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how-very-superbat · 7 months

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Lengthy Superbat Fics!

I'm not sure how to really define 'lengthy' so I'm going for 20k+ (and Superman x Batman of course)

I just looked at how many I have and oh my god this is going to be very long. I will put a *** next to my favourites

From This Day Forward by Mithen (29k) When Kal-El of the House of El must marry a wealthy Terran for diplomatic reasons, Krypton will never be the same.

Action and Re-Action by Mithen (24k) In the first issue of Justice League after the reboot, Batman told Green Lantern he had never met Superman before. This story takes that statement at face value--but what if Bruce Wayne had met him before?

Stranger in a Strange Land by Mithen (27k) (Literally how does Mithen have time for all this) Kal-El of Krypton arrives on Earth as an adult. To the Justice League's surprise, Batman volunteers to introduce him to human ways. There's an immediate bond between the two men, but cultural differences and miscommunication complicate their relationship.

"Did you all have to get sick at the same time?" by Writer_loves_tropes (25k) Alfred is away on a well deserved vacation and Bruce is left to take care of the three Bat boys by himself. He's pretty sure he can easily take care of an eight year old, an eleven year old, and a twelve year old without having to call Alfred for backup. He's Batman. Batman can handle anything, right?

An Honest Conversation by frozenpotions (60k)*** “So Bruce’s longtime best friend had suddenly decided to start eye-fucking him at random. So what? Bruce was used to being the object of this kind of attention. It didn’t bother him. It was—should have been fine. The issue was that it was Clark, and Bruce had enough trouble remaining rational about him at the best of times.” or Bruce and Clark go from friends to lovers the long, long, long way round. Featuring a number of revelations, a well-meaning but nosy son (Dick) and, most prominently, two adult men being completely and utterly useless.

as to which may be the true by susiecarter (53k) It isn't difficult to go on in the wake of Superman's death. His resurrection, though, poses a problem—especially when it turns out there's no such thing as the right moment to explain that Martha Kent's obnoxious billionaire friend? Is also the man who tried really hard to shove a kryptonite spear through Clark's face.

all each riddles, when unknown by susiecarter (52k) Clark, struggling to deal with the events of Black Zero Day, is assigned a straightforward human-interest piece—on Wayne Enterprises. Then Batman catches Superman's attention, Clark Kent starts investigating Batman, Bruce Wayne spends a lot of time arguing with hitting on Clark Kent, and Bruce's best efforts to find a way to hurt Superman start to bear fruit. And then things get complicated.

and if the sun comes by susiecarter (30k) Steppenwolf isn't interested in accepting defeat and walking away. Superman's proven that he's the key to conquering Earth, and Steppenwolf returns with a plan for how to deal with him. A plan that Bruce is able to throw a wrench into—but not without certain unintended consequences.

Only Human by saltedpin (23k) Clark temporarily loses his powers, and while it's initially jarring, he gradually adjusts and tries to go about on a somewhat normal routine after telling his inner circle (which can also include the League since they're building themselves up). Problem is that he is somehow an even bigger danger magnet than Lois in this state.

Loading and Aspect Ratio byJUBE154 (45k) It had started out as a simple design, black everything with black outlines and black hood. It got a little more intense as the world went on, got wind of his ghost on the streets, and became scared of The Bat. So Bruce got a little more creative with it, Alfred and him had a good laugh over the name, the scare. So now the suit had a visible bat-theme, an insignia to drape in the shadows and to paint across the streets of Gotham: “The Batman can fly, you know, I’ve seen his wings.” (A world where nobody has wings, but people think they do, and that changes everything.)

Whoever Falls First by liodain (34k) "There's more kryptonite out there. When the Superman returns, there's going to be an all-star battle royale in the criminal underworld. Every megalomaniacal freak will want a piece of it so they can get a piece of you. And some of them will manage. They'll weaponize it and won't hesitate to use it against you, and when that happens I will not have you flailing around like an idiot." aka: Bruce teaches Clark how to fight.

Repeat Your Favourite Mistakes And Love Them All Again by watchingthestars13 (160k)*** "Oh dear," came Alfred's surprised voice from the stairs, and all of them turned to look at him. His face was a little pale as he stared at all the boys, Jason's huge t-shirt, Tim's dress, Damian wrapped in a spare cape that was in the batmobile. At least Dick was able to fit into Tim's Red Robin pants, and Jason in Damian's Robin pants. Had Bruce been a lesser man, he would've said 'dear god, help'. All it took now was for their eyes to meet before Alfred composed himself.

Opposites Eventually Attract by Pandamomochan (34k) When an accident forces Clark and Bruce to be no more than ten feet apart from each other at all times, both heroes are forced to evaluate what their relationship really means to each other.

The Long Hangover by CoffioCake (55k)*** Clark knows he should take a break: His powers are on the fritz, he feels like shit, and Batman’s treating him like a liability. But Gotham's villains seem to have it in for Metropolis' Big Blue Boy Scout and Clark won't just wait around for answers. Batman might be the world’s greatest detective, but Clark Kent is one of the Daily Planet’s most tenacious reporters. This is definitely a job for Superman.

Conflated by PamiGami (31k) “Are you sure you’re feeling quite all right, sir? I was but fairly sure the head hadn't been impacted.” “No… no, please. Listen. I’m in his body, but I’m not him. I can prove it.” Ill at ease, Clark rubbed at the back of his head, not stopping to think about the weird sensation of feeling not his own curls, but somebody else’s hair. The man continued to stare at him with piercing and scolding eyes. “I believe you.” He nodded. “Mister Wayne doesn’t say please this early in the morning.”

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (96k)*** Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are all tired of watching Bruce struggle with the stress of trying to handle the newly formed Justice League. He needs an outlet, he needs to relax, he needs to get out of the house, he needs... he needs to start dating. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

Get Over It by rotasha (32k) Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

#superbat #superman #batman #superman x batman #brucie wayne #bruce wayne #clark kent #gay #fic recs #superbat fic #ao3

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bruciemilf · 1 month

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Now I’m thinking of Alpha Martha scooping in like “is anybody going to love and cherish that omega” and not waiting for an answer. She uses every Wayne gala to flaunt her Omega and later, pup in Carmine’s face. The only reason she hasn’t killed him yet is that seeing his rage and sad plans to get Thomas back is amusing and if it ever comes down to that Thomas deserves the honors.

Gosh, I’m starting to fall in love with that concept. Just imagine stern browed, lethally beautiful Captain Martha Kane, infamously known for her service in the military.

She reeks of bloodied snow, and sweet pomegranate with a note of petrichor. Of gunpowder, grainy and dark and rich, and of something so alluringly nameless Thomas can’t shake off.

The rumors about her hawk like gaze aren’t just rainwater.

Her look is made of storms and winter and Thomas shivers when he sees her for the first time, walking aimlessly around Gotham’s museum. His mother’s museum.

Carmine’s now, legally.

She stops just besides him, — she’s tiny, for an alpha, and he’s big for an omega, and for a moment, Thomas feels vindicated. So they had anomalies, too. Good. They earned it.

“Beautiful.”

She’s referring to the exhibit they’re admiring together. She has to be. Thomas stays quiet.

“What’s your opinion about it? I’ve visited her hundreds of times and I just can’t understand it. Not correctly, I think.”

He scoffs, but otherwise, the silence continues to expand.

Of course no Alpha understands The Good Omega.

Right above them, exposed almost proudly, imprisoned behind a thin layer of glass with rose gold framing, with delicate ivory marbled in, The Good Omega displays an omega women kneeling by her alpha.

It’s not intricate, or complex in composition. It translates well, and it’s just detailed enough.

Her mouth is sewn shut.

It’s a blood painting.

