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vkelleyart · 5 years

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For Carry On Countdown: Day 9 - Sunset/Sunrise

I’m going to level with you guys. This all started with just the bottom panel. Then I got inspired to do a short strip based on the idea for a post-canon scene in which Simon wakes Baz up in the morning. Then, on impulse, I drew the ring on Simon’s hand.

Which spawned an entire one-shot fanfic that I wrote in the middle of the night on Saturday. (Good grief, what is WRONG with me.) So... a strip-with-a-fic.

The art is above, of course, but if you want to know how that ring got on Simon’s finger, read on. :)

Title: Beginnings

Word Count: 3815

Rating: Teen+

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

BAZ

“I’m not sure I understand you, Father,” I interject. “What exactly do you find objectionable about Simon Snow?”

My father is standing at the bookshelf of our family library in the exact spot Penelope Bunce and I had once stood five years ago, consulting one another over the known and unknown details surrounding my mother’s murder. Today, I am across the room, sitting on the sofa where Simon emphatically declared no one was “seducing a vampire” within 24 hours of seducing me.

My, how times do change.

My father, on the other hand, manages to stay exactly the same.

I know the answer to my question already, but I want to force Father to stare his own bigotry in the face. His problem isn’t that I’m queer; he’s known about that long enough to have made a stink by now. I can’t imagine that the Old Families care much about that anyway.

What bothers him about my relationship with Simon is Simon himself. Nameless, Normal Simon who was raised in homes and groomed for battle against the Old Families. Giving up his only credit to a world that never quite accepted him--his magic--only stained Snow’s reputation further in the eyes of the Grimms.

My father is too sharp to be cornered by my question. Like me.

“You’re not giving this the consideration it deserves, Basilton.”

“I beg to differ,” I protest. “You made certain I thought of nothing else for nearly a decade and a half.”

Father shakes his head, ignoring me. “The Families follow our lead,” he states in his best paternal-sounding voice. “The world of mages takes its cues from us, and with that influence comes an obligation to maintain a degree of… magical integrity.”

Magical integrity?

So Bunce is right about my family after all. Bigoted purists.

He goes on, and rage surges up my throat like bile with every word. “I won’t be around forever, Basil, and your mother doesn’t have the expertise to do what I do. Maintaining the operation of our estate is no small burden. It demands an even hand, a focused approach... and a respect for the reputation bound to our name.”

Our reputation. It always seems to come back to this. Though I’m so furious I could set the room ablaze, my voice remains passive as I say the words I know will cut through all this bullshit like a knife.

“I love Simon Snow, Father.”

His stone expression cracks. (Good.)

Something about saying these words out loud to my father feels like a dam is breaking. Like stepping into the light. So I keep going. “When I think of my future, he’s in it. He is it. Whatever plans you’ve assigned me, Simon’s partnership will be part of them, and if that’s a problem, I might advise you to rethink my role in the future of the estate altogether.”

His eyes narrow as he sits across from me, lips curling in a scowl. The cool veil over his face is gone.

“He’s a Normal. He’s not a part of our world anymore - he hasn’t been for five years - and you haven’t come to terms with it yet. When it comes to ‘the future of the estate’ as you put it, I think you know that there are certain expectations that must be met, and they do not include diluting our influence by associating with the likes of Snow.”

I can’t stop my face from contorting in disgust at his words, but I refuse to raise my voice. “I do know. I’m 23 and I’m prepared to meet my obligations, but they don’t include sacrificing my one prospect for happiness just because the Old Families think Simon is beneath them. He lost - no - sacrificed his magic to save the world of mages,” I say, my voice losing some of its steadiness. “That they haven’t fallen down on their knees to thank him is a despicable show of their arrogance. If being with Simon diminishes our family’s influence, well, frankly…”

I lean back and cross my arms.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

My father sets his jaw. He knows who my every reference to the Old Families is really talking about, and he’s ready to deliver his kill shot.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m ready, too.

