#yes they’re high school sweethearts yes they met and married as 40 something year old men . they exist .

[teamfortresstwo]

Honestly I don’t see Vel as being their daughter at alll-

[justsome-di]

Class

This was posted on the second tier of my patreon last week! At the moment, I post a bit of Good Omens fics, but I also post original stories. By becoming a patron, you can access all of my writing content. Some works are posted here and on my AO3 a week after they’re up on Patreon, but there are still a good chunk that are exclusive to patrons! 

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It was a dreary day that made a person hide away in her room with her best friend, pressing a puff to her cheeks lackadaisically as she sat at her vanity.

I was that person. It was my vanity, my best friend, and it was my puff I was pressing to my own cheeks in the aforementioned lackadaisical fashion.

It was a day that was dreary not because of the weather—I find no weather dreary because the weather is only doing its best and can’t always be expected to be sunny and warm. Sometimes the weather needs breaks—like people. We can’t always wear smiles. Sometimes we have to sit in our rooms and mope for a bit as I was doing. A little rain never hurt anyone. Except for maybe that Noah fellow in the Bible. Or, I suppose, all of the people who weren’t Noah. But I’m neither Noah nor the people who weren’t Noah at that specific point in time, and the rain had never wronged me. What had wronged me was my parent’s insistence that I marry.

I’d been very fed up with hearing my father say You’re not going to stay young forever. Pretty women need a good man, and women like you especially need a good man. But I’d always put on a brave face for my parents and nodded along as they listed men that they thought could work for me. I had met a few. I didn’t like any of them. They were too serious for my tastes, and they didn’t understand me. I needed someone who could listen to my gossip and read the same fashion magazines that I studied night and day. But many men don’t read fashion magazines, and that’s all fine and dandy in the end. They would just have to be able to listen to me talk about my studies and carry my bags as I shopped for what the magazines had told me to buy. A good woman, in my opinion, is always in need of a good man who will carry her bags. It’s symbolic or what have you. A smarter person would be able to explain it, but I still carry my firm belief that a man should be supportive in his wife’s shopping.

“I really don’t want to meet this gentleman today,” I said. I didn’t want to meet him any day. “I’m not feeling adventurous enough. I wish I could just be his pen pal for a little bit before we rush into dinner and marriage.”

“No matter what, Mr. Kingsley can’t be the worst,” Stella said, though she said it with a grimace. “Just remember that egg Agatha was briefly engaged to in May. He was a nightmare. I don’t think a man worse than that could exist. Remember how he told her uncle how often he had been sent to bed without supper while away at school? What was it that he would do? Put thumbtacks on the teachers’ chairs and pour milk into inkwells so the rooms would smell sour without anyone being able to tell where it was coming from? He was awful. She deserved so much better, the poor thing. I’ve told her over and over, though, that she needs to take a break from relationships and fill her time with education or something of the sort. Just to build her independence. Women have a lot to learn.”  

Stella sat on my armchair. Occasionally, she caught a glance of herself in my mirror and maybe pressed a hand to a flyaway hair sticking up from her bob cut or ran the tip of her finger along her lipstick. She wasn’t always so vain (as I had sometimes been called every time I looked at myself passing by a mirror or particularly reflective window). She usually had her nose shoved in books or had her hands in paint. But she had taken a special interest in her makeup and hair ever since returning to America a few months ago. I had taught her everything I had learned over the years. I passed down old pencils and paints and helped trim up her hair. She was still the woman I had grown up with. Just prettier. Not that she wasn’t pretty before. She was just able to draw attention to the features I had begged her to draw attention to forever—her dainty nose and lips, her almond-shaped eyes. I was glad she had gotten over her silly idea that makeup didn’t do anything to make a woman feel better.

Stella and I were as similar as two peas in different pods.

She was as smart and cultured as anyone could ever get. Over the summer, she had gone to Paris to study art. In her letters, she told me how she spent her mornings in museums, her afternoons in cafés chatting with people of similar intelligence, and her evenings painting under the instruction of a young, French bohemian man. It sounded fairly boring to me, but she wrote such beautiful letters and occasionally included little sketches on cardstock. She told me about the people she met—all fancy writers that she insisted I read as soon as possible. I bought all of the books she told me about, but they only served to fill my bookshelf that had remained empty since my childhood. They looked beautiful, and I encouraged Stella to recommend me more while she was abroad.

