#i miss you every day tsp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queenburd · 2 years ago

Text

So like I was gonna do more with this and I might later but right now it’s bite sized and pleasant, it’s nicely self contained, so here’s a TSP fic about the narrator being indecisive about making himself a character model.

—

[ I have a question. ] Stanley posits to no one in particular.

He is standing in the room with two doors, quietly considering. As it is his choice, the narrator is quiet here, and allowing him the privacy of his own head. Mustn’t spoil which route Stanley wants to take for himself, he’s said before. Keeps the fellow on his toes.

(Toes. Ha. How relevant.)

“Yes, Stanley?” The narrator prompts him with friendly curiosity. At one point he may have asked with impatience, an effort to keep him moving, but they’ve done every route so many times that sometimes, it’s more fun to take their time. Stop and smell the roses. “What’s on your mind?”

Stanley—fidgets. It isn’t like him, to fidget, or hesitate. When he finally signs again, after a long consideration, it’s clear he’s chosen every word very carefully.

[ It’s probably a silly question. Is that okay? ]

“Well, Stanley, you are a silly person, so I expect nothing less.”

He scowls at the ceiling, scrunching his nose at the tease. There’s no heat in it, of course.

There’s such a… gentleness, to their relationship, these days. For two entities designed to be in conflict, they’ve somehow found a way to meet in the middle, and find the places where they disagree as ways to appreciate each other. It’s hard, having to deal with someone else’s perspective when they think so differently from you.

But it’s good. It’s nice.

“Go on, then. I will reserve my judgement on the silliness of your question for after I hear it.” Stanley snorts.

He looks at his hands. Releases a puff of breath.

[ Do you have a body? ]

There is no response, but this is fine, because Stanley continues, nothing but genuine curiosity behind his thoughts. There is no motive, no craving. Just simple questions.

[ I usually think you don’t, but sometimes you sigh, or cry or clear your throat, or just do things that imply more than just audio. People have lungs and stuff, to make those noises. But I know you’re not human. But do you have a character model somewhere, like mine? ]

“Um. Er,” is the uncertain reply. The fellow sounds caught off guard, a little sheepish. “I… no. I don’t.”

[ oh. Okay. ]

Stanley isn’t disappointed, not really. Okay, perhaps a touch. But not enough to be properly bothered.

“Wh— is that it? No followup?”

He shakes his head.

“Is it a problem that I don’t have one? I’d never thought to—good lord, can you imagine?”

Stanley shakes his head again, then considers it, and lifts a hand, seesawing it vaguely.

It isn’t a problem, per se, that the narrator isn’t a physical being. It’s simply—

[ Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch. We’re not human though, so I don’t need it. It’s like the sleep thing. ]

“Hm.”

The narrator sounds contemplative, learning something new. Stanley fidgets again.

[ I was just curious. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. ]

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” the tone is dismissive, distracted. It stings a bit, but it’s probably for the best. The last thing Stanley wants is to make them stew in an uncomfortable atmosphere. The pair of them should move on.

It’s honestly fine that Stanley’s never had interaction with another person. Or. Well. He thinks it is. It doesn’t bother him frequently. He ISN’T human, so he isn’t about to go mad without it.

There have been times where he really really wished, needed, craved comfort—mostly in the worst moments when the both of them were affected. The aftermath of the Skip Button ending is the most obvious.

But the narrator’s voice has become its own kind of presence. It can rest on his shoulders like a weighted blanket does, grounding him and soothing him, easily as intimate as a hug.

So there’s no real loss here. Stanley can’t miss something he’s never had. It’s honestly okay.

“Er, Stanley?”

Right. Doors. Stanley crosses his arms and considers them.

“The door on the left, you know the drill.”

Mm. No, he thinks he’ll take the door on the right. The lounge is calling his name, singing sweetly with its serene blue and photos. Then maybe he’ll play a different game behind a blue door.

There’s a little grumble that follows him when he heads to the right. Stanley smiles, gives a cheeky wink.

—

The narrator—ponders.

He doesn’t do it frequently; he finds he doesn’t like to. It’s quite easy for him to get stuck thinking about one little thing, one tiny detail, capturing all his attention until he comes back to himself and finds hours have passed and Stanley is sitting against a doorframe trying to entertain himself with a whiteboard and marker, having long since given up trying to capture his attention.

Pondering is not… good for him, the narrator thinks.

But, as he is prone to do, he catches himself going back to a moment, looking it over again and again, trying to glean something new.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Do you have a body?

The narrator is a voice. He is a part of the parable, he is a mechanism. But then, Stanley is a mechanism of the parable as well; a vessel for a player.

It isn’t the same. They are intrinsically different. But do they have to be?

The narrator is and is not the world; he is and is not the halls, the doors, the very air itself. He controls it, it controls him. He has access to its assets; it has access to his mind.

He wonders if this is how humans feel about their own bodies. Both in control, and plagued by limitations.

Oh, for goodness’s sake, he’s doing it again. Going off on an inexplicable contemplation of the nature of humanity, existence and choice. Honestly, sometimes even the narrator doesn’t know what he’s on about.

The narrator doesn’t have a body. He doesn’t need a body.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Would…

Would Stanley prefer it if he had a body?

I don’t need it.

He thinks on the hesitation in Stanley’s fingers. He wonders what it would be like to squeeze them.

Textures. Temperatures. Softness, firmness, sharpness. Scents, tastes.

Senses he knows about in theory. He has no frame of reference.

Would it be that difficult to make himself a character model? He has assets hidden in the code of the game, models he can edit, tweak, piece together to make something new.

Oh, but how could he choose the right features? How could he know when it’s really him?

And—oh no—what if Stanley dislikes it?

The narrator knows himself, he knows that if he wants to do something he commits to it until he thinks it’s perfect. He won’t settle for less. He’d put his heart and soul into it.

If he put all that work into a model, and Stanley didn’t like it?

He doesn’t think he’d take it very well.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do.

—

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he—would you at least be so kind as to let me finish?” The voice berates Stanley as he swerves right without pause. Stanley doesn’t even roll his eyes.

He’s going to go see the lights.

There’s a nervous clearing of the throat. “S-Stanley was so bad at following directions—“

Spare him, please. He understands the needed script, but it grates a bit this time. Stanley balances on the edge of the platform, a hand around the support rail, timing his jump.

“Look, Stanley—“

Not his enemy. No, they’re not enemies. In fact, Stanley would go so far as to call the fellow his dear friend. It’s why he’s doing this.

This is not an act of cruelty. He knows the fear it strikes into the narrator, and in honesty Stanley cannot blame him. The number of times the protagonist has gone down this route just to find a different exit, all in vain, is not a high value, but it’s still too many.

There are only two ways out of the room behind the red door. One is in the narrator’s power, if he can overcome his own nature to use it. The other is in Stanley’s power, and makes them both miserable.

It’s not ideal. And it’s so frustrating, because this place really is beautiful. It really is up there as one of Stanley’s favorites.

Clearly anxious, but trying to keep his composure, the narrator loads the map into the starry dome. In the instant Stanley steps into the room, all the panic falls away, into an easy bliss.

“Oh…”

Stanley walks to the center of the platform and sits. He crosses his legs, craning his head up to watch the lights.

The narrator is quiet, but his flood of real peace is palpable. This is one of the places he seems most open. Most willing to relax.

Usually, that can be a danger after too long. He ends up stopping, never progressing forward, unwilling to move. That’s not a life.

But they’ve compromised on so many things. This is one of those things too.

[ I’m going to stay a while ], Stanley offers in the dark, knowing he will be seen. [ You’ve been preoccupied for a bit. Do you want to talk about it? ]

“I—“

The voice cuts itself off, clearly surprised, the anxiety slipping back in.

[ It’s okay if you don’t. I thought being here might help you deal with whatever’s going on. I’ll wait as long as you need. ]

—

To say the narrator is embarrassed is putting it mildly.

He feels caught red handed, even though he hasn’t even done anything.

“Am I really so obvious?” He grumbles, more to himself than to Stanley. The man grins anyway.

[ I know you. I pay attention. ]

“Hmph. That’s debatable,” he grouses. Still, Stanley was wise to come to this place to prod him. He’s much more at ease here. A little less ashamed, afraid, overwhelmed.

[ Like I said. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll stay here while you sort out whatever’s been bothering you. This way you don’t have to be distracted by the narration. ]

He’s being…. Kind. So kind, to a person who used to be his enemy, his jailer. How has the narrator been so fortunate to have a Stanley that is so exceedingly good? He knows he certainly hasn’t been a fine example in the past.

He sighs. Stanley lays back, hands behind his head on the floor. It can’t be comfortable, on the metal grating. The narrator gives a small noise of warning, before he changes the texture pattern on the dark floor to the rug he’s saved for the Bottom of the Mind Control Facility Bucket ending. It’s a bit more comfortable than the carpet in the office.

It catches Stanley off guard a little, and the narrator chuckles as he shakes his head at the sudden change, like a wet dog shaking off water. But he settles back with a smile.

“If you intend to be there a while, you may as well be comfortable.”

It’s just… so easy. To be with Stanley. To do things for him. To try to make him smile. Like it’s innate. It wasn’t always. But he’s changed. The both of them have.

They look at the lights for a bit. The narrator feels himself relax. Like he’s floating. Like he is one of the lights, going up, down, changing slowly, unhurried and unconcerned.

Why has he been so worried?

It takes him a long minute to realize he wasn’t the one who had wondered that.

Stanley waits for him. Stanley doesn’t demand anything from him. Stanley’s intentions are entirely devoid of deceit or manipulation.

It makes this… easier.

“I…”

But not completely.

“I’ve been thinking. About making something new. I haven’t decided if I should do it, because, well—I worry you won’t like it.”

Stanley’s eyes are closed, but he’s awake. He’s listening.

The narrator is being very careful with his words. It’s been at least fifty runs since Stanley asked him about a model, so he knows at least that it doesn’t occur to the protagonist that this is related.

No, Stanley is wondering if the narrator has been considering new endings. Why wouldn’t he like the new endings? They aren’t ones where he dies painfully and miserably, are they?

The narrator chuckles good-naturedly, suddenly far more at ease. “No, Stanley. No cruel twists of fate that leave you mad or dead, that much I can assure you.”

Okay. Then Stanley isn’t sure why he wouldn’t like whatever the narrator makes for him, if it comes from some place genuine.

It leaves him a little tongue-tied. The narrator hears himself swallow, without a throat.

“It’s not that simple.”

Why not?

“Because…”

Because he doesn’t just want Stanley to like it. He doesn’t want Stanley to be happy because it’s a new thing.

He wants Stanley to like him. He wants to make this thing himself, the way humans shape their bodies to fit the way they picture themselves in their heads, and he wants Stanley to like what he sees.

It would be him. It would be his. And if Stanley was just neutral about it, or just didn’t like how he looked, then—

Oh, he couldn’t bear it. It would hurt him irrevocably. He’d throw it into the deepest pit of code and never think about it again.

“I… I think, if I did try to make this, this idea I’m considering, a reality, well—you know I don’t do things halfway. I’d be so—it needs to be perfect, do you understand? And if I spend all this time on it, only for you to, to—“

To treat it like his story.

“—yes! Exactly! Oh, Stanley, this is for you, it’s all for you. I just want to make something for you that you’ll care about, and appreciate.”

(And love, he is certain not to say. There’s no need to attach such words to this idea yet, that’s a little too dangerous.)

Stanley is very quiet. He’s thinking, but he’s thinking in that way where he wants to be certain with his words, so the narrator gives him his privacy. The narrator looks at the lights. He lets himself relax again.

He can feel Stanley’s tender heart. His compassion. Stanley cares deeply for him, can see how much it matters to him.

