eleven ,

the 11th doctor of reset rp

[echoiclara-deactivated20200626]

Clara watched the Doctor ( Christ, she had to keep reminding herself – he wasn’t her Doctor anymore, he was John Smith – ) curiously, her eyes glossy. She mirrored his grin, but her mouth flew open with shock when he leapt forward to take hold of her shoulder. He gripped it tightly, as if he was about to float off somewhere, and Clara could only gape and try to attempt words of comfort. She didn’t break eye contact, feeling her chest tighten, words struggling to find a home on her tongue.

When his shoulders relaxed, John tried to smooth out the evidence of distress that had claimed the shoulder of her shirt. Clara held onto both his elbows trying to indicate she wasn’t concerned with that. “Are you – ” she started, but was cut off when John breathed out ‘y o u.’ Clara swallowed, mouth open. ‘Why can’t I remember you?’ he seemed to hiss, causing Clara’s skin to crawl. It was a scary sort of tone that Clara wasn’t sure how to feel about. He laughed, albeit a bit forcedly, and Clara finally blinked away her confusion.

He was seemingly at ease now, which Clara regarded cautiously. Don’t you worry, don’t you worry, don’t you worry, she repeated over and over in her head. It didn’t help her to not worry, only raise further concern. What had happened that was so – horrible – the Doctor had to force out Clara from his memory? Was he in hiding? They would figure it out, don’t you worry don’t you worry.

Clara wanted to believe him, yes, but she couldn’t –– not this. She couldn’t believe that this would be alright in the end. Whatever the reason was, it was bad. It had to be. Clara tried to reassure herself, don’t you worry. // Don’t you worry. // “Yes, we’ll…” she trailed off, in a sort of dreamy state. John adjusted his bowtie and composed himself. It was as if that strange outburst of obviously excruciating pain hadn’t happened, the way he had informed her that he could drive.

She swallowed and tried to force a smile. Clara sputtered out a laugh despite herself at his confession of the kind of car he had driven, and once she caught her laugh, Clara laughed again and brought a shaky hand to comb through her hair. “Driving glasses? – O h  m y !” she peeped, eyes wide with humorous surprise at the glasses he set on his face. “Where’d you get those glasses from –– Harry Potter?” Clara snorted, the shaky feeling in her knees ceasing and her stomach settling. “You look ridiculous,” she added.

“I’ll drive. I don’t trust those spectacles of yours. Seriously, though, where did you find them?” Clara couldn’t stop chuckling under her breath as she admired John’s glasses. They looked like they belonged to a silly Halloween costume. Clara glanced towards her blue Ford Fiesta and pointed to it once she spotted it. “That one there, the…em, the blue one. Is your flat far from here?” she wondered aloud, awkwardly moving towards her car in hopes that John would follow. “I could, em, I’ll have to…” She was thinking out loud about what she could do about her own job. She had students to mind, and finding a substitute on such short notice wouldn’t be easy whatsoever. But the Doctor needed her, he needed her to help him. And as horrible as she felt once the thought took root in her mind, Clara cared more about the Doctor than she did her own boring, routine life.

“Just let me know how to get to your place then, yeah?” Clara tried weakly, forcing those thoughts deep down into the recess of her brain.

[undaecim-blog]

A forced smile faded to one more genuine as he looked her over. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He said, and paused for a moment. “I’m right as rain now.” He reached up to trace double x’s over his chest. “Cross my hearts.” John’s perception seemed to slip for a quarter-second, like a sudden dizzy spell that was too short to take hold, and then everything snapped back into its place, so quickly that he was unsure anything had even happened. ( should’ve said the singular, but we all misspeak now and then, he thought fleetingly )

The longer he spent with her, the odder he felt. It was like the gestation of a disease, the virus growing more and more powerful with each passing second. The pain was the most shocking sign of it, certainly, and the one that had given him pause to notice the others, but now that he had they were numerous and strange. Memories of dreams he’d had flicked through his memory so quickly he wasn’t able to fully recall them, or hot and cold flashes that made his skin feel like it was burning.

Worst of all, however, was the slight prickling in his nose, like he was about to cry. Not because he felt sad, though there had been washes of that during the pain. No, it was something else. Something stronger than sadness. Something beyond that. And then, a memory –– or was it a thought? –– his voice: crying when you’re happy. ah, good for you, that’s so human.

This was the way through it all, though. This was how he’d figure out just what was going on. Most importantly, how he’d figure out just who this girl, Clara, was, and how she seemed to know him. Whomever she was, she didn’t have much taste in apparel –– Harry Potter indeed.

“They’re a fine style!” He defended, though he’d been told far worse –– and the bowties. students never let him get away with the bowties unscathed –– about his sense of style. The halloween he’d come to school as a cowboy had been the worst, possibly. One of the kids had set fire to his Stetson in Chemistry.

“And,” he went on. “they’re an heirloom. From some relatives, Williams something or other. These glasses, Clara, have seen history.” He managed to keep his expression sombre for about a 100th of a second, and then grinned, her laughter too infectious. “And beyond that, they’re cool.” Even so, he took them off and tucked them back into his jacket.