Meanwhile, I had accompanied my father to work every day over the summer, going to his office and watching him write down numbers and tell people Yes, I think we can make that work or No, there’s no room in our budget. We cut that department by 40% last quarter, don’t you remember? I ought to fire you for nearly doing so stupid. The executives and I will discuss it in our board meeting with the president and CEO or something businessy of that sort. To be honest, I never really listened all that closely. I mostly stared at his pencil sharpener, dreaming about eating the lunch my mother and I would have made that morning that always sat next to my father’s desk. I would wonder if the bread was getting too hard or if I would enjoy the fruit after it had set outside the icebox for so long. My father could have been saying anything. I didn’t even know his position. He had told me that I should watch him at the family business so that one day I would be prepared to watch my future husband take over. He said that whenever I asked my husband for money—as I did with my father and as my mother did with him, too—I should know where that money comes from. I would write Stella pages and pages of rambling letters before dinner every day. At night, I would have to find any party to go to just shake off the grimy feeling the business had left on me.

My mother would occasionally listen to my retellings of the drama of the workplace, and she nodded with the utmost sympathy and petted my hair. She would say something in her high, mousey voice that would do little to comfort me. Her talk was always about how we had to do what’s best for our men. Even if that meant watching them do boring work. Stella was really the one who would do well to make me feel better in her letters. She was grounded, and she always knew what to say. She would recommend me even more books to empower my female spirit. They weren’t as attractive as the prettier ones she talked about. The titles themselves put me to sleep and the authors were usually dead, but I took her word that they were very good. I just couldn’t have old books in my possession.

Before I go any further with this story, I don’t want you thinking that Stella is any sort of drag. I’ll have you know that she knows a good time when she sees one. While in Paris—the city of art and love and such romantic stuff—she took good advantage of the alcohol. The Good Samaritans such as myself hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in America since the prohibition. Stella missed it sorely and drank the finest wine she could get her hands on while abroad. I had imagined that her Bohemian lover had whisked her away to his little apartment every night after a bottle and shown her what men from the city had to offer. She didn’t really say it to me, but I understood the twinkle in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks when she talked about him. She was going to go back to Paris and take me with her to meet her artist. I was thrilled to meet him and see what kind of influence he had on my Stella.

Stella had her whole life planned ahead of her. She would marry an intelligent artist, they would have little artist children, and she could spend all her time reading the novels she loved so much and painting because her children would be little, wonderfully well-behaved creatures that would obey every word their fair parents would tell them. When she got tired of painting, she would turn to writing essays about—what does she call it? Feminism? She could write essay upon essay about that. She would have a lovely cook in her home and a delightful maid that never snatched an earring or couple of coins when no one was around. I once had a maid who took one of my favorite bracelets, and I had the hardest time asking for it back. I eventually told my father, and she was fired the next day.

I hadn’t the foggiest clue what my future would be like.

“What do you think he’s like?” I asked.

“Mr. Kingsley?”

“Of course.”

“I think he’ll be nice,” Stella said.

She shrugged. A sign of indifference. She looked away as well, and I wondered if she was hiding something that was ruffling her feathers.

“Nice?” I asked

“Nice enough. I can imagine the man your parents would find for you. He’s probably the same type of egg as your father.”

She was doing her best to avoid my eyes, and she frowned so heavily. I pushed on with the conversation anyways.

“That’s what I’m worried about. Maybe I don’t want to marry a paternal-imitating egg. Maybe I’d like to be with a poet.”

“A poet?”

“Or someone like that. Someone not involved in business. Maybe a film actor would suit me better?”

Stella almost laughed. “How are you going to meet a film actor? Your family isn’t that important.”

“I could become an actress.”

“You?”

“I think I could make a career in the movies. Be a sweetheart. You know, like Mary Pickford.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s not as though they talk much. I wouldn’t have any lines to learn.”

Stella hummed. She was amused by my plan, I could tell, but she didn’t realize that I was being absolutely serious. I had dabbled in theatre in school—as she very well knew—and had gotten the role of one of the maids in Hamlet. And theatre, I’ve heard, is much more challenging than films. If I was an astounding maid, then I would be phenomenal in films. As I had just said to Stella, film actors have no lines. No one would ever know what my voice sounded like.

“Think of how little we know about how good these actors are at delivering lines. I have it on good authority that that Chaplin fellow has an English accent,” I said. “Can you believe that? An English accent!”

“Most people from England, I believe, have English accents. And I’m not sure if an accent dictates how well someone is at acting.”

Stella wasn’t keeping up. Of course, the accent didn’t mean anything to his acting. It was the fact that we didn’t know he had an accent. If we couldn’t even place something so big as his country of origin then how would we know if he was any good at monologues? It was as if she didn’t want to have this conversation.

“As I was saying,” I said, putting my nose in the air. “I think I would make a fine film actress. All I would have to do is make those poses and move my mouth a bit. Mary Pickford is so glamorous, wouldn’t you say? And Douglas Fairbanks.”

“Of course.”

“I could be glamorous. I could go to those parties and premieres. I’m just as pretty as the rest of them.”

