Anna
I am currently addicted to David Tennant, Doctor Who, and The Avengers. I officially have a Tom Hiddleston Situation.
I ship: Doctor/Rose ♥ Leslie/Ben ♥
David and Billie ship themselves.
I am a recovering addict of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Flight of the Conchords, Better Off Ted, The Office, Sherlock, Community, Harry Potter, Battlestar Galactica, and LOST; expect the occasional relapse.
I'm a wiz at 6 degrees. Challenge me!
My roommate and I are very funny people. From time to time we feel the need to document our awesomeness. For posterity's sake.
Allison is my grammar-loving-fandom-twin-tumblr-soul-mate.

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gallifreyburning:

doortotomorrow:

Domestics

The TARDIS needs a refuel, and they manage to get to Cardiff 1983, except for some reason the rift isn’t enough this time. 

“It’ll just be a few hours. Days, at the most,” the Doctor says.

Ten months later, they’re still waiting. The Doctor’s still sleeping on the couch, and Rose has the bed in their one-bedroom flat. And he thought he’d loathe it, domestic and average and day-to-day, it’d been so long since he’d even dipped a toe into that kind of life. 

But Earth is nothing like Gallifrey, and Rose is nothing like the family he once had there. She’s different, in every possible way. And he’s settled into the rhythm of their days, breakfast and work (well, Rose is working, the Doctor is working on the TARDIS), and dishes and sometimes a night out at the pub with the friends Rose has made. When he grouses at her about the wash, she grins and her tongue rests on the edge of her lips and he might end up folding her clothes, but he absolutely draws the line at her knickers. 

He doesn’t need much rest — superior Time Lord physiology — and occasionally, when she’s sleeping, he stands in the door to her room and looks at his pink and yellow girl. Wonders what it would be like if this was just his life, here with her, forever. 

Because some days, that prospect doesn’t feel as terrifying as it did before.

Some moments, it’s something he almost wants.

1 week ago with 225 notes — via gallifreyburning, © doortotomorrow

#I had this gifset in my queue #WITHOUT allison's ficlet #so I deleted it #and am reblogging this instead #(and allison #I had mentioned IHH in my tags #so #mind-twin status stable) #gallifreyan ficlet #otp: she's my plus one

gallifreyburning:

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.

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1 month ago with 52 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#OH MY GOSH ALLISON #THAT WAS PERFECTION #PERFECTION #ADFGJKEWTREUYY #QERGUWHPRGHJAjskdg #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

Jackie walked away, heading out of the courtyard of the Powell Estate. Rose watched snow swirl around her mother’s back, thinking about how this New Year’s wouldn’t be so bad, really, if Shareen or Mickey were in town to distract her. She couldn’t bear another year like the last, waiting for Jackie to come home past the small hours and into the next day, wondering what kind of shape she’d show up in.  

Crossing her arms over her chest, wishing she’d worn a heavier jacket, Rose shuffled toward the stairwell.

The noise was soft, hardly a grunt and the scuff of feet, but Rose whipped around, instantly on guard. A man stood in the shadows of the building behind her, head bent, leaning heavily on the wall. He didn’t look too steady on his feet.

“You all right, mate?” she called. If he answered, she’d let it go; if he didn’t, well … maybe she’d call an ambulance.

He looked up. She couldn’t see his eyes, buried as he was in the darkness of the doorway, but the weight of his gaze was like a touch. She shivered, but it wasn’t from the snow or because she was frightened. Warmth suffused her, starting from her chest and flowing outward, like the sight of this man had awakened some kind of golden fire in her veins.

Which was ridiculous.

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2 months ago with 204 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#I love unapologetic revisionist twaddle #It's the best #otp: they never ever will #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

The Doctor found it on the jumpseat, plain as could be, little black tassel hanging jauntily to one side. It was an interesting thing — a fez in his console room — and normally his curiosity would’ve been instantly piqued. But this moment, of all moments, he felt not the slightest stir of interest. 

Alone in the TARDIS, hands in his pinstriped pockets, forehead wrinkled in deep thought, the Doctor came to stand in front of the intruding hat. He most certainly did not look at the purple top hanging on the handrail, just in the periphery of his vision.

And in the interest of continuing not to look at the purple top, or remembering exactly howRose lost that top here in the console room, or recalling the tingle of warm human flesh against his fingertips, or recollecting the way tongue and teeth brushed the length of his neck, or the heat of breath as the word Doctor was gasped into his collarbone, he stared at the fez instead.

