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Ruby and her Doctor 💙💙

Thankyou @blackbonnet-ruined-my-life

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Ruby and her Doctor 💙💙

Thankyou @blackbonnet-ruined-my-life

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Reblogging this from my main - this is the fix it fic i've been working on!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Fifteenth Doctor/Rogue (Doctor Who: Rogue) Characters: Fifteenth Doctor (Doctor Who), Rogue (Doctor Who: Rogue) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Sort Of, it is still sad but it is sad in a better way than the actual episode was, Reality War fix it, Angst, Regeneration (Doctor Who) Summary:

On the edge of regeneration, the Doctor has one more person he needs to save before he can move on.

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Fix It Fic Snippet #3

Thinking through the soft haze of regeneration energy was starting to become more and more of a struggle.  

He’d managed a stop at Belinda’s house, a stop at Ruby’s.  He owed them both proper goodbyes, after what he’d put them through.  Especially Ruby - god, he can’t believe he’d just left her like that all that time ago, I love you lying on the floor of the Tardis between them.  Maybe it’s his impending death, but he can’t quite see why all this time he’d been so scared of those three little words.  

Maybe it was because I love you and goodbye were all he had left to say now, and he doesn’t have long to live with the consequences. 

He leaned against one of the Tardis’s railings, letting himself slowly sink down to the floor as pain shot through him.  He was so, so tired.  It would be easier to give in, to let himself go, let regeneration take its course and carry him into his destiny.   For a moment, gold flickered between his fingers, and he nearly let himself surrender to it.

But then he thought of flames reflected in the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen, and of a message strong enough to break the stronghold the Wish World had on his mind, and he knew he had one more job to do before he could move on.   

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Fix it fic Snippet #2

“I don’t…I don’t know what comes next,” the Doctor said.  “It’s not…it’s not just my face that changes, it’s me.  I don’t- I don’t know if I’ll-” Rogue gently cupped the Doctor’s face in his palm, and the Doctor fell silent at the touch.  

“I’m here for as long as you need me, whatever that looks like for us.”  Rogue said. 

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Fix It Fic Snippet #1

Messages across the multiverse - even messages that only sort of happened, in a Wish World that no longer exists -  could leave traces, like a trail of breadcrumbs that a skilled navigator could follow back to their originator.  Traces that could be locked onto if, say, the navigator had a ring that bore the DNA and psychic print of the person who sent the message.  

The Doctor pressed the ring to his lips, and pulled it from his finger to set in a small tray on the Tardis’s console.  He pressed a lever, pulled a switch, and disconnected a series of wires from the navigational circuit so that he could clip them to the ring.  He closed his eyes, and laid a gentle hand on the Tardis’s console. 

“I know I’ve asked a lot of you, old girl,” he said.  “But- just this one more miracle? For me?”

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Doctor who it’s me your regency era situationship I’m in cgi hell. You have to remember that you’re gay

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TimeRogue 1800s Chamaeleon Arc Fic

Wrote this a while ago, posting now for......no reason at all, no recent events in the fandom that make this feel relevant or anything

Rogue was taking notes on all the ways that John Smith was different from the Doctor.   First of all, John Smith snored.  Rogue’s tiny servant’s room was just off to the side of John’s, and he could hear the man’s thunderously loud snores even through the heavy oak door that divided them.  Rogue wondered what quirk of the chameleon arc had caused the doctor’s human lungs to be capable of that type of noise when his Time Lord lungs did no such thing, but ultimately had to shrug it off as a biological complication he’d probably never understand The second thing, which went hand in hand with the snoring, was how much John Smith slept.  It has been a while since they’d had a human traveling with them, and Rogue had forgotten just how much sleep their fragile little bodies needed to function - an entire third of every earth day? It was absurd.  Granted, some of his frustration with this schedule may have been related to the fact that he was relegated to his own tiny, cramped bed rather than John’s large, plush, comfortable one.  He could imagine much, much worse things than spending a third of the day tucked away with his arms around his sleeping husband…but given his current role was as John’s loyal manservant, such fantasies were currently, unfortunately, out of the question.   The third thing was the way he looked at Rogue.  The Doctor made no secret of how he felt about his husband’s appearance - he was wont to stare unabashedly at Rogue with that soft, wide grin of his whenever Rogue did something he found attractive.  John Smith was all furtive, secret glances and downcast eyes when it came to his manservant Roger. Earlier that day, John had asked Rogue to pull down a book from the high shelf for his studies; the action of reaching up had caused Rogue’s shirt to hike up an inch, revealing a glimpse of the skin around his midriff.  When he’d turned to hand John the book, the other man wouldn’t meet his gaze, and Rogue thought he’d detected the barest hint of a blush in his dark cheeks.  It was very sweet, in a way, even if it made Rogue’s heart ache a bit to see his usually-confident husband so at war with his feelings.  The chameleon arc was able to instill a period-appropriate set of base memories and social conventions in the Time Lord it transformed, but unfortunately that meant that an 1810-based John Smith had no understanding of any type of physical attraction outside a strict heterosexual binary.  If they’d had more time, the Doctor could have tweaked the base settings to allow his human self to better understand his own preferences - and his feelings for his husband - but they simply had needed to work too fast. 

