#Just A Bit Of Jiggery Pokery

[intergalacticstarlight]

[@storminmywake continued from here.]

The blonde notices nothing of the hesitation in The Doctor's nervous system nor his step, eyes heavily lidded and mostly closed. Her arms drape over his shoulders, wound tightly around his collar as she pressed her face against the skin at the back of his neck, little hairs poking at her skin.

Her own hair drapes over them both, and smells like green apple shampoo.

A grunt escapes her, and it almost wobbles at the end like a smirk and a chuckle might've done, were she not fighting off the very potent and rapidly overwhelming sleep aid the TARDIS had given her.

"Yeah, might do," she utters, then sighs a bit as her arms tighten their hold 'round his shoulders and inhales, almost like she's taking in his scent. "F'you ever teach me t'fly the TARDIS properly…"

There's a giggle then, and even half-gone from the sleep aid it still reverberates and rumbles the both of them. The ship itself seems amused too, but the blonde doesn't notice the gentle flicker of the lights, either.

Another sigh, and a shake of the head, and she's muttering, "Still, though… wiv'out you, s'just.. stars… s'just space…s'just time travel…s'not... special wiv'out you…" The words trailed off, broken apart by sleepily taken breaths but still clearly spoken and utterly genuine.

[miasmaghoul]

do you have any more uhhhhhhhh lactation thoughts

not even specifically dew, just in general

your ficlet may have opened my eyes a little

yes. many.

have a bunch about mommy aether and dew's breastfeeding kink.

(no ageplay here for anyone concerned)

Every year, just before the winter solstice, Aether finds himself afflicted with a certain...condition.

It had been shocking the first time. A handful of months after his summoning he'd woken with an odd weight on his chest, like one of the abbey's mousers had fallen asleep on him again.

No such luck, though. The only thing he'd found after rubbing the sleep from his eyes was a foreign ache and a certain snugness to his sleep shirt.

It hadn't taken long to put two and two together, not when he'd padded to the bathroom and shucked his shirt along the way. Aether distinctly remembers staring at himself in the mirror for actual minutes, mouth agape as he cupped his swollen chest.

"What the fuck..."

Aether had dragged his fingers through his chest hair in stunned silence, caressing his newfound curves with a rather stupid look on his face. They sat high and firm on his chest, sizeable enough to nearly fill even his large hands and dusky at the tips. Not much give to them, but still supple and lovely to weigh in his palms.

Curious fingers had rubbed at a peaked nipple, finding it impossibly tender. Enough so to make him hiss. There had been something beneath the sensitivity, though. Some unfamiliar pressure that made him continue to touch.

To tug.

To squeeze.

The first drops of warm fluid that leaked over his fingers had knocked the air from his lungs.

"What the fuck?"

Aether had no idea. Neither had Omega, after a rather embarrassing trip to the infirmary. No amount of magickal jiggery-pokery over the years had provided answers, so Aether had simply...stopped looking for them.

He just knows that, for roughly three days a year, he swells. He leaks.

And that, for roughly three days a year, Dew will be plastered to him like a parasite.

Dew seems to be able to smell the change on him, always huddling close to his side the night before it happens. Nuzzling Aether's shoulder and resting a gentle hand on his chest. The first time Dew had done it - the fourth year in a row this little event had happened, but the first where the little ghoul had been topside - Aether hadn't known what to do with himself.

"What's gotten into you?" He'd asked, trying to wriggle his way out of those spidery arms. Dew had been...reluctant to let him get away, a light growl bubbling up in his chest.

"You smell different," he'd said, smushing his nose into Aether's neck. "Like...I dunno, but it's good."

That bony hand hadn't stopped groping his chest, and by the time he'd wrangled the little ghoul back to his bedroom Dew was trying worm his was under Aether's shirt.

The next morning he'd woken to his annual problem, and to say Dew was ecstatic would be a severe understatement.

It's become something of a tradition since that first time around. Dew is a bit less obvious about it now, staring instead of groping, but the morning it happens there is exactly one place to find the little ghoul.

This's year's cycle is proving to be much the same.

Dew had crawled into the warmth of Aether's bed just after sunup, snuggled into his side with a yawn and promptly fallen right back to sleep. Aether himself had barely been awake at the time, and - despite the telling pressure on his chest - wrapping an arm around the little ghoul so he could drift off again had been all too easy.

It's proving to be even easier, hours later, for Dew to convince him that they could stay that way.

"C'mon, you don't really wanna get up do you?"

Dew trails a light finger along the obvious curve of Aether's chest, a motion that could almost be called innocent under normal circumstances. It's the second time he's said it in the last ten minutes, since they'd woken in tandem, wrapped in one another. Aether has no problem admitting that he could easily stay like this forever.

"Then why don't we?"

He watches Dew reach under the covers, groping at the pocket of his pajama pants. He comes back with a fat joint, and the little ghoul's face splits in a grin.

"I even brought breakfast."

He's so cute like this, Aether could kiss him.

So he does.

It's gentle, the way he holds Dew's chin. Like he's made of the finest china that the slightest jostle will fracture. Their lips are both morning chapped, but a little roughness is never a bad thing. Dew tastes like leftover toothpaste and fresh spring water, cool and soothing, and it's nothing to let the little ghoul lick into his mouth with just the tip of his tongue.

Aether sighs when Dew's palm slides over his belly and up to his chest, long fingers dancing over soft cotton. They graze the underside of his new growth, the barest touch, but Aether makes a soft sound anyway. Dew pulls back with the gentlest tug of Aether's bottom lip, immediately staring down at his chest.

"Sore?"

"No more than usual," Aether murmurs, nosing at Dew's hair. His silver strands have been pulled back into a messy bun, and Aether likes the access it gives him to Dew's slender neck. It's true that he's not particularly uncomfortable at the moment, but it's still early in the cycle. The ache that is present isn't an unpleasant one.

Dew hums, pecking him on the cheek before pulling away to rifle through Aether's nightstand.

"I can fix that."

He comes back with a purple plastic lighter, and as he sparks up the joint Aether delights in the way Dew's angular features catch the glow of the flame.

"Pretty boy," he rumbles as Dew inhales, smirking when the little ghoul almost immediately starts to cough. Aether pats his back through it, waiting for Dew's scowl to fade as his blush grows.

"Shut up and smoke," he gripes, and, well, Aether can do that.

He's never had much tolerance for the stuff, a couple of puffs enough to get him floaty and a couple more than that enough to get him heavy and grinning. That's about as far as he likes to take things, though.

Dew's as much of a lightweight as he is, truth be told, but their similarities end there. Unlike Aether, Dew enjoys being Fucked Up. Likes to push himself to the point of uselessness, until he's drifting away between breaths and pleasantly absent from the world around him. It makes him so very needy, tactile and soft, and Aether would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

Today, though, the little ghoul doesn't seem quite as far gone as usual. He'd snuffed out the joint halfway through, setting it on the nightstand and letting himself stretch out. He's loose, sprawled across the comforter and taking up every single inch of space he can manage, but he's not as hopelessly touchy as usual.

Strange.

Stranger still, Dew hasn't said a word since he told Aether to shut up, save for a handful of pleased sounds and quiet laughs between smoky kisses. It's different than usual, the silence. The distance. Normally when Aether's in this state, Dew can't keep his...well, anything really, to himself. Always needing to touch, to kiss, to claim this secret part of Aether in a way no one else does.

Today, all he's done is chew his lip and stare. There's been no contact since that first light touch, and if Aether focuses hard enough he swears he can hear the thoughts grinding in Dew's head.

He's sitting against his headboard now, scratching at the little ghoul's scalp with idle fingers while Dew not-so-subtly kneads at the mattress. Aether can tell what he'd rather be grabbing, what he'd rather be squeezing with those elegant fingers until they were all wet and sticky, but he keeps it to himself. Usually when Dew gets quiet it's for a reason, and in Aether's experience it's best to leave him be.

So he occupies his fuzzy mind by repaying the favor, taking in the slight body beside him with red-rimmed eyes.

Dew had lost his shirt at some point, who knows when, the thing now balled up and forgotten at the foot of the bed. Aether drags his eyes along the sharp lines of his body - the angles of his collarbones, the pronounced ridges of his ribs, the dip of his stomach. The pretty pink of his nipples, threaded with silver barbells that glint in the room's pale light. He's a delicious sight, to be certain, but he's just so...so...

"Small," Aether breathes, the one word quiet enough to drag Dew's eyes away from the fullness of his chest. He wears an odd look, something between confusion and want. "You're so small, angelfish."

Aether drags his knuckles along the cut of Dew's jaw, his large hand dwarfing that handsome face. He loves everything about Dew's size, loves how tiny he is. How easy the little guy is to throw around and rough up, how he can take a beating just as well as Mountain and Ifrit can, if not better. He loves how fragile Dew feels beneath his hands - stems of glass wrapped in tissue paper - and yet how hard he is to break.

But like this, just for these three bizarre days, Aether sees him differently. Dew isn't a feral little creature in need of taming. Isn't a rough-and-tumble hellbeast who could slit his throat without a second thought. Like this, Dew isn't strong.

He's just small. Small and vulnerable and in need of protection. From what, Aether doesn't know, but he can feel it in his bones. In his chest.

He expects Dew to buck the words - to hiss or snarl that he is not small, and that he'll show Aether just how big he can be - but he doesn't. There's something unreadable in Dew's expression, hiding in his bloodshot seafoam eyes and pink cheeks.

It makes the ache so much worse.

"Dew?" Aether feels his brows knit together as he runs his thumb over a sharp cheekbone. "What's going on? You look -"

"Wanna ask somethin'," Dew says suddenly, voice soft. His hands are still working, sheets caught in tight fists. He hasn't stopped staring at Aether's chest, but with some light coaxing Aether manages to wrangle his gaze upwards.

"Ask away," he murmurs, giving Dew the gentlest smile. The little ghoul sighs, hiding his face in Aether's warm hand.

"'S weird," he mumbles, peering up at Aether from the corner of his eye. "I don't - dunno if -" Dew chews his lip, one of his hands finally releasing the sheets to rest on Aether's thigh. "It's weird."

He taps out a restless rhythm, one Aether can hardly feel though the covers still over his lap. He's too distracted by the way Dew's looking at him, like he's worried whatever he's about to say will earn him punishment.

The ache in his chest grows.

"I'm sure it's not," Aether soothes, resting his other hand over Dew's own. "Go ahead and ask, love. It's alright."

The little ghoul stares at him for a few long moments, each one passing slower than the last. There's something clawing at Aether, something deep inside that yearns to comfort him. To drag Dew into his lap and hold him close, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. That there's no need to look so scared.

He doesn't. It's not easy, but Aether keeps his composure. Keeps his eyes warm and his smile gentle, encouraging. He gives Dew time, time he clearly needs considering the way he's gnawing on his lip like it owes him money. Dew has such pretty lips.

"Please, sweetheart," Aether says, so soft and kind that Dew's eyes slip shut. "Tell me what you need. Let me help."

Something in the little ghoul's expression softens, relaxes, and the next time he opens his eyes Aether can finally see the need in them. It swirls through his gut in warm spirals, pooling deep inside and making his sensitive spots tingle. He doesn't have to look to see that his nipples have gone stiff, they're so sensitive he can feel them poking into his shirt.

Plus Dew's drooling into his hand now, which is a dead giveaway. With a gulp, he speaks.

"Can I...will you..."

Dew sounds so, so shy. It's something Aether hasn't heard in ages, not since Dew was brand new and figuring out the fun new things this vessel of his could do. Dew's fingers dig harder into his thigh.

"Aeth, I - fuck, will you feed me?"

The words hit one by one, each syllable a crack in the safety glass surrounding whatever it is in Aether's that's screaming to protect. The answer to a question he didn't know he had. It shatters with the look on Dew's face, lost and scared that something terrible is about to happen.

"Oh, Dew," he breathes, hating the way Dew tenses up like he's about to run. Aether takes the hand on his thigh before he can, presses a soft kiss to the backs of his fingers. "Of course I will."

