#pre polycule

[thetreehousechronicles]

Better Drawn Edits/Commentary

Hey everyone! I just wanted to share a better version of my first post—I decided to redraw it and add some commentary to the photos. I also included a brief description of why I designed the character(s) this way. Keep in mind, this is just my personal headcanon and how I imagine them, so please take it with a grain of salt. Hope you enjoy the updated edit!I’d love to hear your thoughts, though—feel free to drop a comment down below if you’d like to discuss any headcanons, design ideas, or how you imagine these characters looking.

So let's get started

Frist up, Abby and Nigel

For Abby, I didn’t change much because I really like her canon design—it definitely gives off that cool tomboy vibe, which suits her perfectly. I did make a few tweaks, though. I liked how she had those golden hoop bracelets in her FusionFall version, so I included a nod to that by giving her one big ring bracelet, similar to what you might see on Sonic the Hedgehog characters. I also gave her athletic jeans/shorts to make her outfit a bit more practical, especially since she’s only 10 years old. I always thought her original design could use a bit more coverage for a kid.

As for Nigel, I wanted to keep the iconic elements of his original design while incorporating some of the more practical and battle-ready features from his FusionFall look. I kept the puffy vest from his FusionFall outfit because it gives him that tough, adventurous vibe and makes him look like he’s ready to take charge. The black fingerless gloves were added because I thought they gave him a cool, tactical touch, fitting for someone who’s always on the front lines and leading the team. I also decided to go with the FusionFall shorts because they make him look more prepared for combat while still being practical for running around on missions. I wanted to keep that balance of both.

Second, Hoagie and Abby

For Hoagie, I actually preferred his canon design over his FusionFall version, but I did take a few elements from both. One thing I liked from his FusionFall look was the fingerless gloves, so I tried to incorporate those. I’ll admit I’m not the best at drawing hands, so they didn’t come out perfect, but I still think they add a nice touch to his look. Another detail I liked from FusionFall was the knee patches on his pants. To make the outfit look more cohesive, I made the patches match his shirt color for a more aesthetically pleasing look. I also darkened his pants just a bit, while keeping the folded-up parts slightly lighter, since the inside of rolled-up pants usually appears a bit faded compared to the outside. Lastly, I changed the "2" on his hat to have a more bubble-shaped design, making it look bolder and more readable. I also colored it blue to match his shirt and tie the whole look together.

As for Abby, this is more of a full design for her outfit. I forgot to mention earlier that I added a small yellow button to her MJs (Mary Janes) to complement the golden hoops and bracelet. I thought it would be a nice little touch to tie the outfit together and add just a bit more personality to her look.

Finally Kuki and Wally

For Wally, I gave him a more rugged, tough-guy look with ripped clothes because I can totally see him always getting his clothes torn up from fighting or just being his reckless self. The piercings add to that rocker vibe I imagine for him—I get the feeling he’d definitely be into rock music, so I wanted to reflect that. One detail I did like from his FusionFall look was the silver pocketchain on his pants, but I took it a step further by giving him two chains linked together to make it look even more like a rocker/bad boy style. He always has a bandage on his face because, well, it just fits his scrappy personality—he’s always getting into fights, so it makes sense for him to be a bit banged up. I also wrapped his hands with bandages, inspired by another artist @kommandonuovidiavoli , to add to that fighter aesthetic.

As for Kuki, I wanted to blend elements from both her canon and FusionFall designs since I really like both. I kept her signature green sweater from the show, but I styled it off the shoulder with a black tank top underneath to give it a more modern and stylish look while still keeping that casual vibe she’s known for. II also gave her a skirt inspired by another artist @hyperfixingfr @spicedwatermel0n (Edited part). He also gave kuki a black skirt, which I loved and wanna to do, so i was inspired by him. hint at her wearing leggings underneath, I made her legs a bit thicker to create that layered look. I always imagined Kuki would go for comfort and mobility, especially since she’s always running around and being active. The leggings not only add practicality but also make the whole outfit feel more complete.

[zerolostwalks]

(Just a blurb while I debate if this is the eventual trajectory for the Crash and Burn series. Now to go and work on Crash Pad XD)

Leo doesn’t like to linger on ‘what could have been’s.

There’s no sense to it. 

