#florcntissimae

This is why you don’t let the dash die.

       ❝   'ho broke it ?  ❞ he’s motioning towards the broken coffee machine in the kitchen.

                             — Clacking of boots filled the halls of the TARDIS, as the Master slowly turned the corner into the Console Room. Bells rung, before he just made a tsking noise, trying to quiet down the vessel. His voice rang out before he even got within her line of sight.

                    ❝    You   know ,   Doctor .   I   never   did   repay   you   for   that   suit   you   loaned   me .   Don’t   be   mad ,   but   I   think   it   might   have   gotten   damaged .    ❞

@florcntissimae — PLOTTED STARTER

                               It never took too long for the Doctor to realize where he’s landed. Clara by his side, he was sure he was on the right path... Surely. Am I a good person? I don't know. The problem with Time Lords was that they had more voices in their head than just the one who was presently speaking. Judgement from himself was the hardest to handle.

                               Maybe that was why it took him so long for him to realize where they were. Maybe that was the reason that he was quietly walking alongside his companion as he calculated the resistance of each step, the amount of oxygen in the air- the way the wind blew and what came with it. Or maybe it was his own fear, blocking out anything that wasn’t what he wanted.

                               The illusion he made himself didn’t last. They never do.

                     ❝    Clara, get back in the TARDIS.    ❞

sometimes he genuinely wonders if there’s something wrong with him -- something that causes the people he loves to leave him: his father, ethan, gideon, elle, j.j., emily, alex. maeve, and now clara. not that maeve or clara wanted to... leave him, but... it seems to always be him, the shared point in all of their lives. 

his hands shake -- he hasn’t craved oblivion since maeve’s death, and he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to stop himself this time. he knows that he should pick up the phone, call anyone on the team ( and he has to, clara and penelope had been such fast friends, and emily and clara had lunch occasionally before clara moved to the states ), but he doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t want to lie. 

( he never hated the doctor as much as he did when the doctor had called him -- didn’t even come to him -- to tell him the news. he had wanted to, wanted to rage and scream and blame the doctor because wasn’t he supposed to keep her safe ? wasn’t he supposed to always save her ? but he knew that was not only unfair to the doctor, but also to clara. clara hadn’t wanted nor needed someone else to save her, she normally saved herself. but, this time... she couldn’t. she didn’t. she gave up her life for a kid, and spencer couldn’t be any prouder despite being so angry ). 

i really thought i was going to spend the rest of my life with her, spencer thinks, and then kicks his coffee table over. it falls with a crash, the lamp shattering into pieces, the papers scattering all over the floor. he breathes heavily, as if he’s just run a marathon, anger surging through his body and his blood, and he feels the need to just -- destroy. to go into a mindless rage or to forget it all under the siren call of a needle. 

he’s just about to find a bottle of alcohol when he hears the familiar noise of a tardis’s engine, and spencer looks up. he -- he doesn’t even know what he feels, whether or not he’s going to go and hug the doctor or punch him until he physically couldn’t anymore, but he staggers when the door opens and out comes clara. face pale, he has to grab hold of the couch to not fall into the broken glass.