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brianc521 · 4 years

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Valentines | CEO Peter

Peter was a classy man. He wasn’t one that went for cliches and he wasn’t one to fall for the world's antics on celebrating a ‘day of love’ just as a ploy to spend money on candy and flowers.

Last year, since you were in love with the idea of valentine's day, he agreed to take you to dinner, allowed you to dress him up and then dress him down at the end of the night.

Hearts and flowers weren’t totally this thing, or well at least not in public.

This time around? Different story.

Peter is really lovesick. He is head over cufflinks in love with you. You’re wearing his ring, and your initials are tattoo’d just behind his ear. He is devoted to you, and he wants you to know that. So he might have gone a little crazy. It really didn’t help that he hasn’t seen you all week.

You’ve been in Ohio, with he who shall not be named, on a work business trip. You were meant to be home yesterday morning, but weather loves to fuck things up. Your plane was delayed and you didn’t end up getting into town but around 3 am this morning. Since your brother lives just around the corner from the airport, and you and Peter live a good 45 minutes away, it just made sense to crash at Ashtons.

Peter understood, and really didn’t want you driving that far while being dead tired, he needed you safe. With that said, it still really sucked to spend yet another night alone in the cold sheets.

Soooooo, that amped up his wanting to do something special for you.

The man not only had the whole store catered for breakfast for you and your employee’s, he also had your office completely filled with dozens of bouquets of roses and sunflowers (your two most favorite flowers).

But that’s not all. You kept finding little gifts everywhere. Opening your desk drawer to grab a notepad left you munching on a box of chocolates. Accepting the shipment for the day had you hugging a 6 ft teddy bear.

You called him once the shipment guys left, leaving you alone in the back of the shop.

“Mrs. Mendes, Happy Valentine’s day!” Stan answers cheerfully.

“Hi Stan! Happy Valentine’s day to you too!”

“Thank you Mrs. Mendes.”

“He busy right now?” You ask, chewing on your thumb nail.

You hear some shuffling and a murmured voice. “He’s about to step into a meeting, he’s walking past me as we speak.”

“My wife?” You hear in the background, and then suddenly his voice fills your ear. “Hi Baby.”

“Hi Love.” You sigh, melting into your seat from the sound of his voice alone. “I don’t wanna keep you.”

“Please do.” He responds.

“Bad meeting?”

“A fire is about to go out.” He nods, using some code to tell you he’s about to fire someone.

“Oh, well then call me after.”

“Or better yet, I’ll pick you up after.” He quips.

“Um,”

“I got the rest of the day off.” He bribes.

“Okay, when should I expect you.” You grin.

“Really? You can come?”

“Baby, I’m the boss, I can leave if I want. I’ve just spent the week working for this place in a different state.”

“It’s sexy when you say things like that.” You hear a gag and then Peter’s rough chuckle. “Fuck off Stan.”

You smile and bite your lip, taking notice of how good of a mood he’s in.

“Well? Am I ditching this place or what?”

“Be ready in 30, this fire won’t take long.”

“Okay, and Mr. Mendes?”

“Yes?”

“You’re always sexy.”

He chokes a bit and you giggle as you hang up your phone, strutting your stuff off to the sales floor to tell Micheal you’ll be leaving soon.

You start running a little when you see him leaning against his 2019 Porsche 911. He looks too good to be true, and he’s all yours.

“Baby!” He cheers, standing up straight to catch you as you jump into his arms.

Your legs wrap around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. His arms tighten as you bury your face in his neck, and he kisses your neck as he takes in a deep breath of your perfume. A plus from you working at a body shop, you always smell so good.

“Fuckin’ missed you.” He mumbles against your skin. “Don’t ever leave me for that long again.”

“I won’t, that was pure torture.”

He walks you around to the passenger side of his car, tapping your bum a few times to get you to hop down.

“Can I drive?” You grin at him, eyeing the car.

“If you’re good maybe I’ll let you someday, but today I have plans in store that are meant to be a surprise.” He says helping you into the seat. He shuts your door, walking around the car and slipping in himself.

“Can I have a kiss then?”

“You don’t even have to ask that question.” He hums, leaning over the console to plant his lips on yours.

“Thanks for my flowers, chocolates, and teddy bear. Although I don’t need a teddy bear, I already have you.”

“Okay, so you’re going to be extra cheesy today?” He raises his eyebrow at you as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“Me? You sir had me drowning in roses today.”

He grins, shaking his head. “I’ve arranged for Bailey to get your gifts at the end of the work day when the store closes. I don’t want him messing up your conversion walking in and out so much.”

You stare at him in awe and lean over to kiss his cheek. “The team says thank you for breakfast, and I’m saying thank you for being an incredible husband.”

“Speaking of that.” He clears his throat. “We keep calling each other husband and wife.”

“Yes we do and it confuses the hell out of everyone, I love it.” You giggle.

“What if it didn’t anymore?” He inquired.

“What do you mean?”

“What if I told you we’d actually be married by the end of the night?”

“Really?”

“What if I told you Bailey was setting up an Officiant right now?”

“Really?” You squeal turning to him. “What about the wedding we’re already planning? You know with our Mom’s, the planner, the dress designer?”

“We’ll have that.” He nods. “But it’s taking too long to make you my actual wife. So what if we got married today, and again in a year when the wedding’s planned. We’ll know we’re already married, to everyone else they’ll celebrate our marriage, for us we’ll celebrate our anniversary?” He grins, looking at you.

“I think I’m in love with you, and that I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” He teases.

“I mean a honeymoon has to happen right?” You tease back.

“Oh Baby you don’t even know what you just asked for.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror and smile. Peter had taken you to pick out a simple dress for tonight, then to a jeweler to pick out his and your ring, and then dropped you off at home with a stylist team to glam you the fuck up.

Bailey holds the door for you as you climb into the limo. Peter’s going full out tonight. Pulling out all the stops.

The drive to the venue is short, mainly because you’re heavy in your thoughts, but before you know it Bailey is opening the door for you and helping you out.

You’re handed a bouquet of roses and sunflowers while ushered into the dim building. A few of the stylists fuss about a few strands of your hair, and fix your dress a bit. When they finally have perfected your look they scurry away.

Music starts and Bailey appears to open the double doors for you. “Ready?” He asks softly.

“More than ready.” You smile at Bailey.

“You make a beautiful Bride Mrs. Mendes, thank you for being in our lives.” With that Bailey opens the door and watches you walk down the aisle.

Peter has booked out the most amazing venue, it’s empty, save for an arch in place behind Peter and the officiant. Raul and Shawn stand in the front row, both in nice slacks and a button up shirt. Raul’s in red, Shawn’s in yellow, matching your flowers. They both smile at you and watch you walk to Peter at the end of the aisle.

Before you know it Peter is dipping you down to kiss you fiercely, you’re named Mrs. Mendes, officially, and suddenly the world is just right. You finally feel like you belong in this crazy place.

“Congrats!” Shawn cheers, Raul whistling as Peter stands you back up, hand firmly gripping your ass.

You giggle as you pull away, turning towards the boys. Peter kisses your cheek and is ready to whisk you off, but you laugh harder as you stare at Shawn and Raul.

“What are you laughing at Sis?” Raul asks.

“You look like Ketchup and Mustard.” You lose it when they stare at each other and laugh too. Peter lets out a good belly laugh and shakes his head.

“Let’s go, I’m ready to take my wife home, and kick these losers out.” He tugs you down the aisle.

“Oh we can at least get the McDonalds boys dinner.” You giggle, cackling at the fact that your jokes are just gonna keep on rolling.

“Wow, make her a Mendes and she suddenly feels like she can tease you.” Shawn says to Raul, nudging his elbow.

Raul grins and rushes towards you and Peter, swooping you up over his shoulder, twirling in circles. “Oh Sis, what’s the matter? Feeling a little dizzy?”

“Raul stop!” You laugh, hitting his back repeatedly.

“Raul.” Peter stands straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Put my wife down before something seriously happens to you.”

“Ooh, scary.” Raul scoffs, setting you back on your heeled feet. You sway and reach for Peter as you try to regain your footing.

Peter swings you up into his arms, holding you with one arm under your back and the other under your knees.

“What is with you two and picking me up?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“It’s customary for the groom to walk his wife over the threshold.”

“We’re not home though.” You point out with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m practicing then.” He grins, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Okay, we don’t need to see you practice for the honeymoon.” Shawn gags.

Peter rolls his eyes, looking to Bailey as you all step outside. “Bailey, take Mickey-” He points to Shawn, “And Dee-” He points to Raul, “Home so I can take my wife away from the greasy mess they are.”

“Haha.” Shawn rolls his eyes. “Very funny dickhead.” Raul shakes his head. “You wanted us to match her flowers, we were good brothers and followed your orders. Should be thanking us.”

Peter smiles, looking at his brother, setting you down and engulfing each in a huge hug. “I do thank you. Thanks for being the witnesses to the greatest achievement of my life.”

Each brother wraps you up in a big hug, leaving you with your Husband.

“Well Mrs. Mendes,” Peter holds your hand as he leads you to his Porsche. “What do you say about driving me to the beach house?”

“I get to drive?”

“I told you if you were good you could.” He nods opening the drivers side for you.

“And if I want to be bad?”

“Oh Baby you’ve got a whole mini honeymoon to be bad.”

“Mini honeymoon?”

He nods, leaning against the car. “Beach house this weekend, alone. Month in Bora Bora once you’re settled at work.”

You raise your eyebrows, grinning at him. “So I have a lot of time to be bad.”

“Do your worst Mrs. Mendes.”

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trashboatprince · 4 years

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Might as well write up my own version of what happened after Tentoo and Rose were left on the beach.

Summery: The TARDIS is gone, and with it the Doctor, leaving Rose and her new Doctor behind, with even more things to deal with that aren’t universe destroying, but seem to be reminders of times long ago.

Warning: this is very heavy with headcanons and such, but then again, aren’t all these fanfics with Tentoo always nothing but headcanons?

On with the fic!

An Empty Jar and a Cup of Tea

The straining sounds of the TARDIS distracted Rose from the Doctor before her, making her realize that the other one was taking his leave.

He was doing it again, there was no final words, no goodbyes, just a silence hanging in the air. Is this how it was with Sarah Jane? Other companions and friends in his past? Rose felt her heart ache for his actions, they were the acts of a distraught man, one who couldn’t bare to stay less his hearts shatter completely.

She wanted to hate him, for leaving her on the beach again, she wanted to jump onto that fading box and hang on for dear life, screaming at him to open up and face her like the brave man he pretended to be.

But she couldn’t do any of that.

Rose wasn’t stupid, she knew that he left her with the only option that made any sense, that worked. He left her with himself, a piece of him that was all for her, still the same man, just a little bit more.

While the Doctor in the blue box was left to wallow in his own depression for leaving her behind, the pink and yellow girl was given a chance to continue her life with him, in a different way.

“He’s so stupid.”

Blinking, Rose looked to the Doctor in blue at her side, seeing the concerned expression on his tired face. “Excuse me?” She asked, catching his attention.

The Doctor turned, looking down at her, his face still showing concern and even a little bit of reluctant acceptance. “How can someone so clever be so stupid? He knew that you at least wanted a proper goodbye.”

“You know why.” She offered him a tired smile that was returned in just a matter of seconds.

“Right, he doesn’t do goodbyes, he doesn’t like endings.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, I suppose I can learn to live with them.” The Doctor chuckled, giving her hand a squeeze. “Rose Tyler, at least you give me an ending to look forward to.”

Rose’s smile grew a little at this, but it dropped quickly when she watched the half-alien start twitching, his eyes wide as he covered his mouth. He started to cough harshly, and she saw just the slightest glimmer of gold escape between his fingers.

Something in her told her to grab at it, and she quickly grasped at the gold light. It was regenerative energy, warm in her hand with just the slightest tingle, like touching an old TV screen when it was on for a while.

The Doctor pulled away from her, digging into his pocket quickly, his eyes still wide, frantic.

“Doctor?” Rose asked, worry in her voice. “What’s happenin’? Are you alright?”

He shook his head before pulling something from his jacket pocket. It was a jar, filled with a few odds and ends. “Open this, quick!” He said from behind his hand and she took it, opening the jar before he snatched it back, dumping the contents onto the sand.