He leaned down, long fingers wrapping around the fuzzy round top and flipping it over. 

Tucked inside was a note; he didn’t recognize the handwriting, but he couldn’t mistake who it was from, the looped scrawl of his native language covering the little scrap of paper. A series of numbers, interstellar coordinates for a sun that was due to go spectacularly supernova within a few hours. Beside the numbers, six simple words, written by a trembling hand: 

“Tell her. And count your seconds.” 

2 months ago with 45 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#gallifreyan ficlet #otp: they never ever will

gallifreyburning:

allrightfine:

gallifreyburning:

#THIS IS TOTALLY TENTOO AT THE ALTAR WAITING FOR ROSE #(shut up I know it’s ”Decoy Bride” but in my head everything is TenToo/Rose okay? Sssshhhhhhhh)

YES, exactly! And then it’s like, the AU of that story in my head is a super elaborate Torchwood undercover thing, with wedding chapels and alien religious indoctrination.

And the Doctor’s like, I really, really do not want to do this. You lot know I don’t work for you, right?

And Pete’s like, Doctor, we wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate, but they’re extremely telepathic, more so than we can fight with training or technology, we need your help.

And Rose is like, “Could be dangerous,” and she shrugs at him, and turns away to smirk because obviously he’s in now, obviously.

And he’s stayed away from Jackie Tyler the whole prep week, through the fittings and everything, because he knows Jackie isn’t going to let it go, she’ll start nattering on about real weddings and human things and better just to stay away from her and rooms with large elephants, so he does. Because he doesn’t need a wedding. They don’t need a wedding.

But then it’s Rose, and Rose is walking through the doors, all dressed in white and her hair’s up and the music’s playing and this, this is the moment he knows, he needs it, he really does, and he’s just completely wrecked.

And then Rose is grinning at him behind her veil, just this firework of white teeth and pink lips and so much gold, and if this is what the real thing is like, oh god, he’s in.

And then he’s kissing the bride, all pressed together, lips and tongues and hands and her mouth’s so warm, and soft, and wet, and they have a planet to save, they really do, but he’s taking this one thing, just this one practice run, and if this man he is now has learned anything, it’s that the world can hang on a second, he’s got a life to live.

PRECISELY, they don’t NEED the wedding, but they wind up doing it anyway (in my head, it’s for Jackie’s sake. And for the sake of not hearing her nag them about it anymore.)

But then AFTER the wedding itself, once the Doctor and Rose have a private minute, the Doctor pulls out a length of blue cloth he’s gotten from someplace (He’s shredded the dress shirts I got him for Christmas, Rose realizes).

The Doctor takes her hand and speaks Gallifreyan, his brown eyes bright and his expression oh-so-grave. He places the backs of their hands together and wraps the cloth around them both, binding them together, and she can’t breathe because oh god this moment is so intimate. He says a string of syllables, long and complicated, and has her repeat them over and over again until she says them perfectly. And it dawns on her that this — this is his name. And he puts his unbound hand on her cheek and whispers her name, “Rose Marion Tyler.”

Then he kisses her again, he’s got one arm around her and the other is still bound to hers and their bodies are pressed together and it’s a really good thing they’re doing this in private because it’s all she can do not to rip his clothes off right here and now.

“Interspecies marriage is recognized by intergalactic law so long as there’s a ceremony in the tradition of both parties,” he says with a smile and an arched eyebrow. “So that’s it, Rose Tyler. Human and Time Lord, and you’re stuck with me now.”

To this day, they still have that strip of cloth in the bedroom. And they use it as a blindfold. 

Me, reading this fic:

3 months ago with 479 notes — via gallifreyburning, © notrudenotginger

#SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS #YOU GIVE ME *~ALL*~ THE FEELINGS #gallifreyan ficlet #fanfic #otp: if you want

gallifreyburning:

PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE

In the late afternoon, at the end of an odyssey through the British Rail system, the Doctor and Rose ended up in Harwich, where he stepped into a little shop for groceries. Rose waited outside on the sidewalk, baffled by the idea that the Doctor had hidden the baby TARDIS somewhere in this particular village. When he emerged with a bag-full of food, he hailed a cab, whispered directions to the cabbie, and handed over a wad of bank notes. Thirty minutes later, the cab stopped in the middle of the countryside.

