Limned with gold

M' name's Rose. Rose Tyler. Somehow, I ended up back here. Back in my home universe. I don't know how. Don't know why. But here I am. Please read the About page and Rules before interacting.

[centuriesuntold]

                                            @ goldlimned LIKED for a starter !

   “ Ach-hmm– eehhhhh…. buh… hi. ”

[goldlimned-blog]

A fleeting little smile ghosts across Rose’s face as she turns to see the owner of the stuttering voice-- a man, tall, all gray hair and fearsomly expressive eyebrows.  “Y’ all right there, mate?”

[goldlimned-blog]

((Hiya, friends!  Posting another starter call for mutuals (mutual on this blog or my other one, siobhancrossworlder.)  Anyone?  Anyone?  I know it’s been a long time since I’ve had a thread here on Rose’s blog; the muse completely died out for awhile because of some real life things that were drying up pretty much everything creative.  But the muse is back now, and itching to play!  Drop me a note if you’d like to plot.))

[heartbreakingtennant]

Top 3 Moments of the Doctor and Rose not saying I love you to each other.  for capaldisbluetardis

[heartbreakingtennant]

Augustus Waters, The Fault in Our Stars (insp)

[cilly-murphy]

happy vs. sad

[heartbreakingtennant]

Start worrying about me.

[goldlimned-blog]

((Starters posted for bananaconverse and wintermae.  Anyone else want a starter?  Like this post if so.))

[goldlimned-blog]

Swallowed by Time

London

Rose pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, slowing her pace to a stop on the pavement as she glanced around.  It had been years since she’d ventured back to this city, and in fact had studiously avoided it for the most part since her unexpected return to this universe, just as she had avoided so many other things, drowning her sorrows in the adrenaline-inducing daily routine of a Torchwood agent.  

But she was here to follow a lead, nothing more.  There had been disappearances.  Literal disappearances, people vanishing into thin air right in front of witnesses.  It had been eerily similar to the Rift-related disappearances in Cardiff some time back.  

She took note of her surroundings, the shopfronts with elegantly clothed mannequins posing ridiculously in the display windows, the colorful signs declaring sales in huge, beckoning letters, the charming little bakery with tempting scents wafting out into the street.  

The domestic approach.  Three people had disappeared right in this area, and somebody in these places of business may have seen something.  Well, she may as well start at the bakery.  And it would just be good manners to purchase something tasty in exchange for information, right?  

[roleplaysituationsandstuff]

Send one of these in my askbox to see how my muse reacts

“Everyone ends up alone.” “Stay close to me.” “We need to get away.” “This is all for you.” "How could you be so heartless?” “There’s gotta be another way out.” “I’ve tried forever getting out on my own.” “I don’t wanna fight alone anymore.” “I never thought you would really go.” “I was being such a fool.” “But I can’t live without you.” “If I wanted to leave I would have left by now.” “Don’t let me down.” “And now I’m feeling stupid.” “I’ll only stay with you one more night.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Can’t take it no more.” “I used to pretend that I felt okay.” “I’ve failed you again.” “God knows that I tried…” “I was dreaming for so long.” "You are the piece of me I wish I didn’t need.” “If our love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?” "We both know how this ends.” “This is not what I do.” “Is that alright?” “Am I even human?” “I’m a mess.” “At least I’ve always been myself.” “No one knows my heart.” “I don’t know what I’m doing.” “There is something that you need to let me know.” “Be honest please.” “Say you’ll stay.” "I’ll look after you.” “I wasn’t looking for this.” “Here’s my number.” “Where do you think you’re going, baby?” “I missed you so bad.” “You see?” “Come on let’s go and play!” “Be my baby.” “Don’t you ever say I just walked away.” “I will always want you.” “I never meant to start a war.” “I just wanted you to let me in.” “I guess I should’ve let you win.” “You make me crazy from happiness.” “You’re my prince from the fairy tale.” “Where do I go if you leave?” “I was afraid you don’t care about me.” “I can’t forget you.” “I’m your destiny.” “You are like frost.” “We just have to wait until the next life.” “We need to talk.” “Where did I go wrong?” “I lost a friend.” “If I don’t say this now I will surely break.” “I’m losing my control.” “What’s mine is yours to leave or take.” “You’ve begun to feel like home.” “If that’s what you want…” “But I’m only human!” “I bleed…” “I can do it!” “Don’t let them in.” “Let it go.” “We only have each other."  “Okay, can I just, say something crazy?” "We are meant to be.”