Quickly, he removed his hand from his mouth and slammed it down on the mouth of the jar. Rose watched as the energy fell into the jar, swirling around within it. Carefully, he removed his hand, taking the lid from her, before holding out the jar. “Put what you have in here.”

Blinking, she looked at the little bit that clung to her skin, before dragging the palm of her hand against the lip of the jar. The lid slapped down on it and he sealed it. “Sorry, I’m still cooking, it seems.” He tried to explain with a smile. “Guess all the adrenaline of everything that happened didn’t really wear down until now, body’s trying to release all the energy it kept built up in case anything happened.”

“Why… did you put it in the jar?” Rose asked, watching him bend down to pick up his little objects he dumped on the ground, putting them into his pockets.

“I can’t regenerate in this body, only one heart, ya know? So, I figure I’ll hold onto the energy.”

“To… regenerate?” A part of Rose didn’t want that, she didn’t want to lose this Doctor like she lost his previous incarnation or the one who just left.

“No, I doubt it will work, I’m saving it for the coral.”

Oh, right, the other Doctor had given him a piece of coral from the TARDIS, and the Doctor Donna had happily explained to him how to make it grow in record time. It was all Greek to Rose when Donna explained what to do, but this Doctor seemed to completely understand her. “You’ll use your own energy to power it up?”

“In a way, yes. I gave life to the TARDIS before, when we first came to this world. I gave her a few years of my life to get her run…” He swayed for a second. “To get her running… running again…” He was panting before he dropped to his side.

“Doctor!” The blonde gasped, dropping to her knees, hearing him groan. She was having flashbacks to a Christmas years ago, when he had first changed in front of her eyes.

“Mum!” She called out to her mother, who had been standing a distance away, calling for Pete to pick them up. Jackie was quick to run over, asking what happened. “He’s still regenerating, like what happened before!”

“Think we need to get ‘em to a bed?” Jackie asked. “There’s that nice hotel up the road, we can stay there until your father comes. Pete said that the weather’s a bit harsh in England right now, won’t be able to come pick us up for a while.”

“Sounds good.” Rose nodded, grabbing the Doctor’s jar, putting it into her pocket as she moved to grab him off the ground. Each Tyler woman had an arm of the unconscious man swung over their shoulders as they started to walk towards the road.

As soon as they got to the road, there was a loud crack of thunder over their heads, before rain began to fall in sheets, like something from a movie. Rose sighed loudly, great, lovely, just one more thing to deal with.

“He owes us when he wakes up, ya know.” Jackie said over the rain and Rose was sure her mother was gonna happily hold onto that fact.

The woman at the front desk of the hotel was very sweet, though she did ask why they had a passed-out man in their hold. Jackie informed her that he was a fool for not sleeping well and passed out from exhaustion and he was in need of a good nap!

Ten minutes later, Rose found herself sitting in a two-bed room, with the Doctor laying in the one closest to the sliding doors that led out to look over the shore. He was stripped of his jacket, shoes, and pants, down to his t-shirt and boxers, his poor clothes hanging from the shower rod to drip dry for now. Rose was still soaked, but a towel had helped a bit with that, same with turning up the heat in the room. She sat on the bed with him, gently petting his hair, keeping hold of his jar in case he released more energy from his mouth.

It has already happened once since he passed out, luckily in the room. Rose was sure he wouldn’t be happy if he lost any outside, especially since the last time that happened, it got the attention of a nasty set of aliens.

“Do you think a nice cuppa will get him up and goin’ again?” Jackie asked, looking down at the sleeping alien.

“It wouldn’t hurt.” Rose commented, brushing a few hairs from the Doctor’s forehead. “It worked before.”

Jackie watched them quietly for a moment, before excusing herself to go and get them something to eat and drink from the lobby. Rose was only half-paying attention, too focused on the man before her. Now that she was looking, he really looked exactly like her former Doctor.

Same hair style, same pattern of freckles and the little wrinkles he had around his eyes that revealed he was much older than he seemed. She did take note that there seemed to be a slight change in hair color, not quite the rich dark brown she knew, but with the slightest hints of red in the light from the hotel room.

“Finally ginger, I see.” She smiled. “Donna really was good to you, glad you got to spend time with her.”

There was no response, just the softest sounds as he slept away. That didn’t stop Rose from talking as she sat there with him. “I met her, Donna, but it was an alternate timeline version of her. I feel so bad for what happened in her timeline, I wish I could have helped, but I wasn’t allowed, I couldn’t, not until the time was right.”

She looked at the jar, at the beautiful golden energy inside. “You died in that world, and because you did… because you were alone, so many people died.” She remembered his screwdriver on the ground, she had tried to take it, but it was taken before she could grab it.

“He’ll be okay, the other you, I’m sure of it. He’s not alone. He’s got Donna. He’s got Mickey and Martha, Jack and Sarah Jane, he’s not alone.” Rose smiled sadly. “He’ll be sad for a while, it’s gonna hurt, it hurt me to be alone, but I had my family, I had Mickey. I made some new friends here, I hope you’ll like them, I’m sure they can’t wait to meet the mysterious Doctor I told them so much about.”

There was still no response, the energy in the jar was warming the glass. The human decided to keep talking, just to avoid the silence. “I have weird dreams, you know, about you wanting to die alone on Satellite 5, when you sent me away. I came back, looked into the TARDIS, I saw everything and nothing. I saw you in so many ways, but I can’t remember them, just you, just you in that leather jacket with the big ears, and you with the pinstripes and the sandshoes.

I saw the golden light of the TARDIS, and it looked just like this, and you kissed it away from me, cause I was dyin’. Do I need to kiss you? To keep you from leaving me again?” Rose leaned down, gently kissing him on the lips. She felt that strange static from before, against her lips, and felt him respond to the kiss.

He was still sleeping, but the Doctor kissed her back, so gentle and sweet, and tasting of something Rose could only remember the phantom taste on her tongue from so long ago.

She pulled away, just before he opened his mouth, and she caught this golden swirl like before.

Rose sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “You better wake up soon, Doctor. I don’t want to worry about you during another invasion. Mum’ll kick your butt if you sleep through that again, she was not happy about the Christmas tree that destroyed the house.”

Reaching over, she took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. There was an unconscious squeeze in return. She ran her thumb over the back of the hand that she had seen sliced off on Christmas Day a few years back, now it was the hand that belonged to the man who promised to stay with her. And Rose believed that promise, she had never seen him more serious in that moment when he told her that he had one life and he wanted to spend it with her.

Her thoughts were stopped when Jackie came into the room, carefully carrying a full tray with her towards the little table near the television. “How’s he doin’? Still snoozin’ away the day?”

“Yeah,” Rose nodded, reluctantly letting go of his hand to get up from the bed to help her mother out, “I think he’ll be out for a while, he’s still spitting out regenerative energy.”

“That stuff in the jar?” Jackie made a face. “Why’s he keeping that?”

“For the TARDIS coral the other Doctor gave him.” Rose looked at the jar on the bed, then at the Doctor. He seemed to be mumbling something quietly in his sleep, turning onto his side, facing the window. His face scrunched up, like he was uncomfortable, or annoyed. Rose picked up a blue mug of tea, walking over to the side table the Doctor was facing, placing it close to him.

He took a deep inhale of the strong tea that even Rose could smell from where she stood, and she watched him visibly relax. The energy escaped him again and Rose was quick to capture it, sealing the lip once again. “Hope he doesn’t do this all night, don’t want to have to be awake after the day I’ve had.”

And what a day it’s been, Rose just wanted to sleep for the next few years at this point.

“Well, have somethin’ to eat, love, then shower and get yourself comfortable. I spoke with your dad again, seems that he won’t be able to get here until morning with all this rain.” The older Tyler gestured to the window, the rain was still coming down hard and the storm was still raging.

“I guess you’re right.” Rose nodded, moving to sit at the table with her, digging into the food her mother brought up for them. She took another look at the Doctor, who seemed to have returned to his inaudible conversation.

She never took him for a sleep talker, but then again, he was known for his gob.

Even as a part-human Time Lord, the Doctor’s sense of time was not damaged. It was weaker here, in a universe he wasn’t use to, but he was sure that in a month or two he’d have a handle on it.

As of this moment, he knew that it was about 4 hours in the morning, thirty-nine minutes, give or take six seconds.

And he also knew that he was awake, and the faint scent of tea was in his nose, he could taste it on his tongue. It was a local tea, had a bit of spiced orange rind mixed in, lovely blend. The Doctor was surprised to find that his nose and tongue still worked, though that might be connected to his Time Lord brain that stored these sorts of things to memory very well.

His sense of touch was a little off, that, or this blanket that covered him was washed with a dreadful laundry soap. His sense of hearing picked up breathing next to him, and a loud snort and shuffle of someone else in the room.

Opening his eyes, the Doctor found himself in a dark room, but he knew that already. He could make out the faintest of object shapes in the room. The only sources of light were from the alarm clock near his head, telling him the time, and of his jar.

It was full of his energy, still intact and swirling about. It wasn’t as much as there would have been from a full regeneration, like when he had become some of his previous selves. His counterpart had used a good chunk of it to heal himself and threw the rest into the hand that became the Doctor in this room.

It hadn’t been a lot of energy left, but this was still plenty to help feed the TARDIS coral, along with some other objects he had sneaked off the ship.

Carefully, the half-Time Lord picked it up off the bed, before realizing that it had been resting between him and someone. Pausing, he looked at the other occupant of the bed, seeing blonde hair in the glow of the jar, and a face he had seen in dreams for so long. The Doctor smiled softly, remembering what had happened, and who he was with.

Another snort was heard across the room.

Oh, apparently Jackie was here as well, okay.

Carefully, the Doctor got himself out of bed and made his way to the bedroom, stumbling on tired legs. Uhg, a side-effect of being human, probably. He got himself inside and turned on the lights, wincing at the brightness before adjusting to it.

There, he could see himself for the first time in the mirror, he hadn’t even bothered with the one in his wardrobe room back on the TARDIS-

He swallowed thickly, no, that wasn’t his anymore, it belonged to one person, a very sad person who needed time to heal.

The Doctor looked at the man in the reflection, seeing that he looked just like his counterpart, crazy hair, brown eyes, which was still strange cause he had never had brown eyes before, and yet still not a ginger. Can’t win them all. Freckles still there, though the mole had moved on his back, in fact, there were more freckles on his back and shoulders.

A side effect from Donna, probably.

He looked just like the other Doctor, but he also picked up a few things from Donna.

Could be worse, he could have done this with Jack. That thought alone made the Doctor shudder violently.

“Bleh.” He shook his head and continued to examine himself. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to see how different things were, especially because he really couldn’t look at his naked self with Donna right there!

Oh, Donna, she didn’t deserve what happened, but it’s better than her dying. He would rather she forgot him completely than to die because of him.

A little part of the Doctor hoped his other self could accidentally run into her after he’s changed his face sometime in the future, just to get a little closure. He’d need it.

The Doctor distracted himself from feeling upset with figuring things out about this new self he was given. For one thing, he seemed to be mostly Time Lord, which was a saving grace for his mind. However, the need to go back to sleep was strong, and the Doctor never really enjoyed sleep to begin with, so this was gonna be trouble.

His eyesight wasn’t the best, might have to upgrade the brainy specs, they could actually serve a true purpose now. His other senses seemed almost normal, just a little muted in some areas, but that’s alright, might be better for him with this form.

His right hand was more sensitive to touch, he noticed, his left was duller, much more human-based. This was gonna take some getting used to.

With a yawn, he turned off the light and made his way back into the room, where Rose and Jackie continued to sleep. He grabbed the cold mug of tea from the nightstand and found the microwave, activating it and hoping the women in the room were heavy sleepers. Once his drink was hot to his liking, he took a seat on the bed and took a drink.

Oh, that’s brilliant, made him feel a bit more normal. Heh, even this body needed a good cuppa to get itself back into shape.

Guess that’s why it was left by his side of the bed, a little wake up attempt. He took another drink and relaxed as he looked out the large windows. Getting up, he went to the sliding door and stepped outside.

