#i love heaven sent so very much but steven please.

[lucky-clover-gazette]

doctor who special is truly a full bingo card of steven moffat writing. shallow disdain towards religion and corporations, extremely unearned emotional moments, weird pacing, vague misogyny, random lesbian for some reason, creepy possession, turning a random everyday things into a horror concept (doors in hotel rooms), dinosaur,

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Misery Loves Company

A/N – Okay, so for anyone who loves Stand-up comedy as much as I do, I highly recommend you watch Daniel Sloss’ tour, Dark. That’s his first tour, and it was where he coined the term Wanker-Anchor, which is used in this story.

Warnings – None.

Rating – M

TAG-LIST: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch @reverse-soe @koirb @usernameunavailable2 @lavenderkita @kannakanan @mcueveryday @amarokofficial @mbruben-stein @tyrythewolf @lasagna-501 @bizzardvark @firefirefeline @kaylanotkk @missme-07 @memontica @angelsdemonsmonsters @tj4shy @midoria-kinnie @meesachan @fusehoundshipper @velvettenoctus @crescent-z @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @rosiescannibalwife @skylerbutterfly @hamthepan @latersgaters-steven @kryptidkova @sleepyhead-number27 @cherry-4200 @harcourtholmesii @alastorandluciferspouse @holyspacething @kedelman24 @becsmarvel @vash-yuu

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

“Whoa,” Charlie said upon seeing you.

She had seen your Demonic form before, but it was a rarity and it usually meant that you weren’t doing well mentally.

“Are you okay?” She asked, sucking in air through her teeth, her voice pitching high, indicating that she already knew the answer but didn’t want to point out the obvious in case it upset you further.

“I’m fine,” You answered shortly.

“Really? Because you uh, well,” Charlie twisted her hands back and forth, “You uh, you look a little- I mean, hey, I think you’re beautiful inside and out but when you’re like this it usually means- It’s normally-”

“You’re fucked up,” Vaggie finished for her, getting straight to the point.

“I’m fine,” You insisted, using the words everyone used when they were decidedly not fine. “Where’s Angel Dust?”

“In his room,” Vaggie explained.

“What happened? He was doing so well.”

Charlie’s eyes welled up with tears and she threw her arms around you, sobbing out an explanation, “It was my fault. I asked him about his contract, and he told me not to worry, but I did worry, and then I wanted to make sure he’d be okay when me and Vaggie go to visit Heaven, but he said he didn’t need a babysitter, and then I got Husk involved and Husk told me not to fuck with things I don’t understand, and then Valentino came-”

“Wait, Valentino came here?!” You pulled Charlie off you so you could look her in the eyes.

“Well, not exactly, but he sent his crew here and told Angel they had to film and I said no, and-”

You left Charlie and ran to Angel’s room. Both Charlie and Vaggie followed you as you pelted through the corridors. No wonder Angel had relapsed. That piece of shit Valentino had used Angel’s contract against him. As part of the deal they had made, Angel had to do any work Valentino demanded of him, and that fucking scumbag had dared to invade the one place where Angel felt safe.

Knowing Charlie, she would have pointed out that Valentino couldn’t use her property and would have to wait for Angel at the studio, but that wouldn’t matter. Valentino would play by the rules; it wasn’t really about filming at the Hotel, it was all a matter of proving that Angel belonged to him and that there was no safe place he could hide away.

Besides, even if Valentino hadn’t gotten his way at the Hotel, he would take it out on Angel the next time he was in the studio. It was a lose-lose situation, something that Hell was always too eager to provide.

When you got to Angel’s room, you paused to compose yourself. It wouldn’t help if you sounded too desperate or concerned; Angel didn’t respond well to that. It would make him blame himself for making you worry, and then he would spiral further.

You knocked on the door, “Hey Angel, it’s us. Can we come in please?”

“Go away,” Angel’s heavy accent came through the door, marking him more as Anthony than Angel Dust, though you didn’t say anything about that; there were very few people who knew his real name, and he didn’t like to be reminded of it.

For better or worse, he was Angel Dust; that was who he needed to be to survive.

You glanced at Charlie and Vaggie, then tilted your head, indicating that they should leave. Charlie hesitated until Vaggie placed a hand on her shoulder, then after an affirming nod from you, she let Vaggie lead her away.

“Come on Angel,” You said when they were gone. “It’s just me. Let me in.”

“Piss off.”

You sighed, then sat outside the door, and began talking. You didn’t have a grand speech planned, only what was on your mind, and if Angel wasn’t going to let you in, then it became a matter of letting him know that he wasn’t alone and that you wouldn’t abandon him, though you would respect his space.

“I get it. Valentino fucked with you. He love-bombed you, and that didn’t fucking work because you’re stronger than he is and you’re not going to fall for his shitty manipulation tactics. Now, he’s sending his goons here. It’s all just another one of his games, Angel. Don’t let him win.”

There was no response. You stayed quiet for a minute then were struck with a thought; misery loves company.

“Hey, I also kind of feel like shit today, you know? I kept thinking about Hell and… a lot of things. I told Charlie’s dad how I died. That was fucked up.”

Again, there was no response, but you thought you heard Angel shuffle closer to the door. Until that evening, nobody had heard anything about your mortal life, and now you were talking about it for the second time.

“I was murdered for a snuff film. I still have nightmares about it.”

There was a bluntness to your tone. Although it hurt to state the memory aloud again, albeit in less detail, you decided not to put too much thought into it. If your death could help someone, well, there had to be some good in bringing it up.

You stared at the peeling red wallpaper across from you, just so you had something to focus on. “I’m terrified that one day, I’m gonna walk down the street and see the guys that killed me. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Call them out? They’re in Hell, that’s punishment enough, right? Will they find it funny to see me again? Find new ways to hurt me?”

I honestly don’t know what I want in this scenario. I don’t want them to die, ‘cos then they’ll be here, but if they live, they’ll do this to other people. Kidnap them, sell them to the highest bidder, film it for the black market. I dunno… I’ve been here for a year, and I keep thinking about that.”

The door opened and you fell back, looking up at Angel’s concerned face.

“That’s the most fucked up shit I’ve ever heard.”

He lifted you up, setting you right with two arms, while the other two brushed you off.

“So… this is you?” He asked, taking in your rag-doll appearance.

You laughed and imitated his voice, your Demonic abilities kicking in to mimic him perfectly, “I can be anything you want, bay-by.”

“That’s the hottest you’ve ever sounded.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You waved him off blasély. “Just let me in, okay? I can help.”

“So, uh, with the voice, and the-” Angel gestured at your new look, moving his hands in a circular motion, “Can you uh- Be other people?”

“I don’t know,” You said slowly, looking at your hands, “Never tried.”

You concentrated for a moment, trying to transform back to your original self. Usually, it was effortless. Yet, as you stared at the stitches that bound you together, you found it difficult to do more than revert to your original skin colour. Seeing that beneath the stitches was somehow worse, so you stopped trying to change, accepting that for now, you were a ragdoll.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Fuck it. I am what I am, and that’s all that I am.”

You caught sight of Angel’s precious pet pig. Scooping him up into your arms and cuddling him, you cooed in a baby voice, “Besides, you still love me, don’t you Fat Nuggets, yeeeees, precious baby.”

Sitting down on Angel’s bed, you looked up at your friend, deciding that it was better not to let the difficult conversation wait and fester.

“Soooo…” You scratched Fat Nuggets behind the ear, “Charlie told me that you relapsed. Wanna talk about it?”

Angel sighed and flopped back onto the bed so he was lying next to you, his legs planted on the floor.

He dragged two hands over his face, the other two lay despondently over his stomach.

“I- It was just such a shitty day, and Val sent those pricks here, not that they could fill any holes. Wrong kind of pricks, you know?” He half laughed, but it died when he realised the joke wasn’t funny in such a shitty situation.

Still, you smiled at him. When Angel was sad, he didn’t always need someone to sympathise with him. He needed to see that you weren’t going to change and start treating him differently. Sometimes that meant just listening, but other times it meant making the meanest jokes you could think of and laughing at how horrible everything was.

You were his Wanker-anchor, chaining him to reality by being a dick; Husk was the best at it, but seeing as he was nowhere to be found, Angel had you instead.

“Here,” Angel held up a small sealed bag, with his stash in it. So, he hadn’t relapsed after all. He’d just come very close.

“No thanks,” You joked, “I’m full from all the crack I had at breakfast.”

Angel got up and punched your arm, “You’re such an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one,” You took his stash, tucking it away in your pocket, then you stood up, leaving Fat Nuggets on the bed, and you offered Angel your hand. “Come on.”

“What-”

“You need a distraction. So, I challenge you, Angel Dust, teach me how to dance.”

“You’re fucking kiddin’, right?”

You shook your head. “You can dance, I can’t and I’m bored. So, come on, give me some lessons. It’ll be good to get moving.”

“When you fail, can I call you a retard?”

“Fuck no. You can’t say retard anymore, what the fuck is wrong with you. You can insult the shit outta me, but keep your terms acceptable, okay?”

Honestly, Angel had thought he was up to date on what insults and trash talk were deemed acceptable, but evidently, he was wrong.

“Alright, I’ll teach you to dance, but you gotta keep me updated on all the latest slang, and what’s changed up there,” He glanced up as if he could see Earth.

“I’ve been dead a year, bud. A lot can change in that time,” You said, thinking about all the ways you were probably outdated.

Angel grabbed his phone and turned up the tunes, “Sounds like a coward’s excuse to get outta teaching.”

And so it was that you and Angel started to dance. It was nothing like his work, or when he was forced to pimp himself out in clubs as a form of ‘networking.’ Instead, it was stupid, fun, and uncoordinated with you as his partner. Christ, he had never danced with someone so terrible. You let him lead, and together, the two of you laughed at each other’s expense and forgot all about the shitty things that had happened that day.

Up in his Radio Station, Alastor grinned sinisterly. He had heard you quite clearly as he went about his business in the Hotel. You were murdered? How delightful. Victims were so easy to manipulate. Furthermore, you were a ragdoll. Oh, how wonderfully he could exploit that power.

All it would take was an invitation of friendship, a desperate situation, and an offer of assistance. When Alastor had sent Husk away on an errand earlier, he hadn’t imagined it would turn out so wonderfully.

Now, there was a new piece on the chessboard, and Alastor was determined to capture you as his pawn.

Your soul would be his.

[freelancearsonist]

✨ 20 questions for writers ✨

thank you for the tag @amanitacowboy

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

i have yet to move anything over there 😩

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

n/a 😂

3. What fandoms do you write for?

pedro pascal boys, stranger things (eddie and steve my beloveds), oscar isaac, marvel... good grief the list just goes on

4. Top five fics by kudos

according to tumblr top:

#5: we need to talk about steven (moon knight system)

#4: even in the quietest moments (poe dameron)

#3: completely yours tonight (leto atreides)

#2: wingman (moon knight system)

#1: make a move on me (joel miller)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try to respond to everything!! your comments feed me :)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

definitely the only heaven i'll be sent to it's like the only un-happy ending i've ever written 😭

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i'm a sucker for happy endings so all of them 🥲

8. Do you get hate on fics?

thankfully no! you are all so lovely 🥰

9. Do you write smut?

the question should be do i write anything BESIDES smut 💀

10. Craziest crossover?

probably the supernatural cyoa au thing i wrote for dieter (heart of the cards)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no thankfully! let's keep it that way please :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

not that i know of??

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no but i really want to!! (this is an invitation)

14. All time favorite ship?

this is tough jsdfsdjlsj can i say din x grogu platonic???? i just love a good reluctant father and his carefree son 🥹

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

probably the 1970's organized crime fighting FBI agent javi p au 🥲 the idea is very ambitious and it's probably going to end up novel-length if i ever actually get the energy to finish it

16. What are your writing strengths?

i think my dialogue is my strongest point??? i love to yap 😌

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably atmosphere 😅 i just feel like i'm not very good at settings or environment sjdflksdfj

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i wrote a whole fic with only spanish dialogue so fjskfjsdf yes?

19. First fandom you wrote in?

uhhhh captain america fic on quotes don't look @ me

20. Favorite fic you've written?

this is a cross! between all that we see or seem and in shades of gray and candlelight i just had so much fun writing twisty turny stories and i'm very proud of the finished products :)

np tagging @schnarfer @futuraa-free @sp00kymulderr @chronically-ghosted @kedsandtubesocks (sorry if you've already done this ignore me ilyyyyyy)

[azure-cherie]

Pick a card

Future spouse reading ( Intuitive)

Choose one of the six posters above : seven song lyrics from your future spouse. ( Confession , praise , upliftment)

Hey love's hope y'all are doing great 💙 , sending beautiful healing energies towards you . Hope you resonate and if you don't please choose another pile . Alter the pronouns according to yourself . Take what can be applicable to you and leave the rest.

Some of these lyrics are based on your present and the others your future .

I've already answered all the asks that were sent during the Intuitive game ,check it out if you haven't and if you didn't receive an answer Tumblr probably deleted it .

Hope you enjoy 💙.

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 1:

Hit the road jack - Ray Charles

Now baby, listen baby, don't ya treat me this way

'Cause I'll be back on my feet some day

Heaven California - Honey gentry

Take me to heaven when you go

If you want me, let me know

Take me to heaven, California

If you want me, I'll adore you

Sweet but psycho - Ava max

You're just like me, you're out your mind

I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind

You're tellin' me that I'm insane

Boy, don't pretend that you don't love the pain

Little did I know - Julia Michaels

But little did I know

You would be the one I confide in

Learn how to try with

Little did I know

It was you before I ever decided

Home with you - Fka twigs

I didn't know that you were lonely

If you'd have just told me, I'd be home with you

I didn't know that you were lonely

If you'd have just told me, I'd be running down the hills to be with you

Future games - Fleetwood Mac

So you better take your time

You know there's no escape

The future sends a sign

Of things we will create

Baby it's alright

And so have faith

Oh yeah

You invent the future that you want to face

Dionne - Katelyn tarver

And I know it's not very sexy

When somebody loves you this much and knows you this well

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 2:

Big plans - Why don't we

I got real big plans, baby, for you and me

So love me for who I am and for who I'm gonna be

Ain't got everything you want, but got everything you need

So take a chance, take a chance on me

Never be me - Miley Cyrus

But I hope that I'm able to be all that you need

If you think that I'm someone to give up and leave

That'll never be me, no

It's over isn't it - Steven universe

War and glory, reinvention

Fusion, freedom, her attention

Out in daylight, my potential

Bold, precise, experimental

Who am I now in this world without her?

Petty and dull, with the nerve to doubt her

Freaky deaky - Doja cat , Tyga

I've been feelin' freaky deaky

You're on your way to see me

Got the mirror on the ceiling

You're in the mood to please me

Sad girls luv money - Amarae, Kali uchis , Moily

I really like your body, I really like your body

I don't know why you hide it

I wanna see you behind me

Link up- Tinashe

For my next act, watch-watch me cut these bitches off

Yeah I'm a boss

Our song- Anne Marie, Niall Horan

Just when I think you're gone

Hear our song on the radio

Just like that, takes me back

To the places we used to go

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 3:

Vehemence purity ring

Oh my, an angel

If we are brave enough, oooh

She'll take my anger up

Oh my, an angel

I've waited long enough, oooh

The mountain opened up

Dinner and diatribes Hozier

The look of mischief in your eye

Your friends are a fate that befell me

Hell is the talking type

I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me

All your exes : Julia Michaels

I want to live in a world where all your exes are dead

I want to kill all the memories that you save in your head

Late night waltz - Silk skin lovers

Follow me 'til morning rays

I'll follow you 'til daylight fades

Symphony clean bandit , Zara larsson

I've been hearing symphonies

Before all I heard was silence

A rhapsody for you and me

And every melody is timeless

Rainbow - Kacey Musgraves

Well, the sky has finally opened

The rain and wind stopped blowin'

But you're stuck out in the same old storm again

You hold tight to your umbrella

But, darling, I'm just tryin' to tell ya

That there's always been a rainbow hangin' over your head

Nikes Frank Ocean

I may be younger but I'll look after you

We're not in love, but I'll make love to you

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 4:

Ugly Nicole Dollanganger

Anything that is beautiful

People want to break

And you are beautiful

I'm afraid

Pink in the night - Mitski

With every drop of rain singing

"I love you, I love you, I love you

I love you, I love you, I love you

I love you, I love you, I love you!"

Inside out- Zedd, griff

When the lights come off and the night is done

Everybody's left, can I be the one?