[goldlimned-blog]

((My drafts on this account are so old that I’m not sure anyone even remembers them.  So, how about this:  I’ll hit the reset button on this blog, still sticking with the same basic background (read her About page for that– she’s got a history beyond Journey’s End which has profoundly effected her).  

If any mutuals would like a starter, just like this post and I’ll write one out for you.  If we had a thread together and you’d rather pick that up again than start over, feel free to drop me an ask!  If we aren’t mutuals or you’re just now adding me, feel free to like this post as well and I’ll check out your blog.  I’m somewhat selective about who I’ll roleplay with on this account, just because I have another account that I write on more regularly, but I’m always looking for new rp partners-- especially Torchwood characters and any regeneration of the Doctor, though especially the Tenth.  If you want to roleplay, please do take a look at Rose’s About page, because she’s been through a lot and that will show in my depiction of her.))

[tokakiri-deactivated20140731]

Sentence Starters { Protective Version }

“Watch out!”

“You could have been killed!”

“Run! Hurry up, go!”

“Save yourself, I’ll hold them back.”

“Leave me here! Go! Hurry! I can handle it.”

“I promise I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”

“They better not have laid a damn finger on you or I’ll [insert threat].”

“I swear, if they so much as breathe next to you, I’ll knock them out.”

“I’m not leaving you here!”

“And let you get yourself killed?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t trust him/her. They seem off.”

“I’m saying this for your own good!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t want to lose you! You’re all I have left!”

[goldlimned-blog]

Take a Day

Some days were harder than others.  Some days seemed to pulsate with reminders, echoes of memories that she had tried so hard to push back.  Memories of battle, the stench of war, the choking fumes of burning rubble and smoldering flesh. 

And memories of happiness.  Yes, those were the hardest memories to bear, because they could only be memories now.

Rose pulled her blue leather jacket more closely around her slight form, careful to keep her Beretta sidearm that sat snug in its shoulder holster out of sight.  

Jack had insisted she take a day.  She had resisted, asking him what on earth she was supposed to do with a day, that she hadn’t taken a day in so long that she wouldn’t know what to do with one if she had one, and he had told her that that was why she needed to take a day.  

She walked aimlessly, silently, unable to quite stop her eyes from warily scanning her surroundings.  A force of habit, one that she saw no reason to break, not here in this universe, not working for Torchwood.   

She passed by a small restaurant, and the scent of chips reached her, creating an instant craving.  Some things never changed.  Well, if she was to have a day, she supposed she could indulge a little.  Her mouth quirked in a slight smile as she pushed the glass door open and stepped inside.  

[goldlimned-blog]

((My drafts on this account are so old that I’m not sure anyone even remembers them.  LOL So, how about this:  I’ll hit the reset button on this blog, still sticking with the same basic background (read her About page for that-- she’s got a history beyond Journey’s End which has profoundly effected her).  If anyone would like a starter, just like this post and I’ll write one out for you.  If we had a thread together and you’d rather pick that up again than start over, feel free to drop me an ask!))

[heartbreakingtennant]

Tentoo’s Triumphal Entrance

[goldlimned-blog]

Fic: When Empty, My Hand Reaches

((So, the internet is... sorta, kinda, a little bit back and working sometimes.   There’s still a LOT of flooding in town, but it’s skipped over us for the most part.  Hopefully it’ll stay that way.  I might be able to do some RP writing here and on Evelyn’s blog if it allows me later this evening.  

In the meantime, here, have some Metacrisis/Rose fic.  This is several years old and I originally posted it to my Livejournal, but I’ve been revisitng some of my old Doctor/Rose stuff to wake up the Rose muse again.))

A kind of numbness had settled over Rose, a cold that had nothing to do with temperature seeping through to her marrow. She felt as if she had crystallized as the world moved around her. She could hear the tumbling of the waves, tasted the salt in the wind that lashed her hair around her face, felt the shifting of the sands beneath her feet, could track the cries of the gulls streaking through the air. She was only dimly aware of the warm hand in hers, of the hooded brown eyes lingering on her, hoping and not daring to hope.

He had left, had slipped away in silence. There was no tearful goodbye this time, only the grinding groan of the TARDIS engines.

