FEAR IS A SUPERPOWER;
❝ fear can make you faster. and cleverer. and stronger.

     independent CLARA OSWALD
  +8 GMT. please read the rules !

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raggedycroft:

Jenny The-Not-Green-One Flint appreciation gifset.

Notice how she doesn’t want Vastra to share air with her at first, because she’s afraid there wouldn’t be enough for the both of them.

ooc. i am super sleepy & drained so i’m going to bed. good night, friends! x

abitscottish:

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        He has a feeling he’s going to seriously regret this.
        The Doctor stretches his arm as far as it’ll go — and
        flips a switch on the console. The TARDIS gives a
        terrifying lurch, the central column making a horrible
        screeching sound.

                 ”Clara,” he says after a moment,
                      deadpanned, “we’re crashin’.”

                                           It has his DESIRED effect as she is quick
                 to release him from her embrace. Her foot stumbles back
                 as the floor shakes.     Her hands are on either side of her,
                 as if trying to keep  BALANCE.  Lips parted, eyes wide —
                 she takes special care to not   TOUCH   anything. Fingers
                 find her other hand’s palm,     nails grazing against skin in
                 an ANXIOUS fashion.

image

                      ❝ —— Please tell me you’re actually just joking. 

(Source: actualproperclara)

wxnterbarnes:

actualproperclara

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    Gold had only just begun streaming through the small cracks in the shades
     when he gently pulled open the door to the apartment, praying that the hinges
     wouldn’t betray his secrecy by squeaking or squealing. What sort of man would
     the door hinges have taken him to be if they decided to scream aloud the fact
     that he was leaving, if only for an hour ?Bucky had every intention of coming
     back, but his purpose outside of these walls was one he had wanted to keep
     as a surprise. 

     Now that they had settled down just enough to be able to handle this sort of thing,
     he’d figured that it was time to have responsibility for something more than just
     their own relationship. And that something would be in the form of a rather tiny
     puppy that he holds carefully and primarily with his right hand, though his left
     hovers nearby as extra precaution, so as to ensure that he doesn’t fall from the
     great height of his hands to the ground. The animal squirms just a little, the fur
     brushing against his palm as he does so. It’s a bit of a struggle to balance the
     pup as he fishes the key to the apartment out of his pocket, but he manages,
     and the door has evidently picked up on his good intentions as it remains faithful
     and silent to him once more. The lock is turned cautiously and shoes slide off his
     feet with dull thuds onto the ground. He pads over to the bedroom where Clara
     is, so far as he knows, still asleep.

     Her back is to the entrance of the room, and steps are taken slowly to ensure that
     the floorboards don’t creak under his weight. The ground is a little less staunch,
     as it shifts here and there, but the noises are barely a whisper. He continues to
     almost tiptoe to the edge of the bed, where he lifts the puppy over her body and
     places it before her face, the sun bleeding through blinds glimmering on a dark
     coat. The puppy’s rather stumpy tail wags back and forth as it stumbles forward
     with a single front limb to accompany the two in the back and it licks at her face.

     The sight of this sign of affection is enough to make a grin spread across his own
     lips, and while it might not be the most desired way to possibly wake her up, he
     honestly believes she’ll like the little guy.

                                         Dreams are the privilege of children
                     and hers used to soar. The daughter of a STORYTELLER and a
                     SAVIOUR:  there is nothing else can be but the   heroine  of the
                     greatest   ( dare she say, the most important )  story every told;
                     how could she dream of being anything else ?  So many stories
                     have been     FORGOTTEN,    so many stories have faded away 
                     from memory and they are left to hearsay until the last day their
                     names are   breathed   upon the lips of someone else long after
                     they have passed, like a PROMISE made to be broken.

                               WHAT HAPPENS NOW ? What happens now that the girl
                     has long since grown up,      with one too many happily NEVER 
                     afters and not enough time to sleep ?   What happens when her
                     name tastes like a stranger’s on her tongue ?      What happens
                     when bright brown eyes,    O N C E   wide and shining, turn half
                     lidded at every question posed ?       What happens to little girls
                     who grow up without their mothers ?    What happens to STARS 
                     when there is no one to look and see them ?    What happens to
                     the girl who used to see the  sky in all its technicolour possibility
                     but can now only see in different shades of the DARK ?

                               Questions arise at every corner and there are one too many
                      VOICES that yell out different truths that she does not know what
                      she believes in. Even after the     treatments,    even after she has
                      been deemed as     RECOVERED     as she can possibly get, she
                      feels a farce of everything she was. A   TRAVESTY   of what Clara
                      Oswald is supposed to be; a  MOCKERY  of the heroine she was
                      once. Sleep allows escape if they might be so kind so as to allow
                      SILENCE.       Dreams are the privilege of children; hers only now
                      came in the form of memories,     some of them not her own, and
                      some of them imagined. All of them meant to keep anyone up.

                                                             She lays her head against the pillow now,
                       lips parted and moisture dripping through  ( though unbeknownst
                       to her ) as she sleeps. Brown eyes are hidden, still, behind closed
                       eyelids. It is      QUIET      as she sleeps; there is a faint snore that
                       comes with her every breath.