Every inch of the little ghoul visibly relaxes, he whimpers, and Aether wastes no time in gathering up his slack body. He's no trouble to move, even when he's dead weight, and in no time Aether has Dew laying across his blanketed lap. He tucks a loose chunk of Dew's hair back behind his ear and plants the gentlest kiss on his forehead.

"Are you comfy, love?"

Dew hunkers down a bit, lays a little more on his side and stretches his legs. He's so slender, pale against Aether's dark blankets. His flannels have slipped down a bit, exposing the vee of his hips and the light dusting of hair between them. Aether has one arm hooked around his back, the other hand resting on Dew's skinny thigh while he adjusts.

"Am now," the little ghoul says, curling in on himself a bit and resting one hand on Aether's belly. He can feel the other one resting at the small of his back, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Dew looks up at him once he's fully settled, a smile playing at his lips despite the remnants of apprehension in his eyes. Aether cradles him just right, those eyes drop to his chest instead, and Dew lets out the softest little oh. Like he hadn't realized just how close he was. Aether rubs his thigh before reaching up to pat Dew's hand.

"A, uh - a while," Dew rasps, clearing his throat. The sound morphs into a tight groan when Aether exposes his prize, Dew finally getting eager eyes on the one part of Aether that truly drives him insane. Dew rewards him with a hung jaw and the nicest little peek at his pink tongue.

"How long have you wanted this, droplet?" Aether keeps his voice soft and sultry, it feels appropriate. Dew pulls his hand back when Aether reaches for the hem of his shirt. He offers a shaky exhale when Aether pulls it up, revealing the softness of his belly.

"Since last time?" Aether tucks his shirt up under his armpits as he talks, unwilling to dislodge the little ghoul enough to shrug the thing off. Dew shakes his head and Aether's stomach swoops. "Longer?" Dew nods.

"Longer," he confirms, that wandering hand sliding its way up Aether's torso. Through the thatch of hair on his stomach, over along his ribs, up, up... "Since...since the first time I saw 'em."

That delicate hand cups one of his tits and Aether shudders.

Something about the way Dew feels pressed against him, the admission, how long he's wanted this - it all coalesces in Aether's core, a dense ball of desire that bleeds into every neuron.

"I couldn't stop thinkin' about it," Dew admits, giving a gentle squeeze, "after the first time they...the first time I saw you spray. The first time," Dew swallows hard, "- first time you let me taste it."

Aether's head spins at the wonderment threading Dew's voice. It's the way he'd sounded back when he first saw a rainstorm. The way he'd sounded on his first trip to the greenhouse. The way he'd sounded the very first time Aether kissed him all over, showing him just how good these human vessels could feel.

He can't believe Dew's held this back for so long. It's not like Dew had never sucked on his tits before, both like this and as they normally were. Usually while Aether jerked the both of them off in one of his massive hands. This, though, isn't something quite so vulgar. This request, this desire, feels intimate in a way Aether doesn't think he's ever experienced. It's certainly making his cock fat, no mistaking that, but that's easy to ignore. Easy to focus on the sweetness Dew's been exuding since they finished their joint instead.

"Please," Dew whispers, licking his lips and giving that tender bud a tug. "Please, can I?"

Dew thumbs over a nipple and it hits like lighting, recenters his focus. The little ghoul looks up at him with such need, such unbridled hunger in his eyes that Aether sees stars.

"Oh, baby," he sighs, bringing a hand to the back of Dew's neck. "You must be starving."

Dew makes the most beautiful sound when Aether guides his head forward, and Aether offers his own when those pretty pink lips wrap around his nipple. Dew's tongue feel simultaneously like silk and sandpaper against the tip of it, teasing flicks, just enough to make Aether hiss. He gives a few tentative sucks, just between his lips, and Aether holds him so tight.

"That's nice," he sighs, playing with the soft hairs at the base of Dew's skull. "You have such a nice mouth, you know that?"

Dew sighs through his nose, flushed cheeks going two shades darker. He takes more of Aether into his mouth, tongue laving at his areola as he works to latch on. Aether huffs when he hollows his cheeks and starts to really suckle.

"That's it tadpole, good job," he coos, relaxing back against the headboard. "Such a good boy for me."

The words come so easily, effortlessly. They just feel...right. Dew whines all the same, a painfully sweet sound that lights up every pleasure center in Aether's mind. At this point he doesn't know how much of this is the weed and how much is Dew, but he feels high as a kite all the same.

Dew's hand finds its way over his chest, rests at the top of his swollen pec, and starts to massage. Aether sucks air through his teeth at the feel of it, at the way Dew encourages his body to let go. To let down. To release.

He knows the moment it happens from the sound Dew makes. Something between a moan and a sob, muffled but obvious. The little ghoul goes completely limp in his lap as Aether feels it really start to flow, sinking deeper into him with every mouthful.

"Is that what you wanted, sweet boy?" Aether gets Dew supported with one arm, his other hand now free to stroke the little ghoul's warm cheek. "Wanted me to fill you up like this?"

Dew peers up through those long lashes of his, and Aether sees nothing but black. He nods, a tiny movement that runs no risk of dislodging him, and Aether finds it so very endearing. He's tempted to keep talking, but in the quiet he can actually hear Dew drinking him down, and once he notices it Aether feels little desire to hear anything else.

His hand travels aimlessly over the little ghoul's shoulder while he watches, down his bicep and onto his narrow chest. Dew's shifted back a bit since he latched on, more on his back than his side. His arm, no longer needed to massage, lays useless on the bed. Dew's legs have gone splayed too, spread wide and utterly relaxed. He looks so at peace.

Aether can't stop touching him though, and Dew certainly doesn't seem inclined to stop him.

It's slow, intentional. The way Aether traces his collar bone, the way he pets at the hollow of his throat. The way he drags his knuckles down Dew's sternum and across his chest. Aether just grazes a nipple and Dew makes a little hnng sound, eyes fluttering open to find Aether smiling down at him. He can't help it, not when Dew looks so blissful.

"That feel good?" Dew gives another minuscule nod, pushing his chest ever so slightly up into Aether's touch. "Mm, I thought so," he chuckles, moving to lay equal attention on Dew's other nipple. "Always so sensitive here aren't you?" Like he has to ask. Then, "Tingly yet?"

Dew makes another of those huffing sounds and closes his eyes again, and Aether takes that as a yes. He gives the little ghoul's nonexistant chest a squeeze, and Aether can't help but laugh when Dew's limp hand drifts up to grope his other tit in kind. It kneads at him the way it had the mattress earlier, firm and insistent, and Aether hopes that Dew can feel the way his cock twitches through the blankets.

Aether slides his hand down the flat, firm plane of his stomach, light and ticklish, and Dew whimpers.

"Are you tingly anywhere else?"

He nods fervently this time, bringing his legs together when Aether hooks two fingers into the waist of his flannels. He slips them down to Dew's creamy thighs in one tug, and with a sigh the little ghoul spreads them again. Gives Aether a nice eyeful of his pudgy little cock, clearly interested but not quite standing up on it's own yet. Aether purrs at the sight of it, taking Dew's slender length between two fingertips and giving it a wiggle.

Through it all, Dew never stops suckling. Never stops fondling his chest. Aether could call it greedy if he were in less of a giving mood, but the way Dew basks in him, in his care, makes it simply impossible to be anything but pleased.

It takes no time for Dew to start his own sort of leaking, coating Aether's fingers in slick before he's even half hard. No doubt sensitive as ever, but slower to respond from the weed. Aether doesn't mind, not when it gives him time to tease. He takes the slippery head between a few fingers and gives it little tugs that have Dew's skinny hips twitching up.

"What's this, sweetheart?" Aether teases as Dew slowly stiffens between his fingers. "Is someone getting excited?"

Dew flushes straight down his throat, nuzzling deeper into Aether's chest with an embarrassed little mewl. His toes are curling into the sheets already. Aether smiles as he takes Dew in hand and starts to really stroke, soft and slow. The little ghoul is so beautiful like this - weak and helpless in his arms, unable to resist the care Aether's set on providing him.

"Such a sweet boy," he coos, kissing Dew's hair just to hear the lovely sound he makes. "My sweet little Dewdrop."

He does look sweet, Aether thinks. His cute little cock is as pink as his cheeks and twice as wet. His face is buried in Aether's plush chest, a thin trail of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth when he's too dazed to swallow in time. He's getting noisier by the second, and the more he does the harder it is for Aether to hold himself back.

There's been a word on the tip of his tongue since all of this started, since Dew first confessed. Something he's wanted to say since that warmth began to bloom deep inside. Something that he worries may be too much, one step too far.

Dew moans as he throbs in his hand, and Aether throws caution to the wind.

"Let mommy make you feel good."

It's like a dam breaks. Dew's eyes fly open and his back arches, bony fingertips digging into Aether's chest and scrabbling at his back. His cock spits a blurt of pre that lands all the way on his stomach, and every inch of Aether goes red hot. Not the reaction he expected, but now Dew's working those little hips in panicky ruts up towards his loose fist and he isn't going to complain about that.

"Is that what you need, tadpole? Need mommy to milk it out of you?" His voice doesn't betray the thrumming desperation in his veins, and Dew's nod is nothing but frantic. Aether huffs out a soft laugh. "Use your words, darling. Tell me what you need."

Dew pops off his sore, puffy nipple with a gasp, drooling a mess of spit and milk before he can swallow it down. He looks out of his mind and all the more beautiful for it.

"Please mommy," Dew begs, breathless and shaky, and oh how wonderful it sounds pouring from his lips. "Please - please make me, mommy, make...make it cum, make my cock cum, please -"

"Are you gonna squirt for me already, sweetheart?"

Dew wails, panting and pleading while Aether pulls him closer to the edge. He really shouldn't tease, but it's impossible to resist. Dew's falling apart so fast, a babbling mess of bony limbs and unintelligible sounds. His hips jerk in an uneven rhythm, and Aether stills his hand so Dew can fuck it as he pleases.

It's Aether's turn to moan when he sees the little ghoul, through his haze of pleasure and overwhelm, try to latch on again. It's sloppy and uncoordinated, Dew leaving wet smears over his skin while he mashes his face into Aether's tit. Some milk dribbles out when he does and Dew laps it up like a man starved.

He looks so pretty when he's a mess.

"Keep your head still," Aether tells him, voice firm, and with a gurgling sound Dew does. Mostly. Close enough. His hips have long since lost contact with his brain. Aether doesn't mind. "Show me that tongue and I'll give you what you want."

Dew listens, eyes lidded and chest heaving as he lets it loll out of his mouth. Aether can feel how close he his, can feel how his little balls have snuggled up close to his body, but Dew's been so very good this morning. Surely he deserves a treat.

"Such a good boy."

Aether focuses the slightest spark of his magick into his chest, and Dew freezes as that warm, sweet stream splashes right onto his tongue.

"Now cum for mommy."

Dew's entire body goes taut, his eyes roll back, and in perfect silence the little ghoul paints his own chest and belly. Aether holds him so close when it hits, milking rope after pearly rope from Dew's spasming form. Watching his knees draw up and his tongue drip milk onto his chest. Every second is spent murmuring the sweetest praise in Dew's ear, words of deep, desperate affection that he hopes the little guy will remember when this is all said and done.

Dew whines the moment overstimulation starts to kick in, and Aether pulls back immediately. Lets Dew's messy little cock rest against his sticky tummy so he can wipe his hand on the blankets and stroke Dew's cheek. He looks so dazed, so brainless, and Aether has no choice but to kiss him.

He tastes so much sweeter now.

Aether sucks on Dew's tongue before he pulls back, rubbing along his spine and resting their foreheads together.

"Did you enjoy yourself, love?"

Dew makes a very silly sound, all dopey and fucked up. He wriggles a little, loops both arms around Aether's neck and pulls him back in for a kiss. Deeper this time, decadent and rich.

"Uh huh," he breathes the sound against Aether's lips. "But I'm not done." Aether pulls back, raises an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Gotta get the other side," Dew says reasonably, already maneuvering himself with grace he certianly shouldn't have for how hard he just came. He straddles Aether's thighs, plants his hands on his tits and gives him the loveliest little smile. "Can I? Please?"