Yet, here he was, his fingers curled around her own, his grip still strong and somehow a little bit desperate. Her mind struggled to comprehend it, to accept it. A paradox. Here but not here.

She could feel his single pulse as she held his hand. One heart. She had kissed him, and it had felt like the breathless pause of time that hovers at the edge of a precipice.

Who was this man, if not the Doctor?

She looked at him, and he gazed back. There was no manic smile thrown her way, no flare of adventure lighting his eyes, only a fathomless emptiness, a flicker of fear, and her. Suddenly that old cliché of “falling into somebody's eyes” became very real to her.

A pair of ice blue eyes set in a battle-weathered, hawkish face had once looked at her almost exactly like this. A torrent of memory and conflicted emotion swept through her, and it all suddenly became too much to bear. She pulled her hand free, folded her arms around herself, and turned to face the ocean.

Somewhere to her left, she saw him put his hands in his pockets and look away from her.

~~<~~@@~~>~~

The Doctor-- he refused to think of himself as anyone but-- scuffed the toe of his trainer against the carpet in the hotel room, trying to feel its texture through the rubber of his soles. There was a time when the rasp of carpet fibers against rubber, the exact resonance of the sound it made, the degree of tension as the fibers bent against the pressure of his foot, the scent permeating it all, would have given him a decent amount of information about the composition of the carpet. It would have been noted, perhaps absently, and tucked away into a corner of his mind for recall if later needed.

Carpet. Beige. Medium length fibers. That was all he could discern. He actually considered tasting it for a brief fraction of a second before discarding the idea as foolish.

He felt muted, his senses dulled. How was he going to live like this? And Rose...

She was keeping her distance. She had very deliberately asked for a separate room when, at Jackie's insistence, they had stopped for the night at a small but comfortable hotel during their journey back to London. She hadn't looked at him when she said it. He had kept his hands in his pockets, a gesture that once meant nonchalance turned to a defensive stance, because all he had really wanted was to feel her hand in his. He had let his hand gently encircle the piece of coral in his pocket, the cutting of the TARDIS the other him had left him instead.

The hotel clerk must have been blind to the tension radiating from the group, and between Rose and the Doctor specifically, because he had housed the two in adjacent rooms. She was there somewhere on the other side of the door, moving about. He could hear the hiss of the pipes as she ran water, the hollow echo of a television.

Oh, but he wanted to go to her. Instead, he stood, silent and still, in the center of the room.

A knock on the door between their rooms six minutes and... and... and some seconds later startled him out of his reverie. He blinked, but then moved to open the door. Rose stood, her arms wrapped around herself, framed by the doorway. Her hair was wet, her face clean and devoid of makeup. She wore the clothes she'd had on earlier, sans jacket. He said her name on impulse, and then opened the door wider and stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”

She glanced at him, flashing a weak smile, and stepped into his room. She looked around, as if taking in her surroundings, though undoubtedly the space was identical to hers. “I was just...” she began, before shrugging helplessly. “I mean, they're gonna order some food. Mum and Pete. We were wondering if you wanted something.”

He straightened and slid his hands into his pockets. The coral cutting hummed softly in the back of his mind as his fingers brushed against it, still so very young. Newborn. “Yes, actually. Starving. Still metabolizing the meta-crisis. Bit like regeneration, actually, with the need for energy replenishment. Remember how--” he faltered, and she looked at him for a long moment.

“Right,” she said finally. “Well, I'll tell them.”

“Rose...” he reached a hand tentatively towards her face, but she flinched back almost imperceptibly. He dropped his hand.

She looked at her feet. “Sorry,” she murmured. Then, in a choked voice, “He really did leave us.”

He swallowed hard. “I'm right here, Rose.”

“I-- I know. I think. I mean... I'm sorry.”

“Right,” he said, and then was spinning on his heel, pacing away from her, letting words fill the space between them. “Anyway, though, I thought I'd start drawing up plans for a new sonic screwdriver. I mean, can you imagine me without a sonic screwdriver? I mean, technically, one could open doors and unlock handcuffs and build shelves without one, but really, it's so much better with one. You really never know when you might need it. Did you know that the male Huffaleepas of S'nood start to sing when you use setting six thirty-two? Evidently it triggers a release of hormones that instigate a mating call. Though it might not do that here. That's something to think on, you know? How much might be--”

He broke off as he heard the soft click of a door latch, barely audible over his own voice, and turned to see that Rose had left, closing the door behind her. He pressed his hand against the door for a moment before leaning in and resting the side of his face against it, closing his eyes. He could hear her crying.

