#dark 13th doctor

[bloody-cupcakes]

Thirteenth Doctor forcefeeding the reader because they won't eat? 🥺👉👈

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, soft yandere, implied kidnapping, force-feeding

"Come on, sweetheart, open up." The Doctor held up a forkful of your favorite meal, which they'd made in hopes of convincing you to eat.

You pouted in response, crossing your arms as you shook your head and leaned away. "No. I'm not hungry."

She let out a sigh of disappointment as she set the fork down. "Love, you have to eat eventually. It's not healthy for you to go so long without eating something."

Knowing she was right, you chose to remain silent, glaring at her from your seat at the table. "Can I go now?" You asked in a bratty tone, clearly not enjoying this back and forth between the two of you.

Your obvious attitude was starting to sour her usual bright and cheery mood. Not only that, but your refusal to eat was starting to worry her. She'd hoped that maybe it was just a faze you were going through, but it had gone on for long enough.

"Listen to me. I've tried everything I can to get you to eat something. I've made all your favorites and even put up with your temper tantrums," she began in a stern tone as she stood and moved closer to you. "But my patience is wearing thin, and I've just about had enough of this."

Swallowing nervously, you realized that maybe you shouldn't have pushed her buttons so much. After all, she'd been nothing but kind and understanding, even if she had kidnapped you.

"So, I'm going to tell you one more time before I take away your right to do it willingly." The Doctor picked back up the fork and held it in front of your face, her face scrunched up in frustration. "Open your mouth and eat."

Although you knew you probably should've done as she asked, you couldn't help but make one more act of defiance. "No, I don't want any-"

Before you could even finish your sentence properly, she shoved the fork into your mouth. You gagged slightly at the sudden intrusion, tears welling up in your eyes.

"I want you to eat it all, now. Don't even think about spitting it out." She covered your mouth and nose with her hand as her other held your head in place, giving you no other choice but to swallow.

Once she was certain there wasn't anything left in your mouth, she removed her hand, demanding, "Open your mouth so I can see that you finished everything."

You decided to be obedient for once and did just that, showing her that your mouth was empty. The Doctor let out a soft hum in approval, giving you a look of satisfaction.

"Good job. Now, I have some maintenance that needs to get done on the TARDIS, but when I come back that plate had better be empty, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," you replied in a meek and quiet voice as you looked down. She smiled at how submissive you were suddenly acting, leaning over and giving your head a kiss.

"Very good. I'll be back later, okay? We can do something together then, as long as you finish your food first."

She turned and exited the room, leaving you behind with the feeling of shame for disobeying her and an almost full plate to finish.

[daughter-of-war]

Something I think about a lot is how the 13th Doctor clearly has dyed-blonde hair. She has visible dark roots. This can mean two things: Either Time Lords can just... regenerate with funky, non-natural-human hair colours (perhaps like how Time Ladies always seem to regenerate into a full beat of makeup..), OR that the regeneration energy of 12 to 13 fried her otherwise naturally brown / black hair into a blonde.

Of course, the latter leads to so much potential. Does the Doctor now have to upkeep her dye job? Does she disappear sometimes for "five minutes" only for Yaz to stare disapprovingly at her grown-out roots? Has any of the Fam ever taken her to a hair salon or does she bleach her hair in the TARDIS console room with a jug of water and some totally-safe-don't-worry Space Bleach that nearly sets the console on fire when she bumps into it? Where is all the art of 13 with dark hair?

I need answers.

[dontbelasagne]

desperately need to do a presentation on why the Twelfth Doctors journey perfectly represents the transfem experience

their previous eleventh incarnation being suave and hypersexual (i know moffat is mostly to blame but!) is reminiscent of attempts to fit into heteronormative ideals of masculinity. whilst it is not completely insincere, there are obvious signs this does not fit you as a person, it is acted out of desperate need to being seen. as Vastra put it, eleven wore that face, and subsequently that form of masculinity, to be accepted. on becoming twelve, realising even an "idealised" masculinity does not inherently serve them, they retreated into themselves as a person for self-reflection and trying to understand why they feel so detached from who they are.

the "am i a good man" arc mirrors being closeted and having to present as something not inherently tied to your sense of self, but still wanting to be the best of your perceived gender as any failure could leave you spiralling into self-doubt about simply being like any other "man". you ignore your gender dysphoria/questioning by trying to claim a moralistic view of gendered expression. made even more clear by Twelve rejecting Clara's heroic view of them, establishing that even though they have made efforts to be a "good man", that is just a placeholder for their loss of identity.

