Rose Tyler - Blog Posts
Packing
Pairing: Ten/Rose, unrequited!Tentoo/Rose
Rating: PG for strong angst
He pulled open a drawer.
Ties. This was where he kept the ties. Browns and blues mostly. Some in shades of red. He took a few of those, and one of his favorite brown silk ones.
He opened one of the cupboards.
Converse, stacked up high on the shelves. He took a pair of the reds, a pair of the whites, a pair of the blacks.
He walked to another part of the wardrobe and looked through a rack until he found what he was looking for. A long brown coat, not the same one, not perfect, but as close as he was going to get, and he didn't have time to be picky. He shoved it awkwardly into his pocket.
He left the wardrobe, feeling numb. Never in his long life had he been faced with this reality. Never would he have expected it. Now that he didn't have much time left here, he was starting to panic.
Not about not having a ship, he knew he would be taking a piece of the coral with him, even he couldn't be that cruel, so that wasn't gone forever. But about not having this ship.
He'd never see Susan's room again. Or Ace's. Or Sarah Jane's. He'd never see any of Romana's books again, or any of Adric's formula sheets. He'd never see Martha's extra jacket, or Donna's sketchbook full of shorthand notes, caricatures, and tic tak toe.
He skulked out, toward the console room, and stopped just before he entered.
He peeked in.
They were in there. And they were talking. And she was smiling.
Her smile was so beautiful. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, and her tongue poked cutely out between her teeth. How many times had he been temped to forget whatever little adventure they'd been on when he'd seen that smile, to just forget every limitation and kiss her, to tell her how much he loved her against that smile.
She laughed at something he said.
It hurt, physically, to see them talking, see her smile, hear her laugh. He knew he wouldn't be hearing it much longer. Why would she choose him? His hand snaked up to feel the single heartbeat in his chest, the constant reminder that he wasn't the real him. That no matter what his mind said, no matter what memories and feelings he had, no matter what he looked like, he was just a copy. A fake. A poor recreation. He was going to age, and die. And he'd be doing it alone.
But wasn't he used to alone? Wasn't he used to the universe teasing him with the chance of happiness and just when it seemed like he'd always have a hand to hold, taking it away from him? That didn't make it any easier.
He scowled in the empty corridor. Nine hundred years, all to end up dying as a human, in the wrong universe, alone. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.
He said something, and she agreed, and they moved toward the hallway. He ducked quickly into an alcove and stayed there until they passed. Then he hurried out into the console room and over to a side panel on the central pillar. He flipped a few switches, tapped the screen a few times, and turned a few dials before pressing one last button and waiting. A few seconds of whirring later, a sonic screwdriver plopped into the little slot at the bottom of the panel, and he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket. He moved over to another panel and smacked it a little too violently. A drawer popped out, and he picked up the extra psychic paper and put it in his pocket as well. He spotted a picture of Susan, and, heart wrenching alienly, took that as well. Then he shut the drawer and looked up, just staring around the room he'd called home for seven hundred years.
His teeth clenched and his hands gripped the coral edging tightly as he suddenly fought back a sob.
It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair. He could be so much more than this. And maybe he would be. But this him, this counterfeit, never would. Was this his punishment for all that he'd done? By all rights, it hadn't even been him! Why make him conscious? Why make him share the same mind?
Why hadn't he just changed?
Someone coughed. He didn't need to look up.
The other him walked slowly back into the room. He stared at him for a minute with a look of mixed pity, sorrow, and guilty fascination. It was sickening.
He looked up, and their eyes met. By the way the Doctor winced, he could tell that he knew exactly how he felt. Something flashed in his eyes as well...regret? Pain?
Whatever it was, it felt almost perverse.
Then he coughed again, and spoke, softly.
"I haven't told her what you are yet. Not about..." he tapped his chest. "I'll leave that to you."
"Thanks," he said acidly.
The Doctor rubbed his neck awkwardly, almost ashamedly, then grabbed his jacket off the jumpseat and shuffled out of the room.
"Take whatever you need," he said over his shoulder as he went back to Rose.
He very nearly slammed his fist into the console. His hand was raised and clenched when Donna came in.
"Don't you dare, Spaceman."
His hand dropped limply to his side as he turned to look at her.
Without another word, she walked up and threw her arms tight around him. He hugged back.
