#reinette poisson
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chartmyfixations · 1 year ago
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cris watches dr. who: s02e04 - "The Girl in the Fireplace"
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"What's a horse doing on a spaceship?" "Mickey, what's Pre-Revolutionary France doing on a spaceship? Get a little perspective!"
"He's the only man I ever loved, don't look at me like that." Poor lad. The Doctor does have this effect on people, doesn't he?
Aw. Rose sharing her universe with Mickey is adorable
Space Age Clockwork is such a cool theme to design around! It really works: the contrast between the clock, the fireplace and the foppish robots on the one hand and the cool stark blue of the spaceship on the other. Pretty pretty
The word "Don't" really doesn't work on Rose
I've had it with these motherfucking horses on this motherfucking spaceship
Oof. That is one gummy ass heart
I knew nothing of Madame de Pompadour as a historical figure, so this whole episode is an eye-opening delight
Also a fan that the locale (for once) is France rather than somewhere in England
"Why can't I keep the horse? I let you keep Mickey!" Hee
Dang. The Doctor has surprise telepathy?
Dang². Reinette has a surprise knack for reverse!telepathy? It's nice, watching the Doctor experience that terrifying moment where you realize you like someone and they see you and you want to be known but also being known by that person is the most terrifying thing ever
I like how the Doctor assumes the telepathic connection works one way but it is quickly revealed that it works both ways. Hey, just like the fireplace
Wow, I'm really good at literary analysis
Poor Ms. Fish, stepping from that beautiful lush Versailles into a Power Rangers set
Hey, I also wore white All Stars in the zeroes!
Mdm. Pompadour's last letter -- I'm not crying, you're crying
So, why were the robots waiting for Ms. Pompadour to be 'done'? Was it her intelligence? Her telepathic prowess?
Aw, the ship is bearing her name. As their last resort, they saw her as their solution. That's... kind of sad. The robots were so desperately trying to find a way out within their limitless means, not realizing they had destroyed their underlying purpose (Fix the ship should obviously lead to saving the crew) in the process. It kind of reminds of the Can't Help Myself-robot.)
8 out of 8 Tardes. Beautiful episode with a cool, innovative plot. +1 for the inclusion of Mdm. Pompadour and her amazing actress
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guiltywisdom · 1 year ago
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One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.
Sophia Myles as Reinette Poisson, the Marquise de Pompadou, in Doctor Who S02E04 “The Girl in the Fireplace” (2006)
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ilomilodailystuff · 8 months ago
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Au revoir mon amour by Zélie is tenth doctor coded (with madame de Pompadour) and it's insane I never noticed it 🥹 the lyrics is so accurate it made me tear up
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gryfflepuffinthetardis · 1 year ago
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Companion Titles (SPOILERS)
SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON ONE THROUGH SEASON FOUR!
Lillie Tyler — The Girl Who Was Reborn; The Girl Who Was Chosen; The Girl Death Couldn't Break; The Girl Who Cheated Death; Female Sherlock Holmes; The One Who Was Chosen
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Supernova “Nova” Holmes Tyler — The Girl Who Was Reborn; The Girl Who Was Chosen; The Girl Death Couldn't Break; The Girl Who Cheated Death; The Tomboy Princess; The Princess Who Yearned Freedom; Female Sherlock Holmes; The Broken Princess; The First Woman Who Could Make Daleks Beg For Mercy; The Only Person To Make Cybermen Feel Fear; The Destroyer of Daleks; The Dying Star Princess, The Dying Star; The Forever Dying Star, The Heart of Elder, The One Who Was Chosen, The Dying Star Princess of Elder; The Forevermore Queen; The Forevermore Princess; The Dark Star Princess; The Cold Star; The Protector of the Multiverse; The Defender of the Multiverse; The Protector of the Universe; The Defender of the Universe
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Rose Tyler — Defender of Earth; Bad Wolf; Dame Rose of the Powell Estate; The Girl Who Loved; The Most Ordinary Girl; The Only Person in the Universe Who To Show a Dalek Mercy
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Mickey Smith — The Boy Who Grew Up; Ricky the Idiot; Mickey the Idiot
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Captain Jack Harkness — The Immortal Man; The Man Who Couldn't Die; The Man Who Can Never Die; The Impossible Man; The Face of Boe; The Man Who Was Abandoned;  The Man Who Waited; The Man Who Protected Her
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Martha Jones — The Girl Who Walked the Earth; The Girl Who Left; The Girl Who Chose to Leave
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Donna Noble — The Most Important Woman in the Universe; Most Important Woman in the Whole Of Creation; The Most Important Woman in the Whole Wide Universe; Doctor!Donna; The Girl Who Forgot; The Runaway Bride
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River Song — The Woman Who Knew His Name; The Doctor's Wife; The Second Woman Who Could Make a Dalek Beg For Mercy
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Amelia "Amy" Pond — The Girl Who Waited; The Legs; Amy Williams
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Rory Arthur Williams — The Boy Who Waited Two Thousand Years; The Boy Who Waited; The Lone Centurion; The Last Centurion; The Constant Warrior; Sir Gawain; Rory Pond; Roranicus; The Nose; Roricus Pondicus
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Clara Oswin Oswald — The Impossible Girl; The Doctor's Impossible Girl; Nova's Impossible Girl; The Doctor's Clara; Nova's Clara; The Doctor's Second Love; The Only Mystery Worth Solving; The Girl Who Was Born to Save the Doctor and Princess Supernova; Souffle Girl; The Girl Twice Dead; The Girl Who Died Twice
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Minor Companions (Were never official companions):
Reinette Poisson — The Original Girl Who Waited
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Wilfred Mott — The Soldier Who Never Killed; The Man Who Remembered; The Man Who Knocked; The Man Who Will Always Be Remembered
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hellishfig · 2 years ago
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it’s crazy how so many doctor who fanfics cast reinette as the villain against rose
when rose and reinette understood each other
rose was jealous, yes
but reinette was the mistress of the king of france
she understood what it meant to love someone who loves someone else
and rose had just met sarah jane
she knew what it meant to love the doctor, a man who had loved so many other people
there’s a lot of jealousy in the storyline, but if you actually think about it
they never were monogamous
they were in love with so many people all at once
highkey the show would have been so much better if the doctor and all his companions were not so jealous of each other
they care about each other so much
and if (a) the companions were less jealous and (b) the doctor was less jealous
they would have been fantastic together
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enthusiasteditor · 8 months ago
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One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel
— Reinette Poisson, S2 E4 - Doctor Who
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lastbluetardis · 10 months ago
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Sacred New Beginnings (21/?)
Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.
Ten x Rose AU
This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words
AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 |
johnnylumic: The gig is up! James Noble’s new bedfellow is finally revealed! [read more]
margaretblaineofficial: Breaking! James Noble and Plain Jane romance is outed! [read more]
henryvanstatten: James Noble is back to female companionship! The cad can’t seem to make up his mind.
         dianagoddardeditor: The offices of CelebriTruth would like to acknowledge James Noble has always been forthcoming regarding his sexual identity and we stand tall with the bisexual sector of the LGBTQA+ community.
               iantojonesofficial: He’s pansexual you dolt
                     nerdynardole: He’s attracted to pans??
               danthemanbartock: “Bisexual sector”?? We’re not a bloody stocks group lmao.
               masterharrysaxon: ew he likes women? lame.
                     missyursofine: ur lame
realvictorkennedy: Sources claim that James Noble’s ex-girlfriend Reinette Poisson of the up and coming film The Fireplace (in theatres January 5) is “happy” if ex is happy. Further comment was declined.
annedroidunit: No news from James Noble himself on this blossoming new romance. Should we be taking this with a grain of salt? Is everyone overreacting? [read more]
courtneywoods: Omg that’s Miss Tyler! No way. How’d she manage to snag James Noble??
         yvonnehartmanhost: This is Yvonne Hartman of London’s Hot Radio Hits. I’d love to chat more with you about Miss Tyler. She’s your schoolteacher? Could I private message you and have a chat?
               courtneywoods: Whoa, really? What’s in it for me?
                     yvonnehartmanhost: We adequately compensate all our sources, don’t you worry dear. Message coming soon.
oOoOo
James can’t sleep. No matter how many sheep he counts, or how thoroughly he cocoons himself in his blankets, he remains frustratingly awake. Beside him, Rose is curled up on her side. With how still and quiet she’s been despite his rustling, James presumes she’s happily lost in her own dreamland.
At least one of us is.
It’s nearly two in the morning when he gives up on the idea of sleep and slips out from beneath the sheets. He pulls on a discarded pair of pants and a soft, faded t-shirt before padding out of the bedroom and towards… Well, nowhere. Where is he to go, exactly? On nights like this when he’s too wound up for rest, he usually blasts music through the house and either runs on his treadmill until he’s about to collapse, or he plays his guitar in the music or living room until he lulls himself into a semi-conscious state.
Neither option is available to him though. Not with Rose in his room upstairs and his mother—who had arrived in the early afternoon just in time to see what had to be his and Rose’s thousandth game of Mario Kart—in the guest room downstairs. He sighs and putters down the steps, his footsteps making only the barest whisper of a sound.
The door to where his mum sleeps is shut, and when he presses his ear to the wood, he hears the familiar droning of her white-noise machine. Ever since he was a small child, his mother needed some sort of sound to fall asleep to. She claims her ever-present tinnitus is too loud if there is nothing else for her ears to focus on.
Satisfied, James moves to the kitchen and flicks on the dim light above the stove. It bathes the room in a muted yellow glow that casts long, alien shadows across the floor and cabinets. He’d always had a touch of insomnia, and when he was a boy, he often woke up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back to sleep. When this happened, he would go to the kitchen and turn on the light above the stove to make all sorts of puppet-creatures, entertaining himself until his mother woke up and scolded him for being awake at such an early hour.
With a small, nostalgic smile, James extends his pointer and middle fingers of his right hand and bounces a shadow bunny across the floor as he makes his way to the fridge. Though he isn’t particularly hungry, he nevertheless pulls out an apple and spends the next ten minutes slowly nibbling on the fruit as he leans against the countertop.
What a mess they’re in. Photos of him and Rose are still going viral, and Donna has received dozens upon dozens of interview requests from a variety of magazines and newspapers. She has denied each and every one of them, even those from the more reputable journals that he normally likes to interview with, claiming that he and Rose would like to be left in peace for the time being until this all blows over.
“He’ll make a statement when he’s ready,” Donna had tweeted, but to no avail; his phone is still blowing up with all sorts of notifications. He has half a mind to deactivate all of his social media and chuck his phone in the Thames for good measure.
His record label called him earlier that afternoon to inform him that they are tightening security around the recording studio and stationing more agents and officers around him and his home. They once again implored him to find a place to live that was more easily securable, as they’d been doing for the past two years as he’d grown exponentially more famous.
