#going to copy paste the end note from ao3 here since it feels relevant:

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 25: [HOST] asmo / shopping trips

ao3 link

note: the symbiote is now nicknamed charlie, and i think that's all the extra info you need? also whoaa second to last!! one more and i'll finally have finished this (which i really should've have done ages ago shfbdjshf)

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

Asmo is - inarguably - an excellent shopper. He knows his brothers’ tastes, inside and out (not that he necessarily agrees with all of them, but he knows them). Certain brothers are easier to buy for than others, but he at least knows that, given a day, he can come back with something they’ll like - clothes, ornaments, or otherwise. Thus, it isn't a surprise that he’s put in charge of new clothes when the House of Lamentation first takes in its new ward.

It’s simple in the early days: find an old t-shirt, wash it well with a scentless detergent, then shrink it down to the size of a small smock. For IK, it seems comfortable and familiar.

She creeps out of the closet still clutching her old gown and stands there silently. Asmo resists the impulse to clap, and instead asks, “Comfy?”

IK doesn’t seem to know what he means. Moving slowly, he points to her, then to his own soft smile, then tilts his head to the side. After a moment, she nods.

“That’s enough for me,” He sighs, then stands up. “Alright, my darling. You’re doing great. Think you can come down with me?”

Every step up is slow, but it feels like they’re scaling mountains. Asmo spends a week stitching together a simple blouse and skirt, and hopefully leaves it in her room overnight. The next day, IK wanders out into the common room and asks him to help her do up the buttons. On the same morning, she lets him brush her hair.

Every occasion is momentous; every stride without fear is victory. In these conditions, it’s very easy for certain demons to gain false confidence when overlooking these precipices.

Two facts: first, Asmo is an optimist with confidence to a fault. Second, he’s just as capable as certain demons of making poor decisions on impulse.

IK’s first shopping trip is a disaster. Several weeks of excellent progress with forays into the outside world culminate in one impatient customer in a department store. They barge past in the shoe aisle and brush a little too close, a little too quickly, and just as quickly find themselves - and the entire store - surrounded down by a forest of angry black tendrils.

Another fact: Asmo has little sympathy for those who bring ill fortune on themselves. By the time Lucifer and Satan arrive to salvage the situation, Asmo is still berating the pushy demon for starting this whole mess in the first place. To be fair, Lucifer doesn’t help much, as he immediately falls to scolding Asmo, which leaves Satan to attempt to talk things out with an irate manager.

IK is just about the only one who comes out of the situation happy - Charlie, while still wreaking havoc for everyone else, has gotten rather good at self-soothing its skittish host. While Satan loses patience with the manager and begins shouting louder than everyone else, and while that poor pushy demon attempts to get either Lucifer or Asmo’s attention, Charlie leads IK through to the kitchen appliances section and begins happily destroying the place.

It takes longer than everything else to track IK down and remove several sharp instruments from the various extra limbs Charlie has sprouted. They discover in the aftermath that Charlie has also learnt to shoplift, which means IK comes away with a figurine from the front desk that Satan’s too irritated with the shop owner to return.

The bills afterwards are eye-watering. It’s a good thing Diavolo finds the whole escapade so amusing, or else they might never have been able to show their faces in public again.

It’s quite some time before Asmo’s brave enough to try again. So long, in fact, that IK outpaces him - she goes grocery shopping with the twins, accompanies Levi to one of his quieter pop-up cosplay events, and spends a day at a petting zoo with the angels. That terrified little baby hiding under a table feels more and more like the distant past, but for some reason… he’s still cautious.

There are just too many wild cards, and not enough contingency plans for them all. Sure, it’s been a long time since seeing a stranger has been enough to send Charlie into crisis mode, but impatient shoppers manage to set new lows every day.

It’s not about the clean-up afterwards. However brief it is, that flash of terror on IK’s little face always manages to break his heart all over again. It’s worth as many finger-pricks as it takes to avoid that, even if he has to stitch every little outfit by hand.

Still! There’s a first time for everything, but there’s also a second chance at everything. Nearly three months after that cataclysmic first trip, Asmo decides it’s finally time to try again. Redeem himself, so to speak.

They’ll go around some quieter local stores, instead of big chain outlets like the one from last time. Solomon’s had success showing IK around second-hand witch shops and apothecaries, and he knows from Satan that she likes the old shoe-maker down the street from the cat cafe.

Clothes aren’t as much of a concern now that he’s gotten the hang of sewing, but there’s lots more to see. The issue is that IK makes it so difficult to tell what she actually thinks of anything - it doesn’t help that, in all her practising of her smiles, she’s also learnt the Polite Smile. (Asmo’s not sure from who, but he has his money on Simeon.)

“Darling,” He says worriedly when IK nods obediently to the seventh ribbon in a row. “You know you can tell me if you don’t like something.”

She thinks about this for a while, then announces, “I don’t like beetroot.”

“That’s di— I mean, beetroot’s good for you, darling.”

“It looks like chopped blood.”

He sighs. “...never mind. That doesn’t matter. I mean, you can tell me if you don’t want all this stuff.”

“Charlie likes ribbons,” IK says. “They’re fun to rip up.”

Maybe we need to get some dog toys for it. “And what about you, darling?”

IK looks a little lost. A moment passes without a response, and Asmo sighs.

“Alright,” He says after a moment. “We’ll get the ribbons for Charlie. But promise you’ll tell me if you see something you like, okay?”

“Okay,” says IK, still looking gently puzzled. But she seems happy enough when he pays for the ribbons at the counter.

…it’s easy to forget how many more steps there are to go. It wasn’t all that long ago that she was confounded by smiling - though this isn’t quite the same thing.

Charlie likes everything from clacky hair-clips to lollipops with a fizzy centre. IK doesn’t like scratchy jackets or heavy bracelets. It’s hard to tell who’s talking - where one ends and the other begins.

“But what do you like?” Asmo asks what feels like a hundred times, and each time she looks as if he’s asked her a stupid question.

“I like blankets,” She’ll say, and he’ll find a fluffy patchwork quilt. IK will run her hands over it inquisitively, then nod and say, “Charlie loves it.”

He asks again and again, and each time there’s a new answer. “I like riding on Beel’s shoulders.” “I like Simeon’s cakes.” “I like Mammon.”

And he asks again after they leave a haberdasher with several spools of brightly coloured thread. IK must be thoroughly sick of him by now, but she answers valiantly, “I like Momo.”

Momo is her toy panda. Asmo had bought it on his way home from some promotional event, and she’s loved it ever since. Momo is named after Asmo, because IK loves both of them.

Asmo pauses. IK is almost stumbling on her feet. They’ve been browsing for ages - he’s been so determined to find something IK loves, and not Charlie.

“It’s late, isn’t it?” He asks apologetically, and reaches down to carry her, swapping all his bags to one arm with ease. “We should go home.”

IK doesn’t seem to hear him. She answers his first question again, face scrunched as if working hard to remember, “I like Levi’s jellyfish. I like my room.”

