Shout-out to all the sluts in Doctor Who

Shout-out to Jack Harkness, omnisexual space hero, who shags his way across the universe and falls madly in love with everyone, and tries to be a good dad, and respects Ianto’s jealousy, and who got fucked right on everyone’s screens in Miracle Day.

Shout-out to Benny Summerfield, who’s an amazing mom, who picks up a guy-of-the-week with remarkably frequency, who always chooses the wrong men, who got properly sloshed with the Master once just because he had good booze and a charming smile, who tackled the Doctor to her bed with a kiss just for the heck of it, who fell in love with a Dalek, and who fought her way through sexual trauma over and over again and always came out stronger. 

Shout-out to Ram Singh, who celebrates life and friendship through sex, who loves so deeply, who carries condoms just in case, who talks openly about sleeping around, who values consent and warmth and comfort and honesty. 

Shout-out to the Eighth Doctor, who greets his friends with a kiss, who has no nudity taboo, who’s Sam’s very own back-rub slut, who makes everyone fall in love with him just by being who he is, and who probably shagged an entire planetary ecosystem that one time. 

Shout-out to Fitz Kreiner, who’s learning about consent, who can’t stop pretending to be literally anyone else but himself, who gets distracted from being chased down the side of a volcano by giant talking owls while riding a purple sparkle pony because he’s too busy thinking about getting laid by Iris and the Doctor, who nearly got his tongue caught on Sam’s piercing, who falls in love when he shouldn’t, and who’s had his heart broken way too many times.

Shout-out to Iris Wildthyme, and all her wonderful unabashed sluttery. 

Shout-out to River Song, and her husbands, and her wives, and her sheer audacity, and her celebration of her body, and her sexual confidence in the face of severe childhood abuse.

Shout-out to Owen Harper, who’s beyond caring about consent, who fucks up, who gets fucked up, who learns and grows and becomes a marginally better sort of person after all — by which time it’s too late. 

Shout-out to Lover, who uses all her assets as a humanoid TARDIS to seduce, and to please, and to procreate, and to explore life in all its dimensions. 

Shout-out to Cousin Porsena, the kinky bastard. 

Shout-out to the Ninth Doctor, who flirts, who kisses, who gets kissed, who dances, who geeks out over future humankind’s rampant interspecies shagging, and who’s slowly remembering how to connect to the world around him once more. 

Shout-out to Ace McShane, who’s not a little girl anymore, who lost her virginity to the wrong man, who met many more wrong men in the years that followed, who uses her sexuality for her own goals, and who once loved Henry Noone. 

Shout-out to Robert Scarratt, and all the rumours that surround him, and his continued efforts to scandalise Gallifreyan society simply by existing. 

Shout-out to Compassion, who’s asexual, whose kisses are calculated and performative and tactical and brilliant, whose seduction skills are masterfully faked, and who uses people’s sexuality against them when she can.

Shout-out to Charley Pollard, who went to an orgy once (and didn’t stay). 

Shout-out to all the other beautiful sluts on this show. 

How I’d introduce Faction Paradox in NuWho

From a /r/gallifrey thread: How would you re-introduce Faction Paradox in NuWho?

Throughout the series, the pattern is that the Doctor runs into weird paradoxes and impossibilities, like never-existing planets and child assassins killing their grandparents and ideas that kill their thinkers and such.

He gets word from Gallifrey that a load of TARDISes were stolen and converted into a colossal paradox machine, but the Time Lords think they’re hidden in a bubble universe or out of sync with time or something, and they can’t be bothered to find them. They’re preoccupied with something mysterious they’re doing behind the Doctor’s back, so they send him to find it (mostly to keep him busy).

Of course the Doctor pays a visit to Davros and the Daleks, and in the climatic confrontation with Davros he blames them for the Time War. Davros laughs in his face and tells him he got played by his own people. Which quietly confuses and worries the Doctor, even though he thinks Davros is just bluffing around.

