#and sure maybe BBC went along with it

[sharonccrter]

So I actually sat down to watch the BBC special of TT Boybands Forever cause I was really interested after the way Robbie talked about Gary being stitched up and also I just love watching this kinda stuff just finished the Boyzone Documentary. Let's just say I have thoughts - I'm going to put them in the tags (and I had a lot of thoughts). I'd say it's worth watching yourself and making your own opinion.

[cloudyluun]

Soft Spot

Summary: Harry Styles is the world’s most effortlessly cocky bastard in public. But behind closed doors? He’s soft for one person, her. Their love is private, sacred, the only thing that’s ever truly been his. But the internet is relentless, the rumors won’t stop, and she starts to wonder if she’ll ever fit into his world. Just when she’s about to pull away, Harry makes sure she never doubts it again. AKA: Soft (but also possessive) boyfriend Harry? Check. Jealous, protective, doesn’t-take-shit Harry? Also check. A public declaration, viral paparazzi moments, and one very necessary smut scene? You already know.

A/N: This fic is based on two requests (this one and this one from @dipmeinhoneyh) that fit so perfectly together I had no choice but to make it a full story. I hope you love it, I hope it makes you feral, and I hope you leave this feeling at least 10% more in love with Harry Styles than you already were. Also, if you ever see a man carrying all your bags through an airport while wearing your shirt?? Marry him immediately.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 

Smut (obviously)—possessive, praise-heavy, SOFT but also FILTHY

Harry being the most protective, doting, airport-sherpa boyfriend alive

Jealousy and minor confrontation (because someone was dumb enough to question her worth)

Public scrutiny and social media toxicity (but don’t worry, he shuts that shit down)

Excessive amounts of boyfriend fluff (back rubs, forehead kisses, and “mine” moments galore)

Did I mention the smut? Because THE SMUT.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Harry Styles was a menace.

Everyone knew it—especially the media. He wasn’t just the biggest name in music, he was also a nightmare to interview. He had little patience for industry bullshit, answered questions with nothing but a smirk or a sip of his drink, and rarely—if ever—gave the press what they wanted.

At this point, journalists had learned to come prepared when sitting across from him. They needed strategy, a solid game plan, and maybe even a shot of whiskey beforehand. Because Harry? Harry made it difficult.

And God, did he enjoy it.

The first clip that went viral was from a BBC interview.

The journalist was older, seasoned. She’d been in the game for decades and knew how to handle difficult personalities. Or at least, she thought she did.

The interview had been going fine—as fine as an interview with Harry Styles could be. He’d leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, looking like he owned the place. Dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt and tailored trousers, he was a picture of effortless arrogance.

Then she asked, “Do you think you’re difficult?”

Harry blinked. Didn’t move for a second. Then—slowly, deliberately—he picked up his drink, took a long sip, and held eye contact the entire time.

The silence stretched.

And stretched.

The journalist swallowed.

Finally, Harry licked his lips, tilted his head, and asked, “D’you think I care?”

The second clip was worse.

A different interview, a different day, same energy.

Harry was sitting in front of a panel of radio hosts, arms crossed, tattoos peeking out from under the loose sleeves of his sweater. The conversation had been moving along at a leisurely pace, touching on his tour, his latest album, the usual surface-level stuff.

Then one of the hosts leaned forward, smug, thinking he had the upper hand.

“So, tell us, Harry. What’s the song ‘Soft Spot’ about?”

Harry, who had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of his rings, paused. He exhaled through his nose, the barest hint of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Then—without hesitation—he shrugged. “Dunno. Just a song.”

The hosts groaned in frustration.

The internet? Ate it up.

Edits of him smirking, of him dodging questions with effortless ease, flooded Twitter and TikTok. People captioned them with things like “This man is impossible” and “Certified menace behavior”.

The general consensus?

Harry Styles didn’t answer questions unless he wanted to.

Until someone asked about her.

It happened during a late-night talk show appearance.

The studio was dimly lit, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Harry was perched on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, fingers playing absentmindedly with the chain around his neck. He was half-paying attention, answering questions with his usual brand of casual indifference.

Then the host, a sharp-eyed comedian known for catching celebrities off guard, grinned. “Alright, Harry. I have a question I think the people really want to know.”

Harry didn’t react much. Just arched a slow, lazy brow. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been seen with the same girl a lot lately…”

For the first time all night, something shifted.

Subtly. Almost imperceptibly.

But it was there, the way his fingers paused against the metal of his chain, the way his shoulders tensed, just slightly, the way his mouth twitched, like he was already biting back a smirk.

The audience leaned forward.

The internet, watching from their screens, held their breath.

Harry tilted his head, slowly. His lips parted, there it was. That signature smirk, the one that sent fans into a frenzy.

“Yeah?”

The host grinned, seeing the shift. “Care to comment?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—Harry grinned. Not his usual mocking, I’m-so-over-this smirk. A real grin. The kind that made his dimples crease, the kind that softened his otherwise sharp edges.

His fingers tapped once, twice against his thigh.

Then, he looked directly into the camera, his voice dropping just a fraction.

“She’s great.”

The studio lost it.

The audience roared—cheers, gasps, the works. Twitter exploded before the show even finished airing. Within minutes, #ShesGreat was trending worldwide.

Fans analyzed the clip from every angle:

The way his face softened.

The way his body language changed.

The fact that he—HARRY STYLES, NOTORIOUS MENACE—HAD ACTUALLY ANSWERED.

He didn’t say her name. Didn’t confirm anything outright. But the shift in him? The softness in his voice?

That was all people needed.

It was real.

And the world wasn’t ready.

Y/N wasn’t famous.

She wasn’t an actress, a model, a singer, or an influencer. There was no glamorous past, no viral moment that put her on the map. No high-profile connections, no childhood dream of Hollywood stardom.

She was just a girl with a normal life—one that, up until a year ago, had been blissfully simple.

Her days had always followed a rhythm.

Morning coffee at her favorite little café, tucked into a corner booth with a book. Work, which she genuinely enjoyed—something steady, something real, something that felt like hers. Drinks with friends on Fridays, lazy Sundays spent in oversized sweaters, grocery shopping in peace without having to worry about cameras or strangers whispering her name.

She had a routine. A quiet, predictable world.

Then Harry Styles had walked into it.

And ruined everything.

She still didn’t know how it had happened.

It was easy to pinpoint the beginning—the first time their paths had crossed, the first time she’d realized that Harry fucking Styles wasn’t just a name on a magazine cover, but a person with thoughts and moods and an irritatingly sharp wit.

But she never expected it to go anywhere.

At first, he was just a guy who flirted too much.

Then he was a guy who made her laugh.

Then he was the guy she couldn’t stop thinking about.

And somehow—without her even noticing—he became hers.

It had been over a year now. Twelve whole months of him.

Twelve months of stolen moments, whispered conversations in the dark, secret rendezvous that always ended with his lips on her skin and his voice murmuring, “Just us, love. That’s all that matters.”

Twelve months of hiding.

Because Harry? Harry was obsessed with keeping her safe.

"It’s our life, not theirs," he told her once. "You don’t owe them shit."

She’d been curled up in his lap when he said it, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over the tattoos on his arm.

She had been scared that night—really, truly scared.

Her phone had blown up with messages from friends, all linking her to articles and Twitter threads dissecting her existence. Speculation had spread like wildfire after one blurry photo of them together made it online. Nothing too obvious—just a candid shot of her walking ahead of him, their fingers barely brushing.

But it was enough.

Enough for people to start digging.

Within hours, her social media had been flooded. Comments, theories, strangers demanding to know who the hell she was and why she thought she deserved him.

She had wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.

Instead, she had buried her face into the curve of Harry’s neck, inhaling the scent of him—warm skin and expensive cologne and something inherently his. Something safe.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she had admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s grip on her had tightened immediately. Protective. Possessive.

“You don’t have to,” he’d murmured. “Not like that. Not the way they want.”

And that was how they lived. No red carpets. No public declarations. No letting the world in. Just them, in their little bubble—hidden away in hotel rooms and dimly lit apartments, in long drives with the windows down, in whispered confessions at three in the morning.

It was beautiful. It was safe.

But Y/N knew—deep down, in the quiet moments when she was alone with her thoughts—that the world wouldn’t stop trying to tear it apart.

Because it wasn’t just them anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

And no matter how fiercely Harry tried to protect her from it, the outside world was still watching.

Still waiting.

Still hungry for cracks in the foundation.

They didn’t understand him.

The world saw one version of Harry Styles.

The public version. The one who didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought of him. The one who strolled into interviews with that lazy, half-lidded smirk, sprawled out in his chair like he had all the time in the world, deliberately giving them nothing just to piss them off.

“Harry, is it true you walked out of your last meeting with the label?”

He barely blinked. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Is it also true that you—”

A slow sip of his drink. A deliberate pause.

Then, just for fun, a cocked eyebrow. “Dunno. You tell me.”

Click. Click. Click. Cameras flashing. Headlines already writing themselves.

Harry Styles: Rock’s Most Arrogant Asshole.

Harry Styles—Too Famous To Care?

Harry Styles Gives Zero Fucks About Literally Everything.

It was a game. One he didn’t mind playing.

Because the more they focused on the persona, the less they looked too closely at what really mattered.

The less they dug into his real life.

The less they found her.

Because private Harry?

A completely different person.

Private Harry sent texts like, “be home in 5”, because he knew she worried. Because he knew she’d never say it out loud, but if he was running late, she’d start pacing the kitchen, chewing at her bottom lip, imagining the worst.

Private Harry stole her hand cream and chapstick just to smell like her when she wasn’t around.

Private Harry carried her bags through airports like they weighed nothing, insisting every time, “Not letting you lift a damn thing, love.”

Private Harry curled around her in his sleep, face buried against the curve of her neck, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along her spine until he drifted off—breathing easier when she was there.

No one saw that Harry.

And he preferred it that way.

But every once in a while, the world got a glimpse.

And when they did, it fucking broke the internet.

One moment in particular had gone insanely viral.

It had been a bad day—one of those relentless, aggressive paparazzi swarms outside a studio in L.A.

Harry had already been in a foul mood—late for a meeting, running on three hours of sleep, coming off a night of back-to-back phone calls that had left him rubbing his temples in frustration.

The cameras had been waiting for him the second he stepped out the door.

“Harry! Over here!”

“Harry, how’s the new album?”

“Harry, what’s the deal with the tour delay?”

He ignored them. Didn’t even look up.

Then someone got too close—flashed a camera right in his face, nearly knocking into him.

And that was it.

He snapped.

“Fuck off, yeah?” Sharp, cutting, the words slicing through the air like a whip. His jaw locked, his body tense.

Paparazzi shuffled back, startled.

They knew his reputation.

They’d seen him do this before.

They thought that was the whole show.

Until Y/N appeared.

She had been standing a few feet behind him, waiting.

The second he turned and saw her, everything about him changed.

His scowl softened. His hands, which had been clenched into fists? Relaxed.

And in front of dozens of cameras, in front of the very people he’d just been spitting fire at, Harry immediately reached for her—a steadying touch to her back, a soft tilt of his head. “Y’alright, love?”

Quiet. Gentle. Intimate.

As if nothing else existed in that moment but her.

The paparazzi?

Fucking shook.

The clip blew up online within hours.

Side-by-side comparisons flooded Twitter:

🚨 Harry Styles telling the press to fuck off vs. Harry Styles turning into the softest human alive the second his girlfriend walks into frame. 🚨

Memes. Reactions. Fans dissecting the exact millisecond his demeanor changed.

WHO IS SHE?!

HOW DOES SHE HAVE HIM WRAPPED AROUND HER FINGER LIKE THAT?!

The discourse was endless.

And Harry?

Didn’t say a damn word about it.

Because as long as they were talking about that, they weren’t looking for more.

They weren’t digging deeper.

And that meant she was still safe.

For now.

But the internet was relentless.

Because the thing about secrets—especially ones that belong to someone as famous as Harry Styles—is that they don’t stay secrets for long.

And when people suspect even the smallest sliver of something?

They become obsessed.

It started with something small.

Something that, to anyone else, would have seemed like nothing at all.

Harry had been spotted leaving a café in London, his sleeves rolled up, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, a coffee cup in one hand.

But that wasn’t what fans noticed.

No.

What they noticed was the bracelet on his wrist.

A thin, woven band. Nothing fancy, nothing designer.

And—most importantly—not his.

The theories exploded.

GUYS. HARRY’S WEARING A FRIENDSHIP BRACELET. HAS HE EVER WORN ONE BEFORE? NO. WHO MADE IT?!

Look at the colors. Do we think there’s a meaning?

I AM SO SERIOUS THIS IS A HANDMADE BRACELET SOMEONE IS IN LOVE WITH HIM AND IT IS NOT ME

WHO THE FUCK IS SHEEEE?

There was no confirmation.

No proof.

But that didn’t stop people from digging.

Because once the internet smelled a mystery, they wouldn’t let it go.

Then came the coffee shop photo.

Blurry. Grainy. Taken at just the right angle to be nearly useless—but not quite.

Because despite the bad quality, despite the distance, despite everything, one thing was clear.

He wasn’t alone.

There was a girl across from him.

A girl who wasn’t famous.

A girl who was sitting comfortably in his presence, laughing at something he said, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other resting—casually, easily—on the table between them.

Too close.

Too familiar.

Too real.

The internet lost its collective mind.

HARRY STYLES SPOTTED WITH THE MYSTERY GIRL IN LONDON—NEW GIRLFRIEND?!

HARRY DATING SOMEONE? WHO IS SHE?!

WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE. WHO IS SHE.

I KNOW WHO SHE IS @yourusername!!

The photo was picked apart frame by frame.

Theories flooded TikTok and Twitter.

Some people were excited—because Harry in love?! Soft domestic boyfriend Harry?! They’d been dreaming of this for years.

But not everyone was happy.

Because some people… some people wanted access.

Some people wanted control.

Some people wanted to destroy anything that felt too real.

It started small.

A few comments.

A few tweets.

A few people saying she wasn’t good enough.

That she was using him.

That she was just another clout chaser who would milk this for all it was worth.

Then the DMs started.

Vicious. Personal. Cruel.

You’ll never be good enough for him.

You’re ruining his career.

No one wants you here.

He’ll leave you just like he’s left all the others.

And she told herself that she wouldn’t let it get to her.

That it didn’t matter.

That these people didn’t know her.

That as long as Harry was with her—really with her—nothing else mattered.

But it wasn’t just online anymore.

Because now, when she stepped outside, she swore she could feel the eyes on her.

Now, when she walked into her favorite coffee shop, she hesitated—half-expecting someone to recognize her.

Now, when she reached for her phone, her hands shook.

