#I do think Martha deserved better bc she did but it has nothing to do with the crush | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shkspr · 3 years

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hi. on your post where you may or may not have ended on 'moffat is either your angel or your devil' did you have maybe an elaboration on that somewhere that i could possibly hear about. i'm very much a capaldi era stan and i've never tried to defend the matt smith era even though it had delightful moments sometimes so i wonder where that puts me. i'd love to hear your perspective on moffat as a person with your political perspective. -nicole

hi ok sorry i took so long to respond to this but i dont think you know how LOADED this question is for me but i am so happy to elaborate on that for you. first a few grains of salt to flavor your understanding of the whole situation: a. im unfairly biased against moffat bc im a davies stan and a tennant stan; b. i still very much enjoy and appreciate moffat era who for many reasons; and c. i hate moffat on a personal level far more than i could ever hate his work.

the thing is that its all always gonna be a bit mixed up bc i have to say a bunch of seemingly contradictory things in a row. for instance, a few moffat episodes are some of my absolute favorites of the rtd era, AND the show went way downhill when moffat took over, AND the really good episodes he wrote during the rtd era contained the seeds of his destruction.

like i made that post about the empty child/the doctor dances and it holds true for blink and thats about it bc the girl in the fireplace and silence in the library/forest of the dead are good but not nearly on the same level, and despite the fact that i like them at least nominally, they are also great examples of everything i hate about moffat and how he approached dw as a whole.

basically. doctor who is about people. there are many things about moffats tenure as showrunner that i think are a step up from rtd era who! actual gay people, for one! but i think that can likely be attributed mostly to an evolving Society as opposed to something inherent to him and his work, seeing as rtd is literally gay, and the existence of queer characters in moffats work doesnt mean the existence of good queer characters (ill give him bill but thats it!)

i have a few Primary Grievances with moffat and how he ran dw. all of them are things that got better with capaldi, but didnt go away. they are as follows:

moffat projects his own god complex onto the doctor

rtd era who had a doctor with a god complex. you cant ever be the doctor and not have a god complex. the problem with moffats era specifically is that the god complex was constant and unrepentant and was seen as a fundamental personality trait of the doctor rather than a demon he has to fight. he has the Momence where you feel bad for him, the Momence where he shows his humility or whatever and youre reminded that he doesnt want to be the lonely god, but those are just. moments. in a story where the doctor thinks hes the main character. rtd era doctor was aware that he wasnt the main character. he had to be an authority sometimes and he had to be the loner and he had to be sad about it, but he ultimately understood that he was expendable in a narrative sense.

this is how you get lines like “were the thin fat gay married anglican marines, why would we need names as well?” from the same show that gave you the gut punch moment at the end of midnight when they realize that nobody asked the hostess for her name. and on the one hand, thats a small sticking point, but on the other hand, its just one small example of the simple disregard that moffat has for humanity.

incidentally, this is a huge part of why sherlock sucked so bad: moffats main characters are special bc theyre so much bigger and better than all the normal people, and thats his downfall as a showrunner. he thinks that his audience wants fucking sheldon cooper when what they want is people.

like, ok. think of how many fantastic rtd era eps are based in the scenario “what if the doctor wasnt there? what if he was just out of commission for a bit?” and how those eps are the heart of the show!! bc theyre about people being people!! the thing is that all of the rtd era companions would have died for the doctor but he understood and the story understood that it wasnt about him.

this is like. nine sending rose home to save her life and sacrifice his own vs clara literally metaphysically entwining her existence w the doctor. ten also sending rose with her family to save her life vs river being raised from infancy to be obsessed w the doctor and then falling in love w him. martha leaving bc she values herself enough to make that decision vs amy being treated like a piece of meat.

and this is simultaneously a great callback to when i said that moffats episodes during the rtd era sometimes had the same problems as his show running (bc girl in the fireplace reeks of this), and a great segue into the next grievance.

moffat hates women

he hates women so fucking much. g-d, does steven moffat ever hate women. holy shit, he hates women. especially normal human women who prioritize their normal human lives on an equal or higher level than the doctor. moffat hated rose bc she wasnt special by his standards. the empty child/the doctor dances is the nicest he ever treated her, and she really didnt do much in those eps beyond a fuck ton of flirting.

girl in the fireplace is another shining example of this. youve got rose (who once again has another man to keep her busy, bc moffat doesnt think shes good enough for the doctor) sidelined for no reason only to be saved by the doctor at the last second or whatever. and then youve got reinette, who is pretty and powerful and special!

its just. moffat thinks that the doctor is as shallow and selfish as he is. thats why he thinks the doctor would stay in one place with reinette and not with rose. bc moffat is shallow and sees himself in the doctor and doesnt think he should have to settle for someone boring and normal.

not to mention rose met the doctor as an adult and chose to stay with him whereas reinette is. hm. introduced to the doctor as a child and grows up obsessed with him.

does that sound familiar? it should! bc it is also true of amy and river. and all of them are treated as viable romantic pairings. bc the only women who deserve the doctor are the ones whose entire existence revolves around him. which includes clara as well.

genuinely i think that at least on some level, not even necessarily consciously, that bill was a lesbian in part bc capaldi was too old to appeal to mainstream shippers. like twelve/clara is still a thing but not as universally appealing as eleven/clara but i am just spitballing. but i think they weighed the pros and cons of appealing to the woke crowd over the het shippers and found that gay companion was more profitable. anyway the point is to segue into the next point, which is that moffat hates permanent consequences.

moffat hates permanent consequences

steven moffat does not know how to kill a character. honestly it feels like hes doing it on purpose after a certain point, like he knows he has this habit and hes trying to riff on it to meme his own shit, but it doesnt work. it isnt funny and it isnt harmless, its bad writing.

the end of the doctor dances is so poignant and so meaningful and so fucking good bc its just this once! everybody lives, just this once! and then he does p much the same thing in forest of the dead - this one i could forgive, bc i do think that preserving those peoples consciousnesses did something for the doctor as a character, it wasnt completely meaningless. but everything after that kinda was.

rory died so many times its like. get a hobby lol. amy died at least once iirc but it was all a dream or something. clara died and was erased from the doctors memory. river was in prison and also died. bill? died. all of them sugarcoated or undone or ignored by the narrative to the point of having effectively no impact on the story. the point of a major character death is that its supposed to have a point. and you could argue that a piece of art could be making a point with a pointless death, ie. to put perspective on it and remind you that bad shit just happens, but with moffat the underlying message is always “i can do whatever i want, nothing is permanent or has lasting impact ever.”

basically, with moffat, tragedy exists to be undone. and this was a really brilliant, really wonderful thing in the doctor dances specifically bc it was the doctor clearly having seen his fair share of tragedy that couldnt be helped, now looking on his One Win with pride and delight bc he doesnt get wins like this! and then moffat proceeded to give him the same win over and over and over and over. nobody is ever dead. nobody is ever unable to be saved. and if they are, really truly dead and/or gone, then thats okay bc moffat has decided that [insert mitigating factor here]*

*the mitigating factor is usually some sort of computerized database of souls.

i can hear the moffat stans falling over themselves to remind me that amy and rory definitely died, and they did - after a long and happy life together, they died of old age. i dont consider that a character death any more than any other character choosing to permanently leave the tardis.

and its not just character deaths either, its like, everything. the destruction of gallifrey? never mind lol! character development? scrapped! the same episode four times? lets give it a fifth try and hope nobody notices. bc he doesnt know how to not make the doctor either an omnipotent savior or a self-pitying failure.

it is in nature of doctor who, i believe, for the doctor to win most of the time. like, it wouldnt be a very good show if he didnt win most of the time. but it also wouldnt be a very good show if he won all of the time. my point is that moffats doctor wins too often, and when he doesnt win, it feels empty and hollow rather than genuinely humbling, and you know hes not gonna grow from it pretty much at all.

so like. again, i like all of doctor who i enjoy all of it very much. i just think that steven moffat is a bad show runner and a decent writer at times. and it is frustrating. and im not here to convince or convert anyone im just living my truth. thank you for listening.