“Basilton, I will not stand by while the heir to the House of Pitch throws away generations of effort building our standing in the magical world. This name for which you have so little regard is what has made your life possible,” he snaps, rising to his feet so he can talk down to me like I’m a teenager again. Like I’m still the lynchpin in the master plan to take down the Mage and I’d better not fuck it up for everyone.

“If you choose to remain with Snow, you forfeit your name. Your influence. Your inheritance. Everything.”

For a moment, I stare at him. There it is. His ultimate threat. He disapproves of Simon so much, he’d toss me out of the Pitch line of succession altogether, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not shocked by how far he is willing to go to exert his control over me. I’m far more astonished by the ferocity of his blind hate.

I pause to think.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father,” I say at last, casually standing and straightening my suit jacket. “If that is the case, then the House of Pitch has no heir.”

They are the last words I say to him before I stride out the front door of Pitch Manor, carrying nothing but a box of my mother’s photos, jewelry, and books in my arms, my spare violin case slung over my shoulder. I can hear Daphne shouting at my father to stop me from leaving, and while the sound makes everything inside my ribs constrict, my legs keep walking.

My other belongings, the clothes, the furniture - my bloody inheritance - they can keep all of it. If denouncing everything they’ve given me is what it takes for me to earn a sliver of happiness in this world, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.

Simon is waiting for me at the car, and he’s looking at me, eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and worry.

It’s all right, love, I think. I have everything I need.

I have you.

*****

Earlier, Simon and I had gone up to my room to inspect how my family had kept up the place since the magic returned to Hampshire. I’m the only one who never moved back to Pitch Manor; by then, Bunce had gotten engaged and ventured to America to marry Micah, so I took over her part of the lease and moved in with Simon. Scanning my old bedroom, I appeared my things remained exactly as I’d left them. Meticulously organized. Spotless.

Less like home, and more like a hotel room.

Father had called me to visit because he had “something of critical importance to discuss.” I agreed on the prerequisite that I would take Simon with me and pilfer some of my mother’s things. No one would miss them. I’m the only one who thinks about her anymore, it seems.

I’m the only one who thinks about anything. I can’t help it. Being a vampire, it’s a necessity to think and plan and carry out my daily life with scalpel-like precision lest I accidentally find myself in a compromised position with a mouth full of fangs.

Not like Simon. As I poured over boxes in my closet, I glanced over at him as he idly ran a hand over the carved bed frame where he sat beside me and first asked to be my “terrible boyfriend” - only a day after he first kissed me and only two days after he insisted I creeped him out.

That about-face happened so fast, I’m shocked we both didn’t get whiplash.

But that’s just Snow. Heart over head. Always.

I envy him. I’m so... cerebral compared to Simon. When your senses are constantly bombarded with the sights and smells of a blood meal, even when you’re used to it, you still need your wits about you to stave off the impulse to sink your fangs into some poor unsuspecting creature and drain them dry. (Though I’d light myself with a match before I’d ever hurt him, sometimes, that creature is Simon himself.)

Simon, on the other hand, is all intuition. He practically stumbles into brilliance because he goes with the flow and feels his steps before he thinks them through. It’s insufferable how easy he makes it look. Granted, he thinks about things a lot more now than he did before that fated night in the white chapel five years ago, but in general, he’s still unencumbered by the small anxieties and questions that plague me about pretty much everything.

Routines help. So does planning ahead.

I’m still plotting, even when I have no one to plot against.

All this mental exertion ever seems to do is delay the inevitable. The first time Simon and I made love happened two years after we’d started dating. I’d say it was because Simon was still working through trauma after losing his magic and watching the Mage die or that we were simply waiting it out because we weren’t ready - which was true for a while, I guess. But it’s more accurate to say it was my fault, and mine alone. Given the depth of my affection for Snow, it felt absurd to wait that long.

He wanted it. I wanted it. (So badly.) It came up during kisses and naps and homework and dinners, and it very nearly happened several times before I inevitably derailed us, using my “condition” as a scapegoat. But the truth was that I was terrified to traverse a line into the ultimate unknown. I tortured myself with questions. What if everything I’d waited so long for was going to change? What if my emotional failings are laid bare and he realizes I’m not worthy of the devastating sacrifices he’d made to be with me?

