no longer the curse of the time lords

Headcanon that Harry becomes an auror straight out of school and, at first, Kingsley is very pleased with his work. He always does what’s asked of him and he works very hard… too hard.

The guy’s eighteen years old and has been fighting a war against a genocidal maniac since he was eleven. Now they’re sending him after petty theives and people breaking the statute of secrecy and he can’t seem to grasp that it isn’t the same.

He’s used to the idea that, if he doesn’t fight, then the people he loves will be murdered in front of him. So he never takes a break and often works long shifts into the night. Kingsley gets used to the owls that come from Ginny every few days saying that Harry hasn’t come home again. Sometimes he’ll find him working, but more and more as time goes on he’ll just be slumped over his desk, his pen still in his hand.

Ron calls him an idiot, Hermione tries to convince him that he no longer has to treat every case like he’s fighting Lord Voldemort and Ginny jokingly says that she might try using a body bind curse on him, just to get him to sleep. But no matter how much he tries to relax, he can’t let go of the feeling that everyone’s lives depend on him.

Then one day he just collapses and they can’t get him to wake up. He comes round a few hours later in St Mungos with his friends all standing over him (including Professor Mcgonnagal, who came over on the floo network the moment she got Ginny’s owl). The first thing Harry does when he comes back is try and get out of the bed and back to the auror office— he was in the middle of some important paperwork, and what if they need him to go out into the field and he’s not there? He gets so agitated that the healers end up having to give him a sleeping potion to keep him from fighting off his friends and running back to the Ministry in his pyjamas.

After that they all take turns sitting by his bed, talking to him or playing gobstones or exploding snap (not wizard chess, though. The last thing they need is to remind him of the old days).

Eventually, but only after the healers have given permission, he’s allowed to go home— though Ginny refuses to let him go back to the ministry for another month. When he returns, everyone acts very pleased to see him (they all visited him while he was ill and sent him mountains of cards and chocolate frogs) and he’s called into Kingsley’s office.

There Kingsley tells him that he’s not going to be put back in charge of case work just yet, nobody (except Harry of course, who insists he’s fine) but asks if he wouldn’t like to try training the new aurors?

Harry can’t see anything to do but agree, so he starts work and discovers that he’s really good at it. It’s a lot like being in the DA again, actually, only without having to worry about Umbridge or the Inquisatrial Squad. To his surprise, Harry finds himself actually having fun at work, rather than worrying all the time.

In a few years he even get to train Ron, who jokingly calls him ‘Professor Harry’ and later, seriously asks him if he’s okay about this, since being an auror was always his dream and now Ron’s going to be doing it instead. Amazingly though, Harry realises that he doesn’t mind at all and is quite happy to let Ron go ahead and spend time in the limelight, while he works behind the scenes.

He ends up working there for several years and, at the end of his career, all his surviving students (which was a lot more of them than there could have been, thanks to Harry’s teaching) gather in the ministry to thank him. In his goodbye speech he calls his time at the ministry “the happiest time of my life.”

The Tree of Alchemy

Alchemy, the secret art of the land of Khem (Kemet, ancient Egypt), is one of the two oldest sciences know to the world. The other is astrology. The beginnings of both extend back into the obscurity of prehistoric times. According to the earliest records extant, alchemy and astrology were considered as divinely revealed to man so that by their aid he might regain his lost estate.

According to old legends preserved by the Rabbins, the angel at the gate of Eden instructed Adam in the mysteries of the Qabbalah and of alchemy, promising that when the human race had thoroughly mastered the secret wisdom revealed within these inspired arts, the curse of the forbidden fruit would be removed and man might again enter into the Garden of the Lord.

As man took upon himself “coats of skins” (physical bodies) at the time of his fall, so these sacred sciences  were brought by him into the lower worlds incarnated in dense vehicles, through which their spiritual transcendental natures could no longer manifest themselves. Therefore they were considered dead or lost.

Manly P. Hall, The Secret Teachings of all Ages.

