#i miss writing thasmin in like................that space

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

the beach conversation is insane actually im always being so mean to 13 for how closed off she is but it's insane what she does here like "ive never been able to", "it's what my life is", "not because i dont want to"

shes like sorry yaz i cant give you much but lets play doctors and students and reenact the anatomy lesson dr nicolaes tulp you be the doctor and the students and i'll be the body hang on let me hold up a lamp so you can see what we're doing

shes like sorry yaz i cant give you much i locked my hearts in this rusty vault and lost the keys but if i had a spare i would give you it i swear i promise i know thats not enough but i'd give it to you

"i cant fix myself" is how she starts. "i'll be fine, in the end, hopefully" she says like an hour after regenerating after describing just how much it fucks her up and how scary it is and how painful and how much of a gamble, really, how much of a leap of faith and hoping for the best, hoping for that net to appear because if it doesnt......... theres no backup

are you alright, doctor? are you okay? yaz has asked a hundred times without getting an answer. and now she finally does and it seems to recontextualise every dodge that has come before. stop asking, it's not the end yet, theres still time, a little more patience, i will figure it out, i will be able to give you a yes eventually im sure of it.

but now it is the end, regeneration looms again, time is running out, and this endlessly delayed answer sounds like a resignation. i cant do it. not in time. maybe not ever. but definitely not before the plane crashes and i take you down with me. i broke the universe and i cant fix it. it's too late. i dawdled too much.

and what this could have been, but isnt, because neither of them take it this way, think of it this way, because theyre too much alike, and not like this at all, but what this could have been, in intention and reception, is a request for help. i give up, i cant figure this out, but can you? the doctor doesnt mean this, and yaz has always been too attentive to the limits, too respectful of the doctor's boundaries (from "who, me? no. never doubted. don't know what you mean" in ghost monument to "can we just live in the present") to misinterpret it this way. so theyre on the same page. a page, as always, decided on by the doctor. but it does make the perfect set up for the finale

because i do think, sort of, that yaz fixed it. not you know the millennia of trauma but the specific inability of 13 to trust people. the clara/river/missy/bill my-friends-die-or-are-not-what-they-seem-or-both cant-hold-anyones-hand-but-my-own inability to trust her friends are her friends and they will not like explode into gore and viscera if she touches them (which now that ive said it i bet is what she has nightmares about. perfect match with what i think yaz has nightmares about which is the doctor exploding into gore and viscera and not being able to do anything abt it. actually the best idea i think ive ever written abt what yaz has nightmares about is "or you take off your coat and youre wearing dynamite", but i digress) that, i think yaz sort of fixes when she saves the doctor and saves the world and i think if 13 had lived she'd have trusted yaz after that in a way she couldnt before and maybe even that realisation of "you saved my life" in that weird malleable state of post-pseudoregeneration might have had a hand in why 14 is the way he is

[my-ghost-monument]

after nearly seven months of struggling, I finally got something written for thasmin!!!!

is it any of the ideas I wanted to do? no. but do I like it even still? yes.

No idea when I'll get to post it though - I wanted to have something done for august (there's a date I'd like to commermerate with fan fic) and are the chances high I'll be able to write anything else? considering the last seven months...

either way. A finished fan fic, finally! I've missed my space girlfriends

[alphabet-mafietta]

A little rant about the DW season 13 finale…

Not being funny but it’s taken to Jodie’s last episode of her last full season for Chibnall to actually watch Who and write her as the doctor we all knew and loved (and clearly, we could see from that episode, Jodie could play, perfectly).

Jodie is a cracking actress and I love that she’s the doctor and when she gets to shine, boy does she shine!

I think she’s got exactly the same qualities Tennant brought to the role, equally able to play the dramatic as the comedic (and she’s genuinely really funny - we caught a glimpse of cheeky Ten in that final ep which was brilliant!) BUT the writing post her first ever episode has just been a bit crap and that’s on Chibnall. Chibnall insisting on having different writers with no Who experience write each episode to diversify the writing room made the previous 2 seasons really clunky with little in the way of stand out episodes and minimal character development. It’s like the writers sat down, read a brief synopsis of the characters and were then allowed to write an episode and it really didn’t work.

I haven’t recognised this doctor for the past 2 seasons I didn’t recognise the dynamic between the companions and the doctor (why did we need Yaz AND Graham AND Ryan?!) - I just couldn’t stomach the doctor needing her “fam” to get things done/save the universe etc when 9, 10, 11 and 12 were able to do this, in the most part, single handed.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Yaz, she’s a good companion (she’s obvs not up there with Donna or Clara but hey) but they gave that character far too much of the hero action when she should have been there supporting the doctor and keeping her morals in check not piloting the Tardis and coming up with clever solutions to mind bending problems only a Time Lord would know. Let’s not forget, Yaz is a human ex-police officer, not an alien with experience of the universe, space travel or Time Lords for that matter! this didn’t work either.

What did work was separating the doctor from her “fam” and letting her get on with saving the universe in her own clever way and it was brilliant! this is the doctor I was waiting for! honestly, if Murray Gold’s score came in at the end too I genuinely would’ve cried!

Anyway, this is only a mini rant, I’m not dissing 13 or Yaz so don’t come at me, I’m just pissed off Jodie’s on her exit arc and it’s only now Chibnall’s got his head around the character and how to write her/a good episode of Doctor Who!

Jodie was the perfect choice for the doctor but Chibnall was not the right choice for show runner, it’s very telling that they’ve asked RTD back…

Side note, I really liked Dan, probably because he reminded me of Donna…anyway…

Also, before I sign off, why bring Kate Stewart back only for her to have naff all screen time and actually do bugger all in the episode? did I miss something? what did Unit/Kate actually do? I love me some Kate Stewart/New Unit too but that was a slap in the face!

What? they couldn’t give Osgood/Ingrid Oliver a bit of screen time? no, let’s give a load of screen time to two new random, 1 season characters instead! I’m looking at you Vinder and Bel - I don’t really care for your race across the universe to find each other, naff off I want to see what Unit were up to when Kate went dark!

Also, just lastly, is Thasmin real?! It felt like they were going to go there but I’ve been so confused with the previous writing, I’m not quite sure what they’re trying to say about Yaz or the doctor… or their relationship?…perhaps we’ll see in the last 4 specials of Jodie’s doctor, although I wouldn’t put money on it…

[headcanonsandmore]

“Across Time And Space”

