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thereweresunflowers · 4 months

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🌿 rosemary and time 🕰️

thasmin - 2,345 words - rating: G - beach scene and boundaries - read on ao3!

What you said, Doctor, about living in the present while we still have it,” Yaz starts. “Last time we were on a beach. Well—we’re time travellers, everything is the present to us."

The TARDIS brings Yaz and the Doctor to ye olde seaside Scarborough Fair, and Yaz takes another chance on a beach to tell the Doctor just how much she means to her.

written for the @thasminsecretsanta run by the ever brilliant lina, as a gift for @thirteensfavoritetoy! thank you for such a thoughtful prompt, i had wonderful fun with it. have the happiest of holidays and merry christmas!!

read the whole fic below the cut!

“Scarborough fair!” the Doctor announces, whirling her way across the control room. It’s just her and Yaz in the TARDIS, Dan having popped home for a sleep in his own bed, and Yaz is glad the Doctor has taken this as a chance for the two of them to adventure together. They could’ve gone straight to the next morning and picked Dan right back up again, but he shut the doors behind him and the Doctor turned to her and asked, “fancy a trip just us?”

And how can Yaz ever resist a question like that? How can anyone?

So, Scarborough fair. “But not like the Simon and Garfunkel song, though that is very good. No, I’m talking about the actual fair itself that the song was based on—held in Scarborough every August and September from 1253 until over a century later. Merchants, entertainment, good food, good people.” The Doctor glances up from where she’s fiddling busily with the controls. For a second, there’s the slightest hint of bashfulness in her as she looks up through her eyelashes. “That sound alright?”

Yaz beams, the Doctor leaving her a little helpless as she always does. “Sounds perfect.”

The Doctor looks at Yaz and Yaz looks at the Doctor and even as the TARDIS engine thrums into life and jolts them across space and time, the connection between them remains unbroken.

“I don’t think it’s August,” Yaz says, blisteringly cold wind whipping about her face as she stands a few tender steps outside of the TARDIS. “And I can’t see a fair.”

The Doctor pouts as she rambles to a stop beside her, hands on her hips in dismay. “Well, at least it’s still Scarborough,” she salvages.

“How can you tell?”

“Slight tinge of rosemary and thyme alongside the sea salt in the air.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Am not! Seems we’re just a few months out of where we wanted to be. It’s 1303 like I’d hoped, fiftieth anniversary of the fair. It’s just we’re a few months late.” The Doctor squints, taking in the view around them which is lit with dazzling winter sun.

The sky is a crystal blue, pure and clear, boundlessly spanning the horizons and unbroken by clouds. They’ve arrived midway up a sloping cliff, the land around them climbing upwards and lush with coastal bracken. On one side, the hill rises to meet a large stone wall, behind which must stand a busting castle judging by the great tower above them and the chatter being carried down to them on the sea breeze. On the other, the grass drops and rolls down to a large sandy beach. Waves beat frostily upon the shore. Huddled behind the sandbanks, the town of Scarborough stands, all twisty streets and wood framed houses latched up to beat the winter cold.

“You know, I don’t think the TARDIS ever lands exactly where you tell it to,” Yaz laughs, pulling her jacket closer around her.

“Ah, more fun that way,” the Doctor grins. She pats the weathered side of the blue box with a fond hand. “She takes us where we need to go. Maybe Scarborough only needs us in December.”

The TARDIS gave us a beach, Yaz thinks. Maybe she knows. Maybe she’s telling us to try again.

She nods, tries to let her next words sound nonchalant.“Or maybe we need Scarborough.”

Nonchalance is hard with the Doctor, though. Truthfully, Yaz has never cared so much before, about anything. Anyone. But if her earnestness slips through, the Doctor doesn’t show that she notices it.

“You look a bit chilly, d’ya want my coat?” the Doctor blathers, “if I’d have known it was gonna be so cold I would’ve brought me scarf out, found you a hat or something.”

Yaz goes to protest but the Doctor is already shrugging her coat off, bundling the soft fabric into Yaz’s hands with a certain determination. The cloth is warm with the Doctor’s body heat, the material made all the more welcome against Yaz’s cold palms.

“But you’ll get cold,” Yaz attempts.

