Bookworm4scarfsss

Amateur writer. Under 16s dni please. Positive interaction only. no NSFW.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Dr who masterlist

Unspecified doctor

The winner takes it all

Fifth doctor

See angel part 1 & 2

Field short

Fifth doctor headcannons

Eighth doctor

First short

Eighth doctor headcannons

Eighth doctor x reader - fake marriage

Eighth doctor dating headcannons

The lyric vault

Thirteenth doctor

See angel part 1 & 2

Sonic

Multi doctor

Angel part 1

Angel part 2

Dividers

[bookworm4scarfsss]

you write so brilliantly for the eighth doctor it really gives me life. You capture his charm so well !!! Lots of love 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Oh my goodness I really appreciate that! I know he's such a niche character and I'm so glad someone other than me gets it. Also your profile says you go by he/him and I'm relieved that my work isn't too gendered to be inclusive. I personally hate when writers say a work is gender neutral and the reader is obviously super effeminate. All the best👍

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Dr who preferences 1

PDA + third wheels with 5,7,8

A/N: this is my first try at a preferences format so its a bit rough. These are just the doctors I felt like writing for. No offence to six but🤷‍♀️

Five

So the trouble with him is that he'll never publicly admit that he loves you. He's too cautious.

Having said this… everyone knows.

Tegan is teasing him: “the Doc's got a crush!” And Nyssa is trying to keep the peace, while explaining to adric why the doctor is acting so strangely.

Later, peri automatically assumes You're together and he doesn't correct her.

The main way you can tell he fancies you is how he avoids and argues with you. He can't deal with the feelings. He tries to rationalize that your a silly, infuriating human with no concern for protecting the sacred timeline.

PDA is more platonic than anything. He's affectionate enough to offer you his arm, kiss your hands, cheeks and forehead - albeit in a chaste, friendly way.

If anything romantic happens, it'll be because you're alone.

The fifth doctor never makes anyone feel like a third wheel. He avoids attachments too much for that.

Occasionally someone with pick up the chemistry between you and if they mention it: he'll blush.

Seven

Now he's a husband.

He doesn't show you off, per say, but he's proud of you. And committed enough to introduce you as whatever you are: Lover, spouse, “dearest friend”.

PDA is domestic and sensible, more like an old married couple than lovers.

Your third wheel is also more like your adopted child, Ace.

It doesn't matter that you're not far off in age. You become a sort of family unit, and because ace can be rather immature, you feel protective of her.

So of course she ships you. She gets worried when you argue; “are you and the professor finished then?”

He does little magic tricks for you. That's his version of flirting. And that's not at all inappropriate to do in public.

He's also, like all his best incarnations, very chivalrous with his PDA. Its so normal that it doesn't even seem like PDA.

He automatically opens doors, offers his arm and sees that you're looked after, getting the first views, treats, and drinks.

Eight

Charley isn't so much a third wheel as a menace. She ships the two of you, purely because she finds it funny. She likes to tease the doctor specifically.

It's the worst when you're falling in love - still figuring out you're new dynamic with this version of the doctor.

He's constantly flirting, openly admiring and pining. He doesn't have enough knowledge of his past or future to know better then attempting to seduce a companion. Or maybe he does and can't stop himself.

Either way, whenever anything starts to happen, you hear; “eh hem. Remember that your not alone in the console room?”

Romance takes a back seat when things get tricky (I'm thinking of the divergent universe storyline)

Nonetheless, things happen with a sort of inevitably. And when they do - he's far too smitten and devoted to leave you alone when you're not alone.

It becomes a part of him. Those who meet him later - lucy, Tamsin, etc.- know him only as being a lovesick alien who travels time and space with his beloved.

He's very old fashioned in a romantic way. You'll be walking happily arm in arm until Lucy says: “honestly, is this a hostage situation or prom?”

She has no idea that that's his version of restrained. As soon as you're alone, he's kissing up your arms, giggling and whining: “I thought we'd never have a moments peace.”

Everyone feels like a third wheel with you two. He's too passionate and romantic not to flirt with, kiss, and hold you (if you'll let him).

[bookworm4scarfsss]

I have started a tag please feel free to add. See Paul McGann x reader in the tags.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Another poll

Also - I have 8th and 13th doctor stuff in the works presently.

Do we prefer first person, second person or third person in fanfiction?

first person "i said"

second person "you said"

third Poll person "they said"

Voting ended onMar 27

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth doctor x reader - Beethoven

Summary: see pic.

Pov: second person.

Word count: about 500.

Warnings: none? Candles?

A/N: literally just saw this picture on Pinterest and was inspired. Turned out with mad phantom of the opera vibes.

Now edited in second person. Let me know if I missed any

You find him by sound.

The TARDIS is dark except for the console room's soft amber glow of candles, and you follow the music through the corridor the way you follow the smell of something dearly familiar — without quite deciding to, and without being able to stop. It pulls you out of sleep and down the stairs in bare feet and you don't even mind.

He is at the upright piano he keeps wedged between the hatstand and a row of bookcases. He doesn't hear you come in, you don't think. He is somewhere else entirely.