Rose carried the laptop and the Doctor carried the food as they climbed a stone wall and set off across a field, apparently toward the middle of nowhere. The hike felt good, the sunshine warm and relaxing, the sheen of sweat on her skin refreshing. She’d missed this kind of exertion – she’d grown too used to dimension jumps and countdowns and all her waking hours in a lab. Spending the last few weeks huddled in her apartment, hoarding the Doctor all to herself, hadn’t done her much good, either.

“So how come I’m the one who’s having panic attacks and everything, and you’re the one who’s so calm? Being half-human must be … rough.”

The Doctor shrugged, not looking at her, concentrating on the uneven terrain beneath his feet. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Really?”

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3 months ago with 73 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#So because I beta'd for Allison #I've read the previous version of this part about twenty times #But this version Allison #With the bit about the TARDIS and the lots of you-know-whats in the future? #OSIDHGO;JDAFLKHJDLAH #...I was so busy keysmashing I forgot to tag this properly #Gallifreyan ficlet #otp: if you want

gallifreyburning:

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Rose woke up in an otherwise empty bed. This was not panic-inducing, not like the Doctor’s absence yesterday. This was a familiar behavior, one that had started after New New Earth and their second encounter with Cassandra. Once they finished with clones and cat nuns, once they were back onboard the TARDIS, the Doctor came to her bedroom – a novel behavior at the time. Rose had felt relieved by this development; Cassandra’s violation of her mind and body left her more shaken than she wanted to admit, and she was comforted by his presence, holding his hand and leaning on his shoulder.

After listening to two hours of chatter about nebulae and the movement of interstellar dust, she’d fallen asleep in the Doctor’s arms. It became something of a routine, him sitting on the edge of the bathtub in her ensuite while she washed her face and brushed her teeth; stripping off his jacket and button down; and joining her in bed. He always slipped away sometime before she woke – his Time Lord body didn’t need much sleep, so off he’d go to tinker in the depths of the TARDIS and wait for her to finish resting.

At the time she’d thought it must mean something, the fact that he spent hours of his life just being with her while he slept. Of course it did: I love you.

Now, in this half-human incarnation, he did sleep every night. For how long, she wasn’t certain, but she’d stood in the door of her bedroom on more than one occasion over the last few weeks, watching him on the couch. His head tipped back and mouth open, a bit of drool on his lip, twitching and occasionally calling out words in his native language.

This morning, she heard him in the next room, murmuring to himself and occasionally using his sonic screwdriver.

 

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3 months ago with 56 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#THAT'S WHAT COUPLES DO #COUPLE #THEY ARE A COUPLE #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

In case you missed it, PART ONE

Two days later, Rose’s security deposit was lost in the form of a melted microwave and a scorched hole in the living room carpet. The next morning, for the first time since Norway, Rose reported to the Torchwood office. She invited the Doctor along, partially to keep him from burning down the flat while she was gone, and partially because he was acting just as stir-crazy as she felt.

He was all bright curiosity and bubbling enthusiasm, and she didn’t think to question his excitement until he vanished around lunchtime. He’d said something about fetching sandwiches from the commissary, although Rose was certain he was really trying to escape the constant parade of visitors in her office. There were department heads asking for debriefings, psychiatrists urging trauma counseling, and Pete Tyler repeatedly and not-so-subtly trying to lure the Doctor onto payroll.

A sandwich and Doctor-less hour later, Rose went to the commissary to find him. He was, of course, not there. Rose stood in the hallway, forehead resting against the cool wall, fists clenching and unclenching as she reasoned her way through a short list of places the Doctor would want to explore in the Torchwood building and prioritizing them according to the maximum amount of damage he could cause.

 

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3 months ago with 43 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#I am loving this Allison #LOVING IT #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

When it came to the words “I love you,” the Doctor seemed intent on making up for lost time. Maybe it was the fact that he’d never said it in all the years they’d traveled together, or the way their first conversation on Bad Wolf Bay had been cut short, or the time they’d been apart. Maybe it was simply that his single human heart felt too small to hold all his Time Lord emotions and they spilled right out of him. 

Whichever the case, Rose wasn’t sure what to make of it.