Aether pulls him in for a soft, chaste kiss.

"Whatever you want, baby boy."

Dew grins, spreads his knees, and grinds his ass directly into Aether's incredibly obvious erection. He grips those scrawny hips with a grunt

"Then let me sit on it this time, mommy."

Dew leans down, pops Aether's nipple into his mouth, and Aether doesn't know if he'll make it that far.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Hi! Could you please explain what a word lord is, and how they differentiate from time lords?

Follow up to that, if that’s ok. Could a word lord and a time lord technically loom a child together?

What is a Word Lord?

The Word Lords are the best rap collective on Gallifrey, releasing such albums as Sonic Screwdrivers and Sick Beats, Gallifreya Gangsta, and Rassilon's Rap Odyssey, then-

Okay, they're not.

Imagine a Time Lord, but from a universe where everything is made of words and language. Instead of being powered by the laws of physics as we know them, Word Lords operate on the power of words and communication, like Carrionites.

📜 The Basics

Universe of Origin: Word Lords hail from a universe 45 billion dimensions to our left, where language is the building block of reality, so normal space-time in our universe doesn't apply.

Powers: Their abilities are fueled by words. The more language around (like books, TV, radio), the more powerful they become. They just love a library.

Physiology: They look just like Time Lords, and they share similar biology, with two hearts, a respiratory bypass system, an internal temperature of 15°C, and the ability to regenerate.

Social History: Their equivalent of Rassilon is 'All', and the 'Hand of All' is a bit like their version of the Eye of Harmony/Web of Time.

Containment: Word Lords can be 'trapped' inside anything with words, like a book or a comic.

🧙‍♂️ Abilities

Weaponry: Word Lords can fire weapons inside a TARDIS's state of temporal grace, something impossible for others.

Immunity: They're immune to physical assaults and ordinary guns. Bullets just won’t cut it, literally.

Powers: Word Lords gain power if somebody says their name. For example, if you were a Word Lord named 'Field', and someone said 'the field is very green', you would gain the ability to be able to turn very green at will. This has no limits - you could say, 'The field has a nuclear bomb', and guess what you could suddenly make appear?

📚 The CORDIS

Travel: Their version of the TARDIS is the CORDIS (Conveyance Of Repeating Dialogue in Space-Time). It’s a non-physical time/space vessel that runs on common words and phrases used throughout the multiverse.

Chameleon Meme: Unlike a TARDIS, which can blend in visually, the CORDIS blends in linguistically, hiding with the use of a phrase or word, but can't hide the noise of its engines.

Time Lords and Word Lords, despite their similarities, differ vastly in their operational universes. Time Lords control time and space with a penchant for meddling (or not), while Word Lords harness the power of language and communication.

Could a Word Lord and a Time Lord loom a child together?

Now, there’s a spicy hypothetical.

🧬 Biological Compatibility

Physiology: Given that Time Lords and Word Lords share similar physiology—two hearts and all that—they could theoretically combine their genetic material with minimal risk.

Genetic Fusion: The unique genetic traits of both species could be integrated into a single being through loom technology, which can handle complex genetic templates. You would have to do some jiggery-pokery, though.

Risk Factor: I say this confidently, but remember that there are huge swathes of information about their physiology that we know absolutely nothing about.

🧩 Hybrid Abilities

Time and Language Mastery: The child could potentially wield both the power of time manipulation and linguistic influence. Imagine a being who can travel through time and alter reality with a few words.

Enhanced Cognitive Skills: This child could possess extraordinary cognitive abilities, combining the Time Lords’ strategic genius with the Word Lords’ linguistics.

⚔️ Cultural Clash

Dual Heritage: The child would be a unique blend of two powerful heritages, potentially facing identity challenges but also having a rich cultural background to draw from.

Training and Education: Balancing Gallifrey's rigorous education with the abstract, language-based skills of the Word Lord universe could create an unparalleled learning environment, shaping a prodigy of sorts.

⚠️ Potential Challenges

Integration of Powers: The child might need to learn to balance their time-based abilities with their language-driven powers, ensuring that one does not overshadow the other.

Acceptance: Given their unique nature and potential capabilities, both Time Lords and Word Lords might view this hybrid with a mix of awe and suspicion.

🏫 So…

Word Lords are the linguistic wizards of a universe built from words, wielding power through communication, while Time Lords dominate temporal matters and physics. Hypothetically, a union between the two could be pretty incredible, but that's one very powerful and very confused child.

Related:

What is looming and how does it exist alongside natural reproduction?: Overview on looming and its place alongside natural reproduction in Gallifreyan society.

Can a human and a Time Lord loom a child?: Overview of the looming process for hybrids.

Hope that helped! 😃

(Edited for some additions 13/09)

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[fan-a-tink]

Season 2 favourite scenes 😇😈

While rewatching season 2 to mark the anniversary of its release, I found this ranking of my top fifteen favourite scenes from season 2, and thought I’d post it here to save it somewhere. So, here goes: 

Before the beginning (specifically Crowley’s excitement when the stars are exploding, and his little red curls)

Crowley on laudanum

Crowley interrogating Gabriel („And I. did not. care. for it!“ followed by „Do you… want a hot chocolate?“)

Crowley & Aziraphale rehearsing the magic trick („Go on Mr. British Man, wow me with your miracles“ & „What you just did’s remarkable, I don’t have the foggiest notion how it’s done“)

Crowley matchmaking Nina & Maggie under the awning („I think it’s fair to say, Jim, that vavooming was not the end result of that particular tempest“)

Crowley being silly in Heaven

Apology dance & the tiny miracle

Aziraphale asking Crowley to dance

Bildad the Shuhite („Shoemaking and obstetrics. Those have always been the twin passions of Bildad the Shuhite. What seems to be the trouble?“)

Crowley and Aziraphale being domestic during the Inspector Constable scene with Muriel („This is a human police officer who has just popped in to have a quick look at a cup of tea.“ & „Don’t hesitate to ask me if you have any other questions about love, Inspector … Constable“)

End of Job episode, („Sorry…You think you’re a demon? With your curly little.. And your neat white…“)

„Our car“ - „We don’t have a car.“ - „Of course we do. Isn’t she a beauty?“

Drinks after the bullet catch („You said trust me.“ - „And you did.“)

Six shots of espresso & „How’s your naked man friend?“ 

Literally any time David Tennant gets to speak in a Scottish accent in episode 3 („You say potato, I say excellent.“)

Honourable Mentions / Iconic Moments

„His royal smugness is in trouble? That’s so sad…“

„Smitten, I believe. You’re being silly“

Crowley driving to Good Old-fashioned Lover Boy

„Fell’s bookshop. We probably don’t have what you’re looking for and we wouldn’t sell it to you if we did.“

„No thank you, you see I have a permit“ & „Seems legit to meeee“

„I am no stranger to the art of prestidigitation!“ *waves handkerchief*  

„He’s far too pure to be anyone’s bit on the side. He’s just an angel.. I know“

„What does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different exactlys.“

„Is he here to amaze and befuddle us all with his prestidigitation… and jiggery-pokery?“

„And I’m Jemimah! I made this pot!“

[whywhatswrongwithblue]

DW REWATCH

S1E2 THE END OF THE WORLD

The Doctor takes Rose on her first voyage through time, to the year five billion. The sun is about to expand and swallow the earth. Amongst the alien races gathering to watch, a murderer is at work. Who is controlling the mysterious and deadly spiders?

WHAT was he doing in this scene.

You think you're so impressive. ---I am so impressive baby’s first flirt….

2. You lot, you spend all your time thinking about dying, like you're going to get killed by eggs or beef or global warming or asteroids. But you never take time to imagine the impossible, that maybe you survive. i adore this line. Iirc i read somewhere that this episode was made when a lot of negative climate focussed media was coming out and rtd wanted to assure young viewers that there was always hope? Not sure where i saw it but it’s stuck with me

3. Is that why we're here? I mean, is that what you do? Jump in at the last minute and save the Earth?-- rose we are literally here so i can trauma dump. Haven’t you heard of healthy coping mechanisms??

4. He's blue RTD my beloved. What an incredibly realistic, human observation—i feel like companions simply do not do this anymore. And they should!

5. Love the bark makeup. It’s so pretty!

6. The air from my lungs….this episode is so good damn it

7. Moxx of Balhoon better known as the CEO of sex. I give you the gift of bodily salivas lucky Rose

8. CASSANDRAAAAA

9. Rose being overwhelmed and running out. I can’t get over the amount of care and detail RTD put into writing her. She really is his baby. Can’t wait to see how he brings her back now (because he will. He will.)

10. Jabe’s device is unable to identify a timelord, probably because the rest of the universe thinks them dead? Although her reaction is very different from that of the Nestene Consciousness (who is implied to have lost quite a bit in the Time War), whereas Jabe doesn’t seem to have any personal connection. I wonder what the other outsider perceptions of the War were!

11. Ahhh Rose being kind to the plumber. I love my girl. LMAO at her realising she just hitched a ride with a complete stranger w/o thinking about it. The metal spiders are very Minority Report.

12. Your machine gets inside my head. It gets inside and it changes my mind, and you didn't even ask? the WRITING. Just chef’s kiss. Even in this sort of power dynamic, you never ever feel like Rose doesn’t have agency. She’s so smart and capable and fierce. i love her.

13. Gotta love how fast they switch from arguing to flirting. Jiggery-pokery <3

14. I might be late home. and then she comes back a YEAR later JESUS

15. Bad Wolf mention!

16. Hahahah i can’t watch the Jabe scene without thinking of plant sex now, courtesy of Katie

17. I was born on that planet, and so was my mum, and so was my dad. I love how much Rose loves her dad. Like if you’ve never even known a parent, you probably wouldn’t bring them up in a context like this, but the addition implies that Rose thinks of her dad quite a bit, and this is a nice little subtle setup to my favourite episode of the season, Father’s Day

18. The sun filter scene! It’s unexpectedly tense. I remember being really worried the first time I saw it

19. This whole event was sponsored by the Face of Boe. He invited us. Jack set them up….god that’s so sweet. The fact that he knows that they’re properly together in Pete��s World at this point <3333333 he is Literally Us. Putting his blorbos in Situations.

20. What are you going to do, moisturise me?

21. At least it'll be quick. Just like my fifth husband. HUHHH?? LMAO

22. I love the turning fan trope, every time it’s in any movie ever, it’s got me on the edge of my seat

23. Everything has its time, and everything dies. OOF. Appreciate Rose still wanting Cassandra to be saved! Something something parallel with how she changed the Doctor so much that he’s willing to give Cassandra a peaceful death in New Earth <3 the power of love, folks.

24. The Earth death scene is beautiful. I remember feeling so sad that everyone just missed it! And the Doctor finally realising that maybe this wasn’t a great first trip for his young companion xD

25. I'm left travelling on my own 'cos there's no one else.---There's me. What a beautiful moment of intimacy. And such great acting! The Doctor is finally beginning to let her in, and Rose has attached to this stranger so quickly, despite how prickly and condescending he can be. Soulmates <3

Loveee this ending. 10/10 again!

[bellisima-writes]

Hello! As per the GO ask game you reblogged, I’m curious about your answers to 2, 7 and 11 ☺️

Hi! Thanks for the ask @lavendermoonlitskies !!

2) What was it that drew you to Good Omens, and what was it that sucked you into the fandom? - I always say I came for David and stayed for Michael. It was late 2022 and David had just been announced as returning as the 14th doctor in Doctor Who, so I finally bit the bullet and watched his run (I had never watched that show before either). After I finished, I needed to see more of him, and GO was his latest work I could easily watch in the US. Although it wasn’t until after watching Season 2 that the hyperfixation set in. And this fandom is so special and so brilliant and so talented that I couldn’t help but snuggle in and wrap it around myself like a warm blanket.

7. Which scene from Good Omens never fails to make you laugh? - I bet you’re all thinking, “What’s that man doing up there, on the stage? Is here to amaze and befuddle us all with his prestidigitation and jiggery-pokery?”

