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Current fields for wager regarding @dxctxrii and @colorfulsixth:
Who will throw their controller first.
How far the throw will carry.
Who will whip out their Sonic.
Whether they’ll blow the device up when they do.
Who gets the black eye.
“Hello, TARDIS 911? I need an adult in the room, please.”
[ @dxctxrii said on @colorfulsixth’s post: He looks like an explosion at a patchwork quilt factory. ]
“Is that jealousy I see?”
“Boys you’re both very pretty, let’s not fight about this too.”
@colorfulsixth asked: 🎮 but then six gets mad and throws the control and claims two is cheating.
𝚅𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙾 𝙶𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃 || 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶!
WITNESSING HIS FUTURE MODEL ANGRILY DISCARD THE SMALL, BUTTONED INSTRUMENT IN A FIT OF RAGE WAS ENOUGH TO PROMPT HIS OWN BLOOD TO BOIL. As grumpy as he was known for being, that did not consitute true anger, an emotion he was actually seldom known for exhibiting unless in precisely the right circumstances. However, after playing host to the childish, immature behaviour unleashed by Technicolour Dreamcoat after what was supposed to be a relaxing evening, he had finally had enough.
SPRINGING FROM HIS CHAIR, HE PRACTICALLY FLEW TO THE TELEVISION OPPOSITE THEM AND SWITCHED IT OFF, BEFORE TURNING BACK TO FACE HIS OLDER SELF, A LIVID EXPRESSION HIGHLIGHTED PERFECTLY ON HIS FEATURES.
“For heaven’s sake, man! If this is how you’re going to react every single time you lose, then we might as well not play it at all! All I wanted was a little bit of fun! You have clearly forgotten what that is, haven’t you?”
😪
{ Send 😪 to meet my character suffering from a head cold }
The penguin staggered through the Tardis corridors, a large, bag-shaped ice pack balanced on his head, his black-and-white face flushed, and a mercury thermometer dangling precariously from his beak. He looked more like a 1930s cartoon of a sick person than an actually sick penguin, but his symptoms were realistic enough to make up for it; exhaustion, hoarse voice, fever, and a throbbing headache.
All he wanted was to make a cup of coffee and go back to bed, but he found his way impeded by the Doctor and his latest project, which was covering too much of the floor for the whifferdil recognise what it was or make it past the clutter. Frobisher took the thermometer out of his mouth and held it like a cigarette.
“Do I even wanna know?” he croaked.
“I think I can handle myself.”
( @colorfulsixth )
“The last time you said that, I came outside and half of London was on fire.”
She rolled her eyes, looking away before uncrossing her arms and straightening up from leaning on the console.
“Stay right there, I’ll go get dressed. I’m not letting you wander around by yourself if I can help it. You attract calamity, you know. At least I can mitigate some of it. Don’t go anywhere.”
"Don’t go."
( @colorfulsixth )
Charlie found she was cringing slightly, as if she was pitying him. Her hand dropped from the opened interior TARDIS door limply, and she sighed.
“You know I have to. We can’t always be together, you and me. We’re both too intense, if we went everywhere together the whole universe would be in revolutions and we’d both be in trouble then, wouldn’t we?”
She was trying to be funny, but there wasn’t much humour left in her voice.
“Will you marry me?”
( @colorfulsixth )
For a moment, she could only really stare, off-balance, startled by his sudden declaration. Her shoulders shuffled slightly under her fur coat and she adjusted the strap of her bag across her chest before looking away.
“You been in the ginger beer again?” she asked. “Don’t be such a romantic. Do Time Lords even get married? Bit human, isn’t it? Lower life forms and all that.”