Neither commented on the oddness of only two hearts beating between them.
After a minute, she pulled away from him, handing him a small book. He recognized it as her most recent sketchbook. Gripping it tightly, he met her eyes, and, almost ashamed of how desperate he sounded, blurted, "You can't come with me?"
"No," she sighed, patting his arm, "I've got to stay. For Mum and Gramps. You know that."
"I know."
She hugged him again, briefly, before walking off down the hall, presumably to find the other one and Rose. He almost smiled. Donna would have liked to get to know Rose. His almost smile turned into another almost sob, but he held his composure. He would not lose it until he was truly alone, he promised himself. He wouldn't let them see him break. He couldn't do that to Rose, or to Donna. He supposed he couldn't even do that to himself.
The TARDIS landed with a loud groan and a dull thud. He glanced at the screen. A beach appeared on it, the beach he hated more than almost anything in the entire universe.
His single heart was beating out the word that had started it all, and would end it all, for him.
Run.
Bedtime Story (drabble)
Pairing: Ten/Rose, Tentoo/Rose
Rating: G
"This is the story of a boy. A boy and his box, and the adventures he had, and the things he lost, but I'll wait to explain those.
This is also the story of a girl. A girl and a chance meeting, and a choice made and ignored, but I won't break your little heart with that tonight.
Tonight I'm going to tell you a fairytale.
Once upon a time, a boy ran away. He was afraid of growing up, settling down, picking up the responsibilities of his home, getting bored. Well, he never had to. But there was a cost. The boy lost his home, and everyone there, and was cursed. He was cursed to roam the stars forever, in his little blue box, all alone.
Now far, far away, on a little blue and green planet, on a soggy little island, there was a girl. She was afraid of being stuck, standing still, being no one forever and ever. She worked somewhere unimportant, doing something unimportant, and feeling so very unimportant.
One day, a villain came to her little island. And it took over the shop window dummies where she worked. She was cornered, alone, and frightened in a basement. Then someone took her hand, and whispered, "Run."
The boy took her away from her unimportant little life, off into the stars. Slowly, he grew to trust her, and she trusted him. And they grew to be friends, and then more than friends. And she slowly learned all about his curse, and decided to end it by staying with him, always.
Once, he changed to save her life. She didn't know if he was still the same boy she'd fallen in love with, and she almost left. She almost gave up. But he proved himself to her again, by fighting off another villain from her soggy little island, and by showing her he still loved her. So they kept traveling together.
Once, she thought she'd lost him forever. A horrible white wall sprang up and pulled them apart. She thought she'd never see him again, but she never gave up. She searched for him for years and years, and finally found him again.
But then there were two of him, one a clone, the other the original boy. And the original boy left her on the other side of the wall with the clone. And he did it to keep her safe. She was mad at first, oh, she was very mad with him. She wouldn't accept that his clone was him. But then he told her things.
He told her he was free of the curse of living forever. He told her he could spend the rest of his life by her side.
He told her he loved her.
And she accepted him. It was slow, at first. But he grew his magic box again, and they traveled again, and he asked her to marry him. And she finally accepted him. She said yes.
And now they have a beautiful little girl. And her name is Donna Jackie Tyler. And she's finally fallen asleep."
Rose smiled at the little bundle in her arms, and gently set her in the little blue cradle. Her planet mobile swung above her, shining galaxies twirling beautifully around scaled-down planets. One of them was small and blue and green. Another was big and gold and red.
She ran a finger over the little girl's cheek, smiling when she turned her head toward it. "Goodnight, Donna," she whispered, and stepped back, out of the room, turning off the lights and leaving the little stars' glow in their place. She shut the door, and turned to her husband, who was leaning against the hallway wall, brown spikey hair and striped pajamas ruffled. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
"She asleep?" "Yeah," Rose sighed, folding herself into his arms. He stroked a hand down her back and leaned his chin sleepily against her head. "You done fiddling with the controls?" "I'll just let the TARDIS decide where we go tomorrow." "How about no where? A family day in?" He smiled down at her. "Well, you do have a story to finish. I think I could help with that." She leaned up and kissed him softly, then pulled back. "C'mon, Doctor. It's time for bed." She led him down the hall.
Inside the starlit room, the little girl clutched happily to a small device, one that would seem out of place in any other crib. But the little sonic screwdriver was perfectly right for the little Doctor's Daughter.