Maybe he’s being stupid by being so stubborn, but this is his home, the first place he was able to buy with his own money that he’d made with his own skills and talents. After years of renting grubby little flats and having all of two pieces of furniture and five outfits to his name, he finally has somewhere that’s his. A place where every need is met, and more.
But was every need being met? Wasn't basic safety part of a home?
James groans and chucks his apple core into the bin with slightly more force than necessary and rinses the sticky juice from his hands. He then grabs a bottle of expensive whiskey his label gifted him for his birthday from his liquor cabinet and sulks his way upstairs. His skin is crawling with tension, with the need to do something, anything, to keep this dark cloud from completely engulfing him, from screaming at him that he’s worthless and troublesome and a danger to those he loves.
He ends up in his music room and shuts the door behind him. As long as he isn’t banging on piano keys or beating on his guitar strings as though he needs people from the next city over to hear him, it shouldn’t be that loud, should it?
James grabs his guitar and sinks into his couch. He uncaps the whiskey bottle and glugs down a few swallows. It burns on the way down, but then pleasant warmth blooms through his belly and up his chest. He takes another drink, then balances the open bottle precariously on the sofa cushion beside him.
With how he’s slouched, he can’t really hold his guitar properly, but he makes do as best he can and starts to pluck on the strings in no particular sort of melody. He’s just playing random notes, enjoying the reverberating twang that seems to echo in his very bones.
He remembers the first time he’d held a guitar. He was thirteen and had signed up for after-school music lessons because that was the only activity that had been free. His classmates all awkwardly and clumsily held their instruments as though they were venomous vipers, but not him. The moment he held the ratty old second-hand (or third- or fourth-hand) guitar, it had become an extension of his body. Maybe it was because he was already so gangly that it made it easier for him to hold the instrument or for his fingers to fly across the fretboard to make different notes, but he took to it like a fish to water. 
He’d mastered the keys and chords nearly as fast as his teacher taught him, gulping it all down with relish. Hot Cross Buns had nothing on him, and his teacher matched him stride for stride. She gave him new music to practice, and told him that if he signed up for the school’s orchestra, he would be able to rent a guitar to take home. He’d begged his mother to let him do it, and bless her heart, she scavenged up enough money and had worked out a payment plan with the school to afford the required renter’s fees. (Apparently the school didn’t trust a bunch of stupid teenagers with hundreds of dollars’ worth of equipment… shocking.)
It wasn’t long after joining the orchestra that James asked to be taught the piano. His teacher was more than happy to oblige, and the rest was history.
He wishes his teacher could see him now. Miss Brown. Lovely Miss Brown. She’d passed years ago to complications with a health concern. James was in uni at the time. He hopes that if there is an afterlife, she can see what has become of him and know that it was all down to her that he’s made a name for himself.
James is an hour into the whiskey bottle and mindless strumming when a quiet knock sounds on the door. It opens a heartbeat later, and Rose pokes her head in. Her hair is mussed, there are pillow creases across her cheeks, and she’s got small bits of makeup clumped at the corners of her eyes. She’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.
But with that wave of affection comes a pang of guilt. He winces and says, “Sorry, did I wake you?”
Rose shakes her head and stays by the door, ringing her hands in front of herself. She’s wearing one of his t-shirts, which makes him smile. She looks great in his clothes, if he does say so himself.
“No, no I wasn’t really sleeping. Not much, anyways. I felt you get up, and you didn’t come back. I wanted to check on you. Are you all right?”
He shrugs. “Are either of us all right?”
A small, ironic smile quirks up her lips. “No, I suppose not. Right. I’ll just… leave you alone then.”
“No, you don’t have to go,” he blurts, because now that he knows she’s up too, he’s desperate for her company. “Please stay. Have a… have a drink with me.”
He stupidly holds up the whiskey bottle and sloshes it in her direction. “It’s vintage.”
She snorts. “I’ve no idea what that means.”
“Nor do I, but it sounded fancy.” He pats the seat next to him. “Come come.”
She does, and plops down beside him, her bare thigh brushing across his and sending his skin tingling. He takes a swig of whiskey before handing it to her. He slouches into her, taking care to rotate the guitar so the neck of it won’t impale her, and rests his head on her shoulder.
“What does m’lady wish to hear?” he asks, strumming a chord from a song he’d recorded last week.
“Anything. Everything,” she sighs, leaning her cheek onto his hair. They’re seated so intimately that a swell of safety overtakes him. Nothing can get to them in this room. The world can’t see them, can’t touch them. He yearns for that to be true.
“Have you ever played guitar?” he asks suddenly. “You fiddled with my piano a while ago, but what about guitar?”
“Once, ages ago in school. Required music class. Teacher spent two weeks teaching us guitar only for us to forget it once the unit was done.”
He laughs. “Sounds about right. Here.”
James takes the whiskey from her and leans forward to set it on the coffee table, then he passes the instrument to Rose. She looks awkward with it, and so he spends the next few minutes coaxing her arms and fingers into the proper positions. She’s still awkward, but much less so.
“You don’t need to strangle the poor thing,” he drawls, seeing how white the tips of her fingers are on the fret strings. “That’s a good way to get a blister in all of five minutes.”
Rose sticks her tongue out at him, but obliges and loosens her grip around the neck of the guitar.
“Good. Let’s learn a few chords, eh?”
