#doctor night terrors

[doctor-amazing]

Mycology

I'm getting a bit twitchy. It's night, or morning, or whatever you'd like to call it. I'd figure out what to call it, myself, except for the fact that my phone's long dead and I can't seem to keep my sense of direction about me.

It's no help that the moon's not out, or the clouds are thick, or maybe I'm just seeing things again.

I think I breathed some of it in back there. That'd explain it. That'd explain a lot, actually.

It was fun, at first— the spelunking, that is. It's one of those things that always sounds intimidating, and awful, but with the right company, anything's a great time. I had my best friend with me, and we'd parked a loooong way down the road from a famous cave that'd been cordoned off.

Supposedly, there were some sort of bioluminescent fungi that lived in the caverns, and they were being studied for some fancy glow-in-the-dark dye.

I need to sit down for a moment. Catch my breath. Telling this story is exhausting, yet I haven't said a word.

The fungi did glow well enough, in any case. We'd passed through the scientific base camp at the mouth— mostly abandoned, since apparently the company was waiting for a grant to finish their work, and that was our opportunity to get into the cave before security came back when there was more to guard.

The only signs of the occupation were two empty tents left standing, and a rack just inside the cave with a few full-body hazmat suits.

It's getting a little hard to move through the forest, now. Half of it's the wood getting thicker, but the other seems to be some sort of fatigue I can feel deep in my lungs. I'm having to huff a few raspy, staccato breaths for every one I'd have to take normally. I'd be more worried about it, but it's been a few hours of walking, so maybe it's just the dust kicking up.

The cave itself wasn't terribly hard to navigate by the light from our phones, and there weren't any crazy drops of tight turns, as luck would have it. We saw rope left haphazardly strewn around some junctions, where perhaps they had seen fit to map elsewhere, but had given up nonetheless.

Eventually, there was a sort of blue glow ahead— at my own insistence, my friend and I both snapped off our flashlights, and we let our eyes adjust to the light of the plant life ahead. Actually, can you even call a mushroom alive?

Turns out, it's not just the dust. I was right about breathing it in, after all. Do you want to know how I know I'm right?

I can feel it.

It's pulsating in my veins. Throbbing. Reaching. Waiting.

It's not patient, and it knows that it's already won the game that was afoot. The one I had no idea I was playing.

The reward for it is a sickening crack that reverberates throughout my body, and after a moment of excruciating pain, one of my arms goes entirely limp. My scream breaks the silence of the woods, but after the moment has passed, I realize my arm is completely numb except for some sort of lingering pinpricks and soreness.

A phantom pain, of sorts.

For a second, it looked like my friend had kicked up a helluva dust cloud from the stone floor, but then the coughing began.

My eyes watered, and I couldn't stop from blinking over and over and over again in a futile effort to get whatever the hell was in the air out of them. I stumbled, ran, and got a few nicks and scratches from whichever walls I got snagged on.

Eventually, enough distance had passed, and with one foot in front of another, I made it near the entrance, in one of the side passages. I looked around, called my friend's name, and then noticed something was off— a flashlight beam pointed at the ceiling, from the bottom of a drop.

I wanted to fucking vomit on the spot.

My eardrums feel like they're splitting apart, but the woods are as silent as ever. I can hear it— them, thrumming inside of me.

It's running through my bones, tearing through my flesh, making a home in my marrow and crevices.

I've scratched my arm to bloody ribbons. I can't tell if the itch is in my fingernails, or the mess it's made.

I figure I must be losing it on several fronts. The thrum of the thing inside of me is unbearable, and it makes me want to rip my ears off and grind the stumps of cartilage on my cranium into paste.

The... rot.

It's screaming at me.

The message, I still can't discern.

There's a pressure somewhere on my back, near my shoulder. It's hard to pinpoint where, but it's getting worse. Almost painful.

I'm still heading through the woods, but my prospects aren't good— I haven't seen the trail in hours, and it's not getting any lighter.

Looking over the cliff, my friend's body was splayed out like a ragdoll at the very bottom. I'd never seen that much blood in my entire life, and the stone piercing his skull glittered crimson in the light of his phone.

I stepped back.

Then took another step.

Then another.

I couldn't stop running, rushing past piles of rope, rushing past the hazmat racks, rushing past the tents, and into the brush beyond.

There wasn't an ounce of sense to my flight, and I lost track of the path immediately in the state I was in. At some point, I tripped, yelling in surprise, and slammed my outstretched hand into a stone on the forest's floor. My phone came up spiderwebbed with cracks.