“Well you’re cold already, and I’m an alien, I’m built weird. Temperature works differently for me.”

Yaz isn’t sure about the accuracy of that statement, but she can tell by the insistence in the Doctor’s voice that she isn’t about to take no for an answer.

“Alright, alright,” she says, giving in. She slips her arms through the slightly-too-big coat, laughing as the hood falls over her head in the movements of putting it on.

A gentle hand pulls the hood back from Yaz’s eyes and the world blossoms back into colour. “There you are,” the Doctor chuckles. She looks Yaz up and down, just once, an approving smile growing on her face. “Nice,” she murmurs. For the slightest second, Yaz catches that hint of bashfulness again. Can’t quite work out if her newfound warmth is coming from the coat or the way the Doctor is looking at her. But then the Doctor is back to her usual brashness and is taking her hand and tugging her along the cliff.

They could’ve gone up to Scarborough Castle, seen it brimming with Plantagenet life in the festive season. They could’ve headed for the town, found a pub or some grub and walked among the common folk living their wonderfully ordinary lives. That’s Yaz’s favourite part of visiting the past—seeing the everyday. The Doctor can get them in anywhere, they can always meet a monarch or find the seedling moments of a legacy. But stumbling across someone incredible who will undoubtedly, eventually, be forgotten, that is special. 21st century Yaz can remember 14th century friends and travel to the year 3000, and her memories coming with her too means there is a little piece of the 14th century common folk out among the future stars.

But today they do neither of those things, although Yaz can tell the Doctor desperately wants to. The Doctor asked Yaz where she wanted to go and with all the history between them, with the TARDIS bringing them here, Yaz had to say the beach. Yaz thinks the Doctor knew all this and let her choose anyway, and adores her even more for it.

They’re walking the length of the shore. This beach isn’t shingle like last time but sand, vast expanses of it washed glassy with water and worn smooth with the winter wind. There are, as there always have been and will be on beaches, some wild youngins dashing about in the shallows, shrieking as the white horses break on them with freezing fervour. Apart from that, the beach is quiet. The Doctor is quiet too.

Yaz looks over to her, seeing the soft curves of the Doctor’s shoulder blades usually hidden by her coat. Her collar bone pokes out of her t-shirt, her hair flapping idly by it in the wind, starting to go wavy in the salt air. Yaz can do best friends. She’s almost perfected it. The air between them is clear and they both know where they stand, bouncing out to sea with the stone the Doctor wished on and sent skimming. Always waiting for the final splash. And still, and still, Yaz is left remembering the words the Doctor said all those years ago: like hope, love abides.

“What you said, Doctor, about living in the present while we still have it,” Yaz starts. “Last time we were on a beach.”

The Doctor stiffens almost imperceptibly; if it were anyone else Yaz could’ve put it down to a gust of wind or the growing chill. But this is the Doctor, Yaz’s one constant in all of time and space, and she’s learned by now how to translate the single alien language the TARDIS can’t. The Doctor’s smallest movements have a tendency to betray her.

Yaz braves on. “Well—we’re time travellers, everything is the present to us.”

The Doctor looks at her. “You think?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve just never thought of it like that before,” the Doctor says, slowly, like Yaz’s words are still seeping into her brain and she needs the time to make sense of them.

“How do you see it, then?”

The Doctor looks at Yaz as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Like everything is ending all of the time.”

Yaz’s breath leaves her. All the adventure, all the discovery, every sunrise they’ve watched together, and the Doctor sees every moment like it’s their last. No wonder she thinks their time together is always running out. No wonder she wished this could go on forever.

Yaz fixes a smile back on her face. Over the years, she’s found the Doctor is a lot more receptive to advice when it’s given with an innocent grin. She’s not sure why that is, if the Doctor doesn’t realise it’s advice if she gives it that way, or even if Yaz’s smiles make the Doctor feel as helpless as the Doctor’s smiles make Yaz. But it works. “Maybe that’s why the TARDIS always takes you somewhere unexpected. She’s trying to tell you you’re wrong. Every time you step out of those blue doors, something new begins.”

“Yasmin Khan, the great philosopher,” the Doctor grins. “You’re wise beyond your years, you are.”