You lean in the doorway and watch him.

The Eighth Doctor at a piano is a particular thing. All that restless, roaming energy — the energy that paces corridors and rewires alien machinery and argues with history — goes perfectly, utterly still. His back is straight. His head tilts, just slightly, as if he's listening to the music at the same time as producing it. His hair falls forward and he doesn't push it back. His hands move like they know something the rest of him has forgotten he knows.

It's the Moonlight Sonata. First movement. He plays it slowly, slower than it's usually taken, and it sounds so mournful… yet beautiful.

You know why he's playing it. He told you earlier, voice carefully level, eyes doing something complicated: Beethoven wasn't there. The world was wrong. The records didn't exist. He'd gone back to shake the man's hand and found only a gap in the century, a silence where a genius should have been. He'd stood in the street in 1790s Vienna and understood, all at once, that none of it — not the sonatas, not the symphonies, not the Ninth written deaf and furious and magnificent — existed.

”So I'll write it down”, he'd said, as if it were obvious. “Someone has to. The universe shouldn't go without it.”

You'd pointed out that this was a paradox. He'd looked delighted.

Now the manuscript pages are spread across the top of the piano, covered in his handwriting — small and pressured, ink slightly smeared where his wrist dragged through it in haste. He's been at this for hours. He is reconstructing a man from memory. He is stitching a composer back into existence one note at a time, and the result is this: perfect, aching, real.

And you are embarrassingly infatuated with him.

You're aware of it the way you're aware of a blush; too late to do anything about it, too obvious to pretend otherwise. It sits in your chest like a sustained note, warm and slightly painful but not entirely unwelcome. You watch his profile, the line of his jaw, the slight movement of his lips as he counts something internally, and think: ‘oh, you impossible man.’

He hits a chord and holds it.

The sustain pedal keeps it alive long after his fingers lift, and in that ringing silence he finally looks up. He finds me immediately, as if he always knew I was there.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asks. His voice is soft, pitched for the quiet.

"Not long," you utter from where you stand by the console.

He considers this. Something in his expression shifts — not quite a smile, but something near.

"It's a paradox, you know," he says softly into the half-light. "I'm the reason it exists. But it existed before I went back. Both things are true simultaneously."

"I know," you say.

"I find it rather marvellous," he admits.

"I know." You repeat.

He looks at you for a moment longer, and the candlelight does something unfair to his fair eyes. Then he shifts along the piano bench, just slightly. Just enough.

An invitation, if you want it.

You cross the room and sit beside him, close enough that our shoulders touch. He turns back to the keys. After a moment, he begins again; softer now, slower, as if the music is only for this room, this hour, the two of you in the amber dark.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Thirteenth doctor x reader - sonic

Summary: she built you a sonic.

Pov: second person

Word count: very short

Warnings: none.

A/N: this is short and sweet. If you don't like the sonic design, imagine something else, but the flower style is mentioned.

The tardis console room is warm with the light of it's giant golden crystals.

The doctor is everywhere and nowhere at once, bouncing from panel to panel too quickly. You watch her do the same circuit around the console twice.

“Doctor,” you say, calm. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she replies instantly. “Everything. Normal amount of everything.” She stops at the console and pretends to read something on a monitor that you know to be useless when the tardis is in flight.

Her fingers tap something, then still. Her eyes flick to you and away again too quickly.

“You’re doing that weird thing,” you frown.

“What thing?” the doctor exclaims defensively.

“The evasive thing.”

“I am not evasive. I am… strategically vague. I'm mysterious!” She shouts in her northern way. Funny how she can't seem to manage an indoor voice.

You smile. “Uh-huh.”

The Doctor exhales a huff and reaches into the inside pocket of her grey coat like it’s suddenly the most dangerous place in the universe.

She pulls out a small metal object and holds it behind her back while she steals herself.

Then she steps closer and brings her hand forward. It’s a sonic screwdriver. Not like the one she carries. This one is a different shape. The top flares into petal-like plates, surrounding a central crystal.

The design catches the glow from the console so it looks, for a moment, like it’s blooming.

She holds it out carefully, petals up, the way you might offer someone an actual flower and hope they don't laugh.

“Here,” she says, voice too casual. “For you.”

You stare. “For me?”

“Yep.” She nods once, sharp. “Thought you should have one. If you want it. If you don’t want it, that’s fine. That’s completely fine. I can just— keep it. Somewhere. In a drawer. A very… drawer-ish drawer.”

You reach out slowly, watching her face as much as the sonic. She is trying to look relaxed. She is failing.

When your fingers close around the base, it fits your hand like it already knows you. The Doctor’s shoulders drop a fraction, and she looks relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s beautiful,” you say quietly.

She shrugs like it means nothing, but her smile is bright and nervous at the edges. “Well. You’re you. You notice things.”

You admire the sonic, almost bringing it to your face like a real flower.

“What does it do?”

Her grin settles into something more familiar, more her. “Oh, loads. Opens doors, reads scans, talks to systems that don't have user interface software. It’s very clever.” She leans in, close enough that you can smell the oil.