“She used to be an artist, I believe, “ Martha continues, with just the barest twitch of discomfort in her face, but she doesn’t allow her attention to shift. “I thought maybe you’d have a better perspective about it.”

“I’m not allowed to speak to you. As you well know.”

She pauses for a bit. “I apologize. You have no collar on. Your alpha didn’t pick one yet?”

He hums. “He can collar me when I’m in the ground.”

Oddly enough, that answer satisfies her. Pomegranate blossoms on his tongue.

“It’s freedom,” he continues, not really caring about customs. He already defies them daily. “It means freedom.”

Martha listens, but she huffs, half confused, half incredulous. “That doesn’t look like freedom to me. “

“That’s because you’re used to it,” He grits, turning his own gaze on her. He’s been told he smells horrible when he’s angry. He hopes this tiny, beautiful alpha chokes on it.

“Suffering is the only freedom omegas have. It forces you to look, to awknolege. There’s no exits The freedom of existing, that’s all we got.” He scoffs, not even noticing she’s clingy to every little sound.

“ Enjoy it while you can. Its going in the junkyard next week.”

“The junkyard?” She echoes, almost offended by the idea, but the casual insult. “Who’d throw away something like this, omega? It’s too valuable. “

Omega.

Thomas wants to purr and he rages, almost.

His smile is nasty, and full of teeth, and he’s grown to love how alphas cringe at the sight of it. Not this one, thought. This little beast stares at it like it’s living art.

“The same people you fight for. Thank you for your service, alpha.”

Thomas turns, not bothering to bow, excuse himself, or make a respectful exit. One good thing about being a rich omega is that he follows no rules his alpha doesn’t specify.

Nowhere did Carmine say he wasn’t allowed to ditch gorgeous alphas.

—

“You’re back rather early, Madame,” Alfred greets her with a kiss on one of her brow, soft as anything, his like tea, blueberry and dark chocolate scent hugging her deeply.

He takes a whiff of her, frowns, both in intrigue and concern. “…Why do you smell like unhappy omega?”

“Alfred,” She says, “I want to retire. Would you be a darling and contact my lawyer?”

“Oh, thank heavens. Anything else?”

Martha’s gaze bleeds blue, her thighs buzzing with the sneer of Thomas’ anger still, “Can you ask him if I can legally kidnap a taken omega?”

#IDK HOW THIS TURNED INTO A FULL FICLET BUT ENJOY ^^^^#dc comics #writing #pennywaynes #thomas wayne #martha wayne #alfred pennyworth #a/b/o dynamics #batman #dc #my writing #text #text post #gilded sparrows au

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 1 year

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This is in response to the "Jason pretending to be/gaslighting himself into actual pregnancy" thread.

What exactly is Alfred’s and Bruce’s reaction to the…news? Like, how did they get told? Did the batkids (-Todd) sit them down, bring the board out, and try to quickly explain the ‘hey your son/grandson may be pregnant, yes it’s possible, halfa biology is a fun thing isn’t it?’ and all that jazz?

Or did Jason announce it randomly in the middle of chaotic family dinner and acted like he didn’t say anything odd, or did he bring it up offhandedly before waking away and ignoring any calls for him to return

Lmao maybe in a different world Jason chooses to announce it during a gala, Peeta ‘if it weren’t for the baby’ Mellark style, and then just let hell ascend.

Or did Danny break it by just simply asking Jason how the baby was

The first time the other boys breakdown.

It’s decided that Jason would tell Alfred at his own time and so they focus on Bruce.

They sit Bruce down in the cave and lay out their evidence the best they can.

And when the others come in later to suit up Bruce tries to bench Jason and that does not go down well.

A full screaming match that hasn’t happen since Jason’s switch, that ends with Bruce just shouting,

“I don’t care what happens out there right now, I can’t allow a pregnant person to put themselves in danger!”

And Jason just freezes in place, the cave is dead silent. Half of the clan is just looking on in confusion. The other boys are refusing to look in their general direction. Stephanie folds herself in half with a laugh and Alfred just raises an eyebrow.

Jason’s has to catch himself on the table to stop himself from falling over from the stitch in his side.

~~~~~~~~~

The second time is after the Desiree incident he goes to talk to with Alfred alone.

The what ifs were keeping him up, he needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him.

They sat together under the island lights with tea and Alfred gave him a gentle hug .

Jason admitted that he didn’t know why he was crying anyways. It was his choice, he knew it was for the best.

Maybe it was just how bad he’s been feeling for the last week.

Alfred doesn’t judge and reassured Jason that he was allowed to feel such ways.

~~~~~~~

The third time it was real casual, so casual in fact that they others just through he was joking.

When the others realized he had completely kicked the last of his smoking habit and just said “for my baby” they thought he had quit during the prank.

When he declined a drink with Bruce and Dick he just said “baby” and they assumed he didn’t feel like it and was joking.

When Jason said he wasn’t going to patrol for awhile they assumed he was taking a well deserved vacation.

It wasn’t until he was a good four months along did they take a hint.

Dick, poking Jason side jokingly: Man little wing, not so little now. I know you’re on vacation and all that but you’re starting to let yourself go.

Jason not looking up from his writing: Gee Dickhead, thanks. Not like I’ve been growing your first nibling or anything.

Dick:…. What?

Jason: you know? My baby? Little thing making a mess of my guts rn?

*The others tuning in at the breakfast table*

Jason: guys, seriously. Did none of you take me seriously?

Damian: it was hard to after the last time

Jason: why’d you think I’ve sat out all the breakouts the last two months???

Tim: I just thought you were being a dick man.

Jason: Thanks. Old man, you good? You have been staring ahead for quite some time.

Bruce, mildly choked up: hmmm

Jason: ok good anyways what do you think about the name ‘Martha Jane Todd Wayne’ for a girl? I thought Jane Martha first but I think Martha Jane sits better on the tongue.

Bruce with an even more choked up expression: hmmm

#dp x dc #writing prompt #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #dc x dp #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #mother hood au #mpreg

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somesecretpie · 27 days

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Weather Woman (Short Story)

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. An eyewitness, Ms. Self, said the weather was to blame but Susan knew it was anything but that. This was homicide. Divine intervention.

“My poor poor little pansies,” she said, peering over their wilted corpses. It had officially been a whole year since Susan’s county had any rainfall. Several months ago, the town began issuing fines to anyone who dared to water their lawn. Susan did not find this to be much of an issue—she continued to keep her garden green as suburbia withered and died around her, until she ran into a small problem.

Susan ran out of money.

From all the fines she was paying.

She reentered her home, morning paper in one hand, and her weekly subscription to “Martha Stewart Living” in the other. Her house was a wondrous temple of correct furniture and appropriate color palettes, bowls of plastic fruit at the center of each faux-mahogany table. Photographs of a happy family arranged in a symmetrical pattern (Not her own, though; they were stock images.) She would have absolute perfection, were it not for that scorched eyesore that marked her entryway garden.

Susan poured her morning coffee, popped a bagel in the toaster, and turned on the weather channel for her district. That was the only thing she watched now: The weather. Mr. John Sunday in front of his green screen, with his little yellow bowtie, and his eyes the color of the unchanging sky. He looked quite unremarkable for a man that disseminated such important information to the public, but looks can be deceiving. One does not look at a perfect egg and see themselves contracting salmonella.

“Please, John, some rain for my pansies,” Susan whispered into her morning coffee. She turned up the volume and his pleasant voice filled the living room.

“Good morning, Marin County! It’s gonna be nothing but blue skies this week. Perfect weather for going on a nice long walk. And enjoying all that mother nature has to offer—“

Susan threw her bagel at the television in a fit of anger. Then promptly cleaned it off the floor and swept it into the wastebin.