Missy appearing as she does, who as a character serves as a parallel to The Doctor on what they could become, and her eventual arc in trying to become good is symbolic of the fear around transition regret that internalised transphobia can create when you are closeted. Missy never gives importance to their fem existence other than nonchalant jokes, rather showing a more free and expressive personality devoid of any frustration. this immediately dismisses the transphobic assumption that trans people are only focused on their gender. also, Missy representing trans femininity is inherently tied to chaos and upsetting the status quo, she is the embodiment of what society considers accepting your womanhood as someone previously labelled masculine. what many others, and The Doctor themselves, saw as a need for attention and senseless disruption is Missy not needing to serve a false version of who they are, that they can now focus on becoming whoever they want to be now without losing energy to performing a gender that society has imposed on you. Missy could never have made the decision to stand with The Doctor if she had not given importance to her own queerness.

it wasn't coincidence with meeting Bill, she was the perfect foil for The Doctor to finally let go of their anxious attachment to masculinity. i would even argue for the majority of s10, The Doctor is largely ambiguous in their gender identity and does not fit into any construction of masculinity or femininity. whilst they still present as something socially labelled as masculine, they do not internalise that gender expression. they are uncaring about and not needing the validity that comes with heteronormativity, and thus is free to finally accept the decision they have to make. as Bill says, it is so hard to let go of The Doctor, and that rings true for twelve themselves. but they begin to realise The Doctor can be anyone. yes, they are tired, it would be so easy to simply rest and not give value to who you can become. but choosing to let go of everything you once were to survive is better than oblivion. it is better to let go, to choose another lifetime where the only person that dies is your falsity, to finally get it right and choose kindness. for yourself and for those who you love. they regenerate, not just into another person, but into someone who (if only tv scripts...) can now move forward.

[117tr]

right person, not enough time

[aboutcustardcreams]

Help me hold onto you

summary: You discover a new side of the Doctor, one that you never thought could belong to her. And it's breaking you.

warnings: Hurt- no comfort. You have been warned [it's a nightmare] I apologize but it was necessary. It's probably a common nightmare to many weak in the knees for the Doctor.

part two

part three

“Why are you doing this?” Pathetically hugging yourself in the panel room, you felt like shrinking, falling, crumbling. Your entire body trembling under the weight of the venom she was force feeding you with. This was so unusual to her, her normally bubbly and optimistic demeanor changed into something you never thought you’d see. 

“I’m just so tired–” she let out a weary sigh, turning to face you with a pair of eyes you barely recognized. They were darker, no longer of that wonderful hue of hazel, their usual glimmer, the stars you used to see, were gone. It felt like watching into a deep darkness, with no light at the end of it. The person you were looking at had nothing to do with the Doctor you’ve known for years. 

You shook your head, and squinted your eyes without understanding. Tired of what? Of you? Of traveling with you? 

“Do you really think this is what I asked for?”, she was mocking you, “Keep you out of trouble all the time, risking my own life to save yours? ” Shaking her head, she stared at you, making you feel small, too small, utterly useless. “And what for? So that you can make the exact same mistake the day after? You never learn. Humans– never do.”

You had no idea the Doctor felt this way about you. You didn’t really understand where all this was coming from. You were doing fine, you had fun together, bonding even in a way you never did with anyone else before. “Please– ”, you lost count of the times you felt yourself suffocating by a lump in your throat. No matter how many times you swallowed, the lump was always there. Normally she would come up to you, the Doctor you knew used to care about you. She smacked her lips, barely acknowledging you. She was too busy starting the TARDIS, hands hovering over the controls, pushing buttons, lowering levers. Was she really going to leave you? Was this happening for real?

Before you knew, your eyes were filled with tears. You forced yourself to be brave, to insist– because it couldn’t be. You moved a few steps towards her, arms still hugging yourself, cause suddenly you were cold. “Please, I’m sorry–I…” your voice came out muffled, as if you were chewing on cotton. “I’ll do better,” you croaked out, tilting your head ever so slightly in the attempt to be met with hers. Maybe it was just a silly joke. Maybe she was just trying to scare you, because she always failed to do that. Yeah– it had to be that. “Doctor, come on–” you slowly and painfully shook your head. 