I have a gigantic smile on my face during the entire 1941 minister in season 2. Every second of it.

11. Which character do you think you are most like? - I know this question isn’t limited to Aziraphale and Crowley but my honest answer is Crowley. His dark humor, his generalized crankiness, his air of I don’t give a fuck when he really cares so much more than anyone else, and his absolute undying love for Aziraphale. All of it. I love Aziraphale more but I am absolutely more Crowley.

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Another nonsense prompt:

Romana, drunk on ginger beer: Please explain to me why?

Rose, equally drunk of hypervodka: Why what?

Romana: -vague gestures at the Doctor-

Setting, Doctor, and Rose’s reasons are to your discretion based on whatever mood you’d like to create.

thinky, i loved loved loved writing this prompt (i'm really enjoying trying out romana's perspective lately!) and since the other ones you sent have been coming out angsty, i made sure to fluff this one up. i also chose twelve as my doctor, just to heighten how thoroughly cracky this situation is. i hope you enjoy it (in spite of it being unedited)!!

(click here to read on ao3.)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Their bodies had ended up at sharp ninety-degree angles, through no fault of Romana's.

No, she laid all the blame squarely at the little human girl's doorstep. It was she who had withdrawn a bottle of hypervodka from one of her borrowed coats, out of a cheeky trans-dimensional pocket—as if any Time Lady worth her particulate wouldn't notice that kind of unsanctioned jiggery-pokery—and it was she who had suggested they go and search out some ginger beer to get them on equal footing. And in the end, it was she who was responsible for all those generous pours.

(On the other hand, it was Romana who had chosen to drink them, which did leave her shouldering a bit of blame. But only a little. The rest was all Rose.)

As she gazed up at the ceiling, Romana reflected on the nature of their situation as it now stood. Or rather, tilted.

The girl had been travelling with them for some time now. It had been a bit of cleverness in the basement of a London shop that brought her into the fold. (Only several hours prior, Romana herself had come aboard. In retrospect, she didn't know why she'd expected a little bit of a time to settle in again—it had been so long—before they took on anyone else, but she was rather miffed at the Doctor's speed and enthusiasm in inviting Rose along.) Yet Rose earned her keep in more than just the ordinary sense.

Though she was clever—and good in a crisis—she was also equipped to be a generally good travelling companion when they were not in danger. She was funny, and open, and very warm. Her nature tended towards unassuming compassion, she was a charmingly low-maintenance passenger, and it was clear she was utterly devoted to the Doctor, absurd as the concept seemed.

Really, that was the incongruity. The piece that Romana could not make sense of. Much as she’d come to care for him, the Doctor was brash, and absurd, and secretive. He was frequently rather self-involved and occasionally quite stupid.

He was, in every respect, the opposite of his lone human companion.

And yet…

The blurred ceiling overhead warped further as Romana turned her head to look at the girl, her hair crinkling, fanned out over the carpet of the media room. From above, they probably looked very silly, laying with their heads together on the floor, their legs kicked up against the back of the large sofa.

This had been Rose's doing as well: she'd been repeating with great enthusiasm something (she at least believed) she'd heard the Doctor say, something about circulation and higher brain function, and Romana didn't have the hearts to tell her that she wasn't sure about the human circulatory system, but it was certainly not how Gallifreyans operated. And when Rose insisted they try it—whatever it was—she'd gone along with it.

So, they'd kicked their legs up, and now they just sort of remained, wiggling their toes and giggling at nothing, waiting for their "heightened brain function" to begin.

All that seemed to be happening was Rose's cheeks going progressively pinker.

Meanwhile, the girl was chattering on about how the Doctor had promised to take her somewhere new, a place where dogs had no noses. Romana finally spoke up.

"Please explain to me… why?" she pronounced, with—she thought—impressive clarity.

Rose's ramble stopped mid-stream, and she tipped her head to the side. "Why… what? Why wouldn't they have noses?" She scrunched her own, which was sort of button-ish, not unlike Romana's. "I don't know. Hadn't thought about it, actually. Not sure I want to."

"No, not the—not the dogs, you silly girl," Romana laughed. (It was not a cackle; she did not cackle.) "I meant, why do you…?" She made a kind of vague gesture over the back of their heads, to where the Doctor was currently sound asleep—or possibly just unconscious—atop a pile of couch cushions, which had been commandeered from their much abused sofa.

His face was slack. It was highly probable he'd soon begin to drool, if he hadn't begun already.

Romana winced. "I mean, isn't he…? Well, that is…" Her faltering, intoxicated vocabulary made her huff in irritation. "Why do you… when he's so—?"

"Tall?" Rose finished. Romana was alarmed to see the girl's smile turn quite giddy, her glazed eyes taking on a dreamy, half-lidded quality. "He is, isn't he?"

"Well, I suppose."

"And he's got great hair. All those silvery curls…"

"Yes, well—!"

Rose's shoulders rolled, as if she meant to yawn and stretch and sink into a blissfully warm bath. She sighed contentedly. "I love him, I think."

"You do," Romana said. Her disbelief seemed like it must have been evident to anyone less totally inebriated.

But Rose didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

"Don't think, actually. I'm sure. Have been for a while. Is that stupid?"

"Probably," she answered honestly. "He's an idiot, Rose, a very clever idiot."

"And he's too old for me," Rose said, nodding her seeming agreement. "And he's a bit careless sometimes. About people… 'bout everything."

Romana frowned.

"But I think those times are when he needs us most. He was alone so long, before you and me." Rose turned her head, eyes briefly sharpening in wakeful attention. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Knew what?"

"How lonely he was. That's why you came back, isn't it?" Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was only obvious. But it wasn't obvious at all. Rose went on. "He lost his daughter… what was it, two—three hundred years ago? He's always vague with the details. But her name was Jenny. He lost her to another world, sounds like, and he's been alone ever since. Lifetimes on his own, just floating."

Rose gestured with her hand, floating tracing an arced path over them. Her pink, glittery nail varnish caught the light, flickering like nebulae viewed through a fractured telescope. It became clear to Romana that she was extremely drunk, and her vision was impaired.

But her reasoning was less fragmented.

Concern for the Doctor was not, in fact, why she'd come. There hadn't really been a "why." She'd been lonely, and rather bored, as Leela was off on a mission with Narvin that she probably wanted to know nothing about. BIut really, she'd just wanted to go. And so, she'd contrived a way to stumble upon him.

And in so doing, she'd stumbled the both of them right into the Autons, and the Nestene Consciousness, and a twenty-first century shopgirl with a strong moral compass. From there, the adventures, as always, seemed unending—fast-paced and almost predictable in their unpredictability. They skated through danger, always risking a burn or a scrape or a loss and always emerging on the other side, triumphant and weary, minds refreshingly emptied.

She'd been caught up in it all, she had to admit.

But somehow, Rose had found time in the madness to extract these insights. To see through the Doctor's bright and shiny façade. And to fall utterly in love.

It was so—Romana's brow furrowed, her lips pursed—it was so… human.

And despite herself, she laughed. (She did not cackle; she absolutely did not.) Shaking her head, she reached a hand out to pat Rose's arm.

"You dear thing," she chuckled. "You know you're entirely too good for him."

Rose flushed. Her head was beginning to take on a rather tomato-esque colouring. Romana decided it was probably best if they got up.

Behind them, the Doctor made a sound—half gasp, half snuffle. When Romana looked back, he was blinking owlishly at them, watching them rolling about and cautiously beginning the process of becoming vertical. It was rather slow going.

"Good morning, Doctor," she greeted. She spoke loudly, with an abundance of artificial cheer.

"I wasn't sleeping," he insisted in a husky tone. "Were you sleeping?" (His accent—Scottish, an affectation Romana did not quite understand the purpose of—seemed to have been enhanced by his little nap, and his hair was flattened on one side. But at least there was no sign of drool.)

Rose pushed up to her knees, and Romana could only watch in amusement as she crawled over to the Doctor, stretching out a hand to help him up. His eyes, when they met Rose's, came alive—a brilliant, reflective blue which seemed to contain an unfathomable depth of feeling.

She shook her head. There was nothing to be done now. If Rose was in love, at least the Doctor seemed equally (if not more) besotted with his resident human.

They would almost certainly break each other's hearts.

But if they didn't…

If they didn't, she believed they might very well be the stuff of legend.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

thank you for the prompt, dear! and to send further prompts, drop me an ask.

[sn1forge]

Wrestling with a handrail and clamps in the vice to bash over the tenon heads . It takes quite a bit of jiggery-pokery to get these all lined up ready for riveting. I'm aslo thinking to collar the scrolls just to add a bit of extra security but these things all take time.

[theorphaninthetardis]

Chapter Thirty-Eight

They step outside, into cold night air. Sophie tugs her coat a little tighter around her shoulders. "So...it was day, and now it's night."

"That's traditionally what happens when the earth rotates on its axis."

Sophie sticks her tongue out at the Captain, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Tosh looks along the street a bit nervously, "Where's the SUV? Has it been stolen?"

Jack sighs, and shakes his head, "No. We have."

Tosh begins to pace along the sidewalk, before pulling out her mobile. She opens it, and sighs, "It's no use. It's dead. I can't get through to the Hub."

Sophie pulls her phone out of her pocket, and flips it open, "You were trying to call the Hub, right?"

"Yes," the woman says, looking a bit confused, "How are you going to get through?"

Sophie smirks, "A bit of jiggery-pokery." She finally glances at the screen, and sees the cracks all along one side, and the fact that it isn't turning on. She sighs, and presses her face into Jack's chest, "Those b*st*rds broke my mobile. And it was new!" she laments.

He pats her head in a kind way, "Let's get back inside. That's where we were when we crossed."

As they step back inside the dance hall, Tosh looks around in awe, "We really are in 1941. What if we can't get back?"

Jack shrugs, "Flotsam and jetsam slips through all the time. We'll get back. Look on the bright side. Gives you one hell of an excuse not to go to your party."

Tosh turns, and glares at him, "I have a life there. And they can't help us back at the Hub because I have the latest readings in here." She then looks out at the crowd, to see a large group looking their way. "People are staring at us."

"People tend to do that. Just walk around like you own the place. Always seems to work for the Doctor."

Jack rolls his eyes, "Don't take advice from a raving madman," he states pointedly. "We need to try to blend in." He immediately removes his earpiece, and shoves it in the pocket of his coat. He then turns, and helps Tosh remove her coat, and tosses it over his arm. Turning on his heel, he puts his hands on the shoulders of Sophie's coat, and helps her pull it off, revealing a blue swing dress underneath. He can't help the smile that spreads across his face. ""Looks like you were expecting this."

She looks over at him, "I was heading to a fancy dress party. You're just lucky I chose this over a clown."

Tosh looks down at her dress, "Blend in," she grumbles, "It's easy for you to say. I'm the only Asian here."

"Don't worry," Jack says, his flirty grin crossing his face, as he offers her his arm, "You're with the Captain."

Sophie laughs, and takes his other arm, and he leads the ladies to the bar. "Two waters, please, and a brandy."

A uniformed man walks over to the bar, his eyes landing on Tosh, "I haven't seen you in here before." Jack's attention is drawn from the airman, and the bartender tells him the price. He reaches for his pockets, before realising that he has no cash. "I'll er, get them," the airman offers.

"Thank you," Jack nods.

"On one condition.," he adds.

Jack leans against the bar, and raises an eyebrow, "What?"

The soldier grabs Tosh and drags her onto the dance floor. She looks uncomfortable, as the airman pulls her around the dance floor. She's trying to pull away from the man. Jack's face darkens, and he steps out onto the dance floor. He approaches the airman, and taps him on the shoulder. "Do you mind?" he asks.

"I'm only borrowing her, mate," the man states, and tries to move away.

Jack grabs his arm, and removes it from Tosh's side, "Maybe she doesn't want to be borrowed."

"You want to make something of it?"

Jack's flirty smile crosses his face, "You can always dance with me, if you want."

The airman strikes out, and shoves Jack backwards His smile is wiped from his face, as he glares daggers at the other man, "Okay, I'll lead, you follow." He shoves the man back as well. He grabs Tosh's arm and starts to pull her away, "Come on, Tosh."

