#two cakes theory etc etc

[melodious-madrigals]

does the world need another buddie timeloop fic? absolutely not! am i maybe writing it anyways? no comment

[pillow-anime-talk]

sassy but classy.

request: how would hisoka, chrollo, kurapika and killua react to a dominant and possessive reader? they would like to? and i mean in every way lol, everyday life and nsfw

# tags: headcanons; current relationship or friendship; romance; kind of fluff, i guess; a bit of comedy; dominant!reader; sfw (for killua) & nsfw

warnings: mention of sex or sexual activities, dom!reader, bdsm, spanking, biting, etc.

includes: gender neutral reader ft. hisoka morow & chrollo lucilfer, kurapika kurta & killua zoldyck {hxh}

— HISOKA

→ sfw ←

↘ He loves it. Ever since you first met, he was charmed by your dominance over the opponent you were currently fighting. Your movements were fluid, fast, confident. You weren’t afraid to put your life on the line, and all you dreamed about was an increasing pool of money and a higher level in the Arena. Hisoka appreciated your determination, enthusiasm, will to win, and jealousy when the audience cheered your opponent’s name. So naturally, he invited you to dinner to learn all your secrets and much more about you.

↘ In a relationship, you are like two volcanoes ready to erupt at any moment; after all, you both have similar personalities, so frequent arguments are commonplace between you; despite this, you can’t imagine your everyday life without the other person. After all, dominance means competition, and you love to compete.

→ nsfw ←

↘ Up until now, regardless of whether it was a woman or a man, Hisoka had always been dominant in bed. Since he met you, however, he has come to understand the taste of submission and from time to time he agrees to let you dominate during sex. He even likes it, especially when you use your ability to levitate objects on him and restrict his movements with string or other materials.

— CHROLLO

→ sfw ←

↘ He had rarely seen dominant women in his life; of course, there were sometimes quarrelsome or jealous ones, but he had never seen a person as quarrelsome as you. It was an intriguing novelty that appeared in his life. You met naturally during a walk in one of the distant towns by the sea. It was a beautiful day interspersed with hot weather. Then he noticed a man shouting at his wife, but before he reacted, he just heard your strong and confident voice saying that ‘what right did he have to shout at this petite woman who was holding a child in her arms’. In the blink of an eye, your posture, cold gaze and tone of voice made the unknown man become as tiny as a crumb of cake. He quickly apologized for the trouble and promised his wife to improve. This impressed Chrollo.

↘ He was curious about your other abilities, so naturally he congratulated you on your attitude and defense of the weaker. Then he suggested coffee, and after a long time, joining the Troupe.

→ nsfw ←

↘ There is a grain of truth in the theory that people who rule others – CEOs of large companies, members of the mafia, prosecutors or doctors – like to be ruled. You found out about this in the bedroom when, during your first sexual intercourse, you did not allow Chrollo to kiss and play with your nipples. He, like an obedient dog, apologized, and you decided to take it much further and much harder, and your partner clearly did not mind, quite the opposite.

— KURAPIKA

→ sfw ←

↘ You met among the Zodiacs as the Rat and the Boar. Your strong aura could be felt from the other side of the room, and your gaze was firmly focused on your goal, the documents. You paid no attention to anyone else, diligently studying the words and signs. Only when Kurapika greeted you, you look at him with a cloudy gaze expressing dominance and determination. He hadn’t seen someone so strongly rooted in their beliefs in a long time, so your person charmed him very much. Although at first he was afraid that there would be a quarrel between you over personalities.

↘ He is still getting used to your jealousy and dominance towards strangers. He feels small and defenseless around you, and he probably last experienced this feeling during the Kurt Clan, when his parents took care of him and taught him how to live. It’s a completely new, but intriguing feeling.

→ nsfw ←

↘ Kurapika lost his virginity with you and was very happy about it, because you directed him perfectly and in a way that was best for both of you. Sex with you often focused on him, although your pleasure was also key to achieving full satisfaction. Your dominant and confident side matched Kurapika’s tastes in this aspect, so every intercourse was at a high level of pleasure. It was truly high quality time.

— KILLUA

→ sfw ←

↘ Killua has an aversion to dominant people, and that’s all because of his own family. That’s why when you first met and he felt the same aura that he had always felt from his grandfather, father and Illumi, and he had no intention of getting to know you better. However, everything changed the moment you were the only one who protected Killua from his older brother by starting a verbal argument between the two of you. Killua was shocked by your contempt, determination, and zero fear in his heart. Shortly after that situation, he apologized to you for prematurely judging you, and then as an apology, he took you to the Arcade so you could play games.

↘ So your friendship was no longer focused on thinking about your similarity to Killua’s family, but on the two of you. You complemented each other perfectly; Killua seemed to be calmer in crisis situations, composed, while you were temperamental, jealous, and explosive. When strength was needed, there was you, when calculation was needed, there was Kill.

[scalefeathers]

Thinking once again about how Nobuo Uematsu and Masayoshi Soken are both completely amazing composers but in completely opposite directions let me explain

Disclaimer I am not a music theorist; most of music theory is black fucking magic to me. I barely know what a chord is and the circle of fifths makes me quake as though before an Elder God. I just really like both of their works and sometimes I have thoughts about things. Also this is all just my opinion, it's fine if you don't agree, etc.

So: Uematsu is first and foremost, in my opinion, an absolute master of melody. I believe it's what makes his work so iconic and makes so many of his pieces so instantly recognizable. The Final Fantasy theme, the chocobo theme, Dancing Mad, Vamo'alla Flamenco, fucking One-Winged Angel--Just from seeing those names, you've probably got one playing in your head already. You could start humming it right now. Maybe you are already.

And it makes perfect sense when you consider the era he was working in, because back in the 8-bit and 16-bit era, the melody was all you had. When you have such a tiny amount of storage space to work with, you can really play only one, maybe two notes at a time. You can't do anything that's layered, because you only have one layer to work with. I think that's why so much video game music from that era is so memorable and iconic. It's not just because you played so much Street Fighter II when you were a kid that the music is indelibly seared into your brain (though that probably doesn't hurt); it's also because Yoko Shimomura wrote really solid melodies that had nothing else competing for your aural attention (apart from the in-game sound effects, which are probably also seared into your memory). (Yoko Shimomura, btw, also composed the music for Final Fantasy XV, the entire Kingdom Hearts series, and like 50 other games over the past 40 years, another fucking icon).

But back to Uematsu: like I said, melodic genius. Even when his work is upscaled into full orchestral arrangements, that core melody is always front and center. And his affinity for melody makes even more sense when you consider that before he got into video game composing, he was writing commercial jingles. (Younger folks may not be aware, but there was a time when practically every product had to have its own theme song, and the best ones were short, snappy, and instantly memorable--and for that, again, you need a strong, simple melody. Ba da ba ba ba, I'm lovin' it.)

Compare: Soken. Soken only started at Square 12 years after Uematsu, which isn't that long in human terms (to me at least, cos I'm old), but it is a long fuckin' time in video game years. By the time he started composing for games, there was so much more you could do with game music in terms of layering, complexity, and sound, and you can tell from his work that he takes full advantage of that. His work is complex and dense, a rich layer cake of themes and motifs, all beautifully merging and weaving together, often to extraordinary effect.

