#doctor who was a really good show actually

[erwinsvow]

you'd never really put this much effort in at other houses. while you're scrubbing the countertops to remove every last bit of evidence that someone—anyone—had made a mess there, you think about the other houses you used to babysit for.

used to, since there was no need to babysit anymore. mister cameron, who will always remain mister cameron—no matter how much he reminds you to call him rafe—actually pays you double what your other families did. he's a busy guy. you know this for a fact—single dad and some big business guy that people in town used to talk about all the time when you used to listen—so he'd have last minute emergencies and random business calls all the time.

his exact words had been something along the lines of "don't wanna share you with anyone else," but even thinking about that encounter makes your face burn with so much intensity that you think you're going to collapse. that's not what he meant, obviously, he was trying to tell you in nicer words that it was annoying when you replied to his texts explaining how another family had booked you already for that night. so when he upped your rate and said that he'd even pay to say no to others, just in case, you would have been really stupid to say no.

you don't hear much about him anymore, when you're out and about. you spend so much time at the cameron house that your own little apartment seems like nothing more than a bed and a place to get ready before leaving. you practically eat three meals a day with the baby, so even your grocery shopping is in that part of town—all organic, expensive places where you talk to the baby and try to get her opinion on which vegetable puree she'd like to try this week.

it's kind of like playing pretend. no, it's really like playing pretend. you used to dress in the normal, comfortable clothes that were sufficient for babysitting every other family—overalls and sneakers—but now you don't fit in unless you're in a pretty dress and nice sandals. you stay in one outfit from when you show up before mister cameron leaves to when you drive home at the end of the night.

that's the other thing—your car. you've made it work with the same one since you could first drive. it's a little rusty, a little dinged up, but safe as can be. it's nothing fancy but it got you around. but now you do other things for rafe that you never did for other families—grocery shopping and errands and the occasional doctor's appointment if rafe really, really can't make it. you don't mind at all—it's fun to play pretend and you love her like she's your own, but mister cameron tries to make it to every appointment himself, because he really cares about his daughter. it's admirable because you don't see it in every single household.

you hadn't thought there was anything wrong with your car until one day you couldn't get the air conditioning to work, and the back window got jammed and the baby looked so uncomfortable that you had to skip out on whatever you were supposed to do that day. when mister cameron came home that night you apologized so much that you started crying—because really, you never thought there was something wrong with your car and you didn't want to make the baby drive in the heat, just in case. you think he'll be mad, there's no groceries and his suit is still at the cleaner's, and the lotion that you use every night after bathtime has ran out and there'll be none for tomorrow—but he's not.

he's not mad at all. he seems... tired. he seems worried. the first thing he asks that night is if you and the baby are okay. when you nod, afraid that this is the calm before the storm, he sighs.

"good. that's all i care about," and the way he says it—you believe him right away. maybe that's the night your little crush on mister cameron started forming. it'd always been there in the background, you'd be an idiot of massive proportions to deny it. but it felt different somehow, watching him roll up his sleeves and pulling out whatever ingredients there were left over to make dinner with, something that you normally tried to have done every night for him, while telling you to take a seat.

that night he asks about your car—how old is it, when'd you get it, how many miles. do you like the model? would you want bigger, smaller, a different color? it's just conversation—he probably likes cars with the way there's a really nice in the garage under a sheet and a nice but safer one that he takes to work everyday.

(while he's cooking pasta and cutting vegetables, you try to get up and help, but he meets your eyes and shakes his head. wordlessly, you obey and sit back down.)

that's the first night things felt different. you drove home a little giddy, later than normal, stomach full and heart a little too happy that you found it in yourself to finally have a real, nice conversation with mister cameron. you're as shy as they come but your interactions with him are limited—before work, a phone call at lunch (though recently, his first question hasn't been about the baby... it's been how are my girls?), and after work before you leave.

it feels good to know that you're doing something right, that you're good at this even on your bad days. you make a point to leave your place extra early that week, stopping at the pharmacy and picking up the lotion so it's one less thing to worry about. your window still won't roll down and you'll have to figure out how to get the groceries delivered, crossing your fingers that it doesn't cost that much more.

you show up a couple minutes early and go inside to sort out the stuff for the baby before she wakes, when you find mister cameron in the nursery.