“That’s why we get on, we meet in the middle,” Yaz chuckles.

“Are you calling me immature?”

“No, I’m fondly teasing you about your childlike wonder at the world.”

The Doctor narrows her eyes pointedly at Yaz, the smile dancing on her lips the giveaway to her faux suspicion. “I’ll let you get away with that,” she says eventually, earning a laugh.

They’ve made it all the way down to the sea now. It’s a good job Yaz wore her Docs, as every few waves a gust brings the water right in over their feet. The Doctor’s coat flaps unfamiliarly around Yaz’s calves and she wraps it around herself a little tighter. Its scent brings her as much comfort as her childhood bedroom.

Beside her, the Doctor seems unbothered by the cold. Maybe she wasn’t lying when she said temperature works differently for her. The wind is running breezy fingers through her wavy hair; through the strands, the Doctor catches Yaz staring and Yaz glances back down to the sand. When the Doctor shifts her feet, sea water pools in the prints her boots leaves behind, just briefly, before the sand shifts in the current’s flow and it’s like she was never stood there.

“I waited for you,” Yaz says, staring at the ephemeral shifting of the tide. “For three years.”

The Doctor clears her throat a little awkwardly. “You never gave up hope?”

“Course I did. Three years is a long time, especially without you,” Yaz states bluntly. It’s not a confession, it’s a fact. “I missed you.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, she’s going about it wrong. “I’m not saying it to make you feel guilty, I’m just saying. I lived in the present then, having lost you, and being with you again… Maybe some things are worth it. Stars, maybe some things aren’t worth it and we should do them anyway,” she tries, slightly breathlessly.

The Doctor does what she does best and looks out to sea, the unfathomable emotions of an immortal alien locked behind her brow. Her body language, Yaz has learned to translate, but her thoughts she never can quite get a grip on.

Even when it’s quiet between them, it’s rarely silent. The rhythms of the wave on the shore, the humming of the TARDIS engines, the triple beating of their hearts. The three years that Yaz spent without the Doctor, those were silent. But they were full of longing.

“Even when the hope was gone, I never stopped loving you,” she says, and that is a confession. Or the closest thing you can get to one when the woman you’re confessing to already knows it all. But she’s not asking for anything, just saying it because it needs to be said.

“Yaz…” The Doctor turns to her and looks back away, swallows, words still in her throat. “I never was any good at saying the important things. Just know—” the Doctor finally turns to face her properly, their bodies parallel to the shore. She’s found a smile, the kind which Yaz can hear deep in her voice and sounds like contentment. “Being with you makes me love being me. I’ve been so many people, but I’m the luckiest of all of them. I’m so glad it was me who met you.”

Yaz feels her cheeks dimple. “Me too. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“Even if—”

“Even if.” Yaz finishes it for her. “I’ll take what you can give me. And maybe steal a little more,” she says with a smile. She presses a kiss, soft and chaste, to the Doctor’s warm cheek; feels the downy hairs of her skin and the wrinkles of her crow’s feet against her lips. It’s a quick and flighty thing, an innocent toe over the line the Doctor drew in the sand on that beach in 1807.

“Thieves take,” the Doctor murmurs. “That felt more like a gift.”

“A present,” Yaz says. Then, a little more shyly, “I’m giving you my present.”

The Doctor’s eyes are wide and brown and almost doubting as she stares at Yaz.

Trust in me, Yaz wants to say, but can’t quite get the words out.

In the end, it seems she doesn’t need to. The doubt in the Doctor’s eyes thaws, resolving itself into something sweeter, more steadfast. Her hand finds Yaz’s under the too-long sleeves of her own coat. The Time Lord’s skin is warm and soft as her fingers slip between Yaz’s own, the double heat of their palms glowing amid the cold of the beach the TARDIS brought them to. Scarborough Fair and 1303 can wait; they’re time travellers. The Doctor smiles at Yaz, and Yaz smiles at the Doctor, and even as the waves of the beach break frostily on, the connection between them is remade anew.

