mean tardis

I thought [River’s story] was properly over with The Name of the Doctor. I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I thought she had to have a farewell scene with Matt Smith, because they’ve had so many stories together, so I wrote that big ending for the two of them. But I knew we hadn’t done River’s real ending. It didn’t even bother me that we might never see it. There’s a whole load of stuff that the Doctor and River get up to that we never, ever see and never, ever should. There are adventures we’ve never seen, and there are rows in restaurants. They’re probably king and queen of some island somewhere. We’re not going to join all the dots, because it loses all the fun if you do. You’ve got to think, ‘That stuff’s been going on, but that’s their business.’ The Doctor hasn’t deigned to tell his BBC biographers any of that story because I think he’s faintly embarrassed by it.
—  Steven Moffat on River and the Doctor (DWM 494)
  • what she says: I'm fine.
  • what she means: Were you not freaked out with Narnia too? They were literally in another dimension for 15 years, and came back not a minute later in this world. What if they died there? Could someone just throw their corpses back into the wardrobe and it's like nothing happened? If so, they could become ultimate rulers, never dying, always being revived and never aging more than a few minutes. What if they were killed by a knife, or other means of blood shed? Would the wound be null and void by closet standards? What if they were cremated, if someone threw handfuls of ash through the door, what would happen? Would there be dismembered body parts everywhere? And let's not forget to mention Lucy and the first time she went! She met that goat man and left for over 12 hours, if a few minutes constitutes as 15 years, how long is 12 HOURS?! Did this goat man know about the laws of time? Did he wait for years and years, knowing exactly when she'd get back, having tea ready? And if so, why does he not rule the land, he's obviously a genius! Unless he's a time lord, which would make a lot of sense! Is the wardrobe a tardis?! Narnia wasn't explained well enough, and it's really starting to take it's toll, I can't sleep.

Rose x Ten, post GitF-au/fixit; angst, fluff, romance, more angst, and possibly some smut later, but this part (and all parts on is sfw (minor exception for brief language).

(see the end of this part for notes and special thanks)

(full-size image)

Minuet, Part II

Part I

Twisting in his grasp, Rose cranes her neck to look at him, finally, and there he is, all furrowed brow and tight mouth and eyes glittering with anger, and god, if she wasn’t so irritated with him right now, she just might kiss him.

“That’s what you were going to do, isn’t it?” she asks instead.


Eyes widening, the Doctor only has a moment to let his mouth drop open in surprise before another gentleman steps in—time to change dance partners. Rose slips into position with the newcomer without so much as a blink or even a glance in the Doctor’s direction, never faltering in her rhythm; a quick peek at the Doctor moments later tells her that he has allowed himself to be swept up in the tide of dancers, sidling up to his new partner across the room.

Rose turns away, swirling in her partner’s arms, but she can feel the eyes of the Doctor boring into her. She shivers despite the summer heat.

“That’s beside the point,” he whispers when they meet again, touching palm-to-palm first with one hand, then the other. “I’m a Time Lord.”

“Really? First I’ve heard of it,” Rose replies drily.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, Rose. A very long time. I understand the risks.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “And stupid apes don’t.”

At least the Doctor has the decency to flinch at those words. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Of course it is,” Rose sighs, and they both step back, granting a berth for other dancers to flit gracefully between them. “After all,” Rose continues when they reconnect, hands clasped, “I’m hardly one of the most accomplished women who ever lived, am I?”

Keep reading

Deep Breath: the German dub

Tonight dad and I watched Deep Breath and, oh my God, the person who wrote the translation shipped Whouffaldi. The following dialogue:

Clara: Am I home?
Doctor: If you wanna be.

got translated to something like:

Clara: Do you want me to live with you?
Doctor: If that’s what you want.

And I realized something. The dialogue could actually be understood that way. So far I had always assumed that Clara was asking whether the Doctor had managed to land the TARDIS at her home, but it can really mean both things. It can just as well mean “is the TARDIS my home?”