“You really want to be known as just pretty? Darling, you wouldn’t have a voice. You’d just be a face. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“It’s more than just being a pretty face on screen. I’d have to be in the public. I’d have to play tennis!”

“Tennis?”

“Yes! Haven’t you seen those pictures of Charles Chaplin and Douglas Fairbanks playing tennis? All movie stars must do it.”

“I’m not sure where your mind goes sometimes.”

“Stella keep up! This is important. This is my future.”

I felt bad for the dear. She had such a one-track mind. It made conversations with her so hard at times.

“Do you think Mr. Kingsley plays tennis?” I asked. “It would be delightful if he did.”

Stella didn’t answer. Her face had taken on a somber look—the same look my mother had when she had told me that my pet fish had to go to the country to soothe his nerves. I never saw him again. My mother told me that he had found a better life, and he would be healthier with his new family. I always suspected that he had really died.

I worried about Stella’s face. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and drew her eyebrows together. She looked nervous to speak. The conversation wasn’t about tennis or movies anymore.

“Can I be frank?” Stella asked.

“You can be anything you want to be.”

I was ashamed that my voice wasn’t stronger, but, you see, I’m not a fan of serious conversations. My parents always avoided them, and I never learned how to cope when presented with one.

“It doesn’t matter if he plays tennis or not,” Stella began. “I don’t think you want to meet any man for dinner that your father chooses for you. It doesn’t matter if Mr. Kingsley is exactly like you, your relationship isn’t going to work because it’s forced. And furthermore, I don’t think it’s right for your father to do this. You should be able to find a man on your own. I have no doubt that your father has your best interest in heart, but for God’s sake, it’s 1927. We’re free.”

I smiled as well as I could. For Stella’s sake. I think she relied on my happy demeanor a lot.

“This is how things are,” I said, trying to sound casual. “My parents are depending on this.”

“I’m being serious,” she snapped. “It’s not right for you to marry whoever they want while other girls are going out, voting, getting jobs, and driving! You still haven’t learned to drive even though you promised me you would!”

“That’s different!” My voice was rising, and I suppose it sounded a bit like my mother’s. “Driving is scary! I’m not sure how you do it. I can’t sit behind a hunk of metal and not hit anyone—”

“Because your parents have told you that you shouldn’t drive. I told you I would teach you.”

“I don’t have to drive to embrace these womanly rights you’re always on about.”

“Maybe not, but it’s more than driving. You freeze in any situation. Driving would teach you how to take control. To take yourself to where you need—want—to go with no one else able to stop you. To feel yourself leave behind your home for just a little bit.” Stella looked at her lap for a moment and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calm again. “You at least need to stand up to your parents. You need to tell them that you’re going to find someone for yourself.”

I didn’t want to fight. I hated fights. I believed I was allergic to them and had been meaning to talk to a doctor about it.

I crossed the room to sit on the ottoman in front of her chair. My mother had picked out all the furniture in the room. I sat forward a little bit. I could feel my dress riding up my thigh as it caught on the ottoman. The first time I had come out of my room in a short dress, my parents had thrown a fit. They said that showing knees didn’t get a woman respect. My mother even called me a harlot, and I was offended when I looked it up in the dictionary later that evening. I was also surprised (and a little impressed) that my mother knew such a big word. Stella would have been proud of me if she had seen me lifting my chin and telling them It’s fashionable, and I’m not going to caught dead in something that looks like it’s from the War. She would have clapped and told me that the suffragettes had a similar attitude over lunch. Instead, she embraced me when she saw me that same day and said We’re liberated—knees and all. While she wasn’t the most up-to-date on fashion, her bare knees were the first I saw. I never told her what my parents thought about it.

“It’s not that easy,” I said to Stella. I couldn’t be angry. It wasn’t an emotion I was very keen on. “I have a responsibility. You can meet French artists and paint sunsets. You have a brother who’s taking care of the family. I’m all my parents have, and I have to do this for them.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“I do. I owe my parents a son-in-law and an heir, and I owe Mr. Kingsley dinner in an hour.”

My chest felt tight. I grabbed my necklace that hung so low that it almost rested in my lap. I would have to change into jewelry more conservative before I left. But before then, I would roll the pearls closest to my chest between my fingers. My mother would have told me that ladies didn’t fidget like she always did when I played with jewelry. Ladies are statues, she would tell me. I always asked her about our relationship with pigeons when I saw them gather on grey stone in the city, and she would only answer Just do your best to be polite to them.

“Think about who are you,” Stella said. “Because I don’t think you know who that is.”

“I know who I am.”

“Yeah? Then who are you?”