Your biggest fear was materializing right before your eyes and it hurt in the most inexplicable way. It started with a slight headache at first, which was now intensifying every passing second. 

When she finally locked eyes with you again, you knew she wasn’t joking. That cold stare crashed your heart and sent pins and needles in your head. It hurt in the most inexplicable way- so much you pressed your fingertips over your temples.

Was she doing this? Could she be doing this?

“I think it’s time for you to accept that you can’t do better,” she spoke slowly, in a low, confident murmur that yet felt like a loud thunderstorm inside your head. She took a step towards you, staring up and down at your fragile form, “you’re weak and you’ll always be. If I keep you around, you’ll only slow me down. I’m a Time Lord, not some sort of babysitter.”

She was saying those words with such ease, you thought dying was better than this. It would hurt less. That’s what she truly thought of you then. All these years, you believed something good, something special was blossoming between you two. A friendship first, that eventually, at least on your part, turned into something more. Deeper. It hurt because you got it all wrong. It hurt because you loved her and never told her. It hurt because you never would at this point. Not like this. Not when you meant nothing to her. 

“We will be landing shortly, so if you left something on my TARDIS, you better collect it now. There won’t be a second time to do it.”  

You swallowed, hard. The lump grew bigger, your throat tightened and your heart felt like it was about to explode in your chest. It was hard to breathe, and your head– oh your head felt like it was splitting in two. You were in no condition to walk out, even less to be wandering around the TARDIS to search for your belongings. 

“Please, I-I don’t want it to end,” you stuttered, silent tears streamed down your face. “I’m sorry. I swear, to you, I’m so sorry,” your knees gave in and you found yourself dropping on the floor. 

Your vision, a bit blurred now, still allowed you to see the annoyance in the Doctor’s eyes.

“I made up my mind, your time’s up,” she said sternly, as if she was speaking to an unruly child. “Now stop crying, you’re only embarrassing yourself.”

You let out a sound between a growl and a bitter chuckle, your voice before low and barely above a whisper, rose at once, “Stop talking–” you began, voice filled with anger. 

To your surprise, she listened, however, there was still a mocking smile tugging at her lips. 

“Stop talking to me like that! Just– shut up - shut the fuck up if everything you can say to me after all these years spent together is how much of a burden I was to you–” Your stomach lurched and so did your heart, it clenched so painfully to the words you just let yourself slip from your mouth. This wasn’t you. That wasn’t her. It felt wrong, on so many levels, yet what else could you do? What other emotion other than anger and betrayal were you supposed to feel? The Doctor made you a promise once, she vowed to keep you safe, to matter what, she vowed to neve let you down, to be the person you’d always rely on, and now, oh now– everything changed. Just like that. 

When the Doctor laughed, among all the things she could do, you froze.

You inhaled sharply, “I- thought you were m-my… friend. ” 

The Doctor let out a sound that was half a mocking chuckle, half a scoff. She kneeled down in front of you, tsked a couple of times, before harshly grasping your chin, “Now listen to me very carefully, you pathetic little thing, because I won’t repeat myself-” 

You didn’t want to hear her. You tried to squirm away from her iron grip, but she didn’t let you, and her hand tightened around your throat. You held your breath, afraid that whatever you’d say to her would enrage her more. At this point, you only hoped it would end soon. 

You felt the magnitude of her power in the way her fingers dug into your skin, sucking the oxygen out of you. When color drained from your face, that seemed to please her. 

“You were never my friend. I never liked you. I tolerated you, because I thought you could come in handy,” you squeezed your eyes shut when her grip tightened. You let out a choked sob, as you tried to grab onto her wrists, to pull her hands off you. “Silly of me to think that. You’re worthless. Pathetic. I doubt someone could ever even enjoy your company.”

“L-let g-go–”

“Make up your mind. Only a moment ago you were begging me to let you stay–”, she feigned a hurt tone by your sudden change of heart. 

“I-I said.. let g-go!” when a droplet of blood fell from your nostril, touching her fingers, the Doctor immediately pulled away. 