The Doctor could smell the rain, it had stormed, there was still a slight feel of static in the air, but the rain was just a drizzle now. He stepped on the damp balcony, protected from the drizzle by an awning above his head. It was surreal to him, standing here at nearly five in the morning in a parallel Norway.

Not too long ago, he had been a hand in a jar, resting in the TARDIS and before that, in Torchwood. Now? Now he was the Doctor, a new version of him, part human, part Time Lord, still the same Doctor.

He was here in Pete’s World, left with no TARDIS or way back to his universe. But he had Rose, he had her, a new chance at life, even after everything he had done, he could start over. It’ll be tough, but the Doctor always loved a challenge.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard something, seeing a tired Rose standing in the doorway to the balcony. “Doctor..?” She asked in a sleepy voice.

The Doctor turned and smiled. “Hello Rose Tyler, you should be sleeping.”

“So should you…” She shuffled towards him, leaning against his chest. The Doctor couldn’t help but to blush at this, she just did it like it was perfectly normal for them. “Come back to bed, ‘s cold.”

“I-I’ve got tea.”

Rose glanced at the mug, blinking slowly. “Oh. Oh!” Something seemed to click in her head, waking her up. “Did it work? Mum and I figured that tea might get you up and runnin’ again, like it had before.”

“Ah, it worked brilliantly.” He gave her his signature grin, taking another drink. “Not your mum’s tea like before, but it tastes and smells pretty good, so I can’t judge.”

Rose seemed to smile at that, lazily wrapping her arms around him. “So, you’re good then? No need for us to worry?”

“I’m perfectly fine, I think I’m good.” He replied, looking at his pink and yellow girl. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “Should go to bed, this body wants more sleep and it’s not part of the regenerative cycle.”

She laughed a little into his chest and walked with him back into the room, closing the door behind them. Rose got into bed and waited for him to lay down under the covers before moving close to him, hugging onto him tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re real.” She whispered.

“And so are you.” He replied quietly, holding her tight in return. “We’re both here, we’re both together, and in due time, we’ll be off having adventures together.”

“I’d like that.” She said with a smile in her voice. “Can’t wait for your jar to make that true.”

“Well, with that cup of tea, things are just getting started.”

END

That was fun! And long, eight pages, been a while since I’ve written that much for a one-shot!

Yeah, as I said, this is pretty much headcanon based. I’m all for Rose being all ‘is he or is he not the Doctor’ in fics, but I rather like the idea that Rose also doesn’t care. This is *her* Doctor, and she’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth!

Also, I got to put in a pretty good reference in here, so that’s a plus. Can you guess what it was?

Thanks for reading!

#doctor who #tentoo #rose tyler #tentoo x rose #tenrose #jackie tyler #john's drabbles

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guardianreadersofthegalaxy · 4 years

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Ok, I couldn’t sleep the other night so I took my first tongue-in-cheek stab at fan-fiction. Here’s how I want the Thirteenth Doctor’s regeneration to go down, and yes it is a rip-off of Avengers – Endgame:

She’s in Park Hill Flats with Graeme, Ryan & Yas but the Master has found a way to control Sheffield’s mutant spiders to burrow into the foundations of the building, causing it to collapse. 13 climbs out of the rubble but her companions are nowhere to be seen. The Master rides up to her on the back of a giant spider, dismounts and tells her that he’s going to force open the heart of her TARDIS and use the power of the time vortex to destroy the universe, and that she’s got no way of stopping him. Loads of villains’ ships appear in the sky like in ‘The Pandorica Opens’.

But then they hear the sound of TARDIS engines and a different TARDIS materialises a few meters away. The doors open, revealing three silhouettes at first obscured by the light of the console room. As they approach 13 sees that it’s 12, Nardole and a Cyber-converted Bill. At this point (I don’t even care) Portals by Alan Silvestri starts playing. Another TARDIS materialises, in a darker shade of blue. The doors open and Rose Tyler steps out, followed by Mickey, Martha, Donna, Jackie & Wilf. They part down the centre, revealing 10 striding forward.

Silurians start teleporting in, as well as Judoon from the Shadow Proclamation, basically anyone from ‘A Good Man Goes To War’. The Paternoster gang show and maybe Strax says something funny. Another TARDIS appears and out steps 11, Amy, Rory and River circa-‘Day Of The Moon’. An American diner lands awkwardly amid the rubble and Clara and Ashildr climb out. Kate Stewart and the Oswins show up with a bunch of UNIT troops and at the same time as Gwen Cooper arrives with whatever’s left of Torchwood. A final TARDIS appears, it’s 9’s! Out comes the ninth Doctor with another Rose and another Captain Jack.

“Wow that’s a lot of people” says Ryan gormlessly. “I reckon that should do it, don’t you Doc?” says Graeme. At the sound of a screech, everyone looks up to see the 8th Doctor flying in on the back of Ramsey the Vortisaur. 13 turns to Yas and explains to her what Vortisaurs are for ten minutes while everyone awkwardly waits for her to finish. When she’s done, the six Doctors that I, as millennial, actually care about line up facing the Master’s army, screwdrivers in hand. Twelve somehow produces his electric guitar and starts shredding the Doctor Who theme and then they all charge.

It’s brilliant! River’s zapping Silents, Graeme’s using his laser shoes to zap Kasaavin and Amy’s duel wielding a hand mirror and a sledge hammer to smash up Weeping Angels. Clara and 12 have a memory-loss themed reunion just like Star Lord & Gamora’s one in Endgame, only he doesn’t knee her in the crotch. 9s headbutts the Master because of course he does and both Cpt. Jacks keep making dirty jokes about there being two Roses, only no one’s actually listening.

When the battle takes a turn for the worse, they fall back to their TARDISs to protect the time vortex. They all start piloting around the battlefield, evading attack. Lady Christina (who’s also there) gets immediately arrested by UNIT so Graeme takes her flying bus and starts flying it round the battlefield along with Ryan & Yas. 11 ends up in 10’s TARDIS and starts flying it but Sontarans keep jetpacking on board. He uses his sonic to jam their guns while Donna, who’s still on board, whacks them in the back of the neck. A jolt makes her fall and nearly touch the Doctor’s severed hand from ‘The Christmas Invasion’. 11, knowing what happens if she touches it, snatches it away from her but that forces the metacrisis to happen anyway, this time with his own DNA. Another Sontaran jetpacks onboard and is about to shoot Donna but suddenly falls over with a clunk, revealing the metacrisis Doctor who just hit it on the back of the neck. Only this time, he’s half 10, half 11 – 10.5, if you will. 11 chucks him a prototype screwdriver that looks like 12’s one from series 10 and tells him to get to work. He dives out of the door, still naked, yelling “Geronimo!”

Series 4 Rose, who followed 10 into 11s TARDIS, goes on the intercom and tells them that the only way to defeat that many enemies is to do what she did in ‘The Parting Of The Ways’ – open the heart of the TARDIS before the Master can and use it to stop him. But no ordinary human is strong enough! “I can do it” says Bill, who’s much stronger since her Cyber-conversion. Still, she’s on 12’s TARDIS and the weakest console is onboard 9’s. “You’re not gonna like this, Bill” says 12, piloting his ship high into the air. “Big ears, you’ve got incoming!”, he shouts, then unceremoniously boots Cyber-Bill out of the door, sending her plummeting toward 9’s TARDIS. She nearly makes it but a Crillitane catches her first and they start tussling in the air. It drops her and she nearly plummets to her death but 8 catches her on the back of Ramsey and gives her a lift back up to 9s TARDIS.

The Master and Ashad (who’s alive again now) jet onboard 8’s TARDIS (which is there for some reason, I dunno, maybe he parked nearby). It’s manned by 10.5. The Master villainously shoots Ashad, activating the death particle, before jumping out of the front door. This kills 10.5 before he can regenerate (presumably, after all this 10 cuts his hand off and puts it back in the jar) and cripples the TARDIS’s flight systems which, as it’s the oldest iteration of the TARDIS in the battle, does the same to all of them. The six Doctors manage to land their ships in a hexagon, with the doors all pointing inwards, meaning enemies can only get in from above. Series 4 Captain Jack gets a big gun and mans the bottle neck, fighting off wave upon wave of enemies, getting killed sometimes but then resurrecting, each time letting in a few monsters who end up in the various TARDISs.

The Master gets through and ends up in 11’s TARDIS. 13 and her companions follow him but he runs deep inside the internal corridors, losing them. He finds a part of the TARDIS where time passes in reverse so that when he comes back into the console room he’s on board 8’s ship again which he then materialises inside 9’s. Bill tries to stop him but he threatens 9 with his shrink ray and forces her to use her strength to tear open the console and expose the time vortex. She does and he’s about to absorb its power but all of a sudden, the floor panel gives way and he falls down below. Camera pans down revealing Wilfred Mott, holding a regular screwdriver that he just used to loosen the floor panel. He gives everyone a little salute.

13 steps forward and absorbs the power of the Time Vortex. It’s even cooler than when Rose did it because she’s a Timelord. She rises up in the air like Captain Marvel and tells all the villains they have a chance to leave (earning an approving look from 10). Most of them do except the Daleks, obviously, so she melts their asses. Then she floats back down and returns the energy to the heart of the TARDIS, restoring its flight systems at the same time (except for 8’s, sorry). The 6 Doctors look down condescendingly at the Master like in that shot from the end of the first Avengers film. Only the Master hit his head falling down so he’s died (and pooped himself). He regenerates into… Missy! Which makes so much more sense for her character arc. “I’ll take her off your hands” says 12. Then they all go and get chips like in ‘The End Of The World’ and eat them outside Sheffield train station before the various Doctors and companions go their separate ways.

13 feels the regeneration coming, just like the last time she absorbed the time vortex. She and her friends go to Graeme’s house. She normally does this in the TARDIS but she’d rather be with the people she cares about. There’s no big speech, I reckon she just says “Laterzzz” and actually clarifies that it’s spelt with a z. She regenerates, leaving big scorch marks on the walls, setting fire to all Graeme’s furniture. The companions are freaking out. When it’s over the new Doctor slumps to the floor before getting to their knees to reveal… a handsome young Indian guy with floppy hair and a moustache!

INTRODUCING DEV PATEL AS THE DOCTOR

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kessielrg · 4 years

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[DA+KH] CODEX: Letters to First-Enchanter Mickey

Summary: I love unconventional story telling. It's one of the reasons why I love the Dragon Age series so much with its codex entries; it's also why Carrie is one of my favorite books. With @chibi-mushroom concluding the Broken Circle quest in their Dragon Age AU for Kingdom Hearts, I had a severe compulsion to make a pre-DA2 codex for Anora and Ephemer. I'd do more for other characters if they ask me, if they wanted to. Again, I love this kind of story telling. :D

Rating: K+

Word count: 1,598 words

Letters to First-Enchanter Mickey

(found in various places during Act 1)

. . .

I wanted to thank you for this opportunity, First-Enchanter Mickey. The world outside is a lot larger than I ever could have imagined. The Free Marches are beautiful, but I believe I am Ferelden through and through. I enjoyed the sights on the way over more than I did actually being placed here.

At first, there was a bit of a scuffle on where I belonged. The teachers and doctors at the rehabilitation retreat refused to believe that I was to remain by Ephemer's side. Had it not been for the letter you had Knight-Commander Cid sign, my adventure would have been over before it began.

Ephemer still refuses to see me than anything other than another demon. But he doesn't want me to leave either. As we were being accustomed to here, I think he's starting to realize that he is no longer dreaming. Or, more accurately, being forced to relive a nightmare by a demon. He hasn't asked me, but I've heard him ask the staff, “Is she really there? Is that pink-haired mage truly alive? Am I being haunted by her spirit?”

To curb some of my worry, I've started singing to him when there's a lull in activity. It's at those times when I could leave and let him rest, but I don't want to. Apparently, I can't hit any high notes; when I try Ephemer quite visibly flinches. But then he smiles. A reminder that he's still living, maybe? Who's ever heard of a demon that could sing? And if they could, why would they purposely be bad at it?

I'd make a terrible desire demon.

He choked me.

He didn't mean to, honest. It was all my fault. I reminded him of the Circle. I don't know how, I just know that I did in some way.

