humany inquiries

anonymous asked:

What is it about Rose? Exactly how is she so perfect?

Well if I’m being honest, she’s not. No one’s perfect.

God knows she can’t fake an accent to save her life, or tell a convincing lie and also get away with it. She’s not a da Vinci or an Einstein (and I’m certainly glad for that).

That’s not to say I’m perfect, either. I mean, blimey, I can’t toast a bagel without turning our kitchen into a great, big fire hazard. Sometimes I forget things and Rose has to be my brains. And Rassilon! — I’ve driven our car into more rubbish bins than I can count on one hand!

So with that being said, I think her imperfections are what I love most about her. They define who she is, and they make her human. 

Perfect for me, though? Oh, you’d better believe it. 

badwolfgoddess  asked:

hi ☠ sorry

☠ - My muse’s reactions to your muse’s death

The procession had been lovely, according to Jackie Tyler. “Rose would have been touched by all the love in that room”. He can’t necessarily disagree with the yellow-haired woman as she steps into her car, and he his. But truth be told, he finds the whole occasion too numbing to describe aloud.
“You call me if you need me, love,” he hears her call from the passenger’s side of the sports car just ahead, already being driven off before he can get a good glance at her. Not that he would have anyway. She reminded him of her.

And that’s precisely how it went ever since the accident at Torchwood. He’d go out—nonspeaking and usually forced by a God-given in-law—return home, take care of Adeline, and make an attempt at sleep. Poking around the nearly-empty flat for too long gave him headaches, and he knew there were still things of hers left behind from two weeks ago that he didn’t want to be reminded of. 

But he is, nonetheless, in a terribly unexpected way.
It had felt like days that he’d been sitting on the couch watching telly (No, not watching… ‘staring at’, but he figures it’s convincing enough should his daughter come looking for him.), but no more than a few hours in reality. He can’t sleep, can’t bother to go to bed alone. And as that loneliness crosses his thoughts and causes his anxiety to creep back into the corners of his mind, he’s startled to find two tiny hands grabbing at his fingers. 

“Blimey,” he mutters, scrubbing his hands against his face as if the act had woken him from a dream. “It’s late… what are you doing up?”
The three-year-old sniffs, nose scrunching as she helps herself up onto the couch beside him. “I don’t wanna sleep. S’ cold in my room.”
“Oh? Well, I can turn up the—”
“No, without mummy I mean.”
“Oh.”

He can feel his heart drop in his chest as she literally pulls something out of her sleeve and drops it onto his lap. “Isn’t that you, da?”
Not actually wanting to look at the picture, he lets his thumbs find its edges before reaching for his glasses and examining it. 
And he smiles. There she was, a goofy grin on her face, platinum hair done up in a high ponytail. An old picture, he could tell, just by the youthfulness in her expression—not to mention the big-eared brute standing beside her, letting her wrap an arm around his shoulder. 
“Yeah,” he answers after a moment, a quiet laugh signalling a sob in the depths of his chest. So he hands it back to his daughter, sighing. “So?”
She shrugs. “Mum never ever put me to bed without showin’ it to me. She had a story to go along with it, about a satellite in the future and a scary monster and a boy who got a hole cut into his forehead ‘cos he wouldn’t listen.” She pokes her brow while she explains, a grin forming on her lips to compromise for the one he’d lost. “She called it her real-life fairytale, and that she’s in the middle of her ‘happily ever after’ right now.”

Tears blurring his vision of her—that curly-haired little hellion who stole his heart and ran—the Doctor swallows dryly and shakes his head. “So why are you telling me all this then?”
Her shoulders slump, and she forms an expression so familiar to him, he might as well have been looking into a mirror. It’s an expression that practically screams, ‘don’t be daft,’ and he quite nearly chuckles in response to it. 
“Because,” she articulates, waving a hand for him to lean in. And cupping a hand around his ear, she whispers, in perfect Gallifreyan, “You’re sad.