If it's all I do

I'm gonna love you, love you

She used to be mine - Sara barailles

She's imperfect but she tries

She is good but she lies

She is hard on herself

She is broken and won't ask for help

She is messy but she's kind

She is lonely most of the time

She is all of this mixed up

And baked in a beautiful pie

The bones - Maren Morris

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter

Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter

Let it break 'cause you and I remain the same

All you need to know - Gryffin

I'll lift you when you're feeling low

I'll hold you when the night gets cold

You'll never have to be alone

And that's all you need to know

You must love me - Lana del rey

Deep in my heart, I'm concealing

Things that I'm longing to say

Scared to confess, what I'm feeling

Frightened you'll slip away

You must love me, you must love me

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 5:

City of stars - Ryan Gosling

A look in somebody's eyes

To light up the skies

To open the world and send it reeling

A voice that says, I'll be here

And you'll be alright

Isabelle - Zach Hood

Now I'm wasting time with Isabelle

Five foot sweet with skin like caramel

Every time it feels brand new

Wish I could rewind the things we do

Daddy issues - The neighbourhood

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

Heart shaped box Nirvana

I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks

I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap

Cover me in sunshine - Pink, Willow sage heart

From a distance all these mountains

Are just some tiny hills

Wildflowers, they keep living

While they're just standing still

Bonnie & Clyde - YUQI

We don't need money to feel good

'Cause you're the ride or die the rest of my life

Don't need a party to feel high

We're like the modern version of Bonnie & Clyde

The moon song - Beabadoobee

There's things I wish I knew

There's no thing I'd keep from you

It's a dark and shiny place

But with you my dear

I'm safe and we're a million miles away

𝕻𝖎𝖑𝖊 6:

Superstar -Sonic Youth

Don't you remember you told me you love me baby?

You said you'd be coming back this way again baby

Baby baby baby baby, oh baby

I love you, I really do

How true is your love ? - Hannah Grace

I'll take the pain with the glory

I'll let the love just fill me up

I'll let the hurt run through

How sweet? How deep? How blue?

How true is your love?

I hear you in the music

East of Eden - Zella day

Call me wild, drinking up the sunshine

Be my man and show me what it feels like

Safe and sound - Taylor Swift

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down

You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now

Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound

Dandelions - Ruth B

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

Dancing queen - ABBA

You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet

Hey there Delilah - Plain white T's

A thousand miles seems pretty far

But they've got planes and trains and cars

I'd walk to you if I had no other way

Please decipher the meaning according to your situation , since this is a collective reading .

Hope you resonate !

Thank you so much 🥰❤️

Have a great day 💖

[believeitseeitdoit]

Legos and Language

Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: All bets are off when it comes to a Lego mishap in the Rogers-Barnes home 

Rating: Y'all shouldn’t be reading the filthy things if youre under 18 anyways but this one is pretty PG (but language is the exception)

Warnings: Domestic stucky, suggested and slight smutty times, 90% fluffy, some foul language, talk of murder and destruction of legos forever, feel good shit, Steve, Bucky and their girl have babies

don’t steal my little munchkin oc names please, I like them 

This is written from each lover’s POV, marked by ******** this 

This is a work of love and hated of legos, solely to be read for a smile and maybe some happiness, be kind or go away

        “Sonofabitch!” Your hushed curse rattles through the house as you stomp barefoot through your son’s pile of a semi built lego creation. With a few breathy “fuck’s,'' you hop over to the nearest chair to rub the new soreness out. Sharp indentations litter the underside of your arch, and you peel off a flat piece from your toe then mentally plot unmonitored use of the quantum realm to murder the creator of legos before they can cause any harm to you again.

       Continuing your muttering, you delicately set your foot down and turn to the mess. You sigh in relief that you didn’t destroy any of the built chunk, you were only subjected to the ultimate test of parenthood, the loose pieces.

     “Back to our regularly scheduled morning, coffee.” You say to the empty room, narrating your routine as if you were running a sitcom. Once in the kitchen, you set about making a hefty pot of coffee for you and your husbands, humming an 80s rock tune and letting your open robe swish around you loosely in the process.

********

      They both notice you slide out of bed, a super spy and a retired Avenger don’t miss much in their own home. But rather than follow you down to the kitchen to disrupt your morning ritual, Steve pulls his husband against him and nuzzles his hair so they could get some quiet time of their own. A few moments later, Bucky is softly snoring against Steve’s arm, and Steve is on the brink of sleep when he hears a barely audible string of curses and the unbalanced thunking of feet along the hardwood. Bucky seems undeterred, so Steve leaves him be and slips out of the bed to investigate what caused the early use of language, not that he’s surprised considering their wife’s colorful vocabulary when the kids aren’t listening.

       Pulling his discarded boxers back on from the night before, Steve saunters out of the master suite silently toward the staircase. He pokes his head into the nursery to check on the sleeping infant twins, and heads down the old hardwood steps, praying for them not to creak with every step. Halfway down the stairs, he hears you filling the coffee pot under the tap and the chorus to a White Snake ballad quietly playing from the speakers while you hum along. With a smile and a small head bob as he catches the tune, Steve steps across the threshold of the stairs toward the living room and kitchen, unaware of the torture devices scattered on the floor.

      Steve intends to follow the wall to get to the kitchen without his presence known, until you hear a series of words that would make Tony blush and an unfortunate crunching sound of your son’s creation being smashed to bits.

     “SONOFAFUCKINGMONKEYSASSHOLE WHAT THE FUCKING DICK ON A STICK GOD DAMN PIECE OF TORTUROUS BULLSHIT IS THIS?!!” He yelps loudly and tries to hop over the new graveyard of legos.

     In his fresh misery, he misses you quickly dropping the coffee grounds onto the counter top and hustling toward him to make sure his verbatim doesn’t wake the twins. As you begin shushing him from a few steps away, Steve hobbles blindly toward your voice and you see it happen before you can say anything. Your big clutz of a husband smashes his un-assaulted foot through your son’s Legos, only this time Captain America is not the star spangled man with a plan. He has absolutely destroyed the near complete firetruck and you can only stand in awe at his ability to hit each remaining chunk of the build before he finally makes it to the couch.

     “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, why the fucking legos? FUCK!” His wailing is not going to gain any sympathies from you, only entertainment at the weaknesses of men.

     “Steven Grant, you shut the hell up before you wake my babies or I WILL send Bucky to the store and you can have twin duty alone.” Sitting down at his feet to pull the pieces off his skin, you scold him lightly but without any venom or intention. He hisses as you pull the flat plastic off his big toe, and you chuckle as his pathetic whimpers cease.

     “So, coffee?” You stand and pull him up with you toward the kitchen, letting his calloused hands and leftover cologne embrace you like a blanket as he leans down to caress your cheek. He kisses your forehead and softly brushes hair behind your ear with one hand while the other grips your plush hip under the loose robe.

     “Maybe something sweeter to distract me first? This robe is teasing me.” His lips ghost down your neck and he nips at your collarbone while pulling the thin silk off your shoulders.

     “You kept me up late, baby. I need coffee before anything today.” You whisper breathily against his tanned, thick chest, whimpering and shivering as you feel him trace the marks littering your skin and gently squeezing the flesh he is so obsessed with.

     He allows you to pull away only after you shudder again, but he stands behind you, hands locked onto your hips as you pour the bitter amber liquid into 3 mugs. Steve’s love bites on your neck keep you distracted long enough for Bucky to come down the stairs without being noticed.

     “I thought we agreed there was no third wheeling in this family, and yet here we are.” Your bonus husband is perched against the refrigerator offering your favorite coffee creamer and his signature pout.

******

     Bucky is roused by his husband rolling out of bed and the accompanying coolness that surrounds him as the sheets flutter back down against the mattress. He listens to Steve pad lightly down the hall to check in on the kids, Hudson in his room first, then Charlotte and Talia in the nursery.  As the footsteps recede down the stairwell, Bucky lets his body sink into the bed and the scents of his partners surround him and lull him back to sleep.

     Until he hears a string of words leave his husband’s mouth, and a series of crunches and shattering sounds buried under more very inappropriate words. Now wide awake, Bucky shoves himself from bed and puts a loose sweatshirt over his head while he walks toward the stairs. He is halted by a whimper from one of his little twins in the nursery, but his ever present super senses note that both babes are still firmly asleep so he continues down the steps.

       Not sure of the state of things on the main floor, Bucky alertly scopes the space and finds their son’s legos strewn about the floor. With a sigh, Bucky steps around them and shakes his head as he follows the sounds of his husband and wife to the kitchen. He is met with tangled hair and soft pants, an open robed woman more stunning than Aphrodite, and a man barely containing his impressive erection in his low hanging boxers. Bucky can feel the energy in the room, can practically taste the arousal on them, and his subconscious stirs awake, begging to join like a wolf waiting for the hunt.

*******

      “And who plans on fixing our son’s firetruck creation? Because it sure as hell won’t be me, I will be taking care of our little girls where I am wanted.”

     Steve is the first to respond, an arm opens toward Bucky in the same moment. “Honey we didn’t mean to leave you out, c’mon over here let us show you how much better it is with you.” 

      As Bucky steps into Steve’s reach, you push off the counter and into the thick warmth of your husbands. Their desire envelops you as kisses are peppered on skin and fingers prod at bits of flesh for a better grip on reality. The moment is nearly bursting with love and lust, blinding both man’s super senses of their incoming visitor.

        “Who da hell bwoke my WEGOS!!!!????? MOMMYYYYY!” Hudson screeches from the bottom of the stairs and you’re running for him in an instant.

        “Hudson Anthony! You do not speak like that. You know better young man.” Steve and Bucky hiss at the use of their boy’s middle name, knowing how he feels in both respects.

       “Baby boy, I’m so sorry about the Legos, but you cannot use that language. No naughty words right?” You hate scolding him when you completely understand his frustrations, but heavens forbid he say any of that in public, the boy would be shamed and sent to his principal so fast even the Daily Bugle couldn’t catch it first. 

      Hudson sniffles and rubs his nose, trying to fight off tears of frustration in front of his daddy and papa, but quickly fails.

“But, is bwoken mommy. I woked so hawd on it! Wuh happened?” He begins wailing and stuttering breaths, and you pull him into your arms to hug and comfort him gently.

       “Shh, handsome, it was an accident. See, they were left too close to the stairs and mommy stepped on some, then daddy heard her yelp and ran through them too. Papa moved them out of the way and reminded daddy that he needs to help fix it with you baby.” You bounce him on your hip, trying to push the sadness away like you did when he was a small tike.

       Bucky and Steve step closer, each wrapping an arm around you and Hudson to initiate a bear hug. Hudson whimpers a bit longer then picks his head up from your shoulder and leans toward Steve, signaling he wants his daddy to hold him next. Steve pulls him close and whispers apologies only audible to his boy, but you and Bucky smile knowingly. They head to the far corner of the couch where they can have a quiet cuddle and talk about how Hudson can teach his daddy to rebuild the LEGO vehicle. 

      You lean against Bucky, enjoying the moment until he turns to the stairs.

       “Time for round 2 with some sleepy babies?” You tie your robe closed and head up the walk way, stubbing your toe on the first step.

       “Mother fu—dge on toast that was unpleasant.” You yelp and grip tightly onto Bucky’s vibranium arm. He chuckles and scoops you into his arms, carrying you up the remaining steps.

     “Careful, I don’t want to use your middle name today too darling.” He winks, setting you down at the doorway of the nursery. With a huff, you begin fluttering about the room, softly waking your girls and beginning their morning routine.

    “My sweet little Charlotte Ann, and my lovely Natalia Rose, you two are the most precious angels in this world. But for the love of all things holy, no Legos when you’re older ok?”

Tagging those who may appreciate this or can give me a helpful bit of advice on my writing : @bxccxdxll​ @iraot​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @tuiccim​  @thebescht​ @makbarnes​

[matchamorphosis]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 1-800-𝓘-𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓔-𝓤

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 || waiting for you and your beau’s dinner reservation later on tonight you and he spend valentines day together through the devotion of your dial rotary telephone

𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮 || fluffy smut

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 || steve rogers × [black//woc]!reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 || 4.6K

𝔀��𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 || 18+ nsfw, introduction to phone sex but i don’t go any bit further, body worship, captain kink, one bibical mention, reader gets spoiled to the t!, but still this is not suitable for anyone that isn’t 18+

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓼 ||  move over darling by doris day ♡ all of me by billie holiday ♡ unforgettable by nat king cole ♡ dream a little dream of me by ella fitzgerald & louis armstrong

𝔀. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 || this is my gift for the divine @denisemarieangelina! for @chrissquares​ + @drabblewithfrannybarnes + @amythedvdhoarder Hoelentine’s Day Challenge! ♡ i’m very anxious to share this because i did this simpler version of writing then what i’m usually used to but I hope you enjoy this lovely and happy valentines day! muah! ♡ please tell me if you don’t like this because i can always add onto this if you want more! ♡ anyways i hope you cherubs enjoy this to! ♡♡♡

     BABY PINK ENVELOPES FILL THE SPACE IN YOUR HANDS

     humming along to the musing record that spins on the turntable the kitchen is alive with the sentimental lyrics of Nat King Cole and Billie Holiday you sway your leg over your knee as you read the bush colored letters. the quaint apartment complex fills with blissful warmth, for the maiden in the kitchen enjoys her breakfast yearning for her partner to return as quickly as he promised. analyzing the intricate curves and dips of Steven’s handwriting, it pulls you into a hypnotizing trance as your mind fills with nothing but his deep voice as you read along. 

     cordial elements wrapping the visible areas of skin your Valentine’s sweethearts button down doesn’t cover. it is a relaying fact that the crisp expansive piece makes your body seem petite but because of its obscene size the fabric falls past your shoulders in a graceful fashion. clumsily buttoning up the blazer wrongly that early morning, it only adds onto the carefree nature that exhibits and adds onto your soft sways and musical hums. 

     reaching for your steaming pink mug of milk chocolate cappuccino that lays near more open letters and more envelopes free from their wax sealings. you plan on opening all of them throughout the day, holding onto the handle you bring it up to your soft lips. attentive fingertips trace the cursive black ink of Steven’s handwriting in a lovesick gaze. the accidental ink splotches and small charcoal sketches of floral anatomy make the pace of your heart slow in a tender beat. 

     despite your devoted attention being on your beau’s love letters there are other envelopes that aren’t just from your Steven. although to make it easier to recognize the difference between the uninterested letter from past lovers and secret admirers Stevens envelopes are printed in your favorite shade of pink. 

     these darling letters that Steven is now confident to share with you are filled with small poems. being terrified of gifting you in the early phases of your relationship, your holding the multiple pages amongst pages of dazing sketches of your bodies beautiful features. paragraphs that outline his love letters to you which he kept hidden in a journal. reading and daydreaming as you take in each poetic sentence of your beau explain and sharing each love struck moment of his days that he adored spending with you. 

     the timeline of these letters go back from days, to weeks to whole years. it astounds you how you’ve never caught Steven in the act of writing poetry or making a love entrée yet you aren’t at all complaining. however the envelopes were a surprise to come across to when you looked over the mail. they weren’t in your daily sack delivered by the porter but laying in a huge pile on your kitchen island before he left that morning. 

     they went handsomely with his gifted bouquet of your favorite flowers that decorated each room of your apartment. a bud of them you found laying amongst the colorfully cream colored candles is now in your hair tucked behind your ear. Steven’s handwriting displayed on the front- 

     for my darling 

     they were just waiting for you to read and so here you are soaking in each vow hidden in his whimsical sonnets and ballads. 

      smelling both the sweet nectar of the flower and the divine cocoa of your cappuccino you continue reading from his letters. mirthful eyes dashing along each word of the little poem he wrote for you, the gleaming smile that frames your face doesn’t settle down one bit as you read and sing them not louder than a breathy whisper. giggling aloud and kicking your bare feet in the air when you read Steven’s beautifully crafted poetry centered and dedicated to you and only you. 

     the letters seem to distract you from the vast amounts of gifts, arranging from exquisitely wrapped small boxes to large gift bags bearing designer brands. Steven sent each gift along with the blush colored letters but they lie unattentively under your pedicured feet that bounce along with the turntable. singing along Billie Holidays lyrics of April in Paris as you continue to read and sip from your chocolatey cappuccino. the letters themselves are elegantly scattered onto the marble island where you bite into one of the buttery croissants that are bunched in a wooden basket you have prepared since the morning.  

     of course you weren’t supposed to eat alone, by all means this day of domestic and fairytale romance wasn’t suited to be spent alone. it of course isn’t suited for you in the slightest, not like you to bear this inconvenience. 

     in front of you -well behind the sketches your dreamily admiring- rests a large breakfast consisting of baked sweet and savory pastries, sunny yellow omelets and fresh ripe fruit. the early meal was suppose to be a little feast for both you and the public hero but of course your heroic beau had his urgent errands to run. a phone call rudely interrupted the session of your passionate lips and tongues destine to spiral you both on the cloud of desire. 

     the ringtone acting as nothing but an irritating background noise, it cause the blond to pull away to deal with it. walking away from you and out of your private bathroom suite and as obvious as this is going to sound- Steven didn’t decline the call. from your position as you sat on the marble and gold flecked kitchen sink, your hand rests on the golden swan at the faucet. 

     listening as you heard him hum along to whatever the dispatcher had to say before hanging up and heard his footsteps coming closer and there you say your lover. smiling to him as you pulled him towards you, lips gracing his he cut the devastating news to you of his unplanned errands. apologizing to you with a kiss but ending it with a promise for an intimate dinner reservation he did plan beforehand. 