Ephemer has taught me to never, ever doubt the strength of the Templars, First-Enchanter. The first time I learned this, it was during one of our first secret meetings. He simply picked me up as if I were a feather and… Well, you can imagine the rest, ser. But as he held my throat in such a tight grip at that moment, and I couldn't breathe, I feared I was going to die right then and there. I had to use my magic to get out of his grip. I almost wasn't able to do it. Ephemer came to his senses not long after.

His eyes… I've never seen a man's eyes go from pure hatred to regret so quickly. He apologized, a lot, but I couldn't answer. I hope he knows. I don't blame him.

But if you will, First-Enchanter, I would like if you sent some more elfroot. There is a short supply here in the Free Marches since the Blight started.

The knight-commander from Kirkwall came to visit us today. Sephiroth, I believe his name was. Apparently, he had heard about Ephemer's blight and wanted to see him for himself. The two talked for a long time. They discussed many matters; mostly those in regards to Templar duties and a possible (very immediate) position for Ephemer among the Kirkwall Templars.

I was present during the entire talk, but was ignored. Or, at the very least, the knight-commander ignored me. Ephemer made quite a bit of emphasis on my role in his recovery. He over glamourized it a bit, but I wasn't unwelcome to the gesture. You should have heard him, First-Enchanter; “I've been blessed by Andraste herself. This mage in an invaluable caretaker, and I shall have no one else.” I hope I didn't blush too much- honey can occasionally drip off Ephemer's tongue when he truly wants it to.

He refused to tell the knight-commander what exactly happened at the Circle, though. Not that he or I needed the reminder. The knight-commander was quite insistent on knowing and asking- but I'm fairly sure the bare minimum anyone needed to know would be common knowledge by now. I think the knight-commander knows that I also came from the Ferelden Circle and wanted one of us to admit something more damning.

The only 'damning' thing I'll admit to during my time at the Circle was the one day I hid Ephemer's scarf from him. It made a fabulous belt. I'm sure he would concur.

“Hey Anora.”

It's our code phrase. Ephemer makes an incredible point to say it in front of the knight-commander whenever I'm in the vicinity. I wonder if he's caught on to it yet. Knight-Commander Sephiroth is one of the more stoic types; it is very difficult to tell just what he's thinking or how much he knows. However, that makes our secret phrase all the more meaningful. At first glance, you would only see it as a greeting. But there are layers to this phrase.

When you peel back the first, you'll find respect. Respect that no other Templar would give a mage, even if one happened to save their life. Peel back another layer and there's fear. Fear of loss, fear that reality is still a nightmare. But it's that last layer, the core layer, where everything is revealed. That layer, First-Enchanter, is love.

Love can not solve everything, but it's a beautiful stepping stone.

Knight-Commander Sephiroth decided to make an example out of me recently.

I had arrived early to pick Ephemer up from Templar training and, as per usual, he uttered our code phrase without a second thought. Ephemer -who had been sparing with another Templar- neatly gained the upper hand on his opponent despite the interruption. He impressed the other Templars. He impressed me. But he did not impress the knight-commander.

No, the look of cold, calculated hatred on the knight-commander's face said that somehow, in some way, I had caused a fatal error. I was out of the way, so far as training was concerned, but Knight-Commander Sephiroth called me forward and forced me into the training area. He proceeded to go into a very long, very winded speech about how he had lost his family to an abomination- a mage that also happened to be close to him.

Without any warning, he told one of the Templar recruits to attack me. Then another, and then another. I'd find that you'd be proud of me, First-Enchanter, I didn't harm a single one of them. I used a lot of my magic to redirect or disorient them. At some point, one Templar almost swiped me with his blade- I only happened to cast barrier at the right time before sending the weapon flying through the air. It was at that point Knight-Commander Sephiroth called off the attack.

Ephemer was mortified, but the message had been sent. I wait out of earshot for Ephemer after his trainings now. When we meet again, he apologizes profusely as he were the cause of the knight-commander's bitterness. I hate feeling how silently worried Ephemer is as much as I hate tasting the lyrium on his breath. Something is going to give, First-Enchanter, but I have yet to know if it is solely between us, or with Kirkwall itself.

I met a trader from Val Royeaux today. He was very… charming. He even had a little pet with him, with a little hat that looked just like his. He, the merchant, said his name was Brain. What an odd sort of name, really, but he had been so nice that I didn't question it. The thing is, Brain had shown me more kindness in ten minutes than I have received in the past few weeks.

It was no small wonder that I was in a state of shock.

I wonder if he would have treated me differently if he knew I was a mage. I had the oddest feeling that he already knew. Do certain people have a knack for scoping out such things? I will admit to being a bit curious about this merchant; there is something about him that seems so… familiar. I feel as if I'm remembering a person of similar personality from somewhere in my past. Perhaps I'll talk to him again soon.

Ephemer and I are no longer together.

I think it has something to do with the knight-commander. He told Ephemer something. Something that got under his skin. He still isn't… right. He takes lyrium to fight lyrium. Sometimes he wakes up from a nightmare and comes into my room just to make sure that I'm there. To make sure that I'm real. The lyrium on his breath becomes stronger by the day. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it reminds me of the Circle; just days before the maleficar rose and sent our little Circle into a disoriented spiral.

Of course, to rub salt in the wound, the knight-commander is not helping in this matter in the slightest. I know Knight-Commander Sephiroth says things about me behind my back. Ephemer will not tell me what exactly; however, I've come to suspect that it has something to do with my frequent talks with Brain. I've told Ephemer nearly everything I disclose with Brain. Everything. But I believe Knight-Commander Sephiroth is making him see it differently. I do not wish ill on the knight-commander, First-Enchanter, but you won't see me weeping if he mysteriously falls down a large flight of steps and breaks a leg.

I also want to make it perfectly clear, First-Enchanter; I did not ask to be removed from Kirkwall. Kirkwall removed me.

#chibi-mushroom #kingdom hearts #dragon age #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #kh fanfiction #kh fanfic #ephemerxoc #dragon age 2 #i only meant to do five of these #ended up making seven #oops #this is one heck of a thing to post on the 4th of july tho #like...

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 3

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Malcolm didn’t get a second of sleep that night. After more than an hour tossing and turning in bed, mind racing, he reluctantly reached for his tablet and glasses, turning on the bedside lamp.

A simple Google search turned up hundreds of thousands of articles on inheritance, but none seemed to offer any solutions to receiving the inheritance without meeting the stipulations of the will. He was an old man, perhaps he was going senile? Why would he do this?

He shot off an email to the will executor and solicitor, asking Is it possible he was not in sound mind? Is there a previous version of the will that doesn’t include this marriage requirement?

It was likely a vain hope, but he had to try. Resolving to forget about the marriage idea for the moment, he turned his attention to finding a job posting board. After a few false starts he tried charity administrator openings London, and with a sigh, began reading through the first posting.

No matter what happens, this is going to suck. Thanks a lot, Uncle Wally.

Friday

By the time his alarm went off he was dressed and ready to go, texting Graham to cancel his morning pickup and deciding to take the Underground instead. Pausing just outside the gate and staring up at the townhouse, he realized with a jolt, Everything I have is tied up in the Estate. If I lose this inheritance, I lose everything.

At twenty-seven he’d fled Glasgow before the ink on his divorce papers was dry, bringing Clara to London for a fresh start. His uncle had been kind enough to give him a job working for The Thistle Foundation in the mailroom, and he spent most of the next decade working his way up and earning his keep until Wallace decided to retire, leaving Malcolm in charge. The townhouse went with the Estate, having been owned by the family since shortly after it was built, and he didn’t so much draw a salary from the Foundation as receive a stipend from his uncle.

I’m fifty years old and have almost nothing to my name.

It had always been a given that he would inherit; Wallace had never had children, his only sibling Malcolm’s father, and Malcolm was in effect an only child, his brother having died decades ago. He’d never had to worry about assets, had few personal expenses. To lose the Estate would cost him everything.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, barely making it through the doors onto the platform before they closed. Coming up to street-level he looked around, catching sight of the little shop Rose usually got their morning coffees from, only recognizing it by the familiar logo.

Stepping inside, it wasn’t until he was facing the cashier he realized he had no idea what Rose usually ordered. “Erm, hi. I don’t do this, my assistant is usually in here – pretty, blonde, big smile, name of Rose? D’you-”

“Oh, you must be Malcolm!” the girl, Amy, gushed, eyes lighting up. “Of course we know Rose, she’s in here everyday! Oi, Mel, Rose’s regular order, stat!” She turned back to him, finding him blinking at her in surprise. “Always nice to meet a fellow Scot. Rose is great, isn’t she?”

“The absolute best,” he agreed proudly, unsurprised but touched by the impression she obviously left everywhere she went. That’s my gi- that’s Rose. “I’d be hopelessly lost without her.”

“Too right. Anyway, here we are, that’s ten quid,” she passed over two large takeaway cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

Right. Feeling like a moron, entirely out of sorts after first the previous day’s bombshell and then no sleep, he dug out a twenty-pound note and thrust it across the space. “Keep the change. Thanks.”

Picking up the order he made his way to the door, more focused on the drinks than where he was walking, elbowing open the door and slamming right into someone entering. “Shit!” He barely managed to keep hold of everything, coffee sloshing dangerously but only spilling a little, and he looked up to give the person a piece of his mind only to stop dead in surprise. “Oh, fuck me.”

Rose arched one eyebrow in response, a smile flickering over her lips. “I’d rather not get banned from here, if it’s all the same to you, ta.” She plucked one of the cups from his hand, lifting it to her nose before taking a large gulp. “What’re you doing here?”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk they started down the street towards their building, falling naturally into sync.

“I couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in early. I saw the place, and…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “Clara stopped by, talked my ear off until half two. Decided to just get a move on.”

The silence was awkward, which only served to annoy him; they had always had a good rapport, after the first six or so months once she had settled into her role. Now, eight years later he considered their partnership to be a well-oiled machine, two halves of a whole despite the on-paper power imbalance.

He held the door for her as they entered their building, nodding to the security guards as they buzzed through. Rose hit the button on the lift for their floor, and they rode up alone.

Malcolm followed her to her desk, watching as she flicked on the lights and shrugged off her coat, vaguely curious to her routine; she typically arrived only a few minutes before him- long enough to be settled and ready to face the day, but recent enough that his coffee was always hot and fresh.

“Oh!” she yelped, turning around to see him leaning on the corner of her desk, watching her. “D’you need something? My computer’s still booting up.”

The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, before he sighed, shoulders slumping. “No, I’m good. Just- oh, you know what you’re doing. I’ll be in my office.” Extracting his muffin from the pastry bag he slunk into his office, falling into his desk chair and turning to gaze listlessly out the window.

What am I supposed to do?

It was, quite frankly, the worst day of Rose’s professional career. Things got done, most of her duties able to be completed on autopilot after so long, but she could muster no spark to put into any of it. No banter. None of her signature Rose Tyler charm.

Her computer dinged and she glanced up from where she was poking at her salad halfheartedly to groan. “Oh, you’ve got to be motherfucking shitting me.”

“Rose Tyler!” Malcolm’s delighted voice made her jump and yelp, “I’m so proud of you. That was almost a proper swear.”

“Missy’s on her way up,” she didn’t even look at him, clicking on the IM box from Mickey, the building’s security guard and one of her oldest friends. It was just an emoji, two wide eyes, but it was their code. “What do you want me to do?”

He sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll see her. I swear, she must have my office bugged or something.”

The lift dinged, and she raised her eyes to glance at him. He looks like he’s having as rough a day as I am. He’d said he hadn’t slept; had it been for the same reason she hadn’t? No, he was probably thinking about the gala. Of course it was about that, dingbat. “I’ll send her in.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared back into his office as Missy walked in, and Rose had to bite her lip hard to keep from laughing or rolling her eyes. What did he ever see in her? Missy Tucker was without comparison the most extravagant, eccentric person she’d ever met, and that included all of her mother’s rich society ‘friends’.

“Good afternoon, welcome to The Thistle Foundation, do you have an appointment?” Rose asked sweetly, as the older woman approached her desk.