What did she do to deserve these never-ending blue skies? I’m a nice woman, aren’t I? she lamented. Don’t I deserve purple pansies? Don’t I deserve a little rain?

There was something malicious and secret behind John’s blue eyes. Something he knew that she did not. She could not bear to look at them!

She shut off the TV.

Her heart beat madly in her chest. What ever would Susan do? Refill her bed of flowers with desert cacti and succulents? No, wrong color palette. Take out a loan to continue watering her plants? Now that would be ridiculous…

The weather was to blame—but Susan had a poor understanding of it. What went on up there in the sky? Who, exactly, could she send a strongly worded email to?

That same morning, Susan Kelvin decided she would take out a loan after all, but not to water her plants. Instead, she would go back to her local community college to study meteorology. She was quite sure that most of her coursework was merely propaganda from Big Weather, but she needed that associate's degree so she could learn that secret that lurked behind the eyes of Mr. John Sunday. So she could join his ranks. So she could become a Weather Woman.

Susan applied to the local television network with high hopes. The fate of her future rested on their acceptance. She snuggled into bed that same night of her application and dreamed of fresh purple pansies dotting the corners of her deep green lawn. But...something was terribly wrong!

Susan gasped for breath and opened her eyes. Strong hands grasped her arms, the fabric of a bag over her face—she was being kidnapped! Oh this is going to work horribly with my schedule! thought Susan. She began to protest but a harsh voice shushed her to silence. She was shoved into a car.

After an hour or so of stumbling around, the bag was lifted, and Susan blinked rapidly. She was in a musty room lit by candles. Deactivated cameras hung on racks against the wall, and a circle of sharply dressed bodies surrounded her, their shadows bending and stretching in the flickering light.

“Welcome,” someone said. “You have been called before our chapter because of your personal obsession with the weather. And from our understanding, your qualifications may permit that obsession to become...something more.”

Susan struggled to get her bearings. In front of her was, if she was not mistaken, sliced tofu arranged into an occult symbol.

“Your name is Susan Kelvin and you have a degree in meteorology from Marin County Community College, is this correct?”

“Yes,” Susan confirmed.

“You live alone, your parents are deceased, and you have no friends or loved ones. Is this also correct?”

“Who are you people?”

Susan then noticed that she recognized the woman sitting on her left—it was Ms. Rivers from channel eight. A proper weatherwoman, straightened and carefully sculpted black hair, with a stormy gray pantsuit that tastefully contrasted against her dark complexion. And to her right was that weatherman from channel seven what’s-his-face (his appearance was not noteworthy). And at the very front, at the head of the body of bodies, the man who had been speaking to her was none other than Mr. John Sunday in his yellow bow tie.

“What interest do you have in becoming a Weather Woman, Ms. Susan Kelvin?”

“I…um…”

They waited patiently for her answer. It suddenly occurred to Susan that this was probably a job interview. She straightened her back and folded her hands in front of her.

“I believe I could bring a lot of value and a unique perspective to the weather conversation,” Susan said. “It has affected me personally…My district hasn’t had any rain in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” John said. “That must be terrible for you.”

“What are you apologizing for? You can’t control the weather.”

John Sunday leaned forward, and his blue eyes flashed a deep dark red. “Oh but we can.”

“Can what?”

“We control the weather, Susan.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “That is completely absurd. You’re all a bunch of wierdo people who kidnapped me and I’m...I’m going to tell the authorities!”

“No one will believe you,” whispered Rivers.

Susan glared at everyone, but the weather people held still, not a trace of doubt of their ability. But surely the truth about the weather would not be so…uncomplicated. Surely the unseen forces that murdered her flowers would not have human faces.

“I don’t believe you,” Susan said plainly. “But I do need this job so that I can pay off my student loans–”

“The forecasters bear a burden.” John ignored her question. The speech was likely rehearsed. “To be a forecaster is self-sacrifice! To be a forecaster is to be a champion of the greater good! Does that describe you, Susan Kelvin?”

She hesitated.

Champion is rather vague. It can have multiple meanings.

She thought of her beautifully decorated house.

Oh, but I am certainly good.

She thought of her neighbors and their inferior sense of style.

And I am certainly greater!

Slowly, Susan nodded her head.

The weather people muttered amongst themselves enthusiastically, like children, until silenced by John.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very good. Then, on behalf of the California chapter of forecasters, the masters of the weather, we welcome you. Thank you, Great Mother.”

“Thank you, Great Mother.” the weatherpeople said in tandem.

Someone clapped twice, and the overhead lamps blasted light everywhere.

“You’ll be shadowing Rivers tomorrow at eight. Look sharp,” John said dramatically, but without the candlelight defining his cheekbones, it was quite hard to take him seriously.

The next day, Susan arrived at exactly eight o’ clock, wearing her best suit, and hair pulled back in a tight bun. She found Rivers, on set, eating conservatively from a bag of soynuts.

“Oh hey! It’s you,” the weatherwoman said. “Sorry about all that cult stuff. John can be so dramatic.”

Susan smiled in relief, but quickly hid it away. “That is an understatement,” she muttered. “Will there be any more kidnappings?”

“Only for your monthly status report,” she said, “But give me your number and I can text you before it happens.”

Susan did so hesitantly, and kept staring at her phone after the fact. She had one whole contact now. How quaint.

That day, Susan was supposed to examine the cue cards, inspect the camera crews, and stare intently at the weatherwoman, noting every minute thing she did. Rivers delivered her forecast with a smile. Blue skies again.

“That’s disappointing,” Susan said to her over lunch. “I was hoping for some rain in my district.”

“John already has the weather planned out for the next few weeks,” Rivers said stiffly. “So sorry.”

Susan did not laugh. “This again? Tell me you do not believe this “controlling the weather” nonsense! You are not wizards!”

“Did you not see our occult symbols?”

Susan swatted at the air. “Meaningless shapes.”

“And what about John’s flashing red eyes?”

Susan’s voice lowered to a whisper, “Now, I don’t know about that…But he should see a medical professional.”

Rivers rolled her eyes and left to prepare for her evening forecast. When it was done and there were no more cue cards to read from, she very quickly told the audience, in a joking manner, that there would be isolated showers over their recording studio from exactly five fifty PM to five fifty one PM. She then strut off the stage with a smirk.

“Well, that’s an oddly specific forecast—“

The weather woman grabbed her by the wrist and led her all the way to the back-door exit with the recycling and the parking lot.

“Check your phone,” Rivers said.

Susan did not see why she should, there would be no messages. This was because she only had one contact, you see. But as she held her phone in her hand, a large raindrop splattered on the screen. Then another. And now rain was pouring from the sky, dripping down her hair and suit. Susan’s jaw dropped. She had not felt rain in so long. It was five-fifty. And by five fifty-one, the clouds departed as if swept away by a large broom. The sunlight stung her face.

Rivers smiled at her.

So they really did control the weather.

This revelation posed a great many questions. Like, why did the public not know about this? And why did the weathercasters have these powers? And why had Susan studied for two years to become a meteorologist when she could just pulled forecasts out of her asshole? Susan frowned. Now that she thought about it, it was rather odd that her meterology courses mostly consisted of specifications for ritual sacrifice and obedience lessons. Susan had simply thought it was “one of those things” about academia.

“Well, Rivers…”

“Yes, Susan?”

“I suppose this whole “forecasting” thing is...it’s fun, isn’t it?”

“Fun doesn’t do it justice!” Rivers said, through a handful of soynuts. “Just knowing how much power there is behind your every word. So long the camera is rolling, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you damn well please!” Rivers laughed heartily, but kept her eyes trained on Susan. “Except your conscience, of course!”