                                         Sleep is as kind as it can be as she lays DREAMLESS. 
                       If in a state of being awake,   she is as poised as regal and aware
                       as a  ROYAL. When awake, her toes always curl in slightly just to
                       get the feel of something sturdy beneath her. Now,  she is a three
                       dimensional     CHALK OUTLINE,     a reminder of  a tragedy that
                       once happened.   How apt that there is only the ghost of the light
                       that once was in   amber coloured irises.  In this state of slumber,
                       she is a      PARODY    of put together limbs, haphazardly thrown
                       about in a bed altogether too large for  one   normal sized person,
                       let alone   JUST HER.   Her soft brown hair is in an alarming state
                       of tangled disarray.            On the bedside table rest a now rather
                       disgustingly cool cup of tea,              embedded with herbal ( only
                       NATURAL ) soporifics that are      often used just to be able to lull
                       her to this state of deep and dreamless SLEEP

                                      The barely there weight of the pup is not noticed for she
                       is too far gone in    SLUMBER.    It is the licking that disturbs her,
                       flashes of red light    ( warmth reflected by closed eyelids ),    and
                       causes her to stir.     It comes slowly as the dewy tip of the pup’s
                       nose nudges her cheek and its tongue flicks at her nose. It barks,
                       a tiny little high pitched sound ( almost a SQUEAK ), and it is then
                       that eyelids open.     The picture before her is a blur and these are
                       not the eyes she’s known to wake up to, come to    EXPECT,    at
                       first light.  The pup jumps excitedly and barks again at her having
                       opened her eyes,  possibly now thinking that the barking will get
                       her to do more things.        It blurs into focus as she continues to
                       blink herself into some coherent state of CONSCIOUSNESS.

                                      Clara sits up and the pup follows suit, limping as it does
                       so, and places itself on her lap.     She moves to wipe the slobber
                       from her cheek by the shoulder       ( and of that, the pup was not
                       entirely to blame ). Its antics make the grin break through her lips
                       like sun breaks through EGGSHELL TWILIGHT.  Her hands move
                       to cradle the animal.      It is warm in her hold and she can feel its
                       frantic breathing, its constant vibration as its tongue  PANTS, the
                       bones of its ribcage prominent to the touch and its tiny  fluttering
                       heart.

                                                It twists in her embrace and places its single paw
                       on her collarbone, looking up at her with eyes that RIVALED hers
                       in their state of WIDENESS. She has a hand cradling the back of
                       its head, scratching its ear.        It licks her neck; she laughs. The
                       stubby tail wags about HAPPILY.  It is now that she looks to the
                       man standing before her,   TOWERING sheepishly    and smiling,
                       that she looks to answers now. As she has been doing for a little
                       while now.    Lips parted and eyes wide in a mixture of confusion
                       and DELIGHT, she looks to him.

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                                            ❝ Bucky, what’s going on ? 

actualproperclara:

                            ’ This is you, Clara. Everything you were or will be. Take it.
                         YOU BLEW INTO THE WORLD ON THIS LEAF. 
                                          Hold tight. It will take you home. ‘

      HELPLINE.     ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐     ORDERS.      ECHOES.

solemquis:

image

❝    you cutiepie, you !
               goodness, you’re lovely.  

        —————    ❝     and life was       dull without
                                     a little spark of clara oswald.   

                     ❝ 'Course it was. Where’ve you been anyway ? 

titaniumallxy:

G u y s, I’ve had this blog just over six months now and I’m honestly astounded and speechless at just how many followers I now have. A lot of which followed me right at the beginning when my adventure had just re-started, and the rest have followed along in that journey!

I honestly can’t say thank you enough, I’m so thankful of how supportive and amazing you guys have been, especially through the hiatus’s and bad days. You’re all so great and wonderful and little balls of sunshine just waiting to glow and I honestly feel so grateful to have so many of you stuck by me!

If you’re not on here, please don’t take offence. It doesn’t mean I don’t love or enjoy rping with you, it just means that I’m highly scatter brained & I enjoy seeing each and every one of you on my dash.

Read More

solemquis:

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❝    two weeks —— wait,
                    or has it been three ?   

           —————    ❝   not like anyone’s counting.  
                  ❝    but  i  missed  you.  

                           ❝ —— hi 

                                             indie reboot james t. kirk rp blog
                                             7+  years of  roleplay experience
                                             mun is 21+  and also a  big dork 
                                             open  to  any   and  all  fandoms
                                             a selective  and  multi-ship blog
                                             written    lovingly   by    tiberius

                                                      blog - ask - nav - rules

Anonymous:

i wish someone talked about me so kindly like you just spoke about Izzy. You're a very sweet person

ooc. OH BABU GOSH. izzy’s remarkably easy to think well of tbh, it’s kind of unfair. she’s gifted and inspiring and kind. i’ve been through some dark days and i remember her getting me through that out of the goodness of her heart. people can be kind when you let them in and when you believe the best in them, people can exceed your every expectations. i know izzy. not as well as i would like but i know her well enough to be able to say things about her with confidence. and what i’m saying is      i’m certain you’re wonderful and lovely in all the most perfect and glorious of ways that make you you, dearest anon. and i’m sure you’re also flawed and that you’ve made mistakes, as humans all tend to do. but there is kindness in you, there is infinite potential. and if you want someone to see you in the light, all you have to do is give people the time to look and see. it’s an equitable back and forth relationship and i’m a firm believer in treating others the way you want to be treated. see others the way you want to be seen. i hope you have a good day, sugarplum! <3 x

traitxr:

  I'm agent Grant Ward. I just jumped out of a plane                 
              without a parachute on, and saved your life!  

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