Somehow, the humming has lightened up. Or maybe I'm adjusting, or maybe I'm beginning to understand it a little. There's a rhythm to it, as horrific as the wailing is, but it permeates my body, and I'm absorbing it with every second.

Exposure therapy.

I have something extra, now, to make up for this swollen, useless mess of an arm. Just above the shoulder blade, there's... something. It's new. Alien. I can't express what it's like to have something like that where it shouldn't be.

I can't tell if I'm horrified or pleased.

My other arm seems to have a mind of its own, too. A few times, it's swung at nothing, and the feeling is beginning to fade in a way that's entirely unlike the first. It's... slow, and patchy. Sometimes I can feel it, and sometimes I can't.

If I don't focus on keeping it still, it gets numb and starts to work on it's own accord. Like having your eyes pulled somewhere else every second.

I stop, breathless, and vomit something dark and red onto the forest floor. Something chunky. My breaths come ragged, and I come to the slow realization I don't know where I am.

My mind is everywhere, but I manage to keep my head up and keep moving. Any direction is better than here, so I'll start walking.

I'm twitching a lot, now. It's hard to see, but maybe it's just dark. It hurts, but it says it'll stop soon. It says we're close, that it can see the lights. Lights. Home. Food. I can hardly move by myself. The new growth is unfamiliar, so it helps me move sometimes. It says that it'd be better if I just let it lead for a little while, so I can sleep. Rest. It says that when I wake up again, it'll have found some food. That sounds nice.

I'm very hungry, after all.

I think I'll let it handle the rest.

[doctor-amazing]

oooooooh woooooooah and when the ghost sounds subsided the TEETH BEAST revealed itself in the procession as the TENTH DENTIST,. THE PHANTOM CRENTIST!!!

he opened his mouth... (tooths) and CRUNCHED THEM ALL!

The 10 sit around the table in horror as the final decision is revealed. Their stomachs sink as they all remember the last time the entire Guild of Dentists were in agreement.

[notyoujamie]

My children. My screams. I could not save you, little ones. Such pain. And yet, still, still I am not brave enough to die, to let go of this wretched life. I will endure, but no more babies. I cannot, will not, suffer such heartbreak again. From now on, it's me against the world.

[armor-of-the-night]

Art by Lucas Garcete (2000 - 2024)

[evviejo]

thirteen's era appreciation: 337/?

[asliceofchopstickpizza]

Doctor Who episode release dates always screw with my sense of time, what do you mean The Husbands Of River Song came out NINE YEARS AGO-

[badwolfwriter]

Ok but can you imagine:

The doctor always sleeps in the tardis. Of course he does, that’s his home. But one night he and Donna are having so much fun on the couch and they kinda just… drift off together. Shaun smiles and drapes a blanket over them as he heads to bed.

But how well does the doctor sleep? Does he actually? Or does Donna wake in the night to him thrashing and crying and whimpering and shouting, begging for friends long gone and battles long lost, hands clutching at thin air and body curling into the fetal? Does she wake him, right as the rest of the family, also woken by the noise, starts to stagger sleepily and confusedly down the stairs? Only to be greeted with the site of the doctor, hair ruffled from sleep, sobbing in Donna’s arms.

And of course the doctor tries to leave. “I’m fine,” he’ll say, and try to slink away to the tardis. He plans to nip off to some planet for a few days, until he can bear to look them all in the eyes again. But they don’t let him. He’s piled with blankets, and tea, and is told by Donna to sit his scrawny ass back down and tell her what he dreamt of. And maybe he does. Maybe he just sits, feeling the comforting pressure of his family hugging him from all sides. Rose is grabbing a stuffed toy she’s been working on just for him from the shed- and you know the doctor loves it. Donna and Shaun on either side, with even Sylvia there. She’s carding her fingers through his hair, cos her daughter and granddaughter both love that, so why wouldn’t this new child of hers as well? And so the doctor sits, and breathes. And drinks his tea, until his limbs stop shaking and his lip stops quivering. But later he’ll talk about it. And eventually, he’ll stop always sleeping in the tardis. Cos he trusts that he can be seen, and loved, and cared for by his family.

[doctormastertardis]

"Night Terrors" is an excellent and well-written example of an episode that touches on:

adoption reveal

alien using perception filter to cloak himself

"The Empire of Death Shit" is a crap example of the same theme and plot device.