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Touch-Starved

It’s been so long since anyone’s touched Rogue.

Since he lost Art…there’s never really been anyone. Sure, there’s been a few quick affairs in the backs of nightclubs, always after Rogue’s drank far too much to know or care where he is and who he’s with. And there’s always been the occasional brief bit of contact needed for his jobs - a handshake at the right time, a reassuring pat on the back to the right person - but even those have been few and far between recently. And none of those come close to what he longs for - a hug, a caress, someone to reach out and wipe away the tears that he stifles for as long as he can before they burst out of him. It’s been five years since anyone touched him out of kindness, not because they had to or they wanted something out of him but simply because they cared. He tells himself he’s fine, tells himself he doesn’t need the contact, but it’s a lie and he knows it. He feels the lack like a physical ache inside him, like a huge, gaping pit that threatens to pull him under every time he dares to toe its edge.

When he first meets the Doctor, he’s unprepared for the wave of longing that nearly sweeps him away in an instant.

Rogue knows the power of his own looks, he’s seen the evidence of it often enough in the past. He’s used to the exchanges of one beautiful person to another - the soft challenge, the confidence, the casual currency of attraction as a promise for all involved to have a cheap good time. But the way the Doctor looks at him is so much more than just the appraising look of a man calculating his odds of being able to get laid in the near future. There’s depths in those beautiful brown eyes that Rogue could drown in if he doesn’t watch himself. I care about you, the soft doe eyes seem to murmur. I want to know you. He knows it’s got to be a lie, knows this man is most likely the Chuldur he’s been hired to track down, but…he’s tempted, for a moment. Tempted to play along, tempted to let the other man reach out to him, take his hand, whisper false promises into his ear that Rogue could pretend, just for a minute, to believe. The Doctor follows him outside and Rogue can feel the distance between them as though it’s charged with an electric current: only scant inches separate them as they walk through the gardens together. It would be so easy to fake a stumble, to ‘accidentally’ let his hand brush against the Doctor’s…he imagines running his thumb gently over the Doctor’s knuckles, imagines their hands sliding together until their fingers interlace, imagines the feel of warm, soft skin brushing against his own.

He catches himself when they stumble across the body of the Duchess - gods, he’s pathetic, fantasizing about holding hands with a depraved killer just because the man has pretty eyes. He presses a blaster to the man’s back, and imagines it as a wall separating them, as though anything could stop the way his his heart races when he catches the Doctor’s profile in the moonlight.

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Hey Callisto I am going insane over these tags they are top tier

I’m just a girl who desperately wants to know what was going on in Kate Herron and Briony Redmond’s heads when they named Rogue’s ship the Yossarian.

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The boys got moved to a new location in my apartment

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The first time that Rogue had opened his eyes to find himself back in 1813, it had seemed like a blessing.

He’d been falling, trying to prepare himself for the hell-dimension that he was about to find himself in, when everything had just…stopped, suddenly.

When he’d opened his eyes, he was standing on the balcony of the Pemberton mansion, watching dancers spin endlessly below him, and his breath caught in his throat as he noticed a particular yellow and maroon pair.

He glanced at the clock - it was striking 6 on the hour, just like it had when he’d seen the Doctor and Ruby for the first time. He looked around him - had he been somehow transported back in along his own timeline? But there was no other Rogue standing around, and when he looked down at his jacket it was just as pristine and clean as it had been at the beginning of the night - no sign of the dust and rumples from the night’s events. No, somehow time had unwound, and reverted to a few hours before - it shouldn’t have been possible, but here he was.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.

“Brooding. Good look. Do you practice that in a mirror?” The Doctor said, suddenly beside him, and Rogue wants to laugh and cry all at once. He’d never thought he’d see this man ever again, and now he’s right here in front of him, real and solid and beautiful and-

Staring at him like Rogue had absolutely lost his mind.

Right. Okay. Rogue wasn’t sure exactly what his expression had been, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t been an appropriate response to a lighthearted quip about his ability to watch over a room. He struggled to pull something more neutral onto his face.

“I do, actually,” he said. “Comes in handy at parties like this. You have to keep the matchmaking mothers away somehow.”

“I’ll bet you do,” the Doctor said, and the beat of awkwardness passes as he can feel the Doctor’s eyes sliding down to take in the whole effect of Rogue’s outfit. Rogue had to resist the urge to straighten his cravat.

“So if you’re not here for the match making, and you’d rather be up here than dancing, what are you here for, Lord…?” The Doctor said, looking at Rogue as he trailed off.

