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tearsofgrace · 3 years

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today on: yes, yes i will make that fluffy prompt sad and you cannot stop me

written for destiel december 2020 day 3: presents

word count: 1k, tags: post 15.19, angst, mixtape, dean loves cas too goddammit

The cold air wrapped around him as the world got darker, his heart sinking lower with every step. Sam had offered to go with him, of course. He didn’t want Sam there though… didn’t want him to hear what he knew he had to say.

They’d hidden the marker back behind the bunker. It wasn’t far, but by the time he reached it his hands were numb. It wasn’t snowing, not yet. But clouds covered the sky, darkening the glow of the stars.

It was a simple headstone. Not even a name carved into it. Sam had wanted to put something about the life Cas had lived, something to honor his sacrifice. It was better like this, though. Just a smooth slab of marble laying in the woods where no one would see or disturb it. Maybe eventually he would get a chisel and work Cas’ name into the stone, but not now. Not yet.

He couldn’t bring himself to stare at that name, to know that his angel was dead.

When he reached the headstone he knelt in front of it. His breath hung in crystals in front of him and he let his eyes slip closed. Words crowded his mind, searching for a way out, but he just sat in silence. For a moment, he needed that.

He needed to remember Cas. To see him appearing in that barn, his presence filling the room with electricity. To see him dead in his arms, wings burned across the ground. To see his tear-filled eyes and let his confession wash over him.

Dean took a shaky breath, the air biting into his lungs and leaving him breathless. Then he reached into his pocket, his stiff fingers closing around the object.

“I made something for you,” he breathed into the quiet night. “Sammy wanted to do a real Christmas and it just seemed wrong to not get you-”

He stopped talking, taking another breath before finally opening his eyes and staring at that empty grave. They hadn’t had a body to burn. They hadn’t had anything, really. Just Cas’ last words echoing forever in Dean’s mind.

“I started this a while ago. I don’t know- I guess you seemed to like the first one. I didn’t know if you would understand it. What it meant.”

Dean cleared his throat and glanced around. There was no one there, nothing watching him, just the silent forest waiting on bated breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. I should have just told you. Why couldn’t I have just-”

He choked back a sob and shifted on his knees. When he spoke again, his words were so quiet that he wasn’t sure he’d really said them. He wasn’t sure they even mattered.

“You could have had it, Cas.”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before reaching back into his pocket, his hands closing around the mixtape before he brought it out.

Scrawled across the front was Dean’s Next Top 13 Zepp Traxx.

It wasn’t his most creative title, but what did it matter? Cas would never see it. Cas was gone.

He’d made the second mixtape faster than the first. The first one had taken months. He had a list of all the songs he wanted to include, and he would pour over it, wondering if it was too obvious, wondering if Cas would know.

And after he made it, after he’d carefully chosen each and every song, mindful of their meaning, their origins, their lyrics, he’d still waited another month to give it to Cas.

He wanted there to be a perfect moment. A time when it was just him and Cas, when there was no fight between them, when the world was okay.

In the end, he’d given it to him over breakfast. He’d ducked his head, jamming his hands in his pockets, mumbling something about how Cas needed better taste in music.

And Cas had just taken it, almost reverently, and slipped it into his pocket. Before he could say another word, Dean had left the kitchen, his heart pounding.

This time was harder though. His hands shook as he reached toward the headstone, fingers gripping the mixtape so tight they turned white.

He set it down gently, leaning it against the marble and letting his hand fall defeated at his side.

He sucked in another breath of air, letting it burn his throat and his lungs and take away some of the numbness seeping through his body. Then he let his eyes drift heavenward, searching for the invisible stars.

The whole sky was black, the stars gone leaving only the moon, which hung half full and shined dimly through the clouds. He was shivering now, his legs cramping beneath him. There were tears on his cheeks and the cold enveloped him, claiming him for its own.

A single snowflake drifted just in front of his eyes, falling to the Earth with grace. He tracked it with his eyes, watched it land gently on the grave, just next to the mixtape.

More followed. Soon snow was swirling around him, wind starting to rip at his jacket.

With a sigh, he forced himself to his feet, eyes still fixed on the damn tape.

He shoved his hands back in his pockets and kicked at the ground. Tears were still falling from his eyes but he ignored them, trying to think of what else he could even say, how else he could even tell Cas that of course he loved him too. Nothing came to him.

After another minute, he turned to go, wind whipping through his hair. There was just one thing left.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

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#angst #mcd #christmas fics #destiel december 2020 #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fan fiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

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agerefandom · 3 years

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The TARDIS Playroom

Fandom: Doctor Who

Characters: Regressor!Thirteenth Doctor, Graham O’Brien

Words: 2,000

Summary: The TARDIS has had a playroom for a long time, and The Doctor doesn’t spend enough time in there. One day, while she’s regressing, Graham wanders into the TARDIS and finds her playing.

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of, aside from the accidental regression reveal! Little bit of baby talk around a pacifier near the end. Also, I didn’t bother to correct all my Canadianisms in this fic (ie. ‘pacifier’ instead of ‘dummy’), apologies if that bothers anyone!

for @andromedaspace

It wasn’t often that The Doctor took a day off. There was always something interesting to do, somewhere to be, sometime that needed help getting back on track. But occasionally there was a lull: companions visiting families, no emergency broadcasts screeching through the TARDIS, just the hum of the ship and countless miles of corridors stretching into paradox space.

And then, maybe, if things had been busy lately, and there were injuries to nurse, and too many close calls… The Doctor would rest.

From the console room, the sounds of a Sheffield street could be heard through the front doors. Those doors were locked, the TARDIS tucked away into a little alcove between two fences down the street from Graham and Ryan’s house. Further into the TARDIS, music could be heard: an upbeat France Gall song. Hard to place the music in the twisting, impossible hallways of the TARDIS, but not impossible. Down a flight of stairs, and turning to the left, an open door revealed The Doctor’s current whereabouts.

Most of the TARDIS was warmly lit, crystals growing up the walls and in the centre of larger rooms. This room was no exception, stalactites hanging from the ceiling and providing a golden glow, but the floor wasn’t grated metal like the rest of the TARDIS. Here, the floor was covered in carpets, messily tossed over each other, and pillows and blankets on top of that, giving the room an appearance of a large and badly constructed bed.

The Doctor sat in the middle of the chaos, happily sucking on her pacifier. She’d chosen a new one after her most recent regeneration, blue and patterned with yellow jewels that sparkled in the crystal lights above her. A series of stuffed creatures were spread around her, some of the bigger ones leaning against the walls, and two of her favourites currently chatting in her lap, held up by her hands.

The policies of the N’ga’shto are more complicated than you’re making them seem! the blue Knashta was saying.

You’re being deliberately obtuse, his companion responded, a plush puppy The Doctor had picked up in Munich in 2032. The great Ish’ka is clearly a figurehead, and cannot be held responsible for the actions of his parliament.

The Doctor tilted her head back and forth between the two stuffies, making them bobble their heads as they argued. The act of playing pretend wasn’t something that had been practiced on Gallifrey, but the school-children were encouraged to debate foreign policy and challenge each other’s ability to recall the elders’ teachings. She enjoyed merging the two activities, watching her soft friends argue about things that mattered. If things got too intense or she got stuck, everything could be solved with a big hug and a nap. That was how playtime worked.

Sure enough, both the Knashta and unusually smart puppy were distracted when the next song came on, and started to dance, their soft legs tossing back and forth as The Doctor made them dance together. She laughed, her pacifier muffling the sound, and rolled onto her back, holding her plushies close. The puppy’s fur tickled her neck, and she pushed him off with a reproachful glance. The Doctor did not like to be tickled.

Well… did she? She certainly hadn’t, in most of her regenerations, but she didn’t think anyone had tried yet. Yasmin and Ryan would occasionally get into spats, trying to poke each other’s sides, but they never went after Graham or The Doctor. She would have to find some way to figure that out!

The Doctor ran her fingers down her sides, but it didn’t feel very ticklish when she did it. Sighing, she rolled over on top of her Knashta plush and rested her forehead on the carpeted floor. This was one of her favourites in the room, a rich oriental pattern that was so very soft to lie on. She ran her hands over the fabric, humming happily, and then pushed herself back to sitting.

It was while The Doctor was pushing herself up that she finally saw Graham standing in the hallway, hand raised as if to knock on the open door.

Her mouth opened in surprise and her pacifier fell out, landing on one of the pillows under her knees. She clutched her Knashta to her chest, automatically defensive. There was no reason to be scared, she knew, not of Graham, but this was her secret room, and he wasn’t supposed to see all this!

Oh, but she had been stupid, not asking the TARDIS to let her know if one of her companions used their key to come for a visit.

“I can go if it’s a bad time?” Graham said, finally lowering his hand from where it had been hovering by the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you, Doc. I texted a while ago and you didn’t get back to me.”

The Doctor had left her phone in the pocket of her normal clothes, which she didn’t wear at playtime. All at once, she was very aware of her bare knees. She loved her shorts and all of their many pockets, but they weren’t for people-time, they were for playtime! She tugged a pillow out of the pile and pushed it against her knees, frowning in Graham’s direction.

Then she felt bad for being rude: Graham hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. She was the one who hadn’t texted back.

“Ah, sorry,” she managed, gesturing for the TARDIS to turn the music off. “Don’t have my phone with me. Was it… important?” The Doctor tilted her head to the side.

“Not in the least,” Graham chuckled. “I was just wondering if you wanted to come for dinner, that’s all. Going to flex my cooking muscles, make some stir fry. Very impressive stuff.”

“Mmm.” The Doctor nodded, making her lips smile.

“Listen, I really am sorry for coming in without shouting first.” Graham pushed his hands into his pockets, looking guilty. “TARDIS has started to feel a little too much like home, but it’s your ship. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, no!” Oh, she’d made everything bad and now Graham would feel uncomfortable and he wouldn’t want to come and visit her anymore. “I, you can come anywhere! The TARDIS is your home! This room isn’t just for me, it’s nice for sleepovers, and… I can share?” The Doctor held her stuffie out in front of her, trying not to look too worried.

“That’s a nice gesture, Doc. May I come in?”

“Yes, of course! No shoes.” The Doctor sat back on her heels and watched Graham toe off his boots, stepping onto the soft patchwork surface of the carpets. He was looking around, and The Doctor followed his gaze: mismatched pillows, piles of soft bedding, stuffed animals bigger than she could wrap her arms around, all scattered across the space. Did Graham think it was weird?

“Do you hate it?” she heard herself ask. She never did have a very good brain to mouth filter.

“Hate it?” Graham seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “No, kiddo, it looks super cozy. How often do you spend time here?”

The Doctor attempted to untangle timelines in her mind, straighten them out along human measurements.

“Every few months?” she guessed, rubbing the Knashta’s head between its many button eyes. “Not a lot.”

“That’s a crying shame.” Graham folded himself into a sitting position in front of her, hands on his knees. “Space like this deserves lots of time. Look at all these blankets!” He looked at her for permission as he reached out, and The Doctor liked that. She gave him a nod, and he tugged one of the fuzzy blankets onto his lap. “There, now I feel cozy.” He tucked it in around his knees and toes, and settled down with a sigh. “Who’s your friend?”

“They’re a Knashta,” The Doctor said, fighting down a silly wave of shyness as she held her friend out for Graham to see. “They’re a rebel and they don’t like big leaders, but they lack revolutionary nuance.”

“And do they have a name?”

The Doctor shook her head. She didn’t name most of her stuffies because remembering all those names would take a lot of memory space, and she preferred to remember the names of all the real people she saw from day to day.

“Hmmm, would you mind if I gave them a name?” Graham asked, running a hand over his stubbly cheeks as he smiled. The Doctor knew that Graham only did that when he was really happy, and usually when he was outside in the sun. It was nice that he was doing it here, with her, in the crystal-lit playroom of the TARDIS.

“You can give them a name if you want.” The Doctor’s shoulders were starting to hurt from holding up the plushie, but she would hold them up until they received a name. Names were important, so Graham needed to look closely.

“Well, let’s think for a moment.” Graham rubbed his chin, pushed his eyebrows together, and pursed his lips. The Doctor fought down a laugh at his exaggerated thinking expression. “I’ve got it! They look like a Greg.”

“Greg?” The Doctor said dubiously, looking at the Knashta. Knashtar usually had much longer names, but sometimes they took shorter nicknames when visiting other planets. It could be short for Gr’egtha’shvantanos, which was a proper Knashta name.

“Undoubtedly.” Graham smacked his hands against his knees. “I’d know a Greg anywhere.”

The Doctor brought Greg back to her chest, hugging them firmly. Their eyes pressed against the bottom of her chin, but that was alright. No one said love was easy. “I love Greg.”