“But,” she adds, eyes darting to yours and away again, “you have to hold it like this. Or it’ll throw a tantrum.” You lift the sonic the way she shows you. The TARDIS hums a little louder, as if pleased. The Doctor watches you with a careful softness, like she is memorizing the moment without saying so.

“Right then,” she says, voice bold. “Want to try it on something harmless first? Like… that door. Not the important doors. Just a nice, safe door. Baby steps.”

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Hia do any of my few readers have any particular preference to which doctor I write for?

If so let me know if you prefer:

5th doctor

8th doctor

13th doctor

unspecified doctor

another doctor (put in comments)

Voting ended onMar 22

I would also be interested in if headcannons or one shots are preferred. I'm open to requests if anyone has any bright ideas, just keep it pg.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth doctor x reader - The Lyric Vault

Summary: Would you risk your life for someone you love or save yourself?

Pov: second person

Word count: ?

Warnings: drama, death (not of central character), shouting, running, danger, sparks, being trapped, let me know if I missed any. Use of y/n (I'm so sorry it seemed nessesary).

A/N: this is largely based on a scene from 'the mummy' movie, but made it sci-fi.

The Lyric Vault groans as it starts breaking apart. You and Vaeliss cower in the shelter of a metal doorway, both of you dust-streaked and breathing hard. They had to build this place; the power(mad) couple Vaeliss and Kharon Vex. They thought it very romantic to destroy the galaxy together, the tyrannous loons. But now their weapon is tearing the place apart, and every few seconds the dreadnought shudders, sending glittering shards of metal into the air.

Beyond the threshold, the chamber splits open into the prism-fall. It is not a normal chasm. It is a huge seam where gravity fractures into competing directions, a hard-edged streak of blinding light that would tear you to shreds. A red strobe flashes. In it, you see them.

The Doctor and Kharon Vex are both hanging over the lip, fingers hooked into a jagged ledge. No handhold. Just sparking panels, and the waining, trembling strength of their hands. The Doctor’s coat whips like a banner in the pressure wind, curls plastered to his forehead. Kharon’s face is slick with sweat and grotesque with fury. He glares toward the doorway—toward Vaeliss—eyes wide with the certainty that love will save him because it always has, because he made it into a mandatory religion for the peoples of his conquered star systems. “Vaeliss!” he screams, voice raw as he reaches out to her. “My star—save me!”

Vaeliss flinches. For a heartbeat, she looks like she might move. Like her devotion will win.

The irony occurs to you; the prism-fall is their doing. Their “love” turned the gravity lattice into a weapon, overloaded it with those ridiculous vows, those stolen suns, those ritual activations.

Vaeliss’s breath stutters. “I-

Then the ship lurches again and a deep boom rolls through the hull. In the corridor behind you, the bulkhead begins to cycle shut. Vaeliss’s gaze snaps to it.

Kharon cries out; “Vaeliss,—come to me- !”

Vaeliss takes a step forward cautiously. A slab of deck plating drops from the ceiling between her and the ledge, smashing down with a shriek. The impact throws up a wave of heat and dust and sparks, and the floor buckles. Vaeliss recoils with a strangled cry, stumbling back into you as you try to see a way through the carnage.

Her eyes lock on the closing bulkhead. And she does what she always has; she's chosen herself. Because beneath the poetic declarations, she has no empathy, so cannot love her lover any more than she loved the people she killed to be with him.

She twists away from you and runs frantically towards the cargo, towards the escape shuttles, and the tardis.

“Vaeliss!” he screams, spitting as he sobs.

“VAELISS!”

The Doctor’s voice cuts through it, fierce and desperate. “Y/N!” he shouts to you over the tearing metal. “Go! The door—go! Get back to the tardis!”

You do not.

You lurch away from the doorframe and sprint towards him, heart punching your ribs.

The floor tilts under you as gravity warps “down” shifting just enough to steal your balance.

You catch yourself and keep moving because there is no room for fear, not now.

A crack opens at your feet. Blue light breathes up from the prism-fall. You run to the side and jump the edge. You run desperately to the ledge and the Doctor’s hand is right there, trembling with strain.

You pull him up by his arms, metal cutting your knees. The air tastes metallic, like blood and lightning. As the doctor gets up onto the ledge, he falls into you, arms trembling, but it doesn't last long. The chasm seems to spray light that burns your eyes and you haul eachother in the direction of the doorway.

When you find it, the metal door is shut, so you pull the doctor right to a smaller opening, hoping it will lead in the right direction.

“Run!” The doctor shouts, holding your hand.

You sprint down the corridor as sparks fly, the smoke becoming choking, and make a left, pulled along by the doctor.

You see the original hallway, bulkheads shut and by the sound of it, Vealiss has been trapped in one of the sealed compartments. You don't have time to stop as the Lyric Vault folds in on itself.

You run towards the tardis, hand in hand, knowing you're in for a row with the doctor once you're safe.

