#i would joke that adventure time's super ridiculous and silly voice saying silly thing equal comedy anyway heres a heartbreakingly dark ep

[urproblematicfav-arsonk]

Anthony helped write Fionna and Cake?????????? Oh my god????

[xenteaart]

Design Flaw

Summary: “Today wasn't a good day. Your body was betraying you and you couldn't feel more useless and weak, especially knowing how annoyed the Master would always get at the inconvenience that human biology tended to cause.”

Pairing: Dhawan!Master x Reader

TW: Descriptions of pain ??? but nothing graphic, it’s basically pure fluff 

GIF: @moon-in-daylight (i think?? correct me if i’m wrong)

Note: Okay so this is my first ever fic and it’s pretty personal as well because i’ve been struggling with health and feeling powerless for a while now and I can’t really find any fics regarding that so I decided to write one myself lmao. Also English isn’t my first language so be gentle ( but also feel free to give any feedback coz I wanna improoove). Hope u enjoy!  Big big thanks to @queerconfusionthings and @ambientstars for being my betas I love you <3

The TARDIS lights went from familiar but mildly aggressive crimson to a warm orange which made it feel a little more welcoming than usual. You had a pretty good relationship with the ship all things considered - she would always lead you to the rooms you needed most and sometimes even hide you away from the Master if you needed some time to be on your own. She knew you were thankful for her looking after you, this time being no exception. Yes, she, because you could never call the TARDIS it after all she'd done for you. A rather weird dynamic to have, especially with something seemingly inanimate.

Today wasn't a good day. Your body was betraying you and you couldn't feel more useless and weak, especially knowing how annoyed the Master would always get at the inconvenience that human biology tended to cause. Travelling with him made you realize that he was, in fact, right, and a human body was way too flawed not to be some kind of cruel joke of a creation. Sometimes you wondered how you humans even made it to 70-80 years old, your lives so ridiculously fragile.

“Go away,” you said moodily, curled up on the sofa in the console room, that exact sofa you had made the Master put there since after days spent on trips and adventures you often couldn't even make it to your bedroom.

You were feeling so ill, your thinking process so heavily disrupted by pain and discomfort, you didn't even think twice about what being rude to the Master could result in. Honestly, you didn't even care and right now you would gladly take some verbal abuse because you felt like you deserved it. Sure, you didn't choose to be born human with a chronic illness but it still felt like a failure on your part. 

“Watch your tone, love, I might be tolerating it for now but don't you ever think it became acceptable,” he replied, his voice harsh but his facial expression so much softer. He knelt beside the sofa as he looked over you, assessing the damage and rolling up his sleeves while rather loudly thinking about something. You knew his thinking face all too well.

Sure, he could take you to the most advanced hospital in the universe but at the end of the day - they couldn't "fix" you exactly. There was medication to relieve the symptoms but they couldn't really change your way of being completely, so you were now stuck on the TARDIS with another flare-up, trying to breathe through the pain and waiting for your meds to kick in. You used to think that advanced medicine would allow you to swallow one pill and all of your problems would disappear at the snap of your fingers, but in reality, it was a lot more boring and disappointing. The wonderfulness of new medication was merely the fact that the risk of side effects was close to zero. But it was still no magic pill to suddenly turn you into a super human.

“Why wasn't I born a TimeLord,” you moaned, closing your eyes shut as another wave of abdominal cramps and nausea washed over you. You couldn't even tell what was hurting at this point - you felt like one big miserable mess of ache and fatigue.

The Master looked at you suspiciously.

“What, you think TimeLords can't get sick?” he chuckled quietly as if you were amusing him but you could sense he was just trying to distract you. 

“I got this Aaxogon plague once, knocked me out for a few months. Nasty stuff, blocks our ability to regenerate so we have to actually live through the whole thing until it fades away,” he continued, so obviously attempting to get yourself out of your head.

“Yeah but not like that,” you replied, interrupting him mid-sentence, your tone giving away your growing anger and frustration, “you don't get sick like that. Besides, you get to live longer, see more, learn more... And, please, don't tell me it's a curse as much as it's a gift, I'm aware of that and I still wish I could have it.”

He went silent for a whole minute, genuinely surprised at the way you saw things. 

Most humans he'd encountered were a lot more proud of their nature, taking actual offense of his degrading comments regarding the human race. You didn't. You agreed with them, simply acknowledging the facts. It wasn't personal, it was basically science, and you were an inferior being.