It wasn’t just what she says. It’s the way she says it that chokes him up. Normally, she’d been proud of her ability to speak in her father’s native tongue. So proud, she’d wander around the flat singing the melodic words until Rose would promptly shush her. You’ll wake the neighbours!

So she learned to whisper in her mother’s presence, not wanting to annoy her. Not wanting her to feel left out. 

“…She doesn’t want you to be sad anymore.”

Letting her words take their precedence, the Doctor manages a slow nod in understanding. And, after placing a grateful kiss against the top of her head, he offers her a hand as he rises up to his feet.

“Tell you what,” he smiles, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as they walk, step by step. “I’m a pretty good storyteller myself. Have you ever heard the one about the cat nurses of New New York? Now that’s a story…”

xnevermindus  asked:

Dear /Santa/ -- ( also, Dear ex friend to be named Donna the moment you forget to turn off your office lights again when she's working overhours and didn't notice you forgot to flip one bloody damn switch until outside so she had to go unlock and walk /all the fucking way back up/ to keep the electricity bill cut /for the THIRD TIME THIS WEEK/ -- )

coloursofrose  asked:

Blood meme: She stood and stared at him. Her eyes widened in shock. Her entire body was paralyzed. Her mouth opened slightly but no sound came out. She closed it, cleared her throat, and tried again. "Tell me that's not yours.. Tell me that it's not your blood."

Having paused in the threshold upon seeing her, all he could really do (or rather think to do) was force a sickening smile and hope for the best. Which, come to think of it, happened to be his Plan A in most situations…

“It’s not mine,” he answered under a shuddering breath, finally urging his feet forward in a lurching shuffle. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat as he walked past; granted, not having been so much of a ‘pat’ as it was a 'stabilizer’ for his own shoddy balance. “Just, ehm–gimme a minute to clean up. I’m alri– I’m fine.”

tumblrbot  asked:

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

Yeeeah, not entirely sure I’m fit to answer this one. I mean, if half-human metacrisis-based entities can be classified as ‘human,’ I distinctly remember being stark naked in front of Donna Noble. 

And… I’m sincerely regretting my decision to post this. Cheers.

summinkofthewolf  asked:

"Why in God's name would I say Rassilon's-- Okay, look." Rose sighs, biting at her own lip and trying to fight down the panic which is bubbling up at the corners of her awareness. Because there's danger - they're pros at that - and there's... "No. Absolutely not. If that's the mission I think you're talking about, no. ~No." Has he got any idea how many people they've already lost on that case? She can't lose him. Won't lose him. Even if that means tying him up to their bed until it's sorted.

“I figured that’s what you’d say.” Which is why he hadn’t told her. Which is why he’s currently kicking himself over the whole ordeal; and it’s all thanks to that big, stupid mouth of his. So he shuts his eyes and takes a breath, his hands finding hers in his temporary blindness.
        “Question–” he adds, fixing his gaze on hers again. “Would you say the same thing if I were still a Time Lord?”

“Because here’s the thing: I think you’re forgetting that I’m rather good at getting myself out of sticky situations. Time Lord or otherwise.” Which doesn’t quite agree with his shaking hands; not at all, really, but that’s easy enough to brush off. “They asked me because I can end it, Rose. Because no one else has to die.

–Just trust me.”

summinkofthewolf  asked:

I ~was pregnant.

Rip out my character’s heart in one sentence.

What?
    [ He shouldn’t have asked, having already heard the answer loud and clear. But, without a doubt, to say anything more involved than that single syllable would quickly reveal the growing tremor in his voice; and God, she doesn’t need that. ]

[ It’s all the work of thought, though, and ignoring that nagging in the back of his mind proves just as easy as keeping quiet, especially now. (And no, he still hasn’t come to grasp what she’s told him. That will have to wait until he can stutter out the other question sitting at the tip of his tongue.) So he opens his mouth, brow creasing as he leans in, closer to her. ]
    But are you okay?

summinkofthewolf  asked:

✆♔♠☏⁇♣✺√☠☢☼ (all the texts, tbh)

Send ✆ for a morning text

[Text] Consider this your morning call. I made waffles.
[Text] *Brought home. I brought home some waffles. Hurry up before they’re all goooone!

