Because of this manip.
“Can I see it?”
Nurse Tyler has been bouncing with nerves the last few minutes, ever since he told her he was nearly done, and he’s sorry he said anything, because now he’s lost his excuse. He can’t sit and gaze at her with impunity any longer; it will be different, when she’s not sitting for her portrait.
With a few swipes of his fingertips, he carefully smudges the pencil marks in a few places, softens a few lines. Traces over the rolling waves of her gloriously curly hair, the curve of her pink cheek.
Oh, man, okay, yes, I definitely like The Airborne Toxic Event. Here is a thing I posted on livejournal in May of last year and it is still a thing I desperately want:
I really wanted a (10.5/Rose) fic the other day set to ‘Sometime Around Midnight’ because it’s the perfect narrative of seeing someone a little while after a break up, and it turns out that fic actually exists, but not the way I want it to, which was a huge exciting moment followed by an intense letdown when I realized it wasn’t what I thought it was.
I want: for some reason 10.5 and Rose break up, like a normal couple, but not for normal reasons, obviously. They probably made a good go of it for a little bit after Bad Wolf Bay, things were fine, they ate and drank and talked and fucked, but them, the relationship, the whole thing, it was never fixed, they never fixed it, it was always held together with tape and stardust and memories and it just crumbles one day. And so he’s working as a professor or something, mostly just Not at Torchwood, because she’s at Torchwood, and he has friends, he’s doing OK, he’s not a Time Lord anymore, he doesn’t have a TARDIS, but he has some stuff, some little things, and there’s this space carved out in his chest where time and space and Rose and his second fucking heart live and he just ignores it most days. And if sometimes he gets a pain right above his rib cage, and if sometimes it feels like he can’t breathe, well, then, that’s just going to have to be how it is.
He tries to go on a date, some friend at the university sets it up, and the girl is pretty, conventionally pretty, human-pretty, and he doesn’t even care. She’s fine to talk to, whatever, might have even made a good companion in a different life, but he doesn’t try to kiss her and he doesn’t call her and he decides he’s spent all this time on his own, no romance, no human romance, hundreds of years of it, and it what does it fucking matter for another 50 or 60 years?
If this human body has needs he can’t control anymore, he’ll sort them in the shower. Or he’ll sort them in his bed. Or whatever, he’ll fucking sort them, like he’s been doing, trying not to think of Rose, and the way she’d wrap her legs around him and the noises she made and just, fuck it. He’s going to die so much quicker. He’ll just be alone, and so he’s kind of a miserable bastard, but, then, slowly, some days he forgets that he’s supposed to be so miserable, and it doesn’t feel great, but it feel like a baseline, like a zero point and it’s fine.
So he builds a little from the zero, and he plays board games at some colleague’s house one night, and he subs on a football team one weekend, and he’s living, he’s living, he’s living (he’s existing) and then it’s a Friday night, and it was exam week, so there’s just so much grading ahead of him, ahead of all of them, so he and some of the other faculty members, they go drinking.
They’re at some noisy pub and then across the bar, Rose is there, and the whole fucking thing collapses. And it’s like this body, this stupid half-human body is too small to contain it all, he wants to be sick, he wants to shout, he wants to run, he wants to pin her against the wall next to the dartboard and shove his tongue into her mouth while she pulls his hair and bucks her hips into his. And when she comes over to talk to him, and he tries to adjust the tie he hasn’t worn in months and he curls his toes inside his Converse, it’s the most human he’s ever felt and it’s like he’s coming apart.
She asks him questions, or he asks her questions, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember any of it, even as it’s happening, just his single heart in his tiny windpipe and the way there’s sweat just above her collarbone and he can see himself, feel his tongue swipe just there. And then she’s leaving him, back to her friends, and his friends drag him back to their booth and this is being human, this is the worst he’s ever felt, this is is so painful and he wants wants wants and it’s not about Gallifrey or the TARDIS or anything but the way Rose used to look at him and the way he knows he looked back and how he’d do anything for that again.
And so he does.
OH MY GOD, it’s like I want it so bad I feel like I can wish it into existence, but I think we all know that isn’t true based on the lack of any number of fics I’ve tried to wish into existence in my life.My birthday is May 26, so if the internet would like to get me a present, it could be that. Also, a damn Rushmore gif of “I wrote a hit play and directed it, so I’m not sweating it either,” because I don’t understand why neither of these things exist and I want them both an irrational amount.
BET YOU WEREN’T EXPECTING A THOUSAND-WORD REPLY :D :D :D
(logo: songfordecem)
That time the Doctor was a rock star, and asked Rose Tyler to be his opening act.
