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And why, do I still care? About all who might recall me For everything dies, so does memory
The Doctor & Clara Oswald
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i hate you romantically involved characters who talk to each other like they’re in a couples counseling session, i hate you watering down of the word toxic, i hate you plot twists where the male love interest is actually a villain because see, silly girl? in the REAL world guys like that are DANGEROUS, i hate you relationship therapist breaks down movie couple’s relationship videos, i hate you “romeo and juliet were just stupid horny teenagers” “belle had stockholm syndrome” “wuthering heights isn’t romantic” hot takes, i hate you sanitization of romance in fiction
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Twelfth doctor era is beauty and the beast. It’s Orpheus and Eurydice. It’s Rochester and Jane and the mad wife in the attic.
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JOKER: Folie à Deux (2024) dir. Todd Phillips
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JOAQUIN PHOENIX as ARTHUR FLECK Joker: Folie à Deux (2024)
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Linocut prints by William Hays. ~ Dawn ~ After the Storm, 2016.
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Molly Mendoza
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TWELVE AND CLARA IN SERIES 9
When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left. I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an ice warrior on a submarine, and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said, or what she looked like, or how she talked or laughed. There's nothing there. Just nothing. Are you looking for her? I'm trying. Well, she could be anyone, right? You don't know who you're looking for -- I mean, she could be me, for all you know. There's one thing I know about her, just one thing -- if I met her again, I'd absolutely know her.
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Me, to my new date: doctor who thinks it's a sci-fi story because the Doctor thinks it's a sci-fi story and because the companions think it's a sci-fi story, but it's really just a story about ghosts. a story about an ancient creature carrying the ghosts of everyone they have ever loved, meeting new people, and seeing them only as future ghosts. they are haunted by the future and the past and the present because they are the only constant in a world constantly in flux, and they are running as fast as they can to things before they burn and fade to dust but everything will always end, you understand, because this is the only thing the Doctor understands and yet they keep going. they love too much to stop. doctor who is not science-fiction, it's horror and optimism and spiritual more than anything else, it's religious unto itself, the TARDIS is a haunted house and a church and a graveyard and a hospital and the Doctor is the most haunted being in the universe but more than anything, this is a love story, because how can you love something without being haunted by it- hey, what are you doing?
My date, shoving breadsticks in their purse: I have to go-
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Fixed Point in Time • Here's another illustration of mine for Magic the Gathering's Doctor Who set!!
AD: Matt Cavotta
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doctor who is good actually
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He wonders what age he’s finally reached. The Time War used years as ammunition; at the Battle of Rodan’s Wedding alone, he’d aged to five million and then regressed to a mewling babe, merely from shrapnel. Now, the ache in his bones feels… one thousand years old? Well. Call it nine hundred. Sounds better.
In the same way RTD's 'Doctor Who and the Time War,' where the above quote is from, is a page from a novel that doesn't exist, this is a splash page from a comic that doesn't exist. Time War PTSD, much like the war itself, is multidimensional.
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Doctor Who Series 9 is kinda peak yeah Maybe I'll color this in fully, who knows
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people refuse to see the violence it takes to maintain the status quo as such and instead fear the hypothetical violence it will take to destroy it. they see the current order of things as a state of stasis and inaction, instead of as a violent order upheld by constant action, which can be undone by action
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sea, swallow me
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I keep thinking about the not-things (and the midnight entity, the scherzo creature, the solitract, etc.), and how they all, in their own ways, specialize in mimicking people. Copying voices and faces and thoughts and mannerisms is ubiquitous for creatures that live in the fringes of spacetime. Which makes sense; how else is a kinless creature from an empty place supposed to learn and evolve if not by latching on and copying the first tangible thing they encounter? What's a better way to escape into that wider universe than looking like the people there, encouraging them to bring you back to their world? Integrating into our universe is functionally their equivalent to leaving the nest and learning how to fly, whether that be malicious or harmless, conscious or instinctual. So, on that note: Consider the Doctor, another being found on the fringes of the universe. Consider how they imprint on people after regeneration ("like a chick hatching from an egg", to quote a deleted line from the Christmas Invasion). The way one time lord in the audios regenerates into a bird after spending years on a bird planet, and the Doctor, after spending so much time on earth, has been described as half human. Consider the way the child Tecteun found just happened to look Gallifreyan, the way this is directly paralleled with the Qurunx, a creature that takes on a form that "we instinctively want to protect, as a defence". Consider this:
The Time Lords view regeneration as a conduit for immortality, but what if the actual purpose, the naturally evolved trait that would matter to a lonely creature from outside the universe, is mimicry?
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We go all the way to the altar, to the butcher's, we can't help ourselves, we go all the way to where we don't want to go, it's irresistible. Pushed by desire and terror mixed. The hour we ask of the wolf is the only one that impassions us. Because it makes of our body an earth convulsed. One must almost die in order to take pleasure in being made flesh, we've always known this. What time is it? Time to be eaten. Passion. Ah if we could go over to die, taste, be tasted, and then return to this side. Ah if we could go all the way to the instant when what disgusts us intoxicates us,
— Hélène Cixous trans. Catherine A.F. MacGillivray, 'What is it o'clock? or The door (we never enter)', Stigmata: Escaping Texts