I posted smaller versions of these yesterday, but I had originally made them all to be wallpapers for me, for fun. Dunno what Tumblr will do to the quality when you click to enlarge, but I hope someone finds them useful until official stuff is released for series 9.
I missed my blog’s second anniversary at the beginning of April because of exams but I really wanted to make something based on all the fandoms I’ve fallen into over the past 2 years. Thank you to all that follow me and to those that I follow you all make my time on here so fun. :)
Writing a little Malcolm Tucker this morning. A Malcolm ending for Spun. And my previously mentioned sub!Malcolm story.
Here, have a taste…
Malcolm Tucker was in a foul mood.
That wasn’t unusual. Most days he worked himself into a quivering rage, but this was an especially tiresome day and frankly, he just wanted to go home, pour enough whisky down his gullet to calm down, have a wank, and then maybe some fucking sleep.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards. No, he had to go to a fucking meeting with UNIT.
The PM, in his infinite stupidity, had willingly signed an agreement with UNIT, along with the rest of the world’s leaders, which handed over the sovereignty of their nation to a fucking alien whenever the Earth faced an otherworldly threat. And let’s face it. That happened with an alarming regularity. At this point, it was like every other fucking Saturday. And if the press got wind of this fucking treaty, they’d never hear the end of it.
So, here he was.
Waiting for an audience with Kate Leftbridge-Stewart at the fucking Tower of London. Who has an office in the Tower? And who the fuck had the nerve to keep him waiting? Like she was the bloody Queen or something. Apparently, she had a prior engagement with the alien in question. Good. Two nitwits, one stone, as far as he was concerned. He could give them both a good bollocking and then be on his merry.
He wracked his brain, trying to remember the alien’s name. It was a profession, not a name. Butcher? Nurse? Not like it fucking mattered, anyway. He took in the view. Very….medieval. And torturey. On second thought, maybe he should have thought about asking for an office over here. Ollie would wet himself. The thought made him smile.
That’s when he saw her.
Standing beside a big, blue box. And once he saw it, he wondered how he’d ever missed it. Had it been there the entire time? It looked like an old police box, the kind that used to be ubiquitous when he’d been growing up. How had he managed to overlook it?
But he wasn’t able to overlook her.
There, she was standing in front of the box. And then she smiled at him and Malcolm’s heart actually fucking skipped a beat. Like it just came to life under her gaze. He’d forgotten he’d ever had one in the first place. Convinced it’d been hollowed out of his chest cavity piece by piece when he was teenager. “Hello there, I’m Clara Oswald.” She offered him a cheery little wave and came closer. She wore a crimson frock with a mid-thigh hemline and pair of black knee-high heeled boots that made his mouth water.
Not that he had a foot fetish. Far from it. But something about a woman in boots…. Made him want to kneel at her feet. He could picture her standing over him, a riding crop in one hand. A severe expression on her face. Oh, fuck me.
Then, he realized she’d spoken and he’d stood there gaping at her like a prat. Malcolm had to clear his throat to speak. “I’m Malcolm Tucker.”
“I know.” A slow grin. “I’ve seen you on the telly.” She got a bit closer, stood staring up at him, despite her heels he towered over her. She examined his face like it was a museum exhibit. “Actually, you look a bit like someone I know, though you’re younger. Less grey.”
“And whose that?” he asked. Unreasonably, he was jealous of the man at once.
Like he had any right to be. Fucking madness.
That was the fucking alien’s name! The Doctor. “You know him?”
A nod. “I’m his companion.”
“Companion? That’s a nice way of saying you fuck him” Oh, hell. The words just slipped out. For once in his life, he hadn’t wanted to be blunt. Courtesy didn’t come naturally to him anymore.
She scowled at him and lifted her hand. Like she was readying it to slap him. But she stopped and Malcolm was bereft, wishing her hand had made contact with his face. “That was rude.”
And fuck… the thought alone….her slapping him. Fuck, touching him at all.
Well, it went straight to his cock. Making it swell.
He ducked his head. “Sorry about that, sweetheart. Just slipped out.”
She nodded stiffly, acknowledging his apology. “Glad you apologized, or I would’ve taught you a lesson.”
Oh, fuck. He really wanted her to teach him a lesson. Stick to the matter at hand, Malc. “That means you aren’t dating him?”
A shake of the head. “No, I’m not dating him.”
That was a lucky break. Maybe the alien didn’t mate with humans? The only explanation he could think of. “Dating anyone else?” Clara frowned. “Do you normally chat up strange women on the street? Ask them about their relationship status?”
He gave her a cocky smile to cover the gibbering idiot inside. “Only the ones I’m interested in.”
“That your backhanded way of asking me on a date?”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “Did it work?” Instead of answering him, she extended her arm, placed her palm up. “Give me your hand.”
Malcolm didn’t even hesitate, holding it out to her. She grasped it between her own. Then, produced a pen and began to write something on his skin. He knew better than to ask her questions or ask her what she was writing.
And, if he was right…and he usually was, Ms. Oswald was just the sort of woman he’d been looking for. A dominant woman, someone to keep him in line.
Before he could say anything, secure a date, they were interrupted by a magician. Well, he looked like a magician. Black crimson-lined suit, loud polka dot shirt. This must be the Doctor.
The alien ignored Malcolm, instead, tugging Clara’s hand. “Come on, Clara! Come on, stop standing about, we have to go.”
But Clara was still staring at Malcolm, watching him carefully. They were having a moment.
E.T. finally deigned to acknowledge him. And it wasn’t a pleasant look. It was a warning, a back the fuck off sort of expression. As if to say: Clara is mine. Malcolm didn’t get the sense that they were a couple. But the alien seemed awfully possessive of her.
The Doctor hauled her into that blue box with him. The next thing Malcolm knew, the thing seemed to be….blinking. It gave a shuddering, sputtering sort of noise…and then it was gone.
She was gone.
Malcolm stared at his palm. Clara had written her name on his skin, along with her phone number.