#WOW i write this and then i will dip bc i am still busy w school. bye again everyone i love you all

[jesuistrestriste]

vent (nothing serious) ! im frazzled ..

i don’t know if i’m actually just overthinking everything, and i know it’s never that serious, but im starting to feel so trapped when im on this platform

i used to love writing, and i still usually do, but now i feel like there’s some unseen pressure to write that wasn’t there before. like i have to post daily and interact as much as possible with other users or im just not doing good enough. or not doing enough, period.

im sorry to my mutuals who i never interact with or rarely interact with anymore; it’s honestly gotten to the point where im so anxious(?) about feeling that pressure to post that ill just drop something on my blog, like a little drabble or an ask response, and then i’ll immediately close the app. i don’t (or rarely ever) scroll through my feed anymore bc i just feel like ive missed too much already to catch up, so why bother ? like im falling behind already in everything and missing updates so theres no point. im sorry about that </3 i want to interact with + support ur work as much as possible, pls know that

i also weirdly feel like there’s some sort of hidden inner circle within this community/fandom(? i don’t like using that word..) that i just am.. not part of. which is fine!! maybe it literally doesn’t even exist and i’m just putting pieces together that don’t fit, but i’m always like :( shoot. maybe i need to be more active on here to rlly connect w these other writers/users, but then im back in that weird stress cycle of ‘omg u need to post daily or else blah blah blah!’ like woah. chill. (but there are other times when i get this weird feeling that maybe im not welcome? i have genuinely no clue where it comes from)

i know it’s like,, ok, u feel bad on here, so just leave instead of complaining?? but i still have so much love for this community of writers and readers and i still am attached to my blog. maybe ill just dip for a bit. i don’t know. i’ve also just gotten so busy with stuff irl; planning for a big overseas vacation in october and a concert at the end of sept and whatnot

but yeah. maybe im just reading too much into everything and all of this is just a mess of my own brain ! that’s probably what it is but wow i feel so sad when im on here sometimes. maybe that’s just how i feel in general from time to time though and being a ‘writer’ on here only exemplifies those feelings. i don’t know ! ! !

i think it’s just really hard to feel like your work is ever good enough.

at the end of the day, i’m just trying to get my feelings out:,,) i think im just attributing too much of my own worth to how well i keep up with this blog. which is not. good. it really isn’t that big of a deal lmao

just venting

[fabulouspotatosister]

goodnight, sweet angel

the doctor comes over for a surprise sleepover.

word count: 2,069 (nice.)

a/n: i know i'm kind of on a bit of a writing hiatus right now, but i was having a good day and was feeling particularly inspired by my lovely friends on discord (especially @iced-tea-possibly, hi bestie), so have this short unedited thing! honestly this is just a 13 version of that one 11 fic i wrote but i hope you enjoy!

The Doctor usually had your little routine down to a science - she'd take you on a fun adventure, have maybe one or two near-death experiences, and then drop you back on Earth for a couple of days to wind down and relax before she did the whole thing over again. It took a few tries, but eventually the Doctor would show up at your door like clockwork, always politely knocking on the door and waiting for you with a smile as bright as every star in the universe beaming on her face. And you, the lovelorn fool that you are, could never say no to that smile.

But the Doctor hadn't been back in weeks. Two weeks and five days, to be exact, but you weren't exactly counting. No, you were most definitely not marking days off of your calendar like the protagonist of a coming-of-age movie.

You'd spent the past two weeks and five days trying to distract yourself - going to work, reading books, watching movies, anything that kept your mind busy so that it wouldn't jump to conclusions at every possible chance it got. And since the Doctor's M.O was getting into trouble, it had a lot of opportunities.

Doing the dishes, however, wasn't exactly the most riveting activity.

You didn't even have that many dishes to do. Just a few plates, a bowl, and some utensils. You'd been absentmindedly scrubbing at one bowl (a surprisingly ornate souvenir that the Doctor had brought back and that you had just used for instant noodles) for about five, ten minutes now? The bowl shone underneath the dim fluorescent lights of your house, already squeaky clean, and you were still picking at a spot of dirt that probably wasn't there at all.