At the little hotel in Norway, the morning after the TARDIS vanished and left them here with Jackie, Rose came out of her room to find his door just across the hall was open. The lights were off and he was hunched on the floor with something in his lap, tongue between his teeth in concentration and sonic screwdriver buzzing in one hand. She watched him for a quiet minute, thinking of all the times during the last few years she would’ve given anything to have him here just like this, weighing that against her anger and disappointment and confusion over being abandoned again by the other Doctor. 

He finally looked up from his task. “Plug-in kettle’s broken. They don’t have those little packets of sugar and creamer you like, but I thought if I could get it working, I could brew us a cuppa before Pete’s zeppelin gets here.”

Rose crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you usually need your specs for that kind of work?” He didn’t reach for his glasses. It occurred to her that perhaps he didn’t have them, that maybe they’d been in his brown suit.

“I meant what I said, you know.”

“I’m not in the mood for tea, Doctor.”

“No. Not about the tea. The other thing.”

Well. He’d hardly spoken two words to her since the beach, accepting her desire for a separate room without comment and merely nodding at her when she said good night. She knew with perfect clarity what other thing he meant, cold wind whipping off the ocean, his breath warm in her ear: I love you.

“Did you plan it out, the both of you, the way things were going to go?” she asked, goose bumps pricking her from scalp to toes.

 

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3 months ago with 82 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

The Doctor had catalogued at least two dozen variations of hand-holding with Rose Tyler, but most fell into three primary categories.

First, there was the practical grip, meant for keeping together in a tight spot, good for running toward trouble or away from danger. Palms pressed together, thumbs and fingers wrapped tight around the outside of each other’s hands.

Second, there was the comforting grip, meant for reassurance and a reminding that the other person was present, that they weren’t alone in facing whatever challenge was in front of them. Fingers intertwined and fingertips pressed against the back of each other’s hand, with the barest brush of palms.

And third, but certainly not least in the Doctor’s mind, was the hand-holding that Rose initiated during those moments when it served no practical purpose. For instance, on any given evening in the TARDIS kitchen she’d come to stand with him in front of the microwave while the popcorn popped, and she’d nonchalantly caress his fingertips with her own. Or afterward when they watched The Princess Bride (his choice, of course), and she’d plop down on the couch beside him. He’d already had his arm resting across the back of the pillows, so it wasn’t like he made a move on her or anything. She’d fuss until he took off his leather jacket so she could settle her head his shoulder and pull his arm down across herself. And when she spent the movie playing with his fingers and stroking his palm with her thumb just like that … well … impractical hand-holding was highly underrated, the Doctor decided. 

3 months ago with 21243 notes — via myvintagelove, © draggingb0dies

#*fist shake* #ALLISON!!! #otp: they never ever will #otp: she's my plus one #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

The Doctor found being half-human quite troublesome.

For starters, with only one heart and a lack of a respiratory bypass, he couldn’t run as far or fast as before. Rose occasionally outsprinted him, tugging his hand and yelling for him to keep up, while he panted and wondered if he might pass out from oxygen starvation. In his exhaustion, if he happened to trip over his own feet and fall, and Rose hugged him and kissed his scraped palms to help him feel better, wellll … there was another train in a few hours anyway, so it was all right if they’d missed this one. 

Another unfortunate side-effect: the necessity of sleep. As a Time Lord, he’d only needed a few hours a week, at most. Now he needed several hours per night. Rose seemed to enjoy curling up against him, so he really didn’t mind letting her rest in his arms. And if occasionally he happened to close his eyes, too, and leave them closed for longer than a few hours, and wake up next to her while she was all sleepy smiles, tousled hair, cat-like stretching and skimpy lingerie, wellll … not every alien invasion happened before sunrise, and sleeping in didn’t always mean the end of the world.

His half-human skin was also much warmer than that of a Time Lord. So much so, he’d been convinced he had a fever and woke up in a hot sweat every night for weeks. Rose finally suggested he sleep without jimjams on, to help stay cool and wellll … who was he to argue with sound logic, especially when it was Rose’s 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets he’d be keeping clean? 

Last but not least, there was the matter of hormones. Before the metacrisis, he’d had precise control over his endocrine system. But this half-human version was flat-out unruly. No matter how much the Doctor tried, he could not coax his thyroid to produce more triidothyronine, which meant his metabolism slowed to a crawl and he put on ten pounds in his first few weeks in Pete’s world. He had to stop sampling all the catered nibbles at Vitex fundraisers and wellll … Rose didn’t seem to mind a few extra pounds on him anyway, because every Saturday she made his favorite cupcakes, the ones sprinkled with edible ball bearings.

