#donna's face says it all

[batfam-belfry]

Dick Grayson's best-kept secret is that he once got taken out by a gas pump. If his siblings found out, he would never hear the end of it

[objectivelyimpermanent]

I'm sure that this has already been noted, but is Rogue a Timelord?

Rogue and the Doctor are equated to one another a lot. Some of this could be just two people finding similar interests to encourage fondness, thereby driving the romance plot. Both are troublesome and both like Kylie Minogue. The Doctor does seem like a more experienced or emotionally healthy (or "post-therapy") person trying to get someone more shy or less experienced out of their shell.

But it's more that that. There's the obvious in the name: Rogue sounds very Timelord of a name. But there's also the framing of when they introduce themselves to each other. Rogue is interrogated as as much a name as "the Doctor" is a name.

There's also the obvious time-travel in a ship that can be cloaked with a central console that makes it look a little like a retro-TARDIS. Others also have pointed out that 15's offer to Rogue to argue "across the stars" sounds a lot like the offer 10 gave to undead Simm!Master.

Retro-TARDIS. Time travel capabilities. Apparent 20th-21st centuries Earth-focus, with the fondness for Kylie Minogue. Apparent recognition of 14/10's face on Rogue's part, and we know now that faces can reappear, so that doesn't necessarily root any possible acquaintanceship at any point in either of their timelines.

Now, I'm not saying that Rogue is the Master. I think there's something even funnier.

What if Rogue is also the Doctor?

[fadeintoyou1993]

twin peaks reddit worst place on earth if you love donna hayward

[rangerfromstarship]

anyone wanna talk about how Ncuti Gatwa is looking really really peaceful and soft at the end of the trailer?

[brokenhardies]

Two Birds AU Aesthetic

"Two birds on a wire/One tries to fly away/And the other/Watches him close from that wire/She says she wants to as well/But she is a liar"

Taglist

@darth-caillic​ @sterling-writes​ @wonderguards​ @reirvival​ @arrthurpendragon​ @foxesandmagic @eddysocs @superspookyjanelle (want to be added or removed? send an ask or a dm!)

[quietwingsinthesky]

the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head

[burningupasun]

I've resisted watching the Doctor Who specials since they came out because for some reason the thought of it was making me anxious even though I was fully spoiled so it wasn't that.

Anyway my husband and I watched the first two yesterday and hoo boy did it make me emotional lol. I was crying.

[roscvcins]

general tag drop.

[evan-buck]

DOCTOR WHO Journey's End / Wild Blue Yonder

[savanir]

Danny made an innocent comment comparing Kyle and Dick

Danny is very new in the "official" hero scene so all his comparisons are very surface level. Aka, they are both fun to be around. Easy to talk to. Have a similar build and the same hair colour.

And now Wally is going on a super speed rant about how wrong he is.

Danny, a younger brother, chronic shit starter, always down for a brawl because of his ghost side, enjoyer of having guys on top of him and general menace just let's a smirk spread over his face, chooses violence and then interrupts the speedster by saying.

"They are also both cops"

The look on wally's face is priceless, Danny thinks he'd be dead if the guy had heat vision.

"But at least Kyle is a super space cop, meanwhile-"

"That's it!"

Gar is on the floor laughing and Donna is trying really hard to figure out how she's going to break up a brawl between a guy with superspeed and a ghost she can't touch unless he let's her.

[jenanigans1207]

What I wanted so badly was for Mary to learn about her boys from Cas. Like that night where Cas finds her when she can’t sleep and she expresses that she just doesn’t know anything about her sons since she missed so much?? All I wanted was for Cas to sit down with her at the table and just start telling her about them. Basic stuff at first: their favorite foods, their sleeping habits, the stuff he’s just observed by being their passenger for years.

And then I want him to say something totally Cas, like “Dean always wears more layers but that’s because his body naturally runs two degrees colder than Sam’s. But that’s normal for him and not indicative of any illness, so it’s nothing to worry about.”

And as they talk, it starts to get a little deeper, and Cas tells her more. He tells her about what she missed, about all the horrible things that happened to her sons and how they coped; how it changed them. And he tells her about Sam, he does, but really it ends up being all about Dean.