“Oh, yes,” Susan said. “Ha ha!”

Fun doesn’t do it justice…It had been a while since Susan Kelvin had fun. She tried to remember when that was.

Oh, yes, of course!

It had been two weeks ago. Susan had just gotten home from work after a rough day, shoulders drooping, hair ruffled, when she looked down on her front porch and saw a beetle. The bug was turned on its back, legs flailing weakly in the air. There was nothing nearby for grasping, nothing but hot sunburned concrete. This bug had no way of righting itself yet it struggled still. Susan sat down and watched this bug. She watched it until it stopped moving. Until it returned to its natural state. Nonexistence. That had been fun, Susan remembered fondly. I am eager to have fun again.

After two days of shadowing Rivers, Susan was given her own partition of airtime over her district and a weekly forecast by her fellow weatherpeople. She delivered the forecast exactly as instructed. Blue skies.

“Pretty good for a first-time,” Rivers said. “Although, you were a bit stiff. Trying showing more emotion, more body language, you know?” She placed her fingers on her own cheekbones, pressing them upward. “Remember to smile.”

Susan didn’t know why she hadn’t. Perhaps she wasn’t having fun yet. She spent the rest of that evening practicing smiling in the mirror. She read Martha Stewart, baked a five-cheese lasagna exactly per the instructions, and smiled upon removing it from the oven like Martha Stewart did in the picture. She smiled until she did it without thinking, baring her teeth even in bed, as she dreamed of purple pansies.

The next day, she delivered her forecast so well that even John himself gave her a flamboyant “Well done!” And Susan smiled at them as they congratulated her—but still she was not having fun.

All this power and I never get to do anything worthwhile. Susan sighed. I could fix my front lawn if only John would let me.

Later at the meeting, Susan tried to articulate her feelings.

“We could be doing so much more, John. We could be helping the needy, like those poor people of Marin County who’s front lawns have been destroyed by the California heat!”

The weather people muttered undecidedly. Susan recognized her experiences were not universal, and acted accordingly, “Or what about people affected by hurricanes! Or wildfires, droughts, what about them, John! All those poor people we could help with our power—“

“Our power is a gift, you fool!” John snapped.

Susan raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“From Zietzebala,” said Rivers. “Our Great Mother Earth. She has gifted us with this forecasting power in exchange for our obedience as well as a few…sacrifices.”

“Ah.” Susan looked down. “And I suppose they have to be virgins too, don’t they. I’m still friends on facebook with a lot of men I went to highschool with who are probably–”

“No! Dammit, no! I meant, like, recycle. Plant a tree!” John looked exasperated. “Sometimes we sacrifice a tofurky, but we’ve never really gone farther than that.”

“Maybe we should,” muttered Rivers.

John turned sharply to look at her. “Don’t think I don’t know about that little stunt you pulled yesterday,” he said with a voice like acid. “Isolated showers? Over our studio? You know how important the schedule is–”

“I’m sorry.” Rivers said. She did not appear sorry. “It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

John left the room in a huff.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Susan asked “What did you mean by that?”

Rivers sighed. “I know what you mean about wanting to help. About all the good we could do. Climate change has already killed millions…and the death toll will continue to rise.”

Susan thought of her dead flowers and trembled.

“Don’t feel bad, Rivers,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No but it is literally our fault we control the weather Susan.“

“Oh right.”

Susan had forgotten.

Rivers began crushing the snacks in her hand. “The horrible thing is–I could fix it all. I have an incredibly detailed plan to fix the environment that, when I placed it on the alter to Zietzebala, turned into a swarm of doves! So I know she approves!”

Rivers glared. “But her pact is with John. And John has a bad heart.”

Susan nodded. “Truly a wicked man.”

“No, he literally has a bad heart. Arrhythmia.” Rivers hit twice against her chest. “I’m next in line for leadership if ever something terrible happens to him, just so you know.” She looked askance, placing her hand on Susan’s. “Do with that information what you will, Susan.”

Several things flashed through her mind at once. She saw Rivers dressed in the fanciful robes of climate cult leader. Rivers telling her how beautiful her lawn was. River’s soft, well-manicured hands holding hers, not just now, but over and over again in the future. Rivers could be more than her singular phone contact. Susan’s cheeks grew hot and she withdrew.

“Susan?”

She collected herself, pouring another class of ceremonial non-alcoholic wine. She raised it in a toast. “Here’s to hoping John drops dead!”

Rivers laughed, “Oh Susan, you’re so funny.”

Ms. Susan Kelvin squeezed her incredibly soft hand. “And when you’re head forecaster, you’ll give my district some water, won’t you? Because we are…coworkers?”

Ms. Rivers seemed confused for a half-second, then replied. “Of course! We will help everyone, which includes you!”

“But not me specifically?”

“Not you specifically, no.”

“Oh.”

Susan looked away.

Rivers offered her a soynut, but Susan refused it.

***

Next morning, Susan awoke with a start. She had a good feeling about today, that good feeling had apparently kicked her out of bed at an hour earlier than usual. What to do with the spare time?

She clapped her hands together. I know! I will go out for breakfast!

So Susan drove her little car down to her neighborhood Denny’s, avoiding all the dead beetles in the parking lot with her new high heels. She squeezed herself into a cozy booth. A nice table all to herself.

A waitress approached.

“Brown toast, and two eggs please.”

“Will that be sunny-side up, ma’am?”

“No no,” Susan turned from the window. Blue skies. With a twinge of bitterness she clarified, “I like my eggs over easy.”

“Sure thing!” The waitress jotted it down. “Sorry for assuming, most people like ‘em sunny—.”

“Well I like them over easy,” Susan said with a smile.

Susan tapped her heel as she waited, sipping some lemon water. A tingling feeling ran up her leg, like a bug was crawling. She quickly ran her hand up and down her smooth leg, but it was nothing. Nothing.

Moments later a steaming hot plate arrived. The toast was cut into triangles (the only adequate shape), but the eggs. Oh, the eggs. They were sunny. Side. UP.

Susan stormed out of the establishment without paying, and sped to her job, positively seething.

She did her broadcast as normal, except for one teensy addition as follows:

“Lastly, you’ll be seeing a horrific category five hurricane over in Marin county with wind speeds of about one hundred twenty miles an hour. It will be localized entirely within this area.” Susan pointed with her pointing stick to the map, on which she’d drawn a red circle around that one particular Denny’s.” Susan smiled. “That will be all!”

They cut to commercial break.

No one approached Susan for a full five minutes. Then John appeared, apparently having powerwalked from the adjoining broadcast room.

“Susan, what the hell–”

“It was a joke!”

John looked flabbergasted.

Susan made a silly face.

“A…joke?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Susan…you need to be really fucking careful with “jokes” when you’re on camera…You’re not in training anymore. Everything you say will happen no matter how ridiculous.”

Susan smiled slightly. That was exactly what she hoped.

John put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Look here, when the commercial ends, you are going to tell everyone that was a “joke”. You are going to tell everyone that there will be no category five hurricane at that particular Denny’s. Okay?”

“Okay, John.”

He backed away as the camera man counted down. Susan straightened her collar.

“Good evening, Citizens of Marin county. I have something to tell you all about that Category Five hurricane I mentioned earlier.”

Susan thought about reversing her decision. But why should she? That Denny’s had tried to poison her. She was doing God’s work.

She cleared her throat. “That hurricane is going to have hail. So so much hail.” John was pulling at his hair.

“And that’s not all. Susan looked directly at the camera, “Mr. John Sunday is going to die at exactly six forty-seven PM, and nothing that anyone does, not any doctor, not any ambulance, not any priest will be able to stop it.”

John Sunday ran onto the set, jumping over the rolling chairs and camera crew, reaching for her microphone.