#sorry if this is repetitive or makes no sense or if i got some details of the show wrong #i simply couldnt be bothered to put too much effort into this post #lest it become a research paper and take me several weeks to answer #anyway thats all my opinions #dw #ok to rb

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npdclaraoswald · 3 years

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@cauldronofmorning asked for these for both MASH and Doctor Who, so

MASH

1. What OTP's in your fandom do you just not get?

Charles/Klinger! I tried reading one of their fics just to see what the hell the appeal is and I think it's supposed to be some sort of enemies to lovers Cinderella story? But Charles is a racist and he treats Klinger terribly!!! Klinger deserves better! And he has better! He's great with Soon Lee and I don't understand why you would erase her or break them up for Charles

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

I wouldn't say ruined, bc I don't actively dislike them, but I don't like how beejhawk shippers treat Trapper and Carlye to make BJ look better

7. Is there anything you used to like but can't stand now?

I've only been in this fandom for like two months, I haven't had time for that

11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn't? Why?

Not really? I can't really think of any unpopular characters aside from like, Frank, who deserves to be unpopular. Trapper I guess, since so much fic villainizes him in his relationship with Hawkeye for reasons I don't at all understand

12. Is there an unpopular arc that you liked and the fandom didn't? Why?

Not that I can think of

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

I know MASH is anti-war overall, but I do feel like we ignore the implications of loving army characters so much, and really gloss over how poorly the Korean characters are treated

22. Popular character you hate?

Flagg, I guess? I wouldn't exactly call him popular, but I have seen some people say he's funny and good satire, but I never really found him funny

23. Unpopular character you love?

Idk if he's really unpopular, but Sidney my beloved

Doctor Who

1. What OTP's in your fandom do you just not get?

I don't know if I have any? With all of the ships I'm aware of, even if I don't ship them, I do at least see the appeal. I guess 11 with any of his companions, but that's just bc I don't like 11

5. Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

Not really. I do think tenrose is a bit overrated, but the show ran that into the ground in season 3 more than the fandom ever could

7. Is there anything you used to like but can't stand now?

The Family of Blood/Human Nature two parter. I know it's super popular and I used to like it too, but I just can't get over how fucking cruel and thoughtless it was of the Doctor to pick that particular time and place to strand Martha in and I fucking hate that he falls in love with a racist and that she gets to come back for the RTD era finale

11. Is there an unpopular character you like that the fandom doesn't? Why?

Clara Oswald, my beloved. She seems to be a really polarizing character where people either love or despise her, and admittedly, I used to hate her top bc she is absolutely a plot device more than a person in s7, but jesus christ, does she make up for it in her spiral into recklessness, control, and trying to be the Doctor. I love her so fucking much.

12. Is there an unpopular arc that you liked and the fandom didn't? Why?

Speaking of Clara, while I'm definitely not going to say Iiked season 7, I am endlessly fascinated by the concept of versions of her scattered throughout all of time and space and I don't understand how the fandom (or the show) hasn't addressed that more

19. What is the one thing you hate most about your fandom?

Oh, right now, all of the RTD love. I've gotten to a better place with my body image, but I am a fat person and watching his outrageous fatphobia as a teenager was awful. Plus, he treated Mickey and Martha like shit, and he treats older women poorly too. And while I don't really pay attention to behind the scenes stuff, I do know Billie Piper has said she felt harrassed on set and that RTD did nothing to prevent it. Like, yes, Moffant and Chibnall have some fucking problems, but so did RTD and I am NOT excited about his return

22. Popular character you hate?

The Eleventh Doctor. I fucking hate how he treats women, from him kissing Jenny without her consent to asking Rory for his consent for him to hug Amy but not hers. I'm 90% certain that the reason he's like that is bc Moffat treated him as a self insert and had every fucking woman in the universe throw themselves at his feet, and that the reason the writing with Twelve improved so much was that he stopped seeing him as a self insert

23. Unpopular character you love?

Mickey Smith my beloved. He had such a cool character arc, but the narrative still treated him like a useless idiot, just so they could prop up tenrose

#mash #dw

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arse-crack-thistle · 3 years

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gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians. All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

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countessrivers · 3 years

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Doctor/Master for 28 (Smoke) if you have time :)

He tells them that it will take three days to dismantle the paradox machine and get the TARDIS working properly again. Jack offers to help, but the Doctor waves him off, and he goes without much of a fight, eager to contact his team. Martha too has her hands full with her family, and though the Doctor checks in with her, he mostly leaves her to it.

UNIT had swarmed the Valiant quickly, locking it down and taking control, arresting Lucy and the guards who had been genuinely loyal to the Master, and questioning everyone else. The Doctor mostly avoids them, keeping to the TARDIS and ignoring the guards posted outside while he works. They don’t try to force their way in, UNIT knows better than that, but the Doctor somewhat resents their presence all the same, and it’s easy to lock the doors, lock everything else out, and concentrate on his task.

In truth, removing the paradox machine only takes two days, as he knew it would. The third day, the Doctor spends preparing the Master’s body.

Whether it’s basic or overly elaborate, all intelligent cultures have some kind of process for dealing with, and disposing of, their dead. However, unlike many cultures, the universe across, Time Lord funerary rites were concerned almost entirely with destroying the body as completely as possible. Can’t leave stray genetic material like that lying around for anyone to stumble across, much less a whole corpse.

Traditionally there’s no particular ritual needed, no words or chants to be spoken, but all the same, the Doctor takes his time, washing the Master’s body and redressing it with care. The blood-stained shirt is left aside and replaced with one pulled from the TARDIS wardrobe. He leaves off the shoes and socks, the suit jacket and tie as well, but after a moment’s pause, slips the heavy silver ring back onto his finger.

Though he tries not to, the entire time the Doctor hopes that something will change, that this will prove to be yet another of the Master’s tricks. He hopes against hope that he’ll feel a pulse beneath his fingers as he wipes the dirt and sweat from the Master’s neck, or buttons the cuffs at his wrists. He waits foolishly for the cold, still body under his hands to warm again with life.

But there is nothing.

Within the shroud he wraps the Master in, the Doctor includes as many of the required plants and mixtures as he has on hand. Some are for the smell, some to help the fire burn hotter, and some are simply remnants of home, burnt with the body in the closest thing Time Lords ever got to ritual sentimentality. He packs a bag with the rest, to be built into the pyre itself.

At the end of day three, his work done, the Doctor emerges from the TARDIS, looking for his companions. He finds Martha first and there must be something in his face because she just silently wraps her arms around him. He hugs her back, and his hearts soar with affection for her.

“All done?” she asks when they eventually separate.

“Yep, she’s good as new,” he replies, forcing cheer. “Just wanted to let you know I’ve got to pop down for a bit. Won’t be long, I’ve just got to…”

He finds himself trailing off at Martha’s inquisitive look, not sure how to put into words what he has to do, not sure how she’ll take it. She nods at him to continue, brows raised.

“We usually burn our dead. Safer that way. Can’t let Time Lord DNA fall into the wrong hands. Who knows what might happen? So, I was just going to…”

Martha smiles at him sadly, but with more understanding than he deserves. “It’s fine. Go.”