He’ll tell her about how Dean clenches his fists when he’s upset, even as he tries to keep his face impassive. About how Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel when he’s anxious. He’ll tell her about Dean’s nightmares, about the ways he’s chosen to cope. He’ll tell her how to know when to approach Dean and when to give him space, how to gently acknowledge what he’s feeling without pushing him too far.

And with every word he says, Mary’s curious head tilt from when she’d seen them hug in reunion turns into a bone deep type of certainty. Because Cas is telling her things that only someone who paid special attention would notice. He’s telling her things that only someone very, very close to her son’s heart would know.

Cas will tell her the cliff notes of what they’ve been through; will tell her how the whole world looked to Dean and he rose to the occasion over and over again. He’ll tell her about Dean’s doubts in himself and then vehemently declare them as wrong and explain, at length, why. He will tell her about the people Dean has loved— the people who loved him like he was their own— and lost. He will tell her about Bobby, Ellen, Jody, Donna, and Charlie. He’ll tell her about Claire, too, and how Dean stepped up.

And the whole time, Mary will have this realization that oh, she may not have been around to guide and protect her sons, but there was always someone there to care for them and support them when they needed it. She will realize that she and John may have left them, but they were never alone.

But more than that, there was someone there for Dean. Someone picking Dean over and over again while Dean picked Sam, or the world, over himself. There was someone fighting for Dean when he wasn’t fighting for himself. There was someone who saw Dean, and loved him unconditionally.

Sitting across from her, at the asscrack of dawn, filling her in on all the things she missed was every mother’s dream: someone who loved her child with the kind of devotion that would break the world. And from the sounds of the stories she was being told, it did break the world. Someone whose love is entirely untainted and comes without any strings attached.

It’s so clear to her as she listens to Cas talk that Cas loves Dean with no expectations. That loving Dean is something he just does, like he doesn’t know how not to love Dean, like the possibility of not loving him never occurred to Cas. He loves Dean in a way that Mary knows can and will soothe Dean’s sharp edges and battered heart. He loves Dean in the kind of pure way that tells Mary that it will continue to endure and overcome everything without ever diminishing, even the littlest amount.

Mary, through tears, will tell Cas how she always told Dean that there were angels watching over him. And before Cas can make some comment about Dean being the Righteous Man and the interest of most of Heaven, she will place a hand over his and give him a motherly look that will convey all the things she’s not sure how to say— and the things she’s not sure Cas is ready to hear yet. And Cas will flush and look away, mumbling about how her son is very special to him.

And when she pulls him into a hug and murmurs thank yous into his shoulder, she will be comforted in the knowledge that her sons turned out to be wonderful men, and that they managed to stay together through everything. She will be comforted to know that no matter what happens, no matter her shortcomings as she tries to fill a role she never meant to leave, Sam will have Dean and Dean will have Cas.

And this time, when Cas tells her that she belongs here, she will believe him. And she will tell him that he belongs here, too.

And when Dean wakes up a few hours later and wanders in to find Mary and Cas still chatting over the table, he’ll be surprised— but pleased— to find Mary looking more at ease. He’ll be pleased when she gives him a warm hug and pats him on the cheek and tell him with all the sincerity that only a mother can muster that she’s glad that he met Castiel. And when Dean agrees, a little confused, Mary will just smile at him.

“I always said I’d like a third son.” She says, “so give him a reason to take our last name, won’t you?”

And Dean will splutter and turn fifteen shades of red as he steadfastly doesn’t look at Cas but mumbles something that suggests he’s not against the idea at all.

And Mary will laugh again and wink at an equally red Cas before heading towards the kitchen like “Cas said waffles are your favorite, so I hope you’re hungry!”

[lucyrose191]

CALM IN THE STORM| H.SPECTER

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Wife!reader

Summary: The entire firm knew how temperamental Harvey Specter was and whenever he was in one of those moods, they knew it was going to be a painful day, until they found the only thing that could calm him down.

Warnings: none.

Suits Master List

Harvey Specter could be described as many things; arrogant, rude, uptight, stone-faced and most certainly hot headed. It wasn’t hard to piss him off but it was certainly difficult to calm him down and once his mood was ruined the entire day was doomed.