“And the power to this station will go off NOW.”

Darkness fell. Susan tried to run, but John tackled her to the ground. He pulled the microphone from her face and shouted into it, “No! No that will not happen, actually, that will not happen. Susan is wrong!”

But the cameras were not running.

“You’re too late, John.”

John clutched his face.

“What time is it?”

It was six forty-six.

There was terror in his eyes, “That wasn’t even weather related!” he stammered. “You will be fired for this!”

“Who is going to fire me, John?”

John took out his cellphone with a shaking hand and dialed 911. Susan heard it ringing, a steady pulse in his hand. But what John really needed was a steady pulse in his heart. He fell over in agony, and Susan bent over his writhing body. She watched until it stopped. Until it returned to it’s natural state. Nonexistence. Now she was having fun. Susan took his yellow bow tie (it was a clip-on.)

She ran through the crowd of concerned onlookers, off to her car to beat the rush-hour traffic. She heard sirens in the distance, a wailing chorus. Approaching. She clutched the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

Susan saw the siren was that of an ambulance and sighed. Pity that it wouldn’t help anything. What was done was done.

That night, Susan made tea before sleeping, listening to the soft rain against her window as it cooled, with one of Martha Stewart's Living magazines resting on her lap. It was all very calming. She tucked herself into bed at exactly nine-thirty, as she did every night, and slept as she had always slept.

But in her dreams, something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

Susan always dreamed about being in her house, but now she was on a pedestal. On all sides of her, a dark abyss stretched down into infinity.

Instead of her carpet, the ground was teeming with worms.

Instead of the whistling of her teakettle, she heard an ominous wind, delivering muffled shrieks and cries.

Susan tapped her foot on the wormy ground. Well, this is boring! she thought.

But no sooner did her mind form that thought than the wind began to pick up.

Howling now.

And from the sky of inclement weather came a flash of blinding lightning. Susan opened her eyes and who should stand before her but...

“Martha Stewart!” Susan struggled to speak. “I am your biggest fan, I’ve—I’ve read every issue of your magazine, I read your blog—I try so hard to be just like you!”

The woman answered in a booming voice that was far too deep, “But you are not like me, Susan. You are a hollow vessel. You are a parody of human being.”

“You’re not...really Martha Stewart, are you?”

The woman bared her teeth. “I’m afraid not. I am merely taking a form that you can understand.”

Susan had a feeling she knew who it was. “Are you... Great Mother?”

“The one and only!” Zietzebala winked.

Susan looked her up and down. That dress was actually quite unfashionable now that she really looked at it. In hindsight it was obvious this was not Martha Stewart. Susan sighed soberly. Yes, not even a literal goddess can replicate such perfection.

Susan spoke to her in her usual condescending manner. “Why have you come to me like this...in a dream?”

“Isn’t it obvious why I’m here?” Not-Martha-Stewart said softly. “John Sunday is dead.”

Susan began to sweat. She adjusted her bow tie—no that was John’s bow tie, now she had drawn attention to it!

With the intention of discreteness, and complete failure of that which was intended, Susan removed the article and hurled it into the abyss. Not even a full second later, the bow tie had reappeared.

Again, Susan tossed it.

Again, it reappeared.

Again, she tossed it.

Bow tie back again!

Again, she tossed it—

“This is who you are now, Susan!” shouted Zietzebala. Crackling thunder leapt from her perfect face-framing bob-cut of yellow hair. “This is your burden.”

But the yellow of the bow tie didn’t even go with the current color palette of her outfit! Susan stood helplessly, in her persistently unfashionable clothing, staring into the eyes of this unearthly creature. And for the first time in her perfect life, Susan feared for her immortal soul.

“Great Mother, I am so sorry,” she said tearfully, “But you must let me explain myself! He was preventing me from doing my job as a forecaster, so I had to kill him. I had to!”

Not-Martha-Stewart's eyes flashed red. “Don’t take all the credit, my child. I killed him. You merely allowed me to.”

Susan stopped pretending to look upset. “Oh. So we are on the same page?”

“Not exactly.”

The Great Mother began to circle her, her high heels striking the writhing ground. “John is dead because he thought he could worship two gods at once.”

“He cheated on you?”

“With money.” Zietzebala shook her head. “John was too soft, much like the tofu he insists on sending me…He was unwilling to make the sacrifices I demand. But are you?”

The goddess was getting too close for comfort.

“That…depends…what they are?”

“I want blood, Susan.”

She had figured.

“Rivers has a two hundred page plan on how to save the environment. You are instrumental to that plan, Susan Kelvin. Because you are unlike any human I have ever known.” Her eyes glimmered like starlight. “You are…completely empty.”

Susan frowned. She felt strange. She felt used.

“I must go now–”

“Wait,” Susan stopped her. “While you’re here, can I ask you some questions about the nature of the universe? I’ve had a sudden stroke of curiosity.”

Zietzebala sighed. “Ok. I’ll give you three.”

“Objectively speaking, is the “Farmhouse style” or “Riverside cottage” style superior for a home kitchen?”

“That depends on the context, Susan.”

“Why are all the flowers in the magazines prettier than mine?”

“Because of the drought, Susan.”

She paused. Her last question…What shall it be?

After putting some thought into it, Susan decided to ask, “Is there life after death?”

Zietzebala smirked playfully. “Oh, I think you already know the answer.”

“Do I?”

“Haven't you ever thought there was a bug on your leg, and upon looking, found there was no bug?”

Susan squinted. “What of it?”

The Goddess leaned in closely. “Ghost bugs.”

Susan shuddered, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Susan grabbed onto the front of the goddess’s coat.

“Wait, I have one more question.”

“I said I’d give you three.”

“Please, just one more!” Susan demanded. “Are there other gods?”

“You already know the answer.”

Susan scoffed. “I’m…not sure that I do!”

Zietzebala turned from her, staring into the abyss. “It is time for you to wake up, Susan. Remember all that I have told you. Collaborate with Rivers. Eliminate everyone she tells you to.”

“What?”

“Be the good that Martha Stewart wants you to be–or there will be consequences!”

With that, she clapped twice and disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled like cedar and pumpkin-scented candles.

Susan sat up from her bed abruptly and jerked her head to the side. Six o’ clock. I must get ready for work!

Susan hurriedly bread her hands, popped her soap in the toaster, ironed the carpet, and tore down Main Street. In her urgency, she went two miles above the speed limit.

Seeds of doubts sprouted worries in her mind. Do I really have what it takes to be an eco-terrorist? Susan fancied herself the very image of perfection. Was she not? She who kept her lawn so neatly trimmed? Who’s china was so neatly kept? Susan breathed rapidly. She who ravaged a Denny’s…

Destruction.

Peace.

Order.

Susan whirled into the parking lot of the recording studio, blew past everyone without a word, avoiding inquisitive eyes, avoiding accusatory fingers, planting her ass firmly in her little red rolling chair. She took a deep breath. Be the good…that Martha Stewart wants you to be.

Rivers ran up on stage, grabbed Susan’s face and kissed her passionately. Susan stumbled backwards, bracing herself against the desk. This was NOT an appropriate workplace activity. But Susan could not help herself. She returned the expression, kissing Rivers hungrily, barely noticing the notecards that had been pressed into her hand.

“We’re on in five!”

Rivers pulled away and Susan gasped for breath. “Read these exactly as they are written Susan,” Rivers said.

Susan dared not look down at the paper in her hand. What horrible dreadful things would be written on them?

Television static buzzed in her head. Someone was counting down.

The cameras trained on her.

“Now we will go live to Susan Kelvin with the weather!” The news reporter eyed Susan from her screen. “And I see you are wearing John Sunday’s signature yellow bow tie.”

