#david tennant makes me feel a certain way

[starfirette]

School Reunion

He was a a lithe figure of all rhyme and very little reason...

...especially he gestured for you to come closer. Tousled tufts of soft, brown hair flopped over his forehead, not so strictly gelled back today. His hair was ultimately the first thing that warmed you up to him. His previous face was undoubtedly your first, true love--all blue eyes and ears, knit sweaters under leather jackets, and a secret soft side...

❇Tenth Doctor x Fem Reader

❇hmmmm this took a month to perfect! I shall page @bellaswansrealgf because this does indeed have a size kink portion :)) this is cross posted to my ao3 (username is the same if you want to check that out!)

❇ masterlist | 17+ | size kink goes brr | cheeky Tenth doctor | "Mr Smith" | Sexual Roleplay | Vaginal Fingering | Penis In Vagina Sex | Age Difference kinda technically | this word is so gross but I have to put it in the tags Squirting | Also some degradation | Overstimulation | Creampie | switchy Tenth doctor, but he's a dom rn | Older Man/Younger Woman and teacher student vibes but also not really

You were the illustrious and young English teacher, and he was the older, more experienced Physics teacher.

But it had only been a game. It was the ruse for a job at some school.

Of course you had "just" graduated college; you needed a guided hand to show you how to handle those rowdy students. "Professor Smith," you said as you batted your eyelashes. The size difference between you two was enough to make you squirm, thighs clenched and heart beating in anticipation. 

"Poor thing," 'Mr Smith' had said. His hand is ruffling up the chiffon of your knee length skirt. "You're so needy for attention. You'd take any bit of attention from even the science teacher." 

You wouldn't yet go into further detail of what conspired that day. After all, it was a little bit inappropriate of you two to do such fooling around during the hours of an investigation. Rose would have been livid to know that while she was slinging chips and pizza to students and staff, you and the Doctor were rather preoccupied with teaching not the students but yourselves just how Miss [L/n] and Mr Smith ought to behave. 

Of course, the roleplay was divine. Mr Smith was a role that the Doctor deeply enjoyed to act with, especially when it came to shamelessly flirting with you as if he didn't know you. You suspect he had all his fun that way. 

Apart from the canoodling in the workplace, everything else was really a ruse. The way it all started is a little bit convulated, but Rose heard from Mickey who must have heard from someone else that strange things were going on back in her hometime. (Hometime was a bit of a private joke between you, Rose, and the Doctor, it's a play on the word hometown! You and the Doctor fight for the credit of who actually coined the term but Rose often sides with the argument that you truly did.) The Doctor went into full dramatic effect, as he tends to do, and he created you a full fledged identity and a college degree. In real life (for lack of a better term)you're almost done with college where you're honestly pursuing a degree for English Literature.

The Doctor surprised you with the position at this school. Albeit it's undercover, he wanted you to have some fun. His face lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree when he saw how excited you were. Granted, this was a far cry from being an English professor at a prestigious university, as you drunkenly confessed to his prior face while celebrating the win against the nanogenes during the second World War. Though he looked different then,  he still loved you with the same, big heart. 

Hearts. 

Force of habit. 

Day One of the mission was the easiest mostly because day one didn't require real work. Rose helped you research the winning numbers for some lottery tickets. She dropped off two winning tickets at the homes of a couple teachers from the school: one from the Mathematics department, one from the Literature. 

Needless to say both resigned in an instant. Unfortunately this sparked nasty rumors which accounted the two teachers (who really didn't know one another at all) were having an affair. Well, so long as they enjoyed the money. And since neither of their spouse's seemed to believe these rumors, you supposed there was no real harm done. 

Day two consisted of applying for the jobs and actually getting them. The interview process went well. You interviewed with the superintendent who claimed the headmaster was busy. 

'This isn't fair,' Rose said. 'I want to be a teacher.' 

'You'd look so cute as the lady administrator,' you pointed out from the sofa of the Tardis common room. 'You could wear fake specs. Y'know, look over them and give students dirty looks. Type obnoxiously on your clunky laptop. It's such a shame mini iPads weren't invented sooner. I'd look soooo cute carrying mine around.'

Rose groaned theatrically as she collapsed onto the sofa. She rolled on top of your lap, pushing the remote out of your hands so you could pay attention to her. 'Tell your boyfriend to make me a teacher,' Rose indignantly said.  Her nose scrunched as you shifted your thigh to push her off. 

'My hands are full,' The Doctor said through a mouthful of snack food. He tossed a sprinkle of crumbs at Rose, consequently catching some on your lap. You shoved his face with mock disregard. 'You mean your hands are tied,' you corrected.

'Sure,' he said, 'that too.' 

The start of day three. You dressed in a knee length skirt with pointy flats and a smart looking blazer. You decided to forgo a pair of fake specs (though you were known to occasionally need a pair of real lenses ever since a strange trip with your blue-eyed, prominent-nosed Doctor to an interesting laser show which had some nasty effects on your eyes; it was some sort of festival on Mars in the year 3000). As you walked down the hall to your class room the Doctor walked past, heading the opposite way to the Mathematics department. He sent a prolonged look up and down your outfit. 

"Hello, Mr Smith," you said curtly. You had to fight the grin that tussled with your lips. You enjoyed playing your role too, too much.

Mr Smith uncharacteristically fumbled over his feet as he looked over his shoulder to meticulously study the way your bum and hips moved as you went about your merry way. Needless to say this is when he decided to amp up his game. 

The children in your classroom couldn't have been older than fourteen. You didn't expect anything outwardly startling at this point, because you didn't yet realize the secrets this school held. 

You took a look at the lesson plan the students had been going through before their previous teacher took a miracle vacation to Sicily to renew their marriage vows.

Good for them. 

"Who would like to examine the motifs of this scene?" you asked. You were picking through a bit of Macbeth. A beginning scene with the three witches; it should be easy enough. How typcal to have stumbled upon their Shakespeare unit. An obligatory staple of middle school. Or highschool. Whatever grade these kids are in. You tried thinking of it in terms of Harry Potter; are they fifth years? Harry Potter was certainly fifteen during Order of the Phoenix. 

You contemplated this as no one actually tried discussing Macbeth. 

"Would anyone like to mention anything?" Your attempts to get them talking was dismal. Perhaps they missed their old teacher. You felt a little guilty. Even more guilt poured in you when you obnoxiously thought that their old teacher wasn't missing them, not while they were having a second honeymoon in Sicily!

"Anything?" 

You could have heard an eyelash drop in that room. 

"Going on about motif, it's rather interesting that when Macbeth enters, he notes...? What does he say that directly links him to the witches? Oh, goodness, I've lost my place...'So foul and fair a day I have not seen.' Does anyone remember what the three witches say in the opening scene?"

Finally a hand is raised.

You want to thank the kid profusely as you call on her. "What's your name?" 

"Addie Jones," the girl said. 

"Wonderful! Nice to meet you, Miss Addie. Do you remember the line?" 

"'Fair is foul and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air.'" 

"Excellent," you tell her with a smile. "Not only does this line set the overarching theme for the story, it also is a neat trick Shakespeare put in. Macbeth enters a few scenes later and by repeating their words, he's effectively sealed his own fate. This is a pretty good example of a motif. Does anyone know what a motif is?" You scanned the room, hoping for another arm to pop up, but Addie's hand waved shyly in your sight. You understood, then, why teachers threatened to call on students at random. You'd threaten that yourself if you knew anyone else's name. Besides, Addie seemed eager enough to share her answer. "Addie!" 

"A motif is a series of repeated patterns, often dialogue or imagery, in literature used to further a narrative." 

Whoa. 

"Great answer," you told Addie, a sincere smile capturing your lips. "Given that definition, can anyone find other motifs in the play?"

Addie raised her hand. 

"Does anyone other than Addie have an idea?" you tried. To no avail, you nodded at Addie. You took a seat behind your desk, grabbing a pen to jot down a forethought about Harry Potter. 

Addie took a loud and deep breath. "Another integral motif in the play is sleep. Banquo states, act two scene one, 'And yet I would not sleep. Merciful powers restrain in me cursed thoughts that nature gives way to response.' Act two, scene two, Macbeth by now has killed the king. 'There's one did sleep laugh in's sleep, and one cried Murder!' 14 lines later, same scene, Macbeth then says, 'Methought I heard a voice cry 'sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep. The innocent sleep, sleep which knits-,'"

You were extremely puzzled. You tried to gently interupt Addie's train of thought, which seemed to be more than just reading directly from her book than actually answering your question. Taking a stand, your flats smacking the linoleum floor, you strolled back to the front of the classroom, your lesson plan in hand. You caught a glance at Addie's desk. Wherein you'd been expecting to see her fingers eagerly scanning along the pages of her open book, you found that her textbook was rather shut, her hands clasped atop it as she waited for you to say something. 

Blinking in surprise, you looked back at the lesson plan. You skimmed through a couple pages. Just when did they begin studying this play? That thought was muting all of your prior Harry Potter saga theories. Only at the start of the week...and they were only assigned an at home reading for the first four scenes. 

Perhaps Addie liked to read. Perhaps she enjoyed Macbeth so very much that she chose to memorize the entire damn play.

You hadn't seen any notes marking Addie's remarkable abilities in the subject, so you wondered on about how she could have done such a quick study of the play. "He certainly prattles on about sleep, doesn't he?" you asked Addie, who grinned toothily and nervously. "What do you think it means?" you continued as you hugged the lesson plan to your chest. 

That smile faded. "Oh. I'm not sure." Addie, who had memorized all the lines and their scenes regarding 'sleep', was at a loss for words. 

You felt a little bit guilty to find that she seemed incredibly embarrassed to be without an answer. You didn't necessarily care, but you wanted to probe for more answers. "Want to venture a guess? Why do you think sleep is so important here? What might it symbolize?" 

Addie went red in the face. She played with the edges of her textbook. Her nails pulled apart the layers of the hard cover, flaking specks of cardboard across her desk. 

"We could ask ourselves what a literary symbol is," you continued, quickly trying to move on before Addie could explode. "What's a symbol in literature? Maybe someone aside from Addie?" 

You sighed. Defeated again. Tomorrow you'd have to try harder. "Alright, Addie, take it away." 

After taking a breath of relief, Addie prattled away, "A symbol in literature is one of the literary devices that an author might use to convey a hidden message or theme. Symbols often are represented through objects or ideas that serve with a literal purpose but have metaphorical meaning which furthers the narrative, much like a motif." 

Puzzled by her in depth definition all you could really do was nod in response. 'That's correct," you informed her. Though it was far too correct. It didn't sound at all like the answer of a thirteen year old girl. It sounded like a line from a thesis paper or even from some dictionary. Her knowledge us certainly expansive but robotic in nature. She can identify patterns, like motifs and sleep and what not, but she can't analyze their meaning. 

You frowned. More accurately, she couldn't form her own thoughts on the subject matter. 

During lunch break, you searched the cafeteria for the Doctor. You went through the line, declining food after food. You made a scene of asking Rose for an apple, and then  you leaned in close as she handed it to you. "I found something a little bit strange. Sweet girl in my class basically memorized her English textbook. She might as well have memorized mine. Have you seen him?" 

Rose's brow twitched with contempt. "No," she said sharply. "Fuck 'im, really, I'm stuck back here slinging chips at bratty kids and he's off doing who knows w-oh, there he is." She pointed him out in the crowd of students, the man sitting at a table and picking apart a turkey and cheese sandwich layer by layer. "He's bein' weird again," Rose snickered. The Doctor smelled one slice of bread. "Oh, God, go stop him. I can't watch him deface himself like this. Wait, take your apple, now. If I was working on commission then you'd be of no use to me. That's right, take some milk, too. Not the skim, you daft. That's basically water. Take the two percent." 

You tried to juggle the milk and apple that Rose had tossed in your arms as you sped walked towards the Doctor. You dropped the apple on the table as you took a seat in front of him. His nimble fingers dropped the bread in a split second and he eyed you close. "I've got something," you said. 

"Ah, ah," the Doctor said sharply with a wag of his finger. "I don't even know you and you're going to sit down, without even asking, and try and engage in conversation? Tsk. You naughty thing." 

You rolled your eyes. "It's nice to meet you," you told him, playing into his game. "I'm Y/n L/n, yada yada. Anyways. Girl in my class-"

He shook his head. "Nope. You didn't ask my name." 

"I know your name," you mocked his tone. "We met at the staff meeting." 

"How do I know you actually remember it?" the Doctor challenged you. "Go on, just ask my name!" He looked much too amused as you angrily peeled open the cap to your milk. 

"What's your name," you therefore said monotonously, trying to void the words of any inquiring tone. 

"John Smith, physics professor. I'm single, by the way." 

"Anyway! Girl in my class! Basically memorized the entire textbook. She had an answer for most of the questions. However, those answers were all...materialistic. I don't know how to describe it. She didn't know how to input her own thoughts. It was like she just downloaded all the information to her brain. Does that make sense?" 

The Doctor nodded. "I've had a similar experience. Kid in my own class has knowledge way beyond planet earth." He pushed his plate of food forward. "Try some."

"No, thanks," you said politely. "I'm not very hungry. Something about this food weirds me out," you drawled as you poked his lightly tousled food around. He was more sampling everything rather than eating. "I've always hated school food. The chips look...odd. The smell of them is somehow off. Does that make any sense?"

"Come with me," the Doctor responded, not saying anything to your earlier rebuttals regarding the school food. "Toss that, I'm not going to eat it," he added. He took the tray and dumped it. You followed behind him as he slid his tray with the other dirty ones. Rose sent him a glare so foul you were surprised he didn't collapse on the spot. A glare like that could make him regenerate. "Found anything strange?"you ask Rose before she and the Doctor can get into a cat fight, an occurrence which frequents the TARDIS.

Rose gossiped, "Half the kitchen staff got replaced not too long ago. And this lot are weird. Get this! The entire lunch menu has been designed by the headmaster himself. What qualifies him to even do that? Don't you have to study...nutrition?" Rose shook her blonde fringe from her milk chocolate eyes. A flare of mischief came in her eyes. "I bet he didn't."

"Is nutrition a course of study? Actually, it is, isn't it? Oh, Rose you should be a nutritionist!" You said gleefully. 

The Doctor sighed. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to keep up with his two companions.

"Oh, shush," Rose chided to you. "The point is we've been at this for three days! We don't even know what's going on. More like you two don't even know what's going on. I've done my part! I reported back to you an' all!" She looked at you both with arms folded across her chest and her eyebrows raised indignantly. She licked her lower lip in a dare for you or the Doctor to argue back, her chocolate-brown eyes strangely malicious. "That's right, isn't it? You've got nothin' to say but-"

"Stop yelling at us!" The Doctor finally dished back. He seemed irritated beyond his senses, which was typical of him. "Your boyfriend is the one who called us."

Rose's mouth quivered at the term. Her lips opened and closed as though she was a fish out of water. "Mickey's not my--hang on a minute, where are you two going?" she finally demanded as the Doctor started to manhandle you. You looked vaguely surprised, staring at him with incredulity. 

"Research!" the Doctor called without looking as he kept his deft fingers tightly wound on your wrist. "We've get a lead!"

You struggled to let her know as he escorted you away. 

The halls were empty as the Doctor pulled you contently down the Mathematics hall. His classroom was certainly empty, all students eating their lunch for the next thirty or so minutes. 

"Show me what you've got," you told him excitedly as he turned the lock on the door. You looked around eagerly for whatever gadget or gizmo he was going to produce. You waited for another moment before you watched with curiosity as the Doctor settled himself easily on the edge of his desk.  "Where is it?" you asked.

"What do you mean?" The Doctor countered, crossing his arms with some semblance of an attitude.  You mimicked the pressing of a sonic screwdriver. "Where's the...gizmo...aren't you going to sonic something?" 

"Oh. No gizmo," the Doctor said. "Not this time. Well, not right now, actually, I'm sure I'll sonic some sort of gizmo sometime soon. No, I actually wanted this time for ourselves. I'm not fond of your attitude, Miss L/n." 

You raised a brow. "My attitude?" 

The Doctor nodded. "Exactly. Your behavior has been nothing short of abysmal. Neglecting me, running about with Rose, and entirely disregarding your duties here. I supplied you with a title of superiority and you have sorely misused it. There's only one word to describe you these past two days." 

For a brief moment your heart stuttered with genuine fear, but then you watched the sparks which flickered in his hazel brown eyes burst into a large flame. 

"Naughty." 

You barked a laugh. You put a hand over your fast beating heart. "That's not funny," you chastised. "I thought you were being serious!"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 

No going back now. Not with the rapid pooling of warmth in the bottom of your belly. The Doctor shook his head, tutting his tongue as he folded his arms. 

He was a a lithe figure of all rhyme and very little reason; especially he gestured for you to come closer. Tousled tufts of soft, brown hair flopped over his forehead, not so strictly gelled back today. His hair was ultimately the first thing that warmed you up to him. 

His previous face was undoubtedly your first, true love--all blue eyes and ears, knit sweaters under leather jackets, and a secret soft side with a not so quiet splash of kinky foreplay. There were zero hints of that face in this one, and the first time you saw it you didn't know what quite to think. 

The Doctor had burst into a bright, ball of golden light. Spheres, marble sized, of such light fizzled around him, orbiting his figure while Rose gripped your hand. Her fingers slipped on the fresh blood, making you wince as she slid over the fresh slice.  The fight against the Daleks had been the most important matter in all the world just moments ago. And now you felt as though...you were about to lose everything. 

Your mouth burned with the hard kiss the Doctor had given you. His tongue had meddled against yours, sweeping the roof of your mouth the way he knew you liked. His thumbs swiped away the tears that dotted the corners of your eyes, and just like that, he was saying goodbye. And then this. 

Dizzying rushes of blinking in and out of reality coursed through you. This almost felt like a dream. The image charading in front of you didn't seem right. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, afterall. You three were supposed to find Jack and go home, wherever 'home' was. No matter where home was, the day would always end with you laying on the Doctor's chest, ear to dual hearts while he played with your hair. 

And yet that wasn't how this was going to end. 

Rose gripped your hand tight. Your vision flickered with stars as her fingers slipped into the gash on your hand. Nausea punched you in the gut as the light grew brighter and brighter. Stop, you wanted to tell him. It's not funny. 

It wasn't funny at all. 

The energy surged, so loud you could almost hear it, you could practically feel it sizzling inside of you. Energy sang inside the TARDIS: the chime high and loud, the pitch far beyond any regular frequency. And God, it hurt. 

The ringing ascended frequency and finally it shut off as the Doctor cried out just a bit. 

The light disappeared. 

And so had your Doctor. 

You crept closer. 

He pushed his leg out, patting the top of his thigh. "Take a seat, Miss L/n," he sighed, making a point to sound disappointed. He would really be if you didn't play along! So you hopped up to take a seat, holding onto the back of his neck for leverage as you made yourself comfortable. 

It wasn't unusual for him to become unexpectedly horny, especially in the midst of a mission such as this. He was one for taking fortified risks. 

"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked. 

"Just that I've been a very bad girl," you informed him with an exaggerated pout. You puckered your lower lip. "I just wanted your attention, Mr. Smith." 