     then with a change of clothes, he was out the door but you willed yourself to not be upset at him. your Steven always kept his promises and you were still swooning over the lovely events that happened last night that still show the results of it all on your skin and a delicious soreness in between your legs. ending passionately in wine soaking your thoughts and actions you both headed to your apartment and tangled in your sheets. you now are wearing his button up he wore to the dinner reservation that night, slightly wrinkled yet smelling of Stevens entrancing cologne.

     it brings you back to that night and you could still feel the searing butterfly traces of his lips along your collarbones, neck and breasts. dainty and vivid as the white sunshine that streams through the high white apertures of your apartment. 

     it’s all beautifully cinematic 

     the music playing on the record as you enjoy your breakfast while reading your lovers letters to you. chocolate spread used to smear over the flaky pastry in your hand smears the corners of your lips and you wish Steven is here to thumb it away. a sorrow filled sigh break through your lips, knowing these letters are all you have of him at the moment as he’s out busy at Stark Tower doing only god knows what and bumping heads with only god knows who. silence only greets those thoughts and you realize that the collection of records playing your favorite romance artists have stopped sounding out their hearty tunes. 

     frowning, you get up and replay the record before returning back to the kitchen and to your seat. hands go back to the letters and your heart warms up in a matter of blissful seconds, cheery contentment dawning your face in delightful charm. although a question still dances along the crowded ballroom of your mind-

     whatever will you do with the time you have alone on Valentine’s Day awaiting for your beau? 

     it is only eight in the morning, Stevens plans are set around nine tonight and you could do so much more than just doll yourself up. finishing your lavish breakfast you begin tidying up once you place another record on the sitting room turntable. the music flowing throughout the large and finely furnished apartment, it creates a heavenly picturesque glow that brightens the golden framed paintings and renaissance clawfoot furniture. 

      you feel like an old Hollywood actress staring in her romantic comedy, it makes you nothing but languorous glee. the beauty of your vivid imagination pulling your typewritten script and setting your scenes to hear the director yell action! manifesting the movie with each pirouetting step, you feel the timeless sensation of Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor gracing down on from the heavens. 

     singing along with the records, recited movie lines from Breakfast At Tiffany’s and Rear Window. romantically immortal films consisting of elegant tailored outfits of Chanel and Moschino that the leading actress would flirt with her on screen partner, long and lust filled stares between your lover and the epitome of transatlantic accents that would make an European swoon. 

     the craftsmanship of your fantasy aiding you by hiding away any untouched breakfast foods, biting into a jam filled puff pastry you keep the sweet confectionery in between your teeth as you organize Steven’s letters. filing them from the ones you have read, that you carefully fold back into their envelops- to the ones you plan on reading later. clearing them away safely on an ivory tabletom dancing along with the beat of the record. 

     pulling yourself back into the visionary scene of your beloved vintage films, a baby blue Dior headband frames your heads crown and keeps your untamed bed hair away from your temple as you start a kettle of tea. retrieving your personally cherished china set from your glassy cupboards, soaking your desired teabags, home grown herbs and honey dewdrops into the separate porcelain teapot. turning the nob on the stovetop off once the screeching kettle ready with boiling water becomes louder than the music, it quietly dies down and you hum as you place the boiling water into the small porcelain teapot.

     steam erupting, its soothing when the scorching water drenches in the tea ingredients that begin to linger a sweet smelling scent. peachy cheeks soft and dewy as the sweet sunshine bounces off them, you carefully unfold each divinely wrapped box covered with glossy ribbons and confetti gift bag covered in strawberry scented tissue paper. blowing and sipping from your tea cup, you tenderly bundle Stevens button up around you as you examine his gift. 

     each eye grabbing and more expansive with each one passing you look over the heavy offering of baby pink and cream tulle trimmed Agent Provocateur lingerie. the occasion of lacey babydolls and pink fury teddys holding cupid hearts coming once with every three bags you also discover the silver Tiffany charms in powdered pistachio blue boxes. pastel pink heart-shaped pastel boxes of Chardonnet et Walker pink marc de champagne truffles make your mouth tingle.

     mink coats and cashmere sweaters dedicated to wrap you nice and warm in the snowy weather. a starlight smile shines at the fact of Steven remembering you looking through a few catalogues days after New Years. princess cut Dior earrings that shine like dangling stars and heart-shaped Prada handbags that would make any winged cherub strike their golden arrows into. 

     Steven always went above and beyond with your Valentine gifts and you weren’t even halfway done with opening the boxes and bags but seemed fit to prepare yourself for the day ahead of you.

     curves swaying along with Louis Armstrong's flaunting trumpet and Ella Fitzgerald's sweetly divine vocals once you get from your criss-crossed position on the floor. passing the wrapping paper and ribbon bows scattered in a sprawled lovecore mess, you make your way to your bedroom. bare feet adding against the carpet, passing golden framed body length mirrors and vase upon vase of flowers and burning candles. a silver tray bearing the porcelain petunia painted tea kettle, china tea cup and Stevens letters in your hands. 

     entering your open bedroom filled with crisp sunshine, your eyes dash over to your mess of a bed. white sheets that once held two giggling and kissing lovers is now empty with the exception of your pet laying lazily on the wrinkled plush comforter. blowing a kiss to the sleeping fluffy beauty before opening the molded white door to your private suite. 

     dancing along the white marble of the floor you run your bathtub full of hot water. taking your time preparing your dress and the lingerie you’ll wear tonight, it wasn’t exactly easy. Steven took a great joy in gifting you all the luxuries of jewelery, lingerie and clothing you desired, took great joy in fucking you in them as well. but as you enter the bathroom and exit to go through your wardrobe in your closets you go through boxes upon boxes of lingerie. 

     rummaging the organized baby pink boxes that you took hours organizing, you did realize that some bralettes were missing their panties yet you remember your gentlemen liked keeping a pair or two in his office when he’s away. you settle with not wearing anything Steven bought you but what you ordered on a website that caught your attention, more so intrigued of the fabulous singer and actress who ran the brand. 

     the divine deep red Valentines Day pieces of Fenty Lingerie were expansive but so was your credit card as you ordered the whole collection. hiding the box away from Steven and his too curious grasps you now reveal the box and open it. taking out the desired heart bralettes and Gartier belted thigh highs that went along with the lewd sheer panties you let out a delightful squeal at the thought of Steven ripping off your silk slip dress to reveal this sinful number.

     sipping from your tea, you go through your jewelry boxes settled on seashell chests on your vanity. retrieving your dearest diamond accessories to go along with the slip dress you head back to the bathroom. the water rising to your favorable height you fill the marble crest with rose petals, rose oils, rose water and rose bubble bath. of course, with Steven’s relentless showing of gifts there were enough Italian imported red wines for you to bathe in but you settled for your rose bath set that was tucked in the corners of your towel closet. 

     burning Diptyque candles around the tub, you settle your delicate cup down on the tray. departing from your beaus button down, you sink your feet and body into the floral water glowing in pearly bubbles smelling just the tint of sea salt. dissolving your thoughts and worries in the soft pink-hued mist your hands reach for Steven’s letters. carefully undoing the crimson wax seal your fingers grasp the letter and polaroid photographs it holds. 

     giggling when you read that this specific letter is about you and Stevens first time. reading along the lines of his amusing embarrassment of him not knowing what he was doing exactly it still warms your heart when he stated in his own writing that he was grateful and happy to share that moment with you. 

     the letter going into detail of all the moments that break you into laughter- such as when you and Steven rolled off your bed unaware as you and him were to wrapped in the passion- to your face heating up when he went into erratic detail of his hand placements on your ‘Aphrodite like body encouraging the Aries affair to overturn gracefully, to repent in no favor but yours’. 

     not being ashamed to write down every moment of the midnight passion. from the way you tongues and lips were locked and didn’t dare separate for air, to how his hands ripped your clothes into shreds ‘to praise and worship the skin that sparkled and shone like buried treasures for my hands to caress’. a heavenly burn begins fluttering in between your bubble sud thighs when you look over the polaroid's. some you took and some he took but all in all they showed you and him doing, well- 

     your first time 

     a slow hand that doesn’t hold the scandalous polaroid's flows down to your bubble covered breast. pinching the nipple, the sensation only sends the pleasure down south to your hidden jewel. biting your bottom lip, you crave for Steven’s hands. crave his lips, crave his touch... 

     generally, his attention but you cannot go past your golden rule no matter how good the thought of your fingers stroking your folds sounds. knowing its best to not break the rule of touching yourself without his permission the thought of it sits pleasantly in your head. trying to distract yourself the growing sensation with his other letters and plucking one of the fifty fluffy macaroons that lie on the pretty Laudree packaging. 

     Steven gifted you all the luxuries that would substitute his absence, but all you ever wanted was him

     heart thumping in this truth you again attempt to distract yourself with his blush colored letter. cooing at Stevens cute sketches of you and reading poems dedicated to his first impression when meeting you- but you cannot think of anything or concentrate on anything but the first letter. giving cheating glances back to the polaroid's, your glance is captivated by Steven’s handsome and muscled physique in the contrasted filter. the faintly colored noir-film like pictures emphasizing on his golden skin rippling against the sheets caging you in with his arms. 

     the night replays with the jazz music in the ballroom of your mind, throwing your head back you feel yourself underneath him just as you were then. hands in his hair and his clenching the sheets besides your head when you kiss passionately as he rubbed his hard member against your forbidden fruit.   

    it didn’t help your case at all that you’re embellishing that night into your thoughts. it’s only making you desire your sweetheart more and more, needing him more and more as the minutes passed. 

     wanting- no, craving to hear the sweet music that is his voice    

     yearning to descry the divine tinge of his tongue clicking to his teeth when you says your name so sweetly. to imagine the movement of his tulip petal lips as he speaks his ‘I love you’s’ like a prayer and he’s on his knees for a goddess.

     oh you needed it just as much as his instructions on how to handle your distressing state. realizing the soft pink dial telephone that stood at the opposite side of the tub you bite your lip in thought. 

     should you call Steven?

     it makes you wonder, shifting against the water careful to not spill any over the edge. chewing on a raspberry macaroon at the thought, you pout not knowing exactly what you’d say. you and Steven have been in a relationship for years now, it should be simple to call your lover and talk to him about this yet a sparking idea light up like a shimmering star above your head. 

     you and Steven were both helpless for dirty talk, your words and underlying message would pull him out of whatever he was in to cater to help you with your problem.

     your thundering impatience and searing lust had shameless minds of their own as you pulled the cushioned ottomon closer to you and dialed Steven’s office number through the rotary disc. heart strumming along with the music continuing to play in the distance you do not exhale a breath as you hear the sound of the phone dialing. the powdered pink handset in your hands. chin resting on the rim of the porcelain tub as your lips brush against the mouthpiece in the shape of a heart. 

     when the dial ends with the sounds of him about to speak a gleaming smile radiates off your lips, pulling the handset closer to you to speak.

     “Steven!” your giggle that follows afterwards makes a dimpled smile pull at the blond’s lips and he lightly chuckles. 

     your presence melting away anything else that captured his attention away from you. fortunately you weren’t the only one craving the love and affection of your partner, Steven was in a busy meeting with Tony and the other avengers at the grey and stern table. argued his way through and pursuing a solution to the worldly crisis that was in their hands but with the progress he’s making he’s sure to help the team come to an agreement.

     “how are you doing, my love? did you enjoy your gifts? i’m counting down the hours till I pick you up for our reservation. treat you how you should be treated today,” Steven’s tender words breaks your dreamy state and your wispy babydoll lashes flutter at the sound of his voice. 

     “well right now i’m taking a bath. drinking some tea, reading your letters and i just so happened to cross on this one specific letter…” your teasing voice flowing through the mouthpiece and into Steven’s ears. 

     striking his brain, trying to comprehend what you're saying and trying to decipher whether your giggles are aimed towards him or onto something else. you made it known how much of a tease you were, from your suggestive dresses you’d torture him with when you’d attend gala’s to your shameless yet elegant class as you’d whisper all the dirty things you want him to do you once you two got home.

    indeed it worked like a charm, sometimes it left little self control as he’d take you in that backseat of the sleek vehicle. it’s definitely working now

     “alright what are going on about you little minx?” Steven states, a tint of his dominance in his voice but you continue to drift in your fit of giggles as you bend your knee to your chest in exuberance. 

     pulling Steven’s letters that rest besides the silver tray of macaroons and tea, you hug them to your chest as you reread his paragraphs upon paragraphs of his thunderous thoughts and detailed emotions ravaging you in sinful detail. 

     “oh, nothing Stevie... just couldn’t stop thinking about a little something, do wanna know about it?” 

     “absolutely darling. anything is better then being in that room with those blockheads,” Steven didn’t know he said that thought aloud but you don’t care. 

     you’re panning on relieving the throbbing pleasure pulsing at your slicked core and maybe undo some stress he’s under if he’s a fair distance away from wandering ears.

     “will do Captain, ‘the second our mouths collided was an ambrosial taken place. a supernova in labor between our bodies thriving to find our peak, creating a cosmos of divination as her walls wrapped around my cock. the indescribable pleasure as unforgettable as the dimple at the corner of your fiery lips and enchanting sparkle in her eyes. the moans that flowed from her mouth soft and encouraging-

     “‘-as I wrapped her thighs over my shoulder and thrusted my cock deeper and deeper into her forbidden fruit. her sweet, forbidden fruit so sweet I wouldn’t dare reject if a serpent offered so.’ I was hoping you’d read that special one, you need to understand how lovesick I was for you then. i’m still lovesick about you now but its gotten impossibly stronger now than before.”

     that statement makes you shift in the water, rubbing your thighs together as your fingers rest in between them. imagining its Steven’s large hand that’s pinned at the plushness, however you’re yearning for the warmth, security and skill they hold that your hands don’t nearly possess.

     “lovesick you say?” you purr, the sinful sound rolling off your tongue it makes roses blush on Stevens cheeks.

    an unknown tightness of his trousers making itself known, he grits his teeth at your tactic but he cannot help it. he gives in so easily for you, it impossible to repent and withold

     “yes doll, i’m lovesick. lovesick for you and only you. now answer your Captain, did you enjoy your gifts?” his voice growing and deepening, lust soaking his thoughts and hardening his member at the thoughts of you, you, you.

    holding the phone in between your ear and should as you pluck another macaroon from the assortment. a smirk plays on your lips knowing that your plan is working, you can here his little grits and groans as he locks his office door. 

     “I did enjoy your gifts Captain, and I love the fact that seventy percent of them all are tiny pretty things that barely cover my body. I love giving you a good show when you get home from work,” your voice smooth as the buttercream roses you decorate with your heart-shaped cakes.

     your free hand tweaks at your nipple, the remands of strawberry vanilla from your previous macaroon stick on your tongue but how how you want to taste the pre cum that leaks from Steven’s tip. the filthy thought has you abandoning your breast to give attention to your cunt, a whimper excluding your lips when it burns so good at just the touch.

     “mhm I knew you’d enjoy them doll. you always pull such good performances for me in them. so sweet and pretty, all for me to rip it off you,” you don’t mean to slip past a moan as your fingers rub your pearl but it’s too late to take it back when he hear Stevens stern exhale.

     “are you touching yourself sweetheart?” his voice isn’t smooth and suave no more but raspy and demanding, making your fingers stop their rubbing motion.

     “n-no,” you fib but all you want to do is sink in the bubbly warm water when you hear Steven darkly chuckle.

     “don’t lie to your Captain sweetheart. are you touching yourself? tell the truth,” you gulp at that, mouth shaking as you bring the sound piece of the handset closer to your lips. internally hoping and praying that Steven will give in to you, even when you’re breaking a golden rule. 

     “yes. yes I am Captain,” your breathy whisper holds all the euphoria and lust you're body is swimming in and it doesn’t help that you hear the metal clank of a belt unbuckling.

     “without my permission?” you can’t decipher his voice, whether or not he’s angry or disappointed your fingers stop tracing the bubbly surface of the pink tinted water.

     “y-yes, Captain- but I just couldn’t help it! you left me and my mess alone this morning. i’m so lonely here without you,” you mellow, your fingers once again tracing your lower lips. 

     not daring to plunge them deeper once you hear the light sound of Stevens heavy breath fanning into your ear. shivers sending up and down your spine deliciously, it’s like he’s here with you now even when he’s on the other side of the city.

     “mhm, you just couldn’t help it, sugar can’t you? you need me right now don’t you sweet girl? you need your Captain to help you?” nodding hysterically along with him.  

     coming to a realization that your lover can’t see you nod your head, your pretty lips you’d let him kiss and use any day pull into a pout. knowing you’re going to have to beg him to allow yourself to touch your pussy.

     well, his pussy

     “yes please! I-I need you Ste- Captain! please I need you!” your breathy voice begs and on the other end Steven has a smirk playing on his handsome face. 

     it’s hours until he’ll be done with his meeting and hours until he picks you up for your dinner reservation but he’s in your debt. you never know this but Steven was sprawled in your hand, whatever you desired and needed he’ll give you within the snap of his fingers. if you needed him when he’s away, he’ll make it seem he’s right near the tub. guiding your fingers in and out of your hole and leaving praises and affirmations into your ear.