And again, if you look at his pre-music career, it makes a lot of sense that he'd have that approach to music, because he first got into the games industry as a sound designer; I believe that he is the sound director for all the FFXIV expansions, as well as being the composer. So of course he'd be very aware of not just how a sound (or piece of music) works on its own, but of how it fits into the greater whole, and of how to layer and balance lots of different sounds to create something greater than the sum of its parts. And of course it makes sense that he'd bring that approach to his compositions as well.

As a consequence of this approach, though, his music often lacks the memorable melodies that characterize Uematsu's work. Like, I ground (grinded?) Dun Scaith a lot the last time it was on the Mogstone rotation, I know all the boss themes extremely well and can recognize each of them instantly. But if you asked me right now to hum one? I don't think I could. (This isn't a deficiency, to be clear; music doesn't need a prominent core melody in order to be good.)

And that's also not to say that all his music lacks iconic melodies. His vocal tracks, pretty much by definition, have to put a single melody front and center; and then on top of that (or rather, behind it), you have all that trademark Soken richness and depth. Which is probably also why his vocal tracks go so fucking hard.

I think that's also why, out of all the expansions, I like Heavensward's music the best. Most of Heavensward's score is written by Soken, but the main theme is Uematsu's, and you may notice it's basically a tasting menu of like 5 or 6 excellent, very recognizable melodies, one right after the other. And basically every piece on the Heavensward soundtrack incorporates one or more of these melodies. So it really does give you the best of both worlds, and gives the overall score a cohesion that I don't see as much with the other expansions.

TL;DR, Uematsu and Soken are both amazing composers with very different and complimentary styles that reflect their differing backgrounds and the different eras of games in which they have worked and I just think that's neat.

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2, Hangs on a double meaning - Answering why .5 + .5 = 25 lazerii *The end?*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The end?

Welcome to the end of the Bonkers Meta Series featuring your favourite Art Director/Clue detective. This is it! I'm going to wrap up this series as well as I can with what I think really happened, the final 15 and why Crowley says the things he says. Meta, Spoilers, Beware! All that. “Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don't let you go around again until you get it right.” 

If you've read my Metatron post you'll know that I thought there were *at least* two time loops with tweaks to achieve different outcomes, seeing as we seemed to be presented with two versions of events a lot of the time, two similar lines of dialogue, double meanings for lines etc etc. If you want a really good recap of a lot of the Clues that have already been compiled already you can go through them here. Yesterday I added my own : The columns in front of the bookshop get stained by a demon, and the stain stays and goes. But why do we care?

Here's my final thesis using the context I'll put together below :

The Metatron is changing the past and the present on earth using the book of life. He's forced a time loop of the last few days at least 50 times over a period of (realtime) months to get the outcome he wants : the separation of Aziraphale and Crowley to allow him to complete the second coming. It only worked once. Let me explain.

1) Not time skips, but stitched loops

My theory about the columns goes like this : a demon touches the right column in the attack on the bookshop, and dirties it. The problem is, in every episode we get multiple versions of the column that are dirtier or cleaner. Why? Because a demon has been touching that column in *more or less* the same place and getting it dirty over time, but the effects on the bookshop only layer every loop and reset, instead of being erased. The layering aspect is super important and I'll get back to it. For now, if we take it that the column gets dirtier over many loops, we now know what we are seeing : a bunch of different time loops stitched together to create a sense of time moving forward in a way that we can understand the story, but that skip forward and backward through the loops. Cleaner column = earlier loop. Here's discussion about clock hands if you want evidence, some even saying the hour hand seems to be going backwards in the first episode or the last, or even that the minute and hour hands must be backwards to make sense. If we think of time skipping ever forward and actions getting deleted (as some have said), then clocks going backwards makes no sense. But if we think about it as a time loop where things and actions are ever being tweaked and changed, then OF COURSE the times won't make sense anymore. People don't show up at the same time if they don't do the same thing they did before. The biggest time discrepancies I've seen in a single scene are A) Crowley's phone and watch being an hour apart in S2E1 and B) Inside the bookshop between Gabriel's fly flashback in S2E6 and him and Beez holding hands, there's an hour difference on the clock. I think that by the time we get to very late loops, some things are happening up to an hour later in the day. A simple example we are shown up top is the Eccles cakes. They are there in the first part of S2E1, but then they are no longer there somewhere along the way. In the first loop we see an ordering action/receiving Eccles cakes action, which takes *longer* than just not doing that and going straight to the shop, so that loop will be slightly later. It gets infinitely more complicated the more loops you are looking at, and we have at least 50 of them. How do I know that?

2) A 25 lazerii miracle

If we know that effects on the bookshop are cumulative and don't reset (because columns), then let's try this idea on for size : Aziraphale and Crowley have been performing the same half miracles on the same spot for 50+* loops, and each times they are layering and getting stronger. .5 demon + .5 angel = .5 angelic miracle x 50*ish loops = 25 lazerii miracle goes off in heaven on the latest loop. Shax then confronts Crowley in his car about a mighty miracle, so we're in a loop here where we've layered quite a lot, but not the last loop because he still has the original glasses/ *but also* Crowley's sideburns are long. Compare it to the scene directly after, and how sunny and bright it is. We're in a later loop and and earlier loop simultaneously.

3) Crowley's been testing So I've been searching for a *reason* that Crowley wears a turtleneck in S2E2 and thren new glasses and changes sideburns, and he seems to be up to some pretty crafty spy stuff, seeing as 1) he seems thrilled by it, and 2) he won't shut up about it (How will our hero cope? Jane Austen, nasty piece of work, master spy) There's also this Clue :

Crowley has a secret, as we know everyone with their hands deliberately in their pocket does in the series. I think Crowley knows before Aziraphale that something is wrong, because he's getting little snippets of memory and feeling, and so he's going off to try and change things about himself, the Bentley and the shop to remind himself in the next loop and leave himself clues or change outcomes if he fails to escape. In the early loops it seems like a fun spy mission, but by the end he's pretty tired and jaded that he doesn't seem to be making any headway on his own.

It *also* explains him throwing books and canapés on the floor in the bookshop to see if it changes in other versions. The problem being that Gabriel keeps cleaning everything up and reorganizing the titles to Crowley can't tell if it's his system or not. (lolsob)

It makes this line seem like he can't fit the loop pieces together anymore, and is trying to make headway without any information, rather than a pre-fall reference.

And this line probably much later in the loops (New sunglasses, long sideburns) :

Okay so! To recap : Everyone gets reset every time, and they make different choices because of past and present edits. But, most heavenly and hellish things don't obey earth laws, and therefore things like miracles start layering, and memories start seeping through the loops. (Point 4 is optional but absolutely hilarious, so I'd like to think it's worth speculating about)

4. The flaw in The Metatron's plan

There's a huge flaw in The Metatron's plan however, and it's that Heaven and Hell don't work like earth does. He's spent so many loops trying to get the result he wants, that he doesn't know that something crazy is *also* happening in hell. Every loop, Shax is emptying out the legions of demons until they barely have enough low level lackeys to go up at all. Hell is understaffed because no new people come into hell in the loop from earth, and they're sending all the demons that aren't subject to the reset into battle. This isn't a negotiation, it's a montage.