“I know, I know…” For some reason, he feels like crying. “You’re tired, huh? Come here, come here…”

His arms are definitely going to complain tomorrow morning, but for now he can hold everything up without much thought. IK clings to him and continues listing, “I like tea parties. I like the Little Ds.”

“That’s enough, sweetheart,” He murmurs, turning onto the main road to start heading home. If anyone tries approaching him, he swears he’ll snap. “I know.”

IK finally goes quiet. She lays her head on his shoulder, inadvertently poking her little horn into his neck. It already feels like there’s something lodged in there, so it doesn’t make much difference.

“I like this,” She says after a moment. “I like you. And Charlie likes you. Okay?”

He pauses in the middle of the street and earns a few side-eyes from the demons around him.

“...okay,” He whispers. “That’s enough for me.”

[haloud]

Ooo, Michael and Liz gen! How about a high school time stamp? Two AP kids both competing for valedictorian.

here ya go! i love these two sm

also on ao3

In the sixth grade, Liz Ortecho swears a solemn oath. She is going to vanquish Michael Guerin if it's the last thing she does. Standing there so smug with his first place science fair ribbon, with his stupid rocket. Anyone could make a stupid rocket. Liz absolutely does not spend the next month of her life obsessed with rocketry, striving with single-minded determination to outdo stupid Michael Guerin's extremely stupid first place project before deciding that rockets were so boring that only boring judges would like them and her efforts would be better spent on better things, like working her way through the rest of the Biology section at the library. Brains were her new favorite subject. Maybe if she understood them perfectly, she could engineer her own to never get beat by stupid Michael Guerin again. It doesn't help that Michael is apparently, suddenly best friends with Max Evans, so she sees him all the time now. And he always grins at her and goes "'sup, Ortecho?" like he knows exactly what he did. Vato. Let's see him be smug after Liz vanquishes him. It's the start of a truly epic feud. Rosa laughs at her for every extra hour she spends studying, every extra trip to the library, every time a perfect score on an assignment adds an extra strain of viciousness to her satisfaction. Rosa laughs even if it's kind of annoying to hear all about how stupid Michael Guerin thought that question 5 was C, HA. You'd think Rosa would have a better appreciation for the agonies and ecstasies of having an archnemesis.

On one of those extra trips to the library, Liz is deep into a plot to climb the shelves when no one’s looking when that hated voice says behind her:

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

And he plunks a stepping stool down in front of her. She glares at him. His face would look way better with a few extra holes in it.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he says: “What? I have to use it too to keep from killing myself by dropping forty pound textbooks on my head. Use the tools you’re given, okay?”

The worst thing about having an archnemesis? Sometimes they’re right.

In eighth grade, Michael Guerin breaks his arm. He tells the story of how it happened different every time, with the same grinning smugness that never fails to make Liz incandescent with hatred.

And then he bombs a math test. (Liz knows because she always sits where she can spy on his grades when they have classes together. Otherwise how will she know if she’s winning or not?)

Michael Guerin never fails math. The odd English project here and there, maybe; his favorite class to sleep in is History. It’s lackluster grades in those classes he seems not to care about that keeps Liz’s GPA maintaining a holding pattern above his. But in all the years Liz has known him, he’s never gotten anything less than a perfect score in Math or Science.

She stares at him, at his carefully blank face, at his infuriatingly casual sprawl in the desk, his legs hanging out in the aisle, his head almost on the desk of the kid behind him, his arm…

His dominant arm in a cast, cradled against his torso, preventing him from taking notes.

Well that just isn’t fair at all.

She spends the rest of the test review period copying her own notes for the past week in quick, neat shorthand. The second the bell rings, she’s out of her seat, smacking the originals down right in front of him.

“Don’t feel the need to give them back,” she said.

Michael’s face stays just as blank; in fact, he barely even looks at her. “What’s up, Ortecho? You won, why don’t you just enjoy it?”

“It’s no fun if it’s not fair, obviously. Just use the tools you’re given, why don’t you? It’s stupid that they haven’t given you a note taker anyway.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things are stupid.”

But not Liz. She’s smart enough to know it’s gratitude that makes him actually join the Mathletes with her when they start high school, putting them on the same team for once, their two heads together leading New Roswell to its first championship in over a decade.

--

By junior year of high school, Liz and Rosa have saved up enough money between the two of them to buy a used car together. Liz is a perfect driver, perfect record, aced the test first try, doesn’t even speed..and the first time she takes the car out, she ends up on the side of the road, trying not to totally lose it while smoke pours out from under the hood.

This car took all her money and all of Rosa’s, how is it already broken? What will she tell Rosa? How will she afford a mechanic?

Better for it to break down now than for Mom to steal it next time she skips town, a vicious voice says in her mind, and that’s the final straw. Liz lets out a scream from behind clenched teeth and slams the hood down as hard as she can.

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

“Fuck off, Guerin!”

She doesn’t need to hear it, how he outscored her again in chemistry, doesn’t need to hear him ask if she’s got her SAT scores back yet. God, why does he have to be here now? She wants to revel in how she almost certainly schooled him at the essay, god damn it!

But he doesn’t even reply to the bile she spits at him, just pulls over in his beat up truck, pops the hood again, and clicks his tongue at whatever he sees in that tangled, bitter-smelling mess.

“Let’s hitch ‘er up, I’ll give you a tow to Sanders’ and drive you home.”

Liz puffs herself up, then lets it out slow. It’s Guerin. What’s he going to do, laugh at her? Not over this. He may be her archnemesis, but he’s not that.

“I can’t afford the fix,” she says.

“No charge.”

“What? No!”

“Look.” He smirks that awful smirk. “I know you’ll pay me back. We’ve got Physics together next year. Your anguish is all the payment I need.”

“Michael Guerin, you are the WORST.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

But he drives her home with the windows rolled down and lets her set the radio. The passing wind tosses both their hair and Liz laughs at how he looks with his curls in a wild frenzy all around him, and for long enough they’re both just kids. Not friends, no. Archrivals, which is, after all, the next best thing.

--

Liz was valedictorian. For what it’s worth.

--

“’Sup, Ortecho?”

Liz whirls around, and her dress whirls with her. Red, not white. Rosa was over the moon.

Michael is leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, vest and shirt half undone, looking ruffled and dreamy, like he just walked out of a magazine. Liz rolls her eyes at him.

“’Sup, sleazy best-man-seduces-the-bride stereotype?”

“Ouch.”

They both burst out into laughter, Liz doubling over and grabbing the vanity to stay upright, Michael buttoning himself all the way up to the top in a mocking show of modesty, until Liz’s laughter turns into anxious hiccupping and he drops the act as well.

“Liz, seriously, what’s up?”

His voice goes all concerned and understanding, the bastard.

“This is stupid, right? I mean, marriage is such a useless social construct now, and forty-one percent of first marriages end in divorce and fifty percent of all marriages, which is also a relevant statistic because I’ve already fucked over one fiancé in dramatic fashion and maybe I should just leave Max at the altar and get terrible person bingo, and—”

“Hey, Liz, hey, breathe.”