(Not to mention, his wings and tail practically sent me into a fucking panic attack every time I tried to factor them into the logistics.)

But when it did finally happen, it was because Snow told me to shut up and trust him and, for once, I listened. My freckled fallen angel - who will still eat butter out of the dish when he thinks I’m not looking, loves sour cherry scones with his tea, and constructs his sentences like he’s part Numpty when I fluster him - took me into his arms one night, and, in the middle of a kiss, whispered into my mouth to stop thinking.

So I did.

(Granted, he was also undressing me in torturously slow motion. The state I was in, he could have asked me to walk blindfolded into a blazing inferno and I would have agreed.)

As it turns out, I’d worked myself up for nothing. Making love to Simon felt like discovering I could breathe underwater. Like unlocking a superpower I’d always had, the way it felt when Simon first shared his magic with me, only this time, the universe was in my own pocket to give to Snow.

I look back on it now and then, and I think, even after giving it all up to the Humdrum, Simon Snow is still made of magic.

*****

We are exiting Hampshire when I catch Simon looking out the window, his eyebrows forming a straight line over his eyes.

“Should I call someone for help, Snow? You look so lost in thought, you’re going to need a map to find your way back out,” I quip, but my attempt at levity falls flat now that Simon knows the details of my meeting with Father.

“I don’t want to come between you and your family, Baz.”

“Crowley, why do you care? These are the same people who spent the whole of our time together at Watford commanding me to plot your demise,” I say.

He shrugs. “They’re still your family.”

“Well, I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I mutter petulantly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn even whiter. “All of this rubbish because they don’t want me to smear the family name. You’re the greatest mage who’s ever lived and it’s still not good enough for one Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.”

“Baz, you’re speeding.”

“Shit. Yes. I know.”

I ease my foot off the accelerator as Simon takes my hand off the wheel and presses it. “He’ll come around.”

“He won’t. He’s too much like me.”

“That’s precisely why he will. He loves you.”

I scoff. “One would think.”

Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes, but letting them fall feels like giving in, and I don’t want to give my father the satisfaction of hurting me, even if there’s no way for him to know.

“Fuck, Snow, I don’t need his approval. I don’t want it even if he had it to give me. What has being a Pitch ever done for me but complicate my life and put me in the crosshairs of power hungry ingrates and monsters?”

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“I do,” I snap back. “Anyway, I still have Fiona. I still have friends. I have you. Father has always treated me more like a political pawn than a son. I’ve fared well enough without my mother. I don’t need a father.”

Simon squeezes my hand before he lets go and returns his gaze to the scenery passing by the window. “I think you’d feel differently if you’d grown up without one.”

He’s right, but I don’t say it. He already knows.

I look at Simon, then. He’s older now, but there are traces left of the boy he was when we shared a room in Mummer’s House. It’s still there: the face I fell in love with when I was twelve and too young to realize I was already done for when it came to ever loving anyone else. He still has a mop of bronze curls I get to touch now, and those are still his eyes--ordinary but for the extraordinary way they look at me.

My Simon Snow. Brave, blundering, and chosen by something to turn my villainous life upside down and make a hero out of me. The kind of man who would be mistreated and rejected by an ignorant, snobby prat like my father and still find it in his heart--and mine--to forgive him.

Merlin, I love him. I love him so much, I ache thinking about it. If I’m only half dead, the part that’s living is alive because of him.

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

“Marry me. Today. I’m done waiting,” I insist. “I’m tired of thinking everything has to be just right and storybook perfect if I’m going promise you everything I am and will ever be. I’m not holding out for my family’s approval anymore. Everyone who counts loves you already. Let’s just go.”

“But-”

“We could go to town to the register’s office. Bunce is in town with Micah visiting her mum at Watford - she can bloody officiate for all I care.”

“You want to elope? Baz, do you hear yourself?”