Image from a 1577 manuscript, The Leaves of Hermes’ Tree

This is a very late birthday present for @katiethemstie. Happy very, very, very late birthday, sweetie!

This imagine originally had Nine wearing brainy specs, but it didn’t make the cut, and I am actually disappointed by that.

“This feels so weird,” you said.

The Ninth Doctor  pressed his lips to the soft skin of your neck as he pulled you closer to him. “How’s it weird?”

You took a deep breath, reveling in the feeling of Nine’s strong hands on your back. You missed those hands. You didn’t know you had a hand thing until him. (And then there was Ten, and his hand thing was completely different.) “I’m kissing you, and other you is right there.”

“Eh, neither me minds,” Nine said. He tugged you back to sit next to him on the big, cushy chair that had always been and still was the Doctor's favorite cuddling place in the library. You ended up less on the chair and more on his lap, and you were quite sure that he did it on purpose.

“You sure about that?” you asked dryly, tossing a pointed glance at where Ten was sulking with a book that he obviously wasn't actually reading.

Nine took one look at Ten's sullen expression and scoffed. “Yes, I’m sure. Aren’t I, Doctor?”

“Oh, yes,” Ten drawled grumpily, voice muffled as he pulled the book up to his face. “Totally sure, we are. Totally. Not one itty-bit of a problem, no sirree, not at all. Nope. You just enjoy yourselves.”

You huffed out a sound of exasperation against Nine's green jumper. Nine rolled his too-blue eyes.

“He like this all the time?” Nine asked, looking mostly displeased and… almost apologetic. Almost.

“Imagine trying to compete with yourself,” you said, patting Nine on the shoulder.

Nine grunted. “Oh, I don’t havta imagine, me. Do it all the time. This actually happens a lot.”

“Not for a whole bloody week,” Ten griped, sinking lower into his chair. You imagined a tiny thundercloud forming over his head.

It really had been a whole week. What was supposed to have been a quick fix wasn’t a quick fix at all, and for the past six days, today being lucky number seven, Nine had been a third member of the TARDIS crew. Nine was having fun, really, and you couldn’t help but be entertained, but Ten was fit to give birth to a Slitheen egg if this kept up any longer. He was climbing up the walls, and Nine’s tendency to provoke his future self wasn’t helping. And, by provoking, I mean… cuddling.

You knew that you weren’t helping. You knew that all the attention that you had been paying to Nine was driving Ten to the edge of what a Gallifreyan man could bear (what with their claiming instincts and ‘MINE’ mentality about mated pairs and all that alien business that was the real curse of the Time Lords and the fact that Nine made Ten really, really nervous). You knew that it would be easier if you just gave them both their space. It wouldn’t be boring if you did. All you had to do was sit back with a bowl of popcorn and a video camera and wait for a fight to break out. It was monumentally entertaining. But how could you? Nine’s regeneration had been unexpected and explosive and frightening and there hadn’t been any time for proper goodbyes. Not that he was gone. The Doctor was the Doctor and he hadn’t gone anywhere, but this familiar part of him that you loved so much was buried underneath Ten’s persona, along with all the others that were him. Not to be seen or heard or touched or tasted or smelt, and while you understood those things weren’t really important… it felt important. And you missed him so much.

Which was why you were taking advantage of Nine’s presence and spending as much time with him as you could. Nine was flattered by all the attention he was receiving from you, puffing and preening every time you even glanced at him. Ten was less enthralled.

“You wouldn’t be happy if you were in his shoes,” you said, giving Nine a thump on his broad chest. He didn’t even flinch.

“I will be in his shoes, when I’m him,” said Nine, who squinted at Ten as if he almost didn’t believe his own words. “Oddly enough.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. It’d be different, though, if it was another me. Eight was different.”

“Was he?” you asked. Ten had mentioned all of his previous forms in one way or another, but you didn’t know all that much about them individually (although you had an idea of which ones were the Doctor’s equivalent of bad teenage years, because he hardly ever mentioned them, and when he did mention them, his cheeks just happened to get a little pink). You knew that Eight was one of the fancy ones.

Nine nodded. “Yeah. He would’ve adored you, though.”