"Consider it done. You've certainly caught my attention with this little garb," the Doctor said as he pushed a hand up your skirt. His lean fingers squeezed the inside of your thigh, making you squirm. The flash of quick pain on the easily bruised skin made your heart rush. Looking up at him, it was easy to spot the remnants of the other Doctor. Your first Doctor. 

Though his face has changed, and you love him all the same-if not more-he'll always have that face. 

"Professor Smith," you said as you batted your eyelashes. The size difference between you two was enough to make you squirm, stomach clenched with eager anticipation.

"Poor thing," 'Mr Smith' said. His hand kneaded the jiggling flesh of your leg, pinching it and grinning at the way you wiggled in his grip. "You're so needy for attention," he cooed. "You'd take any bit of attention from even the science teacher." 

His mouth pressed against yours. Lips against lips, both soft as the petals of a flower, but clashing hard, as if you two had never kissed before! But kisses are less than few-and-far; they're frequent. They're the Doctor's favorite past time.

Even with this face you two spend nights in his study, laying in the chaise lounge, your ear against his chest and listening to his dual hearts. Even with this face do you two kiss passionately into the hours of the ambient night lights that the TARDIS has set for you. Your hands plucked at the buttons of his shirt.  His build was entirely different from the previous one he bore. Where then he'd been slightly bulkier with more muscle and mass, he was now slender, lithe, and graceful. He walked like a cat with cunning mischief on his mind. His deft fingers were slipping up your skirt, hooking across the band of your underwear and cheekily tugging them down as he pushed his thumbs into your hips.

He loved, loved, the curves of your body (he always had. It wasn't something that would ever change). He liked to grip the fleshy parts of you tight, squeeze and fondle any parts of you he could get his hands on.  You splayed your fingers out like a starfish, pushing your hand on his sternum just between both hearts. You could feel them both beating fast as his shirt drifted open,  framing his clavicle and abdomen like a picture. He couldn't be more gorgeous than this; freckles constellated his pale skin. The shades that stood out on his skin compared  to yours made your lips curl. The colors were like blots of paint on a pallet in the hands of an artist. 

Confidently, you believed that a painting with every shade your two bodies had to offer would outshine the Mona Lisa or Starry Night. 

The Doctor's hand crept below the threshold of your underwear. His thumb padded through the plush lips of your pussy, nudging at your pearled clit. "Not nearly as wet as I'd prefer," the Doctor chastised as he flexed his thumb in a circle on your clit, not bothering to start at a slow pace. The quick lashings of a hurried pleasure made your body tremble. Like a startled newborn you spasmed in his hold, nearly collapsing backwards. If he hadn't had an arm around your waist you would have made a fool of yourself. 

"Can't stay still?" The Doctor cooed. "The more I rub this little clit, the more wet that oozes out of you. That makes it so easy for me to simply..."

Your voice strained as the Doctor slowly pushed his middle finger inside of you. He moved slowly so that you could feel every bit of your cunt that he stretched out. For all the times you'd ever attempted to stick something inside of yourself, this really took the cake.

Every time you tried it just felt...like you were sticking something inside of yourself. Like there was just something inside a vaginal cavity; Just something inside that was vibrating.

Not sexy, nor pleasurable.

The amount of times you'd attempted to do gymnastics around your bedroom in your home time, stretching your legs or doing back bends, all to find the magical spot that the internet claimed existed. These exploits were all for naught.

Imagine how strange a feeling it was for you to be proven wrong by the Doctor. You swore up and down there was something wrong, something maybe even broken, but no matter what, you just didn't have what other women suspiciously claimed to have. Well, the Doctor loves to prove others wrong. You can imagine how that first night went, with him grinning down at you and touching both the inside and outside of you at once to bring about a genre of pleasure you hadn't realized existed. 

You gnawed on your lip as the Doctor slowly pushed a second digit inside, still tending to your clit to keep the feeling from being too uncomfortable. "It's alright," the Doctor said softly. He shifted his body, making a swift stand as he set you on the desk and settled between your legs, without removing his hand from you at all.  He widened the gap between your legs so your knees laid hip length apart. His tall figure stood straight as he looked down at your cunt which dropped over his hand. 

"And there it is," he sighed. "You're taking it like a good girl, aren't you? Even though we're in a school. A learning facility. Have you no shame?" 

Whether or not he wanted an answer, you couldn't say. Your vision was blurry as he pumped up into a secret place inside of you while also stimulating your clit. The small bundle of nerves was pulsating, having become a bulbous bud of despair and anxiety. It tensed and twitched under every touch but ultimately it yearned for more. You kept tensing around his fingers, holding onto the lapels of his jacket tight. 

The Doctor looked down at you. He smirked. 

"You're holding onto me with quite a strong grip. Afraid I'll pull away? Afraid I'll stop? Your cunt just keeps squeezing onto me. So hot and wet. So comforting. Don't you wish it was my cock?"

You panted out a reply, not bothering to sound witty or naughty. Not the time. "Yes."

A laugh. A genuine sound. The musical chime of it faded before the Doctor replied, "I do, too. But first I'll watch you cum on my fingers. It's alright. Door's all locked. My attention is entirely on you. You've been working so hard, so eager to please Mr Smith. Now you ought to let Mr Smith please you. Although...I should be punishing you. Shouldn't I? I'm sure it wouldn't be much of a real punishment, though. After all, you tend to enjoy it when  I spank your sweet ass."

The mere words sent the images into your brain. The thought of it made your pussy flinch, and the Doctor laughed again though this time round it was a touch harsh sounding. "I knew you enjoyed it," he said quietly. He kissed your forehead, his lips curled into a smile as he did so. "It's alright, dear, it's only me. You can be honest. I quite like it. Oh, my, you're dripping all the way onto my wrist!" 

He feigned annoyance. "Just look...look at this mess you're making."

You dared to take a look. 

A small gasp choked in your throat, the sound making the Doctor chuckle. The muscles of your thighs twitched. The knee length skirt was thrown back so you were sitting bare assed on the cool desk, the skirt gathered around your hips. Your panties were stuffed in the Doctor's trouser pockets: you could see them sticking out. When had he done that?

The tendons in his wrist were flexing as he thrust his two fingers up and in, while his thumb angled upwards to continue the steady pace on your clit. The lazy rhythm which he had set was making you sweat. He didn't seem terribly bothered by the writhing around you were doing.

"Don't you like the sight of it?" The Doctor's content was evident in the way he spoke, looking at the mess with a dreamy sparkle in his eye. 

He appeared visibly intoxicated as a long and loud 'mmm' escaped you. You had a difficult time remembering that the sounds were your own; you didn't always feel physically mounted in your body during your horny escapades. Sometimes the thrall of an orgasm separated your physical self from your metaphysical self like the whites and yolk of an egg. You were being gradually poured apart with every furthering motion the Doctor made. Joules of an intense pleasure rumbled inside of you. Your stomach had a slippery feeling, like a pad of hot butter on a skillet, fuzzy and warm and enticing. 

Your legs jerked around, ankles flanking into the back of his thighs and effectively pulling him closer. He was trapped between your legs-just the way he liked. 

Tension unfurled in your shoulders, slipping away like drops of rain on a window pain. It tingled down your back and you tilted away, Your chin raising towards the ceiling as one of your hands roughly gripped the edge of Mr Smith's desk. Anchored to the British classroom of 2005, you started to feel the edges of a smooth and velvety orgasm close in on you. It was a feeling that couldn't be physically embodied by much else than a velvet ribbon, or a warm vanilla latte, or-

"Fuck!" You whined. "It's-"

The Doctor pushed the familiar feeling forward. It was an intensity that you could only ever feel with the Doctor, with his hand or his cock or his anything. It no longer mattered that the year was 2005; the pressure on your clit felt nothing short of a pulsing burst of energy and fire. Gold fizzled in your vision. Your cunt felt heavy. Something tickled behind your bladder, the feeling making you beg. "Doctor, wait!" You urged him as you pawed at his torso. "I think I'll-"

"That's what I want," the Doctor muttered. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take good care of you. It's alright. Just keep squirming like that and let me rub your pussy to completion. Don't tire yourself-I want to feel you with my cock, too, so just relax and enjoy it. Can't you try?"

The urge to clench your walls and even the muscles around your clit was hard to fight. But when you did, it allowed an enormous wave of pleasure to drown you. You tremored and babbled a string of incoherent words. Some kind of begging, you think, or perhaps declarations of love, hatred, or anything in between. Passions had built up inside you and now  they're spilling out like the waters from a broken dam. Judging by the bleary grins of content through your teary eyes, you were praising him to high ends. Likely spilling out your love for him and his hands. 

Pressure started to release as the gradual high came about. It wasn't an overt transition from pleasure to climax; it was never black and white, it was a grey scale that slowly blossomed to a bright gold and silver.  Weight transpired from the top of your head to your torso and then to your belly. It sank low, behind your ovaries. A heavy, swollen sensation was hanging right over you, taunting the burst of energy that would soon make a mess over the Doctor's hand and shirt. You feared the worst as you pathetically tried to wiggle your hips around. You were so close to that feeling. If you just pushed yourself a little bit more than you could reach it. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're about to cum all over me," the Doctor murmured in a harsh tone. "That's repulsive. That's so human of you. It's disgustingly easy to make you leak with just a hand."

You buried your face into the chest of the Doctor, trying not to be too loud with the whimpers and shallow breaths you were releasing as though you were a television woman in labor. 

Babbling out vowels, your entire body released a burst of warmth; like pink ribbons and fresh croissants and the tops of your thighs after you sat by a bonfire. The convulsed through you as that swollen feeling finally burst, indeed making a mess on the Doctor as you feared. 

You looked down at yourself in shock. A grim sense of shame started to take over the pink-flakey-croissant-bonfires-with-Rose feeling. "I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice a cracking piece of foil as the Doctor licked the corner of his mouth. He quickly licked his fingers clean before shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he said as he quickly moved his fingers to the button of his pants. "It was quite a learning experience, I should say. I learned that you are a very cute, young, little cunt in desperate need of an older, wiser cock. I'm just going to give you what you want. You don't have anything otherwise to say. I know you don't."

You shook your head as you watched the Doctor palm himself. His bulge was prominent and you had to restrain a whimper as he pulled back the boxer briefs he wore, which you insisted on because he wanted to wear boxers, but you found boxer briefs undeniably sexy, and so he wore them; he couldn't exactly do otherwise when the Tardis was replacing his go to wardrobe with other garments--it was totally accidental the way the Tardis now listened to your opinion before his. But he couldn't deny: blood runs thicker than water. And your blood had sizzled on the heart of the beloved Tards. So yeah, sometimes the Tardis chose to play Christmas music when it was only November (according to the earth-calendar programmed into the mainframe, but that was also another story). 

You pulled him down by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to kiss you as he played with himself. Your sloppy kiss was all tongue against tongue, open mouthed groans into one another as you guided his hand up and down on himself. 

Now leaking precum, he smothered himself   In the lubricant and thumbed the slit of his cock, a clenched-teeth hiss escaping himself as you urged him to prepare. But the Doctor likes to edge himself; he likes the discomfort of wanting to chase an orgasm, the self control it required to ignore the body's instinct. 

"Come closer," he groaned against you. His forehead rested on yours. You both watched him pump his cock a few more times; your chest was rising and falling as hard as his. 

He guided himself inside you, kissing your forehead as he slowly inched forward. The brief discomfort as he pushed past the curve of your walls was strictly rewritten into a song of bliss. Mint green paint, fresh croissants with oozing chocolate, an open campsite by the sizzling fire. 

He hunched over your little figure; he was completely towering atop you, the size of a dire wolf pinning a rabbit against his own torso. He grunted as he pulled himself out only to slam his way back in, the motion making you feel full and heavy. 

He worked his hips to thrust in and out of you, pulling himself practically to the tip each time. His hand was tending to your clit as he moved. Each touch on your clit felt like torture, in the best sense. You already felt swollen and every touch was amplified. The starts of a new orgasm made you tired and shudder, your mouth desperate for water as it worked its way through your body. 

"You're so small," the Doctor huffed through a laugh as your figure jerked with each thrust. You were trapped against his torso, feeling the doubly beat of his hearts pounding as he plowed in and out of you. "So pliable," he added as he groped the side of your thigh exposed by the wrinkled fabric of your skirt. "So hot and tight while I have my way with you. You couldn't help yourself. You just had to be fucked right now, just like this. Always needing my attention, always, always. I never thought you'd be so bratty in public! I like it."

"Stop talking," you groaned. "That's all you ever do. Talk, talk, talk. I think you like that, more." 

The Doctor gripped your chin, slowing his movements down. His hand skittered away from your clit but you were quick to pin it in place. You pushed one of your fingers inside of his mouth, watching him pucker his lips around the digit and sucking. His thick eyelashes fluttered before he jerked his head back. "Not your turn, princess," he sneered. "I'm in charge right now." 

"You like when I'm in charge, too," you retorted. "You could just give up, you know." 

The Doctor once again groped at you, squeezing hard on your pebbled nipples with a growl of warning. "Not the time," he told you with a rough thrust up. It made you gasp and heel over as the spotlight of sudden pleasure shone over you; the Doctor smirked as he carefully weened his way back into a quicker pace than he had been previously going at. "Don't you dare stop," you pleaded as you gripped him by the collar of his button down. "Or you're in for a load of trouble when we get home." The Doctor's brown eyes twinkled at the idea: home on the Tardis, being straddled and used by you, it sounded like a marvelous plan. 

"I'm not the one who's about to get a load," the Doctor said, grinning at the gross slang, but he was unable to really care because your cheeks had tears dripping down them. "Can't wait to see how full you become. I'll be dripping down your legs the rest of the day." 

"Shut up," you whimpered as you tilted your head back. 

Honestly speaking you quite enjoyed his babbling chit chat. He really did like to hear himself talk. You liked it as well. 

"Make me." 

You two pressed your mouths into a rough mold, your tongues slithering over tips and teeth. Your arms wrapped over the back of his neck, locking him in place. His chuckles dripped down your throat as he vocalized his own pleasure. Your breathing hastened. Panting like a dog in the summer heat, you were kissing him back as if it were a fight for your life. You clenched all your body into a rigid stake as the peak of the orgasm finally prodded into your cunt. The Doctor's hands pressed into your hips and legs, his thumbs rubbing calming circles into you as he moaned. He was much more accepting of the pleasure wave as it rode through him. 

Hiccuping whimpers fluttered into the Doctor's mouth as your slick, wet released. The feeling made the Doctor groan, loud and strong as he finally released the gates of his own seed. He grunted as he made sloppy thrusts; cum mixed and squeezed out of you like the lemon custard in a powdered donut, a rare, sweet, tart taste that made your eyes water. 

Your mouths pulled apart with a loud smack. You both looked down at the mess. He pumped in and out a few times, hissing as you suckled a bite on the underside of his jaw. You cried out a curse as he swiftly pulled out and gripped his cock, the limb still half hard. He pushed the tip of himself against your clit, making a harsh circle so your bodies both shuddered. "Too much," he said between clenched teeth. He released a breath as final spurts of his seed painted on the lips of your pussy. 

The strain on his chest eased. 

The Doctor swayed forward. His face lulled into a lazy grin, tucking itself within the crook of your neck. Carefully exhaling your last deep breath, you slid back so you were laying face up, looking at the ceiling as the Doctor remained curled atop you. He hummed with content, rubbing his hand over the soft skin of your pelvis. Your skirt was still flipped up; his pants were unbuttoned. 

Panting. The fluorescent lights seemed so homely in the aftershocks of this feeling. Left over in your core was the tingling of the orgasmic pain on your clit, now soft and bruised, but for good reason. 

"I really think there's something strange going on," you mentioned after a few minutes of calm silence. You softly scratched his scalp, combing through his soft hair while he purred at the feeling, reminding you of a cat. "This school seems off." 

"I'm tired," the Doctor said. "Work seems boring, now." 

"It's life or death," you pointed out. 

"Is it?"

"You're just fucked out, aren't you?" you pointed out again but with a laugh this time. 

"Yeah, you're probably right...probably." 

"I'm always right," you informed him. "The sooner you realize that, the easier your life will be." 

[variousqueerthings]

i do think that specifically david tennant being very openly supportive of the trans community has had an interesting effect -- because usually im kinda like "it is nice to know that people whose work i enjoy don't want me dead" and that's kinda my level of (at this point) quite cynical engagement with what a celebrity or artist does or does not think about transness, because these days it feels like it's almost fashionable for well-known (or post-well-known) people to come out of the wordwork and say what they think about trans people, which can get very stressful in its own way (the amount of headlines that try to be misleading or just plain don't say and so you're just like "ok i guess this week i have to find out if [spins wheel] thinks i deserve rights")

but david tennant has a different feeling to it. and to be fair, there are plenty of people with skin in the game, who absolutely deserve to and ought to speak out on behalf of their children/partners/community/friends/family/etc. and im always happy to see these people speak, and dt is included in that list as well

but david tennant is veeery specific in this here country of terf island, in which the labour party will openly state that it will allow certain book writers to affect their policies on trans people, and that's partly because of the effect above in which "having opinions on trans rights seems to be a celebrity game that keeps you relevant, which includes ex prime minister tony blair making his opinion known (hint, it wasn't a good one)" but also because david tennant is known as a national icon to rival that of whatsherface

he was the main actor on doctor who, in the top three, if not very top of british broadcasting iconography that exists. he's one of this generation's most famous shakespearian actors, the other thing that this country-as-culture is most proud of. he's a mainstay in children's film and tv, a standout in modern british crime drama (broadchurch, des), and that's not mentioning things like jessica jones, good omens, and star wars

this guy has no social media, and some of the biggest cultural capital in the uk today -- labour i believe it was made a twitter joke about him ousting the current prime minister as the doctor ahead of this week's election, because that's an iconic scene from doctor who

which means that when he openly calls transphobes whingy and asks them to shut up, there's a bit of a ripple... i mean what are you gonna do, get angry with the doctor? from doctor who??? the man who played a definitive hamlet????? the man who's just done rave reviewed performances of macbeth???? scrooge mcduck????????? this man who occasionally guests on cbeebies???????????

said prime minister and his party and hosts of transphobes go absolutely crazy every time he makes an appearance wearing new trans ally apparel, as if a. he sees any of that and b. it's a dignified response to a man saying, in essence, "i would like my kid to be safe and happy"

david tennant constantly making these statements, again and again, is a powerful voice in the modern fight for trans rights in the UK, in some ways unfortunately, because you wish trans people could have been heard before it got to this state and that it wasn't about being famous, but to be fair, he's also making that point again and again

it kind of feels like the first time in a long time that there's been proper pushback against transphobia in this country from a perspective that the transphobes can't dismiss so easily -- they can try but like. again, one side is a bunch of raving nonsense-spouters on a joke website who mostly belong to a party that's about to get decidedly ousted from the political scene, the other is beloved national icon and star of stage and screen, mr david tennant

of course, it doesn't hurt that the three main actors of harry potter and everyone else who's majorly involved in doctor who, past and present, is also supportive of trans rights, which maybe there's a separate point to be made about the strangeness of a mainstream tv show becoming a cultural battleground for peoples opinions on equal rights, especially now with ncuti gatwa at the helm, because i think some of what ive seen in relation to dw is more extreme than any piece of cultural media ive been alive to witness bigoted reactions to (including star trek), and ncuti gatwa as a black queer man is taking a hell of a lot of flack that is racist and homophobic

but labour... if you're inviting random artists to give you opinions on trans rights, david tennant is right there, and you know he'd make sure to bring along trans rights activists and professionals to get the space in the room they ought to have had all along

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Ooh! A wonderful interview with Rich Keeble who played Mr. Arnold (the one with the Doctor Who Annual :)) in S2! :)❤

Q: In Good Omens 2 you play Mr. Arnold, who runs the music shop on Whickber Street. Were you a fan of Good Omens before joining the cast, and is it challenging to take on such an iconic story which is already loved by a huge fanbase?