- Gallifrey Records II (the School Reunion Remix): [x]
- Five Times the Doctor Took his Clothes Off (and One Time it was just for Rose.): [x]
- Five Times there was Kissing (and One Time there wasn’t.):
- Gallifrey Records, April Fools’ Day: [x]
- Gallifrey Records III (the Doomsday Compilation):
b-sides + unfinished tracks (or tag fic, basically):
- On Stage: [x]
- Record Store: [x]
- Sharing a Bed: [x]
- Paintball: [x]
- Interviews: [x]
- Music Festival: [x]
- Video Filming: [x]
- Holding Down the Fort [x]
- Hiding Clothes [x]
- Muddy Backstage [x]
- Fighting at the Bungalow [x]
- Gridlock [x]
- Movie Theatre [x]
- Press Day Stress [x]
- Old Photos [x]
- Post-Doomsday Shower [x]
- RTD and a Beach in Norway [x]
cover songs & album art (or stuff other people have created): [x]
 | Anonymous: Do you have awesome story-fic recs? (As in good plot w/ adventure?) :) |
To tell you the truth? Not really, hahahaha. I mostly only read shippy one-shots. Here’s some multi-chaptered fics. And here are some action/adventure fics though they’re more shippy than anything else:
«You’ll grow old at the same time as me?»
«Together»She settles on the sofa, legs curled up under her body, while he sits sandwiched between her knees and the coffee table. He refuses to turn on the ceiling light, preferring the way the blue glow of his newly refurbished sonic screwdriver contrasts with the soft yellow light of the table lamp. He is, undoubtedly, the same man and she loves him desperately.
—-
“Rose?” the Doctor answers, his usual buoyancy deflated.
“Can’t send you anywhere, can I?” She misses him, loves hearing his voice, but she is supposed to be chastising him for getting arrested. Again.—-
She laughs, charmed by his sudden obsession with photography, then swipes her thumb along the frosting and licks it, pausing for a moment so he can get his shot. “Gorgeous,” he sighs, lowering the lens.
“I did splurge for the tiny umbrellas” Rose laughs as he sets the camera down and stalks toward her, hunger burning in his eyes.—-
“This should be better than 1833 Leonids in our universe, Rose, and they were brilliant!” he explains while he sets up a late-night picnic. He gasps when she steps into the yard, dressed for the spectacular astronomical event the Doctor decided was this universe’s “Welcome Home” gift. They miss the meteor shower; she blushes when he says he prefers seeing stars to falling rocks.
—-
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journey’s end in lovers’ meeting—
Every wise man’s son doth know.
What is love? ‘tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,—
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure.-from Twelfth Night
—-
“Are you proposing to me?”
“It might be nice ‘s all I’m sayin’, but only if you want to, I swear.”
“Could I still call you Rose Tyler?”—-
“Rose?” his voice raises an octave like it always does when he’s nervous.
“I love you,” she says, tears spring from her eyes against her will as he watches her, confused, “I’m pregnant.” He doesn’t answer, but his breath catches and his eyes shine.—-
She loves it like this, spontaneous and needy, without a care for where or when. He pulls at her jeans pounces, then stops, looks to her belly, then back to her. She rolls her eyes, grabs his bum, and pulls him back into her orbit.
—-
“Hi,” she whispers after tumbling into bed, her dress rumpled and unzipped and stained by some sort of alien goo but not yet discarded.
“Rose Tyler,” he grins, leans in for a kiss.
“Yes, Doctor Tyler?” she asks before he silences her.
| Anonymous: Could I get some 10.2 Rose oneshots? But not too much angst. |
Sure, some happy TenToo one-shots:
Hope you enjoy them, Anon!
 | youmakemebrave: Hey could you possibly rec me some Rose/11? |
Sure! Here’s my last Eleven/Rose fic rec!
| Anonymous: Hi you! I feel a boring weekend coming up and wondered if you had any nice Nine/Rose Fic Recommendations for me? :) |
Nine/Rose, coming up!
 | whooves: FIC REC ME SOME FLUFF, NILI. |
IDK WHAT YOU’VE READ EMILY BUT HERE’S SOME FLUFF THAT’S SO FLUFFY YOUR TEETH MIGHT ROT:
Set in Nili’s Drops of Jupiter ‘verse (You should probably read that story first) by Emily
The waves crash, and her blonde hair whips around, cut shoulder-length for easier maintenance. As Rose gathers her surroundings, she gives a tired sigh and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s remarkable how many times she’s ended up on a beach. The universe has been cruel of late. Even with the dimension cannon, she never seems to end up where she needs to be, or anywhere she wants to be.
| Anonymous: I've always had really mixed feelings about TenToo, and I've never read any TenToo/Rose stuff. Do you have any good fics you'd reccomend for like a "first time reader"?(for lack of better term lol) please and thank you! |
Hm, I’ve been looking at this in my ask for like three days now, trying to pick the best fics. There’s so many, though! And I just love TenToo so much! Hmmm, okay, best TenToo fics for first-timers. I’ll go with good fics that don’t ruin your life (which means fics with happy endings!) and have good character development and/or insight to TenToo’s awesome.
If you’re still having issues with TenToo, then read this. It’s a End of Time Fix-it fic. It’s not amazing (second half plot is a bit weak) but the first part will definitely make TenToo’s existence a good thing in your mind:
If you’re STILL having issues, then read these metas:
Undergrowth With Two Figures (1890) - Vincent Van Gogh
He dreams of the Doctor, in the months he has left (he knows it’s only months, knows it as the days go on, as the sunflowers outside his window wilt, and as the sun passes down beneath the horizon each night.) More and more often these dreams find their way on to canvases.