Just a surefire way to land him in a guilt ridden spiraling replay of all his mistakes. Mistakes he couldn’t afford to make again. Mistakes he refused to make again.

Still, try as he might, his own mind didn’t always like to listen. Poking and prodding and reminding him of all the failures he’d never openly admit to. It was almost a reprieve when he’d get caught up on the minor things. Not that this was minor. Just not as cataclysmically world ending to anyone but him. 

The certainty that, somewhere, there’s an alternate timeline where you and him ended up together. 

Donnie’d gone off about it once on one of his worse days. Manically ranting and raving on and on about various time travel paradoxes and theories. Implications and hypotheticals of Casey Jr. still existing after essentially rewriting his history. All mumbo jumbo sci-fi gibberish that wouldn’t sound out of place in Jupiter Jim. 

Leo hadn’t really followed much of it, at the time. Didn’t seem all that important. 

Now, he’s kinda wishing he’d paid more attention. That way Donnie would have preemptively rationalized all of this away.  Or maybe, Leo’s wishing he’d paid less attention. So these errant thoughts wouldn’t keep cropping up in the first place.

Knowing they’d successfully altered one set of future events had done his anxious tendencies no favors. 

Nor did it help soothe this ache deep in his chest that flared up everytime he caught the way you and Donnie smiled at each other. It didn’t stop Leo from thinking, every time, that should have been him.

You’d run into him first. He was the one who decided to extend the Hamato clan hand of friendship. Donnie had wanted nothing to do with you. Content in the status quo they’d all found themselves in. 

So how was it that Donnie was the one you ended up with?

With a loud groan Leo scrubbed at his face with his hands. He hated this. Thinking like this. Feeling like this. 

Donnie was happy. You were happy. Shouldn’t Leo be happy and content because of that? 

Shouldn’t that be all that mattered?

Instead here he was hiding away in his room like a petulant child because he couldn’t stand another second of hearing you giggle at something Donnie’d said or accidentally catch another glimpse of the two of you happily in each other’s space. 

What had Donnie done right that Leo hadn’t?

It should have been him.

[aforgottenthing]

Tragedy enjoyers when there’s not one, not two, but three combinations of tragic relationships at the center of the narrative AND they’re bisexual

[chimerical-daydreams]

who in the polycule could pull off fishnets, a croptop and a miniskirt all at once?

I think there is only one correct answer.

[mangokabuto]

i love your polyamory chart for the strawhats! The part where the art updates for after the time skip where it says "usopp is a whore now" made me laugh

That man is a whore I believe it in my heart <3

(context: modern au, they're at a house party playing a drinking game)

[tanoroe]

variations of this bc it fits all of them too well lmao

[transingthoseformers]

That one "who did this :)" lipstick TikTok but with Optimus, Elita, Megatron, and Jazz :3

[the-meme-monarch]

four kings who ruled together huh. had no queens hm. they have kids you say.

cards are by kanotynes (on twitter and tumblr i think !) and i got the image from here, and ofc i got the sprite off spriters resource

[reaperlight]

Eddie: We have a problem.

Cletus: No, y'all have a problem. I have a pair of idiots who keeps making 'em.

[stanley-the-coolest]

Guys..

Its up…

GO READ IT

[anaceshornyblog]

I just think that Jon would like really clear expectations during sex. He wants to get a good grade and he needs to know the rubric okay?

I think Sasha picks up on this and because she is the same, and they meticulously plan their dynamics out.

Only Sasha is the one who is doing the asking because communicating is not Jon’s strong point. Still after many, many surveys, which are both extremely detailed and mortifying to fill out, she has compiled all the information. There’s a whole chart.

Just let these two eye babies have very clear guidelines and rules so that they can both just have fun with no unknown expectations.

[thetreehousechronicles]

Wally & Kuki End Up Together Story (before the polycule)

Wally and Kuki’s story all comes down to the tree. They lived close to each other, and between their houses stood their tree—the place where they first met, where they always gravitated toward, their unspoken safe space. So when Kuki had her heart broken by Ace, the player she thought genuinely liked her, it made sense that’s where Wally found her. She was hurt, upset, and trying to process that she had just been another name on his list. Wally, furious at Ace but more focused on Kuki, did what he could—he listened, he stayed, and even though comforting people wasn’t his strong suit, somehow, he made her feel better. But as they sat together, he realized something—he didn’t just care about Kuki. He liked her. He always had. He wanted to tell her, needed to, but every time he tried, the words got stuck. Kuki, noticing his struggle, tried to help, but Wally knew he’d never be able to say it. So, instead of confessing, he did the only thing he could—he kissed her. No words, no hesitation, just action. A kiss that left no room for doubt, no space for second-guessing. And that? That was how Wally and Kuki finally got together.