It wasn’t a fair question. No one would know how to answer that. I knew who I was as well as anyone else. Stella wouldn’t go up to a random person on the streets and ask them as sternly as she asked me without getting an odd look or a business card.

“You used to tell me that doing whatever your parents wanted infuriated you. What happened to that girl?”

She grew up.

I wasn’t a little girl anymore, kicking rocks because my parents made me go to a stuffy dinner while Stella was never forced to meet her parents’ drab friends. I was an adult, and I was realizing that a lot more compromises had to be made. The more I learned about the world, the more I realized how much I was missing out on.

“If you want to be Mrs. Kingsley or Mrs. Whoever-Your-Parents-Find, then I won’t hold you back. You know I’d support you in whatever you choose to do. But I’m scared for you. Don’t convince yourself that you want this. I know you have a brain in there somewhere.” She smiled a little. “You can use it to think for yourself.”

“I don’t use it for much else, I suppose.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not sure about this. I don’t want to disappoint my parents. Or Mr. Kingsley. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Would you rather disappoint yourself? Make a life with a man you hardly know and have his children and spend your days with a stranger? You can go to dinner with him tonight, or I can take you out. It’ll be just the two of us. We haven’t had dinner together in a while, have we? I still haven’t told you about my last letter from Victor.”

Victor was her Bohemian artist. She was crazy for him, and they had found each other on their own.

“Let me think about this. It’s making my head ache.”

I looked to my vanity only to avoid Stella’s eyes. I had my makeup sitting out, ready to touch up what was already on my face. My hairbrush was next to the powders and lipsticks for when I had to pull out tangles before I left. I even had my outfit hanging on my wardrobe door. It was the only outfit my mother had approved of. It was the longest skirt I owned, and the blouse with the highest neck. It was such a bland color. Light blue. Close to grey like an old woman’s hair. I was fond of black dresses and bright blouses. I should have thrown it out a year ago. My mother was making me wear my lowest heels, as well, and I had wanted to vomit over how old I looked. I looked as old as the women that gave me dirty looks when I went into town. I looked as old as my mother. I could have been going to church in that outfit, for Christ’s sake! No respectable girl of my age should have been forced into that.

I took great care to read about the newest fashions and trends from everywhere—England, France, Japan, etc. I had cut off my hair at 17 when I realized (way too late I confess) that long hair in up-dos had been out of fashion for quite some time. I transformed overnight. I looked like Edna Purviance. I had thought about getting on a train to Hollywood to show a movie director or modeling agency that I had the look. I had the short waves even if they were a bit crooked. My jaw and neck were exposed, and I felt scandalous and exposed. My mother almost fainted.

I discovered makeup the same year. I learned how to hold my hand steady to apply eyelashes and how to draw a cupid’s bow on my lips that Clara Bow herself would be jealous of. I propped up magazines next to my mirror and yanked at my eyebrows with tweezers until they looked similar to what I was seeing. I found a shade of blush that didn’t make me look like I had an odd infection but instead had spent a decent amount of time laughing and being happy. I painted thin lines around my eyes and dabbed a modest amount of eyeshadow on my lids. Stella and I had helped each other find powders that would make us look paler but not like corpses. I practiced my pout in the mirror and experimented with holding my head at different angles.

Later, after I was away from the judgment of school teachers, I had begged my father for money for a new wardrobe. I gave a whole speech about he should want a trendy daughter. I’ve already told you their reaction to seeing me in my first short dress.

Stella looked at her wristwatch in resignation.

“I should be leaving.”

She stood. I grabbed her hand.

“Give me a little time,” I told her. “I’d like to write Mr. Kingsley a letter for when he comes. I can’t turn a man down to his face. I also need to touch up my face and hair. I can’t be seen like this in public. Let’s go to that little café around the corner, and then, I think, there’s a movie playing this evening. We can make it if we hurry.”

I tried not to think about how furious my parents would be, and I tried not paying attention to the tightening of my stomach that killed my appetite and interest in films. I put my faith in Stella and prayed that Victor had a brother.

[raywritesthings]

Lost in Translation 1/?

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: In a universe where people are born with the name of the person destined for them displayed on their skin, intergalactic soulmates can be rather difficult to navigate. AO3 link

The Time Lords told their young about soulmate markings the same way they told their young about everything else. Dispassionately, matter-of-factly, and with a sense that it was best not to dwell on something so base and trivial.

A quirk of biology, thought to be a leftover trait from the time of the Carrionites. Words, after all, had been their power, though there was certainly strength behind High Gallifreyan and even Circular Gallifreyan texts.

Neither a quirk of biology nor any written form of Gallifreyan could explain Theta Sigma’s marking, however.

“There are clearly four distinct symbols, though one repeats, you see?” He twisted in place to be able to look back at Koschei while also pushing the collar of his robe to the side. It wasn’t proper protocol to show someone else your marking, but children broke the rule all the time, even at the Academy.