She started pulling away. Just a little.

Stopped texting first.

Stopped answering right away.

Stopped leaning into his touch as freely as she had before.

And Harry—because of course Harry noticed—tilted his head at her one night when she turned away from his kiss, his brow furrowing, his thumb tracing soft circles against her wrist.

“Alright, love?”

Her chest ached.

Because he was looking at her like that.

Like he knew.

Like he could see right through her.

Like he was already worried.

She forced a smile. Pressed a quick, barely-there kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

And lied.

The industry party was a mistake.

Y/N had known it the second they walked in.

The air inside the private venue was thick with expensive perfume, whiskey, and the kind of arrogance that could only come from people who knew they were untouchable.

The laughter was too loud. The conversations too sharp, dripping with faux warmth and hidden daggers.

She felt out of place immediately.

It wasn’t her world.

It never had been.

And standing next to Harry—Harry, who fit into this world so effortlessly, who could command attention just by existing, who seemed to belong in a way she never could—only made it worse.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since they arrived.

Had kept her close, thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles, squeezing her fingers in silent reassurance every few minutes, as if he could feel the tension in her shoulders, sense the way she was holding her breath.

But no amount of grounding touches could change the fact that she didn’t belong here.

That much became even more obvious when the wrong person decided to open their mouth.

He was a producer.

Smarmy. Arrogant. The kind of man who loved the sound of his own voice and had been in the industry long enough to think he could get away with saying anything.

And for some reason—maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was just sheer audacity—he chose her as his next target.

“Didn’t think this was your type, Harry.”

Y/N froze.

Harry stiffened next to her.

The producer took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flickering over her like she was something to be inspected.

“Quiet little thing, huh? Thought rockstars liked more excitement.”

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t just the words.

It was the way he said them.

The smirk. The condescension. The absolute certainty that he was untouchable, that he could say whatever the fuck he wanted without consequence.

Y/N shrank back before she could stop herself.

And that was when Harry snapped.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t react instantly.

Just went completely, unnervingly still.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

His fingers—still tangled with hers—tightened.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he turned.

And stepped right into the guy’s space.

Harry Styles didn’t have to raise his voice to be intimidating.

Didn’t have to yell, didn’t have to make a scene.

All he had to do was look at someone the right way.

And the producer? He knew.

He fucking knew.

Because suddenly, the confidence wavered.

The smirk faded.

The hand holding his drink trembled just slightly.

“She’s worth more than you ever will be,” Harry said, voice low, icy, laced with so much venom that Y/N shivered.

And then—as if to drive the point home—his hand found her waist, pulled her against him, shielded her from the world with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

It was a warning.

A claim.

And everyone in the room fucking knew it.

He didn’t let go of her for the rest of the night.

Didn’t stop touching her.

Didn’t stop checking on her.

And when they finally left—when they were finally alone—he held her even closer.

She should have felt safe.

Should have felt protected.

But instead, something heavy settled in her chest.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about one asshole at a party.

It was about all of it.

The industry. The fans. The internet. The constant feeling of not being enough.

And maybe… maybe they were right.

Maybe she really wasn’t enough for him.

She wasn’t going to say it.

She wasn’t.

But then Harry—still holding her, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered—brushed his lips against her forehead, whispered, “You alright, love?”

And it just—it broke her.

Her breath hitched.

And suddenly, she was blurting it out before she could stop herself.

“Maybe they’re right,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Harry froze.

“Maybe I’m not enough for you.”

His entire body tensed.

Like she had just physically hit him.

Like the words had physically hurt him.

“Don’t you ever say that again.”

It wasn’t a plea.

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

His hands framed her face, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And when she did—when she really looked at him—she almost couldn’t handle what she saw.

Because he was devastated.

Shattered.

“Don’t you ever—” His breath shuddered, his forehead pressing against hers. “—say that again.”

She swallowed. “Harry—”

“No.” His grip tightened, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go. “You belong with me. Here. Always.” His lips brushed hers, desperate, aching. “And I don’t care what anyone else says.”

She closed her eyes.

Breathed him in.

Let him hold her together, piece by piece.

Because if Harry Styles believed she belonged—

Maybe—just maybe—she could believe it, too.

The storm hadn’t passed.

Not really.

The world still had its claws in them, still watched their every move, still dissected every glance, every touch, every fleeting moment caught on camera.

But Harry… Harry never wavered.

Not once.

Not even when the headlines got uglier.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown speculation.

Not even when she started pulling back again, flinching at every flash of a camera, hesitating before reaching for his hand in public, terrified of giving them more fuel.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t push.

Didn’t force her to talk about it.

Didn’t tell her that she was still enough, still his, still the only thing in his life that mattered more than anything.

No.

Harry Styles didn’t waste his breath on words.

He showed her.

And the whole damn world saw it.

Madison Square Garden.

A sold-out crowd.

Phones up. Lights blinding.

It was a big night—bigger than most.

The kind of night that would be talked about for years, the kind of performance that would live forever in grainy fan videos, breathless social media posts, and blurry concert footage.

And she wasn’t supposed to be there.

Hadn’t planned on coming.

Had told Harry she’d stay home—avoid the cameras, avoid the crowd, avoid the possibility of being dragged into something she never wanted to be a part of.

But somehow—somehow—she found herself standing in the wings, heart in her throat, hands curled into fists at her sides as she watched him command the stage.

It was impossible not to be captivated.

Impossible not to watch the way he moved, the way he laughed into the mic between songs, the way he glowed under the stage lights.

He was in his element.

He belonged here.

And she—

Well.

She was just trying to stay invisible.

But then—

He turned.

Looked right at her.

And everything stopped.

Because suddenly—mid-show, mid-crowd, mid-fucking-Madison-Square-Garden—Harry Styles did something he never did.

He talked about her.

On stage.

For the world to hear.

“This one’s for someone who thinks she doesn’t belong in my world,” he said, voice steady, eyes never leaving hers.

The crowd screamed.

A roar—loud and deafening and completely unaware of what was actually happening.

“But she is my world.”

Her breath caught.

And then—before she could process what was happening—

He started playing.

A new song.

Unreleased.

Just for her.

And the lyrics—oh, the fucking lyrics.

They were filled with pieces of them.

Little inside jokes woven into verses, fragments of whispered late-night confessions hidden in melodies, the kind of details that only she would understand.

A love letter.

A declaration.

A warning to the world that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing—not the industry, not the headlines, not the relentless scrutiny of millions—could change that.

The internet lost its mind.

Clips went viral within minutes.

Fan theories exploded.

But none of it mattered.

Not really.

Because in that moment—in the middle of everything, in front of everyone, under the brightest damn spotlight possible—

It was just them.

And she belonged.

She didn’t hear the rest of the set.

Not really.

Not past the pounding of her heart, not past the static in her brain, not past the overwhelming realization that he had just done that.

For her.

For everyone to hear.

The screaming of the crowd blurred into white noise. The energy in the arena buzzed around her, the walls seeming to pulse with the sound of thousands of people still losing their minds.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t do anything except stare at the stage where he still stood, grinning like he hadn’t just shattered her entire world in the best possible way.

Because Harry Styles didn’t do things like this.

He dodged questions in interviews.

Shrugged off rumors.

Gave the media nothing to work with.

And yet, tonight—tonight, he had given them everything.

And she had no idea how to breathe through it.

Somewhere along the way, her fingers had curled into the fabric of her sweater, clutching at herself like it might help her stay grounded. Like she wasn’t seconds away from dissolving into nothing but feelings.

Because she knew what this meant.

Knew what it would cause.

Knew that by morning, headlines would be flooded with theories, and her name—or at least her existence—would be dragged into the light again.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because he’d said she was his world.

He’d said she belonged.

And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

She was still in a daze when the show ended.

Still stuck in her own head when the lights in the arena dimmed, when the roaring of the crowd turned to scattered cheers and fading echoes of his name.

She barely noticed the way people moved around her.

Security, crew members, the distant hum of conversation—it all faded into the background.

Until—

“There you are.”

Her breath caught.

And then he was there.

Harry.

Still sweaty, still breathless from the high of performing, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire fucking world.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t ask if she’d liked the song.

Didn’t joke about how she’d better have been paying attention.

Didn’t do anything except close the space between them, hands gripping her face, lips pressing against her forehead, breath warm and shaky against her skin.

And she—

God.

She melted.

Because she could feel it—everything he wasn’t saying, everything he had already said on that stage.

The weight of it settled in her chest, so thick she thought she might break apart.

And then—so quietly she almost missed it—

“Tell me you’re staying.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Because he knew.

Of course he fucking knew.

Knew how much she had struggled with this.

Knew how many times she had almost walked away.

Knew how much she loved him, but how terrified she was of all of this.

And yet—

His voice was steady.

Not desperate.

Not pleading.

Just… certain.

Like he already knew the answer.

Like he already knew her.

And maybe he did.

Because before she could second-guess herself—before she could let doubt creep in, before she could convince herself she wasn’t strong enough for this—

She nodded.

Just once.

And Harry fucking collapsed against her.

Exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for months.

Arms wrapping around her like he was afraid she might disappear.

Lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was anything but careful.

Because it wasn’t a question anymore.

Wasn’t a hesitation or a what if or an I don’t know.

It was real.

It was them.

And she was staying.

His hotel room was dark, save for the soft glow from the city outside.

But she barely noticed.

Because the only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed in this moment—was him.

Harry.

Pressed against her, warm and solid, breath still uneven from everything that had led to this.

His hands were everywhere.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just certain.

Slow, teasing touches down her spine.

Fingertips tracing the dip of her waist.

Lips skimming along her throat, up to the shell of her ear, where his voice was low, husky, full of intent.

"Gonna remind you who you belong to, yeah?"

Her breath hitched.

Because fuck.

She’d heard that voice before—cocky, teasing, full of mischief when he was playing up his charm.

But this?

This was different.

This was a promise.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping, needing—but he wasn’t in any rush.

Because Harry didn’t just take.

He worshipped.

And she felt it.

In the way his hands moved over her skin—slow, deliberate.

In the way he kissed her—deep, devastating.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like she was the only thing in it.

His mouth found the curve of her shoulder.

The dip between her ribs.

The inside of her wrist, where her pulse thrummed beneath his lips.

Every inch of her.

And with every kiss, every touch, came a whisper.

"You're everything, love."

"Perfect for me."

"Mine."

Her face burned, but he wouldn’t let her look away.

Wouldn’t let her shrink away from the way he saw her.

Because when she got shy—when she tried to hide—

He caught her chin, thumb tracing her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze.

And fuck, that look.

Like she was something sacred.

Like she was something he could never get enough of.

"Look at you, taking me so well."

Her breath shuddered out of her.

And God, he knew what he was doing.

The filthy praise, the way he held her like she was precious, the possessiveness in his voice—

It was too much and not enough, all at once.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t stop until she was falling apart beneath him, gasping his name, hands tangled in his hair, nails raking down his back.

Didn’t stop until she was completely his.

And then—when the world had settled again, when their breathing was slow and tangled together, when she was half-asleep in his arms

Harry took care of her.

Of course he did.

Because he always did.

Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Murmured soft things against her skin as he cleaned her up, as he wrapped her up in him.

Strong arms pulling her close, keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Only ever his.

And just before sleep pulled her under—

Just before her body fully relaxed against his—

She heard it.

Soft.

Low.

Meant just for her.

"Love you, you know that?"

And she did.

God, she did.

But what really got her—what really made her heart ache in the best, most devastating way—was that he never said it like he needed her to say it back.

Never said it like he was waiting for some kind of validation.

He said it like a fact.

Like the sun would rise tomorrow.

Like the sky was blue.

Like her being his was something permanent.

And maybe it was.

The airport was a nightmare.

The second they stepped inside, cameras started flashing, voices shouting—Harry! Over here! Is that your girlfriend?! Harry, can you confirm—

He ignored them.

Of course he did.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just kept walking, kept his hand firmly on the small of her back, kept her close.

And he was carrying everything.

Her suitcase.

Her tote bag.

Her carry-on.

Even the stupid travel pillow she’d nearly forgotten in the car.

Meanwhile, she was strolling beside him, completely unbothered, sipping her coffee like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

The contrast? Insane.

And the internet lost its mind.

The tweets came fast.

@stylesupdates: HARRY CARRYING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HER BAGS WHILE SHE JUST DRINKS HER COFFEE??? SIR. YOU ARE WHIPPED.

@hslotlover: HE'S WEARING HER SHIRT (it’s posted on her Instagram @yourusername) AGAIN I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.

Because, yeah.

He was.

It was an old, slightly oversized tee—hers.

The one she always stole from his drawer. The one she wore to bed whenever he wasn’t around.

And now?

Now he was wearing it in public.

On purpose.

Like some kind of quiet, undeniable statement.

Like a middle finger to the world.

But the real moment—the one that cemented it all—was the photo.

A blurry, candid shot someone snapped from across the terminal.

Harry, walking ahead, death glaring at the paparazzi.

Her, right behind him, looking effortlessly soft, untouchable.

And the caption?

"He’s still an asshole, and she’s still his soft spot."

And fuck.

If that wasn’t the truest thing anyone had ever said.

Because the world still didn’t get it.

But he didn’t care.

Because she was his.

And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading, you’re a total angel! Don’t forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! It means everything to me! 💖

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[saraakpotter]

She is my girlfriend(BBC Sherlock x reader)

summery: 3 times Sherlock lied about being your boyfriend and the time he made it real warnings: i think none but there are spoilers on the show if you haven't watched it yet genre: fluff p.s: i added some scenes and changed some dialogues in some parts.

number one: during 'the blind banker'

you were a detective. you went on cases with Sherlock and John. now you had to go into Eddie Van Coon's apartment.

"they are new to the apartment aren't they?" you said.

Sherlock smirked: "yes, they are"

"how are you so sure?" John asked

Sherlock points at the name on the doorbell.

"maybe they changed it." John said.

"no one would do that" you said and Sherlock rang.

"hello?" a woman's voice said some moments later

"ummm, hello miss, we are your downstairs neighbors. i don't know if you know us." Sherlock said

"uh, umm, no. we are new" the woman said.

"well, me and my girlfriend forgot our key's in our apartment" Sherlock said wrapping one arm around you and you rose an eyebrow but quickly played along.

"oh, do you want me to open the door for you?" the woman asked

"yeah, ummm, could we come from your balcony?" Sherlock asked.

"the balcony?!" the woman said surprised and Sherlock nodded.

after she left you came out of his arms.

"your girlfriend?" you asked with a raised eyebrow and John chuckled.

"oh, please. it had to be believable." he said.

"uh-huh" you said

number 2: during 'a scandal in Belgravia'

"punch me in the face" Sherlock said

"punch you?" John said

"yes, punch me in the face. didn't you hear me?"