Extra;

You hadn't known at the time what came of Kharon Vex, too consumed with getting the doctor to safety. But after the argument, the reconciliation and comfort, the doctor told you that he'd let go. After Vaeliss ran, as you pulled him to safety.

“that bright light the tear emitted; it wasn't accidental. It was the Lyric Vault’s reaction to his falling into it's sphere. He was consumed by it. He was gone the moment his fingers left the ledge.” The doctor explained calmly. You suppose, in hindsight, Vaeliss died too.

[bowtiesandflutes]

masterlist.

Preferences -

╾ How You Met

╾ First Trip In The Tardis - (Part Two)

╾ Nightmares/Trouble Sleeping

╾ First Kiss

╾ First Date

╾ They See You Naked

╾ When an enemy takes you/controls your mind

╾ First Fight/Apologies

╾ You Die/They Die

╾ Laundry Day

╾ When You/They Get Jealous

╾ Singing In The Shower

╾ Dancing

╾ How They Describe You

╾ You/They Get Hurt And You Patch Each Other Up

╾ They Like When You...

╾ Where They Like To Kiss You

╾ On A Bad Day They Will...

╾ They Propose

─ Who They Confide In

╾ "I'm sorry..."

╾ Card/Board Games You Play Together

╾ Pick Up Lines

╾ When They're Angry They

╾ What Clothing You/They Steal

╾ You/They meet A Past/Future Version Of Them/ You

╾ When You Fall Ill

Imagines -

Second Doctor

Powerless

Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart

A New Adventure

Delgado!Master

Undeniable Chemistry

Roberts!Master

Confessions In The Rain

Jacobi!Master

Rivalry

Letting Go (+ Simm!Master)

Simm!Master

Letting Go (+ Jacobi!Master)

Rory Williams

Home

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Hi so I don't know what this creators policy on rebloging is but their preferences are an absolute must for a classic who fanfic reader

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth doctor - Dating headcannons

loves loves loves dates. Everything is a date.

Museum dates where he's constantly correcting the informative placards. He loves telling you things and he's constantly checking your face for signs of boredom as you walk between exhibits. You stop a while at the dinosaurs and you can't believe he's never watched Jurassic park.

A date at a jazz bar where he's surprisingly awkward. For all his talk, it's outside his comfort zone. Nonetheless, he tries his best, dancing and flirting a lot. He steers clear of the bootleg champagne and the two of you end up in a dark corner, swaying softly.

An alien market date, disguised as a supply run. You and whoever else you may be travelling with know fine well that the tardis has everything you need. Still, the doctor insists, and lingers there, buying you strange fruits, drinks, and trinkets. He pins a little flower to your collar that is miraculously warm to the touch with a sweet, fruity smell.

Lots of dates begin but quickly become life or death situations. You once went to a beautiful planet, whose people were forever rehearsing for a parade that never came. Turned out they were to be sacrificed, but that's another story.

A walking ghost tour that has an actual ghost (displaced time echo).

Tardis dates. A surefire way of avoiding trouble. The doctor setting up a picnic blanket under the glass dome solarium of the console room. All manor of cheese and fruit boards with fortified vintage wines.

Or in the library. Those dates are so common that they hardly count as dates.

but the real dates are outside the tardis. For the doctor, location is everything. The setting, the ambience, is essential, as he's explained enthusiastically. A classic dinner date on a planet with a slow rotation, so the sunset lasts hours.

A date to a city that celebrates the annual recalibration of it's artificial moon. The moon shuts off and into the black out everyone makes a wish. The doctor won't tell you what he wished for, so you won't tell him yours.

An evening spent rewriting alien propaganda that feels like a study date as you take turns bringing eachother tea and editing eachothers work.

A space cruise. A Venetian ball. A botanical exhibition. A coronation or two. You name it, he's tried to make it happen.

This isn't mentioning longer trips that he classes as dates because he doesn't want them to end.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth doctor x reader - fake marriage

Summary: faking marriage to blend in Victorian England. Implied female reader but no description.

Pov: second person (reader pov)

Word count: idk, short?

Warnings: let me know

A/N: this was pretty quick so I might edit it later

Something you’ve learned about Victorian England is that its people will accept almost anything if you give it a proper name and title.

You and the doctor stand in a dark green parlour that smells faintly of smoke, waiting to be seen by your mysterious host, having been escorted in by an elderly manservant. The room is richly decorated, but a little dingy, as the gentlemen, probably a butler, regards the two of you with polite suspicion.  

“And who should I say is calling, sir?” he asks the doctor, despite your being closer. His tone holds a note of judgment as he regards the doctor, who looks both perfectly suited, and terribly out of place in this period. He’s wearing his usual velvet coat over a 19th century suit, but his hair is rather wild, looking more like that of a pre-Raphaelite painting then a strait-laced sir.

You don’t give the doctor a chance to make up something ridiculous; to say something weird and vague or pull out his psychic paper.

“This is the doctor… my husband.” You panic a bit internally as the word leaves your mouth, but it seems to work, the atmosphere immediately clicking into one of acceptance.

“Very good, madam.” The butler nods courteously, as though that resolves the entire matter.

