#also what even is the point of pretending you’re into monsterfucking for the whole

[snail-speed]

Google how do I tell monsterfuckers that, despite their colorful language, they’re still just trying to sell me on dub/non-con bullshit

[thebadtimewolf]

jfc why are your takes on docrose so negative all the time???? stop pretending you like rose and/or docrose when your takes on them are so similar to anti takes. esp with this “tenrose bland” “romantic ten/donna” “hahaha ten became the tlv for donna and not for rose” “why do you guys ship rose with the doctor when she was so young” typa bs that i have seen you occasionally coming up with under ten/docrose content for quite sometime now. and stop pretending you love nine/rose as well cos’ no one is having it. just keep your stupid, brain-dead takes the fuck away from rose / docrose content. keep them to yourself. you’re not fooling anyone with your billie pfp. istg you’re so annoying

hey i thought you blocked me so why are you complaining? anyway.

brain dead ahaha! because what how many dw stories involving near death experiences or full death of one or someone else's brain. i know you may unintentionally stumble into that. But. Like. I find that story theme neat.

hey why is the one time rose got to kiss the alien dr as herself with full autonomy of her mind and body was CUT FROM THE AUDIOBOOK BUT WE GOT

SEVERAL SEVERAL STORIES WHERE A WHOLE ASS ENTITY GOT TO SMOOCH HIM WHILE USING HER BODY LIKE A HUMAN MEAT SUIT. WHY. WHY IS THAT.

like i dunno about you but i would like rose marion tyler the vampire-human to actually be the monsterfucker we were promised twice (NINE AND TEN) and we only got with river. who is doing all the heavy lifting by herself.

antis just dont like rose tyler. even when she breathes. even when she don't.

i want MONSTERFUCKER ROSE TYLER. FUCKER OF FATHER TIME HERSELF ROSE MARION TYLER. THE ONE THAT PEGS TIME'S CHAMPION (the alien, the titular question of the show) ROSE TYLER THAT WE WERE PROMISED. AND ROBBED.

i dont want him fucking a memory of a shop girl. i dont want fucking the tardis possessing said shop girl or lady cassandra possessing the shop girl or THE LITERAL BOMB THAT SLAUGHTERED HIS OWN KIND. i dont want fanfic. i dont want tentoo (i love you but no. um most of his screentime was in torchwood and with jack and martha. as a hand. no. congrats on the kid tho).

you settled for crumbs. dust. and the rot that you had to portion out to your starved near-carcass form as if it were just as a warm, filling feast fit for the cold like the ones in the paper images you salivate over. like river. like weirdly the tenth doctor adventures with donna (big finish seriously this anon has a good point why are you shipping donna and ten. i mean manifesting clearly works because ✨️60th✨️) forever out of reach. forever in the cycle of heteronormative monoamorous disappointment. lackluster strictly-audio sexual tension. yet that taunt of promise like ten dangling the key to martha, you too with eager hands of rotted crumb after 9 day-past-expiry-date crumb to the point where crumb has only become the delusion of a 8 course meal in your rose-colored eyes.

free yourself. break free. let dame rose marion tyler be the polyamorous monsterfucker she desired to be but moffat et al refused through mockery and misogyny and also abuse (? seriously why is every other ninerose comic is her killing nine and traumatizing jack like wtf bbc wtf im supposed to believe SHE loved HIM?? bbc u ok????)

just because you settled for dust happily so doesnt mean I HAVE TO.

tenrose audios are romantically bland tho. great story. I LOVE THE FRENCH ONE AND THE JUDOON ONE IM I LOVE WHEN THEY HAVE WITTY BANTER LIKE IN LOVE AND MONSTERS AND NEW EARTH AND SCHOOL REUNION. tho in the audios by big finish: they are romantically bland. i mean unless ur into emotionally deprived edging in such a severe degree that you too would nearly batman-jump jack harkness', adam mitchell's, and tentoo's bones or shoot the doctor on first sight with no heaitation until the next issue drops. then good for you! they are great platonically in the big finish audios but im waiting for a ninerose audio from big finish. im clinging.

but yeah, the other references you mentioned i've made - thats all big finish.

i stand by "why do you guys ship the doctor with someone so young" bit. because literally martha, donna, clara, river, amy, rory, jack, yaz (all the ones that are shipped with the dr that are written really scarily well) ARE ALL OLDER THAN ROSE WHEN SHE FIRST MET THE DOCTOR. SHES THE BABY AND THATS EVEN WORSE BECAUSE RIVER WAS SHOWN AS A LITERAL BABY ONSCREEN. YEARS AFTER THEM ALL AND SHES THE OLDER ONE?? BESIDES JACK???