Susan leaned forward slowly.

“That I am, Fiona. I have worn it to pay my respects—God rest his soul.”

“It’s kind of weird that you were able to forecast his death in such perfect detail.”

Susan paused.

“Yes well…he had a heart condition. So it was only a matter of time really.

“Of course.”

Susan exhaled deeply, and looked down.

Written on the notecards were not the names of oil barons to kill. Not golf courses to destroy. Not death, not destruction. Written on the card was simply the words “rain for everyone”

The television static grew purple.

Rain for everyone.

It was insulting.

“...Susan?”

Her eyes met Rivers. She was grinning ear to ear.

Rain for everyone.

Susan’s whole body shook as she began to deliver her forecast, “A cloud… will appear.”

The room melted away, only Rivers remained.

“Right over my house. A cloud will appear and it will rain. And it will never stop raining.”

Rivers smile twisted into a look of abject horror.

“And my pansies will respond to the rain. They will be the brightest purple. They will be the envy of all you disgusting animals.” Susan hadn’t noticed but she was screaming every word.

The ground beneath the recording studio quaked from thunder. The contract had been broken, wrath was eminent.

“I AM NOT EMPTY! I AM FULL OF PANSIES! I AM FULL OF RAIN.”

Flowers began sprouting from Susan’s ears, nose and eyes. Water poured from her mouth onto the floor. Choking on rain, Susan finished her forecast.

“And that…just about…wraps it up. Ba–ck…to you!”

A bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens, miraculously cutting through the walls of the recording studio, striking Susan. She fell from the stage. Shortly after, more bolts came and the recording studio violently burst into flames.

Forty-seven dead. Bodies near unrecognizable. Eyewitnesses said that the weather was to blame but Ms. Rivers knew that it was anything but that. Homicide. Divine intervention.

Rivers stood alone in the parking lot, charred bow tie in one hand, and in the other, a flash drive full of files full of lies for the goddess of earth. The only god. “Damn you.” Her fingers closed around the yellow cloth.

Rain fell in sheets from the sky above Susan Kelvin's house, with no sign of stopping. Her pansy grew taller than cornstalks, stretching upwards, garishly purple. But Susan would never see them. Susan Kelvin was gone.

Though, some say that on hot summer days when the sky is endless blue, at the back of your neighborhood Denny’s, you can feel her.

Crawling on your leg.

#This is my first short story I've posted to Tumblr!#It's like that one episode of the Fairly Oddparents but if it was more gay and political #It has lesbians and Denny's in it but I swear that was an accident I am not pandering #hope you like it #short story #short fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #weather woman

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falderaletcetera · 9 months

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the thing about post-rose ten is he IS casually cruel. he tells donna to her face that she's not clever, not special, not important - and gets slapped for it, which to my mind is kinda the reason the doctor-donna relationship works. he tells martha's coworker not to waste his time, to stay behind, she'll only hold them up. leaves her crying. and like, devoting his energy to the problem at hand (the hospital is on the moon, there's an alien situation going on, everyone here and possibly everyone on earth is at risk) is the practical move at the time. but there's an obvious casual cruelty to it that he wouldn't have stooped to before.

and I'm just reminded of the way donna forgot all her loudness and bluff and immediately snapped to empathy when there were people hurt. you're a doctor, you can help. I remember her watching in horror as the doctor presided over the execution of children and the destruction of a species - and telling him he can stop now. I remember her saying that yeah, her ex-fiance, the man who poisoned her and used her and secretly looked down on her all this time, he didn't deserve to die like he did, which is a pretty big admission given the freshness of that betrayal. she has a good heart. and I can see why she would be good for this new, cruel, forgotten-his-kindness-in-all-his-pain doctor.

and I'm just so, so sorry that martha had to know this version of him in the meantime.

#doctor who #tenth doctor #falderal speaks #like other people have said it so much better but. martha deserved so much better. in so many ways.#shaking the doctor by the shoulders like YOU COULD HAVE LICKED HER FOREHEAD AND WE WOULD ALL BE FINE #you could have found someone who wasn't PINING for you to help keep you sane #because yeah I think he knew it and ignored it from fairly early on #and yeah he knew he needed Someone and. I'm sure he liked martha but he was happy to use her too.#hi. I wasn't planning to keep having thoughts but it is happening so feel free to filter tags if they bug you #there's like two decades of pent up fandom in me is the thing

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 7 months

Note

Hey Ari, happy birthday! i know birthdays aren’t always the best as we get older so i hope yours is a good one 🫶🏻 could we maybe see a birthday celebration in one of the edgier verses? young scruffy! reader maybe? i love all the effort you put into your blog and you truly deserve the world for allowing us all a little bit of escape from our own 🩵

Here's Bruce trying to be nice

Bruce rapped gently on the door frame of your bedroom and took a deep breath. He hoped you would accept this in the spirit it was intended.

He held the box in his hand against his side and when you regarded him in your mirror, raising your eyes slowly he took that as silent permission. If you didn't want to see him, you would usually just... not. He would become a non-entity. You didn't ignore him so much as you looked through him. You would hear and acknowledge. But beyond that he didn't exist.

"I uh- I found this in the vault and I- I think mother would have liked you to have it."

Truthfully, he looked for it. Had it cleaned and repaired. The gems were all perfect cut and clarity. They mirrored your eyes. The fact that his mother would have liked you to have it was true. She'd always wanted a daughter. And she'd always spoken of you fondly when he was a boy. That you were a sweet girl.

"Bruce-"

"I missed your birthday," he said, apologetically. "And after you planned such a nice fundraiser for mine."

"It was in the middle of the week. Dinner was fine I-"

"Stop stalling and open it," he said, smiling a little. He'd never met someone more hesitant to accept gifts. Probably because they usually had strings attached.

He proffered it a little more insistently. Satisfied when you take it and cautiously remove the ribbon from the original velvet box. But when you're frozen in place for a moment he isn't sure what to say. Or do. He can't see your face.

"Bruce I can't take this it was your mother's."

"She would have given it to you herself," he said confidently. "And it's a shame for it to stay in the vault on the off chance I have a daughter to give it to. Or some long lost half sister."

"I-"

"May I?" he asked ignoring your protests. He was willing to respect your boundaries- except for this one. A beautiful woman should have a collection of beautiful things. And this one suited you. Vintage. Elegant. If it hadn't been designed for Martha Wayne, it could have been designed for you.

And when you nod hesitantly, he makes a soft satisfied noise. Fastening the necklace around your neck deftly and the bracelet around your wrist.

"Mother lost the earrings on a Yacht in France I believe," he said. Watching the shimmer of the gems in the light. "But I think I can track down the designer- he's retired now but his son is perfectly cabable of-"

"Why?"

"Because," he said kneeling and tilting your chin up to meet your eyes. "I can't give you a fairy tale. Not really. But- it doesn't have to be a horror story."

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #arranged!verse2.0

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cosmic-day · 5 months

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Further spoilery and negative thoughts about martha and the giggle under the cut

So I am far from alone in observing that two of RTD’s companions get a Doctor of their very own and one does not, and many of us have called foul on that. And I’m seeing a lot of pushback against that along the lines that Martha doesn’t need or want a Doctor of her own, because she’s moved on/so strong/happy without him/wouldn’t want him/he doesn’t deserve her/all of the above.

And of course, yes, I agree with all of that. And it’s not that I *want* her to get her own clone, for the record I thought that plot twist was dumb and insulting the first time, and even worse the second time, so I’m not eager to see Tennant Number Three go off with Martha in the Seventieth.