Sophie sees the airman start to move toward him again, and she dumps the coats down on a chair, and starts to make her way to the fight. The airman swings, and punches Jack, knocking him down on his *ss.

Sophie steps in front of the airman, and offers Jack her hand, as another uniformed man steps in front of the airman, grabbing his arm, "Cut it out, kiddo." He turns, just as Jack gets back on his feet, "Sorry about that. The men are a bit lively tonight. It's the last day of OTU tomorrow." Jack rolls his neck, and nods. "Apologise to the gentleman, George."

"I was only dancing," George argues.

The man gives him a pointed look, "I think it was your fist he didn't like, not your foxtrot."

"I'm sorry," George says begrudgingly.

Jack shrugs, "It's okay. You barely got me."

"I think the lady also deserves an apology."

"I'm sorry," George says again.

"Apology accepted," Toshiko smiles.

The soldier nods, and slaps George on the back, "Let's get a drink, George." He gestures Jack and Tosh to go in front of them, and Sophie follows along behind the group. As they approach the bar, the Captain asks, "Hey, are you a volunteer as well?"

Jack takes a sip of his brandy, and nods. "I'm Captain-" they start at the same time.

Jack chuckles, "You go first."

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness. 133rd Squadron," the man states.

Jack's smile freezes, and Tosh nearly chokes on her water. Sophie studies Jack's face, and sees a host of emotions behind his eyes. He doesn't get the chance to say anything else, as the manager calls for their attention, and takes a photo.

He removes the developing image from the back of the camera, and steps between the two captains, "One more for the record, sir. I insist." The photo is taken, and the creepy manager steps away.

[anakinthetrashking]

What's better than an idea for writing a fic for a small fandom?

Getting an idea for a crossover fic between two small fandoms, evidently.

[ub-sessed]

This weekend's knitting project has been to practise my double knitting.

One of the reasons I learned double knitting is that I hate stranded colourwork: I like the way it looks, and it's super fun to do, but I can't stand the resulting fabric: it makes me feel like I'm being strangled.

At first I thought I could just use stranded-knitting patterns for double knitting, but I quickly learned that the stitch-to-row ratio is all wrong. Stranded knitting, conveniently, has a stitch:row ratio of 1:1, so that, say, 6 stitches is the same width as 6 rows are high. But double knitting has a stitch:row ratio of 2:3, so a stranded knitting pattern that looks like this:

will come out looking like this in double knitting:

There are a few solutions for this: choose patterns that look OK squashed, choose/create patterns that are made specifically for double knitting, or convert stranded patterns into double knitting patterns. But converting isn't easy! The math often doesn't work. So I decided I would try to start with the simplest pattern there is: lice. With a little jiggery pokery I turned this*:

into this:

Things I learned:

1. When doing a two-colour long-tail cast on, you want the colour that's going to be knit in row 1 to be around your index finger:

(I can't believe it took me so long to figure this out.)

2. My Clover Takumis are way too grippy and also a bit too pointy for this yarn. For the next swatch I will try my newly sharpened Lykkes.

Thing I relearned: For some reason whenever I come back to double knitting, I remember to bring my right yarn forward when purling the left yarn, but forget to bring the left yarn forward when purling the right yarn.

The main reason I'm doing all these swatches is to figure out a good selvage for connecting the squares into a blanket. I have yet to find one I'm happy with. I'm also still unsatisfied with my tension.

It would all look better in DK, but the whole point of this blanket is to have something to do with the random little balls of yarn I pick up for 25¢ at the Chaînon, and they're always worsted.

*From The Very Easy Guide to Fair Isle Knitting, by Lynne Watterson.

[crackinglamb]

(4) What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? (27) Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why? (38) What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us? ((Sorry, I don't know what my Tumblr won't like me space these out properly. Anyway... *bonk bonk* 😘))

4 - What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? I am old and salty and I cannot stand the word 'simp'. *hears all the gasps from my discord friends* I said what I said. To me it is incredibly infantilizing, both of one's self and the object of one's usually fictional interest.

But since I am also a reasonable and rational person, when it presents itself before my eyes I simply move on. 😌 I do not see it. I do not judge. I am entitled to my opinion but also fully aware that it's rude to foist it off on others unless asked. (Incidentally, I feel this way about 'uwu' too, and all its variations. It is equally as shudder inducing to me.)

27 - Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why? Most characters don't stress me out to write. Situations, yes. Getting a handle on a character's presentation is pretty easy for me, but putting them in situations that are not covered in the source material can take some jiggery pokery, and that can lend itself to me wanting to tear my hair out.

But...since I have to pick something, or in this case someone, that gets me worried I'll get it totally wrong and end up disappointing someone else (which as you know is not something that concerns me generally speaking), I would say that writing other people's OC's is the most stressful. It is their creation, not mine. Their headcannons, their efforts. I don't ever want to do them a disservice.

38 - What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us? Hmm, I feel a bit like this one has a 'does not apply' in my head. Because we all have quirks in our process that others squint at. And I have a very 'you do you' attitude at all times.

I mean, is it weird or totally logical that I don't like to write smut when Lamb the Younger is around? Even though she isn't looking over my shoulder to read it, and is in fact, rarely in the same room as me. And above all is a teenager who knows what sex is because no subject is taboo in our house.

I edit incessantly, I write out of order a lot. I don't make playlists for every character, and actually rarely listen to music at all when writing unless I need a specific headspace. I don't have the urge to spontaneously post everything at once...much. I feel no shame about doing what I do, in either writing it or sharing it. Hell, my own parents know that I write smutty fanfiction and met you that way. I'm sure these are all things that other people think are weird, but to me are just part and parcel. So...¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I think cats would say that we, as a species, are graceless, bumbling creatures lacking true sensory equipment and communication skills, but we're kinda cute and tolerable to be around most of the time. I maintain that we didn't domesticate them, they domesticated us.

Thanks for the asks! *bonk bonk* 😘 From this list.

[tolkienrsb]

Hello! I have a question, how detailed should the "additional details" on art submissions be? I'm a bit picky on characterization but I don't want to seem overbearing or limit the writers' creativity, if that makes sense

Hi there anon!

We have just been sending out confirmation emails which give a bit more guidance on this, but - try to aim for a few sentences, not an essay.

The additional details, along with images of the art and crucial information like desired fic rating, collaboration level, etc., all need to fit onto one slide for the gallery. We can do some jiggery pokery with font size and layout, but huge blocks of text are very difficult to work with!

If you send us text that we are struggling to fit onto the slide, we may ask you trim it down for us. Alternatively, if you want to come off anon and send us an email, we can work with you to land on a level of detail that both you and the mod team feel is appropriate for your prompt.

Hope this helps!

Mod Narya

[banshee-v44]

The Banshee, The Faker, The Exomind Maker

/*******************CBoC 44 pseudocode for Status Register write***************/ void BNRAM_EXO_1_Status_Reg_Write ( uint44 data_byte ) { BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); // Enable the EXO slave by toggling clarity control LOW BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); //Clear EXO transmit buffer before sending command BNRAM_SPI_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_CR8T); // Set the write enable (CB0) bit //prior to write//Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CB_Reg_Write(1); //CB0 is set high when CC is switched high BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); //Re-enable the EXO slave BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_WRSR_CMD); //Send Write Status Register instruction BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(data_byte); //Send data //Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(1); //Terminate the write operation by toggling //clarity control HIGH }

________________________________________

Okay. That was annoying.

Banshee-44 didn't know who in the hell Clovis Bray thought he was, but he would be damned if the asshole executed a recall order on him.

The Vanguard Gunsmith paused a moment, literally, and set the auto-rifle he'd been at work on down on the counter before him. He cupped his metal alloy chin in a brilliantly designed and articulated hand and thought.

Well. He supposed that Clovis Bray thought he was...Clovis Bray. By all accounts he did what he wanted, when he wanted to. So that pretty much summed it up.

Banshee made a noise that sounded like a snort and focused his attention on the small gaggle of Guardians before him.

Would a group of Guardians be called a gaggle? Never thought of it before. Never? Maybe. He couldn't remember.

"Yeah, here ya go," the Exo mumbled, as he twisted to reach one of the Guardians' orders.

It took roughly thirty minutes for Banshee to make his way through the line of Guardians that had stacked up in front of his station. Where in the hell did they all come from? That was the problem in having his workstation right off the primary landing pad. He looked forward to the return to the old Tower.

The white and blue optics stared out across the Courtyard and upwards, to where the glow of acetylene torches and the sparks of welders lit up the early evening.

Holy hell, was it evening already?

Wait. Or was it early morning.

Banshee-44 consulted a datapad to check the time. It was indeed 1843 hours. He sighed, a mechanical sound. It wasn't that he didn't trust his chronometer's programming enough to rely on it for the time; it was that he didn't trust his fried RAM enough to remember the damn time.

A chime, something like a chime, definitely musical, but a kind of pretty sort of noise tickled his audio receptors. It was vaguely familiar somehow.

Oh. The recall order. That.

"Ain't like I wasn't gonna see you eventually anyways," the Gunsmith muttered.

He closed up his workstation and made his way through the maintenance walkways to the Hangar. Banshee took the back ways whenever he could. Being out among people...it was easier for him to forget where he was going. And why.

He was okay with being alone anyways.

He thought he was okay with it, at least.

The Gunsmith popped out into the Daito room. It was thankfully empty. Weird that they had a branded lounge in the space.

He ducked down into the airway and cast a glance at the journal lying on some nearby shelving. Oh. That. He wondered where he'd left it. He'd have to grab it on his way back through. If he remembered.

A few steps more and he was in the pit of the Hangar. He strode over to the Vanguard's Lead Shipwright, Amanda Holliday, and simply stood before her. He saw that she was elbow deep into a Sparrow, so he said nothing. Only stood with his arms folded.

It took Holliday several minutes before she realized that the Exo who stood before her was Banshee-44 and not some Titan. She'd spoken to him as if he were a Guardian, as she had assumed that's who it was. Being all still and stoic and non-responsive.

"Hey there, Ban," she called out as she straightened her back. Holliday worked her shoulders up and down, stiff from the repairs. "Need somethin'?"

It was unusual to see the Gunsmith in her domain, though not out of the ordinary.

If he had the plating to do so, Banshee would have blinked at her. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Wasn't urgent. Just wanted to ask a favor."

Holliday's eyes widened in curiosity and one eyebrow arched at the words. Him asking a favor was not typical. Whatever it was, it was going to be a good one. "Uh, sure, Ban. Whatcha need?"

The Exo nodded toward the rear of the hangar bay. "A ride."

"A what?" At that, Holliday stood up, and somehow avoided the boom that held up the Sparrow. "You need a ride?" She sounded incredulous.

"Hmm-mmm," he grunted.

An awkward pause followed.

"I can fly myself," he added, his arms held open in something between a shrug and a friendly surrender. "You don't have to worry about ferrying me around."

Holliday's mouth worked open and closed a few times before she managed speech. "No...I mean...it's okay, I don't mind...it's been a while is all." It had been, what, months? since Banshee had borrowed a ship. He hadn't needed to borrow one back at the old Tower since he had a transport vessel. It was destroyed in the Red War, unfortunately. Holliday thought it was a shame. He kept it in decent nick seeing as how he generally forgot he had it. "You going international or domestic?" she joked. Her initial surprise had faded to nothing.

"International," he responded. It was a long running joke that indicated he needed to a ship capable of leaving the atmosphere. "Gotta errand that requires it."

Banshee thought it best he leave the details to himself. Commander Zavala wouldn't take kindly to his excursion and neither would Holliday, come to think of it.

"That's been a while. Not since before the war," the Shipwright commented. She stretched both arms over her head and stepped out from her workshop. Banshee followed her around to the other side, where she stood with hands on hips. "Got a Hawk you can borrow. She's over yonder." Holliday motioned across the deck to a Hawk bearing Vanguard colors. It was without offensive armament, however.

"Sold." Banshee tilted his head at Holliday and nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure." She turned to go back to her project, hand in the air as way of goodbye. "Don't forget to top off the tank when you bring her back."