“Ew, you’re bleeding. You better not mess up my TARDIS,” she winced, moving away from you. 

Frowning, you touched your face and found something viscous and warm running down your nose. You got a taste of it, as it fell on your lips. It was sour, and hot. When did you start bleeding? No, that was the least of your problems. You could bleed out for all you cared, that was always better than to witness the Doctor treating you like a ragged doll. 

“Don’t you ever touch me like that again–” 

For the very first time you wished something you never thought would cross your mind. You wished you’d never met her. Because having met her and then being thrown away like you never meant anything was worse. Awfully worse. 

“Rest assured, I won’t. This is your stop. Get out.”

You didn’t know what else to say. This was it. The end. Not even a goodbye, not even one last smile. You turned around towards the TARDIS doors, a peculiar mist, thick and gray, was coming from underneath. Was it normal? Where did she drop you? You frowned, unsure whether to point it out to her or not. But she wasn’t looking at you, almost as if you had already dropped off. You got up on your wobbling legs, a hand pressed against your nose to keep it from bleeding, and your head dangerously spinning. 

Despite everything, you found yourself lingering on her figure one last time. Because yes– she was right, you were pathetic, and weak and fragile and no, you’d never learn, because you loved her. 

When you touched the wooden surface of the doors, your lids felt suddenly too heavy to be forced open. You tried to resist, push through a little longer, but you never knew if you made it past the blue box or not, because everything turned dark around you.

[quietsnooze]

Rules: Make a poll of your favorite female characters (no limits - as many or as little as you want) and see which your followers like the most!

I’m sure I’ve forgotten a bunch of faves, because anytime these sorts of things come up, I blank on anything I’ve ever liked haha

[killrisma]

“Never be cruel nor cowardly” no one tell 12 that 13 is somehow a centrist!

[deepfestdestiny87]

To those who say that the main character in my Fanfiction is too young for the Doctor, well Rose was 19 when she met the Doctor. My character is 18, not much difference in age. Please do visit link in my profile to read My Immortal: The Doctor & Me

[kabbseal]

after catching up with doctor who i can say with full certainty that i love what jodie whittaker did with the doctor, i loved the master and yaz, and their respective relationships with the doctor. howere i found a lot of the episodes to lack a proper plot and i feel like 3 companions were too much. at the same times the master story lines are easily one of my favourites in the entire series. the doctor and yaz should have at least hugged at the end???? anyways. i think that 13 would get along with 10 really well if they ever meet.

[noxcantio]

Pages from "The Dance of Death" - by Hans Holbein the Younger

He is best remembered for the magnificent portraits he produced as the court painter of Henry VIII; but a new study of Hans Holbein’s famous ‘Dance Of Death’ suggests that he also had strong anti-establishment views, creating works which foreshadowed modern satire.

What’s striking is how many of his images in the Dance were about social justice. Holbein was part of a movement which was very concerned with radical questions about welfare and reform.

As the leading painter at the Court of Henry VIII, Hans Holbein’s magnificent depictions of royalty and nobility affirmed his status as one of the greatest portrait artists of all time. Few would have considered such works the output of a dissident satirist, deeply concerned about the plight of the poor, and committed to religious reform.

But according to a new study of one of his most famous works, The Dance Of Death, satire was not just an area in which Holbein dabbled early in his career, but a central feature of some of his most important work before he came to England.

Based on new research into the highly-charged climate in which the Dance was produced, the study, by historian Professor Ulinka Rublack, Professor of Early Modern European History and a Fellow of St John’s College, University of Cambridge, argues that it is perhaps the best surviving example of Holbein as a social commentator, using art to mock establishment hypocrisy.

Her portrait of the artist - as an impoverished and angry, but socially and politically engaged, young man - is a far cry from that of the successful painter who produced iconic images of the Tudor ruling class - not least in his famous depiction of a swaggering Henry VIII.

The study forms the commentary to a new Penguin Classics edition of Holbein’s Dance Of Death. It draws on largely unused sources such as local government records from the time at which the Dance was produced. Rublack finds that early in his career, Holbein was part of a group of subversive, passionate artists who were operating in the new medium of print, amid the politically restless atmosphere of Reformation Europe.

“What’s striking is how many of his images in the Dance were about social justice,” Rublack said. “Holbein was part of a movement which was very concerned with radical questions about welfare and reform.”

