pinkandyellow: (Depressed Sadness)
 She lost track of how much time passed, and not just because she was in a time machine. Some days, it felt like years, like she'd been passed it all and moved on but still carried the grief like a widow. Some days, it felt fresh and sharp, like it was only yesterday, last week, some time recent. She couldn't tell. She didn't ask, she didn't want to know. 

She told the Doctor, mostly. Told her story just as he told his, and he seemed to understand. Seemed to know, with a wisdom she always underestimated in him. A thousand years of life, a hundred companions and friends, people who loved him and loved others. He seemed to respect her even more for it, if that was possible, didn't judge her, silently encouraged her. Took it in the same stride he took everything else about her, as though she could do no wrong. 

She appreciated him more than she'd ever tell him.

They traveled. He took her gentle places at first, and when he realized it was the running that freed her, if only temporarily, he took her to planets that needed saving. What frightened her, though, was the fact that she wasn't doing it to save them. Not now. 

They didn't stop to examine their relationship, just as they never had. She didn't ask, he didn't offer. They picked back up as though she'd never even been gone, with grins and tea and understanding, and they just... worked. Together, as mates, and nothing more. He would probably be accepting, if she made any move to advance things, but she never did, and he didn't mind. Asexual, and an alien. 

Now, though, was one of those down-times in between planetary distraction. He was working beneath the console, and she was sitting, quietly. Watching. Not thinking, just... sitting, listening to the TARDIS sing in her mind, and just... breathing. 

pinkandyellow: (Default)

Mechanical.

When the Doctor left, she'd been shut down. Spent days, weeks, sobbing and immobile and useless, confined to her room. This was... different. Emptiness. She carried on, blankly, with no emotion behind her actions. For a week, she had no real, original thought. She woke up. Took a shower. Cleaned. Went to work. Ignored her coworkers. Went home. That's it. Talked to no one. Turned off her phone, turned off her T.V. She existed, the end. 

There was no funeral- there was no body, no record of his existence. Nobody even knew him. She hadn't been able to get a hold of Dean and Sam. Well, that was a lie. She hadn't bothered to try. Didn't even think about it. Never even occurred to her to tell them. She would, eventually. Besides them, only her family knew him, and she shut them out. Ignored the pounding on her door, ignored Pete's voice, and Jackie's voice.

At night, there was pain. She'd lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Trying not to think, but failing. At night, the world was empty, and she had no distraction from it all. And she remembered everything. The good memories, the bad ones, short but passionate, she remembered, and it hurt. Every single day for a week.

Except, today was Sunday. 

She woke up. He wouldn't want this. She couldn't... she couldn't give up like this. She couldn't tear down what he'd done like this. 

Today was Sunday.

Today, she needed to feel. 

Today, she went to the beach. 

pinkandyellow: (Beanie - Smiling - Snowing)
In her quest to expose Castiel to every possible happy human experience, she's spent ages figuring out the best place to attend New Year's Eve. After a week of waffling between her mum and dad's shwanky political bash and the rowdy pub down the block from her flat, she finally decided on the pub. Coming from an estate, she spent much of her time in tiny little everyone-knows-everyone pubs, had a lot of brilliant times with Mickey and the boys, catching matches. It was a lot more... familiar than the ritzy things her parents put on, and she decided she'd really like to experience it with him. Not to mention he hadn't yet met Mickey or Jake, and considering she worked with them, she thought it might be nice.

Things were going well. Really, really well. It was half passed eleven, and though she wasn't tipsy, she'd had a few, and so had everyone else. Half-priced drinks on holidays. They were brilliant. The music was good, everyone was happy, and the place was covered in streamers. 

She pushed her silly giant, numbered 'sunglasses' back on her head to keep her hair out of her face, beaming at the sight of Mickey trying to do the robot across the way on the dance floor. Just... really, really brilliant all around, with a drink in one hand and Castiel's in the other. 
pinkandyellow: (Bad news - Badwolfbay - Listening)
Rose finds a rather strange guy on a beach.

Yeah, turns out he's an angel.

Mind = Blown.

With [livejournal.com profile] rebelledforyou
pinkandyellow: (bitch I do not have cankles)
It took three weeks to get to that beach, ten minutes to get a broken heart, five and a half hours to leave, three more weeks to get back home, and another month before she bothered to leave her bedroom. Two weeks after that she had an identity established, and started training at Torchwood. Sixteen days and she was a certified field agent. A year, and she was leading her own team, with five people working under her.