[dandelionjack]

tfw you really wanna tell that to the emotionally distant mad scientist genius inventor you spend most of your time with but she’s not around so you have to find the next best option

[doctor-amazing]

paradoilia

I had a dream recently. I was staring out a window, just about the same as I'm doing now, and as I was staring, the darkness seemed to... coalesce into a form. Not some cheesy, movie-magic smokey sort of coalescence, but the kind where your eyes have been still too long watching the ceiling in your dark bedroom. You move them just slightly, and boom, the shape has taken form.

Eyes. I moved mine, and saw them in the darkness. The sclera were dark, the pupils darker, barely shading against the moonless night, and the iris' were an indescribable color. When I recoil in horror, and I cannot process anything, I suppose this is just the shade I see within the outlines of that which pursues me.

While it may sound almost comical to imagine a pair of eyes in the darkness, the way it affected me is nigh just as hard to describe; I hope, and in the same way, hope against hope, that I can impart the least of my horror within this sort of journal.

The eyes were gone, and mine still locked in place. My lashes moistened with the strain. Suddenly, outside, a car's headlights switched on, illuminating a snowy driveway. The clear white was an immense reprieve, as much as it hurt me, for my vision had not adjusted yet. That is, until my view slowly drifted right into the bulbs themselves.

I saw them again, within those burning twins. Locked behind fiberglass, kept prisoner inside a twisting hulk of alloy and plastics. I still could not move, but any sense of kinship I may have felt was torn away as the automobile shifted into gear, tires spinning against the chalky road.

It was dark once again, and this time, there was little reprieve in the shift of environ. The light had made me blind to the dark, and I felt terror grip my heart, rather than the morbid curiosity of before. This feeling was not unfounded, I'd soon find, as my vision swam before me and into the horrific absence outside.

The trees filled with them. At first, pinpricks of a deep, deep crimson, then a mild differentiation showed itself. Maroon, burgundy, carmine, vermilion, claret and cardinal. Coquelicot, falu, Alizarin, and even scarlet. The swathe would be beautiful, were it not so pointedly Watching me. They were not just observing, but... eyeing me up, as it were. Not looking, barely seeing, and certainly not just casting a glance, they were hungry.

It's strange to say that about eyes, even if they look like those of a predator, but it's the truth. They were ready. They were waiting.

I am nothing but sustenance and entertainment.

Then, just like that, I blink for the first time in my dream. I crane my neck around, snapping to and fro the room, still dark. I grab hold of the lampshade, tearing it off, and kicking the light into total luminescence. The window-shade is drawn, and my bed has a dark stain upon it, as if I'd been sweating. I look down at my garments, and realize something.

I'd already woken some time ago.

And it feels like something's watching me.

[chibnall-era-tournament]

Chibnall era episode tournament!

[glitterypin]

Inelegant though it may be, part of me can't help but slightly rejoice at the total shitting on Thomas Edison in the Doctor Who episode "Nikola Tesla's Night of Terror". Shitting on Thomas Edison is one of the fads of my generation I am very fond of and I'm glad Doctor Who jumped right on that bandwagon, even if the way they portrayed him like a caricature banker was borderline silly.

[notyoujamie]

[cipher-fresh]

The Skithra queen hasn’t gone down as one of the show’s greatest villains or anything but I think Nikola Tesla’s Night of Terror is a fun historical. I haven’t seen anyone discuss it since series 12 aired, we’re not appreciating:

-The companions in historical outfits

-Nikola Tesla being a really fun character, and the narrative hating Thomas Edison, as it should

-The Doctor’s incredible inventing skills being demonstrated

-American accents better than “distracting”

-The storytelling opportunities of the Thassor species and spreading their knowledge across the universe

-Yaz and Ryan’s intelligence and people skills being emphasized

I’ve also been interested in exploring Ryan’s passion of engineering and mechanics, and the narrative directly compares Ryan and Dorothy (Tesla’s assistant) as people who help talented inventors and have had their lives transformed by them. It would have been fun if Ryan got to work more with Tesla’s inventions and/or the alien technology in the episode.

[evviejo]

requested by @thirteensfavoritetoy >> thirteen under different lighting colours

[jocollins]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Laura Hale Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Doctor Derek Hale, Laura Hale Lives, Accidents, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Protective Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf), Terminal Illnesses, Eventual Smut, just a tiny bit, Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Surprises, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Angst, Mention of blood, Night Terrors Summary:

Doctor Derek meets Stiles by accident. He seems to be the only one to be able to calm the boy. He never planned to fall in love, yet here he was.