#justalonelymonster

RP starters: Heated argument.

Pregnancy/baby starters

“You think so?” She took a sip of her tea to hide her smile. "Thanks. I like to think I will. I’m sure when the time comes I’ll read every parenting book because...well, it’s not like I’ll have much else to go on in the field of mothering.”

Send me, "its way past your bedtime" for your muse to walk in at 3:37 in the morning to find my muse isn't asleep.

Clara was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to announce it was finished and that she could make her tea. She didn’t expect him to find her. He usually was working on other things when she slept. At least that’s what she assumed because every once and awhile when she got up in the middle of the night to get a drink she heard him making some sort of ruckus.

A/B/O starters

“locked in a room” starters

Her boots clicked against the pristine and sterile white floor. Everything was white and it was beginning to give her a headache. Really, she ought not be surprised when things like this happened, but this almost seemed more annoying than being clamped in iron. Usually she could talk her way out of that bit, but nobody here was budging. There would be no interrogating in this case because these doctor’s didn’t need information from their head. No they just wanted samples upon samples for some virus they apparently had. 

“Not that I want to change our pairing. I’m glad that I’m with you.” It was a relief, knowing that he was meant to be with Clara. It certainly helped the worry that he wouldn’t get along with whoever else he could have possibly gotten chosen to be with. He was with Clara though and he would be forever grateful. He laughed and pressed his nose against her shoulder. “Why does it have to be between you and me, eh?”

He looked over at her, noting how close she was to him now. They had never really been this close. There had been hugs and things, sure, but not…the kissing and the closeness. “We can do that.” Their families would make do without them. He imagined his parents would be wanting to go home soon anyway. “We should make a tent to sleep under the stars tonight.”

“Because I have impeccable taste and I don’t want anybody questioning it. I don’t know if anyone would trust my opinion again.” She joked giving him a gentle elbow. It was completely untrue and they both knew it. Her mother and friends would still ask her about such matters, but not before teasing her until she blushed about the bow ties. That she could probably manage though. It was probably her due.

My muse is being held hostage and is being experimented on. Send me “What have they done to you?” for my muse’s response to yours finding them shackled and chained in a small room. || @justalonelymonster​

The voice was faint, and she barely even registered it in her mind. And even when she did, she didn’t BELIEVE it. The Doctor. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be here. He never came. He never helped. Not HER. At least, not in a long time.

But of course. If she was going to fantasise about anyone, it would be HIM.

starter for @justalonelymonster

He was starting to wonder if he could emancipate himself from his very species. It would be easier to just... call himself something other than human. of course, being human was why he had gotten his job. It wasn’t as though Torchwood hired aliens. And he had been so very human when he first signed on to Canary Wharf. Naive, ready to impress, eager to dig into the universe and find out how aliens made all of their amazing technology work. 

Now, however, bullet-proof, air-tight container in hand and having to show his Torchwood I.D. badge to get into the bloody Glasgow Botanical Gardens, he was heavily considering trying to find a way to call himself something other than a human being. 

Because only human beings, only this stupid, ignorant little race, would find a bright, neon-glowing plant in the middle of a crater and decide to plant it in a public garden for public viewing of it’s pretty little death petals. The one day the car gets stuck in traffic--and he still considered that a heavy conspiracy, if he was asked, the Scots were out to get them--and the police get there first, they decided to claim it property of their department, and kept quiet about the findings. “It’s just an empty crater, nothing in it,” they had told him. And now five people were dead with green skin and plant spores in their lungs, and the one thing they had in common was a visit to this mysterious plant.

Lukas rushed through the small line once he was cleared, launching over the queue (much to the anger of the Garden security guard manning the station) shouting “TORCHWOOD!” as he passed at top speed. He reached up to press his comm, breath ragged. 

“Ashley, talk to me!”

“They’re still running around!”

“They’ve got me locked in the tea cupboard!”

“Greer, not my problem right now! Don’t inhale the spores!”

Zombie, dead plant people. Starve the host plant of oxygen and they would collapse. In theory. 

“They’ve got vine fingers, Lukas!”

“Hurry!”

He forced his feet to carry him faster through the Gardens. His team was at risk, on the line, and he wouldn’t lose them to some damn alien fungus. Signs pointing to the “New, Fantastical” exhibit directed him on his mission, forcing him to part crowds with his large stature, screaming his affiliation the whole way in the hopes that it would get people to move faster. 

The plant sat on a white, marble pedestal, glowing softly and emitting low levels of radiation, if the scanner was any proper indicator. It’s crowd was small for the midday “rush,” only about a dozen or so people leaning in close to admire it’s otherworldly beauty.

“Get out of my way!” He screamed, and most were jostled enough to turn and startled enough to move. One young man seemed completely oblivious where he stood right in Lukas’ way, and haste won out. He barreled into the man and toppled them both over, knocking the plant from the pedestal and into nearby fake foliage. Bright pink spores erupted like wildfire and in his hurry Lukas grabbed the gas mask on his arm and pressed it onto the man’s mouth. He took a deep breath, holding it, and slammed the plant within the confines of the container. 

It began pulsing wildly, the spores almost angry at being trapped, and the leaves were trembling as the plant itself began starving. It lurched towards the glass and where it would have touched him became hot, burning his fingertips through the barrier. But Lukas held on. If he dropped it, they may not have a second chance. With a final wheezing noise the plant began to rapidly decay from the roots up, going from a bright, vivid multicolor to molded greys and greens, before turning black and exploding in a puff of spores and ash.