"good morning," you say quietly, though it comes out a little above a whisper. she's still sleeping, even though you haven't glanced in the crib, you know her schedule like the back of your hand.

"hey, kid," he says, and your heart starts to thud a little faster. mister cameron's nicknames for you don't make an appearance everyday but for some reason, it has today. he hovers over the crib, watching the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath. you go over to join him, placing the lotion on the dresser. he notices the bottle and turns back to you. "you didn't have to do that."

"she needs it," you reply quietly. "it's the only one she likes. and i was up early anyways."

"thank you." it comes out with such sincerity that you're a little taken aback.

"of course, mister cameron. it's nothing," you smile up at him. he glances back at you, smiling and then turning to his daughter again. "i'm gonna go start on her breakfast."

you make your way to the door when he says your name.

"there's keys on the kitchen counter, and the car's in the garage. i'd like it if you started using that car instead."

and really—how are you supposed to respond to that? you stammer out an 'of course, mister cameron' and go downstairs, crossing your fingers that he made a mistake, or that he wants you to drive his car until you fix yours and he'll take the nice one tucked away in the garage.

but when you make it to the counter, and then head to the garage, your eyes nearly fall out of your head. a brand new pair of car keys, to match the brand new car in the garage. your arguments fall on deaf ears—this is way too much for anyone. yes, you're pretty much throwing money away by still paying rent and the cost of getting your car fixed could probably be enough to start paying for a better one, but this is too much. way too much. it's not normal. right?

but you have no one to ask. the baby's not old enough for playdates, and the girls who replaced you at your old houses are pretty much all high school seniors. on mister cameron's side of town, there's only nannies and au pairs, and they'd probably think you're crazy for turning down such a nice gesture.

and it is a nice gesture. mister cameron listens to every word you say, even when you're not paying attention to your own sentence. the car is exactly how you described—the color you wanted, the size you said would be nice one day incase there's ever a playdate or another baby or whatever the case may be. it's shiny and brand-new and completely undeserving of you. but he doesn't listen.

somewhere along the next month, you realize you could get really used to this. mister cameron does have a point—you're taking care of his daughter every day, so it only makes sense to make sure she's as safe as can be. you make a mental note that if you ever—for whatever idiotic reason—choose to leave this perfect job, you'll make sure he gets the car back.

there comes a point where the relationship... makes its way to the next level. at the end of every week, you have to settle the bills. co-pays at appointments, grocery receipts, the invoice from the gardener that didn't go through so you had given him your own cash so mister cameron wouldn't have to deal with it from work. it adds up, so once the baby is asleep on saturday night, the two of you eat dinner and go through everything.

but this time, he hands you a card instead. a shiny black credit card that spells out his name on the back.

"makes it a bit easier, right? just use this instead. we won't have to settle every week anymore."

"right," you agree, your smile fading quickly. you try to put on a front, a false expression so he doesn't notice your disappointment. saturday nights with mister cameron—him with his beer and you with a glass of wine—once the baby is asleep, sorting out bills and making conversation that almost felt like you belonged here, had unknowingly become your favorite part of the week. sometimes it would go until midnight, talking about things that were neither here nor there.

it's how you learned why he's a single dad, what he does for work, how he feels about his job and how much time it takes away from his daughter. it's why you started sending him photo and video updates everyday so he wouldn't feel like he's missing out on as much, it's why you make sure to craft the baby's bedtime routine around him coming home, so they have their time together.

"somethin' wrong?" he asks, after taking another sip of beer. you're snapped out of your thoughts, focusing instead of how rafe looks today. tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around the beer bottle.

you don't know how any woman on earth could have walked away from this.

"n-nothing. no. thank you, mister cameron, this is great. i'll make sure-"

"it's rafe from now on—remember, kid?"