Tea. (Headcanons)
(A/N These are some of my headcannons told sort of in the form of a plotless oneshot. Add to it if you want!)
There's one thing the Doctor adores no matter what regeneration he's on, and that's tea. Whether it's good ol' classic English tea (Ten drank it all the time), or green tea (Good old Twelve), or herbal teas(Eleven was wont to try all kinds of teas, a new one every day), or gunpowder tea (Nine had a bit of a bitter streak when it came to this), he always loved it, and he liked to share that with his companions.
Everyone liked the classic stuff, but each had their own favorites.
Rose, through her time on the TARDIS, came to really enjoy raspberry tea with honey and lemon juice, which the Doctor would make for her after every adventure. She brought her favorite brand to her mum's apartment, but Jackie said she "didn't trust these ruddy alien teas. What if they poison me or somethin'?"
Martha had a soft spot for orange tea, especially with lavender or jasmine, and her favorite brand was one from the 25th century on Earth that boasted helpful hypermetabolic antioxidants, though the Doctor protested it didn't help her health at all. She liked it anyway. They "debated" the point thousands of times during their long tea-and-chat sessions in the console room.
Donna was quite fond of coffee as well as tea, and took it black, occasionally with sugar if she was just relaxing and chatting with the Doctor. She made him try her coffee once, but he spit it out so violently she called him "Old Faithful" for a week straight. After that, the Doctor insisted on making and drinking only his own beverages, and Donna cracked a smile every time they met in the morning for drinks and biscuits.
Amy liked really strong teas of lots of varieties, including some alien types found across the galaxy from Earth in the 47th century, while Rory just liked his classic tea, one spoon of sugar and a little milk, please. Neither liked when the Doctor attempted to make their tea, so Amy often ended up getting annoyed at them both and sitting them down while she did it, correctly. The boys were smart enough not to argue.
Clara really rather enjoyed oolong and green tea, but would try basically anything the Doctor brewed for her, so they spent hours in the TARDIS kitchen laughing and taste-testing.
The Doctor also let everyone pick their own mug, because of course the TARDIS had an almost endless supply of them, and he gave each of them the mugs when they left him.
His were: in his ninth incarnation, a simple black mug with a swirling blue and gold design; in his tenth incarnation, a rather large blue mug with about a thousand quotes in brown ink scrawled all over it (from him, and his companions, and Shakespeare, and Agatha Christie, and a thousand others) in very small, cramped handwriting (he had about three because he kept running out of space); in his eleventh incarnation, it changed every time he drank tea, sometimes white with a red bow tie, other times pale pink with a black fez silhouette, other times something completely random; and in his twelfth incarnation, a star scattered black mug with the TARDIS' outline.
Rose's favorite was a pink mug with a half-heart shaped handle, which the Doctor bought her "as a joke", and sometimes teased her about, but she was happy with it. Tentoo had it in his pocket when they went to Pete's world, and gave it back to her as a birthday present the next time it came around. She was thrilled.
Martha's was a pretty green Japanese tea cup, with Kanji lettering on the side for "Health". It was wrapped up in the gift pile at her wedding to Mickey. There was no giver name. She cried when she opened it.
Mickey got one that said "The Most Brilliant Idiot To Every Live" in small, cramped handwriting. He cried, too.
Donna would never understand where the fairly plain brown mug that read "Life's an adventure if you get your arse out of bed long enough to have one" came from. All she knew was that it arrived at her door one day, and Shawn didn't know where it came from, and it was her favorite. It made her happy, but she never understood why.
Amy's favorite mug was intricately sculpted to a tree with a fairy sitting in its branches that Rory bough for her on a planet with actual, live fairies. Rory's was one Amy had given him, with a little cartoon of a Roman soldier, bought from the gift shop of a certain museum, that had the title "The Centurion".
They cried when a package containing the mugs arrived on their doorstep in the 60s.
Clara's favorite was bright red with gold glitter and the outline of a leaf on it. The Doctor swore he'd just picked it up somewhere, but Clara just smiled and nodded, happily running a finger over the hand-painted leaf.