“Yes- husband?” the doctor looks at you in shock where he stands beside you before recovering with a giddy grin. “Yes, that’s me. I’m the husband- the doctor” he stumbles through the words like his brains fallen out his ears and you shoot him a look.

“that’s A* doctor. Yes - medicine. I’m A* doctor and this is my wife.” He practically sings it with a bright, beaming expression.

The older man (in appearance not years) seems satisfied with his answer. “Indeed, sir. I shall inform the master.” He leaves swiftly into the hall, leaving only you and your ‘husband’.

Only then do you feel the doctor lean closer, close enough that his soft voice is just for your ears. “You said that quite quickly.”

“It was practical,” you whisper back “it makes sense to them.”

His teasing doesn’t arrive. Instead, his voice remains soft. He doesn’t give you much space as he speaks, and his smile is much smaller.

“You could have said colleague… Or cousin. Cousin is popular. Very flexible.”

“Well, I didn’t think fast enough.”

He watches you intensely, his face only a few inches from yours.

“You did,” he says quietly. “You thought fast and you chose that.”

“it’s not real” you huff.

“I know.” He utters, gentle. “Not in the way they mean…” His pale gaze drops to your lips.

“But you said it,” He continues, voice low “And for a moment the world agreed with you. It all slotted into place. Like it was true.”

“Doctor…”

He smiles again. This time, his eyes are a little sad.

“I’m a time lord,” he says as though that explains the look in his eyes. “I run. I leave. I make a terrible husband, I expect. I never remember anniversaries. I’d have opinions about the wedding cake.”

You smirk a bit, despite yourself.

“But if you introduce me as your husband,” he purrs with sudden mischief “I’ll have to start acting like one- and I’m terrible at sensible things. Might even stay long enough to prove it.”

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth doctor headcannons

(Romantic undertones)

Loves sappy (and historically inaccurate) romance novels.

Has no shame about it.

He reads aloud when the ship is in flight. Poetry, myths, fragments of old Gallifreyan epics translated into plain English. He pretends it is for your benefit. You suspect it is for his.

He takes his tea black. No sugar. (I think this is cannon in big finish)

He is absurdly domestic when nobody is watching. Folding blankets, mending torn seams, polishing brass. The ship gives him what he needs, but he still chooses to care for her. Gotta love a man in STEM (sewing, tidying up, errand running, making dinner)

He also loves his garden in the tardis (cannon big finish)

You've always suspected that the tardis likes you; the way she always makes things just so for you. You've thanked her aloud before.

You're just now starting to suspect that it's been the doctor all along; making sure the kitchen is stocked with things you like, playing a record you mentioned, the tardis landing somewhere you casually mentioned wanting to see, there's even a ‘you’ section of the library with books you might like.

The biggest flirt. Yet, he flirts with a disarming sincerity. He's gentle and earnest. He's honestly expressing how wonderful he thinks you are with a low voice and a look that says ‘I'm being very good right now but I do not have to be.’

We know he kisses his companions.

The difference is when he means it. When he's quiet and serious. His face is deliberately close to yours and he waits… so that the choice is yours.

If -when- you kiss him, he mutters ‘oh’ like he can't believe he's aloud. The kiss is careful and so deliberate.

He kisses your hands. The back of your hand with a theatrical bow. Your nuckles passionately. The inside of your palm, holding your hand to his cheek. The inside of your wrist after ‘checking your pulse.’

He's handsy in the most careful, attentive way. Consent isn't a formality for him; he wants the dialogue of “may I?”

He likes being chased a little, stepping back teasingly.

At 5’9f, he's travel sized. He actually enjoys it. How he can kiss you without any fuss. No tiptoes. No craning his neck. Just you leaning in like he is exactly the right size to love.

He is unashamed of wanting you. Not possessive nor entitled. Just open. Like loving you is an undisputed truth of the universe.

You may have noticed; this doctor doesn't like. He loves. With his whole chest and both hearts, which he wears on his sleeves.

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Eighth Doctor X Reader - first short

Summary: just a short set in the tardis. Not really romantic (I think he kisses anyone). This is just a random wee thing while I get used to writing for him.

Pov: second person (aka reader pov)

Word count: around 610

Warnings: none I can think of.

Author's note: love this doctor and can't believe how underrated he is. I'm thinking of changing the layout and imagery of my previous works now that I know how Tumblr works a bit better.

You've been traveling with this Doctor for weeks now, and you still can't quite predict what he'll do next. This version of him—the eighth one, by your reckoning—is unlike anyone you've ever met. Romantic, passionate, and utterly unpredictable.

"Come on!" he calls to you now, his chestnut curls wild as he rushes through the TARDIS console room. His velvet coat swirls dramatically behind him as he dances around the controls, flipping switches and pulling levers with a practiced enthusiasm.

"We're running fashionably late to the coronation of Emperor Ludens IV. Well, fashionably late by about three centuries, but who's counting?” he cheers with that boyish smile and you can't help but laugh as you grip the console railing, the time rotor rising and falling with it's typical wheezing groan. The Doctor glances at you, and his whole face lights up— blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something softer, something that makes your heart skip.