Michael helps her sit and rubs her back as she tries to head off hyperventilation.

“This isn’t stupid,” he says calmly. “You want this. You know you do. You already have Max heart and soul and all that sappy shit, it’s okay to want him legally, too. Use the tools you’re given, right?”

Liz sniffs and barks out a watery laugh. Dumbass.

“Who let you get all wise on me? I hate it.”

“Eh, I’m not wise, I just learned how to be a gracious loser.”

“What do you mean?”

“The big day? The fancy wedding, the ring on your finger? You win, Ortecho.” His face goes all wistful.

“Oh.”

Not knowing what to say, she knocks their shoulders together, and it makes him smile.

“Don’t worry about me. Since when have I ever been far behind?”

For their happiness, as hard-fought as it was, it feels right that they should watch it approaching together, neck and neck. Side by side, like all the best archrivals.

[writingithink]

All The Skies Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 6,740 Summary: After accidentally bonding, the Doctor and Rose start their honeymoon.

Notes: This is for Day 1 of @timepetalsweek !!  I used two of the prompts, the picture prompt and 'dancing'. It is a follow up to my fic, In Case You Don't Stay Forever. There's not really a 'plot' for you to feel lost in if you don't feel like reading that as well. Thank you so much @hey-there-juliet for betaing!! (& honestly, convincing me that I could totally make up this planet). I own nothing (aside from mistakes).

READ IT ON AO3!! --> a copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25379095

“Here we are! Neghlyvryn!” the Doctor announced, opening the TARDIS doors with a flourish as he stepped outside and into a city square. Banners and streamers were everywhere. Crowds of people (well, aliens) were just starting to form. He couldn’t help a smug smirk - he’d gotten it right. Good.

“Blimey, it’s hot!” Rose exclaimed, having just stepped out behind him.

He turned to watch as she fanned herself, barely taking in the festive atmosphere.

“I told you it would be.”

“Yeah, and I dressed for summer, too, but here we are! How are you wearing your suit right now?!”

“Superior temperature regulation,” he explained as he gave her outfit a once over (and then a twice over). She looked great in anything, that was a given, but the pink tank top and tiny denim shorts she currently had on were particularly flattering (even if the amount of skin they revealed would likely distract him all day).

Rose’s discomfort and irritation were still the most prevalent emotions he could feel across their bond, but a bit of pleasure and happiness shot through. Still, she wasn’t smiling.

“Well lucky you. What’s the temperature right now, anyway?” she asked.

He squinted up at the sky and did a slow spin.

“About 27 degrees.”

“I’ve gotta change. Maybe see if the TARDIS has some sort of fancy clothes to keep me cool,” Rose decided, turning around.

“Roooose,” he whined, “it’s the morning! And it’s only going to get hotter. If we wait too long, it won’t be safe for you to play Jikltaii unless you decide to wear an enviro-suit!”

She glared at him over her shoulder before turning back around and crossing her arms. “And just how much hotter is it gonna get?”

“Errr, somewhere around 34 degrees, give or take. This is the Rhibelini Festival! It’s like their summer solstice, except it only happens once every fifteen years when their three suns align.”

Shoulda mentioned three suns when I was gettin’ ready, Rose grumbled over the bond as she finally walked up to him and took his hand. “Alright then, let’s get goin’. But we better get somethin’ to drink before we play this game of yours.”

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically, almost skipping as he led them away from the TARDIS. 

This would be their second full day as a bonded pair, and while he still hadn’t had time to properly research it, he had been able to meditate and construct some barriers that would actually be effective … on his end, at least. Since Rose had been asleep during his meditation, they hadn’t been able to work on hers (however her telepathy even worked to begin with). So while he still got plenty from her end, he was able to keep a majority of his less relevant trains of thought from bothering her (and while he could have tried to keep things more private, it didn’t exactly seem fair). Plus, he loved being bonded to Rose Tyler, accident or not.

“So, tell me about this Jiggle-Tie thing we’re gonna do,” Rose prompted as they entered the queue for a street cart, fanning herself with the bottom of her top.

For a moment his eyes zeroed in on her belly button before he made himself look away, focusing instead on the line of people - which was already long now, so he could hardly imagine what it would look like later in the day.

“Jikltaii,” the Doctor repeated, “with a ‘K’. It’s kind of like paintball, but with sling shots. And it’s kind of like capture the flag, but there’s three teams. You see, the Neghlyvits believe that their planet was created when the three sun goddesses reached a truce after fighting amongst each other for billions of years. Each sun’s name corresponds to a goddess; Rhiza, Beltof, and Iniya. Each goddess has a color. Red, or rhiz, for Rhiza. Then there’s orange, or belti, for Beltof and yellow, or iniv, for Iniya. Three teams, three colors of paint.”

“Sounds fun.”

The line was moving slowly, and Rose finally began to take in the surroundings with a hand over her eyes to keep the suns out. He dug through his pockets until he found a pair of her sunglasses, handing them to her and feeling a wave of gratitude across their connection.

I love you, he couldn’t help thinking.

It was getting a little embarrassing. By his count, he’d now told her this 26 times telepathically since she woke up (verbally only twice, so that would make it 28 times total).

I love you too.

At least she always said it back, projecting enough affection to dispel his embarrassment.

“So, what happens when you win at Jikkle-Tie?” she asked.

“Mmm, well, Neghlyvryn is an incredibly peaceful planet, and their culture obviously emphasizes compromise. This festival is called Rhibelini - an amalgamation of all three goddesses names - because this is the time when the goddesses renew their truce. So the team that wins a game of Jikltaii’s corresponding color determines what flavor of frip everyone eats at the end.”

“Frip?”

“It’s an ice cream-type treat,” he explained, swinging their hands together as the queue moved forward.

“That’s good. I’m definitely gonna need some, runnin’ around with a slingshot in this heat.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the general consensus.”

Eventually they reached the front and the Doctor ordered four waters, two kivries, and a couple poofs (each cut in half). He also got directions for the closest Jikltaii field.

“I’m not hungry yet,” Rose informed him as he handed her a kivy and a water before putting everything besides his own kivy into his trouser pocket.

“I just didn’t want to wait in line again. Imagine what it will be like once midday comes around?”

Ugh, fair.

“So this is like a soda, yeah?” she asked, after guzzling half the water bottle and then dumping the rest over her head. The Doctor couldn’t help but follow a few droplets as they trailed down her neck. Temperature was now not the only thing he needed to regulate.

“Yup. Very fizzy. Hey! Fizzy Kivy! It rhymes! Look at that!”

She laughed, her entire mental presence much brighter now that she’d cooled down a bit. They both opened their bottles before beginning to walk towards the field.

“Oh! ’S like- like lemon and somethin’ else …”

“Like lemon and cucumber,” he scowled, eying the bottle with disdain.

Rose took another sip. “Not so bad.”

