May Contain Spoilers

Mostly a place for me to squeel about the Doctor Who Christmas episode until 7 part 2 starts.

"I could not have imagined coming into the show without Matt as my Doctor, holding my hand, really, quite literally. I totally lucked-out in having a creative, generous, clever, and lovely fella to work alongside day after day."

"I could not have imagined coming into the show without Matt as my Doctor, holding my hand, really, quite literally. I totally lucked-out in having a creative, generous, clever, and lovely fella to work alongside day after day."

(Source: starvingsmile, via ghoulifrey)


Hey everyone. I’m about to tell you all a really personal story, and then, I could use your help.

The blonde in the pictures above is my little sister, Rachel. She’s 14, a freshman in high school. She’s one of the smartest kids you’ll ever meet, to be honest. Smarter than me. She’s got an amazing sense of humor and the most gorgeous smile, the sort of person who just lights up a room with laughter after being in it for five minutes. Even though I’m 19 and I should be the tough one, she’s held me when I cried, and she cooks me dinner when I’m too lazy to do it, and she gives me confidence when I don’t believe in myself. We cosplay together, we fangirl together, and we talk Tumblr-speak at the dinner table. It’s not an exaggeration when I tell you this girl is my entire world. I’d do anything for her, and I love her more than words could fully describe.

On Friday, she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital after a year of battling severe depression and anxiety.

She thinks she’s ugly. She thinks her future doesn’t matter. She often hates herself, and can’t see all the amazing things everyone else knows is obvious just from their first glance at her. 

The red tie on my wrist you see in the third picture was from her. Behavioral hospitals don’t allow anything with strings on them, so after she pulled out the tie for her sweatshirt, she wrapped it around my wrist for me to wear until she gets back. It might only be for a weekend, or it might be for longer. I don’t know yet.

Here’s where I’m asking for your help. At the earliest, Rachel is coming home on Sunday, but it’ll probably be longer. Still, that means I might only have two days to get the message out. I want to show her when she comes home that there are people out there who believe in her. Who think she’s beautiful and worth fighting for, worth recovery. 

So please, reblog this and prove to her that she has more support than she ever realized. I’m hoping it’ll give her some confidence than she can get better.

(via quezycoatl)

Will you still love me when I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

(Source: peterjquil, via ghoulifrey)


Up or down?
Up or down?

She had been standing in front of the mirror for the past ten minutes pulling her thick red hair up, then just as quickly releasing it. The butterflies in her stomach felt more like a raging hurricane. Her tiny studio apartment looked as if a hurricane had gone through it as well. Clothes lay scattered around, there was even a shirt hanging from the ceiling fan that was slowly spinning overhead. He would be there soon, and she still had no idea what to wear.

Many of the others could not bother to give him a second look. Too scrawny, how could he provide for them? They preferred the big hulking men with more muscles than brains. But to her? He was her hero. He could do no wrong and all he asked for in return was a date. That thought alone turned her cheeks the color of her hair. Still, he could not take her on a date if she did not get ready. It would be so much easier if she had a girl friend to come over and help her prepare, maybe she should have called Jackie over to help. He had more fashion sense in his little finger than she had in her entire body. It was too late for that now though. She had thirty minutes to throw together the perfect outfit.

Digging through the piles of clothes again, she just frowned, picking up white button down blouse after white button down blouse. She was a social worker after all, her clothes were practical not pretty. She paused for a moment and then remembered. It was probably a little out of fashion, her mother had worn it the day she’d met her father ages ago, but it was better than going naked. She tripped over the lose clothes on the floor as she made her way to the trunk at the end of her twin sized bed. She dug around only a minute before finding what she sought. Standing up she shook out the short sleeved, blue tartan dress. At least there was no mistaking her heritage, as if the flaming red hair and ridiculous accent were not enough.

The sleeves were a bit too poofy, and there was a chance she looked like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl, but at least some of the butterflies had calmed themselves. She was truly going to go on a date with him. Out of everyone, he had chosen her. That thought brought the hurricane back full tilt, so when the intercom rang she had to take a deep breath. She hugged her stomach briefly before walking over to the buzzer.

“I’ll be right down.”

[A little something from my character Maira’s POV written for my friend. :) She insisted I post this so HERE YOU GO! :D )