#I feel so vulnerable sharing my work with mum

[outsider-heart]

I showed mum the vid I pitched, produced, directed/DOP and she cried. Then I cried. Then we hugged lol

[russo-woso]

Snap || Leah Williamson x reader

Request | Masterlist

Part of the Mini Williamson universe

Summary You snap at Leah due to the hormones

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Go sit, baby. I’ve got this.” Leah told you as she pointed to the simple pasta you were making.

You were doing two separate pastas, one that was just plain pasta and sauce, obviously for Leah.

And the other one was a lot more colourful and had a lot more flavour, obviously for you and depending on which one she wanted, Ami too.

You’d been in such a bad mood all day, exhaustion creeping up on you, your back aching, and your bladder being kicked every minute.

The last thing you wanted to do was cook dinner, let alone two separate dinners.

Although Leah was amazing at stuff, football, being a mum, and an incredible wife, she was no good at cooking, and was one of her downfalls.

“You cant cook, le.” You pointed out, stirring the pasta sauce.

“I can try. Go sit down.” Leah repeated, trying to take over what you were doing.

“Leah, you can’t cook. Let me do it.” You snapped angrily, taking back the spoon.

“Baby, you’re tired. Go rest, I’m sure I can do it.” Leah said softly, but you weren’t in the mood to keep discussing it.

“Fine. Good, I’m glad you’re cooking. Now you’ll know how it feels like to cook two separate meals every night because you don’t know how to eat normal food. You don’t know how it feels to have your wife come home from work and just sit down and eat, complaining that training was hard. My day was hard too, Leah. I had to look after a two year old, work from home whilst 35 weeks pregnant. I’m exhausted, Leah. I’m so so exhausted.” You snapped again, tears threatening to spill.

Leah was taken aback, you’d had your fair share of arguments over the years but she’d never seen you this honest.

“I’m going to bed.” You sighed, turning round and waddling up the stairs.

You laid in bed as the tears streamed down your face.

You were angry at yourself for saying all of that.

You knew how good Leah was and you made her feel so bad.

You knew how hard training was on her, and she didn’t deserve all of that shouted in her face, and although you exaggerated a bit, it was all the truth.

A small knock was heard at the door, as Leah peeped her head in.

“Can I come in?” Leah asked hesitantly, a bowl of pasta in her hands.

“Of course. It’s your bedroom too.” You replied, sitting up against the headboard.

Leah’s heart broke at the sight of your red and puffy eyes, clearly seeing the evidence of your tears.

“I’m sorry, I snapped. I shouldn’t have—” you began but Leah softly shushed you as she could see you were getting emotional again.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I put so much pressure on you every day when you’re so vulnerable carrying our baby. I’m so thankful for everything you do and I don’t let you know that. I’m sorry.” Leah said as she hugged you. “I promise, I’ll start doing cooking, I’ll take cooking lessons if it means I get to help you. I’ll do whatever. You’re carrying our baby and looking after Amelia, and I’m so grateful for that.”

“Thank you, le.” You told her. “The hormones got to me, and I took it out on you. Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry, baby. I get it. Now, can you rate the pasta? I think it’s okay.” Leah asked and you nodded, a small smile appearing on your face.

You took a bite out of the pasta, humming as you tasted it.

“It’s nice, very nice. I think you should cook more often.” You joked, getting another forkful.

“I will, I promise.”

[cheriladycl01]

The Rookie Prodigy - Carlos Sainz x Driver! Reader Part 8

Plot: You are a rookie coming into the 2022 season of Formula One into Alfa Romeo with team member Zhou Guanyu, being in a mid tier team can you help them rise up the ranks. What pressures occur for the only rookies within the 2022 line up!

You and Carlos took the flight to Spain from Miami together. After you slept in his hotel room for the night you knew you’d have to stay with him atleast until the Spanish Grand Prix. You felt so unsafe whenever you turned a corner, but being with Carlos made you feel like you weren’t fully alone.

By the time you got to his home it was the middle of the night and nobody was awake. The house was dark and quiet but you could tell that it was his family home from all the dark portraits of him and his family lining the walls in the entry way.

“Is this you?” You ask politely looking at the funny photo of a young toddler Carlos with cake smushed all over his face.

“Yes but don’t … don’t look at that” he sighs trying to pull you away from the many photos of him and his sisters and parents. Those photos then bled into those of his extended family that you did not recognise.

“It’s cute, that your mum and dad keep all this. And that you still have a room here” you smile kindly at him.

“Mmmm, I guess. Look I don’t want to make too much noise, I know my sisters have work early tomorrow so let’s go up to my room” he says taking your wrist to guide you up the stairs.

You follow his every footstep to make sure not to hit any of the planks of wood that will groan under weight. It was clear Carlos knew how to get in quietly. You make it up the large wooden staircase and he walks you carefully down the corridor.

For a minute you feel like a teenager again, no worries in the world apart from the wrath of a teenage boys mothers whose caught the two of you coming back into his room.

But the reason you are here with Carlos isn’t just because he’s snuck you back into his room after a night out. It’s for you safety, as many people out there, don’t like you right now.

Part of you thought it would have been wise to reach out to Lewis and see what he had to say. After all he was a large part to play in all this. At the same time you didn’t want him to feel guilty as though this was his fault.

Once Carlos had quietly shut the door of his room, he helped drag your case into the corner of the room.

“I’ll take the floor and you can take my bed” Carlos says in hushed tones, smiling softly looking over you.

“If you are okay with it, I’d rather share the bed with you. Y-your bed is against the wall, so if you lay next to me i’d feel safer… because no-one could get to me” you say sheepishly.

“You set the rules for us Y/N, it’s better if i go to the floor. I dont want to start something you wont let me finish. No-one can get to you in this house, you are safe!” he admits and you sigh.

Carlos was someone you wanted in your corner, luckily the Spaniard was a mature enough man to put behind him everything that occured between the two of you and be there for you as a friend.

But you couldn’t help but feel the … distance between the both of you. And it was growing more and more each day. At the hotel, he saw you in a moment of completley vulnerability and it’s not often that Carlos Sainz has women crying infront of him, that arent fans of course. So hugging you, and holding you as you sniffled yourself to sleep felt like the right thing to do.

But it broke his heart knowing that nothing would come of it, as you’d made those wishes very clear all that time ago. Career focused lady … at one point in life Carlos thought that was something very attractive in a woman, he’d be lying if he said he didnt now but he couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed at the world and how you assume you’ll be viewed if you were to ever be involved with a driver.

But then you also both had the answer to how people would react from the state that your home was left in all because there were rumours between you and Lewis.

Once you too thought about the consequences of sharing a bed, you agreed as the last thing you wanted to do was force the friendship down a rocky path, one where your jobs are affected on track.

That was the last thing you wanted.

“Are you sure the floor is okay? I feel really bad” you frown as you sit on the edge of his bed, looking at where he is stood across the room.

“Yeah, i have stuff from when my sisters used to have sleepovers in here with me” he smiles in a nostalgic sort of way, thinking of when he was younger.

“You used to have sleepovers?” you ask cocking a brow,not having expected that from him. However you could tell that he was very much a family man.

“Lets go to sleep hermosa, we can dicuss my family life more tomorrow, but you need rest” he sighs, starting to lay down a thin single matress next to the bed. He grabbed blankets from the wooden closet and a pillow from the bed you’d be sleeping in.

“Sorry, no spares” he says before settling and laying down. He’d changed into some pijamas behind a little partition in his room. He gestured for you to take your turn.

You were desperate for a shower and to scrub off the entire Miami weekend. She wanted to bask under some warm water, but knew that wasnt a possibility at this time of night and in a shared house.

You changed into a large t-shirt before awkwardly shuffling back round to get into his bed.

Despite him not being there often the sheets still smelt like … him. His cologne or his body wash and it was an intoxicating smell that had you laying on your back staring at the ceiling questioning everything.

“Carlos?” You ask quietly to see if he was awake, but when there was no reply you figure he is probably asleep.

“Maybe in another reality you and I could be something more, I think one of my biggest regrets in life will be pushing you away that day and my biggest fear is loosing you as a person in my corner, however that may be. You’ve been kind to me in the short time you’ve known me and made me feel safe and protected when I’ve never felt more vulnerable. I just hope you know that I’m thankful for everything you’ve done and I wish I could let that part of myself open up to you” you sigh letting out everything you’d been thinking throughout the day.

That night you’d slept the most peacefully you had done in years. And you couldn’t help but feel thankful to Carlos.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[soulofapatrick]

Midnight Confessions - Liam Dunbar x Female Reader

Summary: Liam can't sleep so comes to your room and ends up admitting he has feelings for you

Words: 2.2K

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I’m awoken by a soft rustling, the sound of someone fidgeting nearby and the soft click of my bedroom door. It would be barely audible to the naked ear but being a werecoyote I hear it as clear as day. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dimness of the room. In the half-light, I make out a familiar figure slipping into my room—Liam. 

“Lili?” I murmur, sitting up, voice hoarse with sleep. 

He turns, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, “Oh, hey,” he greets, his voice low and rough with an air of apology, “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

I just shake my head, pretending a false wakefulness, though the little skip of my heart likely gives away my lie, “No, I was already awake.” I lie, offering him a comforting smile, “What’s wrong, Li?” 