A desire fills the protagonist, an intense longing he can’t bury, hard as he tries. The voice can’t help peeking at it, not when it’s bubbling over like a boiling pot against a lid.

More than anything, Stanley wishes he could hug the fellow.

He must make some noise of surprise, because Stanley’s demeanor changes instantly to one of embarrassment and trying to recontextualize.

He wants to comfort the narrator! He doesn’t mean to make it weird! He just wishes he was able to provide the fellow a physical sort of validation!

The narrator feels more than sees Stanley’s face flushing all the way to his ears. He can’t help laughing, not at the man necessarily, not even meaning it at his expense. It’s just…

It’s a little adorable?

Stanley’s embarrassment only grows. Welp. Moment ruined. Time to go throw himself off the stairs.

“Absolutely not!” The laughter dies instantly, turning to an angry sort of panic. Stanley flinches.

Right. Not a funny joke when it’s here.

The narrator inhales deeply. “God, you gave me a fright.”

He can feel the genuine remorse radiating off his friend. Forgives him immediately.

“It’s—it’s alright. Slip of the tongue, as they say.”

Well, Stanley can’t talk, but, yeah. They both are on the same page.

“In any case. Thank you for listening. I… I think I will try, actually. I honestly appreciate your… your sentiment.”

The narrator can hear the smile in his voice. Yes, he’s going to go through with this. He’s certain now.

Because Stanley wants to hug him. And that in itself has erased all his doubts.

Still.

“Can we… stay here, for a little longer?”

He’ll reset. He will. Stanley doesn’t need to hurt himself. It’s just…

It’s so peaceful here.

Stanley shoots a thumbs up at the ceiling, towards the lights. The narrator relaxes again. Tries to imagine himself laying besides Stanley. Looking up with him. He wants it more than anything.

“Thank you, Stanley. I… thank you.”

Soon.

#the sparrow parable #the stanley parable #tsp #tspud #may writes #this was done on my phone so I prefer to keep it bite sized #I might do more for this concept but this for now is so solid that it stands fine as it is #also the narrator is kind of gay. but not intentionally.#they’re still firmly platonic. but they want to hug.

33 notes · View notes

urmomsattic · 2 years ago

Text

TSP fanfic cuz A03 hates me😭😭🙏

I’m not a writer so I apologize

Narrator was heartbroken as he tried to explain why Stanley couldn’t just dance with him, as much as he wanted to but this story was too perfect for it to end. This is the story he wanted, Stanley looked at him a look of betrayal something he’s nvr seen in those sweet puppy dog eyes. “Stanley look, it’s not you, it’s just this story-”

Dazed and confused. A clock with no handles, his computer, black as ink, only seeing a reflection, a broken man. He looked as id he didn’t sleep in days. The office, quiet and undisturbed as if the place had been abandoned. Where was everyone? Possibly overslept or missed a memo? This wasn’t like his coworkers to just… Vanish-

A voice echoed, that all too well known voice, It was defecating, ringing to his ears. As if the voice unlocked a core memory.

“This is a story of a man named Stanley.”

Was this deja vu? Was this a dream? He’d sworn he’d heard this voice, went through these doors, who was this voice telling him what to do? What was his name?

The Narrator remembered everything, every waking moment he spent. his hard work destroyed just because of a measly human emotion. Why was it so important to Stanley to ruin the only “happy” ending, it wasn’t like there was an actual escape for Stanley.

“Nonono” he told himself, that escape shouldn’t have been there in the first place, it was simply a bug he had to fix. After all, he couldn’t blame Stanley. No wonder he was devastated and upset, the one chance the two meet face to face and he couldn’t even hold his hand. It was too risky but never knew it could end as tragic as Romeo and Juliet. Things would be different, he’d make sure of that…There was no Zending, it never existed, there’s no such thing as a ledge, no such thing as an exit. Stanley would be confided in this nightmare of an office building.

The Narrator started off with usual monologue and shenanigans as Stanley did everything opposite what the Narrator asked of him. Couldn’t he just listen for once?! Stanley snickering as the Narrator yelled at him to get back on course. He gave up, convincing Stanley to agree on anything was like training a stubborn dog. He sighed as he reluctantly pulled up two colored doors, both were very vibrant and choices were an illusion after all. Something about those doors clicked in Stanley, those doors somehow were danger, big red flag beaming. Stanley stood there, frozen, as if he was paralyzed, he suddenly couldn’t move as wave a terror and panic arose.

“Stanley Walked through the Red door”

“Oh thank god you are willing to listen to me”

all he felt was sharp and agonizing pain in his throat, it was as if he choking on a Rhodonite. He managed to cough up measly flower petal, it was delicate and soft. It was concerning how he managed to cough up a storm from that.

“I need water.” Stanley thought as he smoothed his neck, it left a burn like his throat had been torched.

“Stanley, are you alright?”

Credit to my good friends Sweaters for their Narrator design <33

#tsp au #tspud au #tsp bucket #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #tsp fanfic #tsp fanart #tsp angst #tspud spoilers #tspud bucket #tspud narrator #tspud427 #tspud stanley #stanley x narrator #stanley x bucket #stannarrator #narrator x stanley

28 notes · View notes

birdybirdnerd · 2 years ago

Text

IT'S WEDNESDAY MY DUDES

You know what that means!

Template and idea from @kedreeva

It’s another WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names. (I am doing four this week)

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Because of my job, I’ll likely be busy on and off all day, so what I’ll do specifically is take asks for this all day and respond to them as able, and any leftovers THAT WERE SENT TODAY, I’ll continue responding to them through tomorrow (if I get that many, that is)

MY WIPS:

pendragon alderpat thing

tsp zombie au

fofe mount bur omisace

SE CH17

fofe mount bur omisace under the cut! i actually finished the last chapter lmao

The entrance to the holy mountain city was through a narrow pass that wound through two smaller mountains. The wind howled constantly, blowing freezing snow into their eyes that managed to find every possible crack in their defenses to worm its way to bare skin. Bobby never thought he’d be warm again.

What a time to miss the Dalmascan deserts.

Wow. Never thought he’d think that.

Eventually, though, the pass widened and they got their first contact with society again.

#personal #wip wednesday #fate or a fools errand #my writing

2 notes · View notes

the-coconut-asado · 2 years ago

Text

Eating the Sevillana

This is a very short post about a very big dish.

I had a friend whose number one bucket list wish was to dance the Sevillana in Seville itself. She would go all misty-eyed, start to roll her wrists and glide around the room in slow-mo at the very mention of it. Not sure if she ever realised her dream but every time I do a wrist roll in pilates I think of her. She is my earworm equivalent of the Mandalorian theme tune.

Which got me thinking: if the Sevillana was a dish, what dish would it be?

Having visited Seville for the first time late last year, I think I have the answer.

It’s Arroz con Pata.

Arroz con Pata (or the more prosaic Rice with Duck) is the perfect fusion of indulgence, seduction and intensity. Stick with me here, this is not mere hyperbole. The version I ate was served in the shallowest of pans, glistening, oil-slicked pearls of calasparra rice enriched with garlic, herbs and an intense bone broth, topped with thin slivers of duck breast, shimmeringly pink in the middle and crispy skin outside. All this with a sprig of rosemary and a genius few knobs of butter to finish it off.

I could have polished off the entire dish for two if this hadn’t been a sharing situation - and I also had my pick of artichoke tempura and pork belly in this line up: greed was still good.

I kept coming back to this dish over the very few days of my visit. Partly because deep in the heart of the tourist area your choices are a bit hit and miss, but more because I wanted to identify all the flavours in the dish to recreate it. Then I came back to my kitchen and tried out a version that included tiny jewels of chopped chorizo.

Maybe because that first attempt resulted in me setting fire to the extractor fan (too much duck fat meets a splash of wine equals inferno - but I still blamed the chorizo fat) I left chorizo out in my second attempt and, whether by accident or design, it was the right choice.

Here’s the recipe for my version of Pata con Arroz. Do be careful when adding wine to sizzling fat, and make sure you have taken the pan off the heat for a couple of minutes and poured away all but a tablespoon of the stuff. One forkful and you’ll have the Sevillana dancing in your mouth.

My Pata con Arroz

Serves 2-3 hungry people.

Ingredients

2 large duck breasts, skin slashed

1 tbsp olive oil

2 banana shallots, chopped finely

1 medium- large red chilli, chopped

1 generous tsp. Ground cumin

1 tsp thyme (dried or freshly picked leaves)

1 tbsp sweet paprika

1 pinch saffron

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 tbsp honey

1 jar roasted red peppers, drained and roughly chopped

1 400g can borlotti or butter beans

150ml red wine

400 ml chicken or vegetable stock

200g calasparra rice

1 lemon

Seasoning

Bunch of flat leaf parsley, chopped

25g salted butter

How to make

Heat the stock in a saucepan and keep warm on a very low heat, or turn the heat off and cover.

Heat the oil in a deep skillet and fry the duck breasts, skin side down on a medium heat, for 4 minutes. Turn over and fry for another 2 minutes then remove the duck breasts and put to one side. Take the pan of the heat and drain all but 1 tbsp of the oil and duck fat (the skin will give off a lot of fat). Add back to a low heat then add the wine and stir as it bubbles and reduces a little, then add the honey and stir. Add the duck breasts back to the pan and simmer, basting with the honey wine mix until cooked but still pink in the middle - 3-4 minutes. Remove the duck to a plate, cover in foil and keep warm.

Add another tbsp. Oil to the pan, reheat then add the shallots and chilli.

Stir fry for a couple of minutes until caramelising then add the peppers, then the borlotti beans. Stir for a couple of minutes until the juices are slightly thickened and bubbling. Then add the rice and stir to coat.

Slowly add the stock to the pan, season with salt and pepper, then let it all bubble on a low heat until the stock has reduced and the rice is cooked (15-20 mins).

Slice the duck breasts and arrange over the rice. Scatter with chopped parsley and knobs of butter, then a squeeze of lemon to serve.

2 notes · View notes

kaida427 · 2 months ago

Text

FROM MY GRANDMA'S COOKBOOK:

Forgotten Cookies - Norma Stewart and Catherine Barbee

2 egg whites 3/4 cup sugar 1 tsp. vanilla 1 package semi-sweet chocolate bits Beat egg whites until stiff. Add sugar and beat very stiff. Fold in chocolate bits and add vanilla. Drop by spoonful on greased cookie sheet. Preheat oven to 350 degrees (Fahrenheit). Put cookies in pre-heated oven and turn off oven. Let cookies stay until oven is cool. May be left overnight.

Yield: 3 1/2 dozen

Rest in peace, Chat, we miss you every day. I'm so happy to have your old cookbooks to make the recipes you made for my dad. It for real makes him tear up when I use them. As much as I make fun of all the fucking gelatin "salads," so much of this stuff is straight up fire. I annotated all the books I got and took pictures of the recipes I like just in case something happens to them.

If you've ever looked at a bit of crumbling drywall and gone "boy am I hungry right now" then meringues are the recipe for you. They're simultaneously very simple and very finnicky, but if you can get the hang of them then you can experience eating chalk (but sweet!) whenever you want, with none of the limestone content involved in eating real chalk. A batch of meringues is just 3 egg whites, (at ROOM TEMPERATURE) 1/8th teaspoon cream of tartar, 3/4 cups regular white granulated sugar, and a half teaspoon of vanilla extract. (or you could do a different flavor, if you like your conkrete to be fancy. I do not. I am here to experience texture with minimal flavor.)

You combine all the ingredients but the sugar in a mixer with a whisk attachment, and whisk at high speed until soft peaks form. Then slowly sift in the granulated sugar, whisking as you go. Once all the sugar is whisked in, keep mixing for another five minutes--the mix should be glossy and sleek, not dry.