It was quite frankly anyone’s worst day whenever Harvey wasn’t in a good mood because they always took the brunt of it and there was no way to fix it.

Or so they thought.

If there was one thing anyone would say about Donna Paulsen, it was that she knew everything, which meant she knew exactly what would calm Harvey Specter down.

His wife.

Y/N Specter wasn’t a lawyer, she was an aerospace engineer which was just as, if not more impressive than being a lawyer and Harvey Specter worshipped the ground she walked on.

After watching Mike Ross leave Harvey’s office with near tears streaming down his face, Donna had enough and picked up the phone.

Y/N’s attention was momentarily drawn away from her computer at the sound of her office phone ringing but continued looking through data as she answered "Y/N Specter speaking."

A sigh of relief was heard through the line before Donna’s voice filtered through. "Y/N! Thank god! I don’t know what the hell is up Harvey’s arse today but he’s nearly made Mike cry three times and it’s only 10 o’clock, can you please come and save us," her husband’s secretary practically begged.

Y/N smiled, leaning back in her chair, work forgotten. This wasn’t the first time she had received a phone call like this and she found it hilarious just how much her husband built within people, he was a real softy around her.

Luckily for her, she had a lot of freedom in her role, she had proven herself for many years before that she was now able to come and go from work as she pleased, being fully trusted that no matter how often she was hear her work was always done.

"I won’t be long," she said before hanging up, not wasting time in grabbing her things to make her way to her husband’s workplace.

As she walked towards her husbands office, Y/N bit down her laughter as she saw the obvious signs of relief on everyone’s faces as she walked by.

"Y/N you have no idea how happy I am to see you," Donna greeted her as she approached her desk, "He’s miserable in there."

Y/N looked through the glass into her husbands office and found that the redhead was telling the truth, the heavy frustration on her husband’s face was hard to miss.

She gave Donna a smile before making her way into Harvey’s office.

The man sighed heavily hearing his office door open, not looking up from the case file open in front of him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Y/N smiled, “and does that include me?”

Harvey’s head snapped up at the sweet, smooth tone of his wife’s voice, feeling the tension in his shoulders deflate just from her presence. "Y/N?”

“Hey handsome." She smirked slightly, walking around his desk, he turned in his chair just as she stood in front of him.

He looked up at her in the same way he always did, there was nothing but pure love in those eyes, “What are you doing here?"

Y/N smiled lovingly at him, stepping forward to stand between his legs, wrapping her arms around the back of his head. “You’re scaring your colleagues.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, sitting up to rest his hands on her waist. “They’re ridiculous.”

Y/N hummed, “maybe, but how could I deny the chance to come and see you?”

“Fair point, I can understand the struggle of not seeing my handsome face for a couple hours,” Harvey replied, dead serious, smiling as his wife rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle slap to the shoulder.

“What’s got you all worked up, darling?” She asked.

Harvey released a deep breath, sparing a glance to the case sitting open on his desk. “I didn’t even want to represent the guy but Jessica knows him, I know him to be a complete prick."

Y/N thought for a moment before inviting herself further into his space, forcing her way into his lap, not that he was complaining, he just tightened his grip around her, leaning back into his chair. “Well, how about I treat you to lunch?” She proposed.

Harvey smiled tiredly. “I’d love that, baby." He replied, earning a bright smile from his wife who leaned forward to press a loving kiss to his lips before standing back up, pulling him up with her,

“Come on then, we’ve kept Ray waiting long enough.”

The smile on Harvey’s face was a stark contrast to the frustration he had been hounding earlier and it was all down the angel in front of him who wouldn’t even allow him to grab his coat, too persistent in dragging him through his office door.

As they made their way out of the building, they paid no attention to the uncomfortable weight that seemed to lift from everyone’s shoulders.

One thing for sure is that the entire firm were relieved for the existence of Y/N Specter.

[miametropolis]

when the Doctor goes to the Powell Estate on New Year’s Eve as he’s dying, he asks Rose what year it is. all of the other visits were so calculated. he saves Mickey and Martha on a distant planet, just in the nick of time. he swats Luke out of the road before a car comes. he goes back in time and finds Geoffrey Noble, borrowing a quid, and gives Wilf a winning lottery ticket worth millions. he caught Donna’s wedding, just as she stepped out of the church.