“They love you too,” Graham said.

“Do they?” The Doctor wasn’t sure why the question slipped out of her. All of her friends in the playroom loved her, and she loved them. That was what plushies were for, loving and being loved. Soft and simple and comforting.

“There’s not a person who can get a hug from you and not love you, Doc. Take my word on it.”

The Doctor hid her smile behind her newly named Greg, glancing up to see Graham with a matching grin.

“You dropped this, by the way.” Graham hooked a finger through the handle of her pacifier and brought it up. “Yours, kiddo?”

The Doctor nodded reluctantly. She had been hoping Graham hadn’t seen it, but he clearly had. That was one of the things that wasn’t a people-time thing. Even if it was very comforting and helped her think, even when she was big.

“Here you go.” Graham offered it to her and The Doctor opened her mouth automatically. Graham blinked: oh, he’d wanted to hand it to her. Before The Doctor could correct her mistake, he reached forward and popped the dummy into her mouth. She hummed, relaxing with the familiar pressure on her tongue.

“T’nk y’u,” she said around the pacifier.

“Not a problem,” Graham said, and patted her on the head. Oh, that was nice… she had so missed people touching her hair. Almost before she knew what she was doing, she chased the touch, pressing into Graham’s hand. “Oh! Hello.” Graham chuckled, but willingly scratching his fingers through her hair, all the way to the back of her scalp.

The Doctor melted, her head coming to rest on Graham’s knee, with Greg the Knashta held close against her. They were her new favourite. But also, Graham was her new favourite, as long as he kept petting her head.

“Well. You’re over here now,” he said, and moved a piece of her hair out of her face. “Big flop, Doc. Thinking about a nap?”

“M’ybe,” The Doctor sighed, closing her eyes as Graham started to comb his fingers through her hair again.

“I’ve gotta be home at six to start dinner, but there’s plenty of time for a nap before then. I’ll stay here with you.”

“L’v y’u,” The Doctor said, the world already getting softer around her. She could feel Graham’s affection and comfort radiating from his hands. Thanks to the physical contact, she was receiving vague thoughts and impressions, so she heard Graham’s response before he said it out loud.

“Love you too, kiddo. Sleep well.”

#fandom agere #agere writing #doctor who agere #dw agere #agere fanfiction #agere fics #sfw agere #agere stories #i love the doctor so so so much #they deserve the world #i also love graham very much #i love lots of people #anyways the knashta are totally made up!!! they're not from the show #if anyone's curious #my writing #my stories #doctor who

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mygalfriday · 3 years

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Things you always meant to say but never got the chance

Coaxed you into paradise and left you there

{ao3}

Despite the many interruptions, he hopes he has actually managed to salvage the first night of their honeymoon. The unwelcome reminder – in the form of their future selves – of how finite their time together is has only made him more desperate to make this evening perfect. River deserves that and more.

She’d changed despite his insistence she never needed to, exchanging her prison uniform for something flouncy and flirtatious that makes his fingertips itch. She’s close enough to touch but he doesn’t, twirling his top hat between his hands and watching out of the corner of his eye as she helps herself to some more chips. The stars are set to appear any moment now and her gaze is pinned to the sky, waiting for the impressive show he’d promised her.

It’s a marked change from the woman who had been so determined to seduce him in the TARDIS and he fidgets anxiously, secretly wanting a bit of that back but unsure how to get them there. River has always been the instigator and he’s at a loss now that she’s so terribly young and it’s his turn to lead. He grips his hat in one hand and lifts the other to straighten his bowtie, inching a bit closer where they’ve settled on a massive tree branch.

Clearly still as alert to his every move as she’d been as Mels, River glances at him out of the corner of her eye the moment he so much as twitches in her direction. When she notices him hovering, she places a protective hand over her chips and says, “I told you to get your own, sweetie.”

He frowns. “First of all, River Song,” he says, wagging a finger at her and refusing to soften at the way her eyes light up when he uses her name. “I wasn’t trying to steal your chips. And second of all, are you telling me you wouldn’t share? On our honeymoon?”

She whirls to stare at him, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders and her eyes wide. “Honeymoon?” She laughs once, strained and nervous. “We’re not married.”

He squints at her, fearing for a moment he’d picked up the wrong River. But no, he’d gotten her on her first night in prison – she’d said so herself. So she must have already done Area 52. “Of course we’re married.” He waves a hand, gesturing between them. “There was a bowtie and a kiss-”

River interrupts him in the middle of his kissy-face impression, still eyeing him incredulously. “Yes, where you were a robot. In a timeline that no longer exists. I’ll hardly hold you to it, Doctor.” She smiles when he merely stares at her, the expression somehow unbearably sad despite the softness in her eyes. “You think I didn’t notice in all my research of you how often you get married and swan off, never to see your poor lovestruck bride again?”

“I haven’t swanned off,” he points out, wounded despite the truth of her words. River is different. Surely she knows that. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are.” She reaches out a hand, patting his bowtie fondly. “I’m the child of your best friends.”

He stares at her. “You think I married you out of guilt?”

“There are worse reasons to get married.” With a shrug, she turns back to the night sky spread out before them and her hand drops from his bowtie to reach for another chip. “But it wasn’t a real marriage, remember? You’re off the hook.”

“River,” he sighs, tugging at his hair. Why is she making him do this? Doesn’t she know he’s rubbish at this? “I don’t want to be off the hook. I want-” Blimey, what does he want? Twelve hundred years old and he still has no idea. He just knows that whatever this is – sitting here, bickering and pretending he doesn’t want any of her chips – he wants every last terrifying moment of it. With her. “I want -”

The sky lights up over their heads, brilliantly illuminated with the glow of a billion stars. It brightens their surroundings like sunlight. Ordinarily, this natural phenomenon wouldn’t be enough to distract him from the issue at hand but River tips up her face to stare at it like she’s never seen anything so wondrous. Her eyes widen and the most beautiful smile bursts to life on her face. It’s a thousand times more distracting than any star has ever been. The Doctor finds himself caught, gazing at her like a new Time Lord staring at his first planet.

Without looking away from the view above, River nudges the plate of chips toward him. A peace offering. The Doctor grins and ignores them, leaning in to press a smacking kiss to her cheek. She swats him, turning her head to seek out a proper snog. He sinks into her with a sigh, fingers finding her wild curls, and doesn’t stop to wonder why he feels like he’s forgotten to say something important.

He knows what he feels. He has known what he feels for far longer than he’d ever admit to any version himself. He hasn’t said the words since he was a young man on Gallifrey, unburdened by loss and the weight of ages. He might have said them once or twice to Susan when she was a child. The point is, it has been so long that the words don’t even feel tangible anymore – nothing but brittle bones and dust taking up space at the base of his throat. He worries if he tries to say them now, nothing will escape but ash.

He isn’t stupid enough to do nothing and merely hope River understands through osmosis but those words aren’t enough. They’re imaginary and ephemeral, easily lost and forgotten in this wide, unknowable universe. So many days he and River will spend apart, separated by space and time – yearning across worlds. He wants River to remember, even when she forgets everything else. He wants River to have more than brittle words.

So he gives her memories. Big, flashy, unforgettable memories that could cast a giant neon sign across the universe in 50 foot capital letters. You. Are. Loved. Stevie Wonder sings it for her under London Bridge; mysteriously inspired poets pen her sonnets; da Vinci sketches her likeness in La Scapigliata. Sunflowers remind him of her and he scatters seeds all over the fields of Spain so every summer people flock there to admire her beauty; he goes back in time and leaves notes throughout history for her to find during her excavations; he takes lessons with Julia Child and Fernand Point so he can make all her favorite dishes. He makes love to her at the start of the universe and the end of it so their love is a bookend to the beginning and the end of everything.

He never asks her if she understands what he isn’t saying. Instead he smiles when she finds another of his surprises and drinks in her laugh when he spins her around another ballroom, hoping she sees it for what it is. Not a showy distraction from a magician, but the last precious coin from a penniless man. All he has to offer. Someday, he might dust off those meagre words humans so love to abuse and see if he can make them shine again – make them pretty enough to deserve her – but for now, surely all this is enough? It must be.

Despite her hesitance around them, children gravitate naturally towards River. He thinks it must be the hair. There is no other possible explanation for why they’re all gathered around her when he’s the one sitting by the bonfire introducing these people to the roasted marshmallow about ten thousand years too early. Considering himself a bit of an expert on the subject, he appoints himself the overseer of their technique, teaching the locals how to get the outside nice and crisp without making the insides a gooey mess.

Most of them are understandably fascinated but every time the Doctor looks up in search of his wife, he finds her sitting just to the left of all the excitement and surrounded by a group of tiny humans. A few of them sit at her feet, two sit on either side of her, one stands behind her poking curiously at her hair, and another seems to have made himself a nice comfy home on her lap. To her credit, River isn’t as horrified by all the attention as she used to be when she was younger.

She seems to be telling them all a story, judging by enraptured looks on their faces and the way River keeps leaning in close like she always does when imparting a secret. Unable to conceal his grin, the Doctor puts the nearest villager in charge of marshmallow roasting and slips away to investigate. As he gets closer, the soft murmur of River’s voice becomes clearer until he can make out exactly which story she’s regaling her audience with.

“And of course, because he’s a man he thinks he always knows exactly where he’s going but he never does. None of them do.” She offers them all an exasperated look, as though inviting them to commiserate with her on the hopelessness of men. Every single little girl in the group nods sagely. “Now, who do you think actually found the gemstone and restored the High Chancellor to his natural form?”

One of them ventures confidently, “You did!”

River beams. “And don’t you forget it.”

Shaking his head and biting back a smile, the Doctor folds his arms over his chest and attempts to look cross. “Just so we’re clear, I did know exactly where I was going, River Song. I was… testing you.”

She glances up, apparently unsurprised to find him eavesdropping. “And the part where you twisted your ankle in the mines and I had to carry you for five miles back to the TARDIS?” She smiles innocently. “Was that part of the test too?”

“Yes. No.” He scowls, dropping his arms to his sides. “Shut up. Dear.”

River grins and he leans in, bopping her fondly on the nose. She turns her head coyly away when he tries to kiss her, teasing, “Not in front of the children, honey.”

“Ah. Right.” He turns to their rapt audience, pasting on a nervous grin. “Oi you lot, you’re missing out on all the sweets.” He claps his hands together, watching them scramble to their feet. “Off your pop, before your parents eat them all.”

Only the little one on River’s lap refuses to budge, curled up there like he belongs. The Doctor sighs, giving up on stealing a kiss for the moment as he settles onto the log beside his wife. Elbows on his knees, he peeks at her through his fringe and confesses, “I wasn’t actually testing you.”

River spares him an exasperated glance, preoccupied with the toddler currently clinging to the front of her shirt. “I know, sweetie.”

“And the whole carrying me thing was a tiny bit…” He risks a glance at their tiny audience and whispers, “Sexy.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know, sweetie.”

“Right. Good.”

He thinks about offering to fetch her a marshmallow but the sight of her hesitantly dropping a hand to stroke the little tot’s hair from his forehead stops the Doctor in his tracks. Despite her reticence, she’s a natural with kids. She always knows what to do, even when she doesn’t seem to trust her own instincts. He’s sure her hesitance must come from her own unusual upbringing and the complete lack of parental figures who didn’t have an eyepatch and a villainous agenda but he finds himself wishing she would give herself more credit. She knows what kids need – even if only because they need the things no one ever gave her.

Elbowing her gently, he says, “You’re good with them.”

River scoffs, glancing away. “I’m really not.”

“Could have fooled me.” He shrugs, studying the boy with sleepy eyes still clinging to her. “He seems very fond of you.”

River glances down at the boy, biting her lip. “I probably just look like someone he knows.”

“Someone else with this hair?” He plucks at a curl fondly. “Impossible.”

River swats at him, adorably and uncharacteristically flushed. The Doctor chooses not to mention it, watching in silence the way she cradles the boy to her and bounces him a bit in her arms to nudge him gently to sleep. Not for the first time, he thinks she’d probably make a brilliant mother if she wanted to be. He wonders briefly if she does want it. Maybe she does and just hasn’t said anything. What if he brought it up? Would she want it, if he offered?

Could he offer?

No. Of course not. It’s a terrible idea. The universe would come after any child of the Doctor and River Song. It would hardly be fair to ask a tiny little being to carry the weight and hatred of an entire universe. Besides, their lives are hardly the right environment in which to raise a child – what with the running and the prison and the timey-wimey-ness of it all.