Summary:  When Yasmin Khan finds herself stuck away from the Doctor in the early twentieth century, she has a lot of worry about. Luckily, Dan Lewis is there with an encouraging word. (Missing moment from Episode 5 of Flux, with a BROTP between Dan and Yaz, and a hint of Thirteen/Yaz)

~~~~~~~~~~

                       Read on FFN.                                   Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, this is a little different than what I normally write, but I wanted to create something Doctor Who/Thasmin related before the New Years Day special gets released. Anyway, here is my first little foray in writing Doctor Who fics; hope you like it!

Whovians, please go easy on me; I've tried my best to write the characters as best I can, but this is completely new territory for me.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yasmin Khan yawned, and leaned back in her chair.

Dan Lewis was sat in a chair nearby, reading a newspaper. Professor Jericho had gone to have a shave.

It had been a few days since they had all found themselves stuck the early twentieth century without the TARDIS, and it was slowly starting to sink in. They were stuck in a time period that none of them knew. Jericho wouldn’t be even born for another twenty years, Dan’s family had only recently emigrated from Ireland to Liverpool, and Yaz’s family were still living in India under the British Raj.

It was a pretty difficult adjustment to make.

Not to mention… what had happened to the Doctor.

Yaz felt her heart beat painfully with worry. She had been separated from the Doctor before but this… this was different. Things had changed a lot since then. A lot of things had changed since she had started travelling alone with the Doctor. Feelings had changed. Grown stronger. They had always been there, but they had been easier to push down before.

She couldn’t do that anymore. It was too painful. Especially when the Doctor never seemed to… open up, or tell Yaz about her past. Yaz had stood in the burning ruins of the Doctor’s home planet, and yet the Doctor still didn’t want to tell her things. Even when it had been just the two of them travelling, the Doctor never gave Yaz the full story. Despite the fact that they trusted each other with their lives, the Doctor didn’t trust Yaz with her past. It… it had hurt more than Yaz could admit. Because she cared for the Doctor more than she could quite admit, even to herself.

And now… now the Doctor was gone. Stuck somewhere across time and space, with no way for Yaz to know what was happening to her, or even if she was… she was…

‘Y’alright, Yaz?’

She looked up. Dan had folded up his paper, and had leaned forward towards her, his eyes full of concern.

‘Me? Fine.’

‘Didn’t look fine to me,’ the scouser continued, quietly. ‘Looked to me like you was worrying about the Doctor again.’

Bollocks. So much for not showing her emotions on her face.

‘Okay, scouse; you got me,’ she said, sighing. ‘I am.’

Dan nodded, in understanding.

‘We’ll find her. Don’t worry; we’ll get you back to her.’

‘Thanks,’ Yaz replied, although she found it difficult to believe him. ‘I… I really miss her. And… well, I miss my family. My sister, my mum and dad. Before, I knew the Doctor could always drop me off home whenever I asked, but now…’

‘Yeah,’ Dan said, nodding. ‘The last me mam and dad saw of me was going after the Sontarans in the Liverpool Docks. They probably don’t know what happened to me.’

Yaz smiled.

‘Don’t worry; the Doctor can get us back to just after we left.’

Dan nodded.

‘I suppose. Hopefully, we can find Di along the way.’

‘The woman you were going on that date with?’

Dan seemed to flush a little.

‘Yeah. She’s… she’s pretty great. I haven’t met someone like her since… well, my fiancé.’

Yaz stared at him.

‘You were engaged?’

‘Yeah,’ Dan said. ‘But… well, it didn’t work out. She called it off a few days before the wedding.’

‘What?’ Yaz exclaimed, shocked. ‘Why?’

Dan shrugged.

‘Dunno. Never found out. Guess some couples just don’t make it.’

Yaz sighed, and picked a piece of bread off the nearby table. She took a bite of the bread, mulling it over and trying to ignore how weird it tasted compared to the modern stuff she was used to.

‘But…’ Dan continued. ‘Some couples do. Make it, I mean. My parents, for one, and… well, you and the Doctor.’

Yaz choked on the bread. Coughing and spluttering, she felt her face burn. What? What was Dan-

‘M-me and the Doctor?’ she gasped, her heart suddenly hammering very fast. ‘D-don’t talk bloody daft! We’re… we’re just friends!’

‘Really?’

Dan stared at her, his face the very picture of confusion.

‘What do you mean “really”?’

‘Well…’ Dan said, looking a little awkward. ‘I mean, I just assumed, like. What with you getting so upset when she got recalled back to that division thing.’

Yaz found herself dumbstruck, both at that awful memory and of how, in that moment, she had been out of her mind with worry for the Doctor. If Dan hadn’t stopped her, she would have run through that portal to the 1960s and been immediately destroyed. All she had thought about was getting to the Doctor. Nothing else seemed to matter.

‘Well…’ Dan said. ‘The Doctor’s very lucky to have you, either way. And I’m sure she knows it.’

Yaz smiled, even as her heart continued to beat with worry.

What was happening to the Doctor? Was she even still alive? Where was she? And how would Yaz find her? There was all of time and space to search, how could she possibly-

‘We’ll find her, Yaz,’ Dan said, pulling Yaz back into the present. ‘Don’t worry; we will.’

‘You… you reckon?’

Dan nodded.

‘Course. The Doctor needs you, Yaz, and I bet she misses you just as much as you miss her.’

Yaz’s brain whirred at his choice of words. How could he… no, he couldn’t know about the hologram. Yaz had found it in her pocket after their first night stuck in the past, and she hadn’t showed it to either Dan or the professor, or even Peggy before they’d found a guardian for her. It felt… well, private. Something that the Doctor wanted only her to see. Something just between the two of them.

‘Yeah,’ Yaz said, quietly. ‘I think she does, too.’

~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed my first little foray into writing Doctor Who fanfics!

[circular-time]

I wrote a rant about my dashed hopes for Season 13 months ago, during Comic Con I think? I never posted it, because I didn't want to be a wet blanket, and it was long and rambly, and maybe I just needed to get it off my chest in private. On the other hand, I'm still mourning something that really mattered to me, and I want to make a space for that before the new season starts.

WHILE acknowledging that I am not owed anything as a fan. Doctor Who has to keep changing and regenerating or it will stagnate and die. It's just my bad luck that it looked like the show was headed in a direction I've wanted for decades, and then it didn't.

[Spoilers to S13 trailers as of October 30]

TL;DR: I want a SF show with a BFF-ship between two women in the same vein as broships like those between Watson and Holmes, Kirk and Spock, Fraser and Jay, Scully and Mulder. Yes, I've gotten hit with the Thasmin bug too, but that really isn't the point.

The point is, women in the real world tend to form strong friendships and Get Shit Done thereby, and that's what I relate to. I went to a women's college. Most of my friendships and relationships have been with women. Much like PoC, I crave seeing my reality exist in the media I consume. But the last time I saw that dynamic portrayed on TV was Xena and Gabrielle over 20 years ago. It's a blind spot in an industry dominated by male writers and producers, who don't know how to portray women's friendships (And yet male bro-ships are common in all media formats).

I believe this is a loss for everybody. It omits a huge swath of human existence. Plus it misses out on a powerful interpersonal dynamic that's perfect for an effective team of adventurers/problem solvers in science fiction.

Before Xena, the last BFF-ship I can remember was Nyssa and Tegan working together in episode 1 of Castrovalva, while the Doctor was unconscious. The audios occasionally allude to their being BFFs, but again, probably thanks to male writers' blind spots, they almost never act like it, and seldom pull off anything through BFF Teamwork (tm). Barbara's friendships with Susan and Vicki were great, but she was more of a mom figure for them.

Since the Doctor's usually a he, there are very few opportunities for BFF relationships to occur on my favorite show. Thirteen's regeneration offered such a chance. I think it was even more important for Chibnall to reestablish that 3 companions are possible, and I loved the fam for two seasons. But there were very few points when Yaz and the Doc tackled something together.