~~<~~@@~~>~~

Rose turned her face against the door from inside her room, pressing her palm to its grainy surface as she struggled to control the tears that had suddenly begun to choke her. She was being terrible to...to him (she couldn't bring herself to call him the Doctor), just horrid, and none of this was his fault, but she couldn't cope right now. Not after what she had put herself through just to get back to the Doctor, only to have him slip away without so much as a goodbye.

Bad Wolf Bay, her own Aberdeen.

She took a deep breath and pushed away from the door, swiping at the tears on her face. She really, really needed to get a hold of herself. There was no use wallowing in self-pity. She strode to the phone and dialed her mum and Pete's room to tell them that the Doctor wanted something to eat as well. She realized belatedly that she hadn't asked what he had wanted.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, aimlessly flipping channels on the telly, not really focusing on anything as she waited for the food to arrive.

There was a sharp series of raps on the exterior door, and she jumped, instantly on alert, before realizing that it was probably just the food. She opened the door to see her mother on the other side, holding two plastic bags.

“It's Thai,” Jackie said, looking at her daughter closely. “Only place that was open this time of night. They don't usually deliver, but Pete got them to come out for extra money. I told him they'd do it if he paid 'em enough, I did, though he didn't believe me, can you imagine? One day, that man will listen to me when I talk. You wait.” She held the bags out to Rose. “We didn't know what... what he'd want, or how much, so we got him the sampler. How are you doing, Rose?”

The shift in topic was so abrupt that Rose almost didn't catch it. She took the bags and shrugged. “Oh, I'm all right. Don't worry about me, Mum.”

“Love, I hardly do anything but worry about you,” Jackie said softly, smoothing a still-damp lock of Rose's hair from her face. “Go on. Give him his food. And don't be hidin' in your room all night from him. Lord knows I've hated that man sometimes, but right now, you need each other, and that's no lie.”

She started to say that it wasn't him, but stopped herself. “Thanks, Mum,” she said instead, with a small smile. “I'll give it to him.”

Hefting the bags in one arm, she closed the exterior door, and knocked lightly on the Doctor's. There was no answer, so she rapped again, straining listen. No sound came from inside the room, and she chewed her lip for a brief moment before opening the door.

Her stomach gave a little flip. He wasn't there. She started to call to him, but still couldn't bring herself to call him Doctor, so settled for a slightly cracked, “Hello?”

Setting the food down on the dresser, she did a quick sweep of the room, pushing open the door to the bathroom.

He had most certainly left.

She felt a surge of anger at that, and her hands curled into fists. Of course he left. He's good at that, she thought, before immediately feeling guilty for her anger. Was this her fault? Had her coldness driven him away, so quickly?

She had been entrusted with him. He had needed her, and she turned him away, too caught up in her own confusion and grief to care.

She had to find him, to set things right, if it was still possible. If he would listen to her. He had every right not to.

She ran outside, not even bothering to retrieve her jacket from her room.

~~<~~@@~~>~~

The Doctor walked at a leisurely pace, stretching his senses to test and experience this new world. The air was cold, he realized. It actually felt too cold for comfort. Another thing he would have to adjust to, this change in core body temperature. He found himself longing for his ankle-length coat, and not just because it completed his outfit.

He took a breath and paused in his walk, dropping his head back to look at the stars. They looked the same. Appearances are deceiving, he thought. Or are they?

The echo of rapidly approaching footfalls drew his attention, and he turned to see Rose running towards him. An instinctive smile flourished on his face, and he stepped towards her.

“Doctor!” she shouted breathlessly as she neared him. “Please, just... will you hear me out? I understand if you don't want to stay; God knows I've been dreadful to you, but just... just listen for a minute?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

She reached him, panting a little, and the look on her face made him want to take her in his arms, but he held himself in check. “Doctor, just... just don't leave without talking to me about it first? Please? This whole... thing...” she gestured helplessly, “It's all going to be an adjustment. For you too, I know, and I've been horrible...”

“Horrible? Rose, no.” He stuttered a little as what she'd said sank in. “Leave? You think I'm leaving?”

“You ran off. I thought... I thought you were angry.”