“Looking at it as satire, rather like a publication such as Charlie Hebdo today, is probably the way to think about what he was doing at the time. Criticising the Pope and Catholic clergy was dangerous stuff; it could be censored and people could be imprisoned for it. But it’s sobering to think nobody was assassinated for it, which has occurred in response to comparable satire in our own time.”

Created between 1524 and 1526, The Dance Of Death was a series of woodcut prints of grisly images apparently demonstrating the folly of human greed and pride. Holbein, who was born in Augsburg, in Germany, produced it while living and working in Basel, in modern-day Switzerland.

As a concept, it was the latest in a long line of such series drawing on the medieval idea of the Danse Macabre, in which a recurring cast of stock characters - such as a Pope, an emperor, a king, a monk and a peasant - are individually shown being “taken” by death, represented by grinning, dancing skeletons.

The idea was to challenge the piety of the viewer, by showing death as the great leveller that comes to all. However rich and powerful we may be in this world, the Dance told its viewers, we are all the same in the next and should focus on spiritual concerns.

Although the Dance therefore often poured scorn on those in high society, it was not explicitly satirical beyond this. Holbein’s version has traditionally been seen in those terms - as a religiously-themed genre piece, and not an explicitly political statement.

For the new study, Rublack examined local sources, such as council records, to trace the socio-political context in which Holbein was working. Although the Reformation had not yet arrived in Basel (it would in 1529), she discovered that there was already widespread pressure for reform.

Part of this involved dissatisfaction with the Church and its wealth. The study found accounts of local guilds refusing to supply churches in favour of serving the needs of the poor. One record, from 1524, concerned a baker who, seeing civic dignitaries visiting the grave of a Professor who had opposed religious reform, openly attacked them as “donkey-milking fools”.

More broadly, the Basel commune had begun to stress equal rights against the traditional privileged elites. In 1525, for instance, a group of local villagers marched on Basel, demanding the right to elect their own preachers, and in opposition to feudal taxes.

Holbein, Rublack says, could not have been immune to this. For one thing, he lived among craftspeople, bakers and weavers who had begun to fight for religious and social change. But perhaps more significantly, he himself worked in an “alert” circle of like-minded artists such as the painter and printmaker Urs Graf.

Rublack’s commentary suggests that the life of this group must have resembled that of a satirical, counter-cultural clique. “One can only imagine an atmosphere of creative fun and irreverence, which thrived on jokes against monks, priests, the local bishop and popes,” she writes.

Stylistically, Holbein’s Dance broke established norms by for the first time presenting the genre in printed miniatures, which the viewer would have to peer at to understand. Seen in the context of the politics of the time, Rublack suggests it would have been “a shocking new viewing experience”.

Senior Church figures, including the Pope, were typically shown as overweight and obsessed with luxuries, extorting money in particular by selling indulgences - a cause célèbre of the Reformation. But the Dance also directly critiqued political and judicial leaders for ignoring the plight of the poor - including perhaps the Habsburg Emperor Charles of Spain in the stock “emperor” illustration.

By reworking the traditional Dance formula and adding tokens and signifiers which pointed to political concerns specific to its time, Holbein’s Dance was not just a piece for religious meditation but an early form of political cartoon, designed to delight, surprise and offend.

His reason for shifting from subversive satire to the courtly portraits of his later career can, Rublack suggests, be explained by his financial circumstances. Like most artists in Basel, Holbein struggled to find steady work as a painter - indeed, the study points out that respected contemporaries had been forced to resort to painting fences and carnival decorations.

Rather than carry on illustrating books and working in print, Holbein clearly harboured ambitions to paint - but this could only be realised through the sort of work he eventually obtained at the Tudor Court. Earlier works from England, such as The Ambassadors, pursue similar themes of death, faith and salvation, but working for the likes of Anne Boleyn and Henry VIII broadly put an end to his satirical interests.

“What is impressive is that he could have easily made the decision to give up painting, as so many contemporaries did,” Rublack added. “Instead, he made the very risky decision to pursue painting elsewhere. He seems to have known that he had great works like The Ambassadors in him.”