Liam hesitates, his usually confident demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability, “I… I can’t sleep.” He admits, his voice filled with frustration, “It’s like my brain won’t shut off.” As Liam edges closer, I catch the hint of embarrassment swirling in the air, the subtle shift in his scent betraying his unease. He's never been one to show vulnerability easily, and the faint aroma of it mixing with the usual notes of his scent makes his discomfort palpable.

Without a second thought I’m shuffling closer to the wall and living the duvet, patting the now free space besides me, “Come here,” I offer, used to having any of the pack in my bed at all hours of the day. Being the Pack Mum they all come to me when they can’t sleep, can’t work anything out or just need someone to be with. This is no different, so I don’t hesitate. 

Liam hesitates though, he’s never been one to come to me, always being one to bottle up his emotions and have them all come out in bursts of anger. His IED. His gaze flickers between me and the bed as if fighting some inner turmoil before his shoulders slump and he’s shuffling over to the bed. 

He eases onto the bed, tentative as if unsure of the unspoken rules governing such intimate moments. I give him the space to settles sensing his discomfort lingering in the air like a fragile thread. So, with a silent invitation, I was my arm around his waist, pulling him closer, offering a sense of security in the embrace. His head finds a resting place on my arm, and I gently pull him closer, molding our bodies together, his back against my chest. 

The warmth of his body against mine, the rise and fall of his breaths in sync with mine—it’s a quiet intimacy, a silent understanding that transcends words. My hold on him is gentle yet firm, a reassurance that he’s not alone in this moment of vulnerability. 

His muscles tense at first, the unfamiliarity of this closeness evident, but gradually, with each passing moment, he relaxes into the embrace. I feel the weight of his exhaustion, the weariness of carrying the burdensome thoughts and emotions alone. We lay there in the stillness, a fragile peace enveloping us as I wait for him to speak. My heartbeat, a steady rhythm against his back, serves as a comfort for him enough to begin speaking quietly. 

Liam’s voice is a mere whisper against the quiet backdrop of the night, almost hesitant to disturb the tranquility we’ve found. “I never… I never do this,” he admits, his words soft and raw with vulnerability, “I don’t… I don’t let people in.” His confession echoes in the space between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. I tighten my embrace ever so slightly, a wordless encouragement for him to continue, to share the burden he’s carried in solitude for so long, “I’ve always kept everyone at arms length,” He murmurs, the words weighed down the years of self-imposed isolation, “But… there’s someone I really like.” 

His confession lingers, pregnant with unspoken truths. My heart quickens, despite myself, as I’ve honestly liked Liam as long as I’ve known him after Scott turned him into a werewolf.  His unwavering determination drew me in at first, he possesses an unyielding resilience, facing adversities head on, regardless of the trials fate throws his way. His willingness to confront challenges, to persevere in the face of danger, ignites an admiration with me. 

There’s an inherent goodness in Liam—a genuine kindness that permeates every action and word. Despite the turmoil within him, he exudes compassion, extending a helping hand without hesitation. His caring nature extends not just to the pack, but to everyone around him. Witnessing this innate warmth and empathy, I find myself drawn to his selfless heart.

Liam shifts in my embrace, his movements gentle yet deliberate, turning to face me in the subdued light of the room. His features, usually framed by determination or a boyish enthusiasm, now carry a vulnerability that renders him achingly human. 

His electric blue eyes, etched with complexities of emotion, meet mine, shimmering with a blend of uncertainty and an unspoken depth that captivates me. They hold a silent plea, a longing for understanding, yet also harbouring a hint of apprehension about the confession he’s laid bare. 

The soft light casts a delicate glow upon his features, accentuating the curve of his jawline. His tousled hair, kissed by the dimness of the room, frames his face in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s a vulnerability in his gaze, the rawness in his expression that draws me in. Every line, every nuance of his face tells a story—one of resilience, of battles fought, and a heart brimming with unspoken desires. And in that moment, with him facing me, vulnerability and sincere it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to close the distance between us. 

The air crackles with an unspoken tension, a palpable energy that hangs between our breaths, pregnant with the weight of unspoken confessions. His proximity feels like a magnetic pull, an irresistible force urging me closer. 

His lips, parted as if ready to voice more, hover tantalising close, and my pulse quickens at the proximity. The temptation to bridge the gap between us—to taste the unspoken words on his lips—is almost overpowering. His cerulean eyes, shimmering with a tempest of emotions, flicker downwards for the briefest of moments, tracing the curve of my lips before reconnecting with mine. There’s a silent acknowledgement in that fleeting gaze that it’s me. I’m the someone he’s been thinking about and my heart quickens. 

In a heartbeat, his hand moves, a tender caress tracing the contours of my cheek, the touch feather-light yet electric against my skin. His fingertips, warm and gentle, send a shiver down my spine, igniting a flutter in my chest. It’s a gesture so achingly tender, filled with an unspoken longing and a depth of emotion that words couldn’t convey. The weight of his touch, the unspoken invitation in his eyes, they weave an intricate tapestry of desire and restraint, of longing and apprehension. 

For a suspended moment, we exist in this delicate dance, an unspoken understanding passing between us, as if a silent agreement binds our hearts in this tender, charged space. His thumb brushes lightly against the corner of my lips, an intimate gesture that ignites a cascade of sensations within me. I’m captured in the intensity of his gaze, drowning in the unspoken desires that shimmer beneath the surface. 

The charged atmosphere crackles as Liam inches closer, our breaths mingling in a symphony of shared anticipation. Every move, every beat of our hearts, seems synchronised in this suspended moment, an unspoken agreement guiding our silent exchange. 

He draws nearer, an almost imperceptible movement, until the space between us narrows to mere inches. The magnetic pull between our bodies intensifies, practically pressing chest to chest, our closeness igniting a firestorm of emotions within. 

His touch is a whisper against my skin, a delicate dance that sets my sense ablaze. And in that fragile interlude, his hand guides my head, a tender urging that sends a thrill down my spine. Our gazes lock, the depth of his blue eyes holding a storm of emotions—hesitation, nervousness, and an undeniable longing. 

As if testing the waters of an uncharted sea, he leans in, a hesitant yet determined motion that bridges the final gap. Our lips meet in a hesitant, nervous collision—a gentle brush that sparks a conflagration of emotions. It’s a kiss born from the depth of unspoken desires, a tentative exploration of something that has simmered beneath the surface for far too long. The touch of our lips speaks volumes, conveying a yearning and a vulnerability that transcends words. 

The initial brush of our lips, tentative and uncertain, ignites a fervour that neither of us could contain. It’s as though a floodgate has been opened, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotions that surges between us. The kiss deepens, a magnetic pull drawing us into a whirlwind of passion. 

Liam’s lips, once hesitant, now mold against mine with an urgency born of unspoken longing. The kiss takes on a life of its own, a heated exploration that speaks volumes of the emotions feeling this newfound intimacy. 

Our bodies move in sync, a silent symphony of desires entwined. The once gentle touch turns fervent, his hands exploring every curve, every inch they can reach. It’s a dance of fervour and restraint, a silent plea for deeper connection that resonates between each breathless exchange. The world fades away as Liam rolls us over, positioning himself above me. His presence is magnetic, his gaze locking onto mine in an intensity that electrifies the air. The weight of his body against mine sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, our closeness an inferno of unspoken desires. 

My fingers tangle in his soft locks, pulling him closer, urging the closeness as his lips trail from mine to explore the sensitive skin of my neck. His touch sears through me, every caress leaving an imprint of longing etched into my skin. 

In response, my hands roam, tracing the contours of his muscular chest, feeling that strength beneath the surface. The heat between us intensifies, a collision of passion and unspoken emotions that dance in the air around us. 

Our bodies move in a synchronised dance, each touch, each kiss, an unspoken dialogue of unbridled passion and profound connection. The heat between us amplifies, a whirlwind of emotions and desires swirling around us, encapsulating us in a world of fervour and longing. 

Liam captures my lips again in a passionate kiss that steals my breath away. His fervent embrace, the way he fits against me, feels like an intricate puzzle piece finding its perfect match. It’s a collision of sensations—a tumultuous wave of emotions crashing into each other, drawing us deeper into the abyss of our shared desires. With every stolen breath, every tender exchange, I’m consumed by the intensity of the moment, enveloped in a whirlwind of feelings that leave me craving more. There’s an urgency in the way our lips mold together, an unspoken desire to lose ourselves in this infinite moment. 

As our kisses deepen, I lose myself in the rhythm of our shared passion. Every touch, every movement, resonates with an undeniable longing—an unspoken declaration that I never want this moment to end. In Liam’s embrace, I find a sanctuary where time stands still, where our connection transcends the boundaries of the physical, and whirr the fervour of our shared desire ignites an unquenchable flame within me. 

Eventually, I break the kiss reluctantly, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, feeling the undeniable pull of Liam’s presence lingering between us. “Maybe we should… try and sleep.” I murmur, noticing a flicker of disappointment cross Liam’s features as doubt clouds his expression. 

But before his disappointment settles in, I quickly add, “We have all the time in the world to make out, but maybe not at 3m on a school night.” 

A bashful giggle escapes him, his embarrassment evident as a faint blush tinges his cheeks. He settles back next to me, nestling into the cradle of my arms with a sheepish yet affectionate smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” He concedes, his voice softened by the intimacy of the moment, “Sleep sounds good.” 

The tension from our passionate exchange gradually dissipates into a quiet tranquility. Liam finds a comfortable spot, his head resting against my shoulder, a sense of contentment enveloping us in the soothing embrace of the night. 

