just a little clara love

the doctor spent 900 years in trenzalore
900 years in one place
and 900 in constant battle
thinking he’s going to die

then clara returns and above all odds he’s gifted another regeneration cycle

but now he’s old
and grumpy
and he hasn’t done the normal doctor thing for a hella long time
he doesn’t know who he is
even clara isn’t sure

they clash
she tells him off
he tries to make amends
tries to be the good man
he thinks he’s failed
but clara thinks it’s the trying that counts

and so it does
he accepts he’s an idiot

but he thinks clara’s moved on
he’s not he handsome hero
his cover came down for her
and she chose someone else
so he lies
he continues to be an idiot
he lets her go

but then he gets a second chance
he never gets that
the universe never grants him that
yet there she is

no more time for lying
they hit the jackpot

but it doesn’t take a time lord to know how this will end
his second chance will be taken away again
his teach
his guiding light
his carer
she can’t last forever
and he can’t take it

so he crosses the line he drew to save her
because screw the universe he can do anything
he deserves this one small thing
he will get what he wants
no matter the cost

he stops being the doctor

but then clara

always clara

no more lies

tell the person how you feel

be a good man

be the doctor

he may not remember her smile
but he remembers that
it is part of him now
and everything he does

the impossible girl from under his childhood bed

so when he meets river
he loves
he accepts the end
he embraces the moment
he wears the hell out of the red velvet jacket

he is the doctor

Gott ist tot!
Gott ist tot!

    God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

    —Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Section 125, tr. Walter Kaufmann

I am so sorry this is so long and it’s not even organised or very good you said send metas and there’s one I’ve always wanted to write but couldn’t post on my own blog because I’m a coward who is afraid of hate you don’t have to read this or post it or anything if you don’t want to but I’m going to send it because it feels good to get it off of my chest.

My relatable characters are almost always girls. My sister says that that’s because nobody writes male characters like me, not in a ‘I’m not like other girls’ sort of way. Just that there’s a large portion of male characters that are… not me. I don’t know why. But anyway, because of that, Doctor Who has meant a lot to me. Especially Eleven’s era, partly because that’s the one I started with, but also because the characters all work for me.

Like, where to start? Eleven. Eleven is very similar to me, and not in the goofy sort of way. He’s goofy because he wants to impress people and make them happy, and make them laugh, and hides all the dark bits all bottled up inside. It really kills me when people dismiss his character for being unrealistically dark and goofy, because… finally, a male character who I could, at least somewhat, relate to! I’ll always love all of the Doctors for different reasons, but Eleven (and Seven) fit with me for that very important reason.

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