Then pipe the cookies onto a parchment-lined pan, about two inches across, leaving an inch of space between. If you have fancy frosting tips and a piping bag, use them. Bafflingly, I do not have those (why? what have I been doing with my life that I own three machetes but not frosting tips?) so I just used a gallon ziplock with a hole poked into it and made beautiful little angel turd shapes.

They bake at 200 F for 45 minutes, and then should be allowed to rest in the oven for another half hour with the temperature off. Don't open the oven while they bake! Let them cool completely, and then you can eat something that has both the visual look and the mouth-feel of a packing peanut.

I love these things. I'll post an out-of-oven picture when they're done in like an hour.

#for future reference #i didn't mean to get all sappy there whoops #but yeah these cookies are FIRE everybody needs to try them #they're dry and crunchy but they fall apart quickly enough so it's not that bad for my sensory issues #and they're yummy :3

4K notes · View notes

eazy-group · 2 years ago

Text

Air Fryer Sweet Potato Fries | Slimming World Friendly Recipe

New Post has been published on https://eazydiet.net/air-fryer-sweet-potato-fries-slimming-world-friendly-recipe/

Air Fryer Sweet Potato Fries | Slimming World Friendly Recipe

I am kinda crazy about sweet potato, I will happily throw it into a salad, casserole, curry or as fries! I just like something a little different occasionally rather than the same boring old spud! These sweet potatoes are perfectly crispy on the outside, soft in the middle and seasoned to perfection.

Don’t fret… if you don’t have an Air fryer don’t be scared away! They can be baked in the oven too.

Is this recipe suitable for Slimming World followers?

One thing you may not be too impressed with is.. these are not Syn Free but there is a reason for it. Frylight completely destroys your Air fryer.. and oil works much better with this recipe.

So we are going to use one teaspoon of oil (preferably olive oil) and this will make the recipe worth 1/2 a Syn per serving.

Why you’ll love this recipe….

Delicious and tasty

So easy to make

Only half a Syn per portion

Low in calories

Perfect side dish

Slimming World friendly

Crispy on the outside and soft in the middle

Vegan recipe

Looking for an air fryer?

I literally could not live without my Air fryer.. it is switched on every single day! From cooking full meals, to making toast or even just heating up croissants for the kids!

There are so many air fryers on the market and each has its good and bad points! However…. I can highly recommend the Cosori Air fryer which comes with a 100 recipe cook book.

Batch Cook – Storage Information

Fridge: These are best eaten fresh from the air fryer.

Freezer: These are best eaten fresh from the air fryer.

Looking for a delicious Syn Free dipping saucy dippy dip?

Syn Free tomato ketchup Syn Free BBQ Sauce

DON’T MISS A SINGLE RECIPE! SIGN UP TO FREE EMAILS BELOW.

Air Fryer Sweet Potato Fries

Super easy to make and delicious sweet potato fries all made in the air fryer. Crispy and tasty, even the kiddos will love these too. This recipe has been created with Slimming World in mind but is also suitable for anyone following WW or a calorie deficit. Nutritional InformationSlimming World: ½ a Syn per portionWeight Watchers: Coming SoonCalories: 131 Per serving

Course Lunch, Main Course, Side Dish

Prep Time 5 minutes minutes

Cook Time 15 minutes minutes

Total Time 20 minutes minutes

3 Large Sweet Potatoes [Peeled, Sliced into fries]

1 tsp Olive Oil

½ tsp Paprika

Salt

Ground Black Pepper

Throw your sweet potato into a freezer bag or a mixing bowl.

Put in 1 teaspoon of oil, paprika, 2 large pinches of salt and a good healthy seasoning of black pepper.

Shake the bag or use your hands to cover the fries in everything. Ensure they are well coated.

Pop into the air fryer at 170c for 10 minutes.

Remove, shake, season with a little more salt.

Put back into the air fryer at 200c for a further 5 minutes or until golden and crispy.

OVEN BAKE OPTION: Line a baking tray with grease proof paper. Place in the oven at 200c/Fan 180c/Gas 6 for 20 – 25 minutes, flip half away.

Have you created this recipe?

Please let me know how it turned out! Leave a comment below or share a photo on Instagram tagging me at @fatgirlskinny__ and the hashtag #fatgirlskinny.

Source link

0 notes

honeyhotteoks · 2 years ago

Note

tequila sour? oof that sounds delicious! i miss tequila 🥲 or, better saying, i miss being young enough to handle tequila shots hahaha i’m getting a bottle of tequila from a friend who’s gonna be back from mexico soon so i’m def gonna try this one!! any special touches to the drink you recommend? :D

seriously, i know its a bit pointless to say this, but if it helps just a little bit: you don’t need to worry about branching out in your writing! because even IF (big if) it ends up not being as good as your other stuff, its okay because at least you tried something new! as someone who works directly with writing, trying new stuff is good even if its bad :)

also just wanted to echo some other anon that messaged you the other day saying that they wished they were your friend lol every time i read your twt/tumblr or read your fics i feel like we’d get along well. i even like the outfits you described in aurora, which is rare for me in y/n fics 😂

anyways hope you’re having a lovely sunday night! 🥂🤍 - ❄️

ahhhhh thank you sm ❤️ and yeah honestly i’m just having a lot of fun in a different genre. i’m working on a short sanhwa series too that’s different for me too that i’m so excited to share after this fic.

as far as the tequila goes… my go to sour is 2 parts reposado and one part lemon juice, a bit of simple syrup and a couple dashes of orange bitters with a tsp of egg white shaken with ice and then at the end i add an orange slice. if you only have silver, i just swap out the orange for grapefruit. it’s pretty great ☺️

also that’s so nice to say ❤️ thank you sm and feel free to message me any time!!

#answered anon

0 notes

vellichorom · 2 years ago

Note

What was your favorite part about creating Thierry?

TSP really brought my sibling & I together, did you know? just a month or so after ultra deluxe dropped last year, tommy INSISTED that The Narrator was very mecore, &- not knowing what TSP was to BEGIN with, I was dragged into the game, & soon after, getting IMMENSELY fixated on it & making a narrator for doll's stanley.

cut to now, just about a year after the initial start ( though i really started working on thierry in august ), we're SO close & we're pretty much sharing everything these days, including our own rendition of TSP. with you !!!!!!

...................okay BUT;

during the close-to-final process of finalizing thierry's design, tommy was ALL over him. i love looking back on that period from now where i think doll'd kill him for a bugle chip

#anonymous #inbox #TSP blogging #IT'S HARD TO SAY....#every day especially recently has been my favorite part of his ' creation ' i suppose #getting up to discuss & flesh out all topics w/ my sibling regarding our TSP #getting to share his bitchass with you guys #ALSO BOO BETA THIERRY JUMPSCARE #i miss drawing thierry like that actually. ah well

38 notes · View notes

give-soup-please · 3 years ago

Note

Previous anon here

I understand. Hell, I even get your perspective, at first you were Just Some Guy, but then I saw more of you. You're the guy who really likes soup, who likes analysing and enjoying fan content, who ran away from home. The guy who lived a life worth considering a story in of itself. When someone makes something that I enjoy, I feel happy and associate that happiness with them. I always rejoiced whenever I saw your comments, I love hearing what authors think of their works, or just commentary on it. Just. The person behind the art puts a lot of the art into context.

And I'll be honest, I've read your response over and over again. I don't think it's still sunk in that this blog has an expiration date. Despite that, I feel pressured by myself to say "oh, you can still think of the characters, you can still love them", but considering your ride or die artistry, I feel more negative will come from positive there. (Apologies if this is a bit all over the place, it is roughly 4am.)

Just. I care about you. I feel emotions for you. I see a you behind the curtain of words that you display, and I care. I feel comforting warmth when you post, showing you're alive. I feel conflicted and bittersweet about this whole situation, and I feel hopeless yet hopeful that there'll be a happy ending to this. I want to say that you can walk your own path, but I don't know enough to say that. I want and wish to be able to help or know what to say for comfort, but instead it's just this jambling mess. I'll miss you, and I'll be concerned for you. What I want to do is pull you close, hug you tight enough to make all the bad problems be squeezed out, and work together on the ones that can't be squeezed out. But I am a stranger on the Internet staying up well past their bedtime. And you are another stranger on the Internet, probably sleeping much more consistently than me. I wish I could end this on something thoughtful and daring and caring, but I'm nearly passing out every time I close my eyes. So, know that you are loved, even if it's the most distant, platonic love you've ever seen.

See ya soupman 🍜🍜🍜

I've kept this in my inbox for a while now, just smiling every time I read it. I'm glad that you and others have gotten joy out of what I've produced over the summer, and I'm doubly glad that people are enjoying the glimpses they see of the person behind the blog.

The relationship I have between my hobbies, my academic life, and the characters I love dearly is a complicated one. Even now, despite the fact that I've been thinking through a response for this for 2+ weeks, I still have trouble defining it. I will always love TSP, there's no way out of it, and I believe that the narrator is one of those exceptionally rare characters who I will always enjoy thinking about and rotating in my head. That won't go away, despite my attempts to suppress how I feel about the game. Believe me, I tried. It didn't work, the narrator lives rent free in my head and is outrageously smug about it. Even now, if I concentrate, I can see him grinning, kicking his feet back, and refusing to go. And frankly, I love him for it. Smug bastard.

The blog can't continue, I already made that determination when I started looking at what being a full time student means. It's a shame, but I only have the brainpower to focus on one at a time. And rather than keep stringing people along and have them wait and hope I get to their request, I decided it would be easier on all of us to make a clean break.

Me going off to college is... technically a happy ending in its own right. It's a matter of perspective, really. I'm majoring in English, my long standing passion. The thing it feels like I was born to do. I wrote my first story when I was five, devoured my first analysis essay at twelve, and I was set on the road for wonderful things. I get to read books and write all day, and you can bet that I'm looking forward to it. On top of that, if I keep my GPA high enough, I've got guaranteed housing for the next 2-3 years, depending on how I play my cards. (That's a long story by itself, a combination of unexpected financial help and scholarships.) As a technically homeless youth living in the most expensive state in America, that's huge. Housing is so hard to come by, and I'm incredibly lucky to have the resources I do. It's either go to college, or risk going to the streets. I know which choice I'm making.

While the direction my life is taking isn't the happy fairytale ending everyone hopes for, it's definitely not a tragedy either. It's a complicated transition between one phase of my life and another. There's grief and bitterness and sorrow, but also a lot of joy and excitement.

There are lovely books in this ivory tower, and the gilded cage is comfortable. I am genuinely content, now that the grief is starting to pass. I mean- they're offering a 'video games and culture' class. C'mon, I'm going to take that for the pure excuse and joy to rant about TSP in essay format. Hell, I'll do my dissertation on it down the line, if the chance ever presents itself. Even within complicated situations, there are ways to find joy and entertainment. I'm planning on taking fun, easy A classes wherever I can. Life will be good, because I'm going to make it that way, even within my limitations.

I appreciate your words, whoever you are. I do not know you, I do not recognize your writing style, but your words are seen and appreciated. Hugs, both physical and virtual, are appreciated too.

I'm wishing you well, anon, just as much as you wish it for me.

#personal #not tsp related #22 days between now and the end #how about that

27 notes · View notes

wuxiaphoenix · 2 years ago

Text

A Spice of Life

Some days you look at everything currently cooked and uncooked in the fridge and feel like, “Everything in here is fine, but I’ve eaten the same combos too many days in a row. Normally that wouldn’t bother me but the past few days have been stress and I want something... very slightly different.”

Like, some days you want something spicy. Just not too spicy. Enough spice and enough different flavors to be Not Quite what you’ve been noshing lately.