A: “There’s always pressure if you’re working on something with an existing fanbase and people might have an idea already as to how you should be approaching something. To be honest I was aware of the show but I hadn’t actually seen it before I was asked to get involved. I knew it was something special though! I remember talking to Tim Downie [Mr. Brown] about how when you tape for certain things you know if something’s a “good one”. Of course by the time I was on set I’d watched Season 1 and read the book. 

I had an interesting route into the show actually: I was asked at the last minute to read the stage directions at the tableread on Zoom, and Douglas [Mackinnon] the director called me up to discuss pronunciations of the character names etc. To prepare further I quickly watched the first episode on Prime Video, and I was very quickly drawn into it. A couple of hours later I was on a Zoom call with David [Tennant], Michael [Sheen] (with his bleached hair), Neil [Gaiman], Douglas and the whole team, including Suzanne [Smith] and Glenda [Mariani] in casting. After that readthrough I asked my agent to try and see if she could shoehorn me in and she came back with a tape for Mr. Arnold saying “you play the piano don’t you…?” They wanted me to demonstrate my musical playing ability, so I rented a rehearsal studio room in Brixton for an hour and filmed myself playing piano (and drums just in case), then I did my scenes a couple of different ways and I guess it wasn’t too terrible!”

Q: During episode five you mimed to music written by series composer David Arnold alongside a real string quartet – this must have been very immersive! How did it feel to work with David, and bring the ball to life?

A: “I actually didn’t meet David Arnold sadly, but I did work with Catherine Grimes, the music supervisor who is lovely. David was at the London screening but I missed an opportunity to go and say hello to him which I kicked myself about. 

I remember before I was in Scotland there was a bit of uncertainty as to whether I would need to play anything for real or not, so I practised every day playing loads of Bach and other music I thought was era-appropriate just in case they asked me to do anything on the fly. So yes, it was very immersive as you say! They sent me three pieces of music to learn which I practised in my Edinburgh apartment on a portable folding keyboard thing I bought. They introduced me to the string quartet (John, Sarah, Alison and Stephanie) and I tried to hang out with them when I could. On the day we all had earpieces to mime to. I had to mime while listening out for a cue from Nina [Sosanya] from across the room, then deliver my dialogue and carry on playing, which was tricky! The quartet and I helped each other out actually: Douglas would say something like “let’s go from a minute into the second piece of music”, I’d look at the sheet music and whisper “where the hell is that?” and one of the quartet would say “we think that’s bar 90” or something. Here’s a little bit of trivia: the shooting overran and the string quartet couldn’t make the last day, so they found some incredible lookalikes to replace them for the scene when we get lead out of the bookshop through all the demons, although I think they also kept them deliberately off camera.” 

Q: What did you think of your music shop when you first saw the set? Did you have a favourite poster or prop?

A: “I thought it was incredible! It could’ve been an actual music shop with all the instruments hanging up with the “Arnold’s” price tags on. The attention to detail was incredible, well IS incredible as I understand it’s all still there. It’s hard to pick a favourite to be honest. I did a little video walkaround on my phone at the time so maybe I’ll post that if I won’t get in trouble. Interestingly the shop interior itself was elsewhere on the set to the shop entrance you see from the street. You walk out of Aziraphale’s shop, over the road, through the door of the music shop and… there’s nothing.” 

Q: Mr. Arnold is tempted into the ball by a Doctor Who Annual and is playing the theme in the music shop scene – are you a fan of Doctor Who in real life? And what was it like making those jokes and references in front of the Tenth Doctor David Tennant?

A: “I’ve always dipped in and out of Doctor Who over the years since Sylvestor McCoy, who was doing it when I first became aware of it when I was growing up. Even if you’re not a fan it’s one of those shows you can’t really get away from, so doing that particular scene in front of David was really fun, and of course Douglas had directed Doctor Who as well. Apart from the amusing situation of two supposed Doctor Who fans talking about Doctor Who without realising they’re in the company of a Doctor Who, I also seem to remember Michael being the one to suggest that he would deliver his “due to problems at the BBC” line directly to David.

Oh, and I think it was actually my idea to grab the annual off the harpsichord before joining the queue behind Crowley at the end of the ballroom scene (which we’d shot weeks earlier at this point). When we were blocking it out and rehearsing I knew I had to leave my position and get to the front for my “surrender the angle” line, and then later it just felt like I wouldn’t leave without the annual so I ran back through everyone to grab it. Nobody seemed to have a problem with me doing that so I just carried on doing it when we shot it! I do remember it being a fun set with Douglas and the team being very open to suggestions.”

Q: How did you balance filming both Good Omens and BBC Ghosts at the same time?

A: “Luckily both shows were a joy to work on, and everyone seems to know about both of them. We were shooting them in early 2022 and I also had a little part in an ITV drama called ‘Stonehouse’, starring Matthew Macfadyen. I usually never know when I’m working next so to have three great TV jobs at once was very unusual. There was all this date juggling and I actually almost had to turn down Ghosts due to clashes. Luckily both shows had to move some dates so it worked out. But yes, I spent two weeks up in Scotland shooting all that Good Omens ballroom stuff, then I came back down to London to do Ghosts, knowing I’d be back up to shoot my scenes in the music shop in a couple of weeks. Now, when I found out who was playing my wife in Ghosts I couldn’t believe it: Caroline Sheen – Michael Sheen’s cousin! She was amazing and that was another great set in general. I say “set”, but it’s all filmed in that house which surprised me. I’d worked with Kiell [Smith-Bynoe] and Jim [Howick] before, and Charlotte [Ritchie] was in the Good Omens radio play a few years ago and a big fan of the book. Charlotte’s very musical of course and we got talking about my folding keyboard I had for practising my Good Omens stuff, and she ended up setting it up in the house for us to have a play on!

Now, when we’d shot all our internal scenes there was this big storm forecast, and our external scenes were scheduled for the day of the storm, so that had to be moved into the next week. It meant I ended up shooting those scenes outside the house, then going straight back up to Scotland to shoot the Good Omens music shop scene the next day! When I mentioned to Michael I’d just worked with Caroline he said “ooh she’s in Ghosts is she!” and revealed that she’d texted him about me which was rather surreal. Then later after the Ghosts wrap party Kiell gave me a part in his Channel 4 Blap, so at the time I felt like I was killing it career wise, but the industry quietened a bit after that and my workload eased off over the year so I was in my overdraft by November.”

Q: What are your plans for the future – can we expect to see you in something else soon?

A: “This year, after a bit of a quiet start, I was very fortunate to work on a Disney+ show called Rivals which stars… David Tennant! I think I’m allowed to say my character is called Brian, and I shot five episodes so that was another really amazing job, and great to work with David again (I told him he must be my good luck charm, although I hope he’s not sick of me). That should be out at some point in late 2024. Other than that I’ve filmed a few other bits I presume will be out next year, one of which is called Truelove on Channel 4 which actually looks really good. That starts early January. Of course now Season 3 of Good Omens has been greenlit, I would love Neil and the gang to have me back on that… but I can only keep my fingers crossed!”

[santacoppelia]

Of fandom, age, and David Tennant being our own personal Time Lord

I read the fantastic post that @davidtennantgenderenvy wrote about David Tennant and aging (if you haven’t yet read it, go for it!) and, as a fan who is closer to DT's age range than to what seems to be the rest of the fan base's age (yeah, being well over 40 is A THING), I had an interesting mix of ideas and emotions. I was going to just reblog her post with some of these musings, but when this started getting longer (and I started searching for bibliography, ha), I decided that I was not going to hijack her post, but rather cite it (and reblog it on its own right, really, read it). I should say that this is a long essay, and it comes peppered with references to one of my preferred fields of study (but I make it light and fun, promise).

Becoming an “old geek”

The first time I came into the idea was when I found a thirst TikTok with that very nice audio that goes “I think I need someone older…” and clearly, the thirst was there, but also… David is 8 years older than me, and when you are 45, thirsting over someone who is 53 doesn’t feel as “edgy” (and thinking about “needing someone older” starts verging on thirsting over people well over 65, which is absolutely fine, but a very different category over all for the rest of TikTok). So yeah, it was weird. You see someone who you feel is "in your range" and everyone is calling them "old"… And you start thinking about aging, inevitably.

Of course, I "don't feel old", but most of my friends are younger than me, and I'm the oldest person in many of my "fun activities". Take, for example, my lightsaber combat team, where every sponsorship is pitched to people under 30, and you should be training at least twice a week and following a strict diet to reach the expected “competitive or exhibition” level (enter the “old lady” who is taking this training just for fun, who needs to take care of her joints and who is not going to be invested in becoming Jedi Master General or anything of the sorts in the near future). Or we can talk about the expectation about fandom in general being a “teenage phase”, and thinking about everyone who still is into it actively after certain age as “immature” or “quirky” at best (hi, mom! Hi, work colleagues! Hi, students!).

Society, aging and social constructs

Of course, this has a lot to do with societal expectations. For almost 80 years, popular culture has been built around "youth" and "young people": before rock & roll, most things (music, clothes, movies, art in general) were targeted to “adults”, and you were expected to be “a functional adult” since a younger age. There was a seismic shift in the way popular culture was built when consumer culture decided to see and cater young people: trends became shorter, being “hip” was desirable, staying younger for a longer period was a nice aspiration (a good, light reading to get a deeper view around this is “Hit Makers” by Derek Thompson. It is written for marketers, but that makes it an easy historic overview and I like that). This has a lot to do with the change of our view about old people, too: while being old 100 years ago (yup, 1924 still fits the bill) made you “a respected elder” and you were expected to be wise, to know best, to be the voice of reason and an expert, nowadays not even us older people like being seen as “old” or “older”.

Frequently, culture becomes entrenched in binary oppositions. The binary opposition between “young” and “old” is… well, old! And while the opposition is sustained, the meanings around it change over time (that’s what the past paragraph was about, really). If in the 1940’s being old meant “mature, respectable, wise, responsible” and being young meant “inexperienced, immature, foolish”, after the 1950’s those meanings shifted a lot: being young became “fun, interesting, in the now and in the know, attractive”, while being old was about being “boring, dusty, passé, uninteresting, dull”.

In reality, being young can be a mix of all of these things (inexperienced and fun and foolish and attractive), and being old can be, at the same time, being responsible and wise and a little dusty and dull, because that’s life *shrugs*, and the wonder of lived experience is that, even if we simplify it, it is complex and rich and sometimes contradictory in itself: we can be old and foolish and interesting and boring, or young and dull and inexperienced and attractive. But, as we need to make “social sense” of things, simplifying them is… easier. That’s why we build stereotypes, and why we use them! We need to have a “base” of signifiers to build upon, so we usually take what we have on our environment and run with it. If you find this idea interesting, welcome to the world of cultural semiotics! *takes her Iuri Lotman picture out of her pocket and puts it on the desk*

(Iuri Lotman, people. He is my "patron saint").

Pop culture versus “real culture”

Another cultural opposition that piques my interest in this area is the notion of “pop culture”, of course. It is opposed to “real, serious culture”, the sort of thing that everyone expects "older, mature people" to enjoy. In the sixties and seventies, there were a lot of studies and writing about "high brow" and "low brow" culture, trying to keep this distinction between "things that make you familiar with the now, but have no intrinsic value" and "eternal things that cultivate your mind, soul and spirit".

Evidently, if you ask me, this is a whole load of horse manure: probably useful to fertilize other things, but with little intrinsic value on its own. My main point is not dolphins, but the idea of culture: historically, it has used to mean a lot of things; from the notion of (exactly) fertilizing something and making it grow to make it come to fruition, to the hodgepodge of practices that a social group creates when they are together and are trying to make common sense of things.

I like the latter better (that is the one I’d ascribe to if this was The Academia TM, but this is tumblr!), but another popular definition, which comes from the Illustration and has been quite prevalent, is the notion of culture as the set of cultural practices that make you a better, more intelligent, far more educated person. For example: if you want to have real culture, you have to read Shakespeare and know what a iambic pentameter is, rather than watching “10 Things I Hate About You”. You must read real books, not listen to audiobooks, and “real books” should be written by “serious authors” like (insert old white Western European or American cis men, preferably born before 1960).

Here comes the notion of “cultural canon”, grinning widely. Yup, that set of practices becomes an expectation of what and how you should experience any area of the human experience, and they become a sort of “nucleus” of the whole experience, with people playing “defense” around them and culture shifting all around and sometimes across them. This is not exclusive to “high culture”: Have you ever heard about “gatekeeping”? Yeah, same fenomenomenon (Shadwell, of course). Whenever something gets this “shape”, it becomes a “norm”, the “common” thing, the “rule” if you participate in that set of cultural practices.

As every cultural set of practices tends to generate its own “canon”, they also have a lot of practices surrounding it, which are ever changing, shifting, learning from new and old practices, and redefining what everything means in their common/shared space. For example: Neil Gaiman, my beloved, was part of the “comics” frontier when Sandman first appeared, but as he and Alan Moore (yeah, I know he did it first, but Gaiman is my study focus right now, so let me be) and other very talented and interesting people started creating fascinating stuff that hadn’t been done, and they found people who loved it, they not only redefined the world of comics, but became part of the new canon themselves. And then, Neil’s presence in the world of literature and fantasy became widespread and recognized and then revered… And then he is doing it again by adapting his own work to a streaming platform in a serialized way… I hope this explains why I’m growing an obsession with studying Neil Gaiman as an author who crosses through different media: a transmedial auteur, an anomaly in his own right. But that is not an essay for tumblr, but a thesis, one that I don’t know if I’d ever have the time or mental resources to write (being a runaway ex academic with ADHD who works on their own is hard, people). Besides, this was about aging and David Tennant, so let’s cut this tangent short and start talking about our Time Lord and Savior: David Tennant, the king of frontiers.

David Tennant as a Frontier Lord

David Tennant is another fascinating case in this sense, mostly because he is an actor who has been able to build a whole very impressive career through crossing symbolic frontiers. Through his massive filmography (161 roles just for screens, as registered in IMDb) and his stage career (I love this gifset for this exact reason), he has acted his way through almost everything, from classical Shakespeare to improvisational comedy, from procedural police drama to wacky fantasy sci-fi. This has a lot to do with his personality (he loves acting, he decided to pursue acting as a career thanks to his love for Doctor Who, but he is also smart and inquisitive) but, as it happens with a lot of “frontier figures”, it also has a lot to do with “unpredictable” circumstances: less of a strategy, more of an instinct.

David has talked many times about how his impostor syndrome made him feel, for the longest time, that he had to keep accepting roles, because you never know if there is going to be another one after. He is talented and open and curious (this is quite a good interview about his perspective), but this… anxiety? meant that he had also lower quandaries about saying “yes” to roles and projects that were “less consistent” with a typecast (which has been, for the longest time, one of the main strategies to build an acting career). Yeah, he has some defining characteristics that make a role “tennantish” (I’m not starting that tirade here, but yeah, you know that almost fixed set of quirks and bits), but he has also worked his way through many different genres, budgets, styles and complexities. And he has usually been as committed and as professional in a big budget-high stakes-great script sort of situation, as he has been in a highly chaotic-let’s see what sticks-small scale project.

That can be correlated by the way he talks about “acting advice”. “Be on time, learn your lines, treat everyone the same, never skip the lunch queue”… Acting is a job, and he treats it as such. Yeah, he looks for interesting projects anytime he can, but the “down to earth” attitude about it is, once again, not-usual, not-common: pure frontier. Then, when David talks about his own self (specially at a young age), he is pretty clear about his “outsider” or “uncool” status (this interview is fantastic), and how strangely disruptive it was to become not only recognizable, but cool and sexy and… everything else, thanks to Doctor Who. He went from living in the frontier to being put in the canon, but he is still, at heart, a person who is more comfortable not defining himself by that “expected” set of rules.

Him being a very private person, who insists on having a family life that seems, form this distance, stable, loving and absolutely un-showbiz just makes the deal (and the parasocial love and respect) easier to sustain; as does his openness to talk about social and political issues that interest him (passionately, again; against the norm for “well liked celebrity”, again). His colleagues also talk wonders about him, mostly because he is this sort of down-to-earth but also passionate about his craft and easy to work with. Again: not the “norm”, not the “rule” of being such a celebrity.

Many of his fans (should I say that I’m one? Or is it obvious at this point?) find this not only endearing, but comforting: he is a massive star, who has acted in a lot of terrific roles in huge productions… But he feels, at heart, as “one of us”. But he is, also, a well-respected thespian, a Shakespearian powerhouse, an international talent. He lives in a very authentic, but very unstereotipical frontier. And he seems happy about that and has made a career from it. Extensive kudos and all the parasocial love and the amateur-actress mad respect for that.

I should mention, just in passing, that a “natural” archetype for this characters that traverse frontiers… are tricksters. Think again about the “tennantish” characteristics. Here goes another essay I’m not writing right now.

Aging: The Next Frontier

This takes me to the original post that inspired the essay: living in a culture where the “norm” is “being young and famous is a desirable aspiration”, we have a fantastic actor, at peak of his craft, who is in the heart of middle age (past 50, nearing 55). Not only that, but he is an actor with whom at least a couple of generations have grown older: from the ones who feel him as “our contemporary” to the ones who grew up looking at him (like Ncuti Gatwa!).

David, being the frontier person he is, has been navigating this transition in a very “unconventional” way: he came back to the role that made him iconic (The Doctor, now with more trauma!), is starring in another fantasy series about middle-aged looking ethereal beings that at times is an adventure thriller, at times is a comedy of errors and at times is a romcom (having another beautiful trickster of a man as his co-star… There goes another tangent that is an essay); he is playing one of the quintessential Shakespeare roles for middle-aged men (Macbeth), and is, seemingly, having a lot of fun doing a lot of voice acting for animation roles (if you haven’t watched Duck Tales, you’re missing a whole lot of fun, really).