Maybe it’s self-centered of him, but he teaches her a simplified version of five chords he used in one of the songs on his upcoming album. He makes sure the chords she needs to play will keep her pinkie and ring finger in one location so she only needs to keep track of two fingers. Beginners’ tutorial, and all that. He slowly helps her move her fingers along the fret to press down on the correct strings for each of the chords.
“Index and middle fingers on these two strings… then move them here… then there…”
Again and again, he works with her until she masters the chords. Rose catches on quickly, only needing slight promptings to readjust her fingers to the proper places.
“See, you’re practically a pro!” he crows when she successfully strums all five chords in succession, albeit quite slowly.
She rolls her eyes. “Come off it, this is nowhere near as complex as the music you make.”
“Not true,” he argues. “I wrote an entire song using these chords. Let me show you.”
Rose watches him curiously as he takes the instrument from her and angles himself in her direction so she has a clear view of the positionings of his fingers. He strums the notes slowly, echoing what she’d played mere seconds ago, and then steadily picks up the tempo and intensity, plucking away in a pattern that has become so familiar to him by now.
Dun, duh-duh dun, duh-duh dun, duh duh, duh-duh-duh-duh.
Down, up up down, up up down, up down, up-down-up-down.
Music fills the room, and he hums along to the lyrics he knows goes with this melody. The music is achingly gentle and soft to match the tone of the song, which is about the night he and Rose talked out their fight and agreed to start genuinely dating. The night he suspected he had fallen head-over-heels in love with her, and dared to hope she might love him, too.
He plays through the entire song, sans lyrics, too lost in the music to realize he’s gone beyond proving his point and is instead just boasting now. But Rose doesn’t seem to mind. She watches him, entranced, her eyes darting from his hands to his face. There’s an inscrutably beautiful expression on her face, awed and delighted and reverent all at once, which makes him feel like he’s created something secret and sacred that belongs to them alone.
When the song ends, she carefully leans over the guitar, cradles his cheeks in her hands, and kisses him. He sighs into her mouth, closing his eyes and letting her surround him. He sets his guitar to the side, wanting his arms to be full of her and not the wood of the instrument.
She notices his lap is empty, and takes it upon herself to fill the newly-vacated space. He groans at the heat of her around him. Her hands slip from his cheeks to tangle in his hair, scratching and tugging in the way he loves best. He’s melting, all of the black emotions from earlier having long since bled away to instead create room for this brilliant, swelling heat building between them.
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be but here, with her hands in his hair, her mouth on his, her body pressed to his. Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. He can feel every point of contact between, like sparks being set alight across his skin.
His dips his hands beneath her shirt—his shirt—to splay across the expanse of her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, so perfectly touchable, and he can’t help but map out the familiar territory as though it’s their first time again. Her lips and tongue tease and play with his, pulling shuddering groans from him as sensation surges through him. Her scent and her taste and her touch, that’s all he’s aware of. The world could be crumbling around them, and he would be none the wiser, nor would he care.
He holds her tightly, digging his fingertips into the skin overtop her spine as he silently pleads for more. There is an unbearable ache deep inside him, and he gasps when Rose aligns their hips to give him friction, kissing him more deeply. His lips are tingling and his body is throbbing with want, but he doesn’t want this moment to end. He wants this to build up forever, for the next second to feel even better than this current second.
She reaches down and fumbles with the hem of his shirt, tugging up, up, up until she’s able to fling it to the floor. He doesn’t get the chance to reciprocate, as she discards her own top just as quickly as his. She’s perfect, so perfect, and he can’t believe she’s his; his chest tightens, overwhelmed with the depth of this emotion he’s never truly felt before.
But then she puts his hands on her breasts and tenderness slips to the sidelines in favor of his building desire. He leans forward, away from her searching mouth to instead latch his lips onto the jut of her collarbone. She shivers in his lap and tightens her grip on his hair, a silent request for him to stay there for a little while. He obliges, kissing and nipping at her chest and neck until the skin has flared crimson. Not enough to leave any lingering evidence, but enough to mark her for the rest of the night.
When he moves away from her neck, Rose hauls his face towards hers to kiss him desperately, finesse long since gone but it still feels fucking amazing. He’s so hard now that he thinks he’s two seconds away from begging to be inside her, and yet he’s glad to stay like this, kissing her and being kissed by her.
“Want you,” she mumbles into his mouth, writhing down on the hard length of him and hissing at stimulation. “Please.”
As if she had to ask. He wraps an arm around her hips and slips his other hand down the front of her knickers. Wet heat radiates around his fingers as he carefully pushes them inside of her.
“Angle’s weird for more,” he murmurs into the side of her neck. “Fingers okay? Don’t wanna let go.”
“Fingers are fuckin’ great,” she rasps, rocking into his hand. “More. Faster.”
He smiles into her skin and picks up the pace. He anchors his arm around her waist, hugging her tightly as his other hand works between her legs, driving her higher and higher. She’s shaking against him, so close now, and he redoubles his efforts. He licks a line up her neck then kisses her right below her ear, where he knows she’s most sensitive, and grins when she softly cries out.
“James…”
He fucking loves when she says his name like this. Like there’s nothing else in her mind other than him.
“Let me see you,” he whispers.
He curls his fingers into her once, twice, three more times before she breaks. She arches, writhing herself into his hand as she trembles around him. She moans through clenched teeth, making every effort to be quiet as she rides out her high.
Expertly, he brings her down, slowing the motions of his fingers and not touching her where he knows she’s too sensitive. She lets out low groans of pleasure as she slumps into him, breathing erratically. She tucks her forehead into his neck.