As the minutes pass, the weight of our shared emotions lingers in the air, an unspoken promise of deeper conversations yet to come. The steady rhythm of his breathing against my chest becomes a soothing melody, lulling us into a gentle slumber. 

In the quiet of the night, I hold him close, cherishing the intimacy and vulnerability we shared. Our entwined bodies find solace in each other's presence, a silent understanding that this moment, fleeting yet profound, has kindled something unspoken yet unmistakably beautiful between us. I bury my face in his hair and as sleep claims us, I drift into dreams, knowing that whatever awaits in the waking hours, the warmth of Liam's embrace remains a cherished memory.

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[timeagainreviews]

The Hyperfixations of Steven Moffat

Leading up to the Doctor Who Christmas special, I was surprised to see people expressing indifference toward the prospect of new Doctor Who. There were the usual shitbag “Not my Doctor,” homophobes and racists who add nothing but noise to the background radiation of the fandom. But there were also ride-or-die fans expressing disinterest. And it’s not like I don’t get it. The first season of RTD’s return was a bit jank. For me, it was a marked uptick in quality, but it also felt like it was trying a bit too hard. We’re also coming off the tail end of a Hell Year™, and we’re tired. Honestly, I kind of hate anyone whose biggest problem in the world right now is the Superman trailer. But I also recognise the need for escapism. Which is why a Doctor Who Christmas special and Wallace & Gromit double feature was such a welcome reprieve from Hell Year™. That was my Christmas sorted. And you know what? I had a lovely fucking Christmas.

My greatest takeaway from this double feature was that Wallace is a bit of a menace in his own right, and Moffat is a man with hyperfixations. When I say this, I don’t mean it in a judgemental way (except for Wallace, he should take more care), but rather to highlight what I think is Moffat’s main quality as a writer. Recently Moffat disclosed that he has been diagnosed autistic. As a neurospicy individual myself, I appreciate a good hyperfixation. Let this blog be exhibit A. You give an autistic or ADHD person a hyperfixation, and it’s like a dog with a bone. You can see this in the way Moffat writes about time travel. I’ve mentioned it before, but Moffat writes time travel like a young boy who got hyperfixated and couldn’t stop thinking about the implications of time travel. 

What are some of Moffat’s hyperfixations as a writer? How about names beginning with “Os”? What about women who look like Elon Musk’s mum if she were a burlesque scientist? Or young people who meet older people and become obsessed with them into adulthood? (I’m not gonna get into it, but it’s weird that it happened three times) While some of Moffat’s preoccupations are distinctly Steven, others are more widely shared. I still remember being nervous around a hobo statue my grandmother had in her basement. I used to run past it as though it were going to spring into life the moment I took my eyes off it. I understand Weeping Angels. Fear of the dark gets us the Vashta Nerada. Steven Moffat is a writer whose fixations are at the centre of his work. And part of that work lands him in hotel rooms where he has plenty of time to lie there and think about the room he’s in.

About a month ago, we were given our first taste of “Joy to the World,” with the opening scene of the Doctor going door to door in various locations attempting to deliver a ham and cheese toastie and a pumpkin spice latte. I don’t usually watch scenes ahead of their time, but the costume geek in me really wanted to see the latest variation on what has become the closest thing we’ll get to a signature look for this Doctor. I loved the butterscotch tones with the wide legged trousers. Such an iconic look. This may be one of my favourite costumes Ncuti has worn thus far. However, beyond a glimpse at the new costume, I was curious to see the Fifteenth Doctor with a different companion from Ruby Sunday. I adored Nicola Coughlan as Clare in Derry Girls, so I had to sneak a peak.

It was rare in classic Doctor Who for a Doctor to go into a situation with no companions. The Third Doctor was alone before meeting Liz Shaw. The TARDIS engines had hardly cooled between Leela and Romana. There were also the Eighth Doctor and Grace. But for the most part, there was always a companion bridging the exchange. It’s far more common in modern Doctor Who to see the Doctor without a companion at the beginning of a story. These moments interest me because its a chance to see the Doctor’s vulnerability. With no one to impress, the Doctor feels somehow less confident. The Doctor doesn’t always need a companion to remind him when he’s gone too far, but also to remind him to feel love. Here, we see the Doctor still not used to being on his own. He pops into a hotel lobby for a couple cups of coffee before remembering he only needs the one.

While this is a nice re-introduction to the Doctor’s current emotional state, I was a little disappointed by this being the reason the Doctor was at the Time Hotel in the first place. It’s funny that he steals coffee from hotel lobbies on the reg, but it’s a flimsy device for a story setup. Then again, that is Moffat’s way. During his run on Doctor Who it was always impressed upon us that the TARDIS always took the Doctor where he needed to be. He even reiterates this concept during the Doctor and Anita’s conversation about her sat nav. That’s sort of the Doctor’s whole thing. Go somewhere innocuous on the day when everything went to shit. Henrik’s Department Store operated for years without incident until the Nestine Consciousness showed up and the Doctor had to blow the place up. Besides, how else are you going to draw a guy who time travels and has no need for a home into a time travelling hotel? Those are like the two things he needs the least. So yeah, the Doctor steals coffees like they were TARDISes.

Along with Nicola Coughlan guest starring as Joy, we get an adorable turn from Joel Fry as the charmingly dim Trev Simpkins. While his screentime is minimal, I fell in love with Trev almost immediately. Sadly, Trev wouldn’t be long for this world, but the stars are a completely different story. Having been conscripted by the Doctor to spy on a strange man in the hotel lobby, Trev quickly becomes embroiled in the journey of the mysterious Villengard suitcase by becoming its next host. This is how we’re introduced to Joy Almondo, a young woman staying at the Sandringham Hotel, which is a bit of a flophouse. Once again, we’re reintroduced to another Moffat hyperfixation which is a weird “women be shoppin’” attitude when Joy nervously asks Anita if its obvious that she’s single. I rolled my eyes at that line, and it’s made slightly more egregious when you consider the reason Joy is by herself in this run-down hotel on Christmas Eve. Why would she be thinking of men on the night she’s very clearly mourning the loss of her mum? The brief conversation between her and the fly in her room endears us to her far more than her anxiety about finding a man in this economy.

Ultimately, the Sandringham Hotel proves to be a lot more interesting of a location than the Time Hotel. Which is saying something considering that out of the Time Hotel’s many doors into different periods of time, one of those doors is some kind of Hobbit door. In contrast to the wacky voyeur tourism of the Time Hotel, the Sandringham Hotel was where the emotional core of the story takes place, even if I find Moffat’s conceit about hotels a bit contrived. You see, I can imagine the genesis of this story came from Moffat lying in a hotel room and considering that weird door that won’t open. We’ve all wondered about it. But he loses me a bit with his take on why people stay at such hotels.

Back in 2016, my friend Gary came and visited me from the states. We planned a trip down to London where he could see Abbey Road and then onto Cardiff for the Doctor Who Experience and up to Liverpool to see John Lennon’s house. It was a bare-bones trip over three days that required some sacrifices in train times and accommodations. We needed a good hotel in London, but what was most important was a place to hang our heads for the evening, so we went with cheap. The hotel we ended up with, we lovingly referred to as the Hotel Mos Eisley because it was a wretched hive of scum and villany. The rooms were numbered with a devil-may-care randomness. At the top of the stairs was a slashed canvas depicting Marilyn Monroe. One of her teeth had been blacked out and a swastika was drawn on her forehead. We had to sleep with toilet paper in our ears for fear of roaches. But we met so many characters in this hotel that we remember it as a fond memory of our trip. We still laugh about it to this day. My point being, sometimes a hotel room is just a means to an end. Also, some people are just poor. It’s not that deep, Steven.

I will however concede that this isn’t lost on Steven Moffat. As I said before, a lot of humanity can be found in the mundane setting of the Sandringham. Spoilers for the Bible if you’ve not read it, but that sentiment is reiterated with the humble manger where Mary gives birth to Jesus at the end of this episode. Furthermore, the Doctor was merely making Joy angry in an attempt to wake her out of whatever control the Villengard briefcase has over her. I had read about a week ago that Moffat wanted to bring the Doctor’s meanness back into the character, something which I have been waiting for since Chibnall decided to make the Doctor constantly stoked on life. I’m not going to go back and count the number of times in this blog where I mentioned wishing they would make Jodie scarier, but it was often. The Doctor is an alien and basically a god, it’s nice to be reminded of that on occasion. Eccleston is a good Doctor, but he became a great Doctor when we saw him lose his shit in “Dalek.” Even if it was being mean to save Joy’s life, it was nice to see the manipulative cosmic being we saw in the Seventh and Eleventh Doctors.

The Doctor is forced to go the long way to save Joy in the future by boot strap paradoxing the briefcase code to himself. I really loved this year the Doctor spends with Anita, working side by side at this hotel. As my friend Taryn quipped, they did more to build the Doctor and Anita’s relationship in one episode than they did Thirteen and Yaz’s relationship in three seasons. But in this relationship, I did find a few holes, and I don’t think I’m alone in suspecting they mean something. By now, you’ve probably seen a theory or two about Anita being Mrs Flood, and I’m right there with you. While she seems perfectly nice, there are some moments when Anita feels like she’s either a woman out of time, or not of this world. She didn’t recognise police boxes, which is sort of fair. I mean, here in Glasgow, they’re everywhere. But they are still a relic. She also didn’t know what Auld Lang Syne meant. Once again, fair dos, not everyone does. But growing up in the UK and not knowing who Guy Fawkes was? Very suspicious.

