FoundThis

Everybody, try laughing. Then whatever scares you will go away!

@softest-punk ‘s amazing writing was the inspiration behind this, ( the text here is from the fic) !please go read their work it is divineee!

The events that follow generally overshadow this moment in Face the Raven, but I find it so compelling in itself: as soon as Me asks for the confession dial, Clara looks right at Twelve and doesn't take her eyes off him. After The Magician's Apprentice, Clara knows exactly how serious this has suddenly become for him, and her concern is all for him, even though she knows she still has a chronolock on her own neck.

Being queer isn’t supposed to be palatable to non-queers.

We don’t tick little squares on a checklist of “queer enough”, we obliterate the checklist.

We defy societal norms that say our bodies, families or relationships have to look a certain way.

Queer is the insult we took away from oppressors. We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it.

The people who hate us will hate us regardless of how palatable we make ourselves.

Stop licking fascist boots by policing queers who are queer in different ways than you.

Oh, someone is bi/pan trans lesbian with he/him pronouns? So what! They’re welcome on the rainbow. Their identity doesn’t have to make sense to you, it has to make sense to them.

Our identities don’t make sense to non-queers. They see us as unnatural and disgusting, so why are you turning around and crapping that same garbage out at your own community??

Once you drive the visible queers underground, the same people who hate us all will target you next. Nobody will defend you because you drove away everybody who would have.

Enough already!

It’s fine. This is a readily comprehensible human illogic. Exactly the kind of thing he expected from moving to Earth.

And he decides he’s honored by it, in a humanly illogical way.

The humans are asking him to do what is after all his job, and specifically requesting him for the joy his name brings them on top of an already agreeable and satisfying task. He has no objection to engendering positive emotions in others. Harm hastens the heat-death of the universe, Surak teaches, so happiness must logically slow it down. 

Plus, Vulcans of his generation love puns. There were two decades of punning competitions in colleges across the planet. So when he realizes that he is a walking zero-effort pun, and that the humans also love the pun, he is all for it. He is the Joe Cool of the entire Vulcan population in his city. 

And via this pun, the humans are including him in a cherished and traditional myth, by casting him as the literal bringer of life and the expander of families. 

For real though working together with some human social workers, a Vulcan would be an excellent caretaker for children in an adoption center.

Child has a meltdown? Imagine Stork, perfectly calm and unbothered, approaching the kid and saying “You appear quite upset, Eliza. If you would please allow me to relocate you to the ‘bean-bag-chair,’ we can discuss the source of your distress.”

A Vulcan educated in medicine and child psychology would be endlessly patient with a kid with behavioral issues. Stork wouldn’t get or upset or frustrated. After all, these are children with medical and psychological conditions. It would be illogical to blame the child or to not treat them with the appropriate care.

Even if the a little one was having a bad day or was just overtired, Stork wouldn’t get angry. He might even be a calming presence. Any new kids acting out would learn real quick that they’d have better luck trying to arm-wrestle a Klingon than get a rise out of Stork.

Not only that, Vulcans live much longer than humans. Imagine Stork looking virtually unchanged as decades pass. Kids he’d helped years ago would turn up fully grown, maybe there to adopt their own kids, and run into Stork, looking almost exactly as they remember him.

Not “you’re playing with that wrong” but “a wonderfully logical thing to do, you’re developing vital skills for later in life.” and bringing them more complex things to sort/stack.

Agreeing that eye contact is not necessary for communication.

Teaching them research skills so they can learn more about their hyperfixations rather than telling them they have to develop more normal interests.

MOFFAT: River's not just his wife - she's his widow. somewhere in the terrible future, on a battlefield, the 45th Doctor dies in her arms and makes her the same promise she once made him - it's not over for you, you'll see me again. So River buries her husband and off she goes to have lots of adventures with his younger selves and confuse the hell out of them. Until, of course, she ends up in the data core of the library planet, and realises she'll never seem him again. And then she starts to wonder why anyone would call a moon "Doctor". Ah... Yeah, some version of that could still work. The Doctor worrying that she'll get lonely in the library, and popping his dying mind inside a moon. God, look at those words. I actually typed those words.

RTD: I've never forgotten that Doctor Moon thing, it's so clever. Every time i watch that story, I think, it's him, it's The Doctor, and no one knows.