HELL, MISSY; THE MASTER - PICK. A. FACE.

hell the entire whoniverse is canonically being told through the curator's recountence of the events WHICH MEANS THAT CHARACTER - THE DOCTOR CHARACTER FROM THE FAR FUTURE - SUMMED UP HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH ROSE TYLER LIKE WHAT WE AS THE AUDIENCE GET IN TERMS OF AUDIOS, BOOKS, AUDIOBOOKS, SHORT STORIES, LITTLE COMIC FUNNIES, LIL CHARACTER SUMMARY DESCRIPTIONS IN COMIC AND ON BACK OF MERCHANDISE LIKE THIS????

um. i dont know about you. but once you see it like that? in that grand scheme? yeah im going point it out. even the curator dont ship it. like do you not grasp that? i do! thats what devastated me! even the titular character dont ship it anymore because the alien moved on. the dr is known to us to break the 4th wall because "what would they be without their audience" - give us a little rose memory bit by bit. crumb by crumb. dust by dust.

but see im in too deep, im melting into the walls. just like docrose is but another indistinguishable pore along their skin, so is every take. or theory. i may have. And the dr's black now. So like every dr x poc companion ship, theyll be ignored or villified.

and you seem like the person that would ignore or villify 15 (or really any of them, anonymous that sounds like 2013ish era tumblr - remember when we didnt have ads here?)

but yeah. yall settled for dust, ya get dust. sorry ur still bitter on the doctorrose truth pill but yeah. she left a human to settle for a human even though being heavily promoted to romance essentially an eldritch bring that has snapped people's necks before the war just for fun or in spontaneous burst of emotion. again for fun.

sorry that im the only one complaining about a writing issue of a tv character.

ON MY ROLEPLAY BLOG OF MY ORIGINAL TIME LORD CHARACTER WITH A BILLIE PIPER FACECLAIM.

my takes will stop being negative when billie piper comes back as a doctor who villain (i want her as the new master. thats the exact villain i am referring to. dig that knife in. we all seen collateral and penny dreadful and her clown self in i hate suzie SHES GOT THE RANGE. LET HER BE THE MASTER PLEASE. THE CLOSEST WE GOT WAS THE MOMENT. AND SHE WAS JUST SHALKA!MASTER REDUX)

[kaesaaurelia]

nature is healing

For @whumptober2020 day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops (specifically "accidents" and "hunting season").

Continues on from day two, wherein Aziraphale was kidnapped by very health-conscious Satanists, day nine, wherein we find out how Crowley got there, and what the Satanists are after, day ten, wherein the Satanists took a lot of Aziraphale’s blood and made a potion, day sixteen, wherein they fed the potion to Crowley, who is no longer thinking clearly, and not entirely sure what he should do with this delicious prey the Satanists have given him, day twenty-one, wherein Aziraphale would be a very happy monsterfucker but being bitten by a venomous snake is a bit much, and day twenty-five, wherein Crowley is himself once more, and Aziraphale gets them both free.

Aziraphale/Crowley; not explicit, but many allusions to sex, xeno, and sex pollen; also discussion of 2020 Stuff.  Implication of offscreen physical violence and psychological torment.

Aziraphale watched Crowley slither off, and then sat in one of the very uncomfortable, badly-warped pews of the ruined church to clear his head for a few moments. Poor thing, he was all wound up now. At least maybe he could take some of that aggression out on the Satanists.

What happened after that... well. Aziraphale would try not to get his hopes up too much, but he thought that probably after this he had learned his lesson about hoping for Crowley to break the rules and come see him during quarantine.

Aziraphale overheard shouting from outside the ruined church. He miraculously replaced some of his lost blood -- not all of it at once, that didn't always go well -- and wandered outside to see what the ruckus was about.

He poked his head out of the door to the church and saw Crowley, still extraordinarily serpentine, gripping the leader of the Satanists by the neck and holding him about a foot off the ground.

