//Well, I was actually about to do some replies over here, but all the crap that’s happened today has really thrown me off and killed whatever inspiration I might’ve had. I’m so sorry, you’re all so great for being patient with me, really. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to write some replies a bit later.
If I owe you on a thread, it’d be super helpful if you let me know so I don’t miss you <3
this person is portraying The Doctor as a rapist and I’m honestly appalled that they think this is okay.
Oh my God are you being serious right now? Like for reals? Do you understand this is fiction and what the definition of AU is? This is an alternate version of how events turned out for the Doctor. There are very specific reasons she gives as to why he does what he does.
What I don’t understand is why you are soooo concerned with someone’s RP account? People can portray characters however they want to. No one is forcing you to read it. No one is forcing you to be on her blog. So get off if you don’t like it and stop making bullshit posts like this.
It’s writing. She doesn’t condone rape just because she portrays a dark version of a fictional fucking character! Seriously fuck off.
Do you understand your logic here? Soooo every person who has ever written a murderer condones murder? Every person who has written rape condones rape? Are you kidding me?
I see you’re a fan of Game of Thrones there. So George R. R. Martin condones murder and incest and degradation in general? Well, but you’re a fan so I guess you think all that stuff is ok too, right?
You’re logic is way too flawed I can’t even take you seriously.
//Right, hello there, muse police, didn’t realize I was breaking your laws with my character. Sorry, but I happened to notice that you may have missed out on reading this lovely about page that explains just why my muse is the way he is? Or even take a gander at a couple headcanons that explains his sexual perversions? Being literate is a great gift and you really should use it before coming into my askbox and shoving your rude as fuck words at me.
Firstly, when did I ever say rape is okay? Rape is absolutely not okay. Never is it ever okay and I don’t condone it. Writing about rape in a fictional setting as a form of creative expression for my immoral/dark character doesn’t mean I fucking condone it. It’s portrayed as terrible, it’s not glorified or shown as something good/okay, and there have even been repercussions in my main plot that have been expressed because of him raping certain people. Never have I EVER supported the real life act of it so please don’t keep the pretense up that I do.
So I’ve got a question for you. Why in the fuck are you still here if it bothers you so much? Many people tell me they really enjoy what I write here with this character, which includes so very much more than rape alone. So either leave or read a little more, friend.
Lastly, fun pro tip to learn about writers: the subjects they write about do not define their beliefs/opinions.
Thank you and have a great day.
There was no attempt to move away once
he had leaned toward her, but damn him
and his mind tricks-she hated when criminals
tried such skills upon her.
He certainly knew what he was doing,
as brows furrowed and gaze shifted
away from him, as if starring down
at her fiddling hands.
”-You asked if I felt safe; safe is merely associated with fear in my mind, thus meaning that you wished to know if I felt afraid, because if I felt afraid, I would not feel safe as well”
How would this man know of her
concealed fear, only having the emotion
rise like that of steam from a boiling
pan of water?
Oh, that prompted a laugh out of him.
It was small and ended quickly as it had
come, but it escaped nonetheless. He leaned
back, internally pleased with himself to
see he was indeed having an effect on her.
Whether she liked it or not,
he would be the one in charge here.
So far, so good.
"You can be in fear even in safety.
Such as now,” he suggested almost nonchalantly,
the chain of the cuff clinking noisily
as he lifted it slightly. “Safety is a cage.
It does nothing but trap you,
making you easy, comfortable prey.”
The Interfector’s eyes bore deeply into her, not a single
flicker as he continued in a tone as sure as the metal was
securely around his wrist, “Now you must be questioning
your safety. Questioning if these cuffs, this table, these
chairs, this small room is your cage. What was a haven
of safety away from fear mere moments ago, is now
trapping you simply because I asked one question.
“One simple question that revealed so much
about you in so little time, so much so, you
are practically exposed to me. Ready to be mercilessly
gutted and choked and drowned in the B L O O D of your
Suddenly, he was leaning forward
again just slightly, his voice becoming
a low whisper, “You may believe I am
trapped in here with you. But believe
me, you are trapped in here with me.”
