Here’s the third entry for this particular round of fic tennis. That’ll be the tag you’ll want to savior if you’re looking to take a pass on these shenanigans.
ETA: There’s a bit of action-y violence in gallifreyburning’s last section, be ye warned.
When Rose wakes, it’s to the feel of something hard beneath her head, and something soft and hairy beneath her hand.
Her fingers curl on reflex, looking for purchase, and the soft, hairy thing under her palm sucks in a breath. She snaps her eyes open, and she’s greeted by the sight of green velvet.
Oh, right, the Doctor. The rain. The wardrobe change. The mental, up-ended state of her life.
The glow from her phone was the only illumination, turning the interior of the car a shadowy blue, and Rose sat for a moment in the dark, checking one last time for any messages from work. Over the soft clicks of her scrolling, she could hear the muted conversations of a couple of blokes exiting the pub.
It was nearly closing time. But there was no news on the stray radio transmission they’d picked up earlier that day, so Rose shut off her phone and dropped it in her bag. She’d have time for one drink at least.
I don’t usually publish them (holler at people asking questions logged in! thank you!), but I sometimes get asks for fic recs, and beyond just my fic recs page, which is just generally reblogged fic, I usually at least try and figure out what somebody’s looking for before I rec something.
From that, I’ve recently come to realize, in answering these asks and talking about fic, that I mentally group authors into about five different categories, and then I rec (and read!) from there.
So I’m gonna write some of these down, like an off-the-top-of-my-head thing, with some current authors, in case anyone is looking for a specific type of story.
(Obviously everyone writes outside of these things, but these are my go-to, gut designations when I’m looking for a specific thing — everyone is amazing, I love you all, etc.)
Summary: AU Ten/Rose. John Smith is desperate to impress Jeanne Poisson - the girl of his dreams - by learning to ski, but his ski lessons at an out-of-the-way ski lodge change things in ways he never could have expected.
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 21
The Doctor inhales deeply as he steps out of the TARDIS, shoving his hands in his pockets as he takes a moment to absorb the sweeping view. He’s landed on his usual ledge, perched high above a sprawling orchard filled with row after row of gnarled, silver-white trees.
As he makes his way down the mossy footpath their leafless, spindly branches welcome him, dancing languidly as if moved by some unfelt breeze. But the air is still and, of course, the Doctor knows they’re moving on their own accord. After all, the special sentient properties of these trees are why he came.
His chucks are covered in rusty dirt by the time he reaches the drying shed, nestled in a clearing in one corner of the orchard. A tiny chime rings as he opens the door and the Doctor smiles, remembering a similar sound made by a bell in a chippy back on Earth.
“Hello?” he calls, projecting toward the back of the warehouse, his voice echoing between large hanging scrolls of paper.
Last time Allison and I did a fic tennis match with a plan to write it as an AU, Gallifrey Records was born, and we stayed there for a long time, so today’s match is a crack at a different, new, to-be-determined-by-Allison’s-reaction-to-this-prompt-photo AU. To skip out on it, savior “fic tennis.”
“That isn’t your assigned name. It isn’t a name at all; it isn’t even your assigned profession. Try again. Name.”
Rose frowns at the man in the medical exam booth, and he frowns back at her. He’s the one strapped to the upright gurney, but with those piercing blue eyes pinning her to her seat at the control panel, she might as well be the one up for personality review.
He’s a bit ridiculous, she thinks, cataloguing his odd features to calm her nerves: big nose, big ears, funny quirk to his vocal cords that makes him sound like he isn’t from London at all. Of course, he’s been in for personality review nine times – a record, Rose’s supervisor informed her when he handed her the case file this morning. With that many rewrites under this bloke’s belt, something probably got scrambled in transit.
“Fine, Doctor. Citizenship number.”