Banshee made a short, sharp noise that was a laugh and made his way to the ship.

________________________________________

He'd taken liberties with his flight plan, as his destination was strictly forbidden under current Vanguard policy. Banshee doubted that any claim of not his having forgotten Commander Zavala's explicit order would be believed. A little of what they once called jiggery-pokery was necessary.

Banshee had told the Vanguard's favorite Guardian that he would visit the Clovis Bray AI at some point. Said Guardian had helped to rebuild what had turned out to be his own weapon. It was one hell of a sword. Huge. Stupidly overpowered.

Felt comfortable in his hands. Good, even. Like it belonged.

Still, the Guardian had been the one to piece it together. It was theirs by rights.

He knew from the scouting reports that the giant Exo head that housed the AI was deep in the ruins of Bray Exoscience. The only safe LZ was at a communications array in Charon's Crossing. He'd have to be inconspicuous.

There was some EVA gear in the Hawk. And a tarp that he could use as a makeshift cloak. He'd seen how some of the Guardians dressed, even the ones that weren't New Light. It could get pretty rough by his eye, but he wasn’t big on fashion as a rule.

Banshee pulled a RJSV-99-40 Sparrow out of the Hawk's vehicle stores and mounted up. The ride from Charon's Crossing to Cadmus Ridge was brief, but the journey through Cadmus Ridge into Bray Exoscience was choppy due to the Fallen.

He ignored the arc bolts that chained past his helmet and kept the throttle floored. He deftly maneuvered past Dregs and Vandals, bumped a very angry Captain out of the way, and sped into the jagged entrance to Bray Exoscience.

One magazine and a few dead Fallen later, Banshee had a spacious office and lab area to himself.

On the main desk he spied a figure that looked a little too much like himself and scattered papers. The topmost paper was a drawing, like an artist's render...

He found himself with one hand on the desk, head bowed, the other hand on the back of the chair, his A/R still clutched between fingers which trembled.

"The hell is that," Banshee hissed to the empty room. He turned his head away from the dark, shrouded figure sketched onto the yellowed paper.

He stepped into the private lab and took note of the open hatch to his right. It seemed like he should go that route, so he did.

The inert, deactivated Exominds slumped across equipment, crumpled onto the floor, and in pieces scattered throughout marked the journey. Banshee moved slowly, wide, bright eyes taking in everything and nothing. It was surreal. It was goddamn surreal. But it was his past. Or so he was led to understand.

He stepped into an antechamber of sorts. Sealed hatch to his right and ahead. Couldn't go through those. He glanced to his left.

And nearly jumped.

"I'll be damned," he breathed. It was an enormous head, an Exo's head, unlit eyes dispassionate and lifeless. So it was true. The AI really was inside of a giant Exo. The head of one, at least.

A squad of BrayTech security frames kept watch, some armed with RPGs, some with A/Rs. Standard BrayTech fare. They appeared oblivious to his approach.

Banshee-44 took a few cautious steps closer to the construct and stopped at the threshold. He pulled off his helmet and stared at it. If he'd been built to have pseudo-eyelids, he would have blinked long and hard at the head. As he didn't, his optics merely glowed. It made his gaze seem hard and intense.

After a moment, he stuck his free hand in the air in a half-hearted wave at the giant Exo. "Uh." He cocked his head to one side. "Yo."

[lastbluetardis]

Day by Day

Summary: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” The Doctor and Rose take that first step together as they begin to clear the air and reconnect after being left alone in a parallel universe together.

Tentoo x Rose, ~6400 words, Mature

What is this? I wrote something that’s not an AU??? Indeed I did. I was inspired to write Tentoo/Rose after rewatching Journey’s End this weekend, and after finding half of this fic on my laptop’s hard drive. I wrote the first half of this sometime in 2015 and finally finished it this morning. Enjoy!

AO3

They’d been in Pete’s World for a grand total of six hours. Six frustrating, emotionally-draining, confusing hours. Using the newly-obsolete dimension jumpers and some jiggery-pokery of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver—which had not been stolen, thank you very much—they’d managed to teleport themselves directly to the London-based Torchwood offices, where they were greeted enthusiastically by the Torchwood team. Congratulations, handshakes, and hugs were given plentifully and freely; even the Doctor was corralled into the merriment and celebration.

As soon as was polite, though, Rose had grabbed his hand before tugging him and her mother out of the building. Jackie departed their company straight away, not giving either the Doctor or Rose the option of staying with her and Pete. (Jackie knew her daughter would hide from the situation, and was doing her damnedest to make Rose talk to this new Doctor.) Though Jackie did tell Rose quite firmly that she was expected ‘round for dinner one night soon—her little brother would be overjoyed to see her again.

That was how Rose suddenly found herself with a new flatmate and a belly full of butterflies.

The taxi had pulled up to Rose’s home—a small cottage away from the bustle of London that she was renting—and she had guided the Doctor inside.

But rather than sit down and have a much-needed chat about everything that had gone on, they’d cleaned up a little and went straight to bed. In separate beds. In separate rooms.

Sleep didn’t come as easily as Rose would have wished. She should have been able to fall asleep immediately. She’d been awake for over twenty-four hours; she should have been sleeping like the dead. Instead, Rose found herself tossing and turning with nothing but her racing thoughts for company.

So much had happened. She had found the Doctor and lost him again all in the span of a few hours. Only, she hadn’t lost him. He was right down the hall, hopefully having more luck than she was with sleep.

The Doctor was in her flat. The Doctor—her best friend and lost love—was in her flat in the next room over. And here she was, cooped up alone.

Letting out a groan of frustration and exhaustion, Rose flopped onto her back. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and sighed.

When she’d undertaken the Dimension Cannon project, this was not how she had seen things turning out. At all. She had imagined a bit of everything. Her bleakest thoughts were that the Cannon would never work, and she was doomed to die in this universe as every single star eventually winked out. Then there were even bleaker thoughts that she would make it back to the Doctor, only to find he had regenerated into a new body, into a new person who didn’t want her anymore. But at least in that scenario, she imagined they’d saved the universe—the multiverse—and her family would be safe.

However, there were moments she had allowed herself to hope. She allowed herself to imagine that she found him exactly as she left him: tall, thin, tight suit, really great hair and all. She allowed herself to immerse herself in the burning desire and love that she knew would sear through her veins as soon as she’d lay eyes on him for the first time. She imagined being swept into a rib-crushing hug that turned into a heated, bruising snog that turned into some really fantastic sex…

But not in any of her imaginings did she predict this: two Doctors, one of the Doctors coming to live with her while the other left her behind, no TARDIS (yet), no (foreseeable) travelling. And she was still stuck in this godforsaken universe.

At least the company was better this time around, she mused as her thoughts began to turn to the man the next room over. The Doctor was just next door. A white wall still separated them, but between those walls were simple drywall, insulation, and air molecules; there was no impenetrable Void keeping them apart anymore. Just her own stubborn pigheadedness.

Rose’s chest tightened as she remembered the look in his eyes when she’d left him alone in her flat several hours earlier. After a short, cursory tour of his new living environment, she’d made a quick escape, claiming to need a shower and sleep. He’d looked so lost, hurt, and panicked at the thought of being on his own, yet he had forced a smile and agreed wholeheartedly with her. He hadn’t protested, hadn’t asked to stay with her. He’d given her space and time, and she had selfishly taken it.

But why? Why was she hiding from him? She had been looking for him for years, yet the first thing she did was run away.

Cursing softly, Rose flung off the blankets and stepped out of her bedroom into the hallway. The door to the guest room was wide open, and upon peeking in, she saw it was empty. The bed was neatly made up; he obviously hadn’t been in here yet.

Unease flitted through Rose. Surely he was exhausted as she was? He was human now, and would need more rest than he had before. They’d gone through quite a traumatic ordeal, after all. Him especially. He’d gone and split himself in two, for God’s sake. If it was anything like a regeneration, he surely needed to sleep off any lingering stress, lest he make himself ill. Her guts twisted at the thought of him slipping into a coma as he had done that Christmas day after he’d regenerated.

Rose moved down the hall and into the living room. Perhaps he was entertaining himself with the telly? Or the scant collection of books she’d acquired over the nearly four years of existing in this universe. After all, Dickens hadn’t died until 1873 in this world—rather than 1870—and had managed to coax out one last novel before passing. She’d tried reading it herself, but found the material a bit dry and language too foreign for her to thoroughly enjoy by herself.

Before, reading together in the library, snuggled against the Doctor with hot tea and nibbles, had been Rose’s favorite pastime on the TARDIS. He had thoroughly enjoyed narrating books to her, and she had likewise enjoyed listening to him. He’d brought the stories alive in ways she could never have imagined. Quite literally sometimes, seeing as he would often surprise her with trips to go and visit long-dead authors.

Since being trapped in Pete’s World, reading by herself had only left her feeling hollow and alone.

Anyway. Rose was sure the Doctor would have snatched that particular book right up. She was eager to visit a bookstore or library with him now; she was dying to know if any of their old favorite authors had produced anything new or different in this universe. Perhaps they could resume their habit of reading together every night before bed. She would like that very much, and hoped he would as well.

With every step down the hall, her excitement grew. A smile was already tugging up the corners of her mouth in preparation of seeing him, but it slipped when she found her living room as empty as the guest bedroom.

Where is he?

She noticed with some satisfaction that the unique-to-this-universe Dickens novel was resting on the coffee table, a bookmark tucked into the pages about a quarter of the way through. But the satisfaction disappeared, only to be replaced with dread.

Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t have left without telling her? A peek into the kitchen told her he wasn’t there either. Nor was he in the loo.

“Doctor?” she called out, her voice trembling. 

No answer. But before she could work herself into a panic, she glimpsed his red Chucks strewn haphazardly by the front door. She breathed out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without shoes.

She scrubbed her hands over her eyes, feeling utterly exhausted suddenly. She wondered if she should just go back to bed, but she quickly decided against it. They really, really ought to have a chat about their circumstances and expectations of each other. Yes, she wanted him here with her, but only if he wanted it too. Yes, she was happy to be with him again even though part of her heart was breaking at being abandoned by the other Doctor.

The middle of the night probably wasn’t ideal for that conversation, but at least it might help clear the air a bit. If they were both awake at this ungodly hour, there was no reason not to have this conversation. And at the very least, she really ought to apologize for running away from him like she’d done.

But a conversation required two people, and for all intents and purposes, her flat was empty. Where on Earth could the Doctor have gone?

He hadn’t been taken, had he? By some alien species that recognized him as alien? Was he even still alien? He said his body was human, but he still had a Time Lord’s consciousness. A Time Lord’s memories. Would that show up as alien?

Before she could call Torchwood to track him down, Rose noticed the door to her back garden was unlocked. She strode to the door and nudged aside the curtains. Bingo. A dark, familiar, lanky form was sprawled on one of her lounge chairs. He looked so small, sitting out there by himself underneath the stars he used to travel.

Her heart twinged. How hard must this be for him?

Sighing, Rose turned away from the door. As much as she ached to go and join him, she needed a minute. She needed to organize her thoughts and emotions, lest she simultaneously hug him and rage at him. No, she needed to get her anger and hurt in check first. There would be time to work through that later, but for now, she allowed herself to be filled up with the joy of being with the Doctor again.

To busy her hands, Rose filled the kettle and set about making tea. She pulled down two bags of chamomile tea and worked on making it to each of their likings. At least, she made it according to how he used to like his tea. She wasn’t sure if his tastes had changed, either from time or from becoming human.

With the tea finished, Rose rummaged around her bare cabinets for a box of her favorite biscuits. Tucking the box beneath her arm, she carefully picked up both mugs and headed outside. She struggled with the door for a few seconds until she was able to push down on the handle with her elbow.

The summer night was cool and there was a gentle breeze that nipped at her nose and cheeks. She wished she’d thought to put on a dressing gown; she was soon shivering in her pajama shorts and t-shirt. She wondered if the Doctor was cold. She didn’t know how long he’d been sitting out here, and he was dressed similarly to her: in boxer-briefs and a shirt. She winced when she realized it was the same shirt he’d been wearing beneath his suit. They really needed to get clothes for him.