“Blegh. Do you want mine, then?”

“Not right now,” she giggled before coughing and then sneezing after getting fizz up her nose.

And he knew she was fine, but the Doctor couldn’t keep himself from stopping and rubbing her back … just to make sure.

You’re sweet. 

See, it’s rumors like that that make Absorbaloffs from Clom think that they can do whatever they’d like, he couldn’t help but think. He immediately regretted it, as Rose began brooding about everything her mum had been through. Tea yesterday had gone quite poorly.

“Sorry,” he whispered, taking her hand again and quickly getting them to the Jikltaii field.

Once they’d paid - credits! He loved credits. So much easier than keeping track of specific currencies, even if he still didn’t quite understand the ins and outs of money - the attendant, a native male with fiery orange hair and the pale blue and brown speckled skin typical of most Neghlyvits, immediately began to divide everyone into teams.

“Iniv team,” he told Rose before turning to the Doctor. “Belti team.”

“B-but I want to be on Rose’s team!” he complained.

“Nope. Everyone’s divided by colors. Your hair is kind of orange.”

“But we’re on our honeymoon!”

A burst of affection came through the bond, though it was hardly noticeable over how hilarious his bondmate thought he was being. She could really do with being a bit more interested in their romantic endeavors.

Sorry .

I forgive you, the Doctor projected.

“May you lovingly cover each other with paint,” the attendant drawled before handing them each their appropriately colored paint balls and sling shots.

“And I suppose they’re on Iniv team, then?” the Doctor queried, pointing at the two aliens next to them - both green, covered in scales, and having no hair to speak of.

“Yes.”

Figured. Maybe he should have dyed his hair before this. Or worn a wig. How was he supposed to know that teams were chosen this way?

Rose sent a mental image of how he would look as a blonde. Ew. Nope. Not even a wig. Next time Rose would have to dye her hair. He already knew she looked fantastic as a brunette, he’d seen pictures.

“It’ll be fine,” she consoled him as the attendant began a speech about the rules.

Apparently you weren’t out as soon as you were hit - you just took a two minute time out and at the end of the game they would figure out which team had the most paint on them if no one captured any flags.

“I want to be on your team,” the Doctor pouted.

“I think it’ll be more fun this way. Winner owes the other one a favor,” Rose smirked. Several thoughts flashed through her head at once, and he caught images of him painting her toenails, folding her laundry, cooking her dinner and a few that were decidedly X rated that she probably wouldn’t need to use a favor to cash in.

Good to know.

Still, he didn’t fancy folding her laundry.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he decided. They shook on it. “What happens if Rhiz team wins?”

“We’ll call that a tie. Each owe the other a favor.”

Before he could argue that, it was time for the teams to move out to their respective starting points. He could have continued over the bond, but his team mates were vying for his attention as they talked strategy. 

It was just as fun as he thought it would be (though being on Rose’s team would have made it more fun). In the first fifteen minutes of the game, he didn’t see his wife anywhere. For a moment the Doctor worried that she had been assigned to guard their flag - how boring - but she was broadcasting much too much enjoyment and general competitiveness for that to be the case. Then he saw her head peeking out from behind a paint-caked wooden partition.

He ducked down, carefully keeping cover until he was right next to the barrier before he quickly jumped over it, shooting her twice before he landed clumsily on the other side.

“Ooof!” She may have said it aloud, but he was the one who had just landed hard on his bum. Really need to figure out how to turn off that part of the bond. “You alright?”

“I’m fine. Not as fragile as you lot. No bruised tailbone.”

“Good,” Rose said, crawling over to him and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Still, I’ll probably need to check it later.” 

If they weren’t telepathically connected, her meaning would have been made quite clear by the way she nipped his ear. 

“Oh,” he squeaked, looking around to see if anyone was watching them as she climbed onto his lap. Then she was snogging him, and the Doctor really didn’t care if they were spotted. She was so warm and soft and the way her mind was caressing his was one of the best things in the Universe, he was sure of it. He groaned, pulling her closer, wanting more of something, though he wasn’t sure what and-

Loads of something wet and sticky ran down his head.

“Gotcha,” Rose whispered before she sprang to her feet and ran off.

The Doctor sat there for a moment, slightly dazed, trying to manually redirect his blood flow. Honestly, what kind of tactician was he to have overlooked the fact that Rose Tyler plays dirty? Apparently the answer to that question was: the kind of tactician who really wants to snog Rose Tyler. He shook his head, got up and regained his bearings.

It’s on, now, you minx, he sent across their bond.

All he got for his trouble was the telepathic equivalent of laughter.

“Friendly fire?” Uriit, one of the women on his team, asked when they ran into each other near a ropes section of the field.

He looked down at his shirt to find it smeared with orange paint. 

“Something like that,” he answered, scratching the back of his neck and giving his ear a tug.

Throughout the rest of the game, the Doctor purposefully projected the most random things he could think of to Rose over the bond, hoping to distract her. Rambling lessons about tea cultivation, pocket dimensions, the War of the Eternals, different library cataloguing methods throughout time and space. Anything. The problem was, she wasn’t getting nearly as distracted by his thoughts as he seemed to always be by hers.

So he gave up that plan and set his sights on capturing the Iniv team flag as if the planet were at stake. This got him a five minute time out for attempting to mess with the sprinkler system.

In the end, team Rhiz did end up winning but no one caught any flags.

“Did you have fun?” Rose asked him as they sat at a picnic table eating their rhizit frip (berry-ish and minty, possibly the best frip flavor anyway, though they all sounded good to him).

“I would have had more fun if we were on the same team,” he sulked.

“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll wear a wig, yeah?”

He shrugged. While the thought of her in a wig intrigued him, it didn’t fix today’s Jikltaii mishap. This was supposed to be their honeymoon. You can only play Jikltaii on your honeymoon once, after all.

“Rubbish,” Rose told him, “and you know it. Mum’s busy plannin’ a wedding as we speak. We’ll have another honeymoon before ya know it.”

“Oh.” The Doctor sat up straighter, suddenly much more interested in his frip and the topic of wigs. “I didn’t think of that. How many honeymoons do you think we could have?”

“Depends how many times you wanna get married,” she smiled, tongue between her teeth. He was certain that if he snogged her he’d be able to taste her rhizit frip. It probably tasted much better that way.

Later.

“But we don’t have any frip on the TARDIS,” he informed her, moving to sit on her side of the bench.

“Could get some.”

He blinked.

“Didn’t you just tell me the other day about how time doesn’t pass in your pockets?”

She reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his kivry from earlier, still cold and fizzy.

“I hadn’t thought you were paying attention,” he admitted.

“I just tune out the technical parts.”

Rose finished up her dessert as if this wasn’t important information. Maybe for her it wasn’t. She was Rose Tyler so of course she wouldn’t have to learn new things about herself.

“Sooo,” the Doctor began, leaning his back against the table and stretching his legs in front of him, “earlier, when I was telling you all of that stuff and you didn’t get distracted …?”