Vincent wakes in the middle of the night, with thoughts so potent he can only rid himself of them by making them tangible. So he creates them, with broad strokes and thick colors, plastering the canvas with his fears and his love for friends gone by.
One warm night, with sweat on his brow and blue paint stuck underneath his fingernails, he dreams of a man. This is a man he knows, but doesn’t know. Pinstriped, laughing eyes, and holding the hand of a golden-haired beauty, this man has eyes older than his own. Vincent recognizes the suffering and age of a man he’s met before, and in an instant knows this man to be the Doctor.
The blue box was magnificent, and he’s seen wonders of the universe far beyond this. So he paints the figures with love and with reverence. They are a legend long past in history, but also a story that has not yet been woven. Vincent doesn’t recognize the woman beside the Doctor, but knows she is happiness and love and Vincent would like to paint her with flowers in her hands. Roses, maybe? He shakes the idea off for the morning, and returns his tired, bloodshot eyes to the canvas.
In broad strokes, Vincent paints the Doctor’s unknown happiness, the life he gave to a golden girl, a universe away. As he paints, he weeps, and doesn’t know why.
Miles away and decades later, the Doctor’s lips tremble as he sees a painting, hanging unpretentiously on a white wall. It’s surreptitiously placed around a corner, and he must have already walked by it four times without truly seeing it. His eyes water, but he dares not cry, for once he starts, there will be no stopping. The Doctor stares at the painting for several minutes, memorizing the strokes, the feeling, the impression.
Any other viewer would call the figures melancholy, and tell how they invoke “the feeling of loneliness.” But the Doctor knows better than any other, this is not loneliness. That is the Doctor, with Rose Tyler. He hopes that a universe away, his counterpart never feels as lonely as he does in this instant.
(Source: whooves)
It always makes her nervous when the Doctor is quiet.
And he is dead silent in the cab ride on the way home from work tonight. His grip on her hand is tight - tighter than when they run, tighter than when they make love; it’s a death grip, her fingers as white and bloodless under his as they only are when they’re in danger together and it’s no longer fun and games with friendly aliens, but life or death with not-so-friendly aliens.
But they’re just in the car on the way home, no danger in sight, no unfriendly aliens in sight (unless the cabbie is actually Slitheen), and he’s holding onto her like if he lets go, she’ll fly away.
She turns to him, wrestling her numb hand from his grip.
“What’s wrong, Doctor?” She can’t help the wrinkle that reaches her furrowed brow - she’s aged in her time on this new home. (He has, too. They’re aging together. She knows it scares him sometimes - when he found his first gray hair, he called in sick for the week and moped around the house, sonicking everything in sight until Jackie came in and threatened to force-feed him pears.)
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says absently, grabbing her hand again and looking away. And then he rambles. Instead of silence, the cab is full of nervous babbling, and she doesn’t even catch half of it. Something about doors and tea and bananas and - “truffles, which, strangely enough, are abundant in this universe, have you noticed that? But other foods, like strawberries, are almost impossible to find. It’s a shame, really, I do love strawberries; in fact, did you know I was a strawberry farmer at one point in my life? Few regenerations back - didn’t work out so well, as it turned out they were sentient and didn’t much like it when I tried to eat their Prime Minister - “
“Doctor,” Rose says, cutting him off. “What is it?”
The Doctor swallows and reaches into his pocket. Rose feels her breath catch as he pulls out a small box, but just as her mind almost starts racing, she realizes that it’s not shaped like a ring box.
It’s a ratty pack of playing cards.
Hand shaking, the Doctor passes it to Rose, who takes it with her free hand.
“Could you -?” She wiggles the fingers still captive by his, and he lets go immediately.
“Look,” he whispers, his voice urgent and desperate and absolutely terrified-sounding. She looks.
“52 things I love about you,” reads the cover of the box of cards. Rose bites her lip and opens the tab as the Doctor whispers fervently to her, “It’s actually 51 things I already love and one thing I would love. You’ll see.”
She takes her time on each card, pausing on a few that she especially loves - “The adventure that comes with being with you;” (she thinks of back when living together like this day after day would have been the one adventure he could never have;) “The way you run;” (she remembers the first time they ran together;) “You will wear anything I buy you at least once;” (her mind goes to the babydoll he bought her last week and the red dress he asked her to wear to a Vitex event a few years ago;) and “You love me;” (she knows that it’s still taking him some time to love himself).
She finally gets to the last card. The Ace of Hearts.
It reads, “The way we’re going to be married” in bold pen, and then a tentative, “if you want” scratched in pencil as if he was still unsure, still insecure enough to add that final bit of text - or maybe because he wants her to know she has the choice, which he had never given her before he came back to her in human form.
She doesn’t have to say anything. Tears are in her eyes - even though she thinks it’s stupid to cry, since he’s been hers for years already - and she laces her fingers back with his, squeezing hard and kissing him with equal fervor.
She pulls back as the cab pulls into their drive. His grin matches her own, his face a few centimeters from hers, and she finally speaks.
“Let’s get married.”
(Source: fuckyeahmakestuff)