He suddenly chuckled. “I was going for a walk. I wasn't leaving. Not for more than, oh, a half hour or so.” He looked at her, his eyes cataloging every precious detail her features, started to reach out to touch her cheek but quickly restrained himself. “I wasn't angry, Rose. Not with you. And I wasn't going to run away from you.”

She held his gaze for a moment, silently, before nodding. “I'm glad. That you're not leaving. I don't...” her teeth worried at her lower lip. “I don't want you to go.”

He smiled broadly at her. Her lips twisted into a reluctant but impulsive grin, and then she was reaching out a hand to him. He clasped her hand in both of his, and then pulled her against him gently, wrapping his arms around her. She held him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder, and he dropped a kiss into her hair, breathing in her scent. Her shampoo, probably the hotel's provision, smelled of strawberries, but her unique scent lingered beneath, so very beguiling, as it always had been. “I'm not going anywhere, Rose Tyler,” he murmured against her head.

And it was then that he realized she had been calling him Doctor.

[goldlimned-blog]

Fic: Forget-Me-Not

((I wrote this ages ago for the Then There’s Us community on Livejournal. It’s a bit dreamy and strange. Warnings for angst and a somewhat understated sexual scene.))

The man in the battered, ankle length coat stopped walking when he came to the cast iron gate that was almost submerged beneath a tangled layer of thorny vines. He paused, head tilting to one side, eyes closing as if listening, or remembering, or dreaming. A fine-boned, pale hand reached forward to touch the gate, and a thorn imbedded itself in his finger. He opened his eyes but did not pull back. He watched in fascination as a drop of blood slid from his finger to rest, glistening, on the vine.

He pushed the gate forward, its hinges wheezing in protest, and stepped through. Feet clad in dusty white trainers carried him across the remains of a cobbled path, surrounded by an overgrown garden. Flowers once bloomed here, and the man recognized the leafy stalks and stems of Myosotis sylvatica, Calendula officinilalis, Bellis perennis, Tagetes patula. Forget-Me-Not. Calendula. English Daisy. Marigold. The garden had once been a vivid splash of color, he thought. It must have been beautiful.

Dusk was closing in, shifting the world around the man to a deep indigo. He leaned his head back to gaze at the sky. The moon gleamed golden above him.

He couldn't remember how long he had been traveling, placing one foot before the other, dusty, exhausted, and heartsick. He couldn't remember why. There were a lot of things he couldn't remember.

Ahead of him loomed the dark, hulking shape of a house. Something was vaguely familiar about the crumbling structure, about the graying stonework that was embraced by twisting ivy, the rotted wood of the shutters that half-covered broken windows. He found himself at the front door, and pressed his hand to the decaying wood before pushing forward and stepping over the threshold.

He moved on silent feet through a foyer with an arched ceiling, stepping into an expansive and empty room. A single, incongruous white coat stand graced one corner by the remains of a fireplace. The man removed his coat and placed it on one of the stand's branches, smoothing down the faded blue pinstriped suit that fit snugly to his slender figure.

He stared at the coat rack. It was familiar.

“You came back.”

He spun, startled at the sound of the feminine voice behind him. A woman, dressed in a pink cardigan and jeans, her blonde hair swept into a messy braid that draped over one shoulder, stood a few yards from him. She looked almost startlingly young in the dim light, though the look in her eyes told another story.

She smiled at him. “You used to say you never come back. Always moving forward, never stopping. But you always end up here.” Her words were accented, slightly rough, South London. He found her voice mesmerizing.

She chuckled suddenly as he watched her. “You're quiet tonight. That's a change. Normally I can't get you to shut up.”

He found his own voice. “Right. I... er.” He peered at her. “I'm sorry. Do I know you?”

She shook her head, a little sadly. “Yes. No. Not yet. Never. Always.”

He felt his eyebrows arch upwards. “Sorry?”

She declined response, instead holding a hand out to him, wiggling her fingers. He hesitated briefly before deciding that it would be a grave injustice to the world if he did not slip his hand into hers at once. His fingers closed around her small, warm hand, and tightened their grip, not tightly enough to crush fragile human bones (because he was stronger, so much stronger than he looked and humans break so very easily, though he wasn't certain how he knew this or why he would think of her as a different species than him), but firmly enough to link them together, connected and inseparable, because that was as it should be.