“Don't compare us, dear,” he finally uttered, gently covering your hand with his own and bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing over them lightly. 

The Master's beard scratched against your skin, making it slightly irritated, but it was nice to feel something other than what you were feeling, your senses overwhelmed with your body's misbehavior.

“I don't think any less of you. It is quite infuriating how dependent you all are on food and sleep and, in your case, more rest and medication, and I do think it's a huge design flaw but I took you in for your mind, not for your body.” 

You were grateful he wasn't trying to make you feel better by lying and sugar-coating things. Not that he would ever do that for you anyways, it just wasn't him. A weak smile painted over your features.

“Now be a good girl for me and have some sleep, will you?” he added, his voice noticeably deeper and lower. Oh, you knew what he was doing. He was proving you were still desirable despite your vulnerability. Something in your chest sank, your heart probably. Ouch.

He caressed your jawline with the tips of his fingers as he contemplated whether to move up to your temples, and you were quick enough to notice his hesitation.

“A-uh, I have to give my consent first, remember? Rule number 4,” you said, a tiny bit smug and playful.

“Always so good at remembering rules, are we?” he replied with an equally obnoxious and mischievous grin. You gave him no answer and stared into his eyes, his chocolate-y orbs shamelessly mesmerizing you into obedience. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, or maybe you just wanted to think it was your excuse this time.

“Yeah, okay, fine, do the thing, I consent,” you rolled your eyes and winced very soon after, gritting your teeth at another flash of pain, “but promise you're gonna be here when I wake up.”

“Promise.”

Something wet and warm landed on your cheek and you realized he was kissing you goodnight. The familiar feeling of his mind against yours was slowly taking over and you gave in willingly, allowing him to envelope you with his burning but caring consciousness.

“Being a TimeLord is not as great as it might seem. Especially when you’re the last of them,” he whispered as his telepathy was gently putting you to sleep. 

You were already drifting away when you heard him, and with an enormous amount of effort you managed to wrap your hand around his index finger, that being a wordless gesture of support and empathy. The Master knew you would say something if you weren’t already passing out, and looked at your now childishly intertwined hands with a hint of amusement and gratitude.  

“My silly human” - echoed in your mind before you completely let go of your consciousness.

[dearyallfrommatt]

I’d be off like a shot.

I love Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. Genuinely, like I love banana pudding & cat-head biscuits. I have to sometimes physically restrain myself from reading, watching or listening to it again. I am rarely successful.

 I have owned some copy or another of the books since I was 12, which means going on 33 years. Someone made me copies of all the recently (ish) released audio dramas, from HHGTTG to Mostly Harmless which are different from the original radio broadcast as well as the LPs released in the ‘80s. I have digital copies of the BBC TV show from the ‘80s and own a copy of the audio transcripts. Somewhere I have copies of the three-issue comic book DC put out in the early ‘90s. Here’s a link to the fiendishly hard computer game that was stupid hard back in the days before bigger nerds had the internet to you how not to suck at fiendishly hard video games.

 I’m not kidding, that thing’s a booger. It’s a text-based game that follows Adams’ squirrelly sense of logic and humor. Furthermore, if you’re very well versed in HHGTTG lore and, especially, the book, it’ll screw with your head. I’d say pound-for-pound the hardest free computer game.

 The 2005 movie was... okay. I’ve never seen anything else Garth Jennings has directed nor, to cut the bull, can I with certainty tell you what makes for a good director and what doesn’t make for a good director. I just know it didn’t work on me. And, yes, I understand the concessions made in getting Hollywood to make the damn thing - like the romance subplot that doesn’t exist in other formats because that’s the joke - and I understand the changes in aesthetics that a modern movie required. I read somewhere that almost every glaring change in the movie - i.e., the romantic subplot - was done by Douglas Adams. The emphasis on the Ultimate Question, the Point-Of-View Gun gag that fell flat, that whole business with John Malkovich, all that was done by Adams.

 So it didn’t fly with me, others enjoyed it, and on the whole, I don’t find it a disgrace like, say, Blues Brothers 2000 or how all these sad bastards claim the new Star Wars movies do them. By itself and on it’s own, it’s a perfectly fine movie, whereas Blues Brothers 2000 just sucks out loud.

