I haven’t painted in acrylic for a while, and I haven’t painted the Tenth Doctor for some time either - so here comes the Tenth Doctor, acrylic on canvas
SHE’S WEARING THE COAT
Is there nothing you can’t do?
— Not anymore.
And there’s no one to stop you?
Dedicated to greatspacedustbin.
«[40/100] » pictures of David Tennant
Title: By Any Other Name, Ch. 1/3
Pairing: This chapter, Ten/Rose. It’s Loved ‘verse, so overall it’s Ten II/Ten/Rose. And, eventually, there will be Rose/Rose. Yeah, that’s right, I went there.
Rating: This chapter, R for sexy tiems.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all hail the BBC
Summary: He should have known immediately that it wasn’t her. Well, that it was her, but it wasn’t the right her.
Aww yis! fidthings is writing fic again!
The 10th Doctor appreciation post
HC Clements is in the City. It’s nice. It’s posh. So stop it.
So the thing with the GR Master, I imagine, is that at a certain point down the line in their relationship, the only time he really acts tender and vulnerable is when he’s singing. Even if he’s coked out of his mind or they’re in the middle of a massive fight offstage, when the Master gets in front of an audience and takes the mic, all of it strips away like wrapping paper off of a package, and there he is again — cradled beneath all those layers, hidden except during these performances — the boy the Doctor fell in love with, the one he was trying to build a life and career with.
The Doctor should’ve left long before he did, long before things between them went nuclear, but every time they were onstage together and every time he saw the Master singing, he had hope. And if there’s one thing the Doctor needs, one thing he lives on, it’s hope.
YES. I think the same thing was probably true of the drugs at the beginning, tidy little bumps of white powder off the kitchen table and the Master seems like himself again, dragging the Doctor outside on a bright sunny Sunday morning — guitars in tow — to busk on the corner, just for a laugh, grinning and flirting with mums when their kids stop to listen, charming little old ladies with Sinatra, slinging an arm around the Doctor’s shoulders to belt out songs they haven’t sung since they were kids.
And less frantic things, too, passing back and forth that bright blue pipe they bought in Amsterdam, sticky with resin and clouded over now, the thick, rich smell of weed soaking every inch of the flat, and the Master sprawled bonelessly upside down on the sofa, nosing into the cuff of the Doctor’s jeans, twisting backward to set the pipe on the coffee table and slipping his hand into the Doctor’s, tugging himself up and tugging the Doctor down until they’re nothing but a warm tangle of limbs, all syrup slow and wet, deep kisses.
And it’s fine, it’s good, they’re having a great time, together, but it creeps in corners now, the way the Master starts to do them all on his own, the Doctor coming home to the flat in disarray, the Master with bloodshot eyes and spoiling for a fight, empty pill bottles and licked clean bags, needles and benders and so many arguments, the drugs fueling fights, and the fights fueling drugs, and then they’re not talking anywhere but on stage, and it’s not conversation at all, but, like you said, it’s something.
The Doctor embraces his role as the Doctors companion in two deleted scenes from The Next Doctor.
Doctor Who practically takes over one category in the Hugo Nominations with Adventure in Space and Time, Name of the Doctor, Day of the Doctor and the Five(ish) Doctors reboot getting nominated.
Congrats all - but especially to Peter Davison. Man, you nailed that.
suggested by cursedmusicbox
Theta Sigma showed up halfway through freshman year, on a Tuesday. Koschei remembers, because Tuesday is the only day the cafeteria serves chips.