But… if River really wanted it he might consider it in spite of all that. He might even sort of fancy the idea. He can’t ever see himself sitting still long enough to have a proper family life but the image of a miniature version of him and River asking for bedtime stories and refusing to eat their vegetables and begging for another trip to the intergalactic zoo? With anyone else, the very notion would send him running far and fast but with River it’s… Well. He’s grown to like all sorts of things so long as River is involved.

“Matteo?”

The Doctor lifts his head, snapping back to the present just in time to watch a woman – the boy’s mother, probably – lift the sleeping tot out of River’s arms with a murmur of thanks. River nods stiffly, watching the woman cradle her baby and sway with him toward the warmth of the bonfire. The ache of her longing is clear in her eyes.

The Doctor swallows, wanting nothing but for that look to disappear. Wanting her to have everything it’s within his power to give her. “You know, we could-”

“Doctor? We’re out of marshmallows!”

He sighs. “I warned them about rationing.”

River turns to him with a smirk, oblivious to what he’d been about to offer. “I’ll fetch some more from the TARDIS.”

“Thanks, dear.” He finally steals that kiss he’d been after, smiling as she slips away. The courage to ask her what had been on his mind goes with her. He never finds the nerve to bring it up again.

After they lose her parents, River spends most of her time in her study writing the book that will start it all. He knows he isn’t strong enough to be of any assistance to her, far more apt to make suggestions like taking the manuscript and pitching it into a black hole, but he also knows River would likely rebuff any offers of help from him right now anyway. She’s avoiding him.

The Doctor can’t blame her. He’s hardly been desirable company in recent days. All these centuries knocking about the universe and he’s still that same selfish old man he’s always been, mourning the loss of his Ponds as though he’s the only one who has lost something. River deserves far better than a selfish mad man like him but apparently she isn’t going anywhere despite his many faults and foibles. It’s this strange, terrible combination of guilt and gratitude, contrition and devotion that finds him standing outside the door to her study holding a cup of tea and listening to the soft click of typewriter keys coming from within the room.

“River?”

Balancing the cup in the palm of one hand, he raps his knuckles softly against the door. The typing doesn’t even pause. He sighs, nudging the door open with his hip and peering inside. The hinges creak but River doesn’t glance up, typing away as though he hasn’t interrupted. Reluctant to intrude on her space without permission after all the things he has said and done recently, the Doctor hovers in the doorway and wraps his fingers around the warm ceramic of the mug he’d brought her.

“I made tea.”

Again, she doesn’t look up from her notes. Pencil between her teeth, she taps her fingers against the keys of her typewriter and says, “Thanks.”

Figuring this may well be the closest he’ll get to permission to approach, the Doctor shoves off the doorframe and picks his way across the floor – careful not to step on the crumpled wads of paper scattered everywhere that River must have tossed in various pits of pique. He settles the mug on the corner of her desk, within reach if she wants it but not so close she’ll accidentally knock it over with an elbow. His job done, he lingers beside her desk uncertainly. She hasn’t asked him to leave but she’s hardly rolled out the welcome mat either.

Squirming, the Doctor touches a fingertip to a stack of field journals and ventures hesitantly, “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” comes the short, clipped reply. “I’ll be done soon and then I’ll go.”

He lifts his head from scrutinizing the contents of her desk, frowning. “Go?”

“Hmm.”

River lifts her glasses from the top of her head, relocating them to the bridge of her nose. Usually the sight of her in them does funny things to his insides but today, he only feels a cold knot of dread beginning to tighten in the pit of his stomach. Why hadn’t he noticed how tired she looks? She isn’t dressed to impress anyone today, wearing a pair of leggings and one of Rory’s old jumpers. He thinks the fuzzy socks on her feet might have belonged to Amy once. Her wild curls are piled on top of her head but keep spilling over her forehead every time she bends to peer at her notes. There are new lines of weariness around her eyes and mouth, a dullness to her gaze he has never seen before. And she still hasn’t looked at him.

The Doctor swallows, inching closer. “Actually I wanted to ask if you were hungry. I could cook…” He brightens. “Or we could have dinner somewhere. Anywhere you like, Professor Song.”

She shakes her head. “I need to get this done.”

He scoffs. “There’s plenty of time to finish it-”

“Not if you want me out of your hair sooner rather than later.” She sighs when he goes still, staring at her in silence. Her eyes remain locked on her half-finished manuscript. “It has to be done now.”

Studying her clenched jaw and the tightly contained way she holds herself – so very still, as though the slightest wrong move might make something explode in her face – the Doctor begins to understand he might have buggered things up quite a bit more than he’d realized. “What makes you think I want you out of my hair?”

Despite her every attempt to appear unaffected, the words slip out with an incredulous huff of laughter. “You mean besides your every word and action in the last week?”

He flinches. “River, no. I didn’t mean-”

She sighs, the bitterness slipping away like it had never been. At times it alarms him how easily she forgives his transgressions. Taking off her glasses and letting them clatter to her desk, River pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes for a moment. Gathering patience, though she probably thinks he doesn’t know what she’s doing. As if he doesn’t know all of her little tells by now, even the ones he pretends he doesn’t see.

“I know you didn’t,” she says, and the sound of her voice is more familiar to him now. Soft. Warm. Forgiving. He really doesn’t deserve her. She lifts her head and finally meets his worried gaze since the first time he walked into her study. The utter lack of light in her eyes scares the hell out of him. “But it’s clear you need space. So I’ll finish the manuscript and I’ll go.”

“Stay,” he insists, bracing himself with his hands against the edge of her desk. He leans in toward her, forcing a smile. “We’ll pay Vastra and Jenny a visit. Or we’ll go to Egypt and see how the pyramids are coming along, eh? Get married again while we’re there – how’s that?”

“Doctor,” she begins, and he hates it when she says his name like that. It sounds like no. “I’m not going to stay just because you don’t want to be alone.”

He pushes off her desk with a low growl. “That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” The amount of resignation in her patient voice is maddening. “It’s alright, honey. We’ll go our separate ways for a while and I’ll pop round to see how you’re faring after I get back.”

“Back?” Pacing to her bookshelves across the room and preparing to pout a bit and possibly make childish comments about the amount of archeology texts she owns, the Doctor scowls and prods irritably at a scroll wedged between suspiciously authentic looking manuscripts of Macbeth and The Importance of Being Earnest – stolen, no doubt. “Back from where?”

Already sliding her glasses back on and returning her attention to her notes, River mutters absently, “I got an invitation to lead the first expedition to the Library planet. Thought I might go – get my mind off things.”

The Doctor goes cold. That slowly growing and widening knot of dread in the pit of his stomach yawns open like a black hole. He grips the edge of a bookshelf until his knuckles turn white and the wood begins to creak beneath his fingers, threatening to splinter. With his back turned to her, River doesn’t see the way the blood drains away from his face. The way his mouth can only silently form no over and over again until it doesn’t even feel like a real word anymore. It screams in his head anyway, blaring like a siren until it loses some of its power with repetition and he feels just as helpless as he had the day he watched her die.

No.

Not yet.

He just watched an ending unfold right before his eyes. He cannot – will not – do it again. He will not lose another precious person to this goddamned thief called Time. The pain of losing the Ponds is still raw and fresh in his mind, reminders of them at every turn and memories lurking like ghosts out of the corner of his eye. It hurts now; and it always will. He has lost companions before. It always feels like this; like being ripped open and left to bleed out. It heals eventually, despite all his best intentions to cling to his grief. Another scar to bear in his long, lonely life.

But this, he knows, would break him.

“Don’t pout, sweetie,” she says, mistaking his silence for something else. Still typing away like she hasn’t destroyed his whole world. “Far better we have some time to ourselves than stay together and say more things we don’t mean.”

He won’t lose her. The only solution is to change it. The Doctor lifts his head, resolve slipping down his spine like cold steel. Not one line echoes in his head but he pushes it away with a grim smile. “I meant them.”

The typing stops. “What?”

“What I said when we lost Amy.” He doesn’t turn to look at her yet, struggling to school his features into something expressionless and cold – the mighty Time Lord instead of the devastated husband. It’s easier when he can’t see the look on her face. “If you hadn’t told her to go -”

River’s voice grows brittle. “She’d be here and miserable without my father.”

“She’d be here.” Clenching his jaw, the Doctor forces himself to turn from the bookshelf and face her properly. River sits utterly still at her desk, staring at him like he’s a particularly bad dream she’s waiting to wake up from. “And that’s really what it comes down to in the end, wife. If not for you, my Amelia would still be here.”

In the silence of the room, he can hear the hitch in River’s breath.

He directs his gaze elsewhere before he can see her eyes begin to water, glaring at a spot in the carpet instead. His hands tremble and he clenches them into fists, forcing the words out around the lump in his throat. “How can you expect me to look at you, knowing you’re the reason we lost them both? If you’d been quicker or cleverer or just… more. I expected better of you.” He stops when he sees her flinch out of the corner of his eye, unable to bear hurting her for another second with such poisonous lies. His eyes begin to burn and he snaps out, “I can’t wait for you to finish the manuscript. Go now. And take your bloody book with you.”

He stalks from the room before she can say a word and he doesn’t dare look at her as he leaves, knowing the moment he sees her face he’ll drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. So he walks and he walks until his vision blurs and the TARDIS opens a door, letting him stumble into a room at the end of the corridor.

Their bedroom. Of course.

With a growl, the Doctor picks up the nearest thing to hand – one of River’s high heels – and hurls it at the wall. It cracks the plaster and he stares at the split along the wall, his chest heaving and his eyes burning. In the ensuing silence, there is only the rasp of his shaky breathing and the sound of River’s footsteps as she leaves.

It’s only standing in his tomb with her ghost in front of him that he understands he had certainly changed things that day in the TARDIS – just not how he’d hoped. River still went to the Library; she still died in his place and wound up trapped in the data core. The only thing he had changed was letting her die believing he blamed her. Believing he didn’t love her.

Cradling her face in his hands, he looks into her eyes and realizes this may very well be his last chance to tell her all the things he’d never had the chance to say to her before. So many of those things seem pointless now. What does it matter that he’d always considered Area 52 their wedding day or that he would have given her children if she’d only asked? What does it matter if he never once blamed her for what happened to her parents or that he loves her so much he chokes on the words every time he tries to say them? It’s too late for any of it to matter now.

She’s gone and he’s looking at an echo.

River doesn’t ask him to say any of those things anyway. She wants something far more difficult to give. A goodbye.

“Say it like you’re going to come back.”

And it’s this – the thing he wants desperately to refuse to ever say – that he doesn’t have the hearts to deny her. Mouth full of lost opportunities and a lifetime of regrets, the Doctor swallows it all back with a smile. “See around, Professor River Song.”

#drfic #river song #eleventh doctor #river x eleven #eleven x river #my fic

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thelittlesttimelord · 3 years

Text

The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 14

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The New Doctor Chapter 14 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 14/? SUMMARY: With the Doctor newly regenerated, he and Elise must now navigate their new relationship. The Doctor is an old man and Elise is a headstrong young woman. She is no longer the scared little girl the Doctor saved all those years ago. Will Clara be able to keep them from killing each other?

Clara was clearly getting ready for another date when Elise and the Doctor arrived.

The Doctor was watching her laundry spinning in the washing machine while Clara checked her makeup.

“The Satanic Nebula,” the Doctor suggested. He stared at her goldfish. “Or the lagoon of lost stars. Or we could go to Brighton. I've got a whole day worked out.”

“Sorry, but as you can see, I've got plans.” Clara gestured to her outfit.

“Have you?”

“Look at me.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“No, no, no. No. Look at me.” Clara flipped her hair.

“Yep, looking.”

“Seriously?”

“I think you look beautiful,” Elise told Clara.

“Thank you, Ellie.”

“Why is your face all colored in? Are you taller?” the Doctor asked.

Clara raised her foot. “Heels.”

“What, do you have to reach a high shelf?”

“Right, got to go. Going to be late.”

“For a shelf?”

“Bye.” Just as Clara was about to leave, the phone in the TARDIS started ringing. “There you go, you've got another playmate.”

“Hardly anyone in the universe has that number.”

“Well, I've got it.”

“Yes, from some woman in a shop. We still don't know who that was.”

“Is that her now?”

“There are very few people that it could be.”

“Maybe it’s Kate,” Elise suggested. It’d been a while since they’d seen the head of UNIT.

The Doctor reached out to answer it.

“Don't,” Clara said.

“Why not?” the Doctor asked.

“Because, if you answer it, something will happen.”

“What?”

“A thing”

“Huh. It's just a phone, Clara. Nothing happens when you answer the phone.” He picked up the receiver.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next thing they knew they were sitting at table, each holding a memory worm.

Clara and Elise screamed.