Meanwhile, the synergy between Jodie and Mandip in real life was exactly the sort of BFF chemistry I wanted to see more of onscreen. But it didn't seem to occur to Chibnall and the writers to let some of that bleed into their characters.

Instead, they kept having the male characters tell Yaz and Thirteen about themselves. Ryan reminds Yaz she's a cop, the only time that thorny issue has been addressed. He has a heart-to-heart with the Doctor to help her process her identity crisis, telling her who he thinks she is and how to feel about it. And that's after the Master plays Thirteen's Evil Psychotherapist.

Graham has that lovely scene on the Cyber-ship where he talks about how impressed he is by Yaz. And when it comes time to broach the Thasmin question, we don't hear it from Yaz; instead, it's Captain Jack intuiting Yaz's unspoken feelings, comparing her relationship to the Doctor with HIS relationship to the Doctor, advising her how to cope with those feelings.

Midway through S12, I started to notice how often we saw Yaz and the Doctor as people, rather than plot agents, mostly through the eyes of the guys.

So when Ryan and Graham chose to stay behind, while I will miss them both, I couldn't help getting excited. FINALLY, the writers would have to write Yaz and the Doc doing stuff together and relating to one another, without mediating their characters through a male POV. We'd had two seasons of a TARDIS family, which I'd enjoyed, and now I was getting the female-buddy show I've always wanted, at least for one shortened season! I was so stoked.

But when I came online the next day, all hyped to talk about Team BFF, people were talking about this Bishop chap. Who? The streaming service on which I'd watched Revolution of the Daleks had not included an S13 trailer. So I hadn't gotten the memo.

I tracked down the missing trailer. And lo, my hopes were dashed. Yaz and the Doctor weren't even IN IT. It was all about this John Bishop guy's experiences; the Doctor was an enigmatic side character in HIS story, instead of Yaz and the Doctor being the protagonists (or even present) in the trailer for what I'd been thinking of as "their" season.

See why I was disappointed?

And then the interviewer at Comic-Con spent more time talking to Bishop's actor than Mandip or even Jodie, and I wrote the rant that I didn't post until now— extensively edited to remove the claws.

I'm avoiding trailers and spoilers now, as I usually do before the season starts. The fewer my expectations, the better I'll be able to take it as it comes (good advice from Chesterton.)

And I promise I will do that, instead of sitting there with my fingers in my ears griping because the writers and showrunners didn't magically cater to the precise tastes and wishes of the One True Fan (me) they don't even know exists.

I'll hold onto a glimmer of hope for Team BFF in spite of Mr Third Wheel. Maybe Chibnall's team will respond to the enthusiasm of those who are big fans of Thirteen and Yaz, instead of the frustrations of those who are already looking ahead to a new Doctor and showrunner even before this season has aired. Maybe they'll realize that hey, the one and only time you have two female leads in SF, you make the most of it. But I've tamped my hopes way, way down so as to be able to enjoy what we're given, even if I don't get what I wanted.

[tardis-sapphics]

20 + Thasmin (also i love your blog)

hi i love your blog too!!

20: ‘breaking the rules’

so this became a oneshot, not a ficlet, for which i apologise. more to read, i guess? also, i’d recommend listening to this song while you read. i am a little obsessed with it and had it on repeat when writing this Temptation is a cruel mistress. The perpetual out-of-reach; the ghost on her fingertips when she can’t quite close a hand around what she wants. It whispers quiet enough to let her continue with her day, but loud enough to muddle all else in muffled sound. It is the constant whine in her ear; the image in her head sticking to the insides, like paint. The conjurer of impatience and reality’s favourite trickster.

It has the glossiest voice. A touch like satin. But it has teeth like toothpicks, whining and desperate to bite down into rationality.

Aiming for the jugular and sinking in. Its claws have her in its clutches.

An undercover mission is not meant to last this long. Her previous attempts have all been fraught with boredom, a mounting frustration. She can’t stay in one place—she never has. Her freedom is her lifeline.

But the end result must be worth it. This missing princess and her entourage—they must be worth it.

Landing on this planet went from a brilliant idea to an awful one very quickly. Important—but still awful. To the local king’s delight, his daughter Tanza has been found. He brushed off Tanza’s proclamations that she was not a princess, but a time-travelling alien, and these were not her personal attendants but her human friends. He put it down to shock. Being kidnapped with one’s servants and being left for dead in the wilds of the Bostara Jungle would make even the strongest man mad.

So they’ve been forced undercover. And still, no real princess has returned. The Doctor has no idea what happened, only that she needs the real Tanza back. Taking her place is burning all her patience to ash.

Ryan, Yaz and Graham have settled into life as the princess’ personal attendants—as well as one can when rapidly learning new skills and customs. It isn’t unlike medieval life on Earth, except her fam were never medieval—and this king, this land, this world, is not human.

As personal attendants, the fam are there when she calls, but their interactions are coded if the presence of someone else forces it. If they are left alone—the two of them, the three of them, the four of them—then they can discuss matters. The Doctor leads discussions, but they glean information from wherever, and whomever, they can. Servants enjoy a gossip about their masters, and Tanza is no exception: Graham hears from the porters that she enjoys long walks; Ryan hears from the cooks that she will ask for enormous amounts of food, but leave most of it.

Yaz learns that the princess is always close to her treasured personal attendant, Bellara. Always. She was the first to disappear, alongside her princess, to the surprise of no one. Nobody gives a second thought to “Bellara” spending as much time with the Doctor as she does, because she always did.

She is the first to arrive in the morning, and the last to leave every meeting. She personally oversees the Doctor’s routines in the mornings. She helps the Doctor get a hang of all these ridiculous clothes, all of them exponentially more complicated than her rainbow, trousers and braces. She often says as much to Yaz, when they are both alone and both sure of it.‘You’ll be back in them soon,’ she reminds her, lying down the third outfit of the day: a frilly shirt, a flowing skirt that affords some manoeuvrability. She always passes over the pencil skirt, and the Doctor is grateful.

Every day is a minefield of too much: of being too close to Yaz, and too far from her. Yaz’s fingers trail down expensive silk like a caress, each fingertip light on the material. Each piece of clothing is blessed now, the Doctor thinks—and it has become part of a routine, to have this be the closest thing to touch between them. Life would not feel the same without it. She would itch, constantly. As if she does not already.

The Doctor has no qualms about changing in front of others. But it is forbidden here, especially between a royal and her attendant, and humans—never mind Manarans—are more conscious of these things.

But Yaz stays close. Just on the other side of the door. If the Doctor stills, she can hear her breathing.

Temptation is the fox in the night. Its eyes are upon her, not quite doleful and not quite curious. It knows what it wants. It lies in wait.The dark is felt more strongly for knowing it is there. If she forgets, it will call, a baying sound that sits uncomfortably in her ears, her head.

Not that she would ever forget.

Yaz is always polite. Hesitant. When the Doctor emerges, unsettled, in her frilly top and strange skirt, the Doctor hears the slightest inhale. She swears, for a moment, she can see Yaz reach for her., but she stops herself. The Doctor does the same.

A maroon top and navy blue skirt. It feels closer to home. Yaz’s own outfit is rougher, a roughly-cut piece of cloth wrangled into a dress. Still sleek, but unkempt no matter the effort.

She wants better for Yaz. For Ryan and Graham, too, with their too-thick collars. But especially for Yaz—she sees, day in, day out, her unease in the bodice, and she wants Yaz to wear some of these clothes that the Doctor has no need for. She wants Yaz to be comfortable.She wants to take—

But, no. These are the rules.