When he returns to the TADRIS, he has her land somewhere remote, somewhere far from any settlement. She picks the edge of a clearing, surrounded by trees that are far enough away that they won’t catch alight, but that still provide enough wood nearby to build the pyre.

It’s late afternoon when he lands, but well into the evening by the time he’s done. It’s hard work, picking and dragging and stacking the wood to the proper height, but the Doctor pushes through it, keeps working until he’s sore and aching and it’s done.

He tries to remember the last proper funeral he’d been to. It certainly wasn’t on Gallifrey, and he actually thinks it might have been here, on Earth. Yes, in Egypt, sometime around 1290 BC.

No one did a funeral quite like the Egyptians.

There had been an alien loose in Thebes, ransacking the mountain tombs, and while investigating he’d gotten swept up in the funeral procession for one of the local temple scribes. The Doctor can remember vividly the long line of people snaking from the river up into the mountain.

More so, he remembers the wails of the mourners, how the women wept and pulled at their hair and beat their breasts, their cries echoing across the rocky ridges. The women had been led by the scribe’s wife, and the Doctor remembers how her voice had cracked, had shaken, as she cried out her grief, as she sung, clutching at her husband’s body as it was dragged up the mountain.

Go away? How can you do that?

They’d never done anything like that back on Gallifrey. There would be witnesses, sure, friends and family at least, but no long processions, no piles of buried goods, and certainly no wailing.

There’s not likely to be any wailing now, either. He’d done that, clung to the Master’s body and begged him to stay, begged him not to leave. He’d screamed and sobbed and done it in front of an audience too. But now, he feels wrung dry, empty.

Do not abandon me.

With the pyre ready, he returns to the TARDIS to collect the Master’s body. He cradles it in his arms as he crosses the clearing, the shrouded head tucked against his chest. It’s heavy, but the Doctor feels it should be heavier. He shouldn’t be able to carry the Master so easily. Something should be weighing him down. Something should be stopping him.

But nothing does, and when the Doctor shifts the Master’s body to his shoulder to climb the ladder, when he lays him flat across the top of the pyre, he finally realises nothing will.

He’s gone. The Master is gone.

You are silent, you do not speak.

The pyre catches quick, helped by the accelerants he had placed between the logs. Fire licks at the wood, climbing higher and higher until the whole thing is alight. The heat is intense, and clouds of black smoke billow up into the night sky.

The scented wood, the plants tucked in and around the Master’s body, do much to mask the smell of burning flesh, but it’s still not entirely pleasant, the smoke thick and choking and almost blinding. It stings his eyes, sticks in his throat, making it hard to breath without the bypass, but the Doctor stays, remains close by to watch the Master’s body be consumed by the flames.

He doesn’t weep, he doesn’t rage. There are no words to chant or sing or cry. He simply stands there, silently, watching the flames jump and crackle, knowing that soon there will be nothing left of the Master, nothing left but a bloodied shirt and the memories he keeps.

The Doctor stays until the pyre starts to collapse in on itself, only then turning and walking away, leaving nothing behind except his footprints and the pyre itself.

I walk alone.

He doesn’t immediately return to the Valiant though. Instead he sits by the TARDIS, watching from a distance until the pyre burns itself completely out, and the smoke dissipates into nothing.

#doctor who #thoschei #tensimm #the doctor #the master #tenth doctor #simm!master #fan fic #my stuff #ask replies #johnsimms #fun fact those are real quotes from a real mourning lament from the tomb of a real egyptian nk temple scribe #translating hieroglyphs for inclusion in my thesis? nah #translating hieroglyphs for inclusion in fan fic

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thecoveys · 6 years

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spring awakening for the musicals ask game!

Leave a musical in my ask and I will tell you…

• my favourite character

Oooh man, I have to pick, don’t I??

Well, I am a true Moritz stan (you can quote me on that) and I do love him a lot, but we also stan Ilse and Wendla on this blog. If haaaaad to pick though, I’d go with Moritz.

• a song that reminds me of my favourite character

I’m gonna do all three that I mentioned bc I’m a rebel like that

Moritz - “Start Again” by Conrad Sewell

Ilse - “Hurricane” by Halsey

Wendla - “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry

• a character that deserved better

*bursts into confetti that spells out Martha*

• an unpopular opinion about one of the characters

I’m not good with unpopular opinions tbh. I’m not good at serving tea in the way some people in this fandom are.

HOWEVER I do have some strong feelings about the general characterization of my boy Ernst that I see in this fandom. Ernst as a character on his own is awesome, we stan, but for some reason the fandom doesn’t do him justice (I too am guilty of this, but at least I am aware and I actively try to be better)

oh, and I also don’t hate Melchior as strongly as some people. I recognize his flaws and I don’t condone his actions, and I do give him a hard time for the memes, but I don’t hate him in the way some people do.

• the character that has the best development

Am I allowed to say Melchior, or will that open Pandora’s Box of negativity in my ask box? I mean, Melchior is the only character of the main characters that survives and actually gets to have decent development.

I wanna say Wendla, but y’know, she ded.

• my least favourite character

Any adult character. Fanny Gabor can stay, but she’s on thin fucking ice.

• the character that I relate to the most

I don’t think I necessarily relate to any of the kids, but I did take to Moritz right away when I first discovered the musical.

• the character (if any) I have an inexplicable crush on

Otto and Thea. Like bro, they’re barely there but when they are there, I love them to pieces.

• my favourite version of my favourite character (which production? who played them?)

In the original Broadway run, I absolutely love Gerard Canonico’s Moritz. He’s one of my favourite actors for Moritz, and tumblr is hardcore sleeping on Gerard’s version of him.

However, nothing will ever surpass Daniel Durant and Alex Boniello as Moritz in the Deaf West production. Their chemistry on stage is something unlike anything I’ve ever seen on a stage. Daniel is a fantastic actor and I admire him a lot, and all of his choices for Moritz worked so well and Alex bouncing off of what Daniel did while simultaneously bringing life to Moritz’ subconscious is something that I have yet to see again on a stage.

I also hardcore stan Sandra Mae Frank and Katie Boeck’s Wendla, for many of the same reasons. Lea Michele who??

• a random headcanon about one of the characters

Otto writes. That’s it, that’s the headcanon. He writes poems, stories, notes, diaries.

#ask games #answered #spring awakening #dwsa #i got way too into this and i am not sorry #i love ask games like this where i can rant about my favourite musicals #send me more???#coniello

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pilotheather · 3 years

Text

aye, really starting to loathe the “yaz kills either graham/ryan whilst under the dalek influence” like-

1. first of all. hate this presumption that graham/ryan have to die. personally, im fine with companions dying - clara’s penultimate exit in face the raven was done beautifully, i think, and i will FOREVER resent them not leaving it like that. however with graham and ryan? literally, i just feel like... it’s so cheap. it offers nothing, babes! and it’s just infinitely LESS interesting than if you just kept them alive.

all the companions, in my opinions, still lack development. i do love them! i really am warming to them. but we’re two seasons in, and the fact of the matter remains they just... haven’t gelled too well with the show proper and they aren’t as fully realised as they should be by this point. and frankly, its not one singular problem moreso it’s an interwoven web of issues (hence it’s hard to really unpick that, without unravelling the whole mess) that have affected the show completely. the point is, despite being here so long, they just still feel so unexplored as people and a little unknown to us and idk!!! i think killing them, wouldn’t offer much in the way of anything interesting - other than, like i said, a very cheap way to instigate tragedy, and springboard some trauma-induced development for yaz&13 - because we aren’t really gaining more than we’re losing here, man.

clara’s exit in face the raven WORKED because it had been building up to it all season. i also dont like amy/rory’s exits (but that’s v potentially my own biases) but theoretically, i can see the vision for that- and the reason why that would be so tragic, is BECAUSE amy&rory are so fully formed at tht point that that loss hits. im not sayin graham&ryan dying would NOT be sad, but it’s... just too soon, still, for me. and when, narratively speaking, they’ve been setting up them thinking about leaving anyway? at least, ryan has? just doesn’t feel quite right at all and just like i said: a pointless attempt, at taking their exits, and doing weird tragedy shit with it for the sake of it.

especially when the ALTERNATIVE is they can stay on in the same way martha did: on earth, totally fine, and with the opportunity to reappear in later seasons. they can progress offscreen in ways that can be satisfying, in the way martha did. she moved on; she became someone different; and yet that change was still guided by what we had seen. same can be done with ryan and graham, finishing their stories and making them all the more satisfying.