“I admit this is one of the more half-baked schemes I’ve ever come up with. And I know everything’s shit and I’m a walking disaster and you could do far better than an arsehole vampire with an arsehole father who doesn’t accept you--and I know I’m not stopping time or whatever the bloody hell Bunce did for Micah--but none of it matters because I just want you with me always, on paper, signed, witnessed, and fucking notarized, and anything that delays it isn’t worth the trouble,” I ramble, stopping only for breath before I continue pouring my heart out over my steering wheel.

I swallow hard, and my voice softens to a whisper. “I want to spend every day forward endeavoring to deserve you. I don’t care if I’m never welcome at Pitch Manor for the rest of my cursed, immortal life as long as I get to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of yours.”

His mouth keeps opening and closing, like he can’t comprehend what I’m suggesting. So I keep going because there’s no taking back what I’ve just done, and I can’t seem to stop the torrent of words falling out of my mouth. I don’t want to.

I take Simon’s hands.

“Crowley, I love you. You only need to look at me to make me feel like I’m back in Watford being set ablaze with your magic for the first time. You kiss me and it’s like the universe is expanding in all directions inside my chest. You make me feel alive, Simon. All I ever want to do is make you happy and protect you and yes, take the mickey out of you, and I feel... I feel like this is the one thing I can’t overthink. And in my defense, I’ve had all the time in the world to contemplate this considering I’ve been obsessed with you since the day we met.”

I’m starting to tremble, so I grip Simon’s hands tighter until he’s wincing and staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. But his hands are warm and I’m losing my nerve, and he still hasn’t answered.

“There’s no one else I will ever feel this way about. If we wait for my family to accept you, we’ll be waiting forever, and now that I know there’s nothing to wait for, I just want us to belong to each other already so I don’t have to bloody think about it anymore, and Simon Snow.... do you want to marry me?”

There. I’ve done it. I’ve finally gotten my head out of the way and let my heart lead for once. Simon is slack-jawed and staring unblinkingly at me. I wonder if he’s breathing. I know I’m not.

I’m not sure he understood me.

Or maybe he did, and this is just what rejection looks like.

Oh, Merlin...

Simon’s breath comes out in a ragged gust as he pulls me into a crushing embrace. His face is pressed into my neck, and I feel his voice resonate through me as he speaks the two words I’ll remember for the rest of my days.

“I do.”

*****

The sun will be rising soon. I haven’t slept, and soon enough I’ll lose the chance to do so. I’ve been married to Simon for ten hours and it seems like such a waste to miss out on it by sleeping.

Yesterday afternoon, Bunce and Micah met Simon and me at a local register office in London after that disastrous morning spent in Hampshire. I thought Bunce might balk at the rashness of my proposal, but I rather think she relished seeing me plan something that didn’t necessitate the use of a whiteboard for once. “You smitten, sentimental berk,” she said, smiling at me as she handed Simon her father’s ring - a temporary one since we needed a ring in a pinch and Simon insists on picking one out for me himself.

I only ever had one ring in mind. I gave Simon my mother’s ring and spelled it to fit him. (“Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.” It’s a complicated spell, and one I’d practiced and perfected in private knowing how and when I’d use it.) She was the one who had brought us together, after all.

It was only the four of us at the register office, so we agreed to make a decent celebration of our marriage eventually and invite our friends and loved ones once we had time to plan something properly. Bunce immediately volunteered herself. (“I’ll eat pixie dust before I let you plan a wedding party without my help.”)

She cried during the vows. I very nearly did myself. They were simple - a script read to us by the deputy registrar for us to repeat back - but any mage in the room could feel the magic dripping from those words. I think even Snow himself felt it.

And thus, Simon Snow married me. Afterward, we all went back to our flat in Sutton with an enormous order of biryani and samosas to go with the champagne Micah and Bunce had brought to celebrate, and we toasted the future. I waited for them to leave before pulling SImon into my arms to dance with me. He dances so poorly, he nearly twisted my ankle.

I didn’t care.

I felt light. Free. Simon may have the wings, but last night... I was flying.

*****

SIMON

The last 24 hours happened so quickly, I feel like I’ve imagined them.