Pencil - Johnny

You rush into the lecture hall, trying to be quiet as the professor turns to the board.  This is the fifth time this semester, if I miss one more class, apparently this professor will make me stay after class and do work for her…

“Whatcha doing?”

You freeze in your position hunched over behind someone’s desk and look up at the speaker.  Looking at you over the back of their chair is a guy you’ve seen around campus before.  I’ve heard he’s pretty chill… He better not turn me in.

“Hey…” you whisper lamely.  

He smiles. “Yeah, hi.  I’m Johnny.  And you’re squatting behind my chair, which I’m kinda afraid to ask about…?”

You cough awkwardly and look away. “Yeah well…”

“Alright,” you hear your professor say, “I’m going to begin to do roll call, please tell me if someone isn’t in their seat when I say their name…”

Johnny turns back and glances down at you. “Magic word?”

You look up at him and grin. “You’re for real?”

Johnny nods. “You totally owe me for this.  I’m doing this out of curiosity, okay?”

You continue your progress behind the back row of desks, half-crawling to your desk in the back corner of the room.  As you do, you see Johnny stand up in his seat.

“Professor,” he calls out, “I think that you dropped your pencil behind the podium.”

As the professor stops her roll call and bends down to look at the floor, you make a mad dash to your seat, sliding into your desk chair just as the teacher stands back up.

“Johnny, what in the world are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

“Oh,” Johnny says with a laugh, “it must have been a shadow or something.”

Some people in the class laugh to themselves and the teacher shakes her head.  Johnny bows slightly to her and sits back down, looking straight at you from his desk.  He winks and you blush, offering him a small wave back.

You take out your things and focus back on the lecture.  But through it all, you keep casting glances at Johnny.  I never really noticed it before, but he seems really cool.  He’s handsome and smart and funny, he also dresses really well…

Johnny looks up and you quickly turn away, hoping he didn’t catch you staring.


After class, you rush out of the lecture, trying to avoid the conversation you expect is coming.  Maybe he won’t catch me…

“Hey! Tardy girl!”

You stop where you are in the hallway and sigh, then turn around. “Yeah…?”

Johnny jogs through the hallway, stopping in front of you with a smirk on his face.

You take a deep breath. Don’t think of him as attractive.  Think of him as… someone you owe. But that seems so much worse!

He shoulders his backpack and starts talking. “You’re welcome, by the way.  What’s your name? I mean, Tardy girl works, but I feel like it’s a bit too long…”

“I’m [y/n]” you say, “and thanks.  I don’t like owing people things, so what do you want? Money? Food?”

Johnny shakes his head and laughs.  “That stuff is too easy.  You’re not buying me off that quick.  I just need time to think of something really good.”

“Okay then,” you say. “Talk to me again when you’ve got everything figured out.”

“See ya around, [y/n]” he says, and gives you a mock salute.  You stand in the middle of the hallway, watching his retreating back as he walks away.

What just happened??


He’s going to think I’m doing this on purpose.  But I’m definitely not.  Am I?

You crouch down in the doorway of your lecture hall, late again.  Class was canceled for two weeks because of a project you the class was assigned, so it’s the first time you will see Johnny in a while.  You saw him across campus once, but you hid in the library before he could chase you down.

Should I just take the tardy and stay after class? Even though that would mean that I would have less time to study… WHY IS MY LIFE LIKE THIS?!??!

As quietly as possible, you crouch your way across the floor, trying to pass Johnny’s desk without attracting any attention.  But, somehow, it was like he knew you were there all along.

Just as the teacher calls out “I’m going to start roll call,” Johnny’s long arm shot out and latches onto your backpack pocket.  He tugs quickly, sending you sprawling behind his chair.

“Good to see you again,” he whispers, and your face heats up.  “Why did you ignore me that one time?”

“I didn’t see you,” you respond quietly, pulling your bag from his grasp. “I was too busy looking at books.”

