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"It was during his sixth incarnation that the Doctor began to see the logic in murder" - Only his sixth? Began?? Because I thought I remember One being quite happy to bash unsuspecting people over the head with rocks in one of his first serials.

Alright, maybe the Multi-Patterned Nightmare with a Penchant for Cat Pins was a tad more inclined to homicidal tendencies than his immediate predecessors or successors, but Semi-Feral Gremlin Grandfather is right there. He literally murdered one of his classmates/acquaintances/childhood bullies (and then covered the incident up with the Master's help) years prior to leaving Gallifrey, and then was just enough of a bastard to pin it on the Master, if I remember correctly.

But sure, Six was the one that had the initial inklings that murder was a Good Thing.

The tardis.fandom psychological profiles on each doctor will never not be funny because it really says things like

“He also tried to find a positive approach to life, even if it was a delusional one”

“I’m a deviation from his stagnant posture, the doctor would wring his hands together in a fidgety manner *proceeds to list the appearances of this which includes pretty much every tv story with five in*. he crossed his arms when sulking and was prone to dramatic turns, which usually caused his hair to sway wildly *again lists almost every five serial*”

“He once devoured a burger in a single mouthful”

“His liking of tea was so great that he allowed the UNIT tea lady unrestricted access to his private laboratory”

“While he usually acted like an eccentric gentleman, the eighth doctor also had moments of certifiable insanity and fitz kreiner worried the doctor was aware of his breakdowns, just unconcerned by them”

“By his own admission, the doctor had a ‘pink bunny slipper fetish’”

“It was during his sixth incarnation that the doctor began to see the logic in murder”

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unrestrained summer fun(?)

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I just referred to the First Doctor as “fresh off the Asshole Planet.”

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In today's Homer's Iliad shenanigans we have

Odysseus: Thersites, if you say another word I'm going to beat the shit out of you *while he's already beating the shit out of him*

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Eight: “Grace, how do you feel about a trip to an exploding volcanic wasteland to defeat a maniacal despot in the form of a giant flaming eyeball?”

Caption This!

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Have you ever been to earth?

On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain:

You’re an idiot.

Let me further explain:

Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients going that direction, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layerslengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern.

Have you ever eaten one of the things you make all fucking day? You should try one. They are pretty good WHEN YOU ARE NOT WILLING YOURSELF THROUGH THE FUCKING EMPIRE OF SOUR CREAM ONLY TO END UP IN LETTUCE COUNTRY.

When you eat a burrito, you don’t stand it up and bite down on it lengthwise like a fucking Rancor. Humans can’t usually dislocate their jaws, and I’m not a fucking pelican. But you must think that’s how it’s done, since that would be THE ONLY FUCKING WAY to take a bite of your crapstrosity and have it taste like a burrito.

And guess what else, player? You probably can’t guess anything, because I’m pretty sure you’re just a mop with a hat on it that fell over and spilled some shit into a tortilla, but just in case, here’s what:

Humans also don’t eat burritos like fucking corn on the cob. Like a fucking typewriter from one end to the other a little at a time and then DING next line. But today I wish I had tried that. Because at least THEN I would be able to eat some rice, then beans, then be all like HEY BEANS I’LL BE RIGHT BACK JUST GOING OVER HERE TO THE GUACAMOLE FOR A SECOND.

Nope.

My experience was more like HEY BEANS IT’S JUST GOING TO BE YOU AND I FOR A MINUTE UNTIL I CAN FUCKING EXCAVATE THE RICE FROM BENEATH YOU BUT BY THEN YOU WILL BE A FADING MEMORY OH HEY I WAS WRONG I’M IN THE FUCKING CHEESEOSPHERE NOW RICE MUST BE NEXT I HOPE IT’S NOT ANOTHER FUCKING SALSA POCKET.

You built this thing like a fucking pack of LifeSavers.