But Rose. Oh, with Rose.

the Doctor says: “what year is this?” because he doesn’t even know.

do you think he just jammed his hands into the telepathic circuit as his body failed? do you think he just dreamt of her, desperately, the one face he was dying to see? do you think he hoped, prayed, that somehow he’d end up on her doorstep?

and the he’s in an alleyway full of snow. in London. and he knows that building, knows those stairs. and it’s finally snowing, for real this time. and he sees her, doesn’t even mean to speak to her, too afraid of timelines and paradoxes as putting her at risk…

but he’s in pain, and he grunts, and Rose—always ready to help someone in pain—turns around.

and the Doctor says: “what year is this?”

and when Rose says it’s 2005…oh, how his face lights up. It’s all ahead for her. And for him, too. I bet—he says—you’re gonna have a really great year...

[darkmatilda]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which both of you take garcia's joke about kissing to ease the tension a bit too seriously

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader wearing a red lipstick, elevator taking an absurdly long timepurely for plot purposes (you'll thank me for this later, trust me) kissing purr

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.7k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

“Reid, seriously—”

“No, Morgan, listen, this actually makes a lot of sense...”

“This doesn’t fit our profile at all...”

“It changes it, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be true. The unsub could be a woman. I mean, look, just consider how clean the crime scenes were, and the fact that such precise, planned murders are more often the domain of women, just like revenge as a motive—revenge even for events from a very distant past...”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Morgan cut him off, turning his back to the kitchen counter, a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hand, steam still rising from it. He gave his drink a meaningful glance. “Right now, this is my well-deserved time to clear my head. Without that, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back to working on this case—none have drained me this much in a long time...”

He shook his head lightly, taking a sip of coffee. Reid rolled his eyes upward in irritation, but ultimately sighed, defeated. Fine. Morgan could have this fifteen minutes for his, as he called it, clearing of thoughts. But after that, nothing would stop him from giving a thorough explanation of why, in his opinion, the unsub was a woman…

“Well, what he said was actually very, very interesting,” someone spoke up.

They both shifted their gaze to the woman who had just entered the shared kitchen. Though her words expressed intrigue, there was also a certain wicked undertone suggesting a forthcoming sharp remark. Spencer had perfected sensing that by now, so he sighed heavily, clearly irritated, even before she could say anything more.

Morgan elbowed him so hard that Spencer had to grab his ribs.

“Behave,” he muttered, reaching for the second cup on the counter, which he handed toward the woman. “Good morning, prima donna. Your coffee.”

He handed her the drink he’d prepared earlier, which she took without breaking her meaningful gaze with Spencer.

“See? That’s the kind of greeting I expect”

Spencer simply snorted at the thought of him saying something like that upon seeing her. He’d probably rather spend an hour in a room with no doors or windows, forced to discuss things with a group of flat-earthers.

“Sure. Maybe everyone should just fall at your feet right away?” 

She shrugged.

“If that’s what turns you on, then why not.”

He rolled his eyes, and her smirk flashed in his face before she took a sip of the coffee made just for her. Involuntarily, he glanced toward the kitchen exit, wondering if this was the right moment to leave—things hadn’t been going too well between them lately. Okay, they’d never exactly had the best relationship, but every now and then they managed to have at least five minutes of relatively peaceful conversation. And that, he had to admit—even though it didn’t come easily to him—was actually quite enjoyable. The kind of conversation you want to continue, and when it’s prematurely interrupted, you take it with disappointment.

But that wasn’t the case anymore. After their last argument, a certain electrified wall had formed between them, making every word spoken feel like an electric shock. And well, after that, when one of her comments pricked him, he couldn’t just let it slide and let her bask in that quiet triumph. He had to strike back.

Something, however, held him back from just walking out, and it was the words that had accompanied her as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

“What did you mean by very, very interesting?” he asked.

While Morgan stood fully relaxed, leaning against the corner of the counter, Spencer kept a more rigid posture, one hand flat on the surface. She, in turn, stood right in front of them, with one hip slightly pushed out and her arms loosely crossed over her chest. She pouted her lower lip slightly, as if thinking about what he was referring to with his question. 