Crowley was speaking too quietly for Aziraphale to hear, but he imagined that whatever he'd said to the fellow must have hit home, because he was shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. Crowley shook his head in disgust and slithered away. He was terribly handsome, Aziraphale couldn't help but think. Although he did hope Crowley wasn't stuck that way; he'd be so put out about having to refit his car so he could drive it without feet. And there would be no more of those very tight trousers he'd been wearing for the past few decades.

Aziraphale supposed he ought to go and offer comfort to the Satanist, even though the fellow had tried to kill him; it was only polite. "Hello," he said, ambling over to the man, who was still sitting in the middle of a dirt path.

"I'm sorry, I'm -- I'm sorry!" the man told him, shivering. He began to sob.

"Yes, well, all water under the bridge," said Aziraphale, agreeably. He ignored a horrified screech from another one of the Satanists. Might've been the one who'd been looking forward to the fires, now Aziraphale thought about it. He decided that that wasn't important. Crowley would do what he felt was best. But a lovely thought occurred to him. "You don't happen to have a copy of that recipe you used, do you? For reference," he added quickly, "not to use, obviously." And, in fairness, this was not entirely a lie; he wanted to see if it had any nasty side effects that might hurt Crowley down the road. But, also, if... if there weren't any nasty side effects, and if Crowley was amenable...

"I'm -- oh, oh, god, I'm sorry," said the Satanist, wiping his tears away on the very elaborately-embroidered sleeves of his robe and reaching one shaky hand inside his robe to pull out a worn, folded scrap of paper.

"Thank you very much," said Aziraphale, smiling at the Satanist.  But the man didn't stop weeping, and Aziraphale's face fell. "Good Lord, what did he do to you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't -- I didn't want --"

Aziraphale cut him off by putting a hand to the man's forehead and looking inside him. "Ah," he said. "I see. Well. You did want that, didn't you? In a way."

"I'm sorry!" he said, lost in his own head.

Aziraphale knew he would gradually come back to himself, but he'd always remember having slain two people in a poorly thought-out but surprisingly effective Satanic ritual, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. "Chin up," he told the man. "At least now you know you're not cut out for this sort of thing. Takes some of us a lot longer to work that out." And he wandered off towards the van.

"No, no, please!" he heard somebody shout. Wherever that unfortunate cultist and Crowley were, Aziraphale couldn't see them, and he ignored the shouting as he leaned up against the van they'd kidnapped him with and perused the recipe.

It did not appear to be designed with an angel in mind; that little wrinkle had been added by the Satanists. In fact, Aziraphale couldn't really tell if this was a ritual to get a demon to go after somebody you didn't like, or a ritual to summon up a demon for... personal and private amusements. Aziraphale felt it would have been easier to just go to an appropriate venue -- a private club, say -- and engage in polite conversations and lovely meals and let things take their course, if one was lonely in this particular way. He did not pretend to understand the ways of human demonologists, though. And he couldn't really fault them for finding demons attractive.

"Help! Somebody? Anybody!" a man cried in the distance.

There'd been six cultists; Crowley had dealt with four of them. Aziraphale still had a bit of time. He squinted at the recipe.

Was it possible -- oh no, Aziraphale thought, that was silly, why would anyone do that?

Desperation, perhaps? And a lack of knowledge of the fundamentals?

It had been an awfully bad year.

Given that, Aziraphale began to suspect that the Satanists' precursors had failed to keep particularly good records, and these particular ones, in their desire to quickly pull together a ritual to make things better, had accidentally combined two potions; one to set a vicious demon against one's enemies, and the other to summon an amorous demon. And now poor Crowley was a bit of both.

His eyes settled on the note at the bottom. Effects to last until demon has taken (?) its target.  And underneath that, with an arrow pointing at the word taken, the same hand had written How is this defined???

Aziraphale could think of several ways he might have defined taken in this context, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"No, no, let me go!  I’ll give you anything!  Please, don’t hurt me!" Aziraphale heard one of the Satanists shout.  That was number five.  He supposed he ought to be getting ready to go, then.

Aziraphale opened the door to the van, and then remembered that these things needed keys to start, too.  Of course, he could just make the thing start, but he was woozy and he'd rather just have the keys.

He wandered back to the head of the cultists.  "So sorry to trouble you again," he said, "but I'm going to need to borrow the keys to your van."

Apologizing and sobbing, the man fumbled around for a few moments before producing a handful of jangling keys.

"Thank you!" said Aziraphale, brightly, and left him alone again to go to the van.  He wondered if there were any snacks in it.  That was supposed to help with blood loss, wasn't it?  Aziraphale thought he'd earned it.