This recipe is one I haul out every so often for that. I can’t seem to get the coating nearly as crispy-good as standard fried chicken, and it tends to stick to my pans (I never got in the habit of using cooking spray) so I don’t make it frequently. But it does make a good change from just plain baked chicken. And leftovers reheat well. If you’re feeding a family you likely won’t have much in the way of leftovers, while if it’s just you or a couple people you can shove the rest in the fridge or freezer for alternate meals.

I find it goes well with pasta, kind of like chicken parmesan. Baked potatoes also work. Or even just a salad if your gut’s being cranky about starches. Though if you do that I’d recommend some tomatoes in the salad; they pick up the spices nicely!

Dishes you will want: Two shallow bowls. At least one pan to spread the meat out in. A spatula to turn the chicken during cooking. A teaspoon, a tablespoon, and a half-cup measure. Yes, I’ve used regular flatware spoons to measure. Recipe was originally from Carol Fenster’s Gluten-Free 101.

GF Oven-Baked Chicken

Base coating:

1/2 cup buttermilk or substitute (yogurt, sour cream, soured plant milks, etc.)

1/4 tsp cayenne (or less)

1/4 tsp garlic powder

Dry coating:

1/4 cup brown rice flour

3 tbsp cornmeal

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp white pepper (I omit, I’m not a pepper fan.)

1/4 tsp paprika (I tend to add more of this instead.)

4 large boneless skinless chicken thighs, about 1 lb. (I’ve also used breast pieces, and if you scrape the bowls this recipe can coat about 2 lb or so total, really.)

cooking spray (I butter the pan instead, the spray probably sticks less.)

Preheat the oven to 400 F. Grease your pan. Make sure the chicken is thawed, or at least mostly unfrozen. Mix the base coating in one bowl, the dry coating in the other. Take each piece of meat, rub it in the base, then pat it into the dry coating on each side and put your now-coated piece into the pan.

Note, given how much coating sticks to your fingers, it’s best to make sure you’ve trimmed any extraneous fat or whatever off the meat before you dip anything. Yes, off all of it. No, you really don’t want to miss one. Did I mention the sticky fingers? You may want to hit the sink to scrub off before you put the completed pan into the oven. Just to make things less complicated and messy.

Pan into the oven. Bake, turning once, for about 45-60 min, until you can stab the thickest piece and the juices are no longer pink. And serve!

#recipe #baking #gluten intolerance

10 notes · View notes

gerrydelano · 4 years ago

Note

Recently I've been thinking about writing a fic where a character is very suddenly injured and becomes disabled (something with the knee most likely), and I was wondering if you had any tips on how to write this respectfully. I have a cognitive disability and some minor physical stuff, but nothing to the same degree as what I want to write, and you always handle disability very well in your writing. (I'm thinking around the same injury severity as Jon's in tsp)

hey hey! first off, sorry this took a couple days, it's - surprise - the disabilities LOL. second, ahhh! i have a strangely warm feeling about this ask, so i'm happy to help however i can.

there's actually not too much to say! i've already written a big long meta about incorporating disability into writing, but i don't know how much of that one answers your questions, so i'll give an updated rundown on some more thoughts i know i've had pretty recently, too! you unlocked a really happy infodump, i actually love this topic so much and am very passionate about it so i'm excited to share!

the first question you should always ask yourself is "for whose sake are you telling this story?" ren talked about that concept in an ask about writing abuse dynamics, but the concept still stands. if you're telling the story of somebody else, you have to first ask yourself Why you think you should, what good is going to come of it, and be conscious of internal biases that may creep through it if you're not careful.

examine your work for trends or subconscious intention of writing disability for angst/whump purposes, so that someone else can cuddle the poor baby who got hurt and make them all better. one of the tag replies on this recent post talks about it some from the perspective of disabled people who see it in media, and how frustrating that can be! it's really painful sometimes, to see something that you live with and cannot take off at will be used as fuel to either get somebody off (really happens), or push the idea that love will cure you if you're lucky enough to find someone who doesn't mind that you're sick or hurt.

that is 100% bullshit! love and support are MASSIVELY important components to any healing process, yes, but it is Not a cure-all and should never be treated as the answer to any of this. someone approving of or loving you despite What You Lack is not romantic, it's not healthy, it's not okay to push. that's the top thing i'd warn you away from, personally.

also, don't get super graphic about the injury, necessarily? you say you were thinking maybe the severity of jon's knee injury in TSP, which is a pretty standard dislocation where most of the damage came from compression of nerves and tendons when it got stuck out of place. i honestly was scared of going too hard on that one even just by saying he could see the misalignment through his pants! that's my own nerves, but i can say looking back it wasn't actually that bad all things considered and you should be safe describing the most obvious sensory details if it comes up.

it's the grieving period after that matters most, i think. handling that with care is important, which means being honest without going too far, OR sanitizing it to a saintly degree.

when you get hurt like this, you DO grieve the things you used to be capable of that you might not be anymore. it's an adjustment! it's changing the way you live your life. even if you somehow managed to undo every ounce of internalized ableism you can and don't devalue yourself because of it, the limitations WILL be frustrating and at times painful. missing opportunities, needing accommodation that may or may not even be accessible, new hoops to jump through with doctors or transportation or seating at shows or events, all of that can weigh you down.

example: i had to bring my rollator to a wedding recently, which is a walker with wheels and a seat (which is very annoying to get on planes, might i add.) it wasn't my family! but i had to sit in the front row on the very edge, next to the bride's 86 year old grandfather who was Also sitting on his walker. being only 25 and already thinking that some people there might be looking at me sideways for needing the same accommodations as an 86 year old man, that i was making a "big deal" out of it just by being there, was something i had to work through in my head and get used to. it was a beautiful wedding! and not a single soul was unkind to me. but the little comparisons you make in your head when it's you, when you feel like you're being scrutinized, DO matter and exist.

so, consider what changes your character has to make to their life! what mobility aids might they use? cane, crutches, walker, rollator, wheelchair. how often? in what circumstances?

a lot of people who use mobility/stability aids are partial users! many of them can stand or walk or shuffle short distances, or even moderate ones, but keep their mobility aids nearby for emergency or precautionary purposes. i personally keep my rollator in my car for when i go to unfamiliar places when i'm not sure if i'll be able to sit down on short notice, but i don't need it around the house or on small errands to places i frequent enough to feel confident in. recently, i haven't even been taking it out at all! and i'm about to have spine surgery in two weeks. you have good days and bad days.

more examples: my latest chapter of PBR had a lot of focus on jon and adelard's respective disabilities and how strenuous activity pushed them to and past certain limits, which impacted the "action" scenes quite a bit!

that's something a lot of writers do feel worried about when they consider giving their characters a disability. some will even erase or lighten up the limitations they've previously established for convenience so that their character can get through an action scene that they technically shouldn't. of course you want your character to at least SURVIVE! so, find another way to get them through it that doesn't involve magically being healed for about an hour while shit is hitting the fan.

like i said in that older disability post, i was worried about this with gerry, too! and guess what? he's DEFINITELY going to be a partial wheelchair user by the 4th out of 7 fics, and more or less permanently by the very end of the story. i feel comfortable spoiling that because i'm not shy about the things he's dealing with and quite frankly, i'm excited to get to the point where he finally gets it because i just think he's EARNED it for christ's sake. it will make his life so much easier, even if running might not be feasible anymore.

in that last chapter, jon and adelard have to go down the stairs because there is no lift in the institute. elias not having a lift there has been a problem of the ableism variety since the first installment, that everyone is aware of and feels powerless to change. jon used to willingly have a routine where he'd go up to the library every day before work as a "substitute" for the PT he hasn't been doing in years, but since moving to the basement, that's like two extra flights, so he can't do it as often. and that's just everyday stuff!

with this? he's in a lot of pain by the end, he's going to need to be on bed rest for a while to just recuperate from the strain he put himself through by running up and down the stairs (counts) about 6 consecutive times in less than an hour. he's exhausted, and the only reason he pushed himself was because lives were literally on the line and adelard was even less equipped to handle the same work as him, being older and relatively new to functioning with a prosthetic leg.

so, sure! he DID it. but does that mean he could do it Every Day just because he did it Once? that he could do it without Consequence? hell no. not for a second!

the key word here IS "consequences." yes, disabled people often DO find themselves in situations where they have to push themselves past what they feel secure doing, and maybe they CAN get home in one piece, but that just means the aftermath is going to play an important role in what comes next. sometimes you'll need to be in bed for days on end to recover from something like that, or something even less severe than the above example. i know i have, before. depends on the injury, the disability, the strain.

the point is, if you need your disabled character to go beyond what they should be doing, make sure you take care of them afterwards; either by Literally having them physically recuperate, or by acknowledging the problems that come with not being able to, and making sure you respect that they cannot go on like that forever. eventually there WILL be a crash, and it can either be handled with awareness and intent in-story, or it will sneak up on them later and bite them in the patootie. eventually, your body forces you to rest.

the other thing is that this stuff doesn't just happen once. with a chronic disability, it's always a risk. be mindful of that as you plan out the situations they're going to get into! actually incorporating these things into the narrative will honestly make it feel more real than just brushing it aside so that things go "smoothly." people who experience these things themselves will appreciate it a lot more than wish fulfilment, in my experience.

now, you say you have minor physical stuff, and i'm not going to make assumptions about YOU when i say that often times, we downplay our own experiences because we think we can't possibly have it "as bad" as other people, so i'm pretty willing to give you even more express support.

writing about these things can often be an avenue towards realizing, "oh, wait. i DO actually feel this, and it's not really, uh. something i should sit on." i know that writing characters with EDS before i even realized i had it was a part of me eventually seeing a doctor, and i actually got it put on paper recently. shock of all shocks! it resonated with me for a reason.

if you're drawn to disability narratives in a way that feels far more personal than how some people are drawn to them for the torture porn (and you clearly know the difference, given that you're asking how to write it respectfully) then it's worth sitting with yourself and really assessing how you feel about your body and what things maybe shouldn't be so hard for you to do.

definitely refer back to the first meta i linked up there for some slightly more formal tips on how to frame things when you start tying them in, but i think you're already on the right track with being respectful! realism is respectful, and so is drawing lines between that realism and being overly graphic. listening to disabled people and taking them seriously is essential, and you're already doing that. giving disabled characters a support network is fabulous and you should do it, but don't infantilize them or Cure Them With Love.

and don't think TOO deep on it! you can psych yourself doing that, it's really easy to let the fear of messing up keep us from even trying. i think a knee injury like you describe is NOT a super inflammatory topic to be tackling, and you should be absolutely fine imo. a lot of people write characters getting brutally and supernaturally injured all the time and don't pay NEAR enough attention to the lasting effect some of those wounds might have in the long run, so the fact that you're taking so much care with something more ordinary and common is a good sign that you're going to navigate well going forward.

best of luck! thank you again for the patience, and for asking :'-)

#asks #anon #disability gang!#ronologues

214 notes · View notes

chocolatequeennk · 4 years ago

Text

Forever Timeless, 1/23

Summary: Two months after the Dalek Crucible, the Doctor and Rose are getting used to having the biggest family on Earth. As they visit Leadworth in 1996, Victorian England, a mysterious desert planet, and Elizabethan England, those family and friends often help in unexpected ways. But no matter where they go or who they're with, it's always the Doctor in the TARDIS with RoseTyler--just as it should be.

Ten x Rose, Donna x Lee

Betaed by @saecookie, @rudennotgingr, @pellaaearien, and @jabber-who-key

Part 7 of Being to Timelessness

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Chapter One: Family Time

Rose leaned back into the drop cloth-covered couch and looked around the room. Her mum and Pete had purchased a house in Cardiff, and she and the Doctor had spent all day painting and cleaning. After two months spent monitoring the lingering effects of the Reality Bomb, the domesticity was jarring.

