For the first nineteen years of my life nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not ever. And then I met a man called The Doctor. A man who could change his face. And he took me away from home in his magical machine. He showed me the whole of time and space.

I've been called a lot of things. The Defender of the Earth, the Valiant Child, Dame Rose of the Powell Estates. Jeopardy Magnet, the Pink-And-Yellow Girl... the Destroyer of the Daleks, and the Bad Wolf.

But you can call me Rose Tyler.

m!a: None, not accepting at present.

[[Indie Doctor Who RP blog. Sometimes NSFW. Currently tracking: rosethebadwolf. Accepting AU storylines as well as canon. Inquire within.]]
Defender of the Earth

Tiny Little Fractures | @rosethebadwolf

bowtied:

The Doctor’s hearts constricted in his chest at her tone — he knew how it must sound, him trying to figure out what had happened. She probably thought that he wanted to leave her again, but that wasn’t the case.

He swallowed thickly, reaching up to tug at his ear as he rocked up onto his toes and back, ditching the topic for the time being to ask, “Are you hungry? I’m starved. Absolutely famished. Aimless wandering does that to a stomach, you know.”

image

You? Aimless wondering? You’ve got a lot ‘ve nerve.” The words are soft, with the barest hint of a laugh too underused floating beneath their surfaces. Rose twists her fingers at the hem of her coat, gaze flickering from the Doctor’s face, to the path she’d been taking before her, to their shoes, and back. 

" … Yeah, alright. Considering that’s more or less what I was doing, too. The wandering bit." She tips her chin back the way she came, the faint shine of a pleased smile crossing her lips. 

Ringing in the New Year.

bowtied:

Oh, I carried you. 

[He says it matter-of-factly as he places the open pack of biscuits on the tray. Not a big deal, right?]

You sort of- fell asleep. Standing up. Well, leaning up, but you were definitely on your feet.

image

I’d imagine you’d have quite the wobble to your legs right now if I’d let you stay that way.

… Y’carried me. 

[That’s a bit embarrassing, although if memory serves her, Rose recalls a handful of other instances in which the Doctor carried her drunk arse back to bed. A faint blush warms her cheeks as she smooths her hair back.] 

Right, thanks. I didn’t… Mean to. Fall asleep on… You? 

[It was him, wasn’t it? The pieces are coming back, slowly but surely.] 

A reminder

that bowtied’s writer is one of the most thoughtful, caring people I have ever had the privilege of knowing and, moreso, befriending. She’s not bullying anyone, she’s explaining her proof and points of view in a calm and rational manner, because she’s remarkable. So. 

rosityler:

I only take the best. I’ve got Rose. 

Ringing in the New Year.

bowtied:

[The Doctor shoulders his way in only a minute or so later, clearly trying to be quiet but utterly failing at it as the rustle of the jammie dodger pack fills the room. He’s got one half in his mouth before he realises she’s even awake.]

image

—Oh. Hello! Good- um, [he looks at his watch] -morning? Let’s see, compared to last night, it’s been about 7 hours… so morning should suffice. 

'Course, “morning” 's a relative term with you. [Rose gives a small lift of her shoulders, ignoring her headache for the moment in favour of ensuring she has his careful, shuffling walk from the minute before committed to memory.] How did I get int'bed?

ooc  writer  mun 

Read More

Meet the Blogger.

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE
- Name: Claire~.
- Eye Color: Brown.
- Hair Style/Color: Loooong (right down to the small of my back) curly brown hair.
- Height: 5’5”.
- Clothing style: Dresses, boots, tights, big earrings. Jeans and big sweaters for lower-key days. :3
- Best physical feature: I’ve been told, from the top down: hair, eyes lips, shoulders, hips.  

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE
- Your fears: Ending up alone. Ending up unhappy. Not doing something memorable with my life. Disappointing people.
- Your guilty pleasure: Wow. Hrrrm. French fries with bacon and cheddar cheese. :3 As dinner. A giant plate of them.
- Ambitions for the future: Get my doctorate. Write and publish novels (still hiding my first away for no eyes ever to see). Teach uni English classes. Get married. Be happy.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS
- Your first thoughts waking up: ”Am I still tired?”
- What you think about most: Post-college.
- What you think about before bed: The latest possible time I could get up, or whether or not I want to stay up to say hi to my UK friends before I sleep. 
- You think your best quality is: My passion.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER? 
- Single or group dates: Group.
- To be loved or respected: Both, Machiavelli. 
- Beauty or brains:  I’d rather have brains.
- Dogs or cats: Dogs.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU.
- Lie: Yes. Not much, but. I do and usually I don’t feel bad.
- Believe in yourself: Depends on the day. I try to.
- Believe in love: Without a shadow of a doubt.
- Want someone: Yes. 

LAYER SIX: EVER?
- Been on stage:  Pretty much since age 12 and up.
- Done drugs: THIS ONE TIME… 
- Changed who you were to fit in: I tried it in middle school but quit that pretty quickly.

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES
- Favorite color: Violet and deep, deep blue.
-
Favorite animal: Lions.
- Favorite movie: V for Vendetta.
- Favorite game: I quite like Scrabble.

Ringing in the New Year.

bowtied:

[There’s a tray with coffee and water next to her bed, with a note that reads:

Happy 2114! 
No, sorry, 2014.
Happy 2014!
Here’s some coffee.
No aspirin, sorry. Haven’t got any.
But the coffee’s made from yurrella beans,
so I’m sure it’ll do the trick.
—The Doctor ]

… Mmmh. [Uncurling from she’s been snuggled under sheets and blankets and duvets, Rose gives a small sniff, catching a whiff of the coffee, steam still curling from it, beside her bed. Her bed. Her TARDIS bed. She pauses, mid-reach for her mug, and considers that for a moment before finishing the movement and sipping gratefully.]