The Doctor stays with Anita for an entire year working side by side at the hotel. It gave shades of “The Lodger,” and “The Power of Three,” watching the Doctor stay in one place for an extended period while using his Doctory technology in service of mundane tasks. It was very charming and Christmassy to see the Doctor in this capacity. It only further drove home my belief that Ncuti Gatwa was a shoe-in for the Doctor. However, my internet addled-brain still laughed when they hinged a large portion of the episode’s emotional core around a hotel cuck chair. Moffat is clearly not suffering from the same brain rot as me. It’s Chibnall and VOR (see: vore) all over again. Moffat may have a lot to say about hotel rooms, but so does the internet. Sometimes, the fact that Doctor Who is made by middle aged Doctor Who nerds is entirely apparent. I suppose it’s what makes the show so wonderfully memeable. 

Trev uses the phrase “Everywhere, all at once,” in this epsiode and I can’t help but feel like Doctor Who is dipping its toe into the metaverse. Last season we had a character called Susan Triad who was played by a woman named Susan Twist. Then the characters dance while singing that there is always a twist at the end. If Anita turns out to be Mrs Flood, then we’ll have a woman named Anita Dobson who plays a character named Anita Flood. I’m not saying this is what is happening, but it can’t be lost on RTD. Then again, Moffat did give us Oswin Oswald at the same time we got Osgood and I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel related back then too. One of the recurring theories I see people returning to is that the Doctor is in the Land of Fiction from “The Mindrobber.” Perhaps they have included the Master of the Land into the Pantheon of Gods. If you watched the trailer for season two, you’ll have noticed the large animated character emerging for the theatre screen. It’s either the deepest Eighth Doctor cut ever (Crooked World represent!) or the walls between fiction and reality are bleeding into one another. What will that mean for the Doctor, a fictional character? Doctor Who may be a staple of British culture, but it also exists in a Britain so foreign to modern Britain because it never went through a phase of Dalekmania. None the less, I sense another shakeup on the horizon.

Speaking of Britains from a foreign reality, how about that COVID-19 representation? I say foreign from reality, because if you were to have watched Doctor Who during the pandemic, you would think that their fictional version of Britain never had to deal with the coronavirus. I’m not going to sit here and call Chibnall gutless for not including the pandemic into the storyline. I imagine it was a choice that required a meeting and they ultimately decided not to address it. If I were to guess, I would imagine they left the pandemic out of the show for two reasons. Firstly, they probably wanted Doctor Who to be a reprieve from death and despair. And secondly, they probably wanted to avoid questions like “Why doesn’t the Doctor just give everyone the cure?” So yeah, they probably did what was best at the time and left it at that. I can appreciate that. I can also appreciate them introducing it to give the Tories a proper bollocking.

I’ve seen some complaints about Joy’s decrying the Tories as her mother gasped her final breaths in the hospital. Some people (see: idiots) thought it was too political and woke. Which, if that’s your takeaway from this episode, I pity you. If anything, the Tories got off light. I have friends who lost their mums to COVID and I was happy to see the show finally address the very real situation we survived. I’m old enough to have lived through monkey pox outbreaks, bird flu, SARS, and mad cow disease. I never met anyone who got those diseases. I’ve had COVID three times. The pandemic was out of control in a way no living human had seen since the 1920s. Doctor Who has often struggled with finding the correct tone when tackling deep issues. But I feel like they nailed it here. Oddly, it being a Christmas story allows it the proper tone to reflect on holidays spent with late loved ones.

It’s rare when I watch an episode of Doctor Who when my closest network of friends and family who watch Doctor Who are all in agreement as to its quality. Usually one of us has a grievance to air. But everyone in my little circle really enjoyed the episode. This is surprising considering the somewhat cheesy ending with Bethlehem (though I did love the idea that the Time Hotel is why there was no room at the inn for Mary and Joseph). Myself and Taryn, both atheists, weren’t bothered in the slightest. My friend Alice, a Christian, wasn’t bothered by it on any religious grounds. It was a sweet moment afforded by the fact that it’s Christmas. Besides, if Baby Jesus isn’t invited to his birthday party, then maybe they’re doing something wrong. Other than the usual chuckleheads, I’ve not seen many people complaining about this episode. I did see that some people were let down by the lack of Silurians. The Silurian hotel manager, Melnak, had led some to believe that this Christmas special was going to be rife with Silurians. I never got this impression as he seemed like a one-off character. In fact, after watching the second episode preview, I thought it was implied that the Villengard briefcase hologram took the form of the dominant species during dinosaur times. It would appear that we were all wrong. Other than that and some of Moffat’s weird “women be shopping” brand of dialogue, it was a very solid episode of Doctor Who.

Along with the quiet moments of reflection, the deep connection between the Doctor and Anita, and Joy’s mourning her mother, we even got some exciting action scenes. We got a Jurassic Park style dinosaur with glowy eyes. We even got an exciting train scene. I love watching Ncuti in that flowing coat. He’s like a superhero in his cape atop that train in an ice storm. It was fun to watch him swinging a grappling hook to open the tomb encasing the starseed. But when the Doctor returns, both Joy and the starseed have ascended the stairs to the wild blue yonder above. While I had hoped for a little bit more of a presence of Villengard, I appreciated that this sentient star had more in mind than death and destruction. Villengard was so far from in control of the situation by that point and I loved that. Because, in reality, they’ve always been pathetic and small-time in the Doctor’s world. They acknowledge and appreciate the shared risk all sentient life takes with their actions. They like to think its the same worry people had when they fired up the Hadron Collider, but it’s closer in nature to corporations killing the environment we all depend on. “The Starseed will bloom and the flesh will rise,” wasn’t a threat, but a prelude to Joy’s ascent into the heavens. What’s more is that Trev and the other carriers of the star case will also live on forever in the sky. Leading the wisemen to Jesus and delivering Joy’s mother to the great beyond. If you think this episode didn’t make me cry, you’d be wrong.

The episode ends, but not before revisiting a couple of familiar faces. We see Ruby waiting by her phone for the Doctor to call, but instead it’s her mum. We can expect to see Ruby again, but probably not right away, which I’m fine with. It will give us time to get to know Varada Sethu as “Belinda Chandra,” a name which excites me on two levels. Is she related to Rani Chandra? And why does she have a different name from Mundy Flynn? Is this an Adeola/Martha cousins thing? Or is an Oswin/Clara different versions of the same person thing? Maybe it’s something more? The important thing is that I’m curious and excited to find out. I expect great things from Doctor Who, and if nothing else, chairs for the TARDIS. The future of Doctor Who feels bright from my perspective, I just wish the rest of the fandom felt the same way. 2025, or Hell Year™ 2.0,  is going to be a rough year for a lot of us. Like I said, I understand the need for escapism. You have my permission to feel good about yourself and to enjoy some Doctor Who next year. Fuck the haters. You have value and you deserve to feel joy.

[hey-there-22]

I think little Powder created a rule for herself to not talk about Vander after she was taken in by Silco. She listens when he talks about him, she answers questions when asked directly but she never shares her thoughts. It probably started out of fear of fucking everything up and loosing Silco too, but after some time it just became a habit. 

But Felicia? Jinx didn't know Silco knew her, she didn't know she was the reason Silco became… Silco, so she just mentions her from time to time. 

The first time she did, Silco was teaching her about explosives (because that's what he had learnt they could bond over, even if he knew that Jinx's abilities would soon exceed his). He was working on one of Jinx's bombs, trying to help her figure out why it wasn't working when he just mentioned he used to deal with dynamite on the mines when he was Jinx's age.

There was a moment of silence. She wondered if that was how Silco and Vander had met, but she couldn't ask, so she tried to get that thought out of her head and said the next thing that came to her mind.

“My mum was a miner too.”

Silco froze for a second. Then continued to work in silence for a few minutes.

“There,” he said, handing the bomb to Jinx, “go test it out.”

Jinx smiled, excited, taking the bomb and Silco's sleeve to guide him outside the office, lightening the mood without even realizing it. 

They never really talked about Felicia. The same way they never really talked about Vander. One spoke, the other listened. No comments, no opinions, just letting the other one express their thoughts and feel listened to.

There was only one time Silco broke that unspoken rule: the last time they talked about her.

He had a meeting with a new investor in shimmer. An old contact, Silco had explained. After hours of negotiations, they had finally gotten to an agreement. The man looked around the room while Silco was pouring them a glass to close the deal. He shared a look with Jinx, who had been drawing on the coffee table the whole time. 

“Isn't that…” he began to ask, turning to face Silco, acting as if the kid couldn't hear him. “That's… Felicia's daughter, isn't it?”

Silco and Jinx looked at each other from across the room, both looking for the correct answer to the question in the other's reaction. People had asked before if she was one of Vander's kids and the answer had always been a simple and dry “no” from Silco that made them know not to ask again, but no one had ever recognized her because of her mother.

Silco seemed to keep his cool, thought, and quickly recomposed himself and looked away so Jinx did the same and continued drawing, pretending not to listen. Whatever he had decided was the correct answer was okey with her, she trusted him, trusted his calmness.

Silco handed the man the glass.

“She is, yes.” His tone was cold, a slight threat the man didn´t seem to get.

“Yeah, I figured," he took a sip "the three of you were inseparable back in the day after all.”

