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obsessed with him

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missy doesn’t understand that she’s in the wrong genre. she believes she’s in a darkly alluring gothic romance instead of an optimistic sci-fi show. in her genre, gifting your estranged ex/enemy/lover/best friend/twin flame an indestructible undead army to prove to him that your will to power is identical is the most romantic gesture imaginable. it’s victory via surrender, it’s control through abdication. all her scheming to “corrupt” him, to demonstrate that they’re the same deep down, that his sanctimonious morality is nothing but a method of keeping his own conscience clean, that’s the hannibal gene, the lestat gene (*obviously the dynamics aren’t 1-to-1 similar, but… close enough) and missy’s tragedy in death in heaven is in that, within the narrative format she’s trapped in, she can never succeed

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Have you got anymore snippets to share from your Saxteen retirement AU? 👀

Sundays were food shop days, religiously. This was Shaun's domain, and a chore he approached with a quiet kind of passion the Doctor had come to appreciate. Every Sunday morning, they ventured out together in Shaun's taxi - a routine originally started, he suspected, because his own vicious restlessness had grown unbearable in those first few weeks of staying put in a house. He'd been snappish and miserable and about to vibrate out of his skin the first time Shaun had dragged him along, not accepting argument, to make a project out of deal-hunting and people-watching and devising food combinations guaranteed to horrify Sylvia to her very core. It helped. After that it had settled into ritual, waking before the rest of the house and driving to the big Tesco up the road. Briefly, there'd been some heated family debate when a Morrisons opened not far off, but Shaun had always maintained they were Tesco loyalists. "Eggs, Doc," Shaun instructed, reading off his list. Doc. He called him that sometimes, like an absent slip of the tongue. That, and mate. The Doctor had bristled over it, initially, not at all sure of the diminutive title. But after a while he'd noticed that Rose was often Rosie and Donna was Red and Wilf was Gramps or G-man. And he'd decided he rather liked the honorific, in the end.

Is this the most boringly mundane topic I could possibly choose to write about in a Doctor Who fic?? Maybe. Am I enjoying treating the Tesco big shop with the same solemn, sanctified respect as a Church service? Yes, omg 😅

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thoschei ft. flower face

bc I'm sooooo normal about them >3

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It’s so hard to stay still these days. He’s not sure if the shaking is from lack of sleep or from a bone-deep need to never stop moving. Donna’s taken to holding his hand more often now, if only to still the tremble in his fingers. He can’t do his more delicate work anymore— tools slip from his hands and circuits take twice as long to connect. It’s gotten to the point where he’s taught Donna how to do the absolutely necessary work— he paces around her nervously while rambling instructions that she, against all odds, meticulously and methodically follows. She’s very good at it. He wishes she wasn’t. 

More than just his hands shake. On days they don’t, his voice wavers and he trips over words, and though he tries to bury it in gravelly anger he can’t seem to get past the letter “k”. These days are the worst by far — he values his voice, his words. They’re the only weapon he’s got left these days and without them he feels vaguely like there’s a gun pressed to the small of his backs. They don’t land on those days, and he tries very hard not to talk. Donna seems to be a veritable font of stories, and makes up enough words to compensate for both of them. 

Sometimes, when neither of them can bear to go outside, they put on a movie. Donna always picks. Sometimes it’s a forgotten classic, sometimes it’s a sequel that hasn’t come out yet, sometimes it’s the worst rom-com either of them have ever seen. It doesn’t fix things, but it helps.

Once, just once, he falls asleep. They’re watching something inane from Earth in the late 2010s, something with snow and trees and far more Christmas decor than either of them thinks strictly necessary. Donna’s spent most of the movie criticising the lead’s dress sense and strongly implying that the woman should marry her best friend instead. He’s not really listening, just nodding and making vague sounds of agreement when it’s called for, and eventually his eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out and finally, *finally*, his mind quiets. And he sleeps. 

Donna wakes him. He wishes she hadn’t. But from her iron grip on his wrists it seems it might have been necessary, and furthermore— was that a scratch on her face? She breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing him open his eyes and lets him go. It’s a blessing, because it means he can move away from her as quickly as possible and pretend it never happened. He can apologise from across the room and not look at her face when he does so. But his plans are ruined in seconds when his attempt at grace turns into more of a desperate scramble and he doesn’t even make it across the room before she’s taken his hands again. 

