Disaster Queers
Book One: Night at the Museum

A Queer Heist, A Prehistoric Egg, and Absolutely No Plan

The Disaster Queers live up to their name—broke, gay, reckless, and fresh off a tavern brawl that landed them a fifteen-thousand-gold fine. When a frazzled professor offers them a way out—steal a priceless gemstone from a fancy museum gala—it seems like the perfect job.

Except the “gemstone” is actually a long-dormant egg, and if it hatches, an ancient murder beast will rampage through the city. No pressure.

Now, Ran (trans elf sorceress, always hungover), Di (deadpan dwarf strategist with zero patience), Emmlie (tiny chaos gremlin, part-time thief, full-time menace), and Leon (horny satyr bard, would absolutely flirt with a guard mid-heist) have to pull off the biggest job of their messy careers.

Expect:
✨ Queer found-family hijinks
✨ Unhinged heist shenanigans
✨ Bad decisions, worse flirting
✨ Magic, monsters, and museum-related property damage

Disaster Queers—where fantasy meets absurdity, and being a queer disaster is a full-time job.

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The Shadow Heart 



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The Shadow Heart has all the ingredients of a grand space opera finale. Decades-spanning continuity. Warring empires. Rogue robots. Returning heroes. Returning villains. Multiple incarnations of the Seventh Doctor running around the timeline playing four-dimensional chess with himself.

And somehow it still ends with me shrugging. That’s quite an achievement.

The story returns us to the Drashani Empire decades after The Acheron Pulse. Following the Sixth Doctor’s optimistic decision to leave Prince Kylo’s robotic army behind as guardians of peace, the robots immediately looked at his instructions, nodded politely, and interpreted “maintain order” as “become an authoritarian military dictatorship.” Doctor Who robots really are incapable of finding the middle ground.

By the time Sylvester McCoy’s Seventh Doctor arrives, the galaxy is under the thumb of these fanatical mechanical crusaders, while a ragtag collection of mercenaries and rebels are attempting to fight back. Joining the fun are the ever-returning Prince Kylo and a cloned Princess Aliona, because apparently nobody in this saga is ever allowed to retire quietly.

The premise is perfectly respectable. The execution… Less so.

One thing the story absolutely gets right is the Seventh Doctor himself. McCoy effortlessly slips back into manipulative mastermind mode, and because this is Seven, no plan is ever allowed to be straightforward. The timeline itself becomes one of his tools. We first encounter an older Doctor who already knows more than he’s letting on, only for a younger version to arrive later, blissfully unaware of events that, from everyone else’s perspective, have already happened. It’s gloriously convoluted. Also completely on-brand.

Watching the two versions unknowingly dance around one another’s schemes is probably the single strongest idea in the entire production, and it’s handled with enough confidence that longtime Seventh Doctor fans will immediately settle into that familiar feeling of, “I’m sure this all makes sense to him.”

The supporting cast are perfectly likeable without ever becoming especially memorable. The mercenary crew have enough personality to keep things moving, but few of them leave much of a lasting impression. Kylo continues his long journey from tragic prince to recurring space menace, while the cloned Aliona exists largely to poke at questions of identity, redemption and whether a copy can ever truly replace the original.

Those themes are interesting. The story simply doesn’t do enough with them. Instead, it falls back on fairly routine Doctor Who adventure plotting. There are battles. Escapes. Last-minute reversals. Secret plans. The occasional bizarre image, including a memorable ride atop a gigantic space snail that somehow manages to be both ridiculous and entirely fitting for Doctor Who. It’s fun. It just isn’t enough.

Thematically, there’s an obvious exploration of unintended consequences. The Doctor tries to create peace, only for his solution to become another form of oppression. That’s fertile ground, particularly for the Seventh Doctor, whose manipulative methods often leave complicated moral debris behind.

Unfortunately, the script never digs particularly deeply into that idea. Likewise, after three linked stories exploring Kylo’s tragic downfall, imperial politics and the corrosive effects of revenge, this finale never quite delivers the emotional payoff you’d expect. It wraps everything up competently enough, but competence isn’t really what you want from the conclusion to a trilogy that’s been building for several releases. You want fireworks. Instead, you get a polite sparkler.