“And they’ve always looked like that?”

“Of course they have. They’d be even more remarkable if they’d changed, I daresay.”

“Do you like to think they make you special?” Koschei drawled.

Theta flushed. “Well, no. Not special necessarily. Merely different.”

“You needn’t any help with being different.” He couldn’t very well disagree with his friend on that count.

Theta did protest, however, as Koschei stood and walked across the room. “Aren’t you going to show me yours?”

“Why should I?” His friend asked loftily. “They’re pointless to us Time Lords. I’m sure we’ll have evolved past them in a matter of generations. Who knows, maybe your nonsense symbols are the first sign.”

Years later, they were both deeply involved in their studies, and anything else hardly bore thinking about. At least, that had been the impression Theta was working under, only for Koschei to march into the room with no preamble one day while he was in the middle of testing his newest invention.

“I’ve found your symbols.”

“My what?”

“Your soulmate marking symbols,” he enunciated as though he thought Theta was being particularly thick today. Koschei set a thick tome down on his workbench. “They’re from a primitive language originating on the planet Sol Three. We’re going to be covering it along with several others next term.”

Theta was hardly concerned with the subject of next term’s classes, however. “And this language has a word with all of those symbols? In the exact order?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what does it mean? Out with it!” He urged.

Koschei rolled his eyes. “It simply means ‘lady’, silly. How very foolish of you. Not only could you not manage a soulmate marking in the proper language, you couldn’t even manage a name.”

Theta’s face felt very hot and he wished he wasn’t at the Academy at all, but back at the barn.

Koschei hardly seemed to notice, instead looking very pleased with himself for figuring out the mystery. That was true Time Lord arrogance, always the need to be clever.

“And what, may I ask, were you doing looking for my symbols, hm?” Theta demanded, if only to wipe the smirk off his face. “Thought you said they were nonsense.”

“Well — they are. I wasn’t looking for them. I was reading ahead in the course material. Obviously.” Koschei scoffed, but it didn’t sound as convincing as his usual.

“Obviously,” said Theta anyway. “Well then, it hardly bares discussing, does it?”

They never brought it up, nor did Theta Sigma bring it up to another person, ever again.

—-

To humanity, soulmate marks were a little slice of fairy tale in an ordinary, mundane world. Parents cooed over the name their baby was gifted at birth, perhaps picked a birthname they thought might sound nice together, then got caught up in the swirl of nappy changings, first steps, first words, teething, and so on. When the child was old enough to understand, that was when they were told about the mark — though that age varied depending on the parents, of course.

But Donna Noble had always understood. She wasn’t like other babies who were given a gift at birth. Donna Noble was given a curse.

The interlocking circles that spanned almost the expanse of her back were just another oddity, as if it wasn’t bad enough being ginger and never skinny, not even during her growth spurt. Dad and Gramps always had a good chortle over how mum had fainted straightaway at the sight of her mark.

“What is it, some kind of graffiti? My daughter’s got some street tag on her back, oh God,” was her refrain every time she glimpsed it. Donna learned to wear cardis and jackets and shawls, even to the pool.

“Now, now, Sylvia, I’m sure that’s not it,” her dad responded in a well-worn way every time, somehow striking the balance between exasperated and fond. Donna wouldn’t have believed in soulmates at all if she didn’t watch her parents somehow stay in love despite, well, everything.

Her dad was real good about the whole mark thing, really. “Do you want it removed, love?” He asked her one night near the end of primary school, rubbing the spot in soothing circles as Donna cried into her pillow. “People get that done, these days.”

“Would it hurt?” She asked in a small voice, lifting her face slightly to be understood.

“Well, I imagine it would a little. But we’d be right there, your mum and I, and your grandfather.”

Donna thought for a long moment. She imagined it would hurt an awful lot, and there was the question of money. Everyone at school already knew about it anyway, thanks to the girls who snickered behind her back in the locker rooms. There’d be no point now.

“They’re jealous,” her Gramps insisted, sitting in his chair on the hill. “You’ve got something they haven’t, sweetheart, and that makes you special.”

“But I don’t want it,” she replied, her knees drawn up to her chest as she sat on the grass beside him.

He chuckled, placing an arm around her shoulders. “Well, no no one asks for what they’re given. It’s their choice whether to make the most of it or not. You’ll see, love. One day, I’m sure of it. You’ll find your — well, whoever he is.”

Why was she the one who had to have it all muffed up? Oh sure, Susie from maths had a Tom; he’d be hard to find, but at least it was something. Some Tom out there in the world who could share everything with Susie if they ever met. Be her closest friend, her support, the one person who understood her completely. Donna didn’t even have the luxury of pretending.