‘M—ma’am,’ Yaz stutters. She takes a step back, and then flits off. The only trace of her left is the smell of kitchens that cling to her clothes.

Animal fat, and woodsmoke, and mint. And underneath all that, her own scent, something the Doctor seeks to uncover over and over again.

She stands there, helpless.

Among the rest of her duties, Yaz escorts her to all her meetings and to the balls the Doctor must attend. She watches on from the sides, assimilating with all the other servants waiting for their masters to finish with their frivolities.

Except, tonight, Yaz has not once stopped watching the Doctor. And the Doctor has not stopped watching her.

She is meant to be more careful. She is meant to be painstakingly accurate when she dances. She could not anyway, but she absolutely cannot now.

Manaran bodies do not touch, ever. Intimacy is reserved for the words; affection laced into the beauty of language. When Manarans dance, they do so with ample space between them. Even amongst prospective suitors—of whom there are many at this ball, and the Doctor is interested in precisely zero of them—there is no touching, only glances, only words.

The Doctor only looks at Yaz, and Yaz only looks the Doctor. And the King writes the whole ball off as a gargantuan failure.

It is strange, being infinitely older than this man, being bossed around by him. But they are undercover. They have to find Tanza. For themselves, so they can be free—finally—but also for the King.

He is a man of too many words. He lavishes verbs and adjectives onto Tanza—the Doctor—as if they were roses, but even in his ornate dining room, all the riches of a life well-lived, the words conflate themselves. Each of them struggles to fit in amongst the many others, rubbing and squeaking against each other like too-big balloons. The Doctor wonders when they’ll burst, and what—if anything—they will leave behind.

At least, she can tell from his eyes, there is a hint of relief whenever she is around.

She escapes from time with the King to laze around Tanya’s quarters, all of it too much space for so little to do. There is plenty for a person like Tanza to occupy herself with—clothes, dresses and trousers, all sharp lines and pastels; or embroidering pictures of the local fauna. But it is lonely stuff, discovering a personality of a woman no longer here. As dictated by the royal culture, Tanza is a very lonely woman.

She digs through Tanza’s belongings and traces every line of writing with her fingertips. Diaries, letters, requests. A gaping sense of something missing lives in all of them: in the ink, the push of pen. The words, in contrast to the world around them, are strangely vapid. Like father, like daughter: too many words and too little meaning. For a woman of so much power, she seems uninterested in it.

It all helps. She presses her fingertips down on ink again, the pretence of connection.

She throws herself into invention: her requests for metal parts and wires invokes the ire of the King, but she puts her foot down. The Doctor knows Tanza’s character well enough to hazard a guess at the reasons behind the disappearances, and she will use that unhappiness to get away with what she can. She cannot reconcile the two without this.

And it doesn’t take long, even when crafting a device in secret. It is a simple thing, working with mechanical olfactory receptors to recognise and discover specific smells across time and space. The untouched pencil skirt comes in handy, unsullied by the Doctor’s or Yaz’s hands.

As soon as it works, the Doctor hatches a plan. It takes two days to tell her fam, and three more days to launch it. In the in between, she sees Yaz watching from doorways and in mirrors, and temptation claws at her patience again, and again, and again.

The King finally commences his annual hunt—and then, they are free to do as they please. “Tanza” immediately announces a trip to the next country. It should take a day to Falada, personal attendants and all. There they will find the princess, and convince her to officially abdicate.

The journey requires warm clothing. For Yaz, Ryan and Graham, this means a coat. For “Tanza”, warmth was never a simple affair. It means layers: jackets and scarves and materials slipped onto her arms. It is all so ridiculous, really, all so unnecessary. But this is the mission. These are the rules.

Beneath all the layers, she has donned a shirt, designed to be laced up at the back.

‘Yaz,’ she mewls, feeling sorry for herself. She knows what this means. She has no patience, now. It has all turned to ash.

Bellara really must have been treasured, she thinks, for Tanza to allow this. Yaz approaches slowly, and the Doctor, unlaced, feels tightly strung.

She feels hands grab at the silk ties and pull. Her body follows, persuaded. She has to tug a few times to tighten the material, thread it over and under, over and under, the corresponding thread—and the Doctor feels the motion every time. It is like an electric shock to her midriff, the small of her back.

Yaz is barely breathing.

Deft fingers tie a bow, and when she is finished, before she can think she pats the Doctor’s back in confirmation.

They both still. The Doctor, also, is hardly breathing.

And then she spins round. Gaping at Yaz. Yaz staring back at her.

Every moment they have been together, calling each other the wrong name. Never saying anything about their real selves until they were alone, truly alone.The Doctor has been lonely except for these moments.

‘I think the carriage is ready, ma’am,’ Yaz murmurs. But she makes no effort to move.

They have been seconds from this, from reaching out and grabbing, this entire time. Temptation screams at her now, a burning chill just under the surface of her skin, and it blocks out all sound but Yaz.

Yaz, breathing quickly, eyes wide open.

‘Shall I tell them to wait?’ she wonders.The perpetual out-of-reach? The Doctor is not so sure.

She reaches out a hand.‘Doctor, we—’ Yaz clears her throat. ‘The rules,’ she tries.

This is all-consuming. The Doctor’s reach pauses for a moment. Her hand is suspended in the space between, the forces of want and necessity pulling it this way and that.

‘I know,’ she whispers, watching her hand dangling there. ‘I can stop, Yaz. If you want.’

And Yaz swallows. Quietly, ‘No.’She can feel Yaz’s breath tremble as her hand settles on Yaz’s front. Feels it on her palm, in her veins. Like an electric shock. Clothes soften the touch, but she knows underneath the Yaz’s midriff is firm, strong. She knows. She knows how strong Yaz is.

And this is a choice. Not a surrender.

This knowledge allows the Doctor to continue, her other arm coming forward to rest on Yaz’s hip. Her hand moulds to the curve of it. She watches, entranced, when a huff of air leaves Yaz’s mouth involuntarily.

‘Doctor.’ It’s a murmur, an anticipation. Yaz steps closer: the Doctor’s hand on her midriff moves to mirror the other. ‘Please.’

The Doctor cocks her head to the side. Brown eyes are almost black now. ‘Please what?’

‘I don’t know,’ Yaz admits. She huffs again, this time in laughter. The Doctor’s body is being bracketed, now, and gripped. Electric shock, every moment. ‘Just please.’

‘Okay.’ She can work with please. She can work with touch.

They spend the few moments savouring the sensation of it—sensation they have been deprived of for months now. Only when they have reached a breaking point they have finally relented, caved to the need of each other. They will treasure this as much they can.

Ryan and Graham are still waiting for them outside. They don’t care.

Yaz’s hand wraps around to the Doctor’s landing at the silk ties. It pulls the Doctor closer: chest to chest, a fingertip grazing at exposed skin.

The temptation is eating her alive. Right there. Yaz is right there. She is painted in it, all of her.

‘I missed you,’ the Doctor whispers, eyes alight. ‘It’s been awful.’

‘I’ve been here,’ Yaz responds, but she is nodding along, her eyes flicking down to her lips. ‘But this is a different kind,’ she adds, almost plucking the words out of the Doctor’s brain.

‘Something we couldn’t have. Not without breaking the rules.’

Yaz gazes at her again. ‘So break them.’

The Doctor needs no more persuasion. She brings her hands up to Yaz’s jaw, brushes a knuckle over it, gently. Caresses her cheeks, the soft rises of them. Temptation is silent now, satisfied. Electricity takes over. And the Doctor leans in.

Their lips have barely touched when a cacophonous smash breaks through their haze, the sound of metal hitting a wooden floor.

‘By the gods!’ a maid screeches.

They jump apart, hearts in their throats. 

send me some numbers!

[furashuban]

Mood Stones

Finally out of my writing hiatus and wrote a Doctor Who flash fic, because I’m worried that Series 13 will probably not be released in a long time...

