aziraphalesbian:

their first and last interaction in canon.

rassilon-imprimatur:

If one is sworn to tell the truth – as I myself am in all things – then one must occasionally relate of things that are entirely inexplicable, or at the very least as hard to swallow whole as a Stygiian clampet – that single creature which lives upon the world of Stygiia, having consumed all else, and was, at last known mea- surement, some five hundred and fifty-thousand leagues wide. Such an instance, I must say, is the way in which the Doctor effected our escape from the Inner Court. It is years since then, and, try as I might, I simply cannot fathom how such an errant piece of what was, on the face of it, sheer stupidity, could ever possibly have worked.

As I stood there spouting sheerest nonsense, the Doctor, as has been told, managed in some way to extricate himself from the soldiers who were holding him, and thereafter succeeded in evading leather-clad guard after guard. As he did so, he busied himself moving various repulsive items in the chamber around, seemingly for no reason whatsoever. A bone-inlaid table here, a rack of dangling whips there, the partial remains of a tortured corpse to some other and extingent locale…

As these matters progressed, it seemed to become easier for him to do such things – so much so that by the end he was able to position several guardsmen where he wanted them to be, while they looked on dumbly behind their leather masks and waited for some Imperial order that never came. It was as if, by the end, the Doctor had, indeed, the chamber entire under a spell the like of which I’d talked of in my wild and quite frantic improvisation.

I would have liked to believe that my own words played some small part in achieving this strange state – but on reflection I believe that just isn’t so. I sometimes wonder, though, just what it was that had me pulling such ultimately apposite words and ideas from the very air. I almost believe, sometimes, that in some way of which even he himself was unaware, the Doctor had made his mind and intentions known to me, in some manner of speaking that was unrelated to what we know of as speech.

So, how was this spell cast? How did the Doctor get away with it? Well, having racked my brain for years, I first say that it was a matter of simple astonishment. The Ambassador Morel, the soldiers and the guards – and certainly the Emperor – simply could not believe that one brought before them would act in such a manner. And, once that initial astonishment had passed, pure curiosity had them watching just to see what might happen. By way of much clowning and gesticulation, the Doctor contrived to evidence no sense of being threatening at all – and, after all, what kind of threat could he ultimately present with such a weight of armed men on hand?

All such is just puffanstuff and speculation. In the end, I fear, I can only ask you to believe that for some small while the Doctor was allowed to roam the chamber unmolested, changing the position of a table here, a whip rack there, some pitiable dreg of ill-used mankind somewhere else, until the point in the proceedings where he paused and, as I say, went about his actual conjurations with a will.

‘What happened back there?’ Anji gasped as they ran through the corridors of the palace. ‘What did you do? You were running around like something demented, then you shoved at one of the guards and everything went crazy!’

The chaos of events in the Inner Court still raged in her mind, like one of those fever dreams where image upon disjointed image pile up before the mind’s eye in a nauseating, strobing mass that doesn’t even have the sav- ing grace of dream logic. People and objects flailing, falling and tangling up among each other, a blaze of energy weapons’ discharge that seemed to mow all in its path down indiscriminately while, miraculously, missing the Doctor and his friends as though they were shielded by a collection of personal force- field bubbles. The Doctor taking hold of her and hustling her back through the door through which they’d come in…

‘It came to me in a flash,’ the Doctor enthused proudly, bounding athletically along as if this were merely a bracing jog through the park. He was probably hoping for the local equivalent of a dip in the Serpentine in the near future. He didn’t seem out of breath in the slightest. ‘I had this flash of insight into how I could modify the iterations of the immediate probability space. It’s like that game children play where they set up a complicated arrangement of… ’ He frowned. ‘You know, those little plaques with spots on them that you play a game with. Just don’t expect me to be able to do it on demand. Or ever again, it seems. Oh, well.’

In recent months I’ve come to accept how much I unabashedly love Dave Stone’s Doctor Who (you all have probably noticed previous posts over the years of “oh good bits but crazy execution” or “phenomenal Time Lord lore but hot and cold on everything else”). There’s just something about Stone’s energy that make even the failures (of which arguably novels I adore like The Slow Empire and Heart of TARDIS kinda are) extremely entertaining (and I’ve been coming to accept that the wild indulgence demonstrated in the writing and lore crafting is something I very much relate to). 