A moment passes, then two, and he extricates his hand from her pants, surreptitiously wiping it on his own. He’s still achingly hard, but knows his turn will come soon. Right now, he’s happy to have his arms full of Rose.
She’s not, though. When he goes to rest his cheek in her hair, she straightens and gives him a searing, toe-curling kiss. All his patience is suddenly gone. He lets out the most undignified whine as he grabs her arse and grinds up into her. She grins into his mouth, and slowly, so fucking slowly, rubs herself up… and down… and up… until he thinks he’s going to combust right here on the couch.
“Rose,” he rasps. “I need… please… touch me…”
She keeps that infuriatingly steady pace, and part of him is annoyed, but a greater part of him is so fucking aroused and wants her to keep going as she is. She tilts his head back, using her slight height advantage from being in his lap to press him fully into the couch. He’s helpless to do anything but follow her lead, and trust her to take care of him.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers into his ear, blowing softly and sending a violent shudder through him.
He does, letting the blackness envelop him. His pulse is pounding so furiously through his body that he can see it beating behind his eyes. He rubs himself into her again, chasing that delicious friction, desperate for more.
Rose dances her fingers down his chest, scratching through the light dusting of hair on his pecs then down his belly. His muscles jump and quiver at her touch while he ruts up into her. He’s sure he could finish like this, and would be happy to, if not for wondering what Rose wanted to do to him.
Bless her, she doesn’t make him wait any longer. For a moment he’s confused as her weight shifts off his thighs, but then it settles on the cushion beside him. Her hands are at the waistband of his pants, and he wriggles to help her get them halfway down his arse, just enough to free him from the stuffy confines of the fabric.
And then she’s got her mouth on him.
James shudders out a groan and digs his nails into his palms to keep himself from thrusting up into her hot, wet mouth. He’s throbbing in time with his racing heart, and he can’t see anything through his shut eyes, but God he can feel everything. The tease of her tongue, the oh-so careful scrape of her teeth, the pressure as she sucks…
“Oh, fuck,” he croaks, his voice cracking around the word.
She covers his clenched fist, coaxing his fingers to relax, to open. He thinks she wants to hold his hand, but then she takes him by the wrist and moves his hand up until he brushes the silky locks of her hair. He opens his eyes for just a moment, and Christ the sight of her kneeling beside him, her mouth on his cock, her eyes closed in her own enjoyment… it nearly makes him come on the spot.
He holds on though, not really wanting this to end. Once he has his fingers tangled in her hair, he lets his eyes flutter shut again, happy to let his other senses surge into overdrive. He doesn’t guide her movements, knowing she doesn’t like it when men do that; instead, he relishes being able to touch her like this while she gives him the best goddamned blowjob of his goddamned life.
She gets one of her hands into the fray, playing with the base of his cock where her mouth can’t quite reach, then lower to his balls. She rolls them and squeezes them, whiting out his vision and stealing his breath. The pressure in his cock mounts, throbbing and aching in warning.
“Rose,” he gasps. “I’m gonna come.”
“‘Kay,” she mumbles around him, sucking him even harder, and Jesus fucking Christ he’s done.
Heat and electricity sizzles down his spine as he releases into her mouth, moaning and cursing and hissing wordless sounds. Rose strokes him through it, seemingly able to time her upstrokes with each pulse of his cock, heightening this pleasure into something otherworldly. It’s a good thing he’s sitting, because he can’t quite feel his legs and he thinks his knees have been replaced with jelly as he trembles and shudders through his orgasm.
When he’s done, he comes to to the sensation of Rose kissing his shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around his hips while one of her hands idly strokes his softening cock. He shivers, sated and sleepy and so, so satisfied.
Rose tilts her head up to give him a pleased smile. “Good?”
He doesn’t deign to reply to that, and instead kisses the grin right off her face.
oOoOo
James can’t concentrate, can’t focus as he watches the clock. He and his driver dropped Rose off at her school an hour ago, where police had to set up a barricade to keep reporters away from the building. Rose’s cheeks were scarlet as she saw all of the attention around her place of employment.
“Why do they care this much about me?” she’d murmured, covering her face with her hands.
“Because they care that much about me, and I care about you,” he replied grimly, thunking his head into the back of his seat. “I’m so sorry. This is madness.”
They’d had to slowly inch through the school traffic, showing identification multiple times before Idris made it to the front of the school. Several other teachers were making their way into the building, looking both frustrated and curious about all the ruckus.
“Good luck,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say as Rose braced herself to slip out of the car. “Idris can pick you up again after work. I… I don’t think you should go home yet. You can stay with me again. If you want.”
Rose nodded silently, then drew in a deep breath. Before she opened her car door, she leaned over and kissed him. When they pulled apart, she gave him a heartbreakingly feeble smile and said, “Have a good day, dear.”
He forced his own smile for her sake, but his stomach was in knots. She had a meeting with her superiors that morning, likely demanding to know what the hell was going on. He offered to be there with her, but conceded that she was right in saying he would probably just make it worse.
That’s how he finds himself in the recording studio, sipping at a strong coffee that he doesn’t really taste and watching the clock tick aimlessly by. He asked her to let him know how her meeting went, and surely by now it should be over. It’s almost eight in the morning; the meeting can’t still be going on, can it?
But there’s no word from Rose for another hour. By now, he’s going mental, convinced she came to her senses and realized she needs to break up with him. This theory eventually evolves into some mad lunatic having broken into her school and murdered her like in one of those American crime dramas. He’d sent her a little “Hope you’re okay 💜�� text a half hour ago, but the lack of response only cements these insane thoughts into his head.
