Here we go, on to the final leg of this round of Gallifrey Records fic tennis. (I think I’m mixing sports metaphors, but whatever.) If you need to catch up, here are Part One and Part Two and Part Three. Savior “fic tennis” or “gallifrey records” to get off this crazy ride. Our most excellent prompt for this go-round is courtesy of the fantastically talented and generous littlewhomouse!
The Doctor’s staring at Rose like he expects her to have some sort of answer.
What is she supposed to say? That she’s happy they aren’t married? That’s not true. They don’t need the vows to keep them together – they’re both in this for the long haul, there’s no doubt in her mind. But there’s a spark of want in Rose’s chest when she thinks about being properly married to the Doctor, about people calling him Mr. Tyler. The idea of a wedding band on his ring finger, one that she put there, makes her mouth dry and her heart thump, makes her want to climb right into his lap and stake a claim to the rest of his body, too.
The Doctor’s not the kind of man who abides by the trappings of religion or culture, and neither is Rose. She doesn’t necessarily want the fancy ceremony with a priest and cathedral and big white dress. This wasn’t the way she wanted to marry him, either, in Vegas and stoned and without remembering a single moment of it, but at a certain point … what if it’s the only wedding they ever have?
64-66/100 pictures of David Tennant
that moment when DT was the Doctor from Gallifrey Records verse…
Gallifrey Records is the best thing
I can’t even remember what round of fic tennis Jamie and I are on at this point, it’s got to be twenty-something. Frankly, I’m too excited to be bothered with the math. This time we’re hanging out with rockstar Doctor and Rose in the Gallifrey Records ‘verse, so savior “fic tennis” or “gallifrey records” if you don’t want backstage passes to the show. Our most excellent prompt for this go-round is courtesy of the fantastically talented and generous littlewhomouse!
Rose wakes to the feeling of something hard and uncomfortable beneath her cheek. She makes a mental note to feed the Doctor an extra sandwich, rolls over, and promptly falls two feet.
The impact startles her fully awake, eyes popping open as a headache screams to life and, oh, not the Doctor, then. A coffee table. She’d fallen asleep on a coffee table. Whose coffee table is this?
She rubs at her eyes, everything swimming in and out of focus for a few moments, before she’s finally able to see. Ah, the hotel suite, Vegas. Of course.
Jesus, what had they done last night?
That one time the Tenth Doctor was a rock star, and Rose Tyler was his opening act.
(co-authored by allrightfine and gallifreyburning)
logo by songfordecem
Fic (in chronological order):
Gallifrey Records II (the School Reunion Remix):
Domestics (the Meet the Parents Mash-Up):
Logistics (the Moving In Mash-Up):
April Fools’ Day:
The First Time the Doctor Sees Jackie Again + The First Time They Went on a Date Again:
The First Time They Held Hands Again + The First Time They Shared a Bed:
The First Time Rose Kissed the Doctor Again (and Vice Versa):
The Layover Sampler:
The Solo Album Import:
The Acoustic Collaboration:
upcoming albums (fic set in some undefined time in the future/baby fic):
compilation albums (fic that spans multiple time frames):
Five Times the Doctor Took his Clothes Off (and One Time it was just for Rose.):
b-sides + unfinished tracks (or tag fic, basically):
These are be available over on the Gallifrey Records Tumblr, for easy-reading! In the meantime, here are the original posts:
- On Stage: [x]
- Record Store: [x]
- Sharing a Bed: [x]
- Paintball: [x]
- Interviews: [x]
- Music Festival: [x]
- Video Filming: [x]
- Holding Down the Fort [x]
- Hiding Clothes [x]
- Muddy Backstage [x]
- Fighting at the Bungalow [x]
- Gridlock [x]
- Movie Theatre [x]
- Press Day Stress [x]
- Old Photos [x]
- Post-Doomsday Shower [x]
- RTD and a Beach in Norway [x] Vegas [x]
- Powell Estate Bag Lunch [x]
- Post-Doomsday Shopping [x]
- Camera Phone Photos at Jackie’s [x]
- School Kids and Blonde Braids [x]
- Gallifrey Records at an Incubus Concert (birthday fic for Anna) [x]
- Best Suds [x]
- Theta, Koschei, Floppy Hair [x]
- What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting the Master [x]
- Public Lewdness with Theta and Koschei [x]
Gallifrey Records - Trailer
It’s part three of the current Gallifrey Records fic tennis, because it wouldn’t be Gallifrey Records fic tennis if we weren’t spilling over into new posts with our wordiness. Here’s Part One and Part Two if you’d like to catch up, or you think you missed something. As Allison has mentioned before, we’re touching on the theme of memory loss in this story, so please savior “fic tennis” if you want to avoid the topic.