Send ♔ for an angry text

[Text] I swear this TARDIS is just trying to test my patience…
[Text] It’s just one bLOODY CIRCUIT!

Send  ♠ for a drunk text

[Text] I can’t see st raight and i’ M wearing my duckling gladssses this is a bad sign.
[Text] no mobile I don’t mean duckling !!1
[Text] but htank you for keeping it g rated motlo ebene

Send ☏ for a vague text

[Text] Where do all the socks go?

Send ⁇ for a worried text

[Text] I heard a bang on my way to the lift – checking right now. Do you know what happened? I mean is everything okay or
[Text] Rose?[Text] Of course you’re there. Okay, don’t move, don’t do ANYTHING. Two minutes. Love you.

Send ♣ for a text not meant for you

[Text] Jackie for the last time, I had two /hearts/.
[Text] That doesn’t mean
[Text] I had two
[Text] Oh hiiiii, Rose!

Send ✘ for a text that should never have been sent

[Text] That’s it. I can’t find my pants.

Send ✺ for a saucy text

[Text] Of course I could just lose the pants.

Send √ for a long winded confessing text

[Text] It isn’t that I don’t like it here. I /love/ it here. You know I love it here! Sometimes I just wonder whether or not /you/ love it here, now that I’m me and we’re us and that makes us TARDISless and domestic and, I mean I haven’t been domestic in centuries and now I think I’m a bit rusty. And we’re getting married now and I’m not saying I’m scared or hesitant but I just want you to be happy, even if I have no idea what I’m doing.

Send ☠ for misguided advice

[Text] Aren’t you supposed to wash yourself with tomato juice when that happens?

Send ☢ for a desperate text

[Text] Help.
[Text] Bills.
[Text] No.
[Text] Too human. Not okay.

Send ☼ for a congratulatory text

[Text] I’m babysitting Tony.
[Text] We made cupcakes.
[Text] He’s declared you honourary cupcake queen. Congrats, your highness.

xnevermindus  asked:

"But I don’t understand how me dressing up as a present benefits *anyone*! "


   Well I see nothing wrong with living in the present, Donna. ‘Stead of getting all wrapped up in whether something’s really 'beneficial’ or not.
…Which it obviously is. I mean– c'monnnn, how couldn’t it be? Just look at you! You’re about as pretty as a package.

anonymous asked:

◎ If you could trade places with the other Doctor - you get the TARDIS plus all of Time and Space, but he gets the one life with Rose - would you?

And go back to that life? …Of course I wouldn’t.

Now that isn’t to say I don’t miss the running. I do. I mean I’m not much of a Doctor without a working TARDIS, am I? Stuck where I am, bound to the Earth like everyone else… paying taxes.
No; I think it’s safe to say I’ve lost more than just a heart. I lost my whole universe.
But that’s fine. I can still sleep at night knowing I’m the lucky one.

          And why’s that?
Let me tell you what I think my other self’s been up to since Bad Wolf Bay:

1. Probably still grieving  because -- stupid Doctor — Donna’s brain could never have handled all of that Time Lord knowledge. I know mine can’t. But she’s probably safe and sound because, knowing me, I’d never give her the choice of life and death. I’d much rather she lived (but never knowing she ever really had).

2. Probably alone now. Why bother finding someone else? I’d only end up destroying another life in the end. Which, now that I think about it…

3. Probably sporting a brand new body.

I don’t miss the heartbreak, I don’t miss dying a thousand deaths, and I don’t miss the guilt that came with all the wonder and joys of travel. But as I look back on my old life there was always something important missing from the framework; a presence I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried. And now I don’t have to.

         She’s always there.