Spencer briefly dropped his gaze to her lips, but only because of the intense red color covering them. He focused on the edges of her mouth, setting an internal goal to find a spot where the lipstick had strayed beyond the surface, but before he could do so, she spoke again, causing his attention to shift to the rest of her face.

“Your earlier words. Planned murders are more often the domain of women, just like revenge as a motive—revenge even for events from a very distant past…” she recited with a precision that surprised him, because it meant she must have entered the kitchen before either he or Derek realized it, silently—or maybe she simply had an exceptionally good ear. After a moment of thought, both versions seemed equally likely. Meanwhile, she added, “I’m not saying you’re wrong. But I also think you’re underestimating how nasty men can be too. They can’t accept certain things. Not even from a very distant past.”

It wasn’t a bitter comment, but rather a bit mocking. And sometimes the mockery in her words could be so sharp that it forced him to retaliate, even if it wasn’t aimed directly at him.

“Sounds like you're speaking from some particularly sad experience.”

“Sort of. But not sad, more like funny.”

“You’re funny when you talk about things you know nothing about.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot that now you need a doctorat to take part in a regular kitchen coffee break discussion” she scoffed sarcastically.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer noticed how Morgan tilted her head back with a heavy sigh. This was how his break to clear his mind was going—right in the middle of their verbal sparring.

However, that day, Spencer decided to abandon the role of a good friend and stubbornly pressed on.

“You’re right, you don’t need a doctorate for that,” he admitted with a nod. The woman raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the second part of the sentence. “But considering your lack of experience in profiling, maybe you should think twice about whether it’s worth commenting.”

The corner of her mouth twitched oddly. She calmly took a sip of her coffee, leaving a faint red lipstick mark on the white cup, and looked at him again. That was when he saw it, something he’d been looking for. A slight, almost invisible smudge beyond the edges of her lips, noticeable only because she stepped closer to him to place the empty cup on the counter.

“Maybe, considering your lack of experience with women, you should also think twice about whether it’s worth commenting,” she said, her voice almost angelic.

This was the wall that was talked about earlier. And at that moment, its tension increased significantly, peaking when Spencer opened his mouth again, searching his mind for the nastiest comment he could come up with, now that he’d been warned.

“Come on, man, she’s just egging you on,” Morgan said, completely disengaged from the conversation up until that point.

She caught his glance.

“Maybe,” she replied flatly.

“First of all,” Spencer started, rolling his shoulders back, which unintentionally made him stand straighter, bringing them closer together. “I wasn’t talking about women, I was talking about an unsub who’s presumably a woman. And you should know, I have a lot of experience in this field, as evidenced by…”

“Oh my goodness,” someone interrupted loudly.

All three of them turned their heads toward the woman with a huge flower pinned in her blonde curls.

“What’s up with you two, huh? The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife,” Garcia muttered, glancing between Spencer and his conversation partner.

“Babygirl,” Morgan sighed with visible relief at her presence, as if her arrival was a saving grace. Well, apparently it was. She was saving him from remaining a passive participant in this heated discussion. “You should’ve said you were coming, I would’ve made you coffee…”

“Oh, I’m cutting back on caffeine. But that’s sweet of you,” she replied.

“For you, always.”

Penelope didn’t pay much attention to his words, still focusing her gaze on the two of them to the point where Spencer started to feel uncomfortable. A small smile appeared on her, funny, also red lips.

She slid a finger between them, giving her head a slight shake.

“You know, something just crossed my mind,” she said mysteriously. “Lately, it’s scary to get close to you two, the tension is that thick. You know what might help ease it?”

“A knife fight in medieval style,” the woman suggested without blinking an eye.

“If we’re talking about the Middle Ages, it would be more likely to be swords or spears,” Spencer automatically corrected her.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged.

“Not that I’m endorsing it, personally my suggestion would be to change jobs…”

“Kiss.”

They looked at Penelope as if she had just revealed that she arrived at work today on a unicorn.

Even Morgan was staring at her.