I got married yesterday. To Baz.

And somehow, like waking from a dream, we’re back in our flat and I’m up with the sun, watching him sleep like I always do. On the surface, the only thing that seems to have changed is that we’re both wearing rings now. And yet, I feel different. Everything is different. New.

I think I understand now what Baz meant when he said my instant change of heart during our last year at Watford left him both disoriented and elated at the same time.

It’s bittersweet for him, I know. Baz believes he’s orphaned now. There’s also that.

He’s not.

His dad will come around. The ones who love us almost always do. Not even Baz and I could hold our grudge, and we were meant to kill each other. But, Merlin, if that’s what it took for Baz to make a husband of me sooner than later, I’m grateful that his father is, for the moment, such a colossal fucking knob.

The sun is rising, casting long shadows in the room, and the glow off the horizon makes Baz’s skin shine gold. He looks so peaceful this way - with strands of his black hair falling into his face and one hand draped over his pillow beside his cheek, his chest rising and falling with every long breath. He often has his heart in a vice over something or other, even when he’s playing insufferably cool, calm, and collected all the livelong day. I’ve learned to read the signs that tell me Baz’s mind is in overdrive. Seems like his thoughts are always churning.

Not so just now, though. I can’t help myself; my fingers reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair on his face, and he stirs.

Baz sighs deeply and opens one eye in my direction. He grins, and the sight overwhelms me. He’s in my arms, right where I want him, and he always will be. He’s looking at me like I’m his, and that’s because I am. (Legally.) I always thought I’d be the one to propose first, but I might have guessed Baz would beat me to the punch, the competitive git. I’m fine with that.

We’ve got the rest of our lives to take turns leading.

So many of the important things we say to each other anymore are said without words, so I don’t need to say anything for Baz to reach for me. He pulls me down to kiss him, and as our lips meet, I get a fleeting glimpse at the future we’ve just embarked on together. Hundreds of moments yet to be shared rush through my mind and my breath is catching because I feel it all at once...

Joy. Sorrow. Pleasure. Pain. Ecstasy. Hope.

Love.

And then I stop thinking.

#fanart #fanfic #comic #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #malcolm pitch #first time #wedding #strip with a fic #vkelleyart gallery

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cupcakeshakesnake · 7 years

Text

Watching The Husbands of River Song for the first time

(When I started writing the post I messed up my typing and the title said “Watchgin the Husnabds of REierv Sogn for the fitrst time”)

-Oh dear, one episode closer to catching up to the show, and one step clser to a yet unknown source of heartbreak.

tf is this flying dish

Wait, they’re celebrating Christmas in 5343?

-Wow Jesus looks like you’ve really outdone yourself

-TARDIS

-TARDEEEEHS

Why is the music all doom-y and scary like this is something bad That is the best note ever

-HEEEEyyyyy it’s the bald guy from the Series 10 trailer!!

-He looks like he’d be a mouse or a hamster if he was an animal

“Is there anything on my head?”

-YES THERE IS

-OH GOSH

IT’S CONTAGIOUS

-I MUST RUN BEFORE RED CHRISTMAS RUDOLPH ANTLERS SPROUT UP ON MY HEAD

-well hello alien santa under the hood

-RIVEEEEEEER

-WTF

-WHAT THE FAAAAAAAAQ

-wait why is she so pissed-- OHHHHHH

-IT’S BEFORE SHE wait hold on a minute

-This is the first time she’s seeing his twelfth incarnation in-show, yes? No?

-*checks Wikipedia* Yes I’m right but...

-I think I’ll have to watch more before jumping to conclusions

-By the way, this.

A time travelling alien as old as time and also a fluffy grinning cat.

-”My husband is dying.” Doctor: wtf is going on am i about to cross my own timestream or what

-”wtf river”

-Ah yes, flurry snow in the middle of a bajillion cogwheels, brilliant intro.

-Oh shit it’s Moffat

-Poor Twelve must be confused so much.

-River looks like she’s faking though. She’s not the kind of person who coos at people like that.