After The Invasion
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: G
Rose shook herself awake, stretching and yawning and getting her bearings. She smiled. How long had it been since she last woke up in her old apartment? Looking around made her contented little smile bigger. Her mum still had a paper crown crookedly capping her hair, an empty wineglass on the table beside her. Mickey had apparently gone home hours ago to check on his apartment. You could never be too careful with alien invasions. Rose supposed it had only been a few hours since dinner, as it was still dark outside, and the snow...well, ash, was still heavy. The only person missing from this happy little scene was the Doctor. The new Doctor. But still hers. She decided to find him.
The Doctor stood, leaning on the console of his beautiful, beloved ship, letting his new eyes wander over all the little doohickies and gadgets bathed in their familiar green light, a fond little grin playing at his lips. He caught sight of a hand, and was startled for a moment before realizing it was his, and laughing to himself. He looked at the skinny little thing, all long fingered and fidgety, and up his thin arm. He took the hand and felt his longer, spikier hair, then down to his ear (so much less conspicuous this time), then his neck. He pulled it away and stared at it again.
"Is it weird, for you?"
He whirled around, grinning when he realized who it was. "Rose! You're up!" She did her little tongue-out smile. "I am, yeah. But is it weird?" His grin faded a little, eyes on his hand again. He flexed it, fascinated by the rippling of the little muscles and tendons. "Yeah. It is a bit, yeah." He huffed a little laugh. "It's like I said, never know quite what's going to happen. I could easily end up someone...ugly. Or cruel. Someone I don't even like. But" he drew out the word, "I think...I am going to quite like this one." Without looking up, he said softly, "what do you think?" A glance in her direction. "Are you?" Rose walked toward him, looking him up and down. He found he was holding his breath. Finally, she took his hand. He looked fondly down at their entwined fingers, a happy little sigh escaping, then back up at her, eyebrows raised. She stuck her tongue out again. "Yeah. I reckon I am." His face lit up.
Without warning, and without ever taking his eyes off of her, he flipped a switch and turned a dial, and the room filled with music. It was a slow, gently song. He stepped back and bowed. "Rose Tyler," he savored the sound of her name in this new voice, "would you care to take this dance?" In reply, she snaked her arms around his neck, and his seemed to find their own way to her waist. She leaned her head on his chest, enjoying the novel feel of this new body, the way she just fit into his embrace, the comforting double heartbeat.
Dadadadum. Dadadadum.
He buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent again, closing his eyes and loving the feel of his arms around her as they swayed on the spot. He smiled suddenly, an idea occuring to him. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, "Would you look at that? The Doctor is dancing, and the world hasn't ended." She laughed, the sound muffled against his suit, and moved so that she was hugging him across the shoulders. He was so much easier to hug now. And he was hugging back, tightly, a thousand-watt smile lighting up his thin face.
For a little while, nothing existed, except a skinny man and a blond girl, in a blue box, in an alley behind some apartments, holding each other, on Christmas night.
Old (A Tentoo Drabble)
Pairing: Tentoo/Rose mentions
Rating: G
Old. It's amazing how odd that word sounded to him now.
Before, when he'd thought of old, he'd thought of centuries, of planetary histories and the births and deaths of stars and galaxies. He'd thought of an ancient, nearly extinct race, who could live for many thousands of years, each with thirteen faces. He'd thought of how many faces he had left, and how many centuries, and how alone he would be.Old used to terrify him. Now, though, old was different.
Now, he thought of years, of houses and cars, and pictures from a Polaroid camera. He thought of another race, who lived for less than a century on average, each with only one face. He thought of the fact that now he only had one face, and much less than a century left...and someone to spend that time with. Old doesn't scare him as much anymore. The Doctor touched his face. He touched the chin that was covered in morning stubble after not being shaved in three days. He touched the corners of brown eyes he'd grown so used to seeing, suddenly, it seemed, covered in small wrinkles. He touched brown, spikey hair that was just beginning to grey.And he marveled at it.
Fifty years ago, this hadn't even been a possibility for him. Thirty-five years ago, it'd been an aching, impossible fantasy. Thirty years ago, it'd become a terrifying and strange new reality. Now, he looked at himself in fond awe once again.He was getting old. He, the Doctor, Last of the Time Lords, 900 year old alien, was finally getting old. And he was happy about it.
Someone knocked on the open bathroom door. He looked over to see a brown haired woman leaning against its frame, arms crossed over a blue pajama top. She smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Morning. Why're you starin' at yourself?"
He smiled and raised an eyebrow right back.