Traditionally, middle aged actors navigate that period of their career trying to reinforce their “still young, thus a celebrity” status (for example, doing a lot of action-packed movies and keep doing their own stunts while seducing women 20-30 years younger than them), or strengthening their “prestige thespian, so now a real culture person” position (fighting for more serious roles, going from comedy to drama, or working their way into The Classics©). Sometimes, they face the internalized societal expectation by also becoming a shipwreck in their personal life (yeah… the stereotype of “getting divorced, having an affair with someone half their age, getting another red convertible, getting in trouble…”) because we don’t have a good “map for aging responsibly” yet as a society. We have been so focused on youth, that we have forgotten how to age.

Again, switching to the personal experience. I was raised as a female-shaped person (yeah, being queer is fun), so part of the experience of growing (and then growing old) has been closely related with that concept from the female point of view. I decided, pretty early on (but not so much, probably 25 years ago), that I wasn’t going to conform to the norm… And that included aging naturally. When I found my first white hair, it was a shock (I was 21 or 22), but I had already seen my father fighting his own hair being white since forever. I decided it was a loss of time, money and effort… And the judgement from people in my generation and in the one that preceded me (my mother, my aunts) was stern and strict: “it will age you, and it will date us. You shouldn’t do that”. Men could do it, given the right age (being over 50) but women must not. Same with wrinkles and sagging and gaining weight and getting “pudgy”. But when men grew older, they needed to make a “show off” of their ability to seduce, to “still be a man”. Aging, then, was undesirable by any standard.

As me and my peers have grown older, and my hair has gotten increasingly silver, there have been women that come to me saying that “I look great” and “they wish they were as brave as me”. I would like to state in front of this jury of my peers (hi, tumblr!) that the only bravery it took was deciding, somewhere between my twenties and my thirties, that I wanted to be as myself as I possibly could, so no bravery at all, just the same lack of understanding of social rules that took me to become interested in… you guessed it, cultural semiotics. We’ve come full circle with this. Now, let’s finish talking about what it means for an aging fan to have an aging star to look up to, shall we?

David Tennant as a cultural Time Lord

I am pretty sure that he wouldn’t have chosen this role for himself (as he wouldn’t have chosen being a massive star just by playing his favorite character and being so talented and charming), but he is, as Loki would say, burdened by glorious purpose. Being “the actor of his generation”, and him crossing so many frontiers with such ease and grace, without even thinking about it too hard, just because he is a hard worker and likes to try new things and is just so good at what he does put him in the exact cultural crossroad for it.

He is not in a sudden need to “resignify himself” as anything: he has already shown his very flexible acting muscles through his very long career. He is not bounded to “keep his public image relevant”: he likes to have his personal life clearly separated from the spotlight, and being married to the brilliant and funny Georgia, who herself grew up with a famous father, so she is no stranger to staying sane and in control in the eye of media, and who manages their social media presence with a good mix of humor and well-set boundaries.

Therefore, he is in a moment where he can (and probably will) chose to do whatever he likes. And he has the public support to do so: he is prestigious and respected, but likes to make fun of himself and is not self-important; he has a lot of awards, but he is also a very likable person with whom most people in the industry enjoy working. And he is up to do a lot of things: heroes, villains, morally grey characters; romance, drama, thriller, fantasy, sci-fi, procedurals, historical fiction, classic plays, silly parts, voice acting… We are going to see him aging on screen and stage, with no playbook: the playbooks were written for people that certainly are not him. And I have some evidence to prove it.

He is starring in a groundbreaking series (yeah, Good Omens) where the protagonists are two middle-aged looking entities, full of queer relationships, written by another trickster. This series, in an on itself, is a showcase for characters that are rule breaking in many ways: in the narrative, by being hereditary enemies who are inevitably linked to one another by a loving bond that may or may not be romantic, but that has been in the making for 6,000 years; in representation, by having the protagonists being represented by a couple of middle aged actors who are “not serious” and “not action” coded, in a role where they are delivering romance, banter, intrigue, joy and a whole other range of emotions that are “not your stereotypical” middle-aged male-lead coded.

He also delivered the baton on a relay race with Doctor Who: he came back after almost 20 years, to bring back the generation who grew up watching him in the role, and deliver us into the arms of Ncuti Gatwa’s 15th Doctor, with the promise of taking a rest and working on getting better from all the trauma The Doctor has endured in 20 years Earth-time (which, as any Doctor Who fan knows, account for centuries of trauma in Doctor’s time). Not your usual Doctor Who Anniversary cameo, but one built to deliver some zeitgeisty emotional health promises that made the specials feel… healing. At least, for some of us.

Even when it wasn’t the hit series it deserved to be, his Phileas Fogg in “Around the World in 80 Days” is also a great delivery of an unconventional middle-aged protagonist, who goes from meek and scared and too worried about societal norms, to a lovely, tender, slightly awkward and daring person, with friends half his age who look at him but are also his peers (another kind of relationship that is not very frequent in media).

And, with all fearlessness, he has played a lively old duck in Duck Tales! Scrooge McDuck has never been a middle-aged character: he is, quite openly, an old gentleman. An adventurer, quirky, with a lot of spunk… but also quite clearly an elder to Huey, Dewey and Louie, and obviously older than Donald Duck (who is also not a young adult himself!). When you watch that series, and if you have the opportunity to catch any glimpse of him behind the scenes while recording the part, you can feel the joy he got from playing the part (and he has said time and again that he IS Scrooge McDuck, so it will become his “recurring bit” for the future).

Hopefully, David (and some other actors and actresses, for sure) will dare to build that new “aging publicly without making an arse of myself” playbook, and I (and I can imagine, many other fans in our middle age, but also fans that are right now leaving behind the “young adult” stage and becoming “adults” fair and square, and others who will arrive to this place at a future time in their lives, so I hope) will be there to bear witness, support, cheer… and learn from the model. Because that’s what fandom is about, but also because that’s how culture itself gets shaped and changes, continuously. And that is exciting and a little scary, and that’s why it is better if we do this together.

And I'd love to imagine diverse (in the full sense of the word) role models for this process and this playbook, too!!!

If you read all the way through this, I'm very grateful, take a cookie, have a gold star and suggest names for our aging interestingly role models on the "non-white-male" side of things!

Class dismissed!!

[comfycuddles]

You know what I think...

It's time we start talking about Peter Capaldi.

When we talk about Doctor Who and our favourite modern doctors, we always go round and round in the same circles:

"David Tennant is the greatest Doctor!"

"No way! Matt Smith brought this goofy nature to the character, while maintaining the Doctor's eternal darkness!"

"Please! Nine was funny and sassy and just overall great. He deserved more credit. Eccelston was the best Doctor!"

And sometimes even a:

"I think that although she had to endure poor writing, a female Doctor was refreshing!"

I agree with this of course, and every Doctor brings something with them, you know who we don't post enough about? Or even generally talk about enough?

Peter fucking Capaldi. I seriously think he might be one of the most underrated Doctors of the modern era and It's a WASTE.

From the very beginning he was just amazing. "Do you know how to fly this thing?" ICONIC. His first episode was pure crack in the very best way. (The way he flirted with the dinosaur, anybody?)

Capaldi had this amazing connection with Jenna as Clara (Although I am a Clara stan idc so I might be a little biased about that) and their dynamic was so much fun to watch.

Not unlike David Tennant Peter is such a fan of the show. (As was confirmed by Jenna) But is also nice about it too. He doesn't go around just correcting everyone, but he wants everyone to know what an amazing show it is and wants people to love it just as much as he does.

Also 12 was so iconic??? Fighting fucking Robin Hood with a spoon? Awesome! Rolling into the middle ages on a fucking tank, calling people "Dude", making puns and dumb jokes and above else SLAYING that guitar?! Yes! A thousands times Yes! Just the best space grandpa ever!

Capaldi is so unhinged and has this chaotic energy while still appearing as the sanest person in the room. Just look up some stories about him fucking around on the set.

It was also very refreshing to see an older Doctor. I mean, I think Capaldi wad the oldest guy to play the Doctor since HARTNELL. He still had this youthful energy, but he just seemed so DONE with everyones bullshit. 12 handled things with a certain maturity that I kinda loved.

Like he has life experience, he KNOWS what his actions will cause and that's GOOD to see of the Doctor. And at the same time he's also forgiving himself for all the things he's done, which is even BETTER.

And don't even talk to me about his relationship with his companions and Missy. First of all the latter gives me life. And his relationship with Bill was so good y'all. I mean, he punched a racist in the face for her. (ICON!!!!) And were just adorable.

And my final point, the biggest point: Peter Capaldi is just an AMAZING actor. We all love "Heaven sent" and It's just the greatest episode EVER and this is party because Moffat wrote it so beautifully, but also because of Capaldi's Jaw dropping performance!!! If he wasn't SUCH an amazing actor the episode would have never worked. And I am certain of this fact. He did that y'all! HE. DID. THAT.

Capaldi gave some of the best speeches and performances in Doctor Who history. And everyone sleeps on it, and I say "No more!" Also his line. "Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?" DONE, SOBBING ON THE DAMN FLOOR. I need to say with this that I'm NOT an emotional person at all. But somehow that line hit me right in the feels and never stopped.

So yeah

Eccelston was hilarious and fun and amazing

David was awesome and I think It's definitely deserved that he goes down in history as one of the greatest Doctors.

Matt had some heartwrenging moments that I'll never get over, was as cool as bowties and just lovely

And Jody was unique and ADORABLE!

But y'all are SLEEPING on Peter Capaldi and 12 and that is SO undeserved.

Mister Capaldi Sir, if you ever see this, (You probably won't, but that's okay. I hope it does though) just know, that I love and adore you so much and think you are one of the greatest actors and human beings in the history of everything. And you DESERVE to know that. I will forever be proud to say that 12 that is my favourite Doctor of all time. And I say this without half a doubt in my mind. I'm a proud Peter Capaldi stan until the end of time. And just know that I and so many more people along with me have so much LOVE for you. (Most of us not in a creepy way though) and you are CRIMINALLY underrated.

Thank you so much for reading my rant.

This has been a Peter Capaldi/12th Doctor appreciation post. And I invite you to reblog this and show your love for the best Doctor. Only positivity though, stay nice.

[godsiero]

promises (found a title)

heyo, i’m back with PLOT and EXPOSITION. sorry it’s so long, but this is needed information! it could’ve been longer, but then i realized it was nearing 10k and decided to stop lmao. i actually edited and proofread this one before posting it like a big girl so i hope the five people who read it enjoy it! i love this so much, but also please criticise me.

chapter one is here

wc: 9k

warnings: physical abuse (oc), panic attack (oc), hurt/comfort (spencer is the sweetest), mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, general cm content, mentions of possible sexual harassment

__________________________________________

In the six months that had passed since joining the team, Claudia had started to fit right in, the same way Morgan had said she would. Any time she’d had off, she found herself sharing it with Spencer; discussing books and reading over the essays of past agents Blake and Lewis, whom he spoke highly of, and she wished she could’ve met them while they were on the team. They bonded over their time as professors, discussing the different experiences they’d had; Spencer with his classes full of auditing students (Claudia sensed there was something fishy behind that), Claudia with her classes full of boys who would never listen. That made Spencer a certain type of upset he couldn’t quite place. He’d ask her about it another time.

Claudia was the first person in a long time to hold a candle to Gideon when it came to playing chess with Spencer, again, it gave him a feeling in his chest he couldn’t quite place. When they played chess, they would either sit in silence, or they would both ramble off at each other about everything and nothing, and they quickly discovered they had a lot more in common than their academic tastes.

Claudia had put him in check during one of their games and mumbled “Allons-y!” under her breath in a tired haze. She hadn’t realized Spencer had heard her until she heard his laugh (which she enjoyed getting out of him, often, but that was neither here nor there).

“Were you showing me you’ve been working on your French, or were you quoting David Tennant’s doctor?” Spencer had his suspicions that Claudia had at least seen a little bit of the show. She had a scarf that was a subtler version of the fourth Doctor’s and sometimes he’d see her notes she would take during briefings and on the plane, and he’d notice she would doodle the different screwdrivers, but he’d never tell her he was looking so closely at something so small that was only meant for her to see. She would never tell him she’s noticed his wandering eye.

She smiled into herself, trying to avoid his gaze, cursing herself for outing one of her secrets so obviously. It was one thing to subtly hint she’d had the interest, it was another thing entirely to let it slip out so clearly. She’d wanted to wait a little longer before showing the team who she really, really was, but she thinks she’d be fine with him knowing her a little better than anybody else.

“What if it was both?”

Spencer raised his eyebrows and smiled, “Why didn’t you tell me! We could’ve been watching it together this whole time!”

Hearing him say the words “we” and “together” in the same sentence and referring to her gave her a certain sort of pride and honor she did not want to think too deeply about, considering he probably used the same words when talking about something else with someone else.

“I don’t know…” Claudia decided to come clean, partially, “I might have been…hiding a few things about myself for fear of seeming…juvenile?” She phrased it like a question because saying it out loud to someone for the first time made her feel really stupid and she suddenly regretted ever hiding herself from any of them, especially Spencer.

He looked her in the eyes, “Claudia. Your personal interests, no matter how ‘juvenile,’ do not diminish your intellect. Liking Doctor Who and having fun does not make you any less of an academic, it makes you human.”

She was surprised by how empathetic he was being. She’d gotten to know him on a personal and friendly level, and she was proud of that (especially since, according to Penelope, he was unusually quick to open up to Claudia), but she hadn’t expected him to be so…compassionate.

“I know, but…” she focused her gaze somewhere else, trying to think of a logical reason to explain away why she felt lying so profusely was necessary. She wanted them to know her, why was she still hiding?

“No, there doesn’t need to be a ‘but,’ you can just be honest, now. I’ve found you out, I know you’re a nerd, I know you’re a loser, just like me, it’s okay,” she knew he was joking, but he gave her a sympathetic look anyway, to prove it.

“First of all, doctor, you do not know a thing about me, in due time.”

“Oh, really?” he kept his playful air about him while going on his rant, “Then how do I know you’re never listening to a podcast when you have your headphones in? How do I know that you’re actually listening to a variety of music from various genres that are all subgenres of rock or metal? How do I know that your favorite of all of that music came out between the years of 2002 and 2008? How do I know that you often listen to the same songs over and over again because you can’t get enough of them until you catch an itch to listen to a different song approximately 12 times in a row, without getting bored? If I, presumably, don’t know a thing about you, how is it that I know, arguably, the most important thing about you?”

For lack of a better word, Claudia was speechless.

He had just made an absolute fool out of her and she couldn’t even say a word.

So she started laughing.

She wasn’t laughing at him. She was laughing at how stupid she had been to think she could’ve gotten anything past him, especially the thing that meant the most to her.

“Are you laughing because I’m right? Because I know I’m right. I know I tend to be right, but there is a less than 5% chance I’m wrong and just made an idiot of myself,” he was chuckling along with her.

Gasping for air while she spoke, or rather, yelled, “YES! Yes, god, you’re right, you’re right! But Jesus Christ, you didn’t have to hit the nail on the head, Spencer!”

He gave her a playful side-smile, “I knew I’d figure you out. You had me fooled for a while there.”

“That was the idea.”

“Why? I understood the fear of appearing juvenile, but, forgive me, your music taste is anything but. And that’s coming from someone who listens to Mozart and Bach.”

“I just wanted everyone to see me as this…proper…professional. I don’t know, being the youngest on a team full of people who have known each other for a decade is a little intimidating,” she was the one rambling, now, “so long story short I tried to hide everything that made me, me so everybody would like me and think I was incredible at this job, and it worked, I guess, because JJ and Emily come to me for advice and Morgan talks to me about his fatherly insecurities and Rossi invites me over to his mansion to discuss cultura e storia and I work out with Hotch and I don’t even know how I ended up in such situations, but it seems a thank you is in order to give to my fake self that is quiet, yet sassy, and firm, yet soft, and totally and completely calm any time you lay eyes on her, meanwhile Claudia Jessup is actually a loud and abrasive autistic freak who self-soothes by blasting music so loud, you’d think I’d gone deaf by now, and buying trinkets that make my heart flutter, and drinking coffee as much as I possibly can because it makes me feel like it’s always cold outside, and buying romance books because I just love reading about two people going stupid with how desperate they are for each other, and I also love the way they smell and how they feel when I flip all of the pages at the same time, and I love Peter Capaldi’s Doctor and I am tired of pretending he was a terrible choice.”

She finally gasped for air and came out of her self-induced tunnel vision to see Spencer. Still sitting across from her, at his chess table, in his apartment. He hadn’t stopped listening. He hadn’t gotten up and begun to ignore her. He hadn’t walked to the door to tell her to leave. He’d just listened. A grin adorned his face. He was bursting at the seams with pride. He was so happy to get the truth out of her. He’d gotten so close to her, so fast, that she’d let her mask slip a few times, and he was determined to crack her open, and he did. At first, he felt bad. He felt as though he’d pushed her too far, before she was ready, but he could tell, now, that she had needed to do that. She needed to stop hiding and lying.

“Feel better?”

She felt like she just finished with a manic episode. She was laughing with every exhale, she put her elbows on her knees, and put her hands on her forehead, staring at the ground, eyes wide, “Yeah. Yeah, I feel better. I feel…I feel like I just went supernova on you…”

“I certainly don’t feel like you just went supernova on me.”

“And I think if I stay here any longer, I might suck you into the black hole.”

She’d had breaks like this before. The end of a long period of masking. The beginning of the end was always an epiphany; it made her feel high. Then it was followed by panic; she felt like she’d gone too far, blown everything out of proportion, gone supernova. Then finally, she would bring everything in her wake down with her, in a fit of embarrassing, dramatic, and unintentional rage and emotion she’d never meant to place on anybody. She needed to get away from Spencer immediately; she didn’t want him to see that part of her. Ever.

In addition to the obvious, this conversation with Spencer, and his response and reaction, had flipped a switch inside of her. She’d realized there was something she needed to do before she could fully, officially open up to everybody on the team, and she thought she was finally in the position to do it. She got up from his chess table and started to get her things.

“Claudia, you don’t have to-”

“No, no, Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine, I just…really don’t want you to see what happens next…”

“Where are you going?”

“I just…there’s something I need to do tonight.”

“I can go with you.”

“No, no, thank you, that’s okay. I need to be alone. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay…be safe.”

“I will, I promise. Get some sleep.”

“Okay…call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Claudia”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

As she left Spencer’s apartment, she double checked everything: her bank account, her lease, her insurance, her storage unit, her security system. She couldn’t believe it took her this long to act on the plan she’d been silently hatching with herself, but she needed to be positive she could do it by herself before making her first move.

Claudia spent the last five years in a relationship. She spent the last three years living with them. She spent the last two in self defense and boxing classes. Over the last six months, she’d been working up the courage to prove to herself she could survive on her own. Despite her time with the CSI, her time as a professor, and her time as a licensed therapist, she still had never been able to safely and securely leave. Something about Spencer figuring her out and her spilling her guts to him and him still hanging around without a trace of fear in his eyes made her realize she could’ve and should’ve done this years ago. She leveled with herself and said better late than never.