“Eight would have begged to keep her,” Ten added, keeping his eyes trained on the book he wasn’t actually reading. “Paradoxes be damned, not that he cared.”

“'Xactly,” said Nine, smiling nostalgically. “He loved all that romantic stuff but he never had anyone t'be romantic with.”

“Shame, that,” you said teasingly. “If only, if only.”

Nine hummed, shifting so that he could lay one arm over your middle and rest his head against the crook of your neck. “Might go t'sleep like this.”

“That’s fine,” you said, wiggling down until you were both reclining comfortably on the cushions. Nine pressed himself deeper into the pillows and sighed in contentment. You smiled, feeling… something that was almost pride but not quite. It was just… sort of flattering, to be the one person who the Doctor was willing to relax with.

Ten made a soft, short whining noise that was too close to a whimper to be ignored. You lifted your head to look at him.

The book had been cast aside. His arms were folded around himself, his knees were drawn up, and those brown eyes that you loved so much were far too full of hurt. Something in your chest jerked at the sight. Nobody was supposed to be able to make him feel that way. Not ever.

Well, you had messed this up, hadn’t you?

You reached out your free arm that wasn’t being cuddled by Nine and made a grabby gesture. Ten immediately perked up at your attention, eyebrows slanting upwards in question.

“C'mon, you too,” you said, beckoning Ten over.

Ten bounded up and over to you, diving onto the chair and snuggling right up to your side.

Nine scowled. “But-!”

“There’s room,” you said firmly, giving Nine’s arm a squeeze. It was a practiced tone of voice that you used whenever he ran his mouth in front of important aliens or stayed awake for four days straight (which, despite whatever he might have said, was not something Gallifreyans were supposed to do).

“She wants me here,” Ten said.

You didn’t think this through, you realized. You had a Doctor on both sides and they had been bickering endlessly for nearly seven days straight. It didn’t matter that there was cuddling. It didn’t matter that you were between them. They would still fight. This was bad.

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you gettin’ much attention, y'bloomin’ show pony.”

“Well, when you’re not around-”

“Oh! So the second I show up, who gets-”

“No, no-no-no, don’t you even!”

“I think it’s obvious who she likes better, pretty boy.”

“Hey!” you snapped. That got their attention rather effectively. “Both of you shut up and go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence.

“This’ll be really bad if there’s ever three of me here,” Nine said.

You glared at him. “Don’t even speak such things.”

Nine huffed a breath of laughter before laying his head down and closing his eyes. About time, you thought. There hadn’t been peace in the TARDIS for seven days, after all. You wondered how long they would sleep.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Ten.

“You’re already making up for it,” Ten murmured, nuzzling your shoulder.

And then there was, temporarily, peace between the Doctor and himself. Good job.

Feysand Fic (Part 5)

See parts 1-4 here

(Rhys POV)

Mor winnowed us directly into the downstairs living room of my… our townhouse. Reluctantly I raised my eyes to meet the stares of those in the room, whatever conversation they had been having forgotten at our arrival. Amren, met my gaze and nodded her head in welcome she was sitting on the couch conveniently separating Lucien from Nesta. Cassian raised his eyebrows at me, or at Mor I didn’t care enough to discern which.

The smell of my mate lingered in the room, but she wasn’t here. Panic pulsed, through me at her absence. My fear must have been visible on my face, because instantly Cassian whispered, “She’s fine Rhys, she is upstairs resting… but fine.” A breath that I hadn’t realized I had been holding shattered through my chest at his words. She was fine, my mate… my mate was okay, and upstairs. I was vaguely aware that Amren had started talking to Mor and I about what had happened in the Spring Court, but I couldn’t concentrate on the details, all of my thoughts were consumed by one thing… Feyre.

Without saying a word I turned my back on the room, heading towards the stairs. The desire to see my mate, compelling my feet forwards, pushing through my exhaustion with each step. I knew that I was walking at a normal pace, but it felt like it took much longer to reach the door to my… our bedroom than normal.

