rose x chips

“Shall We Dance” - Digital Oil Painting

I love the way this one turned out, all the little details like the hair and the lace and the fabric folds! I also love that you can interpret this as different BP and DT characters. She could be Lily, but she could also be Rose, all pink and yellow, after convincing the Doctor to actually stay for the party in their honor and their hosts provided them with appropriate clothing. She just caught him looking at her cleavage during their dance and he’s fumbling for an excuse or apology, he’s not sure which, while continuing to look-notlook. Hehe! Feel free to use as inspiration for fic, if you want!

If you enjoy my art, please consider subscribing to my Patreon! I am saving for a wheelchair lift and new battery.

A Bit Dull

So, my headcanon about Girl in the Fireplace is basically that it never really happened.  But there was a girl.  And there was a fireplace.  And the Doctor abandoned Rose.

Characters:  Ten x Rose

Themes:  GITF fixit, headcanons, mild angst, fluff, bad dreams, post School Reunion

Word Count:  1,245


Rose shuffled into the Tardis galley, rubbing her cloudy, sleep-shrouded eyes with one hand as she reached blindly for the teapot.  Her fingers closed over the handle.  No wait.  That was a hand, not a handle.

“Now Rose, where are your manners? Didn’t your mum ever teach you not to snatch toys from the other children?”

Rose pulled her hand back like it had been shocked.  “Oh my god, Doctor!  Sorry.  Still half asleep apparently.”

He grinned.  “Have a seat, Ms. Tyler, I’ll fix you a cuppa.  Didn’t expect to see you up so soon.”  He reached into one of the copper cupboards above the counter and pulled out her favorite mug; one that he’d given her.  It was plain white, but when it was filled with hot drink, the picture of a pink and yellow rose bloomed into view.

Rose slumped into one of the dining chairs with a yawn, chin resting in the cup of her palm.  “How long was I asleep?”

“Just two hours, thirty-seven minutes, forty-two seconds.”

She yawned again.  “God, no wonder I’m still so tired.”

The Doctor brought their teacups to the table and sat across from her.  “So.”  He clacked his teeth. “What’s up?”

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anonymous asked:

Hey! I just discovered your blog and I am so in love with your fic and your writing! Would you be at all able to write a NinexRose mini fic where Rose hides from the Doctor because she doesn't want him to scold her for hurting herself. Thank you so much! And keep writing because you are amazing! You should take away that "(sort of)" in your blog title :)

Hello, Nonny!  I realize you sent this about two weeks ago, and I’m sorry for the delay, but I had a hard time writing this prompt.  I did the best I could, and I hope that you enjoy it, even if it’s different than most of the things I write. 

Thank you SO MUCH both for writing to me, as well as being patient waiting for this prompt to be written, and especially for your kind words about my writing.  They are deeply and greatly appreciated.

So…onto the story!

I wasn’t sure how to incorporate Rose using self-harm as a coping mechanism and struggled for quite awhile, but then about two days ago, things started to click and I had an idea. 

I want to let everyone know that there is a ***TRIGGER WARNING*** for cutting/self harm.  Do what you need to do to take care of yourselves, folks. 

This is set directly after the “Father’s Day” episode.

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Be Mine... Morphine, Please?
  • Tentoo x Rose
  • Happy Valentine’s Day!
  • Fluff, hurt/sick, holiday, valentine’s day, drabble, one shot


“Hi, I’m looking for the Doctor?” Rose said breathlessly as she arrived at Urgent Care.

The lady behind the counter pursed her lips.  “Which one, love?”

Rose closed her eyes and shook her head as if to clear it.  “Sorry.  I mean Noble.  Doctor John Noble.  He’s a patient.”

“Ah!  I see,” the woman tapped a few keys on her computer.  “He’s in room 160, down the hall on the left.”  She pointed.

“Thank you,” Rose said hastily as she turned away and hurried in the direction the woman had indicated, her boots clicking rapidly on the mottled yellow linoleum.  She sailed past several glass walls with curtains drawn, room numbers embossed on plastic tiles that were epoxied firmly on the door frames.  120… 140… 160!  She flew through the door, jerking the curtain aside–and there he was, stretched out on the bed, several pillows propped behind his head and back, and a couple of ice packs draped across his ankle.

“Rose!” he cried, a grin splashed broadly across his face.  “You’re here!”

She was at his side in an instant, bending to give him an awkward and painfully tight hug.  “Of course I’m here, you plum!  God, what happened?”  She sat on the edge of the bed and he winced slightly as the mattress shifted.

“Puppies.”

Rose arched an eyebrow.  “Puppies?”

“Yes, puppies.”  The Doctor grimaced.  “Puppies.  In our back garden.  I didn’t see one of them and tripped backwards over it.  Got myself a nice concussion to go with my sprained ankle.”

“Oh my god… hold on a second…”  She furrowed her brow, sitting up straighter.  “What were puppies doing in our back garden?”