Finally, at quarter-past nine, his phone lights up with a call from Rose. He answers it immediately.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
There’s nothing but a small sniffle on the other end of the line, and his stomach drops.
“Rose?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain gentle. “What happened?”
Sniffle. “M’on leave. ‘Til after the holidays. Security concern with me bein’ here right now. Can… can someone come get me? I don’t know where to go.”
“We’re on our way,” he promises, taking his phone away from his ear for a few seconds to fire off a text to his driver. “We’ll come pick you up. Are you at the school?”
“Yeah. I started for the bus stop. Wasn’t thinkin’. More photographers saw me. I ran back inside. Everyone’s lookin’ at me like… like I’m an alien.”
“Oh, Rose,” he whispers, his stomach aching for her. Idris pops her head into the office, and he mimes driving as he rushes toward her. “We’ll be there soon, all right? Stay inside. We’ll be there soon.”
He ends the call, and together, he and Idris make for the car.
“Rose?” she asks. “The school?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Bless her, Idris doesn’t ask for more details. He’s always liked that about her: she’s willing to listen to him whenever he wants to talk, but will never force him to speak when he’d prefer to stay silent. He’s had other drivers who make small talk, or ask him about whatever latest story about him went viral, but not her. He prays she never decides to quit her job.
Traffic is manageable and they make good time to the school. There are still officers posted around the school, but not quite as many. He can see reporters and photographers lingering at the café across the street, and he finds himself itching to throw hot coffee on all of them.
He takes a deep breath, forcing those awful emotions away. He’s better than that. He’s better than them. Rose doesn’t need him being angry and vengeful right now, she needs him to be steady and comforting. He can do that. He’s the steadiest person in the world…
When they get to the front door, he nearly vaults out of the car to rush into the school, but a pointedly-cleared throat and the clack of the door locks activating stops him.
“Low profile,” Idris reminds him, and he sulks for a moment, but sends Rose a text that he’s here.
She emerges a moment later, pale-faced, with nothing but a laptop bag slung over one shoulder. James opens the door for her, and slides across the empty seat to give her room. The moment she settles herself, Idris takes off again, and he unbuckles his seatbelt to take Rose into his arms. She slumps, defeated, into him, and somehow that’s even worse than tears.
She takes a few minutes to tell him about her meeting, and how ultimately the school couldn’t justify putting their students in danger while she’s facing such sudden and viral recognition.
“How could I argue with that?” Rose sighs, rubbing at her temples as though warding off a headache. “’Cos it’s true. There’re so many unauthorized strangers near the school ’cos of me.”
“Because of stupid journalists,” he corrects, but it falls flat.
“They said they’ll reevaluate over the coming weeks. I might be able to return to work in January, if things have died down a bit.”
James desperately hopes it will, for her sake. He couldn’t bear it if he’s the reason Rose loses her job.
“Surely it’s illegal to sack you because of who you’re dating,” he says.
“I’m not sacked,” she reminds him. “I’m on leave. Really, I should be happy. Gettin’ paid to stay at home…” She looks far from happy, though. “I was about to start some of my favorite books with my kids. Frankenstein. Never Let Me Go. To Kill a Mockingbird. Now someone else gets to do it with them, and all I’ve got to look forward to when I get back is bloody Shakespeare.”
“Not a fan of Shakespeare?” he quips weakly.
“Shakespeare’s fine, but not the way they make us teach it in schools, all boring and textual, when it’s supposed to be a performance to be experienced. I’ve been trying to get the school to sponsor an annual theatre trip for the kids, but of course no one wants to invest in the languages and arts anymore.”
James makes a mental note to change that going forward. Yes, he’s sure his donations to various medical research charities are being put to good use, but how much money can he say he’s donated to music and art and literature? He’s ashamed to admit to himself he doesn’t know. How awful is that, given the arts are how he makes his living.
“I’m sorry.” The words feel hollow, but what more can he say? They’re so weak compared to the ache of sorrow buffeting him. It’s because of him that Rose can’t do the job she likes. Because of him that everyone wants to get a look at her. Because of him that her life has been turned upside down.
So it surprises him when Rose immediately says, “I’m not.” She threads her fingers through his and gives them a squeeze. “This… us… what we have together, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Wouldn’t trade you for the world.”
His throat swells shut, and all he can do is offer a weak smile and kiss her knuckles. It’s only then that he realizes Idris is absently driving through the streets of London, taking the routes she always takes whenever he asks if she can just drive him around for a while to nowhere in particular. Well, he supposes that’s right; he didn’t exactly tell Idris where to take them.
Before he makes an executive decision about their destination, he turns to Rose. “D’you wanna come see the studio?”
“Oh, I don’t want to distract you from your work.”
He waves a hand. “Nonsense. Album’s mostly recorded by now. Just a few more songs to tidy up, then it’s off to production. C’mon. Please? I think it’s “take your girlfriend to work” week.”
He shamelessly pouts, happy to see it trigger a laugh. Then she’s nodding, and they’re off.
He’s like a giddy little boy as he guides Rose into the studio. He gets her all checked in as a Very Important Guest, and apologizes when she has to sign multiple nondisclosure agreements before she’s permitted any farther.
“No unauthorized photos, videos, recordings, et cetera et cetera,” he explains, grimacing. “I’m not the only artist here. But you’ve been pretty social-media-phobic throughout our relationship, so I don’t think we have anything to worry about, eh?”