Source

[konigsblog]

KINKTOBER CALL OF DUTY MASTERLIST 2024

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

BEWARE: DARK THEMES BELOW. CONCEPTS MAY BE GRAPHIC OR UNPLEASANT. MIND THE WARNINGS.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED. STRICTLY 18+ ONLY.

MAY INCLUDE: KIDNAPPING, RAPE, INTOXICATION, AND OTHER GRAPHIC THEMES.

OCTOBER 1ST — DOCTOR!KÖNIG. Being drugged and used relentlessly by someone you thought you could trust. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 2ND — RAPIST!SIMON. You should've known better. Walking around with an ass like that in such a skimpy, revealing dress... What were you thinking? (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 3RD — KIDNAPPER!PRICE. What did you expect, Birdie? Now, you'll be used relentlessly and tortured by a depraved sicko, because of your stupidity. (KIDNAPPING, RAPE)

OCTOBER 4TH — WEREWOLF!GAZ. A helpless lamb shouldn't be wandering around the forest this late at night, should they? (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 5TH — DENTIST!SOAP. Who would've thought that a simple, quick dentist visit would end in tears and a bloody mess? (KIDNAPPING, NON-CON, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS)

OCTOBER 6TH — ELDRITCH!KÖNIG. Never in a million years would you expect to be held hostage by an intimidating monster, desperate to breed with a human like you. (MONSTER-FUCKING)

OCTOBER 7TH — STALKER!KÖNIG. You should've trusted your gut feeling. Now, you're chained to your bed inside of your own apartment, being bred relentlessly by a large, masked figure. (FORCED BREEDING, NON-CON)

OCTOBER 8TH — STEPBRO!KÖNIG. You shouldn't trust such a perverted social recluse. Now, here you are, sucking off your stepbrother hoping that he'll keep quiet. (BLACKMAIL)

OCTOBER 9TH — RAPIST!KÖNIG. He has sickening and disturbing urges, a growing crave for control. This should teach you to not wander the streets this late as a woman. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 10TH — BESTFRIEND!SIMON. You knew something felt off, that lingering impending doom chasing you, ‘til it was all too late. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 11TH — STEPDAD!PRICE. Your mother loves that man. You can't break her heart, let her know how sinister, perverted, and deplorable his behaviour truly is. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 12TH — PERVERT!SOAP. Oh, forgive him, Bonnie. You know he can't help himself, and you look so adorable like this; knocked out cold and mumbling incoherently, pleading with him for mercy. (NON-CON, DRUGGING)

OCTOBER 13TH — PERVERT!GAZ. How can he not take advantage of you like this, under the influence and giggling blissfully? He'll take care of you, Dove. (DUB-CON, INTOXICATION)

OCTOBER 14TH — SOMNOPHILIAC!KÖNIG. He uses your body to cope with the reoccurring, horrifying, and haunting nightmares he has, Liebling. Forgive him, please...

OCTOBER 15TH — NERD!KÖNIG. You know how fascinated he is with knives, as well as his growing and intensifying obsession with you. Why not combine both, press a knife to your throat while using your body? (DUB-CON)

OCTOBER 16TH — STEPDAD!KÖNIG. You're even better than your mother; tighter, quieter, and younger, with a pliable mind easy to morph to fit his sickening beliefs. (DUB-CON)

OCTOBER 17TH — KIDNAPPER!KÖNIG. His punishments are unusually violent, leaving deep and agonising welts and lengthy scars on your skin, and crimson leaking from beneath your thighs. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 18TH — STEPBRO!KÖNIG. Don't you feel sorry for him? A little sympathy? He's had nothing to violate since you left for University. Why don't you come here and bend over, let him get familiar with your smooth, comforting mouth once again?

OCTOBER 19TH — CREEP!KÖNIG. Being a sex worker isn't easy; you have your fair share of sinister pervert with immoral and wicked fantasies, and König is no exception.

OCTOBER 20TH — GYNECOLOGIST!KÖNIG. Under anaesthetics, you're a compliant and babbling mess, until you're weeping pathetically, too drugged to protect your swollen cunt from his assault. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 31ST — CREEP!KÖNIG. Halloween parties are only fun when everyone's drunk and tipsy, too inebriated to think clearly. Nobody bats an eye when König stumbles into a frat party wearing a mask, dragging an intoxicated woman off alongside him. (NON-CON)

OCTOBER 21ST — THERAPIST!KÖNIG. Oh, how he loves to watch as you cry out. Having a fetish for sobbing isn't easy to hide when you're a therapist, but manipulating a mentally unwell patient sure is exciting.