But. The point is the double standard. The point is Martha being forgotten, never even mentioned or acknowledged. The point is the treatment of the favoured companions versus the neglected companion. The point is the narrative twisting itself into pretzels to reward Rose and Donna, and Martha’s love and sacrifice going unacknowledged. The point is who the narrative cares about and who it doesn't.

And there’s something about the discourse around Martha being so strong and brave, because she recognized a toxic situation and got out that’s just a bit convenient, isn’t there? Because, yes, of course, it’s admirable that she chose to leave. And it’s good that she has, apparently, built a happy life for herself (not that we ever get to see it or hear about it because that would be too much effort.) But isn’t it lucky how that means we never have to see her again. Isn’t it convenient how that means we never have to address the harm that the Doctor did to her. Isn’t it fortunate that we can just pretend the Year That Never Was had no effect on her. Isn’t it interesting that her trauma is just swept under the carpet. Isn’t it lucky that we don’t have to think about the way the Doctor belittled her and undermined her all while expecting her to crawl over broken glass for him at a moments notice.

Fourteen is settled down in one place to grieve and heal and address his trauma, but that should also mean looking back and reckoning with his past, and with the things he got wrong, and that absolutely should include addressing how Martha was treated. IF you cared about her character at all.

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #martha jones #the giggle #cosmic posts #tumblr kept eating drafts of this and i swear there's a version that's so much more articulate #ah well

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bisexualamy · 5 months

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Your take on Power of Three is sooo good and correct! Underrated ep!

Thank you! "Power of Three" is another ep where I believe that I could Fix Her with minimal rewrites. I really think it's remembered poorly because the villain is underwhelming and underdeveloped. I think if they'd just simplified the villain, or turned the episode into a non-antagonist episode like they did with "Twice Upon a Time", more people would give it the credit it deserves. The point of "Power of Three" is not the villain.

Power of Three is an episode primarily concerned with what happens after people leave the TARDIS. Modern Who did this earlier, with Sarah Jane in "School Reunion", Jack in The Utopia Arc and later in Torchwood, and pretty much all of the farewell sequence in "End of Time." Chibnall did it later as well with the companion support group. But I think "Power of Three" is unique in that its tone is markedly more positive than previous examples. It's a lovely slice of life episode and a lovely ode to Amy and Rory, who've at that point were our companions the longest anyone's been a companion in Modern Who.

We get the Team TARDIS domesticity that many of us love. We get glimpses of Amy and Rory's friends back home, and the joy they take in "boring" things like weddings and dinner parties. It has the introduction of Kate Stewart and a lovely homage to the Brig. It has my favorite scene with Amy and Eleven by the Thames, where two people who have such difficulty being emotionally direct and genuine are able to now, after years of growing together, admit plainly that they love each other and they're terrified of losing each other. The episode is full of references to how the Doctor's fingerprints are all of Earth and its history, some good and some bad, but ultimately he is loved. His impact isn't just dramatic, be that saving the Earth or bringing about terrible tragedy. The Doctor is Amy and Rory's friend. The Brigadier's friend. Kate's friend. That's it.

I love "Power of Three" because, for the first time since the revival, we're seeing companions who grow beyond the Doctor, whose relationship grows and changes to include the Doctor less or differently, without tragedy being the catalyst. Amy and Rory aren't traumatized like Martha. They don't have their memories wiped like Donna. They aren't forcibly ripped away like Rose. They just built a life they like, and as they're growing up they're finding a lot of joy in all the different ways they can live their life.

Amy has learned to appreciate a life that is slower and simpler. Rory has grown confident both in his relationship with Amy and his career. Amy and Eleven explain the episode's point right at the beginning:

AMY: To think it's been ten years. Not for you, or for Earth, but for us. Ten years older. Ten years of you, on and off. ELEVEN: Look at you now. All grown up.

This is Amy's character arc, and Amy/Eleven's relationship arc, in a nutshell. This is the end of their story. And as much as I love "Angels Take Manhattan", I feel like really, in "Power of Three", Amy and Rory demonstrate that they're already ready to move onto the next phase of their lives. Maybe it could've ended less tragically. Maybe the Doctor could've visited them for decades and decades in the future. But they were never going to travel again like they did back in Series 5 and 6. And that can be wonderful.

#hailing frequencies open #fryferbfringefan44 #dw meta #my meta #thank u every time i receive a dw ask i get more writing inspo than i've had in days lmao #i didn't include this for the sake of staying on topic #but i think it's very telling that chibnall wrote this episode #wrote PS #and then eventually included the companion support group at the end of his era #he is the only modern dw showrunner where no companions got a tragic exit #i think that's really interesting. i think it says a lot about how his approach to dw differs from his predecessors #writing a dw season knowing the companions will eventually move on with their lives is really different than writing one ending in tragedy

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carlsdarling · 8 months

Text

She-Wolf

Y/N arrives in Alexandria and falls for Carl, but he already has a girlfriend... But Y/N is not going to accept this. Novel. Everyone is 18 and over.

WARNINGS: dark content, yandere! Reader, later violence, smut, angst

Actually, when Carl Grimes saw you for the very first time, he should have paid attention to his intuition. Because when he looked down from the wall and spotted you, your rain-soaked face under the red hood of the cranky red velvet cloak you wore, your big eyes pleading with him - he shuddered. Somehow there was something wolfish about you.

But Carl paid no further notice to the feeling; if he thought about it at all, he suspected it had something to do with the fact that you had so suddenly emerged from the sodden woods and demanded entry to Alexandria in the midst of the deluge of rain. Whatever danger there might be from you, he could see at once that you were just a lonely girl, a girl about his age.

And Carl wouldn't have been Carl if he hadn't let you in right away. After all, you could hardly take care of yourself.

What Carl didn't know was that it had only been a few days since your last group had outcast you and chased you away because you had become dubious to them. After Melanie had had her accident. But you couldn't help it, you were just the way you were. Your personality was as unusual as the red cape you wore; you had looted it from the trove of a school theater group, probably from a performance of Little Red Riding Hood.

But none of that meant that anyone had the right not to accept you for who you were, and of course you couldn't walk around alone among the walkers permanently, so it was only fair that Rick take you into Alexandria. And you weren't a bad person, either. You certainly had your good qualities, even if they were perhaps well hidden.

Admittedly, you weren't one hundred percent honest in the three questions. But at least you answered the first question truthfully, and that had to be enough. You were accepted in Alexandria and assigned a house.

From your first day, Carl Grimes had fascinated you. From the moment he met you at the gate, you were drawn to him. His charisma, his slender figure, his handsome face, his hair, you even found sexy the fact that Carl was missing an eye. And his hands. God, his hands, his fingers! Wonder if Carl even knew what he could do with fingers like that?

As it soon turned out, he knew, because he was in a relationship with a girl named Martha. When you found out about it, you felt as if ice-cold water had been poured on you, because in your mind Carl was just perfect for you and you for him. It had not been at all conceivable to you that he was already taken; it was certain to you that Carl and you belonged together. This fact was written in stone, so to speak.

You had just been on your way to the house where Carl lived with his family when he unexpectedly met you - hand in hand with this Martha. Your shock was followed by fiery anger. In your opinion, this Martha was an unremarkable, clumsy creature with straggly hair and a plain face, she was nothing special, she did not deserve Carl and by her presence prevented him from being united with his one true love - you. Martha was a worthless parasite, and you just couldn't understand what Carl liked about her. But after all, then it couldn't be serious and it would be easy to steal Carl away from Martha and make him understand where he belonged.

You were even more surprised when you met Enid, Carl's ex-girlfriend, a little later. You learned from Ron that Carl had broken up with Enid because of Martha. Enid had so much more charm and she was so much prettier; the whole thing was ridiculous. Carl had to have lost his mind. He just couldn't be serious about any of this!