She smiled up at him, and gently tugged him forward, to stand so close their bodies nearly touched. “Do you remember?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

He frowned, a wave of uneasiness washing through him. There was so much he couldn't remember. “Remember what?”

“Your name.”

He thought carefully. A name, something more than a word, something with countless layers and energies, with a resonance like poetry, like song, woven into the fabric of his being. “I...” He fell silent, swallowing hard. “I think... I think I lost it. It fell into oblivion, with... with...” He couldn't remember. “With something else that was lost.”

She ran her free hand gently up and down his arm. He could feel the heat of her touch through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt. She was so very warm, this girl. He grinned suddenly, fiercely, because that was what he did when the terrible weight of his shrouded past threatened to engulf him, that sense of lurking, obscured horror that made him think it was perhaps a mercy that he had forgotten. “Tell you what,” he said, rocking back and forth in his plimsolls and swinging her hand back and forth. “I'll just have to come up with a name.” She raised en eyebrow, and the look on her face told him that she was not surprised. “Oh?”

He nodded emphatically. “Of course. What sort of name would fit me?” He crinkled his brow. “I'm brilliant. Oh, you have no idea how brilliant. And I help people. I'm sure of that. Mind, I don't actually remember helping people, but I know I do. It just seems to be me. And, I'm a little bit foxy, don't you think?” He beamed at her, and she laughed.

“All right, then,” she said. “What name will you choose this time?”

“This time?”

She just watched him, waiting. He shrugged. “My name shall be..... The Doctor.”

She laughed again, and he frowned. “It's a good name!” he said. “It fits.”

“It's a title! 'The Doctor' is not a name. It's a profession.”

“Well, of course it's a profession. But it's a name too. My name.”

She squeezed his hand. “I suppose it's a fair strike better than 'Merlin.'”

“Now, why would I go around calling myself 'Merlin?'”

“You haven't, yet.”

He took her other hand. “I've told you my name. Well, in a manner of speaking. Are you gonna tell me yours?”

Her gaze turned sad, and he wanted to wrap his arms around her. He didn't, though. “You really don't remember me, do you?” she asked.

“Should I?”

“Rose. My name is Rose.”

“Rose.” He rolled the name across his tongue. It tasted like spiced honey wine, though he was uncertain why a name should taste like anything at all. Perhaps her name, too, was more than simply a word. “Rose. Rose. Yes, you are. Rose Red. Though you're more pink than red. Pink and yellow. Rose Pink and Yellow. That's you.”

She laughed and pulled him against her. He released her hands and his arms encircled her waist of their own accord. “Rose,” he whispered, lowering his face into her hair as her hands glided over his chest, his shoulders. “My Rose.” He inhaled her scent, strawberries and gardenias and, beneath it, her, and said, “Where did you go?”

She pulled back slightly. “You remember me?” The look of desperate hope in her eyes made his hearts lurch, both of them.

He shook his head. “No. I only know you.”

“Oh.” She looked down, disappointment etched over her features. “I've been here, Doctor. I'm always here.” He felt a shiver pass through her slight frame. “And you always forget me.”

He tightened his embrace, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's not your fault.”

He held her for a moment, swaying slightly as if to music though none was playing, before asking, “Why have I forgotten everything?”

“I don't know.”

“I've been here before.”

“You come every night. You never have any memory, of who you are or where you've been. Of me. Every night, you choose a different name. Every night, we....” she trailed off.

“What?”

“We dance.” She looked closely at him. “Do you hear the music?”

“No, I....” he fell silent. He could hear music, surrounding them, embedded in the walls, shimmering in the air as if it was somehow composed of light. It was the most hauntingly beautiful thing he had ever heard. And he knew it. Just as he knew her.

They danced, moving slowly, pressed close to one another. Time melted into timelessness, minutes and hours, days, weeks becoming meaningless. Eons were like seconds, infinity glinting like prisms in her eyes as she looked up at him. When he reached down to press his lips to hers, he wondered how he could ever forget this.

Her hands cupped the back of his head, small fingers winding through unruly hair, and he deepened the kiss, leaning into her. His hands slid down her back, touched the hem of her shirt, slid beneath fleecy material to press against the softness of her back. She arched against him as his skin touched hers, and he clutched at her suddenly, desperately, needing to feel more of her. His hand moved up the silken line of her back as he explored her mouth with his own, his tongue gliding against hers, tasting her, savoring her.