He was just opening the back of the van to look when he heard Crowley shout, "Angel!"  He looked to see Crowley slithering over, carrying the last Satanist by the scruff of her jacket.  It was the one called Gemma, who'd got all the ingredients for the potion.  "That'ss the lot of them."

"I thought you were going to deal with them all," said Aziraphale, frowning at her.  "What do you expect me to do, I'm not going to smite anyone."

Crowley dumped her on the ground in front of the van.  "No, you idiot, 'coursse I don't want you to ssmite her, but we need a driver.  I can't drive like thiss," he said, gesturing down at his scaly torso.

"Well -- I mean... I could do it," said Aziraphale, feeling a bit overlooked.

"No, no, no, angel, have you even got a licssensse?" Crowley asked.

"Have you?" Aziraphale asked; he was going to be very surprised if the answer was yes.

"That'ss not the point," Crowley said.

"Well, how hard can it be?  I've watched you drive plenty of times," said Aziraphale.  “You barely even look at the road.  And you take your hands off the wheel all the time.”

Crowley looked taken aback by this.  "How -- how hard can it -- angel, what'ss -- why do you --"

"Excuse me?" Gemma asked, brushing herself off and standing.  "Hey!  Hello?"

"Thiss iss not your problem," said Crowley, waving her off.  "Angel, do you want to learn to drive?" he asked.  "Becausse I'd -- I'd be willing to show you -- but right now I'm in no sstate to --"

"Excuse me," said Gemma, again.

"Not now," Aziraphale snapped at her.  He turned back to Crowley.  "I don't really want to drive, only -- is she even willing to do it?"

"Willing doessn't really come into it," said Crowley.  "She wasss part of thiss whole thing and she'ss not horrible enough to punish in any of the ways I could think of sso --"

"Fuck's sake, I'll drive, I haven't got transportation otherwise," said Gemma.  She grabbed the keys from Aziraphale.  "Thank you," she said, and stomped around the other side of the van to get into the driver's seat.

"Well.  That'ss ssettled, issn't it," said Crowley, smugly.

"Out of curiosity, what exactly did you do to the others?  And why didn't you do it to her?"

"I gave them all exactly what they thought they wanted," said Crowley, "but then..."  He rolled his eyes.  "I found her hiding in a tree trying to get recsseption sso she could look up how to de-esscalate a demon ssummoning without phoning the police."

Aziraphale processed this.  "De... escalate?"

"All she sseemed to want out of thiss wass a fun ssocial event without loadss of people about, and then they sstuck her with the grocsseriess and she felt obligated.  D'you know, she wass the virgin ssacrifice Mr. Fancssy Robess mentioned earlier?"

Aziraphale made a face.  "Oh dear."

"Apparently Ssatanisstss are rubbish in bed, though, which, I mean, I could've told her that," said Crowley.  "I told her to get an app or ssomething."

"Or, you know... mail order... devices," said Aziraphale, trying to strike a balance between sounding very worldly and not sounding like someone who'd actually sampled such devices.  He tried especially to not sound like he'd gone with mail order because the devices he wanted were too esoteric for the shop next door to carry.

Crowley grinned.  "You gonna give her ssome recommendationss, angel?" he asked.

"No!  No," said Aziraphale, firmly.

"Come on, let'ss get back to London," said Crowley.  "I can't turn back -- I tried -- sso I think I'd better ride in the back where there's room.  You can be in the front, keep her out of trouble, ssort of thing," he suggested.

"Of course," said Aziraphale.  "And... about changing back... I think you had better come stay with me at the bookshop until we sort that out."

"I... I don't think that'ss a good idea," said Crowley.  He looked very worried about this, for some reason.

"I got the recipe for their nasty little potion, and I think I know how to get you turned back," said Aziraphale.  "But I'd rather discuss that in private.  So.  Have her drop us both off at the bookshop?"

Crowley looked pensive.  "Yeah," he said, finally.  "All right."

"It'll be all right, Crowley," said Aziraphale, smiling at him.  "And if it isn't, you know, we'll just... find a way to make everyone think you're normal."

"We will, will we?" Crowley asked.

"The snake people of London are returning to terrorize the streets in vintage cars once again," said Aziraphale, loftily.  "Nature is healing."

It was the first genuine smile he'd got out of Crowley in -- well, in months, actually.  So that was something, anyway.

[next part]