"You know," he stops his frantic dance to face you properly, leaning over the console as though to tell you a secret. "I've seen the birth of stars and the death of whole planets. I've walked through the Gardens of Serenity -Vortis III- and the Wasteland of Forgotten Dreams." He steps closer, his voice dropping to something almost tender. "But traveling with you—this is…” he bites his lip, looking for the right word. “incandescent.” *He says triumphantly.*

Before you can respond, the TARDIS lurches violently. The Doctor stumbles, catching himself against the console, his expression shifting instantly from romantic to concerned.

"That's not good," he mutters, scanning the readings. "That's *really* not good." He looks up at you with that familiar combination of excitement and worry. "Change of plans. Forget the coronation—we've got a temporal anomaly forming right outside the doors. Could tear a hole in the space-time continuum if we don't—”

Another lurch, and this time you're thrown forward. The Doctor catches you, his arms steadying you, and for just a moment everything is still. There's a funny feeling to being looked at by the doctor. His eyes are so intense, and - in this regeneration - rather lovely.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he insists softly, one hand gently holding your cheek to look into your eyes. "I promise. Look; Cross my hearts.” He crosses both his hearts with a sincere smile.

Then the moment breaks, and he's off again, coattails flying and fingers dancing across the controls while his voice takes a more certain tone. "Right! Here's what we're going to do—you're going to calibrate the temporal stabilizers while I reverse the polarity of the neutron flow. Classic move, works every time. Well, most of the time. Sometimes.”

You take your position at the controls he's indicating energetically, and as you work together in synchronized chaos, you realize this is what traveling with the Doctor means: danger and romance, terror and wonder, all at once in the same impossible, brilliant, infuriating package.

"brilliant!"

he laughs as the TARDIS stabilizes, pulling you into an impulsive kiss that hardly lasts a second. In the same movement, he's piloting the tardis some more, brushing a curl out of his eye.

"Absolutely wonderful! Now, how about we *actually* make it to that coronation? I promise—no more detours."

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he grins sheepishly.

"Well, probably no more detours. *Possibly* no more detours. Oh, who am I kidding—with us, there are *always* detours. But that's half the fun, isn't it?"

As the TARDIS dematerializes once more, spinning off into the vortex with you and the Doctor inside, you don't have in in you to tell him off.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Oh you're back in the business! Hi <3

Can I ask for tbosas and dr who matchups? one romantic, one platonic, you can choose or randomize which is which

I'm 23, any pronouns. I'm aroace and this is just for fun, so, any matches are ok. I think it kinda makes a good one even better if you didn't have to filter to get it

Details: I have quite forgettable appearance. Medium height, short straight hair, average clothes of dull colours (the only other colour being bright red). People usually say I have big eyes.

I like... a lot of things actually, but I guess I've been more focused on songs and languages recently. I love learning about different ways in which languages are organized, in which writing can be organized. I've learned circular gallifreyan and have no one to write in it to. I particularly like rare/dead languages, there is something comforting in their obscurity and fading, maybe I relate to that. And that brings me to songs. I favour the ones that are old or difficult to find, again, often in a language foreign for me, and it is a fun exercise to track their lyrics and translate and memorize them. I enjoy being this... archive of relative rarities. I still remember a lot of songs I learned as a child, and sing them, though not to people (I wouldn't mind, but I don't think anyone would particularly care to hear those). I guess quite a few of my hobbies are about the challenge of tracking something, of finding out. Another thing I like is geoguessing

Thank you!

-Lydia

Hello, Lydia!

<333

I would love to write you some matches!

<3333

I really hope you like them!

Enjoy!

<33333

Romantic and Platonic Matchups; The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes and Doctor Who

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

Doctor Who;

5th Doctor -

It began, quiet unexpectedly, in the archives of a forgotten university on Earth

You were knee-deep in dusty manuscripts and brittle

Half-deciphered parchments, your fingers smudged faintly with ink when a peculiar man in a cream-colored coat and celery stalk pinned to his lapel stepped quietly into the room

He'd been looking for someone with a rare blend of linguistic skill and patience

An archivist who could decipher a collection of ancient records that the Doctor needed deciphered

The Doctor, polite as ever, introduced himself with that characteristic blend of enthusiasm and gentleness, his voice light but his curiosity sharp as starlight

You'd noticed the way he leaned over the table

Eyes sparkling as you explained the complexities of old scripts and your fascination with dying languages

He listened

And you found it strange how comfortable you felt speaking to him about things no one else ever seemed to care about

By the time you were able to completely decipher what he wanted, both of you seemed hesitant to leave

But you already knew your life was about to change

Traveling with the Doctor quickly became routine

Equal parts exhilarating and comforting

You'd help him catalog alien texts and ancient planetary histories while he taught you about the endless intricacies of time travel

You'd stay up late together in the TARDIS library

That endless labyrinth of books

Discussing the philosophies of language

He'd tilt his head when you spoke about the beauty of forgotten words, genuinely fascinated