When he spread his coat on the cracked tile of the floor and lowered her onto it, she took hold of his lapels and pulled him atop her. She gasped and murmured against his lips as he ground his hips against her, unable to help himself. “My Doctor.”

Clothing was removed in breathless increments and left strewn around them as their bodies twined and thrust, slick with sweat, eerily white in the moonlight that had begun to pool about them through one window. He groaned as her fingernails dug into his back, as she nipped at his neck, his shoulder, a low growl rippling from her throat as she spoke. “Do. Not. Forget. Me.”

“Never,” he whispered into her throat. “I will never forget you.”

She closed her eyes, arched her back, tilted her face to the ceiling. “Say it again.”

He caught her mouth in kiss after kiss, repeating the words as the pressure built within them. “Never. Never. I will never forget you. Never.” He was moving in her, in all of her, through memories and thoughts and feelings that had no meaning to him, except that they were hers, and it felt so very right, and he was terrified. A deep groan was torn from him as he reached his climax, and somewhere in a beautiful haze, he knew she was mirroring him, and they were riding waves of ecstasy, intertwined as though they had always been so. 

“Never,” he gasped. “Never. Never. Never.”

And then, it felt like tumbling, like free falling, and then like floating gently. He sighed, pressing his lips to her throat as he gathered her into his arms, still inside her, sated.

She caught his face in her hands, stilling him, and gazed at him until he began to ask her what was wrong. She put a finger to his lips and he fell silent. “You will, though,” she whispered. “Forget me. You always do.” A smile once again brought light to her eyes, and she combed her fingers through his hair, slipping her hand around to touch his face. “But you also always come back.” She bit her lip, looking away, silent for a moment. “You're going to leave now.”

“I... what?” He frowned. “I don't want to go.”

She traced his lips with her fingers, and kissed him gently. “I don't want you to go either.”

And then everything around him began to fade. He tried to hold onto her, but she was insubstantial, like a wraith, and the walls about him melted away like a mirage, and he fumbled to hold onto her as she slowly dissipated from sight. And then, he was standing in a road, surrounded by fields and mist, and it was dawn and he was fully clothed in his blue suit and battered trainers and long coat. He could still taste her, could still remember her name... her...

What was her name?

He frowned, struggling to hold onto memories that were evaporating like the mist around him. Something beautiful, so beautiful it could bring tears and joy all at once, and such endless sorrow because he knew it was so fleeting, that it could never last. He had to grasp the memory. Couldn't let it go. Never forget. Never. Never.

What was he trying to remember?

Something important. Something that tasted like spiced honey wine. He began to walk. Throughout the day he walked, until he came to a gate overgrown with vines as dusk began to settle around him....

[goldlimned-blog]

Fic: Shimmering Through the Dusk

She would often drive away from the city so she could lose herself in the thin stretches of forest that still clung to existence along the surface of the land. There, she would move amongst the trees, meandering, no path to adhere to, no rules or guidelines or plans of action. She would pause sometimes, close her eyes, breathe in the air that whirled in gusts around her, and let herself drift as though on the current of the wind. Sometimes, she thought she could feel the life pulsing around her, the gravity pulling at her, the photosynthesis in the vegetation, the rippling force of the brook at her feet, the first stumbling steps of a fawn, the photons dancing in a sunbeam. The turn of the earth. In those moments, she put away her doubts and her pain and her breathless need, and just let herself fall into the cycle of the spinning planets and dying stars and tender, green shoots pushing their way up through the soil for the first time.

In those moments, she felt closer to him. When she was a child, she– as many children do– loved fairy tales. Her young mind was filled with fantastic images, ancient tales told, retold, and woven throughout history. Knights on horseback rescuing fair damsels (though sometimes the damsel rescued the knight, because nothing took a dragon by surprise like a damsel suddenly wielding a sword, or swinging at him on a chain.). Glittering, living castles that only appeared once every thousand years, only to vanish like mist, or a dream. Wizards and sorceresses both good and evil who swept their arms before themselves and transformed everything around them, the power of transmutation and alchemy and creation coiled within the palm of a hand. Wolves with eyes that burned of gold and voices that sang haunting songs of destruction and healing. And, most of all, enduring love that reached beyond sight and memory, time and space and impossibility, to reunite. She believed these stories, held them near her heart, knowing that some things are more true than they appear.

Keep reading