Rose is unbothered, and soon enough, she’s an official guest of James Noble. He guides her straight into his workspace, where his now-cold coffee and untouched guitar waits for him. Rose takes in the room with awe. He remembers feeling like that when he was first shown this place. It’s a large lounge space with cushy sofas and spacious desks, and half a dozen guitars resting on stands while a glossy grand piano stands proud in a corner by a window that looks out over the city. Adjacent is the recording booth, with well-insulated sound-proofed walls and a variety of microphones hanging from the ceiling. The recording booth alone is about the size his old studio flat had been.
“This is incredible,” Rose gasps, spinning slowly to take it all in.
“I’m very lucky.”
And really, he is. This office building is one of the best in the city. He and other major recording artists have their own dedicated rooms, while most other artists need to schedule appointments to use the other joint spaces. It was only after the major success of his third album that he was promoted to this room. If he ever falls from grace, he’ll be back to the shared studios.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” he asks, opening his phone to the app tied to the lovely little café in the basement of the building. “I’m a bit peckish and want a new coffee.”
“No, I haven’t. Bit too wound up to eat this morning.”
James places an order for a coffee for him and a tea for her, as well as two breakfast sandwiches to be delivered to his office. Within ten minutes, he and Rose are lounging on the couch, enjoying their breakfast in a peaceful silence.
He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to have Rose here in the studio. It’s not like he hasn’t played for her before. But somehow it’s much more… official.
He licks his fingers of lingering bacon grease then wipes them absently on his jeans before heading to his piano. “I told you about the holiday concert I’m part of in a few weeks. I planned to start rehearsing. Just sort of… putzing around with different carols I might have to sing.”
“Might have to sing?” she asks curiously.
“Yeah, I dunno what I’ll be singing ‘til the time of the show. An online auction will go out in the week leading up to the concert. People can donate a quid to vote on a holiday song for me to perform. They can donate another quid to vote on one of my own songs for me to perform intermittently throughout the show. It’s a charity concert, remember. Gotta get the public involved somehow.”
“Bet you’ll make a killin’ after this weekend’s drama,” she drawls, a small but genuine smirk on her face.
He rolls his eyes. One of the well-meaning higher-ups of his record label told him the same thing. All of his music has been streamed more frequently this past weekend, too. Really, this bit of viral recognition has been great for him professionally; usually that thrills him, but this time it just makes him sick.
“Part of my charm is my near-perfect memory,” he continues. “For my hour of the show, we won’t know the results of the poll ‘til I get on stage and the MC dramatically reveals them. This week I was gonna work on the new album and start practicing Christmas tunes so I don’t make a complete arse of myself on stage. So lay it on me, Rose Tyler—give me something to sing.”
Time flies. No, it soars. For the first time in over forty-eight hours, neither of them is sulky or maudlin; they’re carrying on, goofing around, and singing Christmas carols. James is delighted when Rose joins in, watching in awe as she duets perfectly with him. Her voice is beautiful.
She seems to realize what she’s done, and while her cheeks flare scarlet, she doesn’t stop. He makes an effort not to stare at her, to not make her uncomfortable, but he steals glances at every possible moment. He tries to make her laugh as often as he can too, embellishing his voice to near operatic proportions or giving himself silly little accents as he sings. The one that makes her laugh the hardest is a Southern American twang, and he falls back to it a few times.
Lunchtime comes and goes without them realizing it. They’re left alone for the day, to his relief. Professional courtesy, and all that. God, what an awful world it would be if all of his fellow celebrities were as nosey and gossipy as the paparazzi.
It’s mid-afternoon when he suggests they pack it in for the day. Rose gets up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, bounds over to him, and throws her arms around him. He catches her, confused but very accepting of this affection, and he holds her tightly.
“Thank you. This morning was… well, kind of awful. But this afternoon was perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
He melts, and buries his nose into the side of her neck, breathing her in. “One day at a time. Baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” she agrees, squeezing him harder and making no move to let go.
He doesn’t mind in the slightest. He rocks them slowly from side to side, rubbing long, slow strokes down her back and enjoying this perfect moment of peace. Everything is quiet. Everything is good.
And James thinks, dreams, dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, they can make this work.
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faeriecinna · 10 months ago
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Notice Me, Reader! (Tag Game)
Thank you for tagging me @the-down-upside-finch! I was so excited for this one.
Rules: Share 3 (or more!) small details from your WIP that you feel have gone/will go unnoticed. (You can choose whether or not to share why the detail is significant!)
I'm gonna give you a little bit of both coz why not
Project.Seraph::
Adeline - a character I don't yet believe I have introduced to writerblr yet, but my baby nonetheless (and one of Teo's little gang of travelling thieves) - has a nervous habit of playing with the rosary that sits around her neck. It's not because she is particularly religiously inclined, but because when she was a little girl who suffered with nightmares, her mother would come to her bedside, put her rosary on her and sing her to sleep. Now it serves as a symbol of protection for Addie. If she clutches at her necklace, there's a heavy chance that shit is about to hit the fan.
There is a place in Infernelle called Lake Celeste (a tentative working title) which has a rich lore behind it that I haven't had the chance to properly explore so far in my WIP. Legend has it that the lake came to be when the first Seraphs were cast to earth and their descent from the heavens caused a crater when they landed. The water that then filled the depths became known to have magical properties such as being able to conceal treasures hidden beneath the surface from the naked eye.