The Doctor chewed the inside of his bottom lip and studiously avoided her gaze.  “Well… it was either that or the living room, and I wasn’t sure you were quite ready for that…”

She blinked several times, mouth moving in an attempt to form words, but nothing came out at first.  “What?” she finally squeaked.

The Doctor grinned sheepishly.  “Happy Valentine’s Day?”

Of Tea and Torchwood

By Skyler10

Summary: Stuck in Pete’s World after the events of Canary Wharf, Rose makes a decision.

Notes: For @legendslikestardust’s drabble prompt: Tea


Rose tightened the blanket over her shoulders. The weather was mental in this universe. Pete insisted the void caused it.

Her fingers curled around the mug as wisps of steam escaped into the chilly air.

What had the Doctor said once? Something about free radicals and tanins.

Just what she needed.  

She had a decision to make tomorrow. Pete had offered her a position, a team, a purpose. She knew a thing or two about aliens, after all.

Rose imagined the Doctor’s pride if he knew. Yes, she’d become Agent Tyler. But she’d never stop missing her life with him.

How Jackie Tyler Learned Her Daughter Was Shaggin’ a Bloody Alien

for @ardentlynines who asked for Jackie finding out about Rose and Nine.

Here you go! It went in a completely different direction than I originally intended, but I hope you like it anyway!

Rated G, 1720 words, Nine x Rose

Originally posted by bethwoodvilles

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Flying Dutchman

Written for @timepetalsprompts, this is the nine x rose “at sea” prompt.  Since we’re just getting into October, I tried writing a spooky Halloween story. 

Nine x Rose

Word Count:  2500


Flying Dutchman

The rotor slowed gradually, and the groaning wheezing sound came to a halt.  Rose picked herself up off the grating and brushed off her shirt, looking up at the Doctor.  

“Okay?” he asked, straightening his jacket.

She grinned.  “Bit of a rocky ride!  ‘M fine.  Is the TARDIS okay?”

The Doctor patted the console.  “I expect she’s just fine.  Some rides are a little bumpier than others.”  

“So…where are we, then?”

He scratched his head. “Earth…somewhere.”

Rose made a face. “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down…what year is it?”

“1942?”

“Are you askin’ me or tellin’ me?” Rose asked, adjusting the laces on her trainers.

Shaking his head. “Dunno.  We’re not supposed to be on Earth at all.  Seems like the TARDIS had other plans for us.”  

She looked down at her jeans and tee shirt.  “Do I need to change, then?”  

“Go on, then.  I’ll wait.”  

Flashing a brilliant smile, she spun on her heel and headed for the wardrobe room.  On the way past her room, she noticed the door was open. Stepping inside, she saw the ship had already laid a new set of clothes out on the bed.  Patting the coral strut happily, Rose got to work changing into what seemed like a very modest outfit for the 1940’s.  “Seems like a lot of clothes,” she said softly.  

The ship hummed in reply.

“But I trust you,” she smiled.  

Walking quickly, she joined the Doctor back in the dim light of the console room.   He had a puzzled expression on his face, his forehead wrinkled.

“Somethin’ wrong?” she asked.

He turned around.  “I don’t know.  She doesn’t like somethin’, but she won’t tell me what.  The readings are all normal, but…”

“Should we leave, then, if she doesn’t like it here?”

“Rose, she landed us here. There might be something that needs doing.”  He shrugged and patted the coral strut.  “Best go and investigate.”  

“Ooh!” she grinned.  “Sounds mysterious!”

“It’s probably nothin’, Rose.  After all, the readings are all normal.  Could be the TARDIS mixed it up a bit.”  He gave her a wink.  “Only one way to find out.” 

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Hello

Journey’s End, in a world without cockblocking Daleks

The first thing she tastes is an exhale, a pant, an exclamation that is half a sob and half the single syllable of her name breathed over and over again as his forehead touches hers. She isn’t sure if his staccato breathing is precursor to a sob, or a laughing fit, or if the Doctor and his very impressive respiratory bypass are going to hyperventilate right there in the middle of the street. .

She’s not quite sure the Doctor knows, either.

Whatever it is, it’s inches from her lips, and she tastes the air he breathes as his fingers can’t quite stay still- tracing the cure of her hip, dancing along the backs of her hands, curling into her hair. They aren’t quite kissing so much as breathing the same air, but Rose, who feels as though she’s been starved of air and light for a decade, soaks it in, fingers curling like roots into the sleeves of a brown pinstriped suit jacket. 

(Air from his lungs, she thinks, as the Doctor’s breath puffs across her lips. The giddy thought brings a laugh bubbling up and she lets it, for the first time in years she lets it, even though it feels like it might split her face right in two.)

“Hello,” says Rose Tyler, her hand finding his itching fingers and sliding, at last, into place. The Doctor’s hand stills - the whole of him, frozen, and quiet, this perpetually unsilent man rooted to the spot, his mouth trembling it’s way into an answering laugh, wet and triumphant and just a little bit broken. 

