make me choose; anonymous asked → Martha Jones
or Donna Noble?
make me choose
↳ anonymous asked: ten or tentoo
make me choose: trips to the past
orand trips to the future
Queens of my heart ☆ Dawn Summers
We are always told to use body language in our writing. Sometimes, it’s easier said than written. I decided to create these cheat sheets to help you show a character’s state of mind. Obviously, a character may exhibit a number of these behaviours. For example, he may be shocked and angry, or shocked and happy. Use these combinations as needed.
You guys, this is such a great chart especially for budding writers. Sometimes it’s more effective to show a character being bored or excited or shocked without explicitly saying so.
make me choose
various charactersor rose tyler
This is a birthday ficlet for my beta and friend, Jer832. I wish her the happiest of birthdays!
She falls asleep in his arms. Not on his shoulder as they’re jostled about in the back of a hackney cab. Not curled up on the jumpseat while he fixes the TARDIS long past her bedtime. Not in the bed in her room with its pink sheets and rumpled comforter. In his arms, which is new. Different. Fantastic.
She is so confident about sharing a room when they get invited to stay by the Lord Mayor And Chief Engineer. Typical backwater planet, feasting them one minute and trying to kill them the next. But the ‘run for your life’ part gets cut short when the Doctor repairs their communications tower and Rose takes a shine to the Mayor’s young daughter, braiding the girl’s hair and not even noticing the horrible burns on her face.
So they agree to spend the night as honored guests, and the Doctor can’t even think of a witty quip when the room has one bed, one shower, one loo, one window overlooking the low, rounded mountains. His throat is dry, his heart full when Rose turns her back to him, looks over her shoulder and gestures to her dress. His hands fumble with the first dozen buttons but by the fiftieth one his fingers are flying and Rose is laughing, comparing him to all the ladies’ maids she’s ever had in their time together. To counteract her teasing, he runs his thumb up her spine, parting the silk.
Take it off, he thinks in his head. Let me see you.
But that desire is a coal banked in the back of the fire, a dim light that never rises. Rose flounces into the loo and half-shuts the door, talking the whole time. The Doctor realizes her chatter is a cover for nervousness, but he’s a little mystified as to why she doesn’t just shut the bloody door all the way. He sees the shadows as she undresses and quickly showers. Smells the clean soap and hears her brush untangling wet hair. These are nearly worse intimacies than the feel of her skin under his fingers. He reciprocates by taking off his jacket, boots and socks, leaving him as naked as he trusts himself to get around her. If the room were hotter he’d dare roll up his sleeves to his elbows. Maybe.
“Your turn, then,” Rose says as she comes out of the ensuite. She laughs when he widens his arms, indicating his shocking state of casual undress. “Even Time Lords brush their teeth.”
So he goes in and splashes around a bit, does what needs doing with the door all the way shut. When he emerges, face and neck scrubbed clean, hands wiped dry on his jeans, Rose is already in bed, facing him.
His mind has already calculated the idiocy level of seventeen possible statements, but the truth is merciless and beyond statistics: If he loves her, he takes the floor. If she’s naught but a friend, he sleeps above the covers, maybe whinges about her hogging too much space.
“Come to bed,” she says, and lays down on her back, pulling the chain above her head to drench the room in darkness. The Doctor obeys, and Rose laughs again when his clothing bunches and shifts and catches on the soft sheets.
“I don’t usually sleep in m’trousers,” he admits. “Transdimensional pockets. I think I’m sleeping on the M to Mu volume of Barth’s Encyclopedia.”
“You’re carrying an encyclopedia around? A full set?” Rose is incredulous. She props herself up on her elbow and her damp hair brushes across his chin. “Next time we’re in London I’m buying you a Kindle. Shireen’s boyfriend has ‘em off the back of a lorry, but I’m sure it’ll be fine with a little jiggery-pokery.”
“Shireen’s boyfriend? The one with the hamster on his chin?”
“No arguments from me,” Rose says. “I can’t even pretend to defend that thing!”
And they laugh about unfortunate boyfriends, the king’s fool on Tuliry who shaves his hair in the shape of different zoo animals. Then the talk turns to the Lord Mayor and what are they going to do the next time a hailstorm knocks out their communications center. Is the planet Geocate close enough to trade with, and what would the Mayor’s wife think about dealing with desert people instead of mountain ones? By the time there’s a break in the conversation, his jumper and denims are on the floor. Somehow there’s a sheet swathed around his hips and Rose has the coverlet.
Lord of Time and he didn’t even notice she’d coaxed him out of his armor.
“Goodnight, Doctor,” Rose says, and snuggles close. Her head pillows in the hollow of his shoulder and collarbone, her arms fold up against his side, one leg is thrown over his. She can’t possibly be comfortable like this, twisted up to him like a vine, but her breathing deepens in two of his heartbeats.
The Doctor’s arms go around her and he spends at least half an hour figuring out how tightly he can hold her without her shifting away. He can’t sleep for nuzzling her forehead, smoothing the damp hair away from her face, fussing with the covers until she’s covered exactly up to her shoulders. Finally he presses a kiss to her forehead and lets his head fall back onto the feather pillow. He can’t sleep with Rose Tyler in his arms. After this night, though…how can he ever sleep without Rose Tyler in his arms?