"It really works, I'm telling you," she added with a convincing nod. "You know, the line between hatred and sexual tension is often thin. So if you want to ease the former, you should approach it in a different way. One kiss won't hurt you, and you'll immediately feel the difference. And most importantly, we’ll feel the difference. It'll finally be bearable to be around you."

Before either of them could say anything or react, applause rang out.

"That's genius," Morgan said with admiration, to which Penelope flashed him a grateful smile. "Beautiful, funny, and smart. Tell me, how do you do it?"

"Years of practice, my dear," she replied with a wink.

Spencer cut in between them with a loud sigh.

"There’s no psychological or scientific proof that something like that would work," he pointed out.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Mr. Smartypants," she muttered under her breath, letting out a small snort. Her gaze fell on the clock hanging in the kitchen. "I have to go. This wasn’t exactly a pleasant coffee break. I mean, the coffee was excellent," she turned to Morgan, who was still clearly amused, before heading out.

Morgan gave her a polite bow. Before her figure had fully disappeared, Penelope snapped her fingers in Spencer's direction.

"Right, I forgot to tell you, JJ was looking for you to…"

And just like that, the two of them found themselves standing in front of the elevator doors, silently waiting for it to reach their floor. She was heading back to her lab, and he to wherever Jareau happened to be at the moment. Spencer’s gaze dropped uncertainly to her profile before he could stop himself.

Of course, she caught it and gave him a small nod.

“What’s up? Planning to yell at me for daring to question your expertise in profiling an unsub who’s presumably a woman?” she asked.

Spencer hated—truly hated—how often she managed to mock him using his own words. She didn’t even have to put in the effort of coming up with anything original.

He didn’t respond, so she added:

“Or maybe you’re actually considering that medieval knife duel idea?”

The absurdity of the conversation pulled a short huff of laughter from him.

“Well, you’re getting warmer,” he admitted.

“Warmer? Oh, so you have been thinking about what Penelope said.”

“What? No!”

At last, the elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside in one smooth motion, turning to face Spencer as she did. The bright light inside made the small space feel even tighter, forcing them into a proximity that gave him full view of every detail on her face.

Yes, including that tiny spot just beneath her lower lip where her lipstick had gone ever so slightly outside the lines. Probably the lighting was what made it stand out so much. So much that he found himself wanting to point it out.

Or, hell—just wipe it off himself.

Some kind of perfectionist urge had just hijacked his brain.

He stood turned slightly to the side, avoiding her gaze, and after a prolonged moment of silence—during which he felt the pressure to say something—he drew in a deeper breath.

"Or you know what, actually, I was thinking about it," he admitted. He admitted it truthfully, though not in the way she seemed to expect, judging by the sudden lift of her eyebrows.

"I was thinking about how completely ridiculous it is. How there's no way something like that could actually work."

She shrugged lightly.

"Well, I think she had a point."

He looked at her in disbelief, which made her roll her eyes and expand on what she meant.

"Tension is tension, whether it’s from hate or attraction. So if you think about it, a kiss could technically solve the problem."

Her voice was indifferent, even bored—like the idea of kissing him didn’t stir anything in her, not even mild discomfort. Spencer noticed that. And for some reason, it left him with a weird kind of feeling.

He shook his head, brushing it off—and making it clear he disagreed.

"Whether it's from hate or attraction?" he repeated, internally just a little satisfied that, for once, he could throw her own words back at her—something she usually had the upper hand in. "That’s absurd. Bullshit, actually. I hate every serial killer and worse person I come across at work. Would a kiss change that, too?"

She muttered something unintelligible under her breath. For a second, Reid thought he’d actually cornered her—brought her to that rare, mythical moment where she might admit she was wrong. That she’d made a mistake.

But instead, she tilted her head slightly, locking him in that sharp, unrelenting gaze of her—the kind he always found annoyingly hard to break away from.

“I think you’re missing one crucial difference,” she said, quieter now, almost in a purr. “I’m way more attractive than any of the serial killers you deal with on a daily basis.”

Spencer sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. The structure of her sentence left him with no option but to agree with her. In fact, she wasn’t just more attractive than the serial killers he encountered on a daily basis. If he looked at it objectively, without any bias, she was one of the most attractive people he knew.