"i always hear 'punch me in the face' when you talk but it's usually subtext" John says

"yeah" you agreed and then, without another word you punched Sherlock in the face.

"i always wanted to do that" you joke

"ouch" Sherlock says "ok..." he starts but gets cut of by another punch by John.

"you are right! i think i did too" John says chuckling making Sherlock roll his eyes.

after forcing Kate, Irene's assistant to open the door you entered the house.

"who is the beautiful lady?" Kate asked with a fake smile

"oh, i..." you started but Sherlock cut you off

"she is my girlfriend" he says

"oh" Kate's fake smile fades and she walks to the room asking you to follow.

"i literally just punched you in the face" you whispered

"i asked you to" he says and you tried to hide your smile

number three: during 'the hounds of Baskerville'(i added this scene)

"hi" Sherlock says sitting next to a random costumer at the bar.

"hello, what's the problem?" the man said

"well, me and my girlfriend are here for vacation and we heard whispers about a huge dog in this town. in the woods." he says

"we made a bet. i said there is no such a thing and he disagrees" you played along

"so, you are here more often right? we wanted to know which one of us will win" Sherlock said placing a hand around your shoulders to make it look more realistic.

"oh, oh, this is way more than a dog. it's a monster. you should believe in it." the man says and then he turns to look at you "of course i don't want to scare a pretty woman like you"

you rolled your eyes and Sherlock glared at him and left before he could finish.

"ok, thank you for your help." he says trying to act unbothered.

"wow, you don't have to be so overprotective" the man say making you smirk and Sherlock roll his eyes.

number four: the real confession

"y\n?" Sherlock says walking to the room.

"yes?"

"i wanted to ask you something" he takes a deep breath.

"ok, what is it?"

"will you....can you....oh god!"

"Sher, just say it. its okay."

"ummm.....willyoubemygirlfriend"

"i'm sorry?" you raise an eyebrow

"oh god" he takes another deep breath "look, i'm not usually this nervous about anything but this really means to me and it has been on my mind for months....will you, be my girlfriend?" he finally says

"what?" you chuckle making him look more worried than he already is "you were nervous to ask me to act like your girlfriend? i have done that a lot of time. i'm actually starting to think it is real" you joke.

"what is it this time? a serial killer or another guy with mental health issues? maybe another naked woman?" you continue

"no....i....i mean be my actual girlfriend" he corrects

"what?" now you were really confused

"you see, all this time, when i acted like you were my girlfriend or acted jealous, it was because i liked the thought of that."

he waited for you to answer but when you didn't he continued.

"will you?" he said "be my girlfriend"

"this isn't a test to see how sentimental i am?" you asked half-jokingly

Sherlock chuckled "no" he said.

"then yes, Sherlock Holmes. yes, i will be your girlfriend"

[noahsmuse]

CRUSH ♡

✮ PAIRING: noah sebastian x popstar!reader

✮ REQUEST: “Maybe something along the lines of, Y/N did a cover of a bad omens song and has stated in a couple interviews that BO is her favorite band. And Noah finds the cover and from there you can decide what happens ❤❤” - 💌 anon!

✮ A/N: my first full fic for noah!! 🥳🥳 hope you all enjoy! keep the thoughts & requests coming with anything you’d like to see me write about :) (italics represent flashbacks!!!!!)

WHILST you wait for your dates’ arrival, sitting in your best attire keeps making you think about how everything between the two of you have transpired…..

..it all started when you were sat with an interviewer behind many cameras recording your answers to be put in videos and magazines that were sure to sell out as soon as they hit the shelf, one of the most asked and speculated questions caught the attention of everyone, especially by one of the people you listed.

“when it comes to creating music, who are some artists that you look to for a source of inspiration?” the interviewer asked you, your response consisted with artists that many thought you would say like britney spears and madonna but then you said a band that shocked numerous people specifically the members within the group that’s known as Bad Omens.

but…this wasn’t the last time that you would mention the band or their music, often times when asked about who are your favorite artists at the moment, they’d find themselves in that list along with some of your other friends in the industry. yours and their fans noticed how you would post their songs onto your instagram stories and even wear merch!!!!!!

everything changed when you were invited into the BBC live lounge and they presented you with the option to choose a song to cover, so of course, you decided to sing your version of ‘The Death Of Peace Of Mind.’ the internet went crazy over your version of the song and ended up being posted EVERYWHERE.

since your cover of the song seemed inescapable to literally anyone on the internet that week, of course this was how noah was introduced to your music and captivating voice. sure, he’s heard of you talking about how bad omens was one of your favorite bands and thought it was cool that you known who they were but didn’t really think much about it until he’d seen the cover you done.

after hearing the cover that you’ve done for ‘The Death Of Peace Of Mind’ and all the kind words you’ve said about the band, noah decided it was time to reach out to you. but seeing as he deleted all his personal social media accounts and you’re literally famous, it was almost impossible to get your attention so eventually, he kinda just let it go.

until….it was announced that you switched record labels and coincidentally you signed to the same company as Bad Omens. as this was a huge deal, not only for you but also the label, they decided to have a party to celebrate your signing!!!! everyone within the label was invited which also included noah sebastian from Bad Omens, so when he seen the invite, he made sure that his schedule was cleared just so he could make it to the party that day.

finally, the day of your signing celebration arrives ! you were so overwhelmed with all the love, attention, and support that came from your new co-workers which is the main reason why you’re now sitting outside, just for a break from all the madness. right as you’re about to turn around and go back inside, the sound of loud music escaping from behind the closed doors along with a feeling of eyes staring down at you is enough to make your head turn around to see the lead singer of Bad Omens making his way over to talk to you.

the whole moment feels unreal for the both of you. you’re finally talking to one of the main masterminds behind the band that you admire and kind of grew a crush on, meanwhile, noah was amazed that he was even able to talk to you.

many hours go by just sitting and talking with noah, you two clicked immediately and learned that you both were basically the same person !! as the night comes to an end, noah walks you back to your car, making sure you can make it back home safely but before you leave, he asks for your number to stay in contact!

and ever since, you haven’t gone a day without speaking with noah whether it was by text messages, phone calls, or the almost daily facetimes. it was clear to literally anyone that you both were in love with each other so while talking on the phone one day, so he decides to make the first move and ask you out to a nice little restaurant…

this now leaves you nervously toying with the hem of your dress while also pacing back and forth in front of your door waiting for —

the sound of knocking interrupts your thoughts as you open your front door to see a 6’3 man with big brown bambi eyes staring down at you holding a beautiful custom made bouquet that he had ordered days before hand, after one of your conversations turned into you talking about flowers and what your favorite kinds were. him remembering this random little detail about you made your heart swell, you could tell just from this small action alone, that he was definitely your soulmate ♡

[intuitive-revelations]

Semi-live/retrospective analysis of The Well!

Another semi-liveblog / semi analysis of episode 3! Again, I watched and wrote this early using the iPlayer release, but am posting when the BBC 1 airing ends. I'm scheduling it, so hopefully the football doesn't go long and knock it off-time.

As a warning, while comments are generally made in chronological order with the episode, note that I do come back and make edits in some cases based on later information, which may include spoilers. So maybe don't follow along with these comments while watching the episode for the first time (not that I expect anyone is doing that, but just in case)!

I love we're picking up right off from Lux with these costumes in the TARDIS. We could have had the Doctor and Belinda change first, but this sets us right up after the TARDIS left. Not that unusual for the first few episodes of a series, but I do like it when it happens.

"swatted by a giant moth" Kill the Moon thoughts intensify...

"and your mum will whistle at my behind" Interesting again to see how Fifteen is particularly aware of the power of attraction and how to manipulate it. I would say it feels a little iffy doing that with the first black Doctor (though I'm not black, so I don't want to get too carried away speaking about racial implications myself), but we have seen plenty of bits like this sexualising the Doctor with previous incarnations. See 9 and 10's relative flirtiness, 11 too, although while seemingly being less aware of it, with his relative asexuality (though I'd argue he still enjoys the game of it all, given his relationship with River etc., even if he's sometimes a bit less aware of when he's led someone on - Amy, Nefertiti, Marilyn etc.)

The return of Toxic! 20 years later!

A little silly the TARDIS had exactly the same (military?) uniforms. Couldn't we have had the orange spacesuits or something?

The crew not reacting to the Doctor and Bel straight away is a little weird, but I assume we're just at a point with the jump where there's no return and they need to pay attention.

My astrophysics nerd heart loves the spacescapes we're getting this era.

(Future comment: wait, does this mean Midnight is actually a Moon, based on the proximity of that ringed planet? Or at least a binary system? I really need to go back to that episode and see how things match up.)

Carbon 46 - I assume not "Carbon-46" right? That would be impossible. The number must have a different meaning than isotope - maybe the atomic configuration? (Future edit: YUP!)

A lot of specific numbers this series. Some of them stood out previously (e.g. that six-six-six-sixteen) but I'm not sure any mean anything. An interesting point to note though, given the later discussion of 13 being unlucky as an Earth superstition. Could be hinting at future significances.

"Hope is irrelevant." Interesting. We just had the Doctor discussing the idea of the TARDIS bringing hope last episode (very DotD, since I didn't say it before), so this may be starting to form a theme. Was there any discussion of hope in The Robot Revolution?

"It's not appropriate to call me 'babes'." This is obviously meant to be antagonistic, but honestly... hell yeah, speak back to your "higher-up".

Hmm... more emphasis on heart beats, here as a life sign. But not the Doctor's this time. I'm still adding it to the list though.

Yay, another deaf character!

Interesting choice to have part of the signed conversation untranslated. Was there any significance there? Also is this recognisable BSL/ASL? I think I recognised a bit, with the thank you, but don't know about the rest.

Nice also to have the Doctor be more confident at it, after some of Twelve's mistakes last time.

So everyone else went mad? I assume it was caused by something sound related then? But then why the mirrors?

"A nurse who can't sign? That's against the law." "Well, we have different laws. But you're right, it should be the law."

In retrospect, I like the detail that Aliss didn't react to the door opening! She was facing the other way, and of course she didn't hear it. I was wondering at first why she was so nonchalant to it opening.

Mercury... so another source of reflections?

"I can still lip-read."

Between Bel's struggling as a nurse and the Doctor's questions, I'm kinda struggling to buy that the crew will keep buying their authority. This is a common DW trope, so I'm not sure why I'm so sceptical this episode... (Future Edit: Given who the enemy is this episode, no wonder the writing has got me feeling so anxious about this! Genuinely quite a compliment to Angel Walfall, RTD, and the show crew on making me feel this way without even knowing why!)

The well itself gives strong "Satan Pit" vibes. Maybe this is why we didn't bring back the orange, as it would have felt too similar?

I like some of the world-building we're getting this episode, with regards to the 'wildlands' and entering the force as a teenager. Far more than we usually get for "generic interstellar space mission".

OH? So something has happened to Earth. Presumably not erased from time given last episode, but perhaps its future history has been, depending on what's happening in the present. I can't remember if I said this before, but this all feels surprisingly Lawrence Miles "Book of the World" so far (or just the stolen planets arc I guess), not that I'm saying it's more EU (or in this case, unofficial writing) cribbing, just a similar vibe with the mystery of Earth somehow being missing.

Interesting to have two explicitly human-like alien species this series already. Not as common in New Who compared to Classic. Feels a little bit of a shame we're not getting some prosthetics or something though, given that Disney+ money, to give a least a little bit of an alien appearance. That's always been why I've quite liked aliens like the Singers of Akhet, or the Drahvin (BTW RTD, can we can get the Drahvin back, pretty please?).

That jump scare took a couple repeats to see what happened. Something was behind Aliss. Is she possessed, or carrying something with her? Maybe something to do with that wound?

"What's that thing?" "Magic" lol (Another point for the Magic vs Science unravelling laws of rationality theme in this show, plus how the Doctor fits into it all)

Maybe I'm so sceptical of the authority thing because of this guy's (reasonable) doubts.

Feels quite Series 4. 'There's something on your back'

"But it's just a grey star now. Nothing special." "Well, a grey star is a star that's collapsed." Hm, a grey star isn't a thing. Is it meant to be a fading white dwarf (i.e. between a white dwarf and black dwarf?) or maybe a neutron star or something? Maybe something between a black hole and neutron star? That would better fit the "collapse" description.

"It was an Xtonic Star. But that's ancient history, 400,000 years ago." Wait, I know that star...

"Carbon 46" "And the definition of that is?" "Diamonds. This is a diamond mine. The entire surface of this planet was once made out of diamonds" WAIT I KNOW THAT PLANET...

Holy shit, so this is a Midnight sequel?! No wonder the sceptical tone felt so strong (also tbf I saw something comparing the episode to Midnight, but didn't realise how strong the connection was going to be!)

The monster perked when it heard the Doctor was an expert, didn't it...?

Oh, this soundtrack! With the trumpets blaring. Was that from Midnight or another episode? It sounds kinda Twelve era, but I expect I'm wrong. (Future edit: I checked, it's definitely from Midnight. It's part of the same named song on the Series 4 soundtrack.)

I wonder... if Earth's been destroyed/erased, were the events of that episode effected? How many of the Midnight passengers, if any, were actually human again? If none, maybe it's uneffected?

This is some interesting development for the Midnight entity. So it's some sort of 'perspective'-based creature, always behind the person it's attached to. Feels very Weeping Angel-like, though it's clearly not just a matter of sight. It seems to be linked to the direction Aliss is facing.

"It can't be behind from every angle." "Try telling it that" YESSS, non-euclidean creature, let's go.

A shame this episode kinda kills the "dying TARDIS" theory of it though. Though worth noting this is the same episode Belinda had the translation circuit introduced to her, which is key to that whole idea?

"If it was a clock face, then you die at midnight."... that's a little bit of a stretch... I get it from their perspective, but surely hands at 6 o'clock would be a better comparison?

Side note... did we ever find out when Midnight took place exactly? Right now, I assumed if was the 51st century, but I don't think that's canon. We know it was around 400,000 years ago at a point 500,000 years in the future. So it's a bit further forward than we thought. Actually halfway towards the 200,000 future of human empire era of Series 1 now I think about it, though still 100,000 years away so it's not significant.

Side note 2: 400,000 years isn't a very long for a star to die in? It's fictional granted, but I wonder what type of star Midnight's sun is meant to be. I guess it could have already been in its last days? But the process of dying is meant to be slow in most cases. It presumably would have to have been quite a big star, as the larger they are the quicker they burn out. This seemingly rules out the fading white dwarf theory, since it takes forever for that to happen (fun fact: we believe there isn't a single black dwarf in the universe yet!). A neutron star / black hole intermediary state is a bit more likely, which might place the star right around the Chandresekhar limit which JWST and other telescopes are searching for bodies around. That's still not that much more massive than the Sun though, so the star really must have already been old in Midnight.

