Doctor Who Imagines And Preferences

11th Doctor X TimeLord!Reader

Requested by @RMH4567 - Imagine you're actually a time lady but you don't know as the time lord part of you is trapped in a fob watch and the Doctor finally finds you after years.

The pale blue sky was blanketed by pure white clouds, birds sang in crisp harmonies and newly bloomed flowers swayed in the soft summer breeze. You look upon the world outside your window in awe and envy, how you wished to know of the earths secrets to beauty and it's ways of withstand the deadly realities which it faces.

You turn to you clock and see it's almost time for you to leave for work, you slip on a (f/c) jumper, black skinny jeans and a pair of (f/c) converse. With a skip in your step you made your way out of your bedroom and to your apartment door, you grab your jacket and pat the pocket to make sure your fob watch is still in there. To most people it would be strange to carry the old fashioned watch around with you but it gave you a strange comforting feeling, the unfamiliar pattern on the front keeping you curious through the long days.

The side walk was strangely empty as you made your way down the usually full of life street which lead to your little art studio or your second home as your friend (f/n) likes to call it. In all honesty deciding to do art professionally was one of the best decision you had made in your opinion, you could do what you wanted when you wanted and there was no limit to you creativity or imagination. It was even better when you owned your own studio, the place made you feeling at peace through your inner wars and conflicts which is probably why you spent most of you time there.

You couldn't help but feel at war with yourself or at least at war with something but you couldn't tell what it was, just that it made you sad and the realisation to the feeling left you in indescribable emotional pain. It felt as if you had lost someone. No, it felt like you had lost a whole planet of someones but obviously that was impossible so your pain was left unresolved and unidentified.

The street on which your art studio stood was framed by colourful brick buildings and laughing children, each structure a different colour and each occupant withheld a unique personality which seemed to complement the colour of their home.

Mr Myres the angry old man from the red house over the road was constantly bickering with his neighbours the Andrews, an always optimistic couple who lived in the yellow house, about the noise their children made whilst out in the garden. Courtney Bennet lived in the green house with her giant ego and fathers money, her sports car parked outside along with the line of men hoping to grab her attention. Lastly there was the newly weds, Kayleigh and Craig who you had recently become acquainted with when you had discussed the shade of pink their house was painted.

You come to a stop infront of your studio and pull out a key, pushing it into the lock and creating a satisfying click as it unlocked the door. You smile as you breath in the scent of wet paint and old paper, canvases of various sizes line the walls and enclose you into what little space you had remaining. Eventually you would have to start painting the walls as you couldn't bare the thought of parting with most of these painting as they withheld a familiarity that you just weren't certain of.

Your latest work sat upon an oak easel which was gifted to you by an eccentric woman who stated that the easel's colour would go perfectly with the blue of your building. Unlike most of the buildings in the neighbourhood you had to paint the building yourself, it was white when you had first bought it but now it was a deep, enticing royal blue which made you feel even more at home. It was a dark enough blue to convey your sadness but it also had a brightness to it, a spark which you had compared to the feeling of hope.

The canvas like all the others displayed a small part of space and was signed with a blue police box, why you chose a police box instead of a basic signature you don't know but it made the rest of the painting oddly fall in place. Your fingers gingerly brush over the now dried paints, taking in every inch of your own version of space and smile as you take in another completed canvas that would now gather dust whilst you occasionally gaze at it with admiration.