Nearly a year and a half, but she was going relatively strong. Running on her own two legs, going around the pub for football matches, visiting her mum and dad, her new baby brother. At some point, she'd started having a life. A real, proper, linear day-to-day life that wasn't as miserable as she'd probably have assumed. It wasn't the same, granted. It still felt like she was missing half of herself, like she was stuck, trapped, pressed against the other side of the wall, but she was Rose Tyler. He asked her to have a fantastic life, and she would.

And she did. Sort of. Even if roughly 89% of it was centered around work. She ate work, slept work, showered work, worked work. She had her hand in the building of a dimension canon, a multiuniversal telepathy field, and a rift projector. No telling how likely any of the three devices were to actually work at any point in the future, but it kept her busy. When she wasn't overseeing the pet projects, she was running for her life in the field.

Which was exactly what she was doing today. There was a signal being projected from the heart of London, and she was in the process of tracing it. Apparently, it was leading her to some rubbish sub-basement, because it was dark, and cold, and full of useless boxed items that would probably never see the light of day. She just carried on, observing the feedback from her handheld monitoring devices.
pinkandyellow: (Eleven - Back to Back)
With [livejournal.com profile] screwythingy

While dimension-hopping, Rose is overshot by a bit and runs into Eleven, immediately post regeneration, suffering from amnesia
pinkandyellow: (Default)
Logged separately from the meme because I'm counting it as canon toward the verse with [livejournal.com profile] but_worth_it

A not-so-run-of-the-mill adventure, with some talking, kissing, explosions, and running. 
pinkandyellow: (Martha - Seriousface)
A lovely thread with Martha, so sad and beautiful that I had to log it.

TMI~

Nov. 3rd, 2011 06:06 pm
pinkandyellow: (Nine - Unified - Go Down Fighting)
The TMI Meme.

THE CLEAN(ISH) SECTION

Full name: Rose Marion Tyler
Birthdate: 04/27
Sign: Taurus
Height: 5'5
Weight: 105
Scars: None
Piercings: Ears
Tattoos: None
Other bodily markings: None
Build: Petite but healthy.
Occupation: Traveling, occasionally Torchwood work
Drinking? Socially, with the occasional solo glass of wine.
Smoking? Not really, no.
Other daily habits: Leaving magazines strewn about the place, watching East Enders, rewatching the Lion King, broing it up with people
Hair: Bottle-blond and shoulder length, usually with darker roots.
Clothes: Tees and jeans. If it's serioustime, she'll wear more muted, plain colors and bamf jackets. 
Scent: Strawberries and bleach
Other notable physical details: She's got groovy lips
Canon powers: Gymnastics. She got the bronze.
Spoken language(s): One and a halfish.
Voice: English - rather Cockney.
The Dirtyish Section )
pinkandyellow: (ten - are you my mummy?)
Because I'm a derp and forgot to log it, it's a backlog of everything done with [livejournal.com profile] scots_fuzz, to help keep the verse straight. List is in order.

1. The initial meeting, in which she showers him with coffee.
2. Bumping into him again- because what is coincidence?
3. Breaking and entering- it always ends in tea.
4. Catching a film. As mates. Totally just mates. 8| No Really. Really guys. 
5. Okay, the whole snogging thing was purely coincidental. Totally just mates.  Stop looking at me like that.
6. It's not awkward. Because nothing happened. Because they're just mates. 
7. Oh, bugger off.
8. In which Creepy Guy makes an appearance. 
9. Somehow, it all leads back to snogging.
10. They're going to have to talk about these shared dreams. 
11. Rose has a dream that Liam is shot
12. Needless to say, she isn't pleased when she finds him playing with guns. Also, about that... mates thing.
13. Date night. As not-mates. Fancy that. Oh, stop acting like you knew the whole time. No one could've seen.... shut up.
14. Scrubbing Dem Bubbles
15. Of all of the dreams they have, she probably likes this one the best.
16. Totally not above snogging in a closet. 
17. Near Death Experiences and CPR.

pinkandyellow: (better with three - back to back)
The TARDIS stops moving, and the Doctors, both of them, are looking into the cause. At least, until the Time Lord starts acting strange. And then Rose.

Mind-altering radiation.

Rose and Ten face off, screaming and absolutely mental, and things almost get pushed too far. The Metacrisis interferes, which does nothing but make them turn on him. Thankfully, he was clever enough to start venting out the console room, but the damage that's been done might already be too late.

the Mindfuck meme.

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Rose Tyler

November 2015

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