#merry christmas all !! enjoy this mostly fluffy wintery reading #thasmin #thasmin fic #doctor who fic #doctor who #yasmin khan #thirteen #ola writes

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ecoamerica · 15 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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interstitialvacancy · 7 months

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Re: lrb - one of the decisions that I certainly had for the POV characters of the book I'm working on is giving them small embarrassing traits like

- Malwina - her music taste is terrible, she just shields herself with the worst techno music you've ever heard, and once I made in-character playlist to write her to I had to abort that mission as I had terrible headache after 10 minutes. She also rather choses violence in interpersonal interactions and it does not pay off. At all.

- Rafał - he at least once a week stalks that one guy from his year at uni who is now a mainstream literature author and opinion-writer and Rafał OOOZESSS with jealously. The guy he is jealous of is terminally online, hadn't written a book in a while, and 80% of time just makes high-brow shitstorms on his Facebook fanpage and overall have a 2000s troll mentality. But he is successful and have a talent for grabbing people's attention while Rafał is working pro publico bono for his tribe he starts to realise is just a cult with a bit of actual magic, but leader as toxic& dangerous as any other cult guru.

#jeez you really can spot my english-writing muscles are really out of use nowadays #hope native speakers don't get too much psychic damage from this one #ola writes

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lovemewednesdays · 1 year

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jamie tartt needs a hug (a missing scene).

Jamie was exhausted as he opened the door of the clubhouse. Training was brutal today, and he was being totally honest, Little Jamie still hadn't fully recovered from the fucking red string incident.

"Roy fuckin' Kent, man," he muttered to himself. "Fucking sadistic bastard."

He was looking forward to getting to his flat, opening a nice bottle of red, soaking in the bath, and maybe ringing his mum before going to bed. He used to go out after trainings. Not anymore. The four a.m. wake-up calls were hell without a good eight hours. Fucking sadistic bastard.

He looked up from his phone when he heard a throat clear.

It was Sam's dad. He was exactly like Jamie always pictured him, warm and inviting. Always ready for a laugh or to give some hard truths when you need it most. Now he knew where Sam got it from.

"Mr. Obisanya," Jamie said, doing his best to make a good impression. He didn't have the best track record with father figures.

Mr. Obisanya smiled and waved the phone in his hand a bit. "I just got off the phone with my wife. She wanted to make sure I arrived in one piece."

"That's nice. Me mum always worries about me traveling, too. It's...nice." Jamie bit his lip. He felt like a knob.

The older man just smiled again – it was funny, seeing Sam's smile on someone else – and held out his hand. Jamie took it. "You must be Jamie."

"I am, yeah."

"Samuel has told me a lot about you."

He tried his best to hide his wince. "I'm sorry."

"What for? My son says you are a very talented player. And a valued teammate and friend." Mr. Obisanya arched his eyebrows. "People are allowed to grow, you know. And it seems like you have."

A feeling like pride grew in Jamie's chest, and he immediately tried to tamp it down.

"Am I wrong?"

"No – no, sir. If you don't mind me sayin'. I don't think you're wrong."

Mr. Obisanya's smile doubled. "Good. I don't like being wrong. The only time I'm wrong is when my wife is right." A booming laugh followed, and Jamie couldn't help joining in.

"Well, I won't take up any more of your time. I watched all of you young men on the pitch today," he shook his head. "I do not envy you. It was nice to finally meet you."

"You as well, Mr. Obisanya. And please let Sam know that I'm here if he needs anything."

Mr. Obisanya tilted his head a bit. "You are a good man, Jamie Tartt. I am glad my son has someone like you in his life."

Completely unsure of how to respond to that, Jamie just nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing, and turned away.

As he walked to his car, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. That something was missing.

He chalked it up to exhaustion and drove home.

The feeling stayed all through the match with Arsenal – thank God he was able to say something; he was going to fucking lose it otherwise – and even as he in the rest of the team made their way to Ola's.

It was only when Mr. Obisanya – Ola, he told everyone to call him Ola – saw Jamie sweeping up glass and took him into a big bear hug that reminded Jamie of warmth and comfort and family and love, and then asked after his mum, that the feeling went away.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #ola obisanya #i don't know what this is #i just want my baby boy to have all the love in the world #nic writes

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jamiesfootball · 2 months

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First sentence prompt: It had been, quite frankly, an absolutely miserable day.

It had been, quite frankly, an absolutely miserable day.