He apologises anyway, over and over and over, until there’s more sorries than air. Donna hugs him, tighter than ever before, even after the bus and the thing that repeated with his voice. He stops breathing for a second and forgets what to do with his arms before bringing them up hesitantly around her shoulders. And then he doesn’t ever want to let go. 

She still holds his hand. Everywhere they go she holds his hand. Sometimes it’s for her, when there’s something terrible and beautiful and overwhelmingly wrong, and sometimes it’s for him, when he loses control of his words and they spill out faster than he can stop them. And they keep moving, forever.

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it is the first snow today. i think we should all have off work, even though it didn't stick. i think there should be 4 national holidays, one for each season. happy first snow, go home and make cookies. for spring it can be the first crocus. for summer the first lightning bug. for autumn, the first golden leaf. go home, kiss your dog, feed your cat (who is absolutely already-fed but somehow still starving.)

i think we should all take more showers together, but i mean that in the soft way. i mean it like taking a nap. two years ago for i had 5 adult friends in my queen bed, all of us laying across each other, head over belly over thigh over hand. any time one of us would giggle, it would ripple over each of us, like pulling on a spiderweb. kim actually needed to nap and didn't get to sleep and i am still sorry for it even though this is one of my most precious memories.

i think we should all wash each other's hair, i mean. i walk my dog and i watch someone put up twinkle lights around their front porch. alex and i just moved, and i love the neighborhood. already so many of our new neighbors have stopped by to say hello. the nice lady downstairs also collects plants, like me. she gave us her number on a pink post-it note. i am trying to decide whether to make her cookies or brownies.

i am going through a very hard time. something bad happened this weekend that i do not wish to discuss. it is hanging over me. i think of the green ribbon, and the woman who had her throat cut. it feels like that sometimes, inside of my body. like i am walking and talking despite being half-corpsed. like i am hanging on by a ribbon, standing on some kind of cusp. i keep saying - at least it wasn't worse. we are so lucky it wasn't worse. the idea is river-rock smooth now, all the edges worried off.

in this very dark night - the sun sets by 3 now - people don't need to, but they try anyway. they paint the missing light into things. i have an embarrassing number of missed calls and texts, but i feel the love from them nevertheless - hey. if you need something, i'm here. i will bring you food/puzzles/anything. i got you.

i think we should all have a big group chat where we do errands with strangers. this week i got lost in a home depot, which is wild because i'm a lesbian and we are actually hatched in a lowe's lumber section. there were two other women in the whole store. we ended up shopping together, at first by accident (we all needed things in the same aisle), and then because, well, why not. one of the ladies was taller than me, so she pulled down the screws i needed. i am agile and have the personality of a raccoon, so they sent me after anything below 3 feet. we talked about holiday plans and never learned each other's names, but did learn all the drama about each other's families.

i am making you cupcakes, because i have so much affection i want to pour it into batter. you ask me if i am eating enough per meal. i wrap your gift twice, trying to do it prettily. i get excited to give it to you, just because i hope you'll be excited too.

my parents drive an hour just to see the new apartment and to do the parent thing; standing in the kitchen saying things like "oh you'll get so much use from this dishwasher" and "well, you could paint that" and "when your mother and i moved it was uphill both ways and in a snowstorm and of course your brother was an infant." my mother brought me a plant for housewarming. i always say i love you before she leaves.

i play dnd on tuesdays still, after all these years. we all keep that night free. at one point, between grad school and marriage and all of it, we had to have a serious discussion about how to keep it running. we will keep going, we decided eventually. just to see each other, even if we don't play - you are all important to me. sebastian is not prone to affection but last night he stole my usual sign off - i love you all, be good, he said. he was laughing.

i don't love the winter, actually. i like snow in theory, but i grew up in the north, and am too-familiar with the season of "mud and sludge". i don't like being cold. but i do love something kind of soft and rare: every year around this time, people remember oh yes. you and i are human together. and i have love to spare.

it is the first snow, and something in my heart is finally warm again. i have spent what felt like the last 18 months just going-through-the-motions. it has felt blank and immediate, like i would never actually feel again. that sounds extremely trite and stupid - but that is the boring and familiar experience of depression. life just washes up against your windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and affecting, and it just whispers too-thin. i was desperately uncreative. uninterested in my hobbies. unimpressed by my writing. i told my therapist, often, i don't know how to find hope again.

almost sheepishly, something strange and lovely is burning in my chest. i keep not-looking at it, worried it will scamper back into the shadows again. it is skittish and wild, but it is so warm i want to sink my hands into its fur and feel it breathing. i love-hate it: if it's real, it can hurt me when it leaves again. but i am icarus-born, sun-lover and poet: i can't help myself. despite my best intentions, i am falling in love with life again.

i am planning to make cookies for my friends. alex and i are going to go christmas tree shopping. we picked out matching dish towels last night, and they have little mushrooms on them.

i love you. it does come back. yes, even after a long time. even for you. i promise. keep trying. you will wake up and it will be a day you can smile about.

write me when you get there. we will take the day off of work, and i will wash your hair, and we will both be laughing.