     “how can I say no to you doll?”

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ my storybook || aka my masterlist!

[terryballs]

My favourite Doctor Who writers

10. Neil Gaiman

Neil Gaiman is one of the most talented people to ever write for Doctor Who. Of course, talent alone is not enough - Douglas Adams, Alan Moore, and Naomi Alderman all miss out on this list. What makes Gaiman special is his fairytale, fantasy approach to the show. He has big ideas, full of heart, and I am always delighted by them.

Why isn’t Mr Gaiman higher up on the list? Simply because he has only done four stories. One of them, “The Doctor’s Wife”, is an all-time classic, while the others are at least good. With a couple more stories, Mr Gaiman would surely be higher.

9. Paul Magrs

Coming in at #9 is one of the most important writers of non-televised Who. Paul Magrs has written nine Big Finish Main Range stories (most notably “The Peterloo Massacre”), three Companion Chronicles, and two Eighth Doctor Adventures, including the exceptional “The Zygon Who Fell To Earth”, as well as a huge number of spin-off adventures.

It’s in print where Magrs really flourishes, though. It’s quite hard to get across just how influential Paul Magrs has been. Firstly, his three books in the Eighth Doctor Adventures range - The Scarlet Empress, The Blue Angel, and Mad Dogs and Englishmen - are hugely ambitious metatextual delights. These stories introduce Iris Wildthyme and the Smudgelings to the Whoniverse, and have each inspired their own spin-off series, collectively called the “Magrsverse”. Iris’s parody of the Doctor is a rip-roaring delight whenever she appears - and as you know, she’s famous for it - and will prove a lasting legacy for Mr Magrs.

I suppose, at this junction, I should mention Lawrence Miles, who has had a similar influence, but I just don’t find to be quite as good a storyteller as Magrs.

8. Rob Shearman

You probably know Rob Shearman for “Dalek”, the first good New Who story. What if I told you that “Dalek” is Shearman’s worst DW story?

The titles of Shearman’s audio plays are enough to send shivers up the spines of those who have heard them. There’s “Jubilee”, the loose inspiration for “Dalek”, which explores the Daleks as fascist iconography. There’s “The Holy Terror”, where the Doctor and Frobisher the Penguin Shape-Shifter have a similarly horrifying experience with a religious cult. There’s “The Chimes of Midnight”, possibly the definitive Eighth Doctor story, and “Scherzo”, itself perhaps the most experimental story in Doctor Who history, and “Deadline”, in which the villain is Doctor Who itself.

Like many of the writers on this list, Shearman has an eclectic back catalogue full of obscure oddities. But few people have quite his capacity for knocking it out of the park.

7. Chris Chibnall

It’s true that Chris Chibnall’s work before becoming showrunner is inconsistent at best. “42″ is bad and “The Hungry Earth” is uninspired. “Dinosaurs on a Spaceship” is a fun romp, while “The Power of Three” is a great story that is let down by the ending which had to be re-written hastily due to unforeseen production issues. And Chibnall’s contributions to Series 11 range from “fine” (”The Woman Who Fell To Earth”) to “bad” (”The Battle of Ranskor Av Kolos”). But in “Pond Life” and “P.S.”, Chibnall shows that he knows how to write affecting character beats.

It’s in Series 12 that Chibnall really takes things up a step. His stories become sprawling and ambitious: globe-trotting thrillers crammed full of ideas. He’s still occasionally guilty of trying to throw too many ideas in, but his love for the story really shines through. There’s barely a weak moment in Series 12, and that’s largely because Chibnall himself steps up to write or co-write hit after hit after hit. It all culminates in the epic three-part finale, “The Haunting of Villa Diodati”/”Ascension of the Cybermen”/”The Timeless Children”, a hugely ambitious story that crosses space and time and pulls together disparate elements from the history of Who. It’s a million miles from “The Battle of Ranskor Av Kolos”: a fan-pleasing story that is truly epic.

6. Vinay Patel

Why is Vinay so high? Good question. Thinking about it, I can’t really justify this placement. Patel reliably produces great stories - “Demons of the Punjab” alone marks Patel out as a great, and to follow it up with “Fugitive of the Judoon” shows that it wasn’t a fluke. But Mr Patel has only got four stories to his name - the aforementioned TV stories plus “Letters from the Front” and “The Tourist” - so for similar reasons to Mr Gaiman, a high position is difficult to justify.

So instead, let’s give this position to Terrance Dicks. Mr Dicks has a bit of a reputation as more of a “jobbing” writer than someone like Chibnall or Shearman, Terrance Dicks was, first and foremost, a script editor. Yes, he co-wrote “The War Games” and was the sole writer for “Horror of Fang Rock”, but he’s best remembered for script editing the Third Doctor era (and part of the Second Doctor era), as well as producing an absolute mass of Target novelisations. But that’s not all - Mr Dicks has written original novels (VNAs, EDAs, and PDAs alike), Quick Reads, audio stories, two stage plays, and even the Destiny of the Doctor video game.

Sure, Mr Dicks didn’t burn as bright as Mr Patel. But his contribution to the Whoniverse is unparalleled.

5. Nev Fountain

Comedy writer Nev Fountain has written several of the very best Doctor Who stories. For some reason, these stories tend to centre around Peri (Fountain is married to Nicola Bryant). “Peri and the Piscon Paradox” is the best Companion Chronicle by far, due to a combination of great acting by Bryant and Colin Baker and Fountain’s sizzling script. “The Kingmaker” is an outrageously funny historical with incredible dialogue and multiple ideas clever enough to carry a whole story.

Frankly, those two alone should be enough to convince anyone of Fountain’s brilliance. But there is so much more - “The Widow’s Assassin”, “The Curious Incident of the Doctor In the Night-time”, “The Blood on Santa’s Claw”, “Omega“... if you like Doctor Who, make yourself familiar with Nev Fountain.

4. Robert Holmes

More than anyone else, Robert Holmes is responsible for the esteem which the Fourth Doctor is held in.

Holmes first wrote for the show all the way back in Series 6, with “The Krotons”. He wrote the very first Third Doctor story, “Spearhead From Space”, in which he also introduced the Autons. They reappeared a year later in “Terror of the Autons”, which introduced Jo Grant and the Master. In “The Time Warrior”, Holmes introduced the Sontarans, a pastiche of imperialism.

It was in the Fourth Doctor era that Mr Holmes really made his mark. He took over from Mr Dicks as script editor. In his own right, he wrote “The Deadly Assassin” and “Talons of Weng-Chiang”, but he also turned “The Ark In Space”, “Pyramids of Mars”, and “The Brain of Morbius” into usable stories, even appearing in “The Brain of Morbius” as the Doctor.

After stepping back from script editing, Holmes returned as a hack to write stories like “The Caves of Androzani” (probably the most popular story in Classic Who) and “The Two Doctors”, before dying shortly after his 60th birthday.

3. Jamie Mathieson

Putting Mr Mathieson above Mr Holmes really shows my bias towards New Who, but honestly, I’d rather re-watch “Mummy on the Orient Express”, “Flatline”, or “Oxygen” than any of Holmes’ stories. Mathieson is very inventive and extremely good at maintaining pace and tension. I’m sure we’ll get more stories from him in the future, but the ones we have so far should be used as inspiration by anyone wanting to writing exciting Who.

2. John Dorney

It is hard to exaggerate Mr Dorney’s contributions to audio Who. He may lack the external fanbase of Mr Gaiman, the influence of Mr Magrs, or the legendary status of Messrs Dicks, Chibnall, and Holmes, but make no mistake, Dorney is exceptional. In almost every range he tries his hand at - Lost Stories, Novel Adaptations, Third Doctor Adventures, Fourth Doctor Adventures, Fifth Doctor Adventures, Dark Eyes, Doom Coalition, Ravenous, Time War, Companion Chronicles, Short Trips, Jago and Litefoot, Missy, UNIT, Diary of River Song... Dorney reliably writes the best story in the set.

In particular, Dorney’s stories are notable for the way they focus on character drama. Look at stories like “A Life In A Day” or “Absent Friends” for particular examples of stories that use sci-fi concepts to draw emotion out of characters, particularly the stoic Liv Chenka. Other highlights of Dorney’s include “The Red Lady” and the “Better Watch Out”/”Fairytale of Salzburg” two-parter.

1. Steven Moffat

What more is there to say? Moffat is truly exceptional, reliably writing the best stories in TV Who for several consecutive years. The classics are too numerous to list, but the stand outs amongst the stand outs are “Blink” and “Heaven Sent”/”Hell Bent”.

Some of Moffat’s best work comes away from TV. The minisodes “The Inforarium” and “Night of the Doctor”, the novelisation of “Day of the Doctor”, the short stories “Continuity Errors” and “the Corner of the Eye”, and lockdown stories like “Terror of the Umpty Ums” are Moffat deep cuts which deserve to be held in the same regard as his great TV stories.

Moffat’s imagination lead to him creating multiple iconic monsters - foremost amongst them, the Weeping Angels and the Silence. Moffat emphasised the use of time travel within the stories themselves; other themes in his work include memory, perception, paradoxes, identity, sexuality, and responsibility. He is, without a doubt, the greatest Doctor Who writer, and I am so lucky to have lived through the period where he was active.

[mintypineapple]

dw ask game 1-36 and 38-100 DON'T ANSWER NUMBER 37 I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT CRYING

DaThanks, anon who is probably @truestoriesaboutme!

CHILDHOOD

1. Did you like DW as a child?

Depends. What do you consider a child? I saw Doctor Who for the first time when I was 16 or 17. Does that count? Let’s say that it does. I did enjoy it.

2. Your age at the time of the revival?

16.

3. First DW episode you ever saw?

An Unearthly Child. I wanted to watch it all in order! Still do! My first New Who episode was “Blink,” as forced upon me by @raisegrate. I did enjoy it.

4. Did you have any of the toys?

I didn’t at the time, but I do now. I have a couple of screwdrivers, a Fourth Doctor, an Ice Warrior, and not-quite-Legos of Doctors 1-11. (-WD)

5. Which DW character did you play on the playground?

N/A.

6. Monster(s) that scared you most as a child?

N/A. Nothing scares me.

7. Joke/story you didn’t get as a kid?

N/A. I get all jokes/stories.

8. DW opinion that has changed since you were a kid?

That the only way to watch it was from the very beginning. I eventually gave in and watched New Who before finishing Classic Who.

9. Who introduced you to DW?

Pretty sure I heard about it initially on a forum I went to called The Douglas Adams Continuum. That’s when I started watching the First Doctor. Again, @raisegrate showed me my first New Who. Eventually, I started watching New Who in its entirety with @catastrofries and they started watching Classic Who with me for @rassilonwatchathon.

10. Did you like Sarah Jane Adventures as a child?

Didn’t even know it existed as a child. But I liked it as an adult.

Read more under the cut. There’s a lot!

DOCTOR

11. Who is your Doctor?

One. He’s the first I saw and I’ve went through some of his more than once, due to the podcast, so he has a special place in my heart.

12. Your favourite Doctor?

It varies depending on the day. I quite like Two, Eleven, and Twelve, though.

13. Least favourite Doctor?

Possibly 5 or 13? More because they don’t get a whole lot to do, than them being bad.

14. Best regeneration?

Technically speaking, there’s something about that first one that is still so good. Emotionally speaking, Two’s regeneration is terrifying and I quite like Twelve’s speech before regenerating.

15. Do you like “Doctor-Lite” episodes?

Yeah! They’re all pretty good! Even “Love and Monsters!” Yeah, I said it! (The end is bad, but the rest is good.)

16. Who is the most human Doctor?

One calls himself human a handful of times. Does that count? If not, definitely Five. He seems the most like a regular guy in a weird situation out of all of them.

17. Best multi-Doctor story?

The Day of the Doctor, for sure.

18. Best Doctor monologue?

Eleven’s speech to young Amy in “The Big Bang.” That episode is just solid all around.

19. What do you think TenToo/MetaCrisis Doctor is doing now?

He’s definitely fucked off somewhere and abandoned Rose. He runs a cat cafe that is definitely a front for something, but no one can quite figure out what.

20. Best Doctor/companion pairing?

One/Barbara, Two/Jamie, Three/Jo, Four/Leela, Five/Tegan, (haven’t seen enough of Six, any of Seven, and I honestly don’t remember the companion for Eight), Nine/Rose (that’s the only option!), Ten/Donna, Eleven/Amy-Rory, Twelve/Clara, Ruth/Thirteen.

COMPANIONS

21. Favourite companion?

Classic Who: This is hard. Jamie? Sarah Jane? Leela? New Who: Donna Noble.

22. Favourite secondary companion?

Not sure what this means exactly... My second favorite? If so, I gave three for favorite Classic Who, so one of them. New Who: Rory.

23. Least favourite companion?

Classic: Ben Jackson or Peri. New: Ryan.

24. Best TARDIS Team?

Classic: Two, Jamie, and Zoe. New: Eleven, Amy, and Rory.

25. Most underrated companion?

I love Steven Taylor. I feel like he doesn’t get mentioned enough.

26. Most overrated companion?

Probably gonna get some hate for this, but Romana II. She’s good and I like her, but I was expecting a lot more. I honestly prefer Romana I.

27. Favourite companion’s family?

I love Rory’s dad.

28. Who should have been a companion but wasn’t?

Kamelion. AM I RIGHT? But seriously, Amelia Rumford from “The Stones of Blood.”

29. Favourite (canon or non-canon) DW universe relationship?

Amy/Rory.

30. Who did you not used to like, but really like now?

I hated Tegan when she first came on, but now I love her.

EPISODES

31. Favourite episode ever?

“Heaven Sent.”

32. Least favourite episode?

“Time-Flight” gave me a literal headache.

33. Which episodes do you skip?

NONE. Of course, I’ve not done any rewatches. YET.

34. Best two-parter?

“The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances” are the first New Who episodes that fully sold me on the show.

35. Historical, present day or futuristic episodes?

Give me the future and make it weird!

36. Episode that will always make you smile?

“The Myth Makers.”

37 HAS BEEN REDACTED.

38. Best run of episodes?

“Vincent and the Doctor” through “Day of the Moon” is pretty solid.

39. Best cliffhanger?

“Vengeance on Varos.” Hands fucking down.

40. Favourite Christmas special?

The answer to question 37. “A Christmas Carol.”

SERIES

41. Classic Who or New Who?

Yes please! (Though New Who will take this a little just because the pace is generally a lot better.)

42. Favourite series?

I’m not sure about Classic (I have a harder time thinking of them as different series), but New is definitely 5.

43. Least favourite series?

11.

44. Which series do you skip?

See 33.

45. Favourite series opening?

“The Eleventh Hour.” It’s just a lot of fun.

46. Favourite series finale?

“The Big Bang.” IT’S A GOOD SERIES.

47. Best series arc?

So I don’t sound repetitive and say Series 5 again, Clara’s arc in her last season is great.

48. Thoughts on series 11/12?

I find it largely boring and not well-written. Though there are some things I like! I love Ruth a bunch.

49. How much of Classic Who have you seen?

I’ve seen from “An Unearthly Child” to “The Two Doctors.” And the movie.

50. Who should have had another series?

Doctor: Nine. Or Eight. Or Ruth. Companion: Kamelion, but done better.

MONSTERS

51. Favourite monster/villain?

I love them Fuzzy Chicken Nuggets. (The Yeti.)

52. Most creative monster?

The Silence are an interesting concept.

53. Monster(s) that scares you most?

OAK AND QUILL from “Fury From the Deep.” Fuck those guys.

54. Monster you think is too easy to defeat?

I hate power level questions. Next.

55. Least favourite monster/villain?

I get really tired of the Daleks sometimes, y’all.

56. Monster you want to return?

Chumblies or quarks.

57. In your opinion, what makes a monster good?

The writing. You can do great things with most of them. Even the ones you dislike. Like, I hate the farting aliens, but they are occasionally used well.

58. Daleks, Cybermen or Weeping Angels?

If I had to pick, I’d say... Cybermen. Daleks are very samey and loud. Weeping Angels get less interesting every time they are used. But there’s a human element to the Cybermen that, when utilized, can be very effective and unsettling.

59. Best Dalek story?

The one where Two rides around on ones he made nice.

60. Best one time villain/monster?

I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is in “Midnight.”

ADDITIONAL MATERIAL

61. Torchwood or Sarah Jane Adventures?

SJA is more consistent, but the highs of Torchwood are higher.

62. Favourite Torchwood Team member?

Owen. But like... not season one Owen.

63. Which Torchwood death made you saddest?

See 62.

64. Do you rewatch COE or MD?

I haven’t rewatched anything yet. But I would rewatch COE before MD.

65. Favourite SJA Team member?

Clyde.

66. Mr Smith or K-9?

Mr. Smith is way more interesting. He had a villain arc!

67. Maria or Rani?

Rani.