She took a selfish minute to observe him, to drink in every inch of him before she approached. He must have heard her, because he turned his head. A small smile tugged up a corner of his mouth as she set the mugs and biscuits on the table beside him.

“Hello,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

“Hello.”

“I, er, made tea,” she said awkwardly, wringing her fingers in front of herself. “May I join you?”

“I would like that,” he said. He hovered his fingers over the two mugs and looked up at her questioningly. She pointed to his tea and watched as he took a long gulp, not seeming to care if the hot liquid scalded his throat. He smacked his lips appreciatively. “You remembered how I take it.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “I was worried that you might not take it the same way.” She picked up her own mug and took a more cautious sip than he had. “But you’re still you, right?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course!” He cleared his throat, then lowered his voice to something a little more appropriate for the quiet night air. “I meant… it’s been a while, is all. Didn’t know if you’d remember something as silly as how I take my tea.”

“I remember everything about you,” Rose murmured, hiding behind a sip of tea.

His face softened.

They slipped into an awkward silence, with each of them nursing their own cups of tea. Rose was painfully aware that she was just standing there like a nutter.

“D’you…”

“Can I…”

They chuckled nervously, and Rose wanted to rip out her hair. Why was everything so stiff and awkward between them? Why did this feel like meeting up with her ex, rather than her lover whom she’d been parted from for four years?

“You first,” the Doctor prompted. He glanced sidelong at the box of biscuits.

Rose grabbed the box and opened it one-handed before nudging it towards him. He beamed at her and didn’t waste any time with grabbing a biscuit and stuffing it whole into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out comically.

Her heart squeezed with love for him, and tears inexplicably burned her eyes. Apart from the layer of tension between the two of them and their current location, it could have been any other night aboard the TARDIS with them sharing late night tea and biscuits before bed.

But there was a layer of tension between them. And they weren’t in the TARDIS.

“‘Oo were sch’aying?” he mumbled as he chewed his biscuit.

The confidence Rose had built up suddenly left her. “S’nothing. Wanted to know if you wanted company. But you looked deep in thought. Don’t want to interrupt. Just thought you might like some tea, though. It gets a bit cold out here.”

Rose realized she was rambling and scrambled to make an escape. “I’ll let you get back to… whatever it was you were doing.”

With her face burning from embarrassment and annoyance at her own cowardice, Rose was about to turn around when cold fingers wrapped around her forearm, halting her exit. She took a deep breath, willing her face to cool down, before turning towards him.

The Doctor was wearing a similar expression to the one he had when she left him alone in her flat earlier that evening. His eyebrows were knitted together, his mouth was drawn up tight into a thin, white line, and his eyes were so deep, so fathomless, and so sad it made her breath catch.

He opened his mouth to say something, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, but nothing came out. He exhaled in a rush, and tried again. Swallowing deeply, he averted his gaze from hers as he asked softly, “Stay? Please?”

He finally dropped his hand from her arm, moving it to cradle his mug of tea. He kept his eyes downcast, staring into the milky liquid, tracing the rim of the mug with his index finger.

The waver in his voice as well as the uncertainty shattered any resolve Rose had of fleeing back to her room. She placed her half-drunk mug of tea on the table and stepped up to him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze, then gave him a hug. Standing as she was, she towered over him for once. His shoulders were at her stomach, his head at her breasts. She tried not to think too much of that as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and held him. This was the first intimate touch between them since their kiss on the beach.

The Doctor clutched at her desperately, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and burying his face between her breasts. She was suddenly extremely aware that she was not wearing a bra. A shiver that had nothing to do with the night air rippled through her.

She bent over him and pressed a kiss to his hair. It was just as soft as she remembered.

They stayed like that for an immeasurable moment, with her hunched over him and him stretched up towards her, holding each other as if their lives depended on it.

When Rose’s back began to protest, she stood, shivering as the cool night air replaced his warm, solid body.

“Will you stay?” he asked again.

Rose bit her lip. She really was quite cold, and judging from the goosebumps raising his arm hairs, he was too.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

Before she could overthink it, she leaned down and pecked a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then skipped inside. She shivered when the warm air of her flat kissed her skin. She went to the couch and grabbed the fuzzy blanket balled up in one of the corners. She shook it out as she strode back to the Doctor.

He was sitting in the same position as when she’d left him. She held up the blanket for him to see.

“Budge up a bit,” she said, flapping her hand at him. He blinked, and she rolled her eyes. “Scoot up, and spread your legs. I’ll sit between them. That way we can both share the blanket. Unless…?”

Doubts crept into her mind. This would be a very intimate position for them to sit in. They’d engaged in much more intimate positions before, but that had been years ago.

The Doctor moved quickly, slinging his legs on either side of the lounge chair, leaving room for her between them. 

“Good idea,” he said, patting the seat to encourage her to sit. “I didn’t realize how cold it was. This human body is quite rubbish with the cold.”

Rose carefully lowered herself to the chair, settling between his thighs before she threw the blanket across herself and draped it over his legs and feet. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her middle and tugged her closer until her entire back was flush with his front. A warm tingle bloomed in her stomach.

“That’s better,” the Doctor sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

She pillowed her head against his collarbone and let out a deep breath to relax herself into his arms. His hands rested loosely against her lower abdomen, and before long, his fingers began tracing idle lines across the waistband of her shorts. His lips then pressed ever so softly against her temple before he nuzzled his cheek into the top of her hair.

Rose hadn’t felt this complete in years. Despite the maelstrom of thoughts and other emotions churning through her, the one dominating this moment was utter peace. She loved him so much, had missed him so much, and now she was back with him once more. They still needed to talk, to clear the air between them. She needed to wrap her head around her new reality, to give herself the proper time and space to grieve the loss of the other Doctor, but not right now. Not on such a beautiful, perfect night when she was in the arms of the man she loved.

“I missed you.”

He’d spoken so quietly that if she hadn’t felt the rumble of his chest, she wouldn’t have been sure if he’d spoken at all. She tilted her head up to look at him and saw the depth of his longing in his eyes.

She reached up and cupped his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch.

“I missed you too, Doctor. So much.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Are you, though?”

Her heart squeezed. “Yes. I know I didn’t act like it earlier. And I’m sorry. I really am. But I am very glad you’re here. With me.”

He was silent for a few seconds, then he said, “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting, was it?”

“Not really,” she admitted. His entire body tensed behind hers, but she wouldn’t lie to him. “But I’ll get used to it.”

“Great,” he scoffed, and he slowly withdrew his hands from her hips.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… I expected to be back on the TARDIS, with…”

“With him,” the Doctor bit out.

“You’re the same man,” she said. He hummed noncommittally. “Please, Doctor. Don’t do this. No, this isn’t what I expected, and yes, I’m angry and hurt and confused. But I’m also happy to be with you. I- I love you.”

He slumped back in his chair and ducked his chin to hide his face. For one horrible moment, she thought he was about to reject her, reject what she’d just said.

Instead, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m happy to be with you, too.”

Rose was said nothing for the span of several heartbeats, then she asked, “What happens now?”

The Doctor cocked his head to the side. “Well… we take it day by day, I guess.”

“Together?” Rose couldn’t help but ask.

A faint smile crossed the Doctor’s lips. “Together. Though, first thing’s first, you’re cold. Let’s go inside.”

Rose, who, despite the blanket, was close to shivering in the cold night air, nodded and stood up from the seat. She messily folded the blanket and began gathering up their mugs and the box of biscuits. The Doctor hurriedly jogged to the door and held it open for her. He followed her into the brightly-lit kitchen but stood there awkwardly while she dumped the dregs of their cold tea down the sink and put the biscuits away.

“This is a nice flat,” the Doctor said, glancing around. “You didn’t stay with Pete and Jackie?”

Rose shrugged. “I did for a while. Then needed my own space.” She held out her hand for him, glad when he threaded their fingers together. After the quiet intimacy they’d generated in the garden, she was loath to let any barriers come between them.

“I noticed the new Dickens book,” the Doctor said, pointing with their joined hands when they walked to the living room. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she said. “Is it any good? I tried reading it but, well… The classics were never my favorite.”

“But you let me read them to you all the time,” the Doctor said, sounding a bit affronted. “Why didn’t you ever say anything.”

“I enjoyed listening to you read them to me,” Rose said, squeezing his fingers. “Maybe you could read that one to me? Like we used to?”

“I would like that,” he murmured. “Did you want to start it tonight…?”

“I’m a bit too knackered for that,” she admitted. “I’d probably fall asleep after the first page.”

Rose guided him down the hall and to the guest room. Rather than releasing his hand, she gripped it tighter.

“You could sleep in here, or you can join me in my room,” she said, her voice low. “Your choice.”

“Your room,” he said immediately, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

They untangled her sheets and crawled beneath them. Without speaking, they moved until they were spooned together with the Doctor curled around her as tightly as he could be. His front was flush with her back, his legs tangled in hers. He wrapped his arms around her chest and anchored her firmly to him.

Rose knew this position wouldn’t last the night; no matter how many times they’d fallen asleep tangled together, they always awoke separated the next morning. But for now, Rose relished the closeness, the movements of his chest as he breathed, the tickle of his breath in her ear.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, and the kiss he planted to the sensitive spot just below her ear sent goosebumps prickling through her.

“Night,” she managed, and before she could tell him she loved him, she was asleep.

oOoOo

When Rose next awoke, pale yellow sunlight was filtering through her window. Her head was fuzzy and her eyes gritty, and it took all of a second before the memories of yesterday rushed back to her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the Doctor curled up behind her, wide awake and staring at her. He met her gaze and smiled.

All of a sudden, everything came over Rose at once. Tears burned behind her eyes, making her vision swim before she covered her face with her hands and began sobbing. Sobbing for everything she had lost and everything she had gained. For the years of exhaustion and hard work that led her back to the Doctor and led to the salvation of the universe. For the heartbreak and agony of the Doctor rejecting and abandoning her, and for the joy and love of the Doctor that was now crushing her into his arms.

She cried and cried until it felt like her entire body might break apart from the force of it. And through it all, the Doctor held her. His voice was low and soothing amidst her shuddering breaths, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she appreciated it nevertheless.

It took many long minutes before her tears stopped, and even longer before she felt like she could look at the Doctor. When she finally peeked up at him, he offered her a sweet smile and kissed her forehead gently.

“Feel better?” he asked, drying her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Not really,” she said thickly, her voice scratchy. Her head and body ached, and she felt like she could sleep for another couple of hours.

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” he said, kissing her forehead again.

“Please don’t think I’m unhappy with you. With being with you,” Rose said. “I’m happy you’re here. But I’m furious and heartbroken at him at the same time.”

“I know,” he murmured. He loosed a long exhale then admitted, “I never expected to be able to do this again. To wake up beside you. You were lost to me forever. But here you are.”

The wonder in his voice was almost enough to set her off crying again. She tucked her face closer into his chest until the urge went away.

“We can do this every day. If you want. Fall asleep together. Wake up together.” Her voice was muffled by his shirt, but she knew he’d heard her. 

He shivered and his arms tightened around her. “I would like that very much.”

Rose pulled back just far enough to press a kiss to his Adam’s apple. The muscles of his throat bobbed beneath her lips as she trailed kiss after kiss to his neck. He hummed and sighed, the sounds making his throat vibrate deliciously against her lips.

“Rose,” he groaned.

He pushed at her, pushing her away, making her stop. Her heart dropped. But as soon as she took her face away from his neck, his lips descended on hers. Her surprised exclamation was muffled by his mouth as his lips devoured hers, searching and pushing and pulling in all the best ways.

A violent shudder rippled down her spine, blazing an inferno through her veins that screamed for more, more, more. She had missed this, missed him, missed sharing her body and soul with him as they made love. And she needed him right now.

Needing better leverage than what was being afforded, Rose wrapped her arms around his shoulder and one leg around his hips and pulled. Without breaking the kiss, Rose rolled onto her back, bringing the Doctor with her. He moaned as their bodies aligned perfectly. His hips were cradled in hers, and she felt the burgeoning evidence of what this kiss was doing to him growing against her.