“I’d like to see my husband, please.” Missy’s smile was just as fake-sweet as Rose’s, as they went through the whole song-and-dance. One of the very first things Rose had been taught on her first day, by both Malcolm and her predecessor Jo, was to stall Missy as long as possible, making enough trouble that she didn’t find it worth it to visit the office.

This is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, this is your best friend’s mother, Rose lectured herself, pretending to stare intently at her screen for a moment. “I can give you a few minutes, but he has a call at one that he can’t miss.”

“Thank you.” And she swept past Rose into Malcolm’s office.

Once the door shut behind her, Rose let loose an undignified snort. Taking a subtle picture with her mobile, she texted it to Clara with the caption Your mum’s here.

Missy Tucker was the subject of ongoing amusement amongst the three; every time she appeared after months of no contact she had an entirely different style, often with a slight tweak to her features suggesting she was a fan of cosmetic surgery. Today her chosen look was that of evil Mary Poppins, complete with a plum-colored ankle-length skirt and matching dress coat, a white dress shirt buttoned to the neck with an elaborate bow, black heeled boots, a delicate hat, and an umbrella Rose would swear was an actual prop from the movie.

She looked ridiculous, and like she would be right at home as the evil orphanage matron in a Victorian version of Annie!

Are you fucking kidding me? Clara pinged back almost immediately. I love my Dad, but God I wish I was adopted. Please tell me I didn’t inherit her fashion sense!

Snickering, Rose shook her head and returned to her work polishing up her resume. At precisely one o’clock she buzzed in on the intercom, using what Clara called her flight attendant voice. “Malcolm, I have that potential donor on line two.”

“Thank you, Miss Tyler.”

A moment later the door opened and Missy stalked out, a murderous expression on her face. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she threatened her ex over her shoulder, ignoring Rose as she stormed towards the lift.

Rose waited until the lift doors closed before rising and entering Malcolm’s office. “So?”

He was lying on his couch with his head back against the cushions, a crystal cut glass of scotch hanging loosely from his hand. “She wants to reconcile, says she’s changed, wants to go back to what we once were.”

“What did you say?” She settled gingerly on the end of the glass coffee table by his head, watching as he opened tired eyes to stare at her.

“That who we were went up in a flaming pile of shit twenty-three years ago when I caught her high in bed with the babysitter on our fifth wedding anniversary. That who we were was a childhood friendship that went too far. That who we were died many, many years ago.”

He looked so sad, Rose’s heart went out to him.

“It’s far, far too late now. A part of me will always miss that, always wonder, but… It’s ancient history. Never mind that this is all because of Wallace’s death and the inheritance. She didn’t say it, but I know her. Anything that even sniffs of money or power and she’s first in line, plotting how to get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose offered, giving him a kind smile. “You deserve better than her.”

Sighing, he struggled upright, turning to plant his feet on the ground and set the untouched glass of scotch on the coffee table next to her. “Thanks.”

Their eyes met, and for once, she didn’t blush and look away. Clara’s question from the previous night circled back through her mind, and she let herself actually see him. Ice blue eyes capable of such a coldness shined back, warm and open, something only a privileged few were allowed to see. His strong features could be severe, Clara had once called them attack eyebrows, but when he smiled… his entire face would light up, almost like he was a different person.

She'd always found him attractive, may have had the occasional fantasy involving them, a bottle of wine, and a hot tub, but love?

Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically licked her own. She would be lying if she said she’d never wondered – didn’t everyone, at some point? He drew closer, and she realized that she was leaning in; they were both leaning in. Is this really happening?

Rose’s eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding, and she could feel his breath against her lips when-

“Dad?”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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theawkwardterrier · 5 years

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things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 11

AO3 link here

Shelby Peterson’s family has been to Disneyland and Disney World, which means she has been on an airplane four whole times. Shelby Peterson has taken pictures with Mickey, Minnie, Pooh Bear, and all seven of the dwarves. Shelby Peterson’s favorite rides is the Rocket Jets, but she likes the Alice in Wonderland teacups too because sometimes they spin so much that her little sister throws up. Shelby Peterson thinks that the Swiss Family Treehouse is so boring that she considered writing to the people at Disney Studios to tell them to come up with something better. Shelby Peterson thinks it’s a real shame that not everyone can experience the most magical place on Earth.

Steve hates Shelby Peterson.

He knows she’s a fifth grader and he knows he’s never met her, but if Nate brings even the specter of her into the house again, Steve’s banning her name.

It’s only because it’s Nate that he hasn’t already. He doesn’t say any of it in a wheedling way, or faux casually while peering up through his eyelashes to see how the information is landing. He doesn’t put it forward as if demanding anything. He drops the comments randomly - after spitting toothpaste into the sink, as he pulls out his math folder in the afternoon, when he asks if the peaches on the backyard tree are still too hard to eat - as if they are always turning over in his mind. His words are always simple and considered, the way Nate is, but there’s a jealousy there, a deep longing that makes Steve’s own brain start working.

“Have you thought about what you want to do with your vacation this year?” he asks Peggy. They have made sure over the past few years that Peggy takes at least two weeks off from carrying too much of the world on her shoulders. “I thought this summer might be a good time to take a trip. Rosie’s going to be starting college in the fall, Drea’s had a pretty tough year, and where have our kids gone in their lives? Brooklyn, up to Howard’s place in Maine, a little time at the beach here and there?”

They stand side by side at the kitchen sink - it’s one of their nights to do the dishes. Steve’s wedding ring (the replacement, which he’s grown quite fond of in its own right) sits on the countertop as he scrubs and rinses a frying pan then hands it to Peggy to dry. She circles the towel over it with an amused expression.

“Is this about Shelby Peterson?” she asks indulgently, slotting the pan into the rack. “Have you finally been convinced to experience Mr. Disney’s dreamland despite the expense?”

Steve finishes the last of the cutlery and hands it off to her, letting the scummy water circle down the drain. “Not exactly,” he says. “But if you can free up some time in August, I thought we might experience something else.”

They shuffle the kids out of bed at 6 AM, dressed in sweaters and comfortable clothing for the car and carrying their own pillows and blankets. The station wagon was packed the night before, its spacious trunk filled with suitcases, and once everyone is tucked in and already dozing again, they set off.

Peggy squeezes Steve’s hand and leans to take a catnap herself. The sun rising behind them, Steve pulls out of the driveway. As they move easily through quiet, empty streets, Steve looks in the rearview at his sleepy family. When he takes the time to consider it, when he isn’t caught up in the day-to-day routine of it all, there’s a strangely tinged sweetness in looking at them. They are the loves of a life he nearly didn’t have, and he is so grateful that he has had the opportunity to know them and be loved by them, for them to know and love each other.

He smiles to himself: he has no idea why Peggy thought this would be a rough trip.

By 9 AM everyone is up again and clamoring for breakfast.

By 10, they’re returning to the car following a nasty fight in the diner between Rose and Drea over whether they should both get pancakes or if one of them should get French toast (Rose: “It makes sense to have one of each! Then we can trade, a taste for a taste.” Drea: “You wouldn’t stop at just a taste! You’d probably eat all of yours and half of mine!”).

By 11, everyone is stewing in the aftermath of the argument between Nate and Drea as they’d returned to the car (Drea: “You can’t have that seat - you know we’re supposed to trade, plus I had dibs on that one and you know I get nauseous.” Nate: “The first part of the ride was short! Trades only count when it’s been hours. And we all know you’re faking because you just don’t like the back.”) and another between - surprisingly - Rose and Emma because Rosie refused to root around under the seats for Em’s sky blue colored pencil (Emma: “But you have the longest arms! They’re so long, it will be easy for you.” Rose: “I’m sorry, my weird long arms are busy.”)

Steve refuses to look over at Peggy, even as they stop for bathrooms, gas, and lunch around 1.

They divide into a kids’ room and a parents’ room at the motel in Indianapolis that night. Through the wall, Steve can hear the four of them bickering about who should have to share beds with who.

“I have no idea whether or not Rosie’s snoring is the equivalent of Nate’s kicking, but if they don’t go to sleep soon I don’t know that it will matter,” Peggy mumbles.

“If they’re tired out, it might make things easier tomorrow,” Steve suggests.

“I’m not certain that you’re in a place to comment,” she tells him, and rolls over to go to sleep.

Peggy takes the first driving shift the next morning, outfitting herself with sunglasses and a determined expression. They’re supposed to make it to Missouri by tonight.

“You look great today,” Steve tries about ten minutes down the highway, but Peggy just raises a waspish eyebrow at him and puts her foot to the gas. He sighs and tries to find a comfortable way to stretch his legs as he takes out his book.

The kids are following his example in the back, having each apparently elected to give the silent treatment to the rest. He isn’t sure how effective it is when they’re all doing it, but at least it’s quiet. Quiet enough that with the road whizzing beneath them and the scenery blurring outside, Steve actually falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Peggy is saying sternly, “No dirty words, Rose,” and Rosie is replying back, “I just said that we should look for signs that have the letters F and U in them! We’ve gone through the whole alphabet already, we have to move on to combinations. It’s just logic.”

“I can do without that logic,” Steve tells her, straightening in his seat and clearing his throat. “Your mother’s right, pick something else.”

“Hello, again,” Peggy says to him as he scrubs his fingers over his eyes to clear them. Behind them, the kids are reminding each other of the rules for Twenty Questions.

“Hey.” He smiles over at her. “I didn’t think I’d slept that long. Are these our same kids from this morning?”

“They are, they’ve simply remembered that they actually like one another.”

“Mom, Emma says that Drea’s pushing on the back of her seat!”

“That’s what happens when I’m all the way back here! My legs need somewhere to go.”

“Well, they like each other most of the time,” Steve says, and points to an awning beside the road proclaiming Dolly’s, the smaller print below reading Hamburgers, Floats, Fries. “And they’ll probably like each other more after lunch.”

Their motel that night has a pool, and the fact that none of the kids beg for a swim before bed should probably be a tipoff that something is up. Steve is still awake and reading at 11 when there’s a splash outside the window. He brushes back the curtain and stretches up as much as he can from his position sitting up against the wall. Rosie and Drea have already jumped in, and Nate is climbing down the ladder. Emma seems content to simply dangle her feet, at least for now.

“Are you going to tell them off?” Peggy mumbles into his shirt from where she’s dozing on his shoulder.

“Nah.” Steve closes his book and puts it on the bedside table. He leans over and rests his face into Peggy’s hair for a moment. “Hey, Peg,” he finally says, kissing the top of her head with his eyes closed. “You brought a swimsuit too, didn’t you?”

The night manager comes out at half past midnight to grumble at them that the pool’s closed, and when they go to check out, a charge has been added to their bill for a noise violation. Steve’s about ready to argue that he isn’t paying for any made up fine, but then he watches Nate and Emma guarding the luggage in the corner, interrupting each other with eagerness as they recall the underwater somersault contest they had with Peggy the night before.

He pays the charge.

They drive past a sign advertising a local square dance in one of towns near the border of Oklahoma, and even though they’re meant to just be driving through, the kids want to see it badly enough that they while away the rest of the day and put together the most appropriate outfits they can find from what remains in their suitcases.

It’s too intimidating for the kids to actually participate. Even Rose, who is usually difficult to embarrass, doesn’t attempt a venture into the fast paced synchronicity in front of her. But they enjoy themselves anyway, clapping along to the beat that echoes from the huge tent which has been set up, trying to translate the unfamiliar language of the dance for Emma, and appreciating the energy of the caller, a grinning, red-faced man whose enthusiasm only increases as the evening goes on, until he’s ending each number with a bellowed “Yeehaw, it’s done!”

For the rest of the trip, whenever something is completed - a meal or a book, the drive through another state - it will be inevitably and solemnly announced, “Yeehaw, it’s done.”

The plan had been to have arrived in time to celebrate Nate’s birthday, but the stop in Oklahoma puts them a bit off. They end up in a joint called Elmer’s for his celebratory dinner, which Steve doesn’t think looks particularly promising, until he meets Myra, the brains behind the operation.

She doesn’t even let them order, just brings out family sized dishes of lasagna and garlic bread and some kind of broccoli dish that all the kids actually eat. When they mention that it’s Nate’s birthday, she nods solemnly and asks how old he is. The cake, topped with eleven candles plus one to grow on, arrives at the end of the meal, so enormous that Myra has to balance it on both arms.