There were some, people said, who weren’t born with anyone’s name marked upon their skin. They were said to be happy, that they never felt a lack. Sometimes Donna wished that she were like that; other times, the thought occurred to her that someone like her would never be good enough on their own going nowhere as she was, and imagining being alone in the universe her whole life terrified her. But she was as good as, wasn’t she?

Stupid circles. It wasn’t Chinese characters, or Japanese, or Korean; it wasn’t Arabic; it wasn’t even bloody hieroglyphics!

—-

When the Doctor first married, his wife trailed curious fingers over the old symbols but never asked. They had that understanding about each other. It was comfortable, it was easy. They were good to each other, and for each other, so his old teachers often remarked.

It was not the life he dreamt of, either when he closed his eyes or when he gazed up at the orange sky from his place lying on the red grass — his little Arkytior with him now, not Koschei — but he could not find it in himself to regret it. Not when he knew a hand in his was the only abatement to his loneliness, his sense of not belonging on Gallifrey, he was likely to ever receive.

And then he and Arkytior, now Susan — Rose, he had told her, was the proper translation of her name, but she had been adamant in choosing her own, the stubborn child — were no longer on Gallifrey, instead lost amongst the stars in a rickety Type 40 TARDIS he barely knew what to do with.

It was not until his travels took him to Earth with increasing regularity that he realized the symbols — D o n n a — were not just a word. They had also been adopted as a name. Humans named their infants lady sometimes. How curious.

Curiouser still, was the idea that he had been given the name of a human to wear. Him, a Time Lord, who lived for centuries and did perhaps grow old but changed rather than died. He had children and grandchildren, yet was not even middle-aged! What if he should meet this Donna tomorrow? How much of his life could he reasonably expect her to be a part of? A century? A handful of decades? It not only seemed foolish, it seemed cruel.

The Doctor did not seek out any of these Donnas, not like he might have in his true youth. Not when Susan left with her David — he hadn’t had the heart to check her marking; he did not wish to know what had her so taken with the human — not when Ian and Barbara left, not when he continued to travel and meet new humans with all variety of names that hurt him badly enough when they all in turn took their leave of him.

Not even after the Time War, when he was left with nothing. Not a people, not a family, not an other half. The temptation beckoned, but what other person could wish to share themselves with a monster like him now?

Instead, he found a new Rose. Different in many aspects to his precious granddaughter, but still he was unaccountably fond of the pink and yellow human who brought some of the old joy of traveling the stars back to his weary eyes. Despite some hiccups, such as accidentally taking her from her home for an entire year, she seemed to like him a great deal as well.

The Doctor did not realize just how much, unfortunately, until he lost her too.

“Wait,” Rose said, clearly struggling not to break down on her end of the connection he had created to say a proper goodbye to her on the parallel world. “Wait, before you- before you’re gone, I need to know. Is it you?”

“Is what me?”

“The name I’ve got. Is it yours?” To his dismay she turned around, unzipping her jacket with the clear intent of showing him her mark. “Yours is mine, isn’t it? I love you.”

“Oh, Rose Tyler,” he sighed, his hearts sinking. She flickered, then faded from view as the connection weakened and then died, not before he glimpsed markings in a twenty-six character alphabet clear as day.

What had he done? All that time, had he led her to believe — oh no. No wonder Jackie and Mickey had often viewed him so poorly.

This soulmate business truly was horrid and pointless, his old friend had been right all along. The Doctor resolved then and there to forget the entire thing. Not just forget, he would actively ignore and work against it. He could tattoo over the name like the Corsair used to do, make sure every companion knew corresponding soulmate markings between species was an impossibility — he’d told worse lies. Do everything in his power to halt the idea in its tracks before it even began to germinate.

Then he turned around to find a ginger bride standing in his TARDIS.

—-

Donna Noble flitted from relationship to relationship after school. Between being a temp and her own unique situation, nothing ever felt like a good fit. Not to mention, all the times she was dumped soon as her time was up at this or that office. She was just practice, her mum always said. People wanted to be able to impress their soulmate on the first go.

It would be just the same at her new job, her mother harangued her as she applied, got the assignment, and prepared for her first day at H.C. Clements. No one would be taking any special interest in her except as a cheap date.

But then Lance Bennett from Human Resources smiled at her across the office and gestured to the coffee machine. He was nice, friendly, and certainly her type. Basically, a dream come true, and Donna had given up dreaming a long time ago.

She couldn’t imagine why the Head of Human Resources at a posh company like this would be interested in her of all people. Unless...

“This isn’t cause you’ve got a Donna you’re looking out for, is it? Am I the first one you’ve met?” Donna demanded over the third coffee in as many days, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Lance pulled a face. “Oh, I don’t put any stock in that rubbish.”