...

[13thdoctorposts]

Still is too so many of us. Couldn’t be more thankful for 13 and Yaz.

She was the universe. ✨💙

[etheriiart]

Thirteen fanart I made for Supanova last weekend!!!

[ID (by astraldreams-ids) : a drawing of the 13th doctor from doctor who, a lightskinned person with a short blond bob and brown eyes. she is wearing brown boots, short blue pants, and a dark shirt with rainbow stripes under a long white coat. she is sitting atop the tardis, a blue police box, and looking off into the distance smiling. there are stars drawn around her as well as gallifreyan writing. the background is a red and purple space nebula. ]

[donutdrawsthings]

I haven't seen any MLP Doctor AU designs past Capaldi's era and I really think that's such a shame! So here's my take on the 13th, 14th and 15th Doctor :o]

Once again love to ramble about certain design choices!

Since the 13th Doctor wears ear jewellery depicting a golden and silver hand holding each other, I thought it'd be fun to change that into 2 horseshoes instead! I also gave a heavier focus on the more subtle rainbow on her coat because I feel it'd be more fitting for a MLP AU and something that could make the design a bit more balanced. I'd also tried to make her blue at first, but felt yellow actually felt more like the 13th somehow.

I decided to give 14 his iconic Doctor Whooves design, with the only difference being messier hair and some rough facial hair. I was definitely looking at it more with a nostalgia factor, which ultimately fits perfectly with what the 60th anniversary specials ended up being!

15 was a toughie, I'm not going to lie. A thing about MLP AUs I tend to dislike, is when an artist gives them the same colour as their skin. It tends to look silly with white characters, but I've noticed it's seen (at least USED to be) as less silly when it's with darker skinned characters. So with that in mind I wanted to make 15 the general colour he's themed to have in promotional material (orange and blue) and make it darker! ... but dark orange IS brown. So after some tinkering I decided to base his colour on the more earthy red Ncuti wears in this image.

I also decided to tone his hair blue instead of going with black to really hammer in that orange/blue theme 15 has!

Thank you for reading this far! I'm really passionate about this sorta stuff so it really means a lot :oD

[abbygracerecs]

Doctor Who Fic Reccommendations

9th Doctor

I love you - @alloftheimagines

Just One Yesterday - @lovelyfictional-imagines

10th Doctor

A Noble Ship Embarks - @kisstherainwriting

Now that I saw you, I can never look away - @penguinwithitsarseonfire

Danger Magnet - @thepokyone

Deepest Truth - @quietkatie1864

Are you drunk - @iwritefandomimagines

Having the blues - @doctorslove

The way you look at me - @kisstherainwriting

Make a move - @okay-j-hannah

Snap out of it - @gracesimp

Heartstring - @make-me-imagine

Just like old times - @11thsdoctress

Hear my words - @okay-j-hannah

School Reunion - @starfirette this one is smut

11th Doctor

Deep - @marauder-exe

Little Family - @specialagentlokitty

You make me want things I can't have - @iwritefandomimagines

Touchy - @onceuponachole

You've changed - @11thsdoctress

Starry nights are for coffee and contemplation - @cloginthedrain

My point is... -@11thsdoctress

Is it alright to say what I feel? - @11thsdoctress

12th Doctor

Light in the Dark - @i-imagine-my-doctor

Heartbeat - @morganas-pendragons i cry everytime i read this

A Perfect Day - @quietkatie1864

In Another's Eyes - @cas-kingdom

13th Doctor

Come on in - @fabulouspotatosister

Autistic!reader - @x-neurodivergent-reader

Hidden Colors - @timelord-winchester-22b

[intergalacticstarlight]

She hears him.

Even though she's screaming in an ancient, animalistic and primal language that she isn't even entirely sure that she herself understands.

Even though her veins are pulsating and beaded sweat is dripping down her temples and joining the tears at her cheeks.

Even as the inky blackness soaks in alongside of the agonizing pain, her entire past, present and future on fire and she can do nothing more than shout until her throat is raw and she can taste the blood. She hears him.