“Kinda like havin’ the telly on in the background.”

Well that wasn’t very flattering.

She rolled her eyes. “I pay attention to the important stuff. And the interestin’ bits. But you’ve gotta admit, it’s kinda like you were playin’ the history channel.”

Fair enough.

“What would you like to do next?” he asked, hopping up off the table and grabbing their frip containers to take to the rubbish bin.

“Well, first things first, we definitely need to change.”

“Both of us?” He frowned, furrowing his brow. What was wrong with his suit?

“Doctor, we’re covered in paint.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, taking her hand and leading them toward the exit. “That’ll be dealt with in a mo’.”

To leave the area, everyone had to go through a small blue outbuilding. The Doctor watched Rose look around and saw the moment she noticed all of the drains in the floor.

“Wait-”

Water sprayed down on them. It lasted only a minute, and then the doors on the other side slid open.

“Better?” he asked as they stepped outside.

“Well, ’s better than disinfectant. And so refreshing right now.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the suns. Yup, about 31 degrees. He looked down at his suit - paint free (and drying very quickly).

“I still wanna change,” Rose said. They were walking hand in hand back toward the main city square. The crowds were dense around them, full of locals and tourists alike. The Rhibelini Festival was an intergalactic traveler’s must see. At least, that’s how the magazine had described it.

“You read about this in a magazine? What happened to them being dull?”

The Doctor huffed. “There wasn’t anything else to read or do at the time. We were trying to infiltrate that shady corporation on Arelenia II and I was sat in their waiting room. Had to blend in. Everyone else was reading those magazines they leave all over the place. In fact-” He dug into his jacket pocket “- here it is!”

“Why’d you take it?” she asked, grabbing it before attempting to read the cover page and walk at the same time.

“Well, it boasted the 250 must-see places for the experienced intergalactic traveler - that’s me. And I hadn’t been to some of them. I wanted the list. Also, the Geri Corporation committed many major human rights violations, and made me wait for almost an hour, so … they owed me.” He put his arm around Rose and led her to the side of the street before stopping and taking back the magazine. Should have known better, really. Rose Tyler and her magazines.

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re not dull. They’re full of interesting stuff, and short for when you don’t feel like readin’ a whole novel.”

“The ones you read are always about clothes and makeup and gossip.”

“Useful, useful, funny.”

She may have him there - but he wasn’t going to admit it verbally. Her smug telepathic presence was enough, ta. They started walking again, Rose finally taking the time to people-watch.

“Those outfits, are they for somethin’ specific?” she asked, nodding toward a group of native girls wearing the traditional festival clothes - bralettes and asymmetrical skirts in yellow, orange, or red.

“Nope,” he replied, turning her attention to another crowd that had a mix of natives and tourists, most of whom were wearing the same basic outfit. Even a few men wearing the traditional skirt (though cut differently).

“It’s called a high-low.”

“What?”

“The skirts the girls got on. High-low.” Rose let go of his hand and placed hers at her mid-thigh. “High,” and then dropped it past her knees, “low.”

“Why would I ever need to know that?” the Doctor asked, puzzled.

She simply rolled her eyes, took his hand, and dragged him towards a row of shops. He tried to ignore her unflattering thoughts about men and shopping and blokes in general, figuring that he really wasn’t a man or a bloke so she couldn’t be referring to him. He hoped so, at least.

“I like their outfits, think I’d like to get one,” Rose told him as she began peeking into the shop windows.

“Okay.” Much better than going back to the TARDIS. More … festival-y.

So he tagged along behind her as she entered a boutique, hanging back when she went up to the counter and examining a display of hair accessories.

“Hello, I was wonderin’ if you could help me find a, uhm, traditional festival outfit,” Rose asked the clerk. The Doctor raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look at the racks of said apparel that were plainly visible.

Yeah and are YOU an expert at the sizing here?

Deciding that she really must know best, the Doctor quietly left her to it, exiting the shop and letting her know telepathically that he’d be just outside. Outside was much more entertaining anyway. Buskers had begun playing, and there were pop up stalls, and all sorts of things to look at and do.

Would be better once Rose came back, though.

Still, couldn’t hurt to get the lay of the land. Have something planned for once she finished. It ended up being over forty-five minutes before Rose told him she was leaving the boutique, and he was down the other end of the block! That right there was some decent range. Eventually they were going to have to properly test how far apart they could telepathically communicate, but that could wait. The Doctor ran down the street, weaving between groups of tourists, before skidding to a standstill.

She was absolutely stunning.

The festival set she’d chosen was yellow - of course, really - with a gold (or iniyama) sun clasp at the centre of her bralette, and two tiny red and orange suns on each side near her arms. The skirt had a whispy white under-layer visible in the low part with little gold starbursts dotted around it.

If the goddess Iniya was real, he was certain that she would look just like Rose at this moment.

“Oh, Doctor,” she flushed before placing a hand on his cheek, pulling him down and kissing him. Unfortunately, as soon as he tried to deepen the kiss she pulled back.

Later.

He was getting tired of that word.

“C’mon, there’s activities this way,” he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her up the street.

“Hold your horses,” she laughed. “I’m gettin’ kinda hungry. We should eat those sandwiches you got.”

“Oh! Right! The poofs!”

“Poofs? Really?”

“Yup!” he told her, popping the ‘P’. 

It didn’t take long to find a picnic table - they seemed to be everywhere - and settle in with their food and another bottle of water. He wondered if he’d gotten enough.

“Huh. ’S like a fruity cold cut,” Rose commented after swallowing her first bite.

“Reminds me of blackberries,” he agreed. Definitely a better flavor combination than the kivry. He shuddered at the memory. Could still kind of taste it, even after the frip.

They were quiet, quickly eating the poofs, and then off back toward the fun. The Doctor glanced behind him as he led her through the crowd and was thrilled to see her smiling. Her mental presence was bright and happy and really, this was so amazing and such a great day. He should probably marry Rose Tyler as often as possible, so that they could keep going on honeymoons.

She laughed. “Y’know our life is travelin’ around, right?”

“Oh, but this is different! This is romantic traveling. Newlywed traveling.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Don’t you want to keep marrying me?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the street and pulling her closer.

“Mmm might do. Still, honeymoons generally last ‘bout a week. And we’ve got another wedding comin’ up. So how ‘bout we see how it goes.”

He kissed her, and once again she didn’t allow their tongues to even get a tiny bit involved.

Later.

Worst. Word. Ever.

He tilted his head back and let out a groan before continuing on until they reached the games area.

“It’s almost like a carnival!” Rose exclaimed, wandering over toward a water shooting game where winners could potentially get some chintzy star jewelry. “Gonna win me a bracelet?” she asked with a cheeky smirk, cocking her hips to the side and raising an eyebrow.

“As you wish,” the Doctor said with a mock-bow, walking up to the booth and picking up a water gun.

The game was rigged. Should be illegal, that. Ended up having to play six times just to get one dinky plastic bracelet, and the rhizala (metallic red) paint was noticeably chipping. He handed it to Rose with a frown.

