stuff of legends

i'm the doctor. i'm a time lord. i'm from the planet gallifrey in the constellation of kasterborous. i'm nine hundred and three years old, and i'm the man who's gonna save your lives and all six billion people on the planet below.

#lcgends.    ind. selective, mutuals exclusive portrayal of the doctor from doctor who.     fobwatched by odette     (   26, brazil, she/her   )

a study on:   second chances, exploration, rebirth, creating and destroying a mythos, gods and men and what constitutes a monster.

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you can also find me at:   @nursc​ ​​​

How would I write you as a book character?

The main character that is sharp, observant and objective in their narration

"They would neither excuse nor explain the outburst, just as they would neither pity nor coddle the one who had pulled the trigger and then remained too close to the explosion." While my main characters are usually quiet, they have eyes about everywhere and aren't afraid to think the obvious. Soul stained with sins past and heart broken by the so-called saints, they crave redemption and freedom. For it, they would sin again.

@highaver​ asked:    ❝  why  do  i  feel  like  this  is  not  going  to  work ?❞

setting his hands on his hips, the doctor turned to glance at balfour, bottom lip jutting out just slightly.    it was a good plan.   a little nuts, very dangerous, and the sort of thing that people usually proposed before they got arrested or worse.     “    ye, of little faith.    ”    

   “    who is gonna doubt the blokes in mascot suits?    ”

          she leans back in her chair,  arms crossed,  still the epitome of unconvinced.  there’s at least a dozen individuals she could list off the top of her head who believed themselves worthy of respect and had never done a damn thing ( even in many years of life ) to deserve it.  believing didn’t mean a damn thing:  respect was earned,  plain and simple.    ❛ I haven’t been in a room with him yet today. ❜    she doesn’t even pause to consider if that’s a true statement.

          ❛ but why him?  of everyone in this building today,  why the british prime minister?  why not me? ❜    elizabeth has scarcely left the building this week herself,  returning to her hotel only to sleep and taking her meals at her temporary desk.  she has certainly spent more time within these walls than the prime minister has. 

                     and that does nothing to acknowledge the downright preposterous suggestion that bad walls and mold would be responsible for an individual’s scent.  she’s too tired for this,  burned out on a week of preparations for proceedings whose weight still lingers upon her shoulders even as she sits here,  so far from seeing to her responsibilities.    ❛ I appreciate your commitment to sticking to your story,  but don’t you think you’re wasting both of our time? ❜

“    americans, americans.    you just can’t deal with not being the center of the universe.    why not me?   why him.    the aliens in your movies only invade the united states and you call it a world invasion, ever considered we are not that interested in your fair country?    ”     he said, comfortably aware of the card he choose to reveal, moving past his desire to annoy her as much as possible by keeping up his game.    the quicker he got her to trust him, or at least stop thinking he was a complete nut job, the quicker he’d get the answers he was looking for.

maybe saying he is an alien...   was not the best strategy.    oh well, the truth was easier to bend than a lie.    “     why this time?  might be because he is making a speech soon and all eyes will be on him.   or maybe cause if a british guy starts acting weird everyone just thinks that’s how they are.    ”     one of the reasons why he had kept his accent from the start.  

the british: voted most likely to be considered eccentric.

     Oh. Right. The thing was, they didn’t really give safety seminars on the use of grenades and other such things to actors. They didn’t really even tell them not to be an idiot and maybe think twice before buying some old weapons off of a random guy you met in the sketchiest town on the worst planet in Halcyon. Maybe he should have figured that one out himself. It wasn’t his fault that a Byzantium life just so happened to be deeply sheltered, though, was it? Try as he might, he just wasn’t Dash Donovan. 

     His ears were ringing, when his brain finally started working again, and Balfour was vaguely aware of something digging into the small of his back. Upon inspection, it turned out to be the stranger’s knee. With a groan, Balfour pulled himself up onto his feet, hand pressed over the place at his back where the other’s knee had been lodged quite thoroughly, and he used the wall to give himself some more support. 

