given language that I think you could have them all be a two word titles and not end up with repeats.

Though this kind of thing tends to be dictated more by the market and how well things sell rather than how much sense they make. If manga publishing companies are seeing a spike in sales due to manga's with a sentence for a title, then they're going to keep on doing that.

Anyway, I think I do understand what you mean! Titles are tricky and if I can avoid coming up with one, I often will lol.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Fairy and Spider (Working Title - DJMM x Reader)

Word count: ~3700

Hey, remember this post and this post? I decided to write a little something for it. Kinda needed a break from Stereo Souls. (Slightly anyway. I am still working on it almost daily, just very slowly.) I'm posting this here for now, but it may eventually go up on ao3, once I polish it and decide what I'm doing with it.

I'm planning on it being a fairly peaceful/domestic story, not really any villains or stakes other than Deejay (DJ) and you getting to know each other. Might also be more like a series of short stories vs a longer whole story but we'll see.

DJ's name in this is Deejay because DJ feels too weirdly modern for the setting. Not sure if I'm going to keep this or if I'll try to come up with a reason for him to go by DJ. I mean an AU with only one canon character whose name I changed anyway? Is that even a fic anymore? (Joking. It obviously is. :P Also I haven't fully decided if DJ will be the only FNAF character to appear.)

The bird is relentless, but then blue jays always are.

He’d caught you at a bad time. You’d been resting, about to take a much overdue swig of nectar before resuming your flight through the forest. You were already tired when he swooped down on you. 

You were also, perhaps, a bit careless--not giving enough thought to your shimmering wings catching the light of the setting sun and attracting attention. You are several days’ flight from your village, and the wildlife out here is far more bold towards fairies than you had imagined.

Now you were frantically spending the last of your dwindling energy zipping between leaves and around branches, trying desperately to outmaneuver the hungry bird. The fact that he stands a head shorter than you does not make his beak and talons any less dangerous to you. His beak closes on the tip of one of your wings, tearing it and causing you to veer suddenly downwards.

Suddenly you’re caught in something you didn’t see. Silken strands wrap around your body, sticking to your arms, legs, and wings. Even the slightest bit of struggling on your part pulls at your sore wings uncomfortably.

A spider web? No, there aren’t spiders around here big enough to make a web that can hold a fairy…right? Almost immediately, you get your answer, as you feel the skin where the web is touching you rapidly begin to numb. You blink sleepily, giving a quick shake of your head to stay alert.

Whatever made this web was no mere spider.

But you don’t have time to dwell on that, for the blue jay suddenly descends on you, pleased to find you gift wrapped and waiting for him. He bites down on one of your wings and you scream in pain as it rips.

Desperately you struggle further into the web, hoping whatever odd powers it has will deter the blue jay. Though you wonder if the bird is truly the lesser danger of the two.

You feel your consciousness begin to slip away from you, but not before seeing that your plan--questionable as it was--worked. The blue jay quickly tired of getting the strange web stuck in his beak and decided it was satisfied to only take one of your wings.

The immediate peril gone, your body relaxed, helped along by the web and your own fatigue. As your eyes drift shut, you're vaguely aware of a chittering sound, followed by the sensation of something beginning to unwrap the webs from your arms and legs.

*

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out when you find yourself drifting slowly awake. The first thing you notice is that it feels like you’re in a bed in a darkened room. Had another fairy found you? You didn’t think any lived around here…but you suppose hermits don’t always advertise their whereabouts.

You push aside the blanket and sit up. As you do, your antennae twitch, alerting you to a ceiling just above your head. You peer through the darkness and realize the bed you’re on is positioned in some kind of alcove.

The alcove is shaped like a large egg, with curved wooden walls melding into an arched ceiling. It’s longer than it is wide, and quite large for something only meant to hold a bed. You could probably fit three or four more fairies in here. 

Part of the wall is taken up by a heavy fabric curtain, which you push aside after a moment’s hesitation.

Your eyes squint shut as light floods the alcove, and you pause a moment for your eyes to adjust.

You’re definitely in some kind of home, one carved out of the trunk of a tree if the curved walls and uninterrupted wood grain are any indication.

You glance down and see your boots and rucksack have been set beside the bed, so you quickly slip on your boots and shoulder your rucksack. You’re glad your rescuer didn’t feel the need to undress you any further than that. 

The home seems to be all one room. On the wall farthest from the bed, there’s a small fireplace lined with clay bricks. A clay pot hangs over the burning embers. Carved clay countertops line the wall, along with a washbasin and a water pump.

There’s also a table near the kitchen, large and round. Though it’s at an odd height…almost as if it’s meant for one to stand at it rather than sit at it, though even for that it’s slightly tall for the average fairy. There are no chairs surrounding it, but there are two large cushions on either side of it. These, too, are odd…they’re far too low to be seating for the table, but too plush and fluffy to be stood upon comfortably. You’d be struggling to keep your balance on the squishy surface while trying to eat.

Near the bed are three similar cushions, though these are far more plush than the ones at the dining table. It puts you in mind of the difference between cushioned dining chairs and plush couches and sofas one would set up in the living room.

At least lounging on cushions in the living room seems plausible, even if it is a bit unconventional.