Pairing: Thasmin

Words: 485

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455702

Summary: The Sinclair family has officially left the TARDIS, and Yaz takes a seat next to the disheartened Doctor on the stairs in the console room.

“You know, it’s going to be hard travelling without them from now on.” Yaz said, with much dejection in her voice.

The Doctor nodded then looked away from her companion. “Nothing can put to words how much I’ll miss Ryan and Graham either.” She added whilst similarly crestfallen. “I’m now two people short of the fam. But I know this is what they would have wanted, and I’m in no position to force them out of Sheffield just to keep travelling with me.”

The blonde exhaled heavily as her eyes closed, continuing to let her shoulders slump. She at least knew that despite their farewells from Team TARDIS, the Sinclair’s promised they would always be part of the “fam”. And somehow, she will return for them one day ¬¬-- whether as her current self or as an entirely new person whom they wouldn’t recognize. Adventures through time and space, though, had finally been plenteous for the distraught warehouse worker and his amicable grandfather. A safer life back on Earth, finally with amends to their relationship in the process, was one that a family like theirs could be grateful for. There was nothing else for the Doctor to do now but head back to the console --underneath the dim, melancholic blue tinge of the crystals surrounding it. What else was a Time Lady to do after all, but operate the TARDIS through the time vortex? All of a sudden, she felt her waist encompassed by Yaz’s arms. Her two hearts began to beat without a single pause discerned.

“Don’t worry, Doctor.” Yaz said. “I will still be here with you, no matter what happens. The universe is too massive for you to be all by yourself.”

Even after facing the likes of the Daleks, the Judoon, and threats unknown to both women, Yaz detested to be afraid in putting herself at risk beside the Doctor. Not then, not now, and certainly not later. She needed the Doctor just as much she needed Yasmin Khan. As the ray of sunshine who came falling down to Earth endowed each other a new sense of camaraderie and excitement all those years ago, Yaz could not bear to let the Doctor’s gleam die out just yet.

The Doctor’s eyes dilated, nigh on becoming as lambent as the stars themselves. She leaned her head against her companion’s as she enfolded her arms around her shoulders. If only the Doctor could remember the last time she had felt such personal affection from one person before. But no matter the despondency in her mind, the warmth abounding the Doctor through Yaz was a need she refused to let go of quickly.  

“Thank you, Yaz.” She whispered.

The crystals surrounding the TARDIS controls began to change in due course. The room did not return to glowing in its habitual orange hue, but had wilted into a broiling shade of pink for the very first time.

[winterromanov]

she’s the sunset (in the west) - thasmin fic

Poppy Smith is the youngest and quietest kid in Yasmin Khan’s reception class, so it’s a bit of a shock when she encounters Poppy’s mum - the chaotic, intelligent whirlwind that is Doctor Joanna Smith. With both parent and child struggling to hold their worlds together, Yasmin becomes more involved in the life of Joanna and Poppy than she originally anticipates (other than having the biggest, fattest crush on Joanna, of course. It’s impossible not to.)

single parent/teacher thasmin au

chapter one

Her last meeting of the night is at six fifty and Yaz has never felt so exhausted in her life.

It’s not the kids. She deals with them day in day out and yeah, it’s tiring, but it’s nothing compared to the tirade of questions from irate parents she’s had thrown at her since four pm. Many of them seemed annoyed at their kid’s reading ability—or lack thereof—which would be a problem if they weren’t four or five years old and, naturally, Harry Potter is still going to be a bit ambitious for a boy who can barely hold a pencil. She’s been through piles and piles of identical maths problems with erratic results, handwriting exercises varying from just about legible to dancing scribbles in HB. The art, on the other hand, is a lot more fun talk about. She tried so hard to hide her giggles when showing a bemused mother her daughter’s drawing of a dog poo she’d seen in the playground.

But right now, all Yaz wants is to lock her classroom door, make her way to her car and have the longest and hottest bath of her life. Ideally with a pizza and half a bottle of white. It’s been that sort of day.

But there’s still one more agonising ten minute appointment to go. Fortunately it’s with one of her…less behaviourally challenging pupils, a little girl called Poppy, with an August birthday that pits her at the younger end of the class. Despite her age, there’s no unintelligible scrawls in Poppy’s exercise books—she’s smart, one hell of a reading ability, but very quiet. Yaz has seen her stalking across the grassy edge of the playground at break and sat alone at lunch, usually armed with a dog-eared picture book about space.

It’s not Poppy’s behaviour Yaz is slightly concerned about. It just can’t be good, or healthy, for a little four year old girl to have not made any friendships in the month she’s been at the school. She’d really like to talk about it with Poppy’s parents, but the clock on the wall above the door ticks on and there’s no-one to be seen.

Six fifty-six.

Six fifty-seven.

At six fifty-eight, Yaz sighs and starts to pack up her things, because sometimes parents forget appointments or can’t get away from work or life happens. At six fifty-nine, she’s about to leave, when—

The classroom door flies open and a woman walks in gripping Poppy’s hand, flustered and panting like she’s just run across the playground. She looks up, blowing a strand of blonde hair that’s blown into her eye-line away from her face. Two vivid green eyes blink back at her—Yaz hasn’t seen anything like them, and maybe it’s the sappy part of her left over from her literature degree, but it’s the kind of gaze that horny Renaissance poets write sonnets about.

(It’s pathetic, but it would be a lie to say that she doesn’t end up writing one herself a little bit later down the line. Oh, well. It’s called being ridiculously in love.)

“Sorry,” the woman breathes in a Northern accent almost as strong as hers, “I’m late. Am I late?”

“You are late,” Poppy says decidedly, identical eyes staring sagely, “Can I please go sit in the reading corner, Miss Khan?”

The reading corner is a pile of cushions and beanbags in an abandoned alcove of the classroom, now covered with posters of The Gruffalo and animals that begin with every letter of the alphabet. Poppy has her space book tucked under her left arm, as well as a little stuffed dog.

“Of course you may, Poppy,” Yaz says, smiling, dropping her bag onto the ground by her chair. “Me and your mummy are just going to have a short chat about how you’re doing at school.”

Poppy nods, and the woman presses a kiss on the top of her head as she rushes away, little shoes tapping noisily on the carpeted floor. The woman turns, smiling apologetically.

“I’m so sorry. I do try, really, but sometimes it’s like the world is working against me to purposely make me late.” Yaz notices the small array of earring glinting on her ear, the smart grey coat she wears on top of some cuffed mom jeans and a long sleeved shirt. She leans across the desk, shaking Yaz’s hand. “I work up at the university, you see, and the traffic is an absolute nightmare if you… sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Already taken up enough of your time, I expect. It’s Miss Khan, right?”

She talks at a hundred miles an hour, waving her hands occasionally, and there’s something oddly compelling about it. It really doesn’t take much to warm to her—or to notice the contrast between her and her daughter. “Yasmin. And you would be Mrs Smith?”

“Miss,” the woman hastily corrects, but then smiles awkwardly, scratching her head. There’s an absence of a wedding ring, which isn’t so unusual, but there’s a pain in her grimace that she doesn’t see in so many divorced parents. Rather the widowed ones. “Technically, it’s Doctor, but I really can’t stand titles, sounds a bit pretentious. Joanna is fine.”

Doctor Joanna Smith. Yaz smiles inwardly, and wonders if it’s totally inappropriate to have a little bit of a crush on one of her student’s parents, because there’s just something about this beautiful and chaotic woman in five minutes that is impossible to put her finger on.