“Doctor?” Clara asked.

“Don't touch it.”

“Where are we? How did we get here?”

A man and a woman sat across from them at the table.

The man had half his head shaved with computer chips attached. “Who are you? Sorry, what's going on? I don't understand.”

The woman was dark skinned. Her cheeks transformed into the worm’s horns before fading. “Ah! What is that thing?”

“It's a memory worm,” the Doctor told her.

“What happened to your face?” Clara asked.

“Deletes your memories.”

“Did you see her face?”

“How did I get here?” the woman asked.

“The same way we all did, but we've all forgotten,” the Doctor said.

“And who are you?”

A metal case sat in the middle of the table. It played a recording.

“I am the Doctor, a Time Lord from Gallifrey. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

“I am Clara Oswald, human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will. Do I really have to touch that worm thing?”

“Yes, you do. And change your shoes. Elise, you’re next.”

Elise heard herself sigh. “Do I really have to do this?”

“Yes.”

“This is a bad idea. Fine. I am Elise Smith, daughter of the Doctor and River Song. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

“Okay, you're next, Psi.”

“I am Psi- augmented human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.” Psi took a chip from his head and examined it.

“I am Saibra, mutant human. I have agreed to this memory wipe of my own free will.”

The case unlocked and a golden light shone from within. Two screens popped up. A golden K in a circle was shown on the screen before a hooded figure appeared.

“This is a recorded message. I am the Architect. Your last memory is of receiving a contact from an unknown agency. Me. Everything since has been erased from your minds. Now, pay close attention to this briefing.”

A planet appeared and zoomed in to show a bank. An advertisement started to play as the Architect spoke.

“This is the Bank of Karabraxos, the most secure bank in the galaxy. A fortress for the super-rich. If you can afford your own star system, this is where you keep it. No one sets foot on the planet without protocols. All movement is monitored, all air consumption regulated. DNA is authenticated at every stage. Intruders will be incinerated. Each vault, buried deep in the earth, is accessed by a drop-slot at the planet's surface. It's atomically sealed, an unbreakable lock. The atoms have all been scrambled. Your presence on this planet is unauthorized. A team will have been dispatched to terminate you.”

Someone banged on the door. “This is bank security. Open up.”

The video kept playing. “Your survival depends on following my instructions.”

“Open up and you shall be humanely disposed of.”

“There's another exit,” Saibra said.

“All the information you need is in this case,” the video said.

Psi took a chip from his head and plugged it into the case.

“What are you doing?” the Doctor asked.

“Downloading,” Psi told him.

“Ah. Augmented. Nice.”

“The Bank of Karabraxos is impregnable,” the video said.

The Doctor took a device from the case.

“Please stand away from the door. We do not wish to hurt you before incineration,” the guard ordered.

Elise rolled her eyes. How considerate.

“The Bank of Karabraxos has never been breached. You will rob the Bank of Karabraxos.”

Soon, the five of them were running down a corridor.

“Okay, okay, okay. Stop, stop, stop. Far enough,” the Doctor said, panting.

Can’t handle all the running, old man? Elise asked. She received an eyeroll in response.

“Augmented human. Computer augmented, yes? Mainframe in your head?”

“I'm a gamer. Sorry, who put you in charge?” Psi asked.

“You're a liar. That's a prison code on your neck.”

“I'm a hacker slash bank robber.”

“Good. This is a good day to be a bank robber. Mutant human. What kind of mutant?”

“Like he says, why are you in charge now?” Saibra asked.

“It's my special power. What's yours?”

Saibra sighed and took Clara’s hand. They watched as she transformed into Clara. When she let go, she was herself once again. “I touch living cells, I can replicate the owner.”

“Your face, when we first saw you...”

“I touched the worm.”

“You can replicate their clothes too?”

“I wear a hologram shell.”

“Like Christmas,” Elise said, even though only the Doctor and Clara knew what she was referencing.

The Doctor pulled out the object he took from the case. “Human cells. DNA from a customer, maybe? A disguise to get us in?”

“We're actually going to do it? Rob the bank?”

“I don't think we have a choice. We've already agreed to.”

Saibra sighed and touched her thumb to the object.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Elise had to admit that the bank was beautiful.

“How long can you maintain the image for?” the Doctor asked Saibra.

“For as long as I like.”

They entered the bank.

“Question one. Robbing banks is easy if you've got a TARDIS. So why am I not using it?” the Doctor asked.

“Question two, where is the TARDIS?” Clara countered.

“Okay, that probably should be question one.”

“Hopefully it’s not having a temper tantrum this time,” Elise said.

The Doctor turned to her. “At least we’re not stuck on a pirate ship with a murderous mermaid.”

An alarm started going off and security grills came down around all the exits. “Banking floor locking down.”

“They know we're here,” Saibra said.

“Banking floor locking down.”

A woman entered with two men dressed in suits. They walked up to a man with a briefcase.

A monster wearing an orange jumpsuit and a straight jacket entered. It had two eyestalks and was led by two armed guards.

Elise, instead of being scared, just felt sorry for the poor creature.

“What is that?” Saibra asked.

“I don't know. Hate not knowing,” the Doctor said.

“Excuse me, sir. I regret to say that your guilt has been detected,” the woman said.

“What? That, that's totally ridiculous,” the man said.

“Is it, sir? Well then, we will certainly double-check. The Teller will now scan your thoughts for any criminal intent. Good luck, sir.”

The man put down his briefcase.

“Interesting,” the Doctor said.

“What is?” Psi asked.

“The latest thing in sniffer dogs. Telepathic. It hunts guilt.”

The creature emitted a high-pitched noise that caused the man to grab his head in pain.

“What about our guilt?” Clara asked.

“Currently being drowned out,” the Doctor told her.

“What's he doing?”

“If he has a plan, he's trying not to think of it.”

“Ever tried not thinking about something?” Psi asked.

“No,” Clara said.

“You may have to,” Saibra said.

The creature roared.

“Ah, criminal intent detected. How naughty. What was your plan? Counterfeit currency in your briefcase, perhaps?” the woman asked.

“No, not at all. For God's sake,” the man said.

“It doesn't really matter, we'll establish the details later. The Teller is never wrong when it comes to guilt. Your account will now be deleted, and obviously your mind. Suppertime.”

The armored guards held onto the creature’s chains as it moved closer to the customer. It’s eyestalks came together and a ray was focused on the man’s head.

“It's wiping his mind. Turning his brain into soup,” the Doctor explained.

Elise felt tears well up in her eyes.

“Your next of kin will be informed, and incarcerated, as further inducement to honest financial transactions,” the woman said.

The man started screaming.

“We've got to help him,” Clara said.

“He's gone already. It's over,” the Doctor told her.

“He's in agony, look at him.”

“Those aren't tears, Clara. That's soup.”

The creature pulled it’s eyestalks apart.

The man stopped screaming and one of the suited men caught him. The front of his head was caved in.

“Account closed. Take him away. He's ready for his close-up. Apologies for the disturbance. Everyone have a lovely day.”

Elise was right. This was a very bad idea.

#twelfth doctor #twelfth doctor imagine #twelfth doctor fanfiction #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the new doctor #time heist

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user-2-electric-boogaloo · 3 years

Text

A Comparison of RTD and Steven Moffat: Saving The Day

So for this analysis I’m going to compare when Moffat and RTD save the day well and when they save it poorly. There are a few bits of criteria I need to explain.

First I will only be including main series, no Torchwood, no spin-offs, and no mini episodes.

Second, I have to define what makes a good and a bad ending (my examples will come from episodes written by neither of them):

Bad endings include when the sonic saves the day (see The Power Of Three) (there are exceptions, see below), when a character spouts some useless technobabble that doesn’t make any scientific sense/when it doesn’t make logical sense in general, when the Doctor invents/presents a machine/equipment that miraculously stops the baddy and is never referred to again (see Journey To The Centre Of The TARDIS), and any other ending I deem to be bad (see The Vampires of Venice)

Good endings include when the sonice activates a device that has been well established to save the day, when technobabble is used that actually makes some scientific sense, and just generally when the baddy is destroyed in what I deem to be a creative manner that makes sense with all the things that had been set up in that episode (see The Unquiet Dead).

There will also be cases where there isn’t really a day to be saved, however this happens more often with Moffat.

Let us begin (obviously there will be spoilers but the last episode in the list aired nearly 4 years ago so what you doing with your life).

RTD:

Rose: Bad

What even is anti-plastic?! Like seriously, he’s faced the Autons loads of times and has never thought to use it any other time.

The End Of The World: Bad

The Doctor just goes up to the appearance of the repeated meme (ha meme) and rips its arm off. He then just summons Cassandra back by twisting a knob which apparently everyone can do if “you’re very clever like me”.

Aliens Of London/World War Three: Good

Just nuking them all was a bit dodgy but I’ll give it to him purely because it had been set up earlier in the episode and it is a genuine option that could have been taken.

The Long Game: Good

The heating issue was set up within 2 minutes of the episode starting. It’s always good to see the Doctor using his enemies weakness against them.

Boom Town: Good

Only just. It’s technology that hadn’t been showcased ever before and came out of nowhere, but I’m allowing purely because it was setting up The Parting Of The Ways.

Bad Wolf/The Parting Of The Ways: Good

See above. It was set up the story before so it works.

The Christmas Invasion: Bad

This was so close to being good. If RTD had just let the Sycorax leader be honourable then everything would have been fine. Instead he had to let him be dishonourable and then the Doctor through the Satsuma at a random button that for no apparent reason caused a bit of floor to fall away.

New Earth: Bad

It only makes sense if you think about it for less than 10 seconds as just pouring every cure to every disease ever into a giant tub and then spraying said supercure onto them all, then having them hug each other to pass it on. That is suspending my disbelief just a bit too far.

Tooth And Claw: Good

Everything is set up in the episode so I’ll allow it but I fail to see how Prince Albert had the time to ensure that the diamond was cut perfectly.

Love And Monsters: Bad

It’s Love And Monsters. Need I say more?

Army of Ghosts/Doomsday: Good

It was very clearly set up throughout the episode.

The Runaway Bride: Bad

I don’t like how a few bombs can supposedly drain the entire Thames.

Smith And Jones: Good

All the events were well established

Gridlock: Good

It’s a fairly bland way to save the day, just opening the surface to all the drivers. But how else could he have done it?

Utopia/The Sound Of Drums/Last Of The Time Lords: Bad

As much as I like the idea that he tuned himself into the archangel network, he basically turned into Jesus. It is arguably the least convincing ending in modern Doctor Who history.

Voyage Of The Damned: Bad

Why was he the next highest authority? If he’s the highest authority in the universe why didn’t they default to him in the first place? If not then why not default to Midshipman Frame? And if he’s somehow in between them then why? Also Astrid killed herself for no reason when she easily could have jumped out of the forklift.

Partners In Crime: Good

It works in the context of the episode, but I don’t see why they needed two of the necklace things.

Midnight: Good

It’s human nature, you can’t get more well set up than that.

Turn Left: Good

It works logically

The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End: Bad

Donna just spouts a load of technobabble whilst pressing buttons and then the Daleks are magically incapacitated.

The Next Doctor: Bad

Why do the infostamps sever Hartigan’s connection with the Cyberking? As far as I remember it ain’t explained.

Planet Of The Dead (co-written with noted transphobe Gareth Roberts): Good

A good couple scenes are dedicated on getting the anti-gravs set up.

The Waters Of Mars (co-written with Phil Ford): N/A

The day isn’t really saved cause everyone still dies anyway.

The End Of Time: Good

Using a gun to destroy a machine is much better than using the sonic to destroy it.

Summary for RTD:

Out of 24 stories written by him, I deem 10 to be bad endings with 1 abstaining. That’s 41.7% of his episodes (43.5% if we don’t count any abstaining).

Steven Moffat:

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances: Good

You’ll see this a lot with Moffat, he knows how to explain things without stupefying levels of technobabble. “Emailing the upgrade” is a perfect example of this.

The Girl In The Fireplace: Good

Some basic logic, the androids want to repair their ship, but they can’t return to it, they no longer have a function so they shut down.

Blink: Good

Always loved this one, getting the angels to look at each other, however they do look at each other sometimes earlier in the episode.

Silence In The Library/Forest Of The Dead: Bad

This is more of a problem with the setup of the episode, I don’t like that he can negotiate with the Vashta Nerada. I’d rather see them comprehensively beaten, but I guess it’s good for the scare factor that they can’t be escaped from.

The Eleventh Hour: Good

He convinced the best scientists all around the world to set every clock to 0 all in less than an hour. In the Doctor’s own words “Who da man!”