"It has fun. Oh, it played games" Interesting. This fits, but gives the creature an even more malevolent feeling, than its learning state we saw (though it was clearly more malicious when it fully took over Sky and possessed the Doctor). The mention of games almost makes me think this will link back to the Pantheon or similar creatures in some way.

As if Midnight wasn't dangerous enough, now everyone's got guns.

Cassio you moron...

...though deliberately killing him via the creature is crazy! WTF Shaya

Is Aliss even still 'her'? If so, it seems to be a change in MO for the entity.

"Please don't turn your back on me." Oh, you know that was an "a-ha" moment at the writing desk!

"My old friend. You have waited 400,000 years. Who are you? Are you there? What are you?" Are we about to get something crazy?

"It knows my name." WHAT. LIKE, 'NAME' NAME? Now I want some to analyse those whisper and see if they can discern anything. If the whisper we hear here is what the Doctor's hearing, it almost sounds just like two or three syllables. Could just be "Doctor" but doesn't sound like it. Sounds closer to "Theta" if anything...

On the other hand, it's clearly more than what we hear, so there's not much to conclude. The Doctor reacts a LOT more while we hear nothing, so there might be some telepathic contact taking place too.

(Does that mean Series 4 now has three episodes in a row with characters who know the Doctor's name? River and the entity?)

"Oh yes, there it is." Ah, for a second we were seeing the Doctor get possessed again! Can you imagine if the Doctor turned and suddenly started acting like the released Sky did at the end of Midnight? I know some of y'all have theorised it could happen in a way involving the Master, but I would love to see Ncuti get a villainous moment, like the Cyberplanner or in 42 (speaking of which, there was a brief second I thought we were talking about that star earlier!).

Ha, I knew the Mercury was significant. So it destroyed the mirrors itself then? Quite "Little Nightmares"-y, plus I swear from something else too, but I can't remember.

"Mercury 16" Oh come on, that isn't an isotope either. I guess it must be some configuration of Mercury, based on the diamond thing (maybe this is why Mercury vapour isn't an issue when it gets spilled - though I suppose even if it was, both the soldiers and the Doctor and Bel have whatever they'd need to heal the exposure).

Oh, so is it attacking something behind it involuntary? Weird... If so, that might explain what happened to the cockpit in Midnight. But did anyone go behind Sky in that episode. Although actually, there have been a few points where it seemingly could have struck previously (e.g. as Cassio walked to the other side of the room and Aliss turned), so maybe there is some control to it? The rules are a bit unclear, but that comes with non-euclidity I guess.

It seems interestingly to be linked to the line of sight specifically? The Doctor told people not to look earlier, so maybe not looking at it when you're facing it is enough to be safe? That would explain the screaming before gettng thrown too. It's like some sort of defensive mechanism to hide and avoid being seen, which is apparently harmful even to itself - very Weeping Angel-like again. Like the entity only attacks when it can gurantee it can kill whatever sees it. But apparently its peripharies (e.g. over the shoulder) aren't so vital.

"I want to see it" How very Listen of you, Doctor. At least he only seems to get a glimpse in the shadows and isn't attacked the same way.

I didn't see it first time watching, but just realised they did actually reuse the orange spacesuit! Aliss wears it when they escort her out, though it's clearly been retouched in grey to serve as a miner's spacesuit. I wonder how many of those suits have actually been made and reused? Given it fits Aliss's actress, maybe this is one of the ones fitted for Jodie, Jenna, or Mandip?

I knew everyone just getting out felt a bit too easy...

Jesus, something tells me this is going to remind Belinda how dangerous this is again, after the relatively comfortably story last time. The Doctor's sacrificial play probably helped solidify her trust of him, but I don't think she'll be as carefree about sticking around as it looked like she was going to be.

Interesting no-one questions if Belinda nearly dying would be enough to move the entity to Shaya. (Future edit: knowing it didn't actually go to her shows how flimsy this really was. It's also a nice reminder that the thing is intelligent, and doesn't have rules it needs to follow. After all, why should it go to the killer? It probably only did so previously because they were the most convenient nearby body. Or actually, in retrospect, I guess that, like it looked for the most intelligent person in the room in Midnight, this time it's just looking for its safest way out. In the past, that's been sticking with whoever kills the previous host - "survival of the fittest", after all (not that that's what that phrase really means) - but here, it knows Shaya is ready to sacrifice herself, so there's no point leeching onto her. It also doesn't go with the Doctor, as this time he's too smart, and would catch and stop it. Belinda was a good try, but her odds now probably seem to low (plus maybe her being shot would have effected it too?). The better option is to pick someone else in the room: not a soldier - but the group's quieter nurse.

I feel like Shaya running away face forwards could have been done a bit more carefully, given she was almost throwing everyone behind her. (Future edit, again: given the final twist, this makes more sense...)

Also, she kinda comes across as another Doctor parallel doesn't she? Like with Mr Pye last episode, here "running across the galaxy" to bring hope (again that theme). Feels like the kinda thing that could be setting up the Doctor to sacrifice himself some way in the final episode this series.

This music as she sacrifices itself sounds familiar again? I'd assume from Midnight, but it sounds more like something from Girl in the Fireplace. A lot of repeated soundtracks this year so far. Mostly reasonable choices, but Amy's theme and the This is Gallifrey bit feel like they could be arbitrary choices. I hope Murray Gold put some thought into it and it's not more of a Time of the Doctor situation where they had limited recording time and had to reuse some themes (as much as I love the Long Song / Infinite Potential returning for Eleven's regeneration). I wonder if there's more subtle Midnight callbacks in this episode's soundtrack I missed? Whether there are or not, I will say I did love the soundtrack this episode, including the more original bits. (Future edit: Again, I checked this. I don't think it's actually Madame de Pompadour, which is what I was thinking. I think it's just a similar sounding theme, either original to this episode, or possibly unreleased from Midnight.)

Mrs Flood again. So the use of the vindicators IS important, including to whatever she's thinking. Again... is my theory that they're accidentally messing with Earth's position in the Web of Time correct?!

Actually defeating the Midnight entity (albeit not killing it), rather than just surviving felt a little bit of a shame, so it actually sucessfully getting out does boost this ending quite a bit! Now I just kinda hope we get a third story to complete the trilogy, as it's quite a cliffhanger. Maybe that could be the one to actually reveal more about it?

Ooh, the credits give the entity a name (or lack thereof) for crediting. "It Has No Name". It seems to be a male actor, maybe whoever did the glimpses of it on set? The whispers sounded more feminine to me.

Overall thoughts

I really liked this one, even if it was a bit of a disappointing follow-up. Definitely doesn't match up to Midnight in terms of the tension and anxiety, even if I was feeling it early on. Maybe more should have been done with Cassio's coup - we could have seen more and more whispers among the crew members over the story? The room most of the action takes place in is also way too big, so you don't get the same claustrophobia. That being said, between this and the entity's behaviour itself, I get you don't just want to do Midnight, but again. I still think it was a good and creepy story, but the comparison to Midnight kinda makes it look worse by comparison. We also don't get the same breakdown of the Doctor's character behaviour, though again I understand you can't just do the same thing again. It more just happens in the background here, mostly via Cassio. On the bright side, I'd argue we've gotten a similar breakdown of Fifteen from Belinda just a couple episodes ago, so I'm not too upset.

Meeting the entity again is cool though, especially with it seemingly recognising the Doctor. The implication that it learned the Doctor's name is a bit of a bombshell, even if it sadly didn't amount to anything. Its shows of force are neat, quite poltergeist-y, and matches up with the cockpit getting torn off in the previous episode, but overall it didn't really match the creepiness of that episode. I'm kinda shocked we never got a point of it mimicking someone again (can you imagine if it was doing so throughout, and when we got to the airlock Belinda suddenly started repeating people's words!). It seems a lot more physical rather than psychological / mental in this episode. On the otherhand, the MO change does kinda make sense. It's been 400,000 years after all - it was only really doing what it did in the first place to learn! Probably doesn't need to learn anything else at this point. Learning more about it, like its connection to perception, was pretty cool too.

I liked the characters in this episode - while some crew members were clearly more "redshirt"-y, a few of them like Cassio, Shaya and Mo stood out, as did Aliss. I really loved how you could feel the different communication barriers coming across through the episode, between the discussion of signing, the soldiers turning off their captions to speak without Aliss hearing (though, as she says, she can definitely lipread some of it) and the Doctor making an effort rather than just relying on the automatic captioning. The latter in particular feels like a bit of a relevant topic, given I've just recently seen "anti-DEI" talk turn to the idea of getting rid of interpretors and just having subtitles available. Again, I'm not audibly or visually impaired (just shortsighted), so I'm probably not the best person to talk about it, but there've been plenty of discussions especially on Tumblr on why this is a bad conclusion to come to.

One thing I'll say, less about the current episode and more in general - maybe this is just me, but do modern DW episodes tend to feel a bit underdeveloped? Not in terms of editing (though I'd argue some changes could have been made to the last few episodes, as much as I liked them) but in terms of plot pacing? It feels like a lot more happened in older episodes, whereas nowadays I check the time part way through and am surprised how close we are to the end - it sometimes feels like we could have done more with the concepts, scenery etc. Maybe it's just a matter of growing up and your attention span / information processing changing (if anything, I'm glad I seem to be going that way in terms of paying attention, rather than the opposite!). On the other hand, maybe this is evidence we need to bring back mid-season multi-parters, or at least the 50+ min episodes we got more of in Capaldi's run.

Ruby next week! I'm surprised it's a Ruby episode with the Doctor and Belinda actually on Earth, I thought it was going to be more of a Doctor-lite episode with her. When is it going to be set? I assume last year or something - too long for Bel to hang around on Earth? Also, "boyfriend", "pheromones", what is this, Torchwood?

[quietnade]

Wanna go back to 2012?

Since I can remember, I have always been a girl longing for the times that passed by, holding on to nostalgia. I don’t know, is it just me, or do you also feel that bittersweet longing for the early 2010s?

Maybe we cannot turn back time, but we can recreate those simpler times. Here’s how I’ve been making this 2025 my new 2012 lately!

🩷 Mood boards and curating image collections had been a huge part of my teenage years! It may sound like a silly little hobby of a teenage girl running after aesthetics, but trust me when I say that curating these little boards and collections, finding connections in visuals, brings so much inspiration. Back in the WeHeartIt days, I had thousands of collections that I used to get inspired to create OG characters, little stories, and poems. I miss dear old WHI (my typical nostalgic self), though we don’t have her anymore, we have Pinterest, or any other alternative you prefer. Just spend a few minutes a day adding inspiration to your collection, just like the good old days!

🩷 Listen to nostalgic playlists. One Direction, of course, is a must if you are a Directioner like me. Old Taylor’s songs, Ariana, and Demi Lovato are ruling my nostalgic wanna go back to good old days? playlists.

🩷 Room decor is another important thing. I said goodbye to boring beiges and browns and now embrace pastel colors again in my room. I put up 1D posters along with posters of my favorite TV shows and movies. Put on some fairy lights, too, and add pastel pink to appease that inner teenage longing for the best days I ever had.

🩷 Yeah, I know it’s good to avoid "superficial things" (whatever that even means!), if you say so. But watching casual, lighthearted shows and reading YA books won’t hurt your soul. In fact, they might light up your soul more than you’ve ever guessed. I paused my reading of Wuthering Heights back in December 2024 (I might pick her up again after some time, for sure) and thought of rereading the books I used to enjoy, without guilt. I dusted off some books on my shelf, such as Eleanor & Park, Fangirl, and The Fault in Our Stars (and please suggest more books to spark the teenage self in me again!!). Of course, as dystopian as it is, fangirling over The Hunger Games is still important. So is Harry Potter.

🩷 Fangirling! Remember that you are never too old to be a fangirl. Maybe this post is your sign that it’s time to fully embrace your fangirl self (or maybe fanboy) once again. And please, never let her go again. No matter how much you have to deal with the adult world and all its responsibilities, I truly hope you’ll find some time to fangirl over your favorite things guilt-free. Not sure where to start? One Direction, The Hunger Games, and Harry Potter are my favorites, so I suggest them to ya!

🩷 Bring back your old media. Last week, I went on a Barbie movie marathon and felt my heart become full from the good energy they give. I also started rewatching nostalgic TV shows like Merlin (BBC TV show), Once Upon A Time, Gilmore Girls, Pretty Little Liars, The Vampire Diaries, and Wizards of Waverly Place!

🩷 Be faithful to your hobbies! Maybe it’s taking photos and using over-exposure filters, or maybe it’s writing fanfiction that’s trashy to some. But please, never stop loving them. Once again, start writing, start living life carefree. Just like you did back in 2012.

These moments are slipping by, and I’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to them forever and ever. Trust me, you don’t have to let them go, especially those best years of your life!

I love you, 2012–2016, the best era of my life. 🩷

[victimsofyaoipoll]

Round 1

Propaganda Under Cut

Alana Bloom

she kissed will graham in s1 and dated hannibal in s2 so you can imagine how bad the fandom is to her. fun fact she's in a canon lesbian relationship now tho <3

The show literally does the yaoi treatment of victimisation for the benefit of the male leads to her. And then the fandom mistreats her

I'm not sure if this even counts but...Literally a victim of Yaoi along with several other characters in-series, but she got it almost the worst. The entire show is just people dying because the two male leads are OBSESSED with each other and can't be normal about anything. Alana Bloom, actual PhD of psychology and consultant to the FBI, got kissed by one guy, fucked and fed people-meant by the other, and pushed out a window by the murder husbands' forced-surrogate daughter. Like. Actual victim of several crimes caused by yaoi. She's probably one of the few examples of a Yaoi Victim overcoming and evolving past her yaoi-related trauma into a stronger person/character, though: She gets an entire character overhaul and a hot, millionairess for a wife. She kills a man with an eel. She becomes head of the BSHCI, effectively putting her in complete power over her jackass cannibal ex-bf. She does quite well. Unfortunately, the rest of her screen time is spent trying not to get killed in the ongoing fallout of Hannibal and Will's fucked up courtship, but hey. Can't have everything. I don't even know if I'm saying anything valid here: the fandom loves her, but I supposed her position outside of the Hannigram relationship relegates her to a non-subject in a lot of Hannigram-focused fanwork. She's an 'obstacle' to their relationship only in the sense that Will had a crush on her once that went nowhere and Hannibal started an actual relationship with her SPECIFICALLY to piss off Will. I guess she's also a more literal obstacle as Hannibal's jailer and Will's friend who's constantly pointing out to him that Morals exist and he should try having some of those, maybe.