(unfortunately I could not find a stock photo of a cat looking exactly like this. pity.)

-No, seriously. Look at this cate.

-Anyway who the fuck is that guy in that disproportionately large armor, like, where in the actual sarlacc butthole did he come from

-River Song’s Drama has increased by 100!

-uhhh lemme see I think that’s a mix of Megaman, the old Transformers cartoon and ahh what’s that one videogame I swear there are videogames with people wearing hulky armor like that

-DAMN TWELVE DROPPIN IT

-I don’t even

-I don’t even know what I’m watching

-And yet there’s this lingering fear in the back of my mind that’s still scared of the text “Written by Steven Moffat”

-Wait, if she’s talking to the people in the little screens and they react accordingly to her gestures, then it means they’re watching her too, but where’s the camera?

-Doctor: “the fuck”

-”Do you recognize me?” “No” So the Doctor said no because of something unrelated but I swear a part of him just wanted to get back at River

-HE’S WHITE DIAMOND, GEMS HAVE GENDER, WHITE DIAMOND CONFIR-- nevermind wrong show

-”You’re talking about murdering someone!” “No I’m not, I’m actually murdering someone.”

-”Do you know who you remind me of?” “Yes, probably of a chap with a big-” (he means big chin, don’t get any ideas) “My second wife!”

-The dialogue is top notch in this episode

-Oh no, it’s the robot king who doesn’t look like he can eat his enemies very efficiently and his legion of...

...sword-wielding Jawas.

-Heck, they even sound like Jawas.

-what the effing head

-”I wondered why we didn’t share a bathroom”

-Well for me it explains the nonsense body proportions

-”Decision overruled. Recommendation: Chill.”

-I love how the robot suit says “Chill”, it’s just so.. chill. It’s actually chilling out. It’s the chillest robot in robot history.

I have paused at just the right moment

They’re nerding out together

-Aw the Doctor’s laughing

-He’s having so much fun

-”I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.” There. All the more merrier because of that.

-Oh god

-Okay how many people are River Song gonna hang around with in this episode

-”He only has twelve faces” OHHHHH BECAUSE RIVER DOESN’T KNOW THAT THE TIMELORDS GAVE HIM A NEW REGENERATION CYCLE DOES SHE

‘Little do they know the BBC wanted to continue the show for another fifty years.’

-noooo not the bald guy nuuuuu

-What a cynical robot

-DOCTOR JUST TELL HER THAT IT’S YOUR TARDIS

-Poor Doc

-”Oh yeah I’m SURE I’ll get SOOOO surprised”

-”It’s my girl.”

-The sarcasm is strong with this one.

-”Oh it’s BIGGER on the INSIDE how SURPRISING because I’ve NEVER seen one beFORE”

I’M DYING ASDGSDJSA;;

-”Wait, my Tardis had a fridge?”

-Sooooo when River was with Eleven she was the better driver (in terms of comfort; no offense to Eleven’s Timelording skills in general) but now Twelve is probably the calmest drver so far and River’s, well... not so much.

-”Of course I’m NOT getting frustrated by you doing everything wrong and trying to give you instructions because it’s CLEARLY not my Tardis how can you even SUGGEST such a thing”

-”Yes thank you I am a quick learner and NOTHING else, NOTHING like I’ve flown this Tardis countless times before”

-So if the Tardis can’t take off while someone’s both in and out, then this wouldn’t work, huh.

(From one of the Bunny Suicides books)

-”What sort of medical school did you go to?”

-A king does not unnecessarily endanger the lives of his people... Unless he is cross.

-LOGIC

-OH SHIT THAT GUY’S HEAD GOT CHOPPED OFF TOO

-”Death initiated.”

-The fuck kind of Star Wars cantina did they walk into

-”They’re still digesting their mother.”

-”--I will rip you open and devour you--” “It’s my stomach.”

-Even the guy whose wife got eaten by his kids is going ‘wtf’

-The fuck kind of CGI was that

-”This is where genocide comes to kick back and relax.” Oh boy, that’s gonna get on the Doctor’s nerves.