“How did you know what kind I wanted?” Nate asks her, wide-eyed, as they get ready to go. “No one ever guesses that I like white frosting but chocolate cake inside.”

Myra taps the side of her nose. “Restaurant owner secret.”

(Emma won’t leave until Myra’s given up her lasagna recipe, even though she and Steve have been perfecting their own for years.)

“If we’re just going to find a place for the night,” Rosie asks slyly as they return to the car, “why don’t I drive?”

“No,” Steve says firmly, only to find himself echoed by everyone else. Rose is a maniac driver. He’d tried to give her a couple of lessons but couldn’t concentrate on advice when he was consistently formulating strategies for evasive maneuvers - he was certainly getting older, but he could probably still get the two of them out if it came to it. It is common family wisdom that she’d only been licensed to drive because the examiner had interpreted her handling of the test course as a direct threat on his life.

Keeping a tight grip on the keys, Steve says, “I’m actually in the mood to drive a little more. You all go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when I find somewhere to stop.”

He turns off of I-40 around 5 AM. The sun is just beginning to trickle up the horizon. He leans over and runs his fingers over Peggy’s cheek.

“Are we there?” she asks, her voice soft and sleepy. She blinks a few times, slow, groggy, barely opening her eyes, and stretches a bit. “Have you accomplished your latest bullheaded idea?”

“Almost. Thanks for agreeing to come with me.”

“I always will,” she says. “You know that.”

He drives the rest of the way with one hand on the wheel, the other hand holding hers.

They don’t quite make it before sunrise, but that’s alright. There isn’t anyone much there: it’s chilly, a Monday morning. The kids bundle themselves up in their blankets as they stumble from the car. They are still in their clothes from dinner last night.

They stand together on the rim of the Canyon, looking out.

“This is it,” Steve signs when no one says anything first. He wonders if they’re regretting letting themselves get dragged all the way across the country. Maybe this isn’t enough for them the way he had thought it would be.

Then Drea says, “The world is so big.” For once she does not stretch the sign to exaggeration; it is held against her chest in wonder, a whisper. She looks up at him. “Dad, did you know the world is so big?”

He smiles down at her. “I had a bit of an idea.”

They start to drive back at night after two days at and around the Grand Canyon. It’s the only way Mom is going to get back in time for her to start work again, and everyone still has to go back-to-school shopping.

“At least you let us prepare this time,” Rosie grumps as they climb into the car. “No one likes sleeping in their jeans, Dad.”

Dad just kisses the top of her head and says, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nate, like all his siblings, falls asleep pretty easily on car rides. But he wakes up a little while later and isn’t sure why. It’s really dark out, even darker than at home, and the stars look pretty from where his head is leaning by the window. Mom and Dad are talking softly up front. He likes when they do that. It makes him feel safe.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom says. “It seems to me that once the cost of the various food and lodgings, the gas and souvenirs and all the rest have been tallied up, a trip to Orlando might have been more cost effective.”

“Maybe,” says Dad. “But wasn’t this worth it?”

“Hmm,” says Mom in that smiling way she does when Dad makes a good point. “I suppose it was.”

Nate remembers doing handclaps across the car seat with Emma until his palms were sore and they declared themselves world champions, making Rosie laugh until she’d almost peed in the pool, trying to remember the square dance steps with Drea even though he was too short and she was too tall and they kept tripping over each other. He remembers his birthday cake. He remembers Mom leaning over to Dad that first day at the Canyon and asking very quietly, “You really never saw it before? In all that time?” and the way he’d replied, “No. I guess I was waiting to see it with all of you,” and how Nate had felt all lit up inside from hearing that.

Worth it, Nate thinks drowsily, and closes his eyes again as Dad drives them steadily through the dark.

He’ll have plenty of stories of his own to tell Shelby Peterson when sixth grade starts.

#steggyweek2k19 #Steggy fic #Steggy #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #things left behind fic #(this is my free choice day fic if it wasn't obvious)

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starspangledbanner27 · 5 years

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**CHAPTER UPDATE – Chapter 5 posted**

Fandom: Saving Mr. Banks (AU)

Description: AU take on the movie, exploring what might have happened if the author of the Mary Poppins books had been someone very different from P. L. Travers. For Carrie Schultz, the chance to collaborate with Walt Disney Studios to bring Mary Poppins from the page to the screen is a dream come true. However, matters grow complicated when animated penguins prove to be a point of contention, a friendly working relationship turns into more than she bargained for, and Carrie struggles to prevent Walt’s team from discovering her own hidden afflictions.

Characters: Carolina “Carrie” Schultz (OC), Don DaGradi, Walt Disney, Richard M. Sherman, Robert B. Sherman, Ralph

Rating: T

Genre: Drama/Romance

Language: English

Read on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, Quotev, or below.

From the beginning on Fanfiction.net, AO3, Wattpad, or Quotev.

A special thank-you to my mom, who, after reading chapters 3 and 4, suggested a few minor additions and changes in wording. And, as always, thank you to my readers! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

~~~~~~

Chapter 5

As I emerged from Walt’s office, Tommie looked up and smiled. “Well, hello again! Did you have a nice chat? I hope Walt didn’t talk your ears off.”

I smiled back. “It went very well, thank you.”

“Good. Oh, and I apologize for the state of Walt’s office. I keep telling him to clean it out, but he’s come up with this elaborate excuse for why he has to have all that clutter on display.” She shook her head. “Honestly, that man.”

I laughed. “He certainly is a force of nature.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ll say.” I laughed again, and she smiled. “Anyway, I believe Don’s out there waiting for you.”

“Thanks; I’ll go meet him.”

“All right then. You have a nice day, Carrie.”

“You too.”

Sure enough, I returned to the reception room to find Don sitting on the couch, waiting for me as promised. When he saw me coming, he immediately sprang to his feet. “Hey! How’d it go?”

“It went well,” I replied. “You were right; Walt’s not nearly as intimidating once you meet him.”

He grinned. “Good. Well, in that case, let’s get to work!”

As we passed the reception desk, Dolly looked up from the pile of papers she was sifting through. “Are you guys headed off now?”

“Yeah, we’re going over to the rehearsal room,” Don said.

“All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes with refreshments.” She turned to me. “It was nice to meet you, Carrie! I hope you enjoy your time here.”

“Thank you; I’m sure I will,” I replied with a smile. Then Don opened the door for me once again, and I exited the reception room with him close behind.

We headed down the hall together—me with my purse clutched tightly in my hands, Don with my jacket over one arm and the other swinging at his side. I found myself watching him out of the corner of my eye, noticing the relaxed, easy grace with which he carried himself. His stride was brisk and fluid, with just a hint of swagger—not so much as to seem arrogant, but enough to lend him an air of appealing self-assurance. He whistled a little as we walked, and I smiled to myself when I recognized the tune as “Heigh-Ho” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. At last, after several seconds, he spoke.

“Now, most days, Dick and Bob and I will probably be here working by the time you arrive, so you’ll have to find your own way to the rehearsal room. It’s not that hard, though—just come in the front door and up the stairs like we did earlier, and then down this hall and make a left. And of course, if you have any trouble, just ask one of the other employees; they’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“No problem.” He tucked his free hand casually into his pocket. “So, you ever been to Los Angeles before?”

“No; actually, this is the first time I’ve been in California at all.”

“Ah. And how do you like it?”

“It’s lovely . . . although quite a bit warmer than I’m used to.”

He laughed. “Well, don’t worry—what we lack in cool weather, we make up for in air conditioning.”

I smiled. “That’s a relief.”

We strode along in silence for another few moments before Don resumed the conversation. “So, your first time in L.A.; think you’ll do any sightseeing while you’re here?”

I shrugged. “We’ll see. I mean, first things first—we have a movie to make.”

“Well, we’re off work on the weekends. Maybe then you’ll get to check out the city some.”

“Maybe.”

By that time, we had reached a place where the main hallway branched off to the left. “This is where you turn,” Don said, pointing. We rounded the corner and headed down a smaller corridor, at the end of which was a pair of glass doors with REHEARSAL ROOM printed on them. On the handle of one door hung a sign that read, “Please be quiet. Rehearsal in progress”—with, of course, a picture of Mickey Mouse, smiling and waving, right in the middle. When we arrived at the end of the hall, Don reached out to grab the handle of one of the doors. “And this,” he said, grinning, “is where the magic happens.” He swung open the door and gestured for me to walk through.

Together we entered a large, airy room with a long table in the center, where the Sherman brothers were seated. They must have been waiting for us to arrive, because when we entered, they looked up and promptly rose from their chairs. “She’s back!” Bob exclaimed with a smile.

“Nice to know I’ve been missed,” Don remarked, but there was laughter in his voice.

“So, how’d the meeting with Walt go?” Dick inquired.

“Very well; thank you for asking,” I replied, unsure whether I ought to remain standing or take a seat at the table. Just as I was about to ask, Don spoke again.

“You guys got everything set up?”

“Yeah, just about,” Bob replied, “except we couldn’t find the pencils. Did you move them?”

Don’s brow furrowed slightly. “No, they should be on the desk.”

While they continued their discussion, I lingered a few steps away, taking in my surroundings. Sunlight streamed through the windows, which, thanks to the mild morning weather, had been thrown open to welcome the fresh breeze that was now gently fluttering the blinds. In one corner of the room stood a console piano; in another corner, a snare drum; and on the wall between them, a three-seat couch with a wooden coffee table. The other three walls were lined with music-related paraphernalia, as well as a desk, two small corner tables, and several large rolling cork boards with various pencil sketches—some in black and white, others in color—thumbtacked onto them.

“Carrie?”

I returned my attention to the three men. “Yes?”

Don gestured to himself and the Sherman brothers. “We were thinking we’d start by reading through the script together. It’s not quite finished yet, but it should give you some idea of where we’re at right now and what we still have to work on.”

I nodded. “All right, that sounds good.”

He gave a nod of satisfaction. “Great. In that case . . .” he pulled out a chair and thumped the back of it lightly, “. . . would you care to have a seat?”

“Yes, that’d be wonderful.” I came over, sat down, and allowed him to slide me towards the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied with a smile. This trio, it seemed, were always smiling—wide, merry, heartfelt grins that I found irresistibly contagious.

As the men seated themselves around the table, the door opened and Dolly entered the room, pushing a cart laden with sweet treats. “Here comes the food!” she announced as she parked the cart beside the table.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “What is all this?”

Don grinned. “That, my dear Carrie, is what keeps us alive—especially on days like this, when we have a whole script to get through.”

“Mmm!” Dick licked his lips hungrily. “What’s on the menu today, Dolly?”

She grinned. “Well, for starters, I have donuts . . .”

“Ooh!” the three men chorused.

“. . . and chocolate chip cookies . . .”

“Yum!”

“. . . and, last but not least, the grand finale—ta-da!” Dolly proudly held up a large round platter with different-colored Jell-O squares arranged in piles around the rim—and in the center, a single block of red Jell-O shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head, with candy decorations for a face.

“Oh, how charming!” I exclaimed with delight. “He looks almost too good to eat! Almost.”

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Dolly,” Dick remarked with a grin.

Dolly placed the Jell-O platter on the table ceremoniously, then clasped her hands and looked around at the four of us. “Well, then, is there anything else I can get you?”

Don shook his head. “I think we’re all set. Thank you, Dolly!”

“Yes, thank you!” Dick, Bob, and I echoed.

“You’re quite welcome!” She gave a gratified nod. “See you all later, then! Have fun!” And with that, she exited the room, pushing the cart along in front of her.

After she left, Don clapped his hands together eagerly. “All right, now does everyone have a pencil and a copy of the script?”

Dick glanced around the table. “Looks like it.”

“Great, then let’s get started.” We all opened our scripts to the first page. Don reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and slid them onto his face. “Ready?” he asked. The rest of us nodded and looked down at our scripts. Don cleared his throat slightly and glanced in my direction, which I took to mean that I should begin reading.

“‘Scene one, ext.’” ‘Ext.’? What on earth does that mean? I wondered. Extreme? Extra? Neither made sense. Extended, perhaps?

Just then, I noticed that Don was reading the rest of the scene heading. My face reddened as I realized my mistake—he hadn’t meant for me to read the script; he’d cleared his throat because he was preparing to read it. Despite my embarrassment, I raised a hand to stop him. “Excuse me—I’m sorry, what is ‘ext.’?”

“Oh, exterior,” he explained. “It means the scene takes place outside.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

I returned my gaze to the script and waited for him to resume. But instead he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask—did you want to do the reading?”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “I mean, of course, if you want me to, I wouldn’t mind; but I didn’t mean to read over you, if that’s what you’re saying.”

Bob smiled reassuringly. “Carrie, relax; there’s no harm done.”

“Of course not,” Don agreed. “Here, why don’t you read the scene heading, and then we’ll all take turns from there?”

“All right.” I cleared my throat. “‘Scene one, exterior, 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London, day. Bert, a one-man band, plays to a small gathering outside the gates to the park. Bert says . . .’” I looked around the table. “Um, who’s reading for Bert?”

“I can be Bert,” Don offered. He turned to the other two men. “Guys, shall we give it a whirl?” Without further explanation, they all jumped up from their seats and headed to the other side of the room.

“Wait—what’s happening?” I asked, completely bewildered. As if in answer to my question, the Sherman brothers positioned themselves at the piano, and Dick began pounding out a tune.

“‘All right, ladies ’n’ gents!’” Don announced, reading from the script in a Cockney accent. “‘Comical poems suitable for the occasion, extemporized and thought up before your very eyes. All right . . . here we go!’” On his cue, Dick and Bob began to sing:

“Room here for everyone,

Gather around!

The constable’s responstable—

Now how does that sound?”

Meanwhile, Don continued his Bert act; and I couldn't help giggling at the way he threw himself into it with large gestures, exaggerated facial expressions, and a droll, comical air. He walked up to an imaginary lady and pretended to tip his hat as the brothers sang:

“’Ello, Miss Lark;

I've got one for you!”

Dick stopped playing for a moment so that the rhyme could be spoken without music. “Miss Lark . . . likes to walk . . . in the park . . . with Andrew!”

A quick glance at the script informed me that Andrew was Miss Lark's Yorkie, which fact was confirmed when Don bent down to pet an invisible dog. “Hello, Andrew!” he greeted it, then stood back up for the next verse:

“Ah, Mrs. Cory,

A story for you:

Your daughters was shorter than you,

But they grew!”

I smiled involuntarily as all three men widened their eyes in amazement at the prodigious growth of Mrs. Cory’s daughters.

Then Dick began to play again; but this time the music changed from jaunty and playful to quiet and mysterious. Don looked down at the script and read, “‘A light wind arises, and Bert’s attention is suddenly drawn away. The onlookers glance at each other in confusion as he gazes up at the sky, as if he knows a secret.’” With that, Dick and Bob sang:

“Dear Miss Persimmon . . .

Wind’s in the east,

Mist comin’ in,

Like somethin’ is brewin’,

About to begin.

Can't put me finger

On what lies in store,

But I feel what's to ’appen

All ’appened before.”

With a final flourish from Dick, the song ended, and the trio looked over at me expectantly. Laughing, I gave them a round of ecstatic applause.

“I love it!” I exclaimed. “Are they all like this?”

“Well, we do have a few slower ones in mind; but basically, yeah, that’s the idea,” Bob replied.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear the rest of them. Keep up the good work.” I gave a nod of admiration. Beaming, the three men returned to their seats at the table.

“All right,” Don said, “shall we continue?”