"Morning. I'm just appreciating how handsome I am."
"No you're not," she laughed, "You were touching your wrinkly eyes. You're thinkin' about how old you're getting."
He scowled playfully. "I am not!"
"Are too!" she grinned, walking over and hugging him. He sighed, looking back at the mirror and putting an arm around her. "Are to," he conceded.
The woman looked up at him thoughtfully."It still amazes you, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yes. I think it always will."
They stood there for a minute, looking in the mirror, before she finally patted his shoulder and gestured at his striped pajamas."C'mon, get dressed. You promised we could show Martha and David a new planet today."
He sighed again, smiling into it. "I did, didn't I? Alright." He stepped back from her and walked to the wardrobe in the adjacent bedroom, pulling out a familiar blue set of garments. "Old suit good enough for it, Deej?"
"Always, Dad," she said fondly, and with a last chuckle left the room to find her kids and make sure they were ready.
Another woman appeared at the door and smiled. This one was blonde, with little wrinkles around her eyes, too (that he of course never mentioned).
"Hello."
"Hello."
Rose came in and gave him a little kiss.
The Doctor took his wife's hand, like he always had, and always would, and went off to find the rest of his greatest adventure, and show them a new planet. Just like he'd promised.
Just like it should be.
Doodles
Pairing: Nine/Rose
Rating: PG for slight angst
The library was always fun. You'd loved ever since you'd first stepped foot in it, on your first day in the TARDIS, wandering lost and confused looking for a bathroom at two am your time. But you'd found this place, and suddenly forgotten your need to pee in favor of running down the aisles, fingertips brushing the beautiful books around you. Until you'd really needed to go, then the TARDIS had been polite enough to point you on your way.
Now, you still loved running down the aisles, picking books at random and reading them as you wandered. You mostly avoided stuff from your future, but you loved everything else. There were books from distant planets with fairytales you'd never heard of, there were ancient leatherbound volumes from Earth, there were children's picture books from odd interstellar markets, even your favorite stories from your childhood. And the best part was that the TARDIS translation circuit worked on these books too, so you could read whatever you wanted, from whenever you wanted. It was one of the most wonderful things about traveling with the Doctor.
You were in the middle of reading a signed special edition copy of the seventh Harry Potter book- "To my favorite Doctor, love from JK Rowling" . Crying your eyes out, you didn't notice that you'd wandered to a new part of the ever-changing room. It wasn't until you ran book-first into a huge, elaborately carved shelf (something that didn't happen often, as you were a reading-while-running champ) that you realized where you were. The annoyed glower on your face faded to slack-jawed shock as you took in the beautiful little alcove.
Towering shelves dominated the walls in the inset, each carved with lovely, swirling circular patterns in gold leaf on the dark wood. The floor was thickly carpeted in rich, dark red, and an overstuffed deep red couch faced a cozy little white marble fireplace, also decorated with the circular symbols. The books on the walls were in various dark shades, from midnight blue to blood red and ebony to mahogany. There were odd little white-glowing cubes spaced randomly all over the shelves, lending the corner a dim, mysterious glow.
A few items seemed out of place in this wondrous place. An empty pink tea cup sat on a saucer on a rickety table in the corner by the fireplace, and a single fluffy pink slipper lay abandoned under it, on top of a forgotten large, green jumper. The smell was odd too, not just old books, but two different men's colognes (one of which was vaguely familiar) and some flowery store-brand body wash.
The Harry Potter book slipped from your limp hand and landed with a dull thud. You moved forward without a thought and grazed fingertips across the volumes, stopping over a smaller one that was bound in black leather inlaid with gold. Pulling it out and sinking into the couch with a sigh, you curled in on yourself and let it fall open in your lap.
Odd, the first things you notice. The first thing that registered about this book was that the TARDIS wasn't translating the circles that you soon deciphered were writing. The next was a Polaroid picture, stuck carelessly in the front of the book. The man in the picture was leaning against the TARDIS, arms crossed and an annoyed but happy expression on his face. He was wearing all black: black boots, black pants, black shirt, black leather jacket, which, you noted, matched the front of the book. His dark hair was cropped short and close to his head, exposing almost comically large ears, which matched his rather large nose and huge grin well. But the thing that intrigued you most about this picture was his eyes. Bright, laughing blue eyes that looked vaguely familiar, as if they belonged to a friend you hadn't seen in years and years...