The second thing she tastes, cool  and urgent, is the Doctor’s hello in return pressed against her lips. 

She Glows

for the @timepetalsprompts weekly drabble prompt “sparkle”

Rated T, NineRose and TenRose, 445 words 

@goingtothetardis beta’d this for me…she’s awesome!

Read it on ao3!

Originally posted by timelordgifs

She glows.

It’s the first thing he notices about her, after the danger has passed and she questions him, demanding answers. He can’t look on her too long, he has to look away lest he stare forever, but he knows. He knows that this one is special, this one is anything but stupid, this one is precious. Her caramel eyes are full of light and life and fire, and he wants nothing more than to have just a sip of what he sees in her eyes.

She sparkles.

He tries to impress her, taking her to places long ago and far away. She is impressed with what he shows her; he is impressed simply by her. He introduces her to nobility, royalty, emperors and celebrities, but none can rival her and she enchants them all. She’s been worshiped as a goddess more than once, but by none more than him, a supplicant at her feet. She is more beautiful than the most beautiful creature in the universe, and she has no idea.

She shines.

She takes his breath when she comes to him wearing glittering gowns and baubles, so achingly alluring that he has to struggle to stay on his feet before her and not fall to his knees and praise her beauty, her goodness. When she wears jeans and trainers and he takes her to the marketplaces of far-off worlds, she looks at him with a smile and he can’t comprehend why she smiles at him. People flock to her on every world, wanting to bask in her light, to feel just a bit of the warm glow she exudes from every pore. She doesn’t understand the effect she has on everyone she meets, and that ignorance only makes her more beautiful.

She shimmers.

Her amber eyes glint with tears when he’s been a thoughtless arse and hurt the only thing that’s ever made him feel complete. The pain is nearly unbearable: he’s wounded her and she is part of his very soul. Her distress is nearly a tangible thing and he wants nothing more than to rip it away from her and grind it to dust beneath his feet, vanquishing her pain so her eyes will never glint with tears again.

She glistens.

In the aftermath of their lovemaking when she lays in his arms and he holds her, he thanks every god he knows of for her. He doesn’t believe in any of them, doesn’t need to. He believes in her, and that’s all he’ll ever need. He runs his hands over her sweat-slickened skin and tries to believe that one day, he can be the man she believes him to be.

anonymous asked:

Would you be interested in a 'twelve accidentally gets catapulted into Rose's dimension and asks her for coffee like he's a stranger' prompt? I don't know how you feel about Rose (so don't do it if you hate her) but 12/Rose could be interesting.

The Magician and the Painting

The painting in the National Gallery was almost abstract, all orange blobs, a futuristic city on fire. Of unknown origin, by an unknown painter, and yet it was hung here on the wall, in a corner of a side gallery. Rose knew what it was. Rose knew it was not a fantasy, not a painting that ought to have been the cover of a pulp magazine. It was a painting of a real place. Or a place that had been real once, with real people living on it. Real Time Lords. Gallifreyans, with two hearts. Her heart, single heart, was aching right now. She always went and looked at this painting when it was especially bad.

Today she was feeling particularly aching, because it was the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Canary Wharf. The fifth anniversary of her stranding.

There was a new placard up next to it. It had a title on it. “Gallifrey falls,” she said, reading it aloud. It had fallen. In this universe as well as hers. Only this one didn’t have her Doctor in it.

“It’s called *Gallifrey falls no more*,” somebody said.

Rose looked away from the painting at at the man who’d just spoken. A Scotsman, by his accent, older, reed-thin. He was well-dressed, if oddly so, in a coat that looked like even her father would jibe at its cost, lined with red. And those were Loakes on his feet. Definitely minted, but unkempt. His silver hair was rumpled.

He was gazing at her oddly, but then he’d looked away at the painting again.

“That’s not what the card says,” Rose said. “The punctuation’s different.”

“I know. But it’s wrong.”

“Gallifrey doesn’t fall?”

“No.” He flashed a little smile at her. “Whatever Gallifrey may be.”

“Yeah. A fantasy world, I suppose. The painter did a whole series showing it, according to the card.” Rose leaned as close to the painting as museum manners allowed. “Very realistic. It’s almost like the people in it could step right out.” She wished it. So hard. Wished.

“Almost,” he said, and his voice was contemplative. “A door to another time, perhaps.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

He smiled at her. It was an alarming smile, almost scary, but this man’s face was kind. And young, somehow, despite the hair and the crows feet. There was something about him that caught her attention. A question she wanted answered, perhaps, or a question that he would ask of her.

He said, “There’s a cafe in this museum. Would you like to get coffee? Or chips. We could do chips.”

“Coffee’s great. But first you have to tell me your name.”

He thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. The red lining of his coat flashed. “I’m the Doctor. And you’re Rose Tyler.”