 Everyone was fine. I’ve grown to tire of Martin Freeman since, which is nobody’s fault but mine. And while I appreciate that Arthur Dent being the last person that should be travelling the Galaxy in search of excitement and adventure and really wild things is part of the joke, but he was a bit much. Mos Def was fine, Sam Rockwell was okay. Zoey Daschanel was adequate. Alan Rickman gave Marvin the best voice since Steve Moore. Along with Stephen Fry as The Book, the only ones that equaled the radio originals.

 I’m probably one of the few fanboys who are less concerned with/entertained by the whole concept of The Ultimate Question than I am by how Probability or, for that matter, Improbability affects sentient beings. We move freely in three dimensions and in one direction in the fourth. However, the fifth dimension, Probability, moves around us and is beyond our control. It’s beyond anyone’s control. We’re constantly caught up in it and can’t get free.

 That sort of outlook - plus a healthy dose of Marvel Comics - definitely influenced my future scientific interests. Don’t get it twisted, I do not have sufficient Latin to speak with authority on these matters and I could totally be getting it confused with fiction or, indeed, my own imagination.

 Like String Theory. Depending on how you approach it, String Theory says there are at least 10 dimensions, all curled up into each other once you get past spacetime. Best I can tell, this is more a mathematical tool than something that could be considered a perfect representation of reality. Like the Holographic Principle or Loop Quantum Gravity, physicists use these as mathematical paths to try to figure out how to combine the Standard Model and Quantum Mechanics to where it makes sense. Otherwise, it’s dividing by Zero.

 And again, it’s fun to think about. Since Many-Worlds Theory is gaining another look as of late, if Sean Carroll’s to be believed, it fits in with that, as well. But actually, it fits with the Copenhagen Interpretation as well, since Probability figures in to something not really existing until it’s observed and what that suggests on a philosophical level.

 MWT is even more fun, since it argues that what it could have been before observation still exists anyway, just in a different dimension or universe or however in the hell they figure that works. It’s all a matter of Perception or, indeed, Probability that determines what “exists”. While it’s entirely possible I am completely misunderstanding modern arguments, all that “existence” is happening all the time. The Matrix, Maya, all that stuff is real. And not real. Or whatever.

 The Ultimate Question does have its charm, don’t get me wrong, but I think the rest of the joke sort of gives the answer. Forty-two, that’s the Answer. That’s the joke. The Answer’s silly because the Question is meaningless. Life, The Universe and Everything just is.

 It’s molded other aspects of my personality and beliefs, as well. An absurdist, borderline nihilist view of existence. The never-ending search for a good laugh in the face of all that’s absurd and nihilistic. The idea that there’s no one, really, in control of it All and, indeed, if there actually is, they’re if not incompetent and silly, they’re beyond comprehension. A galaxy and existence that’s more ridiculous than I can even imagine and simply beyond my ability to wrap my head around it. The emphasis on having fun and dealing with the moment because the future is malleable and the past is unreliable. The bizarre cruelty of life that is nevertheless extremely funny at times. And what the hell, might as well enjoy yourself because no one will do it for you.

 Plus it’s colored my tastes in science fiction, particularly stuff that takes place IN SPACE. I have no truck with Star Trek’s order. The galaxy is an unruly, anarchic place and anyone who tries to put it in a a proper manifest is pissin’ in the wind. The Vogons ring more true than the Federation ever has. The guy just trying to get from point A to point B is more interesting than a Chosen Hero any day of the week.

 Furthermore, since I read that first book back in 1987, I’ve longed for an actual Hitchhiker’s Guide. I forget what it was called, but when a dictionary-slash-encyclopedia cartridge came out for the GameBoy, I searched desperately for one. I’m not even sure it was released. Apparently you can do something similar with a 3DS but I don’t know.

 I put off getting a cell phone for the longest time, but even the burner flip phone I had was like finding out Spider-Man was real. And a smartphone? Get out, son, I have a Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Earth and you can’t tell me otherwise. Why we as a culture don’t appreciate that we’re all carrying super computers in our pocket and what all that allows, and instead use it take pictures of our food and insult each on Twitter depresses me to no end.

 That’s too bad, really, ‘cause I have a Hitchhiker’s Guide, buddy. The Big Trip proved that, as I would plan my days through whatever I was able to find whenever I stopped and looked it up on my smart phone. It gave me direction and answered my questions. Once or twice, it kept me from panicking. Plus, it played music.

 And if someone made a Guide for the Galaxy, I would be off like a shot. I might leave Momma a note, but the rest I wouldn’t even look back. And I’d definitely love to be a roving researcher for them so, you know, give me a call.