#m: 11

[storyofwhoiam]

@13thx​  gets 11 @ 13

"Right then. Not good, quite bad, actually.” He whirled along the bridge which looked down on the meeting place of the two kinds of Dalek. “I will need you,” the Doctor pointed to the blonde woman, “to clear out of here - not safe, very dangerous, in fact - go home, steer clear of any Defence Drones.” Stupid name.

“Nice jacket, by the way.”

[storyofwhoiam]

[ 📲 sms: ]  it's cold today. can you warm me up? // 11 or 13

@whatspoilers

[ 📲 river: ]  bit busy just now!! [ 📲 river: ]  try your sonic [ 📲 river: ]  setting 42 [ 📲 river: ]  no use doing much else but should warm your hands up a little!

[storyofwhoiam]

21) for sender to playfully nip at receiver’s fingers. // for 11

@whatspoilers

The Doctor was lounged comfortably on the plush couch, a contented smile stretching across his face as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through River's hair. Her head rested in his lap, and he was lost in the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing.

River's lips brushed lightly against his fingers and the touch sent a shiver up his arm. The Doctor's breath hitched. "River..." There was a gentle, amused warning in his voice as he looked down at her, "what're you doing?"

[storyofwhoiam]

"I prepared a little surprise for you." [A doctor who muse!]

@voiceinterface

The Doctor's eyes sparkled with excitement, his curiosity piqued by the announcement. He took a few quick steps around the console, looking around the control room as if the surprise might suddenly materialize before him. "Come on, then, don’t keep me in suspense!" he urged, his grin widening.

[storyofwhoiam]

[ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ] : sender and receiver are having lazy morning sex. // 11 from sonicme

@whatspoilers | @sonicme

River was straddling the Doctor, and her bare skin was warm and smooth against his. The Doctor lay beneath her, a contented smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His fingers rested lightly on River’s hips. Her fingernails were against his skin and the Doctor’s eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the sensation of River’s touch. His fingers slipped from her hips to her back, his palms pressing against her skin as he held her close.

He pulled her in for a kiss.

[storyofwhoiam]

[ 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 ] : sender and receiver have sex after being apart a long time. // also 11

@whatspoilers

The TARDIS doors barely slammed shut before River's lips were on his. The Doctor’s hands were at the straps of her dress, movements filled with clumsy eagerness. “River—” he tried to speak, but her mouth silenced him. His fingers fumbled at the fabric of her dress as she pressed him against the TARDIS console. The cool metal against his back juxtaposed with the warmth of River’s hands on his skin. His hands roamed over her body, trying to keep up with her swift, determined movements.

“River, I—” he tried again. His hands slipped up her sides, and he struggled to undo the intricate clasps of her dress.

[storyofwhoiam]

Go through a nighttime routine and I’ll tell you what kind of villain you are

11th doctor —  chaotically evil

you do what you want, when you want, and without regard for the law. you keep yourself out of jail by keeping everyone around you off-balance. no one knows what you want, truly, or what you plan to do with all this power you've accumulated. your crimes range from "harmless" pranks to murder. anything for a good laugh, huh? you refuse to let anyone kill you, so you plan out your own disappearance. its a great spectacle - tickets are $10 dollars per person. some people speculate that you've died, but most know the truth. they all saw you escape through the back door.

eliot —  unwillingly evil

you were forced. your resolve was broken slowly but surely, and now you're unsure of whether you'll ever get it back. for some reason, you believe that your current position is your fault. it isn't. it's the fault of those who did it to you. and yet you soldier on, facing forwards even as you slowly lose your will to continue. when you die, you're calm. unafraid for the first time in a while. this is the one thing they can't take from you.

kaz — righteously evil

you've been hurt. what you're doing is wrong. there is no doubt. but it's what you need to do. you were not going to roll over and let it just happen. so you did what you had to. and you will continue doing what you had to. when you die, its with fury in your eyes. your opponent says you're stubborn, having kept this up for this long. you laugh, and spit in their face. you curse them until your very last breath.