You groaned. What was the point of worrying, anyway? The Doctor was probably fine, and she probably just lost track of time - but there was that word again, probably. It meant a world of infinite possibilities, and there was sure to be a portion of those possibilities that were not good at all.

Stupid. You picked up the bowl again and dunked it into the water below. The intricate carvings disappeared under a sea of soap bubbles. You're just thinking like that because you like -

A loud rattling noise cut off your pessimistic train of thought. Your phone was ringing, vibrating against the tile of the countertop.

You stared at it for a minute. Two. Then you looked at the clock that hung on your wall. A quarter to midnight. If you ignored the absurdity of you doing your dishes at this time, who in their right mind would be calling you at this hour?

You picked up your phone with soapy hands and tucked it in between your shoulder and ear. "Hello?"

"Hiya!" came the Doctor's cheery voice through the receiver. "I'm in a bit of a pickle."

Unfortunately, with the Doctor, "in a bit of a pickle" could mean absolutely anything. It was more like a sliding scale, really, with "tore open my coat" on one end and "the universe is literally imploding" on the other. The definition varied wildly every time. But it was good to hear her voice, and you let a smile slip onto your face. Phone still balancing precariously, you picked up the alien souvenir bowl and started rinsing it under the tap. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing too serious," she said, which was another misleading statement she liked to bring up whenever things were indeed too serious. "Well, could be, but it's best not to dwell on it. I've lost my TARDIS."

The bowl slipped from your hand and landed with a loud noise into the soapy water below. So much for that one. "I'm sorry?"

"It's not as bad as you think!" the Doctor said quickly. "It's kind of the other way around. So correction: the TARDIS lost me. I'm a little bit stranded."

"A little bit stranded?" You tried to keep the bite out of your voice, but you swore you could hear the Doctor wince on the other end of the line. If the TARDIS really had chosen violence and stranded the Doctor somewhere, there was no telling where or when she'd been spat out. "Where are you right now? Hold that thought. When are you?"

"Um -" The Doctor paused for a moment. "Where you are, I think. Give me five minutes?"

Before you could open your mouth to ask any more questions, the line went dead. Five minutes?

A minute had barely passed before the sound of knocking filled the air. Still shellshocked, and honestly a little nervous, you wiped your wet hands in the front of your pants and made your way to your door.

You opened it slowly, peeking out of the gap. "...Hi."

"Hi," the Doctor said, with that same bright smile of hers that just loved to make your heart do roundabouts in your chest. "Sorry for the late notice. Were you busy?"

Busy trying not to think about you, thanks. "No, I was just, uh -" you opened the door wider and jerked your thumb backwards, gesturing at the dishes still in your sink, "doing the dishes. Don't ask."

She didn't. With the knowledge that the Doctor was most definitely safe, you let your mind wander. She stood there, hands in her pockets, the scattered light of the streetlamps behind her giving her what looked like a halo around her golden hair.

"Do you want to come in?" you asked.

"Can I come in?" she asked, at the exact same time.

You stared at each other for a moment. Another smile, even brighter this time, spread across her face. The cold wind of the night was blowing outside but it could have been the sunrise right then and there.

Okay, that's enough yearning for one night, you chided yourself.

"I assume that's a yes, then?" the Doctor said. She carefully stepped inside, walking past you while you closed the door behind her.

Now, travelling with the Doctor had changed how you saw the world, for better or for worse. Solving mysteries and saving worlds does tend to sharpen the mind somewhat, and when the Doctor walked past you, you could hear it - an almost imperceptible catch in her breath, like she was struggling to breathe.

"Doctor," you called, "you okay?"

"Hmm? Peachy keen," the Doctor replied, spinning around to face you. She wobbled, clearly not peachy keen, then caught herself on the arm of your sofa. "I'm fine."

Her hands were gripping at the fabric of your sofa so hard you were sure she was going to rip holes into it. You took a careful step forward, frowning. "Doctor," you said, trying to keep your voice as level as you possibly could, "be honest with me."

The Doctor squeezed her eyes shut. "I am being honest with you," she ground out. Something twisted in your chest - anger and worry but predominantly worry - and you finally, finally reached out, laying your hands gently on her shoulders. Her eyes - oh, her eyes - shot open. She stared at you, her eyes wide with an emotion you couldn't place. Underneath your hands, she was trembling.