The one door you can see is quite tall and wide, and set into the wall near the dining area. There are also a couple glass windows set into the wall, looking out at the forest and the leafy branches of whatever tree you’re in.

Though there’s one obvious absence in this little abode--your host. Had they gone out to fetch something while you were sleeping?

You cross the living room, examining a curio shelf carved into the wall. There are some books, but the spines are unmarked and you have the sense not to actually touch anything while wandering this stranger’s home, so their contents and subject matter will remain a mystery for now. There are also some stringed instruments you don’t recognize. One looks like a lyre, but it’s a bit too big for the average fairy to hold comfortably, and the strings are spaced farther apart than most lyres you’ve seen, calling into question how one would comfortably play it. The other looks like a violin, but once again the size of it seems a bit too big to be played comfortably.

With a few more moments of thought, you probably would have pieced together the answer, but you are not given that chance. You hear the main door open behind you, and your host and savior steps into the abode.

A spiderfolk. You knew they were larger than fairies by a good amount, but you’d never seen one in person before.

He’s roughly twice your height, though if he straightened his legs he could be much taller. He’s covered in mostly white fur, with a mantle around his shoulders behind the longest and thickest. Two black spots, one large and one smaller, adorn the back of his abdomen.

Four grey legs with purple joints emerge from his carapace, and four similar arms emerge from his torso. The arms are slightly shorter and thinner than the legs, and end in paw-like hands, each with two clawed fingers and a clawed thumb. His feet are similar, though a bit longer as he seems to walk primarily on his toes, with the “thumb” being more of a dewclaw.

Though your eyes are immediately drawn to his face, which you can’t help but find intimidating. Two long fangs, each slightly longer than your hand--emerge from the sides of his mouth, preventing him from closing his lips fully, leaving his pointed teeth visible. The fangs themselves are so large you wonder if the term “tusks” may be more appropriate.

On each of his cheeks there’s a patch of blue fur, from which emerge his pedipalps, covered in a fine fuzz of the same color. A blue stripe also runs down the center of his chin. His nose is bright pink and hairless, matching the narrow rings of hairless skin around his eyes. Below each of his eyes was a barely visible line of blue fur.

Each of his main eyes that is. For he has two large, dark eyes, positioned roughly the same as a fairy’s eyes, despite being a bit larger proportionally, but beside them are a total of four smaller eyes--two on each side, one atop the other on the outer side of his primary eyes.

On either side of his head are round tufts of green and black fur, which you know to be ear structures of some kind (or covering his ear structures?) and a pair of red horns emerging from his head just behind the tufts. And atop his head is, surprisingly, a silk tophat. The only article of clothing he’s wearing, which is one more article than you’d expected a spiderfolk to have.

You’d like to say you “resisted” the urge to attempt to take flight in a panic, but the reality is your feet are rooted to the spot as you stare wide-eyed at the spiderfolk, taking in the sight of him.

For his part, he seems equally stunned at the sight of you. Was he not the one who brought you here? Or had he simply not expected you to be up and about yet? His fuzzy blue brows knit in concern and he cants his head, letting out an inquiring trill. 

You take a step back, only to flinch and jump forward as your injured wing is pressed uncomfortably against the wall.

The spiderfolk lets out a worried trill, stepping forward and holding out his two upper arms, making as if to steady you.

You let out a strangled sound of alarm as he approaches, sidestepping along the wall to avoid him.

He takes the hint, stepping back again and holding up all four arms to show he means no harm.

You stop as well, a small voice in your head chastising you for being rude to someone who is, in all likelihood, trying to help you. Spiderfolk were strange in many ways, but they didn’t eat fairies, even if you did get caught in his web. Besides, if he were going to eat you, you wouldn’t be up and walking about. You’d be bound in the web, its narcotic poison seeping into you and keeping you asleep.

But still. He’s huge and his fangs and razor teeth and many eyes are…well…something to behold, to put it mildly.

You swallow nervously, tilting your head back to look up at those many dark eyes. You finally take in his upturned brow, and the look of worry reflected in all six eyes. He looks at you a moment, then leans forward, resting his lower set of hands on the ground and lowering his abdomen slightly. He lets out another nervous trill, his upper set of hands still spread in the nearly universal “I’m not going to hurt you” gesture.

Is…is he making himself smaller so that you’ll find him less intimidating?

If he is, you can’t say the attempt is a complete failure.

You manage to untense your shoulders, relaxing your posture slightly. “U-Um…h-hello,” you say, lifting a hand in a trembling wave.

He perks at that, and you smile nervously. You tell him your name and he nods in what you guess to be understanding.

“S-So…you can understand me?” you ask shakily.

Another nod, and a trill of affirmation. He slowly moves towards you, just enough to get his abdomen the rest of the way into the abode, using one of his back legs to close the door behind himself.

You glance nervously at the now closed door…but really the exit is no more or less accessible than it ever was. You’ll still need the spiderfolk’s permission to leave…though with your wing torn you’re almost certainly safer remaining in here with him.

“I um…can’t understand your language, though…” you say, turning your gaze back to the spiderfolk. You give a weak smile and a nervous laugh. “Though…you…probably inferred that already…?” you guess.

He makes a chittering noise that sounds almost like a laugh, his smile warming as he nods.

“I…I take it that was…your web I got caught in?” you ask.