He followed her to her car, and though he’d originally been planning to insist that he drive, he found himself automatically on the passenger side of the vehicle. Admiring his reflection in the window –– quickly fixing his bowtie once again –– he did have to admit that maybe, just perhaps, his sense of dress was a tad ridiculous. But where was the harm in that? “It’s just around the corner, actually.” John replied.

John slid into the passenger seat, carefully buckling his seatbelt and then pulling at it experimentally. “I never get used to these,” he said, almost absentmindedly. “it’s silly, but I still feel like a kid being roped in for the first time. Safety, of course –– very important.” He nodded his head and tried to adopt what he assumed was a wise, sagely expression. “But still an odd feeling.”

He then set about adjusting the seat to give his legs some room, and prevent him from looking more ridiculous  than he ( apparently, according to Clara ) already did, a process which involved a great deal of shuffling back and forth between the slots in the seat-moving track, accidentally dropping the seat all the way back to the ‘lounge’ position, and then fighting his seatbelt as he tried to fix his mistakes.

Finally, though, he was seated comfortably, long legs given adequate room, and he gave Clara a quick thumbs-up. “Ready! As for directions,” he trailed off, looking out the windshield to orient himself. “if you follow this street to the end, then turn right, you should be there –– It’s the apartment building across from the telephone box.”

[resetrp-blog]

" THE 11TH DOCTOR " — time lord, chaotic good » matt smith » taken

PERSONALITY

The Doctor is the man who runs, in every way. His energy keeps him going, his humour keeps him cheery, and his long limbs help him stay away from things he finds difficult to cope with. He has trouble with goodbyes, with endings, with mortality, and repeats, and with failure. Time is something he wishes he could command, and though he may be able to circumvent conventional rules and understanding, he can’t stop it altogether.

He is an engaging, charming man, who smiles with the face of child, and cries with the burdens of a very old man. Though these could be seen as contradictory, or as one being a mask for the other, they truly aren’t. The Doctor is genuine in everything he does, even in the lies he tells and the deceits he weaves. He has lived far too long to try to fight himself now. He knows who he is, and while it may terrify him, he’s not running from himself anymore, and that is something.

He is trying to, for the first time in a long time, make something good for himself in the world. He’s spent a lot of time mourning and snarking and complaining, and though he’s certainly not swearing off anything at this point, he thinks he’s owed some unadulterated fun. So maybe it seems childish to lay such importance on particulars of appearance and haberdashery, or to spend time playing on slides, swings, and merry-go-rounds, but who cares? If it’s fun or exciting, he’s likely to be there, though trouble isn’t often too many steps behind.

He has a pathological hatred of boredom, a complete inability to be at rest. In his heart of hearts, he’ll always be the boy who prefered to stay in and invent a new kind of screwdriver. The Doctor is an inventor of things both invaluable and literally without value, and he has just as much fun with either. And of course, he is not without his faults, both large and small. He can be capricious and arrogant, but he does try his best. The Doctor is a good man. Not a hero, not a predator, nor a soldier or a killer, but a good man –– and most importantly, a very daft man with a very strange box.

BIOGRAPHY

The Doctor was born one of forty-five cousins made on the Loom of the House of Lungbarrow on Gallifrey over 900 years ago. After leaving his home in a “borrowed” Type 40 TARDIS, he travelled for some time before he found that he had a great deal of fondness for Earth, and its inhabitants. Even before he was made homeless by the Last Great Time War, he spent a good deal more time on Earth than on his homeworld. During his time there, he studied medicine in the 19th century, and later on came to hold Doctorates in both medicine and cheese-making.

The Doctor was always the man who never interfered, unless he knew there were children crying. From the time he left Gallifrey, he fought against evil and injustice, flagrantly breaking the Time Lords’ non-interference policy. Though he never intended to end up engaged in conflict, he had a bad habit of finding trouble, and a habit of trying to solve problems. The Doctor, even back then, couldn’t stand to leave worlds in peril. He was called to account for his crimes against the Time Lords during his second regeneration, and he was punished with forced regeneration, exile to Earth in the 20th century, and the loss of his knowledge about how to control the TARDIS, which was restored to him later.

During the Last Great Time War between the Time Lords and the Daleks, he was the one who was finally able to bring the war to an end. By sealing the War away in a time lock, he was able to cause the Daleks to become nearly extinct, but at the cost of displacing and losing Gallifrey. The time lock made it impossible to reach Gallifrey, and the planet disappeared, with many people believing it to be destroyed. The Doctor left for Earth, knowing that even if he could find a way back, saving his people would have grave consequences.

He felt that he was responsible for the death of the Time Lords, and the destruction of his home planet. Even if it had been the best possible action, it wasn’t one he was able to reconcile within himself fully. The Doctor spent a lot of time on Earth being closed off, sometimes even cruel, and slowly, slowly allowed himself to move on in his life, and to begin to forgive himself. By the time he’d reached his Eleventh regeneration, he had been able to leave behind some of the scars he carried from the Time War in the past. He gained a younger face, and to go with it, a youthful enthusiasm for adventure.