68. Do you read the comics/novels or listen to Big Finish?

Some. I’m doing them as Patreon bonus episodes for @rassilonwatchathon​. I haven’t done much though.

69. If you do, your favourite additional stories?

“The Chimes of Midnight.” I’ve listened to it twice.

70. Do you like DW analysis (video essays, fan theories, etc)?

I do DW analysis for @rassilonwatchathon AND The Dipp. So yes. My fave is TARDIS Eruditorum, though.

I’LL ANSWER THE REST AT A LATER TIME. I MUST BE WITH MY PEOPLE NOW.

[rhnuzlocke]

Chapter Seven: If You Can’t Rock Me

Ren and Tāraki stood in the immaculate hallway on the top floor of the Devon building. Despite donning the most businesslike outfit she had in her vapor box, Ren was feeling rather underdressed for the occasion, especially when a woman in a custom tailored suit emerged from the office across from them.

“Mr. Stone will see you now.”

She held the door open for them, and Ren thanked her as they went in.

The walls of the generous office were covered in cases of specimens from glittering crystals to polished granite. The floor was beautifully striated, pink marble that was somehow still less impressive than the lobby, which had them walking over an incredible array of intricately arranged fossils.

Mr. Stone stood from his large desk on the far end of the room to greet them. He was an older gentleman with silver hair and a perfectly trimmed beard.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Kosugi,” he said as he shook her hand. He then he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Nonsense, it is I who must thank you,” he said as Ren sat down, and Tāraki jumped to the arm of the chair. “The package you recovered was an extremely important prototype. My company and I are indebted to you.”

“You are welcome, sir. I just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

He gave a warm smile—warmer than she had been expecting. “That is very admirable of you, Ms. Kosugi, but I did not invite you here just to thank you personally.”

“You really don’t have to do anything,” Ren said firmly. She had hoped to avoid a reward after purposefully letting the thief go… twice.

“Please allow me to anyway. It is only fair,” he insisted. “I’d like to offer you full access to all of our nav apps, free of charge, and of course upgrade your nav to any model you choose. We also have an extensive line of accessories for trainers that may be of use to you. Ms. Ikeda will assist you as soon as we’re done.”

Ren weighed whatever was happening in her conscience against the risk of exposing herself and Josh for a moment before realizing it was moot. Despite Mr. Stone’s jovial bearing, she could feel that he wasn’t going to budge.

“That is very generous, sir. Thank you.”

“Very good.” He regarded her for a moment, hands knit together and thumbs wandering back and forth. “There is one more thing. This in no way effects anything I have already offered, and you are under no obligation to accept, but I was hoping you might run an errand for me—paid, of course.”

Now that she wasn’t expecting. “What sort of errand?” She asked carefully. She saw Tāraki cock his head in her periphery.

“Delivery. Specifically taking the parts you returned to me twice to my son in Dewford. It would be a great personal favor.”

The odd feeling that had prodded her back in Petalburg Woods reared up stronger than ever, and she gripped the arms of her chair. She had let go of the idea of asking questions before she even entered the building. Now there was no way not to.

“Before I decide, I have a few things I would like to ask.”

“About the incidents?” he asked, and she confirmed with a nod. He was sharp. “By all means. You and your pokemon were, albeit unintentionally, put in jeopardy. You are perhaps owed some manner of explanation.”

“Thank you, sir. Can I ask why you sent your top fossil scientist to deliver this prototype and not a courier? It seems like, as the head of the department, he might have other things to do.”

The corner of his mouth turned up just slightly before he leaned back a bit. “Ah, yes, under normal circumstances I certainly wouldn’t have, but since this was sensitive material, I needed someone I trusted. Devon may make most of its money nowadays from navtech, but I founded this company as a fossil revival center, and that has always remained my passion. Graeme has been here since the very beginning, and I’ve worked with him for much of my life. He is a close friend.”

In that moment, Ren resented her gut just a little for being right again because now she had to follow it. “Please excuse me—I don’t mean to sound rude or accusatory—but it seems as though Dr. Arden, and by extension yourself, may have expected an attempted theft?”

“To be perfectly frank, yes. Yes, I did.”

“So, do you know who is trying to steal this prototype and why?”

“Yes, I believe I do.” For the first time, Mr. Stone’s flawless posture wilted ever so slightly, and he paused for a moment, as if reluctant to elaborate. “This may sound strange, and I hope you will forgive me—I do not mean to cast aspersions—but I am fairly certain Magma is behind the attempted thefts.”

Ren had no idea what that meant or why he should feel uncomfortable saying it. Tāraki tilted his head all the way in the opposite direction, brow furrowing. He was doubtless even more lost than she was. “Is that… a criminal group?”

“Heavens no!” Mr. Stone exclaimed, raising his hands as if to push that idea away from him. “I forgot you are new to the region. No, Magma is a humanitarian organization. Their focus is infrastructure and affordable housing. I collaborated with them recently on the Rusturf Tunnel project.”

Mention of the tunnel made Ren’s chest tighten. “I’m sorry about the collapse.”

“It is unfortunate,” he said with a sigh, “but not your doing. Problems with the Whismur plagued it from the beginning. I suppose Captain Seaborne was right after all…” His eyes drifted out the window as he fell silent.

Ren felt a pang of sympathy. Continuing to pry didn’t seem kind anymore. Mr. Stone was under a lot of stress, and this wasn’t just business to him. But she looked over at Tāraki, saw the confusion on his face, but when their eyes met he smiled and nodded encouragingly. Her resolve hardened. He couldn’t understand much of what was being said, but he trusted her to make the right choice. They were all relying on her.

She didn’t mince her next words. “Do you think the project may have just been a way for them to get inside information about your company?”

“I admit to briefly considering the possibility.” He rearranged some items on his already orderly desk. “However, taking into account the organization’s history and having met with their leaders personally, I find it unlikely that their work up until this point has been some kind of smokescreen for criminal activity. That is to say, I do not believe this was motivated by greed. It seems more likely to me that they have found some way other than public appeal to further their agenda and that the technology they are attempting to steal will help them in some way.”

Now that was an interesting wrinkle. “And what exactly are they trying to steal?”

“A new type of energy converter,” he answered easily. Ren had half-expected him not to disclose anything at all. And that made her feel better even though things had become more complicated.

“So with all of that going on, why ask me to take the package?”

“Firstly, you have already proven yourself trustworthy. You had ample opportunity to take the parts yourself, knowing full well that they must be very valuable, but instead returned them twice. Secondly, since you are not a Devon employee or affiliate, Magma is unlikely to suspect you are carrying anything for us. And thirdly, if they do find out, you have already demonstrated you are a competent enough trainer to fend them off.”

“Oh.” That was all very well reasoned. “Thank you, I guess.”

“That being said, I very much doubt they will come after you. I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought they might. However, I completely understand if you don’t want to take any more risks. It is your choice.”

“He had such a reassuring way about him, that in that moment I really did believe everything would be fine. And I think he did too.” If he is anything like Steven, I’m sure he would never have sent you willingly into harm’s way. “No. He wouldn’t have.”

“I’ll do it. I’d like to visit Dewford anyway.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Kosugi.” His relief was even more gratifying than the genuine gratitude in his expression. “Once again, you are really getting us out of a bind. Will you need travel accommodations?”

“Ah, no sir, or I don’t think so anyway. Captain Briney offered me a ride.”

Mr. Stone smiled broadly. “Jim? Well, that works out very well then. He has a lovely boat, and his cottage is quite close. Do send him my regards. I haven’t seen the old rascal in quite some time.”

Tāraki climbed up her shoulder and wrapped his tail around her neck. “Will do, sir.”

...

Ren walked out of the Devon building with the prototype in her vapor box and her bag full of new tech. Mr. Stone had not been kidding about the trainer equipment; Ren had to admit she was pretty excited to try out her collapsible screen and use her new solar generator the next time she camped out. But the shine wore off quickly as her mind wandered, and she soon found herself watching her boots tromp down the sidewalk. Without Mr. Stone there to reassure her, doubt was creeping back in.

“That went well!” Tāraki piped up by her side.

“Yeah, he told us a lot more than I thought he would,” Ren admitted distantly.

Tāraki cocked his head, trying to look up at her face for a moment or two before giving up. “Though I guess I still don't understand all of it.”

“We should tell the others. Come on, I think there's a park nearby.”

It was small, like most things in Rustboro, but there was a pond with blooming lily pads and a pretty little gazebo. Ren let out the rest of her pokemon, and they listened as she and Tāraki explained the situation.

Ren expected them to say something when she was done��opinions, comments, at least one question—but none of them did.

“Are you really okay with this? I mean, I’m not even entirely sure what I’m getting us into.” She looked from one to the next and was met with nothing but mild confusion.

“You’re the leader,” said Akahana at length—deliberately, like she was explaining something obvious. “It’s your call, trainer.”

Iki nodded in agreement, and none of the others raised any objection.

“Wait, hang on, that’s not the way I want to run this team.” Ren swallowed, a little shocked at her own dismay, but it did nothing to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “It—it isn’t right. You’re my partners. I want your input.”

Hakeka grumbled, and Panahi nodded along. “Maybe not how I would have put it, but you have a point.” Ren gave her a questioning look, and Panahi elaborated. “It’s just that you’ve already accepted.”

“I would go give it back right now if it mattered to you!”

“I’m sure you would,” Panahi said delicately, obviously still at a loss for what exactly the issue was. “Do you not want to do it anymore?”

“No, I do.” Ren looked at them, hoping one of them would understand, give her something so she could stop sliding helplessly downwards.

They looked at each other, and Akahana’s tail twitched. Finally Hakeka grunted.

“What do you want from us?” Akahana translated.

“I just want to know what you think! I know I already explained things, and you all seemed okay with it, but maybe I didn’t really give you all a choice. I want to give you a choice. Besides, you’re all smart. I just thought—well, maybe we shouldn’t be relying on only my judgement all the time. Please just tell me what you think. Should we do this?”

There was another silence and a few more glances between the pokemon before Māia piped up. “Why not? Even if another one of those Magma trainers comes after us, we can totally take them. We’re strong!”

“That’s right!” said Tāraki. “We’re all getting to be pretty good battlers.”

“He said they probably wouldn’t know it was us anyway, r-right?” Iki asked. “It doesn’t seem too dangerous.”

“And we could use the money,” Akahana concluded.

The last two weren’t as forthcoming, so Ren prompted them. “Hakeka, what do you think?”

Hakeka snorted, followed by some gurgling.

“She thinks you worry too much,” said Tāraki. “Seems like a low risk with a high reward.”

“Ahi?”

“I agree with everyone else, Honey. But listen: it’s great that you want to know what we’re thinking and all, really it is, but it doesn’t change the fact that you have the final say in the end. You are the leader. You need to own your decisions and take responsibility.”

“I didn’t know why that made me so uncomfortable, so I didn’t say anything. And she was right: I am responsible.” Perhaps, but not for everything you think you are. “And what is that supposed to mean?” If you wouldn’t hear it from Steven, you will not listen to me. Not that he has any authority on the subject. “Then why are we talking about it?” My hope is that you will see it yourself. That is why we are doing this exercise. But it won’t work if you are so defensive. “Alright, I’ll try not to be.” 

“I—thank you, Ahi.” Ren took a deep breath and nodded, face set. “Okay. We are going to do this, and I’ll take full responsibility for what happens. But I just want all of you to know that I never want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. You should be able to make your own decisions too.”

“Awesome! So when are we challenging the Gym?”

...

The Rustboro Gym stood out boldly from every other building in the city, not just in size but in architecture—if it could be called that. The exterior looked more like a jagged, natural rock formation than a human structure, yet it was still regular and purposeful. Ren wondered if it was pokemon-built. Kai confirmed for her that is was, more specifically, a team of Lunatone, Solrock, and Probopass.

The lobby doubled as a gallery of the Leader’s personal rock and fossil collection, much like Mr. Stone’s office. This one turned out to be more like a museum, albeit a small one, with informative plaques next to each case. The glass roof, which had been invisible from the outside, flooded the space with natural light. Beyond the desk at the back of the room was a thick glass wall that opened onto the arena. Kai hung back while Ren and Tāraki approached the receptionist.

“Hello miss,” the receptionist greeted her. “Ready to take the Gym Challenge?”

“Hell yeah!” Tāraki cheered, bouncing up and down on Ren’s shoulder.

“That’s right!” Ren echoed.

“And what badge will you be aiming for today?”

“My first.”

“Oh! I would have guessed second or third with a full team like yours.”

“I may have over-prepared a bit,” Ren admitted with a shrug.

“No such thing,” the receptionist responded with a smile. “I’ll just scan your trainer ID and get you started. Would you like to battle the Gym trainers at your badge level before the leader?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright then. I’ll put you on the roster. You can enter the arena as soon as the other trainers are ready.” She fixed Ren with a knowing grin. “I don’t think you’ll need it, but good luck, Ms. Kosugi.”

Ren’s face began to twist into discomfort, but she covered it with a smile.

What did she say that upset you? “Living in a new region, surrounded by strangers, I kept forgetting that most of the League employees would already know me or at least recognize my name. The expectation would be enough, but I… I know Otōsan and I have a lot in common, but I like to think some things are different.” Is this another point we must revisit later? “Yeah. Won’t be able to avoid it.”

Kai went to look at one of the cases, and Ren and Tāraki to look out at the arena while the Gym staff and students prepared. Tāraki climbed the glass with his amazing toe pads to get a better view. It was significantly larger than standard and contained uneven terrain and rocky outcroppings rather than being packed flat. Massive fossilized skeletons loomed over the defending side, and the recessed viewing stands were almost hidden in the towering rock of the adjacent walls.

“It really is your kind of battlefield, no?” Ren asked Tāraki. He snickered gleefully back, wiggling in place while his face stayed glued to the glass. “We’re gonna crush this.”

Kai offered her a good luck handshake when it was time and went to sit in the stands with the Gym’s more experienced trainers and other spectators.

Ren sent out the rest of her team to watch, and the first trainer sent out a Binacle.

Ren nodded to Hakeka, and she trundled forward. The starting whistle sounded, and the Binacle fired off a Sand Attack, but Hakeka turned and received it with her cap, saving her eyes. Knowing the Binacle wouldn't move, Ren didn't have her wait for the dust cloud to clear before launching a Mega Drain that took it down.

The rest of the trainers went by nearly as fast. Tāraki faced a Dwebble and easily defeated it with his superior speed while Hakeka downed a Rolycoly, Roggenrola, and finally a Carbink with a combination of Leech Seed and Mega Drain.

When that was done, the Gym leader herself finally appeared. She looked younger than Ren knew her to be, though that may have been the twin buns on her head or short, stylish dress and colorful stockings. She walked out to the center of the arena to greet Ren.

“You’ve battled all of the badgeless trainers who are in at the moment. Very thorough.”

“It’s such a great opportunity for experience. I didn’t want to miss it.”

Roxanne smiled broadly. “Excellent. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ren.” She extended a hand, and they shook.

“Likewise.”

“So are you and Stripes ready for your lesson?”

“Yep!” Ren chirped and then something hit her. “Wait, how did you know his nickname means stripes?”

“Oops! Uhhh…” Roxanne floundered, and Ren’s face pinched in pain.

“Oh Arceus, there’s not some kind of League chat that he talks about me in, is there?”

Roxanne chuckled sheepishly. “Yes, but you didn’t hear that from me.” Ren grabbed her head, posture shrinking with mortification. “Don’t worry about it! It’s not nearly as bad as when Wattson spams us with pictures of his grandkids. And Phoebe and Sidney are real shitposters… Come to think of it, Steven and I have been kicked off a few times for talking about fossils. Apparently we’re supposed to ‘keep that rock shit to ourselves’ and ‘not freak everyone out by blowing up the chat with eight-hundred-and-sixty-three messages.’”

That pulled a chuckle out of Ren. She had to wonder who was the admin if not the Champion, and who was reprimanding?

Roxanne smiled before leaning in, face suddenly stony, and she gripped Ren’s shoulder firmly. “But seriously, this conversation never took place.”

Ren snapped to attention. “Hai, sensei!”

Roxanne straightened up and smiled again. “I like you, Ren. Let’s get started.”

They paced back to their squares, and Roxanne sent out a Geodude.

“Alright, Shima, Knock ’em dead!”

Tāraki ran into the ring and tensed, whole body quivering with excitement.

“Celestine, Rock Throw!”

“Dodge and Mega Drain, Tāraki!”

The Geodude started hurling rocks, but Tāraki skittered out of the way and dove behind the nearest rock. He climbed it and leapt from one to the next, zig-zagging but drawing ever closer to his opponent. The next projectile flew over his head as he ducked and danced away from three more, grin broadening. He used the last as a stepping stone to reach the top of a high boulder and launched a Mega Drain at the spent Geodude.

“Nice one, Shima!”

“Tackle, Celestine!”

“Quick Attack!”

The Geodude lunged forward and leapt up, but Tāraki slammed its arm on his way down and knocked it off balance. It crashed into the side of the boulder and rolled to the floor.

“Tackle!”

“Mega drain!”