And don’t even fucking think I’m about to open this shit up and re-engineer your nonsense 90 degrees. I ALREADY PUT A HOLE IN IT WITH MY FUCKING MOUTH. YEAH. THAT’S HOW I DISCOVERED YOU FUCKING SUCK AT LOOKING AT THINGS. I AM NOT GOING TO DO FUCKING TORTILLA ORIGAMI TO GET THIS SHIT BACK TOGETHER, ONLY TO END UP WITH A BURRITO THAT’S BEEN SHOT IN THE GUT AND IS BLEEDING YOUR INEPTITUDE.

What’s that? I should ask you to mix it up first next time? IS THIS JAMBA JUICE? I DON’T WANT TO DRINK MY FUCKING BURRITO THROUGH A BENDY STRAW, AND I DON’T WANT A PILE OF BURRITO SOUP IN A FLOUR CAN.

I just want a burrito.

In conclusion:

You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to the universe, you owe everyone everywhere an apology for this burritobomination, and I hope your babies look like monkeys.

UPDATE FOR EVERYONE WHO SAID “JUST EAT IT WITH A FORK”:

A fucking fork?

I DIDN’T ORDER THE FUCKING COBBURRITO SALAD.

If anyone ever handed me a burrito with a fork, THEY WOULD BE WEARING A BRAND NEW BURRITO HAT FROM MY FALL COLLECTION TEN SECONDS LATER.

That’s like buying a car and having them hand you a fucking wrench with the keys. Like YEAH WE KNOW THIS MOTHERFUCKER’S GOING TO EXPLODE AND BE SPREAD ACROSS EIGHT LANES AS SOON AS YOU HIT THE GAS, BUT SHIT, WE GAVE YOU A WRENCH, SO BE COOL.

Jesus already gave me two burrito forks. One at the end of each arm. They’re called fucking HANDS.

A fork. My god. I haven’t cried since I was six, but I’m fucking sobbing now.

People eat burritos with forks?

God is sorry he made us.

(Source)

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A Third Letter to the God I Used to Believe In

Dear God—

It’s been a while. A little over a year, maybe.

It’s the day before Easter as I’m writing this.

I went to my first ever Tenebrae service on Friday evening, and I was instantly catapulted back to the days when I would read the latter halves of the four gospels and wish, almost, but not quite praying that things could turn out differently, that the people involved would make different choices, that no one had to die horribly or be hurt.

And I think about that, and it’s kind of funny, isn’t it?

Even then, in Sunday school and into the years when I had a bit of fixation on theology, I always hated it when people got hurt, even if they’d been dead for 2,000 years. I hated the way it made me feel so, so… angry and sad and scared, in a way. (I haven’t picked up my Bible in a few years now, but I still remember the angry feeling I’d get every time I read Herod’s name on those pages. Out of all the people present, he just seemed extremely punchable to childhood me.)

The Easter story compounded all that and threw it into the sun to burn.

I didn’t care or understand what the concept of “sacrifice for sin” was, I just wanted everyone to be safe and happy and unhurt. Every year, every time I read it, my hopes were dashed. Add into it my rather vivid imagination and my tendency to empathize with others to the point of tears, and I would always feel sad and angry and at the same time… oddly cold, like someone was pouring ice water down my spine.

Like part of me was there, in those pages, in that time, like part of me could see everything that happened as it was read.

Part of me hopes now that there is no resurrection. That this life is all there is, and that there is nothing after, and that wherever the people in those pages are, if they’re anywhere, they are safe, and happy, and unhurt. Like they should have been.

If you are real, then please… let it be.

But that’s your problem, isn’t it? You want so badly to be in control that can’t even really let your supposed creations rest once it is their time. You condemn us to an eternal half-life of existence in the after, and try to claim that it’s good. That it’s something to strive for.

I find one A. C. Swinburne’s concept of an “After” much more appealing. Like him, I hope “that no life lives for-ever, that dead men rise up never, that even the weariest river winds somewhere safe to sea.”

I am so tired of people saying that there is something better on the so-called ‘other side’. I want, simply, to be able to say that I have lived, and that I have no regrets.

Let the dead lie. Let them sleep.

No more miracles.

No more signs.

No more resurrections.

Let us rest.

Let us make peace with our own mortality and that of our fellows.