When she arrived home, he wasn’t there, thank god. She didn’t know how she was going to go about this, at all. She looked around and hated everything she saw. Like she told Spencer earlier, she would always buy little trinkets and toys and paintings and books and blankets and mugs she liked, but she never had anywhere to put them. Seeing things that brought her joy in a place that brought her so much pain made her feel stupid. She hated feeling happy around him. She didn’t want to give him the pleasure of even thinking he caused it, not that he would, he hated her just as much as she hated him. They barely even spoke or saw each other any more, neither of them were ever home at the same time, even before she got this job, not that she was complaining.

They did love each other, once. A long time ago. He thought she was smart, she thought he was alive. They liked the same music, ran in the same crowds, it seemed right, and it was for two years. It was nice, he was nice. Eventually, though, she’d started paying less and less attention to him. Not out of anything personal, but because her career had started falling into place; she’d become a professor at Penn, she’d been promoted with the CSI, and she’d kept clients for years, at that point; she’d gotten everything she’d wanted.

And he hadn’t. He built up a resentment towards her. He started partying more, drinking more, doing drugs, cheating on her (though he didn’t know she knew that). She didn’t know what she’d done wrong, but she knew something changed. It was when he came home in a drunken rage and hit her that she realized nothing would ever be the same. At the time, it had felt like a one-time-thing. You would think she would’ve left, given what she knew, but she saw it as an opportunity for a case study. Selfish? Of course, but she was putting herself at risk for the sake of science, she could live with that.

She had tried doting on him more, being kinder, going out of her way to please him, and she found he had been nicer, happier, more tolerant of her busy schedule. After a month, she started ignoring him again, throwing herself into her work, never coming home before he was asleep, and her theory was right, that set him off again. This time, he wasn’t drunk, and he beat the shit out of her. Shouting at her, spitting on her, very nearly breaking her bones, definitely leaving some deep cuts and bruises that took weeks to go away. In the middle of it all, she’d started taking classes to be sure if he ever went too far, she could fight back, and take him down. That went on until he got bored.

A year. She spent a year conducting this study. After he’d finally got tired of his affectionately abusive cocktail, he stopped paying attention to her entirely. That was when she really cracked down on her work, but the second she was able to focus totally and completely on that, Roy got sick. She would’ve finished her PhD early, but she started worrying about him. She stayed with him and cared for him as long as she could, until…

The months after were a blur. She focused on her work when she needed to. When she wasn’t working, she was at home. Not her apartment, but home, where she’d grown up. Going through everything, not that there was much. Roy was never a material kind of guy. He sure knew how to raise a material kind of girl, though.

She had taken far longer than she needed to. She didn’t want to leave that house. She didn’t want to go back to the one she lived in now. She didn’t want to be around him anymore. The day she had finished cleaning out the house was the day she decided to leave him, even though she didn’t know how. She knew it would take a while, but she promised herself, and Roy, that she would do it.

Claudia Jessup did not break her promises.

She’d had to move him to D.C. with her. He didn’t have to come, but he did. He could’ve ended it when she left Philadelphia, but he needed her for the same reason she needed him. She was about to rip that security out from underneath him, and she felt an excitement bubbling beneath her skin that was not unlike the adrenaline she experienced while out in the field.

She was determined to stay up until he got home. She didn’t know when, or if, that would happen tonight, but it didn’t matter. It was a promise she made herself, so she was going to keep it.

She got in the shower, taking advantage of the solitude and blasting her music for the first time in what seemed like forever. She needed it. She felt bad about leaving Spencer; she wanted to text him; she’ll do it when she gets out. She’d make it up to him on Monday, when she brought him his coffee.

That was a sweet exchange. Claudia had done into the bullpen with coffee from The Grounds. Not her favorite place to get a cup from, but certainly the closest and easily accessible on her way to work. You would never believe the absolute shock on her face when Spencer had entered her and Penelope’s conversation with a cup from Coci, her preferred choice of coffee shop in the harbour. She instantly started interrogating him about it.

“Is that from Coci?”

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite, but my favorite is kind of out of the way for me, so I settle for second best. Anything beats the pot here,” she feigned betrayal on her face at his admission.

“How dare you.”

“What?”

“How dare you say drinking from Coci is a ‘second best’ kind of experience,” she said dreamily.

“Because I believe it is. I don’t think it’s bad, it’s just not what I prefer. I’d love to get a cup from The Grounds, but that would add an extra twenty minutes to my commute, and that’s not worth it.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded, looked at her own coffee, and turned it toward him so that the label faced him.

“You mean…this ‘The Grounds’ coffee?”

It was Spencer’s turn to be playfully shocked, “Oh my god! You go to The Grounds?”

“Since moving here, yes, and I would say this is second best to my one true love, Coci.”

“Well I think it’s settled then. How do you take yours?”

“Black and scalding, why?”

“I’m going to start bringing you your order, if you don’t mind bringing mine. This seems a fair exchange.”

“You’re not “boy genius” for nothing, clearly,” he’d told her his coffee should have at least eight packs of sugar in it, which made her laugh. When he didn’t say he was joking, she looked very concerned, “Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously.”

With that, a tradition had started: every morning, Spencer had brought her her favorite black coffee and Claudia had brought him his favorite black coffee…with a ridiculous amount of sugar.

“Sugar with coffee,” she said.

“Coffee with nothing,” he replied.

They cheered each other and said that every single morning since then, and she’d hoped it would never stop.

She’d gotten so wrapped up in the memory, she didn’t hear her music stop playing because she was getting a phone call. She was in the middle of washing her face when she opened the shower curtain to see she was getting a call from Garcia. She rinsed off her face with record breaking speed and picked up her phone, while still halfway in the shower.

“Garcia?”

“Hi, hon. I know it’s late, or, uh, early, but we’ve got a case. Get here as soon as you can and be safe.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in thirty,” and she hung up the phone. She could’ve said twenty, but since it was four in the morning, she figured she may as well keep up appearances with Spencer, while it was on her mind.

She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten and instantly regretted having the music so loud, she’d hoped her neighbors wouldn’t mind. She got dressed and stepped out of the bedroom, running into him.

“Jesus, Devon, I didn’t even hear you come in,” she wasn’t afraid of him, but she was afraid of somebody coming into her home, so not hearing that he’d come in shocked her a little.

“Feeling a little jumpy, Claude? Your big girl job scaring you yet?”

“You? Scare me? Not in a million years. And don’t call me that,” she pushed past him and tried to get her go bag from the front closet, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Where are you going? It’s four in the morning on a Sunday.”

“One, I don’t have to tell you where I’m going. Two, this happens sometimes. Three, you’re drunk,” she could’ve pulled out of his grasp, but chose not to. Now was as good a time as ever to execute her plan. Case be damned, this needed to happen, now, or she wouldn’t have the opportunity again, for who knows how long.

He held onto her arm tighter, “What? You gonna arrest me for drinking, officer?”

“I’m not an officer. Let me go, Devon.”

“Why? So you can run off to your little brainiac?” he had let her go, but he did so by tossing her away.

“There is no way you are accusing me of cheating right now.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Even if I was, which I’m not, why does it matter to you?”

He abruptly ran up to her, gripped her shoulders, and pinned her against the wall, gritting through his teeth, “Because I’d like to know if I need to teach somebody a lesson on loyalty.”

She spit in his face, then, which caused him to pull her off the wall and slam her head right back into it.

“You think you can treat me like that, bitch?” he was yelling now. She was holding the back of her head.

“Yes, actually, I do. You’re a drugged up drunk who beats on someone who’s never done a single thing to you besides stay with you through all of your bullshit, including cheating on her.”

He gave her a good backhand slap, that sent her to the ground, “You don’t know that, how do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but thank you for the confirmation,” she smiled a rueful smile at him and stood up. She felt blood running down her face. He had a ring he always wore on his finger that must’ve cut her face, when he hit it.

He hit her in the same spot and sent her to the ground again, this time with his fist.

“Keep ‘em comin’, Devon, beat the shit out of me like you always do!” at that, he put his hands around her neck, pulled her up, and slammed her against the wall again, this time cutting off her airway.

She choked out, “Go…a-ahead. Sh-show…the gov..ernment…what…y-you…can…do-”

He threw her to the ground at the reminder of her job, “God dammit Claudia, why do you have to be like this?”

“Be like what? Ready and willing to please you?” she was clutching her throat, gasping for air between words.

He had never liked when she was sarcastic, he grabbed her face with his hand, “Don’t fuck with me,” and kneed her in the stomach, throwing her on the ground.

She couldn’t help but let out a grunt, at that. She might be mentally fine with his abuse, but he was still fully capable of hurting her.

He flipped her over and straddled her, making sure she stayed on the ground, not that she was going to try to get up, and he went to town on her face with his fists.

Between blows she would manage to get out, “‘Do your worst, inferior one,’” this threw him off, so he hesitated on his next punch, which gave her the opportunity to take advantage of him. She tucked her leg under his bent knee and flipped him over, pinned his arms to the ground, and started pressing her forearm into his neck ever so slightly before getting really close to his face and saying, “Take a good look at your handiwork, Devon. Enjoy it while you can because you will never see me again,” her entire face was bloody and swollen. She knew he loved to look at the damage he had done to her, knowing it made her beautiful face unsightly, making people turn away from her on the street when her favorite thing was human connection. This was how he took her down. Or so he thought.

“Listen to me right now. Nobody. Will ever know you did this to me. The FBI will never know you did this to me. I’m not going to report you. I’m not going to have you arrested. I’m not going to tell a single soul how this happened. Not. Even. Spencer.” she knew that would set him off. He wanted to hate Spencer for ruining his relationship, for being smarter, for being everything he could never be. He was stuck in a state of delusion, thinking everything was fine before Spencer came along. He thought leaving his marks on her let Spencer know she was his and she belonged to him, not some nerd at her job. Little did he know she had never let anybody know the marks were from him because nobody knew about him to begin with. They knew she took boxing courses at the bureau, which they all knew could get ugly, but were worth it for the experience and pay off. Any marks they saw on her were easily explained away by that.

“You are going to give me your key. You are going to walk out of here before me. We. Are. Done. Do you understand me?” he didn’t respond because of the lack of oxygen getting to his brain, “Do you understand me?” she said it much louder, then, and he nodded as best he could.

“Take your key off of your belt.”

She let go of his left arm and he slid it down to his belt loop where he’d had his keys on a carabiner. He unclipped it and tossed it across the room.

After that, she climbed off of him, went to the keys, found the one he’d had to the place, and took it off. Triple checking he hadn’t made a copy. He was too stupid to hide one anywhere and she was too smart to leave one hidden in case of an emergency for him to know about.

He couldn’t even go after her to give her a piece of his mind because he was too busy regaining full consciousness while she was dealing with the keys. When she was finished, she walked back over to him, grabbed his shirt in her fist, and pulled him into a standing position. She didn’t say anything to him as she opened the door and shoved him outside. She locked all three locks before walking back into her bathroom to check the damage he’d done.

This was probably the worst he’d ever done to her. Her lips were busted, her gums were bleeding, her eyes were bloodshot, her cheeks were bruised. She had cuts all over her face, her ribs were bruised, and there were ten faint lines burned into her neck from where his hands had been.

She looked herself in the eye and smiled. She started crying to herself. She’d never been more proud of something she had done, including make Roy proud. She was honored to be in this body and in this mind and make it out alive of what she’d just done.

She cleaned herself up, put on some makeup, and a few butterfly bandages.

She examined herself and determined the way she looked now would pass as “a few cuts and bruises from Luke at the training facility.”

Then, she remembered she promised Spencer to call him if she needed anything (it was not lost on her that she also promised him that she would be safe, and although she just got the pulp beaten out of her, she was safe the entire time).

While she was leaving her apartment, she’d called Spencer.

He picked up the phone with his typical sass, “Did you even sleep?”

“No. Did you?”

“Nope.”

“I told you to get some sleep!”

“I never promised that I would.”

“Touche. I made a promise, though, and that was to call you if I needed anything…”

“Coci?”

“You’re already there aren’t you?”

“You think just because it’s four in the morning on a Sunday I’d forget about my Claudia’s coffee? Who do you think I am? Some sort of criminal?”

She deliberately ignored how casually he called her his Claudia.

“No, somebody else did that already.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. Too soon?”

“You can make it up to me by returning the favor.”

“On it, bud. Over and out.”

By the time she hung up, she’d gotten into her car, and made her way to The Grounds.

__________________________________________

Claudia had been walking into the front entrance of the BAU’s building when she noticed Spencer was the person a few feet in front of her.

“Hey! Sugar with coffee!” she shouted to get his attention.

He’d just finished swiping his card, so he opened the door and held it for her (which was strictly against policy, but it was Claudia).

“Coffee with nothing,” they exchanged cups as she walked through the door, “my god they did a number on you didn’t they?” he’d begun to inspect her face, seeing all of the cuts she’d bandaged. She looked at him, confused as to what he was talking about, then he saw where his eyes were going as he inspected her face, and remembered.

“Oh. Yeah,” before she could say anymore, she remembered she promised not to lie to him anymore. Her admission was honest enough. She never promised to not withhold information.

He had a subtle hint of concern in his eyes that he normally didn’t have when he noticed her cuts and bruises she got from the training facility. He felt like something was off about these, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew she wasn’t lying, but something was off about how she avoided eye contact with him after he’d said something.

Then he remembered the facility didn’t have classes on Sunday, and when she’d left his apartment only hours before, she didn’t look like that.

He was just about to pry more information out of her, when they ran into JJ, coming from the opposite direction.

“Anybody else feel like they’re sleepwalking?”

“Tell me about it, I didn’t sleep at all, literally,” Claudia chuckled.

“Me neither, Henry has had food poisoning, and my mother was staying with us, talk about having your hands full.”

The elevator dinged. Claudia and JJ stepped into the elevator, while Spencer stayed put, stuck in a daze.

“Spence?”

“Earth to Spencer?”

He snapped back into reality and forced his thoughts of what Claudia was keeping from him back down his throat and into the confines of his reminders for later.

“Sorry, need to drink this coffee faster I guess,” he tried at a joke, but they could both see something else turning the gears of that big brain of his.

Claudia knew it had something to do with her, judging by his previous reaction, and considering she didn’t exactly want to talk about it in front of JJ, she stayed silent.

JJ, however, had other plans, “Are you okay? You look a little…”

Before she could finish, he blinked and shook his head like a dog after a bath, “Yeah, yeah, I’m just tired,” to really seal the deal, he let out a huge yawn, which made Claudia and JJ follow suit.

Mid-yawn, breaking the tension between her and Spencer, Claudia said, “My god, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he picked up that that was her way of acknowledging she knew that he knew she was hiding something from him, so he calmed down a bit too. By the time he said that, they’d reached the sixth floor, only to be met by the rest of the team heading into the elevator.

“No time to brief you three. Wheels up now.”

__________________________________________

The plane ride was lackluster, the case is straightforward, but still unable to be solved, for now. This unsub is particularly frantic and unpredictable with his timing, but his MO suggests he was abandoned by his father and looking for surrogates now. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

After a long flight to Seattle and the drive to this small town thirty miles outside of it, Hotch demanded everyone get some sleep in order to crack down on this guy the next day.

The small town hospitality was not unrecognized. Everybody knew everybody, so when the local police needed to house FBI agents who were trying to catch the man killing well-respected people of the community, loads of folks opened their doors, including a local inn.

Owned and operated by a retired couple in their seventies, it had surprisingly good business, which, unfortunately for the team, meant they had to bunk.

“Lucky for us they still have three rooms available,” Hotch said.

“Lucky? Hotch, have you noticed there are six of us?” Morgan was always the first to despise the idea of bunking with anybody.

“Yes, I have, which is why we’re lucky they still have three rooms and not two.”

“Well, JJ, let’s get a move-on,” Emily had already grabbed her go-bag and took a key from Hotch without a second thought.

“Well, I am absolutely not rooming with Reid,” Morgan had always had a strict “no Spencer” clause when it came to situations like this.

“Guess it’s you and me then,” Hotch had responded to Derek, until he realized who that left, “oh…”

Neither Spencer, nor Claudia, had realized this either until the moment came. Claudia had stopped scrolling on her phone and Spencer had stopped perusing the lobby, waiting for his room assignment, but they heard Hotch’s exclamation.

They both looked at Hotch, then at each other, the back at Hotch before saying, at the exact same time:

“It’s totally fine, we’re friends.”

“There’ll be a male and female pair no matter what we do.”

They looked back at each other one last time before Hotch said, “Okay. As long as you’re both okay with this arrangement, I won’t bother anybody over it.”

He threw Claudia the key before leading Morgan up the stairs to their room. Hotch muttered something to Derek that made him yell with laughter. Spencer and Claudia could only imagine what that was about.

As if on cue, the two looked at each other at the exact same time and started giggling like children who had caught their parents doing something silly.

“Come on,” Claudia said through her fit of laughter.

As she walked ahead of him, Spencer’s mind wandered back to the cuts on her face. He’d thought she’d had more makeup on today than usual. Not that he often paid attention to how little or how much makeup she wore (she rarely wore more than the bare minimum, but he only knew that because she wore a bit less than JJ, Emily, and Garcia). He thought it was strange that she not only procured multiple cuts, but had also been wearing a turtleneck in August. Not the most absurd thing to see, but definitely not ordinary. He wondered if she packed more to continue hiding.

They walked to the room in a comfortable silence, but there was still something lingering between them, and they both knew what it was.

Claudia arrived at the door and unlocked it, making her way inside to, thankfully, see two beds. She had read enough romance novels to know sharing a room with your best friend by chance usually leads things in a crazy direction she did not want to go into tonight (or ever, for that matter, she shoved that thought deep, deep down). She had also had enough sense in her to know that things like that don’t happen in real life.

“Which bed do you want?” Spencer knocked her out of her train of thought.

“Oh, uh,” she wanted to lie and say it didn’t matter, but it did, so she sucked it up and told herself that it’s just Spencer. She could tell him everything, no matter how silly or mundane it seemed.

“Could I have the one next to the air conditioner?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer stood in between the beds and threw his stuff on the one farther away from the ac, so that he could bow to her bed and say, “your throne awaits, my Queen,” in a truly terrible impression of one of the characters from the cartoon portion of Mary Poppins, but it made her laugh, nonetheless.

He started laughing with her, and while she tried to breathe through her laughs she asked, “What on god’s good earth was that!”

“I have no idea, I’m so tired,” he was still laughing, too, “but I did want to…diffuse some tension,” he calmed down to look her in her eyes, pleading for her to finish telling him the truth about what happened to her.

When she just stared back at him, he continued, “Claudia, there is no training at the facility on Sunday. You didn’t get those from Luke.”

She looked away from him, then. She felt her eyes start to burn, but she refused to crack in front of him.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Then where did you get them from,” Spencer was being very gentle with his delivery, which she appreciated.

After a moment’s silence, weighing her options, she said, “Spencer. I will tell you,” she took in a shaky breath, “if you promise not to tell anyone.”

“I promise.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I,” at that, he held up his pinky for her to take. They’d had a discussion a while ago where they both thought keeping a pinky promise was above the law, space, and time, and they meant it, wholeheartedly. She looked between his eyes and his hand and took his pinky in hers. He brought his hand to his lips and kissed his thumb. He pushed their hands towards her and she did the same.