A sharp pain hit Rose between her shoulder blades, and she grimaced and rolled her shoulders. Every muscle in her body ached. She was in good shape, but she didn’t usually spend hours holding a paint roller over her head.

A moment later, familiar hands settled on her shoulders and started massaging the tension away. Rose sighed and leaned forward so the Doctor could get that spot in the middle of her back.

She enjoyed the massage for a few minutes, then reached for his hand and tugged, asking him silently to sit down with her. He collapsed beside her, looking every bit as tired as she felt. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his hair stuck straight up.

“What have you and Pete been up to?”

“Putting together the furniture for Tony’s room.” The Doctor rubbed a hand over his face, smudging the dirt even more. “I need to create a setting on the sonic for Allen keys. Those belong on a list of forbidden torture devices.”

Jackie’s snort interrupted Rose’s teasing response. “And here I thought you were some kind of superior alien,” she said as she entered the room, carrying two tall glasses of water. “How the mighty have fallen—defeated by an Ikea flat pack.”

Rose listened to the Doctor’s internal debate, weighing the merits of defending himself against the likelihood that Jackie would dump the glass of water over his head. In the end, he only rolled his eyes and said, “Thankfully, the fate of the universe has never rested on my ability to put together furniture named after obscure Scandinavian locales.”

Jackie handed them the water and sat down on a folding chair. “Speaking of strange places, we haven’t seen Jenny and Donna lately. Where are they at now?”

Rose blinked. “You’ve seen them?”

Her mum raised an eyebrow. “You would have seen them too if you hadn’t been off to Neptune doing whatever,” she retorted. “They stopped by a few weeks ago before catching a plane to New York.”

Rose sipped at her water to cover up the urge to sigh. The trip to Paris had whetted Jenny’s interest in seeing more of the Earth. By airplane, she’d insisted, because that was how humans did it.

Donna had been happy to travel the world with her. Rose suspected the trip was a way for her to keep her mind off the fact that they still hadn’t found Lee. Four months had passed since the Library, and the TARDIS still hadn’t picked up even a trace of him.

Rose abruptly realised her mum was staring at her expectantly. It only took her a second to remember what they’d been talking about.

“They’re in Sydney,” she said. “They’ll be back for your big housewarming party, but they really wanted to see Australia before coming home.”

“Hah!” Jackie wagged her finger at Rose. “Now you know what it’s like, having your only child go off travelling by herself.”

Rose pursed her lips. “It’s not that,” she argued. “Well, not only that,” she amended. “It’s fun having other people on the TARDIS with us. I miss it.”

“What do you miss?” Pete asked. He pulled a second folding chair over and sat down beside Jackie.

“Having friends travel with us.”

“Apparently I’m not enough company,” the Doctor added, earning a poke in the side from Rose and a snort from Jackie.

“More like you’re a bit too much,” Jackie countered. “Can’t imagine being married to an alien.”

“No, you just married a man from a parallel universe,” Pete interjected.

Jackie rolled her eyes, then looked at Rose. Rose groaned at the look in her eye. Interrogation time, she warned the Doctor.

“Speaking of marrying an alien…” Jackie raised an eyebrow and looked at Rose, then at the Doctor, and back again. “You mentioned something about weird alien rituals.”

Rose opened her mouth, but before she could start explaining the bond, her mother started rambling.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe you had to wear funny hats? Or defeat someone in armed combat?” She pointed at the Doctor. “Maybe Rose had to go back in time to ask your family for your hand in marriage.”

“Nothing like that, Mum,” Rose said quickly before Jackie could continue on that train of thought and bring back painful memories of Gallifrey.

“Well, what was it then?” She narrowed her eyes. “You better not have been naked for this wedding.”

“No! We were fully clothed.” The Doctor felt his neck heat up.

Help!

Rose took his hand and he let out a slow breath. “Leave ‘im be, Mum,” she scolded. “It was mostly just like a wedding. I wore a beautiful dress and we exchanged vows and rings and everything.”

“Well that doesn’t sound too weird.”

“Yeah…” Rose squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, agreeing with her sudden decision. “I was mostly teasing when I said that.”

Jackie crossed her arms over her chest. “So your wedding was completely normal?” she asked, dubious.

Rose bit her lip. “Well, we were alone in the TARDIS,” she said slowly. “And we did a handfasting because that’s part of the Doctor’s tradition.”

“Hmmm…” Jackie raised an eyebrow.

Rose knew she didn’t believe her, but explaining the bond was a far longer conversation than she wanted to have right now. Some day she’d try, but not today.

“It was perfect,” she said, wanting to move away from the alienness of their wedding.

As she thought about that day, something occurred to her. “And our wedding anniversary is only two weeks away,” she added.

The Doctor blinked, and she was glad she wasn’t the only one who’d lost track of time. “We’ll have to go someplace to celebrate.”

“Mind if I plan this trip?”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over her wrist. “I’d love it.”

“Rose?”

The childish voice drew everyone’s attention, and they all looked over at Tony, standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Tony?”

He shuffled forward, a book in his hand. “Will you and the Doctor read to me?”

The Doctor scooted over and patted the cushion in between himself and Rose. “You bet!”

The little boy grinned, then darted across the room and jumped up onto the couch. Rose grabbed the book from him before he could stab himself in the eye with it or something.

“Under the Deep Blue Sea.”

As Rose turned to the first page, she suddenly knew exactly where she wanted to take the Doctor for their anniversary.

oOoOo

The Doctor followed Rose as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd waiting at Heathrow. “The board says their flight landed half an hour ago,” she told him. “They should be almost through customs by now.”

When the first passengers started trickling in a few minutes later, the Doctor gave Rose one end of the sign they’d made. Around them, other people likewise held up their signs—Limousine for Mr. Arbuckle, etc.

The trickle turned into a solid wave of people. “Can you see them, Doctor?” Rose asked as she strained to look through the crowd.

“No… Wait! Yes! Hold the sign up, Rose.”

They waved it madly, and a moment later they were rewarded by familiar laughter. Rose leaned sideways and saw Jenny and Donna walking towards them, wheelie bags in tow.

“TARDIS for Miss Noble and Miss Tyler?” Donna rolled her eyes.

The Doctor turned the sign around and studied it. “Well, we wouldn’t want anyone else to think they could get a free ride.”

“We told you we’d take the train to Cardiff, though,” Jenny said.

Donna nudged her gently with her elbow. “You owe me ten quid, Jenny. I told you they wouldn’t be able to resist surprising us.”

The Doctor’s mouth fell open, and when he looked over at Rose he was thankful to see that at least she was as surprised as he was.

Jenny hitched her backpack up on her shoulders. “I still say giving them the flight information was cheating.”

“I didn’t realise we were so predictable,” the Doctor muttered.

Donna smirked and turned her suitcase so he could take the handle. “We just know you too well.”

Rose shook her head and grabbed Jenny’s suitcase. “Come on, we should get out of the way. The TARDIS is just a short bus ride away.”

Thirty minutes later, the Doctor unlocked the door and held it open while Rose, Donna, and Jenny walked inside. He heard Donna and Jenny sigh in unison, and raised his eyebrows at them.

“Glad you don’t have to take a train after travelling for over twenty-four hours?” he guessed.

“Definitely,” Donna said fervently.

“And glad we can hop into the Vortex and get some sleep without Gran knowing we didn’t go straight to Cardiff,” Jenny added.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a glance, then Rose gave Donna and Jenny a sly smile. “About that… Are you set on going to Cardiff?”

Donna crossed her arms over her chest. “The housewarming party is next week. I’ve only met your mum a few times, but I have a pretty good idea of what will happen if you miss it.”

The Doctor grimaced and rubbed at his cheek, making everyone laugh.

Rose chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, you’re right about that. But our anniversary is the day after tomorrow, so we’re going on a short holiday before the big shindig. We can drop you in Cardiff for the week, or—”

“Or,” Donna said before Rose could continue.

Jenny nodded eagerly. “You mean you’ll drop us off on another planet, yeah?”

“If you want,” Rose said.

Jenny and Donna exchanged a look, then broke out in matching grins. “Yes!”

Rose hugged Donna and kissed Jenny on the cheek, then gently pushed them both towards the corridor. “Go lie down. We’ll drop you off in the morning after you’ve slept off some of the jet lag.” She leaned against a strut and watched them go, while the Doctor sent them into the Vortex just like Jenny had asked.

He slid the dematerialisation lever into place, and the time rotor quietly chugged up and down. The transition into the Vortex was so smooth that Rose hardly felt it.

A soft mental tug caught her attention, and she looked over at the Doctor. He’d sat down on the jump seat, and now he patted the seat beside him.

Rose pushed off from the strut and walked around the console, hopping up to sit beside the Doctor like she’d done a thousand times. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.

“What are you thinking?”

“This life,” she said, talking slowly so she could put the words together as they came to her. “It’s… so much more than I thought it would be.”

She paused, and the Doctor left the silence empty so she could think.

“I thought I’d lost this at Canary Wharf,” she said finally.

“Lost what?”

“Just… human things,” she said, testing the words as she went. “Helping family move. Meeting them at the airport.”

She tilted her head back so she could look at the Doctor. “I love our life, traveling through time and space. And if I could never have anything else, this is what I’d choose. Every time.”

“But we get to have more,” he supplied, understanding what she was trying to get at. “Our life in the TARDIS, and a family on Earth.”

“Yeah. Time and space… and family.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #fic by Nancy #doctorroseprompts #series: being to timelessness #cq's fic: forever timeless #i'm back!!#finally!!#i hope you like this chapter #also you will get a second chapter this week #on thursday #and then we'll settle into a chapter a week #tenth doctor #rose tyler #jenny tyler #donna noble #lee mcavoy #donna x lee

35 notes · View notes

lastbluetardis · 4 years ago

Text

Chemical Reaction (17/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~8400 words, explicit (for one small scene). Here we are folks! The culmination of the feels of the last several chapters. Enjoy xo.

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

April was usually one of James’s least favorite months. The weather was wet and cold, and with it being the last month of the semester, it was always busy with exams and projects. This year, however, he had the pleasure of knowing it was his beloved’s birth month; even though he didn’t know the precise date, that made it all the more fun as, day after day, he greeted Rose with a “Happy Birthday” snog.

Yet every day, she giggled and said, “Not today.” He wasn’t sure what he would do on the morning she kissed him and replied instead with, “Thank you.” Despite his brilliant, magnificent brain, he was stumped on a way to make an ordinary day extraordinary for her.

Though she said she didn’t want anything for her birthday, he couldn’t help but preemptively get her a simple gift: a silver necklace with an infinity heart pendant. The heart was studded with blue zircon—one of his birthstones—while the infinity loop was studded with small diamonds, her birthstone. Cliché, he knew, but the design had caught his attention. He hoped Rose would like it.

James had been carrying it around with him since the start of the month to be presented to her on her date of birth. Whenever the hell that was.

The weeks seemed to fly by, and still it wasn’t her birthday. He had several chilling moments of panic that maybe he somehow missed it, but then resigned himself to the fact it must be at the end of the month. Her so-called hint to him had told him it wasn’t the first or last day of the month… Rose would be cheeky enough to call that a hint if it turned out her birthday was the second to last day of the month. Nevertheless, James was having fun with their little game and worked to make the month special for Rose.

Though he knew she had been teasing when she’d suggested they make love every day so that she would wake up to birthday sex, they nearly met that goal, thanks to Rose staying overnight at his house more often than not. They were both growing to love the routine of cohabitating; James would drive them into the university in the morning, they would attend their respective classes, then they would meet up at the end of the day for him to drive them home again. Even on the days when one of them started earlier than the other, they drove in together, regardless.