Setting the Polaroid aside, you returned your attention to the book, skimming through the enigmatic pages until you found more pictures: a few more Polaroids, taped in, of various creatures and places, a few pencil sketches done with mechanical precision, a few feminine doodles in pen. Suddenly you smiled. There were a few lines in English on this page! Two different sets of handwriting seemed to be having a conversation beside a caricature sketch of the man in the first picture.
I don't look anything like that! Yeah you do! It's like a mirror! No, it really isn't! Here, I'll draw you! Go on then, Picasso!
Here there was a little caricature of a woman, with big eyes and big lips pulled in a smile and light hair framing her face. It was done in pencil, probably by the same person who'd drawn the precise sketches, but in a softer style.
That one looks like you, see! At least I was nice about it. Fine, fine, remind me to fix yours later, when we're done with Raxacri (that was scratched out) Raxoco (more scratching) Raxicoricofallapatorius. Right. Fantastic.
You giggled to yourself. Who had written and drawn here? And why in this book? Looking back through, you thought maybe the whole thing was written into it, a bit like a journal. You sighed, wishing you could read more, and flipped the page past where you'd been.
It was blank. Frowning, you counted the remaining pages. There was more than half a book left, but the rest was empty except for what looked like a small footnote on the very last page. Letting out a frustrated snort, you closed the book and looked back over to the rickety table. There was something sad about it, the cup and slipper and jumper, like they were keepsakes from happy days long gone. Sighing again, feeling oddly saddened by the lost girl and man who'd left these here, you stood, put the book back on the shelf, and wandered out, glancing back one last time at the homey little nook before moving on.
You never found that part of the room again, and figuring that it must have been some sort of fluke that let you find it, you never asked the Doctor about it. About the one language the TARDIS didn't feel the need to translate, and the little table's keepsakes, and the girl and the man, and whether they'd ever made it back from Raxicoricofallapatorius.
He never mentioned it.
A Letter to the Doctor
Pairing: Tentoo/Rose, Ten/Rose mentions
Rating: PG for very very mild angst
Dear Doctor,
That sounds so weird. I'm very used to hearing other people call you that, of course I am. People yell it at you, threaten you with it, insult you with it, thank you with it, laugh it out admiringly. It's just weird to say it myself.Well, this whole idea is weird, isn't it? Writing to you, I mean. I don't even really know that you're going to read this, just have the assurance of a madman and the tiniest little tear in the universe, like a crack in a wall, only big enough to send a small signal through. But we had to try, didn't we?I'm the one writing the letter because Dad thinks it would be pointless for him to do it, and Mum...well...let me explain.
They were stuck on Earth for five years, while the TARDIS was growing. It was helped along by everything Torchwood had. Dad won't even tell me what all was used. Even then, five years was impossibly fast. But it was enough time to get things started.Mum had trouble, at first, of course. For a long time, she says, she was so uncomfortable with it, with him. But he won her over. Little ways. He never acted very different, Mum says, a little moodier, a little darker, but all the same mannerisms, the same clothes (well, excepting of course the odd lazy day in jeans or sweats and a galaxy tshirt he appparently found and loved), the same smile. But he did do something a lot different.
He took her on dates. Very reserved things, picnics, beach walks, fancy dinners. Sometimes they just stayed in. Dad would play Mum music on the piano and the guitar, and sing with it, pretty Gallifreyan songs from his childhood, his favorites. He'd tell her stories he'd apparently planned to tell her before...you know. They'd talk all about where they'd go when the TARDIS was up and ready. And finally Mum just...accepted it. I think that's my favorite story.
So Dad tells it (and I do love when he does, what a storyteller my old dad is), he was meddling with some little bit of the TARDIS (which mysteriously has a broken chamelion circuit. Can you guess what the old girl looks like?) when she walked in and just hugged him from behind. And he just looked around and raised his eyebrows at her, all confused, and she asked "Can we go back to New Earth? The last time was a bit iffy, but..." And he knew, right then, that she was seeing him again. Really seeing just him and not that body he was in.
He did take her to New Earth, by the way. He proposed to her on the applegrass covered ridge, d'you remember that place?The ring's beautiful, a little blue band with a perfect (alright, almost) white diamond on top, cut over a nova pattern made of real stardust. Dad went all out on it, made it himself with help from our old girl. Mum still shows it to me everytime she tells the story.