[3cosmicfrogs]

back to yelling into the void about my niexu(lan) bullshit

time is a circle you cannot escape (i am making it so)

[gingerteaonthetardis]

ThreeRose and cozy maybe? 😳

hm... perhaps writing about rose tyler and liz shaw in the same room during my most favorite bisexual classic who era has fixed me? this is a bit of a long one. please enjoy.

[read on AO3] [prompt me!]

The Doctor chose to blame the Brigadier, of course, given that very little was allowed to be his fault. Only in matters of supreme cosmic importance—Rose had often noticed and remarked upon this—did he enthusiastically drag the responsibility square onto his own shoulders and insist on keeping it there.

It was a trait almost as endearing as it was infuriating.

But when it came to practicalities, such as, “Did you actually ask about rooms while Liz and I were out chasing the escaped Cryptons, or did you just interrogate the poor bartender?” the answer was almost always something like, “Well, what do we even bother with UNIT for if they don't take care of room and board, Rose? Tell me that!”

The result was the same, however, regardless of who took the blame: the four of them had been left out in the cold—figuratively speaking—for the night. No rooms to let, and nowhere else in the postage stamp-sized town to ride out what was sure to be a long, rainy night. Only through Rose’s efforts and the barman's good grace were they being allowed to pass the hours, however sleeplessly, in the shelter of the pub which made up the bottom floor of the Wolf & Badger.

Fortunately, they had managed to secure—and retain—a comfortable corner booth and a steady supply of drinks. Or rather, Rose had done. By buttering up said barman, who had been quite friendly to her even before she slipped a stack of bills across the bartop.

Her UNIT salary was good for something, at least.

Viewed from any angle, the booth was the best seat in the house: just the right distance from the hearth to keep everyone warm without overheating, but secluded enough that they could talk in relative privacy. Not too far from the bartender either—named Lewis, Rose reported back, Lewis Badger, as in Wolf & Badger; he had two daughters, a Cocker Spaniel named Katrina, and a passion for model trains. She was thrilled to report he poured quite generously.

On top of the comfort factor, the window just behind Liz's head allowed them a clear view of the street, in case any more Cryptons came toddling through the square before the rest of the UNIT convoy could arrive. Their ETA, according to the Brigadier, was sometime around dawn.

Which meant they just had to hang on—Rose reached over and checked the Brigadier’s watch—about five more hours.

She'd never particularly looked forward to sleeping in the back of a UNIT service Jeep, but she'd done it before, and by god, she planned to do it again.

“Miss Tyler,” drawled the Brigadier, withdrawing his wrist from her grasp, “I'm afraid your constant examinations of my timepiece will lead you to the same conclusion all sane people inevitably reach: time does not speed up simply because you wish it.”

He frowned as he spoke—he was always frowning at her, always furrowing his brow and calling her “Miss Tyler” while Liz got the “my dear” treatment.

She was never sure whether she ought to be insulted or flattered by his presumed deference. It seemed to stem largely from her existence as the Doctor’s “plus one,” a factor placing her firmly outside the normal UNIT hierarchy. But the Brigadier carried on calling her “Miss Tyler,” as if the formality alone could make her in some capacity “official,” and therefore less of a thorn in his stiff, well-starched side.

To his credit, it had sort of worked. Eventually. She was a consultant now, like Liz.

Next to her, the Doctor sat up a little straighter, and she stifled a smile. She’d been lost in her thoughts, but she still ought to have known he couldn’t let such a generalised assertion from his old friend stand.

Now you've done it, Alistair.

“Actually, Brigadier, I think you're wrong about that,” the Doctor pronounced with typical paternalistic glee. “There are certain corners of reality where wishes have immense power—power enough to shape the entire universe, bending time and space to the rules of that wish. They're called Spero Quadrants. Highly rare.”