On the opposite end of the endocrine system problem, the slightest stimulus could trigger a willy-nilly release of hormones. Like the time Jackie brandished a pair of hair clippers and said something about a haircut, and the Doctor’s body flooded with noradrenaline. He went straight into fight-or-flight mode, dashing right out the back door of the mansion and into the woods. Rose tracked him down and told him that Jackie only meant to use the clippers on Tony, and wellll … Rose was beautiful when she was feeling protective, laughing and stroking his hair and promising she wouldn’t let her mother near his glorious locks even if she had to throw the clippers into the swimming pool.

Rose’s comforting embrace led to an entirely different kind of hormonal release. Endorphin and testosterone and he lost track after that, because his body was having another physical reaction his half-human self couldn’t control. And he certainly couldn’t hide it when she was sitting on his lap like that. And welllll … a bit of outdoor exertion was good for humans, the Doctor had been told. Rose quite thoroughly agreed.

3 months ago with 330 notes — via gallifreyburning, © nervoustruth

#I LOVE YOU ALLISON #MY BEAUTIFUL FICCING MONKEY #Gallifreyan ficlet #ten and rose

gallifreyburning:

The regeneration energy and radiation poisoning stung as it began to push through his cell walls and escape into the air. The inferno was far past the point where he could contain it; if he tried, he’d likely snuff it out altogether. Yellow-orange light cascaded from his hand like blazing mist, and he embraced the accompanying pain instead of ignoring it. It was all-consuming now, anyway, and he could no longer pretend it wasn’t there.

The holocaust was coming, preparing to obliterate every shred of his DNA, every trace of the man he was at this moment. He had been through this enough times to know how things would be different afterward. The next time he thought of Donna Noble, the new synapses in his new brain would fire, and his memories would be cast in a slightly different hue. When he recalled Rose, his new hearts would still pound, but his new body chemistry wouldn’t react exactly the same, and his very cells would no longer yearn for her quite so keenly.

Yet there’s solace in the fact that in another universe, these arms will still hold her, this soul still ache for her in this particular way, living breathing proof of how much her presence has changed me — saved me — made me whole.  

After regeneration, the Doctor would still be the Doctor, but the delicate nuances of this particular man would be lost forever. The energy flared inside of him, cresting as it began to eat away at his internal organs, tearing them apart and remaking them cell by cell.

Allons-y. Let’s go. 

It was a ridiculous thing to think — say aloud?— he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t have heard himself, anyway; his ears roared with destruction and renewal, with breaking bones and splintering cells. He had held back this regeneration long enough to help some of his friends, but there was more he needed — yearned —to do with these hands. More running to do with these legs. More wonders to see with these eyes. More sins to atone with this self. 

I don’t want to go.

His back arched in agony, arms and legs rigid as his body dissolved into a storm of fire, every last particle bursting into oblivion and rebuilding itself, his marrow consumed with agonized itching and stinging torment. 

His last moment as this man was utterly excruciating. In the midst of the pain and destruction, one final word ghosted through these neurons and pounded through these hearts: Rose.

4 months ago with 2564 notes — via gallifreyburning, © dhsakjsa43w

#ALLISON JUST GTFO OKAY #GTFO AND STFU #gallifreyan ficlet

gallifreyburning:

On the northernmost continent of Omwiggom Prime, in the middle of a frozen and desolate landscape, the Doctor knelt with Rose on the ice. Dozens of fish, bright as living rainbows, swam just beneath the frozen surface of the water. Pulsing with light and color, they twisted and swirled in an elaborate dance, moving with the grace of eels. 

“These are floe-fish, Rose. They live their lives in pairs. Mate for life. You can tell which ones are bonded by the pattern of colors they emit — synchronous refraction of light, specially adapted to this water’s high salinity and cold temperatures. Each member of the pair is always within the same spectrophotometric increment as the other. Each bonded floe-fish shifts to the exact same color as its mate, at the exact same instant, even if they’re half a planet away from each other. Remarkable creatures!”

