Inane Ramblings

gallifreyburning:

mutedlikesunset:

Doomsday AU: In which Rose is the Doctor, and John Smith is trapped in the parallel universe.

John: Where are you?

Rose: Inside the TARDIS. There’s one tiny little gap in the universe left, just about to close. And it takes a lot of power to send this projection—I’m in orbit around a supernova. I’m burning up a sun just to say goodbye.

John: Can’t you come through properly?

Rose: The whole thing would fracture. The two universes would collapse.

Rose knows that if it was up to John, he would tear apart the fabric of reality to get back to her — that’s him, protective and loyal to the point of foolishness.

Her John.

The wind is wreaking havoc on his long, floppy hair and he’s hunched in his overcoat. He’s still wearing his pinstripes, and it’s bizarre because when she looks at him, she sees two different men. She sees the skinny grocery clerk dressed up in a suit and on his way to a job interview, trapped in the Underground by the Autons; and she also sees the man he’s become after traveling with her for two years, brave and confident, a rudder that keeps her steady when she gets lost, that steers her home every time.

His face is pinched into a frown, and he isn’t saying anything, just staring with those enormous brown eyes. There’s a world of emotion in them, longing and heartbreak and the tiniest spark of hope. 

Of course he’d hope; she always manages to be impressive, doesn’t she? Impressive Time Lord, that’s her, fixing everything, somehow stumbling through and coming out all right? 

This isn’t going to come out all right. 

She doesn’t have the courage to tell him. He’s shivering. “Where are we? Where did the gap come out?”

“We’re in Norway,” he says.

She glances around, takes in the topography; she should’ve guessed, should’ve called up that information from somewhere in the infinite space between her ears, but she’s feeling out of sorts. “Norway, right.”

“About fifty miles out of Bergen. It’s called ‘Dårlig Ulv Stranden’.”

She blinks at that, cocks her head. Feels panic nipping at her stomach. Because if he’s alone, in another universe, stranded with them … she might just do it. She might just tear down the fabric of reality to get to him, to keep him safe. “Dalek?”

“Dårl-ig. It’s Norwegian for ‘bad’. This translates as ‘Bad Wolf Bay.’”

Her mouth curves up into a smile, but even though she’s standing in the warm console room of the TARDIS, her cheeks are numb. He smiles a little, too, and it’s the most melancholy thing she’s ever seen. 

“How long have we got?” he asks.

Her enormous Time Lord brain calculates it automatically, down to the nanosecond, but she rounds up for his sake: “About two minutes.”

He looks down, shoves the toe of his Chuck into the sand, and she wonders how gritty it is, what it feels like on that beach, and whether he’s shivering because of the cold or because of the effort required to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling out.

“I can’t think of what to say!” he blurts out. 

He isn’t speechless very often, her John. The only times he’s really quiet are in bed — skin against skin, sweat and small words between them. She blinks, and in that moment spends an eternity in her memories, in the puff of his breath and the touch of his lips, the feel of his need and her own that matches. 

When she opens her eyes, she realizes she’s got one hand resting on her belly. He’s noticed, too, his gaze lingering just long enough for realization to dawn, just long enough for him to make a noise like he’s been punched in the chest. 

He forces his eyes up to meet hers, steps toward her without conscious thought. “Rose. You’re not…?”

Because she can’t stand to imagine him living the rest of his life locked away in this universe, aching with the knowledge that he’s been separated not only from the Time Lord who loves him but also their child, she lies. 

the-mischievous-loki:

melissa-smile-iv:

Loki by =AmandaTolleson

What the hell

what the hell I’m serious this is not art this is a photograph

cradletoalpha:

professorspork:

getoutofmygarden:

I imagine two scenarios in owning this clock:

1) It singing Be Our Guest every time someone visits.

or

2) Every morning I’d hear this “GIRL YOU LATE. IS THAT REALLY WHAT YOU’RE WEARING TODAY? I MEAN YOU’RE ALREADY LATE SO I’D GO CHANGE AT THIS POINT.”

SASSY GAY GRANDFATHER CLOCK

(Source: imgfave)