Neither of them tried to let go by the time she started talking, so they both held on tighter.

“Uh…so…like I already told you, I had been trying to keep parts of myself a secret,” she looked into his eyes to be sure he was listening (and also to seek solace). He nodded.

“Well, one of the biggest was that I…kind of…maybe…had a boyfriend…the whole time…” Spencer’s eyes went wide with shock and his brow furrowed at this admission. Of all the things he’s seen through, he never would’ve guessed that.

“You- what?”

He wasn’t mad, he was genuinely surprised.

“Emphasis on the word ‘had,’” she rolled her eyes, “as of this morning.”

Spencer realized where this was going and he felt his chest and jaw clench, his eyes burn, and his blood pulsing everywhere.

Claudia noticed those physical changes and she couldn’t help but look at him like he was a lost puppy. Seeing him like this hurt her more than anything Devon had ever done to her.

She wrapped her hand around his wrist that was holding her pinky, “I don’t want to make you upset-“

He cut her off, “Nothing you are doing is making me upset, I promise. Keep going.”

At that, Claudia sat down on the bed Spencer had claimed as his, and she pulled him down to sit next to her. She didn’t think she could look into those doe eyes of his any longer without completely breaking down, especially while saying what she was about to say.

“I started dating him halfway through the first year of my doctorate. I went to all of these concerts with my friends from my undergrad program and he was always there too. I thought he was cool. My friends who were friends with his friends thought he was cool. We kissed a few times, went on some dates, and started seeing each other. He supported me through half of my time at Penn; he made sure I ate between teaching courses and having sessions with my clients. He made sure I slept enough when I got back from investigations with the CSI, even if it meant canceling some of my classes, my students always understood. After we moved in together, something…switched in him. He started drinking, he stopped going to work, he started avoiding me. One day, after weeks of me being absent and juggling everything all at once, I came home and he was angry. A kind of angry I had never seen before from anybody. He…threw his nearly-full bottle of beer at the door I had walked through. It barely missed my head. When it did, he ran me into the wall and started choking me. My head hit the wall so hard, I nearly fainted. When I didn’t faint, he punched me. Then I blacked out…”

“Did he-“ she knew what Spencer was alluding to, and didn’t want him to finish his sentence.

“No. No. He never did that,” there were times, however, that she had felt the same amount of passion was not reciprocated. But she didn’t want to tell him that. That had nothing to do with this.

“I woke up on the floor, confused. I figured it was a fit of drunken rage, so I decided not to think too hard about it. That is, until, it kept happening,” Spencer felt like his muscles and his bones were going to rip out of his skin. His leg was bouncing up and down and his hands had started to shake from keeping all of this rage inside of him. Claudia noticed, but if she didn’t keep talking, she’d never finish. She needed this to end just as badly as him, and if she didn’t tell him everything, he would know.

“That was my life for a year. It only happened when he was drunk, but it got worse. After the second time, the time I knew it was all intentional, I started taking self-defense and boxing classes and I promised myself I would leave him, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t live by myself. I didn’t want to tell anybody this was happening, especially not-“ she felt a lump in her throat. She didn’t know if she should or could tell Spencer about Roy. Her eyes were wet now, but she was stubborn as all hell, and refused to cry in front of him about something as stupid as Devon. Roy, on the other hand, she could cry about Roy any time of day, and she wasn’t even a crier, but she didn’t think it was fair to dump all of that onto Spencer when she was already telling him all of this.

“Especially not who?” she hadn’t realized she zoned out while weighing her options. Now he would definitely know she was keeping something from him. Honesty, it is then.

“Somebody I…I can’t tell you about, right now, or ever, maybe, but…” she didn’t know how to justify her reasoning for that besides the fact that she had made a bigger promise to Roy to try not to dwell on him. Or talk about him. Thanks for the impossible task, jackass.

“It’s okay. Keep going,” Spencer was being so nice to her, she felt like she would shatter into a million pieces with how fragile she felt.

She told him about her study she’d conducted on him. Spencer recognized it as a part of her dissertation she had written. This whole time, his favorite part of her dissertation, a part that felt so clinical, so real, so calculated, and so emotional wasn’t about a willing client of Claudia’s. It was about Claudia herself. He felt like he was going to be sick.

She didn’t notice, so she kept going. She began to ramble because she realized that would be the only way to get all of this out. She told him about how their conversation led her to finally make the decision to enact this ridiculous plan of hers.

“Wait,” broken from his trance, Spencer spoke up, “I caused this?”

“What? Spencer, no, absolutely not. I need you to understand that I could’ve fought back. I could’ve taken him down. I could’ve done to him what he did to me tenfold. I chose to let him do so much. It was a…selfish, psychological manipulation,” she suddenly felt horrible admitting that’s what she’d done. She felt as low as him now, “Which I realize was stupid and immature, but…I wanted him to think he was safe. I wanted him to think this was business as usual. And then I wanted to rip the rug out from under him. Crush his hopes of thinking he ever had control. From the second time he’d done this, the control was in my hands. You know, he thought everyone knew he did this to me? He took pride in it, but he never knew I covered them. He never knew you all knew I took boxing at the facility. He never knew none of you knew about him, until I told him this morning. The look behind his eyes was priceless. I wish I could’ve captured it on film. He looked so…defeated.”

She’d developed a death grip on Spencer’s wrist and instantly let go. She felt like something was breaking inside of her. She didn’t feel like herself. She was an aggressive person. She was a loud person. Hell, she was even violent, when it came to a punching bag, but the way she psychologically tortured Devon with one sentence felt like she betrayed every good thing she had ever done in the name of justice.

She got up from the bed, then, and started pacing, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“I don’t know, everything? Holding your wrist too tight, telling you all of that, god, you probably think I’m insane now. You probably think I’m an absolute psycho who gets pleasure out of making people feel small, oh my god, I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m so sorry, Spencer, I ruined everything, please please please don’t hate me, please don’t tell me I ruined everything. Oh my god I don’t think I can handle losing you, too, right now,” she had begun to shake and hyperventilate. Spencer almost couldn’t take the sight of her like this. He never wanted to see her in pain.

“Hey,” he touched her shoulder, and guided her to sit back down, “it’s okay. You’re okay. We are okay,” he had moved his hand from her shoulder to her upper back, slowly rubbing random patterns across it.

“Can you…can you please stop that?” Claudia had never found someone rubbing her back to be soothing in the case of a panic attack, she found it actually made her feel more suffocated, but she knew Spencer didn’t know that, so she tried to ask in the nicest way possible, given the circumstances.

“Of course,” Spencer instantly stopped and removed his hand, “is there anything else you’d like me to do instead?” He was using that godforsaken whisper of his that made him seem so damn kind and understanding. She heard him use it with children multiple times out in the field, but she never thought he’d be using it on her. The tears might start falling, now, she thought.

“I don’t…I don’t know, could you…could you hold my hand really tight, please?”

She still couldn’t get a hold of her breathing. Her eyes were sealed shut and she was rubbing her hands over her pants; she felt the need to be in constant motion to remind herself that she was still alive.

“Yes,” he grabbed her right hand in both of his and gripped as hard as he thought was necessary without hurting her.

“Could you…could you squeeze harder,” she needed to feel like her circulation was about to be cut off in order for it to work.

“Harder? Are you-“

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He squeezed harder until it hurt him to keep going, and he kept that pressure there until she told him to stop. While he was gripping her hand, her breathing slowed, and her left hand had stopped rubbing her leg. Her grip on him hadn’t lessened, though, so he didn’t let go of that.

Her eyes were still shut, but she said, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Claudia, you didn’t scare me by having a panic attack.”

“But I did scare you?”

“No, you didn’t scare me at all, for any reason, I promise,” it baffled him that she thought that would’ve scared him. If anything, it made him admire her more now that she was comfortable enough to let him see this side of her. Granted, you don’t choose when a panic attack happens, but she could’ve left the room if she wanted to. He knew that.

“You can loosen your hand now,” she was careful not to say ‘let go,’ because she didn’t want him to let go.

He did, but his grip was still firm, tethering her to this moment, to him, to the bed they sat on.

“Do you want some water?”

“Please.”

There were complimentary waters in the room, but they weren’t cold, and he knew she would’ve preferred it to be ice cold freezing. She sensed that’s what he was thinking about when he hesitated to bring it over to her.

“Any water, please, Spencer.”

“Sorry,” he handed her the bottle and she chugged almost the whole thing in one go. She loved the way gulping felt in her throat. It made her feel full after feeling so empty, like all of the life had been sucked out of her.

They stayed silent for a moment while she finished the last of the water, until she finally took a breath and spoke up.

“Okay. Spencer,” she stood across from him and looked him in the eyes; her normal ‘business-as-usual’ self coming back like a charm, “I am going to shower. In that shower, I am going to wash my face. Washing my face means the makeup is going to come off. The makeup covering the worst of the gory details. Do you understand me?”

He nodded.

“When I get out, I would prefer it if you were wrapped up in something else. After the fiasco that just happened, my god, I do not want you to see…this,” she gestured to her entire neck and face, “please be preoccupied. I am begging you.”

He was hesitant to agree. He had a conflict going on inside of him. On one hand, he wanted to see what that bastard really did to her, what extent he went to. On the other…he didn’t want to see her torn apart and beaten with such scrutiny. He didn’t want to see any of it. He wanted to see all of it.

“Okay. I’ll just go to bed. If you need me, wake me up. I won’t mind.”

“Okay,” and with that, she went into the bathroom.

It was probably the best and the worst shower of her entire life. The best because the shower after a panic attack is always incredible and the worst because the shower after a panic attack is always like coming down after a high.

That is, literally, what it is, in a way. She had shattered in that bedroom and Spencer, dear as he was, picked up the pieces, but she had to mend herself.

The tears never fell, they usually don’t. She let the warmth (some might even say scalding hot heat) engulf her. She had to feel like she was in a sauna and a hot spring simultaneously to have the prime shower experience, panic attack notwithstanding, this was a daily need. She let it run over her face, clearing her mind of the headache she felt coming on. She breathed some more and she rubbed her face before finally scrubbing the awful events of that morning off of her. Normally, she showered quickly, but after that she needed to take her time with herself. Instead of quickly going through the motions, she made sure every strand of hair was coated in shampoo and every inch of her body was lathered in body wash and given the same love and care at the end as she gave herself at the beginning. She kept her eyes closed. She kept breathing. Trying to think about nothing. She had a passing thought of Roy and how he used to bathe her when she was little and how she’d come home extremely intoxicated at six in the morning on a day during her undergrad program and he washed her face for her. She remembered, she smiled, she let it go. She took a few more deep breaths and finally got out of the shower. She felt so good, so clean, so calm, so peaceful. And then she saw her face again.

It had gotten worse, as bruises usually do. The cuts were healing fine, thanks to the butterfly bandages, but the bruises. Her cheek and eye were swollen where he’d socked her twice with his ring. Oh well. There was nothing to be done about it besides wait. She took an anti-inflammatory for the swelling, her insomnia medication, brushed her teeth, and turned the light off before exiting the bathroom.

Her bed was closer to the bathroom, thank god. She turned down the covers to get into bed when she heard Spencer rustle and she froze.

He heard her stop moving, so he felt the need to reassure her, “I was just putting my book on the table, I’m not facing your direction.”

“Oh. Okay…” she continued getting into the bed, making sure to face away from him.

They both settled into bed. Him staring at the ceiling, her putting her headphones in (dangerous, she knew that, but even with her medication, she couldn’t sleep without noise), but before she started the music, she had one last thing to say.

“Spencer,” she whispered.

“Claudia.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t need any clarification. In fact, he didn’t even need a thank you, he felt it was an honor and a privilege to help someone so steadfast and sure of themselves. She trusted him to see her like that. He felt like he should be thanking her, but instead, he settled for:

“You would’ve done the same for me.”

[sonkitty]

Trickery Post #0 - Introduction

Hello world.

I'm Cathy.

This series of posts I'm going to do was originally planned as a YouTube series, but for various reasons, that idea has not worked out.

I watched Good Omens season 1 and season 2 roughly in late October 2023. While I left the season 2 ending unsatisfied, I still managed to become quite obsessed with David Tennant as Crowley.

I love his portrayal of Crowley so much.

And, through this obsession, I found these very interesting-to-me and very silly puzzle games that exist in Good Omens 2. These games give me a way to keep the obsession going and busy.

This series is going to be about me playing those games, especially the earlier stages.

So, here are a few things I think you might want to consider before you decide if it's worth the trouble of reading these posts.

There are multiple reasons I'm doing this series but a really big one is the situation with season 3. Due to the allegations against Neil Gaiman, season 3 was changed from planned as a six-episode series into a 90-minute movie. I was very upset to learn that news myself because I was really looking forward to season 3 as 6 episodes.

Now a part of me is thinking that's why I should let go of this idea. The games can be null and void. They can be cancelled in this process. They can be retconned out of existence since they are hidden games to begin with. They can be undone. Another part of me is, "Actually, that's all the more reason to do it."

That is to say, the games could very easily be lost and left without being found beyond what work I've already put into them and posted already here on Tumblr.

So, that's something, right? I can just leave those Tumblr posts intact, and the work is there, even if season 3 leaves whatever was originally intended for the games behind. They're already here.

That's all true.

But...in the process of how I've found it is best for me to do things on Tumblr, something ends up lost in the progression of my play. I have found it best to just post some thoughts and ideas, think on them, and then a lot of times, go back and edit those posts to something I hope is more coherent and presentable for my overall point. By doing that, the actual sense of play is lost in translation because the mistakes and realizations as they happen are not left intact.

So, this series is a way for me to commemorate that play because it meant a lot to me as it happened.

I want to store these memories sooner, rather than later, before time helps them slip away from me that much more quickly. I think YouTube would have been more suited to do such a thing, but the work involved is more than I can give at this time in my life.

I am not making season 3 predictions. Conclusions I made are now all the more available to be ignored in season 3 for the sake of simplifying the story or just making it new and different from what it was going to be anyway.

All of that is to say that, I'm making this series for me, even if I'm inviting you into see what it meant to me in these posts.

So, if you don't like the series or feel like it has nothing of any value to you, please move onto other things as soon as you realize that's how you feel about the posts.

Even though this series is focused on my own personal experience, I will be talking frequently in the second person or as "we" and "us" because I like describing the play as a shared experience. It's more fun for me that way.

...

We are going to be playing a long game. These puzzles took months to find and solve.

Don't expect to get things right away. If that happens, great. If it doesn't, please keep in mind that many solutions I found took time to sink in as I found them.

Alright, so I'm going to talk about me because even I forget that I had these parts of my life leading into how I am able to play the games the way that I do. Based on general observation, no one else seems able to play quite like I do because I have a knack for finding certain important names, phrases, and ideas.

I am not someone who has ever worked on a movie or TV show or any entertainment field really as a professional. It's something I used to want to do, especially as an actress. I took drama in high school. I wasn't very good, but my teacher saw potential in me, so I was still invited to go from Drama 1 to Drama 4, instead of Drama 2 after my first year in the class. In my senior year, I was assistant director for a student-directed play at my high school. I was also in charge of lighting. In addition to that, I was assistant to my drama teacher for his first two periods. My acting did improve finally by my senior year, and my teacher said as much. I had a Technical Theater class as well.

I took honors English in high school.

I declined a theater scholarship to USC when I realized I was too scared to move from home.

I ended up not pursuing a career in the entertainment industry at all.

Instead, I ended up in Information Systems as a major while remaining in my hometown. I won't give my actual title, but it might be easiest to understand that I'm a programmer and a bit of a low-rank programmer at that. So far as my IT experience goes, no one has ever worked under me, and I don't mind that in the least. Even so, I have nearly 20 years of experience in what amounts to problem-solving.

When I'm not working at my job, I've had hobbies that go along the lines of playing video games, watching anime, writing fanfiction, and reading books. I don't watch movies nearly as much as I used to and the same goes for TV though my obsession before this one with David Tennant as Crowley was for Rainbow Dash from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

I've also worked on audiobook readings of fanfic, both some of one I wrote and some of my favorite overall series, Austraeoh, by Imploding Colon aka shortskirtsandexplosions.

All of these traits inadvertently amount to someone who can put together some pieces of a puzzle to recognize a game, ask some of the right questions, and then actually find some of the right answers.

Now another thing about me is that I go through obsession phases. I used to be really obsessed with Devil Jin from Tekken. He used to be my favorite fictional character for many years. That changed in 2018 when Rainbow Dash suddenly became my new favorite.

Crowley's a bit of an odd situation because my favoritism for him strongly stems from the actor, David Tennant. It's not just Crowley, and it's not just David Tennant. It's the combination of these two that I love so deeply. David Tennant is perfect for Crowley.

Plus, these games help keep the obsession going.

So, a few things about my approach to the storyline and the characters.

In October 2018, I saw a promotional image for Good Omens that featured David Tennant with black-feathered wings. You do that, and you have my attention.

I decided to read the book. I had mixed feelings about Neil Gaiman's writing but had heard nothing but good things about Terry Pratchett's work.

I left the book with mixed feelings too. Some of it was funny. Some of it was really racist and took homophobia rather lightly, I thought. I was a bit bored with the kids (The Them) and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I thought Crowley and Aziraphale were a lot more interesting than everyone else. I was already fond of the idea of David Tennant playing Crowley, and thought oh yes, he will be perfect for this character.

I wasn't sure if I would watch the show because it might be too gross for my liking.

Five years passed, generally.

In October 2023, I finally decided to watch the first season of Good Omens. I was satisfied.

After that, I hesitated on watching the second season since I was at least aware the story was incomplete.

I read up on spoilers and decided to give it a go.

The ending didn't really sit right with me. I was annoyed and confused.

But, annoyed and confused as I was, I could not get enough of David Tennant as Crowley. So, I went to Tumblr to get some pictures and could at least read about what other people thought.

Here are my own thoughts on the types of fan interpretations I like of Crowley as a character.

I highly prefer to think of Crowley as clever, creative, resourceful, and imaginative. I do not think using the term "idiot" is cute or funny. I have no affection for it myself. I accept that it's part of the show and that Crowley uses it the way he does, but I don't like it. Over the years, I've read that "idiot" is an ableist slur. While I've tried to get better about my avoiding use of the term, I haven't quite reached a point where I find it my business to tell other people they shouldn't. Sometimes, in context, I get it. Even if the word weren't considered ableist, I generally don't like to affectionately insult characters I like anyway.

For me, these games show that Crowley is a more active and strategic participant in his own story than an initial viewing of season 2 might lead one to believe.

I don't really like Aziraphale much in general, so I'm perfectly good with reading posts that are more critical of him as a character. I don't seek them out, and I actually don't see them much to begin with.

My bias is rather obvious and plain so that I don't like to read those posts on Crowley. I don't say, even on my blog, that people shouldn't. I just don't want to read them. It's really not hard to criticize Crowley. I'm happy to rise to the challenge these games bring in seeing something more to him instead.

Even though I don't like Aziraphale, I appreciate the pairing itself. I also think it's important that the characters have some difference, some separation from each other as people, and I do think season 2 provides that.