Utterly entranced, Rose watched the floe-fish, and the Doctor watched Rose. One of the three suns of Omwiggom Prime set before he could tear her away from the radiant, dancing fish and lure her back inside the TARDIS. They spent the night bundled in blankets on the couch beside the fireplace, the Doctor fretting over Rose’s nonexistent frostbite and coming up with ever-more inventive ways to warm her up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Three weeks later, in Pete’s universe, Jackie dragged Rose out of bed and to a department store. Both women had been stranded with only the clothes on their backs, and although Jackie had already burned several holes in Pete’s credit cards building up her new wardrobe, Rose hadn’t bothered to get out of the mansion. Not once.

Jackie’s one-sided conversation didn’t stop as she pawed through the racks. “You know, Pete’s offered you a place at Torchwood. He says they could use someone with your experience. I think it’d be good for you, getting out more often. Well — at all. You haven’t gotten off the couch in weeks, and it’s not good for the size of your bum.” Jackie held up a blindingly pink top, made even more garish by the store’s fluorescent lights. ”What do you think of this one? It’ll look nice with your skin, sweetie.”  Rose turned away without comment, listlessly shifting a few hangers on the rack in front of her.

She found the blue leather jacket crammed a the back of the row, half-falling off its hanger, sleeve dragging the ground. It wasn’t just any blue, either, but a particular shade. A bit brighter than the exterior shell of the TARDIS, but very unlike the vivid colors Rose had always worn. Something about this particular shade tugged at her.It resonated.

Holding this blue jacket, Rose had a sudden memory of floe-fish and spectrophotometric increments and life-mates whose colors shifted at the same time, even when separated by half a planet. And none of these thoughts made any sense at all, really, because Rose’s new-new Doctor always wore brown. Never blue.

It didn’t matter.

“I’ll take this one, mum,” she said, shedding her fuzzy aqua hoodie and pulling on the not-quite TARDIS blue leather. “This one’s exactly right.”

4 months ago with 1739 notes — via gallifreyburning

#I CAN'T HANDLE YOUR PERFECTION ALLISON #I JUST CAN'T #WEPROVISDFKJGJKDFHGHREKEYDHDMASHINGAASJKD #Gallifreyan ficlet #Ten and Rose #OTP: they never ever will

gallifreyburning:

In case you missed it: Part One

Rose sat on the back of the decade-old Indian motorbike, arms wrapped around a strange bloke, wind wreaking havoc on her carefully-coiffed hair. She didn’t care about her hair. She didn’t care about the fact that this bloke should’ve scared her. She’d just hopped on his ride, and everything felt so very right, and she could just hear her mum screeching right now: Rose Marion Tyler, are you tryin’ to get yourself killed, runnin’ off with strange men?! You don’t know where he’s taking you or what he’s going to do!

It was as though she’d been waiting her whole life for this man without a proper name to knock her popcorn out of her hand and sweep her off her feet.

It didn’t hurt that he was a bit pretty, too, with his freckles and laugh lines, his brown mop of hair and day-old stubble. Grinning, she rested her forehead against his neck. He was skinny but strong – she felt his muscles as he leaned and swayed, expertly guiding his battered blue machine through the packed lanes of Sunset Boulevard. They bumped up a driveway into a parking lot. At the center of a crowd of people and cars sat a silver Gulfstream trailer. Smoke and steam rose from a few vents in the top. A crowd pressed around a window where a harried man was taking orders.

The bike rolled to a stop, and with the flip of a switch, the engine let out one last growl before falling silent. The machine grew still, but Rose’s entire body still felt like it was vibrating. She didn’t release the strange bloke from her arms.

He half-turned, twisting his head so he could look at her out of the corner of his eye. “Hamburger, or just chips?”

She rested her chin on his shoulder. With his sideburn tickling her lips, she murmured in his ear, “Just chips. Doctor.”

She would have sworn she felt his entire body tremble. “Back in a jif,” he said, beginning to slide off the bike. She let go, flashing him a grin and demurely bringing her legs over to one side. He strode toward the silver trailer, hair wild from their ride, overcoat billowing in the cool LA evening. The nearest car had its window open, the radio blasting B.B. King’s “Please Hurry Home.”

Rose was in trouble. The best kind of trouble imaginable. Tonight suddenly seemed full of magic and promise; anything could happen.

She genuinely hoped it would.

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4 months ago with 18 notes — via gallifreyburning, © gallifreyburning

#gallifreyan ficlet