-”Why are you frowning?” “How’d you know?” “It’s audible.”

-”The man who gave me this was the sort of man who’d know exaclty how a long a diary you’re going to need.” “Oh yeah that’s definitely not me”

-I SAW THAT EYEBROW RAISE, RIVER SONG, YOU CHEEKY LITTLE TIME TRAVELLER

-Annnnd River’s supposed to be paid by a Voldemort with a nose.

-WHAT THE FUCK HIS HEAD OPENS UP

-JEEZ!

-YOU HAVE A JAWBREAKER IN YOUR HEAD??!?

-OH MY FUCKING GOD EVERYONE HAS CRACKED UP HEADS

-For some reason, Credits seems to be the common term for whatever currency is used vaguely in scifi universes. They have Credits in Star Wars too!

-Whoever is playing that pale guy is going to have a royally sore throat by the end of the episode.

-”Hail Hydra”

-You should probably just give him the head...

-To be fair you crackhead guys did creep them out

-The thing.

-Did the head just run away or something, why are the Doctor and River so uneasy, do they really just don’t want to witness a brain surgery or am I missing something here

-Dang it Doctor.

-”The skyyyy shall crrrrrack”

-Well the head is there...

-what. the. fuck. is. happening.

-”At last I am whole again” Well I wouldn’t really call it whole if your body’s a robot but...

-Okay.... that happened.

-*hastily muffled Steven Universy screeching*

-SCREW YOU CATFISH BUG MAN

-Why do his eyebrows make a squeak sound

-”A picnic at Asgard...” MARVEL/DOCTOR WHO CROSSOVER CONFI-- nevermind

-jesus christ why is that guy so intent on reading River’s diary out loud

-’The Angels Take Manhattan’ was three seasons ago. And yes, that episode was written by Moffat too.

-”An infinite number of faces” Well, I wouldn’t say it’s infinite per se...

-Besides, if there’s only the head left, wouldn’t that kind of hinder the regeneration, if not stop it altogether?

-Wait, since when was the robot the king and not the head?

-I don’t like the catfish bug guy with the French mustache. In fact, I am liking him less and less by the second.

-WHOA WAIT THAT ROBOT COULD STORE MULTIPLE HEADS IN IT? I THOUGHT IT JUST TOOK ONE OFF AND PUT ON ANOTHER

-Dammit River why would you want to hurt him like that HE IS RIGHT THERE ;_;

-;_;

-*CRYING EMOJI INTENSIFIES*

-”Two hearts, stupid clothes--” Well the latter changed a bit.

-MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-DAMMIT MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

-HE IS RIGHT THERE

-DAMMIT MOFFAT

FUCK YOU MOFFAT

-TAKE MY HEART AND RIP IT APART SOME MORE WHY DON’T YOU

-”I’m an archaeologist from the future. I dug you up.”

-DAMN

-”What do you think of my new body” “I’ll let you know, I’ve only seen the face” Okay it’s either me or Moffat that isn’t aware that this is a family show.

-She caught it in her f-cking boobs

-HER BOOBS

-FAMILY SHOW

-”FAMILY SHOW”

-”So, King Hydroflax?” (idk how tf it’s spelled) “I married the diamond!” (”wE ARE THE CRYSTAL--””SHUT UP!!”) “So you say.” “Elizabeth the First.” “Ramone.” “Marilyn Monroe!” “Stephen Fry!” “Cleopatra!” “Same thing!”

-IF YOU HAVEN’T GUESSED ALREADY, I’M DYING

Glowing cables.

-”Crashing spaceships, that’s my job.” I feel like I should write a sentence that rhymes with this, but unfortunately I can’t.

-OH THE TOP PART OF HIS SCREWDRIVER ROTATES

-”I’ve been doing it longer!” “I do it better!” Like how you drive the Tardis, for example. (I can also see the above dialogue used in a very, very, wrong, scenario, but I’ll just keep quiet and hope that it wasn’t Moffat’s intention.)

-river u ok?

-k