If you want spoilers on the games, you'll find them all over my blog. A good central place to find them is my Good Omens 2 Compendium post. And if you don't want those spoilers on the games, they're hard to avoid, but we will be moving forward through this series of posts while trying to minimize or avoid them all the same. As noted earlier, that's to help show the journey itself, to get a sense of the play that's been lost from me just shoving so many answers up front in my collection of GO2 meta posts.

The series is planned to be 10 posts long (0-9).

...

We're going to be using our imaginations and playing with words to progress through the puzzles. (For reference: Trickery)

[demonir]

Welcome to Adrian’s good omens thoughts while he’s half asleep again, on todays episode I want to talk about how important the gender expression in the show is to me

Don’t mind the typos I’m lying down without my glasses

I really appreciate how subtle they are about characters genders and stuff, characters with commonly male names being played by actresses and they still use stuff like “sir” or “lord” even if they also get referred to as they/them. They don’t make an intense effort to make them look incredibly androgynous either which like- idk it’s nice.

Knowing neither angels or demons have a defined gender also feels so so so nice because it comes paired with the fact they still choose to present in specific ways and use specific pronouns because newsflash bozo someone can be nonbinary or agender and still present masc as fuck or fem as fuck and use either he/him or she/her and if they wake up 2 weeks from now and change that they are still valid.

Which takes me to my second favorite point, Crowley’s change in gender presentation. I know we all know or at the very least agree he’s genderfluid but like I want to highlight the way he does it because it means so much to me. He has obviously chosen to be masc presenting through most of history (that we’ve seen, there could still be periods of time we haven’t seen where she’s been fem) and idk abt you but I was a tumblr teen years ago learning a very skewed version of gender identity and expression where if you wanted to be genderfluid you had to look very attractive as both genders and also PASS as both genders convincingly (as well as being perfectly androgynous when being neither, this also applied to nonbinary people), as well as change it like every 2 days or so and have no preference? That’s the way people would make it seem to me, that’s the way people would portray their genderfluid characters in fandom spaces and that’s the way my teenage mind came to absorb it.

Now, it’s 2024 and I’m sure all of us with common sense know this is bogus but still seeing Crowley just sorta… brightened my everything? Knowing nanny Crowley wasn’t just for the joke, knowing that during certain scenes she was indeed being fem… but the most important part to me is that no matter what he was still HIM, they could have gone the easy route and have an actress play fem Crowley and be like “oh well she’s a demon she can shapeshift whenever ooooo” like so many people do with their ocs (I was one at one point) but it is still obviously him, it is still David Tennant playing Crowley and nobody else and when she’s fem she’s still got the same features the same everything and that’s somehow just… so freeing to see? It’s realistic, it’s grounding. You can be fem and still have overly masculine features, you can be fem and still have facial hair, you can be masc and still wear makeup, you can be masc and not hide your chest.

Now I wish this was all just… more obvious to everyone, I know some of this stuff because I saw posts, I saw people talking about it… but not everyone is gonna go through a 3 hour post scavenger hunt for extra lore like I do and these things are simply not addressed in the show. There IS a certain freeing feeling to the gender stuff not being addressed, it simply happens, it passes by and you might not even notice, but also comes with the double edged sword of people simply thinking SOME of the characters have funny genders but the others don’t.

Sorry I’m distracted rn bc I can hear a fucking bohemian rhapsody cover coming from my moms tv the timing of this is fucking wild, anyways I’m gonna try to get my thoughts back on track

So yeah, to some people like for example my aforementioned mother, the nanny Crowley thing was merely a joke and nothing else, not a brief moment of gender expression but just a perhaps even nasty joke played at the expense of other people. To her every other Crowley before and after that has been strictly cis male and mlm despite the fact I did in fact explain to her that he’s not, same applies to Aziraphale and perhaps even harder because we only ever see him presenting masculine through the entirety of it and trying to explain otherwise to the woman that thinks she can use she/he on me because I’m bisexual will not work (and she refuses to use he/him on me anyways mind you, or my chosen name. Says it’s too complicated, but I know for a fact that if one of the characters had changed their name mid show she would switch to the new name instantly…..yknow… just casual transphobia for me only)

I would like just…a passing comment or a scene that lets everyone know the nuance yknow? Finally something that cannot be disputed by everyone, and you might say “well but Crowley says he’s neither when he gets called a good lad” and to that I say yes but people still dispute the meaning behind it, my mom certainly would. And again you might want to shake the nanny scene in front of me and again I’ll remind you of people thinking it was just a joke, a disguise, a singular haha funny. You might want to gesture towards other scenes or moments or passing phrases but the thing is they will or have already been debated on because people will try to deny it no matter fucking what and it’s FRUSTRATING, so perhaps it’s just me being petty or wanting to give them a good ol fuck you but I’d like it if either Crowley or Aziraphale or both just looked at the camera head on and went “we are not men, also Crowley is genderfluid” no ifs no butts no second meaning just straight to your face, a giant “shut the fuck up” to annoying people.

Now I’m not gonna die if this doesn’t happen, I’m fine with that… it just sorta feels depressing seeing someone in the wild genuinely saying shit like “why are you using she/her for Crowley? He’s a man” my brother in Christ I am about to hit you with the mallet of knowledge and you won’t be able to look at that demon the same way ever again.

The gender expression in good omens matters so much to me as someone who struggles with her own and Crowley and Beelzebub matter so much to me as a little afab genderfluid/nonbinary (I’m not sure yet) motherfucker, I need to go bite some fuckinf ccomcrete right now man, accidental typo but I’m keeping it.

[camdenleisurepirates]

The Walk

Crowley's walk. You know the one. We've watched it. We've commented on it. We even have a term for it, though it doesn't get used often enough: to saunter.

Now technically, to saunter is to "walk leisurely and with no apparent aim", but the term also carries certain connotations - a kind of insouciance, indeed a devil-may-care flippancy that is also intrinsic to Crowley's outward character. (I am leaving aside, for sake of this discussion, that not only does he very much care, he also has a definite aim: to be wherever Aziraphale is. But never mind all that for now).

However, I'm also convinced that the idea of the saunter helped shape Crowley's character in a more literal sense: that is, in the way David Tennant developed his interpretation of Crowley's persona. Actors will sometimes say they can't really get into character until they have the shoes they'll be wearing, as it helps them feel what it's like to be that person. And I think developing The Walk probably served a very similar purpose.

I'd be curious to know whether he worked with anyone as a movement coach or if he's just trained enough at this point to come up with it. I love that at the beginning of his podcast with Michael Sheen they discuss doing warm ups; theater kids all know this is part of the mental shift from being your normal self and into being The Role. And I very much suspect that getting The Saunter down was a crucial element in his becoming Crowley.

And here's the thing - it's not hard to do, really. Not great for your body, maybe, especially if you tend to back issues; but not particularly difficult. Some fans (you know who you are) have described it as being 'dick first' but that isn't quite right. The way to do it is just this: imagine there is a string attached to each of your hipbones that pulls you forward as you go.

That's it. That little shift automatically curves your lower spine, puts your shoulders back and makes your arms hang more loosely. Give it a try if you like; you can feel yourself moving the way Crowley does - cosplayers take note. It's also a rather slutty sexy way to move - if you don't feel like Our Favorite Demon, you will feel like you're on a catwalk. Or a stripper. Stripper on a catwalk.

The hipbone trick likely also informed the way he sometimes launches himself out of an armchair - you can see he braces himself on either side, but it's those hips heading up and out that gets him to standing. (I haven't tried this one; I wish I was that lanky and limber but alas).

Anyway that's my nerdy little TheaterMajor(tm) rant for today, I hope you enjoyed it. Or are at least forgiving of me being totally obsessed.

[timeagainreviews]

Putting the Mid in Midnight: Wild Blue Yonder

If I were to mention the film “The Horror at Party Beach,” no one would blame you for having never heard of it. In the annals of horror history, it left minimal impact on the genre. Why then were audiences asked to sign a “fright waiver,” before being permitted to see the film? Because it was never about the audience dying of fright. It was a dare to the viewer, one almost as old as cinema itself. William Castle used to start his films with a warning to the more delicate members of the audience. Reports of people fainting during “The Exorcist,” or more recently “Terrifier 2,” create a buzz around those films. Can you survive the horror or will you wind up in the hospital? The only way to know for sure is to buy a ticket! This is why when Russell T Davies issued a warning that “Wild Blue Yonder,” was possibly too scary for the kiddies, I saw it for what it was.

While I don’t doubt there was some concern that certain children may be disturbed by the imagery and tone of last night’s episode, it feels more like Davies asking audiences to just go with it. Similarly, Davies also asked us to just go with the idea of David Tennant returning by first introducing us to Ncuti Gatwa. “This isn’t a forever thing or the show moving backwards. Just go it.” After seeing how tumultuous the fandom has been since *checks notes* 1963, it feels like Davies’ tactic to unite the fandom is to encourage them to just go with it. It also feels like Davies is riffing a little, trying new things. “Wild Blue Yonder,” is an engaging exploration of the new while also referencing some of the old. Yet despite all of its experimentation, much of it feels like familiar territory.

First and foremost, I would like to state that I admire the hell out of this episode. On the rad vs trad debate, this puts one giant foot down for rad. With that said and out of the way, we need to talk about that intro. When it comes to the race of Isaac Newton you might say the show should be educational and therefore accurate in its depiction of race. But pretty early on, Doctor Who abandoned all pretence of being educational. And more recent attempts at being educational have left us with Jodie Whittaker spouting off a Wikipedia summary about an asteroid. You could also argue that this is a different type of education. A lesson in what it feels like to see your own people played by someone white. Considering Doctor Who’s history of brownface, I’m gonna say y’all need to chill the fuck out. Just go with it.

My only issue with this scene is much like the issue I had with the Children in Need special. The humour just falls so flat for me. It was a big thud on arrival. From the Kaled anagram sequence to mavity, it just doesn’t work for me. Part of me wonders if this isn’t in part because David Tennant and Catherine Tate were never on set with Nathaniel Curtis. There was no chance of improving with improv. I mentioned last week that some of the representation stuff also felt clunky. It’s weird too because when the show isn’t actively trying to make me laugh or view trans people like myself as valid, it comes off as funny and validating. Sylvia’s tuna masala and or Donna’s love for Rose do such a better job at both, yet they’re the quieter moments of the show thus far. It’s ironic to me that the more powerful moments of the second Davies era have been understated.

It’s easy to write this overstatement off, however. Thinking back to the 50th anniversary special, Clara’s line of turning people into frogs fell flat for me at the time. Now I look back at is as kind of charming. And furthermore, these big events like Children in Need, Christmas, or anniversaries get away with a bit of excess. The humour is more broad because they expect more people to be watching. It’s a time of merriment. It’s also part of why I appreciate “Wild Blue Yonder,” so much. Davies was attempting a weirder “Midnight-esque” episode in the middle of a highly publicised media event. He knew it was a bit of an ask for some audience members. Once again, it feels like an invitation to the rest of the fandom to allow room for exploration. If Doctor Who and the fandom are currently fractured, do we really need to put it back together in the same shape? Does it even need being put back together? Why not just fill the cracks with some seeds and see what grows out of them?

Since “The Star Beast,” aired, I’ve seen some people complaining that the sonic screwdriver has become too OP. Apparently, making sonic barriers is less believable than joining two cut ends of barbed wire. While I do understand that the sonic screwdriver can be a crutch for bad writing, I also understand it to be incredibly cool. Like, I’m sorry, cool beats your need for locked doors any day. If you need absolute realism in what you watch, might I suggest the window? It’s a freaking magic wand, people. Let it be magical. Doctor Who isn’t hard sci-fi. If Doctor Who’s sci-fi were a cheese, it would be brie. It looks hard but it’s gooey at its centre. You can argue that the sonic screwdriver being capable of repairing the TARDIS is too OP, but it’s also the device which removes two major plot conveniences in this episode- the TARDIS and the sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor and Donna are doing this one without a safety net. They’ve both been pared back to who they are as people. I had a feeling going in that this episode was going to have a smaller cast. It feels like Davies taking a stab at a sort of “Heaven Sent,” narrative that dissects the Doctor and Donna. In other ways it feels like an homage to Davies' own pared-back classic “Midnight,” which has gained cult status as one of his best scripts. In the short stories of Robert Aickman, readers are often left unaware when exactly things get strange. His protagonists walk through their worlds unaware of exactly when things turned hostile until they’re in the thick of it. In the same manner, much of the opening scenes of “Wild Blue Yonder,” leave us waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it does, you may not notice right away.

Coming directly off the tonal whiplash of the Isaac Newton scene to a scenario so dangerous that it set off the H.A.D.S. system, it’s nice that the episode eases into its weirdness. The TARDIS’ eerie recitation of the song “Wild Blue Yonder,” echoes through the air with a reminder from Wilf, via Donna, that the song is not a jolly anthem, but a declaration of war. So we sit in the mystery of this gigantic ship sitting at the edge of the universe with its shifting corridors and its slow robot, as we try to ignore the clanking sound just outside the ship. It feels a bit like Doctor Who doing a haunted house in space, but you’re not exactly sure why. It’s Amityville in Space, but good.

With no sonic or TARDIS at his disposal, the Doctor can’t just point his magic wand. Even worse, the Doctor doesn’t even have the benefit of the TARDIS’ translation circuit. Whatever language this civilization uses on their ship, it’s not one of the 57,000,000,205 languages the Doctor can speak. But one language the Doctor can speak is mathematics. The Doctor may not have his tools, but he still has his mind. Deciphering the base ten of this unknown species, the Doctor can begin piecing together what is going on in this ship. Perhaps if he can figure out why an airlock had been jettisoned in the past, it might give a clue to what is happening. If he can remove the threat from the ship, the TARDIS might return. Otherwise, he and Donna could be forever stranded on this ghost ship hovering over nothingness.

If this ship is haunted, we’re about to meet the ghosts who call this place home. The Not-Things arrive quietly. So quiet that the shot establishing two Doctors and two Donnas in separate rooms initially seemed like a bad edit. When did the two of them get split up? It’s hard to remember. But we’re pretty sure the Doctor who licked the goo on the circuit is the real deal. Tasting things to figure out what they are is a classic Tennant move. The Doctor pretending to have a bad reaction to the goo evoked the Fourth Doctor pretending to go mad with power over the Key to Time. I wonder now if that wasn’t the Doctor testing a theory in the back of his mind because Donna was feeling a bit off. The Doctor has shown in the past that he knows when his companion is compromised in some way. Last week we were given early warning signs that the Doctor was becoming increasingly wary of the Meep.

Having the characters note a fluctuation in the temperature or the line “My arms are too long,” felt right at home with things like “Don’t blink!” or “Hey, who turned out the lights?” Their visible breath as an omen of ill tidings sits comfortably next to having two shadows or marking your skin to remember the Silence. I love how Doctor Who can turn everyday things like statues, shop dummies, or seeing your breath into danger. Those are the moments for the children hiding behind the sofa. One of Doctor Who’s greatest strengths is its ability to use allegory to help children face real fears. These are the modern equivalent of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

For a brief moment, I worried the Not-Things were going to spend the whole episode with Donkey Kong arms. While an effective and trippy visual, it would have started to look goofy after the initial shock had worn off. Watching “Return to Oz,” as an adult, I’m no longer scared of the Wheelers, but as a child they had me covering my eyes. Seeing the Doctor and Donna in these twisted forms was disturbing and creepy. I can see how this episode will stick with younger members of the audience for years. I also imagine it as future fetish fuel, but that’s unavoidable. In the words of Community’s Dean Pelton- “This better not awaken anything in me.”

Watching the Doctor and Donna drive away from these twisted angry giants reminded me of Leela and K9 fleeing guards in “The Sunmakers,” or even bits from “Terminator 2: Judgement Day.” I also got whiffs of “Sin-Eaters,” from the Titan comics line. While the sharp teeth and asymmetric contortions of the distorted Doctor and Donna do a lot to sell these monsters, it’s the performances of the actors that tip the scale. Other than the times we’re not supposed to know who is who, they feel like different characters. It started tricking my brain into thinking of the Not-Things as completely different actors.

An issue I have seen come up about the Not-Things is their special effects. If you were worried that the Disney+ money was going to make the show look too polished, worry not. While many of the shots in this episode were very good, and I love the continued use of practical effects, some of the effects of the Not-Things were a bit naff. But much like the Power Rangers effects from the acid ocean scene in “The Halloween Apocalypse,” I found it charming. The only one shot from any of these sequences that I would call bad is the shot of the Not-Thing Doctor with his head between his legs. It should have either been cut or reworked.

It’s hard to talk about the plot in this story. Mysteries are looming, but for the most part it’s a series of chases punctuated by “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” paranoia. But that isn’t to say that the screen time is wasted. Davies uses this as an opportunity to explore the Doctor’s emotional state after the events of the Flux. Something which hadn’t seemed to affect the Doctor much since the end of “The Vanquishers.”  It’s also interesting to know Davies hasn’t forgotten that half the universe was destroyed by the Flux, as Chibnall seemed to have forgotten immediately after. A friend even texted me today saying how Davies treated the Flux more seriously than Chibnall, and I don’t disagree. I felt like he did a better job explaining what actually happened during the Flux. Perhaps it was bad writing, or perhaps I had already given up hope on the era, but I had no idea that the Flux had anything to do with the Doctor. I’m not even joking. It wasn’t even apparent how much of the universe had been destroyed until last night. I learned more about the Flux from a couple of lines of dialogue than I did from six episodes of “The Flux.”

After the Doctor and Donna suss out who is who, they manage to put a little space between them and the Not-Things first by way of a line of salt and ultimately by a glass door. It was at this point in the episode that I made the strongest connections to “Midnight.” The doppelgangers watching Donna and the Doctor’s every move, reading every thought, to mimic them perfectly was a lot like the creature on the Midnight tour shuttle. In both stories the creatures even reach a point where they begin studying their prey. Noting every minor movement and tic. In both stories, formless creatures are looking to hitch a ride in someone else’s body to wreak untold havoc elsewhere. Because of these similarities, I see this story as a spiritual sequel to “Midnight.” A sort of loving homage to the Tenth Doctor and Donna era.

The Not-Things dwelled in the vast nothingness at the edge of our universe growing to despise our boiling noisy existence. Like the song “Wild Blue Yonder,” their response to our shouting into the void is a declaration of war. They seemingly hate us for our existence. When the mystery ship arrived, they saw it as a perfect vessel to bring destruction to the universe. The Captain of this ship must have figured this out as it was she who set their demise into motion. Realising that the Not-Things have a harder time mimicking or noticing things that move slowly, the Captain set the ship’s robot on a very slow course to set the ship on self-destruct. She then threw herself out of the airlock to prevent the Not-Things from fully taking her form.