Every syllable, every reconsideration, every hesitancy, every footfall, every hitched breath… That aching, seething, crestfallen, loving, beautiful trauma.

Even though Theta Sigma is rampaging within, staining everything in crystallin obsidian as the Doctor's consciousness takes shelter in an old wooden barn somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind.

How many times can grace find you, Doctor? How many times can you steal it from those more worthy? Ticktockgoestheclock... evenforthe--- How many times can forgiveness shield you beneath its wings? You're a fool, Doctor Idiot....

Run. Hide. Leave. Go! COWARD! I'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE-- ticktockticktockTICKTOCKTICKTOCK Put your hands down, Doctor. Hang up your coat. Thirteen's hour is over now. The clock is striking-- ticktockgoestheclock... ticktock... THE CLOCK IS STRIKING---

She hears him.

Gradually, the primal cries of agony transform instead into heaving, audible breaths as the restraints holding her in place are rendered useless. She falls- no. She crashes into him, broken and bleeding and burning alive.

She knows she has no right to find comfort in the rough clasp of fingers tangling into her damp hair or the forehead that's bunting with bruising firmness against her own- but she finds comfort in it anyway.

She has no right to cling to him, gasping and terrified, with dilated eyes that stare at his face, wide and glassy and entirely incapable of sight- but she clings to him anyway. Fingers curl into the fabric of his shirtsleeves, and her respiratory bypass engages briefly. Blood stains the corners of her mouth, the inner flesh of her lips, her tongue.. her breath carries the sickly sweet scent of the crimson, heavy and thick as she speaks.

"Y-You're wrong..."

Her voice is ragged and broken- perhaps from howling like some sort of wild thing, perhaps because of the gentle golden shimmer starting to glisten in the places where the marrow meets the bone.

"I did come back for you... I did... So many times..."

Every word still the truth, even as the golden shimmer leaks into her bloodstream and purifies her body in a trial by fire, incinerating the truth serum, Theta Sigma and the Doctor all cell by agonizing cell. A grunt of discomfort escapes and cuts through her briefly, her unseeing eyes squeezing shut and crinkling along the edges.

"Like the sun... tryin' to catch a glimpse of the moon as it sets... Always just... a bit too late..."

I love you, I'm sorry.

Yeah. Funny old life.

Funny that he's sought her destruction for centuries, if only to feel closer to her, because all his life, Koschei suspected Theta Sigma was a special comet that happened to graze him with its sparks and he had, otherwise, not one cosmic molecule in his body. Even her ordinariness had the power to transform other beings into something more. She disrupted, she inspired.

Yasmin Khan's face looms, the most recent in a searing line of human replacements.

'She is loved.'

Both the Doctor and Master can love, terribly, leaving marks-stains--on the things they hold so terribly close. Terribly, terribly. But the Doctor loves, somehow, in a way that's returned.

The Master stops walking. The animal shrieking behind him doesn't chill him nearly as much as his own inertia.

"I wish that were true."

I wish that we were the same. I've been trying to shave, cut, excavate you down to my level for so long that I even tried to occupy the same body.

But it will never work.

"You may think it's true, but it isn't."

Turn around now and it's over, says Saxon, burning and defiant, carving out an autonomy he once thought inviolable by pushing Her away. And then, every Master before him: She'll pull you back in to her gravitational field and you will finally disappear forever. You will die.

"....I know," he whispers back, with tears that match Hers. Frail, and then firm. "I know."

He turns around.

"We're not the same. I'm the part of existence that clears the way. You're what comes next. You're dawn. Future. Something that can...that can be merciless but, but ultimately....! Something that defies its own nature and brings life instead. That is you."

You are not a hero. But you try to be, in a way that has never tempted me to action. And that is what is good.

One step back. He draws the TCE. He's so calm and so quiet, and she's still screaming. Can she hear him?

"You want to know how I know this?"

Two steps, five, twenty. He's in front of her. He fires a laser carefully, breaking her restraints. He catches her body as it falls, tosses the weapon aside and collides with her. Hands in her hair, tangling it. Forehead to forehead. What he has unleashed, still he wants. There's no escape, and he's glad.

"Because you didn't come back for me, but here I am, for you. Whatever you are, she got me to do this. Whatever you bloody are, Doctor, I can't leave her."

I love you.