This time, he’d come back as an energetic and usually positive man, a man who wanted, more than anything, to have everybody just live. He was a cunning schemer, able to create and execute temporally complex plans to achieve victory. However, due to the loses he’d suffered, he was also more demandingly protective of his companions and friends. Peace and justice were the things he strived for now. Well, peace, justice, and perhaps a nice helping of fish fingers and custard.

OTHER

though the doctor has confessed to being any age from 903 to 2100, he also doesn’t always measure ‘years’ the same way. also, he lies.

he has a real thing for hats. if he can find a hat, he’s likely to put it on and love it.

the doctor tends to call things cool, especially things that are usually deemed to be “uncool”, like bowties, the fez, bunk beds, and the “drunk giraffe” dance. monks, however, are most certainly not cool.

This character is TAKEN and played by ZOEY.

[undaecim-blog]

that’s breaking and entering! what’d i break? sonic-ing and entering.

[undaecim-blog]

        –– headcanon 01 / sex & sexuality .

Note: Though this is just my headcanon, it's actually based in a lot of lore and research and canon, and so it's not just a random off-the-wall kind of thing. Though I’m writing about Time Lords generally, this is only really in relation to 11. Any of The Doctor's other incarnations were and are different from who he is now, and there are exceptions to every rule.

Also, though this whole thing may seem a bit Word of God, the reason it won’t be explicitly brought up very often, or perhaps at all, is that it’s unlikely (in my mind) for, say, Amy or Clara to sit 11 down and say “so what is it with you and sex?”. If a character and 11 were to have a discussion, he’d probably try to wiggle out of it or change the topic. But this is what’s going on in the background.

ANYWAYS, here is a basic list of reasons that The Doctor doesn’t just run around having sex all the time, and also, why he often appears quite scandalised by it. 

one. before Pythia’s Curse, Time Lords didn’t have all that much sex, to prevent the overpopulation of Gallifrey. because they live so long, having sex all the time would most certainly have lead to a horrible mess.

two. because they live so long, instead of sex being the intense, moment to moment fire that it is for humans, it’s a more long, drawn out type of courting for the Time Lords, which can eventually end in copulation, but doesn’t always.

three. since Pythia’s Curse, the Time Lords are sterile, and instead of having sex to procreate, they are reproduced from genetic material made on a loom.

four. because of one & three combined, sex is seen by most as a basically pointless activity. they have a very low sex drive (by human standards, at least) and far better things to do.

five. sex wasn’t, and isn’t, as intimate a thing as it is for humans. Time Lords have other ways to communicate intimacy, and sex was more of a ‘look we have to keep our people from death’ type of thing.

six. Time Lords are more closely related to lizard people than to humans. they didn’t descend from primates. in lizards, females make the choice about mate, and while males may puff themselves up to seem more attractive, at the end of it it comes down to the female’s choice. evolved, this made female-bodied Time Lords slightly more sexually aggressive than their male counterparts, a trait that has stuck around, to a certain extent.

seven. sex, of the intense variety humans favour, is not the most appealing kind to a Time Lord. however, in a partnership, a Time Lord partner may concede to move at a pace more suited to their human partner, and may even enjoy it, but it is not the anthropological default they would seek.

eight. Time Lords are able to transmit and receive information through touch telepathy, and as such, are a much more touch-comfortable race. things like face-touching and kissing were common ways to transfer ideas and emotions, like “i’m excited!” or “we’ve won”, and as such casual touch is ingrained in the Time Lords at large. Even Time Lords with little to no interest in sex would use touch to communicate their feelings, the same way their friends and families would to them when they were younger. it is such ingrained behaviour that it is as casual as a pat on the back for a human.

however, because of the touch telepathy, when a someone kisses them, they are able to tell instantly if the kiss is not being given in the same manner that they would give it. instead of something simple and platonic, humans often send strong sexual feelings through kisses and touch, in a way that could  make a time lord who is forced to telepathically feel their emotion through the touch quite uncomfortable.

this is also why Time Lords tend towards touch in situations of stress or panic, though humans in these times can be less susceptible to the telepathy, as their minds are chaotic. when a Time Lord holds someone’s hand in a frightening situation, they are trying to send them calming, comforting thoughts, or if a Time Lord takes someone’s face in their hands during a scary situation, they are trying to help them clear their mind.

hugs are a very powerful form of touch telepathy, and can be overpowering if the other person involved in the hug is someone like a human, a race of people who don’t have much control over what they send out into the telepathic field. because there are so many points of contact, hugging someone can be an uncomfortable experience for a Time Lord. Time Lords who chose to hug are either so strong they aren’t bothered by the rush of emotion so much contact gives them, or are so determined to push through it that they don’t mind the feeling of being overwhelmed, or have a basic understanding of what they’re going to ‘get’ from the other person in the hug. 

in conclusion, by most human standards, The Doctor would fall closer to the gray/asexual end of the spectrum than to the 100% allosexual end. once again, though, he’s not human. he’s not even of the same basic type of creature as humans. his whole sexuality & romance spectrum is very different from that of the average human. 