Rose has never been so relieved to see Donna in her entire life and she’s up off the wall in a flash, wrapping Donna in a hug.
“How did you — how are you here? Oh my god, Donna,” she nearly crumples as Donna slips her arms around Rose, returning the hug for a long moment before pulling back.
“Turns out someone overheard the conversation you had with your friend in there in the grocery store, and snapped a picture of the two of you. They posted it to Twitter, and suddenly the internet’s on fire, talking about the world’s greatest Doctor and Rose impersonators,” Donna says.
Okay so Jamie and I are on our eighteenth round of fic tennis, y’all should know by now that we’re going to need more than one post to get through a story. Because if there’s one thing we’re predictable with, it’s our wordiness. Here’s the completed Part One of this ongoing fic, if you need to catch up. We’re touching on the theme of memory loss in this story, so please savior “fic tennis” if you want to avoid the topic.
Rose is a few steps further along, reaching for a jar of pureed carrots, when she does the same as the Doctor. Freezes in her tracks mid-grab, fingers pulling away from the baby food like it’s given her an electric shock.
The Doctor shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, rocking back on his heels to gain momentum before he forces his feet to move, coming alongside her and staring down into the basket. “I managed to brush my own hair and teeth this morning, so you’re probably being a bit overcautious with the nappies. Anyway, that’s hardly my size, and purple isn’t my color. I can pull it off, sure, but I’m kind of doing this” – he shrugs, nearly nudging her arm with his shoulder – “pinstriped look now.”
Rose’s face has gone pale as a sheet, her lips white. She snatches her hand back to her side, briefly reaches for the nappies, then rests her hand on the basket handle instead. “We’ve got company coming later this week. Just stocking up on things they might need.”
The Doctor’s mind is moving a million miles a second, and there’s that irritation and anger churning in the pit of his stomach again, because she’s being so careful, like she’s going to break him if she puts a foot wrong. Coddling him. Shielding him. From what? What sort of life is he supposed to have with this woman, that she feels the need to hold things back? Does she do this normally – hide things from him? What sort of person has he got himself tangled up with? What sort of relationship is this?
We polled, and y’all picked a Human Nature AU set in the Gallifrey Records ‘verse as our next prompt, so here Jamie and I are launching our eighteenth round of fic tennis. We’re going to touch on the theme of memory loss in this story, so please savior “fic tennis” if you want to avoid the topic.
Rose Tyler sits in the office chair in front of the neurologist’s desk, staring blankly at the framed pictures arranged on the bookshelf behind the woman’s head – in one, she’s smiling and holding two little boys; in another, she’s beaming on top of a cliff with her arm around a handsome bloke, her husband or partner, probably. A happy, normal woman; a happy, normal bloke; a happy, normal life.
The neurologist herself sits at the desk, her face somber now, no trace of a smile to be found. A patient file is spread out in front of her, films and x-rays and scans of every conceivable type, all accompanied by notes in indecipherable handwriting, like some sort of alien script.
“Spit it out, then!” Donna barks from behind Rose. She’d refused a chair, when the neurologist ushered them into her office; she’s been pacing non-stop for the last five minutes, a frantic counterpoint of movement to Rose’s paralyzed sense of dread. “A full day’s worth of tests, medical fees higher than the GDP of a small country, surely you’ve got something in that file to tell us!”
The neurologist leans forward, practiced sympathy in her every expression and movement. “Considering the possible causes of the problem, what I have to tell you is basically good news.”
Rose frowns, her dry eyes stinging and hot. “The Doctor can’t remember my name, can’t remember who I am, and you’re telling me there’s some good news in all of this?”
It’s too cold to be outside, but it’s New Year’s, so they are anyway. Shivering in the cheap leather jackets they’d scraped together the money to buy, right after the guitars, because Koschei said something about cultivating a look. Theta nicked a new pair of Converse while he was at it – cherry red, instead of dirty white, bright against the wet black tarmac of the London streets.
Shoulders hunched, shoving their way through the thronging crowd near Big Ben, they don’t touch each other as they move, but they never get more than a few feet apart, as though an invisible tether is strung between them. They haven’t tried to talk since they got off the Underground at Saint James’s Park, because the crowds and the energy buzzing in both their ears, keying up their nerves, sparking and fizzling like the fireworks they’ve come to watch.