While James’s main goal was to make April particularly special for Rose, he found himself realizing that even if it wasn’t her birthday month, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. It was a happy coincidence that the month happened to be filled with a multitude of romantic date night opportunities.

He had surprised her with tickets to the play put on by the university’s theater program, and had told her they would make an entire night out of it. He had dressed in a suit and tie; she had donned a gorgeous evening dress. Reminiscent of their Valentine’s Day plans, they’d had an early dinner out at a nice restaurant before driving to the university for the show. And when they’d gotten home, they peeled the other out of their nice clothes and made sweet love until midnight.

And when he took her to the cherry blossom festival in Washington, D.C., it wasn’t a birthday surprise, either. He would have wanted to tour the capital with Rose and bask in the beauty of the cherry trees no matter the month. There was nothing more romantic than walking hand-in-hand with Rose beneath the pink and white trees while the soft petals floated down around them. Nothing made him happier than seeing her face light up with awe as she took photograph after photograph of the scenery. Though the cherry blossoms weren’t as stunning as typical years, thanks to a warm snap in February followed by an arctic blast that killed some buds in mid-March, the scenery was stunning nevertheless.

They’d had fun exploring the various museums and historic sites in the city as well, but James’s favorite part was watching Rose scribble furiously in her sketchbook when they got back to their hotel room each night. She filled over a dozen pages during their four-day trip; she shared every single one with him, including the portrait of him she’d drawn one morning when she had awoken before him, and had occupied herself with sketching him asleep in the nude. Unlike her previous nude sketches of him, she did not cover his nether regions with a sheet, or simply not draw them at all. No, she had drawn every naked inch of him, down to the morning erection he had been sporting (which had also prompted her to draw a caricature of that very piece of his anatomy, making him howl with laughter when she eventually showed him the picture of a very prominent, very erect penis on a teeny tiny little person).

Playing tourist with Rose was one of James’s favorite things to do, so even if it had not been Rose’s birth month, he would not have changed a thing. It was a mere bonus, pure happenstance, that they managed to go on so many romantic dates that month.

As the month plowed on, bringing him ever-closer to Rose’s elusive birthday and to the end of the semester, another date idea came to him. And this time, he intended to make it double as a birthday gift.

With only a week and a half left to go in the month, and Rose’s birthday falling somewhere in that time frame, James woke up one morning to an email from the student life office at the university. They were advertising discounted tickets to a Philadelphia Phillies baseball game at the end of the month. Perfect! He loved showing Rose more of the state she lived in, as well as the culture of America. And honestly, what was more American than a baseball game?

Rose was still asleep as James read the details of the email, though their alarm was due to go off in a few minutes. He silenced it on his phone and instead gently woke Rose up with a series of kisses to any part of her face not smooshed into her pillow. She grunted and buried her face completely into the pillow.

Chuckling, he tried again, this time pressing the long expanse of his body into hers. He shivered when his hips rubbed into her upper thigh; he woke up hard nearly every morning, and today was no exception. Some mornings, he didn’t feel a pressing need to do anything with it; others, when he snuggled up against Rose, his heartbeat concentrated into a dull, throbbing, insistent pulse between his legs. He was experiencing the latter, and hoped she would be in the mood to make love with him.

“Rose,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hair. He wriggled down a few inches and tucked his nose into the join of her neck and shoulder. He kissed her there and smiled when she shuddered. “Rooooose.”

“M’sleepin’,” she mumbled, but she tilted her head to free up her neck for him.

“Oh? Well, I guess we can’t partake in any morning activities I might’ve had planned,” he lamented, though he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to her neck. Goosebumps spread across her skin and he could hear her breathing going ragged the longer he kissed her.

She moaned softly when he scraped his teeth across her ear lobe. Finally, she stopped pretending. Turning her face out of her pillow, Rose slung her arm around his shoulders, hauling him closer for a proper kiss.

“Got another date idea,” he breathed between kisses.

“Don’t care,” she answered, chasing his lips.

“I’d like for it to double as your birthday gift.”

“Don’t care,” she repeated. His head emptied of all coherent thought when she reached down between them and took him in her hand, pumping him firmly. His nerves sparked with pleasure as desire settled heavily in his lower belly.

“But I… oh, blimey… I care… God…”

She nipped at his bottom lip and gave him a small squeeze on the upstroke that made stars burst behind his eyes. “You care more about that than what we’re doing?”

He could hardly draw in breath, so focused was he on the addictive rhythm of her hand. Each drag of her fist up and down his length heightened his need for her until he was certain nothing in the world was more important than being inside her.

But the smirk on her face brought out his competitive nature.

“Well, I’m quite cl-clever,” he choked out, trembling when she tightened her hold around him and picked up the pace. “I can walk and chew gum… talk and have se-ex shit!”

Rose guided him between her legs, nudging the tip of him into her wet heat. God, he’d barely paid any attention to her and yet she was so ready. He swallowed down his impatient whimper when she merely teased him, rubbing him through her folds rather than guiding him in.

“Hmm, I clearly am not doing a good enough job,” she mused, her voice frustratingly steady while he could hardly contain his gasps and sighs.

His brain nearly short-circuited. Not doing a good enough job? It was taking every ounce of concentration and restraint he had to try to hold this conversation with her; he would be done for if she tried any harder.

“The university is sponsoring another trip to Phillies… er, Philadelphia,” he squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut to think past the desperate need throbbing through him.

“Oh?” she asked, voice breathless as she stimulated herself with the head of his erection.

“Yeah, yep.” He cleared his throat, hoping it would stop cracking. “A trip to a Phillies game. Professional base-ball!”

Rose slung her leg over his hip and took him inside of her in one smooth, deep movement. Her momentum sent him to his back. Taking full advantage and giving him no reprieve, she sat astride him and began a brutal rhythm that stole his breath, stole his thoughts.

“Shit!” he rasped when the burning pressure in his belly bottomed out. Don’t come, oh God, please don’t come… Baseball. Think of baseball. Phillies, Philadelphia, bus trip, baseball game, showing Rose the stadium, teaching Rose the game… Rose… Rose…

Rose was squeezing him from the inside, giving him such delicious friction as she arched her hips hard into his.

Fighting a losing battle, he choked out, “Sorry… gonna come… sorry… shit!”

Rose caught his lips in a searing kiss as he grunted and panted and moaned his way through his release, trying not to be mortified and to instead enjoy the pleasure and love flooding through him.

He was trembling when his ears stopped roaring. Cheek burning, he groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“That was delightful,” Rose said, a grin in her voice as she lightly tugged at his fingers.

“That was embarrassing,” he countered, moving his hands to her hips. “Sorry.”

She slowly pulled off of him and collapsed onto her back beside him. “You do realize I was trying to do that, right? You’re always so damn considerate and attentive. It was my turn to focus solely on you and getting you off.”

“I feel selfish for coming first,” he complained.

Rose shrugged and pecked a kiss to his temple. “How do you think I feel when you pleasure me more than once before you get off?”

“Hopefully extremely satisfied,” he drawled, winking at her.

She rolled her eyes, but kissed him soundly. “I enjoyed doing that very much for you, so shut up about it.”

He zipped his fingers across his lips, though a grin stretched across them. He caught her lips in another kiss as he let his fingers walk down her body, between her legs. She must have woken up as randy as he had been, because it hardly took any time at all before she arched her back and cried her pleasure into their quiet bedroom.

As she panted and trembled beside him, he stroked her hips, her belly, her thighs, any part of her he could reach, and tried his initial conversation again.

“The university is sponsoring a trip to a Phillies baseball game,” he said. “Have you watched baseball? It’s a fun sport. One of my favorites, actually. I probably ought to get my UK citizenship revoked for that, but I can’t get into the football matches. Though plenty of people find baseball to be boring too. To each their own. Anyways, tickets are twenty dollars, and it covers admission to the game and transportation to and from the stadium. It’s on April twenty-sixth. It’s a night game… 7:05 start time. I would like to make this your birthday gift. Well. One of your birthday gifts, since, really, I want to go to the game anyway, to hell whether it’s your birthday or not. But since I’ve only got about ten days left to choose from, I figure that’s a close enough window to claim it as a birthday gift for you. What do you think? April twenty-sixth… does that sound like a birthday gift to you?”

Rose giggled and pinched his side, drawling, “Very subtle, love.”

James pouted. “Seriously? You’re still not gonna give me your birth date? I’ve been patient all month long!”

Rose cackled. “You liar! You have not at all been patient. At least once a day you beg me to tell you when my birthday is.”

“That is me being patient,” he grumbled, though he grinned when Rose laughed at him again. Even though they would need to get up soon, he tightened his hold around her and snuggled closer to her soft, warm body. “Wanna go to the Phillies game?”

“Sounds like fun,” she replied, running her fingers through his hair. His scalp prickled pleasantly, and he could have easily fallen asleep. But alas…

“We need to get up,” he groaned, burying his face farther into her neck. Rose heaved out a sigh, clearly as reluctant to move as he was. “Wanna share a shower?”

“How could I say no to that?”

With a parting kiss, they rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

oOoOo

“You know, I’ve never been to a professional sports stadium before,” Rose said as they strolled, hand in hand, away from the packed parking lot towards Citizens Bank Park, home of the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team. “Wasn’t much into sports back home, and didn’t really have the money for it.”

James gave her hand a squeeze and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Something was… off. She’d been agitated when he’d picked her up from her flat that morning to drive her to the university. She was short and snippy with him, but insisted she was fine even though she obviously wasn’t, which had only annoyed him in return.

He had nearly called off their date to Philly, since she obviously wasn’t having a good day and he didn’t think he could stomach an entire night of forced joviality. However, after classes, she had met him in the library as planned and was decked out in a red Phillies sweatshirt and matching lipstick, greeting him as though their tense morning hadn’t happened.

“Where did you get that?” he’d asked, fluttering his hands at her top.

“The internet. Turns out everything exists on the internet,” she’d teased, bumping her hip into his.

He had been thrown by her chipper mood, and Rose must have sensed that. She reached up for a hug and squeezed him so tightly, it was as if all the tension that had been settled over his body was suddenly gone. She lightly kissed his cheek and whispered, “Sorry for this morning.”

“What was the matter?” he asked, keeping her in his arms for several more seconds.

“I’ll explain later,” she said. “I don’t really wanna talk about it now. I wanna go watch some baseball!”

It had taken everything he had to not snap at her to just bloody talk to him. Instead, he promised himself he would check in with Rose after the game, or perhaps tomorrow, since it would be late by the time they got home. But he wanted to know what was bothering her, and what had been intermittently troubling her these past few weeks.

That dark day she had had nearly a month ago still niggled at the back of his mind. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but so long had passed that he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

Hey Rose! Remember that day you yelled at me in the food court then started crying? What happened?

No, that wouldn’t do. Because what if she didn’t remember? What if nothing at all had happened and she’d had a breakdown over a bunch of little things that didn’t matter anymore? He had been hoping she would tell him on her own time, because he didn’t want to press. And it wasn’t as though he had forgotten about the episode, but he often got too caught up in the present with Rose that he wouldn’t think of it until he was alone again. Part of his brain admonished him, telling him that he could easily have that conversation with Rose through text.

Presently, they scanned their admission tickets at the front gate and stepped through the turnstile into the stadium. James inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke, fresh air, grass, and greasy food. There was a unique and distinct scent of a baseball stadium that he loved.

Rose let go of his hand and darted forward, her gaze locked on the field in front of them. James followed, smiling to himself. He stood behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist as Rose drank in the sight of the enormous baseball friend in front of them. The grass was lush and verdant, neatly trimmed in the familiar crisscross pattern most baseball diamonds favored. The dirt of the infield looked soft and dry, though the grounds crew were in the middle of hosing it down. The late evening sun cast long shadows across the field while the stadium lights, already switched on in preparation for the night game, created a multi-shadow effect as well.