The paradox machine mystery leads the Doctor to a bubble / pocket / parallel kinda like in Hide, where he meets the Faction. One of them kills his companion, and he’s very angry, but then they realize who he is and the Cousin who killed the companion goes back in time and kills himself before he could do it, then replaces himself. For some reason, everyone remembers both timelines? Shit’s getting wonky up in here. Sure enough, they own the paradox machine, but they know nothing about the missing planets and antimemes. And where did the Faction come from? The Doctor’s own past. They escaped a War, a Time War, one without Daleks …

And whether it’s the Faction or Missy or Rassilon or Borusa or someone else, the Doctor finds out that the Daleks were set up for his benefit. The Time Lords fed them advanced technology to appear to be the big bad guys of the Time War, playing the victim so the Doctor (their old enemy) would find a way to rescue Gallifrey from a real, far more dangerous threat. And he completely played into their hands, not only creating a Time Lock to trap the enemy but also removing Gallifrey from it.

This betrayal absolutely destroys the Doctor for obvious reasons, and he heads to Gallifrey and is fully completely wrecking-shit mode. The Time Lords are all “We did what we had to do for the survival of our species, for the survival of the universe,” and the Doctor is having none of it, and they tell him to STOP because the signs show that the enemy is coming back, it’s breaking free, it’s going to tear the universe apart and he needs them to survive …

And then the enemy invades. It’s an insane trippy-as-fuck sequence where we’re not sure if there’s even an invasion, but there are time travelers popping up all over the place, timelines keep getting rewritten, shit is going down, the Doctor runs into a much bloodier version of himself, and at some point he sees and understands the Enemy and says “… you” all breathlessly, and then regenerates and forgets everything he saw and that’s the cliffhanger.

Then, the next series, I film 6 different forms of the finale where the Doctor confronts the Enemy and play each one in different regions and … Nah jk I’d step down as showrunner because lol let the next guy clean this up

Sometimes I feel like the fandom factions of OUAT watch the show and analyse the show runners comments for evidence that they are gonna somehow, at some point CHOOSE between Regina plots (or SQ) and Hook plots (or CS). Friends, they are never gonna make the show only one of these things at the expense of the other NEVER.

They want both audiences. They want Captain Swan fans to watch and they want Swan Queen fans to watch. They want Regina fans and Hook fans. 

The point is to get as many people as possible watching. 

The point is to give satisfying storylines to all their popular breakout characters. (Hook AND Regina are BOTH the breakout characters. Lana and Colin are the actors who will get most from having worked on OUAT.) And to give them plots to keep their fans watching without sidelining other popular characters too much.

They’re never gonna choose which group of fans to make happy - they’re gonna try and keep everyone on board. 


Casey Watanabe, sole survivor

DOB: September 30th 2052 (biologically 25, chronologically 235)
Factions: Railroad and Minutemen
Romance: Piper Wright
Friends: Deacon, Nick Valentine, Sturges, Des, Preston, The Slog’s ghouls

Before the Great War, Casey was a CIT-graduate technician for GNN trying to overcome the trauma of the Sino-American war he’d fought in.

Awoke to a Nightmare

Somewhere in the depths of Azsuna, a cavern reeked of fel. It was pitch black, save for the few sconces that lit the rocky walls, illuminating the spiral paths that wrapped up and up. Inside, several sections of the earth had been dug out into rooms where prisoners were kept locked behind enchanted bars.

The Legion didn’t discriminate between Horde and Alliance. Orcs were caged with Humans, Gnomes with Goblins, Night Elf with their daytime cousins. It didn’t matter; they were all naked and drained of life with only enough to keep them conscious, but not enough to scream or sleep. Death loomed over every single one of them, too weak to fight their ignorant battles from a faction war that meant nothing in the light of the Legion’s rampage across Azeroth.

A Felguard used the pommel of his massive axe as a walking cane as he patrolled with his two obedient fel hounds. Everything was in order; a fresh set of prisoners were dangling like pigs after slaughter from a hook upon a contraption overhead. The conveyor belt clicked metallically as a Human, half-dead and infused with Fel energy that made his veins glow beneath his pale skin disappeared through a large dug out window that lead into a green-lit chamber. The guard stopped to watch.