Wonderful. Another Oncoming Bore. XI glared back at his seemingly arrogant doppelganger. “No offense, mate, but there’s rather a lot of dimensions and universes and bollocks, so you could be the fucking Queen of the Fairies with a bondage kink for all I know or care. I’m only going by appearances that you may or may not have been the Doctor at some point in your timeline. Me, I still kept the title, for my own purposes.”
He wasn’t sure why he bothered to blurt out all that. Maybe underneath it all he was a little afraid: after all, he feared himself above so many things. Snorting derisively, he added:
“‘Less you’re gonna play shock-tactics an’ tell me you’re my future self come to teach me a lesson.”
He allowed a withering chuckle to slip past his lips, a smirk accompanying in assured handfuls. Soon enough, his gait brought him within mere arm’s reach of the other man. He crouched down, almost painfully slowly, before resting his arms along his legs.
"I am the Interfector," he said plainly, the name itself holding enough weight that any extra vibrato would be unnecessary. That smirk continued to stain his lips, "Surely I do not have to define that name for you. I carry it for a reason. However, do not worry too much."
Assertively, his hand reached out and deft fingers wrapped about the Doctor’s throat. Firm, but not strangling. The Interfector wouldn’t dare allow him to look away as he spoke the next words with a low voice, “I will not kill you. You’re simply my entertainment today, dear Doctor. Or shall I call you, my pet.”
Do you enjoy making yourself look like an idiotic cunt who cannot utter more than two syllables at once?
It is never safe to assume. Especially regarding anything about the Michelle from my timeline. The matter is a moot point anyhow, she is in the void where she bloody well belongs.
Someone was in a good mood. And why shouldn’t she be?
Oh. Right. Nevertheless, the lady of sorrows was both
compliant and efficient, responding to each pulled lever and turned
crank with a bit of pep. While her box spun through time and space,
the woman herself was in the kitchen. The tips of her fingers stained
as red as her lips as she sliced through a fat strawberry to dip
in heated chocolate. But not for herself. For her Thief.
She couldn’t remember if he liked them or not. That was an after
thought. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
She was fickle for keeping track of such nuances, perhaps,
it was an act to promote his welfare thinly veiled as an act to
please him. There was very little sentiment in the gesture.
What was she up to?
Little bare feet made their way silently to the console room,
little ray of freshly dipped strawberries and tea in tow, and
lipsticked lips curled into a smile something akin to demure.
she said nothing at first and merely examined him. Would he
be pleased with her? She hoped so much so that it burned.
Her head tilted slightly and half lidded eyes looked him down
once more before speaking,
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing?
It doesn’t matter, I’ve ruined your opportunity to
at this point,” she placed the tray in front of him
starlight eyes cast upward to his face.
“I made these for you. I can’t remember if you like them.
I don’t even know if I like them.
They looked delicious.
I made your tea the way you like it,”
it was an overt cue for praise and recognition.
P L A C A T E and P L E A S E was a game best
played by two.
She set her tray down on the console, and
plucked one of the strawberries between
two fingers and held the plump berry out to him out
to him with parted lips and tilted chin. “Humor me?”
[ iam-theinterfector ]
He was paying her absolutely no mind.
At first, anyhow. He was far too invested
into his book (something about
thermonuclear physics or the like;
it was just a light distraction for the time being),
vapid hazel eyes scanning back and forth
at quite a quick pace. He
could have read quicker and finished the
book in minimal time, but he was bored of all
other options. So taking his time was the key here.
Idris in her presence was u n r e l i a b l e.
She was in, she was out.
He hadn’t expected her to come along now, yet
even then, he wasn’t surprised
nor startled. Perhaps he was just
unphased. The only moment his
curiosity at her actions became peaked was
when she inquired about such a thing.
The tray was given a placid gaze, passing away
after no more than a moment to the woman who bore
the tray not a second earlier. Pages
remained opened and ready to be gandered
at once more, yet the book was lowered the
moment she began babbling on about
the contents of the tray.
The Interfector didn’t mind strawberries.
They were a food he could honestly be
indifferent about but it didn’t carry much
further than that. The tea, as she said, just as
he liked it. There was something
almost amiss here.
—What was she doing?
Slowly, his book folded in on itself, fully
closing and finding its resting place
in his hands on his lap. “And just
what is the occasion,” he stated
almost accusingly, his eyes watching with
some parts conviction, other parts confusion.