2. piggybacking off of that. literally, this scenario of yaz killing them: what would that DO for yaz exactly? like.. what big payoff are u expecting from her? you’re just... horrifically traumatising her. and im wondering, like- where would that leave her in s13? because she’s supposed to still be here, then, and supposedly travelling with the doctor. and again it just feels so damn cheap: because yaz really does still feel like she’s at the beginning of her story, despite being here for two years (and god am i a little mad abt that; it’s so, so sad that she really could be replaced with a cardboard cutout for most of s11). explore what we HAVE of her, first, before trying to go so damn dark with her. it’s not going to have the payoff you want. you have to work a bit more, to do something like that first. using some fucked up shit like that, just as a springboard for character development it just- it feels so damn lazy to me... and again, i do not feasibly see how this could properly segue into s13 on that damn note. like the conse

3. and just... god in general. i just. okay again with chibbers and his writing. literally i dont want to sound so negative abt chibnall bc like SOME ppl really do just fucking attack . KILL. over every damn thing, without a breath and its like... okay babe. okay. and i mean, granted i can be a little like tht with moffat tbh - and so i get ppl do get a little FERVENT when it comes to shit they dont like but- BUT MY POINT IS. i really dont hate-hate this era of who. s7 will still be my least favourite, even if i do still regard this all as bottom of the pile stuff- and that is frustrating, because it really does have potential! but anyway god. what was my fucking point. oh yeah. chibnall. if this was the case.... if this really did fucking happen. god no offence but fucking hell i do not trust chibnall to treat such a heavy scene well enough. not with the way s11 and s12 have been. and its just because... again this is all the WEB OF ISSUES with these seasons... but all of it just boils down to: every single script really needed a second or third pass over. ITS LIKE, things are kinda right, but its always jsut...wrong and its soi many things that just dont quite work and instead all work in tandem to bring this ship down.

too many companions, leading to a bloated tardis; leading to none of them getting enough focus; leading to weaker characters whose dynamics with each other aren’t always hitting. there’s swathes of s12, where the doctor is just completely disconnected from the companions altogether. she just doesnt talk to them. and there’s a difference between her being detached, and her just.... LITERALLT FORGETTING THEY EXIST. i remember- was it ryan who disappears at one poimt, and she JUST DOESNT NOTICE? and then all of them disappear in fugitive? like its just so... the companion-docgtor relationship is so INTEGRAL to the whole show!!! it makes story beats less effective; not even that, the whole energy is brought down, because they just don’t TALK properly (and the dialogue... good god, is it stiff: and whilst i hated 11′s era of mutated LOL THAT’S SO RANDOM. THE HORSE IS NAMED SUSAN. BOWTIES FEZ FEZ HOW MANY MARKETABLE RANDOM SHIT CAN WE THROW AT THE PAAAGE it felt like characters were bouncing off each other... there’s now these long pauses, places where it should have been snappier, awkward remarks thrown in there and then) . it, again, bloats EVERYTHING bc half the time you have to just give stuff for these ppl to do and its like man, why! why ! its all so.... sloppy in a way that’s sad bc it was ALMOST right. things are ALMOST right here but it doesnt QUITE work and it needs pulling together into something neater, tighter. AND GIVEN ALL OF THAT. i do not think, with the way he’s been handling things, this man would ever be capable of pulling off something as fucked up like that in a way that has any weight even disregarding the two above points

4 lastly. just fucking dont kill ryan man. c’mon. how many main, black characters have we had? hmm, let’s see. martha, mickey, danny, bill. we’re going at a 50% survival rate, with the other two facing pretty poor treatment in the writing room in general. no, im not letting it go: you cant literally refer to mickey, who was the first, like, leading black character on the show, as a fucking DOG repeatedly. if you’re gonna decide to diversify the tardis, pay your dues; dont fucking axe him for what, again, really just feels like empty emotional tortureporn. ryan deserves better.

#egg.txt

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mollymauk-teafleak · 6 years

Note

The night we shared for the first time + hamliza (bc who else) please?

Here it is, the AU you’ve all been waiting for!

Best Friends and a Baby AU!

(Also, seeing as it’s my birthday, if you fancy giving me an amazing, completely free of charge present you could always leave a comment on this or any of my fics on Ao3! And for the more affluent, I have a ko-fi)

Forthe second time in as many weeks, Alexander Hamilton found himself on aspectacularly, singularly uncomfortable chair, looking at his best friend withan utterly staggered expression in his wide, brown eyes and straining his earsthrough the ambient chatter around him in the vain hope that he’d just misheardand she didn’t just say what he thought she’d said. It was a pretty damnspecific situation to be in but it was one that he was starting to find eerilyfamiliar; one he assumed with a sinking heart he wasn’t through with.

“I’msorry, it’s how much?” he stressed, his hands shifting restlessly in thedeep pockets of the hoodie he wore, a nervous, fidgeting tic he’d been doingsince he took his seat in the waiting room and hadn’t stopped or even slowed.

Elizasighed deeply, tiredly and pulled the stiff pamphlet the doctor had just givenher out from under her arm and pushed it across the seat between them towardsAlex, the relevant page open so she wouldn’t have to say it again and tastethat sour disappointment.

“Fuckinghell,” Alex winced at the sight of the figures almost apologetically printed onthe page, a breakdown of all the medications needed and the consultanciesrequired and the procedures involved, each with its own piece of stone to addto the enormous boulder of a sum at the very bottom line.

“Yeah.That about sums it up,” Eliza allowed with a forced shrug, “And I’d have totake time off work too. For yet more hospital appointments.”

“Oh,”Alex grunted, biting his lower lip and freeing one hand from his cavernoussweater to play with his hair, a sure sign that he’d shifted onto a whole otherplane of anxiety. He knew how much Eliza despised hospitals, it was a miracleand a testament to how much she wanted this that she was even here today, “That…that sucks.”

‘Sucks’felt like it fell a few thousand miles short of what this situation was. Alex’sstomach felt like it had detached from whatever biological skulduggery held itin place and was bouncing loose inside his stomach, the sensation someone wouldprobably have if they’d been riding one of those proper skull-shattering,skeleton-rearranging roller coasters for two weeks straight. Which was prettymuch exactly what Alex had been experiencing, albeit in more of an emotionalthan literal sense.

Hecouldn’t deny that the overwhelming emotion he’d felt when it had become clearthat his best friend didn’t intend for this to be one of their usual lunchdates where they spouted bile about their colleagues who were driving them upthe wall (mostly Alex) or entertained with stories of what ridiculous RichPeople Shit their family had pulled this week (exclusively Eliza), the emotionthat ruled his mind in that instant was fear. He refused to feel guilty forthat and knew Eliza wouldn’t expect it of him. How else was he supposed toreact when the girl whose right-hand man he’d been since the very first day ofcollege, when he’d made an admittedly shaky but impactful first impression bywalking into her and spilling black coffee down the both of them, took hishands across their usual table at their favourite place to eat in the city andasked him in that firm but quiet voice of her’s if he’d mind having a baby withher. She genuinely did phrase it like that, of course she did.