He nods, actually looking a bit apologetic.

You glance over your shoulder at your bad wing, raising it slightly to get a better look. “A-A bird attacked me…I fell into your web by mistake…but…I think the web did protect me…”

He looks surprised at that, and a bit relieved. Had he thought his web had been responsible for your injuries?

He steps forward, not approaching you directly, but moving into the living room and lightly patting one of the cushions.

You hesitate a moment, move towards him and take a seat, setting your rucksack beside the cushion. Of course, now the strange seating makes sense. Spiderfolk lay their abdomens and carapaces on top of cushions to rest, either curling their legs under them or stretching them out to the sides. They have no use for backrests with how their bodies are structured.

“Thank you,” you say, belatedly realizing you should have said it sooner. “F-For…taking me in.” Frowning, you add, “I…I don’t even know what to call you…”

He smiles kindly, holding up one finger, indicating for you to wait. He goes to the shelves you had stood near a moment ago, and opens the cabinet beneath them. He pulls out a small scrap of parchment and with a quill, writes something down. He then brings you the scrap, holding it towards you. 

You accept it, and are surprised to see a few letters scrawled in the fairy language. “Deejay?” you read. “Is that…a name you chose yourself? In the fairy language?” It’s not a fairy name you’ve ever heard, but it’s a series of sounds that most fairies can pronounce far more readily than the chittering and trilling that makes up the spiderfolk’s language.

He nods eagerly as you return the scrap of paper to him.

“Can I…ask your real name?” you inquire curiously. 

Deejay blinks, canting his head in bemusement. Almost as if he’s surprised you’d care to know such a thing. But he nods, then lets out a trilling chitter.

Like a fool, you try to repeat it, but even your untrained ear can tell the noise you made was nothing like Deejay’s spiderfolk name.

Deejay covers his grin, muffling a chittering laugh.

You feel your face heat up in embarrassment, but you force a nervous laugh. “What’d I say…?” you ask. Then, realizing he can’t exactly answer such an open ended question, you add, “Something bad? Or just gibberish?”

Deejay holds up a hand with his two fingers raised, still grinning, his six eyes sparkling with amusement.

“The second one?” you guess. At his nod, you say, “Well…I guess I’m glad I didn’t accidentally insult your ancestors or something.”

He lifts all four shoulders in a shrug, waving one hand. You guess he means that he wouldn’t have been offended even if you had said something bad.

Deejay crouches down, settling on one of the cushions, setting the scrap of paper on the floor so he can write on it. He then passes it to you.

“Sweet of you to try.”

Your face burns at being called “sweet” by this spiderfolk who…well, isn’t too far off from “sweet” himself, from what you’ve seen. Maybe he doesn't understand the nuance of the word. He probably meant something closer to “nice” or “kind”.

Really, though, you should just be glad he wasn’t offended by your attempt. Every fairy (and probably every spiderfolk) knows it’s possible to train ears to recognize the sounds of each others’ languages, no amount of “training” can overcome the different mouth shapes enough for one to speak the other’s language with any degree of intelligibility. 

Deejay goes to the kitchen, opening the pot that hangs over the fire and ladling some stew into a clay cup…though a spiderfolk cup of soup is about equivalent to a fairy bowl of soup. He sets a wooden spoon in the cup before bringing it back to you.

“Th-Thank you,” you say, a bit hesitantly. The stew doesn’t smell like much--you’ve heard spiderfolk cooking is fairly bland by fairy standards, but you are starving. And even so, you’re not the type to turn up your nose at a home cooked meal from your host.

The spoon’s a bit too big for you to fit in your mouth, so you make due closing your lips around the edge of it to eat. After the first bite, though, you blink in surprise, glancing up. “Mushroom stew?”

Deejay trills happily, nodding.

“I…I thought spiderfolk mostly ate meat,” you say.

He smiles, nodding again. He writes on the paper again, holding it out for you to read.

“Had mushrooms on hand. Knew fairies don’t eat meat stew.”

“Oh…” you say, moved by the gesture. He’d made a whole meal just for you, one that he probably wouldn’t enjoy himself, if he even found it edible. “Thank you, Deejay…” you say softly. “But…we can eat meat stew in a pinch. It’s…serviceable,” you say with a weak smile.

While spiderfolk sometimes used plants and fungi as garnish or accent flavors, but almost never had a meat-free dish, fairies were much the opposite. Some bits of meat could be used in soups and stews, but no fairy dish had any sort of meat as the main ingredient.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a meat stew on occasion.

Deejay cants his head at your statement, looking slightly concerned and skeptical, then writes, “Plenty of mushroom stew for now.”

“It’s very kind of you to make this for me,” you say politely, with genuine warmth in your tone.

The conversation lapses as you focus on eating, and after a few moments, Deejay gets up and gets the two instruments from the shelf. He holds them up, his brows raised in a silent inquiry, clearly asking if you would mind if he played.

You nod eagerly. “Oh, yes, I’d love to hear it!” you say.

The fur on his cheeks fluffs a bit at your enthusiasm, and his wide grin takes on a hint of shyness. But all the same, he settles on his cushion and begins to play. His upper arms hold the violin, tucked under his chin, while his lower set plays the lyre.