So the attack on the bookshop isn't one attack, but waves, and the waves get less powerful each loop. Stitched loops would also explain why Shax now hands Crowley his mail again in the last attack after *just* handing it to him on the park bench, like, 4 days ago in an earlier loop.

I don't have evidence for this directly, but if The Metatron put Maggie together with Nina successfully only in the last few loops, then she's fighting in the bookshop only a few times, and doesn't invite the demons in any other times, which might be why the only evidence is the column, and not books being ruined. But, it might also explain why the demon Eric gets discorporated a bunch of times in a row, he's doing it later and later in each loop. (These are kind of contradictory thoughts, I know.)

5. Aziraphale realizes too late. When I wrote part 4 of this series I was pretty awed by the fact that Aziraphale managed to figure out the Metatron was rewriting things after only hearing him say ONE LINE of dialogue. However after more thought, I think that he's been getting close to the truth a bunch of times by communicating with Crowley in previous loops. In each successive loop he tells Crowley later and later, and it's been getting them reset as punishment each time they figure it out together. By the end they barely communicate at all, because they can feel the danger. Watch his reaction here, in what we can assume is a *very late or last loop (because of the time on the clock)*

He stops himself from interrupting and telling Crowley something important he's just realized : that he's seen Gabriel and Beez get together before. "I know what this means..." 6. Saraqael is helping both sides without them knowing We see Saraquael helping Crowley immediately with the trial when she finds him in heaven. Why would she help Crowley without having ever met him before as a demon? The exchange of "Crowley I remember you, we worked on the Hosehead nebula together" and "I meet a lot of people, (*he doesn't say* I don't remember you)" is a code. They are both trying to communicate what they remember like spies on a bench in St.James park. Who recognizes who, who's trying to stop this madness. Maybe once Crowley gets to heaven this time he's seen multiple trials with multiple endings, and Saraquael has seen them too, I don't really know. BUT she's also communicating with Aziraphale at one point. Look at Saraqael in this scene again about the 25 lazerii miracle. She *remembers the book slap* and then the *looks* at Aziraphale in regards to Gabriel.

Yeah Gabriel, IT NEVER F*&?%ING WORKS IN ANY LOOP SO STOP DOING IT. - Saraquel, probably. Are Saraqael and Aziraphale testing later/earlier in the loops as well? Is this when the miracle was weaker? Who knows! 7. The Metatron job offer was many, many offers

It's really hard to tell with all the pieces of the puzzle moving around, but I think I can count 7 job refusal loops by Aziraphale in the last fifteen minutes. Here's a summary 1) Chinwag with Crowley in the room 2) We should go for a walk instead, here's a coffee 3) You don't have to answer immediately 4) Go tell you friend the good news (This is the important one), it's the last one where he tries to convince Crowley to come with him 5) I need to take care of my bookshop 6) The Metatron puts Muriel in charge of the bookshop, but Aziraphale wants to take something with him 7) Aziraphale straight up runs out to Crowley with "I think I-" 4, again) The Metatron takes him out of the bookshop. "Ready to start"?

Trying to screenshot all that would be insane, so just go rewatch it with all this in mind, and look at how the lighting changes inside of the bookshop and the jump cuts to different angles, and how his face resets every time. It's HEARTBREAKING. 8. The argument

I'm so blown away by the acting and writing (as well as the art direction) in this show, and it all comes to a head in the final argument. Many important lines have double meanings in series 2, because everyone is trying to speak in secret code to not get caught. Especially in the final loops.

In the last loops, we have an Aziraphale who is moving ever closer towards accepting the Metatron's offer, with the straw that broke the camel's back being he could restore Crowley as an angel**/save him; and Crowley who is moving ever farther away, by having to hide all of his Clue gathering, and confiding less and less to Aziraphale in each loop.

Check out the double meanings going on in this whole exchange if you consider that they are trying to save each other using secret codes neither one of them can hear. It's so shattering. Especially when you consider they've probably made it to this argument at least twice, and Crowley convinced him the first time. Why do I say that, you ask? 9. No Nightingales

Because I think Crowley remembers a loop where A Nightingale Sang was playing when they kissed, and Aziraphael didn't leave, but he knows they aren't in that version anymore. 10) I'm a demon, I lied. I'll probably post more abut the secondary characters because Shax, Furfur, Michael, Uriel and Nina etc all have roles to play, but for now, this is it.

----------------------------------------- Thanks so much for reading the gigantic post. If you disagree with my thoughts, or think this is terribly wrong, that's totally fine! I won't be offended. Without a real season 3, everything is just ether. Fingers crossed. I'd also like to thank The Ineffable Detective Agency, @embracing-the-ineffable, @cobragardens, @indigovigilance, @yowlthinks and more for inspiring me and feeding my brain with posts. *Loop numbers could actually be 25+ if you think that .5 demon mircales + .5 angelic miracles pour register as 1 whole miracle in heaven, I just didn't want to go into that in the main review. **The Metatron's meddling in the past seems to me trying very much to highlight to Aziraphale how *good* and righteous Crowley is, despite being a demon, in order to convince Aziraphale that joining him in heaven is a real possibility, and he should push for it.

[sunnyrealist]

Let's Talk about Sebastian's Parents

I recently needed to write about Mr. and Mrs. Sallow for my fanfic, and because there is very little information out there, I had to invent a lot of backstory as to who they were and what life was like for the Sallow family prior to their deaths.

I'm so curious to know what headcanons others in the fandom have created about them. It would be interesting if some of us had similar thoughts. If you're willing, would you share your own ideas via comment or reblog? Thanks!

I threw in a little preview above of one of my many commissions from @giselsann-opencommissions that I've been sitting on for quite some time. I don't usually post them until I get to the plot points they depict. This one is close enough - I'll show the entire thing real soon.

Before I get to my headcanons, this is what Hogwarts Legacy: The Official Game Guide has to say about Sebastian's parents (see last paragraph):

Here is the background I created for my fic:

Their names were Samuel and Selina (Ware) Sallow. Their family and friends called them Sam and Lina.

They were both pureblood and the same age.

They met at Hogwarts. Sam was in Slytherin, and Lina was in Ravenclaw.

When they were students, they were academic rivals - not "enemies," per se, but they were not exactly friends until they were assigned as partners for a project in Potions during their seventh year. They realized how similar they were and fell in love.

They got married very quickly after graduation but didn't have Anne and Sebastian until they were older (around 30).

The two of them eventually became teachers at Hogwarts. Sam taught Magical Theory (predecessor to Professor Fig), and Lina taught Defense Against the Dark Arts (predecessor to Professor Hecat). They were experts in their fields.

They moved to Aranshire when they became professors. I believe they lived in the spider house in Hogwarts Legacy (there's actually evidence to back this up). It was FILLED with books to the point that it was practically a library.

The cellar was their workspace, and the twins knew that when their parents were down there that they were not to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.

Both of the Sallows were incredibly studious and conducted a lot of research in their spare time. They sometimes teamed up to study particular subjects, such as defensive magical theory and love as a form of magic in its purest form. They didn't view Dark magic as inherently evil, just as everyday magic is not always perfectly good.