Trust? Trust was not was she was feeling anymore. Jinx had her gaze fixed on Silco. She was staring at him so intensely she could almost hear his thoughts going 'fuuuuuck'. But the coward  was. Not. Looking. Back. But then their eyes met for a brief second, and he was the smallest she had ever seen him. Guilty and ashamed and he wasn't Silco but the man he claimed Vander had killed long ago. Her father was showing vulnerability, and she wasn't about to dig in the wound. Not in front of other people.

She slowly returned to her drawings and noticed Silco physically relax. Only when the meeting was over and the investor had left, he acknowledged her again.

“Jinx…” He approached her.

“No.” She didn't move. “You can't do that”

“Do what?” He sat beside her on the floor but leaving some space between them.

“You knew my mum?” She looked at him, anger turning into tears.

Silco doubted for a second, “Yes.”

“No.” She stood up, tears uncontrollably running down her cheeks at that point. “It's not fair. You do not get to say I'm the daughter of the woman you knew. You do not get to feel grief or guilt or whatever the hell you… You can't tell me about her, or think of her when you look at me. You… you can't… She is mine. She is my mum. She can't… I've already…"

Silco got on his knees to hug her tight and she melted into his arms, all the anger transforming into muttered cries, they ended up on the floor again.”Shhh, don't cry. Don't cry, Jinx, she's yours, all yours. Shh, stop crying.”

They stayed like that for hours. Jinx eventually calmed down, but neither of them moved.

“You know, if you ever…” Silco whispered, breaking the silence.

“No.” Jinx interrupted in a weak mutter. “Grieve alone… Please. I don't want to know someone I've already lost.”

[pizzaosaurs]

Currently playing in my friends campaign and we worked on a character set up based on being able to pop in and out of existence due to me having kids.

My character is a dreamwalker class with the following traits:

- she can pop in and out of existence for no reason.

- She can only teleport within 15ft of two players who have an item on them.

- the players were not and still not aware why she can teleport to them yet and it's making a fun d&d roleplay mechanism for why she's constantly popping up.

- she has two HP's, her dream hp which is just a little lower to the other players. It takes all damage except phyc. Her second HP is her real body hp which is very low and only impacted by phyc damage. When her dream hp is gone, she'll pop out of existence and will not be able to pop back for a set amount of time set out by the DM (we have it this way so if I suddenly have a kid based emergency I can accidentally get squished by some thing and then instantly pop back vs also having some risk in terms of time my character would be able to come back. She's waking up so this could be a dice roll to whether she instantly falls back to sleep or if she can't get back to sleep.

- Any revive spells will effect her real body. Healing will only effect her dream body so if she takes phyc damage, she needs to wake up for a long period to reset it.

- as she's making a dream self appear, she feels no pain so walks into stupid situations. She also believes it is a dream but if things go really sour that it's a nightmare and either will pop out of existence or start to take phyc damage. My character is a kid who believes everyone is just in her dream so she just pops out of existence thinking the other characters will just be fine, when she works out they are real but just in another plane, she's going to probably start sticking around.

- because she's dreaming, she can't take items with her when she pops out of existence. It will just fall to the floor. Means the players can game break by having her carry things.

- when she appears she can appear wearing whatever she wants so I will often have her appear in an array of crazy hairstyles and hats. None of it has magic capability. It also means she can shapeshift but she doesn't get changes to her stats. As she's dreaming, she can fly or float but it has to make sense or she'll feel gravity. Means when she appears sometimes she'll appear sat upside down on the ceiling or stood on a wall and fall when seen as she realises gravity.

- she can't feel pain but it also means when she takes damage she bleeds ice cream or rose petals and other werid things. Makes it fun for the DM to mess with their minds but also have a character who appears to have no physical pain but is very emotionally vulnerable.

- she can't upgrade her weaponry or skills unless levelling up because she can't carry anything with her and it's her own dreaming capacity. If other dream based things give her things but this is very rare.

- as she believes that the other players are just in her dream, she keeps going "ohhhhh You're aunt Sally... I can tell because of the big noise" or "you totally must be my mum, I love you!"

We went through a lot of ideas to why she could be dreaming and how this came about and I won't share my character but you could have lots of fun.

Love it though because I can pop in and out instantly with kids, it doesn't break the game and causes a lot of roleplay with the other characters.

If you have a parent who has kids so has to flit in and out of sessions, I definitely recommend a dreamwalker character.

[enigmaticexplorer]

ALLI!!! CONGRATULATIONS ON FINISHING IYASIF 🥳!!!!!

I have absolutely LOVED reading this series and I am so happy that you've shared it with us! It's definitely a series that I'll be revisiting forever and it's certainly a favourite of mine 💙!

My favourite parts (so far) include the firework scene (I love the effort that Wolffe was putting in to try to show Kazi how much she means to him then how she sees him in a vulnerable state), Wolffe sitting watching Kazi swim after Aro had assaulted her (I am a forever lover of how protective Wolffe is of Kazi 🤌 and I could GO ON FOREVER about it!), Neyti talking for the first time despite how sad her reason is (also where she calls Kazi her mum in her muse!!!!), and lastly, I was seriously cheering Kazi on for her first time having sex with Wolffe (I was sitting so proud that she let him get that close to her you have NO idea, I was like a proud mama hen 🥰)

While I've fallen behind, I can't wait to find more favourite parts in the coming chapters and I'm going to really miss reading IYASIF for the first time 💙!

I also need you to know that I love how you characterise all of the characters, I love their motivations and personalities !! (Fox was a favourite who snuck up on me 🥰)

Last but not least, I have some questions!

What have you enjoyed the most about writing IYASIF?

From my own writing I have redrafted plot points and outcomes so many times so, did IYASIF look different when you were first writing it?

That last question in your list is calling to me! How much of yourself and your life experiences have made it into IYASIF?

Out of all the characters, who is your favourite, to write or to read (if that gives a different answer)?

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

I Yearn, and so I Fear Fic Celebration

Maia! Thank you!

You've included some of my favorite scenes (and I'm SO HAPPY you've liked them, too!)! If you like the fireworks scene, you might enjoy an upcoming scene, even if it is super short :) I, too, am a lover of protective Wolffe and him sitting there, watching Kazi, tired from lack of sleep, needing to check on her because, even though they're still becoming friends, he cares about her - something about that scene sits right with me. I'm surprised you mentioned Neyti speaking for the first time! It's an emotional moment, for me haha, and such a pivotal moment, so I'm glad you like it! And Kazi and Wolffe's first time! That was such a meaningful scene to me! All of the trust building from so many months (and so many chapters) and Wolffe's consistent patience and Kazi taking another step forward in trusting him - it all meant so much to me. Thank you for sharing your favorite scenes, I really appreciate it! (And I'm ecstatic knowing you liked the characterizations! Fox snuck up on me, too. And he did the same with Kazi haha.)

What have you enjoyed the most about writing IYASIF?

Seeing each chapter take on its final version. I am so critical of my work, and I think I've mentioned before how I won't reread things I've written because I can't stomach my old writing. But the final version of each chapter in this fic has surprised me. I find myself rereading sections when people reblog and I smile, or I chuckle, or I feel giddy. It's such a unique experience for me; I've never felt this way about a fic I've written. I wanted to give up on various occasions but I'm glad I didn't, because seeing this in its final form has been a comfort. So, I think that's what I've enjoyed the most, seeing this in final form and being proud of my writing.

From my own writing I have redrafted plot points and outcomes so many times so, did IYASIF look different when you were first writing it?

Yes! I wrote an entire outline with specific scenes for 32 chapters last May and June, and then I wrote my first draft immediately after. And then I wrote another draft. And then I started working on individual chapters and tinkering/editing/revising/rewriting them in December and throughout the posting schedule (I consider that my third draft, however, most chapters in Parts III and IV had five different drafts because I kept editing/rewriting them).

Most of the overall story remained the same: Kazi and Wolffe's relationship/individual arcs, Kazi and Daria's relationship/individual arcs; Kazi and Neyti's relationship/individual arcs; Fox's story arc.

A few things that significantly changed:

Originally, Aro was supposed to be a rebel leader. He was a questionable leader, set on destroying the Empire but willing to hurt anyone during the process, and he had an obsession with Kazi. To the point that he blackmailed her into a "relationship" with him. I scratched this entire plotline because it was too much for me. I've explored the dark writing in A New Tomorrow (which I believe you've read, so you probably know what I'm talking about) and I could not stomach writing something dark like that again. So, I removed that plotline during my outlining process in May and decided to make Aro a megalomaniac Empire sympathizer.

Along those lines, Moff Harpy was supposed to play a minor role in the story. During the first draft, I wrote in a few scenes where Kazi interacts with Moff Harpy. (It's Harpy who created a clone assassin lab and was also obsessed with tracking down traitorous clones.) However, it felt like too much. I didn't want this story to focus on the clone assassins/the Empire as much. I wanted to emphasize how normal, ordinary people are trying to survive under Imperial rule (I took inspiration from The Kite Runner) and bringing in Moff Harpy made the story too focused on trying to defeat the Empire rather than exploring what it would be like to live under a fascist government. I love stories that get into the nitty gritty about taking down the Empire, but I wanted to do something different here.

I don't want to spoil things but Daria and Cody's relationship was not in the first draft. (I get into this in a Behind the Scenes XIV, but I'll explain it here, too.) In my outline, I intended Daria and Cody to explore a relationship together. I thought their personalities matched well, and that they would be good for one another. However, I thought that readers would find it cringey that two commanders chose the two sisters. So, in my first draft, I wrote Daria having a relationship with Nova. It was AWFUL. I was forcing Nova to be someone he wasn't, and the chemistry between him and Daria was lacking. In the second draft, I said "fuck it" and rewrote Cody into the relationship with Daria. And I'm so glad I reverted to my original idea because they were such a delight to explore. (I also have delusional thoughts about writing their own fic as a companion piece to this haha.)

