discorded-gordan-and-linsy

discorded-gordan-and-linsy:

ms-sardonicus:

bandgeeklikeme:

So I went to Dragon*Con a few weeks ago and found a great Snape and Ten cosplaying near each other. It was in the busy section of the vendor fair so I just asked for a picture of them together and ten just said “on a scale of 1-11 how close do you want us?” so I said “uh…12”
AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED

I THINK I ACCIDENTALLY CREATED FAN FICTION

Holy shit

*eye twitch* o-oh my…..

gallifreyanbluebox

andrastesgrace asked:

HERE IS ANOTHER PROMPT: A post-Doomsday, non-Journey's End reunion with a happy ending. xD

thedoctorlek answered:

A week after Martha leaves, he’s still not left the TARDIS.

He feels wrong, inside; dirty. He – he made a right mess out of things, this time. He treated Martha horribly, and she was right to leave, but he feels like he’s drowning without anyone here, without Martha here, to fill up the silence.

He never used to mind the silence, but ever since Rose—

Rose—

He tries to stop that train of thought, but it’s too late—he’s already recalling what she looked like in the morning; hair rumpled from sleep and smelling like toothpaste and shampoo. Grumbling at him as she made her way to the kitchen. She’d never been a morning person, she’d always had to have a cup of tea before their adventures.

He—he misses her. Still. It’s been more than a year—two, if he counts the Year That Never Was—and he misses her as fiercely as the day he burned up a sun. He feels… lost, without her. Directionless, like a ship gone astray. He’s been around the universe and seen countless planets, but he doesn’t feel as though he knows where he is.

But that’s—that’s not what he should be thinking of—he needs to get out of the TARDIS, go on an adventure—fill up this emptiness with anything other than what he has right now. He pulls on the coat Janis Joplin made him and makes his way out of his bedroom, down the corridors.

A second later, he’s by the door to the console room, about to enter—and he hears a voice, murmuring something to his ship.

His hearts almost stop, because that—that sounds like—

He bursts into the room, and there she is.

Rose Tyler.

There’s a moment filled with silence and all he can hear is the ragged sound of his breath, all he can see is her: blonde hair around her shoulders, blue leather jacket clinging to her frame, hazel eyes wide. The world spins around him and he—he suddenly knows where he is.

Ten feet away from Rose Tyler.

For a man with no home, a man with a hand that has trouble letting go and two hearts that beat in tandem for her—his measurement of time and space, since before his regeneration, is entirely dependent and related to her.

He rushes forward, running as fast as his legs can move, scooping her up in his arms—he hesitates for a second, letting her face fill his vision—and then he crashes his lips to hers.

“Rose Tyler,” he murmurs against her mouth, and he can’t let the sentence go unfinished, not this time, not now, when he has time to say it—“I—I love you.”

He’s home.