The Beast Below: Good

The crying child motif pretty much ended up saving the day (well for the star whale, life went on as normal for pretty much everyone else).

The Time Of Angels/Flesh And Stone: Good

The artificial gravity had briefly been set up earlier so I’ll allow it.

The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang: Good

Everything had been set up perfectly, the vortex manipulator, the Pandorica’s survival field thingy, the TARDIS exploding at every moment in history.

A Christmas Carol: Good

Literally the entire episode is the Doctor saving the day by convincing Kazran not to be a cock.

The Impossible Astronaut/Day Of The Moon: Good

The silence’s ability to influence people is their whole thing, so using it against them is a good Doctory thing to do.

A Good Man Goes To War: N/A

The day isn’t really saved, Melody is lost, but River shows up at the end so is all fine? I love the episode it’s just the day isn’t really truly saved (yes I know Amy was rescued but she still lost her baby).

Let’s Kill Hitler: N/A

There isn’t really a day to be saved. They all get out alive but no one is really saved other than maybe River but we all knew she was gonna live anyway.

The Wedding Of River Song: Good

Whilst opinion is divided on the episode, the ending still works. the Tesseracta was established in Let’s Kill Hitler, and the “touch River and time will move again” was established well in advance.

The Doctor, The Widow And The Wardrobe: Bad

I don’t like how the lifeboat travels through the time vortex for no reason but to rescue the dad. It don’t make no sense and I don’t think it’s explained

Asylum Of The Daleks: Good

Oswin had access to the Dalek hive mind so of course she should be able to link into the controls and blow everything up.

The Angels Take Manhattan: Good

Paradoxes really do be something powerful, and they even acknowledge how nobody knows if it’d work so I’ll let it slide.

The Snowmen: Bad

Lots of people cry at Christmas, why are the Latimers anything special?

The Bells of Saint John: Good

The whole episode is about hacking so why shouldn’t the Doctor be able to hack the spoonheads

The Name Of The Doctor: Good

It was the story arc for the season pretty much, so of course it was explained well in advance.

The Day Of The Doctor: Good

Both the storing Gallifrey like a painting and the making everyone forget if they’re Human or Zygon works in the context of the episode.

The Time Of The Doctor: Bad

Since when were the Time Lords so easily negotiated with?

Deep Breath: Good

I like the dilemma over whether the half-face man was pushed or jumped.

Into The Dalek: Good

It’s set up well with this new Doctor’s persona of actually not being too nice of a guy (at first).

Listen: N/A

There isn’t a day to be saved. It’s just 45 minutes of the Doctor testing a hypothesis and I low-key love it.

Time Heist (co-written with Steven Thompson): Good

It works logically so I’ll allow it however it isn’t very well set up at all.

The Caretaker (co-written with noted shithead Gareth Roberts): Good

The machine to tell the Blitzer what to do was set up well in advance so I’ll allow it.

Dark Water/Death In Heaven: Good

The fact that Danny still cares even as a cyberman is set up fairly early on after his transformation.

Last Christmas: Good

He does use the sonic to wake up Clara but he convinces the others to wake up through talking so I’ll allow it.

The Magician’s Apprentice/The Witch’s Familiar: Good

It’s set up well with that little scene from actually inside the sewers.

The Girl Who Died (co-written with Jamie Mathieson): Good

IDK why the vikings would randomly keep electric eels but they’re set up well so I’ll ignore it.

The Zygon Inversion (co-written with Peter Harness): N/A

Not including this one as it’s only the second part and I’d argue the ending is most likely Harness’.

Heaven Sent/Hell Bent: N/A

Again there isn’t really a day to be saved, yes Heaven Sent really is amazing but it’s only the first part and, being completely honest, he dies several billion times before finally getting through the wall.

The Husbands Of River Song: N/A

Again there isn’t really a day to be saved here.

The Return Of Doctor Mysterio: Good

He gets Grant to catch the bomb which is good. But he does just sonic the gun out of Dr Sim’s hand and says UNIT is on its way which just sort of wraps it up very quickly.

The Pilot: N/A

No day to be saved here.

Extremis: Good

You could technically call it the sonic saving the day, I consider it to be the Doctor emailing the Doctor to warn him of the future.

The Pyramid At The End Of The World: Good

The fire sanitising everything makes sense and it’s in character for Bill to love the Doctor enough to cure his blindness in return for the world

World Enough And Time/The Doctor Falls: Good

Yes it is the sonic just blowing the cybermen up, but it’s blowing them up with well established pipelines so I’ll allow it (also the story is amazing).

Twice Upon A Time: N/A

No day to be saved here. Just Doctors 1 and 12 getting angsty about regenerating.

Summary for Steven Moffat:

Out of 39 stories written by him, I deemed 4 to be bad with 7 abstaining. That’s 10.3% of his episodes (12.5% if we don’t count any abstaining).

Conclusions:

Moffat was much better at saving the day than RTD

Moffat liked telling stories where the day didn’t actually need to be saved

I’ve spent way too long on this and I need to sleep

If I spent as much time on this as my coursework I’d probably pass

If you’re still reading this, you probably need to get a life

#doctor who #steven moffat #rtd #in case you can't tell I really don't like RTD #Remember the Superwholock days when everyone ripped the shit out of Moffat #what am I doing with my life #tardis #rose tyler #martha jones #donna noble #amy pond #rory pond #rory williams #river song #clara oswald #Bill Potts

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riversmithmelody · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Doctor/The Master/River Song, Thirteenth Doctor/River Song, Missy/River Song Characters: River Song, Missy (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor, Susan Foreman, Irving Braxiatel Additional Tags: Reunions, Happy Ending, Fluff, riverdoctorpromptweek, Sunsets, Happily ever after only means time Series: Part 6 of River & Doctor Prompt Week 2021 Summary:

“Everyone is asleep even mother.” Susan said and there was humor in her voice. “Well Hope and Melody are still in the kitchen and talking about stuff I don’t want to know about, but they don’t count.” River shot her granddaughter a look that was more fondness than the warning it probably should have been. “Don’t be mean to your sister.” She scolded lightly and Susan beamed. “Grandfather would be proud of me.” She countered and River didn’t need to ask which one Susan meant. She just shook her head.

*** River waits for the sun to set and her spouses, but this time she isn't alone and she knew's she's loved.

This kind of is a continuation of my first Prompt "The Price of Freedom" Excerpt beneath the cut!

River watched as slowly, the sun set. Turning the bright orange sand of the Gallifreyan desert into a bloody red sea. Once upon a time she had feared this. Sunsets and what they brought, because after all there was only one night left with her husband. Her beloved idiot, before her story would end. She never anticipated that her story would only begin with a sunset.

It started with 24 years and ended with her waking up in the cluster of Gallifrey with the voice of a woman in her head.

Thank you for showing me love .

The words still rattled her from time to time. She would wake up to them. With the taste of time vortex on her tongue and the happy laughter of a child in her ears. Especially after first Theta and then Koschei left her alone on Gallifrey to see the universe and live the live River already had lived through. Still the voice haunted her more and more often the closer they came to the Time War.

“Aunt Patience's!” A cheerful voice called and River turned just in time to catch the little body of her youngest niece.

“Hello darling.” River said and pressed a kiss to the Child's cheek.

“Aunt Patience's grandfather said I would meet my uncles today?” The child Ana as everyone called her, because nobody liked the name her parents had given her, was Brax’s youngest grandchild and like everyone in the family, beside her own kids and grandchildren, just called her Aunt Patience.

River’s smile faltered a bit and she sighed. “I sure hope so, but then remember what I told you my dear. My spouses do tend to forget that they have a time senses. Ana giggled and wiggled out of River’s grip to run over to the other children of the family.

“So it’s time?” Brax’s voice was calm and yet River could hear the slight excitement in it. He might not like to admit it, but he sure as hell was excited to see his little brother again.

“Mhm…” River muttered. It wasn’t the first time they stood here together. Next to the barn River had turned into a house for herself and her family. Looking at the desert for the whole night waiting for the sound of brakes and a blue police box. River sighed and leaned back against her brother-in-law. They had come a long way until here. Casual touched off affection. Nights curled up together in the hope of finding comfort. His spouse had died in the time war and River, who had been already alone for so many years at that point, had offered him the comfort of understanding. Their family hadn’t said a word about the closeness between them.

Understanding after all, everyone had lost someone. No matter how much research River had done. No matter how long she had talked to the high council. She hadn’t managed to save everyone.

It was one of the perks of being an archeologist with a focus on the Time War and more importantly Gallifrey. River, who was a child of the TARDIS and connected to every single TARDIS in Time and Space, had made the impossible possible and found a safe place for the children to hide. For everyone who wasn’t equipped to fight,she had found a hide out. She had saved billions of people by finding the cave system beneath the desert and hiding her people in there. And yet there had been so many lives lost. No matter how much regeneration energy was filling the air.

“Two-hundred and twenty-four years after the move.” River muttered. “That was mothers message that day. Meet me at sunset 240 years later.” River sighed and relaxed even furthering to Brax, when his arms came around to embrace her. “24 it’s…him. Only he would use that number. Only he knows the meaning of it, especially combined with the sunset.”

Brax hummed and then called out for the children to stop it. River smiled. In the beginning she hadn’t told anyone about the message she had gotten from the TARDISes when Gallifrey had been quantum locked. It was too personal and at the same time she had given up hope of seeing them again. But then just about a hundred years after the move as everyone called it, her husband had come. Her husband with the eyebrows. Furry burning in his eyes. Challenging Rassilon and eventually, banning him from their planet. River had watched all of it, from the shadows smiling. She had told the old man that he shouldn’t challenge her husband and shouldn't use his friends as pawns, but of course she was only a halfling. Not a full Gallifreyan no matter how many lives she had saved. River had watched her husband and led him through the Cluster, after all that was her territory. Nobody knew the cluster better than her. She had lived in it for centuries after all. Hidden away by Cal, until the voice had freed her.

Only after her husband had fled with another stolen TARDIS had River found it in herself to hope. Hoped to see her spouses again. After all he already had done it once, why wouldn’t he do it again? So River had waited for the 240th year to arrive and then spent every day next to her home staring at the dessert. Waiting night after night for them to arrive.

After a few weeks Brax had started to stand next to her and after she had told him what she was waiting for. Who she was waiting for, the rest of the family had started to stand with them. Rivers children first. Her two brilliant daughters, although one of them was a boy now. Then her grandchildren. Susan, who almost bounced with excitement over the thought of seeing her grandfather again. Hope next and then Melody. Melody, who never had met her Grandfather, even though he left long after the Doctor and Susan. The rest of her grandchildren, nieces and nephews soon started to play around them in the sand filling the silence with laughter and happiness. It was so much better this way. No heavy silence and sadness, that had been with her in the nights she had stood here alone.

“Stop worrying.” Brax muttered and then shouted for his grandson to stop harassing his cousins. River giggled and shot him a look.

“He’s becoming more and more like Koschei.” She teased and her brother shot her a look.

“Don’t you dare bring that up. It’s worse enough that Tony somehow managed to be nothing like his father, but Melody is the worst kind of mix of you and Koschei.” River only grinned. Oh yes her granddaughter was a whirlwind of mischief and trouble and she was way too clever for everyone's nerves.

“He will be so damn proud of her.” River muttered and looked away from the gangle of children to look back at the blood red sky.

“They will come soon.” Brax promised, but there was doubt in his voice. River understood, Brax hadn’t seen the way the Doctor had fought no matter the odds. River had seen him try and find a solution for her ending for years. Cal was connected to the internet and so was the TARDIS. She had spent centuries watching her husband brood over plans. Had seen them all fail and yet he never stopped.

“They will.” She said and it sounded so much more believable from her.

“Mother?” Rory came up the hill with a smile on her face. “The council just failed again to change the protocols.” Her daughter said once she was close enough and River started laughing. Brax too was smiling and Rory beamed with them.

“Did you take a picture of their faces?” River asked, still giggling and Rory nodded.

“Of course mothers, who do you think I am?” River brushed through the brown curls her daughter had in this regeneration. Rory looked so much like her fathers fourth regeneration this time around. Unlike Tony who was a perfect replica of his fathers first face down to the stupid goaty.

“Grandmother?” Susan came up to them now too. “I’m taking the children into the house.” She said quietly holding her little sister, Jane, in her arms. The four years old was peacefully sleeping against Susans shoulder. River nodded.

“Do that Susan.” She said and gently brushed a smudge of dirt from her grandchild's face. “Use the large living room and set it up so everyone can sleep there.” Hope, who had come up behind her sister, smiled brightly.

“Can we build a blanket fort again?” She asked and River nodded, winking st them.