The size of the instruments changes their pitch slightly, so the whole song is performed in a lower pitch than you’re used to, but it’s lovely all the same…and fascinating to watch. You couldn’t imagine trying to play two instruments at once. Though of course you wouldn’t have enough hands to try.

The song is soft and slow, and very relaxing. Perfect dinner music. Perfect anytime music, really. Deejay’s quite skilled at both instruments, and should he ever visit a fairy village he’d do well as a minstrel even playing only one of them.

You eat slowly, but soon feel your eyelids begin to droop. You do your best to finish your stew, but eventually have to set it aside for fear of dropping the cup as you doze.

Deejay takes this as his cue to stop playing, setting his instruments aside and moving towards you. He lightly touches your shoulder, causing you to jump. He skitters back with an apologetic trill, wringing his upper set of hands nervously.

“S-Sorry…” you say quickly. You rub at your eyes, frowning. “I just woke up…I don’t know why I’m so tired…” you mumble.

Deejay flinches guiltily, grabbing the paper to write again. “Poison from the web isn’t out of your system. You’ll sleep a lot for a couple days.”

“Oh…” you say. That must be why he’d been so surprised to see you up when he’d arrived. As you’re about to lay back on the cushion, resigning yourself to another sleep, he lightly touches your hand.

You glance at him curiously, and he carefully takes both your hands in his. His large paws engulf your hands as he lifts you to your feet, one of his lower arms wrapping around your back to steady you.

You stop yourself from asking what he’s doing. He can’t answer with his hands full, after all.

His one free hand opens the curtains leading to the alcove you’d awoken in not long ago, and he nods towards it, indicating for you to climb into the bed.

You blink sleepily. “But…Deejay, isn’t this your bed? I-I can take one of the cushions…they’re big enough,” you say with a tired laugh. 

That’s debatable, though. While you probably could sleep comfortably on it, they’re not quite long enough to accommodate you. You could line up two together and make due, but even you have to admit the bed probably would be more comfortable.

Not to mention more private.

Deejay looks at you imploringly, nodding towards the bed and gently pushing on your shoulder, nudging you to climb into the bed and rest.

“Are you sure?” you ask worriedly.

He smiles kindly, nodding and pushing on your shoulder again.

With some reluctance, you climb into the bed, freeing up Deejay’s hands so he can once again write on the scrap of paper. By now said scrap is getting pretty full, but he still finds room to write, “I can sleep on the cushions. You are injured. You need dark and quiet.”

“I-I guess…” you admit as you lay down. Deejay helps you remove your boots and pull the blankets over yourself. As sweet as the gesture is, you’re a bit embarrassed that sleep is taking you so fast that you do actually need help tucking yourself in.

He smiles warmly at you, his six eyes lidded in a tender expression as he lightly pats your forehead. It’s a strange sensation. The pads of his paws are rough and leathery, but the bits of fur surrounding them are soft and silky.

“Could you play more music?” you ask tiredly. You normally wouldn’t make such a request after all he’s already done for you, but you’re barely aware you had even spoken. In fact it’s unlikely you’ll remember making the request when next you wake.

You don’t see Deejay’s look of surprise at the question, nor his warm, flattered smile as he nods. He pulls the curtain closed, and as you’re drifting off, you hear his beautiful music once again.

[ifancyharry]

The bookshop in the corner (part II)

YN owns a bookshop, and Harry needs a hiding spot.

Hi my loves!!! i'm sorry this is kind of short, but i'm planing big things for next chapter so stay tuned 😌. I wanted to thank you for all the love on part one, i really wasn't expecting it so thank you so so so much!!!!!!!

Word count: 3.9k+

Warnings: none

(read part one here)

Harry follows quietly behind YN as they walk across the shop. He isn’t used to being this quiet and he’s feeling unease; he’s always hated silence, and he really hopes she was joking with her little ‘no talking’ rule, as he’s not so sure he could easily comply. 

It’s so silent between them Harry can hear her soft breaths coming from her parted lips and the sound of her shoes patting against the wooden squeaky floor. He really wants to say something. Silence is suffocating to him, gives him too much time to think and he hates that. He’s never really gotten the saying ‘comfortable silence’: It’s rather oxymoronic to him. What could ever be comfortable about silence? 

“Where are we going?” He decides to ask her, only to break the silence, really, because he knows already where they’re going. 

She turns her head around quickly, her eyes lowered in two slits as she glares at him. She doesn’t say anything, though, and she just turns her head back and keeps on walking 

Harry isn’t sure he wants to test her more, and opts for staying silent, looking around the place instead. He figures he’s going to spend quite some time here so he might as well get to know the place. 

It’s mostly books on shelves, though, and he reads the titles in his mind as a way to not think too much about the suffocating quietness that lingers between them.

He can admit, it’s a great collection. He was never much of a reader as a kid, but after XFactor and while he was in the band, he felt the need to improve himself. He felt uncomfortable when he had to tell people he never finished school, so he decided to at least get a culture on his own.

His interest in reading came in phases, really, and he could’ve sworn he read a book from each genre. He laughs through his nose, as he’s still following behind her, when he remembers reading a book about a serial killer who killed women because he liked the way they smelled. He doesn’t know why he’s laughing, it was rather a creepy book and he had nightmares for weeks up to the point he had to ask Jeff if he could book a double and sleep in the same room with him.

