They said Clara was the one born to save The Doctor but I say Rose was. She was always meant to end up in that basement. No matter what choices she made they would end up traveling together, end up in love. Because he needed her and the universe knew that. Nine needed Rose even more than Ten did. He was suffering from the loss of his people. He hated himself and had lost faith in the good in the world. This little girl of pink and yellow. This puny human took a vengeful God and turned him into a compassionate man just by being herself. She did nothing but stand by him and give him a place in her heart and it turned his life around. Can you imagine a love that strong? A love where you are literally complete each other? The Doctor and Rose is what keep me going. What gives me hope.
He thinks, as he sculpts her from memory, that he can hear her speak to him.
“You sayin’ I’ve got arm flab?” her voice rings teasingly in his ears as he tries to shape the contours of her arms, Michelangelo watching him with an eye for criticism and the sharp tongue to point out where he’s going wrong.
“My bum is not that round,” she protests futilely as he chisels the flow of her Roman dress over said gluteus maximus, and at that he can’t help smiling. Time Lord memory, Rose Tyler. Perfect detail, not one iota out of place. He can practically see her scowling at him, and he chuckles.
Michelangelo is the one scowling at him after that.
“You don’t need to put all my rings on,” he hears later as he’s sculpting her hands, and this time her voice is surprised. As if he hasn’t memorized which rings she wears on which fingers, and the way they glint in the sun when she waves her hands around to speak to him. Does she really not notice how he sees her?
Michelangelo instructs him with the face, guiding his hand so that he can create a perfectly realistic replica of her expressive eyes, her bright smile, her dimples. She doesn’t speak then, but he hears her gasp, sigh, and hmm.
When he’s done, he stands back to look at Rose-as-the-goddess-Fortuna, and Michelangelo praises his work, extolling him as his fastest-learning pupil yet. The Doctor is focused on the statue, however, imagining Rose stuck in stone in Ancient Rome and knowing now that he’d be able to save her. The fire rekindles in his chest (she wasn’t lost after all) and he hears her one last time.
“Thanks,” she says, and he knows that even if this isn’t really Rose he hears, she’s still reaching out to him all the way from Ancient Rome so that he can feel the ripples in time and space become her voice.
Because in that one simple word, he hears I love you.
After the first desperate hug, his fingers raking through her hair - all rich and chocolate like her eyes now - and her head buried in his neck - is he wearing a bow tie? - there isn’t time. It’s all the desperate clasp of hands and unfamiliar voices shouting at them to hurry. Only after everyone is safe and Rose learns that the ginger is called Amy and the pretty one is called Rory, is there a stillness of what-comes-next hanging in the air, the business of who-sleeps where. Domestics.
Rory excuses himself to bed; Amy follows him only a few minutes afterwards. Rose thinks she’ll have to grab the other girl for chips later, maybe sweet-talk the Doctor into taking them to see Sarah Jane. Maybe sweet-talk the TARDIS into it instead, if he decides to get stubborn. She stops, for a moment, wonders if he’s as obstinate now as he had been before. She glances at him - green eyes darting about, fussing with this and that trinket, hurriedly kicking something under the bed.
“I’m still me,” Rose says softly, borrowing his words and placing a hand on his arm. The Doctor tenses, just enough for her to hear a sharp intake of breath. She’ll just have to convince him then. Signs tell her more than he does, in this room, not-quite-untouched - a banana peel in the bin, a half-eaten bag of jelly babies on her dresser next to her favorite shirt. This room has been used since she’s been gone. Used for what, she can probably guess. He tends to nest when he mourns.
He’s turning to say something when she spots it. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she makes a split-second decision and dives onto the bed for her prize.
“Rose, I -”
Silence reigns, before the Doctor, a smile dawning in his eyes, takes two strides directly into Rose’s personal space, where she’s holding a pillow case and fighting a smile like a guilty child.
“Rose Tyler,” he said slowly, leaning down, nose nearly brushing hers as he reaches behind her. “You’re on.”
After that it’s all a tangle of fwumps and pops and of course, of course he’s got the kind of pillows that explode like snow if you hit too hard, so that they’re rolling around in a blanket of white down when it devolves fast into a tickle fight, his fingers seeking familiar sensitive spots and driving peals of laughter from her out into the TARDIS. It’s almost like a missing part clicking into place, and he can feel the old time ship soaking it up greedily.
Rose tries for payback, really she does, but her hands have their own agenda, and soon tickling turns to caressing and smiles turn to learning what it feels like to be kissed by new lips. Her heart breaks at his fingers digging into her back, and the soft, almost agonized noises he makes, and closing her eyes she’d never be able to tell the difference between bowties and pinstripes and leather.
He leaves -marks-. He’s never left marks, not ones she’s sure are still going to be on her in a few days, maybe even weeks. She’s not even sure he didn’t mean to, because she’s learned a little Gallifreyan, and the words he says are sharp and hungry and possessive. She responds with things he knows - her lips on his jaw, the backs of her feet against his calves, and the rising tempo of her voice. Oh, she’s not going anywhere. Not any time soon.