“Of course. Your uncle and I will stay a bit longer.” Rory went back with her daughters to help bring all the children inside and River watched the large group disappear into the house.

#riverdoctorpromptweek #River Song #doctor who #fluff #sunset #Happily ever after #missy doctor who #river x thirteen #thirteenth doctor #just me indulging in my OT3

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gingerteaonthetardis · 4 years

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Do you think the Doctor ever told Rose what Gallifrey was like? Like one day they go stargazing on a random planet and he described the scenery and stuff with a sad voice while holding her?

well, anon, i couldn’t remember whether this was a prompt or a headcanon, so i treated it like a prompt. because yes, yes i do think that. i took a few liberties with the setting and details, but i hope you enjoy my nonsense softness anyway. the title is taken from the elliott smith song, satellite. (which i recommend a lot.)

read on ao3.

𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕖

The sky is busy tonight.

“Over there, look,” the Doctor whispers, pointing out into the star-studded black. Rose's squinting eyes follow the stretch of his arm, and the long line of his finger, only to make out a dim flicker at the end. It’s almost lost in the immediate traffic of the asteroid field, but she sees the flash—steady, once every few seconds or so.

“What is it?” she whispers back, though she hardly knows why she feels the need to be quiet. There’s no one, nothing to hear them—not for further than she can see.

His arm sags, hand falling out over the threshold of the TARDIS to float. His limbs—like hers—are functionally weightless, light as a leaf on a river current, but still untouched by the cold vacuum of space: here, with their bellies stretched flat over the grating and their heads out the door, they are protected by the ship’s atmosphere and shields. It is a fragile sort of protection, and Rose feels the sudden urge to tug the Doctor’s wayward limb back into the shelter of the ship. Instead, she curls her arms under her chin and leans on it, head tilting.

“I call it the Lost Satellite," the Doctor explains in a hushed, reverent voice. "It got knocked out of orbit around New Venus after a solar storm in the year 4 billion, so now it just sort of… floats.” His hand makes a faint fluttering motion, aimless. "I see it around every few hundred years."

Feeling a flash of dismay, Rose nudges him with an elbow. "Shouldn't we… y’know, knock it back?"

But the Doctor simply shrugs, not looking her way or acknowledging her prodding at all. "Why should we?" he asks. "It's unmanned, I've checked. And it's an exploratory vessel—no scheduled rendezvous. No one is waiting for it. Though, I'm sure it's picked up some really interesting data by now…" This last bit is mumbled, almost low enough to get lost in the hushed quiet of the air around them. But then he adds, too casually: "Nah, it's better off on its own, I think."

Rose has been around too long, has heard too many dozens of little asides just like this one, not to hear what he isn't saying. She stays quiet, but slides her hand down his arm, over the lip of the TARDIS—where familiar wood meets empty air—and tangles her fingers with his. There is no breeze; all is still. And she can feel the faint throb of his pulse under the thin skin of his wrist.

After a moment, he says, "My planet would be that way, if it were anywhere." His voice is so crisp, unhaunted, that she'd almost imagine him unaffected if it weren't for the faint uptick in his pulse. "Past the satellite—by several million lightyears, of course."

Softly, her hand squeezes his. "I didn't know."

"How could you?" he asks with a small shrug. "I never talk about it."

For a moment, she can't decide—should she let it go? Should she push? The outcomes of either action feel blurry and unpredictable, and she has to operate on sheer instinct. What would she do, if he wasn't a mad alien who had swept her through time and space and kept her running all the while? What would she say, if he was just her friend?

His hand is cool beneath hers, but warming.

"Tell me about it?"

To her amazement, he does.

Halting at first, but with a reverent tone, the Doctor shares what he can of the wild splendor of Gallifrey. The cliffs and mountains, the vast plains and rolling hills, the tall grass and silver-leafed trees: he paints such a vivid picture that Rose nearly feels she's been there. Nostalgia colors his descriptions, no doubt, but she doesn't much mind, and there is something in his face when he speaks—

Contentment.

Peace, she'd call it, if it weren't for the fact that the Doctor is never at peace, not really, and certainly not now, with way his hand steadily fiddles and toys with hers, pushing down on her knuckles, curling her fingers and then stretching them, stroking up and down between the webbing. He looks at her hand and describes his homeworld and, in a small way, it makes her feel closer to him than she’s ever been.

Rose isn't sure how long they lay like that, hands intertwined and the Doctor speaking in a low, steady voice.

"Doctor," she says softly, an interminable time after her muscles have gone stiff from lying so long in one position.

"Hm?" He looks up from his exploration of her palm, and his eyes are dark, wide open. The pupils are round like black holes, and she does rather feel sucked in.

"Shift," she commands. "I'm getting sore." When he releases her hand—reluctantly, of course—she rolls onto her back, letting her loose hair spill out of the ship. Though, "spill" is perhaps not the right word: like his hand had, the strands float. She’s quite certain it looks frightful, curling and fanning out around her face like she's underwater. But the Doctor just looks down at her, propped as he is on one elbow.

There is a look on her face—a vast softness, all-encompassing and familiar. The way he’d spoken of his home world. Only, for her.

She smiles. "Tell me more," Rose commands, pulling his hand back into hers.

He rolls onto his back, too. And he resumes talking like he’d never stopped. He tells her about—well, about everything.

About the two stars in the sky, and what kind they were—still are, he explains, if one were to fly through where Gallifrey once was.

About The Capitol, and the way its dome caught the early morning sunlight, flooding the whole city with a warm, deep amber hue.

About the way he and his friends once wove circlets out of red grass and wore them like crowns as they played at being High Gallifreyan Lords.

People, slowly but steadily, have begun to populate this long-gone world. Characters in a story that she has no connection to, but that he knows as well as he knows himself: people called Romana and Braxiatel and Koschei, and dozens of other names that she can’t keep hold of. And still, Rose keeps quiet, and keeps her hand tucked into his. His skin is human-warm now, and softer than soft.

He talks for a long, long time—not like he's ever talked before—about people and places she can never see or know. And though his voice is sad, there is something else in it, too. Something she can't put her finger on, but likes the sound of.

And then, his speech fades into nothing.

Apparently, that is all there is.

Rose's eyes blink open, not knowing how long they'd been closed. Turning her head, she catches sight of his own face in profile, freckled and long-nosed, familiar in all its features. His own eyes are closed, dusky dark lashes fanning out over high pale skin. And there is a small, exceedingly lovely smile on his face.

"Doctor," she whispers, afraid to break this new, tranquil stillness.

"Mm?" His eyes flutter open, and she's caught off guard by them—by the beauty of them, and the depth. Gold crackles through the brown, like veins of pure light. She can't look at him much longer or she's sure she'll do something mad—start weeping, maybe. So, Rose tucks her head against the Doctor’s shoulder and stretches out against him.

His arm slips around her. She can make out his heavy heartbeats again, this time pumping warmly against her ear. She wants to nuzzle deeper, but instead she says, "Let's go find the satellite later."

Silence.

"You said there might be data," she offers, though it feels like a lame explanation, even to her. She takes a deep breath before admitting, "I just think—seeing how it's alone out there—somebody ought to check up on it. Why not us?"

After another long, still moment, the Doctor curls his head forward, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. She can tell by the set of his lips—smile shaped—and the way his arm squeezes tighter around her that he is pleased by her curiosity. Though, she can't imagine why he should be—it makes good sense, doesn't it? That something left alone that long, for thousands of years, might deserve a second look?

She gives in and digs her nose into his lapel, breathing deeply. It's not a bad idea, surely, to approach the satellite. It can’t be dangerous.

"All right," he speaks into her hair. "If that's what you want."

Rose nods her head firmly. He smells like tea, and she never wants to let go. Her arm tightens around his waist. "It is."

Above her head, the Doctor wears an unmistakable expression of happiness. "Of course it is," he says. "Rose Tyler: Lover of Lost Things."

And she smiles, because it's true.

They both know it.

#ficlet #tenrose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #abbey.txt #dw #timepetals #for anon #thanks for the prompt!#(if it WAS a prompt...)#ten x rose

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riversofmars · 4 years

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Oh I'd love to see your take on 13 drunk out of her mind! I think she'd be all over River just cuddling her to her doom

Finally getting round to this, sorry lovely Anon, I love this request so I wanted to do it justice! I did turn a bit darker than what you probably imagined as I also took the other anon into account that asked about the Doctor’s dark tendencies... So you’re getting really Drunk! and slightly SelfDestructive!Doctor all in one. Hope you like it!

Ship: River/13

Rating: M (nothing all that bad but it does insinuate a lot...)

Word Count: 1500

The Doctor downed her drink in one go and waved at the bartender for another. Maldovan brandy was sharp and burned but it certainly did the trick. The Doctor didn’t like alcohol in any of its forms, so she figured she might as well go for the strong stuff to get the desired effect. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had had a drink, but she knew if she had enough of it, she might be able to drown her sorrow for the time being. Just not feel and think for a while… she was willing to try anything at this point.

Since she had escaped from the Jadoon prison, she had wandered time and space aimlessly, trying to make sense of what had happened on Gallifrey. All the death and destruction that she was inevitably responsible for, doubting herself, her own existence and identity. She wasn’t exactly coping very well. She needed a break. Just one night of not thinking, not feeling, before she could face her troubles again in the morning. She downed another drink, she wasn’t sure how many she had had by this point but she was certainly feeling the effect. She struggled for coherent thought, stumbling a little as she requested one more drink for good measure.

She looked around as she waited. Music was pulsing loudly from the speakers, the club was dark, only illuminated by bursts of multicoloured lighting and UV that bounced off the colourful outfits of the university students all around. The Doctor noticed in amusement how the rainbow on her t-shirt and her yellow braces lit up. She’d left her coat in the TARDIS, it was far too hot and sweaty in here. The Doctor scanned the crowd again.

“You looking for someone?“ A voice called over the music making the Doctor jump. She looked around and found herself face to face with the person she had been looking for. At last.

“You could say that.“ The Doctor grinned, unable to keep the excitement from her features.

“Well that’s disappointing.“ River Song looked her up and down appreciatively, not even remotely hiding her interest. She waved at the bartender who just set the Doctor’s drink down.

“No, I mean, I’m… I’m not waiting for someone, I’m…“ The Doctor stuttered. It was her she had been looking for of course, she didn’t want her thinking she was waiting for someone else. They had barely exchanged two lines and she’d already messed up. River raised an eyebrow at her nervous reaction and turned to face her properly now.

“So who or what are you looking for?“ She smirked and took a sip of her drink. She reached out and ran her fingers along one of her yellow braces. The Doctor’s mouth felt dry all of a sudden and she took a gulp of her drink as she eyed the tight fitting dress her future wife was wearing.

“I, uhh…“ Her mind went utterly blank.

“Well?“ River grinned, clearly loving every moment of this. She took another sip of her drink watching the beautiful stranger growing more and more flustered under her gaze. There was something awfully familiar about her that she couldn’t quite place. It intrigued her beyond the physical attraction she had instantly felt towards her. She was adorable really, with her blonde cropped hair, innocent features and ridiculous choice of clothes. River felt an incredibly strong urge to rip those silly three-quarter-lengths off her but she restrained herself waiting for an answer. “Have you lost your voice, sweetie?“

“You.“ The Doctor burst out, throwing caution to the wind in her intoxicated state. “I’ve been looking for you.“

“Have we met?“ River raised her eyebrows at her, surprised by the straight forward answer.

“Oh yeah.“ The Doctor answered feeling a surge of confidence now. She had nothing to hold back for. Her inhibitions had fallen away, she knew what she was here for and what she wanted, so why not actually just be straight forward about it for once. River was hitting on her without even knowing who she was, she wouldn’t exactly need convincing.

“I think I would remember someone as pretty as you.“ River replied flintily raising her hand to her chin pushing it up a little.

“Just bare with me on this.“ The Doctor breathed. “I’m a time traveller from your future, River.“ She answered barely loud enough for her to hear. She used her name deliberately to make the point. River’s eyes widened it surprise for a moment but the Doctor carried on: “And you know that’s possible so don’t go asking too many questions when you know you shouldn’t.“

“You’re not…“ River looked at her for a moment trying to wrap her head around the information.

“Spoilers, you know I can’t say. Now, shut up and kiss me.“ The Doctor reached for her future wife’s hips and pulled her close. River grinned but didn’t oblige, instead she pushed her hand into her blonde hair and pulled her head back when she tried to kiss her. The Doctor groaned in annoyance and a bit of pain but it wasn’t unwelcome. There was that dangerous twinkle in River’s eyes, full of intrigue and excitement. She hadn’t been “River“ for long, she had such a long journey ahead of her. It was all still there, Mel’s temper, the conditioning, the danger. It was the main reason why she had come to this time in her wife’s life. River had never exactly been tame but she had gotten better at controlling herself, keeping her childhood instincts in check. It was all a matter of practice and here, she didn’t have much of it yet. It excited the Doctor more than she cared to admit.