[mistysblueboxstuff-main]

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[echoiclara-deactivated20200626]

Clara’s insides had been hollowed out and replaced with fog and the smell of rot. His hand on her shoulder wasn’t as comforting as Clara had expected – it only weighed her down. 

Her bones were sucked of their marrow, she could feel her blood dry up and clot, and all the air in her lungs hissed out. He pulled her into a hug. The smell of his blazer was familiar, and so was the action of smoothing her hair, but Clara still felt wrong. She felt betrayed, but also as if she was betraying the Doctor.

But he was the Doctor, he had to be, every cell in her body was screaming that truth when he began to pull away from the embrace. Clara breathed out as he offered his hand. Would you come with me? What a question – “Of course,” tumbled out of her, desperately, wildly, without any filter. “Of…course,” she offered again, swallowing down her embarrassment. 

There was a question hanging on Clara’s tongue, but she felt too conflicted to ask. She tried, but all that sputtered out was an awkward laugh. She glanced up again to look at / John /, it felt wrong to wrap her mind around it, and licked at her lips. “You don’t even recognise me a little bit?” Clara choked out, a very, very sad smile gracing her lips. She shook her head, as if to retract her question.

Clara lowered her gaze to the ground. “Sorry, sorry, I just…it’s a bit strange, that you don’t know me at, em, at all…” She cleared her throat. “Em, but, ah, haha…don’t worry! We’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” Clara attempted. Her voice was too strained and tiny to be considered confident, but she tried her best. If she didn’t figure it out, then who knows what would happen? She had to do her best, she had to, he was depending on her whether the Doctor knew it or not.

With an almost painful laugh, Clara let her arms fall to her sides. She flapped them slightly against her hips and really wasn’t sure what to do with her body otherwise. “So, we should go check your mobile phone then, yeah?” Clara looked up with a smile she hoped was sincere. “I’ve brought my car, so if you…do you even d r i v e ?” The question made her laugh, since Clara really didn’t know if the Doctor could drive a car. He could barely drive the TARDIS, and it made her sniff out another laugh at the thought of him driving a car, on an actual road. Clara wiped at her cheeks and her smile was more determined than it had been moments before.

[undaecim-blog]

John’s mouth spread into a wide grin the moment she agreed to come with him. “Brilliant.” he said, clasping his hands together –– his flat was just around the block, and he was sure that –– his train of thought was interrupted when she asked if he recognised her. She seemed so upset, so hurt that he couldn’t place her.

It wasn’t that he didn’t recognise her at all –– she was familiar to him, but not anything else. We’ll figure it out, she said. John stopped fidgeting for a moment, and tried to see if he could remember anything about her. For a second, he was just standing stock-still and focusing all his energy on thinking, with no results, and then –– 

A stabbing bolt of pain shot through his head, and he winced and leaned forwards, pressing his palm against his temple, as if the pressure might alleviate the pain. Almost instinctively, he reached out and grabbed hold of her shoulder, the same spot he’d touched a moment earlier to comfort her, but this time, he was hanging on for dear life. He felt like a ship in a storm, battered back and forth by something only he could feel. John looked up at her, eyes watering slightly from the pain that seemed to be splitting his head apart.

Then, as soon as it had come, the pain vanished, leaving him woozily grasping a handful of the fabric of her sleeve. John let out a long huff of air and straightened up, quickly brushing the wrinkles out of her top. He stared at her, and took a shaky little step back. “You,” he began, his voice shaky, then brushed his fringe back out of his eyes. “it’s not that I don’t remember you, I  c a n ’ t  remember you.” He took a step closer, looking her up and down quickly. “Why can’t I remember you?”

He didn’t know her now, but he was sure, now more than ever, that he had known her. He let out a chuckle, though it came out more nervously that he’d meant it to, and wiped his eyes dry with the edge of a sleeve. “I’m sure we’ll be able to figure this all out, Clara,” John said, smiling at her again. “it’ll all get sorted, don't you worry."

Don't you worry. As much as he meant this when he said it, his eyes and the soft, sad smile that followed revealed to much. He'd never had much skill at schooling his expression, especially when he was feeling as strongly as he was now. And right now, he was far beyond worried. He was terrified. But as much as Clara was wrapped up in all of this, she had her own worries to deal with, her own troubles, and he shouldn't burden her with more to deal with, more to take in. So he straightened up, and adjusted his bowtie.

Feeling more composed, he crouched slightly to meet Clara's eye-line. "Of course I can drive," He said cheerily. "well, at least, I've driven before. Once. And it was a Reliant Robin so, you don't really need a real licence to drive one. But I'm sure the principals are all the same, so I'll just pop my driving glasses on and we can be off!" He fished the lenses out of his inner pocket and placed them on his face just-so. "So then, Clara, which one's yours?" John asked, waving an arm at the parked cars.