But recently, @big-finish-sketches opened my third eye and stoked my canon-welding forges, asserting that the bizarre “magic trick” the Doctor uses in this passage of The Slow Empire, literally reshaping reality briefly using corpses and bone, may well be a half-remembered Faction Paradox ritual. 

Stone’s got a wild goddamn energy and they should write for Faction Paradox, in this essay I will

onceawhovian:

Sometimes, what you really want to do is listen to 2 hours of Eight being tortured.

The plot mostly exists to give a reason for beating up on the cast again, which is fine. This is a valid Dr Who plot. We get continuing looks at where C’rizz’s plot arc is going, although Charley’s seems to have stagnated. 

But really. Really it’s about the noises Eight makes when they’re amnesiac and in pain.

5/5

michaelsgambit:

FLOOF

I miss Twelve’s era so much

doctorfriend79:

Peter Capaldi (Twelfth Doctor)

leonimoys:

The Doctor and The Master

Seeing a powerful overlap between Crowley/Zira shippers and Narvin/Leela fandom today 🌸

rassilon-imprimatur:

Apep, Pariah of the Osirian Court, and Kifah and Intrepid from my contribution to Faction Paradox: The Book of the Peace, the short story Going Once, Going Twice!

rassilon-imprimatur:

prydon:

Paul McGann in his audition for the part of the Doctor

Always. Reblog. The audition hair.

vintagegeekculture:

One of my geek culture holy grails, which I have never been able to find online, in an age when I’ve been told anything is available online: when Doctor Who was initially shown in the US on PBS in the late 1970s and early 1980s, they included introductions to each episode by Diana Rigg, filmed in a studio, describing the episode you were about to see. They were very similar to the ones Diana Rigg gave before Inspector Morse or Poirot episodes later on.

Diana Rigg was visibly drunk in them, with the testy, annoyed expression of someone who didn’t want to be there. But either because she was drunk, or didn’t care, or (most likely) given a bad script, her introductory summary of the episode had absolutely no resemblance to the episode you were about to watch. It was like every episode of this era opened with a drunk and annoyed Diana Rigg telling you a strange, rambling, detached story of her own, that was in no way like the episode you were about to see. It was extraordinary.

One of her more lucid summaries was that the Cybermen were returning to their own home planet of Voga to destroy it before it could be used against them. I suppose that’s…sort of…like the plot of “Revenge of the Cybermen”, in much the same way that taking your friend out for a nice drive is “sort of like” ramming your friend with your car, in that the same three things are there in both stories, but they’re doing different things.

doctornolonger:

rassilon-imprimatur:

doctornolonger:

I don’t think anyone has posted this on Tumblr yet but this Twin Peaks / Doctor Who crossover commercial is ridiculously canon.

If Paul Magrs’ Hornet’s Nest/Demon Quest/Serpent Crest is the world of Doctor Who if the Fourth Doctor had never regenerated, then this is the same for the Third Doctor. 

In general all of Jon Pertwee’s 1990s appearances as the Third Doctor definitely fall into this category. His is undeniably one of the most interesting and charming post-regeneration fates.

rassilon-imprimatur:

Some monster bubs I’ve been fleshing out for @big-finish-sketches and I’s novel.

BABES

gallifreyburning:

I can’t believe I’ve listened to this series at least a dozen times and only JUST NOW GOT THE IRONY of the fact that Andred often teased Leela by telling her “Try not to kill anyone” whenever she went out to do … whatever it is she did every day

AND YET in the end, ANDRED was the one who actually killed someone, which wrecked his marriage and both of their lives in the process

I mean ………… just behold this absolute dumbass

(Also the first scene we see Leela, where she’s asking to live with the Outsiders, I’ve always wondered if this choice is partially driven by the fact that she was recently evicted from chancellery guard housing, given how long Andred has been awol/presumed dead. Romana not only gives her a job as bodyguard, but also probably lodging in the Presidential Palace. GOD I have so many headcanons for every single sliver of daylight between actual canon, I could write War and Peace in the margins of this series, which makes me love it even more.)

modernwizard:

Alison’s awesome attire! Alison, not used to wearing corsets, feels self-conscious and weird. The Master thinks she looks really cool, though, and tells her not to worry.