Gwen

She stands in the way of Merthur, by far the most popular ship in the fandom. I haven’t seen it as much in recent years, but back in the days of fanfiction.net she got slut shamed so badly for having been romantically interested in three of the male characters over the course of the show, which is just... normal straight woman behavior, meanwhile Merlin crushed on pretty much every woman who even looked at him in the early seasons of the show and got no hate for that whatsoever. I barely even read Merthur fics (not because it’s m/m, just because certain aspects of their relationship don’t appeal to me) but the “Gwen is a slut” attitude was so pervasive across the fandom, even fics that weren’t explicitly anti-Gwen would “jokingly” call her a slut. I even saw a few fics demonizing her for having an affair with Lancelot despite the fact that SHE WAS ENCHANTED when that happened, and surprise surprise, Lancelot (who was also under the influence of magic) got none of that hate, and neither did Arthur, who got enchanted to fall in love with multiple women over the course of the show.

Canonically Arthur Pendragon's love interest and an important and interesting character in the show who's completely shoved aside and ignored in favour of the medieval bbc yaoi ship. At best they put her and Morgana in Lesbian Timeout (ie make them get together and then reduce them to wingwomen at best because god forbid we focus on the medieval bbc yuri). Justice for Gwen right now!

She is prince Arthur's love interest (eventually wife). Arthur is MADLY in love with her. He tells his tyrannical father he would give up his crown to be with her (she's a servant in the series). He forgives her cheating on him with Lancelot (!), which in the show is caused by an evil enchantment, but the characters never find out about it. He chooses her time and time again. His love for Gwen is literally never put into question. Many fans insist to this day that there was no chemistry between Gwen and Arthur compared to Arthur and Merlin. Arthur isn’t even particularly nice to Merlin most of the time! The funny thing is that Merlin himself ships these two so hard and does everything he can to help them get together!! Gwen & Arthur are adorable and too many fans were drunk on the yaoi fumes to see it. ARTHUR WAS A SIMP FOR GWEN.

[petercapaldi-press]

INTERVIEW

Peter Capaldi: ‘I was relieved the Tories lost. But it’s not that simple’

The Glasgow-born actor started out playing easy-going buffoons. Then along came ‘The Thick of It’. He talks to Craig McLean about how the Tories killed political satire, the divisive nature of the culture wars, why he found ‘Doctor Who’ fandom difficult, and what it’s like to be cast as malevolent characters

Sunday 20 October 2024 06:00 BST

Recently, whenever Peter Capaldi has been shown rough footage of himself acting in scenes, he’s done a double-take. “I’m horrified,” he says. “I go: who is that old, weird, gaunt guy with the white hair? Oh, it’s me. That’s what I’ve become. But that’s OK,” adds the 66-year-old with a shrug. “I always loved Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee and Vincent Price. Playing those villains, all those horror movie types, is great fun.”

Capaldi has certainly made a speciality out of sulphurous ne’er-do-wells with something of the night about them. On Friday, the crepuscular character actor who was more Doctor What? than Doctor Who returned to our screens in Prime Video’s twisty, time-bendy, supernatural thriller The Devil’s Hour as Gideon Shepherd, a mysterious criminal with a biblical name who may or may not be a serial killer. Meanwhile, details are scant on who or what he’s playing in the upcoming series of Black Mirror, but it’s a reasonable bet it’s a role with a whiff of the devil. Capaldi is happy with his run of malevolent characters – broadly. “I used to do voiceovers for Anchor butter. One day they said to me: ‘Could you try and sound a little less sinister?’ I thought: ‘I don’t know what’s happened, I’ve suddenly gone sinister.’ But sinister is good. I’ve always been a great fan of the sinister.”

Leaning in close over our lunchtime minestrone, eyes bulging, Scottish brogue bewitching, the Glasgow-born actor and Oscar-winning director is head-to-toe in black at a tiny table in a private members’ club in central London. Conversation turns to Criminal Record, this year’s low-key hit for Apple TV+ that is about to begin production on its second series. Capaldi plays an old-school copper with old-school values. You know, a bit of casual misogyny here, a bit of institutional racism there. All of which, naturally, rubbed up his counterpart, played by Cush Jumbo, an exemplar of “woke” modern policing. In a knotty drama developed by Capaldi’s producer wife Elaine Collins, the fact that DCI Daniel Hegarty was a barely likeable character was part of the attraction.

“Absolutely,” he affirms. “But also that he was complicated. That he wasn’t so simple to understand. We wanted to engage the audience in some sympathy for him. And understand that people are complex. He’s not black and white. But, yeah, in essence his role was to carry that darkness. That was appealing.”

Capaldi and Collins are both executive producers on Criminal Record. But he defers to his wife of 33 years – they met in 1983 on a touring theatrical production in Scotland but have long been based in north London – as “the boss, the creator”. While employed at the BBC, Collins developed Vera and Shetland – cosier police procedurals for sure. “Eventually she left, and went out on her own, and was keen to do a show that was maybe a bit harder.”

By “harder”, does he mean challenging woke sensibilities? “Well, I don’t know what woke sensibilities are. It’s trying to tell a story that’s interesting, arresting and makes people think – and is responsible. I’ve got the general picture [of what woke is]. It’s used all over the place. I don’t think half the people who use it know [what it means]. It’s just another word. This constant polarisation is not useful. It’s another tool to keep people apart.”

When I ask whether that’s what cancel culture is partly about, too, he professes confusion. “I don’t know – seriously. There have been points where there has been definite political motivation to cause [division]. To place people on the other side of the fence to each other. And it was contingent – it was more useful to the Tory party to have these wars than to try and find out what could bring people together.”

What he means is: it’s easier to foment a culture war than it is to tackle the problem of, say, social exclusion. “Yes. It’s all complicated, and simplifying it to black and white doesn’t help anyone.”

Capaldi leaning into the sinister in ‘The Devil’s Hour’ (Amazon)

Now in late middle age, and a grandfather of two, Capaldi admits to feeling a bit surprised at the way his career has turned out. “When I started off, I was an easygoing buffoon – a gangly youth in a Bill Forsyth gentle comedy,” he says of his breakout role opposite Burt Lancaster in the great Scottish director’s beloved Local Hero (1983). “But The Thick of It changed everything for me.”

Armando Iannucci’s excoriating political satire, which ran for four series between 2005 and 2012, rebranded Capaldi as Malcolm Tucker: the sweary spin doctor extraordinaire, a machiavellian operative who simultaneously oozed no-f’s-given superiority and radiated all-the-f’s rage. It exposed the inner machinations of government as both farcical and toxic. But this workplace comedy now feels very much of its time. Because surely post-get-Brexit-done, post-Parytgate and post-Liz-the-lettuce, politics today is beyond satire?

“We all felt that. I’m constantly asked by the press if I would do a new one,” he says of a show that won him a Bafta in 2010. “But [under the Tories] things were just too serious. The corruption was too deep. We’d be letting them off the hook by being funny.”

"David Tennant told me that, after ‘Doctor Who’, I wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without people knowing me"

Capaldi was raised in a working-class household in Glasgow and it’s not hard to divine his political sensibilities. But while he’s “glad, obviously” that the Tories lost the election, he insists that he’s “not politically engaged”. Why not? “I was forced to be politically engaged," he answers, presumably a reference to the demands placed on him by Iannucci’s typically nuanced scripts. “I’m not interested in it. In fact I hate it. I don’t want to spend my life thinking about all this stuff. Of course I was relieved the Tories lost. But it’s not that simple, is it?” He pauses and twitches a salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “Sorry, I sound mournful, don’t I?”

It’s that mournful demeanour that made him find some elements of his three-series run as the Time Lord difficult. He recalls talking to his predecessor-but-one, David Tennant, before his casting was announced in August 2013. “David said: ‘Is this true, you’re going to be the Doctor? Well, let’s go have a talk.’ It might have been here actually,” says Capaldi, gesturing round this clamorous room beloved of film and telly folk. “And he said to me: ‘What will change is your visibility. You won’t be able to walk down the street without people knowing who you are.’ I was like: ‘OK, we’ll see how that goes…’”

Capaldi ultimately found having to be nice to fans all the time “a bit of a stress… My [personal] character leans more to the melancholic and cynical. The daily good-heartedness of it all is quite a leap for me. But that’s what I was paid to do. But that’s exhausting… And that’s one of the things I’m glad to have left behind: I’m not responsible for the endless cheerfulness [of] little kids.”

He’s watched Ncuti Gatwa, yet another Scottish Time Lord, as the 15th Doctor and pronounces him “fantastic. I met him and thought he was lovely.” Add in the fact that original reboot showrunner Russell T Davies is back, and that Disney – and their money – are partners on the show, and it all makes for a show that, on paper at least, should feel very different. But as a corollary of that, some viewers feel that the world’s longest-running sci-fi show, a cornerstone of British culture, has been Disney-fied. Does he agree?

“I think that the show is... whatever those who love it want it to be,” he replies, carefully. “I come from [seeing] it in 1963. So even the show, when I came into it, was different from the show I remember. And I loved the show that I remember. I loved the show that we did, but it was different.”

Can he, though, imagine being in Gatwa’s shoes, as the brand ambassador for this new Doctor Who, one with demanding American audiences (and producers) to please?

“It must be tough,” he concedes. “That’s one of the hardest things about the job. Apart from the day-to-day business of delivering those lines, and you’ve got to have lots of ideas and energy, there’s always a knock at the door at lunchtime: ‘Can you come and talk to these visitors we’ve got onset?’ ‘Can you look at these new toys?’ ‘Can you sign these things?’ ‘Can you go to this meeting with so-and-so who’s selling this in South Korea?’ There’s always a [request]. It’s a big brand. So it’s quite a demanding job. It takes its toll.”

Capaldi as the Time Lord (BBC)

Capaldi also experienced the demands of geek fandom and blockbuster IP during his brief foray into the superhero world, with his role in James Gunn’s 2021 film The Suicide Squad. He found filming alongside an all-star Hollywood cast on huge sets in Atlanta, Georgia a blast; the endless promotion less so.

Still, the three-month shoot allowed him plenty of him to reconnect with his first passion: music. In the long hours in his Suicide Squad trailer, Capaldi wrote a bunch of songs that were eventually released as an album, 2021’s St Christopher.

It was a debut that was a long time coming. While at Glasgow School of Art in the early Eighties, Capaldi was in a band, The Dreamboys. “Bizarro punk” was Capaldi’s estimation at the time. Or “showbiz Bauhaus” according to their drummer Craig Ferguson, who went on to become a stand-up comic, actor and American chatshow titan (James Corden inherited his chair on The Late Late Show).

What kind of frontman was Capaldi? “I was OK,” he demurs. “I’m sure I jumped about a lot. You’d have to ask somebody else, really.”

So I do. “Oh, spectacular!” Ferguson tells me. “My girlfriend at the time was in another band and she said: ‘Your band are rubbish, but you’ve got a really good actor as the frontman.’ Peter was very charismatic – he still is – and onstage had that ineffable presence I’ve seen in a few people. Your eye goes to him. He was a star player from the word go.”

Capaldi has since completed a second album, Sweet Illusions. It’s a robustly melodic set, with Capaldi’s voice a cross between Leonard Cohen and The Blue Nile’s Paul Buchanan. Quelle surprise, the songs have a touch of midnight, too. “All the songs hanker back to that time,” he says of early Eighties, glad-to-be-grey Glasgow. “To an eternal, dark, synthesiser, guitar-y kind of vibe. Because I’m picking up where I left off.”

The first single is out now. It’s called “Bin Night”, a lullaby that’s a tribute to his infant grandchildren, to the “ticking clock” of his own mortality and to the domestic concerns of a Muswell Hill grandpa.

“I love bin night. It’s the one night when I can control the chaos of the world. The one night when I can restore some order to the entropy. Everything goes out on bin night.”

Even if Peter Capaldi’s borough, like my neighbouring borough, only takes recycling weekly but waste is fortnightly and garden refuse God knows when?

He splutters and straightens up. “They might only take one of them. But then I’ll just take the other one back in. That’s my rules. Bin night is my rules.”

‘The Devil’s Hour’ is on Prime Video from 18 October. The single ‘Bin Night’ is out now, and the album ‘Sweet Illusion’ is released on Last Night From Glasgow in March 2025

[bisexual-borderline-disaster]

Found fic - Where the Grass is Greener by FandomLife54

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731980

Thank you everyone! esp @diaryofatrekker for finding it :)

Don't want to delete this post so og search under the cut

Hello, merthur fans! this might be a long shot but I'm looking for a fic that I can't for the life of me remember the name of, so wondering if it's something anyone recognises?

All I remember is that at the end, Merlin and Arthur are distant / not speaking. arthur's angry, or betrayed, i think. i don't know if it's because he found out about merlin's magic or what. there's another character - his name starts with T, if i recall correctly, and I can't remember if he's an OC or canon, but he's part of a kingdom - possibly the king, possibly just a very high-ranking person - in which magic is free and celebrated. He invites Merlin to come back with him, learn more, be around people who'd appreciate him. Merlin's torn. Arthur's somewhere in the castle when he hears that merlin is leaving with T, he's gone already, taken a horse, packed his bags. He freaks out, realises he can't live without merlin, gets on a horse and runs after them, begging him to stay. turns out merlin had just been going with T to the border, to check on the wards, or to show them to him - something like that. he was never going to leave. Arthur feels embarrassed but also extremely relieved, and T is very amused by it all. He tells merlin he's welcome at his kingdom anytime, which makes Arthur jealous, and then they all say goodbye and Merlin and Arthur ride back to the castle together

also T doesn't appear out of nowhere at the end, he's a fairly established character, either there from the start or introduced by the halfway point. i think he was invited to camelot. he definitely has a partner at home. i'm pretty sure he's been trying to convince merlin to come for a while, too.

things i'm not sure about - there's a possibility that merlin's been to the kingdom before and all the angst was about him wanting to come back and stay? also there might be something to do with T showing him a - vision of what his kingdom looked like, and maybe there were dragons flying freely in that kingdom? maybe merlin was drawn to it because of the idea of aithusa being free to fly with others of her species? arthur might have ran to the physicians chambers to find merlin first, and he opened them to find him gone. it's also possible that merlin went with T to send him off, actually - i don't know why my brain's insistent on the wards thing. i think T knew about merlin's magic, though idk if he just sensed it or he saw it, but i think that connects to why he was showing merlin visions and asking him to come along. Maybe Arthur thought T was flirting with Merlin - I remember him explicitly talking about his partner, and Merlin telling Arthur that.