“Okay, let’s talk about Poppy, shall we?” Yaz says, fanning out Poppy’s collection of exercise books onto the table. There are no full-sized seats in the room other than her own, so Joanna is perched on a red plastic one, face comically just above being in line with the desk itself. It doesn’t seem to bother her. “She’s a lovely little girl. Very, very smart for her age—her reading is on par with someone at least three years older and her maths is coming along really well. I’m worried she’ll overtake me!”

Joanna laughs a little, but she’s busy scanning rows of handwriting and felt-tip illustrations, fingertips skimming a picture of roughly drawn little dog. It’s the same one she has clutched in her hands in the reading corner, grey with a red collar.

“Here,” Yaz says, turning the book slightly to an assignment labelled My Family, “We asked all the kids to talk about who they live with, what they do, and so on. She clearly looks up to you a lot.”

It’s heart-warming, really, and Yaz almost teared up sat at home marking it. My mummy is very clever and kind and when we hug we go to the moon. Mummy says I am a star but I think she is a star too and one day we will go to space together

There’s no mention of a daddy, or anyone else, and maybe that’s what makes this task so bittersweet sometimes. Reading about the kids who aren’t like the other kids.

Joanna’s eyes glaze over for a second and she looks over to the reading corner, where Poppy is lying on her back with her book held at arms’ length. Her hands clasp together. “What she like with the other kids? She never talks about anyone at home, really, and she always struggled with making friends at nursery. By that I mean she didn’t have any.”

Yaz softens because she can see concern in her eyes and a sort of muted desperation and hope that she’ll say something that contradicts her thoughts. But lying doesn’t help anybody in situations like these. “She is very quiet and that does often mean she’s by herself, yes.”

Joanna bites the inside of her cheek. “You should see her at home. Can barely get her to shut up most of the time, always banging on about penguins or black holes or…well, she talks about you quite a lot.”

“Me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joanna nods, “Ever since you read Alice in Wonderland she’s made me read it to her every chance she gets, but apparently I don’t do the voices like Miss Khan does.”

Yaz remembers reading a bit of the story just the other week with all twenty-nine kids sat on the carpet eagerly, rolling with laughter every time she changed from high to low pitch when voicing the Hare and the Hatter. Poppy had sat silently at the back, expression unwavering—yet the whole time she was taking it in, making a bigger impact than Yaz anticipated.

“There’s a fine art to the voices in Alice,” Yaz replies, Joanna grinning, “You clearly just haven’t mastered it yet.”

“I have a PhD in astrophysics but satisfactorily reading a children’s book to a four year old’s standard is where I fall short, yeah?”

Yaz leans forward, rests her chin in her hand. Hopes she’s been subtle but doubts she actually is, but that is usually the way. She wants to keep talking about Poppy but she also wants to talk about her, what she sees when she looks up at the sky and what it means. Her job at the university. The silvery light of a full moon and the pull it has on the tides.

“I’m sure you’ll get there. It just takes practice.”

“Yeah. That’s a good motto for parenting, actually.” She pauses, looking down at her hands. Her nails are painted navy blue and chipped at the corners. “I just—like, I worry about her, a lot. We lost her dad a couple of years ago and most of the time, it’s just me and her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Yaz sympathises—there it is, there it is.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Joanna insists, “Long time ago. I don’t think she remembers him. And I don’t have any family, not anymore, just a few friends who are basically family, but… she needs more than that. I’m not worried about her schoolwork at all. I just want her to be able to talk and play with people her own age rather than me all the time. As much as I’d like to build dens twenty-four seven. Who wouldn’t?”

“You shouldn’t worry. It’s only the first month of term, after all. Kids move at different paces, and it’s just taking Poppy a little longer to settle in.” Yaz smiles comfortingly. “If you like, I’ll keep a closer eye on her. See if I can encourage her to be more involved with some of the children.”

Joanna’s demeanour brightens a little, hands loosening apart. “That would be great, thanks. Sometimes all she needs is a bit of a prod in the right direction.”

At that moment Poppy stalks over to the desk, toy dog straying behind her, book still clutched tight to her chest. She looks at her mother expectantly.

“What is it, baby?” Joanna asks softly, stroking Poppy’s blonde hair gently. “You tired?”

She shakes her head decisively. “Can I show Miss Khan the picture in my book?”

Yaz grins brightly, leaning across the desk. “You know, Poppy, I absolutely love pictures. And I think I’d love to see the one in your book.”

Poppy looks shyly over at Joanna before opening it to the back cover, where a biro illustration of a strange blue box stands majestically amongst the index. Joanna pulls her onto her knee so she can point to it better and Yaz looks intrigued, curious to know what it means.

“This is my time machine. Mummy drew it for me,” Poppy explains carefully, “And we’re going to travel back to the dinosaurs so I can ride on the back of a diplodocus.”

“A diplodocus?” Yaz raises a questioning eyebrow, as it’s a big word for such a little girl, and Joanna masks her giggle by kissing the back of her head. “That does sound like fun.”

“Mummy tells lots of fun stories. I especially like the one about the lizard and her wife and their pet potato.” Joanna does another terrible attempt of hiding her laugh and Yaz finds it ridiculously endearing, especially the way her nose scrunches as she grins. “If you like mummy could put you into one of her stories.”

The thought of being in this woman’s head after she’s left the classroom behind is too good an offer to refuse. They share a look, barely a second—but surely, surely, it’s not just her that feels something?

“I think I’d like that a lot,” Yaz says.

When they shake hands as Joanna and Poppy are about to leave, her hand lingers a little longer than before. Her skin is soft but flecked with black pen, a small silver ring indented with a moon on her index finger. When they break apart, Yaz longs for a reconnect. This cannot be the last time they meet. It cannot be the only time. It cannot.

[jolivira]

season 11 ranking!

Jodie Whittaker is freaking fantastic, let me just get that out of the way. Thirteen is becoming one of my favorite doctors easily.

Spoilers bellow! Don't read if you haven't watched all 11 episodes of season 11! Well, you can read if you don't care about that stuff, just a warning  =D

I like all the main characters but (just like many people have pointed out) I don't think the three companions shouldn't have been introduced at the same time. Or actually, they shouldn't have become companions at the same time. The TARDIS was too crowded and we didn't get a lot of focus on the Doctor herself because of it.

IN MY OPINION, I believe it would have worked best if we had met Yaz, Ryan, Graham and Grace in episode 1, then only Yaz ends up on space with the Doctor (episode 2)  and they travel together for maybe 3 or 4 episodes. That way we get to know her and flesh out her character and start setting up thasmin and the sexual tension between those ladies.

Then  have Ryan, Graham, Grace and  Tim Shaw show up again (set up for the finale) and THEN Grace dies. Imagine how much more impact that would've had on us, how deeper it would have felt.

Later the Doctor invites Graham (who is running away from the empty house) and Ryan (who is learning to accept Graham) and from there develop their relationship.

Just some alternate ideas.....

Now.... to the episode ranking!

11-  Tsuranga Conundrum

It's not that bad, I was just feeling uncomfortable the whole way, probably because it's hospitals and also pregnancy. We also should have had more backstory about that general! She seems awesome. And if her brother knew how to pilot the ship why didn't he do it from the start? Oh but I loved that initial scene where the Doctor is kind of dazed and selfishly tries to mess up the ship to go back and the medic in charge argues with her. I liked that.

10-  Arachnids in the UK

Little bit too boring. It's a DW episode, I wanted giant alien spiders! Also missed opportunity to learn more about Yaz's family or just her character in general (thanks for creating thasmin though!) And we already got one donald trump no need to create another.

9-   The Ghost Monument