The Geodude charged, but Tāraki flipped over it, bouncing off its head with his hands. Before the Geodude could come around, Tāraki sapped its remaining strength, and it rolled to a stop. Roxanne withdrew it.

“Well done.” She sent out a Nosepass. “Akivi, let’s hem in this acrobat: Rock Tomb!”

The Nosepass’s palms glowed, and rocks began to hail down around Tāraki on all sides. He hopped around trying to avoid them but had nowhere to run and disappeared beneath them. His head popped out as a stone fell away, and he strained to free himself as the Nosepass prepared to hit him again.

“You can still hit her from there!” Ren called to him. “Use Mega Drain!”

Tāraki stopped struggling, charged, and fired. The Nosepass remained impassive, but Tāraki glowed as its energy flowed into him, and he burst out of the rock pile.

“Rock throw!”

Tāraki dashed from one piece of cover to the next as projectiles fired at him and shattered.

“Mega Drain!”

“Tackle!”

Tāraki stopped moving to charge up his attack, and the Nosepass ran at him. Tāraki’s Mega Drain landed, but the Nosepass was undeterred and crashed into him. He went flying back but landed on his feet on a bit of high ground.

“One more Mega Drain!”

“Rock Tomb!”

The Nosepass readied her attack, but Tāraki was faster. The rocks she was lifting fell to the floor before she could fire them. Tāraki puffed out his chest as the last of her energy flowed into him. The Nosepass drooped ever so slightly and was still. Roxanne withdrew her.

“Congratulations you two!”  Roxanne called, withdrawing her pokemon. She walked down into the arena to meet Ren in the middle. Tāraki leapt down, and Ren caught him in her arms, holding him to her chest as he squeezed her neck.

“You’ve certainly demonstrated you know the basics.” Roxanne continued. “Plenty of trainers can win their first badge with a simple type advantage, but the way you countered my attacks shows dedicated practice and solid strategy.” She pulled a small box out of her pocket and offered it to them. “I’ve rarely been so happy to hand over a badge.”

“Thank you,” said Ren, and the strain in her tone took her by surprise. She should be happy about this. She had been a moment ago, but now a familiar dread clawed at the back of her throat, squeezed her ribs. She remembered the heat coursing through her veins as she directed Tāraki, and her arm gave a throb.

“And Ren.” She wrenched herself back out of her head to look Roxanne in the eyes. “Good luck with whatever you decide. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do.”

The pressure in her chest lifted and sighed back into position. A smaller smile returned as Tāraki wriggled up around her neck to get back to his usual spot on her shoulder. “I won't.”

Ren thanked her again as they parted and walked slowly back to the rest of her team waiting in the challenger’s square. Even after all that strain, Tāraki’s tail waggled with frenetic energy behind her head.

“Well, Tāraki, is it everything you hoped and dreamed?”

“Hell yeah it was!” he crowed, and Māia whooped, pale underwings flashing. “That was so much fun!” Ren couldn’t help but smile, and Tāraki grinned back at her. “Although, I wouldn’t have minded evolving super dramatically in the middle of the match like Jay.”

Ren laughed. “Maybe next time.” She held up the badge to him. “Should I put this away or do you want to wear it?”

“I don’t care about that thing. No offense. I mean it’s shiny and whatever, but I don’t need it. I just want to battle like that again! Really push myself, you know? That was seriously awesome!”

“You were seriously awesome. I’ll take it into consideration.”

“I’m taking the next Gym!” Māia reminded them, shoving Tāraki’s tail aside to claim Ren’s other shoulder.

Kai came bounding out of the stands. “You did so well! That was such a cool battle! Using the terrain like that—all those awesome flips Tāraki was doing—we have to battle again!”

“Alright,” said Ren, stifling a giggle.

“But you probably have to get going…” He stared down at his feet.

“We’ll see each other in a week, just north of Slateport, right?” He glanced at her as he nodded, and she flashed him a big smile. She wasn’t sure which of them needed the reassurance. “Train hard between all the science or we’re gonna beat you into the ground!”

“We will!”

This time, when she hugged him, it wasn't stiff.

“Um, could you maybe do me a favor though?”

“Sure! What's up?”

“Could you get me Steven Stone’s autograph?”

[wizardstephen]

PLEASE READ ALL MY CAPTION. PLEASE THIS IS FOR YOU MY LOYAL FOLLOWERS AND FRIENDS ONLY. I'm so truly 🙏Blessed🙏 to have Followers and Friends like you’s Honestly, your support of all my posts means so much to me it truly does. I try very much to respond to all of you’s as best as I can but if I have not OR just forgotten. 🙏Please🙏 forgive me. Many of my Followers and Friends tell me I'm a Workaholic. Well, maybe I'm just that. But Honestly, I don't feel I'm that because I work for God And His Son Jesus Who are my Bosses in Life. I Love ❤️ all My Followers and Friends. And I always 🙏Pray🙏 for you and your family’s 👪 Well, being safety and health and soul. I also 🙏Pray🙏 for your Financial ability here on Earth 🌍 I Love ❤️ My Job of helping people like you. When I hear👂 a Thank You OR see a Smile 😊 OR saying to me God Bless you, Steven. That truly brings a tear 😢 to my 👁️Eyes👁️ Nothing makes me happier than to hear and See that. I sacrifice my own life to bring people Happiness and I will always continue to do so from the bottom of my heart ❤️ and my soul even when I’m not on this Earth🌍and I have passed on into 🕊️heaven🕊️ I will continue to have My Blessings sent down to my loyal follower's friends and family 👪 This My Gift to all of you’s I Love ❤️ You’s all God Bless You and your families 👪 🧙‍♂️Wizard🧙‍♂️Steven🧙‍♂️ https://www.instagram.com/p/CiNghyUMNxi/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[alphacentauriiswatchingyou-blog]

Steven Moffat Appreciation Day 2017: DWM Production Notes

With the end of the Moffat-era we are not just losing Steven’s writing talent on the screen, but also in the monthly DWM column in which he answers questions from readers of the magazine, sometimes serious, sometimes less so. Here are some of my favourites: 

Is the Doctor's accent innate or part of the TARDIS' translation system? While people and lizards from Earth hear the Doctor speak with a Scottish accent, would beings from other planets hear him speak with a totally different accent?

The Scottish accent is prevalent throughout the universe because it is so sexy. That's one hell of an evolutionary advantage.

How do you think the other Masters would react to Missy if they ever met?

Oh, I've given it thought! Surely there's fan fiction already? There must be - to your work, if not! The impossible one, of course, is the Delgado/Gomez simmer-fest - but oh, imagine! Hooded gazes at dawn! Sneers like sword slashes! Sexy prowls, cat-like circling! In no time flat, a country cottage, three kids and a Volvo.

One summer evening, as they both puff away in the cigar gazebo, watching the children (identical girl triplets, dead white and levitating) rebuilding the lawn mower into a nuclear reactor using Master Plan Q, the question inevitably arises...

THE MASTER: My dear, you've never exactly told me who you are.

MISSY: You're always so busy, trying to drain the world's oceans, or rob banks with dinosaurs - 

THE MASTER: I just want the kids to have a future. 

MISSY: Then why do you keep trying to blow up the planet? 

THE MASTER  Must we always take this attitude to my work? 

MISSY: Or freeze the polar ice caps. 

THE MASTER: That was a simple administrative error. 

MISSY: Don't you think there might be a clue in my name? 

THE MASTER: Missy? 

MISSY: Tiny bit of a clue? 

THE MASTER: I have long suspected there was some cunning word play involved. Some abtruse hint as to your true identity, of some fiendish complexity and subtlety that it eludes even my mighty Time Lord brain. Is it short for Mistress, though? 

MISSY: Yep. 

IN THE GARDEN, THE TRIPLETS OBSERVE THE TWO CIGAR TIPS GLOWING MORE BRIGHTLY FOR A MOMENT IN THE SHADOWS OF THE GARDEN. 

THE MASTER: My dear, do you think the triplets ever get lonely?

AND FROM THE HAPPY HOME, THE REST IS SILENCE. EXCEPT FOR THE NIGHTLY SING-A-LONG OF THE ADDAMS FAMILY.

In Kill the Moon Clara is very upset at the prospect of killing a big chicken. Yet in The Time of the Doctor she is seen gleefully roasting a turkey! How can she care so much for one type of poultry and so little for another?

Oh, for God's sake! It's not a turkey inside the moon, is it? It's a giant, pregnant space dragon and some spiders. Have you no grasp of physics?! Has Doctor Who taught you nothing?!

RUSSELL T DAVIES asks: I love your list in DWM 482 of the Doctor's many wives. Did you ever think we'd be having that conversation, 10 years ago? But... what's this? His marriage to Queen Elizabeth the First was unconsummated? But, but, but... in The End of Time Part One, the Tenth Doctor arrives on the Ood-Sphere to greet his old friend Ood Sigma with the words, "Got married. That was a mistake. Good Queen Bess. And let me tell you, her nickname is no longer... ahem." So, what does that mean, boss? What can it possibly mean?? Steven, what does it MEAN??? Thank you.

Oh for God's sake. PAY ATTENTION. You've gone soft up there in Manchester. Practically tofu, I'd say. Probably all that lazing about, never writing any episodes for me, even though I wrote six for you. Yes, SIX. Actually, no, SEVEN. Time Crashcounts too - and it was for charity. But never mind, oh no, I'll just type on and on and neglect my children, that's fine.

Okay, the facts. I said the marriage was unconsummated - and so it was. You saw for yourself in The Day of the Doctor - he ran straight off after the ceremony. Would we have put that on television if it wasn't true? But I never said - not once, not ever - that the relationship was unconsummated!

Yes, Russell! I went there. Even as you gasp and clutch the furniture for support, I am writing in the pages of Doctor Who Magazine about pre-marital shenanigans! I realise you've probably never heard of such unsanctified naughtiness - glancing at your resume, I see you write mainly about fruit and veg for Channel 4 - but it does go on, you know. Well, outside of Manchester.

So there you are. You may sleep again. The Doctor's boast in The End of Time (oh, and thanks for that title, just before I took over) and my statement that his marriage to Elizabeth was unconsummated are in no way contradictory. True fact! Accept my True Face. Back away in shame at your wrongness.

Actually, write me a story, and we'll say no more about it.

I read an article that said there was a TARDIS flooding scene in an episode of the 2012 series that was cancelled due to Karen Gillan being unable to swim. Could you elaborate on that further, please?

We decided not to drown Karen. There was a meeting. We voted.

Do you have any plans in store for the Cyber-Brigadier? Or will he just be left in limbo, protecting Kate wherever she goes?

Oh God, can you imagine. It's the spin-off: "My Dad's A Cyberman!"

KATE: Dad, please don't sit in my office. CYBERBRIG: Just sorting out a few things for you... KATE: Really, we're fine. CYBERBRIG: You've got far too many people. All you need is a Sergeant, maybe an occasional Captain, and a nice family car for you all to drive around in. Keeps the Earth perfectly safe! KATE: It's changed days, Dad. CYBERBRIG: And why don't have a big sign outside - UNIT HQ, with your name on it? Does you good to see your name on a big sign. KATE: Well, we are supposed to be a top secret organisation. CYBERBRIG: Yes, yes - you put 'Top Secret' on the sign. Have I taught you nothing about security?! And for goodness' sake, why do you have all these women about the place? How much tea do you need? KATE: They're scientists. CYBERBRIG: Scientists?! Have we been infiltrated? Evacuate the building, I'll lure them into a nuclear reactor. KATE: They work here. CYBERBRIG: They what?! You only need one scientist, Kate. A funny one, with silly clothes, that's the ticket. Give him a tiny little office and a table, he'll be perfectly happy. KATE: I'm a scientist. Science leads, that's what you taught me. CYBERBRIG: Exactly! Science leads! But only if you let it. Round them all up, put them in booths, waterboard any trouble-makers - KATE: Dad, you're getting excited again! Your moustache has slipped. CYBERBRIG: Oh, no, has it? It's this face, it's a bit slippery - like all aliens. I say, Kate - do you think people know my moustache isn't real? KATE: I think they always did.

Since the earliest days, whenever we viewers follow the Doctor into the TARDIS, he seems to take quite some time getting to the console before the TARDIS takes off. But when we stay outside, the door barely has time to close before dematerialisation occurs. What's your in-universe explanation for this quirk?

Oh, you and me both! I've worried about that for years. And in fact, decades before I got anywhere near Doctor Who, I came up with an answer. It's not in the show - it is not canonical - but I offer it up.

The TARDIS knows the future. Or rather, the TARDIS makes no distinction between past, present and future - for any time machine, time is all one long event stream, hanging there in causality, unmoving and unchanging. In other words the TARDIS already knows when its connection to real time and space will no longer be necessary, in any given part of the event stream. So as the Doctor and friends move towards the console, in the world outside the doors, the TARDIS has already fast-forwarded to the take-off the Doctor is about to perform.

Any good? Got something better? All head canons are equal!

How come the Doctor allowed River Song to go freely with her vortex manipulator but he kept disabling Jack's?

Every time he grabs River's wrist, it all goes very wrong.

[In Heaven Sent] who put the chalk marks around the missing paving slab, and who buried the slab in the ground? Was it whoever created the trap?

Oh, this is... wrong somehow. I figured out, in detail, how the Doctor's first few trips round the castle worked, but I deliberately buried it. I wanted atmosphere and mystery: for us to be trapped in the Doctor's nightmare, never sure what to trust. And I particularly liked (and still like) the idea that everyone would have a different theory about the logic. Peter Capaldi has one version, Rachel Talalay has another, and in a moment you'll have mine. But mystery and discussion is better, I swear.

So. What follows is not canonical. It's just the best I could work with from what the Doctor told me. Frankly, and with all my heart, you're better off not reading what comes next. Never trust answers - they're the opposite of conversation.

Okay...

The first time round the castle, the Doctor is there for many years - because there is no clue leading him to room 12. He's ancient by the time he understands that room 12 is important. It's a very old man who starts punching the wall...

After a few thousand years of this, he realises he's going too slowly. He needs to get the next version of himself into room 12 faster. But how to leave a message in a recycling puzzle box that a man like him would ever trust?

One ancient version of the Doctor doesn't punch the wall. He totters back out of the chamber before the veiled creature can arrive, and scratches the words 'I AM IN 12' in every nook and cranny he can find. He chooses that message because it sounds a little like a cry for help, and that always appeals to him. The next Doctor might even be fooled into thinking it's Clara. Oh, the cruelty of the Doctor to himself!

He knows that some of those hidden messages might just survive, because he knows the castle reset isn't perfect - the dust in the teleport room, the skulls in the water, the way the portrait of Clara he painted (of course it was him, the soppy old fool) has aged. Suspecting that objects moved from rooms, or added to them, sometimes can resist the reset, he pulls a scratched-on flagstone from the kitchen floor and buries it in the garden (later Doctors add the details of the arrows and the spade). It's this message - one of only two that manage to survive - that he always finds. The loop shrinks, the Doctor is younger as he punches the wall, and the Time Lords tremble as the storm grows closer.

The other message that survived? In my head - and I suppose, only there - 'I AM IN 12' is also written on the back of Clara's portrait. The trouble is, the Doctor draws too much strength from her smile ever to turn her face to the wall...

There are many more and I recommend to read them all. You can find a lot of them on reddit or on here. I really hope old chibs keeps this up, but I know it will never be as glorious as the answers of Steven “Master Selfcest Fanfic Writer” Moffat.

[jspernst-blog]

[ THIS IS QUEUED -- i’m most likely still sleeping ] mic check one two, is this thing working?? hi hey hello, i’m bunny -- i’m currently an unemployed, lazy twenty-three year old, and i go by she/her pronouns. i’m so excited to be here and i can’t wait to read all about the characters in this group, as well as write with you all! here’s my son, jasper -- he’s a new contradicting muse, so i’m still working bits and bobs for him. under the cut are some information about him, and i just want to apologize how shitty they’re written and how carried away i got. they’re literally word vomit tbh lmao dfhiaud i probably forgot a few things to add but that’s okie dokes!

anyway, if you’d like to plot, don’t hesitate to message me or you can like this and i’ll pop into your ims!! just a heads up that i get excited easily, and i tend to go wild with hcs when i plot so tell me to stop whenever you get annoyed please iuhdfiusdhfusd

hold on a second — is that BLAKE STEVEN i saw working on the sunny bay ship recently? oh wait, i was mistaken as it was actually JASPER ERNST, a CISMALE who is TWENTY-THREE years old and is an intern as a SINGER. i heard when they’re not on the ship they’re studying MUSIC INDUSTRY MANAGEMENT AND ARTIST DEVELOPMENT which sounds pretty awesome! they are often described by their friends as QUICK-WITTED and DEBONAIR but also RETICENT and VOLATILE which means they are often labelled as THE FERVOUR. i can’t wait to see what they have to offer on the ship!