Sometimes, he'd sit cross-legged on the floor beside you, chin in hand, asking softly, "Tell me what that one means," whenever you'd mutter an old phrase aloud

He admired your meticulousness

The way you approached learning like a puzzle and secretly, he loved the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new

You'd catch him smiling to himself sometimes when you got particularly excited about translating a passage, pretending to focus on the console instead

And he shared things with you too

Stories of planets, where people sang rather than spoke

The two of you would experiment with communication, turning even silence into shared comfort

It started small

The brush of his sleeve against your arm as you leaned over the console together

The way he'd murmur your name when you were too focused on decoding something

The Doctor, ever composed, didn't recognize his growing affection at first

He simply found himself drawn to you

To the quiet focus in your eyes

The gentleness in your voice

The calm presence you brought to the TARDIS

But it became harder to ignore

He'd find excuses to linger in the library with you

Offering tea and some halfhearted reason about "needing a second opinion" on something trivial

He started noticing things he'd never allowed himself to before

The way your laughter filled the TARDIS

How you hummed old songs while taking notes

How your eyes reflected the stars when you looked out the TARDIS doors

You, too, felt it

The warmth in your chest when he'd give you one of those soft, earnest smiles

Or when his hand brushed yours as he handed you a pen

There was a gentleness in him that you hadn't realized you'd been craving

A patient affection that never rushed or demanded

Still, you both danced around it for what felt like ages

Your feelings tucked between moments of shared silence and late-night talks about the universe

It happened, of course, in the most unassuming of ways

You had just returned from the planet, and you risked yourself to protect a sacred archive from destruction

You were tired

Disheveled

But happy

And the Doctor had been uncharacteristically quiet since

Back in the TARDIS, he helped you patch a scrape on your arm, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked

When you made a lighthearted joke about his fussing, he simply looked at you

Really looked

And the words tumbled out before he could stop them

"I can't imagine traveling without you"

Then softer, almost reverently, "You shine brighter than the stars"

You blinked, and he laughed under his breath, embarrassed by his own honesty, cheeks tinged pink

But when you reached out and took his hand, the look in your eyes said everything

The Doctor smiled then, that rare, open smile that melted through the space between you

Life with the Doctor became something profoundly soft

He wasn't one for overt displays of affection

But his love showed in every small, tender act

Bringing you at odd hours, adjusting the TARDIS controls so you can see your favorite constellations, or leaving you quiet notes written in Gallifreyan that translated to thinks like "You're extraordinary"

He adored hearing you sing when you thought no one was listening

His footsteps would pause in the corridor, that small smile tugging at his lips as your voice drifted through the TARDIS

Sometimes, he'd hum along

The two fo you had a habit of curling up together in the library

A soft blanket over your laps, reading from different books but somehow always ending up sharing passages aloud

When he was deep in thought, you'd idly fix the crooked celery on his lapel

You'd make breakfast together

Or try to

You'd find sticky notes in his handwriting around the TARDIS

Evenings often ended with soft music playing from an old recorder

Your “dates” were never conventional, but they were breathtaking in their simplicity

You’d picnic on one of the moons of Saturn, wrapped in a soft blanket

You’d walk through alien libraries

Or wander quiet planets filled with bioluminescent flowers, holding hands

Sometimes, you’d just sit outside the TARDIS, somewhere on a peaceful meadow under twin suns, sharing a thermos of tea and quietly talking about nothing at all

The Doctor wasn’t extravagant

He was heartfelt

He’d rather spend eternity learning what makes you smile

Memorizing the way you pronounce rare words

Or listening to you describe your favorite song for the hundredth time just to see the light in your eyes

And every now and then, when the universe seemed still enough, he’d whisper, almost shyly, “You know, for all the wonders I’ve seen… You might just be my favorite discovery.”

~~~

Platonic;

~~~

The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes;

Tigris Snow -

You first met Tigris on a slow afternoon at one of the Capitol's libraries

The kind of day where the sun spilled gently through tall windows

The air thick with dust motes and the faint smell of parchment

She wasn't there for fashion magazines or design manuals

But rather to browse the archives of Capitol History and Cultural Shifts in Pre-War Panem

You noticed her because she didn't quite fit the usual crowd

You were shelving old books when she approached, asking softly if you could help her locate an obscure edition of a textile catalog from the Dark Days

You could tell she already knew where to find it

She simple wanted an excuse to talk to someone

There was something magnetic about the way she studied you

Like she noticed more than most people ever would

From then on, she started visiting the library regularly

Always at the same hour

Always leaving just before closing

You caught her looking through the same aisle, occasionally asking questions just to start small conversations

Until on day she left a folded note on your desk

Thanking you for helping her

When you tell her about your love of rare or dead languages, her eyes light up in that quiet, feline way

Not wide, but gleaming with understanding

“It’s like stitching meaning back into something the world has thrown away,” She’d say, tracing the words you write with her slender fingers, admiring their loops and symmetry

You share a calm, comforting rhythm together

She often sits in a cozy corner of the library with you, her sketchbook open as you hum old songs under your breath while organizing new collections

Sometimes she sketches you when she thinks you’re not looking, capturing the tilt of your head or the light on your hair in her soft, almost melancholic style

You talk occasionally, but mostly, it’s comfortable silence filled with shared creativity

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Cassian Andor x Dhani!reader

POV: second person

Characters: Cassian Andor, unnamed gender-neutral reader from aldhani, other characters briefly mentioned.