“Not a lord,” Rogue said, but this time it was with a smirk, and a sidelong glance to let the Doctor know he was a fan of what he saw.

“Oh, does not a lord have a name?” The Doctor asked, and grinned widely as he attempted a fairly decent impression of Rogue’s accent.

“Call me Rogue,” he said, extending a hand. The Doctor took the offered hand, but instead of shaking it he brought it to his lips and brushed a light kiss over the knuckles. Rogue’s knees went weak at the sensation.

“You can call me the Doctor,” he said as he lowered the hand, and he bowed gallantly.

“I think we should go outside,” Rogue said, and the formerly serious phrase becomes light and flirty as the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin.

“I’d love nothing more,” the Doctor said, and a moment later they were walking arm in arm out into the gardens.

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Timerogue Monthly Prompt (January):

Time Loop - Redo of the night over and over but Rogue only remembers it.

Someone may have posted this already, but the TimeRogue discord server is starting to do monthly prompts - wanted to share here in case anyone else was interested in participating!

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It’s actually fascinating because I think in some ways, we’ve actually seen the Doctor regress on the whole “relationships with past companions” thing.

In “School Days”, the 10th Doctor straight up admits that a nontrivial part of the real reason he doesn’t reach out is because he can’t bear to see them age and eventually die while he stays the same (or regenerates into a younger body). He’s able to verbalize that, despite his initial breezy claims of “oh, they don’t need me” the actual reason is a deep selfishness - if he never visits he can just keep moving forward, and always remember them as they were when their lives crossed. He doesn’t have to acknowledge that they’re growing old and dying without him.

15 just doesn’t seem capable of acknowledging that as part of his damage. It’s all “they’re better off without me, all I do is hurt people,” as though this is something he’s doing for them. Which…granted, he’s gotten a bunch of companions killed since then, and plus we had the whole Sutekh thing, there’s definitely reasons for that to be more at the forefront. And it’s unclear if he actually believes himself when he says it. But I just think it’s interesting that we’ve gone from “this is a defense mechanism for me, it’s probably unhealthy and cruel but it’s how I have to be for my own sake” to “hahaha this is totally for the benefit of those around me!! Definitely not something I’m doing for selfish reasons at all :)”

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Lost Until You’re Found Snippet 12/30

Rouge dreams of Red, their feathery blonde hair and brown eyes.

“You know, it’s not like you to fall for someone you just met,” they say. “He’s cute though, right? At least, he seems like the type of guy you’d find cute. You know I can never really tell.”

“You don’t mind?” Rogue asks, accepting the presence of his dead partner with the easy logic of a dream.

“I don’t want you to be alone, idiot. Besides, you’ve mourned me long enough.”

Rogue wakes up with a start, the taste of Red’s name still on his tongue. It’s still dark out, but he supposes that doesn’t mean anything about how long he’s slept - he doesn’t know what the daylight cycle on this planet is like. He feels like he’s gotten enough rest, at least, and the Chuldur didn’t murder him in his sleep, so that’s two wins there.

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So wait, what was the whole “joy to the worldS” thing about? Did I miss something?

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“So,” Anita asked, comfortable in a plush red armchair, feet kicked up on the edge of the Doctor’s desk.  “What’s the deal with the ring?” She leaned over, grabbed a piece of popcorn from the large bowl between them, and tossed it in her mouth.  

The Doctor, who’d just extended his hand to grab another handful of popcorn himself, froze with his hand hovering over the bowl.  “What deal? There’s no deal,” he said, glib words belayed by his own visceral reaction.  Anita rolled her eyes.  

“The whole six months you’ve been here, I’ve hardly ever seen you so much as frown,” she said.  “Nothing shakes you, not even that time you had to spend nearly a week clearing out the room those teenagers trashed. Nothing until today, when you dropped that ring down the sink and nearly destroyed Room 7’s plumbing to get it out.” It was an exaggeration, but only slightly.  He must have been cleaning out the sink, and the soapy water had been enough to let the ring slide off his finger and fall directly into the drain.  

Anita had run up the stairs when she’d heard the ruckus that had followed, assuming something terrible had happened.  Instead, she’d seen the Doctor frantically leveraging a wrench around the pipe’s fastener below the sink. 

“I can’t- I lost it, I have to get it back,” he’d said desperately, and she hadn’t known what he was talking about but she had known he was going to break the pipe if he wasn’t careful.  She’d grabbed a shallow bucket, set it under the pipes, and gently pushed the Doctor away from the mess.  When the pipe finally came off and its contents poured over into the bucket, a small ring had clattered out; the Doctor had grabbed it the second it hit the bucket, gazing at it reverently to make sure it was unharmed.  

“So there is most definitely a deal,” she said, letting her gaze fall to his left hand, where the ring sits once again.  The Doctor looked sheepish. 

“It’s….a bit of a long story,” he said.  Anita arches an eyebrow and grabs a handful of popcorn.  

“I have time,” she said.