He even had a self-help book phase, but that was more for his personal wellbeing rather than general culture. He recall they did help, but he stopped buying them after that one time Jeff accidentally opened his Amazon package and found inside the ‘How to live with anxiety: A guide’ he had bought the previous day. 

He was so embarrassed Jeff could get even a glimpse of his true, internal being he told him he bought it for a girl he was dating at the time. Jeff didn’t question him, it’s not like he cared. Harry knew there wasn’t anything wrong with his anxiety, of course he did; he was more embarrassed about people perceiving him as a real person with struggles and feelings. He had gotten used to being the funny guy everywhere he went, so he thought he wouldn’t be perceived as fun if people knew he suffered from anxiety.

They come to a stop once they reach a wooden door in the back, and Harry watches as she fishes inside the front pocket of her jeans and takes out a single gold key. She twists it inside the door’s lock and the lock opens with a pop. 

“C’mon” she says, when she notices Harry didn’t follow her inside. 

“What is this place?” 

She sighs at his words; he had already broken her rule twice, and she wasn’t sure she could put up with him any longer. She’s beginning to ask herself if the money’s really worth it, but 500 pounds a week sound like new heaters for the bookshop and at least two first editions of Jane Austen’s, so she bites her bitter remark ready to come out, and says instead: “What do you think?” She gestures for him to come inside, and he does, albeit hesitantly.

“Do you�� live here?” Harry says once he enters the room. 

It’s a rather small space, a small green kitchen in the corner where he guesses they’ll be cooking, a nice rug adorning the floor. Behind the cream sofa, there’s a big window overlooking the street (the opposite one he came from) with a cozy reading nook where he imagines she likes to read sipping a cup of coffee (Harry doesn’t know whether she’s more of a coffee or tea person, he likes to think she’s a coffee person because he’s a tea one, and that just makes sense to him), and even if he can admit the big window is a little intrusive, he likes the idea of watching outside. He’s always loved people watching, and with a window as big as this, it’s almost like having a personal tv show playing all day. 

As he walks a little further inside the room, he notices there’s books everywhere: on the coffee table in front of the couch, on said couch, some splattered across the floor, some against the wall.

Harry jumps a little in his place when he hears her closing the door. He likes this place, it’s definitely a nice extent of her bookshop, but he’s feeling rather uncomfortable as he takes a big breath and his nostrils are filled with the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon. Is this her… home? He always thought homes were so personal, he didn’t think he’d ever see hers. Of course he’d been in his friends’s homes, but it was always a matter of minutes, sometimes half hours, he never stayed around too long. He didn’t feel comfortable seeing people’s personal spaces. He didn’t like thinking about them decorating, picking the furniture, choosing the color of the wall’s paint. He didn’t like knowing people on that level, because he didn’t want people to do that with him. The wondering, the thinking about him. Not Harry Styles him (he was fine with that), but Harry him; Harry who buys anxiety guide books and likes cream sweaters, Harry who sometimes feels like he’s not that fun and kind, Harry that has to try so hard for people’s approval he analyzes everything he said In social gatherings instead of sleeping. 

“No.” She says, “I just come here when I need a break from people”.

That doesn’t really make sense to Harry, because he was never one to need a break from people (or at least, he was never one to allow himself that feeling), and he doesn’t understand why would someone ever enjoy being alone; but he somehow felt more at ease after her words. It wasn’t her home. She probably didn’t even pick the decor, she probably doesn’t even like green, he figures it just came already furnished with the bookshop. He knows the books are all her doing, but those don’t make him uncomfortable to the point of suffocating, it just makes the space a little more warm, and he somehow likes that.

“No dining table?” He notices, pointing towards the open space kitchen. She doesn’t know what that question means to him when she shrugs: “never needed one.”

She blushes a little when she adds: “When I eat here, I eat on the couch.”, maybe that was too much information?, she thinks, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems at peace with her answer, and she doesn’t question it.

She doesn’t know Harry doesn’t own a dining table too. He likes knowing something she doesn’t, it gives him a power over their newly formed relationship, and he recalls he’s never much in power of anything. He feels safe knowing this about her, without having to explain why he cares so much about dining tables. She would get it, he thinks, but then he’d had to tell her he doesn’t like to eat alone, and that, he thinks, she wouldn’t get. How could she? Harry doesn’t blame her. He was never one to crave alone time, but if he’s being completely honest with himself, he sometimes wishes it could be easier being alone. 

“Oh, no.” She says, “I’ve run out of flour.” She looks up at Harry from behind the kitchen counter, all furrowed brows and arm stretched before her as she holds open the cabinet above the stove. 

“Okay - he sighs - I could just run to the store. Do you think Tesco’s open on Sundays? I don’t really know Tesco’s opening hours, I never do my own groceries shopping, I know crazy, right? I could just go while you-“ he’s already pacing towards the door when she stops him with a groan.

“It’s fine.” She mumbles, closing the cabinet and tossing a packet to Harry. He grabs it before it could fall on the floor and reads aloud: cocoa powder.

“We could just make hot chocolate today and bake next weekend.” She says firmly, like she already decided without letting him know. She probably would’ve agreed to him going to Tesco if he hadn’t put on such a scene, with his incessant rumbling and paced walk.

