Maybe, Virginia

A mixture. Stories, sometimes fictional sometimes true. Musings, of social issues and of every day ramblings. Poetry. Images occasionally. Writings on art, life (my limited experience of it, anyway), and of whatever wanders into my mind.


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http://maybevirginia.tumblr.com/ask

A Picture Essay on Why Soracat is Wrong About RiverxEleven

askboo:

soracat:

Why do you love Rose?

She helped me realize who I was again after the War.
She makes me laugh; she makes me smile.
I believe in her.
She always knows the right thing to say.
She was willing to sacrifice her life for me.
She is so brave and compassionate to others; it’s inspiring.
If something makes her upset, she fights against it.
I know her, her family, her life. I’ve lived it with her, and she knows me. Not the physical me, not the data files and the alias’ I had that one time on a Moon bar, but me, who I am.
Kissing her is real.

Why do you love River?

She told me I did.
She’s sexy and says sexy things.
We got married that one time to save the universe. 
She’s so badass! But then when she looks at me she has sparkly, googley eyes.
She’s obsessed with me.

Why do you love Rose?

She helped me realize who I was again after the War.

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She makes me laugh; she makes me smile.

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I believe in her.

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She always knows the right thing to say.

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She was willing to sacrifice her life for me.

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She is so brave and compassionate to others; it’s inspiring.

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If something makes her upset, she fights against it.

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I know her, her family, her life.

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I’ve lived it with her, and she knows me. Not the physical me, not the data files and the alias’ I had that one time on a Moon bar, but me, who I am.

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Kissing her is real.

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                                                   —-

Honestly can’t stand all this ship hating. He loved them both. You need to close your eyes and plug your ears to deny he loved River, so just stop.

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epic-lee:

Don’t we all remember? The Doctor told River Song his name already right before they were married. It’s Lokintew Mai’aye (Pronounced Look Into My Eye)

She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation. In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?

(Source: iceinherheart-kissonherlips)

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