     ‘ Hey – ’ He let out a hard breath, offered out his other hand to help the stranger to his feet. ‘ You alive? ’ 

     A glance was spared the way of the door. Were the marauders still out there? It sounded like they’d stopped their banging but his ears were still ringing. Maybe they’d given up. A boom like that, don’t you just assume everyone’s gone and died? Wishful thinking, maybe. At least a glance to his side told him that his plan had worked, and now there was a rather big hole in the wall that they could get through and what looked like a staircase beyond. 

     ‘ Hey, get a load of that. I did it! ’ It was the first thing he’d done right – though, that was debatable – in weeks. He sounded exhausted, and when he moved off towards their new escape, it was with a slight limp. ‘ Come on. Whatever’s down there has to be better than going back out to those marauders. ’

from his position on the floor, the doctor appeared to consider the question.     “    one heart is a little wobbly, not a problem unless we get caught by raving marauders who throw me into a prison.    ”     he could survive a few hours with one and a half heart, it was only if the heart stopped that he’d develop a real problem.

accepting the other man’s outstretched hand, the doctor pulled himself off the floor, a grimace forming in his features when he saw the state of his clothes.    breathing in some dust as he readied himself to give the other man a talking to about grenades, he choose to instead pack it in and complain about it later;    there were bigger problems than his ruined suit.    “     yeah, you certainly did something.   ”     he bit, dusting off his shoulders.    just because he decided he liked the man didn’t mean he thought the plan was sound, or actually good.   but then again, neither were most of his plans.     “     i got a place we can hole up in.   ”

usually he’d prefer to stay away from the tardis at moments like this.   he could usually find a place to hole up in while he waited for the dust to settle.    not in this planet.   this climate, not when the only person he knew was a movie-star with a penchant for grenades.  

        ❝ well, fuck. ❞ it’s not the first time georgie’s found herself in an absolute bastard of a situation. some of those times were even before UNIT, back in the regular army, before her world became full of aliens and space junk and seemingly endless invasions. if she looks resigned, here, it’s because she is; georgie is so fucking tired of it all. she’s lost track of how many traumatic, nightmare-inducing things she’s been directly involved in, now. how long it seems to drag on for without end.

        she sighs, allowing herself a moment of weariness, and then pulls herself together. job to do; she can have a good cry in the shower when she gets out of this. ❝ right then. staying alive’s the important thing, yeah, but any way to disrupt the dampeners? you’ve got your whatchamacallit— ❞ she mimes using the buzzing device she can’t remember the name of,  ❝ —and if that fails, i could shoot ‘em. ❞

scrunching up his nose, the doctor makes a face at georgie, practically screaming his displeasure with her suggestion.    “     how about we skip the guns, shooting my way out of somewhere is so nineties.    ”      with everything else, he is in agreement.    staying alive, getting these damned dampeners to stop working and using his whatchamacallit.

@lcgends​ :    i’m the problem, it’s me.  ( ⁰¹ )

LUCK RUNS OUT TOO EASILY.    these days,  not so much  —  at least for her;  perhaps her judgement is too forgiving on the days that do come to a quiet end,  foreboding blessings in her relative memory.    nothing can really hold a candle to what defines her losing days.    (  perhaps she should learn to find complaints.  )

“      i don’t know about that.      ”          it sounds so HARSH when he says it.    the girl’s frown persists.    stuck between a rock and a hard place is hardly an astounding position for their rounds    ( … )  that doesn’t necessarily make it any less taxing.

        oh, he’s the doctor now, is he?  ❝ no, you’re not, ❞ she says bluntly. and yet…that’s not a name she mentioned. the master would know it, aye, but he’d be trying to kill her or something, wouldn’t he? he’s not exactly a person full of restraint. what is going on? none of this makes any sense to her—even less so than life normally does. so who is he, this strange, lying time lord? what has he got to do with the strange goings on that are clearly the doctor’s area of expertise? why will he not just give her a plain answer?

        she sighs.  ❝ i remember the doctor just fine, thank you very much, and you don’t look a thing like him. ❞ he doesn’t even sound the same; there’s no way this can be a disguise. really, her life was so much simpler when she didn’t know the doctor, before space and meddling time lords and a wealth of information that makes no sense to her. and yet, she wouldn’t go back. not for a second.  ❝ how can you know a person’s name without knowing who they are? and how d’you know the doctor’s name? i didn’t mention it. ❞

“   i’m not, am i?   you’re an expert on me now, can  tell me who i am, and who i’m not.   ”     he had this conversation with himself more than enough times to know who he was.    even when he didn’t want to be, or when the title he choose to guide who he wanted to be felt ill-fitting and an ideal he could never truly match.    it was still who he was;   it was as part of him as his hearts and the stardust which coursed through his veins.    “    i’m the doctor molly o’sullivan, and if you know me, then you know that sometimes, when the possible has been ruled out, you just gotta accept that the impossible is standing right in front of you.    ”

he had nine other faces before, and there would be countless others waiting for him when this body had finished its long journey.    “    just because i don’t look like the man you knew, doesn’t mean we are different men.    it’s...    a party trick we don’t talk about a lot.    ”

mercy’s brow furrows trying to keep up with it,  let alone make sense of it all.    maybe that part,  the fine print,  is better left to him.    what she does understand is the age-old sense she’d never quite expelled that the world around her is wrong.    it was a bit selfish,  undoubtedly futile,  a disappointment she’d always had to remind herself of,  worse and deeper-sinking as the years wore on,  but the way he puts it almost makes her feel less childish for wondering,  if she could just hear it plainly.          “      so,  where you’re from.    no walkers?      ”          key word:  almost.    the voice in her head still chides her for even entertaining the possibility.    it’s a tired instinct of hers,  really,  but it seems her need of it,  even at this age,  has yet to wane.

there is no such thing as a life for most people  —  those left,  at least.    and for those so fortunate,  if  …  when things fall,  they come crashing down,  leave nothing but grief and dust for the rest to choke on.    mercy could contest him:    she’s alive enough.    it’s what she has.    it’s harder than it looks.    but she doesn’t argue;    instead,  looks back to the corpse still mindlessly trailing behind despite its distance and their steady pace,  and mutters,        “      not much of that to go around.      ”

“    we got our own brand of nightmares, but no walkers.   ”       he warned.    there was no escaping fear.    daleks, cybermen, and the selfishness which found its way to almost every species’s organisms kept his universe in its own brand of darkness.    humans, especially, had a remarkable talent for selfishness, an incredibly imaginative people which often used that gift for self-enrichment.   

        ❝ they love me in every century. ❞ a winning personality, that’s what she’s got. that, and clara has always been able to mould herself to any situation, to fit right in, to be both charismatic and a little mysterious. it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? and it’s not all stories, anymore; she has seen and done so many things that people from her time wouldn’t understand. but she can drop hints. make them want more. right now, though, that’s more focused on keeping this younger doctor’s interest. intrigue him, not scare him away. he might not have been the doctor she expected, but she did want help.

       clara laughs.  ❝ you can trust me with so much more than that. ❞ oh, he has no idea, does he? he has no idea what he is to her, or she to him.  ❝ black ink’s disappearances, red is vampires. —mind the bloody lamppost. you got some idea what it is? the vampires, i know they’re some kind of alien. some kind of alien what eats kids ‘cause they’re easy targets. ❞

“    i bet they do.    ”

with so much more than that.    there was trouble and a promise in those words.    his future self obviously trusted her   —   she wouldn’t have his number and a free passage across time if he thought she was a danger to the fabric of time.   but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.   no, of that he was quite certain.   dodging the lamppost as instructed, he looked for some sort of pattern on the map.