Finally he’s (the Doctor) put in the position again where instead of giving your life for Time Lords and Daleks and great big mythological concepts that are very much offstage…it’s for Rose. It’s for that 19 year old shop girl from Planet Earth who is braver than brave and more loyal than anyone else in the universe. She is dying and he’s giving his life for her. Never mind wars. Never mind epic mythology. Never mind all that grand stand stuff. It’s absolutely personal and he’s at his most human. Right at the end he does a very human thing and gives his life.
Russel T. Davies on the Ninth Doctor – Doctor Who Confidential Series 1 Episode 13 (via thedoctordanceswithrose)
It’s after midnight here, so let’s say this one is for Penis Friday. It started as one thing and turned into another. If it’s not my best, I’m sorry.
Fruit Salad – Sherlock should never be allowed to suck the cherry off it’s stem
teaser below the cut:
John watched Sherlock sip soda through a straw. Whoever handed that straw to Sherlock Holmes should either be shot or given a medal. The detectives eyes were on the paper in front of him, but John was trying not to stare at the pout of his lips and failing miserably.
Licking his lips, John adjusted his erection under the table, glade for the distraction as the waitress brought then lunch.
Sherlock set down his cup. John pointedly picked up his fork and knife. Sherlock had ordered a fruit salad and John had to bite his lip as Sherlock picked up a cherry and sucked it off the stem.
John felt his face warm and reached for his water, gulping down the cold drink. When he looked at Sherlock again, the man was watching him, fingers steepled and tugging slightly at his bottom lip. “Everything all right, John?”
John didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead he shoved a forkful of food in his mouth and nodded with a smile.
Sherlock met his eyes and slowly slid a grape into his mouth, keeping Johns eyes locked on his
Johns fork stilled as Sherlock slowly ate another grape. He watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
Sherlock ate a piece of melon, then picked up another cherry. As he slid it into his mouth, he reached under the table and his foot touched Johns ankle. Johns knee jerked up, banging the underside of the table.
Further Meanderings of Merinda: manderkinz: merindab: manderkinz: merindab: manderkinz: I’ve come to…
I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel about Ianto Jones the way Cecil feels about Carlos.
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair you’re going to put a hit out on him?
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair, I will kill him myself.
It’s because he was jealous of Ianto! Sweet, perfect Ianto.
Poor Ianto has the flu and Steve Carlsberg (that jackass) filled in for him. Owen nearly choked to death on his unacceptably dry scones and the notes he took at the staff meeting were atrocious. It took Ianto three hours to sort through the bad grammar and the confusion resulted in six casualties.
And can we talk for a second about how Steve Carlsberg thinks that “beyond the government” means that Torchwood should TAKE OVER the government? As if my Ianto—clever, clever Ianto—would take part in such undignified anarchy.
I heard Steve Carlsberg even brought Myfanwy the wrong sort of chocolate. Who on earth tries to feed white chocolate to a pteradon?
It messed up her digestive system for days! And did he apologize to her?!?
Of course not!
It was all “She’s a prehistoric creature, Ianto. She doesn’t have feelings.” And “White chocolate is still chocolate, you didn’t specify.”
Of course he wouldn’t have specified! EVERYONE knows what pterosaurs require at least 70% cocoa to keep their serotonin levels at peak efficiency.
White chocolate isn’t even real chocolate.
What a jerk.
Further Meanderings of Merinda: manderkinz: merindab: manderkinz: merindab: manderkinz: I’ve come to…
I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel about Ianto Jones the way Cecil feels about Carlos.
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair you’re going to put a hit out on him?
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair, I will kill him myself.
It’s because he was jealous of Ianto! Sweet, perfect Ianto.
Poor Ianto has the flu and Steve Carlsberg (that jackass) filled in for him. Owen nearly choked to death on his unacceptably dry scones and the notes he took at the staff meeting were atrocious. It took Ianto three hours to sort through the bad grammar and the confusion resulted in six casualties.
And can we talk for a second about how Steve Carlsberg thinks that “beyond the government” means that Torchwood should TAKE OVER the government? As if my Ianto—clever, clever Ianto—would take part in such undignified anarchy.
I heard Steve Carlsberg even brought Myfanwy the wrong sort of chocolate. Who on earth tries to feed white chocolate to a pteradon?
put “top 5” anything in my ask and i will answer ok go
I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel about Ianto Jones the way Cecil feels about Carlos.
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair you’re going to put a hit out on him?
If Telly cuts Ianto’s hair, I will kill him myself.
And then retcon any witnesses? Is that why Night Vale is so messed up, all the retcon in the water?
Don’t judge me. How was I supposed to know that Retcon in the water supply would cause everyone to develop paranoid schizophrenia? It’s not on any of the warning labels.
There should be pamphlets.
All I’m saying is nobody should have touched Ianto’s hair. Ianto’s hair is perfect. He uses just the right amount of gel—enough that his handsome, fashionable style lasts all day while still holding that boyish curl and run-your-fingers-through it softness.
They shouldn’t have touched it.
Don’t look at me, I heard Steve Carlsburg put him up to it.