I liked it just didn't feel it was that memorable compared to the others. I liked the idea of an intergalactic race and that fun stuff, though! Also new TARDIS, I just love the Doctor talking to her ship in general.

8- The Battle of Ranakoor Av Kolos

Horrible name for a planet but Jodie shined here, perfectly captured the Doctor's essence. The Ux are a really fun (actually really tragic) concept, I hope they return sometime! There were some frustrating parts for me but the good stuff balanced it out. Also a companion disagreeing and going against the Doctor? My jam. And it was so funny when Graham shot him and shouted "it was just the foot! Doesnt count!"

7- The Women Who fell to Earth

I'm just a sucker for post regeneration stories. And this one in special, everything was so new and fresh and exciting!  But Jodie's accent (all of their's to be honest) is so strong that it shocked me the first time I watched it.  English is not my first language so I needed subtitles, couldn't understand anything! Hahaha

6- Resolution

This reminded me of the episode "dalek" from season 1. I love me a full blown out dalek attack with ships and thousands of those little shits but honestly? Just one dalek can cause so much harm, that's why they are so scary. Also the closest we got to dark 13! I loved the scene where she confronts it face to face. This episode also finally showed the TARDIS interior properly! For all the other episodes it almost felt....smaller on the inside. The panels and buttons were also lacking, in this one they really made it look incredible! But again, the TARDIS was too crowded. Why introduce two new characters added to Ryan's dad? Didn't really like how Ryan forgave him at all in the end either :/

5- Witchfinders

The Doctor could go anywhere in time because he was a white brittish male, I liked seeing her getting frustrated about it a little but never actually regretting being a woman you know? The alien stuff in the end was pretty bad and the king was acting really creepy with Ryan, didn't like that at all. But yes! If anyone would be a witch in there it would be the Doctor. Also that hat, kudos for the hat

4- Kerblam!

Pretty fun! It honestly reminded me a lot of Tennant's era, I'm not sure why though..... Clever episode with interesting charcaters. OOOH! I also have a theory that before trading with Graham, the Doctor was placed in cleaning and stuff right? That's because the system knew Charlie was the problem so she was sent to work with him.

3- Rosa

I love how the civil rights movement is symbolized by Rosa and not MLK, although he has a great appearance in it! I am glad that there was no speech to inspire Rosa to protest, none of the characters told her about her impact on the future or how she needed to do this. It all came from her. Oh and important to see how Graham and the Doctor felt to be on the other side, on the ""evil"" side of history, being white during apartheid and having to act accordingly. I feel that's also important. I missed more talking between Ryan and Yaz about their experiences but oh well, nothing's perfect...

2- Demons of the Punjab

Teaching parts of history we don't hear much about! Yes!! And the only reason I have it second and not first place because I felt the Doctor and Yaz didn't properly... react? I mean, no tears and no talking about what just happened? They followed her nan and saw Prem die, knowing they could have easily stopped it. It's some heavy stuff, also the reason why he died. But I LOVE how the aliens aren't actually the villains, the doctor got it wrong, it happens. And she immediately apologized and thanked them. Beautiful.

1- It Takes You Away

The setting, the acting, the plot. I loved it start to finish. I even got emotional with the whole writing on the wall thing (assume her dad is dead, take care of her, etc). And eventually when the dad got back and read it, realizing how stupid he was. It portrayed a really messed up relationship between father and daughter, but also showed us the doctor can't fix something like that. I would have made the conversation with the frog (the solitract) deeper and to make more sense? It didn't feel earned when it allowed her to go back to her own dimension. They needed to have talked for longer but I understand the episode has a time limit.

And that's all! Thanks for reading and feel free to comment with your thoughts, whether you agree or not. See you in 2020 with more! *me sobing in the background*

[winterromanov]

she’s the sunset (in the west) - thasmin fic (2/?)

Yaz doesn’t make promises lightly. It’s one of her things. A promise should be taken seriously, carried out. If she’s promised to bake a cake for the school summer fair even though she can’t bake for shit, she’s still going to do it, layering the burnt bits in slightly sloppy buttercream. If she’s promised to take her parents to the airport at 3am on a school day, she’ll set an alarm and turn up to work the next morning on with a coffee stapled to her hands.

If she’s promised to find Poppy Smith some friends, she’s one hundred percent going to do that too. She remembers the warmth in Joanna’s eyes at the thought of it—this feels important, like she could actually change something. It might not work. It might be that in less than a year’s time Poppy will move up into year one and nothing will have changed, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try.

She brainstorms ideas at her tiny kitchen table as soon as she comes through the door. Ryan’s not home yet so she violently clatters all his dirty crockery into the empty sink, dragging her flipchart paper down the stairs (which she saves only for special occasions). An hour later, her whole kitchen wall is covered in bright pink post-it notes, like she’s attempting some spontaneous redecorating.

“What the—“

Yaz almost jumps out of her skin, black marker sliding out of her fingers and onto the floor. She’d been so absorbed in her new project she’d never heard the front door creak open—and that’s quite a feat considering Ryan’s just come in from football practice, the studs of his boots usually clicking on the laminate like a herd of women in stiletto heels.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaims, heartrate slowly easing back to normal. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“I literally didn’t, but okay,” he huffs, refusing to look away from the chaos she’s created. He squints as he expertly manoeuvres his dirty kit from his bag to the washing machine—if only he could do that with the socks he leaves stranded in the hallway, she muses. “What the fuck is duck-duck-goose?”

“You’ve never heard of duck-duck-goose?” Yaz asks, open mouthed. Ryan bemusedly shakes his head. “Did you even go to primary school?”

Ryan shrugs. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Not if I could help it, no. Mum was a pushover but Nan never believed me when I told her I had the Japanese flu or whatever.”

“I bet she didn’t,” Yaz hums, because Grace never took any of Ryan’s shit. Not even at the end.

The two of them stand in silence for a moment, like every time Ryan mentions the lost women of his family. Yaz has never felt the pain he has. She can see it in his eyes, sometimes, how it lingers like fog. Dense and dirty but fading, eventually. Slowly.

But it’s okay, he has her. He’s always got her.

(It makes her think of Joanna Smith, again. About the dad that’s not around.)

Ryan snaps out of wistful reverie first, grabbing a beer out the fridge and snapping the lid on the kitchen table. Yaz throws him a look. He knows she hates that, which is probably why he does it. “What’s all this for anyway? Because if you’ve volunteered to lead another year six team-building weekend I’m going to be seriously questioning your sanity. Especially after last time.”

“No,” Yaz tuts, as if she’s going to make that same mistake twice, “There’s this kid in my class who is finding it hard to make friends. I’m trying to…think of something to solve that.”

Ryan takes a long sip of beer, studying more of her responses. “So you think a trip to the aquarium will fix it?”

Yaz shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? Nothing gets five-year-olds talking more than jellyfish. That, and what they’re going to get at the gift shop on the way out.”

“I guess,” Ryan offers, but he doesn’t look too convinced. “Just… some kids don’t want to make friends, Yaz. As long as they don’t seem too unhappy, what’s the harm in it?”

“This kid is four, Ryan. It’s a very important stage in her social growth. If she doesn’t start developing those skills now when she’s little it could be a really big problem later on.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Ryan says, “All I’m saying…this is a lot of effort for just one kid. As far as you’re concerned, as long as they can count to ten and know most of the alphabet you’ve done your job. And don’t, uh, stick their fingers into plug sockets or something.”