Mr. and Mrs. Sallow were quite lovey-dovey. Sebastian remembers them reading in front of the fireplace, engrossed in their own books, but always holding hands or touching. He also remembers being grossed out as a little boy by how often they would kiss.

Neither of them had big families, and just about all of their family members had passed by the time the twins were born. Solomon Sallow was their only living relative at the time of their deaths.

They took the twins to Hogwarts often during summer breaks, so they had a head start on learning the lay of the land and the school's curriculum. Sam and Lina had them read some of their textbooks prior to their first year so that they could get the most out of their education.

They wanted the twins to be well-rounded, so they taught them multiple languages. Lina considered music a language and taught them how to play piano. She also would sing them a song every night when she put them to bed.

Lina was exceptionally gentle, despite her interest in magical combat, Dark magic, Dark creatures, etc. She tended to coddle and fuss over the children. Every year on their birthday, she would bake a spice cake with vanilla icing. She was proficient in both Muggle and magical healing. Her nicknames for Sebastian and Anne were "little prince" and "little princess" - "the little twin rulers."

As far as looks, Sebastian takes after Lina, who had curly auburn hair and freckles. While Anne got a few of Lina's freckles, her hair is similar to Sam's.

Sam loved to give the twins sweets behind their mother's back. He had a distinct laugh and enjoyed reading stories aloud and "doing the voices." He taught the kids how to play Quidditch; he had once been a beater. When he traveled for his studies and would come home with unique artifacts and new information, he would share all of it with the twins in plain language, never talking down to them. I see Sam as an Atticus Finch kind of father.

Christmas was a simple affair. They'd have Uncle Solomon over for dinner, and he would leave pretty quickly after dessert (he and Sam were not close and disagreements were frequent). The twins were always gifted two items: a new book and something particularly interesting, useful, or coveted.

They liked animals and had an Old English Sheepdog named Endy (short for Endymion).

Again, I would love to hear your headcanons. Are yours similar or completely different from mine? Sound off in the comments or reblog! I love discussions like this.

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

[boobiestarplanet]

i kind of suspected this before, but the first two episodes of fionna and cake really cemented it in my mind, so here's my theory about fionna's world:

obviously simon wants some element of normalcy in his life. i refuse to believe he'd willingly participate in that "20th century man in his natural habitat" exhibit in the human city for any other reason. that's also 100% the feeling i got from that new rebecca sugar song. so i think fionna's world was created as sort of a manifestation of simon's desire to live a normal life. like he willed it into existence in a way. it explains the "glitches" in fionna's world — simon hasn't seen normal human society in over a thousand years; of course his impression of one would be a little off — as well as everyone being a reflection of someone in ooo. really, it explains everything: the gunther-looking penguin statues in front of the aquarium, the betty statue in the city park (based on the statue on his desk which he gave little red glasses like betty's), the only show on tv being cheers, etc. and of course this would be why cake literally jumps out of simon's head at the end of episode 2.

there's a very good chance this is obvious to everyone else and i look silly calling it just a theory, but i know a lot of people thought prior to the episodes' release that the world was formed from a prismo wish à la farmworld, so i thought i might as well post it :]

[brittle-doughie]

This might sound odd but like. Any ideas with a yandere milky way?

All Aboard (Milky Way Cookie)

I was careful on this one, as I can’t recall if Milky Way was a young cookie or an adult with a short height like Lilybell, Okchun, Roll Cake, etc. Feel free to tell me in replies!

You didn’t really gave it any thought when you signed up for this job as conductor. In theory, this shouldn’t be all that complicated when it comes to managing a train, handle the passengers with their tickets, ensure safety above all else, stick to protocol, all that stuff.

What Aurora Candy Cookie probably should’ve told you was your spot was instead to be partnered up with another conductor of a train, one he thinks needs someone to help with keeping her line and following the rules. You raised your eyebrows with this revelation, but you didn’t want to argue with a cookie who gets visibly red the more angry he got, so you figured this wouldn’t be so bad of an arrangement.

Boy did you wish you could take that statement back after working with this Milky Way Cookie. You were polite to her despite her rather lazy demeanor and attitude with her job as conductor, sometimes having you completely take over entirely on shifts as she snoozes off in her seat, sometimes leaning on you, much to your annoyance.

To her, it meant the two of you were friends and she could just track you down wherever you were on the train to bug you, not really leaving you alone 4/5 times you were elsewhere onboard. Checking the front? She follows you there and watches you work. Picking up trash in the aisle, she’s on a seat nearby as she watched you. You didn’t mind it, but you honestly preferred working without a single cookie audience.

You get unnerved enough with this behavior that you’ve asked Aurora about a possibly shift in positions, Milky Way was focused more on watching and following you wherever you go rather then sticking to her job of conductor and attending to passengers. The only time you’ve ever seen her committed to the task at hand would be if she were able to work alongside you for it.

Your hands were pretty much tied since Milky Way, in a way, was more productive with you around, so you were pretty much locked into the position, he didn’t even mention any possibility of a position elsewhere opening up soon or if you were even going to manage your own train like what you originally signed for this job for in the first place!

You felt a shiver when you were returning to work the next day only to see Milky Way already waiting for you at the doors to the train. This shift couldn’t end any faster…

[doctornolonger]

People are sometimes surprised when I mention that the unproduced story I regret the most isn't any of the many cancelled FP projects but Steven Hall's Fifty-Fifty, which would have wrapped up some of Big Finish's best character arcs with a conflict between the Seventh and Eighth Doctors at "the moment where 7 went bad".

It would have been the retroactive pinnacle of Wilderness Years, taking its two Doctors with such different characterizations and pitting them against each other. It also … doesn't make a ton of sense. Even taking into account the timey-wimey memory effects of a multi-Doctor event, how could such a dramatic character arc for the Seventh Doctor possibly come and go without the Eighth Doctor – his future self – having any idea?

This question keeps coming up in Doctor Who, and every time the answer feels contrived. Steven Hall would have solved it for Fifty-Fifty by introducing a "Temporal Wish" that allows parts of history to be rewritten without timeline damage. Elsewhere, Big Finish has resorted to hand-waving: every story where characters meet out-of-order has to involve an ad hoc disguise, a memory wipe, or a promise from one of the characters that next time they'll pretend not to have met (🥴). And don't even get me started on "season 6b"!

In what Ingiga cleverly calls Doctor Who: The Return, RTD faced the same question. What if we had more Tenth Doctor stories, not squeezed into any of the well-trodden gaps in his timeline but set after The End of Time – genuinely new stories, taking the character places that it never would've made sense for him to go (such as therapy)?

RTD answered this question twice. Once the regular way, the ad hoc way: David Tennant's contrived return at the end of The Power of the Doctor. And then, emboldened by the Power of the Showrunner, he solved it again – and he solved it for every story, now and forever.

I think down the timeline, they all separated. They all went like that. All the Doctors came back to life with their individual TARDISes. The gift of the Toymaker. And they're all out there traveling around in what I'm calling the Doctorverse. It's the Doctorverse. And I want to create a future in which Sylvester McCoy, he can survive and have an adventure. Because one of the things about The Star Beast is, to get you back and Catherine, we had to jump through so many hoops. Which is great story, but it's like, why can't you just arrive and step out the TARDIS? […] Because this is exactly what Big Finish does. It's exactly what everyone does in their imagination. […] It's time to just kind of open it up and say, they're all out there now.

