let me be brave

clara oswald rp blog. est. 2013

[waterfrd]

@claraosiwald​​ said: “  you don’t get a choice this time.  i’m helping you.  ”

❛ I can handle this. Funeral proceedings while my child’s due date is coming up, how hard could it be? He’ll never get to know his father. ❜

[claraosiwald]

          Clara respectfully didn’t acknowledge her biting remarks. “What can I do first?”

[wcterwithin]

@claraosiwald​ liked for a starter from alien boy

         “Excuse me, Miss Oswald,” Charlie had stayed behind after class. “But I’m unsure on this book, Brave New World? Is it historical? I did not think hum-” he clears his throat. “ - technology was so far? Why would they change? They seemed quite happy.”

[claraosiwald]

          At least he read it?   Clara bit back a chuckle and shook her head. Patiently, she explained, “It’s science fiction. It’s what the author  imagined  a future with more technology might look like ...” His interpretation, viewed through an historical or fictional lens, isn’t encouraging but literary analysis doesn’t come naturally to everyone.  (  Thank God, or she’d be out of a job.  )

“How far into the book are you? Sure everyone  seems  happy, if you’re talking on a purely chemical-level. Would you want to trade all of your freedom and choices for the promise of being happy? It’s a fair choice to make but the people in  Brave New World  don’t get to pick. Even happy totalitarianism is still totalitarianism.”

[abzorbaloff]

hide | 7.09

[lonelygodinthetardis]

I’m sorry Clara, so sorry.

[flyingfiinn]

@claraosiwald​

“Good morning!” He’s in a good mood today, quite a change from his mood yesterday. Alex’s mood swings are as unpredictable as the weather, but it’s clear to see why he’s happy this morning. Rather than being confined to that wheelchair, as he has been for the past few months, he’s finally graduated to a pair of crutches. “I can, ah--- I can go up the stairs now.” He has to take a second to choose his words (and he thinks the grammar is right?) but all the same, he flashes a huge grin at Clara.

[claraosiwald]

lazcrus.

It takes a little while for him to digest what she says— he does wish she wouldn’t talk so fast in English, but he figures that’s part of the challenge, and Alex has never been one to back down from a challenge. Once he figures it out, the lopsided grin on his face widens (the doctors think the left side of his face will be paralyzed permanently now and he’s still coming to terms with that), and he even manages a laugh. “You are… you are difficile.” It’s easy to lapse back into French, since the words come back so much more easily to his foggy brain. Still, though, Alex goes to retrieve the flash cards and puts them down on the table in front of Clara, still smiling.

          “Ah ah------ careful,”   she warns. Difficult - even if he was serious - doesn’t crack the top 10 insults she’s gotten as a teacher, so the comment only concerns her on the point of accuracy. Clara decides not to specifically correct  ‘difficile’  as it is so similar to the English. She wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot  ( no pun intended )  by being pedantic.

She thanks him for the cards, arranging them in two neat colour-coordinated piles. “Since you’re in such a chipper mood, I’ll let you pick: do you want to start with grammar or vocabulary today?”

[flyingfiinn]

@claraosiwald​

“Good morning!” He’s in a good mood today, quite a change from his mood yesterday. Alex’s mood swings are as unpredictable as the weather, but it’s clear to see why he’s happy this morning. Rather than being confined to that wheelchair, as he has been for the past few months, he’s finally graduated to a pair of crutches. “I can, ah— I can go up the stairs now.” He has to take a second to choose his words (and he thinks the grammar is right?) but all the same, he flashes a huge grin at Clara.

[claraosiwald]

          She’s secretly very pleased by the change in him today, but she’s not going to reward him for that. “That’s great news!   ----------  You can definitely go and grab those flashcards in the kitchen then?” she tests. Clara’s not here to train his legs but two birds with one stone and all that. Plus, if he is a bit tired by the time they ‘start’, he’ll be less inclined to get up and leave in a French huff.

[rulesbent]

claraosiwald​:

SHE LIFTS THEIR  joined hands triumphantly in the air. “Team Not Dead Yet.” In the back of her mind, Oswin acknowledges that’s the plain truth of it. They are  literally  on hit lists, but she can’t reconcile the logic with the fact they’ve evaded death so often, it feels like they could go on forever. Not even old age can snatch them.                     “Y’know, I could make this place quite nice actually,” she said. The attic was bare except for some dodgy furniture that the previous tenants hadn’t bothered to sell or take with them when they left. It was small, with just one dirty window on the slanted ceiling.

                   “Need’s a paint job. A burnt orange, maybe? We could push the table to that wall, widen the space up a bit.” They would only be there a few days, but it was nice to pretend.