Which led him to an odd thought—was it even possible to measure attractiveness objectively, without any subjectivity involved?

It was a strange thought. And he had to say something to drown it out.

"Still, I think it wouldn’t change anything," he said, trying to sound convincing, as though he was absolutely sure of himself. Because after all, he was sure, right?

"Well, I think differently," she replied briefly. "One of us is wrong, and we can argue which, but there’s only one way to find out."

He looked at her with his eyebrows raised high.

"You're kidding me."

"No. If I'm right, then I’m right, and everyone around us will benefit. If you're right and nothing changes, then it won’t change anything. But maybe at least you’ll stop staring at my lips."

Spencer felt a wave of embarrassment flood over him, so surprising that he didn’t know what to say. He also didn’t know what to say because, well, he had been staring at her lips.

"Seriously, you thought I didn’t notice?"

"That...that's because you have...you have lipstick...I mean," he pointed at the corner of his own lips, trying to explain non-verbally what he meant, what he really meant by staring at her so blatantly.

Her slight smile, but surprisingly without mockery. Which didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed.

"If it bothers you that much, wipe it off," she said again in that damn irritating, indifferent tone.

He sighed heavily. He wondered if there was anything he could do to get rid of the nonchalance in her presence for at least once. Her words were so laced with a challenge. A certain certainty that he wouldn't do it. Certainty that they'd keep staring at each other in silence until the elevator stopped, and then she would slowly, almost lazily, turn her head and leave, imposing, from that moment on, a certain superiority, a certain triumph, a certain dominance over their future interactions.

He winced at the very thought of it.

A barely audible, delicate chuckle escaped her lips. A minimal tilt of her head, as if she was about to turn away. Was he really that slow, or was he perceiving this in such a strange, dazed way?

He sighed again, this time also closing his eyes.

And when he opened them, it was only for a brief moment, just to catch that confident look of hers one more time. Then he lowered himself slightly, just enough to gently connect their lips. And it wasn’t as light as it could have been. Well, it was a bit deeper than an innocent brush, but as soon as she increased her pressure, Spencer immediately pulled away, feeling an overwhelming urge to smack his head against something.

Well, he thought, he’d hoped it would give him some dignity in this situation, but that wasn’t the case.

For a moment, he avoided her gaze, but he knew sooner or later he'd have to face it. Honestly, he'd probably rather be in the middle of a knife fight.

Her face expressed...absolute disbelief?

"What the fuck was that supposed to be?" she asked loudly, throwing her hands up.

Spencer nearly took a step back, completely not expecting such a reaction. The shock made him forget his embarrassment for a moment.

"What’s your problem?" he asked, defensively.

She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking her head slightly. Still the same look of disbelief.

"Was that supposed to ease the tension?" she scoffed. "That? Who are you, a shy fourteen-year-old kissing a girl for the first time? Wait, never mind, a shy fourteen-year-old would probably do it in a more passionate way—"

The mockery in her voice was almost unbearable for Spencer, who was already feeling humiliated. So, he decided to silence her in the only way that came to his mind in the moment. He did so by suddenly crashing his lips into hers, eliciting a brief, surprised sound from her. However, it was immediately cut off, or rather, more accurately, drowned out.

In his mind, there weren't many logical thoughts, except for one very specific one. Despite his closed eyes, he vividly remembered where her lipstick had slightly smeared outside the edge of her lips, so he focused his attention entirely on that spot, on her lower lip.

Until now, he had been under the impression that lipstick had no taste. However, the one she wore had a sweet flavor, vaguely reminiscent of vanilla. But he quickly lost interest in the vanilla taste on his lips  when something entirely different grabbed his full attention—her tongue, confidently reaching out for his.

Only when he was forced to take a breath through his nose, and the oxygen finally reached his muddled brain, did he realize that his hands were no longer stiffly by his sides, as they had been during the first...well, it's hard to call it that, but the first kiss. He hadn’t noticed when her cheek came under the pressure of his fingers, and for a moment, his mind even wondered if it had been too much—he wasn’t controlling anything that was happening to him.

But that worry evaporated almost immediately upon its arrival, specifically at the moment he felt something tugging at his neck, not in a particularly gentle manner.

