#not one thing is worth you

[expectiations]

the way my mind works is musing over how Eleven never mentions River's name again onscreen (apparently he kept on mentioning her to Clara as 'Professor Song') while planning an edit because earlier today, I encountered a River hater gloating over how the Doctor moved on so quickly from River because he never mentioned her again and that she's not that important because the Doctor didn't spend billions of years (relative) trying to get her back after having a conversation with @croxxbunx over Eleven not mentioning River in series 7b after she sent this reel to wondering whether Twelve had done the same post-Darillium to dropping my edit planning because I wanted to continue my series 10 watch. After all, I wanted to know whether Twelve made any River namedrop other than that one deleted scene in Thin Ice. oh wait no that's not a River namedrop.

anyways...

YOUR NAME Your name is something I will never forget. The way it made me smile when I would say it. Now I can't even bear to say it without a tear coming down my eye or the thought of me never finding another you ever again. It's like a spell that won't cast. It's the curse of me never saying it again. anatomy of a broken soul - sehejspoetry

I've seen much hate (or glee) over Eleven not even talking about or mentioning River throughout series 7b. But then I recall Clara telling River that the Doctor mentioned her as 'Professor Song'. I also remember the moments that River is alluded to throughout series 7b. And those three minutes~ish in TNOTD where we get the most romantic DoctorRiver scene in the history of evers where the Doctor tells River that she is always there to him, and he always listens, and he can always see her.

The reason he didn't speak to her, didn't say her name, didn't tell Clara who she was to him, was because he thought it would hurt too much.

And he was right.

River may have already experienced Darillium with Twelve, but from Eleven's POV, he genuinely believed that his time with River had run its course.

When I lost a dear family member about a decade ago, it took me years before I was able to say her name out loud again. I just realized it now after ruminating on the Doctor's grief and their reticence of mentioning River or saying her name.

It's not because they've moved on fairly quickly even though that seems to be the general consensus. As the poem above aptly described, it is the profound pain and fear the Doctor feels over the probability of never seeing their wife ever again. I only had less than half a decade's worth of memories with my loved one, but it physically pained me to utter her name out loud, even a mere whisper. Now think about the Doctor, who had decades upon decades worth of memories with River Song. How much more would it pain them?

[pansy-picnics]

“gay son or thot daughter,” you start to ask, but you can’t even finish your sentence because cosmo and wanda heard “gay son” and immediately started cheering and clapping

[spitblaze]

Men and masculinity are not inherently bad or untrustworthy things and I don't mean that in a 'misandry is real and a problem' way, I mean that in a 'I think some of you might have contracted minor radfem poisoning' way

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[expectiations]

To clear things up, Peter was feeling sick at the time they shot this. Never ever forgiving the germs for not giving us another DoctorRiver kiss to hyperfixate on.

I am so pissed that if we can get a kiss of ramone and river or rouge and doctor why the hell we didn't get a 12 river kiss

[transannabeth]

btw if you borrow dvds or cds from library you can rip them onto your own blanks or onto your hard drive or whatever. librarians don’t care and they won’t know if you do it or not

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer

859 words

Steve watches a lot of people. He sees girls as their eyes linger on him. He sees some boys do the same. 

If Tommy caught them, he’d probably do what he always does; humiliate them, hit them. He’s always been a bit protective of him. Steve doesn’t know why. He’s known Tommy since middle school because their lockers were next to each other since they were assigned alphabetically. It’s been like that every year since then, too. 

Sometimes he wonders what his best friend would do if he stopped averting his gaze from places it shouldn’t be yet always strays to. 

More and more lately he finds himself watching someone in particular. 

Steve has to be careful. He can’t let his gaze linger and he has to make sure his face stays neutral, almost as if he’s looking through him and not at him. He forces himself to laugh when someone cracks a joke about The Freak as if Steve isn’t one himself. 

He knows he’s a hypocrite - a coward. He wishes he could be more like Eddie. Just be himself and not care about judgment or criticism. 

It’s his biggest dream and greatest fear. 

Steve’s seat in the cafeteria conveniently (strategically) puts Eddie directly in his line of sight. Aside from the singular elective they share, it’s the only time Steve gets to see him. He’s only been watching him since school came back after winter break and he’s captivated. 

He wishes he had somewhere to expel all of the thoughts he hoards in his brain like a dragon does gold. (Something Steve only knows because he - like a stalker - saw a book Eddie was carrying around for a week or so and checked it out of the library himself as soon as it was available. On the log card inside the cover, E. Munson was written a few times along with some other names.)

He gets an idea on Valentine's Day when he opens his locker after last period and a couple of pieces of paper fall to his feet. Steve watches as Tommy picks one up and coos, “Someone’s got an admirer.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and snatches the paper. He doesn’t necessarily care what these girls have written to him, but he feels weird letting anyone else see something that was intended for his eyes only. 

Tommy only snickers and pats him on the shoulder a few times in approval. Steve puts the valentines in his backpack to look at when he gets home. He zones out as Tommy starts talking again - something about taking Carol Perkins to Benny’s. 

At home, Steve reads the cards with a furrowed brow. He doesn’t want to be ungrateful given these girls are putting themselves out there and making a move on someone they like. It’s just. 

He feels completely detached from it all. None of the messages are personal. They could have been given to anyone.

He - somewhat guiltily - throws them away. 

The next day, Steve excuses himself during morning practice and slips a piece of paper into a beat-up locker.