“Hot chocolate? That doesn’t count as baking!”

“Who cares?”

“I do.” He scoffs, furrowing his brows and pouting his lips. He has his arms crossed over his chest like a child and she can’t help but look at him amazed by his behavior. 

“Mmh, what if we make it on the stove and not in the microwave? That way it doesn’t, technically, count as baking, but it does as cooking!” 

“I guess that will do. But you should know I take cooking very seriously, so I expect the same from you.”

She gives a firm nod of her head at his words, telling him she will. 

“And” he adds, “I don’t drink whole milk, makes my stomach funny. Do you have plant based?” 

YN lets out a small chuckle and opens the fridge’s door, taking out a box of oat milk and shaking it towards him: “I don’t drink whole milk either, I’m lactose intolerant”.

(…)

“Can I talk now? I really need to talk. It’s strictly necessary.”

YN rolls her eyes, “I highly doubt that”, she says, standing beside him in front of the stove. 

They’re both watching the chocolate boil in the pot, and Harry is stirring slowly to make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom and burn the aluminum (she told him specifically to be careful as it’s the only one she owns, and even if Harry offered to buy her new ones, she declined with a roll of her eyes). 

They’re standing side to side and their shoulders are touching with every flex of Harry’s arm. She wonders if he’s aware of it, because she certainly is.  

“Okay, it’s not. But I can’t just… keep quiet!” Harry exclaims, turning his head to look at her.

“Why not?” 

“Because! What if I burn the chocolate but I can’t tell you because you said no talking?”

“You’re not going to burn the chocolate, Harry.”

It was the first time she’d ever said his name, and Harry feels himself blush. His name rolls off her tongue like a sweet syrup he wants to taste. 

“I appreciate the confidence boost.” He nods, continuing to stir the thick dark liquid with a wooden ladle.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

Harry rolls his eyes, smirking at himself; at least, he thinks, he got her to talk. 

He doesn’t understand where the fascination with this girl is coming from. He sees thousands of girls everyday, some prettier, some uglier, and he’s never been one to hyper fixate on a person. He prefers to have a lot of options so he never really has to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings, or worse, get his hurt. He doesn’t think he’d survive that.

It’s not a matter of physical appearances with her, it’s something deeper, primordial. Of course she’s cute, he’s not completely blind, but she just carries herself around with this sort of melancholy, she wears it as if it were perfume, and Harry really understands melancholy.

“If I paid you, say… a hundred more, could you rethink the rule?”

“You’re really careless with your money,” she says, furrowing her brows and pouting her lips, “but no, I wouldn’t.”

“Damn, you’re brutal”.

Harry admires her, really. She seems completely careless with everything. She turned down 600 pounds because she doesn’t fancy talking to him; he wishes he had that self control. He’s one to splurge a thousand pounds on groceries just because he was invited to a Christmas party once and didn’t know what the host would’ve liked him to bring. That’s why he’s not allowed to do his own groceries shopping anymore; of course he would never tell her that, because she already thinks he’s careless with his money. And he would like to scream: hey! I’m not careless, I could never be! I sometimes overthink too much and end up buying stuff I don’t need.

So what. She’s one to talk. Harry thinks it’s careless to pay six hundred pounds for a chat as much as it’s careless turning them down. 

So they both keep watching the chocolate boil, in silence, and Harry keeps stirring even when his arm starts to hurt, because he doesn’t want to ruin her precious pot and because he likes when his sweatshirt brushes against her sweater. Every once in a while, she stands on her toes and looks over his shoulder — “it looks almost ready” — and Harry can feel her hot breath on his neck. He stiffens and prays she doesn’t notice, his mind racing a thousand thoughts a second, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose, if she still thinks he’s unfunny or if he managed to be a little more pleasing to be around (he figures he didn’t, otherwise she’d want to at least talk to him),  then he prays in his mind the chocolate is going to taste good, because it would really suck if he couldn’t even make a silly hot chocolate. When he hears her phone’s timer go off, he turns the heat down and lets the drink cool on the stove. He frowns to himself: he really wishes he could be more careless.

(…)

“You don’t have to help me, I’ve got it” 

It’s around six now, and YN is getting ready to close the bookshop, carrying back to their places the books she read over the week. Harry still hasn’t left, she’s not sure why, but he kept quiet while they drank their hot chocolates and he didn’t question her when she told him she didn’t feel like going back out yet once they finished their drinks, so overall it wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined. She figures Harry managed to keep quiet because he seemed like he had a lot in mind. She found herself wanting to ask him what he was thinking about, but she held back. She never shared that level of confidence with anyone, so she’s not sure how he could’ve taken it. And she’s not sure he would’ve been honest either, I mean, why would he?, so she didn’t bother. 

Sometimes she wishes she had a little bit more courage to understand others. It’s a lot of work, and people haven’t always been kind with her, so she finds it hard to open up. But sometimes she finds herself thinking about how nice it would feel to share an intimacy with another so deep she’d never feel lonely ever again. Contrary to Harry, she’s not scared of being alone. What scares her is the emptiness the bookshop carries and the feeling that no one really could ever understand her. That’s scary. 

“Is ‘The Da Vinci code’ considered thriller or is it a novel?” Harry asks; he’s holding a pile of books with both his arms, raising his head a little so he can read the title of the first book in the pile. 