"yes. sorry, i-"

you couldn't get out of there fast enough that night. it's almost a subtle reminder from the universe—you're not part of that family. you're the nanny who got too attached, who pretended that she fit in too much to a family that's not hers.

you still wear your nicer clothes, you still drive around his nice car. but you try to remind yourself every now and then that this isn't your real life.

the next day, it's like the universe has decided that it's mad at you for coming to this conclusion.

pouring rain the second you get into the car. your raincoat and umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes remain inside your apartment, and if you sit in idle any longer, you're going to be late to mister cameron's. he'll want to leave early since it's raining, so he's probably expecting you any minute.

the roads are a mess—it's monsooning for no reason and people forget how to drive. you honk no less than three times at idiots on the road before getting scared that someone will road-rage you. when you pull into the garage—because yes, mister cameron insists that you park inside and that he can park outside— you're frazzled and sweating and your day hasn't even started yet.

rafe's almost ready to leave, which is another damper on an already bad morning—if he has time, the two of you eat breakfast together. you tell him to drive safe and apologize for being late when he rushes past you, leaning in to kiss your cheek and telling you that he might he home late today, and to have a good day. you don't realize what's happened until he's gone, the door closing behind him.

you stand in the foyer with your mouth open until you hear the baby monitor. from that point on—it's one thing after another. the baby is fussy today, which is the most unusual part of the day. she's never like this, and you conclude that she must be getting sick or something. it's just as well, because there's no reason to go out or to take her out in this weather. she cries, and you try to help, even cave and put on some episodes of little bear to see if something would distract her. but the poor thing just doesn't feel good, and has no way to tell you how.

the hours fly by, and your head even hurts a little from the crying and the overthinking about the kiss from this morning. in all the rush, you eat about two bites of lunch before the baby needs something else.

and then at the end of the day, right around when rafe should be coming home, he doesn't.

you feed the baby and rock her to sleep. she fusses ten minutes later, and spits up all over you and your hair, and then knocks out. you even spend twenty minutes hovering over the monitor, making sure she's okay while drying your hair. rafe's still not home, so you get dinner ready and warmed for him, eating yours alone in the silence. and as if you could handle another thing, you spill sauce all over your dress while trying to put away the leftovers.

you were going to wait until you were back home, safe in your tiny apartment to cry and shower and scrub your skin raw from the day you've had, but it can't wait any longer. you take the monitor into the bathroom with you at full volume, and decide to shower in the bathroom closest to the baby's room just to be safe.

it's not until you're naked, wrapped in a soft towel and waiting for the water to get scalding hot, racking your brain for the location of the extra clothes you had once brought here that you realize the shower closest to the baby's room is the shower in rafe's bedroom.

you haven't been in here before—looking around at the expensive cologne on the counter and the dark blue towels and the hamper full of yesterday's dress shirt. it's not a good idea to be in here, but you need to shower and you can't wait another minute. for all you know, mister cameron could come home in another two hours. your dress is spinning in the washer—and your plan is set. throw it in the dryer, find something to wear for the next fifty minutes, and leave as soon as he's home even though you can hear the raindrops on the roof and the thunder outside.

the shower is what you have been needing all day. you wish you had your body wash and shampoo, but his aren't too bad. you inhale deeply, realizing you're submerging yourself in his scent. you could stay in there forever, but you don't—he's gonna be home any minute or the baby could start crying, and you need to go home.

but he smells so good. you've noticed it before, it just feels amplified now. the towel you wrap yourself in is his, meaning he's dried himself with it before. all the clothes smell like his cologne, and the house is a little cold and your clothes are still washing, and though it's probably the worst idea you've ever had, when you get out of the shower, you head to his dresser and pull out the first clean t-shirt you can find.

it's big on you, you knew it would be. it's soft and warm and smells undeniably like mister cameron. you're completely clueless, exhausted because the baby barely napped and you barely got any sleep yourself, and it's way past your own bedtime right now. he might not even come home, you think, with how the storm sounds. you check your phone but there's no messages, just a flood warning.

yesterday's socks and underwear are still spinning in the machine—how long does this thing take? what setting had you put it on?—and you begrudgingly leave rafe's warm bedroom with the baby monitor in one hand, and his navy blue towel in the other, drying your hair. you turn on the television, watching whatever's on while you pat your strands dry, bending over to wrap your hair into the towel so you can sit for a couple minutes, when you hear the door open.

you snap back up, looking at rafe's face stare back at you—he's drenched, hair wet and suit dripping, wiping his forehead with his hand when he looks you up and down. oh god, you don't even know what he just saw, you were bent over and-

"is that my shirt?"