Later, when they’re lying warm and bare while the Doctor artfully arranges curly white feathers in a pattern on her hip, he finally speaks. “You’re still you,” he says with a shy smile - one she hasn’t seen since his eyes were blue. She gives him a tongue-touched grin and reaches across his chest for the bag of jelly babies, and offers him one. “I’m still me.”
Someone said to me the other day “Rose Tyler wasnt as important to the Doctor, as River or Clara was.” Now I love Clara(i love the friendship with her and the doctor so much because she at times reminded me of Donna and Rose). But dont you dare tell me she was important.
Many think she was whiny when she figured a lot of things out on her own and never let other get away with putting her down or doing anything rude towards her. She stood her ground. She wasnt a damsel. She was strong and saved the doctor. She took the time vortex into her, just to save the Doctor. She didnt care what happened to her, just as long as he was safe.
She didnt let others make decisions for her. She made her own choices. She was independent, strong and caring. And she LOVED the doctor. He met her when he had just “killed” his people. He was lost and broken and she put him back together again. She helped him become the doctor.
So i decided to watch the 50th Anniversary episode. And the moment, the moment went through the doctor’s mind, past, present and future. Trying to find that one face that he would always need, he would always listen to. That one face he wouls always need. Rose Tyler.
And it kind of proved a theory. It wasnt Rose. It was Bad Wolf. Rose was the only human to hold the vortex within her and not burn up instantly. She IS Bad Wolf. And the whole time in the anniversary episode, you can see moments where her heart is breaking. Watching him trying to decide to make the choice of using the moment. Her watching him, poised to push the button, not bearing to see him actually do it. She brings up the TARDIS noise because she knows, she KNOWS Clara is like her, in the sense that she can talk to the doctor and he will listen to her.
Rose aka Bad Wolf, saw all the was, all that is and all that ever will be. She saw that exact moment and knew what needed to happen. Rose couldnt bear to watch the Doctor kill his own people, she had to make sure to stall him as long as possible. Rose Tyler, will forever be there for him.
Plus when he said I could kiss you bad wolf girl, you can see Ten have a mini heart attack and Eleven….man, Eleven you can tell knew what he meant and was confused but I think he understood somewhat.
Case in point, Rose was every bit important to the Doctor as River and Clara was. Maybe even more so. And i will defend her always.
#10 for fem!Nine/Rose pretty please!! I love everything you write, btw. You're a fanfic master!
asdl;kfjsdfo;aijer;elsrjaowirj; you slay me with kindness. Thank you so much!!!
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
They’re perfectly normal lips, as far as the Doctor
can tell; plumper than many, perhaps, maybe a little pinker, certainly more
distracting. Absolutely normal, gorgeous, regular, luscious, run-of-the mill
human lips. But what the Doctor can’t figure out is why she keeps feeling so
drawn to them, like Rose has her own special kind of gravity, as if Rose’s
mouth is a magnet for hers.
Rose raises an eyebrow in concern. “What’s wrong? Have
I got something on my face?”
but my face could change that is what the Doctor
thinks. “Sorry, just lost in the clouds for a mo,” is what she says. “Regular
Rose flashes her that smile, yes, that one, the one with her tongue trapped between her teeth; it
does nothing to lessen the Doctor’s distraction. “Thought Time Ladies were too
high and mighty for silly things like daydreaming,” she teases. “What’s running
through that head of yours?”
just you. “Oh, nothing in particular,” the Doctor replies,
tearing her gaze away and forcing herself to focus on the screen in front of
her. That’s what they’re here for, after all; that’s why they’re doing this,
why she’s doing this. The TARDIS
isn’t going to repair herself, or at least she’s not very likely to.
The Doctor bangs the side of the screen impatiently.
Its readings remain stubbornly unchanged; no surprise, since the Doctor hasn’t
actually managed to do anything productive, despite her best efforts. But how
can she help it that Rose Tyler is so ridiculously distracting—how is she
supposed to think about anything else besides kissing her?
Okay so I have this headcanon
That sometimes the Doctor is too excited and confuses the things he has already told Rose about and the ones that are new so just … imagine Rose hearing the same story over and over but looking just as excited as the first time because she knows how important it is for the Doctor
common misconception about the Doctor and Rose Tyler: that he always knew he loved her.
Not like he didn’t love her, but like he fell in love with her as easily as breathing, like one day he woke up and his first thought was of rose and he didn’t think it odd, like gradually he slipped into it without even realising it was there, just holding onto her hand, not at all aware he was falling because she would catch him, and him her, like that one day on the beach when she says, But I love you, and he realises for the first time – it STRIKES him – for the first time that this is it, this is real, she is real, THEY are real, like it happened all at once and not at all, just a fact of his existence, something he didn’t question until she did it for him because how could she not know?
like ‘does it need saying?’ meant no, of course it didn’t, because for him it never did.