And yes, Queen Reinette may be a truly evil little bitch, but that didn't stop me from naming her after Queen Reinette Poisson/Madame De Pompadour. No, not the actual historical figure, King Louis XV's chief mistress. Yes, the Reinette from my favourite ever episode of Doctor Who - The Girl In The Fireplace. "I just snogged Madame De Pompadour!" :)
Project.Ink
The town Rowan lives in as a human is called 'Fálthuin' which I derived from Irish Gaelic and smashed together from the words (Fáil – destiny/prophecy | Tuin – dark/shadowed). So to those privy to that information, the name implies that the town itself and/or its residents have a sinister destiny awaiting them.
Killeen, the Fae Inquisitor, is named after my Grandfather's homestead in Ireland :) I also just thought it was fitting because she's a badass lil killing machine.
Killeen came to be because I created her as a DnD character years ago and the never got to use her in a campaign so I said fuck it and used her in a novel instead. AND THEN THREE BLOODY WEEKS LATER ME AND MY PALS STARTED A DnD CAMPAIGN >:( so now I use Nevaeh (from Project.Seraph) as my DnD muse lmao
I'm once again going to no-pressure tag some new moots so I can get to know your writing :)
@tisiphonewolfe @luchadorbard @morgayz
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ao3feed-doctorxrose · 2 years ago
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Fire on Ice
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Czyr0aY
by Dzuljeta
The Doctor is a famous figure skater. Rose Tyler is an exchange for traumatised Reinette Poisson. Neither of the two is happy about it.
Words: 1198, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M
Characters: Tenth Doctor (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Other Character Tags to Be Added, Reinette
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, figure skating, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasy, i just WANT THEM TOGETHER, Romance, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Jack being Jack, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, My knowledge about figure skating is limited
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Czyr0aY
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matsiro-be · 10 months ago
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[achat] Retour de marché à Montpellier-
1/2.
Marché paysan d'Antigone .
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RDV tous les dimanches matin avec une cinquantaine de producteurs. On y trouve :
Des légumes bios chez Damien Simon à l'entrée du marché côté rue de Thèbes.
La fournée magique pour du pain au levain bio à la coupe avec différents types de farine produit à Ganges. Il propose du pain blanc, demi-complet, intégral, pur seigle, pur petit épeautre, multi-céréales… Prix allant de 6 à 8€/kg ?
Les Canotiers, pour des fruits et légumes bio ou non traités. Beaucoup de légumes-feuilles d'autres contrées comme le chou noir de Toscana, le pak choï de Chine, le komatsuna du Japon, le mizuna du Japon…
Les oeufs bios de Julien Lanave de Saint Jean de Fos.
Des fruits et légumes en culture raisonnée produit par le GAEC Brechard, à l'entrée côté Place Paul Bec. Salade reine des glaces à 1,20€ la pièce, chou vert à 2€ la pièce.
Des pommes reinette du Vigan et des pommes Dalinette proposées par le GAEC des Cambières. 3€ le kg. 2,50€ les pommes de second choix. 8€ les 3kg. Il propose également des jus de pommes et des oignons doux des Cévennes.
Des légumes et plantes aromatiques en agriculture bio chez Terres paysannes.
Et également viande, poisson, fromage, tofu, miel, etc...
A Antigone tous les dimanches de 8h à 13h30.
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personal-reporter · 11 months ago
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A zonzo per la Francia: Madame De Pompadour
La donna che fu l’amante del re di Francia… Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, marchesa di Pompadour, detta anche Reinette, nacque a Parigi il 29 dicembre 1721 da Luise Madeleine de La Motte, una ricca ereditiera, e da François Poisson, e venne educata in convento. Continue reading A zonzo per la Francia: Madame De Pompadour
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hernamewasriversong · 3 years ago
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Doctor Who + text posts [6/?]
↪ WLW edition
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doc0bill · 3 years ago
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Wow, if I had a nickel for every time Steven Moffat made the doctor meet a kid version of a person they are going to snog/be romantically involved with I’d have 4 nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it even happened.
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starfireproductions · 2 years ago
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Watcher Competition Winner Commission: Lady In Waiting
A couple of months ago on my DA page I ran a watchers competition for a free art commission. The winner is a lover of period costumes and also has a special place in her heart for the Doctor Who episode The Girl in The Fireplace. So this was a win all around because I got to draw Sophia Myles :D A great project to do and a nice exercise in perspective and soft tones.
Full details can be found on my DA page here: https://www.deviantart.com/starfire-productions
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doctorwho247 · 5 years ago
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"A spaceship from the 51st Century stalking a woman from the 18th..."
Join Steven Moffat and Sophia Myles for a live tweet-along of The Girl in the Fireplace. The hashtag to use tonight is #Clockdown.
Hit play at 7pm BST.
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ebdaydreamer · 5 years ago
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So I’ve rewatched TGitF and honestly- fuck Moffat and his classism. He turned Reinette into nothing but a love interest (her accomplishments were only mentioned in passing) and in the process made her annoying as fuck to watch. I hate the scene where she talks to Rose like she knows the Doctor better than she does. She treats her like a child when Rose is the one who has been out there with the Doctor and seen so much. She knows you don’t ‘tolerate the demons for the sake of an angel’. For her, the monsters are part of the fun, and she doesn’t hold the Doctor on a pedestal like that (which really, is what he needs - someone to treat him like a fellow person, not an angel).
TBH, I always thought my biggest problem with this episode was the Doctor’s attitude (and believe me, it still is), but on this rewatch, I realise it’s definitely another case of Moffat’s poor writing when it comes to female characters.
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