[genderkoolaid]

maybe my least favorite anti-autistic stereotype is the trope that autistic people are ultra-rational and thus chock full of bigotry. like house m.d does this*, bones does this, i'm pretty sure the good doctor also did this with their trans episode. allistic showrunners looovee writing an autistic character who says blatantly racist, sexist, ableist, etc. things & justifies it by saying that autistics are simply too Rational and Incapable Of Understanding Emotion to pretend that our current social hierarchies aren't natural!

it sucks for one because it promotes the stereotype that all autistics are hypoempathetic, AND that being hypoempathetic means that you uncritically believe bigotry. but it ALSO sucks because it also promotes the idea that bigotry is driven by rationality and being anti-bigotry is driven by irrational emotions. and that the fight for social justice is really about making people set aside their rational bigoted beliefs because its mean. rather than making arguments based on the actual material evidence of oppression, and how the logic of oppression is deeply flawed and often extremely contradictory because it's only goal is maintaining power. and how that is in fact morally wrong.

my examples are mostly TV but i was thinking about this while rewatching munecat's video debunking evopsych (around 2:47:06). in which an evopsych guy is justifying a misogynistic paper arguing that women are less inclined towards STEM because Evolution, by saying that the author is "Aspy" and thus ~too rational to tone himself down for The Woke~. It's such bullshit and it hides behind aspie supremacy and fantastical ideas of autistic people as robots instead of human beings filled with biases and fallacies and yes, EMOTIONS, in order to push the narrative that bigotry is rational and the left is motivated by our squishy soft womanly irrational empathy rather than the fact that systemic racism objectively exists and misogyny is a self-contradictory mess.

also it's just a way of avoiding the reality of their own bigotry. if misogyny isn't scientifically valid, then that means they must choose to hold misogynistic beliefs, rather then those beliefs being natural. which means they have to actually grapple with the question of whether or not it is moral to maintain a misogynistic system rather than deconstructing it and creating a more equal society. if misogyny is just Nature and Facts and Logic then they can pretend that it's all out of their hands! they want to side-step the question of whether or not its right by arguing making an appeal to evolution as some divine ruler which will destroy our society if we ever deviate from 1950s US social hierarchies.

*to give this show credit, it has other reasons why house is Like That, and he also has plenty of moments where he criticizes the status quo and/or the audience is meant to disagree with his behavior/views. but they still do engage in "house is bigoted and his bigotry is justified by the story" such as in the infamous asexuality episode. but the writers also refused to make him canonically autistic even when they wrote him Like That so who gives a fuck

[fizziepopangel]

Stolas Going to Therapy

Stolas going to therapy headcanons because I know we all need these right now (Stolas included)

Despite having had them since Octavia tried to bring them to him, Stolas wouldn’t actually start taking his meds again, not seeing the point since he mostly took the pills so he could be the best version of the father she needed.

After what happened with Octavia, Stolas would resort to plucking his feathers. It’s self destructive and he knows that, but its a form of self harm he’s always used so its an easy pattern to slip into again.

Therapy would be Blitz’s idea. Having started to work on his own shit finally, and slowly but surely feeling better, he wants Stolas to have that same sort of “getting better” feeling.

He’d think about it for a while, but Blitz wouldn’t bring up the idea of therapy until he noticed the feather plucking. Stolas would reject the idea multiple times before agreeing to talk to someone.

Stolas would feel awkward seeing someone in this sense. He was a Goetia after all, demon royalty of his status wouldn’t show weakness by going to some sort of crazy person doctor…. This would result in him going only because Blitz wants him to, but not really opening up at first.

He would also struggle to find a therapist who was a good fit for him, and would switch providers a few times before feeling comfortable with them.

The first thing he would really talk about would be Octavia. It would start by simply saying he missed her, but the session would end in tears as he talked about worrying if she was really being taken care of by his ex wife.

He would get back on his meds after a few sessions.

The meds would help but having been off them for a bit, he'd still have some pretty low days. Blitz would be very attentive on those days despite not fully knowing how to help.

Blitz and Loona would both keep track of Stolas’ meds and remind him to take them on time.

Stolas would journal. It wouldn’t necessarily be something he does because of therapy or for his sessions, but he would occasionally bring it since he often kept notes of nightmares he had. Most of his nightmares revolving around past abuse at the hands of Stella, or his current situation.