[imdoingawesome]

Twelfth doctor era of doctor who was incredible because it was basically just:

Clara: I can fix him (makes him worse)

Missy: I can make him worse (accidentally fixes him)

Bill: Well, I'm a lesbian and I'm going to be his friend :)

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My favorite Crowley's looks – part 4

part 1 ● part 2 ● part 3

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>First, we’ve discovered that about a quarter of all the internet connection in or out of the house were ad related. In a few hours, that’s about 10,000 out of 40,000 processed.

>We also discovered that every link on Twitter was blocked. This was solved by whitelisting the https://t.co domain.

>Once out browsing the Web, everything is loading pretty much instantly. It turns out most of that Page Loading malarkey we’ve been accustomed to is related to sites running auctions to sell Ad space to show you before the page loads. All gone now.

>We then found that the Samsung TV (which I really like) is very fond of yapping all about itself to Samsung HQ. All stopped now. No sign of any breakages in its function, so I’m happy enough with that.

>The primary source of distress came from the habitual Lemmings player in the house, who found they could no longer watch ads to build up their in-app gold. A workaround is being considered for this.

>The next ambition is to advance the Ad blocking so that it seamlessly removed YouTube Ads. This is the subject of ongoing research, and tinkering continues. All in all, a very successful experiment.

>Certainly this exceeds my equivalent childhood project of disassembling and assembling our rotary dial telephone. A project whose only utility was finding out how to make the phone ring when nobody was calling.

>Update: All4 on the telly appears not to have any ads any more. Goodbye Arnold Clarke!

>Lemmings problem now solved.

>Can confirm, after small tests, that RTÉ Player ads are now gone and the player on the phone is now just delivering swift, ad free streams at first click.

>Some queries along the lines of “Are you not stealing the internet?” Firstly, this is my network, so I may set it up as I please (or, you know, my son can do it and I can give him a stupid thumbs up in response). But there is a wider question, based on the ads=internet model.

>I’m afraid I passed the You Wouldn’t Download A Car point back when I first installed ad-blocking plug-ins on a browser. But consider my chatty TV. Individual consumer choice is not the method of addressing pervasive commercial surveillance.

>Should I feel morally obliged not to mute the TV when the ads come on? No, this is a standing tension- a clash of interests. But I think my interest in my family not being under intrusive or covert surveillance at home is superior to the ad company’s wish to profile them.

>Aside: 24 hours of Pi Hole stats suggests that Samsung TVs are very chatty. 14,170 chats a day.

>YouTube blocking seems difficult, as the ads usually come from the same domain as the videos. Haven’t tried it, but all of the content can also be delivered from a no-cookies version of the YouTube domain, which doesn’t have the ads. I have asked my son to poke at that idea.

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The Eaters Of Light

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eleven is fascinating to me because he came right off the back of tens horrible traumatic breakdown after he lost everything and he immediately tried to establish himself as the opposite of that. he is funny and goofy and almost childlike, and he bulldozes on in his adventures with amy like nothing happened at all. but then something happens and his masks slips and it's like oh! the core of this man is still anger. he is so so angry all of the time and this façade is the only thing stopping him from being consumed by it. he isn't over any of it and he hasn't moved on. he is wearing a fez and laughing but under that all that exists is age old anger and grief and it is going to consume him

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Jennifer Diehl, Everything and the Kitchen Sink, 2019, Oil

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The thing that I love the most about Doctor Who is that it’s just SOOOOOO bad. It’s awful. It’s dreadful. It’s cheesy and stupid and terrible. It has dialogue like “I am the beep of all the meeps!” It’s truly the most embarrassing cringeworthy thing you’ve ever seen. It’s been that way for 60 years. It’s gonna be that way for another 60. It doesn’t matter what kind of budget or fan base they receive. It’s always gonna be this stupid.

I love it so fucking much.

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Oh JUST LOOK AT HIM

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ALT

ZOOMIES DOCTOR

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talk about nothing and everything

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me when i