Summary: slow burn. Set on Aldhani.

Word count: about 820

Authors note: Aldhani was filmed in Scotland, and the storyline clearly mirrors the highland clearances, so I (as a Scottish person) wanted to write a Cassian x dhani reader oneshot. For this reason, I mentioned a loch (which is a lake in Scotland) but I think that’s all. Probable cannon divergence since I didn’t rewatch the full episode before writing this. Reader’s hair is long enough to brush but reader is gender neutral. This might have a part 2.

Warnings: cold weather, fire, staring, fur use. pls let me know if I missed any.

You’ve been on Aldhani less than a month when something unexpected happens. Vel is walking back towards the camp with a stranger following closely behind, shrouded in a cloak.

Of course, Aldhani had originally been your home before the empire claimed the land and moved you to the enterprise zone, but a lot has changed since then. The land is different since the river was damned and the towns that once dotted these hills have been abandoned. You’re different too; A far cry from the wild and angry teenager that was made to leave.

Even so, you’ve slowly begun to settle here in the camp, and have taken to wearing your old felt robes and furs which are needed here. The wind today is so harsh that you can’t hear a word of what looks like a bitter dispute between Vel and the others at the mouth of the camp, likely over the new arrival.

Instead, you turn your eyes to man behind her. He’s got dark hair. Dark eyes too, though it’s hard to see at this distance. His body language seams anxious from where you watch, sat on a rock, at the edge of the camp.

As the group begrudgingly split off for their different tasks, you start gathering your things to head for the loch. If he’s staying, you’ll have plenty time to introduce yourself.

You don’t see the stranger watching you disappear into the forested distance and your long gone when Vel explains to him your presence here, causing a pang of something in the chest of this stranger who’d lost his own planet to the march of imperial conquest.

It’s late when you return to camp. One of those cold, bright Aldhani evenings that occur in the summer months. Your hair’s wet from washing it, so you decide to sit by the fire for a while, only to find him there. This ‘clem’. Funny name. Funny man according to Taramyn, who you crossed paths with on the way back.

He’s sitting on a log next to the fire warming his hands as you step over roots and pinecones towards him. His gaze flicks towards you as you sit on the other end of the log. He has such a sour face, scrunched up with big, sad eyes.

You start brushing out your hair, since he clearly doesn't want to talk. He’s looking at you, though. Not skittishly, when he thinks you won’t see, but full-on staring from beside you. After a minute of this, you look back at him, eyebrows furrowed and decide to say; “have I got something on my face?” not really believing you do.

He just shifts uncomfortably, hands clasped, before looking back into the crackling fire.

“I said that I would keep watch,” He’s got a nice accent. Even if he does sound grumpy. You just sit there a minute, not really knowing what to say to that.

“So you don’t need to stay here.” He gestures his head toward you slightly as he speaks. He doesn’t sound annoyed. More concerned, oddly.

“I’m drying my hair.” You say softly, unsure if that resolves anything. His eyes follow your hand that’s holding your hair up towards the warmth. He says nothing else as the night carries on around you in the sounds of nature.

“Nobody sent me to watch you if that’s what your worried about.” You add after a few minutes of quiet, in case he’s suspicious of you.

He scoffs with a little smile, as if that couldn’t be it. Maybe he’s cold. He’s only wearing a grey linen shirt and dark jodhpurs. His boots look off world. You shouldn’t ask, its none of your business.

“Are you cold?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. Just, sort of, broods. You untie the fur from your shoulders.

“No. don’t do that.” He shuffles closer to pull the stole around you, almost kneeling in front of you, looking at you earnestly with wide eyes. His hands are around your shoulders. He seems frozen in place.

“Keep this on” he insists clearly as if you’ll misunderstand him.

You nod softly. It’s quiet. He’s so quiet… just looking at you. The wind blows and the fire spits embers and he just looks right at you, eyes moving enough that he can’t be zoned out. He really is just… looking… at you. And with something that resembles care in his eyes.

The moment is over as soon as it begins as he pulls away slowly, hands still holding your shawl over your shoulders. What could possibly be making him so nervous?

He swallows before taking his hands off you completely and looks down as though he’s ashamed of something. If only you knew that Cassian was wrestling with himself in that moment, willing himself not to make a move because he’s here to do a job. Kriff, what is he supposed to do, stuck in the aldhani wilderness with you for the foreseeable future?

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Right so I wanted to put forward my live action version of kit fisto (from star wars) because I loved him in the clone wars TV show but the live action prosthetics makeup (in revenge of the sith I think) did him dirty.

Clone wars:

ROTS:

My edit:

I literally just saw the middle picture and thought it needed righting. Maybe my version is a little over edited. Perhaps even odd. But hay ho it's star wars.