thirteen wives

  • River Song, stalling: When you love the Doctor it's like staring into the stars, because they'll never love you back! It's like falling in love with a black hole, because it just sucks you in! The Doctor won't save me because loving the Doctor is like loving myths, you can believe, but it'll never be real! Because MY HUSBAND-
  • Thirteen: *stares into the camera like it's The Office*

Suspender Space Wives sketch!

I love Thirteen’s outfit and may have bought some suspenders, comfortable looking boots and a men’s trench coat in honour of the reveal.

Also I’m so gay- send help!

Hopefully I’ll have time to neaten this up, add colour, etc. at some point soon but we’ll see…

Lancea Longini #12

Summary: Modern-day AU where Steve is a college professor whose specialty is WWII. You work for Stark Industries and after leading an excavation of Hitler’s secret bunker, you find an object that was thought to be a legend.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Female Reader, & Clint Barton
Word Count: 1,323
Warnings: Fluff, implied SMUT, & angst.
Author’s Note:  
Miss the beginning?  GIF credit [x] Other GIFs found on Google Images. Tumblr is dumb and won’t let me tag everyone, so I’m sorry if you’ve asked to be tagged and it isn’t working. Please don’t hate me.

Rolling to your back, you kicked off the heavy blanket and stared at the ceiling fan that was circling lazily. It wasn’t that Steve had baggage that made you feel like running away, it was the kind of baggage he had. A dead fiance was one thing, but to have that fiance come back from the dead… no, that wasn’t something you wanted to deal with. You wanted to pack up your things, grab Ellie, and go… anywhere but here; Tahiti maybe. You snorted in laughter because the mere thought of it was ridiculous. You weren’t the type to tuck tail and run, but Steve had gotten under your skin in a way no one before him had. You had started to think you could have a life with him; a life that included a house with a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a couple of dogs running around.

Scraping your hands over your face, you groaned low and heavy. You sat up and pushed off the bed, deciding that for now, coffee was the most important thing. Everything else could wait.

You stayed in the apartment, doors locked, curtains drawn, ignoring every text and phone call from Steve. Not that you didn’t read them or delete the voice mails without listening; you weren’t a bitch, you just needed time. Time to think things through.

Keep reading