Yaz just about resists the temptation to go off on just how wrong that is and just how Ryan could possibly understand anything about her job, how it’s never just one kid. Yes, she needs to teach them how to read and write and count. But she also needs to teach teamwork, conflict resolution, gratification. How you can’t hit someone with a building block or steal somebody’s sausage rolls at lunchtime. How you must listen to the people around you and acknowledge that sometimes you can’t win, whether that’s the star of the week accolade or someone’s forgiveness, straightaway. How you must be kind, always, forever.

The day she sees a kid in her class that’s struggling to fit in and she thinks it’s just one kid is the day she’ll walk away from teaching and never look back.

“Are you hungry?” Ryan asks, after a moment, “I haven’t eaten yet. Pizza?”

Yaz’s hand relaxes, flexing from a fist to loose. On an outtake of breath she runs a hand through her hair, before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Ryan already has his phone out, scrolling through the options on Dominoes. “Hey, Yaz, if you went through this much effort for a bloke maybe you’d finally get laid.”

It’s meant as a joke but—ha. Yeah. Maybe.

-x-

As it happens, it doesn’t matter how many neatly written post-it notes and mind maps you make. Children will always be ridiculously unpredictable, like they’re wired completely different to every single other person aged eighteen or over. She tries class games, seating plans, even outdoor learning in the summerhouse on the grassy quad near the upper school playground—but nothing will encourage Poppy Smith to talk to the other children, or the other children to talk to her.

Instead, Poppy becomes incredibly attached to Yaz. And that is really, honestly, the last thing she wanted.

“You know, it’s really sunny outside today, Poppy,” Yaz says, as in a new turn of events, Poppy refuses to follow the other children out onto the playground during lunch break. Instead, the little girl stays in her seat, taking her dark blue starry-patterned pack lunch box out of her draw and unpacking it onto the table. “I think some of the other girls were thinking about playing with the new skipping ropes. Wouldn’t you like to play with the skipping ropes?”

Poppy shakes her head decidedly. Silently, she removes a small peanut-butter and banana sandwich from her box and places it in front of her. Yaz watches as she nibbles round the corners first before eating the filling.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go outside?” Yaz asks, somewhat weakly, because she has a feeling Poppy won’t give in to her hints easily. “It’s so dark in here and I have to mark your handwriting worksheets!”

“I want to stay with you, Miss Khan.”

When two little eyes blink innocently back at her, Yaz finds it very hard to resist. Technically, as long as she’s not on her own, it’s not breaking any rules. It’s just—this is not in the plan. It’s not good to let a kid become too attached. It goes against every instinct she has as a teacher, but she knows if she forces Poppy outside she’ll go back to silently stalking the edge of the playground with her book about space, lost in a world of her own.

If she’s in here—just for today—at least she’s in her company. Talking to someone.

“Okay,” Yaz smiles tightly, “As long as you promise to go outside tomorrow, yeah?”

Poppy nods happily and returns to her sandwich.

-x-

Quite by chance, today just so happens to be the day that Joanna is late. As one-by-one the kids spot their parents or guardians in the playground and head off back home, rain splattering off bright red wellies and raincoats, Poppy stands on her tip-toes and peers into the murky outside. The weather has turned somewhat since lunchtime.

Yaz looks at her watch. Quarter to four. The playground is mostly empty, other than a group of mums nattering by the gates, restless kids hanging off their arms or in pushchairs.

It’s the second time she’s been left waiting for Joanna Smith, Yaz ponders, and wonders if it’ll be the last time. She sighs, looking at the back of Poppy’s head, watching as the little girl’s eyes lock on to everything and everyone walking past the school.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Poppy,” Yaz says, gently smoothing Poppy’s hair. Poppy looks back up at her, eyes wide and concerned.

“What if she’s gone to the moon without me?” Poppy asks quietly. Yaz shakes her head with a smile, crouching down so their faces are level.

“Your mum wouldn’t do that, I promise,” Yaz says, “She’d always wait for you. I’m sure of that.”

Poppy frowns. “My daddy didn’t.”

Oh. Oh. Yaz freezes for a second, like she always does when a kid says something like that. You know—something unbearably sad, something hanging and poignant, one of those things that just slips out because kids don’t hide anything. Kids have sad stories too. They carry tragedies in their reading folders, hidden under exercise books and friendship bracelets and constellations of gold star stickers.

Yaz takes one of Poppy’s tiny hands in her own. Notices the stars she’s etched on her palms in blue biro pen. “Look at me, Poppy. Your mummy isn’t going to leave you behind. Ever.”

(It’s a big, big promise. She doesn’t realise it at the time, but it’s the biggest one she’s ever made—because sometimes, sometimes people don’t come back. Or you don’t go back to them. Maybe it’s the first promise she’s made that she won’t be able to keep. Sometime.)

Poppy’s disgruntled expression shifts into a smile, and Yaz can’t help but grin back. When she stands, still clutching onto Poppy’s hand, she can see through the raindrops on the window a shaky, grey figure running towards the door. Against her better judgement, she can feel her heart do something she doesn’t want to put a name to.

The glass door opens and Joanna emerges from the cold, her anorak dripping rain onto the floor in mad, abstract patterns. She pulls down her hood and her blonde hair is a chaotic mess of drenched natural waves—it reminds Yaz of tides and sea-salt and white-sand beaches, somewhere cluttered and rugged like the Northern coast. The kind of water that leaves you freezing but dazzlingly awake, shivering in clean, white towels with piles of seashells in your pockets.

Joanna blinks and catches eyes with Yaz. Grins. “I’m making a habit of this, aren’t I?”

Poppy replies first, dashing towards her mother excitedly. She grabs Joanna’s legs in a hug and Joanna laughs, ruffling her hair.

“Oh, baby, you’ll get all wet,” Joanna murmurs, before clearly deciding that Poppy is going to get wet going outside anyway. She scoops her up into her arms and kisses Poppy’s cheek messily, Poppy’s hands looping round her neck.

“You didn’t go to the moon without me,” Poppy says matter-of-factly.

“Of course I didn’t,” Joanna answers, before looking confusedly back at Yaz, forehead scrunching. “I would never leave you behind. Never ever.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Yaz reassures, “Your mummy was just late, Poppy. Nothing to worry about.”

Joanna grimaces, shifting to bring Poppy further up her hip. “Yeah—I’m so sorry about that, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yaz responds, smiling comfortingly. Joanna seems to take it, smiling back. “No harm done, eh?”

“No, I suppose not,” Joanna’s eyes seem focussed on Yaz’s face for a second or two, and her heart is doing that thing again, that ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum that she’s only ever really felt when Harry Styles winked at her during a One Direction concert fucking years ago.

(Was it really that long ago, huh? Have men really been that disappointing since?)

“Well,” Joanna says, breaking the silence, “I think you deserve a treat, ay, Pop? Ice cream?”

Poppy looks excited but Yaz laughs, glancing at the deluge outside. “You’ve certainly picked the perfect weather for it.”

“Mummy,” Poppy says pointedly, playing with Joanna’s wet hair, “Can Miss Khan come for ice cream with us?”

“Oh, uh—“ Joanna looks at Yaz expectantly, “I mean, of course she can, if you’re allowed…?”

Yaz pauses, because this is not a situation she’s encountered before, and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do. It’s probably important to keep a professional distance from the kids in her class and their families. She knows she can’t show favouritism, but… this isn’t that, is it? This is just going for ice cream with a woman that she can’t help but want to get to know better. There’s a magnetic quality in Joanna. A one that makes all her wiring stutter and restart.

“You know what,” Yaz answers, after a moment, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

(Oh, and this is when she discovers that she’ll do anything for a smile from either of the Smith women.)