[undaecim-blog]

NOTHING TO KEEP THEM TOGETHER. one is the loneliest number. two can be as bad as one, it’s the loneliest number since the number one. + ( listen )

[echoiclara-deactivated20200626]

The quick kiss to her cheek ran shivers along Clara’s spine; the action was familiar, the intent was not. As if he was placating a delusional addict, or humouring a small child as they rambled on about something. She could feel her skin crawling, like there was something underneath trying to rip out, but it couldn’t find a proper exit.

At the man’s – he wasn’t the Doctor, no, physically perhaps, but – protests of being kidnapped, a wretched laugh ripped out of Clara. Oh, yes, because you’ve never kidnapped me before, though I do admit I went along willingly, for the / m o s t / part, but you’re playing an awful trick, an awful, awful trick, Clara thought. Or, at least, she thought she was just thinking it, but suddenly realised her mouth was moving and Clara covered her mouth wildly. “Ah!” she cried from behind her palm.

“I didn’t mean to – I’m not kidnapping you!” she cried, her knees starting to fail. They were outside the school, and Clara was still holding onto the man’s arm when her knees buckled underneath her. She tore her hand from her mouth, extending it to catch her fall. Clara managed to stay upright, though she felt like the world was about to swallow her whole. Her breathing was deep and exaggerated, which only made her head feel worse. 

“I’m not kidnapping…I’m Clara, you don’t – ?? ” She swallowed thickly, the asphalt beneath her rippling like ocean water. 

( Mum, Mummy, where are you? You’ve got to find me, please, Mummy, where are you? Don’t touch me, please, where’s my mummy? She lost me, she lost me, she lost me on purpose, I’m going to have to find another family here to take me home! –– I could drown, I could drown and Mummy wouldn’t miss me – she’s left me here all a l o n e, and I bet she’s drinking tea with Daddy and Gran, and I bet they don’t even care –––– )

Clara was crying. “Doctor, why don’t you remember me?” She wanted to reach out and touch his face, but this wasn’t him. This wasn’t the Doctor. Something had happened to him, that had to be it. That was why the Doctor wasn’t recognising her, or even affirming he was just ‘playing pretend,’ or undercover, or – or something!

“What’s happened to you?” Clara’s voice was tiny and it got caught in her throat. Tears weighed heavy on her tongue, and she couldn’t even open her mouth to say anything else. Clara swallowed, finally looking up to meet the man’s eyes. John Smith –– not her Doctor anymore, this man was an imposter.

[undaecim-blog]

John stood, shocked and a bit distressed by her little ramble. Had he kidnapped her? Was this revenge of some sort? –– but the way she was saying it, going on, he got the feeling that it was more than that. Everything with this girl was more than that. He took a nervous little step back as she let go of his arm, and seemed to have to fight to keep herself upright. His hands reached out, almost automatically, long fingers nervously hovering just above her skin.

And then, the name, that name –– like a post-it on a fridge, he suddenly felt a blast of memory. Check your mobile. Listen to Clara. His hands came back together as he wrung them nervously. He took a long inhale, and reached out once again, this time making the choice to lay a single hand on her shoulder.

"Clara," he said, the name both familiar and foreign in his mouth. "I don't know who you are. I'm sorry, I really am, but I don't remember you." Remember, remember –– the word felt important, etched into himself somehow, and prompted him without even consciously meaning to, to go on with: "I'm usually a rather clever boy, all things considered."

He swallowed, his mouth dry beyond dry. This moment felt more important than it seemed on the surface. Convince her to stay. Give her a reason to trust you. He reached out to pull her into a hug, one hand behind her neck smoothing down her hair quickly.

"I don't know who you are," he said, his voice low and solemn at her ear. "but I'd like to." When he pulled back, he gave her a hopeful smile. "I get the feeling that we're meant to stick together." John stepped back to allow some space between them, and then offered his hand. "I think I need to go home and check my mobile phone. Would you come with me?"

She had no reason to, but then again, he'd had no reason to follow her thus far. What was keeping them together now? John was a man of science, a man of logic, a man of –– oh, that's rubbish. He was the man who'd gotten a Doctorate in poetry only to find that it wasn't as useful as he'd have liked it to be, and he was interested in space, so he'd gone back for a Masters in physics. He was the man who liked to believe he could fix just about anything, but whose previous flatmate had declared he often made things worse, or at the least, a good deal weirder.

He was the man who'd been chased out of the park for hanging around on the swings and looking 'suspicious', and it was often hard to explain that he simply found most children more engaging and interesting than adults. He'd vacationed in Paris, interrupted a stag-do, helped save a matinee, and been hit on by a criminal. If anyone was due for a wild adventure with a girl who knew him despite his not knowing her, it was him. In fact, hardly anyone was as qualified as he was. Master of all trades, Jack of none. So he offered her his hand, and a smile, and hoped beyond hope that she'd take it. Come on, Clara. Please. 

