tracing her way through the constellation
→ The Eighth Doctor is the Time War Doctor
He is born in the dark among the dead and that is how he will die. When the War begins, he is companionless and drifting. He seldom wears his frock coat and his cravat is loosened. His curls are shorn and one day, he picks up a leather jacket; it seems to suit him better now.
The voice that recites sonnets by heart is the same that condemns entire races and the hands that practice string instruments pull the trigger to end civilizations.
If he is born not knowing who he is, he will die knowing precisely: The Doctor, killer of his own kind.
Want so badly to be real. Want.
Oh my god. Tears. Literal tears.
“I’m finished,” he says.
A cacophony of sound as voices erupt from the screen.
“What are you doing!”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t be stupid Doctor, what are you playing at?”
“Doctor…” The Last Centurion, asking for one more miracle.
“My love. Listen to me. You can’t do this. This isn’t the time, nor the place. You know that as well as I. You know - “
“STOP!” he yells. He slams his hands on the table, face contorted in some semblance of emotion: all at once completely alien yet entirely recognisable. Nose crinkles, ever so slightly. A tremor - a shiver.
He looks down. Whispers.
He looks at them all, studies their faces one by one. He loved them all so very much. Too much. The TARDIS is fast running out of power, draining nearby stars for energy just to break through into eight fractured times. Eight fractured lives.
“I never forget, you know. I remember each one of you. I remember everywhere we went, everything we did. Everything I did. I can’t - “
He pauses, the words catching in the back of his throat. Closes his eyes slowly, breathes in, counts to ten.
“I can’t do this anymore. Everything has it’s time. And everything dies.” A pause and then - “Even me.”
Old faces look back at him. Below them, his own old faces. Their screens are muted; he knows what they’ll say. Knows that he would never have given up when he was young. But he is old.
He is so very old.
Tears start pouring down Amy’s face.
“Doctor. Doctor I know you can hear me. Raggedy Man. I knew we’d see each other again. You told me we would travel forever. Don’t let this be the last time, huh? Don’t - don’t let this be another goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, as much to himself as to the faces on the screens. “I should never have done this. I don’t have much time. I just wanted to say - “
He looks at Rose for a moment. Remembers the taste of her lips on another mouth, her warmth in different hearts. Remembers Martha. The things he said.
The things he didn’t say.
Words he had rehearsed, words he should have shared long ago with each one of the people he kept locked in his two very broken hearts.
“I just wanted to say - “
Darkness. There are no more stars in the Doctor’s sky and the TARDIS slowly dies.
She is not alone.
Then one final whisper.
NOOOOO!!!! HE CAN”T DIE!
YOU! GO TO YOUR ROOM AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU JUST DID!
When War Doctor left, he regenerated into a new man.
The Ninth Doctor.
He didn’t remember anything about what happened before. Seeing his future self, saving Gallifrey…
But he did know that he had to go,
to find something.
Something that had to do with…
OH MY GOD MOFFAT YOU GENIUS YOU FREAKING I CAN’T ANYMORE WITH THIS SHOW THE CONTINUITY RETCONS A CRAPLOAD BUT IT STILL MAKES SENSE
It’s essay writing season for tons of students!
After being a college writing tutor for over a year, I thought I would share my advice with all you awesome people on tumblr. This is how I write essays, but if you’ve got more tips, feel free to add them below.
Happy writing. You can do it!
This is actually brilliant.
It’s so cute the way Hermione is trying to make friends in this scene. And even sad because she’s ignored twice.
Actually what I love about this is she’s looking at an older student’s work. And I think that’s a Slytherin girl? Yeah it is. (props for whoever put that Slytherin and Gryffindor study session together, btw.) anyway what I love is she’s kind of going around to different kinds of kids. Older Slytherin girl, the Gryffindor boys. How much do you want to bet she was following Ravenclaws around before this? Or trying to make friends with the Patils, or other Gryffindor girls?
Hermione’s the most like any of us than Harry or Ron, I think. She’s the book-girl, the one who probably spent the majority of her childhood sitting in a corner reading while the rest of the class was busy socializing. She probably felt like all of us have felt at some point- like they were different, like they didn’t belong; and then WHOA! Lo and behold, turns out she IS different! She’s a Witch! She’s special, she’s got magic, and she’s going to a place where she’s like everyone else! We all dreamed about it, we all WANTED that, we all wanted to go away to a place where we were a part of something that made sense, a place that we fit- and then she still can’t make friends. And maybe she looks at the red and gold tie and wonders if the Hat put her in the wrong place. Like maybe that Lion on her chest should be an Eagle. She knows she’s the brainiac, she knows it, she says it- Books, cleverness. What must it be like to get what you dreamed of- that you are special and have a place you belong- and then to believe you were put in the wrong place once you got there?
I mean we know, in the end, Hermione’s a Gryffindor. She embodies the strong, brave, brilliant witch that gives pride to the house- but nobody starts out the way they end up. Until Halloween of that first year, she was a lonely little girl with books. Everyone saw her as the bossy, opinionated, know-it-all when I think really she was just trying to bond with people the only way she knew how. With facts, and people see it as being rude when she’s just ridiculous honest and is too young to know how to channel that honesty in a constructive way.
God I don’t even know if I ever had a point with this but manI love Hermione.
Wow okay you win.