She’dclarified a little better after Alex had recovered from choking on his soda andspending ten minutes hacking and spluttering loud enough to turn most otherheads in the cafe towards them. Her eyes had grown anxious and her cheeks hadturned pink as she’d insisted that she wasn’t asking anything of him but asperm donation, she’d thought about this so carefully and agonised over it formonths, she couldn’t think of anyone better than him, she trusted him, if hedidn’t want to be involved with…what it produced, no obligation at all, ofcourse she’d understand…

Allwhile Alex felt like someone had whipped away the classy hardwood floorsunderneath his feet and left him spiralling through empty space. Memories he’dhoped to never feel invading his brain again were piling up faster than hecould tip them back down into the darker recesses of his mind, giving him thesensation of swarms of spiders clambering and skittering over him, gettingunder his skin. The word father didn’t have amazing connotations forAlex, it never had, but he’d been able to avoid it for a long time while he wasat college and law school, only getting the slightest roiling stomachs andsweaty palms and lips chewed until they bled when his friends would talk abouttheir children, Lafayette and Martha and even John would talk of his daughteroften and fondly. Of course, the panic would only last until he actually metthe little sprogs, they were all cute and funny and liked how their Tio Alexkept marker pens in his pockets so they could colour in his tattoos; theanxiety never held up long after that but there would still be that twinge deepin his stomach at the word alone. He wasn’t sure that was ever going away butat least it was small enough to cope with.

Andthere he was in the middle of the cafe, trying to hide a goddamn riot behind agrin that was turning into a grimace and eyes that were far too shiny to beconsidered normal. And somewhere in the middle of it all, while his back wasturned and his brain occupied with damage control, with putting out as manysmall fires on the inside of his skull as he could before it could turn into aconflagration, a ‘yes’ slipped past his gritted teeth.

Bothhim and Eliza had been utterly stunned by that, nothing passing between thembut a shared look of slack, wide eyed surprise. Alex hadn’t even been awarethat there was a ‘yes’ lurking somewhere, battling its way through his anxiety,through beating winds and raging storms to climb off his tongue ahead of thefrantic screech that oh fuck, he just remembered he’s parked by a meter and heleft his iron on at home and he doesn’t speak English and he only has two moreseconds to live, please excuse him…

Butit had worked so hard to get there…so he supposed that was his answer?

Sohere Alex was, being confronted with the damnable highway robbery that was theAmerican medical system and trying to platonically make a baby with his bestfriend. What exactly his game plan was in the moment his…stuff mixed up withEliza’s…stuff and made…more stuff and he was technically no longer neededaccording to the laws of biology, of that he wasn’t exactly sure. He could tellEliza was wondering but she hadn’t pressed, she’d only began to cry and leaptacross the table to give him one of her patented, full body, vice tight hugsthat showed how much unexpected strength was in those delicate arms of her’s.Alex didn’t really think he deserved so much thanks, that he’d earned that lookof awe and adoration in her eyes when she looked at him ever since that fatefullunch date, just for saying yes to jacking off into a specimen cup. That’s allhe’d said a firm yes to. In the few weeks since that day, he’d been franticallycombing his mind for another scrap of certainty to present itself and tell himwhat his brain wanted but it seemed to have completely dried up after the firsttime. Which was pretty fucking rich of his brain, to get him into thissituation and then bail entirely, leaving him with just a terrifying, panicstreaked blankness.

Buthe was here. He loved Eliza, he wanted to help and he’d hold to his promise.Besides, it was only himself he was terrified over, he knew without a singleshred of doubt that Eliza would be a fantastic mother, so wonderful and perfectfor the job that it would be kind of criminal to deprive a child of being bornbelonging to her. Maybe that love and assurance would be enough to cancel outhis contribution…

“Howis it so expensive?” Alex exclaimed, reading the paper again like he could willit to be more palatable, “I mean…isn’t it just like a fancy turkey baster?”

Elizascrewed up her face, making her nose that could only be described in that clichédbut sweet way as ‘button’ crinkle adorably, “Ew, Alex.”

“I’mpretty sure that’s what it is,” Alex crossed his arms defensively, “I did do myreading.”

Hehad, in fact. Alexander Hamilton didn’t do anything without researching itfully first.

Elizaran her fingers through her hair, twisting it into curtains around her facelike she always did when she was stressed, “Well…I guess we can’t do thisright now.”

Alexwinced. He’d love to offer to cover the cost of the procedure, hell even halfof it would do, but college and law school had left him with a crippling amountof debt and not an awful lot else. He’d arrived on his very first day with nextto nothing and had somehow come out the other side with even less.

“Couldyou ask your parents?” he suggested, not liking the idea even as it came out ofhis mouth but he just wanted to do something to take that devastated look offher face.

Elizalooked down at her hands, retreating even more into the sanctuary of her hair,“Um…I would but…they aren’t really fans of the idea.”

Thatjarred him. Not only was Eliza making this huge decision, and entrusting awhole huge chunk of her future happiness to him, she was doing it without thesupport of her parents. Alex wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first timein the twenty-six years she’d been alive that such a thing had happened.

“Oh…”Another thought closed up his throat and made his fingers tense into fists,“Are they…not fans of the whole idea or of the fact that it’s gonna be mybaby?”

Eliza’seyes widened, ‘Oh! Oh, no, no it’s not that, I promise. They’ve not liked itfrom the start, I told them I was thinking about it a while ago and well…thereaction wasn’t great. They just don’t get it.” Her voice grew so faint and sadat the end, her eyes dropping, her tone resigned but as if she’d still hopedfor better in spite of the evidence.

“I’m sorry, Bets…” Alex murmured in as soft a voice as he could evermanage, reaching across and taking her hand, gently moving it from pulling ather hair to clasping it in his lap with both of his own. If there was anyonewho understood general parental shittiness, it was him.

“Hey,it’s okay,” Eliza said, smiling with her usual quiet bravery, “I don’t mind.This is just a setback, right? We can come back to this in… I don’t know, ayear or so. Less if I let my car finally die and start roller-skating aroundNew York. Hey, maybe I’ll have an even more stable job and this will turn outto be for the best?”

“Morelike you’ll find a much better sperm source,” Alex lifted an eyebrow, smilingcrookedly.

“Hey…”Eliza socked him lightly on the arm, “Stop that. I don’t want anyone else, youknow that.”

Alexchuckled, appreciating the lengths she’d go to in defending him from himself,in silent awe of her which, in fairness, was how he spent most of his timearound Eliza. But he knew that face. He’d seen that face at 2am when they’dbeen sharing a cab back from the bar and she’d stuck her head out of the windowto see the lights rushing by and feel the wind in her hair. He’d seen that faceat half past eight, with thirty minutes to go before their final exam, blearyeyed with wild bird nest hair and a look of fierce, caffeine fuelleddetermination the likes of which he’d never seen. He’d seen it illuminated fromwithin like there was some kind of power source behind her eyes that otherpeople didn’t seem to have, a kind of sun that worked on pure joy and wonder,so bright that it could even warm someone like him. He’d seen that face nearlyevery day of his life for the past six years and he knew how to read it.

Andright now, he could see plain as day that Eliza was devastated.