Her hand firmly pulled him closer, completely ruining the rhythm of the kiss they had been managing to maintain so far. From that moment on, everything fell apart, caught in the clutches of ugly chaos, but neither of them was concerned with something as trivial and insignificant as aesthetics.

In all of this, even his own breath had taken its place among the trivial and insignificant things, though the consequences of that affected him a little more.

More specifically, in such a way that when her lips pulled away from his, the first gasp of air was accompanied by a embarrassingly eager sound. Still with her hand on his neck, she didn’t seem concerned by it. Her head tilted to the side, towards the open elevator doors. Spencer didn't even glance to see if anyone might be standing there, staring at them in disgust.

He didn't recognize himself, but somehow it didn't matter at all—instead, his eyes kept locked on her lips, right in front of his face, so close that he felt a hungry tingling on his own, urging him to lean in again.

But instead, she pulled back, giving a slight nod towards the open doors.

 "This is my floor," she announced.

Where did all that damn nonchalance come from, when just moments ago she had been gripping his neck so tightly that if her hands had been just a little lower, she could have accidentally strangled him?

So much damn nonchalance, when her hair was sticking out messily on one side, where his fingers had dug into it?

So much damn nonchalance, when she said:

“Well, I guess we’ll soon find out who was right.”

Her words echoed in his mind long after she left the elevator, leaving him alone in that strange silence and with that odd feeling of dizziness that almost made him stumble when he took his first step down the hallway on his floor.

But then he forced himself to blink sharply, shaking it all off.

He had to remind himself who he was—a grown man with an IQ of 187.

He approached JJ when he was completely sure there was no trace of it left on him. His usual walk, his indifferent face. No shifting field of vision, no rise or fall.

“Were you looking for me?” he asked.

His friend looked at him strangely. He didn’t know what she meant. She knew him well, but was it to the extent that she could read what had just happened from a traitorous flicker in his eyes?

JJ covered her mouth with her hand, awkwardly stifling a laugh.

"Spence, I don’t know if you realize this, but you're all covered in red lipstick."

[ghost-of-a-vulture]

My dad sends me. Doctor Who character analysis sometimes and here's his latest:

11, more than any other Doctor, is the reason that River says, "Never let the Doctor see you get older." Rose, Martha, Amelia, Clara, Billie, Ryan, and Yaz are all young, all full of a sense of wonder for the things that the Doctor shows them. Donna is an adult. She first decided to become a companion because she was in a rut and wanted to run away from that. So 10 thought she would be like the the others. On their first trip, 9 showed Rose the end of the Earth. When she assumes that he is going to save the Earth, he corrected her. Stating that this is an unchangeable event. From the beginning, he trains her not to question his judgement on what he says cannot be changed. Donna was too old to fall for that and pushes back constantly. Okay, so you can't save everyone in Pompeii, then just save one person. It isn't an all or nothing proposition. He learned from that and tried to do better. Until he got too arrogant and tried to save someone he really should have let die. But then he became 11, the Doctor who forgets. The one who keeps running away more than any other. 200 years running away from Lake Silence. Years in a cloud over Victorian London. Years spent in a monastary.

If he can't save everyone, then fine. He won't save anyone.

Then he became 12, with a face to remind him of Donna's lesson.

[metamorphicrocky]

at first I thought it was endearing to see the doctor constantly being like "oh do I say things like that now? is this who I am?" because it's an old face but with all the experiences and changes that come with living longer. so unlike ten, fourteen is open about his feelings because there were lingering regrets with not telling people how she felt as thirteen

BUT NOW. not-donna saying you're scared. because of the flux. because the universe destroyed itself just in the chance it could destroy you. and you know now that you're not from gallifrey and that scares you. because the doctor is scared. everything they ever knew is thrown out because on top of everything an old face came back and the doctor can't figure out why

the timeless child and the flux just being MENTIONED brought the doctor to frightened tears and we have never seen anything like that before. the doctor is so so lost and just wants to know who they are. so regenerating into something new but old has thrown them off so much that at every turn he thinks "huh. is this who I am?" and it is so strange to see the doctor unsure about themself, questioning their identity every second. and it is HEARTBREAKING