“Rose,” he panted, wrenching his mouth away from hers. “Rose, wait. Is this… do you…?”

“I want this,” she said, cradling his lightly-stubbled cheek in her hands. Her thumbs brushed his kiss-swollen lips. “I want you.”

A helpless little noise escaped his throat before he ducked his head down to catch her lips in his once more. She buried her fingers in his hair, so soft and strong, to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted for him, and their tongues tentatively met in the middle, slipping and gliding against each other, relearning each other after all these years.

An aching heat throbbed between her legs and she shifted restlessly. Hooking her thighs around his hips, she brought him into tighter contact against her. His groan was lost amidst hers as he rubbed against her so deliciously.

“Rose,” he breathed, releasing her lips to trail frantic little kisses along the curve of her jaw. He scraped his teeth along the side of her neck, sending shivers of pleasure sparking across her skin. She tightened her hold of his hair, keeping him where he was and urging him to do it again. He obliged. “I missed you. I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said those words since the beach. She gasped out his name and arched further into him, needing to be closer, closer, closer.

“I love you,” he repeated, kissing and sucking at her neck until Rose was sure there would be a deep red stain across her skin.

The pressure in her gut coiled tighter and tighter the longer they moved together. Their hips arched and rubbed and squirmed, hurtling her closer and closer to the edge. Rose wasn’t sure how much longer she would last when the Doctor’s rhythm faltered and he bit the soft part where her neck met her shoulder.

“R-Rose,” he rasped. “I… sorry, but if we keep going, I’m going to… er, make a real mess of things.”

As much as she would love to continue as they were, she was desperate to feel more of him. They were still fully clothed, for heaven’s sake. Granted, they were each in shorts and a t-shirt, but still. They hadn’t removed anything, though the Doctor’s hands were doing a pretty good job of mapping out any bit of skin he could reach.

“Shift up a bit,” she ordered, lowering her legs from his hips.

“Right, yeah…”

He moved to clamber off of her, but she wrapped her legs around him once more.

“Don’t want to stop,” she said. “Just… freeing up the important bits.”

“Oh… ohhhh.” She had unceremoniously reached into his pants and wrapped her fingers around his hard, throbbing length. His hips stuttered into her touch, and she tried not to give him too much stimulation to send him over the edge. She made sure he didn’t get caught in the elastic of his waistband before she worked his pants halfway down his arse.

“Feels good,” he croaked, thrusting shallowly into her hand.

“It’ll feel better in a minute,” she said, wrenching her own sleep shorts down her legs.

After a whole lot of squirming, Rose managed to free one of her legs from the shorts, letting the fabric dangle at her other thigh. She made very quick work of lining him up and taking him into her.

“Oh… oh Rose,” he hissed, eyes and jaw clenched shut.

She was nearly beyond words at the friction, at the glide of him into her. Her hips undulated against his, working him deeper and deeper until he was seated as far as he could go. The Doctor trembled above her as he held himself still, letting her adjust.

After only a few seconds, Rose couldn’t bear the pressure anymore and she arched into him, wrapping her thighs around his lower back once more. She pressed her feet into his arse to spur him on, and he was all too willing.

It was over embarrassingly quickly, but it was so, so good. When his clever fingers drummed at the sensitive bundle of nerve just above where they were joined, the tightening coil deep in her belly burst outward, spiraling through her entire body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She bowed off the bed, a garbled, wordless cry coming from her throat as she lost herself in her pleasure, in him.

He followed mere seconds later, his rhythm absolutely nonexistent as he worked for his release. It shattered through him in a rush of grunted curses and a sigh of her name as he pulsed and throbbed deep within her.

The world dissolved around her. There was nothing except for her and him, tangled together in the ultimate expression of love and unity. Rose trembled with aftershocks as her mind, for the first time in a long time, went utterly blank.

The Doctor breathed harshly at her breast, his forehead on her collarbone. His hair tickled her nose, and she brushed it away.

His arms trembled as he held himself above her, still seated inside of her. It was half a minute before he pressed a kiss to her chest and rolled onto his side, slipping out of her. She winced and grimaced, but followed him, tucking herself into his side. She threw a leg over one of his, careful not to accidentally knee him in a very sensitive area.

She was sure they looked slightly ridiculous. Her shorts were still dangling off of one of her legs and his boxers were barely tugged off his hips, and both their shirts were still on but twisted from their movements.

But Rose wouldn’t have had it any other way.

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his jaw, then to the corner of his mouth. The Doctor hummed and turned his head to meet her kiss.

“That was really rather brilliant, wasn’t it?” A self-satisfied smile played across his lips.

“Yeah, it was,” she agreed, snuggling beside him.

“Er… rather messy, though,” he said, beginning to squirm.

Rose breathed out a laugh. Thank God. Their combined fluids were rapidly cooling between her legs and becoming rather… sticky.

“A little bit,” she answered. And though she really wasn’t in the mood for it, she knew she ought to clean up.

As though he read her mind, he said, “Do you want to… erm, take care of things? Well. I should as well. It’s a bit… damp. Anyway. Do you maybe want to… share? A shower? With me?”

Rose peered up at him; he was looking directly at the ceiling. She rolled her eyes. After what they’d just done together, he was worried she would reject the intimacy of a shower?

“That sounds brilliant,” she said, kissing his chest.

She wriggled off the bed, and let her shorts finally fall to the floor. The Doctor very gingerly worked his boxers down his legs.

“I’m gonna need clothes,” he said, looking down at his discarded pants. “I’ve got no clothes. Definitely gonna need clothes. And- and money, I s’pose, to buy clothes. Blimey. Money. I’ve got no money. Never needed it, but now I do. You’ve got bills, so now I do too. Money. I’m gonna need a job, and a name for identification, and papers, and…”

The Doctor’s eyes widened in his growing panic and his chest began rising and falling as his breathing went shallow and rapid. She stepped up to him and took his hands in hers, squeezing them once, before she dropped them to wrap her arms around his waist. He stood somewhat stiffly, but as Rose stroked his back gently, his muscles unlocked.

“We’ll take it day by day, yeah?” she said, echoing his words from the night before. “Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, if we need to. We’ll get everything sorted out. I’ll text Mum and ask her to bring a change of clothes for you, then we can think about going shopping. But for right now, you and I are gonna get a shower, then we’re gonna eat breakfast.”

“Most important meal of the day,” he quipped weakly. He hugged her tightly and tucked his face into the curtain of her hair. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Doctor. D’you think I didn’t have the same freak out when I first got here?” she asked. 

“I’m not freaking out,” he muttered petulantly.

She ignored him and continued. “We had to invent a whole new person for me. And raise Mum from the dead. We can do the same for you.” She paused and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay, y’know. To not be okay.”

The Doctor exhaled raggedly. “I know. But I don’t want you to feel like I regret being here. Because I don’t. Being with you again is… it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She smiled into his neck. “Me too. But we’ve got a lot to adjust to.”

“Day by day,” he murmured.

“Together,” she added.

He finally pulled away from the embrace. His eyes hadn’t fully lost their panicked gleam, but it was definitely more muted. She understood all too well that anxiety.

Though their morning was utterly perfect and she was utterly content, Rose knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. Too much had happened and so much had changed. There were so many emotions and hurts to sort through, and she knew some days would be worse than others.

But she also knew some days would be better than others. Some days would be perfect. And that would make it all worth it. Those days would be the days she would be fighting for when the fragile peace between them eventually cracked. But she had faith in herself and faith in him that they could work together to mend any breaks and piece themselves back together again, stronger than they ever were before.

As if he could see exactly what she was thinking, he smiled at her. His smile was a paradoxical mixture of sorrow and longing and joy; she was relieved he was on the same page, that he didn’t expect everything from here on out to be sunshine and rainbows. It would take work, on both their parts.

The Doctor reached out to cradle her cheeks in his palms. She leaned into the touch. His thumbs stroked her lips, then her cheeks as he ducked his head down towards hers. He skated the tip of his nose along hers, and hovered with his lips barely a centimeter away from hers.

“Together,” he affirmed, before he pressed his lips to hers to seal the promise of their forever.

[attempting-writer]

MLxDC stuff

So I've been thinking about @ozmav 's Maribat AU.

And I've seen one where Marinette is actually Mar'i in multiple forms, but now that I'm thinking about it. If we're including the whole DC universe into it... What if we just made Marinette a bit OP- just a lil bit- with KRYPTONIAN MARINETTE AU?

"ARTISANS

Imaginative and passionate. A guild for creatives of all types. Members of the Artisans Guild include architects, fashion designers, writers, and performers."

(I got this from https://www.syfy.com/krypton/descendants/)

⦁ In this AU Marinette is descended from the "Artisan guild"-don't actually know how it works #fakefan-, which would explain Mari's creative tendencies.

⦁ Her family shuttled babynette out, just before Krypton's destruction (Just like you know who), but because of time-space-travel-jiggery-pokery she arrives much later than Superman does.

⦁ Like Jonathan Kent is a few months old when she lands, still a babe, and Superman hears her entering the atmosphere over Italy and flies over to where it lands.

⦁ He finds that Tom and Sabine had already investigated the crash as they were picnicking on their honeymoon, now with a baby Kryptonian in tow.

⦁ Sabine is infertile and they were going to adopt anyways.

⦁ Clark gets to know them and finds that he can't take the child away from them, so he decides to be a sort of mentor to help her learn to control her powers, becoming "Uncle Clark".

⦁ They know he's supes and they meet up regularly, Jon and Marinette are like cousins at this point.

⦁ At 10 her parents come clean with her alien origins.

⦁ Her life goes along with canon for a while, even Chloe still bullies her and everything.

⦁ Until orgins episode happens, when she saves Fu from the street, she habitually accidentally sees the miraculous boxes in his pokets with the earrings and ring, but ignores it, because it's not her business.

⦁ Friendmaking with Alya is still normal and akuma happens like normal, she finds the box in her room, but when she meets Tikki, she regretfully refuses it.

⦁ She doesn't explain why to Tikki, but she uses an excuse along the lines of "I can't do it. My ears aren't even pierced." Not that they could be in the first place ;P.

⦁ She manages to find Fu again(xray vision) and return the box with earrings to him.

⦁ He asks how she found him and how she knew that it was him that left it in her room, but she doesn't answer beyond a string of apologies and "I just can't"s.

⦁ Fu finds a new holder, maybe Rose, I like the idea of Rose being a hero.

⦁ Anyway, Stoneheart happens and Marinette doesn't do anything about it, simply sitting in the background and staying out of the way. (the butterfly is still not purified the first time)

⦁ Stonehart II the electric boogaloo comes around and Marinette is regretting staying out of the way.

⦁ She decides to make her way to her room and dig something out of her closet that she made a month ago, simply because she was bored and her Uncle was in town.

⦁ It's a supersuit like Superman's but hers has the above sigil and it's more pink and blue rather than red and blue.

⦁ She reties her hair into a low ponytail and puts on a mask for added identity protection and flies out to help.

⦁ She's still the one to save Chloe and Chloe still winds up super gay for in-mask Marinette.

⦁ After the fight, the ladybug still makes the speech, but chat is making goo goo eyes at the cute blue-haired girl that can fly.

⦁ Chat: "So what's your miraculous of?"

Ladybug: "Yeah, I can't tell from the way you fight."

Superette (I need to think of a better name): "What's a miraculous?" Didn't pay attention to what Tikki said about the ladybug miraculous powers and yadda yadda.

⦁ Justice league hear about a new group of young superheroes fighting a new supervillain in france and have a meeting about it, O365 Powerpoint with shitty transitions and everything.

Batman Doesn't believe it because their satellites don't show any property damage.

Wonderwoman is vouching for them as she recognizes that the Miraculous are real.

Superman is hesitant to believe it until their monitor shows the miraculous duo fighting alongside a very specific girl, with a very specific sigil on her costume, and a very specific set of powers.

⦁ Clark stares dumbfoundedly at the screen. clark.exe has stopped functioning.