* ɹoʇɔop ɹɐʍ

#𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒   do you know like we were saying about the earth revolving ? it's like when you were a kid. the first time they tell you the world's turning and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still.

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i can feel it. the turn of the earth. the ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour, and i can feel it.we're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go. that's who i am. now, forget me. go home.

traveling with:

explored themes : found family, self imposed isolation, when you should have died but didn't, the guilt of the sole survivor, strength in weakness, questioning morality, the trials of war, pyrrhic victory, learning to love oneself, fleeting immortality, forgiveness, what it means to be human

tardis  , console room  : ???:???:??? .

they look @badwo1f, young and yellow and full of life, and suddenly he wants to shy away, so he does, pushing himself back under the console to continue his tinkering. repairing the tardis is a good excuse not to look at her, and he takes full advantage of it for as long as he can.

didn't it get lonely?

“ there was no time to be lonely, really. ” the doctor lies, because it’s easier than the admittance that: that was the point.

how do you describe this to someone ?

“ you know when you start to realize you’re breathing ? and you have to manually time the length between breaths before you forget again ? ”    rubbish metaphor, but he wants her to understand, needs someone to, and it’s the most basic example he can give.

self imposed isolation as a form of punishment.

“ ‘lot like that i suppose. it’s always there, always happening but you don’t quite notice it until you do, and then you can’t stop noticing it, you just hope eventually you won’t anymore, but it never leaves you, you're still breathing every second of every day. . . ”

fresh out of the time war, every bone in their body shattered from a fall from a planet that no longer exists the last time lord. . . just them and the tardis, jumping from planet to planet, one dangerous situation to another, no time for reflection or rest, just running,as far and as fast as he could. that he had tried for a long time to avoid earth, as if he knew there was some inevitability of meeting her, of finding someone who made them feel like forgiveness was possible after what they had done.

thing is, in all honesty: they weren’t running away from something, but towards it. uncaring if the next adventure would be their last, keeping count in an attempt to even scales that would never tip in their favor.

earth  , london 2005  : 19:12:18 .

" first time here? " rose?

“ what ? at the pub ? ” he cocks an eyebrow. he’s been to earth, existed on this planet for centuries, seen it come and go, faced countless threats to protect it. of course he’s been to the pub. . . . a pub at least. “ I’ve been to plenty, thank you. ”

when was the last time he’d been ? certainly not this face, and certainly not on earth, but what’s the difference really ? see one you’ve seen ‘em all.

he isn’t sure what exactly gives him away, what it is that makes her smile like she’s caught him up in some big lie trying to be impressive ( the fault of any man, really. ) maybe it’s the sound of the gears turning in his head, or the far off look he gets when he thinks too hard about his other faces, but she’s giving him a look.

tardis  , console room  : 18:09:18 .

his future, sewn and bound into a little blue book, carried by a complete stranger. the power to destroy time itself could be locked in that damn thing, and he’d never know. shouldn’t want to know, it’s dangerous. that’s reason enough, really. if they were a better man, a good man, perhaps temptation would not find them. but he is neither of those things, and these days he finds no reason to pretend to be. no use in it. 

justification stands: she has been holding that thing over them for hours, a physical manifestation of every fact about him he does not even know about himself. a diary full of stories, memories he does not yet have. —— wouldn’t that be enough to drive anyone mad ? —— and so when @mythictold is busying herself with the console, he does the sensible thing, the reasonable thing, the thing that anyone in his position might do: he peaks.

to his credit, even if it is terribly undeserved, he doesn't flip through the whole thing like he could, doesn't crack the spine or flip the pages just to get from start to finish in the blink of an eye. he sets a rule: one page, front and back, nothing else.

and unlike other versions of himself, he has just enough self control to stick with it.

diary held in calloused hands, aged paper held between index and middle finger, holding the page upright as he leans against the console, his back turned to her in what from behind might look like a cross-armed pout. a nonverbal display of discomfort, he's good at lying, and that is all the stance is, really. one little lie to cover a equalizing invasion of privacy.