[echoiclara-deactivated20200626]

Clara’s heart was caught in her throat. In fact, she was fairly certain it would try to leap out of her mouth and strangle the Doctor. His voice, muffled because the phone was held firmly to the secretary’s face, was chipper and nonchalant. Her lungs seized when the woman hung up the phone. A small sound escaped Clara and she spun on her heel to wait facing the office door.

It was only a minute or so before she heard footsteps down the hallway, but Clara wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for that floppy mess of hair and goofy expression, or the long legs that always outran her, or the bowtie. She wasn’t ready for any of it, but she reminded herself: breathe. A rush of air tumbled out of her. The secretary sniffed with disdain. Clara inhaled deeply through her nose, not risking having her mouth open.

The clock above a bench for waiting ticked loudly, but very, very slowly. Clara couldn’t feel her legs; her knees threatened to buckle underneath her. The secretary was typing something, and Clara’s brain started hissing like a kettle. Then he rounded the corner, and there he was, looking just like he had before he abandoned her. 

Clara’s eyes widened a second or two after processing, yes, there he was, he was real, he was real and he was standing right in front of her, and he hadn’t forgotten about her –

How can I help you?

Help Clara? 

Help? Help. She started hyperventilating, and she shot a wary glance to his extended hand, then back up to his quizzical expression. She had a smile, but it was very painfully forced, just to keep her from screaming. Or yelling. Or both. Clara extended her consciousness outside herself for a moment, looking at the bodies, her body, the Doctor’s body (no, ‘Doctor John Smith’), and his outstretched hand. A calm, clear voice, h e r   v o i c e, boomed throughout her skull. Shake his hand, go on, take his hand with your hand. Clara’s body did as it was told.

“Doctor,” she whispered, much by accident. “Doctor, you – I am, I,” was stammered out, despite not having any control over the words. “Doctor,” Clara pepped, eyes glazing over with fresh tears. The back of her nose stung so horrendously she had to bite the inside of her cheek in order to combat it. 

“I must be your emergency, yes,” Clara hissed. She took control again, her breathing erratic and too tight in her chest. She was inhaling more than she could exhale, making her lightheaded. She shook his hand and held onto it. Her fingers clenched around his, the only real, physical thing she could use as proof that the Doctor was actually here again, in front of her. 

“Is this a joke?” she hissed from the corner of her mouth, trying not to speak too loud; to Clara, her voice was low and controlled and wasn’t heard by the secretary, but externally, her voice was a snapping, harsh sound. She couldn’t let go of his hand. Casting a sheepish glance towards the secretary, Clara finally pulled her hand away to stick her thumbnail in her mouth. 

“Yes, em, emergency, yes, haha,” Clara peeped, looking in the direction of the Doctor but not actually looking at him. Maybe, she thought, if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d vanish and she wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. “Emergency…” Clara tried to think of something to say that would get him out of the school. “Emergency!” She pointed a finger into the air a bit wildly, her eyes matching the gesture. “Yes, you’ve got to, em, you’ve got to come home, because Mum is in hospital!” Clara looked to the secretary again, her eyes too round to be truthful, but she didn’t know what else to say. “Mum had a very, very terrible accident, and so I came to get you. To take you to the hospital. To see our mum.” 

It was the first thing Clara could think of, but it worked, since the secretary actually believed her. She gasped, and picked up the phone to call someone. Clara took the Doctor by the arm and guided him out of the office. “What are you doing?” she hissed through a feigned smile, her fingers digging into his forearm from where she had grabbed him. Clara couldn’t look at him, so she stared at his bowtie.

[undaecim-blog]

The young woman was looking at him in the oddest way, and he couldn't help but feel a shiver go down his spine. Did he know her from somewhere? He couldn't place it, but when he thought to hard about it, he felt a slight pain in his temple, like a low-grade headache, and he let it go. Perhaps he did know her, but he'd probably fair best to just ask her.

The way she said his name –– no, not his name, his title –– made him all the more curious. Whomever she was, she knew him. That much was certain. And if she knew him as intimately as she seemed to, and he knew as little about her as he knew he did, then something was very much amiss. This kind of information disparity wasn't the kind of thing he enjoyed. Rather, he preferred being the one in the know, smiling with a wink and then going on some long tangent.

He listened as she hissed out his question, repeated and made different. Her voice was familiar, and not. Everything he could discern was contradictory. He thought he knew her, he knew he didn't. She was like something from a half-remembered dream, or some kind of paradox –– an impossible girl.

The way she held his hand, too, was something far more intimate than a simple handshake. It meant something more to both of them than he could understand, and the longer her skin was against his, the longer he felt he had some kind of very intriguing mystery on his hands. John looked down at their hands, together, and like a sort of muscle memory, he could imagine them holding hands in all other kinds of situations –– running from beasts, running towards them.

Is this a joke? His eyebrows furrowed, and he leant down slightly to whisper back to her. "If it is," he said. "I don't find it very funny. I much prefer knock-knock jokes." They were still holding hands, and then she began lying to the secretary. He was struck dumb for a moment before he caught on. "Ah! Of course, sister, dearest," John said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and trying to compose his expression as he pulled away as quickly as he'd leaned in. "what an awful thing." He gave the secretary a 'what can you do' shrug before he was being yanked out of the office by the woman.

