perfect rose

[isakeijser]

The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant.

[ohaccio]

Do you just crook your finger and people just jump in your snog box and fly away?

[aintborntipycal-blog]

It’s a terrible love I’m walking with, It’s quiet company.

[nyctoheart]

i can’t believe superwholock existed as one the largest fandom(s) on this website. there hasn’t been a trace of it on my dashboard in years. No mention, no whisper. a ghost. i still follow people who reblogged it. i myself reblogged it. and yet here we are, not daring to ever mention it. im risking my life making this po

[thirteenshands]

Thirteen’s hands in every episode // the tsuranga conundrum (11.05)

[jstorfancam]

I’m the doctor, but you can call me Clara.

[agustdstan-blog]

[ofamethystsandsapphires]

“What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?”

— Virginia Woolf, Night and Day 

[cooltennant]

[impossiblyamelia]

[mishawinsexster]

me: *steps into the tardis*

doctor: go on, say it. people always do

me: …

me: does this have wi-fi

[amuliapond]

[shadowsonthescreen]

[augusters]

“stupid fucking tv show” we all say as we continue to dedicate a whole blog to it

[ladyvengaence-deactivated201705]

you don’t always tell me the truth.

[hungwoon]

[loupettes]

M A G I C   T R I C K

SUMMARY: The Doctor’s acting strange the night they return from Krop Tor. Rose worries perhaps he regrets the boundaries they had so nearly crossed, but perhaps it’s something else entirely.

TAGS: post-the Satan Pit, hurt/comfort, Rose takes care of a sick Doctor, romance, yearning, all the usual

Read on AO3: magic trick

“Is there anything I can do to at least make you more comfortable?” she cautioned with a plea in her tone. He nudged his head slightly to the side, as if to lean closer to hear her.

“M’alright,” he mumbled drowsily. “But thanks.”

For a few minutes, they lay in silence — although Rose’s thoughts seemed so loud she was certain he could hear them. She watched as his chest rose and sank, slow and steady breathing, and she craned her neck just a little to see his eyes still closed, but his brow less pinched. He was at least drifting off, and she hoped his unfathomable little Time Lord regenerative physiology was working wonders.

She carefully reached back out to his hair, without really thinking, and began to stroke the ends even more softly than before. He, again, groaned in protest beneath her.

“Just humour me,” she reasoned in a whisper.