Tagged: @proprioceptiion Tagging: @byzcntine @knowseverythingaboutyou @shieldretired 

[storyofwhoiam]

What color does your love feel like?

11th doctor — bright sunny yellow

Sweet tasting popsicles, summer dresses and shielding your eyes from the sun. Your love is the excitement of something brewing, something growing. It's the almost childish bubbling giggles of something new, but with the potential to stay. It's wide smiles, blinding sunny light and warm bodies that gravitate to one another. It's the the softness, the willingness, the slight holding of breaths in a crucial "what if" moment. It's the impatience too. The bouncing on tiptoes to see further than your eyes can reach, the holding out for a future that never seems to come even though you're ready, you're so so so ready. It's the constant feeling of warm sand beneath your feet, holding out for the crashing waves. And still you wait, dry and impatient and with burnt soles of feet. Your love is sour candy, enjoying it as your nose scrunches up from the aftertaste of it. It's hands that grab and take hold, that reach and ask them to stay and hope and beg and wait. It's bubbling excitement sure, but it's also demanding, focused, driven. It's love like a plan, with a path and route and a clear destination. And you bonce on your tiptoes, and burning, waiting for the soothing water, the crashing waves, you hold onto the melting popsicle, you wait and wait and wait. It's tiring almost as much as it's laser focused ambition, deeply rooted desire and the unrelenting hope that it will work, that it will come. And it does, I promise it does. The waves crash, the beach floods and the pain passes, the water cool and soothing and you can let yourself fall in, sinking, sinking. And it's good, it's perfect, what you were hoping and more, holding and embracing you and welcoming you into the stillness you always knew you were reaching for.

anna — soft fresh green

Nice breeze, bare feet and freshly cut grass. Your love is a light-hearted hope for the future. It's protecting your eyes from the sun but enjoying the light rays still, it's laying on the grass and feeling it tickle your neck. You look to the side and they look back at you, full of hope and plans too. You plan together and laugh all day and your sunburn will feel like them. Your love is delicate, hesitant. A well curated binder full of collages for a future you can't be sure will come, but you keep going, you keep planning, you keep squinting at the sun and smiling, and running your hands through the grass so it will smell better. You keep holding onto the bright sky even as the sunsets, even as the starry night stares back. But you keep on holding, you keep on dreaming, you close your eyes and feel the sun on your skin and convince yourself that the sunburn is good, it's something to hold on to, just makes it linger a bit longer. Your love is a light-hearted hope for the future. It's sweet and wonderful and it keeps love alive, makes the world a better place. You run your hands through the grass, clench your fingers tighter and keep making plans. And I can only thank you and hope I can learn to love like you someday.

kalinda — dark stormy blue

Sinking ships, raging seas and tumultuous hearts, love isn't easy for you. It's a struggle, a constant inner fight of should I? Can I? Do I? Feelings are hard and they rumble inside you in a dissatisfied mess that begs to be let out. Your heart screams and cries inside you and you... You can't, you won't. You're scared. And love is scary, it's hard and sometimes it just doesn't work out. People leave, people hurt, people change their minds. And you and your cold stormy heart yearn for the calmness, for the distance, to be allowed and able to simply not feel. And yet, you do. It rages, it fights and storms inside you and you try to keep it down, keep it quiet, to feel pretending not to. It's the burn of childhood friends growing apart, of parents that aren't quite there, of relationships that burn out. So you snuff it down with water, cold and calming and blue, blue, blue. But being loved by you is blue too, just not in that way. It's the soothing, embracing feeling of floating, the moment when you sink down bellow the waves and become one with the water, with everything. It's the balance, the dramatic yet calming sound of waves that crash against a rocky shore. You're the good and the bad, the violence of the storm and the watery peace right after. You're the blue, blue feeling and loving you is watery tears, yelled confessions that no one will hear and burying your feelings in a deep watery grave never to be found out about. Your love is dark stormy blue, it's vast and deep and all encompassing, it's safety in the surface of danger, it's trusting the unruly abyss and yet I'd gladly risk drowning just to feel what it's like being loved by you.

Tagged: @proprioceptiion  Tagging: @byzcntine @jurati @leschanceux