“Oh, yeah,” Psi agrees, playing along with a grin and making a sweeping gesture at the room– like one of those interior design show hosts on the main broadcast channels. “Bit of colour, it’ll brighten the whole place up. Is it a bit small? Sure. But I hear minimalism’s in this season, we’ll be the envy of all the neighbours.”

It’s completely filthy, and he’s pretty sure he can hear something scuttling inside the walls and possibly some birds nesting amongst the broken roofing tiles outside, but at least it has a shabby armchair and a thin mattress they can kip on. However impractical, it’s an improvement on the last couple of hideouts and it definitely beats sleeping on the streets. 

It’s then that he remembers his bag beside him, and the pilfered food inside it. When was the last time either of them ate anything? He’s been running on adrenaline so long it’s hard to tell.

“You hungry?” he asks, pulling the bag onto his lap and rooting through it. “We ought to christen our luxurious new place with a celebratory feast, don’t you think?”

Growing up on the streets taught him well - he’s been careful to take things that’ll keep for a while, where he can. Never know when the next opportunity will come.

[claraosiwald]

          “Hit me,”      she says, by way of accepting the humble pickings that would suffice as their dinner. Psi is better than Oswin at supplying the practical nutrition, packing non-perishables and bread as often as he can. The occasional macron theft is typically her idea. They eat in delectable silence, savoring every bite and relishing that they had been too distracted to realise how hungry they were.           Once the feast is demolished  ( if you can call zipping the bag for safety tomorrow a ‘demolishing’  )  they slink over to the mattress. They hold it at either end, shake it clean and settle down. The feeble cotton, barely thicker than a finger, is an accessory more than a mattress. Like jokes about minimalism and painting, it’s a token of domesticity they can’t rationally reject.

          The release that follows is a celebratory feast of its own kind, a means of luxuriating in their quasi freedom. The routine brings comfort when every scenery and circumstance is changing around them. Kisses on familiar traces of skin are as close to a steady home as they know. Oswin breathes into the nape of his neck and let’s go.

          It’s the late hours of the night or the early hours of the morning, she hasn’t wrapped her head around the timezone here. A pattern of stars shines through the overhead window, casting a shy light on the dim attic. It’s just bright enough to illuminate how barren the space really is, the one discrepancy is their only clothes draped on the rugged armchair. Oswin’s face rests on Psi’s shoulder. She doesn’t have a sinking feeling in her chest, a foreboding of danger or a longing for something more. The visceral contentment even surprises her. 

          “There’s no one I’d rather have nothing with,” she muses aloud, “Suppose I must really love you.”

          Psi supposes the same.

          It would be quaint if they lived like this forever, always in and out of danger and never growing old. For all the love they have now, they won’t always share it. It won’t be tomorrow, maybe not for many moons to come, but things have a way of catching up with you. Psi will forget Oswin, not because he wants to but because he has the choice to. It’s better to have a mental hole where love once lived than to have it filled with a ghost. It will save Oswin; people can’t extract information from you about an accomplice if you’ve forgotten them. If they’re lucky they’ll meet again, and if they’re very lucky it will be in this life and not the next.

          Best of luck, Team Not Dead,  you’ve got a long mission ahead of you.

[distantsuns-archive]

@claraosiwald​ sent: [ gag ] and [ tied ] except she does it because "stay here and be quiet" hasn't been working lol

nsfw muse reaction prompts --- accepting

               ❝ Woah, I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff, you don’t seem like the type, but--- ❞ He was usually all for this kind of stuff, don’t get him wrong, but the frantic pace at which she tied his wrists together seemed to suggest that she DIDN’T mean it in THAT sort of way. (Pity, he thinks.) ❝ Hey, are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or--- ❞ James’ question was cut off as Clara stuck a piece of duct tape over his mouth. He gave her his best what the hell look--- was he being kidnapped or something?

[claraosiwald]

distantsuns.

              ❝ Ah, yeah. ❞ He’d expected some sort of rejection, because this all seemed too good to be true, but the mood had been ruined now. James sat in silence, draining his can of lager, averting eye contact with Clara too. He has a reputation with interviewers for being stony-faced all the time: maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s just his nature, but any mention of his mother cuts right through to the heart of his stoic exterior.               ❝ —I mean, you don’t have to take me. You just— if you wanted to do me a favor, you could just tell her not to go to Glasgow. I always felt responsible for it, y’know? ‘Cause she was goin’ to buy me an electric guitar for my sixth birthday, and if I hadn’t begged her for it, maybe she wouldn’t have gone— ❞ He’s way oversharing now, he knows, but he can’t help himself. He never talks about his mum, except sometimes with his brother, and all the bottled-up emotions come rushing to the fore.