Hey bruv, sorry again for what happened, but we're here for you if you need anything else, you know that right?

Your restaurant is excellent, but it would look even better with security cameras.

Sorry if it seemed like I was blowing off meeting your dad but I know how much you were looking forward to showing him the restaurant and spending time with him and I didn't want you to have to waste that anyways see you at training tomorrow and if you ever find out who did it we'll roll their arses together the team's got your back 24 xoxo

Miserable days need not turn into miserable nights, not when good company tucked you in -- armed you with a torch to ward off the monsters and kind pages of words to soothe you to sleep.

I love you, son, and I am forever proud of what you've accomplished.

#six sentence prompt #sam obisanya #ola obisanya #jamie tartt #afc richmond #writing prompt #writing snippet

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onbeinganangel · 1 year

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Tarot Card Drabbles (assorted pairings, 7.8k, varied ratings)

"hey, i was thinking maybe i'll write some drabbles based on tarot cards, just for fun?" — me, feeling like this was a good idea all the way back in march. reader: it took ten whole months to write 78 bloody drabbles. it was not a good idea.

BUT I DID IT ANYWAY! originally i was going to save this post for tomorrow because i only posted the last drabble this morning, but i quite like the idea that i can leave this in 2022. i will not subject you to more talk about how hard this project was. i don't need to do that, you don't want that, so instead i am going to give you some stats! because they're fun!

this series took 272 days to complete,

the pairings that kept popping up were my trusty drarry (26 drabbles), my first-love wolfstar (6) and my newly found obsession jegulus (5),

in terms of most loved characters, there were 11 pairings featuring harry outside of the drarry ones mentioned above, and 7 featuring draco! there were also 7 featuring regulus outside of the jegulus drabbles,

for this series i wrote 28 pairings i had never written before,

54 of the drabbles were lightning era, 18 marauders era, and 6 were next gen,

i wrote 2 gen drabbles, 58 m/m, 5 f/f, 4 f/m, 10 multi and 1 other (other meaning that one sorting hat/sword of gryffindor drabble),

rating wise 55 of the drabbles were rated teen and up, and 23 mature/explicit,

and when it came to genres 45 were soft/funny/fluffy, 16 were angsty/sad/open ended, and 17 were pure smut,

finally, 43 out of a total of 78 were prompted by lovely people here on tumblr which i'm still massively grateful for :')

i won't be putting these on ao3 because the formatting and the tagging would be a nightmare and i don't fancy doing it as 78 separate works but you can find them under their own little tag ✨

#tarot card drabbles #m writes #kisses for starry ali enza and ola who probably heard me complain about these the most <3 #(i say the most because at this point everyone on the planet heard me complain about these at least once lol)

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nightmare-viper · 28 days

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So uh, fuck it Friday? Lol

Thank you, @jeysbvck for the tag :

And anyone is free to do it if ya want!

Snippet below break, enjoy!

Ola tugged at Randy’s shirt when she whined,

“This needs to come off…” Randy smirked but complied as Ola leaned back enough for him to toss the shirt aside. She smirked slightly and ran her hands up his stomach, scraping her nails against his skin. She reveled the goosebumps that trailed behind her nails. He groaned in his chest,

“Hold on to me..” Ola squeaked and clung to him as he stood up, making his way to her bedroom. He pushed the door open, quickly kicking it shut behind him. He plopped her down on her bed, making her gasp softly. Randy covered her form with his body, kissing up her stomach. She hooked her legs around him as he kissed up her neck. With his hand, he cupped one of her breasts, kneading it, and making her shudder. Randy played with the hem of the shirt, Ola took the hint and arched her back so he could pull it off. It went flying into the darkness of the room.

“Holy shit…” He breathed before he groaned out loudly as he cupped both of her breasts, swiping her nipples with his thumbs. She moaned and arched into the touch. Taking the hint he bent his head down, taking one of the nipples into his mouth and sucking. Ola gasped loudly, tightening her legs around him and involuntarily bucking her hips against him. Randy growled while he sucked, his other hand moving to her hip to steady her as he rolled his hips against her. She groaned as one hand trailed down his arm, gripping his bicep and her other hand shot to the back of his head as she met the roll of his hips. He let go of her nipple with a wet popping sound as he met her lips in a hungry kiss.