“How did you know that was the time I was talking about?” he whispers back, a cocky grin on his face. Up close, hes even better looking…


“I’m saving you one more time, okay? This time isn’t for curiosity.  This time is just because.”

You make another mad dash to your seat, this time watching Johnny’s lanky form stand up and face the teacher.

“Is it okay if I present my project first?”

You breathe a sigh of relief as the teacher nods and motions for Johnny to sit down.  You watch him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze.  Instead, he raises a single hand and points in the direction of… my backpack?

You look at your bag lying on your desk, and turn it to face you.  Nothing looked off, except a pencil in your bag’s side pocket. Did he put that there?

You pull it out, noticing that there is a small note attached to it. It reads: I don’t know why, but I’m still kinda curious.  You owe me, so buy me coffee sometime.  But you’re required to be there.  So, I guess you owe me a date. Sound good to you?

Your heart hammering in your chest, you look over to Johnny, who’s attention is completely focused on his hands in his lap.  Other students in the class are milling about, getting their projects ready for presentation.  You take a deep breath and stand up, walking over to Johnny’s desk.

“Hey,” you say quietly, “I think you dropped your pencil.”

You set it on his desk and walk back to your own seat, nervousness causing you to look back as Johnny unravels the note again, smiling as he reads what you wrote: see you tonight.



I really wish we could explore more of the tardis

I mean, all we ever see is the control room and maybe a couple of corridors. I really want to see the library how big it is how many books?; the kitchen, what type of cooker does it have, how many fridges?. I also really want to see how these rooms are affected each regeneration do they change?
Because for all we know there could be a 2k rowing lake back there and we wouldn’t have a clue!

Omfg I’m cracking up, I’m just imagining Clara and Ashildr turning up on some distant planet as a giant fucking American Diner just crashing open the doors brandishing sunglasses and being all ‘WHAT’S UP, I’M TECHNICALLY DEAD, SHE’S TECHNICALLY IMMORTAL AND WE’RE HERE TO FUCK SHIT UP AND SAVE THE DAY’ 

Is anyone else imagining this as a spin-off? I’m totally seeing this as a spin-off.

luthors-tardis  asked:

what brushes do you use? love your art :)

the main ones i use are stumpy pencil for sketching, and then the gouache brushes (for colouring) and the go gritty brush (for lineart) from @kyletwebster​‘s megapack. highly recommend his brushes, they are amazing!

So if the Doctor’s been teaching at that university (and guarding that vault) for 50-60 years, he’s sat through a whole lot of other invasions/crises that he previously dealt with, right? Like the Earth getting moved by the Daleks, the invasion of the cubes, the Zygon stuff again (do you think he might’ve looked for Clara?), and everything else plus the stuff in Classic Who that I don’t know about yet.

Once Upon an Always

Fannfiction Contest 2016

written by @moonfeather188

There was something really very pleasing, waking up to warmth. To feel content in ways that are so easily taken for granted, as though you’d slept the exact length your body needed. To find yourself stretching through the haze of being not-yet-awake, unhurried to rejoin the realm of the awake. Floating in such a blissed state, several things come to your attention, swimming lazily at your awareness like the surf on a sandy shore.

Bed. You were in a bed. A nice, soft, warm bed that smelt pleasantly familiar and undeniably clean. There wasn’t any sun streaming against your closed eyes, but it was easy to sense some form of soft light somewhere beyond the safety of your eyelids. Wiggled toes and twitched fingers revealed soft cotton PJ’s and softer-still sheets, enveloping your whole form in a cocoon of warm and safe and yes nice good.

Eventually, however, consciousness returns, bringing with it several dooming certainties as the past few hours caught up to you. One: the Doctor had doubtlessly come through with some sort of half-baked insanity of a ‘plan’ and saved the day as promised. This was obvious enough by the fact that you had woken warm and comfortable inside the TARDIS, instead of cold and scared surrounded by equally cold and scared fellow captives. Two: the Doctor was, also, Very Cross with you. As made clear by his gaping lack-of-presence anywhere in the room. Three: you were likely in for a Really Big Hug when you saw him next. This last fact seemed to bring an equal measure of warmth and worry.