Or as he put it a different time,

Doctors galore, with infinite possibilities. All Doctors exist. All stories are true.

Gig's latest piece rightly dismisses the "Flowchart" theory of bigeneration, but frankly, I think the fiddly stuff about "fix" vs "fixed" etc. is a red herring. The simple fact is that if Fourteen's post-Giggle memories flow backwards into Fifteen – if Seven's post-TV Movie memories flow backwards into Eight – bigeneration wouldn't solve the Fifty-Fifty problem.

Yes, RTD tries to have his cake and eat it too. In the dream logic of The Giggle, "emotional healing" is a mysterious essence that can be transferred through time independently of memories, just as incinerated roads can magically heal themselves in The Star Beast. But in terms of what RTD's trying to accomplish, in terms of what bigeneration is, I think it's okay to take him at his word.

Speaking of words, the leak called it "bi-regeneration", and even after the episode aired, much of the internet followed suit. But that's not what it's called. It's just bigeneration: not a type of regeneration, an alternative. And indeed, now we have this option – now we have Fourteen, not just Ten – why would we ever go back to playing the timeline-squeezing game? If Big Finish officially untethered itself from the past Doctors' timelines and, say, freed Eight from his interminable death march – would anyone miss it?

Lawrence Miles certainly didn't think so when he advocated a similar untethering 24 years ago.

When you watched Doctor Who as a kid, it kind of lost some of its edge from the start, because you knew for a fact how things were going to turn out. […] I've always felt that the Missing Adventures… or PDAs, or whatever you want to call them… have got a similar problem. The Doctor can't die [or go to therapy – n8.] We know the future, it's not even an issue. That was why I did what I did in Interference. Even if they don't like it, I hope people realize there's a purpose behind it all. It's suppose to justify the existence of the PDAs. From that point on, you can never be sure what the outcome's going to be.

Nobody picked up his suggestion back then, but then again, Miles lacked the Power of the Showrunner. If Tales of the TARDIS' therapeutic dreamscapes are any indication, it won't be long before other writers adopt RTD's in-vision musings as gospel.

So what will happen when Fourteen dies? Will he regenerate? Will he dissolve into sparkles, his ✨emotional healing✨ shooting back in time to become Fifteen? Or like the prior iteration of the "Tenth Doctor happy ending offshoot" idea, is he simply mortal now? The frank answer is that we'll probably never find out: that's simply not the kind of story that bigeneration is meant to tell.

Or maybe RTD's already told us. The quote earlier about "Doctors galore" came from the note accompanying his "Doctor Who and the Time War". That story shows us an Eighth Doctor who survived to the very last days of the Time War, with no War Doctor to be found; it's easy to imagine a bigeneration on Karn not unlike RTD's speculation that "Peter Davison once was left behind on the surface of Androzani and woke up and there was a TARDIS and he carried on having those adventures."

And in the story – released almost seven years after The Night of the Doctor showed us the birth of the War Doctor – Eight struggles, and he succumbs, and he regenerates … into Christopher Eccleston's Nine. Now there's a flowchart that I could get behind.

[boxx-sama]

The Usage of a Rotary Telephone in Ai Nan Desu Yo

This was just something I happened to notice when rewatching the MV!

As pictured here, we can see Mahiru using a rotary telephone to communicate with her boyfriend. It may not be of much significance to some, but there is/could be a deeper meaning to this specific phone being used, rather than a modern one!

This specific one happens to be a vintage telephone. The development of rotary telephones dates back to the late 19th century, which is all the way back in the 1800s!

The concept of a rotary dial for selecting numbers on a telephone was first proposed by inventors and engineers in the 1870s. Almon Strowger, an undertaker from Kansas City, is often credited with inventing the first practical rotary dial telephone system in the late 19th century. His system aimed to eliminate the need for human operators to manually connect calls.

As amazing as the invention itself is, however, it did have flaws, especially considering the time period this was invented in! There wasn't modern technology, so using this phone had some issues.

Error-Prone: Rotary dialing was EXTREMELY susceptible to dialing errors! Users could miscount the number of digits, skip a digit accidentally, or make other mistakes while dialing.

Mechanical Complexity: Rotary phones were mechanical devices with many moving parts, which made them more prone to wear and tear. This complexity also meant that maintenance and repairs could be more challenging compared to modern electronic phones.

Lack of Advanced Features: Rotary telephones were designed primarily for basic voice communication! They lacked many of the advanced features that modern phones offer, such as caller ID, call waiting, voicemail, and speed dial.

Considering some of these, it is rather odd, isn't it? Mahiru is clearly pictured to be taking inspiration from modern blogs and such for her perfect journey of love.

So how is this particularly standout in any way?

Well, it's simple! Rotary telephones had many communication issues. They were difficult to handle, very slow, and had to be used in specific ways. (Dialing certain numbers, etc.)

I think that the usage of a rotary telephone in such a modern world that Ai Nan Desu Yo portrays might just be Mahiru's lack of communication with her boyfriend when it came to more serious matters!

This also may be a stretch on my part, but even the lyrics at this part of the MV kind of add to my small theory here.

Ring ring, I’m calling you in the middle of the night Forcing you to wake up, and I say “Good Morning!” But I fall asleep before you, I really feel bad you know? We can both feel lonely sometimes, but wonder if you’ll get angry soon I’m going to start relying on you if you’re kind to me, so please forgive me, thanks!

It just feels like there's some sort of communication issue here, if that makes sense. Mahiru is being a biiiiit over-reliant and wishing for forgiveness from her boyfriend due to her clear needs, and it's unsure whether they were actually met or not. Daisuki kind of paints a clearer picture on this with the whole cake feeding metaphor, but that may be a theory for another time.

It can also be noted that Mahiru is not happy at all when she uses the telephone, implying that she is also stressed, despite sharing the feeling of love with her boyfriend.

But, to her, it wasn't a big issue at all! Because in the end, all of this is love in of itself. And even if their communication is flimsy, surely love will power through.

Again, using the lyrics to support this:

If you don’t hug me, even our hearts will start drifting apart

This is a claim of responsibility from the two of us with matching love

We fought sometimes, I was happy to get hurt Let’s have matching pain, this sickness is pretty bad?

Mahiru seems to idealize love and the idea of being together to an unhealthy point, believing that if she can experience all of love's ups and downs and remain with her S/O, then everything is all okay in the end! That being said, I do NOT see her as completely naive, and she definitely had some awareness in the situation.

I guess that's all for my little theory! Let me know what you guys thought of it.

[azfellesquire]

Season two isn’t (fully) real, it’s a peaceful, fragile existence

The more I rewatch the show and read different theories, the more convinced I get that S2 is some sort of elaborate dream sequence or a distraction or memory alteration attempt (Neil’s chaotic angsty ineffable husbands fanfic?). But not all of it.

(This gets kind of rambly so if you want my true hook, scroll down to the Michael Sheen Staged gif.)

Let me make this perfectly clear on the outset: I don’t think all of it is a dream, and I certainly don’t think the final 15/kiss is or is going to be discounted (and not only because there would be literal riots in the street, because there absolutely would be, but also I’m putting trust in Neil and the team wholeheartedly). I think that could actually be the domino that brings them out of it. I read somewhere recently something along the lines of “something loved can never be truly forgotten” and I think that fits my theory perfectly. I’m also making no claims (yet) as to what I think is real and what I think is “enhanced”.