She’dlooked so excited, that joy there again, as she’d taken him through all thethinking and daydreaming she’d done about this, how she’d known the time wasright now that she’d gotten herself a low paying but at least steady job, doingsome kind of clerk or data stuff type for one of the orphanages in town. It hadthe right hours, she could advance in time and with the time she’d beenspending with Dosia’s two boys and Martha’s little Frances and the gaggle ofkids Laf had been producing since the scarily young age of eighteen, she justwas so certain that this was what she wanted. And a year was a hell of a longtime to wait for something you wanted that badly.

Maybeit was that thought, that desperate need to offer her some kind of help, orelse pure and simple stupidity, the rise of his chronic and terminal foot inmouth disease, that made Alex say what he then said next. Or maybe it wassomething else entirely. Maybe, and this was a pretty shaky maybe, it was hisown want for this crazy, insane thing to happen. Maybe it was the fact that, asterrified and confused as this whole thing had made Alex at the start, rightnow? The thought of having to let go of the idea was more than he could bear.

So,he said it.

“Well,why don’t we just do things the old-fashioned way?” he tilted his head, tonelight and airy but there was no solid evidence that he was joking, “You andme?”

Elizalooked at him, a snarky comeback loaded and ready to go on her tongue but whenshe saw his face, her face became a mask of comic surprise.

“Theold-fashioned way?” she asked in a voice that was half scandalised, halfastounded, “As in…like…that.”

“Sex,Eliza, yes,” Alex filled in the gap for her, “You and me. Having sex. To make ababy. That is how it’s worked for thousands of years so…”

Elizagaped at him, reminding Alex of something his mama used to say, about closingyour mouth before you started catching flies. Absurdly calm, enough to reachover and delicately bringing her lower jaw up to close her lips, Alex smiledbemusedly. There didn’t seem to be any flies in here but you could never be toocareful.

“Imean…” he clarified, “This is something people do, right? They hook up forreasons other than, y’know, that they’re in a relationship. Platonic like. I’mnot gonna lie and say I don’t find you attractive, certainly enough to get thejob done. I may be setting myself up for a Mike Tyson blow to the ego here butI think I know you well enough, Bets, to say that you feel the same about me.”

“Butit’s…” Eliza found some words, if fragmented and scattered, “I… I do and I…I know what you’re talking about but…I do love you, Alex…but it’sweird!”

Alexpursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, “As weird as asking your friend todonate sperm?”

Elizaflushed a little, “Okay, smarty pants. Now we’re even.”

Hechuckled, noting that she still hadn’t taken her hand back from his own, shehadn’t moved away from him, “It is weird. But it makes a lot of sense, doesn’tit? We’re both single and young and pretty damn good looking and, mostimportantly, we care a whole damn lot about each other. And you’d get a baby,free of charge with no hospital fuckery required.”

Elizapercolated the logic in her head for awhile, Alex did always have a gift forselling his utterly madcap, bonkers ideas in a way that made them seem like thebest option for everyone involved. And she’d never seen him be wrong yet…notcompletely anyway.

And,if she was being completely honest with herself? At the thought of a night withAlex, freshman Eliza had perked up considerably and was currently bouncing onthe balls of her feet. Her crush on him had been intense, with it being hervery first and all, but it had settled with age as they both grew and maturedand the whole thing that once very possible could have been just neverhappened. Alex was the best friend she’d ever known outside of her family,someone who understood her completely inside and out and somehow still wantedto know more.

She’dalways love him and she was dizzyingly excited at the possibility of being amother. Ever since Alex had said yes, she’d been daydreaming of a tiny littlething who curled into her chest looking for love and safety that she was sowilling to give in staggering amounts, something beautiful that she could lookat with pride and know they would always belong to her and her to them. Herlittle piece of the universe. And yes, with Alex’s wry smile and thirst tolearn and to persevere through anything. The slight weirdness of having sexwith her best friend would be well worth that price.

Andwith half the stuff she and Alex had been through together, what was seeingeach other naked? What was a little roll in the sheets between friends?

“Okay,”Eliza had to laugh a little as she said it, feeling like a character in asitcom about to cut to commercial, “Just to get me pregnant.”

Herlaugh was infectious, soon Alex was giggling helplessly too. It was hard notto.

“Hey,it’s not even that weird, right?” he snorted, muffling his laughter in hissleeve so they didn’t get any more suspicious glances from the nurses andpatients around them, “Just think of it as me loaning you ten dollars. Except,y’know, instead of money, picture my penis…”

Elizalaughed even harder then, so hard tears began building in her eyes, “I thinkI’d rather not.”

“Well,yes, it’s a terrible metaphor,” he chuckled, “But in my defense, this situationis pretty damn rare.”

Thatwas certainly true. Rare and wild and risky. But that was kind of how Alex andEliza had always operated.

Elizashifted a little closer, only looking cuter red in the face and glittery in theeye from laughter, her hands knotting together with Alex’s, “You really are thebest friend ever, Hamilton.”

“Hey,let’s reserve all accolades until you’ve seen my moves, okay?” Alex chuckled,grinning that way he did that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up. But hestill kissed her cheek as they got up to leave, “And you’re my best friend evertoo. Which is exactly why you get the privilege of seeing me naked.”

“Oh,shut up, Hamilton,” Eliza grinned, “I take it back. Now, come on and knock meup.”

Alexscrewed up his face, trying not to dissolve into hysterics again, “Your placeor mine?”

Theanswer to that question was obviously Eliza’s place. Alex had a little cornerof the heights where you could touch both walls at once by stretching out yourarms and the whole thing rattled whenever the elevated train rushed past, insuch a way that all the furniture was rearranged when it was gone. That and itwas inhabited by Alex himself, who’d turned it into a nightmarish hoarder’snest. Not exactly the most sexy of locations, there were no pornographic filmsset amongst stacks of books threatening to fall over and boxes full of halfeaten pizza and groaning folders of case files fit to burst.

So,Eliza’s it was.

Bothof them let out twin sighs of relief once Eliza had put a glass of wine in eachof their hands, it made things feel a little easier. There was a thick pull oftension in the air, one that threatened the whole madcap operation until theycaught each other’s eye in the middle of a slightly stilted conversation on howAlex’s last few job interviews had been going (Eliza had been coaching him forevery single one). Then they both just bust out laughing.

“Idon’t think the whole ignoring the elephant in the room thing is working?” Alexgrinned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Want to just call it what it is and dothe damn thing?”

Elizasnorted, nearly getting rose right up her nose, “And would ‘the damn thing’ inthis case be me?”

Thatmade Alex laugh out loud, the tension in the pit of his stomach uncoiling andslithering away to hide, the way it always seemed to when Eliza was around,“Good thing this isn’t a date or I’d be out on my ass, huh?”

“Coursenot, I’d give you at least two more strikes,” she chuckles, “Though, to befair, if this was a date I wouldn’t be inviting you to my bedroom this early.Which I am about to do, heads up.”

“Thanks,”he smirked, clambering to his feet. He didn’t need Eliza to show him where herbedroom was, he’d slept over a good handful of times, after parties where Elizadeemed him too tipsy to get himself home.

Ithad to be said, the room was quintessentially Eliza. She couldn’t do much aboutthe faded carpet in the living room or the squat, leather sofas or the kitchencupboards that were the colour of phlegm, in Alex’s own words. But the bedroom,tucked away in the corner of the apartment with a window that looked out onto afire escape where she could perch on an evening and watch the sun sink belowthe New York skyline, leaving the stars free to come out, like a million eyesopening cautiously, only gleaming as bright as they could through the thick pollutionas soon as they saw the coast was clear. The room itself was a dusty blue, asoothing colour that seemed to wrap itself around you and keep you safe, thepalate broken only by the many, many photos of her loved ones on the wall (manyof them included Alex) and the rainbow of books and the bursts of green asflowering plants and succulents gathered like old friends embracing on everyspare surface. The quilt on her bed was the same one Alex remembered from herdorm room and every other place she’d lived since, the one she, of course, hadmade herself.