The name sounded distantly familiar, and she squinted through the haze of her memory. “Hang on, we’ve been to one of those. Couple… hundred years ago?”

The Brigadier’s eyebrows arched expressively. “Hundred years?”

“She's older than she looks,” the Doctor replied, patting her arm with affection before visibly noticing her empty pint glass.

He hadn't so much as touched his own drink, but that was hardly surprising. Her alien often claimed he didn’t understand the human preoccupation with intoxication, though she did recall certain… rather lushy moments in their jumbled up future-past. She was nonetheless charmed by how swiftly he switched his full glass for hers, tossing her a smile and a wink along the way.

“Now, as for Spero Quadrants,” he went on, “they are a relatively new phenomenon—on the scale of the universe, I mean. Been around maybe a few hundred million years or so. Typically, they are religious in origin, but they've evolved mostly away from—”

“Hang on,” Liz piped up, finally taking an interest in the conversation. “That's nonsense.”

Though her voice was slightly slurred, it was not by drink. Of all of them, Liz was the least night-owlish; she’d once confessed to Rose that her preferred routine, when the Doctor wasn't mucking it up, often had her in bed by half past nine and rising again about five in the morning. Given the lateness of the hour and the longness of the day, Liz was just starting to become charmingly sleepy. Rose grinned.

Meanwhile, the Doctor was making a show of being affronted. “What's nonsense?”

He took great care to foster their endearingly adversarial relationship, Rose always noticed with a smile. It was important to him. Liz was something like the retro Scully to his extraterrestrial Mulder—that is, if Mulder and Scully had played with lab equipment and were more prone to fits of schoolgirlish laughter.

“All of it! It's patently ridiculous. If such places existed and were as powerful as you say,” Liz said, getting into it a little, sloe-eyed stare refilling with its usual keen light, “surely one poorly thought out wish would have undone the entire fabric of reality by now!”

“My dear girl,” replied the Doctor—really, had he and the Brigadier gotten some sort of pet name memo or something? “I did mention that they are rare. And you'll recall I also said ‘change,’ not ‘destroy’! Spero Quadrants are by no means lawless, anarchic places. In fact—”

“Oi, this is our table!”

The entire party looked up at the interruption, which came in the form of a wiry, totally inoffensive but also truly drunk man in a tweed waistcoat. He was scowling fit to set his face that way, and had thumped his hands down on their table as he spoke, violently rattling their glasses.

The Brigadier, who was closest to the man, reacted first. “I beg your pardon?” His moustache twitched.

The drunk man didn’t recognise what Rose knew to be a clear warning shot.

“You heard me,” the stranger hurled back. His weight leaned heavily on his arms, as if he needed the table’s support to keep him upright. “S’our table. Best seat in the house—”

“Hear, hear!” Liz agreed, lifting up a pint glass that was very much not hers. Probably one of the Brigadier’s. Rose snickered.

But he wasn’t done. “You nicked it hours back and we’ve waited our turn, but it’s our regular table, we sit here every Wednesday, you know! We’re good, regular cust’mers,” he said, stretching the word regular to epic proportions, chewing on it like it ought to contain more syllables in its gristle. “Not like you lot. So, now—now—th-the fellows and I figure you’d best be going!” The man punctuated his point with an accusing finger and an intense wobble. “‘Cause it’s ours!”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that several times,” the Doctor drily replied. “My good man, I really think you ought to sit down now.”

The man merely blinked.

“I think that’s what he’s trying to do,” Rose pointed out. “And there’s no reason he shouldn’t—actually, shift,” and she wiggled closer to Liz, tugging the Doctor’s sleeve, “there’s plenty of room for one more. Maybe two, if we squeeze in. It’ll be a bit snug—”

“Miss Tyler,” cut in the Brigadier, “I hardly think that’s—”

“Don’t be rude, Brigadier! The man just wants a minute with his special table. It is nice, with the fire and everything. Very intimate. Here,” and she smirked to see Liz already snuggling up beside the Brigadier, uncomplaining, her drowsy head tipping toward his shoulder. “There you go. Nice and comfortable. Doctor?”

But she didn’t need to say a word. The Doctor, too, had wedged himself in closer beside her, right where the booth began to curve. His eyes twinkled with repressed amusement as he draped an arm around her shoulders under the guise of squeezing in. Velvet tickled the back of her neck.