Definitely on ao3, longish. Read it about two years ago, but no idea when it was written. I don't remember anything about the summary, name or possible tags

also, if anyone's in the Stony fandom, i remember this fic always made me think of Knight of Wands by Sineala, because of the similar emotions and fears, particularly at the end. it always struck me as 'this is the one where he runs after him, the other is the one where he gets there before he leaves the castle'.

gah this is so long - if you managed to even read all this, thank you lmao. ive reread so many fics trying to find it and though they've been some wonderful rereads, but the fact that i can't find it is driving me nuts.

tags used: #bbc merlin #merlin fic search #merthur lost fic #merlin lost fic #merthur fic search #god this is literally the first time ive used tags semi-properly in years how the heck does this work lmao sorry if i fuck up #merthur

[manchestereyes]

i saw you mention the video that shan't be named and the tweets and i agree they were definitely a couple back then... but what if theyre not anymore and instead just exes who are friends in the current day ;-;. i remember back when the video went huge on tumblr how adamantly dan denied it, in such a way that would be hurtful to phil in some posts if they were still together at that time. idk maybe all the break up fics that were inspired by those posts poisoned my mind lol

you're totally valid! honestly a lot of what they did at that time is super confusing but i see it as dan coming from a place of fear. as we know, he'd been bullied all his life for being different and seeming gay, to the point where he genuinely thought he couldn't be gay if he wanted to survive in his hometown.

but then he found phil, and learned that phil was openly gay in his real life and things were going alright for him. so dan started to think that maybe it would be okay for him too. fast forward a few years and their videos were blowing up faster than either of them expected, to the point where they were getting amazing opportunities with the BBC. and those opportunities play such a huge part in their story. because, think about it--the BBC is a HUGE national corporation and radio 1 is one of the top radio stations in the world. having their own radio show would make them national celebrities.

and sure, the BBC and especially radio 1 weren't homophobic by any means--nick grimshaw came out shortly after taking over the breakfast show in 2012. but dan still wasn't out to his family yet. so when the video leaked and people started digging into his past, he got super defensive because he wasn't even close to feeling like he could tell his family yet and things were coming dangerously close to his family finding out from someone other than him. so he did everything he possibly could to make it seem like he couldn't possibly be gay--and yeah, that included saying things like "ew, phil and i are friends i could never think about kissing him!!!1!!11!!!1"

and sure, we don't know anything about the inner workings of their relationship. but we do know they felt like they had to say yes to every opportunity just in case saying no to things made these opportunities dry up, to the point where they'd have to get jobs outside of youtube. and along with being outed, that was dan's biggest fear at the time. he had dropped out of uni and his family didn't have a financial safety net for him to fall back on. that is an INCREDIBLE amount of stress for anyone, let alone someone in their early 20s!

i like to think phil understood that, though, especially since he was under a similar amount of stress. sure, every gay couple is different and we've seen countless stories where one person isn't willing to go back in the closet for another. but considering that they are always talking with each other and checking in on each other even now, i think they have excellent communication--to the point where dan likely told phil about these posts before he posted them. heck, they even edit each other's videos! so they always know what the other is putting out into the world, and understands why they're saying that. and seeing as they've been joined at the hip this whole time (even when we didn't always see it) and never made the slightest attempt to date anyone else, i feel pretty confident saying they've been together the whole time! we may never know for sure, and maybe i'm being overly optimistic, but i hope not 😊

[asherloki]

helloooo :)

i was wondering if u could write somthing about anderson disrespecting reader when they join cases with sherlock, but always behind their backs

but then sherlock hears and he starts (trying) to beat him up, and anderson puts up a good fight, however sherlock still wins

he goes home to 221B and reader is shocked asking who hurt him and what he did, but he doesn’t give away anything, and simply tell them not to worry about it. whilst reader is patching up his wounds, john comes back and starts saying how cool, dangerous and reckless beating up anderson for reader was and they’re just flustered and shocked, saying thank you to sherlock (maybe a first kiss scene?)

reader also gives anderson a piece of their mind - not because he disrespected them, because he beat up sherlock :)

tysm and ur work is amazing!!!!

Detective's doll

Bbc Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 840

A/n:- listen guys, just one or two fic will come this month, once October is here I'll be doing Halloween fics! I've shared some prompts do check! Fandoms you know, otherwise check my masterlist.

"you think I can help you with this case?" I enquired to Sherlock not believing he asked my help suddenly for a case. I've been fond of him since I moved in. He can seem cold, unfriendly, some people may describe him as arrogant as well. I was no exception, however living with him taught he's actually pretty lonely. Especially since john watson was married. Sometimes when he's working or sitting with his microscope he looks as pure as a child who just needs a hug. I do want to hug him tight sometimes but he's not very fond of touches innit? So I never dared.

"that's why I asked you, look this case includes information about victorian literature and by seeing your side of the bookshelf " he said pointing to our bookshelf, his side was filled with books about chemistry, science, anatomy and mine was filled with victorian classic novels, mostly, "I think you can help us with this".

"okay then" I must admit I was over the moon. A real life adventure was calling me, how could I not be thrilled.

In evening we went to Scotland yard, I felt excited about being able to help these men. Especially Sherlock, he introduced me to lestrade and informed him that I'll be joining their quest. His agreement confirmed my involvement before I went with him to his office to get some information about the case, I thought Sherlock was following me however I turned around to find out he was going to a different direction, he was walking towards Andersen. Perhaps he had business with him, but one question still lingered, he doesn't quite like Andersen that much.

When I came back with a folder in my hand which contained some information put inside, not in an organised way, I looked around for Sherlock, it seemed like he was gone, and for some reason people or I must say other officers there stared at me. I wondered why, maybe because I don't usually visit their office. Though their furrowed brows told some different story.

After I got to Baker Street I found the flat's door already open,

"Sherlock?" I called, to make sure it was him who opened the door, and not some break in, "is it you in there?" I walked in showing some bravery, trying to make least noise possible to find Sherlock struggling with the first aid box.

"gosh" I went closer to him and I gasped as I found out he had a cut along his cheek bone, and some more wounds accompanying "what the... what happened?"

"nothing" replied the detective, still trying to get the box open. I noticed his knuckles were hurt too as they were all red, it was the reason for his struggle with the first aid box. They were hurting him as he tried to open it.

"fine don't tell me" the only thing I couldn't bring myself to like about him was his habit of keeping things hidden, "do me a favour and sit" I wonder if my eyes reflected all the concern I felt for him. It may have, for he stared at me for a few seconds then obeyed without any objection. I took some medicine in cotton to apply over his cut.

"ow" he pulled away as the medicine on the wound felt like burn.

"I know it might hurt but please.." as I said and he nodded in agreement, it appeared to how much I fancied this moment, me taking care of him, even though he was hurt, and that was the part I disliked. I continued to do my job until John Watson came bursting in,

"oh gosh you're here, you did amazing" he seemed overjoyed and I bet I could see all his 32 teeth the way he smiled.

"let's not talk about it" said Sherlock softly. My confusion rose at this point, does john know what happened?

"no wait" I forbid him to interfere, "what happened john?"

"wait you don't know?" he asked in a way as if I'm the one who should be knowing this before others, although he was well aware how secretive his friend can be.

"how's mary? Is pregnancy bothering her?" Sherlock interrupted again, with his terrible skill of small talk.

"shhh" I hushed him "speak up John".

"Sherlock beat up Andersen" He spoke finally.

"he did what?"

"yes, because..."

"you said enough" Sherlock forbid him again.

"no he hasn't" I said, "because?" I turned to John.

"because Andersen said shit about you" John's words left his mouth and hit me, one because Andersen said something bad about me? but I never were mean to him even for once, why would he do that? and two, Sherlock beat him for that? For me?

"it wasn't just.." Sherlock started to say something, he was lacking excuses so he stuttered until I spoke,

"really?"

"yes, Andersen is beaten up terribly by him" replied john, "and you shouldn't bother about what he said".

That only meant it was very mean, "I'd still like to know"

"dumb doll of the detective" said Sherlock, "that's what he told you, you're dumb, a doll who's is controlled by me"

I gasped at this not knowing what to say.

"an opportunist" followed by a few seconds of quietness, "he said more but..."

It felt terrible, no wonder other words were far more worse that Sherlock couldn't bring himself to speak.

"anyway" John said breaking the silence. "I better go home, Mary might need me."

Waving us he went and left us wondering about the situation. I turned to Sherlock as I was yet to understand all those cuts and wounds he endured, were all to protect my image? To protect me from words? He knew then how sensitive I am under the cover of a strong person, "you fought him for me?"

He nodded in response, followed by the heavy exhale.

"and why?"

"because you don't deserve disrespect, and obviously not from someone like Andersen." he replied.

I don't know why but that moment I didn't care if he likes being touched or not instead I wrapped my arms around his neck and placed my chin on his head, sniffing his hair and realising his shampoo has a decent smell, no wonder his curls were like a soft pillow. It forced me to lean my cheek too with a smile that appeared on my lips, "you didn't have to, but thanks"

"no problem" he said taking my hand, and caressing it, as if it was an assurance, a promise that my palm was safe in his hand.

Next day Sherlock, john and I went to Scotland yard where I found the sight of beaten up Andersen, oh how... terrible honestly. I felt bad how wounded he was but atleast he'll think twice before disrespecting me, or anyone. Sherlock made sure of that.

"you guys go inside, I'll be with you in a minute" I said walking to Andersen, although Sherlock pulled me a little by my wrist to say,

"listen" Sherlock said, "don't put up a fight I did it already"

"I won't" we exchanged smiles and I went to catch Andersen,

"Andersen!" I called.

He looked horrified yet fuming at me he said, "you? what do you want?"

With some strength in my voice I stated, as politely as possible yet stern, "next time if want to say something, make sure it's on my face, but if you dare again, my detective will kill you, I'm his doll afterall, he won't let you play with me like that" then I went a little closer and replied in a hushed voice, "I'm his to love, his to keep, his to adore." This may haven't scared him but infuriated him even more, so I stepped backwards with a smile, now that my threat did it's job and walked away, just one more time I turned around to wave him, a mocking wave to be more clear, "see ya".

[fallingforunrealisticromance]

High for love - Sherlock x reader

Request: "Can i request prompt #16 with BBC sherlock please? x"

Prompt: I may or may not be a tiny bit in love with you. Okay maybe a lot in love with you but that's beside the point.

A/N: I am thinking of doing a part two to this if people want? Let me know what you guys think!!

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drug use.

PART TWO HERE

Word count: 2804.

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

You ran your hands through your hair as you paced back and forth in your boyfriends apartment. You didn’t ant to dump him – well no that’s a lie otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it- but your reasoning didn’t feel valid. But surely it was better to cut it off now, rather than stringing him along the whole time? Before you could debate the subject anymore, the keys jangled in the lock and there he was.

‘hi baby’ He smiled as he dropped his bag, walking over to hug you. ‘’god I’ve missed you, work was hell. Julie, you know the one from the dinner party we went to last week, she didn’t do any of here paperwork so we were backlogged the whole day and it’s just insane-‘’

‘’Tom, can you stop for a second?’’ You blurted out, cutting him off.

You saw his brow flinch in confusion as he stepped back slightly at your tone.

‘’Is everything okay?’’ The genuine concern in his voice pulled at your heart strings.

Tom was perfect, he’s everything you could want in a guy. He was kind, compassionate, funny – he’d had you in tears from laughing so hard more times than you could count. You felt so happy when you were with him and you knew you could tell him anything and he would love you all the same. Yet here you were, about to break this poor man’s heart. And why? All because of some stupid detective you’d fallen for months ago.

‘’I need to talk to you about something’’ Your hands shook as you spoke, which of course Tom noticed.

‘’Hey you’re okay, whatever it is you know you can tell me. I’m here for you.’’ His words weren’t making this any easier.

He reached out to take your hands but the thought of him touching you right now made your stomach turn, guilt consuming you. His expression dropped when you moved away from him, clearly on edge now as well.

‘’Y/N?’’ He questioned.

You couldn’t even look at him, opting to stare at your hands instead. You took a shaky breath trying to compose yourself. ‘This is the right thing to do’ You told yourself.

‘’We need to break up.’’

It felt unreal as those words left your mouth. A heavy pause settled across the room, both of you taking in what had just been said. You glanced up at Tom, expecting him to get angry. Instead he just stared at you, a blank expression on his face.

‘’Tom?’’ you asked tentatively.

He just nodded slowly, processing what he had heard.

‘’Okay. Um, wow I wasn’t excepting that’’ He let out a shocked laugh. ‘’What changed? Did I do something?’’

You stepped towards him slightly. ‘’No, Tom, no. You were-are amazing. Truly. I’ve been so lucky to have you in my life. It’s just-‘’

You didn’t even know how to phrase it.

‘’It’s Sherlock.’’ You spat out, your face burning with shame.

You knew you hadn’t cheated, not physically. But the fact you were in love with another man while being in a relationship somehow felt like a bigger betrayal. And Tom deserved better.

‘’Your in love with him, aren’t you?’’ Tom’s voice broke through your thoughts.

You nodded, not sure what words would help the situation. You were waiting for tom to yell, telling you how awful you were before demanding you to leave. But it never came.

‘’I know you love me. That’s evident. But if I’m not the one your in love with, then I can’t stand in the way of that.’’ His tone was soft, deflated almost.

You looked up at him, seeing the sorrow laced in his eyes. It hurt to see.

‘’I’m sorry. I know it might not mean anything to you, but I truly never wanted to hurt you.’’  You said, keeping your voice low.

It almost felt wrong to break the quiet around the two of you.

‘’I know.’’ Was all he said, before hugging you tightly. The two of your stayed like that, holding each other for a while.

‘’Go and tell him then’’ Tom said, sighing slightly as he pulled away.

You chuckled stiffly at his words before grabbing your bag and heading to his door.

‘’I’ll see you around then’’ He called.

You nodded and walked out the door, a few tears welling in your eyes as you closed it behind you. What had you done? You didn’t even know if sherlock liked you back. There was a huge possibility he didn’t, actually it would be the surprise of the century if he did. Sherlock didn’t do feelings, or romantic relationships. He’s more than cable of it, but as he likes to remind you constantly, it only distracts from his work. As you were thinking this, your phone rang. Speak of the devil.

‘’Hello?’’

‘’Ah, y/n, where are you?’’ Sherlocks voice swum through the speakers.

‘’On the way home, what’s up?’’

‘’Me and john are working on a case, come over would you?’’

‘’Sherlock, I’m tired can I just help you guys out tomorrow?’’ As much as you wanted to tell him how you felt, you were worn thin emotionally right now and did not have the energy to face either him or john.

‘’What’s wrong with you? He asked sharply.

‘’Nothings wrong okay, I just want to go home and rest’’ You sighed, slightly annoyed.