Those were the major changes to the story. But Parts III and IV had significant changes in each chapter between drafts 2 and 3. I'm glad that I wrote the first two drafts because it helped me decide what to include, what to remove, and what needed to be added. I felt like each draft allowed me to dive deeper into the story, the characters, the themes. And if it hadn't been for draft 1, then I never would've written the Muses! And if it hadn't been for draft 2, then I would've never dug deeper into Fox and Nova's characters! Both of whom surprised the hell out of me! Cody was a given - I actually spent so much time writing a character document for him (because I'm that person) - and didn't change much between the drafts, but Fox and Nova did! Anyway, I believe Chapters XVII through the Epilogue are all fairly different from their first versions. There are some consistencies (such as Chapter XXII being about sex, Chapter XIV being about Kazi's breakdown, Chapter XXV being about the winter holiday) but most of the scenes were drastically rewritten! And the last two chapters weren't even written because I kept telling myself I wouldn't do them justice until I was 100% sure of all the chapters leading up to them (which ended up being true).

Oh, I also had a few more smut scenes in draft 2 but I wanted to focus more on the emotional side of things rather than the physical (and I get afraid that I can't write smut well) so I removed quite a few smut scenes. I was afraid that readers might give up on the story without the additional smut, but I'm glad I made that decision.

That last question in your list is calling to me! How much of yourself and your life experiences have made it into IYASIF?

Oof, you're calling me out 😅

Honestly, I view IYasIF as a therapy project. Kazi is a direct reflection of me, my insecurities, my struggles with romantic relationships, my fears of abandonment and not being enough. Her storyline about sex and her discomfort and insecurity with it draws from my own experiences. Maybe this is embarrassing, I don't know, but writing her story was a way for me to acknowledge my insecurities, fears, and fearful-avoidant attachment style; it was a way for me to see a female character like myself [someone who isn't curvy or outgoing; someone who is aloof, and cold, and heartless (and yes, I've been called heartless by friends, in a joking way but it still stuck)] be loved, to actually be attractive to a male character. So Kazi is a reflection of myself.

As to life experiences: Kazi's resentment against her mother draws from my own experiences. Many of her conversations with Daria about marriage and loneliness and settling are conversations I've had multiple times throughout my life. Kazi's strong relationship with her father is also based on my own (my dad isn't dead, though). Her relationship with Daria draws from my relationship with my sister and how we struggled for many years (to the point that I despised my sister) and then evolved into something where we've grown closer. (Kazi and Daria have a closer relationship than my sister and I do, so perhaps I was projecting.) But their conversation in Chapter XXII about their parents is something I've thought about regarding my sister and me and our individual relationships with our parents (I am my dad's favorite, and my sister has always clung to my mom).

Out of all the characters, who is your favourite, to write or to read (if that gives a different answer)?

This is such a tough question. I loved writing Fox! He grew on me with each iteration of this story. Kazi was exhausting to write because I was writing about myself and that introspection sucks at times and weighed me down a bit; but her story was amazing to write. Again, I loved being able to write about a male character falling for a female character like me, and I liked the safety of writing Wolffe as this patient, consistent, understanding man. A part of me wants to write this story from Wolffe's point of view because he has so many thoughts (and there was a point in the first draft where I was going to include a chapter on the most memorable moments from his point of view but decided against it). But Wolffe is hard me to write inside his head. I don't think I do him justice, but he's such a delight to write from an outsider's perspective. I've totally screwed up this answer because I've listed three characters I liked to write for haha. Oh well.

For reading: I'm in a phase where I don't want to read fic about Wolffe, Cody, or Fox because I have such a firm view of them in my mind after writing this story, so other developments of their characters aren't interesting to me right now. Which is horrible, I know. Once I can remove myself from this story, I'm eager to get back into reading for all three, because I love seeing how other people portray these three men!

Thank you so much for these questions! If you couldn't tell, I had a lot of fun answering them :)

[orange-peony]

Thank you so much for tagging me @alexalexinii, @artsyunderstudy and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe.

I've been editing the last part of At the speed of light. Here's a bit from chapter 3 (Baz's POV):

“She used to say that,” he explains, his voice low and almost imperceptible. “My mum…she loved Shakespeare. Used to quote him all the time, so every time you do it, I just…”

“Sorry,” I provide, but he shakes his head and finally looks back into my eyes.

“No, I don’t mind,” he says softly. “Remembering things about her sometimes hurts, but—it’s also good, in a way. It makes her feel still close. I don’t know if I make any sense…”

“You do,” I say, finding a place next to him and taking his hand in mine. He lets me stroke it, my thumb gentle on his skin, tender like I’ve never been with anyone else, not even my little brother and sisters.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I can’t stop talking about my mum with you,” he says, looking a little embarrassed. I squeeze his hand and shake my head no—I don’t want him to apologise, and I don’t want him to stop talking either. “It’s just that…it feels like a bruise that won’t fucking heal. I keep on bashing into it, every single time something reminds me of her. Something she used to say or do. A place where we’ve been together, or a song that she used to love that is suddenly on the radio. Or the smell of her perfume on someone else—so infuriatingly wrong. They should have stopped making her perfume when she died...”

I've also started writing a drarry fic. The beginning is a bit unusual, but here's a little snippet:

Harry has been thinking about him over the years. About those pale, long eyelashes fluttering over grey eyes, about pink lips bitten raw during the trials. About the way Malfoy looked, vulnerable and human for the first time. About the way he thanked Harry for testifying in his mother’s favour. Harry stupidly gave him his address, telling him to stay in touch. Malfoy never contacted him again, simply vanished into this air, not even leaving a puff of smoke, like the most perfect spell.

But he’s here now, looking gorgeous and rosy-cheeked, carrying a poor animal in his arms and towering over Harry by a good five or six inches.

Tagging: @pato-roldnart, @bubble-gumhead, @avenueofesc, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple, @thewholelemon, @letraspal, @crazybutgood, @okay-sky, @littlewinnow, @fatalfangirl, @cutestkilla, @j-nipper-95, @hushed-chorus, @martsonmars, @facewithoutheart, @imagineacoolusername, @blackberrysummerblog, @tea-brigade, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @ebbpettier, @captain-aralias and anyone else who wants to share what they've been working on.

[wastelandofdreams]

Hi I just wanted to say I really enjoy your posts and even though I'm not personally a gcest truther I do think that there is no doubt that there is a lack of healthy physical boundaries in their relationship.

I just personally don't think incestuous feelings is the explanation (well at least not between Noel and Liam)

To me the weirdness (from an outside perspective) between them can't be discussed without giving serious consideration to the horrific trauma they shared as children.

They do not have a healthy relationship as adults because they didn't have a healthy childhood in which to develop healthy bonds.

When Noel was being dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night and beaten sensless, Liam was right there in the bed next to him witnessing it all, at such a young ages that their brains couldn't process it properly (and I mean that literally trauma in early childhood can cause damage to the still developing brain of a child due to the high levels of overwhelming toxic stress that are produced while experiencing trauma)

Liam saw Noel at his most vulnerable, he saw things Noel to this day can't bring himself to really talk about. That is one hell of a trauma bond and for me it under pins everything about how they interact as adults imo

Then you have the fact Liam was the one of the 3 brothers who witnessed the worst of Tommy's violence towards Peggy because he was so little he was always by her side. She said herself Noel and Paul didn't really witness much her being beaten because they were always outside playing or with friends. That Noel would ask why she had a black eye and she would lie but in her words "of course he knew" But Liam saw it all from her being hit over the head with a hammer to the time he described seeing Tommy beat her so bad that he just wouldn't stop hitting her and Liam was too small to help her. Liam has said he was angry with Paul and Noel being out so often and not at home protecting their mum.

The threats to kill Peggy, the threats to burn down the house with Noel and Paul inside.

Then there is the neglect which they all suffered to some degree from Noel and Paul being left in the car all day while Tommy entertained his mistress, to him leaving them to walk home for miles in the cold and rain because again he abandoned the somewhere to disappear for days with his other family or drinking buddies. To the financial neglect.

But the most serious neglect was toward Liam who as a toddler would be left home alone all day because Tommy didn't want to do his share of the childcare while Peggy worked to feed and cloth them.

There is speculation about Tommy sexually abusing Liam due to things that Liam has said and Tommy has said and just his all round creepyness about Liam. But not sure I want to go into it any further. There was also the "mother's old friend who hurt him" quote which some have speculated was alluding to csa.

All of this is to say I don't think their odd relationship can be spoken about with out an acknowledgement of the very serious and deep trauma that was the foundation of their childhoodm

Hi! So first of all thank you for liking my posts and I appreciate that you are sharing your thoughts with me

But I'm also kind of not sure what should I answer or what you want me to say... I guess I don't post much about their childhood trauma because I'm not a child psychologist nor am I any kind of expert in that regard?

I did read some fanfics where the authors try to discuss it to some extent. But, then again, none of us were there, and we are not them. We can only make our assumptions.