But no such joy from the Brigadier. “Doctor!” His moustache was really going now, his brows hanging like blades about to come down on some unlucky bloke’s head. “Would you please—”

“Now, now, dear Brigadier. Rose is right. We needn’t be stingy with our good fortune. Come,” and the Doctor patted the seat beside him, looking back at the drunk man, “rest your weary bones a minute, sir, you look as if you’re about to tip over.”

The confusion in the man’s eyes was a sight to behold. He couldn’t seem to settle on where to look—at the sanguine expression Rose wore while she curled up to the Doctor, or at the glowering Brigadier, or at Liz, nestled comfortably between the former and the latter, looking for all the world as drunk as he. “Is this some sort of a joke?” he said, with a note of accusation. “I said we want it to our-selves, not to share with a load of—”

“Steady on, mate,” Rose interrupted briskly. “I’ve smacked men for less.”

The Doctor nodded. “She really has.” He couldn’t seem to help sounding admiring, which further widened her smile.

“Remember King Markitron? God, he was just begging for it, with all that robot overlord stuff.”

“I do remember that, quite clearly,” the Doctor replied with a smirk. “Still, it was a lovely visit. Not exactly right for a romantic outing, but I’ve always found a sun-soaked sapient revolution quite stimulating—”

“Good Lord,” the Brigadier sighed, head falling into his hands. Rose hid her laugh in the lapel of the Doctor’s coat.

“Look, are you going to sit down or not?” the Doctor asked, returning his attention once more to their drunken interruptor. “We haven’t got all night—or, rather, we do have all night, but I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind, and you’ll answer them better when you look a little less green.”

“He does look ill,” Liz observed, yawning in a rather loud, squeaking way that plainly embarrassed her. “Sorry.”

“It’s perfectly all right, my dear.” The Doctor said warmly, while Rose reached over, giving Liz’s hand a comforting squeeze. “It is rather late, and you’ve had a dreadfully long day. Most upright citizens would be in bed by now! Luckily for us, this man appears quite the fellow degenerate. Now, where was I? Yes,” he nodded, “my first question is: if there was one thing you could wish for—one thing in all the world, with no limitations—I’m trying to prove a point—what would it be, sir? What would be your greatest desire?”

And that seemed to be the final straw for the man. His glassy eyes grew wide in his flushed face, and he shook his head rapidly before pushing off the table with a stagger. “You’re all sick,” he croaked, looking between them all again, at their various states of interconnectedness. “And quite possibly mad!”

“Quite possibly,” the Brigadier glumly agreed.

“Perhaps you’d better save yourself,” Rose suggested.

And just like that, the stranger was stumbling off, back to his already dispersing group of friends. He kept shooting them furtive glances while slipping on his rain coat and mumbling what she assumed were virulent oaths to his friends, but it went no further than that. The other men barely seemed to have noticed his absence, let alone the loss of their “regular table.”

However, even once he was gone, neither Rose, Liz, or the Doctor made any effort to move. Except in the shoulder region: both Rose and the Doctor’s began to shake with laughter that couldn’t completely be held back.

“The poor man,” Rose giggled. “I think we really frightened him.”

“Oh, yes, quite. There is nothing as terrifying as a warm welcome!”

“Was that your plan?” the Brigadier accused Rose. “Repelling flies with honey?”

“Don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” she shrugged, “but a little friendliness goes a long way.”

“Well said! It is a lesson you could stand to learn, Brigadier,” the Doctor needled, though his smile was only growing wider. He so loved to disconcert the man.

“I am perfectly capable of achieving my aims in a given social situation.” The Brigadier all but turned up his nose at them, as if they would be fools for thinking otherwise. “Though my methods are less… uncouth than Miss Tyler’s, they are equally effective.”

“So, you agree!” Rose teased with another laugh. “I am effective.”

His eyes glinted. “And brash. And impulsive.”

“Well, I have to take my compliments where I can get them, don’t I, Alistair?” She preened a little when his lips quirked—there was the twinge of humour he was rumoured to possess—and leaned back even further into the Doctor’s embrace.

Between his body and the fire, she was nice and settled now. She hardly minded the ache beginning in her back from sitting so long after all the running she’d done earlier. And the company was good, even if diminishing by the moment.