‘’y/n I’ve seen you quite literally collapse from exhaustion due to helping us out before’’

‘’well god forbid I start to look after myself’’ you shot back sarcastically.

‘’No what I’m saying is, you being tired has never been an issue before. So why now? Something must be wrong?’’

You rolled your eyes at his words.

‘’Fine if you must know I just broke up with Tom. Yes I’m fine, no I don’t want to talk about it and no he didn’t do anything wrong. Now can we please talk more tomorrow?’’ You snapped, harsher than intended.

There was a pause on the other line.

‘’Did you hear me?’’

‘’What- sorry yes I got distracted. See you tomorrow’’ Sherlocks words were sharp as he hung up the phone before giving you the chance to respond.

You sighed and pocketed your phone, continuing your journey home.

**************************THE NEXT DAY***********************

You jolted upright, your eyes having no time to focus as your head whipped round searching for the cause of the noise that had disrupted your sleep. Eventually you fumbled around enough to find your phone, clicking the answer button before reading the name of the caller.

‘’What?’’ You said, your voice sounding groggy.

‘’Hello Y/N’’ A familiar voice replied.

But not one you heard often. Something was wrong.

‘’Mycroft?’’ You eyes widened, suddenly alert. ‘’What’s going on? What’s happened?’’

You heard the older Holmes sigh through the phone.

‘’My brother went missing earlier tonight and-‘’

‘’WHAT? Where is he? Is he hurt? Oh my god right I’m coming over-‘’ You scrambled to get out of your bed, dropping the phone in the process.

‘’Shit’’ You threw yourself over the side of the bed to grab it. However, you miscalculated how close you were to the edge and promptly fell off with a rather loud thud as you landed in a crumpled heap next to your phone.

‘’Ow’’ You grumbled before finally picking your phone back up. ‘’Hello? Are you still there?’’

‘’Are you quite alright? That was an awful lot of noise’’ Mycroft asked, sounding more agitated then worried but that didn’t surprise you.

‘’Yep, yes all fine. Now where the hell is sherlock? Shouldn’t you be out looking for him instead of calling me?’’

‘’Well as I was saying before you interrupted me, we’ve already found him. He’s been taken back home and is currently with John.’’ Mycroft continued.

You furrowed your brow in confusion.

‘’Then why are you calling me? You do know it’s literally 3 in the morning. I was sleeping’’ You shuffled on the floor so you could lean back up against your bed, still feeling the tiredness wash over you.

‘’He may be home but he isn’t exactly…well, sober’’ The unease was evident in Mycroft’s tone as he spoke.

Even though he would probably deny it at any turn, he cared for sherlock deeper than he’d ever cared for anything. As did sherlock for Mycroft. They truly wouldn’t be the same without each other, even if they were both too stubborn to admit to it.

‘’What can I do?’’ You said with a sigh.

‘’Go and talk to him. He seems to trust you. Possibly even more than he does john Find out why he’s using again’’

You held your head in your hands. You hated seeing sherlock high. It hurt you to see him resort to such methods. Even if it was for a case. That man was willing to dance with death in order to prove he’s right about something.

‘’Okay’’ You replied reluctantly.

‘’There will be a car outside for you. Update me as soon as you can.’’ And with that, he hung up.

You took a few minutes to compose yourself, before getting up. You decided against getting changed, you figured showing up in some plaid pyjama trousers and the black vest top you’d fallen asleep in would suffice. You grabbed a jacket before slipping on your trainers and heading out of your flat. Sure enough when you got to the lobby of your apartment building, there was a sleek black car waiting to take you to Baker Street.

The whole ride there you were thinking about what to stay. I mean what exactly are you mean to say to someone who’s probably higher than the Eiffel tower right now. Even now as you stood waiting for someone to open the door, you were coming up empty.

‘’Oh y/n hello dear!’' '

’Mrs. Hudson greeted you warmly as she opened the door for you. ‘’Hi Mrs. Hudson. How are you?’’ You smiled at her.

You’d always been rather fond of her. She was endlessly kind towards you, welcoming you with open arms without any hesitation.

‘’I’m good thank you. You haven’t been round in a while. Come in, come in. We don’t need you freezing on the doorstep now do we.’’ She ushered you in closing the door behind you.

‘’No, I know things have been a bit mental at work lately, I’ve been meaning to swing by. I’m sorry it has to be in the middle of the night. I’m sure you don’t appreciate being woken up by all this.’’ You gesture up the stairs as you spoken.

She just shook her head. ‘’Nonsense darling, I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome at any time. As for Sherlock, well all I can say is at least he isn’t shooting my wall to pieces again.’’ She chuckled as she spoke. ‘’You’d better get up there, see if you can talk any sense into him’’

You nodded, looking towards the stairs ‘’Yeah, I guess. I’ll see you in a bit’’ You took a deep breath, before walking upstairs.

Sherlock must have heard you because suddenly you heard his voice calling your name rather excitedly. You went to open his door but he’d clearly got there before you, flinging it open. ‘

’Y/n, you’re here! John look, it’s y/n’’ Sherlock grinned at you, his eyes wide.

‘’Yeah I can see that, I’m not blind’’ john retorted from behind the detective.

‘’Hi’’ You said, chuckling nervously.

‘’You’re bloody amazing you know that?’’ Sherlock said.

You went to reply but were cut off by Sherlocks arms wrapping around you, pulling your body close to his as he rested his head on your shoulder. You let out a gasp as your arms hung awkwardly by your side. What the fuck had he taken? Just as quickly as the hug had begun, it was over as he pulled away from you still smiling. He turned and walked back into his apartment, focusing on some paper work spread out on his desk. You just stood there, a shocked expression smacked across your face.

‘’You okay there?’’ John asked, shaking you slightly. You blinked at him before nodding your head.

‘’What has gotten into him? Well drugs apparently, but he’s never normally this…’’

‘’Happy? Elevated? Fucking insane?’’ john suggested, looking over at the man who was now in a heated discussion with a skull that he kept on the fireplace.

‘’Yeah. I mean usually when he’s been caught high, he’s all grumpy and just curls up in a ball probably hoping we all shut up and leave him alone. But this, this is new’’

‘’are you saying you prefer the moody, short tempered bastard version of these events?’’ John asked raising an eyebrow at you.

You watched Sherlock move around the flat rather erratically, a feeling of discomfort forming a pit in your stomach.

‘’I don’t know yet’’ You replied honestly.

‘Ah y/n, come here’’ Sherlock waved you over to him, where he was now sat back down at his desk.

You shrugged your jacket off walking over to him, leaning against the desk.

‘’You need something?��’ You asked him, folding your arms.

He broke his gaze away from his laptop, looking up at you. His eyes took their time gazing over your figure making you shuffle nervously under his stare.

‘’You truly are beautiful you know.’’ His words sounded so genuine, you were taken a back. ‘’Anyway, I needed to ask you something but I forgot what it was. I’m sure it’ll come back to me’’ And with that, he shrugged and immediately went back to typing away on his laptop.

You just stared down at him. Sherlock never complimented you, or if he did the most you got was a short ‘’well done’’ or ‘’good job’’. He had never commented on your appearance, only ever on your work and he had most certainly never called you beautiful.

‘’AH’’ Sherlock clapped his hands together, making you jump. ‘’that’s what I was going to say, I remember now. It’s not a question mind you.’’ You rolled your eyes, slowly getting more agitated.

‘’What was it then?’’

‘’I may or may not be a tiny bit in love with you. Okay maybe a lot in love with you but that’s besides the point’’

For about the third time that night, you were stunned to silence. What. The. Fuck. There was no way you had just heard him say that.

‘’I need a drink do you want anything?’’ Sherlock asked as he got up and walked to the kitchen.

That’s when reality hit you. He didn’t mean it, he was high. It was just the drugs elevating his mood. He cared for you, you knew that. But now with whatever he’s taken he clearly thinks he loves you But he doesn’t. He’s made it perfectly clear in the past how he feels about love and relationships. Maybe he’d picked up that you had feelings for him and was now using them against you as some kind of joke? It wouldn’t surprise you. You’re heart sank as you faced the reality of the situation.

‘’Fuck you man’’ You mumbled as you moved yourself away from the desk.

‘’What?’’ Sherlock turned to see you with your back to him, standing by the sofa. ‘’Was that to me?’’

‘’Well it sure as shit wasn’t to john’’ You snapped, running your fingers through your hair.

‘’What did I do?’’ Sherlock asked. For the first time this evening, he looked sober. He looked like him again.

‘’You know what you did, you prick. Look it might be all a joke and funny to you now because you decided to go and inject fuck knows what into your body yet again – but the way I feel is not something I’m letting you mess with. Not anymore.’’ You grabbed your jumper, throwing it on before heading to the door.

‘Y/n wait please-‘’

‘’Make sure to tell Mycroft what you took. He wants to know’’ You said before heading down the stairs and rushing out the door, tears slipping down your face.

Your phone rang in your pocket. You knew it was sherlock and you had no interest of talking to him. Not now, or any time soon. First Tom, and now this. You were exhausted and you didn’t want to deal with any men for the foreseeable future. But part of you wondered, what if he’d meant it? Was there any way he truly could love you? You shook your head dismissing your thoughts. No, he wasn’t thinking straight. By the morning he probably won’t even remember what it is he said to you. What a fun conversation that would be. But you would deal with that later. For now all you wanted to do was go home, curl up, fall asleep and forget about the rather handsome detective.

[hazzybat]

Can you explain why you chose each monster/power to go with each band member? For example why Kris is a vampire etc?

Yeah sure!

Bojan- the other option for him was a siren (cause duh singing voice being enchanting) with a full mermaid tail but I just didn't want to deal with those logistics and it felt like it restricted him.

I went with incubus cause it gave a good reason for lots of smut and cause of the Demoni scream which i adore. Also let's be real Bojan is just kinda slutty and seductive on stage so cranking that up all the way made sense.

Having bojan be the frontman who obviously likes attention to then expand on that to have him literally feed on and need attention and love to live is just icing on top.

Kris- the man looks like a vampire. His cheekbones can cut glass. Legit that was the main reason. He just photographs very elegantly and seems older than he actually is which I feel fits with a vampire. I imagine a quite old school, charming vampire with a hint of marceline from adventure time. He has a variety of powers partially to make up for him physically only having pointy teeth and a bite mark on his neck.

Nace- his stompy dance he does one stage and the fact he wears blazers a lot with very big/thick boots. I also liked the idea of him being really strong but in a human way, and being literally made to be helpful (oooh backstory) Also if I was a monster I would be a Frankenstein monster so I had to make one of them that. Soft spot in my heart.

The idea of Nace wanting to fit in to the band and do it so well it was like he was made to fit the role to go alongside him literally being a made man rather than born is also a fun parallel.

(Tell me you don't see it)

Jan - he's a really hairy guy and his big fur coats look amazing on him so naturally he had to have the hairiest monster. Along with that I feel he's kinda monotone but once you understand him he's actually really expressive which I then used by having his tail express his emotions. And the angst of a wolf transformation was just too good to not play with.

Jure- i had the most trouble with Jure. I tried to think of maybe a sphinx to play into the whole cat thing. There's also some fanart out there which depicts him as a mummy which I also really liked but then didn't want to deal with the whole ancient Egypt mummy in Slovenia kinda deal because as you might have guessed I like everyone to have logical backstories.

A show i really like is BBC's Ghosts so I thought about how a poltergeist actually works well. They can be cheeky and chaotic and it just ended up suiting him really, really well. Along with that the idea of him being seen less (him being stuck abd the back of the stage and being translucent) was a fun theme i could explore. Maybe he wants to be seen more than he is.

Bonus two i haven't introduced yet!

Martin: he's a vampire. Yes it's also cause he's tall and elegant with good bone structure and wanted there to be at least one double up to make the world feel more real.

Jere: he's a pixie! Cause he's very cheeky and mischievous and cause of that one show somone gave him fairy wings.

[theretirementstory]

25/08/2024. Bonjour à tous, I can’t believe that we are hurtling towards the end of August! Where has that month gone? My son had booked his flights out to me towards the end of July and it seemed ages until he was arriving and now it’s just over a week😱. I am so excited, I am like that dog chasing it’s tail 😂.

This week saw 43 years since I passed my driving test 🙈 and I still drive as if I am on the test!

Oyez, oyez, oyez, announcement of the week! “The Trainee Solicitor” is due a name change as with effect from 23 August he has been admitted as a Solicitor. That’s one of your dreams realised now “Mr Solicitor”, it’s great news, 🥳 from a proud mum.

My grandchildren are with “The Photographer” this weekend, being a bank holiday on Monday they will be spending an extra day with him but then he goes back to work on Tuesday and Grandad will be on childminding duties. It’s been a busy week for “The Photographer” as he had a midweek journey to photograph the Scarborough AFC match at Chorley. Last weekend one of his photos was used by BBC Sport so the photos are “getting out there”. As he was leaving work on Friday evening, he was told by a police motorcyclist to wait at the junction and to his surprise heading along the road, flanked by more police motorcyclists was a Mercedes car which he was sure contained “The Queen”. Apparently she made a surprise visit to the Ebor Festival at York Racecourse on the third day (Friday). What a lovely surprise for him to tell his children.

“The Recovery Coordinator” has had “the week from hell!” Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong and as her employment is running short-staffed anyway it has been a nightmare. Fortunately she only has one and a half days at work this coming week then she breaks up for her holidays. I am hoping against hope that this lovely weather we are having continues into the first week of September and that she can enjoy some relaxation in the sun.

“The Jetsetter” has been to Maidenhead, for a friends wedding. I do hope it was a fantastic day and that it was a nice break.

Now it’s back to “The Solicitor” who yesterday lunchtime went out to celebrate his fantastic news with his partner, father, brother, niece and nephew. What a celebration. I do hope there are no “thick heads” this morning.

My “Personal Shopper” has returned from holiday, he has been put to good use since he got back, not only did he do my shopping yesterday, but on Thursday he also pressure washed my patio, gates and the top of the letterbox. He then went to order my prescription from the pharmacy.

Monique celebrates her birthday today and I cannot believe that it is two years since I was sitting in her garden playing with her twin grandchildren who were only 7 months old at the time.

Anie has been down to see me, she brought figs, vine peaches and an apple. I thought she might have to do my shopping for me yesterday, however the Personal Shopper agreed to do it. I was pleased she could have a normal Saturday, visit the market and then on a balmy afternoon she was going to visit her garden.

I was up with the larks yesterday as I wanted to walk to the sunflower field down the road to take some photos for the children. We had a video call and my grandson wanted to see my house so I wandered round showing him around, his sister kept saying, I was in there, and sure enough she had been when Daddy brought her over last year. I think my grandson liked my garden if only because it had an airer like Mummy’s. He liked upstairs best, maybe because downstairs is a “work in orogress”, while I am preparing for the visitors.