Frankly speaking... I started the blog just to have some fun. Shipping them is fun. Saw something my mutuals posted and reblog it is fun. Find something interesting and share it here is fun. My life sucks I just want to have some fun here. I understand you want to discuss a more serious matter and it's probably better to make a post yourself so that you can get a more serious discussion

Anyway have a nice day :)

[ewyband]

explaining HRT to my parents and acceptance

hello everypony, if you don't know, im non binary. im gonna be really vulnerable here for a hot sec but i just wanted to share my experience because its something ive found very difficult to write about in musical form.

gender has always been super confusing for me and whilst there were signs of me being trans when i was younger, its only something thats become apparent in the last three years. i wont bore anyone explaining my experience of where i stand with my gender but i wanted to share my experiences with HRT and the process of telling my parents about it.

i started seriously considering HRT around around a year ago and decided to take the plunge around two months ago because every time i looked in the mirror, i noticed more chest hairs, thicker body hair, broader shoulders and a squarer jawline -- this all makes me extremely dysphoric and i hated it. the conclusion i came to was, this was all going to continue to intensify throughout me aging and so the main question was: do i want to age on testosterone or estrogen? once i started estrogen i felt so much better about myself, almost instantly (as in, within the first few days). my mood has drastically increased and i have 'breakdowns' way less now which is great!! one thing i was scared about was chest growth and the day before i started estrogen, i was very tired from a long day and had a breakdown because i was quite literally mourning my freedom. i never really have been more confident shirtless or anything but i mourned swimming in the sea, in lakes, in rivers and in tarns on the mountain tops -- the sense of freedom you feel when you're fresh out of an ice cold tarn on a mountain is indescribable. however, now i have responsibilities, i have a career i have to make work, i have people i need to please and for some reason i felt not being able to be shirtless was another freedom i could potentially have snatched away from me. when i told my mum about me starting HRT she said 'well, i'm sure you've made an informed decision so i'll just tell you the same thing i've said about weed: just be careful okay' which was a genuinely pleasant surprise when my dad found out, my mum called me saying 'just in case you get a call from your dad, he's really worried and he's been losing sleep over it. if he calls you, please dont argue with him, just agree with him for now for our sake' my dad did end up calling me and i explained everything and any worries that he had. he had a lot of questions but i managed to answer everything without getting too upset. towards the end of our call i thought he said 'i just needed you to understand' to which i replied 'yeah i understand, its okay to be anxious, because i definitely was' and he replied 'no, i said "i just needed to understand"' im really grateful for my parents being so accepting and its genuinely strengthened our relationship. even though they're pretty hit and miss with calling me my correct pronouns, they still love me and havent disowned me and im really grateful for that.

anyways, thanks for coming to my ted talk

[zais-zeitgeist]

Anatomy of a Broken System: On Medical Inequality and Why I Chose Not to Become a Doctor

Following the political uproar of the Luigi Mangione case and the ensuing discussion on healthcare reform, I found myself reflecting on my own relationship with the healthcare system. After the tragic and unjust deaths of my grandma due to diabetes complications and later my neighbour, who died of kidney surgery complications at just 20 years old, I had long ago distanced myself from pursuing a medical career path, realising that even if I dedicated my life to the field, saving lives like those dear to me might still be impossible.

Medicine may be humanity’s shared endeavour to preserve life, but the yield of such collective effort remains disproportionately distributed. Today’s healthcare industry undoubtedly places profits above people, often jeopardising those of a lesser social and economic standing. Though my mum urged me to serve in white and try to save lives like her mother’s, I refused what felt like a futile pursuit. The medical system has failed the collective too frequently for my participation to make a meaningful difference — a truth I couldn’t articulate at the time but instinctively understood.

The Hierarchy of Healthcare

Through watching miracle surgeries performed on TV during my childhood and witnessing the many preventable deaths in my adolescence, I have come to understand that the healthcare system always played favourites. According to the Health Foundation, people living in impoverished areas have worse health outcomes and tend to die earlier [2]. These deaths are not complicated or unfeasible procedures, but rather illnesses that medicine has tackled for centuries. It is being able to afford insulin pumps every month. It is being operated on with sanitised surgical equipment. It is an insured-covered follow-up visit to the doctor after a new treatment. In the same vein, Cody Jacob shares how his mother died of diabetes complications due to her insurance denying coverage of her essential supply, which included pumps, insulin, tests, batteries, wipes, etc. Horrifically, her insurance only approved coverage for those supplies once her status had changed – to deceased [3].

Medical recovery heavily relies on economic access. The cure to the deaths plaguing our societies is often unattainable for its most vulnerable members as, for example, many lower-class Americans remain uninsured [4]. This gap in access extends beyond life-saving medication. Preventative care and mental health services are also disproportionately distributed [4], deepening cycles of inequality. While individual doctors may save lives, they still operate within a system that constrains their ability to influence widespread change. So, when the healthcare costs continue to rise while the quality keeps declining [1], we have to ask: where does the money go?

In Service of the Elite

Such questions often go unanswered since medicine, alongside many other STEM fields, has served those on top first, its benefits only trickling down over time. As one progresses in their medical career, they become more entrenched in fulfilling elite interests. Even working in impoverished areas can feel limited in impact, as structural barriers and industrial control remain intact. While current narratives might delude us to idealise capitalistic medicine, history paints a different picture. For example, from the late 19th to the mid-20th century, there was a dramatic reduction in mortality rates, particularly in England. This improvement was primarily due to public health initiatives like sanitation, clean water, improved housing, and vaccinations, not capitalist-driven innovations. In fact, the early capitalist class often resisted these improvements, as they involved increased taxes and infrastructure investments [5].

Still, the healthcare industry continues to promote the idea that privatised healthcare is more efficient, despite evidence suggesting that public systems often deliver better outcomes at lower costs [5]. Disturbingly, the media pushes a narrative that glorifies ‘consumer choice’ to justify the commodification of medicine while ignoring social determinants of health, such as inequality, poor housing, and limited access to education. It focuses on health being an individual responsibility when, in reality, individual choices only account for 20% of health outcomes, the rest determined by socioeconomic factors [2].

Medical discrimination extends to the academic world, as research funding is skewed toward issues affecting wealthier nations rather than systemic reforms. Diseases that disproportionately affect women and Black populations receive smaller funding increases compared to its counterparts [6]. This consequence is partly due to lower advocacy for those groups combined with neglect for decision-making metrics, such as dollars per death, that allocate funding to address much critical mortality concerns. Agócs [7] has defined such resistance embedded in organizational processes, policies, and power structures as Institutionalised Resistance, which manifests as denial, inaction, and repression, rendering individual efforts to disrupt the system futile. However, there have been efforts that were prosperous, such as West Africa’s Ebola outbreak response, celebrated for its data-driven, patient-centred, and localised community engagement strategies to control the epidemic [8]. Such success presents us with hope for wide-scale reform within the medical world.

Practicing Medicine in Vacuum

But if we truly desire such change, we must accept the harsh truth: medicine under capitalism has never been neutral, evident by the unfair distribution of medicinal resources and the stark disparities in health outcomes. As such, absolute medical advancement should not be exalted, as it is not but propaganda that serves the elite. Blindly advocating for progress in medicine above all else abandons critical thought about the urgent realities facing our communities. Many medical professionals and academics join the field wanting to save lives but end up only saving those deemed "valuable" by economic and social standards. That was the reality that I knew I would regret living if I joined the field following the loss of my grandmother. After all, those millions of preventable deaths [9] would continue to happen.

The culture of glorifying medicine strays us away from developing tools to think critically, tackle the bigger picture, and reevaluate our priorities. Unfortunately, medical professionals are discouraged from contextualising their work within social and economic spheres, focusing heavily on scientific expertise, honour, and prestige. As a child of Black-Brown immigrant parents, I have experienced immense pressure to enter the field for similar reasons – even though my interests lay in social problem-solving and storytelling, my strengths being far from applicable in the biological world. I felt obligated to ‘make the best use of my gifts’ and to choose a study that was actually beneficial, which, in my community, only meant STEM.

Today, medicine operates like a tool of the bourgeois system, used to decide who deserves to live. Entering the field means participating in a game rigged against the poor. Our communities cannot afford to play the game passively anymore. We must think bigger, addressing systemic inequalities rather than merely treating their symptoms. In the current capitalistic atmosphere, critically choosing a career path might be the most political statement an individual choice can make. My creative and humanistic passions might not have always been valued in my younger years, even by me. But now, more than ever, I understand the value in engaging in them: to advocate for and express oneself is to engage in political advocacy, social expression, and systemic change.

Bibliography

Brown, A.: Opinion | Capitalism Versus Compassion: Can Healthcare Do Both?, https://www.medpagetoday.com/opinion/prescriptionsforabrokensystem/104139.

eGPlearning: Addressing Health Inequality in General Practice, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tvu--5tmK1M, last accessed 2025/03/18.

Jacob, C.: It took my mom dying for insurance to cover her needs!, https://www.tiktok.com/@imcodyjacob/video/7445339073356631342?is_from_webapp=1&web_id=7443142350052034056, last accessed 2025/03/28.

Economic Barriers to Healthcare Access, https://www.cliffsnotes.com/study-notes/23073691, last accessed 2025/03/28.

Leys, C.: Health, health care and capitalism. Socialist Register. 46, (2010).

Best, R.K.: Disease Politics and Medical Research Funding. American Sociological Review. 77, 780–803 (2012). https://doi.org/10.1177/0003122412458509.

Agócs, C.: Institutionalized Resistance to Organizational Change: Denial, Inaction and Repression. Journal of Business Ethics. 16, 917–931 (1997). https://doi.org/10.1023/a:1017939404578.