CHARACTER INFORMATION —

TW: DEATH MENTION, DROWNING

001. BASICS / Jasper Harris Ernst, twenty-three, Australian-German, born and raised in Melbourne, Australia. Currently studying Music Industry Management and Artist Development; aesthetically (both vibe and music) a mixture of Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys and Jesse Rutherford – his voice sounding similar to the latter

002. FAMILY BACKGROUND / Born and raised in Melbourne, Australia, Jasper’s parents grew up together in the same neighborhood and were the perfect example of childhood best friends turned into lovers. Both Australian (his father being half German), they had their own complicated, rollercoaster-like timeline of growing up together and watching the other fall in and out of love with other people; only to realize they’ve been emotionally unavailable for one another upon reaching the end of their college year. They eventually tied the knot after their university years, building up their perfect and small-knitted family together - creating a family of three (excluding small numbers of extended families). While they weren’t exactly filthy rich, and though money was tight on certain days, the three of them lived happily and comfortably together with the love they surrounded themselves by. They were pretty much the average family on the street and share an awfully close bond with their extended families which can be quite troublesome and dramatic at times.

003. AN ABRUPT CHANGE FROM PERFECT ( DEATH MENTION TW) / Valentine’s Day is nothing but a curse to Jasper Ernst, for the meaning and the word “perfect” to describe the life he was living in, dissolved and erased itself from his vocabulary on February 14. He was with his grandparents on the night it all happened – his head tilted upwards, his wide eyes no longer on the building blocks and his enormous Hot Wheels collection; but instead, it was on the eyes that reflected admiration and care, as well as the wholehearted smiles that managed to brighten the features of his grandparents who were still ridiculously madly in love for one another at an age like theirs. Their shadows hovered above the surface of the carpet he was sitting on as they danced to Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To The Moon. Jasper, despite being just five, was sure of himself that he knew what the word “Love” meant that night; nevermind the cooties, Frank Sinatra (the one name that took him almost a week or two to properly and correctly pronounce) must have to know what he was talking about when he sang his heart out about wanting to hold hands and kiss – at least, his grandfather did (very poorly, but sweetly) to the love of his life, which was close enough in his opinion. But happiness, that night especially, didn’t last.

Bright smiles on faces were replaced with loud cries and a sorry police officer at the front door of Jasper’s grandparent’s house. They were rushing to the hospital before he knew it, phone calls were made on their way there – one that was awfully hard to understand by the sound of his grandmother weeping, unable to catch her breath. He thought, during all that chaos, maybe it was better if he mentally recited his multiplication he had just been taught at school – a way to perhaps cheer up his worried grandmother and stop her from crying, but his heart was beating way too hard to focus, his fingers subconsciously fiddling with his seatbelts.

004. IT’S OKAY (DEATH MENTION TW) / Learning about the death of his parents (caused by a horrific car crash) was hard to understand – harder than his grandparents breaking the news to him. He wanted to trade his Hot Wheels collection and Pokemon cards then – for “a trip to heaven, if it’s possible,” were his exact words, his fingers twitching and the weight of his foot shuffling from left to right, as if they were ready to head upstairs to grab what could be his ticket to see his parents in a second if anyone ever said the word. But it wasn’t easy like that. He didn’t cry – he made sure that he didn’t in front of his grandmother, at least. He likes to think that he understood the telepathic message his grandfather was sending him through bloodshot eyes. He knew his grandmother cried about enough on her way to and back from the hospital, and will probably continue crying once he’s tucked in, hence why he cried to himself to sleep under his covers the second the lights of his brand new room were turned off – his nightlight not doing its trick.

005. GROWING UP / Jasper moved in with his grandparents a week after his parents’ accident. It was hard to return home without the two most important people greeting you at the front door; it was harder stepping in to have memories flood right back, hitting him where it hurts. Again, he made sure he didn’t cry. He needed to be strong and crying was only a flick away to twisting the tap of the tears his grandmother had shed nights after nights. Though it was hard at first, he needed to adjust and understand that his nights at his grandparents’ were no longer sleepovers – it was his new home. With the help of his grandfather, Jasper made sure his new room held memories that included his parents and made it more to his liking.

The three of them repaired and sew the holes of each other’s hearts together. Jasper’s grandparents made sure to give him the life he was meant to have, making sure he grew up healthy and happy; and though he missed his parents on certain days and at times wish they were around, healthy and happy he was. He was granted all the things he wanted; he wasn’t exactly spoiled, he was coddled and awfully sheltered a lot. Each time he fell and scraped his knee, there would always be a plaster to mend his wound and a hand to hold.

006. EXTERNAL PERSONALITY (NEGATIVE) / ill-tempered, misunderstood, short-fused, argumentative and defensive are some words to describe Jasper Ernst. Besides dealing with the death of his parents in an unhealthy manner since day one, the weight of being a victim of bullying accumulated a lot of pent-up anger and frustration inside him. He was bullied throughout his primary and high school years, constantly getting picked on for various reasons – one among the many included his absence of his parents and how he was living with his grandparents who were most likely just “stuck with him”. Unlike most victims, however, Jasper wasn’t one to stay silent. He would often pick fights and start them, only to end it with him being sent to the principal office with his glasses snapped into two and bruises; plastered as the problematic child (despite his intelligence) given his condition. He grew up short-fused and awfully defensive, constantly arguing with people who aren’t the slightest bit careful with their words. Little things would trigger him and start a wildfire.

007. EXTERNAL PERSONALTY (POSITIVE) / Despite his problematic and hard exterior, Jasper can be quite amicable. He has his days, to say the least; although he’s moody, he can be friendly when he wants to be and can come across as an easy going person when he’s in a good mood. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s loyal to his friends – even though he does only have a few that he can sincerely count on.

008. INTERNAL PERSONALITY (THE FERVOUR) / There’s quite a lot of things hidden underneath the surface Jasper Ernst allows himself to show. There’s no in between when it comes to feeling certain emotions – in fact, he either feels or not at all. He suppresses the majority of his emotions and keeps them to himself out of the lack of trust he has, as well as not wanting to be a burden. He cares a hell lot, up to the point where someone’s feelings or emotions could potentially overrule his own and affect him in certain ways. With that said, Jasper is, underneath all that explosive trait, a hopeless romantic. He feels everything intensely, love not being an exception. He falls in smitten a lot, but once his heart’s been captured, he’s a lost cause.

009. MUSIC AND OTHER INTERESTS / Music is the only way Jasper can bleed himself dry. He self-taught himself the guitar at the age of eleven, and was introduced by his grandfather who promised him that he’d be able to swoon girls with it. Despite him only picking music with the interest of picking up girls, his interest soon took a turn and he found himself doing it for himself. He began to venture onto other instruments – such as piano and violin but always winded up back to the guitar. It’s how he channels his intense emotions; putting down how he felt in words and melodies.

(DROWNING TW) Apart from music, back in school Jasper had a thing with sports. He was always put into teams to represent his school when it comes to football and basketball though it was only to keep his body physically active and fit. Swimming, on the other hand, was a sport he failed terribly at. He suffers from a phobia for water out of nearly drowning at one of his friend’s birthday party.

[lilyswritings]

Hold On To Me

Author’s note: Okay so this fic spawned from a few different requests I got, but in the end I kind of ignored the requests and did my own thing?? Sorry guys. But anyway, ever since I saw Wonder Woman (the day it came out lmao) and then the two other times since then (bc I’m trash) I’ve been developing this idea and yeah. Hope you guys enjoy!  Also! Please listen to ‘Heart’ by Sleeping At Last, as that’s the song I listened to while writing and it kind of fits! 

Summary: You joined this godawful war alongside your brother and his best friend. As a female pilot, already under stress due to your gender, the war became too much, ripping away everything you loved - but Steve was always by your side. Then he disappeared, and you had nothing left. So when he turns up out of nowhere with a stunning warrior goddess by his side, there are mixed feelings that arise. But you cannot let yourself get distracted by feelings that may or may not be reciprocated - there is still a war to be won. 

Part One / Part Two / Part Three 

Steve Trevor x Reader

   The first time you met Steve Trevor was back in 1916, the year you’d been assigned to British forces. You were waiting for your brother to return from a flight, so that the two of you could celebrate the fact that you’d finally been assigned a mission, and your pilot’s license - an incredibly difficult feat, due to the fact that you’re a woman. You were stood in the middle of the large hangar when something hurtled into you. 

   The two of you were sent sprawling, your flight suit barely giving much protection from the concrete floor of the hangar. Groaning, you sat up, pulling off your helmet in order to be able to think properly, your eyes catching sight of the blonde man scrambling to pick up some of his papers - your eyes also caught sight of the small Captain badge on the lapel of his jacket.

   “I’m sorry I-” The man started, but stopped when he saw your face. “Oh.” His comment simply made you roll your eyes - since you’d gotten your pilot’s license, men seemed to always have the same reaction to you; incredulity and amusement at the thought of a female pilot.

    “Here.” You replied, holding back a snarky comeback (this man was your superior, technically), while handing him some of the papers he’d dropped. It was then that you took in his appearance - handsome face, boyish blond hair, bright blue eyes... 

    Nevermind that. He took back the papers, still staring at you, and you rolled your eyes and took the bait. “Can I help you with something?” You tried desperately to sound polite.

    “Nothing, just - have we met?” He asked, and you furrowed your brow. “You remind me of someone.” You opened your mouth to reply but stopped when you spotted someone jogging towards the two of you.

   “Andrew!” You shouted, heart swelling at the sight of your brother who promptly barreled into you, pulling you into a smothering hug and lifting you off the ground. 

   “How was the first day of official flying?” Your brother asked, finally letting go of you and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He then paused as he noticed the man besides him, glancing between the man and you. “So you’ve met Steve, then.” When his words were followed by silence he laughed, gesturing to the blonde man.

   “Steve, this is my little sister, Y/N. Y/N, this is Steve Trevor, a good friend of mine.” Although you rolled your eyes at the use of ‘little sister’ rather than just ‘sister’, you nodded at him.

   Your eyebrows raised as you remembered the letters your brother had written you about his previous missions. “So this is Steve, as in ‘saved your life from the Germans’ Steve?” You asked, and your brother nodded and clapped his friend on the back.

    “The one and the same.” He said, and you noticed the admiration in his eyes as he looked down at Steve.

    “Well then, glad to finally meet you. Thanks for keeping an eye on my flyboy of a brother.” You said, outstretching your hand to shake Steve’s.

    “It was my pleasure.”

    The pub is already a mess. You have never been a heavy drinker - far from it, actually - but due to the harrowing letter you’d received, telling you to assume the man that meant the most to you in the world was dead... A few drinks couldn’t hurt. Besides, it gives you an excuse to look after- Oh Christ, where’s he gone now-

    "CHARLIE!” You shout over the noise filling the bar, watching the Scotsman be picked up by the shirt and punched repeatedly. You shove your way through the crowd, planting yourself firmly in between Charlie and the fist that was hurtling towards him. Instantly, the owner of said fist stops, narrowing his eyes at you.

    "Out of the way, girlie." He growls, finally letting go of Charlie's shirt. You roll your eyes, lacking the energy or willpower to fight this man and turn to tug your friend over to your table - when the brute reaches for your arm. You respond by whipping around and kneeing him in the groin, watching him fall to the ground with a clenched jaw as a hush falls over the bar.

    “Didn’t think so.” You mutter, pushing your drunk friend over to the table where Sameer was sitting a few minutes ago, only to stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes widen, face turning white - and ironically, once could say it looks like you’ve seen a ghost. It takes a couple seconds for you to realize your feet have started moving, but when you do you’re hurtling towards the American man standing next to Sameer.

    “STEVE!” You shout, abandoning Charlie and engulfing Steve in your arms, breathing him in. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly, and you barely hold back a sob at how real and alive he is. “You were dead.” You mutter, your eyes blurred slightly by unshed tears.

     "I'm so sorry, I would have contacted you if I could have.” He mutters into the crook of your neck, squeezing you once more before letting you go.  “Y/N, this is Diana Prince. She pulled me from my sinking plane.” You turn and widen your eyes immediately, taking in the definitely-not-British woman standing by Steve.

    “Diana, this is Y/N, the best damn pilot around.” You shake your head despite the small smile on your lips, glancing back at Steve, who you still can’t believe is alive. 

    “He’s exaggerating, but hi. Y/N Y/L/N, at your service.” You hold out your hand and she shakes it, her grasp incredibly strong, and you watch as a twinge of confusion passes through her expression as she glances between you and Steve. “What?” You ask, and she pauses.

    “Why are you not out fighting right now?” She asks, her accent continuing to mesmerize you, and you frown slightly. 

    “I, uh... I’m no longer in the forces.” You state, your gaze falling to the floor, but Diana persists. 

    “If you are such a great pilot why would you leave?” 

    You sigh, glancing at Steve who has a solemn expression on his face. “I guess... It wasn’t meant to be.” You reply, deciding to leave it at that. “So, Diana, what brings you to jolly old-” You’re cut off by the butt of a gun being shoved in your face.

    “Not so tough now, are you?” The man slurs, and out of the corner of your eye you see Steve lunge forwards, but stop when Diana steps in front of him. With amazing speed, she shoves the man back, pulling the gun out of his hand and kicking him, sending him flying across the bar and into a pile of chairs. Then she hands the gun to Steve. Silence, and then-

    “Steve, can I borrow you?” You don’t wait for an answer, grabbing the arm of his jacket and tugging him to the side. “Okay, I need answers,” You start. “First, you go undercover as a German pilot, which I found out because Etta told me, not you; then every single person you work for tells me you’ve gone M.I.A. and that I should just assume you’ve died - which I do;”

    You watch his expression turn solemn but continue. “Then, you show up with a really oblivious foreign woman who looks like she fell from heaven, and can disarm a man in about four seconds flat, with absolutely ZERO explanation!” You shout, and he grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck.

    “Look, it’s a long story-” His reply makes you scoff, jaw clenching. 

   “Steven Rockwell Trevor don’t you ‘long story’ me after making me think you’re dead.” He rolls his eyes, glancing back at the group, where Sameer is very obviously flirting with Diana and Charlie is nursing yet another drink. 

    “Fine, okay? Her name is Diana, she pulled me out of my sinking plane after I crash landed on her hidden island full of Amazonian warrior women where she happens to be the princess, and she came with me because she believes can end the war by killing the Greek god Ares.” He explains, and you narrow your eyes. 

   “Hm. Okay.” Is all you say, and he raises an eyebrow. 

   "What, that’s it? You believe me?” He sounds incredulous and you smile slightly. 

   “You promised me you’d never lie to me. I trust you, Steve. I don’t fully believe it, but I believe you’re telling me the truth.” You state, expression softening as you look up at him and meet his cerulean eyes. “If anything I’m just happy you’re alive.” 

   He chuckles lowly. “Yeah, me too.” Steve mutters, pulling you into another small hug and turning back to the table. You sit next to the newcomer, eyes darting over Sami and Charlie, and turn to her.

   “Diana Prince, huh?” You ask, and she nods. “Welcome to the gang.”

[script101]

An alternate hypothesis of Clara and Twelve's relationship.

I know that Clara and The Doctor loved each other profoundly.

I think he remembers what Clara would have wanted him to remember.

I think The Doctor loved Clara more than he had ever loved anyone.

Clara was The Impossible Girl.

I think their love and their perception of each other was, appropriately, IMPOSSIBLE.

I don’t think their perception of their relationship was planned from day one, but I do give Steven Moffat quite a bit of credit in terms of remembering what has happened and understanding what will and won’t work.

They loved each other. Profoundly. Painfully.

I do NOT think they were IN love, though.

Fellow Clara stans, tell me if I’m crazy:

___________________

(I will preface this by admitting that I thought they were heading towards romantic love when it was Eleven and Clara, and I now I have to edit this because I remember that I felt cheated that we didn’t see more of those two actors together after Clara saved him from himself. But, after both Jenna Coleman and Peter Capaldi were adamant about there not being any romance between them, I can only guess that perhaps Matt Smith had a little crush on JC. And crucially, since Heaven Sent and Hell Bent show how much The Doctor loved Clara, Clara would have had to have been wildly out of established explicitly stated character, and have been a mindbogglingly shallow hypocrite for 4/5ths of her run, if she permanently fell OUT of love with The Doctor and dumped him for handsome Danny simply because Twelve didn’t look like he was in his late twenties/early thirties anymore. Jenny hung the lampshade on that in episode 8x01. Appearances don’t matter if you’re IN ROMANTIC LOVE. No. Romantic love doesn’t really work. Yes, they flirted. He was cute, he saved her life, and he followed her around like a puppy ostensibly finding new ways to entertain her. But instead he was actually trying to figure out what in the universe she was. He was sweet and cuddly and genuinely concerned for her safety, but Eleven’s interest in Clara was NOT pure. Clara was Eleven’s new shiny Rubik’s Cube, not his partner. He was Amy’s friend. He wasn’t really Clara’s. She fancied him, she adored him, she risked her life for him and then chose to DIE for him. But if we think about how Mme Vastra described The Doctor to Victorian Clara, he was cruel and almost dead inside. In HIDE, the kindest woman on earth, a true empathic psychic made no secret of her deep dislike and mistrust of Eleven even though “Eleven” is how high he had turned up the charm! She told Clara “He has ice in his heart”. This has a second meaning in terms of “The Impossible Girl” puzzle, but Emma Greyling wasn’t reading Eleven’s thoughts, she was reading his EMOTIONS. In the context she stated it, her meaning was unambiguous. Imho, until Clara walked into his Time Stream, Clara was no more then a pretty entertaining puzzle for the emotionally wounded Eleven to solve.)