Through the window, a massive shadow crept closer to the dangling man and paused, sniffing, and with ease, ripped the body from the hook into the darkness, out of sight with a final blood-curdling scream. The demon guardsman snickered, surprised his victim had enough energy to cry out, and turned with his hounds to continue on his way down the winding path. Somewhere down the gruesome line, a blood elf man groaned. Such noises were not unusual in the feeding chamber and did not draw the attention of the guard as he passed.

Dymere felt the itch at his shoulder blade. It traveled up and exited near his collarbone. His thoughts swam and he felt a hunger he had never experienced, worse than the magical addiction he fought on a daily basis. It was far worse than that. It rendered him weak and unable to move at first. He tried his fingers and realized that his whole right arm was numb. He shook his feet and found no solid ground. Chains grinded overhead and suddenly he felt the world move, yank, and stop. He found enough strength to lift his left arm, and fingers crept up the front of his body to move toward that incredible itch at his collarbone, only to be met with something strange, cold. Steel. His mind tried to wrap around it. Aching eyes cracked open to the sight of the crescent metal end protruding from his chest and he stared, mind working to understand.

A touch of familiarity sparked in his consciousness, urged him to wake. He tried to push away from the bite in his shoulder only to feel himself swinging involuntarily, the world moving several feet before coming to a halt again. Something out of the corner of his eye drew his attention. An Orc dangled from a hook, head hung low and unresponsive.

Dymere looked the other way. It was the same, except a Night Elf woman sobbed quietly, trying to paw at her breast where the wicked hook protruded. It sent a surge of reality into the Eventide Spellbreaker. Survival instincts flared, igniting a rush of adrenaline that numbed the pain rapidly taking over his body.

He wiggled. Cauterized flesh kept him stationary. Panic bubbled in his stomach and he wiggled again. Just as he did, the assembly line of bodies shifted, and the momentum broke the seal of meat and skin to metal, sending him in a helpless swing.

A blinding pain woke his entire body as he felt his flesh rip under his own weight in his sudden halt, deaf to the chains overhead. He prayed to the gods to take him then, for him to reach Valhallas in a prayer he had whispered so many times before, only to be denied the release of death by way of another yank and halt. He found his voice and cried out, cursing the Legion and begging for help, from his partner, from the good doctor he had left behind, from his family. Darkness engulfed his frame and he realized he was in an enclosed space. He had caught the massive shadow swallowing corpses whole and knew that it was not how he wished to die.

When the metal grinded again, he pushed. The momentum of his own weight swung himself free from the hook and sent him to the ground in a hard landing inside the window beneath him. Everything around him blurred. The creature that had swallowed the bodies sniffed curiously at the bloody hook, snorted, and retreated back into its den to await its next victim.

A nearly dead elf’s feet kicked Dymere in passing, before silently being ripped from the mortal world by one bite of the shadowy creature, as did the next, and the one after that. One had managed a final cry, and the Spellbreaker who laid inside the narrow window sobbed silently, cradling his useless arm and questioning the god’s decision.

Why had they let him live, and why had they punished him so? He felt his strength returning with each kick of a victim’s feet until he was finally able to pull himself to sit up and watch each prisoner of Azeroth be fed to the Legion’s monster.

Dymere wouldn’t die here, no. As soon as he was able to move his legs, he was on the move. And with this newfound hunger driving him to survive, he would destroy and feast on anything that threatened his escape.

A fascinating faction of feathery facades for #FowlFriday.

Moran, Peter, 1841-1914, artist. [Sketchbook during New England summer excursion, July-August 1882, page 26] 1 volume (31 leaves, 39 drawings): graphite and watercolor; volume 18 x 27 cm.(7.5 x 10.5 in.) 

#BensLibrary #LibrariesofInstagram #lcpprints #sketchbooks #1880s #SpecialCollections #artchives

Me, trying to articulate a campaign setting
  • Me: So it's a mashup of Urban Arcana and Planescape where the Sigil factions are converted to modern secret societies, and the city is full of manifest zones that lead to weird planar pockets, and it's meant to be a fun philosophical urban fantasy romp with notes of Dresden and The Secret World and Persona....

i just watched a documentary sorta thing from ubisoft about the division and this shit is reactionary as hell especially the part about factions.