Braithwaite, J., Mannion, R., Matsuyama, Y., Shekelle, P., Whittaker, S., Al-Adawi, S., Ludlow, K., James, W., Ting, H.P., Herkes, J., Ellis, L.A., Churruca, K., Nicklin, W., Hughes, C.: Accomplishing reform: successful case studies drawn from the health systems of 60 countries. International Journal for Quality in Health Care. 29, 880–886 (2017). https://doi.org/10.1093/intqhc/mzx122.

Kruk, M.E., Gage, A.D., Joseph, N.T., Danaei, G., García-Saisó, S., Salomon, J.A.: Mortality Due to low-quality Health Systems in the Universal Health Coverage era: a Systematic Analysis of Amenable Deaths in 137 Countries. The Lancet. 392, 2203–2212 (2018). https://doi.org/10.1016/s0140-6736(18)31668-4.

Credit

Different types of mold grown in Petri Dish - Home DIY lab - Bacterial Culture, KABOOMPICS

[the-astrophel-system]

Why Our Alters Mask

tw // brief mentions of ramcoa (no details), using peoples triggers against them, ableism, family being uneducated, brief mentions of deadnaming and misgendering

so, we have a therapist who doesn't specialise in dissociative disorders. but for right now, shes kinda our only option (which is fine, we like her).

but we were talking in our session yesterday and she asked if our mum was aware of our alters and was accepting and stuff. its complicated, but the answer is yes. she's still a bit hesitant, but accepts the fact that we think we have this disorder.

anyway, we mentioned to our therapist that she has been introduced to a few different alters, but we mask almost constantly, so its not like she picks up on it herself.

and our therapist was confused.

again, this is someone who doesn't specialise in this sort of thing, so we do have to talk about our experience and those of people in the community (but y'know she also does have access to scientific and professional stuff, so its not like we're going "our system is the only way it can present").

but i was SO surprised that she was surprised that so many systems mask.

i explained that if you freely drop the mask, thats gonna inform your abusers that what they're doing is working in their favour. they'll learn triggers and use that to their advantage. now, im coming at this from a organic system's pov, we haven't been programmed, nor am i claiming that if systems unmask, they'll automatically be a victim of programming, or later-in-life abuse where the abuser is trying to manipulate the system.

i told our therapist that if you give out your triggers, or you start presenting these switches, people can pick up on those patterns and then use that to their advantage. i clarified and said that i dont think our mum or family would do this to us, its just very very vulnerable and can be dangerous if we unmask completely.

even comments like "you're acting grouchy today", "stop being so childish", and "you never act like this". can all hurt so much and make the system or that particular alter feel guilty for existing the way they do. it would be amazing to unmask around family, but when i have before, i get told im being rude or mean, when thats just how i interact with people. i tease, im a bit blunt, and i tend to swear a lot. im not trying to be rude or offensive, but i constantly feel like an asshole if i do unmask, just because this edgy exterior is who i am.

it can also sometimes be embarrassing for other alters when you do unmask. im sometimes embarrassed by other parts interests, clothes, attitudes, and more. its internalised shit and im working on it. but if we were to unmask, im so worried people wont take me seriously, just because they know of a part who acts differently. and that sucks so much.

another thing is getting told shit like "this is all so confusing", "you have too many alters, how am i supposed to keep track", "you're placing the blame elsewhere because you dont want to admit what you did wrong". comments like that suck so fucking much. i hate them, they hurt, and they're based in misunderstanding.

having many alters (even just any number over 10) can be extremely confusing to others. but i haven't met a single system who expects others to fully know of, remember, and relate to all their alters. all i ask is you accept each new part and if you do happen to remember some names, thats awesome.

it also connects to a lot of gender shit, which our family struggles with. we still cant get them to use our preferred name or pronouns, and we feel like we're too much if we share that we have multiple parts that use different or multiple pronouns. i get that it can be confusing, i understand, especially because my family doesn't see me all that often and if my name and pronouns change each time we see them, it will be a lot to remember. i get it. but my family fills me with so much fear because i feel like they wont try. they wont try to connect with, or understand me. its not fair and its incredibly isolating.

we've also been told that we're placing the blame of negative actions, onto other alters. which, we never do btw. the only time we "shift the blame" is if we try to explain that we don't fully remember what we said or did, because of amnesia. we always try to take responsibility, its just not seen as fair for people to say we're "shifting the blame" any time we try to explain what is going on for us internally. our did isn't an excuse, but its an explanation, yet no one lets us explain.

i explained most of this to my therapist and said that one day we can hopefully be able to unmask more around our family (or even just our mum and brother) so we're less drained all the time. we would get less comments like "why aren't you talking to me", "you're so grouchy", "why are you watching (x show) thats for kids". and more comments like "oh is it (x alter)? thats okay, i wont be mad if you need some time alone", "oh! watching (x show), is this a good episode?", "hey, it seems like (x alter) or (y alter) might be around. i know you're very blunt but just remember to be kind towards your brother", "im not sure if you remember yesterday, but (x alter) and i started this conversation, would you like to talk to me about this, or would you like to wait until (x alter) is back?". or whatever the comments are.

accepting that we are slightly different and not expecting consistency of behaviour, likes, or memories, is so important to us. who knows if this will ever happen for us, idk i guess we wait and see

- virgil (he/him)

[eclecticpagann]

Before we dive in, a heads-up: my posts can get a bit lengthy. But if you’re here for the journey, I’m grateful to have you along for the ride.

By now, you probably know I treat this blog as a bit of a personal journal. I love sharing my experiences because, in the end, maybe they’ll help someone else on their own path.

So, here we are—another update following yesterday’s post. I was so thrilled that someone understood what I’ve been going through that I just jumped right in without telling the whole story. Today, I’m here to fill in the gaps.

A little background about me—vulnerability included. My health, both mental and physical, isn’t always the best. I’ve had lifelong struggles with motivation (as I once shared in a post about Apollo), and that’s made keeping my home in order a real challenge. Living with chronic illness and dealing with mental dips has been frustrating, especially when I can’t keep up with the basic things I want to do, like cleaning.

That brings us back to the experience I mentioned yesterday. I left out a small detail initially, thinking it wasn’t significant, but here we go. I had been talking to Hel’s candle, seeking some kind of clarity, and naturally, I turned to something I trust deeply: my tarot deck.

With my mind racing at the thought of Hel reaching out, I struggled to form a question. Finally, I landed on something along the lines of, What am I experiencing in this connection?

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

The cards seemed to play along, either staying perfectly in place or scattering when my fingers fumbled. Heart pounding, I shuffled again.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

Finally, a single card jumped out: Ten of Swords, Reversed. I felt a pang of nerves—we all know that swords can be intense. Still, I grabbed my guidebook, a precious one my mother wrote. She compiled meanings from her own journey, blending research and intuition. Her insight has guided me through so many readings.

With shaky fingers, I flipped to the page. The reversed Ten of Swords was full of healing—specifically, “Steady improvement in health and an indication that any losses are in the past.” At the time, it didn’t make much sense in the context of Hel, so I dismissed it, thinking maybe it was a misdraw.

But this morning, I woke up feeling…different. No nausea, no headache, none of the pain that usually plagues me. I felt strong, ready to tackle the cleaning I’d been putting off. I haven’t felt this good in ages. I got to work, making a dent in my to-do list, taking breaks but feeling genuinely fulfilled.

And then it clicked. Hel was showing me that I’d have the strength I needed, guiding me to reclaim some control over my life. It was her nudge to get up and take action. She was helping me.

So, of course, I thanked her in every way I could think of. I picked a fresh mum from my garden for her altar (and one for Aphrodite, because fairness is everything). I promised Hel I’d set up her altar before Apollo’s—a promise I’m genuinely excited to keep. I’ve never felt this kind of connection to a deity, not even Aphrodite reached out in my lowest moments quite like this.

I’ll admit, though, a part of me still questions if it’s really her. But my mom’s friend, who has an incredible gift for this kind of sensing, might be able to help confirm it. He once saw Freya watching over my mom without knowing she’d felt drawn to her, so I feel reassured in asking.

If you have gotten this far, thank you for taking the time to read this. I appreciate each of you who has joined me on this wild, unfolding journey.

[dtwof]

Ive become way too attached to the librarian i share an office with and im absolutely terrified that one day i'm going to accidentally call her Mum... shes around my own mums age and she has teenage kids and shes been looking out for me at work and i feel so safe with her and im very vulnerable right now....

[heavenbarnes]

Hey Cosmos, you don’t have to reply to this if you don’t want to, but I just wanted to send this little note to you. I just wanted to say that last year I lost my mom, and I struggled with the grief basically every day. It was a complicated feeling, and one I had to experience alone since no one I knew had something similar happen. However, sometimes you talk about your own grief on here, as you lost someone close to you, and seeing someone openly talk about it and having someone to identify with what I was feeling was very helpful. It aided me in working through what I was feeling and not letting it overwhelm me. And though I still grieve, and I know that grief will never end, I know I can channel it as love. So thank you. I know it wasn’t intentional or anything, but you really helped a stranger. I just wanted you to know that

goodness me this is one of the most impactful messages i have ever received in my time of running this blog 🫶🏼 thank you for being so vulnerable with me and sharing this, this was a really moving ask to receive

i am so grateful that you’re here and following me and that i could’ve played a part in you navigating your journey of grief 🤍 my deepest sympathies for your mum, what an immense impact she has left on this earth to re-home as grief

just again, thank you for sharing this with me and i wish you nothing but love x