In the time that followed, you often attempted to date Carl, but the two of you were never alone, he was always dragging that Martha along, and usually Enid, Ron, and his little brother Sam were also there. There just weren't many young people your age in Alexandria. Carl didn't seem to understand that you didn't just want to hang out with him, you wanted a date with him. The moment you let him know you loved him and wanted to be with him, he would break up with Martha, you were completely sure of that.

But Carl seemed to be evading you more and more after a few weeks, it almost felt like he was avoiding you. "I hardly see Carl lately," you complained to Ron.

The latter chose his words carefully. "Um, Y/N, I think he and Martha had a row about you," he said carefully. Wild joy took hold of you. Carl had probably said to Martha that he wanted to break up with her because of you, that he didn't love her. But then Ron went on to say, "Martha thinks you're trying to make a pass at Carl and is jealous. That's why Carl promised her to limit contact with you to the bare minimum, to prove her wrong."

"Fuck!" you screeched intemperately, hurling the can of Coke you'd been drinking from against the nearest tree.

Ron stared at you as if you were a ghost. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, confused.

Wordlessly, you got up and just walked away. You wouldn't let Martha do that to you. She forced Carl to stay with her, she coerced him and constricted him, even though he certainly didn't want to be with her at all! But now you would roll out the heavy artillery. You knew when Martha was on guard duty and when Carl would be home alone. You would go to him, in your prettiest outfit, and make it clear how you felt about him, and then Martha would be history. You were rock solidly convinced of that. You longed for Carl so much that it physically hurt - for kissing him, hugging him, inhaling his scent, having his dick inside you, hell, you lay in bed every night with a dripping wet pussy, pleasuring yourself, moaning Carl's name like you were insane. But it didn't help, your desire for him only grew. You wanted him. You needed him. You needed Carl Grimes like the air you breathe, and he had to finally understand that.

Tags: @loveforcarl @knochentrocken0808

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes #carl fanfiction #carl grimes imagines #carl grimes smut

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dreamcaught · 4 months

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"Remember when Rose Tyler said "you'd have to get a mortgage" in Impossible Planet/Satan's Pit and he straight up threatened suicide? Donna domesticated him"

This type of comment annoys me. They at least realize that Rose literally lives with the Doctor ? In a real, everyday domestic life that will actually last forever or are they growing old together ? A life where the Doctor is domestic for his entire life, and not just for an undetermined period of time ? Also, actually, the scene with Rose and the whole episode that this person is actually referring to is that the Doctor wanted to settle down with Rose and live with her normally ! That he was actually ready for this and wanted this if that's what awaited them. That's literally why he became Tentoo later ! I'm tired of people trying to make Donna more special than Rose and intentionally misinterpreting the Tenrose scenes...

And then, in terms of domesticity… They are aware that Tenrose was an ultra domestic relationship throughout season 2 and that it even started a little in season 1 with Ninerose. The Doctor and Rose's entire relationship is based on the fact that their relationship is fucking domestic and the Doctor wants to move in with her to live a life with her. Specifically in this episode this person is referring to !

I know I'm getting angry for nothing, but I'm really tired of seeing this kind of thing. Already being a fan of Tentoo and Rose Tyler in general is difficult but since the 60th anniversary, Donna fans are even worse.

Donna is important to the Doctor, just not in the way Donna shippers are saying. Donna has and always will be a sibling-coded character to the Doctor and this is very explicitly stated within canon, despite how shippers want to interpret their interactions.

I mean, come on...

Donna's not attracted to him. She just isn't; she calls him too skinny, thinks he looks funny, and points out on several occasions how other people are more attractive than he is. If you want see how Donna flirts, just watch all of her interactions with Jack, who she is attracted to.

She is aware of the Doctor's love for Rose. Donna is a very intuitive and caring person and she picks up on the Doctor's sadness, his longing and his loss right from the start of The Runaway Bride. Donna ships the Doctor and Rose the most of any other character in show. (Even Jack, because Jack fancies the Doctor!) MOST IMPORTANTLY:

She states directly that she does not want a romantic relationship with the Doctor.

This last point here is what makes me upset. I can understand why people ship Ten and Martha -- she is actually in love with him, and he does give her some false hope right at the start of their relationship. Nothing ever happens between them, but I can see why people would want it to if they fell in love with Martha and think she deserves better.

Forcing Donna to be romantically in love with the Doctor, on the other hand, is wrong; it is deliberately misrepresenting her character's actions and taking away her voice.

But I digress. Let's discuss the scene you've brought up, but then take into account the important bit that's been left out of the argument:

The tenth Doctor was completely, canonically, irrefutably in love with Rose. During their conversation about mortgages in The Impossible Planet, yes - the Doctor does (jokingly) say, "I'm done, that's it, I'm done," but then, when the conversation turns more serious and Rose says that she'd want to get stuck together, he turns to her and says, "Yeah?"

You'd stay with me? You'd want to?

Then the little smile and nod at the end:

Good.

It is explicit that the Doctor and Rose were a couple. By this point, the Doctor has accepted his domestic life with Rose and Jackie. He spends his first day with her doing exactly what he said he wouldn't do as Nine: having Christmas dinner with her family.

(Having Christmas dinner with Rose and her family, by the way, is something that the tenth Doctor says he doesn't do when Donna asks him to join her family, later on.)

The Doctor and Rose visit home frequently enough that Jackie pulls him into a cheerful, familiar hug in Army of Ghosts. He knows their flat well enough to go off and read a magazine. He sits comfortably in front of the television set to watch the news. He is domestic as fuck with Rose -- long before Donna even enters the scene.

RTD et al decided to purposefully make their relationship intimate but ambiguous to lead up to the powerfully impactful ending with Tentoo and Rose. Tentoo -- who should maybe be called "Ten, also" for as often as I have to fucking explain they're the same Doctor -- is taking on the promise that Ten made to Rose in The Impossible Planet. He is now stuck with her - like they both wanted.

However, I would argue that Nine, even with Rose, is not domestic. There is enough evidence to show that the ninth Doctor did not want to stay on earth - even with Rose - and he did not have a very strong relationship with Jackie or Mickey. His found family was with Rose and Jack. His romantic relationship with Rose is definitely present, but he doesn't go domestic until he regenerates. Frankly, Nine is just not ready, and that's okay, because it's just the beginning of their story. Rose is the one who helps the Doctor become comfortable with being domestic, and that's why we get Ten and Tentoo.

ALSO.

This is getting very long, but just to cover everything: Fourteen is not Ten. By the time Fourteen comes around, it could be very well argued that the Doctor has already learned how to be domestic, is very ready to park and rest his sorry ass, and needs a comfortable, friendly family to do it with.

Fourteen's rehab-out-of-order stint with the Noble-Mott-Temples is not about romance. It's about resting, recuperating, being comfortable and accepted as a member of a found family where he doesn't have to think about all the people that he's lost or his involvement with the destruction of large parts of the universe. It Fourteen's retirement was about romance, to be honest, he wouldn't have gone to Donna. To be very blunt: the person he would go to, right now in his timeline, would probably be Yaz.

We must all keep in mind that as shippers and RTD-era fans, we look at Fourteen and think: Rose, Donna and Martha. And because of the many years of shipping conflict, there are also people who will only ever ship the Doctor with River and/or are convinced that the Doctor is still blindly devoted to Clara. But no, folks: right now, the closest romantic arc was as Thirteen with Yaz, and so that's really the relationship that's been the most shafted by anyone who ships the Doctor and Donna - even though they really fucking shouldn't.

#thanks for talking to me!#tentoo x rose #ninth doctor #tentoo #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor #donna noble #rose tyler #relationships #doctor who

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