Also I apparently am either too far deep or cannot work the tumblr search function with any modicum of usefulness, so please link me to the posts I’m alluding to if you think it’s the right one. I will edit them in and sincerely apologize to the brilliant minds that exist outside the confines of the search function.

Now, On with the show:

You can be in charge of the biscuits

Maggie and Nina: Look, I get that recasts happen, they change the actor playing the character because of scheduling conflicts, etc. But to cast the actor/actress that is immediately recognizable from a prior interaction (whether with the characters or the audience) is not something you see. FFS Maggie DIED in S1, and Nina was pivotal (maybe too strong a word, but enough to be memorable surely) to the storyline. It’s like someone said “Hey, they’ll work, bring em in, no I don’t care that they were in S1. It’ll be a test of how well our facade is working. If they (A&C) notice, then the gig is up and we’ll know it.”

Also why in the world is the owner of a coffee shop offering Eccles cakes to calm down, when camomile tea is right there? (Resists the urge to go off on a tangent on how Eccles cakes were used to celebrate the “Eccles wakes” at the feast of St. Mary (yes that Mary) and how that ties into the second coming plot.) Do Eccles cakes count as biscuits? Ugh another thought for another day I suppose.

It has come to my attention during writing that Shax is the same actress as Madame Tracy. I have less of an affront to this knowledge since I’m 2 months deep and countless rewatches in and only just noticed. But I’m going to pop it in this header anyway. Are you really trying to tell me that a show that apparently has demon entrances happening precisely on the 6s really didn’t think these choices out very deliberately? (Edit 3: https://www.tumblr.com/noneorother/735823422626709504/the-secret-timeline-inside-of-good-omens-season-2 JFC why can I never find the blogs when I want to insert them? It was a breakdown about how all of the demon entrances happen at a 00:00 that ends in a 6.)

Yours very faithfully, Maggie

Text to mail disconnect: There’s been a theory pop up (at the time one writing this at least (edit 2: https://www.tumblr.com/azariah-z-fell/743434274903048192/it-is-extra-weird-because-it-is-on-the-record) that Maggie actually texted Aziraphale her request to talk, and it was magically translated into a physical form, and the spelling error (that so many people are shouting DEMON at) was just an autocorrect typo. But, surely Maggie would know he doesn’t text if she knew him for several years at least. We’ve never seen either of our boys text, only call. Seems like someone doesn’t know how phones work, but wanted to get the message received? See also: currency, below.

You ever think, what’s the point?

Numerous people have pointed out the same obvious background people. There are theories about the guy in the Hawaiian shirt being the second coming or something similar. I wonder if it’s some sort of play on a badly executed attempt to make Wickber Street seem “normal” in an alternate reality, an elaborate distraction, but they have to keep using the same character models because their imagination is just slightly better than Shadwells’ (Oh gfdi how did I miss Mrs. sandwich right there). I’m not saying we haven’t done a “oh oops silly me I forgot something” but that isn’t usually done in the middle of a sidewalk. When Aziraphale is initially talking to Jim with the blanket, there’s a guy just chugging his arms outside the window, not walking. Another one in E3 when Shax show up outside the shop, a guy in an orange sweatshirt passes in the background, then passes again, and not close enough in time/area to just be the continuation of the walk. Especially in the early episodes, there are veritable conveyer belts of people, straight lines, no trying to pass, etc. I’m trying to look at the background in S1 and while there are still tons of people, the background is… livelier. People passing, shoving past, actually going places.

“I’m looking at the statue of Gabriel.” “Oh, good job?”

Aziraphale basically learns fuck-all when he makes the trip to Edinburgh. Granted, I do believe most of that was to make the Bentley “our car”, but so many things are out of character. The no drink, the over-the-top “investigation” (as awkward as he is, Aziraphale knows how to act more normally than that with humans), the background on the drive up there…

All the others were taken (random collective thoughts)

Somehow ALL the businesses on the street are different from Season 1?

A normal person would have moved out of the rain instead of just lolling there letting raid splatter their glasses, yeah? (As a person with glasses I can confirm).

“We have all the hosts of hell searching for him” cue Crowley looking around like then why the fuck are there still demons around me?

The cross disappearing from the Gabriel statue between shots.

“I’m a bit out of miracles” and “that’s not how miracles work” from the guy who got written up for too many frivolous miracles.

I have here a sixpence and a farthing There’s always money in the banana stand

The lack of (accurate?) paid transactions seems like whoever is pulling the strings has no concept of earthly money and how it’s supposed to work, just that it exists. Crowley and Aziraphale talk bluntly about poverty and know that money is needed and used in current society (“Give her the money, Angel”, Rome, Globe Theatre, 1941 magic shop, etc.). Could be a “let’s not get lost in the trivialities” thing but it does strike me as odd. Caveat: Aziraphale forgiving the rent doesn’t quite fit, but cost of the record is obscenely low.

But this does give me hope about the 3rd 1941 flashback, because they were using money accurately there, which hopefully means the flashbacks and memories aren’t being altered, just “present day”.

We’re real people

One of the overarching themes in Season 2 (and S1 now I think of it) is “stop interfering in the lives of other people”. Maggie and Nina, Job, Elspeth, the entire dance party, Warlock, the book of prophecy. It would be a shame if someone were to make sure I failed to be messing about in their own lives.

I had brothers, you don’t scare me

Something happened just before Maggie told them to “Come in here and say that to my face.” Another demonic turn potential here, but also kind of like someone’s saying “FFS get on with the plot”.

The book of love has music in it

This post https://www.tumblr.com/noneorother/731977308306636800/all-the-music-you-didnt-hear-the-good-omens (finally, one I can find!) popped up, and there’s another one that purports to have noticed that there’s music lines missing from the opening sequence (edit 1: Found it!: https://www.tumblr.com/dadesu/726651737165938688/anyone-noticed-the-missing-half-bar-in-good-omens ). Possibly Clueing us in that there’s something that’s missing elsewhere (I mean obviously, that’s the whole point of this season, is it not?).

So where do we go from here?

As much as I’d love to say “Alright so the kiss breaks the spell whoever was put over them because of ✨the power of love✨, the ruse will be revealed, and they’re not talking because they don’t have to”

I don’t know, my thoughts are just the overarching patterns I’ve noticed over many, many rewatches and probably reading a few too many magic trick theories and/or fanfics. I don’t intentionally make my theory posts open-ended, but in the end that’s the fun of it. Nothing has to be mutually exclusive (yes I’m referencing my “Is Crowley already the new Supreme Archangel” post, I think I’m allowed that much). I’m happy to be proven wrong, and probably will be.

Lots of things are wrong right now

But I will leave you with one parting thought: Crowley knows. He knows there’s furniture missing. (That’s why he keeps just tossing things everywhere, because he know it doesn’t matter.)

And he. Does not. Care. For it.

How many theories that I myself hate can I dig into?