"What am I doing, what are you doing?" He asked. "Should I be concerned? Are you kidnapping me? Because I feel I should warn you, straight away, that I don't have much in the way of an escape plan or assets, so really, you're better off just leaving me."

Despite his protests, he let himself be led out of the building by this woman nearly a foot shorter than him, partly because he found the prospect of being kidnapped a bit more exciting than he probably should've, but mostly because he felt the need to figure out just what was going on. Ever since he'd begun teaching here, his life had been strange –– nightmares, daydreams, and now this, whatever this may be. And that, of course, was just what he intended to find out.

[echoiclara-deactivated20200626]

Clara knew the Doctor frequently lost track of time, since that’s what he was best at. But after the tenth day of not even a phone call, she started to worry. The familiar sense of dread that went hand-in-hand with being abandoned crept up on her when she least expected it – in the shower, Clara thought she had heard the TARDIS, and ran out wearing a towel, forgetting to turn the shower off. She still had shampoo suds in her hair. Another time, exactly three weeks after their last contact, Clara had jolted awake just as she drifted off to sleep when her mobile vibrated to indicate a text. It was an automated message sent from some telemarketing company, but it had cost her her sleep. She sobbed into her pillow until the sun came up.

Every phone call made Clara flinch into an instant panic. She was glancing out of every window she came across, scanning the least obvious places for the TARDIS to sit inconspicuously. The constant worry of the Doctor’s wellbeing was drowned out by the staggering and immobilising realisation that she was probably, most definitely, abandoned.

          ( day since last contact: 71 00 )

It was an unassuming Saturday, and Clara was stuck in bed. She could barely breathe, her limbs felt too heavy, this is what it must feel like to be dying ––– but then her mobile vibrated on her bedside table, and she screwed her eyes shut. No, it couldn’t be him, it wasn’t. 

But when it vibrated again, Clara snatched it up and let out a strangled sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath for seventy-one days straight. “D o c t o r ?” she breathed, tears already blinding her. “Doctor, is that – ” He was talking very quickly, as if nothing was wrong. Clara brought her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She tore it away when the Doctor let out a wail. “Doctor!” Her breath was caught in her throat and Clara tried to breathe in, then tried to exhale, but it only made things worse. She couldn’t feel her head.

The Doctor was saying something, but his surroundings were too loud for her to make out much of what was said; despite how painfully loud it was for her to hold the phone to her ear, she didn’t dare pull it away. A small, intrusive thought of, “This isn’t real,” sprouted in the base of her skull. Clara unknowingly closed her wind pipe, yet her lungs were still trying to function normally. She made a tiny squeaking noise every time her lungs tried to inhale.

Clara was able to catch chunks of what the Doctor was trying to tell her, but what she did manage to process only broke her heart into more pieces. Need you to pick me up…need you to find me, need, need, need…Clara’s lips parted and a similar sound to what her lungs were making trickled out. Then, as soon as the phone call had started, the line went dead. Her mobile beeped at her to indicate the call had been ended. Clara pulled it from her cheek, the wet from her eyes forming small droplets. She wiped them off with her night dress sleeve, setting it down on the table again. Clara hadn’t blinked once since she had answered the call, and didn’t blink now. She laid in her bed the entire day, only getting up once to use the bathroom.

anger !! from sorrow ––

Co-ordinates were sent to her mobile two days after the apparent dream she had of the Doctor asking for help. It stunned her into a strange state, but only took a day for her to recover. Clara also managed, in that time, to shift her suffocating depression into a boiling rage. It was easier to be externally mad than it was to lock it up deep inside. It wasn’t caged, or quieted; Clara always felt better to let her frustration loose.

She googled the co-ordinates once she was emotionally able to do so, and when she did, the utter closeness only fuelled her bitterness. Clara took her car down to Brighton, where the Doctor had somehow ended up. What could have been going on, that prevented him from just landing properly? Clara’s knuckles were white as she drove, fingers clenched around the wheel as if they were a throat.

He was at a school. Doing what, Clara couldn’t be sure, but she did know that her vision blurred red every time she tried to consider a reason. He had left her for seventy one days without even a phone call or text message, then suddenly demanded she help him; of course, she would help him. Clara couldn’t shed the feeling that something terrible had happened.

Clara made her way to the front office, but when she got there, she wasn’t entirely sure who she should ask for. “Em, is there…d’you have a teacher, hm…Ah, is there a John Smith teaching here?” Clara wasn’t confident that there would be, but the Doctor had used that name a few times before, so she could only hope. 

The secretary offered her a tight-lipped smile and nodded. Clara stared back wide-eyed, waiting for her to do something else. “Would you like me to call him down, is this an emergency of some sort?” Clara inhaled too sharply and caught saliva, causing her to cough. “Em, yes –– y e s !! –– it’s, this is an emergency,” she huffed out through the desperate inhales to clear her wind pipe. The secretary gave her a once-over, but picked up the phone on her desk and dialled something.