“I love it,” she told him, immediately putting it on.

And the strange thing was that he could tell that she meant it.

“But- but it’s so cheap and they wouldn’t let me pick it out myself, so I couldn’t get the gold one, and-”

“I love it ‘cause you got it for me. And I’m keepin’ it forever,” she whispered in his ear before kissing his cheek.

Well. That was okay, then.

The next games stand they walked up to had a big banner atop it that said ‘Grizchootinki’ and appeared to be bobbing for apples, except the fruits were definitely not apples.

“How ‘bout I win you something?” Rose suggested, pointing at the stuffed toys hanging above the water barrel. She attempted to pull him toward the stand, but the Doctor would not budge.

“Why play that game when we could do this?” he blindly pointed to the stand across from it, then looked to see what it was.

Face painting.

Ehh …

She raised an eyebrow but still allowed him to take them over there, all the while not saying a word about how closed off he’d made their bond. Honestly, Rose had much more restraint than he did and he wasn’t sure how she did it. Still, he was grateful.

Or not. Once they got to the booth he noticed that his wife had a rather wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh, you look wonderful!” the artist told Rose. “I have the perfect iniyama pattern for you. It will match your outfit so well!”

“Thanks,” she smiled, “but if you could do him first? He was super excited to come get his face done up.”

How had he gone so long without realizing that she was evil?

“Of course! Have a seat! We’ll have you looking more festive in no time. Definitely beltofana paint for you,” the artist said. Before he knew it the Doctor found himself seated, getting his face painted.

And it took ages.

“Alright, let’s see it,” he announced as soon as it was finished, pasting on a smile he really wasn’t feeling.

Oh, don’t be a baby.

Must have let the barriers slip while being tortured. Not surprising. (Also, it was incredibly hard to block the bond - it definitely did not want to be closed. Really had to get to that research).

You’re how old, now? Rose’s smile, at least, was genuine. And she wasn’t laughing (except in his head) so he must not look too ridiculous.

“No, wait until you’re both finished. It will be better if you see together.”

During his face painting, Rose and the artist had chatted. Once they found out that he and Rose were on their honeymoon, they got ideas. So he leaned against the booth and watched as she got her face painted. And it really did look lovely on her. But of course it did. Everything did. Weeeell, most things. To be fair, some things were designed to not look good on anybody - dinner lady uniforms came to mind. Even then, she was the best looking dinner lady of all of them. Though the rest were Krillitanes. Eh, still.

I love you, Rose’s telepathic voice rang in his head. 

And he’d been trying so hard all day to not keep saying it after this morning’s slightly insane overuse of the phrase, but now he wasn’t sure how he’d ever stopped saying it.

(Multiple marriage proposals may have had something to do with it).

I love you, too. So, so much.

Waiting to be able to touch her until her face was finished became incredibly difficult. But he managed. Barely.

(There was a brief moment where he sat on the ground next to her and rested his head against her hip, but he didn’t like the knowing look the artist gave him and decided to go back to leaning against the booth).

Then finally, finally she was done. 

The artist brought out a mirror from behind her booth and set it up for them to look. And as much as he hadn’t wanted to admit it, they had done a spectacular job. Both of their faces were decorated with intricate swirls and stars, the patterns somehow mirroring each other. The Doctor had a feeling that if he were to somehow overlay just the artwork, it would become one piece.

“This is so great!” Rose exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. Now, the face paint is waterproof. It will fade naturally within the next week. If you need it removed before then, there is an alcohol solution that will speed up the process. I do sell it, if you need it.”

He was positive that he could easily make the solution himself on the TARDIS, but with Rose’s mental nudging he ended up buying some from the artist when he paid for the painting. He also left a very generous tip.

“Alright, so tell me,” she said out of seemingly nowhere as they walked away from the booth.

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want me to win you a stuffed, er, whale thingy.”

“It’s a star whale. They’re actually extinct. Funny thing about star whales-”

“Doctor.”

With a sigh he turned toward her, dropping her hand and rubbing the back of his neck. “You’d be bobbing for choots.”

“And?”

“They taste like pears,” he informed her.

“So? I’d be the one bobbin’ for ‘em.”

“Yeah … but …”

“But?”

“Then you’d taste like choots.”

Rose burst out laughing, her amusement apparently so great that she could hardly remain upright. It really wasn’t that funny. She just laughed harder.

“Stop it! You’re going to hurt yourself. Really, this is completely unnecessary. It’s almost suns-set! Ever watched three suns set at once? Rose! Stop laughing!”

She pulled herself together slowly, wiping a tear from her eye.

“I’m gonna bob for choots.” 

This obviously wasn’t up for debate, so bob for choots she did. And her game obviously wasn’t rigged like his had been. That or the game attendant with the wandering eyes was giving his wife preferential treatment. The Doctor glared at the adolescent until the boy looked properly terrified. And Rose had really only gotten enough choots to win a medium sized star whale, but the kid handed her the big one before sending them on their way.

“Ya didn’t have to go all ‘Oncoming Storm’ on ‘em,” she informed him while handing over the giant toy. Honestly, what was he supposed to do with this right now? He may have bigger-on-the-inside pockets, but they required the object to at least be pocket sized before going in.

“He was leering at my wife,” the Doctor muttered, trying to see if he could slowly squish the star whale into his jacket pocket, and failing.

Rose shook her head before swatting his hand away from his pocket. “Let’s just go back to the TARDIS and drop him off.”

“Him?”

“Don’t you think he looks like a boy?”

“I’m not sure star whales have genders.”

“Well, it’s your star whale, so whatever you want. Whatcha gonna name ‘em?”

“I … haven’t given it any thought. I’ll get back to you on it. We’ll have to be quick if we want to stop back at the TARDIS and catch the suns-set. Which I do. You’re going to want some sort of jumper or something anyway. It gets chilly once the suns go down,” he told her, finally managing to hold her hand and the stuffed animal at the same time.

It ended up being slow going. He could hardly see past the star whale, so Rose had to lead them and she was much more polite while walking in a crowd than he was. Also they had to walk. Couldn’t run with the star whale. Once they made it back to the TARDIS, the Doctor opened the door and chucked the stuffed animal into the console room.

“Aww poor star whale,” Rose pouted, as if the stuffed animal had feelings.

“Sammy is fine,” he assured her. “Now go fetch a coat, quick, or we’ll miss it.”

“Sammy the Star Whale?”

“Yes. Love me some alliteration. Now off you pop!”

Rose bit her lip, glanced in the TARDIS and then back to him. “It’d take ages for me to find something that looks good with this outfit. I don’t think we’ve got time.”

He wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter, that she’d look good in anything. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t make a difference. She already knew he thought that, after all (not to mention it was now likely being repeated). It mattered to her, though, and she was right - the way she could dither around the wardrobe room, it would take ages.

“Alright, c’mon then,” he said, quickly grabbing his coat off a nearby strut and then her hand after locking the TARDIS. “I’ll keep you warm. Run!”