Stella came up a lot in therapy.

Blitz comes up in a lot of sessions too; the good, the bad, and the ugly of the his involvement in Stolas’ life. 

He would spend a lot of time in his sessions learning about boundaries and learning how and when to set them for himself. It’s uncharted territory, but he does try to set them and stand firm on them when he does.

His sessions often had tears somewhere along the way. Not all were because he was sad, which he wasn’t used to.

Although Blitz suggested Stolas see a therapist, it would be Stolas’ idea to bring Blitz into a few sessions so that they could talk about their relationship (past, present, and future) in a controlled setting.

Bringing Blitz into his sessions wouldn’t be a true couples session, but it would give Stolas the idea that if they plan to be together, they should take down the information of a couples counselor just in case.

He would also take the number of a family therapist for himself and Octavia. He figures that if she ever wants to let him in, therapy would help them mend their relationship. 

Stolas would likely be on his medications for a lifetime, but he would get to a place where he didn’t need a therapist weekly, though he does keep the number. Just in case.

[paniknanikin]

WEEPING ANGEL BLANKET IS DONE!

I feel like I say this every time, but I think this one is my favorite

[sciderman]

Yk, I hate that adaptations keep making Peter a high schooler, and not just because it means he never evolves, but because the adaptations now also include wider Marvel, whitch usually (thanks to the MCU) is at the modern day stage with legacy characters and new age teen heroes, meaning that Peter is taking up Miles' spot and you can really tell when they put him next to someone like Kamala Khan or Sam Alexander who are Miles' pals. Tho Peter taking Miles' stuff is just a modern issue overall, just look at MCU whitch just stole and re-skinned Miles' personality, characters, story-beats, even the costume to an extent and then made it worse.

agree 👏

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀

[benisasoftboi]

I love it when Doctor Who is just stupid. Just fully understands, and tells you wholeheartedly, that it is a ridiculous programme that no one should take seriously. The Daleks are fighting robot Dracula and the Doctor’s defeating Evil Bertie Bassett with lemonade and an alien wasp with psychic powers is impregnating a human woman and everyone’s riding Segways to the final boss chamber. And this horrible creature is the Beep Of All The Meeps and David Tennant has yaoi hands and our villain is dressed as a drum major and dancing to the Spice Girls even though that has nothing whatsoever to do with his evil gimmick and yes. This is it. This is television. What bliss

[gurokatt]

I'm gonna be honest

those posts that are like

"I watch [show/movie] for the plot" and it's a picture of a conventionally attractive person with the caption "the plot" kinda just.. annoy me.

Like, does fandom even care about plot anymore? so much of fandom culture is only caring about couples, self shipping or actors...

I actually like the plot. I want to talk about the plot.

Watching a movie or show and getting excited when finishing so i can talk about the plot, only to go onto the tag and see 100+ thirst posts and ship art instead of, idk analysis on the plot and stories of each character...

this is why i go to youtube more often than not, cause people actually write analysis on movies and shows i like... instead of just shipping

[lord-squiggletits]

Bolts upright from my bed

In an AU where Pharma lives the Adaptus thing and comes back on the Lost Light, wouldn't he find out that the crew had to deal with being cornered and nearly killed by the DJD and a bunch of other Decepticons?

And then Pharma could get to be like "oh I see :) you were under threat by the DJD :))) why didn't you just run? Oh you couldn't and had no means of escape? Funny :)))) didn't you call for help? Oh you did right??? And did anyone come???? :)))))) did anyone come in time to save you from the DJD????? DID THEY????? DID YOU JUST CALL FOR HELP AND RUN AWAY AND THE DJD JUST LET YOU GO????? :))))))))))) OH THE DJD BLOCKED COMMUNICATIONS AND HAD YOU SURROUNDED????? OH HOW TRAGIC I GUESS YOU COULDN'T ESCAPE AFTER ALL AND A LOT OF YOUR FRIENDS DIED :)))))))))))))))) AND THE ONLY REASON YOU WON WAS BECAUSE YOU HAD A LOT OF SUPERPOWERFUL FIGHTERS ON YOUR SIDE???? WOW IMAGINE WHAT MIGHT'VE HAPPENED IF YOU HAD NO FRIENDS AND BARELY ANY MILITARY SUPPORT AND THE DJD CAME HUH??? WOW WHAT A RELIEF THAT DIDNT HAPPEN"