#oc: ola Kaminski #randy orton x oc #oc x randy orton #wwe x oc #oc x wwe #oc x canon #randy orton #rko outta nowhere #lux writes

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beepsterwrites · 1 month

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The number of WIPs is getting close to 40 my dudes. And yes, they are all based on the same 2 characters. I love them dearly both separately and together.

#beepster writing thoughts #verbena ola beepster #victor chadwick chadson #chad chadson #ben beepster #NationsSMP

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stilxsxpizza · 10 months

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BENJAMIN PARISH & ESTELA JHONSON | Fanfic de La Quinta Ola (The Fifth Wave Fanfiction), en Wattpad.

Fanfic link: Morning star.

Account: -stilxswife

#ben parish #la quinta #edits #art #la quinta ola #movies #comics #books & libraries #writing #wattpad #the fifth wave #cassie #Spotify

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freakwiththeknifecollection · 2 years

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and also of COURSE i'd love to see some of We're Making Time to Unpack ALL of This

OH THAT ONE IS SO !!!!!!!!

So, you know how Ellen says "John was like family, once."? I have so many questions about that sentence. Like, how is it that he was "like family" and yet he never brought the boys to the Roadhouse? If they were so close, Ellen wouldn't have minded watching the boys. Not to mention, it'd save John from having to give them food money or have to drive out of the way to leave them with someone else when he was going to the Roadhouse anyway. And Ellen knew the boys' names, so obviously John had mentioned them. It makes no damn sense! Compels me, though. So anyway, in this fic, Dean asks Jo what Ellen meant by "like family". Here's a little snippet from it after he asks (for context, they're at the Roadhouse):

#dean winchester #jo harvelle #john winchester's a+ parenting #(implied)#answered #ola 💜#my writing #thank you for asking!!! I hope you like this one <33 #I'm so excited people are seeing this. it's such a compelling concept to me I've thought a lot about it

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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 1 year

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Abraham Takes His Dog Out Back

dean and jack - 14x20 / 1x22/ 10x23 original poem written for @spnpoetryrenaissance

transcript under cut:

Abraham Takes His Dog Out Back

He gets down on his knees in front of me

doe eyes wide, somehow still naive down

the barrel of the gun.

Like a dog stood waiting at my door,

like the bird between its teeth,

like he’s brought me a gift

and the gift is something dying.

I’m holding the gun in my hands

still holding the gun in my hands

how animal is this grief that I will rip

myself to shreds over tasteless prey

and call it hunting.

Why did no one take me out back

with a gun

before I could be the one doing the shooting.

Then it wouldn’t be suicide.

And put me down gently, it wouldn’t be murder.

God’s watching

but it’s the angel I care about seeing this.

Look away.

Close your eyes,

look away.

And still my dog kneels, gazing up at me,

smiling,

and waiting for me to shoot.

#the imagery of this is so visceral for me so. here it is #this is how this plays in my head #spn poetry #spn poetry month #spn edit #dean winchester #jack kline #dean and jack #14x20 #1x22 #10x23 #spn web weaving #dean edit #jack edit #ola writes #ola edits #ola original

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thereweresunflowers · 4 months

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⏰ how to believe in time travel ✨

ruby study - 1,026 words - rating: G - read on ao3

She’s in the kitchen with the washing-up and the laundry and the nappies and time travel feels gorgeously possible, like she could reach out and touch it.

Before Ruby runs into the TARDIS and to the Doctor, she stands in her kitchen and pieces it all together.

i found this moment from the christmas special absolutely enchanting and couldn't resist exploring it further!

full fic below cut!

“What did he mean, he went back?”

She’s got two dirty plates in one hand and an old bottle of baby formula in the other, and Ruby’s mind is with the man in the long leather coat who runs across roofs and jumps onto ladders dangling from the sky and can be in two places at once. When he was here, the little attic flat seemed tiny and massive simultaneously; his huge presence lit up the whole space but somehow made it feel all the more important.

“Where did he come from? Why was he here in the first place?” Carla asks after her as she drifts to the kitchen.