My hand shook as I reached for the door, cursing I balled my fingers into a tight fist forcing the shaking to stop, as I tried to pull myself together. Tried, and failed, I was too spent. I couldn’t even control my own body. I sighed, this is not how I wanted to look the first time I saw my mate again after months. I wanted to be the strong High Lord of the Night Court that she had fallen in love with, not the crumbling mess I was now. Cringing at the thought that my mate might not want the broken pieces of myself that I had become, I slowly pushed open the door.

Her scent hit me first, the smell of her this close almost bringing me to my knees. Pushing the door open farther, I finally saw her. Lying on her stomach, spread out across our bed, one hand clutching my pillow close. Her head was angled away from me towards the open balcony overlooking Velaris, but I could tell by the deep rhythmic rise and fall of her chest that she was asleep. She was still dressed in that ridiculous pink dress from the Spring Court, I snarled showing my teeth, as I smelled spring on her… smelled Tamlin. I would kill him.

I reached inside me searching for the bond, but still could not feel her. That’s when I saw the bands of silver around her ankles, I vaguely recalled Lucien saying something about it nullifying her powers. This time a growl, fierce and strong ripped through me. How dare they put those chains on my mate, my High Lady.

Tentatively I reached out a finger to stroke the silver metal, the coldness of it surprised me, but what didn’t surprise me was the feeling of repulsion that went through me. My magic screamed at me to move away from it, to stop touching it, so I did. My face grim, as I looked for the first time into the face of my mate.

This time my legs did give out, as I feel to my knees in front of her. How had she survived wearing those horrid chains for so long. A shudder went through me at the thought of what it must feel like to wear them all the time. I raised my gaze again to take in her face. She was beautiful, and she looked peaceful in this moment. My eyes scanned over the rest of her taking note of the bruise that was still prominent around her throat, and the fact that she had lost some weight, but she was alive and finally home.

Exhaustion pulsed through me as the drive to see my mate was fulfilled. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay conscious much longer, before my mind forced me into sleep so that it could restore the damage I had done earlier.

Carefully, so as to not disturb Feyre, I braced my arms on either side of her on the mattress, and slowly lowered myself beside her on the bed, my arms tightening around her to hold her close against me. The last thing I remembered before giving into the burnout was her warm breath caressing my neck.

(Feyre POV)

I was starting to wake up, my mind slowly catching up the events of day, when the scent of citrus and sea filled my senses. Slowly I remembered that I was in our room lying on our bed, but the scent seemed stronger. My eyes snapped open.

Rhys…

My mate, was sleeping beside me, his arms wrapped around me holding me tightly to his chest. Angling my head backwards slightly I looked up into his face. His hair was disheveled, and longer than I had ever seen it. The muscles of his face were relaxed in sleep, and one could have mistaken it to be peaceful if they didn’t know better. Dark circles lined his eyes that were not there months ago, his strong cheek bones more prominent. He looked as broken as I felt.

Wanting desperately to touch him, to prove that this was real and not a dream, I raised a finger tracing the outline of his face expecting him to stir at the sensation, but he remained asleep. Odd… Rhys would normally snap his eyes open at the slightest movement. In fact he normally could sense when I was awake.

I let my hands roam lower, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling my body closer to his as my fingers continued there descent, grabbing his shirt pulling it up so that I could feel his bare skin against me. Rhys still didn’t stir.

Now I was concerned, something had to be wrong. Bracing my hands against his chest I pushed away as far as I could trying to see him better, but his grip instinctively tightened around me, pulling me against him. Looking back up into his face, I frowned. Was he having a nightmare? Why wouldn’t he wake up?

“Rhys…” I whispered against his ear, my voice much weaker and raspier than I would have liked, but it still hurt to talk thanks to… I shuddered pushing the memories down inside me. “Rhys” I tried again with more volume. My hand cupped his cheek, as I said his name again.

When he still didn’t react, I became frantic, shaking his shoulders, but he remained motionless. The only sign that he was even alive, was the warm breath hitting my face.

“Mor! Amren!” My voice wasn’t loud enough to be considered a scream, but I knew that if they were still in the townhouse they would hear me.

Within seconds Mor was standing beside the bed. She quickly scanned the room looking for any threats, upon finding none her gazed rested back on the bed, where Rhys and I were laying. I noticed that her gaze lingered longer on Rhys, before her eyes found mine.

“Whats wrong Feyre?” She whispered.

I pointed a finger at Rhys, who was still sleeping like the dead beside me. “What’s wrong with him?” My voice cracked with emotion, and I didn’t care as tears sprang to my eyes. I just wanted to speak to my mate, needed to hear his voice, feel his touch, his caress, his lips…

“Oh Feyre…” Mor reached out and squeezed my hand, offering me a comforting smile. “He’s fine, well… mostly. Today, I don’t know… he slipped. He released almost all of his power in a short amount of time. It drained him… I hadn’t realized how much, but…” Mor paused as she glanced over at Rhys. “ It seems worse than I initially thought. He will probably sleep for a while, perhaps days.”

Days… he could be asleep for days. I frowned at the thought and Mor laughed. “Don’t worry Feyre, you will have him back soon enough.” I offered her a small smile, of course I was just happy to be here, happy to be home. Mor smiled back at me, as if she could read my thoughts. I dropped my gaze, readying myself for the question that I needed to ask.

“How was he?” Mor’s smile faltered, as her eyes darted again to Rhys.

“He, umm… He didn’t take being separated from you well. At first, I thought that with time it would get better, but it seemed to only get worse the further you were gone. It was like everyday more of him faded away, until all that was left was the mask of the High Lord of the Night Court.” Mor shook her head, as if trying to clear away memories. “He sent Elaine away with Azril, and it made sense and has been working well to our advantage, but I think he had an alternative motive for sending her away, she reminded him too much of you. He started drinking more, becoming more isolated… today was the most I’ve talked to him in months…”
Pain and guilt ripped through my heart, as Mor talked. My fault… it was all my fault. Her hand tightened around mine, in reassurance as she said, “Nobody blames you Feyre.” I couldn’t respond without crying, so I just nodded my head, and looked back at Rhys.

“I do need to tell you something.” Mor continued, “In the morning members of the Summer, Dawn, and Winter courts will be here for a meeting at the House of Wind. We have been trying to persuade Winter and Dawn to join us for months, but have been mostly unsuccessful, especially with Winter. The news of Amarantha’s possible return has spread quickly, and Winter has agreed for a meeting.” Mor paused, apparently waiting for me to respond, when I didn’t she pressed further. “This is very important, their alliance will be the difference between winning and losing this war”

I knew that. I knew that Autumn and Day court had already aligned themselves with Tamlin and the King of Hybren, we needed all of the alliances we could get, and it still probably wouldn’t be enough.

“Why did they agree to the meeting now?” If they had been working on it for months, why now.

“Azril and Elaine were returning home to see you, and Dawn decided to come along. Winter it seems is interested in why Feyre Curse breaker, would associate with the monsters of the Night Court. Winter is mostly interested in speaking with you, and knowing what happened with Amarantha.”

I shuddered, the thought of having to speak about it to anyone. Rhys and I haven’t even talked about it yet, and to complete strangers. I couldn’t… I… I would worry about it latter.

“What about Rhys?” I asked glancing back at my mate who was still sleeping soundly. Mor shrugged her shoulders, as she appraised him from her spot on the bed.

“He might not fully recover in time for the meeting.” She finally said after moments of silence.

Rhys might not be there, that would mean that I would have to lead the meeting alone, a meeting where the outcome would change the course of history. I felt nauseous just thinking about it. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t do this alone. Not right now, not without my powers. Not with these stupid chains. I couldn’t… I couldn’t.

House Words Wednesdays: House Lothston

Welcome to House Words Wednesdays! Each week, I take a House without known canon or semi-canon words and present what I think could make sense as that House’s motto. You’re free to suggest more as well, if your favored House has not yet been suggested; take a look at this link to see what has already been suggested, and shoot me a tweet or ask through Tumblr if you have another House you’d like to see done.

House Lothston is an extinct noble House, the penultimate family to rule Harrenhal under the Targaryens. The Lothstons also hold the possibly dubious distinction of ruling Harrenhal longer than any other family - roughly eight decades, an eon in Harrenhal time. The Lothstons came into their mighty seat somewhat surprisingly, as a cover for scandal. Lady Falena Stokeworth, having served as the future Aegon IV’s first mistress, was quietly married off to Lucas Lothston, master-at-arms for the future Viserys II - a step down, perhaps, for what a Stokeworth of Stokeworth might have ordinarily married, but vastly improved when the new couple was given the seat of Harrenhal. Perhaps Viserys hoped a faraway seat would make Aegon forget about his scandalous dalliance, or perhaps he wished to bribe Lucas into keeping his son’s scandal quiet. Whatever the cause, the Lothstons rose rapidly through the Westerosi table of ranks, becoming in a pen stroke one of the grandest vassal families of the realm.

Unfortunately, the Lothstons also hold probably the worst reputation of any of the families that ruled Harrenhal (besides Harren the Black himself). Lucas Lothston was probably “the Pander” whom Ser Illifer mentions in AFFC - so named, perhaps, for the way he shoved his teenage daughter Jeyne (and perhaps his wife as well) into the bed of the aged and obese Aegon IV in exchange for the Handship. His son, Manfryd of the Black Hood, is no better remembered; @racefortheironthrone once speculated that he claimed that epithet for his penchant of masking himself in a black hood to do terrible deeds. This is probably the same Manfryd (or Manfred) who initially sided with Daemon Blackfyre in the First Blackfyre Rebellion … and then turned cloak for the loyalists (as the always rad @warsofasoiaf suggested, perhaps Manfryd refused to be left to defend against the Arryn approach from the east alone, and instead allowed Lord Donnel’s host to pass south toward the Redgrass Field). “Mad” Danelle - I assume the daughter or granddaughter of that Manfred/Manfryd - has all sorts of horrific stories about her, from bathing in blood to feasting on human flesh to sending giant bats to capture children for her cook pots. Although she proved more loyal than Manfryd - assisting the Hand Brynden Rivers in quashing the abortive Second Blackfyre Rebellion - she was the last of the Lothston line; overthrown for speculative and probably wholly unsavory reasons, House Lothston surrendered Harrenhal sometime during the reign of Maekar I.

Like their bannermen and eventual successors the Whents, the Lothstons featured a bat on their sigil - just a single bat, the appearance of which is still considered ominous in the Riverlands. I wanted words for the Lothstons that were sort of related to the Whent words I came up with all the way back in June of last year - “Our Hour Will Come” - to reinforce the ties between the two Houses. So I settled on Rising in Our Time for House Lothston. The hour of the bat is one of the chronological markers of Westeros, so - as with the Whents - there’s a nice connection to the bat of the Lothstons rising when its hour comes (although with a more sinister bent for the Lothstons, given the scary children’s stories Jaime recalls hearing about the bats of Lady Danelle). These words call back to the Lothston’s brief rise (and very quick fall) from royal favor during the reign of Aegon IV: from Lucas as Hand of the King and Jeyne as royal maîtresse-en-titre back to Harrenhal when the king tired of his plaything. Just as well, Manfryd Lothston rose in his time to support Daemon - but only for a time, until Manfryd decided that being on the rebel side was not so beneficial to his House as supporting King Daeron. When called upon by the Hand to present a show of force to Lord Butterwell, Danelle rose to stand with the crown … but, in her time, she and her House fell as well. Every family that has held Harrenhal has had its season, its time to rise before it falls into extinction; the Lothstons might have held the seat the longest (though only a little longer than the Whents did), but even their power could only rise for a certain time before they, too, fell to the castle’s curse.

Let me know what you think of these words for the Lothston bats. We continue both with the extinct Houses and Harrenhal Houses next week - the very first Lords of Harrenhal.

The Queen Regent (NFriel)

Here

Notes: Slight NSFW for steamy times, mention of pregnancy, blood, tiny bit of cursing || Based on this anon request (& these IxH imagines -x, x) -Hi! Can I request a Thorinxreader where the reader went on the quest but eventually finds out she is pregnant with Thorin’s child, but she doesn’t tell him. Then at the botfa she gets injured and is afraid she may have lost her baby.|| @justmasblack || More Thorin fics || Fanfiction masterlist

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Scope x Jean Smut!Oneshot

Oh my lord I’ve finally finished this oneshot, which I honestly didn’t really think it would take up to almost 3 weeks to finish. Well besides the fact that homework is a pain as always and that this oneshot was a lot longer then I expected it to be. I must apologize if some of the characters seem OOC and if theres any mistakes too as well ;-; also considering this is my first time typing a oneshot of these two lovely faces.

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Warning’s: Slight cursing, fluff, and obviously smut

Word Count: 7,969 ((I cri))

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One year since The Hug

“The Woman Who Lived” aired a year ago today. It was a fun, rollicking story that fleshed out the character of the immortal Ashildr, now known as “Me”, and while it was in my opinion the lesser episode of Series 9 (one had to be and yes that does mean I liked Sleep No More. I’ll explain why when it’s anniversary arrives), it was still a treat for fans of Maisie Williams and also gave us Rufus Hound’s great Sam Swift (a character I hope we see again).

It was an important episode because it was the first time we saw the Doctor without Clara by his side. It was a dry run in some respects for what we knew would be happening soon - the Doctor no longer being with her and instead sharing his adventures with somebody else. Not that Clara was forgotten; in fact the underlying theme of the episode had to do with the Doctor’s attachment to his companions. Ashildr’s continual loss - of memory, of loved ones - was a direct parallel to the Doctor’s own life. The curse of the Time Lords, only lived out by a human the Doctor just wanted to save.

As such, this episode foreshadows what is to come for the Doctor, and as such it is forgiven for being a Clara-lite episode in a season where there were precious few episodes with her remaining because it offers another piece of the puzzle to explain why he did what he did in the Raven Trilogy.

When Clara does finally appear, she makes up for lost time as we’re awarded with this moment:

Rarely have I seen in a sci-fi show the action stop for two people to just take a moment and be affectionate with each other like this. And it is a powerful moment on its own. For the first time in a long while we see Clara initiate a hug and the Doctor not only accepts it, he enjoys it. Contrast to Death in Heaven. Yes, we saw the Doctor give Clara two surprise hugs this season, but now its his turn.

And it’s what I call a universal moment because it works on so many levels. From a Whouffaldi perspective, well, that’s obvious. But even if you don’t accept Whouffaldi, it still works because it’s just pure unadulterated affection.

Unfortunately for the lovesick Doctor (I think it’s accurate to describe him as this) the hug reinforces everything he’d discussed with Ashildr about loss. Maybe he knows already that Clara’s days are numbered. Maybe he doesn’t and is experiencing anticipatory grief over her loss. Either way, the look he gives her is remarkable and one of the many Emmy-worthy moments in this show.

If only more people took this show seriously. Unfortunately it’s not gory enough or sexy enough for today’s tastes. Oh well. Their loss.

I still don’t get why people refuse to even consider looms to be canon… even though they are canon.
Time Lords are an alien race genetically augmented by one person and cursed to be barren by another. They reproduce by looming new Time Lords. There is no pregnancy or conception or birth. They create each other like this. There are no fathers or mothers or sons or daughters, there are only cousins.
The practice of human-like reproduction is no longer possible. The Pythia saw to that. This is canon. Words such as “father” or “grandfather” are seen as blasphemies (see Grandfather Paradox, renegade Time Lord).
I just don’t get it?

anonymous asked:

Hi! Sorry if this is a bother, but do you know any "school reunion" related fics? Preferably with doctor/rose involved, if possible.

Sure! This list feels like it’s missing some major ones- let me know if you have any additional ones that should be included! (Self-recs 100% fine)

Major plot point
Included as part of a longer story