~~~~~

We did, indeed, read through the entire script that day. We also went through the whole plate of donuts, half the cookies, and all but a few squares of Jell-O; so when it came time for lunch, we were too full to even think about eating anything more. However, Bob was starting to shift uncomfortably in his seat; and Dick, noticing this, suggested we take a break. Everyone readily agreed.

The four of us stood up to stretch our legs, and I noticed Bob wincing slightly as he rose from his chair. He caught his breath in a soft, pained gasp, then quickly regained his composure, exhaling slowly. Dick saw this as well and cleared his throat. “Say, Bob, why don’t we head over to our office for a bit? I have an idea for one of the songs that I want to run by you, but, ah, I don’t want to spoil the surprise for Carrie here.”

Bob stared at his brother for a few seconds. Dick stared back, and I sensed an unspoken conversation pass between them. At last, Bob nodded. “All right. As long as that’s okay with you guys?” He glanced questioningly at Don and me.

“No problem; take as much time as you need,” Don said. “We’re more than halfway through the script already, so we’ll just finish reading it when you guys get back.”

With a grateful nod, Bob took his cane and limped to the door with Dick following close behind. Don and I watched them go; and as soon as the door closed behind them, I turned to him. “Don, may I ask a question?”

He nodded. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

We sat back down in our chairs, and I took a deep breath before speaking again. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was just wondering . . . what’s wrong with Bob’s leg?”

“He got shot,” Don replied solemnly.

“Oh . . . I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “How did it happen?”

“Combat wound. He was a soldier in World War II.”

“World War II?” I asked incredulously. “That’s surprising; he doesn’t seem old enough to have been in the army back then.”

“He was very young when he joined—seventeen, if I remember correctly,” Don explained.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Noticing the concern on my face, he continued. “We don’t talk about it much around here. Bob doesn’t like to be pitied.”

I smiled wryly. “I can relate to that.”

Don sighed. “Most of us here agree that Bob’s a little too tough for his own good. Fortunately, Dick knows his brother’s limits, and he knows how to persuade Bob to take a break when he needs it . . . like you saw just now.”

“It was very artfully done,” I agreed. “Reminds me of my sister.”

Don chuckled, but then a look of discomfort crossed his face, and he tugged at his collar slightly. “Hey, Carrie, does it seem hot in here to you?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, I hadn’t noticed; but now that you mention it, yes, it is a little warm.”

Don glanced at the windows, which were still open. “Must be heating up outside. I’d better shut the windows.” After doing so, he returned to the table, fanning himself with one hand. He pulled out his chair to sit down, but hesitated, looking up at me with a question in his eyes. “Would you be offended if I . . .” he gestured to his suit jacket.

“Oh—no, of course not!” I exclaimed. “Please, I wouldn’t want you to overheat.”

“Thank you.” With deft fingers, he unbuttoned his jacket, slipped it off, and hung it on the back of his chair. He then proceeded to roll up his sleeves and loosen his necktie slightly, and suddenly I felt rather overheated myself.

At last Don sat down again. This time, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head, a friendly smile curving his lips. “So . . . tell me about yourself.”

“Uh . . .” I faltered, “well, what do you want to know?”

He shrugged. “I dunno; anything. What do you do when you’re not writing?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, I mostly spend time with my sister—help her around the house and stuff. And I play piano,” I added, casting a longing glance at the one in the corner.

Don raised his eyebrows. “Really? Are you good at it?”

“People say I am,” I replied modestly.

“Well then, you ought to try that one out sometime.” He nodded towards the very instrument I’d been gazing at a second ago.

“Really?” I asked incredulously. “You don't think the Shermans would mind?”

He grinned. “I guarantee they wouldn’t. In fact, I’m sure they’d love to hear you play.” He brought one hand out from behind his head to scratch the side of his nose. “So, you have a sister. Any other family?”

“Uh, no . . . not anymore. Our parents died several years ago.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.” I stared down at the table. “Our mom passed away from pneumonia, and Dad . . . well, six months later, we lost him too. The doctor said it was the grief that did it.”

Don was silent for a few seconds; then he spoke. “Wow, that . . . that must have been hard.”

“Yeah, it was.” I shook my head and looked back up at him, trying to regain my casual, upbeat tone. “So now it’s just me and my sister, Samantha . . . and her husband, James. The two of them rented a place for a while after they got married, and I stayed at home with our parents . . . but then once Dad died, Sam and I talked it over and decided there wasn’t much point in my having that big house all to myself. So in the end, Sam and James moved in, and we’ve all been living together ever since.”

“And how does that work out for you?” he inquired.

“Pretty well, for the most part,” I replied. “The house itself is basically divided in two. They live in the main portion, which has the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen, plus two bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. And then right inside the front entrance, there’s this door; and when you open it, you’ll find a separate flight of stairs that leads to a bedroom, a bathroom, and an office, all partitioned off from the rest of the house. That’s where I work and sleep.”

Don nodded, then looked off to the side, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. After a few seconds, he looked back at me. “So, you’re not married?”

I blushed. “No. I mean—that’s correct; I’m not married.”

An expression I couldn’t quite name flickered across his face for the briefest of moments before he looked downward and began fiddling with a pen. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Just never found the right one?”

I sighed. “More like I never really got around to looking for the right one. Just . . . too much going on, I suppose.”

He nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you married? Or . . . anything?” Why our conversation had steered in this direction, I wasn’t sure; but since it had, I figured I might as well ask. Friendly curiosity and the like.

“Uh, no . . . no, I’m not.”

“Hmm,” I said as my stomach did a little flip-flop. I swallowed. “And the Sherman brothers?”

He nodded, grinning. “They’re both married, with kids. You should meet their families sometime; they’re really great.”

I smiled. “I’ll bet.”

Another pause ensued; then he spoke again. “So, are you enjoying your first day here so far?”

“Yes, very much,” I replied, nodding eagerly.

He smiled. “Good. I know it’s probably a little overwhelming to read through the entire script first thing, but I promise what comes next will be a lot more fun.”

“Oh, I’m already having fun!” I exclaimed. “Just being here is a dream come true for me!” Don’s eyes sparkled with mirth, which led me to clear my throat and lower my gaze self-consciously. “I know that sounds corny. It’s probably what you guys hear from every starry-eyed newcomer, right?”

He shook his head. “It’s not corny at all. Being here is a dream come true—for all of us. And it doesn’t go away.”

I gave him a grateful smile. “So . . . tell me more about Mr. Disney.”

“Ah-ah! ‘Walt,’ remember?” he corrected me gently.

“Right—sorry. I’m still getting used to that.”

He chuckled again. “That’s okay. What do you want to know about him?”

“Well . . . what is he really like? I mean, as a boss? What’s it like to work for him?”

Don smiled. “Wonderful, for the most part. Walt’s kind of like an uncle to us all. He wants us to enjoy what we do here. He encourages creativity, he values our ideas, and he also cares about what goes on in our personal lives.”

“So, essentially, he’s the perfect boss,” I said.

Don raised an eyebrow wryly. “Well . . . nobody’s perfect.”

“Oh?”

He sighed. “Walt is a . . . tough critic. Which is good, in a way, because that’s the type of person it takes to run a moviemaking business. But it’s always hard when we pour ourselves into something only to have him take one look at it and say it’s not good enough. And then it’s back to the drawing board to work our, uh . . .”

“Rear ends off?” I supplied.

He laughed. “Yeah, pretty much. Don’t get me wrong; he really is a great guy . . . but there are some days when he’ll come and talk to you about whatever project you’re working on, and then he’ll leave the room and you’ll wonder if you just had a conversation with Attila the Hun.”

“Oh . . . I see.”

We both fell silent for a few seconds; then I spoke. “You know, I should probably warn you—I tend to be somewhat of a tough critic myself.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You? Really?”

I laughed. “You don’t believe me?”

“Well, it’s just . . . you don’t really seem like the type.”

“Oh, I can be a lot feistier than anyone would think.” I grinned mischievously, eliciting yet another laugh from him. “But,” I continued, “in all seriousness, I know you guys have been working hard on this, so I’ll try to keep my criticisms to a minimum.”

“What? No, don’t do that.”

I stared at him, surprised. “Why not?”

“Well, the whole reason you’re here is to give us your feedback on this project—so if you don’t let us know what you’re thinking, that pretty much defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know everything I’m thinking?”

“Well . . . yeah. I mean, that is why we’re doing this.”

I held his gaze for a few seconds, then shrugged my shoulders with mock nonchalance. “All right. Let’s see . . . first of all, the Banks’s address should be referred to as ‘Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane,’ not just ‘17.’ The tape measure Mary Poppins uses to measure the children should be a roll tape, not a ruler. The comment Ellen makes about the family needing a zookeeper—I think ‘ruddy zookeeper’ would be better. ‘Bloomin’ zookeeper’ sounds awkward with the two oo’s. And, frankly, I think the whole exchange between the market sellers and the nannies should be cut; it takes up several minutes’ worth of screen time without really adding anything to the story.” I smirked a little when I saw that Don’s eyes had widened and his mouth had dropped open slightly. “I told you I’m a tough critic.”