I was in Paris on Monday, blimey could that driver make the car move! We were doing 160k/hr on a 130 road 🙈. We got there in good time and would have been home quicker if someone at the hospital had phoned and given the taxi office a departure time. I only needed a platelet transfusion my haemoglobin had increased a bit from the previous Friday.

I was then at Troyes on Friday where the platelets had dropped again but not as low as they had been. The haemoglobin had increased yet again but the doctor said it was probably due to one of the injections I have once a week. He said that is better than requiring a transfusion though. To try and sort out my low blood pressure, dosage of my blood pressure tablet has been reduced by half. I now feel like a new woman!

The cleaner has been again and I am going to type a list of jobs to be done weekly/monthly.

I baked a cake yesterday afternoon I don’t know why but I don’t seem to be enjoying some of these foods at the moment.

When my visitors have gone back home, I am going to sort out lots of stuff for the charity shop, decheterie (tip) and anything which could be useful to some of the refugee places.

I had a package arrive from Worcester which included a tea towel, a penguin pin for a coat or jacket and a small penguin “pebble” to keep in my pocket. The penguins have been around the city, lots of them, large and small, doing “The Waddle”.

Then I received a gift from the Îles d’Oleron which was a bag containing some salt, caramel chip biscuits, puffed rice coated in chocolate and caramel plus a lavender bag which smells divine. I have lots of these in wardrobes, drawers etc.

I read in the local newspaper that the fountain which was due to be installed in front of the Town Hall and up and running by July, had been slowed down due to the discovery of an air raid shelter! This work will now be completed during September. I guess that is when everyone is back from holidays.

I had messaged Nicolas (the gardener) to come and cut the lawn and hedges. He said he would try to come and mow on Friday but I guess he must be a busy man as he never came. As he passes my house on his way home he tends to do my jobs if he has finished jobs early and would otherwise go straight home.

I also messaged the roofer, I had phoned and left a message, sent a text message and then sent an email. With the lack of response I can only assume 🙄 that he is on holiday.

I also messaged the plumber who never responded. I don’t think he is on holiday as I have seen his van in the area. Will ring and speak to him I think next week.

Then, I had put off contacting the man to clean the outside walls of the house as I hate speaking on the phone. Anyway I sent a text, he replied saying he is on holiday but will contact me on Sunday. I guess 50% success rate isn’t too bad.

Although my life is still dictated by the hospital visits, I am happy to be dealing with other things I wanted to do. Having a walk is making me feel much better and not being out of breath or as wary, which I have to be but not to the extent that I am wrapped in cotton wool.

It’s difficult to think up songs that have meant something to me over the years. However, I just remembered this one, it’s Lady Love Me (One More Time) by George Benson which was released in 1983.

I can’t believe I haven’t had a song by this next singer, there are a few which I absolutely love but I have chosen this particular song as it reminds me of holidays, being on the night train from York to Bristol (Temple Meads) then a change onto the train to Penzance in Cornwall. It was in the days when trains had compartments (I loved those trains). It was the first time I had been to Cornwall but it was not to be the last time. My sister was coming up three years old and the only bit of the song she could (nearly) sing was “working all day, all day, all day”. The song is Matthew & Son by (as he was then) Cat Stevens and the year was 1967.

Have a good week until next week.

[deelaundry]

May Prompts #5 - Awkward

Continuing to update The Private Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson; this is Chapter 27 in the fic. For those who haven't read the prior chapters, Sherlock and John have a committed QPR. Claire is John's Sherlock-approved sex partner. Her background is pretty much the same as Mary's from the BBC show, although she never went rogue. She's on a six month sabbatical between assignments.

She's also aromantic, so nothing is happening with her and John on that front.

---

John had trotted down the stairs and was about to go out to his shift at Bart’s when the doorbell rang. A bit of frustration at the delay was pushed aside entirely when he saw Claire standing there; she looked as fit as ever.

“Hi, great to see you,” he said. “Sorry, I’m just about to go out; why were you stopping by?”

“Sherlock didn't tell you?” Claire tilted her head to the side, and smiled up at him. “Well, this is awkward.”

Sherlock suddenly appeared in the foyer, pulling his gloves on, and slipped past John to join Mary on the sidewalk. “Let’s go,” he said to her.

“Hang on,” John said at a slightly louder decibel level than was, strictly speaking, required. “What are the two of you doing?”

“Working, obviously,” Sherlock replied. “She’s better at this than you, actually.”

Claire sent a pleased, impish grin John’s way, but it didn’t mollify him one bit. Not one bit.

Sherlock continued, “So I texted her.”

“Claire’s better than me?” John couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice, even though he wasn’t quite sure what the emotion was. As far as he could tell it was an odd melange of resentment, hurt, resignation, shame, jealousy, and a tiny smidgen of happiness that his partner was getting along with his… different kind of partner.

“Well, she is an on-leave super-[REDACTED] with a terrifying skill set. Of course she’s better.”

“Yeah, okay,” John replied. That at least made logical sense; the melange began to dissipate.

And, if nothing else, Sherlock’s words had put a sparkle in Claire’s eyes that was definitely alluring. Maybe by the time he got back from his shift, they’d both be in the lounge, flush with victory and high on adrenaline, and Sherlock would turn to his violin and Claire would turn to him…

“Nothing personal.”

He was startled out of his reverie. Sherlock was so close to him, hand on his wrist, and looking up at him, their heights reversed, and the look on Sherlock’s face… John took the opportunity to plant a kiss right on Sherlock’s forehead. “Have fun.”

“I always do.”

[denimbex1986]

'I almost knock into Andrew Scott before I see him. He’s just dashed out of the Tate Modern, frantic and slightly late: “There’s just so many entrances!” he exclaims. His patrician forehead crinkles, and the brown eyes charmingly plead: Forgive me! He was just inside, picking up his membership card. Surely he can get in for free? “Excuse me,” he huffs, “I’m a fully paid-up member.” Then he flashes the broad grin that seduced a legion of Fleabag viewers, and we’re off.

The plan today is to meander in a loop along the Thames. On a midafternoon Friday in London, this involves much ducking and diving through crowds, which suits Scott just fine. The weather is one of those bright, springlike days that convinces you that winter is over—except the rain-swollen river is now sloshing ominously onto the pavement. We slow down to regard an underwater section of our route. “I don’t think we’re gonna get through there,” he says. “I’ve probably got a hole in my trainers.”

We head for the road instead, words pouring out of the 47-year-old actor in that mellifluous Irish lilt, peppered with “you knows” and interrupted frequently by his laugh. It’s no surprise that his colleagues quickly become friends: “It was clear from the moment that I met and worked with Andrew that he was an exceptionally gifted actor,” says Julianne Moore, who starred alongside Scott on Broadway in 2006’s The Vertical Hour. It was both actors’ Broadway debuts, though Scott has juggled screen and theater from the start. “I’ve always done both,” he says, though he acknowledges modestly: “I used to do maybe a few plays a year and one television show. Now maybe it’s kind of the opposite.” That’s somewhat underselling his dramatic accomplishments. Scott has won two Olivier Awards, for the experimental A Girl in a Car With a Man in 2005 and Noël Coward’s Present Laughter in 2020. He has performed in productions of Eugene O’Neill, Oscar Wilde—he’s played Hamlet, too, and was nominated for an Olivier for that as well. “Scott gives carefully controlled, thrillingly virtuoso physical performances,” wrote The Guardian last year, when he performed eight roles from Uncle Vanya by himself, in a much-lauded West End solo adaptation of the Chekhov play. (A New York transfer could not be confirmed when this piece went to press, but seems highly likely.) “He wore his talent so lightly and modestly,” Moore says. “He was joyful and fun and an amazing partner to have onstage and off.”

Scott was born in Dublin, sandwiched between two sisters; his mother is a teacher and an artist, and his father works at an employment agency. As a child, he was brought to art galleries and theaters. A performance by the great Irish actor Donal McCann in Sean O’Casey’s Juno and the Paycock when he was 11 or 12 made a lasting impression: “There was just something about the power in his stillness—people think that, in theater, it’s all about the grand gesture, but stillness onstage is absolutely mesmerizing.”

An eerie stillness characterizes all of Scott’s performances as well. As Moriarty in Sherlock, the BBC One show that catapulted him to fame in Britain in the 2010s, he requested fewer lines to play up the villain’s spookiness. And then there is that agonizing stretch of silence in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag right after its titular protagonist confesses her love. Has the line “It’ll pass” ever been delivered with so much pathos? Scott’s acting is all submerged passion; when he does speak, his words have depth. “Andrew has an intensity and a precision in his work,” Moore tells me. “I love his vulnerability, the way his eyes glitter onscreen.”

As a child, Scott was sent to drama classes to get over his shyness. He still remembers his first role, as the Tin Man in a production of The Wizard of Oz. “I felt completely free,” he says, seemingly transported to the moment he launched into “If I Only Had a Heart” onstage. “I felt joy—that’s the word. Not only did I feel it, but I felt that other people felt it when they were looking at me…. Some intuition told me as an 11-year-old: ‘You have to be this expressive, that’s what theater is!’ Nobody taught me that. I just felt it.” Then he swerves to avoid a clutch of tourists on Tower Bridge, and the reverie is lost.

These days, walking around London is something of an ongoing pastime for Scott. During the press rollout for Andrew Haigh’s Golden Globe–nominated romance All of Us Strangers, he and costar Paul Mescal went to their PR engagements on foot. One day, two boys on bikes clocked the pair and started chasing after them in an alarming fashion: “We escaped them—it was quite fun, actually!” Does he ever feel slightly protective of Mescal, two decades his junior? “Not any more than I would with any of my other people in my life. Because he’s got his head screwed on, you know? I absolutely adore Paul,” Scott adds, though he wants to make one thing clear: “Bromance is not the word that we associate with it, because neither of us are very bro-ey.”

Waller-Bridge, who has known Scott for 15 years, describes him as “an absolute pixie of mischief.” When asked to elaborate, she continues: “I could write a novel. But I love how naughty he is. He has the magical ability to make you feel instantly present—no matter what’s going on in your life, you’re suddenly there in the moment and feeling joyful. I think that’s what it’s like to watch him as an actor too…like he can stop time with his honesty.”

Between 2020 and 2021, Scott also traversed the lengths of the Thames, pondering the script from Ripley, his upcoming eight-episode project for Netflix, in which he plays the titular protagonist. “Quite unusually, I got sent all eight scripts at the same time,” he remembers. Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter behind Schindler’s List and Gangs of New York and the director and writer behind All the King’s Men, had written all eight at the outset.

Tom Ripley is crime novelist Patricia Highsmith’s slipperiest literary creation; a pathological liar and murderer with whom she felt a strange kinship—she sometimes signed letters with some variation of “Pat H., alias Ripley.” It is not so much a spoiler as an ongoing feature of the books that Ripley, despite splurging on Venetian palazzi and Gucci suitcases, never gets caught. If anybody comes close, there is always a conveniently located oar or glass paperweight nearby. Ripley, in other words, is the hero of the tale. “That’s why he fascinates so many,” says Scott. “There’s been so many iterations of him. I think it’s because people root for him.” Actors like Alain Delon and Dennis Hopper have tried the role; Matt Damon played him as an obsequious, lower-class naïf; John Malkovich, as a slimy, camp killer. Scott’s Ripley is different; a watchful loner escaping rodent-infested poverty, more at home among art than he is around people. Musician and actor Johnny Flynn plays his first victim—the monied Dickie Greenleaf—and Dakota Fanning is Dickie’s suspicious ex-girlfriend. “I find Tom quite vulnerable,” Scott tells me. “I don’t think he’s necessarily lonely, but I certainly think he’s solitary…. He seems to me by his nature that he just can’t fit in. He’s trying to survive.”

In Ripley, Zaillian extracts maximum Hitchcockian dread from every creaky footstep. But most sinister of all is Scott’s face, which exhibits a sharklike steeliness throughout. It’s a performance that exudes queasy force. Is Ripley a scammer, a psychopath, or both? “There’s so many things lurking beneath him that I’ve been very reluctant to diagnose him with anything. I never thought of him as a sociopath or murderous,” Scott declares. “It’s up to everybody else to characterize him or call him whatever they want.”

As we weave through tourists near the Tower of London, barely anybody notices Scott, save for a faint glimmer of recognition among mainly young women. He seems to draw reassurance from it. “I don’t like to think about it too much, if I’m honest,” he muses of fame. “I find it a little bit, er, frightening.” He is known but not blockbuster-recognizable, although he is in the upcoming Back in Action with Cameron Diaz and Jamie Foxx. What stunts did he do? “I can’t give that away, I’m afraid, or somebody from Netflix will come and shoot me in the head.”

What’s been on Scott’s mind the most hasn’t been acting at all, in fact, but art. As a 17-year-old, he was offered his first movie role on the same day he was given a scholarship to study painting. He chose acting, but has recently been thinking about Oliver Burkeman’s philosophical self-help tract from 2021, Four Thousand Weeks, which makes the case for focusing on the five things you truly want to accomplish. “For me at the moment, it’s like, What do you want to do? What do you want to say?”

He scrolls through his phone to show me his work. There’s a watercolor of a couple arguing in a restaurant in rich reds and greens, line drawings of friends and people on the beach, and two self-portraits. “It’s a bit weird,” he acknowledges of his depiction of himself, all bulbous forehead and Pan-like tufts of hair. His brisk, nervy lines are reminiscent of Egon Schiele or Francis Bacon, who turns out to be one of his favorite painters. “Well, God, I’ll take that,” he mutters at the comparison. He would like someday to go to art school. “I don’t ever regret it,” he says of acting. “But I suppose you just get to a stage where you think, What else? That’s one of the big painful things in life for me, where you can’t quite live all the lives.” As he gets older, he feels the tug toward revisiting old working relationships, including with Waller-Bridge: “We’ve definitely got things cooking,” he smiles. “I’d love to work with her again. She’s just a singular, wonderful person.” For her part, Waller-Bridge says: “I’d love to see him do a fully unhinged slapstick comedy character. Someone who is outraged at everything, all of the time.”

As we round the pavement and the Tate Modern looms back into sight, he recalls a poster he received in 2017—a monstrously large graphic that detailed every week in a human life span. “It’s your entire life if you live to 80—you have to fill in all the bits that you’ve already lived,” he remembers in awe, “a visually terrifying gift.” What did he do with it? “I didn’t hold on to it for too long.” Easy come, easy go: We finally finish our loop around the Thames and, as Scott disappears back into the throng, anonymous just the way he likes it, it occurs to me that the actor has many lives to live yet.'