She watched Liz’s head give a final slump toward the Brigadier, who seemed resigned—in fact, not entirely upset—to be playing her pillow. His eyes kept darting down to the amber crown of her head and then away again, lips pressing and uncompressing. Something warmed in her chest.

“He didn’t allow me to prove my point,” the Doctor said absently.

Rose peered up at him, reaching to comb her fingers through his hair. “And what was your point, my darling, big-brained alien?” Across the table, Alistair cleared his throat, but she just tossed him a grin. She really must have been more tired than she felt; her mind and muscles were all sort of lax, and she was feeling terribly endeared to everybody. “That if wishes were fishes, we’d all swim in riches?”

The Doctor looked quite amused. “No, my love.” Ah, sod the memo. She was really doing just fine, wasn’t she? “We’ll try it again with Miss Shaw. Liz, my dear girl, are you awake?”

“Yes, Doctor,” came the muddled reply.

“I pose the same question to you that I posed earlier: what would you wish for, right now, if you could wish for anything?”

Liz’s eyes opened, and though they held weariness, they were still impressively thoughtful. “Well, seeing how I’ve no wish to unravel the very fabric of the universe,” she emphasised, “I think I’d wish… to be in my own bed, with my own soft sheets…” She turned her head into Alistair’s shoulder and sighed happily. “And pillows. Fluffy pillows.”

Rose’s eyes met the Brigadier’s, and she shook her head, smiling.

“And you, Brigadier?”

“I don’t see what the use—”

“Come now,” the Doctor said, rather softly. “If you could wish for anything.”

There was a brief pause in which she thought Alistair might try to argue again. But then his gaze again turned to Liz, and to his pint glass, which was nearly empty now. Then to the fire, just off to the side. It crackled merrily, casting its warm light over the whole of the table. She realised he was giving the question serious consideration.

“The same sort of thing, I suppose,” he answered gruffly, after a few moments. “Maybe health and happiness for my family. I know the decent thing is to wish for peace in our time, the end of all wars and all that…” For about half a second, he actually looked quite sheepish. “But mostly I wish to end my career in good standing, reputation intact, without some new alien menace blowing up decades of work.”

The three with eyes still open exchanged small, knowing smiles. It was a rather unlikely proposition, put that way—certainly worthy of a massive, cosmic wish.

“What of you, Rose? Do you remember what you wished for?”

“Galoshes,” she replied.

The Brigadier sputtered, but the Doctor looked delighted. “Really?”

“Yeah, galoshes and a rain kit. I’d just ruined mine on Elsignon. That whole big Sontaran invasion, you remember? Their lasers tore my jacket to ribbons. And we were a good million billion miles from the nearest M&S, so I just wished for galoshes and a new coat.” She turned to pat the glossy red rain coat hanging over the edge of the booth behind her. “I already had everything else I wanted.”

“You do talk such nonsense, Miss Tyler,” the Brigadier said, but she swore he sounded almost fond that time.

She nodded her head at him politely. “Why, thank you, Brigadier. What did you wish for, Doctor?”

“A little more than galoshes,” he answered with a laugh, nudging his thigh against hers. “We hadn’t been travelling together long, if you’ll remember.”

And she did; Rose remembered very clearly what an irritant she’d been to him back then. In what she came to find out was his first body, he had hardly any patience for her at all. But they’d still forged a kind of connection, however unlikely, she thought with a rush of fondness. Sometimes she even missed the old codger—always going on about samples and non-interference and where has Susan got to?

“At the time,” the Doctor went on, “I found your presence most… how can I say it? Vexing.”

Alistair cleared his throat again. “A wholly unique experience, I’m sure.” She kicked him underneath the table—not hard, barely more than a nudge—but of course, he was far too mature to respond in kind. Still, his lips twitched again. Victory.

“I was so ‘vexing’ you tried to wish me away?”

“Not exactly. I wished—and I remember this precisely—I wished that you would ‘find the place you were looking for, the place you truly belonged, so you could bloody well leave off and stop bothering me’!” His impression of himself was spot-on, almost eerily so, though she couldn’t imagine that past body using such language.

She must have been a much greater annoyance than even she’d guessed.

“Oh, lovely,” she mock-sulked. “Ta, Doctor, that’s really nice.”