“Selfie?” James asked, fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Need some help?”

James glanced over and saw a young couple approaching them. The woman held her hand out for his phone, which he handed over. He then wrapped his arm around Rose’s middle. She turned into his side and linked her arms loosely around his hips.

The young woman took several photographs for them, all of them beautiful. James thanked her, then reciprocated the gesture, snapping a photograph of the couple with the baseball field behind them.

When the couple had departed, James took Rose’s hand again and they leisurely strolled around the concourse of the stadium. There was a beer stand every dozen paces, it seemed, and though it was ridiculously overpriced, James forked over the money and bought them a beer apiece. They sipped it as they walked, inspecting the various food stands and merchandise on display.

“What the bloody hell is that?”

James laughed when Rose picked up a plush toy of a furry green creature with a plump belly and elongated snout.

“He’s the team’s mascot,” James answered. “The Phillie Phanatic.”

“What is it?”

James shrugged. “The Phanatic. He’s not really anything, I suppose. He’s his own creature. Don’t knock him, though; the fans love him.”

Rose glanced dubiously up at him, but replaced the toy. James made a mental note to order one for her as a gag gift.

As they continued walking, James’s belly rumbled with hunger when he smelled the intoxicating aroma of bread, beef, and cheese.

“If I get a cheesesteak, will you eat half of it?” he asked. “‘Cos I wanna get crab fries too, but I can’t eat both of those by myself. Actually, the crab fries are right over there.” He took Rose’s shoulders in his hands and pivoted her gently, pointing to a concession stand with a giant logo that read Chickie’s & Pete’s. He rooted in his pocket for a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Will you get us an order of fries? With cheese.”

“Er… okay,” Rose said, blinking. “What the hell is a crab fry?”

James snorted. “French fries—chips—with old bay seasoning. They’re really good, I promise.”

Rose leaned up and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky I trust your taste in food.”

She left him to go get their crab fries, while he stood in the Tony Luke’s line for a cheesesteak. Though the line was nearly thirty-people deep, it moved very quickly. Ten minutes later, he spotted Rose waiting for him in a secluded corner near the ramp they would need to take to go to their second-deck seats.

The university had bought out an entire section in right field, and James recognized many of the students lounging in the seats. He had managed to procure front-row end seats for him and Rose. He allowed her to take the end seat, then plopped unceremoniously onto the hard blue chair beside her.

“Beautiful, innit?” he asked, nudging his elbow into her ribs.

“It’s a gorgeous night,” she agreed. “Look at that sunset.”

“View’s nice too,” James said, leaning forward in his seat to look down at the field. Apart from losing a little bit of vision of the right field playing area directly beneath them, they could see the entire ballfield very well.

There was a half hour to go before game time, so they ate their dinner and chatted mindlessly with each other and with their fellow schoolmates who had come on the trip as well. They posed for a giant group photo that was then shared to all of the university’s social media pages.

James was full and content by the time the Phillies players took the field, and he draped his arm around Rose’s shoulders as he explained the rules of baseball to her.

The game was fairly straightforward, with no tricky calls he had to break down for her. There was a ton of action in the first few innings, with both team getting a few home runs, including a grand slam by one of the Phillies’ stars. The stadium erupted with cheers and the LED Liberty Bell began to ring as the Phillie trotted his way around the bases. Rose appeared to be caught up in the atmosphere, jumping and cheering along with the crowd.

It was fun, James thought, to be sharing this with Rose. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for other discounted ticket specials, even if it wasn’t for the Phillies. A minor league team was based close to the university, and he imagined he could get tickets fairly cheaply, if it would be something Rose was interested in.

During one of the inning breaks, Rose had turned to him, flushed and beaming. She looked breathtaking, with the lights from the stadium glowing behind her and casting her hair in a golden halo around her head. He felt his mouth go dry and his heart kick up a notch.

Rose frowned at him. “What? You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I…” He swallowed thickly, then smiled at her. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper red and a shy smile crossed her face. He reached over to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face, but then kept his hand on her cheek. “Love you.”

They moved at the same time, leaning closer until their noses brushed, then their lips pressed together. The noises of the stadium disappeared, lost in the heavy pounding of his heart as he kissed Rose. Her mouth was warm and soft, though felt a little funny with the slightly waxy texture of her lipstick.

He had meant for it to be a quick little kiss, though he should have known better; how often was he able to give Rose only one kiss? Angling his head slightly to the side, James lost himself in her, in the warmth of her hands. One of them was on the nape of his neck, the other at his waist, clinging to his sweatshirt as he devoured her lips. His tongue swept along hers, then trailed across the roof of her mouth. He delighted in her full-body shiver.

Before he could do it again, there was an explosion of noise around them.

“Hey, you’re not making a porno here!”

James wrenched away from Rose, blinking dazedly at the person who had interrupted them. It was one of their fellow students. He nudged James’s shoulder, then pointed towards the giant screen above left-center field.

His own dazed face looked back at him.

Kiss Cam. Oh, dear…

He grinned sheepishly at the camera, then pecked a chaste kiss to Rose’s temple. She looked equally abashed. Blessedly, the camera panned away from them, though the crowd of university students around them continued jeering and teasing.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmured to Rose.

“S’not your fault. I wasn’t exactly beating you off of me.” He snorted and kissed her cheek. “You’ve got lipstick on you.”

James licked his swollen, tingling lips. A moment later, Rose cradled his jaw in her palm and rubbed a damp napkin across his mouth. It came away stained red. Her own mouth was smudged with lipstick, and he helped her clear it off, too.

“You are too enticing,” he concluded when they were lipstick free. “How am I supposed to restrain myself from kissing you?”

“Maybe you shouldn't,” Rose drawled, and she leaned up to plant a hard kiss to his mouth again.

Of course, the Kiss Cam found them once again, to the delight of the stadium, and to their fellow students, who didn’t let them live it down for the rest of the night.

The last few innings passed without much excitement and ended with the Phillies winning seven to four over the Miami Marlins. They were exhausted as they traipsed to the charter bus that would take them back to the school.

It was just after eleven o’clock when the bus returned to campus, and almost midnight by the time James pulled up in front of Rose’s flat. For once, he was staying overnight with her, per her request. The climb up to her fifth-floor flat was exhausting, and James wanted to curl up with Rose and go directly to sleep.

“What time is it?” Rose muttered to herself when she unlocked her front door and stepped into her dark flat. She flipped on the lights and glanced in the direction of the stove; 11:42 glowed green from the digital display. “Ooof, gotta wee. Stay here!”

She sprinted down the hall and slammed the bathroom door behind her. James was left laughing and shaking his head at her.

He set his keys and wallet down on the kitchen table, but as he was about to toe off his shoes, an open, hand-written letter caught his eye. He didn’t mean to snoop, but his eyes and brain worked independently of each other and before he knew it, he’d glanced at the end of the letter, where the name Jimmy was printed in a messy scribble.

His ears rang hollowly and his head swam. Jimmy. Jimmy? As in, Jimmy Stone? Jimmy Stone, Rose’s wanker of an ex-boyfriend?

A righteous anger welled up in James; what the hell did Jimmy want with Rose? And how dare he contact her out of the blue after all this time.

Before he was entirely aware of his actions, James plucked up the piece of paper, eyes frantically scanning across the words.

Rosie,

I’ve started this letter half a dozen times now, and I’m no closer to knowing how to say exactly what I want to say. It seems surreal that we’ve been talking again. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea. It’s like I’ve found a piece of myself I didn’t know was lost. I’m not complete without you, and I hate the person I am without you.

This past month has been the happiest of my life because I’ve been able to talk to you again. I am thankful that you let me apologize, because there is nothing more I’ve wanted to do for the last six months. Getting sober has made me realize a lot of things, but it especially showed me that I missed you and that I want you. The worst mistake I ever made was how I treated you, and I will spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. I will spend the rest of my life (our life?) making it up to you.

I love you, Rosie. I love you so fucking much. You make me feel like I can do anything, and I love how I feel when I’m with you. We were the best thing to ever happen to me, and I’m such an idiot for destroying the perfect, wonderful life we had made together. I think I was scared. I was scared of not being able to support the both of us with my music, and I was scared about how much I needed you. You were a comfort to me, something I knew would always be there for me, something reliable, and it was scary for me to need anything that much. But I’m not scared anymore, and I know I can make it work this time. As you said, we were young, stupid kids and we made young, stupid mistakes. Now we can start fresh and build something even better than before.

I know you’re at school in America (which I always knew you could do! I always knew you were smart enough for school, despite what you said about yourself). I’m happy you’re enjoying your time in America. I want you to enjoy your time there, while you can. I’ll be here waiting for you when you come home. I’ll wait forever for you because you’re worth it. You’re so worth it, Rosie. I would wait a thousand years for you if I needed to. I hope I don’t have to though.

This time we can work harder together to make us work. I know you might not be ready to trust me yet, but I promise I will show you how serious I am. How committed I am. I will do whatever it takes to make this work between us, because I hate the thought of my life without you in it.

In the meantime, texting you will hold me over. I cherish every day, every moment that I can talk to you.

All my love,

Jimmy

James could barely think, could barely breathe. Something was squeezing his chest tighter and tighter until he thought he might suffocate as he read and reread the words of the letter. The love letter. The love letter that Rose’s ex-boyfriend wrote to her after a month—a month?!—of them having texted back and forth.

Acid churned in the pit of his stomach, eating away at his guts and making him certain he was about to vomit all over Rose’s floor. And worst of all, his chest was collapsing in on itself and his heart was breaking into more pieces than he thought possible. An entire month, Rose had been texting her ex-boyfriend—the ex-boyfriend she had supposedly written off and hadn’t deigned to contact in three and a half years.

And she hadn’t told him. A month, and she hadn’t said a single word.

His pulse thundered in his ringing ears so loudly that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until the sheet of paper was abruptly yanked out of his hands.

oOoOo

It was a relief to empty her bladder after holding it for most of the trip home. She had been tempted to use the toilets at the stadium, but the lines had been impossibly long.

With that need dealt with, Rose washed her hands and then her face. She felt greasy and grimy, and would have preferred to get a shower, but she only had a couple minutes before midnight, and she could finally tell James it was her birthday. She deserved a damn medal for not spilling the beans early—though there had been a few close calls—but she couldn’t deny it had been fun to play with James all month. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to simply look at her identification card, where her birthday was plainly printed in bold. But that was her James, wasn’t it? The smartest idiot in the room.

She rushed to brush her teeth and comb out her hair before she left the bathroom and skipped to her kitchen/dining/living room.

James stood by the kitchen table, a sheet of paper in his hands and a stricken expression on his pale face.

Oh. Oh, no… Her stomach dropped. He was reading the disgusting letter that had arrived from Jimmy out of the blue yesterday afternoon.

She didn’t know whether she was more embarrassed, considering the content of the letter James was reading, or angry that he had snooped through her things and read her mail. The former won, but fueled the latter.

Rushing up to him, Rose yanked the letter harshly out of his fingers. He flinched as though she had struck him.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, folding up the paper and setting it on the kitchen table beneath one of her class notebooks.

“What am I doing? What are you doing? You’ve been chatting with your ex-boyfriend for an entire month?!”

There was an awful combination of accusation and hurt in his voice that simultaneously grated against her nerves and broke her heart. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to find out about Jimmy like this. He wasn’t supposed to read that letter until she had explained the past couple weeks to him.

No, not merely a couple weeks. A month. It had been an entire month (and a little extra) since Jimmy first contacted her, and Rose hadn’t said a single word about it to James. Shit.

“I was going to tell you,” she said weakly. “I just…”

“Just hid it from me by accident, did you?” he said, condescension dripping from his every word.