Because this wasn't your room in the TARDIS that you’d woken in. Nor, indeed, were these your PJ’s. For all he claimed to never need sleep, the Doctor had long ago explained that the TARDIS liked keeping a bedroom for him. The PJ’s were familiar enough, striped and pleasantly oversized despite last making an appearance on the twig that was his last incarnation. They were easily identifiable by the rather curiously shaped cocoa stain on the shirt sleeve from that time Rose had decided to have a pillow fort movie night in the old console room. (The Doctor had once rambled on about how, if you turned the stain just so, it looked a bit like Steve Martin in a tutu.)

So if you were in the Doctor’s room, asleep on the Doctor’s bed in the Doctor’s PJ’s, then obviously the Doctor still cared…which brought out all kinds of warm fuzzies, to anyone being perfectly honest with themselves, ergo the warmth towards said upcoming Really Big Hug. Except the man in question was rather glaringly absent. There wasn’t a book or a tangle of tinkering in the armchair, or a half-finished cup of tea on the nightstand. Or any other discernible evidence that he’d been there at all, actually. Which meant he hadn’t quite forgiven you for messing up with the gelatinous slime monster that’d started the whole mess in the first place…aaaand there came the worry, right on cue.

Of course, that didn’t mean that the TARDIS was exactly thrilled with your choice either. After getting dressed in the freshly folded pile of clothes waiting in the armchair, you found yourself getting turned around no less than five times on the way to the console room. Only after passing the pool for the umpteenth time did you finally stop with a sigh, aiming your vocalized admissions to the grated flooring at your feet. Because you understood. Really, you did. She was upset that you’d endangered yourself, and you knew she had every right to be. Hadn’t the Doctor pointed out (pouted over) just how much you and the TARDIS got along? And yet, after everything you’d been thru, how could you not trust The Madman and his Box to have your back?Did you stupidly throw yourself into danger? Yes. Did you basically abuse that trust? Technically, and for that you were willing to apologize until the cows came home. But what choice did you have, at the time? It was a calculated risk, one you never would have taken if you’d had an ounce, an iota of doubt that the Doctor wouldn’t pull throu– that you couldn’t handle it. Together. You wouldn’t be sorry for that, and you told the timeless blue box as much.

“You should be.”

The voice was, admittedly, startling, though not quite as much as it ought to’ve been. After so long together it was hard not to sense the Time Lord. Still the fury in his eyes made his face dark as he stalked closer from whatever nonexistent alcove he’d been hiding in– made his face dark enough that you had little choice but to let him crowd you against the wall. His hands came up, wide, long and flat at either side of your head, and right then it wouldn’t have mattered if you were taller than, shorter than, or the exact same height as he. His quiet rage bubbling so very close to the surface made him tower over you all the same. “Or does your word mean nothing anymore?”

He had every right to be furious, you knew, so you said nothing as he let out his frustrations, his words turning wet and pitched low in turmoil. “Forever and always, that’s what we agreed. I’ve asked and I’ve asked that you never leave me. You gave me your word you never would.” His weight shifted, left hand coming up to jab at the pendant that never left your neck–not for Daleks, not for Italian Mobsters, and certainly not for some oozing, acidic lab experiment with a thing for monster rom-coms. With each jab of his finger, he bit another word out, poignant and heart-wrenchingly, dangerously close to broken. “That’s what this means! Forever and always!” But like the flip of a switch his anger fizzled and died, and he bowed his head to rest at the crook of your neck as if all the fight had gone from him.