Her heart leapt. “Really?”

“Why would I tie myself down to someone just because of their name? It’s nonsense. I could be totally wrong about them being ‘the one’, couldn’t I?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Donna enthused. “Unless, you know, it’s like something real specific. My friend, her parents stuck her with Nerys. Said it’d be unique enough for her soulmate to find her right away. Well they haven’t yet!” She laughed, and Lance smiled at her and Donna felt so much better about this, about everything.

Maybe Lance wasn’t meant to be her ‘one’. But if neither of them minded, what was the harm?

She couldn’t wait for him to pop the question. What if he changed his mind? What if he met someone off the street with the name she refused to even look at? Donna didn’t get lucky like this. It was now or never if she didn’t want to end up the old maid her mother said she was destined to be. Who cared about destiny? She was choosing to love Lance.

And he’d said yes. The wedding was being planned, her mum flying into a frenzy of activity all of a sudden. Even Nerys agreed to be maid of honor, though she claimed it was due to needing to be there to believe it. They booked St. Mary’s and a hall for the reception, and Donna went for a dress fitting. She made sure to pick one that, between the veil and her hair, would cover up the old mark. A wedding dress fitting, it was actually happening!

Her only regret was Gramps coming down with the Spanish Flu. Of course she urged him to go to hospital, but she would have loved to have him there with her mum and dad. Part of her considered delaying the whole thing, just by a week to see if he’d be any better by then, forget the honeymoon in Morocco. Lance assured her that they would be filming it anyway and he’d see the whole thing, and that calmed her down a bit.

Of course, she was a whole different bundle of nerves the day of the wedding. Donna couldn’t believe this was happening to her! Each step she took down the aisle was a step closer to the rest of her life. She was beaming ear to ear, practically glowing!

No, hang on, she really was glowing. Donna stopped in the middle of the aisle in shock as she lit up bright gold. There was a strange sensation, it almost felt like an invisible pull on her. Everyone was staring, and it wasn’t because she was the bride.

Donna screamed.

She blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the strangest room she’d ever seen. Everyone from the wedding was gone. Instead, staring across at her in bewilderment was the skinniest bloke in a suit she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

“What?”

“Who’re you?” Asked Donna.

“But.” That was it, he didn’t actually have an ending to that.

“Where am I?” She demanded next.

He switched right back to, “What?”

“What the hell is this place!”

“What?”

[lattetae]

get to know me [pt. 21345789] tag 

RULES: you must answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people

tagged by the following sweeties : @puppytae @blumiin @kookmiinie @taeonie

i’ll tag [optional as usual] : @lovekyg @winktaes @donghunny ok i quit i don’t wanna bother 20 people lol but here are some new mutuals so hi!! obvs you don’t have to do this but i just wanted to show recognition! 

THE LAST:

1. drink: coffee

2. phone call: my mum

3. text message: ‘hows it hangin’ @ my friend

4. song you listened to: smooth operator - g.soul (he also just came out with a new hit n it was really good but like…idk i didnt hear as much of his nice voice as i thought i would?? maybe his style is changing since he left jyp idk)

5. time you cried: yesterday

6. dated someone twice: no

7. kissed someone and regretted it: no

8. been cheated on: no

9. lost someone special: all previous pets :’(((  

10. been depressed: i was depressed throughout high school and i think im better now thanks to leaving the shitty 12-16 education system. looking back on how i acted back then is like looking at a different person. but sometimes…i think we just pretend to be happy right?

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: im teetotal, although my sister constantly reminds me that i won’t stay like this for long. 

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14: fawn, mustard, light green

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. made new friends: do tumblr buds count? if so - yes. :))) 

16. fallen out of love: no

17. laughed until you cried: yes! 

18. found out someone was talking about you: no 

19. met someone who changed you: people do change us but i don’t meet many lol i need to get out more? 

20. found out who your friends are: i guess i always knew….maybe i need more

21. kissed someone on your facebook list: fb is still breathing???

GENERAL:

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: n/a

23. do you have any pets: two cheeky little fancy mice and one mischievous red cavapoo

24. do you want to change your name: i think everyone hates their name when they’re young, i always yearned for my name to be something different - ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’. but given the compliments that i get on my name now, i think i have grown to like it :)))

25. what did you do for your last birthday: i went to a chinese restaurant with my parents and my older brother. we had a huge vegetarian banquet (ahhh i hate wasting food so i tried to eat fucking loads lmao). 

26. what time did you wake up: 9.45am

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: watching a girl and three sweetheart - i loved it at first but you know when the storyline just slows its pace in the middle jfdskgfhg i’m like just get together already!!!!!