          He took the rejection   remarkably better than she would have. A part of her was relieved he wasn’t begging, another part wished he’d kick up more of an irrational fuss so she wouldn’t have to pity him so much. Clara doesn’t promise to pass on the message, he may already know that she won’t but she doesn’t want to handle that.

          Instead, she looks around, inspecting where the skirting boards meet the floor ... Having stalled for a significant enough pause, she leans forward and tries to catch his eyes. She’s not going to save his mum but the least she can do is let him know how sincerely she meant it when she said, “I think if a mad woman walked up to any mum who loves her son and said ‘don’t give James a really cool birthday present’, she’d go and buy you a drum kit to go with it.”

[claraosiwald]

                              ❝ She’ll die on you, you know.                               ————– She’ll blow away like smoke. ❞    [credit]                       Clara Oswald  blog    ————–  as written by Jane since 2013

[claraosiwald]

i exist because someone asked me to and i like clara’s face

[claraosiwald]

@templeoflcwmen

cont. from (i’m not downloading extensions for tumblr. installing microsoft teams was already too much.)

“Oh, you are, too!” He stuck his tongue out, teasing her back like they were a couple of kids at the playground. “Not that that’s a bad thing---” Eli patted Clara on the head, like he was talking to a child, the impish grin never leaving his face all the while. “But you need to have a little fun sometimes, you know?” Her attempt to stand taller made him laugh out loud, because even with that, their height difference was pretty comical. “Alright, here’s a bet: I’ll give you ten quid if you kiss a guy tonight. If you don’t, you owe me ten quid.”

She scoffed - almost scowled - at the bet. “You are joking?” Clara may not have batted her eyelashes at Eli but she wasn’t a nun. “You think I-” She motioned circles around her face for emphasis. “- can’t pull?” A pretty face was an advantage but considering her targets were young men on a uni night out, the ‘challenge’ could be pulled off with a paper bag over her head (so long as there was a hole around the mouth for logistics). “Easiest tenner I’ll ever make.”

[templeoflcwmen-deactivated20220]

@claraosiwald

Well, this is BEYOND awkward. Alain stares at the stranger in front of him with a blank, uncomprehending look in his eyes--- surely this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke, asking him for his dad’s autograph? But she looks so sincere, and she’d asked without a trace of malice or humor. “You--- you’re looking for Johannes? I’m Alain... I’m his son.” He almost adds “sorry,” like this whole mix-up is his own fault.

[claraosiwald]

templeoflcwmen.

“Yeah.” He gave the stranger a nod, almost dazed by this whole encounter. Alain glanced over his shoulder at one of the mechanics, who gave him a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders; none of them seemed to know who she was and what she was doing here. “Uh— Miss…” He shut his eyes and internally let out a sigh. Whatever planet this lady was on, he wanted to be there. “My father died twenty years ago.” There’s no sugarcoating that one, so he just lets the words hang in air, cringing in secondhand embarrassment for her.

   Clara winced. That’s pretty poor research on her part -  also what she gets for still just trusting she’s arrived in the right place.            “I’m sorry,” she blurted, “I didn’t realise.”    Her mistake didn’t set her apart from the timezone, but it made it abundantly clear she was not the biggest racing fan herself. She liked to watch it with her dad but she didn’t keep up with it as a sport; she was more interested in the cars than the people in the cars.     The mechanics had started to glance suspiciously her way and she figured they’d ask her questions soon, which would lead to her being escorted out. No point wasting a trip. While she had the junior, it couldn’t hurt (anymore than it already had) to ask about the senior.            “Did he sign pictures much?” she enquired.

[templeoflcwmen-deactivated20220]

@claraosiwald

Well, this is BEYOND awkward. Alain stares at the stranger in front of him with a blank, uncomprehending look in his eyes— surely this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke, asking him for his dad’s autograph? But she looks so sincere, and she’d asked without a trace of malice or humor. “You— you’re looking for Johannes? I’m Alain… I’m his son.” He almost adds “sorry,” like this whole mix-up is his own fault.

[claraosiwald]

He looked far too old to be his son. Clara pushed the shoulder bag hanging at her hip behind her back, reaching her hand in and tugging on the laminated photograph until Johannes’ face poked out. A ‘discreet’ look over her shoulder. “Oh...” Okay. Mildly awkward. 

She scanned his uniform up and down, offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you’re fantastic too! It’s just my dad’s a fan ... of yours - but of you too probably! Likes to drone on about the classics, you know.”