Very rarely did this timeless man show his age. It hurt to know you were the one to make him do so now; hurt enough to spur you into motion at last. A shift to accommodate his presence, a lift of the dead weights that had taken over your arms, and you managed to pull him in closer. If you could just hold on tight enough, maybe you could keep all of his pieces together once again. “I can’t lose you,” his admission wasn’t new, but it was still as raw as the last time you’d heard those words, nearly inaudible as he nuzzled at the base of your neck.

Words came to you, then; seemed to pour out of that space inside your (humany-woomany) heart where the Time Lord had long since staked claim. “You won’t,” you vowed, willing the cosmos to, at least, cooperate on this front. If you could just give him this much, then you would maybe be okay with things never going according to plan. “D'you really think I could lose you either? Doctor, nothing would break me more. If we live, we live together. If we die, we die together. Not even the This, That and Other of Rassilon would keep me away.

 And, okay. Maybe it was a cheap shot, to use Those Words to argue your point. Those Words that had been spoken all of thrice before: once in an escape pod at the bottom of the ocean, once in a fractured timeline, and once with a field of stars as witness. But his wet chuckle below your ear said he’d appreciated the reminder all the same.

It was hard to say, exactly, just how long the pair of you stood there. Time was a tricky thing to measure inside the TARDIS on the best of days, and neither you nor the Doctor were exactly in any rush. Tucked back in a random corridor as you were, it was almost impossible to hear the familiar grind of the TARDIS’ engines–enough so that each other’s deep, low breaths were enough to drown out much else. It was almost as if, by holding onto one another, you could squeeze each other’s sorrows away, until all that was left was the pair of you. Maybe that’s what you were trying to do. Maybe that’s what he was trying to do.

Eventually, of course, the Doctor re-emerged with a drawn-out inhale, pulling away to grip your shoulders. “Never again,” the Doctor vowed, looking you in the eye like he could carve the words onto your very soul, “I swear to you, never again. Whatever we face, we’ll find a way around it. Together.”

“Together,” you agreed, already feeling lighter. Guess you’d gotten that Really Big Hug after all. “Forever and always.”

Alright, the first thing I can say about this fic is that, while there isn’t all that much dialogue, it still manages not to get bogged down in exposition or become long-winded with rambling. There’s this perfect balance of dialogue and narration that makes for a really fun read. Punctuation and spelling are good, sentence structure is flawless, and the language is just really creative, which heightens the reading experience. I think that my favorite part is that we got to see some darkness in the Doctor, some brokenness, without going for the full-on Dark!Doctor mode, which is really fun to read, and it tugs at the heartstrings so nicely. The Doctor was perfectly in character and so, so wonderful. All in all, a perfect imagine.

drawing of Ashildr for Inktober #18

Wow, I’m liking where this season is going!

Possibly the most adorable thing about the Matteusz/Charlie pairing is that Matteusz calls Charlie “Kochany”. According to the internet, this translates as “beloved”. Matteusz calls Charlie pet names in his native language.

But does Charlie even realise? He’s been in the TARDIS which means the translation circuits will affect him so he’ll hear everything as if it’s his native language. Can he differentiate between Matteusz speaking Polish and English or does it all sound the same to him?


David Tennant’s left eyebrow on Top Gear.

asmilelikestarlight  asked:

Your tags on that Fear Her photoset about the non-storm places made me very emotional.

Yeah… me too

That’s really what I think happened, too. Because if you take Jackie’s comment that the ghosts started showing up two months ago, and there was no sign of the Doctor and Rose… I mean, I know the TARDIS is a time machine, so Jackie’s timeline doesn’t necessarily jive with theirs… But the Doctor and Rose we see at the beginning of Army of Ghosts have obviously been doing the just-travelling kind of travelling for a bit, if they’ve taken time to pick up a souvenir for Jackie. 

So. Yeah. I put a few months in between Fear Her and Army of Ghosts, with the Doctor trying to keep them as safe and happy as possible, until Rose wanted to visit her mum, and bam. There they were. In the middle of the storm. 

I’ve also got that post with those tags in the drafts on the prompts blog, ready to post sometime in June, pre-Doomsday Month.