#long-song

[dreamhued]

" i don't want anything to change. " ... @long-song, as the eleventh doctor.

history is the study of change. a primordial facet of life, that remains unmovable. in the shelves of abel's mind, ingrained to the core of her existence, a line rings true: change is never painful. only resistance to change is painful. (stretch your hands to the corners of the earth and you'll find, it never stops moving. try to still a moving train, and it will run you down. people, places, and things never last— permanency, no matter how desperately clung onto, is a misconception. a myth, that never stops growing. the truth, abel thinks, is that you can only take it as it comes. and when it leaves, a part of you will leave, too.) so, the doctor is in, but his heartache is a fracture even a cast can't cure. his feet chase down timelines, horizon lines, crossing-lines, or boundaries, or places he won't walk. he's a moon-man who has witnessed too many eclipses; a space-traveller, with a sunk-cost fallacy. he's got beginnings beckoning at his fingertips, an ending echoing through his skull, and abel arden has found herself the liminal space between it all. if she put any thought into luck, she might call it a four-leaf clover kind of day.

or, since she's abel, she'll simply call it tuesday. "why not?" star-speckled eyes keep their gaze fixated to a plant. a spray of water mists over the leaves, and a soft poke bounces one up and down. "change is important." a glance is swung his way, paired with a crescent moon grin rounding at her cheek. "if it wasn't for change, plants wouldn't exist." her posture straightens from its place, tap shoes tip-tip-tipping across the flooring of her apartment. the spray bottle sets down beside a cup of tea, exchanged out in an instant to lift to her lips. a slow sip, as her stare watches liquid sink down the ceramic. she lifts her head once more. "and if plants didn't exist, people wouldn't exist, and if people didn't exist, then i wouldn't exist." the cup clinks back down to the counter. "but poison oak exists." a scrunch of her nose. "so, maybe that makes change bad, too." a finger dances around the rim of the cup absentmindedly, a soft pop of her mouth filling the silence for a brief moment. "or, it makes it like sour candy." lips pucker in imitation, and then relax. "yuck, and yum."

[allthatwas]

(sc).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎being in the tardis again felt nearly wrong,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but nearly right at the same time‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(she can't put her finger on which one was more poignant,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎which one was irking her more–‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎was it worse off ot be happy to see him again,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎or worse off to be upset?).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the colors were slightly different,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but uncannily close to how it was before:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she hadn't even known the machine could change––‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it makes sense when she thinks about it,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎brown eyes moving lazily across every new corner‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(but she's had over two hundred years to think about it,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it never once crossed her mind).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it leaves her questioning,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎however,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎what more did @long-song never mention?‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎what more is she's meant to figure out on her own through accidents in time?

"i like amy."‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she speaks with a slight discomfort in her tone,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎spitting out into the silence that lay beyond the flipping of switches‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎pressing of buttons.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"she's nice.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎her husband too."‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎hands stuff in her pockets‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she notices she's looking at his hairline,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the corner of his jaw,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎anywhere but his eyes.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"feels like i stepped into some kinda' buddy sitcom...‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎from the two-thousand-tens or somethin'."‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she spits out an uncomfortable laugh,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎turning her gaze then down to her shoe,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎pressing a bit too hard into the floor of the tardis to try‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎feel grounded‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎it almost feels like the machine is pressing back,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎holding her hand as best she can,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ to get her through the discomfort,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the guilt she feels:‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎how terrible is it to be seen again).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"its good."

[carbondated]

 ❝ ——You know I can't divulge something like that Doctor. Your rules, remember? ❞ That tell-tale smirk, a flash of mischief in those blue-green eyes, her famous catchphrase was only a second away. ❝ Oh, that's right, that hasn't happened for you yet either. Spoilers! ❞

@long-song / accepting.

[redsfur]

@long-song ... sc ,

“ hell   is   just   a   word   …   reality   is   much   worse. ”

[churchfoundling]

“  you’re being awfully quiet.  ”

@long-song / inbox clearout.

❛ i'm covered in gross goo! ❜ her reply comes out almost instantly once the doctor speaks, hands shaking in an attempt to get whatever this stuff is off. it's not working and she can feel it going down her back. ❛ when can we get back to the TARDIS so i can get this off? now, please? ❜

[maydette]

gangs rolled in and out of phantom with ease (they drifted in on winds that cooled the heat - burn of annabelle's flesh, then left when the whiskey was dry and the citizens' pockets were empty). now, she wasn't speaking bad about all outlaws. some of 'em were downright charming. but there was a certain type who happened to swagger in like they owned the damn place : it made sally's hair stand on edge, so it naturally upset the rest of the girls, too. billy crooper and his men were the same such type that really grinded annabelle's gears (right now, they were lounging in the corner, playing cards real loud, like they wanted everyone to see 'em-- most of the place had cleared out when they stumbled in, though). they were the type of guys who looked like hell and smelled like death. even idiots who hadn't heard of 'em before knew when to run.

she doesn't see what happens over her shoulder. stupid mistake, turning her back on a pack of wolves. there's shuffling, the sound of a chair hitting the ground, the click of a gun slotting itself into place. in a flash, sally's over the bar and dealing with something, and annabelle's eyes are drifting towards the new man that's entered (dressed real fancy like, though his hat definitely looked too clean for him to be a real threat-- the familiarity of his face strikes her too late). didn't seem to matter to billy that the guy looked like a kicked puppy, though, considering he had his pistol pressed against the man's head. ' woah! ' annabelle laughed, merry from fear. she closed the gap between her and the two men, laying her hand on the doctor's elbow. ' we're all friends here, billy. why you gotta be making such a big scene for? ' billy's teeth clenched, eloquence in every word : fuck off, belle, this is between us. @long-song

[b4didea]

[  ruffle  ]  sender  ruffles  receiver's  hair

nose  scrunches  at  the  disheveled  hair  ,  “  hey!  easy!  "  she  squeals  ,  hands  fidgeting  with  her  hair  to  put  it  back  in  an  orderly  state  &  out  of  her  eyes  most  importantly.  "  what  was  that  for?  "  asks  ,  shoulder  brushing  his  as  she  steps  past  @long-song  &  towards  the  tardis  console.  eyes  scan  the  abundance  of  controls  before  looking  back  to  him. 

"  and  where  to  today?  "

[yes7erdays]

i cannot believe i just said that out loud.

❛⠀ the guy upstairs really forgot to install that chip in you, ⠀ ❜ ⠀ she says, blending an old saying of her mother's whenever she misbehaved ( when he was creating you, god forgot to gift you with common sense, my darling ) with some words she picked up on their trip to the 21st century, not a stitch of doubt in her tone. if she is using it wrong, well... then maybe she is creating a new expression. the doctor was always boasting about doing that, couldn't she sprinkle a bit of her own sugar and spice into the universe?

❛⠀ hmmm, what are we to do? and don't even think about breaking out that ugly fella of yours. ⠀ ❜ ⠀ hands resting on her hips, clara tapped her feet to the ground, eyes playful and bright. ⠀ ❛⠀ one date was enough, thank you. ⠀ ❜

[catmask]

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[ionomycin]

Maiden of Light

[oof-i-did-it-agaaiiin]

Beautiful from Ordinary Days

[jeliwyre]

i slithered here from eden, just to hide outside your door

[lorehappy83]

"Grant me your wrath, my dear. For I've become unworthy of your forgiveness"

[letraspal]

And you said I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it.

[beesinmymoth]

Forgive me, lord, for I have sinned

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started