I’m a demon, I lied:

[goodluckclove]

hey clove ! long fucking ask wow i apologize. this is just me rambling so conserve your brain if you wanna

i was thinking a lot about fancy foods today and had some interesting thoughts . i work at my local mall selling frozen macarons/chocolates/gelato and other pastries etc at a little kiosk in the middle of the food court for "luxury" prices (like almost 4 dollars per macaron). everything in the display cases is visually enticing - the macarons are brightly colored, the chocolates are in different shapes and colors and textures, the gelato is, ,, well you know how cute gelato is it's pretty damn cute. and the kiosk is white and generally pretty spotless as well, and the decor is french-themed cus that's the genre of stuff we sell. overalll it's marketing toward the WASPs of the area and their young kids. but something i've realized is that while everything we sell might be super yummy to look at, it's not really that yummy to eat. the macarons largely taste the same, and that flavor is mostly just almond. the colors are just colors, they're like froot loops. the gelato - which i've only recently properly tried - tastes pretty damn good (we sell a praline hazelnut one - OH BABYYYYY. i will be embalmed in that stuff when i die) - but the texture is just way, way off. it's grainy and just not like gelato at all. it feels like a scam or a multi level marketing scheme. its advertised as being super high end and bougie but it's really not.

compare that to the other restaurants in the food court. they're not glamorous. there's only a few chain restaurants; the rest have generic names, have fast-talking employees with beautifully diverse accents, have graphics with three different logo iterations and menus with low-quality photos. today i bought an egg and mozzarella crepe from one of these restaurants, and watched it being made while the employees threw friendly jabs at each other in a language i didn't recognize as an icon of the virgin mary gazed at them from the wall. the crepe wasn't pretty or brightly colored or aesthetically packaged. it cost me ten dollars with a tip and it was more food than i could ever eat. i sat crammed next to the sink in the kiosk using our big rubbermaid freezer cart as a table and tried not to cut the aluminum foil and styrofoam container along with the crepe. that thing made me so nostalgic and calm; the flavors were so familiar and comforting.

there's bigger nuances here than just "pretty food bad, unpretty food good", but it was a really interesting observation for me. i already knew my job was lowkey scam-ish, but to see real food actually being made without much fretting over how visually good it is to focus on how good for the eater it is - it was cool. i'm quitting my job soon. who knows, i might apply to the pancake place they're putting in.

anyway this was just a neat day, and i thought you might find it interesting. i hope you're doing well, and congrats again on blind trust !

God I loved reading this. Your descriptions of these two conflicting environments ring so true in my head. I'm gonna go ahead and drop a read more because I do have some food thoughts related to this and I'm also feeling like rambling.

Because we've all been there, right? The type of fancy bakery that sells a cake for like six dollars that looks amazing but is mostly moose or like stale almond cake. Macaroons are so enticing in theory, but because of the effort it takes to actually make them in the way they're intended they're surprisingly difficult to do right. You have a good macaroon and it's fucking worth 4 dollars, though. The combination of the crisp outer shell with the plush meringue and thick frosting. Plus they come in fun flavors - rose, lavender, earl grey. Yum yum. But a bad one just turns into paste in your mouth.

One of my favorite things in the world is what I call a medium-fancy dessert. It's usually a cake for me, although gelato would also suffice. It's something that feels fancy without losing that base level of quality and satisfaction. There's a bakery in Portland that stocks a 24-hour vending machine with their cakes (I know man it's crazy), and they're a pretty solid source of medium-fancy treats. They look pretty, but they have a ratio of soft, moist cake to quality frosting that really gives you a filling experience.

If that's not accessible, tiramisu works nearly every time for me. Plus it's not usually that more expensive than other cakes.

Compare that to smaller, usually immigrant-run restaurants that sometimes choose to let the quality of their food speak over the aesthetics of the storefront. What comes to mind when I imagine that is Sivalai Thai Restaurant, which is my favorite place for Thai food in my part of Portland. That's saying a lot too, since there are a TON of Thai places here for some reason.

Riley and I order from there a lot, and the portions are really good. The Thai Iced Tea is delicious. But I'm always impressed by the little touches the owners add - mainly how they always throw in a free portion of mango sticky rice, but also that they don't mind packaging a container of their Prik Nam Pla, which is like my favorite Asian condiment ever. It's Thai chilis and green onion in fish sauce and it is this insane mixture of sweet tanginess and sharp, fresh spice. I just learned how to make a vegan version from scratch and it's changed my life.

What I've loved to do in food service is combine these two experiences. I worked at Zupan's which is a boutique grocery store here in the Pacific Northwest, and one of my favorite things to do was provide an extra homey quality to the place that is otherwise asking you to pay like seven dollars for a bag of Doritos.

We had a different meat special at the deli every day, and on Sunday (I think) it was prime rib. Like, actual prime rib - very good, very expensive. A serving for one person would be like thirty bucks. We were allowed to give out samples though, so I'd summon like everyone I saw and invite them to try it.

They'd all love it, of course. It was fucking spectacular. Crispy, but with the perfect amount of rich fat and meat. Delectably salty. Rubbed with herbs and spices that would char as it smoked on the grills outside the store. It was truly remarkable stuff - but I'm not about to push cooked meat that's like sixty bucks a pound, maybe more.

What I would say, though, is that while Sunday is our prime rib roast day, we cut the ribs off in advance and cook them up for people to buy on Monday. So you can essentially get the deliciousness of the prime rib for like a forth of the price. People always seemed to like to hear that.

Food takes care of people, you know? And the people that serve food also take care of people. And I've always found that to be an incredibly important thing. If I am ever in a situation where I have to go back to a conventional full-time job, I'm far more likely to go back to food service than copywriting. I feel like I did much more good waiting tables at a Denny's than I did writing pest control websites for my bullshit media job.

[wistfulcynic]

real talk, i am absolutely down with the theory that Ed thinks Stede is dead. But.

but.

if he thinks that it’s to do with hearing the gunshot, or non-specific rumours floating around various ports. Because if Ed heard the actual details of Stede’s “death,” the piano and the carriage and the jungle cat, i mean. This is Blackbeard, master of the fuckery. He’s gonna know.

what i’d like to see is Ed in mourning, crashing weddings, playing with cake toppers because he thinks his love is gone.

but then he starts to hear things. And he’s like wait.

one crazy death is believable, two could be coincidence but three smells like a fuckery. And then he’s off to find Stede and drag his ass back because if he’s dead then Ed can understand him being gone but if he faked it then that means he’s gone on purpose and what the fuck.

Fuck you, Stede Bonnet

cut to dramatic reunions on black sand beaches etc

[irkimatsu]

Was re-watching Gravity Falls and I present to you an idea-

Husk but with the same energy as Grunkle Stan

"Who wants Husk-cakes? Theyre like pancakes but they probably have some of my fur in em."

"Go to the golf course after dark ya say? I dont know...we'd have to break in and-JUST KIDDING LETS BREAK IN!"

Angel, exhausted: "*Yawn*-Hey guys." "Whos, bag check on Angel's eyes! ...No one?"

"Whoa, children fighting! I can sell this!"

etc etc

I MEAN. HONESTLY. YEAH. Can you IMAGINE the chaos these two scammer old men would get into. Imagine the CRIMES.

"They say ladders are more dangerous than a loaded gun. That's why I have ten guns, in case some maniac tries to sneak in with a ladder."