“Thriller”, she answers, pointing towards the isle where she keeps the other mystery and thriller books.

Harry nods and walks toward where she pointed, laying the pile of books on the ground so he can move more freely once he reaches the shelf.

Once he’s done reorganizing the books, he wonders if he should call Jeff and ask him to pick him up. He doesn’t want to walk back to the hotel alone, it’s gotten dark and he fears he wouldn’t handle another half hour walk in silence. He’s been quiet enough for the day. He feels like his brain could explode.

“You should go, it’s late.” YN says after a while. 

“Yes.”

“Are you taking the tube?” 

“What?” 

YN shrugs: “the tube.”

“Oh. Yes, are you?” Harry’s never really taken the subway, actually. It certainly wasn’t in his plans to lie, but he figured if she says yes, then he didn’t have to call Jeff and wait for him on the sidewalk like a child, and if she says no, he could pretend to walk towards the tube and then call Jeff. 

“Yes”.

“Mh. Okay, cool.” He gives her a swift nod and then hides his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt.  

YN looks at him with an expression Harry can’t read, and then she turns around and closes the bookshop’s front door behind them. 

They’re walking side to side now, Harry has his arms crossed over his chest to somehow keep his body from freezing, and he really hopes YN doesn’t think he’s silly for not wearing a coat in the middle of November. She probably didn’t even notice, and if she did, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Do you live far from the bookshop?” He says, and YN thinks he says it like he’s genuinely interested, she isn’t uncomfortable when she answers him: “no, a couple of stops.”

Harry nods: “I own a house in Hampstead Heath but I never really… uh I never really go there when I’m in London. I prefer to stay closer to the venues.”

He doesn’t know why he said that, it’s not like she asked. She probably doesn’t even care, or doesn’t understand why he would do such a thing. He already knows she thinks he’s careless with his money, and Harry gave her another reason to add to the list of how silly and pretentious he is.

“Oh” she nods, “I get it. With London’s traffic, you’d never make it to your concerts on time.” 

“Yes! — he laughs, she gets it — I mean, could you imagine that? Singer misses his own concert. That would be all over Daily mail.”

YN laughs too, mostly because he’s laughing, as she doesn’t really know why would that make the Daily mail, but he’s funny when he’s laughing. She thinks he looks like a little frog and he has that type of contagious laughter she likes. 

Once they reach the subway, YN takes out her metro card and Harry widens his eyes. 

“I… I’ll go make the ticket” he says.

“Shut up.” She grabs his arm and swipes the card, tugging him with her so they can both go through the gates before they close. 

“Oh God.” Harry lets out, looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face, “is that even legal? I have money, I could’ve just paid!”

YN rolls her eyes at him: “shut up. You already owe me 500 pounds, I wanted to return the favor.”

“Oh! You’re right. Here.” Harry digs inside his shorts pockets and takes out his wallet, opening it in front of her.

“Are you crazy!” She places her hand on his wallet and lowers it, trying not to draw too much attention on them, looking around to see if someone saw how much money he was carrying with him. “Let’s not do that here. Next time.”

“Oh, you’re right.” He blushes, closing his wallet and putting it inside the front of his sweatshirt this time.

(…)

When Harry returns back to the hotel it’s almost dinner time. He walks slowly towards his room, his head lowered on his phone as he’s dialing Jeff’s number.

“Yes?” 

“Jeff!” Harry answers, “are you in your room?”

“No, actually. I needed to do some shopping so i— did you need something? I’ll make it on time for dinner” 

“Great! Yes, actually, could you buy at least three cooking books for me? Easy stuff like, pies, cookies, pastries…” 

“Okay. — jeff says, and Harry knows he put him on speaker so he could write it down on his notes — like… baking books?”

“Yes, yes, exactly. You know what… buy everything they have on baking.” Harry’s now reached his room’s door and he holds his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he takes out the card from his pants, he then swipes it and opens the door once the light turns green. Once he’s inside, he removes his shoes and plops down on the bed.

“Okay. Anything else?” Jeff asks.

“Mh, yes. I also need a new beanie, big sunglasses and maybe like a fake beard? I don’t know. Something that makes me unrecognizable.” 

“Harry, I don’t really—“ Harry can hear Jeff sigh through the phone.

“Don’t worry, it’s not urgent. We have a week to figure it out.”

“We?” 

“Yes. C’mon hurry, I’m starving.” After Jeff’s okay, Harry hangs up the phone and throws it on the other side of the bed.

He feels so tired he figures he could take a quick nap before dinner while he waits for Jeff. He falls asleep almost immediately, and only when he wakes up an hour later to Jeff shaking him awake, he realizes it was the first time in a while he managed to fall asleep without thinking about anything other than green kitchens and cream sweaters.

(…)

“Oh my God!” YN shouts, laughing hysterically once she sees Harry walking through the front door. 

“Heyyy!” he pouts, “you said no one had to see me come in.”

“I know!” She exclaims, “but I was thinking more about window climbing and less about Santa Clause costumes”

Harry feels himself blush so hard he thinks he’s the same color of his pants. He really wants to punch Mitch now. When he suggested buying a Santa costume, Harry really thought it was the perfect idea, so he didn't stop to think about how embarrassing it would be to actually dress as Santa Clause. And dressing as Santa wasn’t the most embarrassing part about it all; her seeing him was.