The wedding was in a little church in London. There were some human things, Mum walked down the aisle and had the white dress and all, but the main part was a Time Lord ceremony. And only Gran, Gramps, and Tony were invited. That one's my second favorite story. They let me go watch it last month, from behind a door. Don't worry, no one saw me, no paradoxes. I cried.
I was born a year after they got the TARDIS working, as we were landing on Earth. Mum and Dad still call me Earth Girl all the time. That was eighteen years ago. I've grown up in the TARDIS, traveling, exploring. They took me to Barcelona for my last birthday, the planet not the city. And yes, we do keep track of birthdays, albeit a bit oddly. Mum's got the details, I just play along.I love every minute of this. I've even managed to keep in touch with a couple of kids on Earth, Rory, Amy, and Clara. Dad loves them, loves showing off around them. So do I, but don't tell him I said that. They've come with us once or twice. He keeps us away from too many life-or-death problems. Well, he tries...I asked Mum whether she had anything to say to you. She smiled and said she had one thing to say.
She's having a fantastic life with you, here.
Dad says that by the time you get this, you'll probably have regenerated once or twice. Are you ginger this time?
It's weird though, again, isn't it? I hope you still like how you look, and how you act, and that you still remember Mum and Dad. I hope you haven't worried too much about them, or missed her too badly. Who knows, maybe you'll see us at some point. It'd be fun to see how Dad reacts to what would have been future him.I guess the point I was trying to make was that we're happy here, all three of us (soon to be four!), and we hope that wherever you are, whatever's happened since, that you're still running. Because I think that if the Doctor ever stopped running, the stars would go out because they missed him so much. Keep going, Doctor. Have a fantastic life, for us.
All our love,
Donna Jackie (That's me, hello!)
Rose Tyler
The Doctor
PS: I have attempted to attach a picture of us on New Earth last week. I hope you like it, especially Dad's beard stubble and my hair. Blue tips on blonde, good, yeah? I'm thinking of going ginger next.
New. (A Regeneration fic)
Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: G
Light. Blinding, painful light. Burning through every part of him, he can feel it. In his hands, his face, his body, a burning. He's shrinking, stretching, compressing, every proportion changing, and burning.But he's seen it all, done it all before. He's old, impossibly old. But he's also new, untested, young. He's seen everything and nothing, knows everything and nothing, met a million people and not even one.Suddenly, the light is over, and he stumbles, adjusting quickly to a new body. Difficult to move, to balance. He pulls air into new lungs, his first breath. New eyes search across the room, taking in the familiar unfamiliar place all over again. But something's different this time.
There's a girl, small and blond, in a pink jacket, staring at him with wide hazel eyes. She's frightened, and shocked, and tired...and the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She's his Rose, and he died for her, he remembers suddenly. He died to save her because...This mind acknowledges the feeling, at least to itself. That's different...He likes it. Anyway...he cares about her. He cares so much about her, and she's alright. Good. Job well done then.
Wait, wait, wait, he was in the middle of something. What was he doing?
He was saying something. They were going to go somewhere. OH! But he ought to introduce himself again, as he's changed, even if he doesn't quite know who "himself" is yet. He could be anyone now. What what he like? All he knows right now is the Rose, Rose Tyler, is so important, and he ought to introduce himself.What if she doesn't like him anymore? The thought occurs to him suddenly. He's changed. What if she hates him now?
What is that little feeling? In the pit of his stomach? Is he...nervous? That's different. Nervous. Alright.
Say something! Alright.
"Hello. Alright-oh."He feels around his new mouth. It felt awkward, less room."New teeth, that's weird. Anyway, where were we?"
Dogs. No noses. The planet, not the city.
"Oh yes!"
His first grin with this face, and it's for her, all wide and cheeky, teeth and tongue. He hopes she likes it.
"Barcelona!"
DJ Tyler. Nineteen years old, brilliant, quick witted, resourceful brunette with a London accent. That's all anyone kn...