Eddie you’re really pretty i wish i could tell you to your face -H

He signed the note with his last initial to be a bit more inconspicuous and perhaps give him some plausible deniability lest he be found out. He’s sure he’s being too precautious - paranoid? - but it gives him peace of mind nonetheless. He couldn’t imagine the dreadful things that would happen if someone traced this back to him. He’d have to run away. 

He’d have to kill himself. 

As much as he wants to, Steve doesn’t hang around Eddie’s locker to see his reaction. Though he does think about it all morning. They don’t have class together until later in the day. When the lunch bell rings, Steve has to force himself to make his way through the halls at an acceptable pace and pats himself on the back when the cafeteria is mostly full when he strides in.

He takes his place at the table where all of the more athletically inclined people tend to congregate and takes a deep breath.

When he chances a look, Eddie is already at the head of his table. He seems quieter than normal. Steve’s always been good at reading people and he can tell the difference between a good quiet and a bad quiet. Eddie’s quiet in a bad way. 

He languidly flips through a book with a faraway contemplative look. 

Steve looks away with a ghost of a frown on his face. 

He tries again the next day. 

Eddie i like your hair is it as soft as it looks? p.s. you didn’t look happy yesterday, sorry if it was my fault -H

That day at lunch, Steve doesn’t look at Eddie as frequently as he usually would, which is unfortunate. 

Eddie has taken to scanning the lunchroom with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest and despite him being affronted, Steve can’t help but think he’s kinda cute. 

He smiles to himself and tries to listen to his friends for once to aid in avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

two

[the-great-papyru]

i think the thing a lot of papyrus takes get wrong is that they forget that, among other things, papyrus is funny. in my experience writing papyrus, i often find the most funny line is the most in-character one. an unfunny papyrus doesn’t ever feel like an accurate papyrus to me. it’s more than part of the game, it’s part of his character. and disregarding that is what messes up a lot of otherwise good impressions of him.

[claraoswalds]

This is a brand new science for me, and I love it. The language of luck. 'Cause what is a coincidence but a form of accident? Two things bumping together unexpectedly. Like you and me.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Burning Rotten Bridges

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[lineffability]

sometimes I see people calling Aziraphale selfish in an accusatory way, as if it's a flaw that needs to be smoothed out, as if it isn't a trait that is at once defiant and emancipating, as if his selfishness isn't mostly wielded in an empowering and kind way, as if it's categorically bad to want things for yourself, to enjoy them, to have and keep them, as if selfish isn't the most revolutionary thing an angel can be

[expectiations]

"the Doctor didn't love River that much because he didn't spend 4.5 billion years just to try and bring her back"

lmao River would have slapped him into his next regeneration if he tried to do that in her name and then we would have gotten our space wives for real

[shopwitchvamp]

I mean this gently but I have to say somethin' here- I've been getting so much "make your skirts cheaper" "I love this but why are they soooo expensive" etc lately and like look, I know a lot of this is because times are hard.. (otherwise why would I be hearing this more & more this year when prices haven't changed compared to last year) but I just wanna say that one of the only ways I could lower prices (if I was ruthless and didn't care) would be to cut sizing options. Like idk how to word what I'm trying to say, but just know when you shout stuff like this at other brands & they decide they need to find a way to cut costs to lower prices, being size inclusive is gonna be one of the first things to go. I have no plans to do this myself, but for example, a D Size Skater costs me almost twice as much (talking about only the direct from the manu cost, there are other factors too such as that they weigh more so that adds more shipping costs as well) as an A Size Skater. Say I cut D Size altogether.. and many companies would have by now while also not even lowering the price.. I could increase my profit margins significantly right away. Now lets say I cut both C and D and become a shop that only offers the standard range of SM-XL. Wow! Suddenly profits are up so much!! Or maybe going not full corporate greed, I could handle lowering skater prices by like $10 (random number not based on real math idk what things would actually work out to because I'm not gonna do it). But now no one over a size XL can order from me. I fear none of what I'm trying to get across is getting across but I just mean to say, in order to offer what I offer, the prices need to be what they are. They aren't set arbitrarily high & lowering them would mean needing to make choices that I will not make (becoming less size inclusive or making my business unsustainable in the sense that it would not survive long).

[stuckinapril]

Part of growing up for me will probably be accepting that some relationships are truly irreparable and that it’s best to just let them go and start all over again with someone new over trying to repair the old

[sparrowlucero]

this is the iconic dinosaur horror jurassic park wishes it was

[charcubed]

There's one specific aspect of Deadpool & Wolverine that's important in relation to the queerness of Wade/Logan:

The fact that Vanessa isn't single.

I'm not kidding lol

Doesn't seem like people are talking about this so I'm going to be the one to say it I guess!

So… beyond trying to save his world / family, Wade's (flimsy) motivation is indeed partially motivated by Vanessa – or more specifically by things she said to him during their break up. He wants to figure out how he matters or how he can be a hero without being an Avenger, etc.

Shitty as it is that Vanessa is relegated to being a two-dimensional motivation mouthpiece… She and Wade didn't just break up; they tell us immediately that she's seeing another guy. By my memory, Wade never disrespects that, not even jokingly. And the plot isn't framed as a quest to ~win back the girl~ either.

The end scene underlines this too, where [SPOILER] he says he did it for her even if she doesn't want him or whatever the line is. Their little hand touch isn't really a romantic rekindling.

So, what am I getting at?

This all gives weight to Wade's mischievous flirting and (later) built connection with Logan.

If Wade and Vanessa were framed as "taking a break," or if she was still single and he was trying to win her back, the queerness with Logan wouldn't work quite as well. There'd be more room to claim it's an unserious joke.

But Vanessa's moved on.

Wade, taking LOGAN home, did too.