The sunlight streams in over the sink and its piles of washing-up as it always does. She leaves the dirty plates on the side. There is a giant crack running through the ceiling of their home and she doesn’t even remember it getting there, just that the world fainted around her, and then the Doctor was here again. The man who’d looked at her just now like he found something brilliant he thought he’d lost, and hugged her with such a tight fierceness he could’ve been wearing those kinetic gloves. Then ran.

“I don’t know, he sort of popped up at the right moment. And then he was gone,” Ruby says. Her speech slows. “Like…how?”

She hadn’t asked how when the goblins had taken Lulubelle, she hadn’t asked how when the Doctor learned the language of rope, she hadn’t asked how when she opened her mouth around a new tune and lyrics came flying out. There hadn’t been time, there had just been the Doctor. A man whose every word is half science, half magic, and undoubtedly true. They’d had a baby to save, and themselves, too, if they could manage it—which they did.

Now she gets to stand in her kitchen and remember time-surfing goblins eating babies in a pirate ship in the sky. The laugh bubbles out of her before she can catch it; she feels slightly like she’s inhaled helium.

“It’s been so mad I haven’t actually had time to stop and think! He said I was taken as a baby, isn’t that what he said just now? He went back.”

The world fainting around her and the Doctor resurrecting it. The man who was adopted and is alone, and is maybe, beneath the magic and in some wild way, like her. That had been coincidence, the Doctor said. The two of them together was a coincidence, an accident. But the Doctor leaping onto the ladder with her wasn’t. He chose to help her. Multiple times.

“He said he went back. What did he mean, he went back?”

Through time.

She could feel crazy but she doesn’t, she actually doesn’t. The email she got with her crappy A-Levels on wasn’t half as tangible as this. The helium feeling dissipates as raw solid potential lands in her lap, and she could hold that way she’s feeling right now in her hands. It’s within reach; he makes it viable.

“When was Houdini? Houdini was, like, 1900s, 1920s.”

On that goblin ship the Doctor had struck the music up again, he’d brought the bass back and told Ruby to sing. And somehow, completely out of place and strung between fantasy and reality, with a man who knew far more than she could comprehend, she felt like the frontwoman of a band rather than just the girl on keys.

“How could he? And then he spoke about time travellers and then he…”

She’s in the kitchen with the washing-up and the laundry and the nappies and time travel feels gorgeously possible, like she could reach out and touch it.

There hadn’t been time to ask how before, but she asks it now. How can you see London laid flat before you from above the clouds and be standing about in your kitchen mere hours later? How can the nice room in the attic flat be anything compared to all that?

How does she get more?

Without even a goodbye, just a drop of a kiss on Carla’s head and a twirl away, she sprints to the jackets hanging in a row on the wall. Distantly she can register Carla’s calling after her, “where are you going now?” Ruby doesn’t know the answer but she does know she is going to get one, and it will be spoken in the language of ropes sometime far away by big brown puppy eyes and a stunning wardrobe.

If she doesn’t find him now she’ll never find him at all, she can feel it like it’s instinct, like it’s fact. With the Doctor you’ve got to hold on tight and never let go, nevermind if it burns, or pulls, or hurts. That’s why he’s got the gloves.

But there’s a moment she has, just as she grabs her jacket; the familiar row of Carla and Cherry’s coats catches her off guard.

She’s not like this Doctor who has no one. She has a family. The final fixed-rent flat in London, a newborn to help care for, a crack in the roof to fix. A Christmas dinner table to set and a mum and grandma to pull the crackers with. She’s nineteen. Is all that worth a life she feels has yet to begin?

She’s nineteen.

Who will she be, if she lives the rest of her life not knowing?

She throws on her jacket, running clear across the threshold of her home and down the stairs and out into the blue blue sky and to the blue blue box, thinking of fantastically possible things she never could have conceived this morning.

She’ll wonder about it in the weeks to come, the extraordinarily unlikely events that led her to this newfangled life she’s managing to live. How did she come to those conclusions in the kitchen? Who trusts in time travel, and a time traveller, with such little proof?

The answer is, of course, that on Christmas Eve, Ruby learns what everyone who comes to know the Doctor learns: the Doctor is the kind of person who makes you believe.

#ruby sunday #fifteenth doctor #doctor who #dw fic #ola writes

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