“Romantic love” is also almost too easy.

It doesn’t explain why Twelve HAD to have his specific memories of Clara erased.

“In love” dismisses, denies, and insults both River and Rose, not to mention The Doctor��s first wife. Dismissing Rose makes Ten’s treatment of Martha inexcusable.

It undermines his friendships with Amy and Rory and Donna.

The Doctor is 2000 years old. He’s lost… everyone.

You can survive losing a love. You can survive losing a spouse.

There is one relationship, so rare that we don’t think about it, where the loss of one FOR ANY REASON AT ANY AGE, has (per Psychology Today) predicted the death of the other within two years at a horrifying rate of 50%. I read that and found it so disturbing I can’t bear to believe it. The idea that there is one person, and that if you have that person in your life, and they die, or worse you see them murdered in front of you, the chance that you will be dead within 2 years is a coin toss? THAT WOULD justify and REQUIRE a memory wipe.

______

I’m operating on the assumption that everyone reading this has seen seasons 7-9. I’m only pointing out a few episodes as reference.

Eleven met a doomed Clara in the first episode of season seven. That Clara was the same as all the Claras: so insanely smart that the Daleks wanted her, but so devoid of anything resembling a cruel thought that they were unable to make her a Dalek. Subtract love, add hate. You can’t subtract love if love IS what you are (please google the translation of La Habanera and note how it fits Clara’s arc down to the bird), you can’t add hate if you aren’t a hate filled person.

In The Snowmen, we meet Clara again. She’s so much like Eleven I remember thinking they were separated at birth! Just like The Doctor, she was running around with a fake name that we never learn. She was NOT calling herself “Alice Montague”. The closing credits, Amazon Prime, and IMDb confirm that Alice was the name of the housekeeper. We NEVER learned the pseudonym of the Governess*.

We finally meet Clara Prime. She and Eleven seem to flirt and he follows her around like a puppy. They hug, but never kiss. He isn’t interested in Clara, he is interested in trying to figure out what Clara is and how she continues to exist. There are no longing gazes. The one time that Eleven comments on Clara’s appearance in a sexual way, he immediately shudders. The shudder bothered me.

At the end of season 7, Clara, a human, walked into the Eleventh Doctor’s time stream (Name of the Doctor). While she was in his time stream, Eleven FINALLY kissed his wife like a man! Applause combined with me shouting “it’s about damn time!” After saying goodbye to River, Eleven was then able to pull Clara out safely. He found her a few feet from another version of himself (the War Doctor). We have two more episodes with Matt Smith and from then on it’s Clara and the Twelfth Doctor.

Then it starts getting bizarre.

After regenerating, Twelve describes Clara as “the NOT me one”. Huh? Seriously, what??? Because he thinks it’s hard to tell them apart?

The mystery is solved, but Twelve is more dependent on Clara than he was on anyone to date. Their relationship was odd, but now, for the first time, they were partners. They were EQUALS.

There are viewers who hate that Clara became arguably the most important person in The Doctor’s life. It logically really should be either Davros (the creator of the things that defined who the doctor wasn’t), or Missy/The Master (the only other member of his species still alive). Steven Moffat solidified Clara’s influence on The Doctor relatively early on in “Listen”.

From Twelve’s point of view, once Clara walked into his time stream Clara has been with him his entire life. In LISTEN the audience sees that she really has been with him his entire life. We also know from that script and the script to Dark Water that Clara never could have wound up in The Doctor’s bedroom to comfort him as a child if their time streams weren’t INTERTWINED and if they too didn’t share a profound emotional and psychic link.

Twelve is seemingly very rude to Clara, but he also still follows her around like a puppy. He insults her appearance by saying they look the same age.

So I have to wonder: what if he wasn’t insulting her? What if he actually thinks of her as being the same age as he is?

He clearly can’t live without her.

He is very troubled at the end of Flatline (a personal favorite of mine). He’s upset because Clara was way too good at being him. She should have been upset about the people who died. She wasn’t. He was. Quite a reversal of the previous week.

Clara WAS in romantic love with Danny Pink. They were both teachers. They both loved children. CLARA MET AND SPOKE TO THEIR GREAT-GRANDSON ORSON PINK. After Danny’s death (in a cruel irony, he died after being hit by a car. Clara’s parents met after her mother Ellie saved her father Dave from the same fate.)

.

Having met Orson, Clara wasn’t just grieving a boyfriend, she was grieving the man she believed was going to be her husband and CLARA WAS GRIEVING THEIR CHILDREN.

Clara believed, ever since Listen, that she and Danny were going to have at least one son, and at least one grandson who would be Orson’s father. She snapped. Who can blame her? We were never given proof that Missy murdered Danny. Clara is the type to blame herself. In her mind, because she was too afraid to tell Danny about all her lies to his face, she believed she had killed Danny, she believed she had killed their son, she believed had killed their grandson, and she believed she had killed her great-grandson Orson. Clara believed she had obliterated her entire family, and the weight of that was just too much for her. Again, who can blame her?

.

Clara threatens Twelve to try to make him save Danny, even though she knew it was impossible. Huh. Ok. Um… How DID human Clara know that it was impossible? Yes she’s very smart, but that’s a stretch. We in the audience knew. How did she? How much “Time Lord Wisdom” did she absorb while she was in Eleven’s time stream?

.

When did she learn his biography? He could have told her, but it doesn’t seem like something season 8’s Doctor would talk about.

The opening credits for Death in Heaven showed Clara’s eyes in the spot reserved for The Doctor. To play with the audience? Sure. To hint at The Hybrid? Why not.

We learn Missy put them together. Missy is insane, but she knows The Doctor. Out of all the people in the universe, she knew Clara was the perfect match for The Doctor. In her wacko mind, Clara was a gift.

.

On to season nine. Clara is becoming more and more reckless and more and more like The Doctor. Twelve is becoming increasingly worried about losing Clara.

.

Then he sees her murdered.

.

Stop. Back up. Why were we shown the Osgoods? >

Yes it was a brilliant two parter and I thought the political message was perfect and desperately needed.

But why did the Zygon story begin by showing us that when one Osgood died, her twin went insane? This element of the story was irrelevant. Moving, yes, but irrelevant to the larger narrative unless it wasn’t important to an even larger story arc. Grief was enough. Why madness?

In Heaven Sent, we KNOW The Doctor understands what is happening once he realizes the significance of the word “Bird”. But he keeps going. He wants to die. He is afraid to die but the thought of living without Clara is too much to bear. He is ready to give up. It’s only a pep talk from a hallucination of Clara that makes him continue through the most evil torture I can imagine.

.

He does it in order to cheat death. In order to cheat CLARA’S death. In order to try to attempt what Clara had tried a season earlier: rewrite a fixed point in time even though he KNEW damn well he couldn’t.

Once forced to accept that Clara’s heart will never beat again, we see that Twelve STILL refuses to accept it.

He’s still trying to cheat.

His logic makes no sense.

Ashildr (as the Voice of Moffat) is tasked with explaining “The Hybrid” to The Doctor and Clara (a human who has activated the monitor of the second TARDIS she’s ever been in, and who has been able to control THE TARDIS with a snap of her finger just like The Doctor since the 50th anniversary episode). Ashildr explains that she isn’t The Hybrid, the Hybrid is Twelve and Clara TOGETHER.

She’s right.

The two of them were The Hybrid. The hearts Twelve burned were his own.

_______

…I remember thinking they were separated at birth…

At the beginning of this essay, I mentioned that there is one death you can’t recover from. The death people can’t recover from is losing THEIR TWIN. Identical or fraternal, the surviving twin always feels that a piece of them is missing. If that surviving twin was a Time Lord with a Tardis, would he EVER give up trying to make his twin sister’s heart beat again? We saw evidence that 3.4 billion years of torture wouldn’t stop him. Twelve would never stop until the universe burned. THAT was why he had to lose his memory.

Somewhere Clara is still flying around in a TARDIS she shouldn’t be able to fly and she still loves Twelve. But once her murder was a fixed point, Twelve couldn’t handle remembering her anymore. The memory of her was too dangerous.

_______

So yes, I agree that they loved each other, but it wasn’t romantic love.

Clara and Twelve… their love was something else. Something, appropriately, completely IMPOSSIBLE.

I think that when Clara stepped into The Doctor’s time stream and splintered across it, she became psychologically more than a bit like him and he became psychologically more then a bit like her.

Danny recognized how close Clara was to The Doctor. Clara was worried about his reaction to her continued travels in the TARDIS, but Danny seemed as ok with their relationship as could he expected. Danny couldn’t stand Twelve, but even after Kill the Moon he had accepted that they were a set. If he loves one of them, he’s gonna be stuck with the other. He saw and stated that Clara and The Doctor very close and got along. He didn’t want her taking idiotic risks (he was right), but he had no problem at all with his girlfriend spending time with a man he hated (even when they had specifically gone somewhere that is inherently romantic like The Orient Express) as long as it was safe. He was amused by her concern about his reaction. As long as she was safe, she didn’t have to explain. Being the bait for a Skovox Blitzer? No. Hell No. Unacceptable. Running off with a man he hates to spend at least one night on one of the most romantic trains ever? Yeah, that’s fine. That was amusing and nothing he was going to try to stop.

Danny himself recognized that the only thing to do about his girlfriend running around with this “Time Lord” he hated was to accept it as long as she promised not to lie if he was going to put her in mortal peril. Danny seemed to know in Mummy on the Orient Express that if he wanted to date Clara, he was stuck with the pompous ass who would always demean and dismiss him as a PE teacher. They were a package.

__________

After Ashildr explained to how they TOGETHER were The Hybrid, Twelve tries to cheat Clara’s death with a memory wipe.

Clara won’t allow it.

Clara, a human, somehow manages to reverse the way the memory wipe device works. Instead of erasing her memory it erases his.

He knows something is wrong. He knows he’s forgotten someone. He still can’t remember Clara specifically.

Clara and Ashildr, in a TARDIS Clara should not be able to operate, leave. Just like in the lyrics to La Habanera, Clara beat her wings, broke the cage, and flew away.

Even though Twelve can’t remember Clara Oswald, he seems to still retain her humanity.

Eleven was at times terrifying. By the end, he was insincere more then he wasn’t. He was at times utterly terrifying in both Season 6 and in Season 7.

Twelve, in contrast, was ALWAYS not quite right. He was too human.

Does anyone really think Twelve could have done what Eleven did at the end of The Rebel Flesh? No. Even upon a second viewing knowing Eleven wasn’t trying to hurt Amy but was panicking and desperately trying to wake her up so he could rescue her, does anyone really think Twelve could have violently slammed a companion into a wall and hollered hostilely in her face? No.

Twelve couldn’t have done it because CLARA couldn’t have done it.

Look at Twelve in season 10. He’s a teacher. He didn’t need Clara’s “tact” cards when Bill asked him what was going on at the end of Extremis. He somehow REMEMBERED how to tell someone, ahem… very bad news. Clara would have been proud. He REMEMBERED how to comfort children in Thin Ice just like Clara would.

He has forgotten the specifics of Clara because he had to, but he couldn’t forget her personality, her kindness, her love of children. She is still a part of him.

So yes, I think Clara was the most important character in The Doctor’s entire existence.

I think they loved each other beyond what they could understand.

But I do NOT think they were EVER in romantic love.

She was The Impossible Girl.

I think their love was impossible.

When Clara walked into The Doctor’s Time Stream, I think she and he became Fraternal Twins.

Again, they never realized this. Ashildr had to explain how the two of them together were The Hybrid. But it fits the dynamic of their relationship. They would both die for each other. They bicker constantly. She bosses him around. There is NOTHING that one could do that could make the other leave.

I have lost count of the number of times their relationship was described as unhealthy or disfunctional. It reads quite differently if Twelve is Clara’s annoying bratty brother. Nearly every interaction going back to Deep Breath works if he perceives her as his sister and best friend and he’s always around annoying her because they used to do everything together but now she’s got a social life while he doesn’t.

I think they were The Hybrid because they were, on a deep psychological level, fraternal twins.

And I think they both perceived Clara as being the one who was a few minutes “older”.

Thoughts?

.

____________________ (*I like to imagine that Victorian Clara was calling herself “Becky Montague” because I find the reference to Vanity Fair funny. Victorian Clara and Vanity Fair’s Becky Sharp were social climbers, and Victorian Clara wound up literally climbing stairs for a social reason. Victorian Clara was sharp as a tack, but unlike nanny Becky Sharp, she cared deeply for her charges. Plus, one of Becky Sharp’s charges was named “Amelia”. It’s just too on the nose.)

[crazymusicgeek]

Okay, this is not normal. There was only one episode of Doctor Who that I really liked this season, and that was Kerblam.

I say this because it was the only episode that actually reminded me of Doctor Who.

Technically, I liked The Witchfinders, but I say that only because Alan Cumming was absolutely brilliant as King James and I would love to see him come back in a future episode of Doctor Who. Then again, Alan Cumming is amazing in pretty much everything he’s in.

But everything else in Season 11 was just not good. At all. Please don’t shoot me. Let me explain my reasoning.

If you’re an active follower of my account, you’ve probably gotten the idea that I’m fairly progressive. However, this does not mean in any way that I’m as progressive as the people currently involved on this show. In my opinion, I see myself as one of the few true progressives. What I mean by this is that I try to listen to both sides of the political spectrum (no matter how crazy either side may be) before I make my judgments. Whenever I show prejudice towards anyone, whether it be intentional or not, I try to correct that to the best of my ability. I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I guess you could say I’m kind of like a mediator.

Which brings me to why I was not a fan of Doctor Who Season 11. It was excruciatingly obvious that everyone involved with this season was progressive and had one goal in mind: To push their progressive agenda onto us, the fans. If you don’t believe me, allow me to quote an interview with Chris Chinball (yes, I meant to call him that) when asked about why he took Season 11 in the direction that he did,

“I think it’s fundamental. I think you want to be writing about the world that we live in. The show is not a standalone thing, it’s a response to the times that we’re living in and the world that we’re in.”

Chinball goes on,

“When it comes to things that affect people’s lives – I think particularly things that children and young adults are going through – that feels really important. I think the character of the Doctor, and [her friends] as well, is a great conduit into discussing all that…and then you add monsters as well.”

Chinball’s response serves as the very reason why I am making this post. And even though this is probably pointless, what I’m about to say is pointed directly to Mr. Showrunner himself: Doctor Who is not political. It was never supposed to be political. It’s science fiction, for God’s sake! That is what we, THE FANS OF YOUR SHOW, have been trying to tell you ever since we realized that you and everyone else involved are trying to indoctrinate us with your political agenda! But you refuse to do anything about it because God knows THE FANS DON’T KNOW WHAT’S BEST!!! Well, newsflash, the fans do know what’s best and we are trying to stop you from RUNNING THIS SHOW INTO THE GROUND!!!

Okay, breathe. Breathe...

Sorry about that. It just breaks my heart to see a show that has been a huge part of my life for almost seven years have to suffer this fate. And the reason why this makes me so mad is that the direction that Chinball is taking Doctor Who is having an insanely negative impact on the stories, the characters, and the monsters. Let’s go back to part of what Chinball said,

“I think the character of the Doctor, and [her friends] as well, is a great conduit into discussing all that…and then you add monsters as well.”

I don’t think that Chinball even cares about how good the actual content of Doctor Who is. I mean, he said it himself that he’s using the Doctor and her companions as the central driving force for his political agenda. And to quote the man himself, “and then you add monsters as well.” 

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I kind of miss Steven Moffat. A lot. I mean, he wasn’t perfect, but at least he actually made an effort to make the stories, the characters, and the monsters turn out well. Heck, we got the masterpiece that was Heaven Sent from Moffat! (We also got the train wreck of Hell Bent directly after, but let’s not dwell on that. Again, he wasn’t perfect.) 

But honestly, looking back on Moffat’s last episode, Twice Upon A Time... (sigh) I can see what made Chinball decide to go down this path just by looking at how Moffat did the First Doctor. Sure, the actual First Doctor is kind of dated when you look at him now, but he wasn’t as dated as the way Moffat interpreted him. So, yeah, Moffat can kind of be blamed for some of this, but his political imagery was very subtle, and in some cases, it actually worked really well. I mean, just look at the Doctor’s War Speech in The Zygon Inversion! That speech is heralded as some of Moffat’s best writing by almost all of the fandom!

Wow, that was a lot longer than I planned it to be. So, that’s my opinion on Doctor Who Season 11. If you’d like to discuss your thoughts with me in a civilized manner, feel free to post them in the comments. Like I said, I prefer to look at both sides (no matter how crazy either side may be) before I make my judgments.