Thewhole scene was just so familiar to him as he stepped inside, trotting atEliza’s heels, so warm and safe and forgiving that he relaxed in spite of thefact that this was a step closer to go time. It was just that this room, maybein different locations but the same room in essence, had seen the absoluteworst of him- crying, having a panic attack, blind drunk, angry- and yet stillwelcomed him back.

Alot like Eliza herself.

“Okay,”Eliza spoke decisively, as if the awkwardness could be wrestled intononexistence by a firm word and a pair of crossed arms, “Kiss me. That’ll letme know if I actually want to do this or not.”

Alextilted his head a little, rolling the sleeves of his sweater up his arms, “ButI kiss you all the time?”

Andhe did, it was true, pecks on the cheek and forehead to make her smile when shewas feeling blue or in joyous awe after she yet again saved his ass with aperfectly timed up of coffee or one of her wonderfully simple solutions thatsomehow utterly fixed problems that he’d been chewing over for days.

“No,I mean…” Eliza searched for words, looking a little exasperated, “Kiss me likeyou’d kiss someone you really wanted to have sex with. Kiss me like…likesomeone you were dying to see naked, like you’re going to explode if you don’tget with them right this minute.”

Alexgave a little snort of disbelief but he stepped forward all the same andwithout another thought in his head, he brought his best friend close to him byway of firm hands on her shoulders and a swift, sure movement, pressing herlips to his, thinking of passion and love and want. He let his lips part alittle after a few moments, after she relaxed in his hold, tilting his head toclose just that little bit of unnecessary distance and was gratified to findher mirroring him. How long the kiss lasted, neither of them were really surebut it ended with both of them a little reluctant to let it go, leaving theundeniable answer as ‘not long enough’.

“So…”Alex murmured, a rasp in his voice.

“Yeah,”Eliza’s eyes were wide and her pupils seemed so big that Alex could fall intothem, “Yeah, I want to do this.”

Hesmiled that crooked smile of his though, underneath it, he was thinking thatthe kiss didn’t really feel all that different from any other time he’d kissedher, which was…disconcerting.

Theydecided to shed their clothes at the same time, in the interests of fairness.

Elizadiscovered that Alex had a lot more tattoos than she’d ever imagined, one’s hehad mentioned to her but she’d never seen with her own eyes, diminishing their expansiveness.Constellations scattered across his lower stomach, she’d seen them poking upabove the line of his pants when he stretched but she’d never realised how farthey reached, how detailed and beautiful in their simplicity they were. A papersailboat trekked bravely across his upper thigh, waves crashing around it, afeathered quill penned a long, looping line of ink up the length of one leg,smatterings of English, French and Spanish were carefully etched onto variousparts of him, curling around clocks and birds and flowers and a Puerto Ricanflag. He was a work of art.

Alexdiscovered a kind of roundness, a fullness, to Eliza around her hips, thighsand stomach. There were curves and slopes and valleys usually hidden underneathher clothes, a smattering of stretch marks he hadn’t known existed, a fewfreckles that moved up the inside of a thigh to places he couldn’t see fromhere but found himself desperately wanting to follow them. His fingers itchedto touch that softness, follow the curves and squeeze and stroke and kiss.

Itwas amazing what new things you could learn from someone with one glance andthe absence of clothes.

Elizahad read up on good positions for conceiving, where gravity could hopefullyplay its part, bringing all the right elements close enough together for thespark to catch and a baby to start forming, like the way dust and gas collectedinto stars under the same force. A pillow under her hips and sprawled backagainst the cushions, she felt a little silly but all Alex could think of wasthe intoxicating darkness of her hair against the sheer white pillows, the wayshe could look up at him as he moved to take his place between her knees, thesoftness now right there under him and nothing to stop him reaching out andcaressing it.

Noone needed to make any kind of verbal request now, their lips met entirely oftheir own accord, though it was Alex who started the gentle nipping at Eliza’slower lip, already a little drunk on kissing her full, slightly swollen,beautifully dusky pink lips, the spine tingling but not unwelcome sensation ofhis tongue sliding over her’s. Though it only took a few seconds before Elizawas responding in kind, her hands coming up to tangle in his thick, dark massof hair and keep him good and close.

Alexalmost made a total idiot out of himself and stopped to request a condom beforehe remembered the whole goddamn point of this and just went for it, needing toshuffle her over a little, raise his own hips, fumble just a tiny amount andthen he was there, with a low sighfrom himself and a short gasp of surprise from Eliza. He almost stopped, terrifiedhe’d caused some hurt, moved to fast, moved without permission, taken too muchtoo soon. But then Eliza’s legs were thrown around his hips, her feet pressinginto his lower back and pushing him, if anything, deeper.

Herteeth grazed his earlobe and she murmured in a tone that was nothing short ofbegging, “Please.”

Alexwasn’t about to make her ask twice. He didn’t think, he didn’t ask for anylogic or reason, he just chased this wild desire in his chest and the plea inhis friend’s voice. He rocked her, heavy and rhythmic, into the softness of themattress, never taking his eyes off her, not wanting to miss a second of theway she bit her lip and her eyes rolled back when he hit home and her pupils swelledand her face took on the achingly beautiful blush of fresh rose petals. It goteven better when his thumb, apparently of its own volition, slipped down andpressed none too lightly against her clit; that made her cry out loud, herexpression rapturous, panting as she climbed higher and higher under hm.

Assoon as he saw her getting there, the only thing he wanted to do in the wholedamn world was get her there faster, harder, better, the pace of his lithe hipsincreasing until the bed springs began to make themselves heard and Eliza’ssweet little gasps became louder and higher, melding into one wordless cry.Alex wasn’t even really aware that the low, wanton growl was his own, the onethat pitched so perfectly with the noises she was making. He just lost sight ofhimself in the pull of her muscles, the feeling of her fingers tugging at hishair, the beautiful heat where their bodies joined and his thumb rubbed.

Asdistracted as he was by what he was doing to her, what she was giving him inreturn, his own climax caught him by such surprise that Alex felt the wholeroom, the whole damn world, tip dizzily around him as his hips jerkederratically and he spent himself inside her. Though he didn’t miss Eliza cominga second or two behind him, writhing so uncontrollably that he was a littleworried for a moment, until the tension let them both go and they were leftexhausted and a little bit shaken.

Alexand Eliza both held their breath, waiting for the awkwardness to comebarrelling back with a vengeance, braced for it, Alex actually mapping outwhere he’d left his clothes so he could scramble back into them as swiftly aspossible and bolt for the door. But it never seemed to find them, like they’dsuccessfully held their breaths and stilled their bodies and it had just passedthem by.

Theyuntangled themselves as painlessly as they could, leaving Alex to roll onto hisback by Eliza’s side, both just catching their breath. At some point theirhands found each other and joined, subtly and gently, without either of themreally being aware of it. It was a long time before either of them saidanything.

“I…well,hopefully that worked,” Eliza found her voice first, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Yeah…”Alex began, short of breath, gazing straight ahead just like she was, like theyboth recognized that that was a safe place for their eyes to rest. Who knewwhat might happen if they went wandering? “Though…what are the chances that yougot pregnant back there?”

Elizablinked, her free hand fluttering unconsciously to her stomach, resting therelightly, “I’m not sure. Low, I guess, relatively speaking.”