And when it is our time, let us go.

Sincerely,

—Me.

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A Second Letter to the God I Used To Believe In

(Originally written a year or so ago)

Dear God—

It’s been… 3 months now.

I barely acknowledge you most of the time. Well, except on Sundays, when I pull together the ragged remains of what little faith I might still have in the existence of some higher being and go to church.

But not for religion, or because I believe. I don’t believe. I can’t. Not anymore. And, yet, some part of me still does. Still wants to, maybe.

So yeah, I’m still going to church, but not because I hold with any of the religious ideals. I go for the people there, for the company, an attempt to be social and friendly and not become a hermit in my room all the time. I go for the sake of easing my mother’s anxiety over me and my own sanity. I go because I’ve been basically adopted by these four older ladies who ask me how I’m doing and what I’ve been up to and worry when I don’t show up.

But I don’t go for you. You’re just the extra baggage that I don’t really care about. I don’t find you in church. Never have, never will. But then, it never seemed like you cared what I did or what I thought or what I said or where I ended up anyway.

Well, that’s fine. I’ve made my peace with that. But I haven’t forgiven you. I can forgive other people pretty easily, given a year or so to stew over it and pick at the grudge like an old scab. But you? No.

You don’t deserve me, or my forgiveness, or maybe even any of us members of humanity. Or maybe you do, but only the ones who seem to be outward representations of the metaphorical rot I see dripping from the rafters and seeping up through the floorboards like a river of bloodied, foul smelling sludge.

I’ve lost the majority of my faith, and to be honest, was never a fan of organized religion to begin with.

I’m still angry, but not as much as I was. It’s cooled down some since then. I’ve been working through accepting that it’s okay to feel… feelings and that’s it’s not inherently bad to do so.

Mostly, I’m just tired.

So that’s where I’m at. If you don’t like it, too bad.

I’m doing okay without you.

And that’s all you have the right to know.

Sincerely,

—Me.

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what you don't get is science exists because people can love. medicine exists because people love each other enough to want each other to live long healthy lives. astronomy exists because someone loved the stars and the planets enough to track them through their ever changing position in the darkest night. science exists because humans are curious little creatures and we want to know the world around us and understand it like it does us. we know stars and planets worlds away, we've sent cameras worlds away, all because we love the universe, and we also put love in those satellites!! we sent the sound of a 100 languages, lovely messages, the sound of rain and a laugh, all out there just in case there's someone in the universe looking for us like we do them, and so that they know that they were never alone, and we sent them the most simple loving things we could find.

science exists because people can love

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i would like to say that i think eight is dressed Like That in NOTD because its what charley liked to wear

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Second post!! Let’s see if I have the tagging down …..

I love scrolling through Eight’s wiki page… every time I go back to it I learn something new!!!

It’s a simplified style, chibi style?? Of sorts??

Having the time of my life imagining all the things Eight starts baking when he’s stressed, companions trying to squeeze a word in with him while he’s woefully whisking eggs to the point where they’re flicking out of the bowl…. 😭

And it just wouldn’t be complete without Charley!!! I love her so so much 🥹

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this post's tags are making me want to read scherzo, do i need any previous dr who knowledge to read it

Okay so!

Firstly, Scherzo is an audio story, not a book (though in your defense I have been reading a lot of books featuring the Eighth Doctor recently), though there's transcripts which can be read here. (I listened to it through this person's collection, here)

Scherzo is the big finale of one story arc and the start of the next. If you find yourself wanting to listen to many hours of Doctor Who audios, all the relevant previous stories go:

Storm Warning -> Sword of Orion -> Stones of Venice -> Minuet in Hell -> Invaders from Mars -> The Chimes of Midnight -> Seasons of Fear -> Time of the Daleks -> Neverland -> Zagreus -> Scherzo

where the bold ones are the really arc relevant ones (or just good, in the case of Chimes of Midnight)

But the even simpler answer is as follows

The Doctor Who knowledge you need is:

Charlotte "Charley" Pollard is from Edwardian England and was supposed to die in an airship crash. The Doctor rescued her, which broke apart time. Through this break, all manner of nasty things came through, including Zagreus. Zagreus was capable of destroying this dimension and possessed the Eighth Doctor to do so. The Doctor, wanting to stop this, begged Charley to kill him and so end Zagreus too. She stabbed him, and the fact that it wasn't fatal didn't make anyone feel better about it. (The Doctor also tells Charley he loves her. Charley tells the Doctor she loves him, but thinks he lied. This will be important later). At the end, the Doctor, blaming himself chose to exile himself to an alternate universe, one where time didn't exist, one where nothing existed, to trap Zagreus there. He does this because there is something wrong with him. Charley chose to follow him into this void, despite the world's worst breakup that happened between the two of them when he tried to make sure she'd stay behind. She does this because there is something equally wrong with her. And thus begins Scherzo!

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So sorry I couldn't get to you sooner, I just woke up! Thanks so much for making the drives public, I'm very grateful to you for it!

Hi, Anon! You're welcome! It's on separate drives, but the entire monthly range is now available

1-100 is here

101-192 is here

193-275 is here

They're all numbered, colour coordinated (5 - beige, 6 - orange, 7 - green, 8 - blue, multi-doctor - purple), and they list which Doctor and Companion on the folder.

My Eighth Doctor collection is here

Novel Adaptations, Short Trips, Random Boxsets, Seasons 3 and 4 of Stranded, and Specials

Ninth and Tenth Doctor Adventures, and The Lost Stories.

Companion Chronicles and Connections

Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Doctor Adventures

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On Learning That the Current Regime is Attacking the Existence of Disabled Persons:

Written As A Response to An Article Recently Published by the Guardian and a YouTube Video I Saw On Said Article

————————————————

My first response was to be angry.

To rage, and scream, and pound my fists on the metaphorical door that they are intent on closing in our faces.

But there is so much anger here already, so much that I worry if I add my own, it will spill over the sides of the pot.

My second, to be afraid.

To look back on the past, to what happened in 1930’s and 40’s Germany, and feel the long, cold shadow of ableist eugenics wrapping its claws around all our throats and sinking in its teeth like a mountainous, ouroboros snake as it consumes itself in all of us, as it comes for us like some great oncoming storm.

To wonder if what happened to those hundreds of thousands of children and adults whose only problem was that they existed, could happen to me, or to us, or to anyone.

To wonder what I will do when it does.

My third, to feel exhausted.

What else is new? I knew this was coming.

I could’ve predicted it, did predict it, had seen it as clear as blood soaking across a piece of unmarked paper, as clear as if I was a seer from the old stories, prophecies spiraling off of my tongue and out into the wind like leaves from a dying tree. Like them, I am not believed.

I have looked at the tree and found it to be rotten. How long until it collapses under its weight, until it keels over and crushes all of us? How long do we have to wait until we can call it what it is, until we can stop lying to ourselves and to each other, until we can’t ignore the rot at the heart?

How long until it is a crime to simply exist in a world that tells us, all of us sooner or later, that we would be better off dead?

I stare at my hands, wondering, wondering:

When does it end?

When does it end?

When does it end?

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Well, I have a printable pre-formatted PDF copy of the entire text-block somewhere on my computer, if you ever want me to send it your way. (Because I’m still tempted to bookbind my own fic as well.)

I’ve never had someone ask for my autograph before—didn’t realize I’d reached that level of fame :)

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

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@professionalwaterbender we’re partners in crime when it comes to the Fathoms Deep’verse. I owe half my ideas to you, a quarter to other random posts on this hellsite, and the rest of my motivation to the lunatics (affectionate) on AO3 who decided my original fic was good enough to warrant their attention.

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

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A little bit of background: In 2005, BBC7 broadcast several Eighth Doctor Big Finish audio plays. Because the new series with the Ninth Doctor had started only a few months before, two radio spots were recorded to help listeners understand the difference between the two Doctors. One is a factual overview of the Time Lords and regeneration. This one features Eight explaining who he is to a somewhat unintelligible alien who only knows his next incarnation. It’s a fun little introductory clip.