They sprinted through a few back alleys before he found a fire escape that didn’t look to be on the verge of collapse, and they ended up atop a grocers. The sky was already turning a deep orange as he fanned out his coat on the roof for them to sit on.

Rose cuddled into his side, lying her head on his shoulder as they settled in to watch the three suns set on Neghlyvryn. Orange slowly faded into pink and then purple, and six of the eight moons became visible.

“Can we hold hands and watch the sky together, forever?” he asked her, leaning down to kiss the top of her head,

“Forever is a long time to watch the sky, dontcha think?”

“Oh, but not just this sky. All of the skies.”

“All of ‘em?”

“Yeah,” he breathed into her hair.

“Well, that’s alright then,” Rose decided.

“Good.”

Then he realized that they were finally alone, that later had finally arrived. So he kissed her. And she tasted like choots, but it was okay. Well, it wasn’t okay, but he could get past it. Kind of.

Without much thought or planning the Doctor tipped them both over and he was on top of her, tongue exploring her mouth as if it was uncharted territory (and it kind of was, since he had never thought to actually map it the previous times they’d snogged). Rose moaned, pulled him impossibly closer, wrapped a leg around his hip, and he forgot all about mentally charting her mouth.

He was finally able to touch all of the tantalizing skin she’d had exposed all day, teasing him.

I love you, he projected across the bond and he didn’t care how often he told her. She needed to know.

I love you, too.

And maybe he needed to hear it. Just a bit.

He ran a hand up her back and felt her shiver … and then shiver some more.

When he pulled back, Rose was gasping for breath and still shivering.

“Sorry, here,” he said, helping her to stand before picking his coat up off the ground and wrapping it around her before holding her close.

“Y’know you’re not exactly warm, right?”

Actually, he’d forgotten. But really, after snogging Rose Tyler he felt like he was on fire , so-

Oh. Right.

“C’mon, I know just the thing!” he told her with a grin, letting her go and then taking her hand to lead her back down from the roof. 

Soon enough they were back in the city square, where three gigantic bonfires had been lit, surrounded by many smaller fires. The entire area and surrounding blocks we covered in red, orange, and yellow paper lanterns in various star shapes. It was quite warm.

They made a beeline towards the closest big fire.

“This is more like it,” Rose smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek before leaning her head against his shoulder. “Is it just me, or is the fire … glittery?”

“Nope, not just you. They call it ‘bip powder’. It’s also what’s making it smell like incense right now, instead of your usual wood-burning-smell.”

“I like it. We should get some of that, too.”

“Could do. But when do we ever have fires?” He looked down at her, furrowing his brow.

“In the TARDIS library?” Rose reminded him, complete with telepathic images of his own ship.

“Ohhh the TARDIS wouldn’t want bip powder in her grates. It’s … messy … and- and … the smell reminds her of hippies. The TARDIS is not a fan. I was talking about fires outside of the TARDIS.”

Even as the words fell out of his gob, he knew that his bondmate wasn’t going to buy it. Of course not. And it wasn’t really lying, so much as saving face, but none of that could be accomplished with a permanent telepathic connection.

“Don’t need to be in your head to know you’re full of it,” Rose informed him with a light smack to his bottom. She was still smiling, though, and her mind felt calm and happy and warm next to his, so at least he hadn’t upset her.

I don’t think I want you touching my bum in public, he lightly scolded her telepathically.

Says the alien who spent most of the day trying to shove his tongue down my throat?

“I did not!” the Doctor exclaimed, offended.

“Whatever you say.” Rose rolled her eyes and then her attention was taken by the music starting up. It was whimsical and cheery, but with a steady drumbeat that could be felt through your feet. And all at once, everyone started dancing around the fires, the locals doing a specific number with some tourists trying to copy it while others just did their own thing.

She took both his hands and pulled him into the dance, quick to catch on to the different stomping patterns and waves of hands. He was happy to follow her lead. Happy to dance with her. Happy to make this day last as long as he possibly could. Against the background of the fire, Rose looked even more like a goddess.

Doesn’t have to end. We’re on our honeymoon.

Visions of hotel rooms and many things that distracted him from dancing, nearly causing him to trip, flashed across the bond.

“Right you are, Rose Tyler.”

This time he knew better than to interrupt the dancing, dragging her off to the next great idea. They didn’t stop dancing until they reached the furthest bonfire, having moved through the square in a winding line. The dance wasn’t over, would go well into the night, but Rose’s feet were beginning to tire after being on them all day.

So as much as he wanted to run to the nearest hotel, he didn’t. They walked slowly, and she drank the last of their water, listening to the music and watching the seemingly unending dance.

When they eventually found a hotel - the Doctor didn’t feel like stopping to ask for directions - the lobby was empty of other guests, only a lone receptionist sitting at the desk.

“Hello, do you have a reservation?”

“No, no reservation. We’d like to book a room.”

The receptionist blinked.

“I’m sorry sir, there’s no rooms available. We’ve been fully booked for the festival for years.”

“For years? Really? Suppose that makes sense. Do you know of anywhere else in the area-”

“Everyone’s been fully booked for years.”

The Doctor frowned, then had them check the database just in case he did have a reservation - sometimes time travel could get around these things, tiny circular paradox. But they didn’t. Not anywhere in the city.

“Would you like to book a room for the next festival?”

He was about to say no, but then Rose said, “We’d love to. Honeymoon suite, if you can.”

Once everything was settled, they were back on the streets, still hotel-room-less for the present.

“What good did that do us?” he asked. “We’ve a room, but not for 15 years.”

“Yeah, and we’ve got a time machine, and apparently countless other honeymoons to go on. Can do the festival again, and next time we play Jikltaii I can wear a wig.”

“I love you.”

She grinned and pulled him down for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

“Still, what do we do now?”

“May not have a hotel room, but we still have the TARDIS.”

“But that’s not honeymoon-y. That’s- that’s where we live.”

“I think we can still manage to make it honeymoon-y,” Rose smirked, as a bunch of very graphic scenarios filtered into his mind.

They ran back to the TARDIS.

They didn’t make it past the console room.

They didn’t even really make it out of their clothes.

[rabbiteclair]

So, a whole lot of notes on Flatscreen. This is, like, halfway my attempt to analyze what I was doing for myself, so I can't guarantee they'll be informative or interesting to anyone else, but hey. It should go without saying that there are tons of spoilers in here.