“Don’t worry. — YN pretends to dry a fake tear from the corner of her eye — I think the Dumbledore beard really fits you. It would go soooo well with your Gucci loafers!” 

“You’re not funny” Harry whines, removing the beard from his face and tossing it on the counter where she’s sitting.

“Thank God you are, then.” She says, smirking at him. She plops down from the counter and gestures for him to follow her.

She thinks he’s funny. Harry smiles. Guess he’s back to being that version of himself he practiced so well over the years. 

“What are we baking?” He asks her once they reach the kitchen. He feels much more comfortable in her space now, and he isn’t even thinking much about the candle that’s burning on the coffee table, wondering if it’s her favorite or if she found it discarded somewhere and decided to lighten it so she could toss it away once it was empty.

“You decide, Santa.” She laughs lightly, “you’re the baker.”

Harry pretends to think about it for a moment before he nonchalantly tells her he was thinking about apple pie.

“Okay, I like apple pie.”

Thank God, Harry thinks, it’s the only recipe he managed to learn from the baking books. 

(read part three here)

[sclfmastery]

the whole "it's a TV show" theory makes some sense to me, but only if they've been in a TV show since just before the bi-regeneration. my idea going forward is this:

at some point during the Giggle, it turns into a TV show because the One Who Waits changes reality. the bi-regeneration signals this (the doctor says that he himself thought it was a myth, aka, a fiction). what i think happened in reality is that the doctor didn't bi-regenerate, he just regenerated into Ncuti normally, but then the One Who Waits usurped the regular reality with a television reality.

the devil's chord has the most obvious collection of hints, which i think you've seen posts of, so i wont mention that. but what i do want to discuss is the weirdness surrounding the master.

there has been a master reference (even if subtle) in nearly every single episode so far. ncuti's doctor isn't exactly hesitant to talk about his trauma, a big difference from thirteen, so it makes sense why we all assume that his constant references to things involving the master but never saying anything actually ABOUT the master are just him avoiding his emotions or talking things out like thirteen does. but what if that isn't the case?

what if he does genuinely think that this Mad Jack dude is actually the worst prime minister ever? because the one who waits has removed his memories of the master?

the last time the doctor heard about the master was when he was still Fourteen, before the bi-regeneration.

i think that the series is going to progress and it will reveal that ruby is the child of the one who waits, and despite being in a tv show, she's uncovering her powers and slowly breaking the illusion (the snow would symbol her slow unconscious attempts to break the illusion).

in the last two episodes, or last one, (it depends on the time of the episodes but i hope its either longer or a two-episode finale), i think that ruby will make it snow again and somehow something will remind the doctor of the master. and then he'll be like...why am i forgetting something? i know i'm forgetting something. and then he tries to find out what he's forgetting which ends up causing the illusion to be broken and the doctor and ruby to finally face the One Who Waits.

(also, this theory doesn't necessarily mean that everything is fake in this TV reality, more that its all "scripted" and puppeteered by the One Who Waits, including the doctor's thoughts.)

"what if he does genuinely think that this Mad Jack dude is actually the worst prime minister ever? because the one who waits has removed his memories of the master?"

Can't tell you how on-board I'd be with this. It'd give we the lil Thoscheis some solace about the cavalier denial that he exists even when the subject of his existence and impact (good OR bad) is loudly disregarded (when he lists titles Time Lords take on, when he discusses the tragic end of his civilization and uses the passive tense so we can't even tell WHICH TIME he means--"there WAS a genocide"--when he is drawn in under a few hours to spend his lifetime with someone with whom his dynamic is loudly Thoschei-coded, without pausing to think of how and why their chemistry might be so immediately familiar..and so on).

I don't have quite enough faith in almost any writing staff of almost any major-franchise show anymore to believe completely that the Doctor's out-of-character (and sometimes in-character, clothed in different forms of maladaptive coping) behavior, the centering of Ruby's development over his (don't deny it, folks, she's SO much more fleshed-out than he is and it's become a frustrating impediment to the narrative), the way that their bonding and "best friendship" (when? How????) happens so much "off-screen" that it feels rushed and abrupt......are all intentional, because the overarching villain is intentionally warping events like a terrible script-writer.

IF that's the case, it's a very fun metaphysical way to approach the newest season of the show (maybe a bit of an easy copout one???? but still interesting and clever), and I'll be deeply relieved to know I wasn't the only one who couldn't quite vibe with Fifteen yet, despite REALLY wanting to (I love Ncuti Gatwa's work on Sex Education and I was SO excited that he was cast), and that a whole bunch of diehard fans have been creating intelligent theories like this one to explain the Offness they've felt about the show since the Toymaker's exit during final Christmas special.

To clarify, Ive liked MANY things about Fifteen's run, even if the Offness we're feeling has no explanation except "different writing and directing and characterization than the show has had before." My hesitation isn't that it's all trash. It's that I can't tell intentional distortion from weaknesses that needed more workshopping before the final cut. And I don't know that I'm qualified to tell. I'm mostly here for the Master, and the Spymaster in particular.

But thanks for sharing this. It's been truly comforting to consider <3