-

In other words, I'm pretty much convinced that the reason Pharma is remembered as "the evil cowardly doctor that murdered innocents to save his own skin" instead of "the Autobot that got mindbroken by Tarn into thinking that making a plague and killing everyone was his only way to escape" is because he got introduced before the DJD were established as a pants-shittingly evil and sadistic group of freaks, and unlike Rodimus' crew he didn't have the luxury of being a main character whose thoughts and experiences were shown on screen. Pretty much his reputation as "crazy token evil Autobot" was sealed from MTMTE #5 and by the time MTMTE #50-something brought Dying of the Light, Pharma was a footnote in the story and never got to have this new information about the terror of the DJD factored into his own character.

[mothbeasts]

hovers ominously in the corner of your room….. i think you should talk abt zor taking their little kity to galas or i’ll die don’t let me die

okay... sniles

I don't think Zor makes public appearances very often. But on one of the rare occasions they do, they accompany the Fabricator to a gala. Well. Really, she accompanies them, dragged along to an event she could really care less about and pinned to their side the entire time.

And, of course, everyone is talking about it. It's a rather unexpected couple appearance, and clearly there's something going on between them, judging from the way Zor has their arm around her the entire evening. And the matching outfits. The Fabricator discarding her signature blue and purple tones with a splash of red, opting for red and black and gold... It's all people seem to talk about.

And once the two return from a secluded area of the building, the Fabricator's lipstick smeared. Well. That certainly doesn't help matters.

It's one of Zor's tactics, really. Humiliate her in front of her peers. Further isolate her. Her reputation is in shambles... Where else could she go? Nobody would respect her now. They both know how the spaces they belong to are... They'll eat the Fabricator alive for that. Tear her to shreds.

Zor knows she'll never forget her place again... She's theirs, and everyone knows it.

[lily-blue-blue-lily]

ncuti fucking gatwa!! what a man!!!

[aq2003]

series 3 is so frustrating because there is like a shining core of pure diamond underneath the problems . like conceptually it rocks so incredibly hard. but the problems

[variousqueerthings]

not negating that chris eccleston had a bad time on dw and rightfully wouldn't want to work with that team again for his own sake (minus billie i assume), but i have reservations about people in fandom jumping on the "yeah rtd is a dick who's incredibly hated in television actually, it's just a big secret," train when i have never heard anything to that effect outside of this working relationship that ended poorly and that as far as im aware rtd has never spoken about, so it's still a relatively private affair (of which we know a scant few details/that rtd didn't stick up for eccleston when he needed that support). i mean, he might be the worst guy ever, i've never worked with him, but i don't think the people saying this have either, and i think it's way too easy for people to assume the worst and go looking for confirmation bias, because it can justify their own dislike of rtd as a showrunner or his return as pure "nostalgia baiting" (that's another post). but yeah, if i see one more person go "oh i just have a feeling he's probably an asshole actually and the fact that we know that eccleston doesn't like him (as if that's new news) confirms that" as a roundabout way of going actually his era of the show wasn't that good or that him coming back to the show is a mistake, im simply not taking that seriously. just say you don't like the writing or whatever, don't make up a guy to personally dislike. there'll be another showrunner after him.

[hubbaslubba]

don't care that the cgi was bad in wild blue yonder because my prevailing thought was like if they are willing to do weirdo freak shit with it im happy. also they cooked up a gayboy doctor so im blissed out

[innocet]

having such a 7girl moment today but literally ive been saying since. maybe as early as 2019 that i knew id love 7 so so much when i got to him and youll never guess whats happening rn

[renniethedwstan]

Eleventh Doctor.

I have a hot take, I think Eleven is better than Ten.

Reason?.......I'm not telling you guys the reason because it's just my opinion, and everyone is allowed opinions, so please just be respectful.

Also, just to clarify, I don't hate Ten at all. I love the Tenth Doctor era so much because Ten is my first Doctor, and he introduced me to Doctor who. but Eleven is the reason why I'm still obsessed with Doctor who.