“Good luck that the wish came true. Albeit… not in the way I expected.” Turning his head, he brushed an uncharacteristically subdued kiss across her hairline. She leaned into it, enjoying its gentle pressure, and for once, there was no throat-clearing from the Brigadier. Then the Doctor said, “That’s the point, isn’t it? Most people don’t really make reality-destroying wishes. It’s all home and comfort, maybe a bit of a better life. The removal of some inconvenience in their way. And let us remember that it is already the nature of all things to change, even—as our sluggish friend puts it—the very fabric of reality. Most wishes are for things which might have come true anyway. They are a selection of one potential option on a massive, cosmic buffet of possibility.

“Of course, there are exceptions… many exceptions,” he added solemnly, “and consequences, and those have to be dealt with when they come. But for the most part, those who stumble upon a Spero Quadrant—for they cannot be sought, that's a very important thing to remember, they can only be found—most of those people come up against a similar problem to the Brigadier, or to you, Rose. They cannot think of a meaningful wish which does not carry with it an implicit risk or danger. Or they cannot think on a grand enough scale, for every species is in some way myopic. Limited, no matter how advanced. Sometimes, they simply fear the prospect of getting what they want.” The hand draped over her shoulder flicked up to tweak her ear. “So even though they could have anything in the universe, they wish for galoshes.”

At that, the table fell into thoughtful silence, with only the background bustle of the closing pub for accompaniment. The sound of dishes being washed, of glasses being put on shelves. Most of the regular customers had gone away; Lewis was only really keeping the lights and the taps on for their sakes, and with that knowledge came a certain sense of shared isolation. Almost like sneaking into a school after dark. The rain outside continued pouring down, and here they were, inside their little pocket of warmth and light and friendship.

Rose wasn’t at all sure of the Doctor's logic. But she couldn't help thinking about the nature of his wish, too—even at his most frustrated, he'd wanted her to find true belonging. That she might find it with him, on the TARDIS and off, alongside all his many varied and wonderful companions, had never occurred to him; it hadn't been a possibility he'd known to anticipate.

So perhaps he was right. About wishes. About the fundamental desires of most beings. Were they really for small things? For warmth and comfort and a bit of peace?

Those things probably weren’t, on the whole, very extravagant or dangerous.

A little longer and she realised she'd been staring at the Brigadier’s hands where they rested on the table. He didn't fidget, just kept his palm calmly on his glass. When she glanced up at his face, he was holding eyes with the Doctor, midway through some kind of silent communication.

At any other time, she might have wondered what was being conveyed—but she found herself too sated and comfortable to give it much thought. Their mysterious exchanges could continue for another day without her interrogation.

“This isn’t so bad, is it, really?” the Doctor finally said, jostling her somehow impossibly closer. She could hear one of his heartbeats, feel it under her cheek. “It’s quite cosy.”

“Very. Don’t think I’d wish for anything.” She hummed sleepily. “You, Alistair?”

“No, Rose,” came the answer, rippling faint surprise over her body. Her eyes grew wider, and she watched him try and fail to repress his amusement at her reaction. A smile living mostly in the eyes. “Not a thing.” The Doctor’s hand found hers and squeezed.

Just a beat too late, Liz mumbled out a fuzzy, “Hear, hear!”

And for a while after that, the only sounds were their muffled laughter and shushing, the rearranging of limbs toward mutual comfort, and the snapping logs in the fireplace, while the rain outside drummed steadily towards the morning.

[chimerical-daydreams]

Oh the sand was glorious, now I want to know How does the red of SILK react to/feel about King emotional support sand

OUR emotional support sand 🤝

And Isabeau is too embarrassed to say that he really likes the accent his partners share. So melodic, so nice.

[ms-all-sunday]

theres a post going around that says usopp is sanjis narrative foil and i would agree with that. and on twitter mango said oh it applies to all five of them. as an expert in writing all five of them going by the definition on Wikipedia i would agree. like hello?

this is literally The Reason i think writing all five of them is more articulate than writing a two person pairing is because their characters are all uniquely highlighted in their 4 relationships. they become more of a person the more they interact with eachother because oda uses their 4 relationships to highlight the different people they are to eachother and therefore they become more of a human being to the audience and not overly static.