Rose clenched her fists and her jaw before coldly replying, “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to talk to anybody, or that I needed to tell you about every person I talk to. Sorry, d’you want to know about the bloke I chatted to while I was waiting for you in the library today? Wanna know about the girl I met at work ‘cos she’d recently broken up with her girlfriend and needed to talk to someone? Wanna know about…”

She knew she was being ridiculous but she couldn’t make herself stop until James interrupted her.

“Of course you don’t need to tell me about everyone you talk to.” Two pink stains spread across his cheeks. “But I would have hoped you would have trusted me enough to tell me when your ex-boyfriend, the ex-boyfriend you claimed to despise, contacts you!”

Rose crossed her arms in front of herself, gripping the fabric of her sweatshirt so tightly that her fingertips began to ache. “This isn’t about trust, James.”

“No? Well, it sure seems like it is. Because you don’t actually trust me, do you? Not nearly to the extent that I trust you. I’ve shared everything with you, Rose. Everything! I told you about the worst night of my life. How it still haunts me and gives me nightmares like I’m a child again rather than a grown man. But you…”

He flapped his arms wildly before letting them fall limply to his sides, clearly out of words. But he didn’t need any more words; the ones he’d hurled at her hit their mark, cracking her heart wide open. He didn’t think she trusted him?

Suddenly wanting him to hurt as much as she did, she met his eye and said, “I didn’t make you share any of that with me. You did that on your own. You opening up to me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same to you.”

It happened almost in slow motion, the way his face crumpled. The way his chin wobbled and his lips parted slightly with a soft, nearly inaudible, “Oh.” The way a crinkle formed between his brows, and beneath them, his eyes grew shiny with moisture.

Shit. Shit shit shit!

“James, I…” I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that…

His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, then his face smoothed into a mask of a person she didn’t recognize. Even before they became friends, when he was the random cute bloke sitting in front of her in their chemistry class, he exuded more warmth than he did right now.

“How silly of me to expect some level of reciprocity in this relationship,” he said coolly.

“I didn’t mean that, James,” she muttered, wringing her hands in front of herself. “Really. I didn’t. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to tell you the whole thing. I was going to tell you all about it, I swear.”

He barked out a laugh, and it was one of the worst noises she’d ever heard. “Oh, yeah? When were you gonna drop that one? When we’re old and gray in rocking chairs in a nursing home? ‘Darling, remember when we were first dating? Remember that horrible ex-boyfriend I had? He texted me—ha! Remember when texting was all the rage?’ Exactly when were you planning to tell me?”

Any sympathy she had for him had evaporated and her rage returned with a vengeance.

“Obviously if you’re acting like this, I was right to not tell you! Why are you being so unreasonable?”

“Unreasonable? Unreasonable?! My girlfriend has been texting the bloke she used to be in love with, and I’m being unreasonable?”

“Yes, you are! So what if I was texting him? What does it matter who I text on my own bloody phone?”

“You’re missing the entire bloody point!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “I’m not angry that you’re texting him…”

“Clearly,” she grumbled, grinding her teeth together.

“…I’m angry that you felt the need to keep it a secret,” he continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “And I’m upset because why did you keep it a secret? And what on earth could you two have been talking about if he sent you this… this…” James flapped his hands uselessly to the table and the notebook under which Jimmy’s letter sat. “...this love letter?! For all I bloody know, you could be wanting to get back together with him and…”

“No, don’t you dare,” Rose hissed, voice trembling. Tears of fury and heartbreak burned behind her eyes, blurring her vision. “Don’t you fucking dare accuse me of that. After everything I told you about Jimmy—and don’t tell me I haven’t told you anything. Just because you seem to have selective memory doesn't mean I never told you about his drinking and partying, and how he stopped paying his half of the bills, and how he manipulated me to always feel badly about myself. After everything I told you, how could you even think I would want to go back to him?”

A flash of guilt appeared in James’s eyes. He blinked and lowered his gaze, staying silent.

“Even if he hadn’t treated me like shit, how could you take away everything you and I have done together? Everything we’ve built together? How could you think I would leave us behind for someone I fell out of love with years ago?” She sniffled as her tears finally fell, streaking down her cheeks in hot, wet rivulets of grief and misery. “Do you think that little of me? That I would willingly go back to a relationship like that when what we have is so wonderful? Do you think so little of us?”

James scrubbed his fingers through his hair, making a tousled mess of the limp and somewhat greasy strands; they were in dire need of a wash.

“No. No, of course I don’t…”

“You just said so,” she argued, impatiently wiping her face dry. “You just said…”

“I didn’t really mean it. But you have to understand… relationships are so new to me. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever been in, and we’ve only been dating for four months. Christ, teenagers in school manage to have longer relationships than this. How pathetic am I for being so illiterate when it comes to love and romance? I barely know what I’m doing half the time, and God knows if I’ve been mucking this all up but you’re too nice to tell me…”

Rose’s head was spinning as her heart fought to beat its way out of her chest. She’d heard this before… she’d heard this all far too many times.

I didn’t mean it; I just drank too much…

You’re remembering wrong, I didn’t say it like that…

You’re being ridiculous. Calm down and maybe we can talk like normal people…

I was so drunk I don’t remember doing that…

I’m the worst piece of shit, Rosie, and I’m sorry, please forgive me…

She shook her head as though she could physically shake Jimmy’s voice out of her ears. Instead, she tried to focus on James’s words rather than map them on top of Jimmy’s.

“This is me telling you now that you are mucking this up…”

But James continued on as though she hadn’t spoken. And with how dry her mouth had become, she wasn’t sure if her words had been audible.

“...And you could be wanting to be in a relationship with someone who’s got a bloody clue as to what they’re doing. Why wouldn’t you prefer to be in a relationship with someone else…?”

“Because I love you, you stupid fucking arsehole!” Rose yelled, which caught his attention. He met her eyes and blinked slowly, as though confused. As though she were revealing a secret he’d never been privy to. “Yes, I love you, but you knew this! At least, I thought you did. I love you so much but you are breaking my heart, James. Haven’t you believed me these last four months?”

His mouth worked wordlessly for a few long and agonizing seconds.

“I… yeah.” His tone suggested otherwise, though, and she nearly began crying with frustration. All this time… all these months… Had none of it been real? Had he been pretending this whole time?

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until bright lights burst behind her closed lids. “Thanks a lot, James.”

“I just…” He groaned, sounding as miserable as she felt. Good. “I’m so bloody new at this! I’m making it all up as I go and I’m worried I haven’t been doing a good job. I get nervous that one day you’re going to wake up and realize how rubbish I am at this. That you’ll get sick of holding my hand through all of this as I learn. I’m terrified you’re going to decide you’re done wasting your time with me, because you’re wonderful, and you deserve the best and I…”

“Stop!” Rose cried, a sob stealing the air from her lungs. “I don’t want to hear this. You have just… broken everything we’ve been building, James.” She hiccupped on another sob and impatiently sucked in a lungful of air. “We were supposed to be partners… I wanted us to be partners… I thought we were partners. We were supposed to be equals in this relationship. I don’t want you to put me up on a bloody pedestal, or for you to talk down about yourself or make excuses for yourself. I don’t want there to be this… this inequality between us for the rest of our lives. But if that’s always how it’s gonna be… if that’s how you’re always going to see us, as you being somehow lesser than me…” The force of her tears made her entire body shake. It felt like someone had blown a hole through her chest; she couldn’t breathe. “…then I don’t think we can make this work.”

The tears that had been threatening in James’s eyes fell down his pale cheeks. “What? Rose…?”

She buried her face in her hands, willing herself to calm down. But how could she be calm when it felt like the world was spinning too fast? James had been her tether, her anchor, keeping her grounded to the surface. But he’d let go, or maybe she had, and now she was crashing alone through the void. Lost. Adrift.

“You… are you breaking up with me?” His voice was so hoarse that she could hardly hear it. Though that might have been because her pulse was thudding in her ears instead.

Was she breaking up with him?

“I don’t… no… yes? I don’t know. I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to.” She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. And right now, that really bloody scares me. I fought so hard, put up with so much, to make things with Jimmy work when I should have called it quits long before it all ended. And I didn’t love him nearly as much as I love you. I’m terrified about what I’ll let happen… what I’ll excuse… I can’t do that again, James. I won’t do that again.”

He reached out for her, but she couldn’t let him touch her. She couldn’t feel his fingers on any part of her body. Not right now.

She raised her hands in front of herself and retreated a pace, nearly tripping over her shoes from where she’d kicked them off at the door.

The door.

With trembling fingers, Rose undid the deadbolt. “I- I want you to leave now.”

“No, wait,” he pleaded, raw urgency in his voice. But he didn’t come any closer to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean anything… I didn’t mean… I didn’t… Please…”

She’d never heard James, her eloquent, loquacious James, struggle this much for words. His eyes grew wild the longer he went without managing a sentence.

“Please,” he repeated, frantic. “Please, Rose. Don’t do this.”

She drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. It was late, and she was so bloody exhausted. She didn’t want to be having this conversation anymore, but she knew it was far from over.

“I need a break,” she said wearily. “I’m tired, James. I’m so tired.”

“We can’t leave it like this,” he rasped through a stifled sob. “Please.”

Rose met his gaze. Everything was written on his face, his grief and terror and heartbreak. He looked impossibly young.

“We’re taking a break for the night,” she repeated. She paused for a beat, then, scrambling for some sort of comic relief, quipped, “Not Ross and Rachel’s version of a break, mind. A time out, more like.”

James either didn’t process the joke or didn’t find it funny, because he was still staring at her with that stricken expression that made her want to wrap him in her arms and apologize for everything that had been said that night.

But she couldn’t make herself move.

“I love you, Rose,” he whispered.

“I know.” That’s why this is so damn painful. “I love you too.” Maybe too much.

Rose had always thought of their love as a fire. A soft, cozy fire, and together they basked in its light and warmth. But maybe they’d gotten too comfortable, gotten too confident, gotten too close; now they were burning, and oh, God, did it hurt.

“Goodnight James,” she murmured, opening the door for him.

He numbly walked towards it, completely forgetting about his phone, keys, and wallet on her table until she went and picked them up. His hands were cold and sweating as she handed him his things.

“Drive safe,” she said. “Text me when you make it home.”

He made a wordless noise she thought was assent, then he was gone, walking silently down the many flights of steps they’d cheerfully bounded up mere moments earlier.

God, how long had it even been? It felt like an entire lifetime had passed. Rose glanced at the clock. 11:58. Sixteen minutes. Sixteen horrible, heartbreaking minutes was all it had taken for Rose’s world to come crashing down around her feet.

She went to her window and peered down at the dark street, waiting. Half a minute later, James stepped out from beneath the front porch of her building and ambled slowly to his car. He moved as though through treacle, as though he were tugging an invisible weight behind himself.

She continued watching him, but James simply sat there in his car in the dark. The clock switched over to 12:00, ringing in April twenty-seventh. She’d planned to kiss him at midnight, as though it were New Year’s Eve, and tell him that he could finally wish her a Happy Birthday.

All of a sudden, her game of keeping her birthday a secret wasn’t fun anymore, and twenty-two didn’t look as optimistic as it had been.

The distant purr of an engine drew her attention to the street below. James had started his car and was pulling away from the curb, taking off down the empty street.

Rose fully gave in to the sorrow she had been fighting back for the past quarter of an hour. Sinking down onto her couch, she bent double over her knees and sobbed her heart out, grieving for all that had shattered that night, and for the unanswerable question of whether broken things could be ever mended.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #university au #romance #angst #hurt/comfort #my fic #chemical reaction #catalysis series #chemical potential sequel

24 notes · View notes