"You're alright," you murmured. "What's going on?"

The Doctor laughed, but it was thin and shaky. "I'm the farthest thing from alright. I'm-"

Her grip on the sofa slackened and she pitched forward. You yelped, quickly wrapping your arms around her so that she wouldn't fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes, even though she was significantly heavier than one.

"Tired," the Doctor mumbled into your collarbone, fully resting her entire weight onto you. Her slow breaths puffed against your skin, and you craned your head away, trying to make sure she wouldn't feel your entire face heating up with the strength of an entire regeneration.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" you asked. It took a second before the Doctor simply shook her head no, her hair brushing against your face with every movement. "You're tired?" A nod. "D'you wanna get some rest?"

"Time Lords don't need sleep," she said, burying her face even further into the crook of your neck. Oh, she could definitely feel your skin warming up now. "The disadvantages of biological batteries. Just give me half an hour and I'll be…on my feet again."

You ignored the whole biological batteries thing, saving that question for when the Doctor was a little more lucid and you weren't freaking out. "You are not going to be on your feet in half an hour because I'm putting you to bed," you said, a surge of confidence running through you. She needed you. You had to be there for her. "Okay?"

The Doctor, who usually bounced off the walls and talked a million miles an hour, simply hummed an affirmative and went absolutely pliant in your arms.

After a few minutes of hauling a Lord-knows-how-many kilogram alien into your bedroom, you set the Doctor down on your bed. Her head lolled against your favorite pillow, eyes closed as you continued to tuck her in.

Oh. Oh. She was in your bed. The last of the Time Lords, the Oncoming Storm, the Predator of the Daleks, was peacefully sleeping in your bed. You desperately tried to ignore the sudden wave of yearning thoughts that roared into life in your mind, threatening to drown every other coherent thought in your brain, because you needed your brain to function, thank you very much.

Slowly, you sat down on the bed next to her. It was strange seeing the Doctor so calm. Usually, it was terrifying to see her go still, whether in anger or in sorrow, but now - she was just resting. It might have been stranger than anything you'd ever seen on your travels. You'd been through different extraordinary  scenarios with her, but somehow the most mundane one - the Doctor dozing off in your bed - was the most magical.

You let a thumb stroke her cheek. She barely moved, but you could see the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

You were so caught up in staring at her peaceful face like a yearning idiot that you didn't catch what she had whispered. "Huh?"

"C'mere," the Doctor muttered, arms flopping against the bed and beckoning you closer.

You shook your head, smiling fondly at her. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't do that. "You need to sleep."

"No," the Doctor said, "I need you."

Maybe that was just her tired Time Lord brain talking. She would never - and had never - said anything like that to you ever, and it made you wonder if she had been lying to you when you asked whether she was hurt or not. But there she was, lying in your bed, her arms open because she wanted you there.

It felt like a dream. It probably was. 

You lay down beside her, grimacing as your back hit the bedsheets. Turning your head to the side, you looked at her for another moment. 

You shifted, inching closer and closer to her, and then you stopped, your shoulders just shy of touching. You couldn't.

You hesitated, and the Doctor made a small plaintive noise. 

That settled it.

You bundled the Doctor into your arms, letting her settle onto you. Every curve of her body slot neatly against yours, like she was always meant to be there. She snuggled closer and buried her face into the crook of your neck again. Seemingly content with her new position, she sighed, lazily pressing her lips to your collarbone. "Thank you," she whispered.

Your heart probably stopped beating. You waited for her to take it back, say that she was joking. She did no such thing, and instead kissed your collarbone again, slower, letting her lips linger on your heated skin. 

As if your mind was on autopilot, you lifted your hands to the Doctor's head, letting your hands card through her hair. If it was even possible, she relaxed even more, completely melting into your touch. 

"No need to thank me," you said, when your voice returned to you. "I'm always here when you need me."

Just a few moments later, the soft sound of wheezing and groaning echoed throughout the quiet moonlit streets. The TARDIS slowly materialized near your front door, the blue box standing proudly outside your house.

She'd never played matchmaker before. Mission accomplished, then.