Mysteries And Stuff

I guess the big thing on my end was that I deliberately went out of my way to avoid establishing a definite answer about What's Actually Going On with big facets of the story. Like, I didn't come up with them at all. Some of them don't strictly need answers. Some of them I felt were best left mysteries. Overall, though, subjectivity was kinda a theme for the story as a whole, so it felt appropriate to leave as much as possible open to interpretation. Most of these have apparent explanations within the story that work, because I still wanted a coherent narrative, but here's a short list of things I deliberately kept a bit vague: Does Gensokyo exist in this timeline? Compare the list of occult goodies Renko inherited from Sumireko in Flatscreen:

There are a handful of keepsakes, passed down from your grandma, that have managed to keep your faith in the supernatural alive. A photo of a gate in the Netherworld, with cherry blossoms on one side and a mundane graveyard on the other. A series of videos from her long-archived blog where she's bending spoons and levitating balls with her mind. A rock she brought back from 'some pyramid or another' that does, in fact, sharpen any razors you leave near it.

to Eyes in the Dark:

It had been a large box full of stuff, and practically the only mundane thing in it was a pack of Zener cards.

There was also a photo of a gate in the Netherworld, with cherry blossoms on one side and a mundane graveyard on the other. I know it's the Netherworld, because Maribel and I investigated it once. (Case File #6) There was a series of selfies that my grandma had taken with people she swore were youkai. (A few of them did have remarkably realistic costumes if not.) A recording of an unearthly song that did strange things to the listener's mood, that was supposedly from a youkai night sparrow. A heavily-warded jar with what could only be a ghost of some sort bound inside.

Flatscreen Renko... really didn't get anything impressive, apart from maybe the Netherworld photo from Ghostly Field Club. Maybe Sumireko just didn't leave her much--Renko doesn't really seem to know anything substantial about Gensokyo in the canon stories, after all. Maybe the Sealing Club stories are an alternative timeline from the main Touhou canon, and Maribel is traveling between worlds when she visits Gensokyo (we already know she's ended up in current-Gensokyo's past before, so it wouldn't really be much weirder.) Plus, Fantasy wasn't in very good state when Renko visited it. I think that's probably the case either way--Gensokyo would be a pretty crowded place if every single forgotten god, myth, or youkai ended up there. But, you can definitely point to it as evidence that Gensokyo isn't out there making things better, if you want. Is Renko the real Renko? What even counts as 'real' in this particular case? Whether or not this all happens in the same world or timeline as Gensokyo, Renko might not be The Renko that Maribel remembers. She raises the possibility herself in chapter 3--she has a past that she remembers, with no Maribel in it. It's entirely possible that by erasing Maribel, the monster changed the past and made a new timeline with a whole new Renko. Or maybe she's from a pre-existing timeline and was out there all along. Or, hell, if we're considering alternative timelines anyway, maybe this isn't the same Renko or Maribel from the Sealing Club stories. Or maybe Maribel is right, it's all one tidy timeline, and the monster didn't do much except alter some of Renko's memories. I did kinda wimp out on this one a little, by letting Renko regain memories of Maribel. It undermines some of these possibilities, but I couldn't stand the thought of having Renko go through all of that and only remember a single week with her. What is the monster? I really wanted Renko to make some kind of Black Hole Information Paradox comparison here, but never found a way to shoehorn it in. Regardless, it kinda fits. Whether the monster was a god, or a youkai, or whatever, almost by definition, there's no way of knowing what it used to be. All that information was lost when it got completely forgotten. Or maybe Maribel's theory is completely wrong, and these things aren't gods. She was guessing on pretty thin evidence. Renko thought she saw claws on some of them, and the main monster had some kind of weird features at times too. Stealing existence might be a bit much for an undead myth. If you want to interpret it as some kind of minor elder horror or an especially unstylish Excrucian or something, it doesn't change much about the story except maybe some of the implications. This is part of the reason I avoided giving it a name. The other half was for horror purposes--having Renko give it a snappy nickname like she did in Eyes in the Dark would make it feel a little less scary, I think. For what it's worth, in my notes, I referred to it as the Static.

History and connection with Eyes in the Dark

I really gave most of the relevant bits in the notes at the beginning of the story on AO3. The short version is, the story didn't originally have a monster, and when I decided to add one, a few rounds of expansion later, I had the outline for Eyes in the Dark. There are a few tracts of text that I originally copied over verbatim, and any differences in the section between the two stories evolved over time. The stuff about fake fish is one of them. Renko's big list of stuff Sumireko left for her is another. The monster from Flatscreen is fairly similar to the first iteration of what became the Watcher. When I went to add monster(s) to the first partial draft of Flatscreen, I thought it would be best if it was something that could threaten Maribel, even with her TV-dwelling nature, so a TV-filling monster was one of my first ideas. Obviously the monsters in both stories evolved quite a bit from that point, so it'd be incorrect to say that it's an earlier evolution of the Watcher. This is probably why both stories pretty heavily revolve around televisions, though. The lack of a monster to add some opposition was one of the two things that made me shelve the first draft of Flatscreen.

The other one was the lack of an ending. 'And then Maribel became Yukari' is practically a stock ending for Sealing Club stories, but somehow it didn't occur to me for about two and a half years.

Chapters 1-3 are pretty similar to what the original draft had, minus the monster. In the original draft, Maribel’s plan was to take Renko on a tour of various places they’d visited together, to try jogging her memory, which might hopefully help Maribel become real again. The plan was for Renko to get more and more absorbed in the fantasy world with Maribel in it, while Maribel just kept getting weaker and weaker. Eventually, Maribel would get too weak to even show up outside of Renko’s dreams, and Renko would decide it was better to float off into nonexistence with her than stick around on Earth alone.

... this was the plan for about thirty seconds before I realized it kinda sucks, at least. The lack of a satisfying ending was the main thing that made me drop the story and move on to other ideas.

Yukari!!!

Anybody who’s talked to me on the topic much (this is a list that has like two people on it, so in retrospect this was a bad way to introduce this paragraph) knows that I’m actually not all that fond of ‘Yukari is older Maribel’ as an interpretation of their relationship, in general. For one thing, whenever canon has a big open question and everyone just kind of decides it has to be answered the same way, I wanna go the opposite direction just to spite them. (See also: the idea of the previous shrine maiden being Reimu’s mom.) For another, I feel like it produces a lot of kinda crappy stories. I’ve read a ton of doujin and stuff where Maribel isn’t a character, she’s a macguffin for Renko to chase after, or a placeholder to stand around until Yukari pops up.

... but it isn’t an inherently bad idea, so I was able to convince myself to end the story like this after a while.

If I had to guess (and I do, since it’s another thing where I didn’t come up with a strict Objectively True Answer), it was just kinda the first step. That talk she gave about ending up somewhere else eventually was pretty open-ended. It definitely made her a bit weirder and more... eldritch. Probably, she drifted around in there for a while, ended up way in the past, and came back to find Renko again once she was able to. Could’ve been decades or centuries on her end.

I did definitely mean to drop some hints about how this all led to her becoming Yukari, though. Between the abandoned tanuki house and the really horrible state of Fantasy in the last chapter, it isn’t hard to see where she might get interested in something like Gensokyo. She’s literally playing around with the boundary between fantasy and reality before the story starts. And her walled-off fantasy bubble in the last chapter is basically a mini-Gensokyo, if you wanna think about it that way.

... I think that’s all the stuff I intended to cover? If I missed anything, feel free to shoot me a question, I guess.