[undaecim-blog]

"——And that, Maggie," John said, pointing not just a finger, but his entire arm, at the girl. "is an excellent point. The geometry of space-time is indeed such that we must measure the positions and times from two points of view, within and without." He paused, as if for effect, holding up his hands, index fingers outstretched ––– the two points of view.

"Within, of course, refers to being inside of a space-time ship, and without refers to being, obviously, outside of such a craft. This sort of thinking is what makes the very idea of time travel so uniquely fascinating, and it is why ––– " He was interrupted in both his lecturing, and his wild gesticulating and pacing, by the beep of the P.A. system.

John huffed out a sigh of irritation as his students let out a collective sigh of relief, except for Maggie, who seemed to have genuinely been taking notes throughout his whole, entirely mad, lecture. "Sorry, kids, just give me a moment." He said, then strode across the room to press the button. "Yes?" "There's a woman to see you,"

The secretary's voice carried through, met my a series of titters from the kids. John turned to give them all a deeply offended look, but turned back as she went on. "Apparently, it's some sort of emergency. Should I call Mr. Leery in to sub for the rest of your day?" Checking his watch, John sighed. He wasn't sure what sort of emergency it was going to be, but he should probably attend to it before anything else. "Yes, thank you. I'll be there in a tick." He turned back around to face his classroom, ringing his hands. From the back, someone called out 'Mr. Smith's got a girlfriend!' and he flushed.

"That's Doctor to you, and no, I don't have a girlfriend." He snapped, then composed himself and ducked behind his desk to pick up his bag. "I'm really very sorry to have to cut your lesson short, but I have great faith that you all know enough to get on by yourselves until I get back!" There was a look exchanged round the classroom. "But for now –– " he said, re-emerging, hair and bowtie askew. " –– I've got a woman to see about an emergency." With a quick grin and a one-handed wave, he left the room. 'What a freak.' Someone in the back muttered, met by a number of agreements.

He passed Mr. Leery in the hallway, and was soon turning the corner to the front office, and there she was. Small, brown haired and eyed, and looking at him an a way that made him both slightly uncomfortable and more than a little curious. "Hello," he greeted, extending a hand. "you must be my emergency. I'm Dr. John Smith. How can I help you?" 

[undaecim-blog]

                    RUN YOU CLEVER BOY & ℝ 𝔼 𝕄 𝔼 𝕄 𝔹 𝔼 ℝ

           This clever boy was currently crashing his spaceship, horrendously, into the Brighton Pier. With a frightening thud and a groaning noise, the TARDIS settled in the sand just beyond the Pier. The Doctor straightened up, and raced to the door, pulling the phone off the stand just as the TARDIS let out another groan and began to shift out into time and space once again ––

"No, no!!" He yelled, dialling quickly and stuffing the phone under his armpit as he tried to force the TARDIS down. "Come on, please, I know you hate it, just ––– " He heard the phone call ring through, and the confused voice on the other end of the line. Fumbling the phone into the crook between his ear and his shoulder, he held onto the console for dear life as the machine groaned and shuddered as she warred with whatever was in the area, preventing her from making a full landing.

"Hullo, Clara! Lovely to hear your voice!" Cheery even in the face of fairly-certain failure. "Look, I can't chit-chat all that much because I'm in a bit of a, well, rather a massive, absolute ginormous, situation." He let out a long cry as his grip shifted and he was thrown against the railings as the whole machine shifted, but luckily, managed to hang onto the phone. "I'm going to have the TARDIS send coordinates to your phone whenever I'm able to finally land her, and I need you to come pick me up." He struggled his way back to the console and managed to grab hold of one of the levers, pulling hard as the noise around him went from "bloody loud" to "deafening".

"And, and this is the most important thing of all, Clara, I need you to find me, and help me, no matter what state I'm in. Be prepared for anything, even me forgetting you." The Doctor managed to stabilize the TARDIS for long enough that he could exhale a sigh and let himself become more serious, though  adrenaline was still pumping through his body. "I'm going to need you, more than ever before."

            &&* »  ʳᵉᵐᵉᵐᵇᵉʳ ????

           "So, Dr. Smith, you understand the material well enough?" John had missed what exactly he was meant to be understanding, but he nodded anyways. The other man shrugged, and waved him towards a classroom. "Here's the classroom. Be careful with these lot; between you and me, they're an awful bunch." John nodded, smiling weakly. He'd been feeling odd since he woke up that morning, like he was forgetting something. It was that odd sort of nagging itch, like the worry that you've left the cat outside or the stove on, and it persisted. But, now he was here, he had more important things to do –– like teach Physics to this apparently awful bunch of Sixth-Form students –– and maybe something else that he couldn't quite remember.     

[ridleydaisy]

[oswinwaled-archive]

all my fav characters/people  ♡ : eleventh doctor (doctor who)

˪ There’s something you better understand about me ‘cause it’s important and one day your life may depend on it: I am definitely a mad man with a box.