Alexspoke as casually as he could, “Well then, it would make sense, wouldn’t it,if, y’know, as long as you were still ovulating, we…we kept doing that?”

Therewas a slight mutual wince as they both froze, waiting to see of what he’d justsaid had crossed the line, upset the painfully delicate balance they stood onhere. But there was no thunder, no sudden swarm of locusts, the earth didn’topen up underneath the bed. Nothing happened.

“Imean, it’s only logical,” Eliza murmured, “Yeah, why not?”

Evenas they (eventually) dressed and gathered themselves back together, it stillfelt like something important hadn’t been said, there was the feeling of a gapgoing unfilled, a missing step. It was still there as Alex stood on Eliza’sstoop, lingering as they said goodbye, both of them feeling this glaringabsence.

“Hey…”Eliza called out as Alex’s sneakers touched down on the sidewalk, reaching in asudden, frantic rush to fix the problem. But as Alex turned back, looking ather quizzically with his wide, brown eyes, she didn’t know what to say.

So,what she said was, “You know you’re my favourite person ever, right?”

Alexcracked a smile, chuckling gently, “Yeah. You’re my favourite too.”

Itwasn’t quite right. But it would do for now.

#best friends and a baby au #night we shared prompts #prompts #my writing #ficlet #hamliza #alexander x eliza #some classic fanfic shenanigans

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suave-bitch-blog1 · 7 years

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Requiem

This is based off of Requiem from Dear Even Hansen but with Eliza, Washington and Angelica. We are going to pretend that Washington lived longer than Alexander in this bc I said so... enjoy! Parts sang and if they have for example this as in multiple font changes... multiple people are singing that part... {Eliza} {Washington} {Angelica}

Requiem~

Eliza sat in Alexanders empty office. She had gotten the letter he had written... it was his last.

My very dear Eliza,

This letter will not be delivered to you unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career to begin a happy immortality. I'd need not to tell you of the pangs I feel from the idea of guilting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world. Adieu, Best of wives and best of woman.

Everyours, Alexander

She sat and thought about all the hell he had put her through, then all the good times they had. But the bad times overcame the good ones.

'Why should I play this game of pretend' She sings lightly as she brushes her fingers across the letter. 'Remembering through a second hand sorrow' She slides her hand across the letters face.

'Such a great guy and wonderful friend' She smirks pitifully. 'Oh don't the tears just pour' She crushed the letter in her hands. She throws it to the ground and walks to her room and past the kids rooms, poor things. 'I could curl up and hide in my room' She opens the door, then leans against it once she closes it. 'There in my bed still sobbing tomorrow' She slumps onto her bed, closing her eyes.

'I could give into all of the gloom' She said sitting up looking at their wedding picture that was sitting on their bed side table. 'But tell me' She stood and walked to the picture, hovering over the table. 'Tell me what for' She picked it up in her hands.

'Why should I have a heavy heart? Why should I start to break in pieces?' She held onto the frame spinning around her bed to get to the other side. Her night gown fanned around.

'Why should I go and fall apart for you?' She stares at the picture and how happy she was. 'Why... should I play the grieving girl and Lie... saying that I miss you and that my world has gone dark without your light...' She said with tears in her eyes, feeling of betrayal in her chest. She sat on the bed still holding the picture. She opens the drawer in the bedside table. 'I will sing no requiem' She places the picture in the drawer. 'Tonight' She closes it.

Meanwhile at the Washington Estate...

He had just gotten word of Hamiltons death. He didn't know how to feel. Hamilton has done some unforgivable things to the ones he loved and held close. Did he deserve his pity? Did he deserve to be mourned? Should Washington tell his story? He sat in his at home office, thinking of what to do. 'I gave you to world, you threw it away' He sang as the midnight oil burned on his desk. He found the letter Alexander had sent to him, proposing that he join the revolution.

'Leaving these broken pieces behind you' Alexander left a lot of people in a bad place and had left his family behind and with much debt. The irony of that is remarkable. (If Hamiltons in debt, why should Eliza bear it- in sorry I had too but I ruined the moment so ignore that ~ Lexi)

'Everything wasted, nothing to say' He said as he looked out the window at the sun rising. 'So I can sing no requiem'

Then Angelica...

She was sad he had passed. But she was stronger than this... why did she feel weak? He had done her dearest sister so wrong and had done the unimaginable to the world around him.

'I hear your voice I feel you near' She sang as she felt his spirit coming back to her. This gave her chills. She sat on the edge of her bed with John {Church Hill} sleeping soundly in the other side.

'Within these words I finally find you' She scans the letters they had exchanged for a while. She a tear escape her eyes.

'And now that I know that you are still here' She holds up the letter to her eye level. She then shakes her head and crushed the letter in her palm. 'I will sing no requiem' She said, her eyes shut and tears leaking out the sides.

Eliza had tears going down her face involuntary. She did not feel sad but she cried anyway. 'Why should I have a heavy heart' Washington stood singing lightly looking out the window.

'Why should I say I'll keep you with me?' Eliza goes down the stairs to his office again.

Angelica cries lightly as she stares at the letters. She use to love him. Part of her still does a bit. She wonders if her sister is just as maybe even more sad.

'Why should I fall apart for you' Eliza opens the office door and enters.

'Why...should I play the grieving girl and Lie... saying that I miss you' She rushed over to the letters that she had placed on his desk. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

'And that My world has gone dark without your light' Washington shed a tear. Eliza grabbed the letter violently earning a small paper cut on her palm.

'I see your light' Angelica covers her eyes from seeing a spirit of Alexander in front of her. She was imagining him there. He had a bullet wound in his chest. Which only made her chest hurt more.

'I will sing no requiem... tonight' She closed her eyes and held the letters tightly in her hands.

She stood holding the letters tight, wrinkling them. 'Cause when the villains fall... The kingdom never weeps' She twirls a bit with the letters.

'No one lights a candle to remember' She holds an oil candle he had left lit before he left. She blew it out. Like the flame, his flame or spark had been put out.

'No... No one mourns at all... When they lay them down to sleep' She opens the window.

'So don't tell me that I didn't have it right' She sat in Alexanders chair he had written his many essays in. 'Don't tell me that it wasn't black and white' She leaned back in it closing her eyes as tears slipped out.

'After all you put me through... don't say it wasn't true... that you were not the monster' She sang aloud passionately, waking the kids. James and William came in holding Alex and John. 'That I knew' She sang softly only for her to hear.

She lead them all to the living room and sat on the couch with them. 'Cause I...' She pushed Johns long curly hair back out of his face. 'Cannot play the grieving girl and Lie...' She put her arms around the boys. 'Saying that I miss you and that my world has gone dark' She chokes out again letting a single tear fall. John wiped it from her cheek and smiled lightly.

Martha came into George's office and hugged him good morning. 'I will sing no Requiem' He sings softly and hugs back.

Angelica takes a deep breath and undoes he hands from her face. She sees no Alexander in front of her anymore. 'I will sing no requiem' She sighs. John {Church Hill} heard her crying. He sat up and hugged her from behind. That only made her cry more. She held onto his arms that were around her.

'Ma? Where is pops?' William asks. She softly smiles for him 'I will sing no Requiem' She kisses his head softly and hugs them all...

'Tonight'...

•

[Edited]

A/N; Ok so I'm super proud of this and yea I just ughhhh yea I'm super happy with this or some might say I'm SaTiSfIeD!

Yes, yes I am satisfied with this...

Also this took me hours to do so don't complain about any of it {Love you}!

Au revoir~

#Requiem #Hamilton #You done messed up Alexander #Poor Eliza #george washingdad #Angelica #she will never be satisfied #Fuck you Hamilton #philip my boi

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