“So, you’re someone from my future and you’ve come here to do what exactly?“ River smirked leaning close.

“I don’t think you need me to spell it out for you.“ The Doctor retorted, her head spinning from the alcohol and her proximity.

“But I would like you to.“ River hummed against the shell of her ear, barely audible over the music. She brought her free hand up between them and traced her fingertips along her collar bone playfully. The Doctor groaned, digging her finger’s into River’s hips, she felt the arousal pooling between her legs already. In response River tightened her grip on her hair. “Well?“

“I need you to help me forget for one night, you know how to do that, right?“ The Doctor replied pulling her closer still.

“What is it you want to forget about?“ River asked intrigued. She knew she probably shouldn’t ask for the benefit of the timeline but she was curious. It wasn’t every day she got propositioned like this. The Doctor gave a bitter laugh. What didn’t she want to forget about?

“Stop asking questions you know I can’t answer.“ She breathed, her neck was beginning to ache.

“Fine, okay.“ River smirked and let go of her hair, stepping away from her altogether. The Doctor whimpered with disappointment at the sudden loss of contact.

“What are you…“

“I would have thought you’d want to go somewhere more private if that’s what you’re after?“ River raised her eyebrows at her slowly making her way away from the bar and the Doctor’s hearts picked up speed. She stumbled after her. “Steady there, darling.“ River hummed in amusement noticing the extend of her intoxication. She looped her arm around her and held her close. “Are you sure about this?“ She asked, doubting for a moment, needing to hear her confirmation. She wanted nothing more than to act on the desire that had come over her, but she had to be sure. The Doctor looked up at her, almost disappointed at the change of tone, at the concern that shone through her eyes for a moment.

“I didn’t think you’d need much convincing at this point in time…“ The Doctor chuckled. She had banked on her rough edge and underdeveloped moral compass at this point. “Don’t make me beg.“ She looked up at her pleadingly and it was enough to make her future wife snap.

“Oh, I’m gonna make you beg, alright.“ River smirked, the moment of hesitation had passed. She curled her fingers around her throat possessively and crashed her lips onto hers. The Doctor groaned, parting her lips immediately, returning the feverish kiss, whimpering when River bit and pulled on her bottom lip. The Doctor grabbed on to her, her legs threatened to give out. “So what do I call you?“ She tilted her head, searching her pleading eyes for an answer. Deep down she already knew but neither of them would say it.

“You can call me whatever you like, I’m all yours.“ The Doctor replied breathlessly and there was a dangerous flicker in River’s eyes.

“You will be when I’m done with you.“ Her voice was a low growl and she dug her fingernails into her neck.

“Yes please.“ The Doctor almost sobbed, everything else faded away around them. She was taking over all her senses. The low hum of her voice, the intense gaze, her intoxicating small, the taste of her lips and the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. There was no room for anything else. No room for the nagging thoughts, her insecurities, her pain. For tonight, she wanted nothing more than for River’s fire to consume her.

#river x thirteen #river x the doctor #river song #thirteenth doctor #Alex kingston #jodie whittaker #doctor who #River/Thirteen #Thirteen x river #thirteen #dw #femslash #fanfiction #self destructive behaviour #space wives #yowzah

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thewitforgecat · 3 years

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Romana for the ask thing?

(I’m so sorry I only just got around to doing this I’m so lazy.)

Favourite thing about them:

Her mind for sure. She’s incredibly intelligent and she knows how to use it to keep the people around her safe. She shows immense focus and mental strength even when she’s at her lowest, and although staying strong and unaffected isn’t always the best path for her, it’s certainly admirable. I also love her determination. She never truly gives up on anything and always insists on finding a way to make things work, she can’t be bullied into submission or be forced to compromise what she believes in and I love her for it.

Least favourite thing about them:

Y- you can have a least favourite thing about Romana?

(In all seriousness though, I think the multiple genocides are just a bit not good.)

Favourite Line:

This is such a ridiculously difficult question, I might just have to make a post all of its own for her quotes because there are just so many I adore for different reasons.

brOTP:

Romana/The Doctor - They just work together so well, their half-hearted bickering with each other is adorable and they just seem to thoroughly enjoy one another’s company.

OTP:

As I said in the Leela ask, I just adore the OT3. Their relationships with each other are so rich and complex and wonderful and work even better when all three of them are together. Leela/Romana are just so perfect for each other despite being so different and Romana/Narvin have the most wonderful journey from mutual disgust to pure love that I don’t understand how anyone could not love the idea of them together. Add in the way she would just love seeing her best friends/lovers happy and in love with each other as well and you’ve got the perfect OT3.

nOTP:

I honestly can’t think of one that I really dislike but I’m sure after I post this someone will supply me with a concept that is suitably horrific.

Random Headcanon:

I can’t think of any really serious ones off the top of my head but for now I’ll give you two. Firstly, that she can both knit and embroider and often steals clothes from her friends and returns them with adorable things embroidered on them. Leela goes to put on a dress one day and finds a bunch of flowers stitched near the hem, Narvin finds a little penguin on one of his best CIA robes and raises hell, and Brax ends up with really cool snakes curling around the collar of one of his shirts and he adores it. Oh, and she definitely makes them all horrible jumpers to wear when it gets cold.

Then the second silly headcanon I imagined was that because Romana hates running and there are a lot of long corridors on Gallifrey she learns to roller skate and just constantly wears them under her robes. Every time there’s a crisis she just dons the Presidential Roller Boots of Rassilon and zooms off. It would also allow her to silently glide up to people and terrify them which she would obviously very much enjoy.

Unpopular Opinion:

I know some people don’t much like the idea of Romana/Brax but I just adore them and think that yes they’re toxic but in the best way and they do actually love each other. (I may or may not also feel quite similar about Romana/Sartia they’re beautifully toxic but I feel so guilty for shipping it I’m so sorry Mana.)

Song I associate with them:

So so many and there’s probably better than I’m about to say but ‘Hate Myself’ by Dodie is a very Romana song.

Favourite picture of them:

This one because it allows me to vividly imagine lying in a punt with her on a warm day as we softly drift along the River Cam to the sound of her reading love poetry and the whisper of the water and rustling leaves.

#romana #doctor who #classic who #gallifrey

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ancientandforevcr · 4 years

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Ok, I might regret asking this. But tell me, explain to me, how the episode went and messed stuff up and everything.

Sure thing!

The Doctor being the “timeless child” introduces a TON of plot holes and inconsistencies into the lore of Doctor Who. I understand that inconsistencies exist within the show regardless, but this plot takes it to a whole new level!

I’ll name off just a few plot holes for you to consider because I don’t have all day to name every single one ( and yes, naming them all would take an entire day ).

1. How is River Song able to regenerate?

Before this episode, we all had the understanding that the ability of ‘regeneration’ originated from the time vortex. This episode says “No, it doesn’t! Regeneration comes from the Doctor!”

Okay! So if this is true, how is River able to regenerate at all? Her mother and father are both human. She was conceived within the time vortex which gave her the ability in the first place, no? This episode 100% contra-dicts this. River should not be able to regenerate if we consider the new episode as canon. Therefore, how does she exist as a Time Lord at all?

2. Why did Ruth Doctor have a TARDIS that looks exactly like the Doctor’s TARDIS we know now? Why was it a police box? Why is Ruth called the Doctor at all, in fact?

This episode establishes the Ruth Doctor came before the First Doctor as another one of the Doctor’s apparent infinite lives, but wasn’t it the First Doctor we know played by William Hartnell who specifically took that TARDIS in the first place? So how is it possible at all for Ruth Doctor to have the exact same TARDIS if she happened before this took place?

And how is Ruth being called the Doctor to begin with if this is an entirely different life? Are we to really believe this is the Doctor’s chosen name in every single one of his/her lives? Sounds pretty convoluted and ridiculous to me!

3. The eleventh Doctor’s entire regeneration contradicts this plot point.

I assume you’ve seen the eleventh Doctor’s run, so I won’t go super in depth here, but what was the point of ANYTHING that happened in the Eleventh Doctor’s last arc? Why did he need to acquire more regenera-tions from the Time Lords at all if he can just regenerate endlessly? It doesn’t. Make. Sense.

4. Why did Clara not see any of these “other lives” in the Doctor’s timestream?

Again, this one is self-explanatory. Clara saw every single one of the Doctor’s lives when she entered his time stream, yet none of these lives before the First Doctor were shown or even hinted at.

5. If the Doctor isn’t a Gallifreyan, why does he have the same biology and physiology as every other Gallifreyan?

The only thing that Gallifrey took from the ‘timeless child’ was the ability to regenerate. Nothing else. So how is it possible that the Doctor has the exact same biology and physiology as all the other Gallifreyans? If the Doctor came from another planet, he/she would not have the same biology. Again, it doesn’t make sense.

6. This last point isn’t really a ‘plot hole’, but the timeless child plot goes against everything the Doctor is as a character.

The Doctor is a literal MESSIAH after this episode. The Doctor CREATED the Time Lords. The Doctor is no longer just another Time Lord. The Doctor is the person who gave the Gallifreyans their greatest power, and is the reason their civilisation grew and has also been influencing the universe from the beginning.

Turning the Doctor into “the chosen one” is the direct opposite of what was needed, and it isn’t the character I fell in love with. It’s a completely different character with this addition of the timeless child plot.

The Doctor is just another generic ass “chosen one” character now, and that by itself is a tragedy.

#[ Put some of it under a read more cause it gets looooooooong ]#anti chibnall #ooc #doctor who #thedeathangel2112 #[ By the way I'm not here to say YOU can't like it ]#[ If you like it then good for you! ]#[ But these are the reasons I don't ]#[ So any rude comments and you'll be blocked on sight ]

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years

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What did you think of Timeless Children? And Hell Bent, if you've seen it?

Oh snap. Time for more unpopular opinions.

Hell Bent was...fine. It wasn’t terrible. I’m mostly disappointed that after nine seasons of build-up to Gallifrey’s return, one episode is all we get. The Doctor becoming Lord President should have been like, a season long arc. (I’d have preferred it to the hybrid, that’s for sure.)The idea that this episode “breaks death” in the whoniverse is valid, but it’s not like they haven’t done that a hundred other times in a hundred other ways. Yes, the Doctor is acting out of character, but that’s part of the point. He’s breaking temporal law to save his companion. One could argue that he shouldn’t be trying to save Clara because Heaven Sent was all about moving on. I agree, but...it’s not as bad as “The Wedding of River Song” which did the same thing but worse, in my opinion. I liked the closure with Ashildr, and I liked the idea that the Doctor and Clara have to separate because they’re too dangerous together - and that was why Missy brought them together in the first place. Though I will say that the hybrid being two people is a cop-out that ignores what a hybrid even is...Capaldi was a great Doctor, but he wasn’t given the best recurring arcs....

The Timeless Children....everyone I’ve talked to said that it’s better than Hell Bent, but that the twist ruins everything and betrays fifty years of Doctor Who. Time for my controversial take - I feel the opposite. As much as I love Sacha Dhawan as the Master, (And I do, he steals the show in every episode he’s in) this episode destroyed Gallifrey again, which I don’t appreciate, and hearing the Doctor even consider using the Death Particle hurt me to my core, because she had a seven season character arc to learn that doing that was never okay, culminating in “Day of the Doctor” which is my favorite episode. So...I don’t think the story itself was better than Hell Bent.

But this twist? Oh god, the twist. I loved it. Seriously, it breaks my heart to watch clips online and see that the comments unanimously condemn the Timeless Child twist, and Chibnall for writing it. 90% of the comments say that it ruins Doctor Who, the other 10 % say it should have been the Master. As if the entire character of Clara Oswald didn’t fundamentally re-write the Doctor’s backstory already? (Do not get me started on “Listen”) As if Doctor Who isn’t all about change? There is so much to this twist that works, and was clearly planned well. We’ve seen time and again that the Timelords are shady. The Doctor was the first ever companion to Tecteun. Not to mention, they seem to hate regenerating, and often resist doing so. It all fits. They’re no longer the last of the Timelords...they’re the first of the Timelords. And I’m fine with that. It leaves so much open, leaves a mystery...and it doesn’t erase who the Doctor was before. It doesn’t make them “special.”