[persephonememes]

* (  𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 /  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒.

These may have been edited for clarity or length or to better apply for roleplaying.

do it. be bold.

we must continue our ruse until i’ve found my match.

me, unavailable; you, desirable.

i trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage.

you do not know me, but i know you.

you have no idea what it is to have one’s entire life reduced to a single moment.

is this not lovely? all of us together again.

an expert in the art of the swoon.

i wish to be entertained.

it would be better if you refrain from thinking about me at all.

lovely indeed. we should tempt scandal more often.

the social season is upon us.

your love is an unrequited fantasy.

i cannot stop thinking of you.

i am anything but interested in you.

it is more than just your honor at stake.

i write in my diary which is not the same as writing in my novel.

a pairing like that would be most enchanting indeed.

the season’s diamond, even more precious and rare a stone than previously thought?

stare into my eyes.

is it awful that i’m enjoying it?

if you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky.

we could pretend to form an attachment.

if there is a scandal, i shall uncover it.

must our only options be to squawk and settle or to never leave the nest?

all is fair in love and war.

there is nothing you cannot do.

my honor is not for sale.

if this is to work, we must appear madly in love.

i’m aware of your reputation.

do not tell me that is another scandal sheet.

you’ve always amused me.

we find ourselves seated next to each other. i’d think you’d be happy about that.

marriage has it joys, but it also brings with it its special trials.

it’d be better if you refrain from thinking about me at all.

you do not know me, and never shall.

you do not humiliate the one you love. 

i’m aware of your reputation and i am anything but interested in you.

what if i want to fly?

the ones we love have the power to inflict the greatest scars.

every presumptuous mother in town will leave me alone and every suitor will be looking at you.

you do not trick the one you love.

if you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky.

let it be known that if there is a scandal, i shall uncover it.

you think that just because i’m a woman, i’m incapable of making my own choices?

love, conquers all.

you can choose to love me as much as i love you.

i am tired of pretending.

from the mornings you ease, to the evenings you quiet, to the dreams you inhabit my thoughts of you never end.

i cannot continue acting as if i do not love you. because i do.

i love all of you.

i cannot be your fool again.

the brighter a lady shines, the faster she may burn.

we chose to love each other every single day.

pride, it will cost you everything and leave you with nothing.

i am looking out for myself.

you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

you must simply marry the man who feels like your dearest friend.

i am ensuring my own future. because i know in my heart i know that there is no one else who ever will.

you do not lie to the one you love.

to meet a beautiful woman is one thing, but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful of women is something entirely apart.

circumstances change, ladies. sometimes over night.

her heart is no matter, as long as her hand remains free.

you cannot assure me of everything.

i will always protect you.

i believe i should like to stay.

i believe you should like to go.

what others should ever want such damaged goods now?

you have no idea what it is to be a woman.

you are perfection itself.

what? you don’t love me for my subtlety.

would you rather die than marry me?

i am yours, i have always been yours.

it is you i cannot sacrifice.

i burn for you.

it pains me you should think every compliment a mockery.

i ask you, can the ends ever justify such wretched means?

[claraosiwald]

i hate ur dad

jk he’s a dilf

[expelliarmus]

[claraosiwald]

distantsuns​:

               ❝ Wait—— SERIOUSLY? I was joking. ❞ He’d have thought she was just pulling his leg, but after getting almost killed by an alien life form, James had to think that anything was possible. His mind instantly went to one possibility; it was so tantalizing that it was almost cruel to let himself dwell on it too long. ❝ My— my Mum, she died when I was very young. Car accident. And I— well, do you think— ❞ He couldn’t even finish his sentence; if this was her idea of a joke, he was going to be very upset.

Clara’s amusement drained in an instant. And this is why we don’t entertain people with time travel. She can hear the Doctor’s scolding ringing in her ears. She doesn’t have the heart to back track and tell him she was joking. The blood rushes to her face and all she can do to minimise the awkwardness is dodge his gaze. Her eyes cast down to her feet, focussing on the ashy scuffs that coat the edge of her boots.

                “I’m sorry to hear that . . . ”

Ellie Oswald died too young. It was almost ten years later that time travel found its way to Clara, and after winding some time around her finger, she had asked the exact same question. The Doctor had given her a long speech and his two hearts drummed the entire trip . . . but she got what she needed. They didn’t have the luxury of getting to know and trust James, and she didn’t have the authority of owning the time machine. Everyone in the universe has lost someone they want to see and the TARDIS isn’t a boat of the River Styx.

               “---- but I can’t help you. It’s too dangerous. I’m sorry.”