The TARDIS control room had never seemed so bright, so
warm. So inviting.
Mel was all but dragging the Doctor inside as she looked
around her. As if by magic, part of the far wall opened up and
a long bed emerged – perhaps the TARDIS could tell its pilot
was desperately ill, Mel decided.
The Doctor waved a hand almost irritably towards the bed
and it was absorbed by the wall once again. ‘I’m fine, Mel.’
He glanced up to the ceiling as Mel closed the doors behind
them. ‘No, really, I am.’ He then smiled at Mel. ‘We didn’t do
too badly, did we?’
‘We?’ laughed Mel. ‘“We” did nothing. You, on the other
hand, just saved the multiverse. Literally for once.’
‘For once? Mel, we save the multiverse once a week!
Don’t we?’
‘Not usually, no. You’re usually satisfied with a race, or a
planet. A galaxy at the most.’ She could tell he was masking
his pain behind his bonhomie, of course. ‘But seriously,
Doctor, I think you need to rest. The Lamprey really took it
out of you. Again, literally!’
The Doctor took a deep breath and stood proudly by his
precious TARDIS console. ‘Nonsense, Mel, what harm could
possibly befall one such as I?’
At which point he began coughing and spluttering. Mel ran
to his side instantly, trying to pat him on the back. Being
considerably shorter than he, this merely resulted in a few
ineffectual thumps to a couple of middle vertebrae. He gently
eased her hand back. ‘You know, I think some rest might be
in order after all.’
‘Doctor’s orders?’ suggested Mel cheekily.
He nodded and smiled back at her.
And Mel’s heart went cold.
She’d been travelling with him long enough to be able to
read the Doctor well by now. This avuncular man who she
trusted with her life. A man whose moods and quirks she
could pretty much predict these days. A Time Lord – so much power contained in such a frail body, despite its appearance
of… well, pretty solidness anyway.
But who really knew what made Time Lords tick? Even
these days, Mel was aware that she couldn’t entirely be sure
of how well the Doctor might be.
‘Having witnessed that final struggle as the Lamprey was
extinguished, she was forced to question whether the Doctor
should have accepted that constant absorption of energy and
light. Could his form really have just taken that punishment
and then shrugged it off as easily as he made out?
‘Doctor, listen to me. Rummas warned you what it might
take to stop it.’
The Doctor was leaning on the TARDIS console, gripping
it tightly enough that his knuckles were white with the strain.
‘So what? Okay, I might not be able to regenerate twelve
times. Eleven, ten maybe. Who cares?’
‘You should.’
‘Why? Look at the scanner Mel, look at that. All those stars
and worlds and races and civilisations. They could all have
gone the way of poor Professor Tungard if I’d not stopped it.
As sacrifices go, I could afford it and I truly believe it was
worth it.’
Mel was at his side. She placed a hand on his and drew it
away quickly.
‘Doctor, you’re ice cold. I mean, absolutely frozen.’
‘Really? Can’t feel it myself.’ His gaze was still on the
scanner. ‘Mel, can you press that blue switch please.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I asked nicely?’
Mel did as she was told and instantly the TARDIS roared
into life, the central column rising and falling as they left
Carsus for what she hoped would be the last time.
A few seconds later, it stopped and the scanner just
showed space again. Mel frowned but the Doctor smiled,
albeit weakly.
‘Hover mode. I just want to look one last time at the local
cosmos.’
‘One… last… what d’you mean, one last time?’
The Doctor finally pried his hands away from the console,
trying to work the fingers but to no avail. He stared straight at
Mel and she suddenly realised she was facing not a man in
his mid-forties as he normally appeared, but a tired, drained
man, who just this once she could believe was 900-plus years. His blue eyes were grey, the crow’s feet more
pronounced and his hair had a few grey roots and curls,
especially at the temples.
‘We did good, Mel. I’m honoured to have had you at my
side one last time.’
And he fell to the floor with a loud crump.
Mel was at his side in a second, resting his head on her
lap, massaging his temples.’C’mon Doctor, no time to be
sleeping.’ She looked up at the scanner.
All those stars, still twinkling.
All the planets still revolving.
All the life that owed its continued existence to a man, a
wonderful, brave man it had never known.
Might never know.
She realised she was crying and a tear dropped onto the
Doctor’s face. His skin was very grey now. His eyes flickered
open and he smiled tightly.
‘Don’t cry Mel. It was my time. Well, maybe not, but it was
my time to give. To donate. I’ve had a good innings you
know, seen and done a lot. Can’t complain this time. Don’t
feel cheated.’
Mel couldn’t understand what he was saying. He couldn’t
be… couldn’t be dying.
Had letting his chronon energy be absorbed to that degree
really destroyed him. Finally?
‘No…’ she whispered. It’s not fair!’
‘Yes. Yes it is…’ she heard him say, but the words seemed
to be in her head rather than coming from his closed mouth.
She suddenly found herself remembering their initial
meeting in Brighton. An initial enmity that had given way to
respect, admiration and finally a great enough affection that
she had given it all up to join him aboard the TARDIS. To
travel the universe.
The TARDIS lights seemed to have dimmed a fraction, as
if it… as if she knew. Understood.
Mel wished she did.
Then the TARDIS lurched violently, once, twice, three
times. The Doctor was rocked out of her hands and he curled
up, facing the bottom of the console.
‘Local… tractor beam…’ he said aloud this time, trying to
raise his hand. Trying to reach up, grab the console and haul
himself upright.
Mel watched for a second, convinced that he’d succeed.
Of course he would, if they were under some sort of attack,
the Doctor would leap into action and save the day again. He
had to.
‘Doctor!’ she whispered as, instead, his arm drooped and
he was still once more.
His skin was the colour of granite now and Mel was sure it
was blurring slightly.
Had to be her own tears, distorting her vision.
The force of the tractor beams – another one rocked the
TARDIS again – had sent her a couple of feet away from the
Doctor and the floor seemed to be at a severe angle.
She tried to crawl towards him, but another blow, then
another and Mel suddenly wondered if this was what it felt
like to be a deep-sea diver, going down too rapidly. Getting
the bends. She felt, somehow, that the TARDIS was indeed
going down, being dragged through space, like a
rollercoaster car in freefall.
And then it was all over. The TARDIS landed with an
enormous juddering thump, but in her ears, in her mind, it
seemed as if the noise was still going on and she knew then,
that she had failed the Doctor.
He was dying in front of her eyes and her own brain was
closing down, trying to block off the effects of the crashlanding,
or whatever it was, by making her sleep.
She would fight unconsciousness. She’d been knocked
out before, she knew that she could catch it, stop it…
She knew she could…
She knew…
No… no it wasn’t fair…
Wait!
The TARDIS door was opening. How? No one had
operated the door controls. They must have been forced.
Mel could barely keep her eyes open, the darkness that
wanted to consume her was winning, and she was losing the
battle.
Let it go, she heard her inner voice say. Sleep.
With a final effort, Mel rolled onto her back, facing the
doorway.
As unconsciousness took a hold, she was sure there were
people there.
They moved towards her and as she finally succumbed to
complete sensory deprivation, she heard a strident female
voice barking out an order.
‘Leave the girl. It’s the man I want.’
From Spiral Scratch, by Gary Russell.  Oh, hoorah for Six getting a good regeneration that happened FOR A REASON, and not really just because he bumped his head. (via in-time-of-peril)