28. name something you can’t wait for: i need to make a phone call to sort a work placement out n the worry is at the back of my mind 24/7 so i can’t fucking wait until i have made that damn phone call. i’m procrastinating; i hate phoning :((

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: like 1hr ago? she was watching the great british menu lol she loves her cooking programmes (in contrast to me). i think she secretly dreams of working in the catering industry again.

30. what is one thing you wish you could change in your life: i wish that i had more confidence, i think that is the main thing that prevents me from achieving so much more. i doubt myself and i can’t do basic tasks with ease (such as making phone calls or even trying to get a weekend job). in that way, i think i’m such a failure lol. 

31. what are you listening right now:  E66S 卵 - I know where I’m going

32. have you ever talked to a person named Tom: yes (i appreciate the randomness) 

33. something that is getting on your nerves: my own thoughts afhkdsfh just stfu

34. most visited website: youtube

35. mole/s: arms n like a couple on my leggos

36. mark/s: tuan? lol nah i dont have any marks

37. childhood dream: i used to want to be a detective blessss

38. hair color: brown 

39. long or short hair: short

40. do you have a crush on someone: no

41. what do you like about yourself: i make decisions with my heart not my head. a lot of people would call that a weakness. not me lol

42. piercings: three. 2 on one lobe and 1 on the other. i rarely wear rings though bc i can’t fucking get my ball closure rings shut!!:((( i gave up long ago damn i forgot they even existed

43. bloodtype: my parents are both O so i’m guessing that i am an O too…or something went wrong lol 

44. nickname: saff, saffy

45. relationship status: single n ready to– stay single forever

46. zodiac: gemini

47. pronouns: she/her

48. favorite TV Show: six feet under is so good omg like i can rewatch that shit ughhhhhh i can’t recommend enough its just so realistic n deals with issues like death and relationships and internalised homophobia and depression and nymphomania and growing up and growing old. it. is. a. good. one. 

49. tattoos: i want some

50. right or left hand: right hand

51. surgery: i had a partial nail avulsion a couple years ago and it was a wild experience (which involved looots of waiting) but the nhs did me proud in the end :)) the doctor asked me what my fave band was (p!atd) and so he played a playlist of mvs on his little computer screen and all the nurses were reacting to it. 

52. piercing: same

53. sport: what is a sport lol no thx

55. vacation: japan

56. pair of trainers: i don’t own any trainers fkhdjg

MORE GENERAL:

57. eating: avocado skins are next to me - need more clues?

58. drinking: on my way to make another coffee

59. i’m about to: make a coffee

61. waiting for: my life to begin

62. want: to go grocery shopping soon

63. get married: i often romanticise marriage but i know that it has caused my mum to be trapped in her current one so yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me dawg

64. career: veterinary nurse – pls pray that i get all my grades bc im very worried at the moment :(((( 

WHICH IS BETTER?:

65. hugs or kisses: hugs bc they are rare and usually make me cry

66. lips or eyes: ?? both??

67. shorter or taller: taller

68. older or younger: someone with an old soul, but not necessarily old in age

70. nice arms or nice stomach: arms? idc

71. sensitive or loud: both at the same time

72. hook up or relationship: soulmate :’)

73. troublemaker or hesitant: troublemaker

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. kissed a stranger: im sure that i have kissed a strange dog..or rather it invaded my mouth with its tongue ajfhsdkfj does that count

75. drank hard liquor: no

76. lost glasses/contact lenses: who tf loses glasses - no

77. turned someone down: no

78. sex in the first date: no

79. broken someones heart: no

80. had your heart broken: im 17 ffs no lmao 

81. been arrested: no but i got detained in urban outfitters for stealing a ring when i was in high school hahahah. the security guard ran after me and my then friend and dragged us behind into some room and took mugshots on his phone. he then raided our bags… damn he was awful but luckily my friends mum came to pick us up or he said he would take us to the police. then we were banned from the shopping mall for a year and banned from all urban outfitters for 3 years! i havent been in since lmfao

82. cried when someone died: i had to go to a funeral for someone that i didn’t know and i ended up crying because of the atmosphere you know? also of course i have cried at all my previous pets deaths. 

83. fallen for a friend: no

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84. yourself: i like to think so but no i don’t aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i hate myself for doubting myself so much

85. miracles: no

86. love at first sight: no

87. santa claus: of course ;)

88. kiss in the first date: is that even a belief?? i think that it is fine.

89. angels: eg. kim taehyung

OTHER:

90. current best friends name: ginny

91. eyecolor: brown

92. favorite movie: one of my faves is the man from nowhere. it is a korean thriller and a must-watch. one of my favourite english movies is jarhead, because apart from the fact that i love jake g, i also love the theme so much. i think it makes for some really interesting conversation.