The Doctor and Donna’s discovery of the horselike Captain’s body as the source of the clanging against the ship demands a bit of discussion. In yet another clunky attempt at trans inclusion, the Doctor and Donna try and work out the pronouns of the Captain. The Doctor affirms to Donna that the Captain was a she, but gives no basis as to how he arrived at this conclusion. I find this noteworthy simply because it actually plays into a transphobic meme that says when trans people die, archaeologists will misgender us by our bones. Because by what means did the Doctor know the Captain was a she? He couldn’t even read her language. What if she was the first trans masc horse Captain? Are we really not gonna stan a horse king because of how his bones look? Obviously, I’m taking the piss. But I do feel like this illustrates the responsibility one takes on when they aim toward validating representation. A simple line to clear up how the Doctor knows this would help because otherwise, he’s just guessing with no reasoning to back it up.

Another weird aspect of this episode was the aforementioned glass door. If I had a quid for every time a Doctor Who 60th anniversary special ended with characters being separated by a glass door in a spaceship, I’d have two quid. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice. Also weird is that this episode marks the second time since we met the Fourteenth Doctor that the TARDIS enters a location by slamming into a wall. The first time being the Children in Need special “Destination: Skaro.” I would say this feels significant, but the TARDIS does land smoothly next to Cyber Dog at the beginning of “The Star Beast.” Another crash landing which could also mean nothing would be the TARDIS slamming into the tree that drops an apple on Isaac Newton’s head. Speaking of meaning nothing, what even was the point of that scene? Was it all to set up the mavity joke and the Doctor’s queerness? Or did it have a greater meaning? If not, they really should have just cut it all together. Perhaps air it as a minisode the day before “Wild Blue Yonder.” As an episode opener, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

After the Doctor almost escapes with the wrong Donna, the TARDIS gets a chance to show off its new ramps by using them to eject Not-Thing Donna like a middle-aged bowling ball. Our little android friend, now sped-up to real-time pushes the destruct button and takes the ship and Not-Things with it, thus finishing the Horse Captain’s brave mission to save the universe. I was sad we never really got to know the little robot. Its design reminded me a bit of Marvin the Paranoid Android from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” I was ready to love its personality and then mourn its sacrifice. It’s weird that in some ways, the fan theory that we would see twisted versions of the Doctor did come halfway true. Only in this version, there was no evil Matt Smith or Peter Capaldi. It’s been a bit interesting to see the fan theories come so close yet remain so far away.

Bookending the episode is another scene removed from the main storyline, only this is a book I actually want to read. Returning the TARDIS back to the Cyber Dog location where it was last seen, we get our first glimpse of Wilfred Mott since “The End of Time.” Sadly, it’s also the final time Bernard Cribbins will grace the screen of Doctor Who ever again. This brief cameo was all they were able to film before Cribbins passed away in 2022. I think it’s safe to assume that most of us got a bit teary-eyed seeing ol’ Wilf one last time. As the Fourteenth Doctor said “I loved that man.” I’ve never met a Whovian who didn’t love his character. Seeing Wilf waiting for the Doctor and Donna to return, still believing in the Doctor after all these years, is exactly how you want to remember him. An ever-loyal soldier who doesn’t leave his post. And so shall he never leave our hearts. It was bitter-sweet, but I’m so glad we got to say goodbye.

Ultimately, this episode kept me engaged throughout its entire runtime. But where it falls short of “Midnight,” is in its inability to create the same level of tension. Perhaps it has to do with the special effects revealing so much under bright lighting. There is less left to our imaginations this time around, and therefore the scares are more on the surface. This doesn’t automatically make them uninteresting, only less engaging. It reminded me at times of the special effects from the new “It,” film series. At times it was creepy and at other times it felt like something from a computer. I’m still deeply interested in the dread the Doctor felt after introducing superstition at the edge of the universe, where the rules of reality are less defined. That seems like a bigger plot point that furthers my belief that RTD plans to continue breaking Doctor Who wide open. If I were to compare the quality of “Wild Blue Yonder,” to previous Doctor Who stories, I would go with “The Idiot’s Lantern,” or maybe “Flatline.” Both of these are episodes I enjoy but they aren’t earth-shattering either. As I said in my “Eve of the 60th” article, I would settle for competent and competent was what we got. I'm still very excited for what's to come.

[variousqueerthings]

a few things i appreciated about the much ado about nothing with dt and ct:

very much enjoyed that they both exhibit loser-behaviour. that is, there can be a risk in this play of making beatrice too right and benedick just someone who's gotta level up to deserve her, but this one really allowed both of them to be brilliant as well as stupid, which is fun because it makes both of them more complex and equal to one another + I think it's fun for an actress to be a little silly sometimes and this role really allows for it, and especially an actress like catherine tate to be familiarly hilarious, which makes the parts where she's deadly serious hit all the harder

I feel like with the doctor and donna, yes it's text that they're not sexually or romantically attracted to each other and I am so very into that of course, but I'm just so happy to see proof that they could shift their tension a little to the left and be pretty damn sizzling -- this especially because donna was a couple of years older than rose and martha and I sometimes feel like people who read romantic and/or sexual context into things do so because they're reading a conventional early-20s youthful sexiness to the female characters. so just having them go "we can be very very sexy with each other if we so desire" was fun

several people have pointed out david tennant in a skirt vs catherine tate in a suit, and i will do so as well, specifically because that was so veeeery t4t bisexuality of them, and i feel like there was a deliberate choice in the party scene to make the audience think about femininity and masculinity as it pertains to sexuality and power, specifically through the lens of these two characters and their equal status with one another. it means that when we get to the more direct confession at the failed wedding, when beatrice is wearing a plunging blue dress and benedick is in full uniform, that feels directly juxtaposed -- the costuming deserves its whole own analysis really, and i'm sure someone's done that, but specifically those two scenes make my brain go brrr

the way it moved from comedy to drama and back again so effortlessly. the way it placed emphasis on certain words in order to give sentences new meanings. simply the general feeling of very deep, deliberate engagement with the text

catherine tate's boobs. they did those costumes like that on purpose, you cannot convince me otherwise

[spacefunclubs]

Actually makes me so upset looking up YouTube and Twitter in the Doctor Who and David Tennant tags and seeing so many transphobes and bigoted losers complain about the latest specials being "woke" over that small scene of Fourteen asking the Meep its pronouns and the metacrisis resolution between Donna and Rose.

It's actually so disheartening, seeing so many people missing the fucking point of Doctor Who, and these are also the same people who shat on Jodie's entire run bc BWAAAA, WAHMAN NO BE DOCTOR!!1!1! and lord knows what's gonna happen when Ncuti's run finally begins and what he'll have to endure with these bigoted losers with a huge ass victim complex. Doctor Who is a show that has been vocally anti-fascist since the beginning with episodes reflecting the UK recovering from the effects of WWII with the Daleks being a metaphor for Nazis, feminism, or hell, even episodes in the new run of Doctor Who way back when it started in 2005 talking about themes of slavery, government corruption, and even subtle LGBT+ themes with Jack Harkness being an openly flirtatious bisexual, Bill Potts being openly lesbian, and hell, even Martha being the first black companion in Doctor Who history (Bill being the second). Not to mention the Twelfth Doctor, who these "fans" claim they stopped watching the show after he regenerated but completely gloss over this fact, sucker punching a racist who was harassing Bill. Not to mention the Doctor as a whole character growing more love and empathy with every new regeneration and not being afraid to emotionally express themselves with love instead of having to hide it, something these "fans" fail to have or even see and understand. So yeah, your "pwecious wittle show" has always been this way, believe it or not!!

And I am SO tired of seeing posts of these bigots asking how much David Tennant got paid for saying that pronoun line or even seeing dumbass video thumbnails of David Tennant saying stupid shit like "RIP DOCTOR WHO" when these assholes gloss over the fact that not only would his character (or any incarnation of the Doctor in general) would HATE these types of people, but also David in general. This whole year, he has been openly showing his support for the LGBT+ community, ESPECIALLY trans and nonbinary folks, between pride pins, the "Leave Trans Kids Alone" shirt, and even voicing his support at certain conventions. AND not to mention his lips were on Michael Sheen in the last season of Good Omens this summer (and his character being a genderfluid demonic entity similar to the Doctor) AND even WAY before that (Richard II) AND playing a trans woman A WHOLE 3 decades ago WAY BEFORE his Doctor Who fame. So no, he wasn't paid to do this shit, he's been doing this for FREE, which is what it costs y'all to not be an asshole. And, not to boast, but when I met him at New York Comic Con last month, I felt so safe around him even with just those few moments when I met him. He's the most kind, humble, gentle hearted soul on this planet and basically the only celebrity I stan bc of all this, so no, I don't think he would support your ideals bc you're just sad and pathetic chronically online cry babies that never felt a touch of a real person.

So fucking tired of dudebros feeling like they're entitled to their "pwecious wittle show" over being "woke" (which BTW, that word has been so overused to death, I don't even think these people know what it even means anymore and just use it as a meaningless insult) when really, they're just coping and seething over the fact that this show ain't for them and wanna be angry for the sake of being angry. So by all means, fuck off and take your anger elsewhere bc we clearly don't need it and it's making me and every other sane fan uncomfortable with your unprovoked anger. It's a trend that I've seen grow between this fandom, the Star Wars fandom, or any other geek-centric fandom online ever since Trump was in power, and it's really sad to see this type of bigotry grow in fan spaces like this. Y'all are better than this, get some help.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

Doctor Who: 73 Yards Review. Short Version: WHAT?

So, this review’s late because there’s not a lot to actually say about 73 Yards. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad episode, per se, but it definitely had a certain filler-y quality to it. The Doctor steps on a witchy string thing and vanishes because of supernatural nonsense, leaving Ruby to deal with a creepy woman in black who’s always exactly 73 yards away from her: a sort of manifestation bound to her at a set distance. Other people can approach the woman, but if they speak to her, she tells them something and they run away in terror, after which point they refuse to even speak to Ruby again, meaning she can’t get any useful information on the spectre or entity or whatever-the-fuck-she-is. And, to be honest, it’s all pretty effective and spooky: a good premise for a horror story that works well for as long as its happening. The problem is that there’s very little substance under the hood.

Oh, there’s some chaff about a psychotic Prime Minister planning to start a nuclear war, which Ruby has to fix by positioning herself 73 yards from the fellow so her mysterious stalker will appear besides him and terrify him into resigning from office. I’m not even sure that counts as a spoiler because it just kinda happens and then the episode continues to putter along, following the course of Ruby’s life as she tries to live without the Doctor and with her creepy shadow. Almost as though none of it mattered even slightly.

At the end of the episode, we finally get an explanation for the woman in black. See, it turns out it was Ruby herself all along! That is to say, when Ruby’s an old woman and on her death bed, the entity touches her and she becomes the entity, sent back in time to the moment she first appeared- or rather, just a few seconds earlier- so she can fix the timeline and stop the Doctor stepping on the witchy thing. As explanations go, it’s very Who-ish: a riff on classic sci-fi tropes with a twist. But, er, it doesn’t seem to match with what we know about the Mysterious Woman (fuck it, I’m just going to start using capitals for the sake of clarity, even if they were, in no sense, earned). I mean, why would Ruby’s older self scare away everyone Ruby knows and loves, alienating her and preventing her from living her life with any kind of support network? Also, how? I mean, Ruby’s old as balls by the end of this decade-spanning episode, but she’s not an eldritch, Lovecraftian horror. Sure, she’s probably seen some shit, but she doesn’t know any deep, dark cosmic secrets that would send everyone around her running for the hills. She’s just a nice old lady whose come in stuck in time, Slaughterhouse 5-stylee. The explanation we’re ultimately given therefore feels like it’s for a completely different set of events to the ones we saw. I’d have been fine with the Mysterious Woman being left completely unexplained, like the thing in the David Tennant episode Midnight (in which the best we get is vague theories and reckons from the tormented characters), and I’d have been equally fine with a full, satisfying explanation. This ‘explanation that doesn’t make sense’ thing… yeah, I’m not pleased. It feels like an attempt to resolve the episode while deliberately laying down a mystery at the same time, but it’s a slapdash way of doing it; an ill-fated compromise between true unknowability and a real resolution. I wasn’t a fan.

Another minor complaint: what does this episode have against the Welsh? When Ruby first realises she’s being stalked by the Mysterious Woman, she flees to a little Welsh pub and the locals use it as a chance to mock her relentlessly. They act like their steeped in the supernatural and don’t know about banking apps (for some reason), and then accuse Ruby of racism when she takes them at face value and believes them. They refuse to take the fact she has a potentially dangerous stalker seriously and diminish the validity of her dread at every turn, offering no help whatsoever. Later, the evil Prime Minister is also from Wales. Er, what? Why is every Welsh person in this episode an irredeemable cunt? I’ve been to Wales. Broadly speaking, the people are pretty nice, if a natz more sarcastic than the UK average. I don’t get what 73 Yards’ damage is.

So yeah: that’s the episode. A spooky story undermined by its own explanation and inexplicable anti-Welsh racism. Go figure. On the plus side, the upcoming instalment promises a scathing critique of social media and giant slugs, so that ought to be good for a laugh.

EDIT: someone just replied to point out that Russel T. Davies is, himself, Welsh. For those of you who don't read the comments, I figured I'd add this edit-y bit. I mean, I don't know if it contextualises the show's weirdly hostile portrayal of Wales or just makes it more baffling, but it seems like important information for an unbiased reviewer to provide and an informed reader to have. So there ya go. RTD is Welsh and this episode, written by RTD, portrays the Welsh as unreasonable nutters. Make of that what you will.

[purplemoonabove]

Here’s what I find amusing about this:

1. It’s Shakespeare. As far as I know since coming back to Tumblr this year, this may the first time I’ve seen him be brought up on social media as a trend than an playwriter you know instantly from the plays you learn in school.

2. The second picture inside the picture. Do I even need to explain? No. Too bad, I will — David Tennant! Like, can’t get any better than that! Him doing Shakespeare is the number one reason I’m a fan of him now! Not by Doctor Who, not by his appearance in the Goblet of Fire (which is when I saw his face for the first time), not even Good Omens before loving the hell out of it. If anything, if I had the chance to go back in time and meet Shakespeare, I would thank him for his plays. Because one of them led me to acknowledging this perfection of an actor 😍

3. I’m a writer (that might be my catchphrase whenever I’m writing in a comment or post or whatever online). Shakespeare is one of the playwriters I have admired as a teen – was a huge fan of Romeo and Juliet, learned of Caesar and Macbeth along the way, found out certain European actors I know of has done Shakespeare (much to my surprise), and so on. So even though it’s not top 3, it’s top 10 and it makes me impressed and happy, especially when I still admire his writing today as inspiration for my own

(I also need this look and expression in GO s3, Crowley lashing out his feelings at Aziraphale)

Forevermore when thinking of Shakespeare, I’m picturing David on the stage 😂😍

[fearsomefive]

- Your top five DTs episodes

- Rant about anything

Astro Boyd (obviously fhfhdh), Let’s Get Dangerous, Whatever Happened to Della Duck, The Golden Spear, and I can’t decide on a fifth but I loved Louie’s Eleven when I rewatched it recently so I’m gonna go with that for now

Also I’m one of those people who totally blanks when not given something specific to talk about so I’m just gonna talk about random Ducktales opinions. Specifically, this show is WAY better to me now than it was in 2018. It’s not without its issues obviously (no show is), but the emotional scenes hit way harder now and it’s just one big masterpiece. David Tennant, Paget Brewster, and everyone whose character appeared in Astro Boyd especially did an amazing job selling the emotion in certain scenes. And they’re all really funny as well??? I love it

I have a soft spot for Danny Pudi in particular because his portrayals of both Huey and Abed Nadir make me feel so seen. Like, personality wise, I basically AM both of them combined. Outside of Astro Boyd, my favorite serious scene of his is the locker scene in Community. It hits so close to home and even with Abed’s usual vocal inflections you can almost feel Abed’s pain when he thinks about all the people who have mistreated him. I’m amazed by that scene.

Also, I really love how different Huey and Abed actually act. I almost consider ‘Abed Nadir Danny Pudi’ and ‘Huey Duck Danny Pudi’ to be kinda different because it’s like he just transforms when he plays these characters.

[lol-jackles]

Have you seen season 2 of Good Omens? Honestly and season 1 I would hardly call it a masterpiece or perfect. It was just fun, sweet and kind. And the biggest plus is the cast - Michael Sheen and David Tennant. They are both extremely talented and charismatic. And they are the ones who carry season 2. The rest of the characters, although not bad, but they don't catch on. And the biggest problem is the plot. When the story revolves around the main characters the series is interesting to watch, but when the focus shifts the feeling that the series sags. Also glad that for the first time in the series we got canon(?). Of course everything didn't end happily, but the tie-in for season 3 was necessary. And in a way, I'm personally happy with this finale. Otherwise everything would have looked too sugary and unnatural. So a certain drama is maintained and that's a plus. And of course it's funny to watch the anger and frustration of the hellers who still think they've been robbed of canon from a couple who were never originally involved in each other, much less interested. Unlike Aziraphale and Crowley. Though I'll be honest, I never thought or expected them to be a couple. It takes season 3 to become a couple though. And here's my main problem. With all things considered, is all of this enough to get a season 3? I think with everything I wrote above, the series may not be renewed and I would be truly sorry not to get the story of Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship. What are your thoughts and bets?

I enjoyed season 2, though I remember thinking while watching the first four episodes "are they ever going to get to the point?". I was getting impatient and kept thinking how so many of these tv streaming series are better off as 2-hour movies (Kenobi, third season of The Mandalorian, etc).

And then it finally got to the point, it was about love.

The love between Gabriel and Beelzebub reminded me a bit of the love between Sam and Dean: selfish and honest. Gab and Beel only care about themselves and each other, they didn’t want to deal with Apocalypse2.0 and they didn’t want to protect the humans or earth. And yet Gabe and Beel showed that love could be easy if you're honest, so it was easy for them to give up everything for each other.

Aziraphale is not selfish, he is willing to give up everything he loves - his bookshop, his food, even Crowley - just to save the earth. He also wants to make heaven into the good place it should’ve have been, and he thought giving Crowley back his angel status is what he deserves, because Azi have seen over and over again the good Crowley has done and that he's actually good. But Azi doesn't understand that isn't what Crowley wants, who makes it worse by not doing a good job communicating this to Azi. Granted, they both were not truly listening to what the other is saying because they already made up their mind before the conversation started. Crowley believes Azi choosing heaven over him while Azi believes Crowley, by rejecting heaven, is also rejecting him. Despite what Azi believes, he still "forgives" Crowley.

Those two have a lot to unpack, which is all a set up for season 3. With that said, the "sad" "bittersweet" ending kind of saved the whole season for me because otherwise, as you said, it would have been too saccrhine and unnatural-ish and why I was getting impatient for the show to get to their point.

I agree the characters other than Azi and Crowley were ....just there. I was glad that Nina and Maggie didn't end up together just yet since Nina is on a rebound. Crowley thinking all it takes for human to fall in love was getting them wet and looking into each other eyes is never going to be not funny. Crowley, are you sure you didn't know Jane Austen was an author and not just a master spy?

Will Good Omen get a season 3? I read it was the #1 comedy on Amazon so the odds are in their favor. Unlike season 2 which didn't really have a story arc, they set up season 3 to be a callback to season 1's Apocalypse storyline with the Second Coming, so a foundation is already established.