And for goodness, sake, it doesn’t insult William Hartnell. He’s still the First Doctor. One season finale from one writer cannot erase that. The episode itself was already saying that this twist doesn’t matter “Have you ever been limited by who you were before?” But I sincerely hope that it does, because I like this story idea. But at the end of the day, the Doctor moves on. Always. This is a show about an alien with a human companion wandering through time and space, fixing problems and fighting monsters. Back-stories may be re-written from time to time, and ret-conned, but it won’t change anything. The Valeyard didn’t ruin this show. The War Doctor didn’t either. So why would this? They specifically say that The First Doctor’s life still happened, that the memory wipe happened before that.

The entire Chibnall era has been condemned as terrible, this episode is just the peak of that. And I couldn’t disagree more. Most of the episodes in Chibnal’s era have been pretty damn amazing. (Side-eyes Arachnids in the U.K.) Most of them. I adore this Tardis Team, I adore the Thirteenth Doctor. I’ll never understand why people dislike this era. Rosa, Demons of the Punjab, Can You Hear Me, Orphan 55, Resolution, The Woman who fell to Earth...this era has so many incredible episodes, and they deserve more love.

#Doctor Who #Thirteenth Doctor #Twelfth Doctor #The Timeless Children #Hell Bent #Chris Chibnall #Dr. Who #The Timeless Child #Gallifrey #The Master

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labyrinth-archive · 4 years

Text

An Eternity of Unspoken Things Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 2,500 words Rating: G Also on Ao3

Summary:

“Everything you’re about to say I already know,” Clara tells him on trap street. “Don’t say it now.”

So the Doctor doesn’t, and the words he never says get buried like a seed deep down in his chest, and they blossom there, blooming against his ribcage like roses, their thorns piercing his skin, and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.

Which is why, in all those billions of years he’s trapped in his confession dial, sometimes, (when the stars change or when her painted portrait weathers yet again with age or he finds himself drowning with grief and rage), he’ll try to say those unsaid words to the Clara in the TARDIS in his mind.

He loves Clara.

This is a fact the Doctor knows, like how he knows that daylight lasts on Filea IV for exactly fifty-three minutes, or that the rain on New Saturn sounds like a song.

It’s just a simple thing. An obvious, everyday notion. The TARDIS travels in time and space, his two hearts beat, and he loves Clara Oswald.

But he doesn’t say it.

# “Everything you’re about to say I already know,” Clara tells him on trap street. “Don’t say it now.” Outside, the raven is waiting, but here, she pulls him into a hug and he stands there in her embrace, feeling the weight of her arms around him, like she is his anchor, holding him steady in a world that’s nothing but a stormy sea.

But then all too soon, her arms unwind from around his neck and his anchor leaves him.

His anchor dies.

And all he can think is:

He didn’t get to say it.

# He is in his confession dial, and every day he slams his fist into the wall and every day he burns himself up and leaves blood on the stairs while grief eats away at his bones because Clara’s in his mind but she’s not in the world. And then there are those words, the words he never got to say. They got buried like a seed deep down in his chest, and now they blossom there, blooming against his ribcage like roses, their thorns piercing his skin, and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.

Which is why, when he’s at his weakest, when the stars change or when her painted portrait weathers yet again with age or he finds himself drowning with grief and rage, he thinks about saying those words to the Clara in the TARDIS in his mind.

It never quite works out.

# Once upon a time (so, so, so very long ago now) he stood in an arena, with a guitar in his hands and sunglasses slipping down his nose, and stared at the (wonderful, beautiful, impossible) girl standing in front of him and said: “When do I not see you?”

And he meant it then and he still means it now because it’s true. It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.

“I see you,” he says again, and it’s slightly different than the three little words his two hearts beat out, but it still has the same meaning.

He’s spent at least a thousand years inside his confession dial and yet Clara’s still as clear as day to him. There was once a time - when he had a different, boyish face - when he couldn’t see her. He had thought she was a trick or a trap, a ghost or a riddle. And he had been wrong, she was just a girl, an ordinary girl with an extraordinary heart and he had been blind. So when that old body died in golden flames and this new body was born, he’d made sure it was born with the promise that he would always, always, always see her.

He’s never broken that promise.

He thinks maybe he should say this to the Clara mirage in his mind. That he should tell her what he never told the real Clara on trap street, confess what he’s kept locked up tightly. The words wait there, beneath his breastbone, wanting and waiting to be said.

But he’s not that sort of man, not really. He’ll have to let her know how he feels the long way around.

So what he says out loud is:

“There is an emperor, and he asks the shepard’s boy, ‘How many seconds in eternity?’”

# “I figured out it was you, you know,” he tells his imaginary Clara in his imaginary TARDIS. (He’s not entirely sure how many centuries it’s been since he’s started this conversation with her. It’s hard to keep track.)

“You were the voice in my dreams, when I was a child in that barn on Gallifrey. You were the one whispering those words in my mind. Did you think I’d never put two and two together?” Clara raises an eyebrow. She has just as much sass as the original, this mental copy of Clara, always ready to cut him down to size.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Stars, he misses her.)

“Well,“ she says, “it did take you this long.”

He exhales a laugh and closes his eyes. He still remembers her soft whisper in the night; her voice curling out from the darkness like music, speaking words that’d get woven into his dreams and sewn into the idea behind the name he calls himself.

He’s always loved her, he thinks. Right from his very first face.

But he doesn’t say it.

“’Fear is a superpower,’” he says instead, repeating her exact words from that night. “‘Fear can bring us together, fear can bring you home.’ And that’s exactly what I’m going to do, Clara. I’m going to bring you home. I swear it.”

(He dies with that promise on his lips, and he comes back to life with it written into his bones.)

# “Look at you, with your eyes and your never giving up and your anger and your kindness,” he’d told her one time, when she was by his side and breathing, when they were somewhere back in history. “One day, the memory of that will hurt so much that I won’t be able to breathe, and I’ll do what I always do. I’ll get in my box and I’ll run and I’ll run.”

And he’d been right back then, but he’d also been wrong. Because it’s true that the pain of his grief is gut-wrenching, true that it’s blinding and leaves him breathless. But instead of running, he’s staying. He’s staying here in this nightmare, for Clara. Because tasting death every day for billions upon billions of years all in the hope of seeing her again is nowhere near as frightening as the idea of running and dealing with the fact that she is gone and he cannot get her back. He wonders if Clara ever knew how far he’d go for her, and even more than that, he wonders if he should just say it all now, out loud, so the words can be out there in the world.

But it’s like he’s on the edge of a cliff, tips of his shoes right over the precipice, and he just can’t jump. So he doesn’t say those things. Instead, he continues to tell her the story he never finished from before.

“And the shepard’s boy says, ‘There is a mountain of pure diamond…’”

# “Have I ever told you the story of the shepard’s boy?” he asks her. Clara looks at him sadly.

“Yes,” she whispers, “you have.”

(Of course he has. He has every day for thousands and thousands years.) “I’ll tell you another story then,” he decides.

“Doctor,” she says gently, “you’re dying.”

He ignores her.

“There is a story,” he continues, “about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night just to let her breathe.”

He sighs, shuts his eyes, feels the pain pulsing through his mind.

“I suppose, Clara, what I’m trying to say is…” he’s only got seconds left, ticking away. “What I’m trying to say is…”

The seconds slip away, he closes his eyes, and as he dies, he thinks:

I understand the sun.

# He’s dying. Again.

He thinks it might be for the five-hundred-thousandth time. And he’s not sure he can go through everything again. All the pain, all the dying, and the way his mind screams and his skin bleeds. He is so, so tired. How easy it would be, he thinks, to just stop. To just sleep.

But he can’t sleep, not peacefully, not yet, not until he tells Clara what he never did.

Which is why he finds himself back in his mental storm room, staring at her. Her back is to him, and there is white chalk in her hand and a blackboard in front of her bearing the sentence, “How are you going to win?” and for once, he ignores it. He is too tired to strategize, too weak to spend the rest of his life here in his mental TARDIS storm room, trying to think his way out of this impossible maze. He just wants her to listen.

“Clara,” he says quietly, as he feels his breath getting shallower, the space between his two heartbeats getting longer, “I’ve got to tell you something before I die again, before it’s too late.” But Clara isn’t interested, she just taps those familiar words on the board again. How are you going to win?

“This is important, Clara.”

She shakes her head, a motion that sends her dark hair flying around her shoulders, making it look like raven feathers, and he inhales sharply at the sight, his hearts twisting painfully in his chest.

“No, Doctor,” Clara says, and she still won’t turn to face him, won’t let him say what he needs to so he can go in peace. “What’s important is this: How are you going to win?”

“You don’t understand, Clara,” he says, and he hears the frustration in his voice, hears an almost feral sort of desperation there too. “Maybe this is how I win. Maybe it’s by finally, finally telling you what I should’ve told you before. Now, before I fade away.”

He loves her, loves her like she is the sun and the moon and then stars. Loves her so much that it hurts, hurts so badly he cannot breathe. And perhaps this is what victory is, what winning feels like: getting to say these words to at least one Clara, even if it’s not the one that counts.

“Look, Clara - “

She still won’t face him, so he reaches for her then, trying to take her shoulders, spin her around to face him, to listen just for once, but the Clara in his mind slips through his fingers like smoke, and he’s left holding a handful of air as he realizes once again that she is not there, not really, not in the way she should be.

He shuts his eyes, sinks down to the floor, puts his head in his hands, and thinks:

She’s right. She’s always, always right. What’s important is that he win. And then he’ll tell her everything after.

# It’s been four billion years, he thinks as he stares at the sky. Maybe, maybe almost four-and-a-half billion. So the stars have changed, the constellations been broken and reformed, and every star is unrecognizable. Every star except for her.

You’re my North Star, Clara Oswald, he thinks silently as he looks at her. You’re always going to be guiding me home.

And out loud he says, “Not much longer now.” # This is it. He knows it. He can feel it in his bones and in the beat of his hearts and in the steady way he breathes. All the wall needs is one more punch. Just one more. He can see the daylight coming through it already, all golden and bright and promising that tomorrow will come and tomorrow will be better.

The Clara in the TARDIS in his mind takes his hand in hers for the very last time. “‘And when the entire mountain is chiseled away, the first second of eternity will have passed,’” she says, finishing the story he started oh so very long ago. “Today’s the day. First second of eternity. Got anything to say to that, Doctor?”

He glances over at her. There are so many things he aches to tell her, so many things he wants her to understand. But they’re close to the finish line now. So, so close.

So he simply says:

“See you on the other side, Clara Oswald.” And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he smiles.

# Clara, Clara, Clara. For all those years, her name was like a never-ending melody, always winding its way through the back of his mind, and now she is here, with him. They are kneeling together, side by side, in the cloisters on Gallifrey, darkness wrapped around them like the night.

And the universe, well, the universe is burning. Time is fractured and stars are dying and the universe is burning, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all, because he’s got her back. Clara - his Clara - is there beside him, and that is all that matters.

He’d do anything for her.

(No, the back of his mind corrects him, he’d do everything.)

”What is it?” Clara asks (and oh, how good it feels to hear her voice out loud and outside his mind). “What were you bargaining for in that confession dial?” He nearly laughs at that. He’s died every day for a sliver of eternity; broken each of his precious, pithy rules; killed a man (and perhaps, he thinks idly, time itself); and the notion that he’d do all that for anything less than her is incomprehensible.

He looks up, and he expects Clara to be teasing him or testing him, but he’s surprised to see that she is not. She is serious, her eyes studying him, waiting for an answer. He falters for a second, feeling lost as his light blue eyes search her questioning dark brown ones.

“What do you think?” he asks.

She shakes her head, and he frowns, because Clara is clever. So, so very clever. But she can’t see it. Why can’t she see it? “You,” he tells her, like the answer is as simple to him as breathing, as obvious as the moon in the sky. He can’t imagine a universe where he wouldn’t die every day for her. “I had to find a way to save you.”

He can’t fathom his words being a total surprise to anyone. (It’s obvious, isn’t it? he thinks. Obvious he’d go this far - farther, even - for her.) But Clara sits there, speechless and stunned by his words. Then she blinks, inhales sharply (she needn’t, her lungs no longer need air, but muscle memory is there), and says, “l have something I need to say.”

So does he. He’s filled with sentences he never said, with words he’s held inside for longer than stars have been alive.

But he can’t say them, not now, not when they’re so close to escaping, “We don’t have time.” “No, my time is up, Doctor, between one heartbeat and the last is all the time I have,” Clara says. Her fingers curl around his wrist, and he is struck once again with the sensation that she is his anchor, holding him steady in the eye of the storm. And slowly, under her touch, he stills, letting his anchor stabilize him.

“People like me and you, we should say things to one other,” she tells him. “And I’m going to say them now.”

And, finally, after four-and-a-half billion years…

So does he.

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