...and then I remembered the theory that Husk died while falling from a height while drunk! Ooops.

[shxrry-blossom]

JENNETTE'S ROOM

I haven't seen any compilation of Jennette's room in the manhwa so I'm going to do it with the few panels we have.

So, everyone would think that the color of Jennette's room should be blue or Athy's room should be pink since those are her "main" colors but in the manhwa it is the opposite, Athy's room is blue and Jetty's is pink.

First let's look at this image. To our left is a fireplace with nothing more than two candelabras and a random painting. Through Jennette we see a large white door. And to our right is Jennette's bed, at the foot of the bed is her dresser and a pink chair.

Now let's focus on our right.

In the first image you can't see it but in the next one we can see that next to the door there is a piece of furniture with many dolls and stuffed animals on it.

15 toys in total, 7 dolls and 8 stuffed animals. Do you notice that the dolls are almost always in pairs? Always two girls together?? I wonder if that was a way of projecting her desire to form a relationship with Athanasia, whom she believed to be her sister.

(I honestly don't think Spoon did it on purpose, but whatever, let's imagine)

Now right in front of the furniture with the stuffed animals we have Jennette's bed! which is also pink. Look to the right of Jennette's bed there is another pink chair just like the one on her nightstand.

Here we don't have the rug :( but at least we can see the chairs that are also pink (lmao) and a fairly simple circular table that has the same design as the furniture with the dolls.

Just above the girls is a chandelier.

In front of the bed but a little further to the left are the table and chairs where Jennette has tea with Athy! look at the following image.

And look to the right, behind Athanasia you can see a part of Jennette's shelf.

Let's have a more close look to the bed now!

Well look at the bed, it has curtains on the sides but all wmmap beds have them although these, unlike the others, are not tied. I wondered if that's because Jennette tends to close the curtains for more privacy?? We can also see on the right more of her miraculously not pink shelf with books. Also...isn't that the table where Jennette has tea with Athy? It seems that she changed it's position.

Let's take a closer look at her nightstand.

Well there is nothing different that no nightstand has from the other manhwas. Lots of pretty jars and boxes and in other pictures we saw that it had a candle holder too. But I find this silver tray with the hairbrush and a mirror adorable, it's so cute. Also, it's the only mirror in Jennette's entire room, right?

In here there are many jewels and some ribbon but nothing more special. The second comb is fun for me :D

Let's leave Jennette's nightstand and see what was to the right of her room.

Finally! the shelf full and with many books. I wonder what kind of things Jennette reads? Will they all be princess books? I guess so but I like to imagine that it has a greater variety of books (how to make dolls, flowers, cake shop, etc)

Can you see there is a white cup there? Well, it's on the shelf and it's not floating, it's on the same table where Jennette had tea with Athy and the parts of brown furniture that can be seen on the sides are the chairs that the girls sit on.

Below the window where Athy is entering there is an couch! And on the other side of the couch you can see some legs of a brown piece of furniture.

Here we have a better view of the couch! and also the rug that we had lost in the other images.

and the brown furniture next to the couch has absolutely nothing on it (lol)

Some comments: We never saw much of the wall on the side of the fireplace, the whole wall in front of Jennette's bed because there is still a part of Jennette's room that we don't know. The truth is that Jennette's room doesn't have many things besides her dolls, there can be thousands of theories why, maybe Jennette just doesn't like having a lot of things, maybe she never allowed herself to have a lot of things because she didn't want to be a nuisance or never filled her room with the things she liked because she didn't consider it her home, or maybe spoon just didn't decorate her room much idk.

Also Jennette needs a mirror, otherwise how the hell do the maids dress her? But I kind of like the fact that Jennette doesn't like mirrors tbh.

[bunnakit]

what shows are you currently watching? (shows that are airing weekly rn, no older shows)

for each one, list two things that you love about them and one thing you would like to see in future episodes!

ohohoo what a treat (finally getting to some of your amazing prompts anon, i assume its the same person but i apologize if im wrong)

Bake Me Please - I absolutely love the aesthetics of this show. They show off some of the most beautiful cakes and pastries and it's just gorgeous. I also love the way each person in the show is broken in one way or another; generational trauma, childhood trauma, dreams that feel out of reach, etc.

After my rant today I think we all know the one thing I want, NEED, to see is Shin apologize to Peach. I cannot stand the idea of Peach bearing all the emotional work for this relationship.

Cherry Magic 30 - So I'm coming at this from a place of knowing nothing about the originals. I'm really enjoying Karan just in general, his thoughtfulness, his care, all of it. He reminds me of a quote from episode 3 of The Last of Us: "Paying attention to things is how we show love." I'm also really enjoying the importance the show is putting on consent as well as Achi's care to make sure he isn't taking advantage.

I'm really going into this right now with no opinions, no theories, I'm just along for the ride. I hope we see some more cat thoughts, I guess.

Cooking Crush - I really wasn't sure if I was going to stick this one out. It's a little too goofy for my tastes but OffGun's chemistry is doing a lot of heavy lifting for me, so that's one of the things I'm enjoying. I'm also enjoying the playfulness of Ten and Prem and this cute courtship they have going on.

I hope Fire's mom explodes.

Last Twilight - You guys have seen my meta posts. I could wax poetic about this show all day long. Thus far I ADORE how they're treating Day's disability and showing how important him maintaining his agency is. I'm also really enjoying Mhok's perspective as a caretaker and the way he adapts and learns every day. I've been both - I'm currently disabled and I was a caretaker for five years. This show is so near and dear to my heart already.

I really hope we see what the hell is going on between Night and Day. Like, we have to, right?

Pit Babe - I'm an omegaverse bitch. I'm sorry, it's my guilty pleasure. One of the first things I do when I get the brainrot for something is go see if there are any good omegaverse fics (I'm very picky, we don't like misogyny or thinly veiled transphobia in this house, no thanks.) I'm enjoying seeing the worldbuilding of this show so far as well as each of the characters and their personalities. Everyone, even North and Sonic, feel like fully fleshed out people and I'm very much enjoying that.

I hope Way explodes - No, I hope we see them build more on the omegaverse aspect of things. I wanna see a man get pregnant. I also want to see a woman, just one woman, just a single one. Where are the women?

Playboyy - BOY HOWDY. Listen, I'm mostly watching this to avoid FOMO. I'm asexual, the sex is doing nothing for me really. The wet noises make me scream and throw my headphones off. I AM enjoying the mystery aspect of the plot a lot, I'm very curious where that is going. I'm also very much enjoying the exploration of different sexualities, like the hints that Soong and Zouey might be demisexual.

Obviously I want to know what the fuck happened to Nant, but I also just want to see more Prom. Also wanna see Aob become soft for Puen.

The Sign - My absolute beloved. I'm obsessed, I'm going to be obsessed forever I fear. The mythology is just fucking superb, the yearning is incredible, the action is great, the friendships phenomenal. I could go on and on about everything I love about this show. It's everything to me and I know I'm going to be a WRECK when it inevitably ends.

I can't wait for Phaya and Tharn to fuck, sure, but I can't wait for them to be in love. I can't wait to see them hold each other gently, look for reassurances in each other, and I hope they each regain at least some memories of their past selves and maybe how much they loved each other.