Chapters: 17/24 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Ninth Doctor & Rose Tyler Characters: Rose Tyler, Ninth Doctor (Doctor Who), The Doctor's TARDIS, Jackie Tyler, Jack Harkness Additional Tags: Introspection, Character Study, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love, Trust Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, The TARDIS rooms aren't shown enough so I'm taking that into my own hands, TARDIS Repairs (Doctor Who), Exploring the TARDIS, Life in the TARDIS, Missing Scene, Slice of Life, Processing Trauma, Ninth Doctor Era, Complicated Relationships, Melancholy, Post-Episode: s01e03 The Unquiet Dead (Doctor Who), Nightmares, Original Alien Planet, Injury Recovery, Angst, Classic Doctor Who References, Bad Wolf, Episode: s01e08 Father's Day (Doctor Who) ---- Landing in a rather undignified heap with an ‘oof’, he rights himself, brushing down his jumper. “Must be getting close to the disturbance. Terraforming like this doesn’t go haywire on its own.” “So you think, what, someone’s messing around with an entire forest?” she asks as she hands over the sonic.
Nine and Rose are so constantly holding each other's hands. I think there's only like one episode in that season where they don't have the chance to. Physical touch is a love language for them and I will NOT hear any arguments. My friend said "I think they'd live in each other's skin if given the chance" and ISTG that's such an accurate take
Why does everyone seem to forget that Nine/Rose is the reason for Ten/Rose? I just saw a post about someone who didn't like Ten/Rose being romantic as if it appeared first, as if the reason that Ten/Rose is romantic is because he suddenly changed and fell in love with her. He didn't. Nine loved her first. Nine is the entire reason Ten loves Rose. Nine. Nine was head over heels in love with Rose. Didn't have to mean he was sexually attracted to her because you can be in love without being in lust. RTD pitch for Doctor/Rose was that he was in love with her. Full stop. Love is fantastic, ya'll. The Doctor loved all of his companions in his way. Every single one. Five died in order to keep Peri alive, not that he was in love with Peri but he loved her. You wouldn't sacrifice yourself for someone you didn't care about. There's a reason the Doctor has two hearts. You can't hold as much love as he can with just one.
Ты всегда доверяла моим затеям,
И сегодня мы крупно разбогатеем.
Rewatching boomtown for…. Research… purposes… and this moment is so small but I’m obsessed and didn’t see it last time I watched-
Rose and the gang go off in Cardiff and she grabs the Doctors hand, not Mickeys, not Jacks, and starts frolicking off with him. I love you ninerose please never die
"Why steam?" she wondered aloud. "Why not something more... modern?" The Doctor did not reply. He was still staring after the ship, tapping a finger against his lips. "Because of this pulse thing, isn't it?" she realised. "No technology works, so they have to use old-fashioned methods like steam and stuff." "Seems likely." "But that means we can't just shut it off, whatever it is." "Seems likely." "I mean, it could be a natural phenomenon, something in the atmosphere or whatever." "Seems likely." "That's not helping." "More than likely." "So what now?" He shrugged. "Dunno really. I think we're probably stuffed."
their banter in the resurrection casket is hilarious, istg. Ten out here carrying blunt Nine energy
slowly makin my way through my most recent ninth doctor n rose one-shot! hit the 1.2k word count mark
Are you his mummy
you can see other versions of this art on my insta (THIS IS NOT AN AD OF MY INSTA YOU CAN LOOK UP IF YOU WANT‼️‼️) : bruhsigma_
the enigma of pete tyler... not a character that haunts the narrative, but a character haunted by the narrative. its rose's (ie. the bad wolf's, ie. the narrative's) attachment to him and who he could've been but never got to be that makes him so important, but only barely. hes not part of the story-- he dies before she grows up, or he doesnt have kids in this world-- but hes rose's dad so hes dragged into it every time. he seems to know it every time too, because he always opens up to rose and doesnt know why, like he knows hes becoming part of a story he isnt supposed to be in yet. hes so normal and so essential and so tangential-- theres so much thats different about the alternate universe, but they call it petes world because he's whats the most important about it. to her.
The fact that Billie Piper's casting in Doctor Who was initially so negatively received by the fanbase, only for her to become literally the most recognisable companion of all time, has to be one of my favourite success stories.
God I love Rose in Turn Left. She's talking interdimensional science to UNIT, saving the world in a leather jacket. She's really following in Nine's footsteps
Doctor Who “Aliens of London” 1x04
Doctor Who rewatch ➜ one gifset per episode
↳01.07 - The Long Game
bonus because rose is adorable:
