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#nonononononono let me hug you please

In moments like these, I think he’s reflecting the pain of all of the regenerations from his past. 

You have to remember, Eleventh is essentially the aftermath of Tenth. The various incarnations of the Doctor always reflect what had destroyed the previous incarnation.

Tenth had allowed himself to get too human. He had formed romantic relationships with his companions and was a far more emotional Doctor than previous versions.

Eleventh reacted by alienating himself from those around him instead. He doesn’t let people see his feelings. Eleventh does all he can to make people laugh, and to make people think he truly is “always alright”.

All of the above, yes.

The Doctor started as an almost grandfatherly character when we’re introduced to him. He takes people under his wing, takes responsibility for those who travel with him because they’d never get into the messes he encounters if they hadn’t decided to hop on board the TARDIS and go on a journey. He has accidental travelers, stowaways, the whole range of them, and he simply cares for them and makes sure they’re fine. But then there’s more. The Doctor has a family, has a granddaughter who travels with him and chooses a human love and life over an eternity of travel, sees appreciation in humanity over the stars that our dear Time Lord has always so adored, and so he works at it, to become the most humane person he can, only destroying his enemies when he needs to.

But the Time War changes him, as any war changes any soldier. He fights, not on the side of the Daleks or the Time Lords, but on the side of the rest of the universe, the one side nobody else wants to take, and in the process, he loses everything. In the New Who that most people are exposed to, we meet his ninth regeneration, one with a fierce defense mechanism when it comes to other people, but very little care for himself. He throws himself into the path of danger over and over, and it’s only sheer luck that he survives half the time. If Rose hadn’t been around, he would have gotten himself seriously injured or killed multiple times in that season. Nine hates Daleks with a passion, he is a man of fire and fury and the ability to burn through worlds, but love stops him, and he regenerates for love.

Ten comes into the scene, born of a kiss, and immediately in the Christmas Special we see him do something that we’re not accustomed to… sleeping, exhausted, and unable to help in their time of need. Of course he comes through at the end, he always does, but he’s distinctly human, recognizing which social habits are unacceptable in company, dressing smart, trying to impress a girl. He’s in love, and he forgoes his ability to roam around free throughout time and space because he’s found a tether, a lifeline of sorts, and when he loses it, he’s devastated. He fills the gaps the only way he knows how, drifting and lonely until he finds someone who’s willing to connect with him while still mourning for Rose. His emotional negligence drives away Martha, and he finds a fantastic friend in Donna, only to lose her as well. The realization occurs, in the end of all things, that everyone he interacts with becomes a soldier, just like he was, and that knowledge nearly breaks him.

Oh, but that’s not all, of course not. There was the one glimmer of hope, the Master’s return, the I’d-dare-not-have-hoped possibility that there was another Time Lord left, that he hadn’t caused the utter devastation of his race, that there was someone who might understand the kind of life he led. And so he allowed it, a year in captivity for the sake of knowing that his once-friend was still alive and well, even if he had to undo the damage, even if he had to use the power of humans (still always humans) to reverse time itself. And he cried when the Master died in his arms, begged him not to go, but as always, he was left behind. So he buried him and ran, only to find that burial hadn’t kept him down and even still he tried to reason with him, tried to make him understand that they could lead a life without the perpetual loneliness that plagued him, the constant guilt that might have been alleviated just a little to know that there was someone of his own kind that he may have been able to help, and that disappeared too. So he gave up. He gave up his life for the love of a friend who wouldn’t remember him, for Donna, because her grandfather was the dearest person left in her life. He left that life behind to turn into this, what you see above.

What you see above is Eleven. He’s the man who thinks he’s a monster, who is his own worst enemy. This is the Time Lord who is the stuff of his own nightmares, who is plagued by every guilt imaginable, whose only solace as a dying man was a little ginger girl that refused to stop believing in him, the only one he hadn’t done wrong by. Rule number one: The Doctor lies. And most of the time, it’s for your own good.

(Everyone should take time and read this.)

(Source: impalainthetardis)



made my day

John watched their new housemate as he made his way to the fridge before realizing much too late that Sherlock still hadn’t moved the severed head that he had obtained from Molly. Quickly, he moved forward to try and stop the man from opening the fridge, but the damage was done. He grimaced slightly as the man froze at the grisly sight of the head, blood congealing around the base of the neck where it had been chopped off.

“Human head,” he mused, his tone only mildly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

John frowned slightly. Definitely not the reaction he had expected. Most people would have been sent running for the hills if they found out that their new housemates stored human body parts next to the milk. Sherlock, still examining whatever was on the slide under the microscope, didn’t look up, merely telling the man not to touch anything as it was an “experiment.”

“Yeah, you should avoid the microwave as well,” John said apologetically. “He keeps eyeballs in there.”

The man, however, didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he let out a small yelp before pulling out the frozen fish fingers and the tub of custard that John had bought the previous day.

“Fish fingers and custard. Perfect!”

At this, even Sherlock looked up, exchanging incredulous glances with John, who simply watched the man as he made his way to the microwave and taking the eyeballs out, ignoring Sherlock’s angry protests, and put the fish fingers in and warming them up. After they were done, he took them out and, to get Sherlock to stop fussing, he put the eyeballs back inside and made his way to the table, sweeping the old newspaper articles to the side and sitting down.

“How long have you been living here, then?” he asked, opening the tub of custard and swiping one of the fish fingers through the yellow, creamy sweetness and popping it into his mouth.


“Six months and fifteen days,” Sherlock said curtly, his attention back on his experiment. John sat down in front of their new housemate, watching him curiously as he swiped another fish finger through the custard.

“Fish fingers and…custard?” John asked, gesturing at the unlikely combination. The man looked up, oblivious to the custard that was at the corner of his mouth and nodded with a smile. 

“Best meal in the world,” the man said, swallowing. “Ever had it before?”

John shook his head. He couldn’t help being curious about the man. He had simply appeared on their doorstep that morning and Mrs. Hudson had seemed to take a liking to him, inviting him to stay until he could find a place of his own. Sherlock, of course, thought the entire thing was rather tedious and ignored the newcomer for the most part, but John found him interesting.

“Pity,” the man said. “The last time I had it I was with a…a friend.” His smile seemed to shrink slightly, an almost pained look in his eyes. “Good girl, that one. They always are.”

“I’m sure you could stay with her, then,” Sherlock said, still focused on his experiment. John shot Sherlock a you’re-being-insensitive-again look, but Sherlock didn’t see it.

“I won’t do that to her again,” the man said firmly, sucking the custard off of another fish finger and biting into it. “She’s happy where she is. She doesn’t need me now.”

If Sherlock wasn’t focusing so much on whatever it was on the slide, he would have noticed the slight tremor in the man’s hand and the flicker of sadness that passed through his eyes. However, it soon passed and he was grinning again. 

“Besides, she’s not the one who needs me right now. It’s you two that’ll be needing me soon enough.”

At this, Sherlock couldn’t hold back a scoff. He looked up, raising an eyebrow. “And why would we need you?”

The man met his skeptical gaze unflinchingly. “Because I happen to be good at catching.”

(Source: lecterings)

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