He blinked. “Wow . . . yeah. You weren’t kidding.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

He looked off to the side, thinking. Then, after several moments, he met my gaze again. “No,” he said. “I still think you should give us whatever suggestions you have. But you should also understand that we might not be able to carry out every single one.”

I nodded. “I understand that.”

“All right, then we have a deal.”

After that, we fell into silence again. I gazed absentmindedly through the glass doors and down the hallway until I felt Don’s eyes on me. I turned my head and, sure enough, caught him watching me, sizing me up. “What are you thinking?” I asked.

He stared at me for another second before answering. “I don’t know, it’s just . . . somehow I get the feeling you’re a little more than what we bargained for.”

“Is that bad?”

His lips curved upwards slightly, just enough for his dimples to show. “No,” he replied. “No, I think it’s exactly what we need.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

But just as he was about to answer, the door opened, and we looked up to see Dick and Bob enter the room. “We’re back!” Dick announced.

“Great!” Don sat up a little straighter, ready to get back to business; and, reluctantly, I followed suit, wishing we’d had a few more minutes so I could have heard what he was going to say.

“I see you guys closed the windows,” Dick remarked. “Good call. Dolly said the temperature outside is getting up into the eighties.”

As he passed by Don’s chair, Bob leaned over and murmured, “Sorry about that.”

Don shook his head. “Not a problem.”

Once the brothers took their seats, Don cleared his throat. “Well, shall we continue?” The other three of us nodded. “Who’s reading?” he asked.

“I think it was my turn,” Dick replied. He glanced at each of us. “Everyone ready?”

“Mm-hmm,” we assented.

“All right then, let’s see . . . ah, here we are. ‘Scene 9—The Streets of London . . .’”

As Dick read, I found my thoughts drifting back to the conversation I’d had with Don while the Shermans were out of the room. Eventually, without really knowing why I did so, I glanced up from my script to look at him. Though his eyes were on the script, it seemed that his mind was elsewhere; then, suddenly, he looked up at me. Our eyes met for but a moment before we returned them to our scripts—yet in that one moment, something passed between us, leaving the air crackling and my heart racing as I began to suspect that I, too, had gotten more than what I’d bargained for.

~~~~~

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chocolatequeennk · 7 years

Text

Reconciling GITF with the Ten/Rose arc

Or, “Why the Doctor was definitely a jerk, but not as much of one as we think.”

I’ve had this post rattling around in my brain for months, and @chiaroscuroverse‘s great meta in her author profile and subsequent replies, plus thinking about it for my own author profile, inspired me to finally get it written down. Like her, I don’t like the way GITF has skewed the fandom perception of Ten’s character. In an effort to reconcile his very out of character behaviour, a whole fanon has arisen that makes him out to be commitment-phobic and cavalier with Rose’s safety in a way that does not hold water if we remove GITF from the equation.

But--much as I wish we could--we can’t just pretend the episode doesn’t exist. In light of that, how can we analyse GITF and come out at the end with a version of Ten that still fits in with how he acts in other episodes?

The first thing you need to know as I write this post is that I will not be looking at other episodes through the lens of what happens in GITF. I go the other way around. When you’re analysing texts, you should always depend on the stronger text to inform the weaker text. I assume that everyone who is still reading this post by this point agrees that GITF is a very bad representation of Ten’s character--so why do we use it as the basis of our meta, rather than finding ways to fit it into the character we see in other episodes?

This is a long post, so I’m going under a cut in a minute. But first, here are the bullet points I’ll be addressing:

Things we know as the audience that Rose does not know

Reinette going into his head is assault, not a sign of intimacy

Mickey’s presence on the TARDIS was not an attempt at space

Mickey is not a reliable witness of the Doctor’s behaviour

The Doctor's drunk act when he arrives is just an act

The Tenth Doctor was no less protective of Rose than Nine

It was wrong of the Doctor to leave Rose and Mickey on the spaceship without any indication that had an idea of how to get back, especially after telling her he’d never leave her behind

My ultimate conclusion after considering all those points

1. Things we know as the audience that Rose does not know

It was on the seventh or eighth time watching GITF to prep for TMMOT that I had a rather jaw-dropping realisation. Rose did not see the kiss. Rose was not near enough to the fireplace to hear him crow about the kiss. Rose does not know about the kiss unless he tells her.

That... doesn’t make the kiss itself or his crowing about it any less disturbing, and I do hope he told her about it at some point. But it does require a major shift in how we think about Rose’s reaction to the overall story.

Also, Rose wasn’t there when the Doctor used telepathy on Reinette, so she doesn’t know that Reinette was able to get into his head. She might feel less-than Reinette for other reasons, but not this one.

2. Reinette going into his head is assault, not a sign of intimacy

Even if Rose knew about it, the Doctor is not at all to blame for this and I really get upset when he apologises for it. What Reinette did was assault. She didn’t know that, maybe, but in every universe I’ve read where there’s telepathy, going into someone else’s mind without permission is viewed as a violation. Why do we get upset with the Doctor for being violated? It’s victim-blaming, and... Ick.

3. Mickey’s presence on the TARDIS was not an attempt at space

I have a whole post just about this point. This is one of the biggest examples of the way we’ve analysed other episodes in light of GITF, shifting how we see things so GITF makes more sense.

The simple fact is that the way Mickey asked left the Doctor (and Rose) with no polite way to say no. They’d just invited Sarah Jane along, in front of him. Telling him no would make it obvious that it was him, specifically, they didn’t want to travel with. I don’t blame Rose for feeling that way, because Mickey did everything he could up until their foray into Pete’s World to convince Rose to leave the Doctor and come back to him. But even she knew, as much as she didn’t like it, that telling Mickey no would permanently damage their friendship.

4. Mickey is not a reliable witness of the Doctor’s behaviour

So. One thing that is often brought up is Mickey’s line that it’s been hours and where is Rose’s precious Doctor? This is seen as proof that the Doctor is being very cavalier with Rose’s safety, and on first glance, it is.

But consider the source. First of all, how does Mickey even know that? They were both knocked out by the tranq darts, and even if we allow for Mickey’s greater body mass to let him wake up a little before Rose, “hours” earlier strains credulity. I could buy that he was awake for 20 minutes before Rose woke up, but no longer.

Which means he is doing exactly what Mickey has done in every episode previous to this--he is hyperbolising to make Rose realise how dangerous things are with the Doctor/how the Doctor will never love her/how the Doctor doesn’t treat her as well as Mickey does. This is a pattern with Mickey Smith, pre-Cybermen.

He clings to her legs and calls the Doctor a thing in “Rose”

He tells Rose the Doctor left her in “Aliens of London”

In “Boom Town,” he straight up tells Rose that he resents the Doctor because Rose always chooses him over Mickey

In “Parting of the Ways” he tries to convince Rose to stay behind with him and forget whatever she’s thinking about to get back to the Doctor

In “The Christmas Invasion,” he tells Rose that she can depend on him--Mickey--because he doesn’t go around changing his face

In Feast of the Drowned, he gets angry with the Doctor after they both see Rose waiting for them underwater. I can’t remember the quote, but the implication was that because the Doctor was able to control his reaction to the pull, that he didn’t care as much about Rose as Mickey did. The Doctor counters that fiercely.

In The Stone Rose, he blames the Doctor for Rose getting turned into a statue

In “School Reunion” he purposely pokes at Rose’s doubts after meeting Sarah Jane, telling her this proves the Doctor is just like other blokes (implying the Doctor wouldn’t be faithful, etc.)

And earlier in GITF, he teased Rose again about all the other girls the Doctor has been with.

With this pattern of behaviour, you can see why I take what Mickey says about the Doctor’s behaviour with a large tablespoon of salt. He has never been fair about the Doctor’s actions or motivations, and he is always ready to jump on any perceived failing on the Doctor’s part to convince Rose that he, Mickey, is the better man.

In light of that, has it really been hours since Mickey and Rose were taken? Did the Doctor really party it up with the French while Rose was on the verge of being sliced up? I go with no.

5. The Doctor's drunk act when he arrives is just an act

I don’t think many people think he was actually drunk, because we all know that canonically, it’s hard to get a Time Lord drunk. But his demeanour in this scene, coupled with Mickey’s accusation, is often seen together as a sign that he just... didn’t care about Rose.

But, if we allow for the possibility that it hadn’t actually been hours, and if we consider that 1) he had to go back to the TARDIS and get the anti-oil (possibly even make it) and that 2) he needed some sort of cover that would convince the droids to let him get close enough to use the anti-oil, his behaviour is much more calculated.

Now. I do think this might have appeared uncaring to Rose, and I have a scene in the fic I’m working on where she rails at him for it and he realises what it looked like. But appearances are not necessarily fact.

6. The Tenth Doctor was no less protective of Rose than Nine

This is the point at which I really diverge with a lot of Doctor/Rose meta. One thing that’s sprung up as we’ve tried to make sense of GITF is the idea that this is one more instance in a long line of times where Ten allowed Rose to be in dangerous situations that Nine would have stopped.

But. For a moment, consider a series 2 with no GITF.

Would you still think that Cassandra manipulating the lift so Rose is trapped with her instead of safe with the Doctor is any more the Doctor’s fault than when Cassandra trapped Rose in a room where she would be incinerated by the sun? I know part of the argument here is that Ten didn’t consider Rose could be put in danger when they were separated, but Nine didn’t know Rose was in danger until he heard her voice on the other side of the door. They were both unaware that she had gotten into danger.

Would you still think Rose noticing that a servant girl was upset in “Tooth and Claw” and getting hit over the head as they talked was the Doctor’s fault, any more than Rose trying to track down the ghost and getting abducted by Mr. Sneed was the Doctor’s fault? I know part of the argument is that Nine chased after Rose immediately, but 1) he saw her be abducted, whereas for all Ten knew, she was getting dressed, and 2) as soon as Ten realised there was danger afoot, his very first thought was, “Where is Rose?”

This life is dangerous, but one of the things I love the most about Rose Tyler is her insistence on being a full partner in it. She hates it when he tries to keep her from dangerous things. She wanders into them herself, and she would honestly be offended by the idea that he’s responsible for her actions.

7. It was wrong of the Doctor to leave Rose and Mickey on the spaceship without any indication that had an idea of how to get back, especially after telling her he’d never leave her behind.

Okay. I’m not going to argue this point at all. This is the key to my complaint with the episode, outside of the kiss which... ick. I personally believe he had a plan to get back, because I cannot believe he would leave the TARDIS even if he would ever really abandon his companions. I think that whatever the plan was, it was one that would take a long time, which is why he was resigned to the slow path, until Reinette showed him the fireplace.

But even if he had a plan, the expression on Rose’s face after he went through the mirror makes it clear that he didn’t tell her what it was, and that’s wrong.

8. So, ultimately, what’s my headcanon regarding this episode? Why did the Doctor get so caught up in things that he ignored Rose like that at the end?

First, I think there were a lot of timelines falling apart and he panicked. He needed to make sure Reinette didn’t die, and he got tunnel vision, thinking about that and nothing else.

Second, I think Reinette was his celebrity crush, and he was flattered by her obvious interest in him. I mean. If you met your celebrity crush, and they treated you like the most fascinating person on the planet, wouldn’t that feel pretty good?

Third, I don’t think his grief over her death was any more profound than his grief when anyone he’s fond of dies. He grieved for Astrid... and cutting this short, there’s a whole montage in Journey’s End when Davros is mocking him that shows he always takes these deaths very personally. Him being upset that she died does not mean he loved her. It means he has a heart... er, two hearts.

Fourth, I think the laughter and teasing between the Doctor and Rose at the beginning of the next episode means they talked this out and came to an understanding--one which Pete’s World very nearly unravelled, but that was solidified in the conversation RTD says definitely took place between that adventure and Idiot’s Lantern.

And that conversation is the fanfic I’m working on for this week.

#doctor who #tenth doctor #ten x rose #doctor who meta #tenth doctor meta #GITF rant #anti moffat

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