Final Thoughts
An enjoyable enough Seventh Doctor adventure with clever temporal shenanigans, some entertainingly strange imagery and McCoy on reliably manipulative form. Sadly, as the climax to the Drashani saga it feels strangely small, never fully capitalising on the rich ideas and character arcs established by its predecessors. Perfectly serviceable Doctor Who, but an oddly forgettable finale.

2 out of 5 giant space snails that somehow carried more dramatic weight than the trilogy’s actual ending

The Acheron Pulse



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The Acheron Pulse commits one of my favourite storytelling sins: it spends two hours pretending a mystery exists when literally everyone in the audience solved it before the opening credits had finished.

Who is the mysterious masked warlord Tenebris? Who could possibly possess an inexplicable command over fire? Who has a deeply personal grudge against the Drashani Empire after being betrayed and left for dead in the previous story? Well, unless this was secretly Davros wearing a barbecue, I think we can all work it out.

Picking up roughly thirty years after The Burning Prince, the story finds the once prosperous Drashani Empire in ruins. The peaceful reign of Empress Cheni has given way to a devastating conflict against the Wrath, a mysterious invading force wielding the terrifying superweapon known as the Acheron Pulse. Entire worlds have fallen, civilisation is collapsing, and the Sixth Doctor arrives just as everything begins spiralling towards its inevitable conclusion.

Curiously, this sequel stars Colin Baker rather than Peter Davison. And honestly? That turns out to be one of its strongest decisions. Colin Baker once again demonstrates why he could probably read the instructions on a washing machine and make them sound like Shakespeare. His Sixth Doctor attacks every line with the enthusiasm of a man who genuinely believes every conversation deserves to become the defining speech of the century. Even when the script isn’t firing on all cylinders, Colin is.

He almost drags the story across the finish line through sheer force of personality. Almost. And this story is definitely a step up from the previous one. Which… kinda cements my theory that someone at Big Finish must rather dislike Peter Davison, given that he seems to get the weakest of these scripts.

The central mystery simply doesn’t work. The script clearly expects the audience to spend half its runtime wondering who Tenebris really is. Could it possibly be Prince Kylo, who was betrayed and left for dead in the last story? Well, you’ll be SHOCKED to discover that it is! The reveal lands with all the dramatic force of someone solemnly announcing that Darth Vader might be Luke Skywalker’s father. Yes. We noticed. Several decades ago.

That’s a shame, because beneath the predictable plotting are some genuinely fascinating ideas. The story explores the long-term consequences of empire and asks what happens when today’s glorious civilisation becomes tomorrow’s occupying force. The native inhabitants of Cawdor, still developing along roughly medieval lines, view the Drashani less as enlightened neighbours and more as incomprehensible colonial invaders. That’s compelling science fiction. It’s exactly the sort of moral ambiguity Doctor Who often does well.

Then there’s Athrid. Oh, Athrid. Played with magnificent scenery-chewing enthusiasm by Chook Sibtain, he’s essentially Brian Blessed if somebody handed him an axe and declared him King of the Vikings. Every scene he appears in suddenly becomes alive. He bellows. He boasts. He charges heroically into danger with complete confidence that everything will somehow work itself out.

Naturally, this means the script rewards him by having a monster abruptly eat him. Rude.

His absence leaves a noticeable hole in the second half because very few of the remaining supporting characters possess anywhere near the same charisma.

Thematically, The Acheron Pulse wrestles with revenge, imperialism and the corrosive nature of hatred. Kylo’s transformation into Tenebris is hardly subtle, but it does underline how betrayal can twist idealism into fanaticism. Unfortunately, the story never digs quite deeply enough into those ideas, preferring straightforward military science fiction over genuine character exploration.

Which ultimately sums up the whole production. It’s better constructed than The Burning Prince. It’s certainly more entertaining. But despite Colin Baker’s magnificent performance and a handful of genuinely inspired supporting characters, it never quite escapes the feeling that you’ve seen most of its twists coming from several star systems away.

Also, with this story referencing Cawdor (the name of the planet, and mentioned in Macbeth), and the previous story centring around two rival houses and young lovers (a la Romeo & Juliet), I’m wondering why the Doctor hasn’t called out that these all seem to be stylistically influenced by Shakespeare. Would stating it be too much of a fourth wall break?

Final Thoughts
A respectable sequel elevated enormously by Colin Baker’s wonderfully theatrical Doctor and Chook Sibtain’s gloriously larger-than-life Athrid. There are thoughtful ideas about empire, revenge and colonialism buried beneath the surface, but an entirely predictable central mystery and a shortage of memorable moments stop it from becoming anything truly special.

3 out of 5 masked warlords whose secret identities were about as surprising as the Master turning out to be evil again

The Burning Prince



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The Burning Prince desperately wants to be an epic. You can hear it straining for it. Every scene is reaching for sweeping space opera. Every plot twist wants to feel Shakespearean. Every speech seems convinced it’s moments away from becoming Doctor Who’s answer to Game of Thrones.

Instead, it ends up feeling like somebody dropped all the ingredients for a magnificent banquet onto the kitchen floor and then served them anyway.

The Fifth Doctor arrives in the middle of a galactic civil war between two rival royal houses, the Gadarel and the Sorsha. The conflict has dragged on for generations, and the only hope of peace lies in the arranged marriage between Prince Kylo and Princess Aliona. It’s essentially the War of the Roses with spaceships, which is already a premise I’m perfectly willing to buy into.

Then things immediately go sideways. There are assassinations. Betrayals. Political conspiracies. Rampaging alien monsters. Secret agendas. Royal family drama. And because apparently the script looked at all that and thought, “Not enough,” Prince Kylo can also set people on fire with his mind.

It’s gloriously overstuffed. Unfortunately, “overstuffed” doesn’t necessarily mean “coherent.” The biggest problem is that the story never quite figures out what it’s actually wants to be. Is it a political thriller? A tragic romance? A monster story? A royal family melodrama? A war epic? The answer appears to be “yes,” which sounds ambitious until you realise it never gives any of those ideas enough room to properly breathe.

Every plotline feels like it’s sprinting to keep up with the next one. Characters are constantly betraying one another, revealing hidden motives, switching allegiances or discovering yet another inconvenient secret, but because the story is juggling so many moving parts, very little of it carries the emotional weight it’s clearly aiming for. You don’t get time to process one revelation before the next arrives waving its arms frantically for attention.

The themes are actually pretty solid. Cycles of vengeance. Political marriages sacrificing personal happiness for national stability. The burden placed upon children born into dynasties they never chose. Even Kylo’s pyrokinesis works as a neat metaphor for inherited power that cannot easily be controlled.

There’s good material buried in here. It just feels like it’s buried under another three scripts. Even the production feels unusually restrained. Big Finish normally excels at making alien civilisations sound enormous, but this empire never quite comes alive. The worldbuilding exists largely in dialogue rather than atmosphere, so despite all the talk of great houses and centuries of conflict, everything feels oddly small.

Then there’s the Doctor. Poor Peter Davison. He spends much of the story wandering through everybody else’s narrative looking faintly confused about why he’s there. He investigates. He offers sensible advice. He occasionally prevents somebody from making an even worse decision. But this never really becomes *his* story.

The Fifth Doctor often shines when he’s forced to hold impossible moral positions together while everybody else falls apart around him. Here, he mostly feels like an unusually polite observer. That’s perhaps the greatest disappointment. Because all the ingredients for a genuinely excellent political science-fiction drama are sitting right there on the table. Nobody quite manages to assemble them into the feast they promised.

Final Thoughts
An undeniably ambitious adventure packed with intriguing ideas, compelling themes and enough political intrigue to fuel an entire season. Sadly, it spreads itself too thin, leaving the Doctor strangely sidelined and the emotional payoffs far weaker than the excellent premise deserves.

2 out of 5 telekinetic royal wedding receptions that somehow managed to catch fire before the marriage even started