abiblr:

fucky-str1pe:

themadfangirl:

kieradoe:

whatsortofamandoesntcarryatrowel:

Dad: Why do you think they do that?
Girl: Because the companies who make these try to trick the girls into buying the pink stuff instead of stuff boys want to buy.
[x]

that awkward moment when a child understands the harm of forcing gender roles better than most grown male politicians.

Always reblog.

I’m surprised that I haven’t reblogged this, to be honest.

I love that last gif.  She looks so frustrated.  Like “Um, hello, obviously girls and boys can like anything why doesn’t anybody get that???”

She does have a point though..

Kids who are smarter than adults though.

(Source: this-isakindness)

charamei:

dromeianindistress replied to your post “dromeianindistress replied to your post:…Gallifreyan patter songs…”

Oooooo. Thete and Koschei doing a patter song though. ‘Mildly critical’ well um that’s one way of putting it.

Braxiatel
My eyes are fully open to my awful situation—
I shall go at once to Benny and I’ll make her an oration.
I shall tell her I’ve recovered my forgotten moral senses,
And I don’t care twopence-halfpenny for any consequences.
Now I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger,
But a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger,
And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter,
But I’ve got to die tomorrow, so it really doesn’t matter!

Doctor
So it really doesn’t matter…

Master
So it really doesn’t matter…

All Together
So it really doesn’t matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

Master
If I were not a little mad and generally silly
I should give you my advice upon the subject, willy-nilly;
I should show you in a moment how to grapple with the question,
And you’d really be astonished at the force of my suggestion.
On the subject I shall write you a most valuable letter,
Full of excellent suggestions when I feel a little better,
But at present I’m afraid I am as mad as any hatter,
So I’ll keep ‘em to myself, for my opinion doesn’t matter!

Doctor
His opinion doesn’t matter…

Braxiatel
His opinion doesn’t matter…

All Together
His opinion doesn’t matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

Doctor
If I had been so lucky as to have a steady brother
Who would talk to me as we are talking now to one another—
Who would give me good advice when he discovered I was erring
(Which is just the very favour which on you I am conferring),
My story would have made a rather interesting idyll,
And I might have lived and died a very decent indiwiddle.
This particularly rapid, unintelligible patter
Isn’t generally heard, and if it is it doesn’t matter!

Braxiatel
If it is it doesn’t matter…

Master
If it is it doesn’t matter…

All Together
If it is it doesn’t matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

London: Lost Play of Shakespeare Discovered in Family Heirloom

gehayi:

odysseiarex:

odysseiarex:

THIS IS SO FUCKING EXCITING IF IT’S REAL (WHICH THIS ARTICLE SEEMS TO SAY IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

nope. never mind

World News Daily Report is a news and political satire web publication, which may or may not use real names, often in semi-real or mostly fictitious ways. All news articles contained within worldnewsdailyreport.com are fiction, and presumably fake news.

Goddamnit. It looked legit, too.

I don’t get why anyone would write that article, seriously.  I mean, what’s the point of making people hope that a lost play has been found? That’s not satire. That’s just being a dick.

London: Lost Play of Shakespeare Discovered in Family Heirloom

odysseiarex:

THIS IS SO FUCKING EXCITING IF IT’S REAL (WHICH THIS ARTICLE SEEMS TO SAY IT IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

greenseer:

A fun thing to do when people accuse you of “thinking people should just have stuff HANDED TO THEM! ! !” Is to just cold be like yes. I absolutely do believe that. I think every single person should have their needs met unconditionally without ever having to prove that they “deserve” it based on arbitrary criteria of usefulness. You got me. Busted.

overnight-shipping:

camerapits:

noobtheloser:

quotes-n-hoes:

This is an ancient Roman amulet for luck. Yes those are flying penises.

Also of note, the Roman god of marriage, Mutunus Tutunus, whose name is derived from two Latin slang words for penis. His name is essentially Dick Wiener. If you have ever wondered just how much like us the Romans were, read the etymology section

Oh look.

It’s a flying fuck.

It used to be given, and now look, it’s no more.

LITERALLY. A FLYING FUCK.

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