#c:martha

[oliver-f-blog]

Ainda saindo com aquele cara, o Derek? Porque parece que ele anda ocupando bastante o seu tempo. 

[oliver-f-blog]

Quem era aquele? 

....Aquele garoto que você estava conversando e dando risadinhas. E nem adianta dizer que estou imaginando coisas. 

[moremetathanmeta]

Before They Flare and Fade Forever || John and Martha

He hadn't really had the chance to say goodbye, the last time. The time that he'd walked out of the TARDIS' doors onto a beach in a parallel world and watched his ship dematerialise without him. 

He didn't know whether they'd missed him. He supposed they hadn't - he'd been the Doctor, after all, and they still had the Doctor (insofar as anyone ever had the Doctor) and he, well. He'd been a cross reference in a footnote in an afterword stowed after an epilogue that was buried right until a pile of credits.

But things were different now. He wasn't quite the Doctor, and if he'd been a footnote before, he'd grown into a book of his own. A sequel, or maybe a spin-off. An alternate world version of the Doctor. And fate had conspired to bring him here, back to a place that ... wasn't the place where it had all started, but was something close to the rerun that he'd never really known he wanted. 

The Doctor had been right, in the end. He'd needed someone to stop him. He'd needed someone to hold his hand and tell him to slow down, to quit trying to run after the shadow of who he'd been, chasing the past that he'd been just as driven to run from. He'd needed someone to teach him the lessons that the Doctor couldn't, wouldn't learn, the lessons of mortality, of being human, of being one of those whose lives were fleetingly transient and yet blazingly bright. 

Martha had been one of those who'd shown him how to live again. Her and Jack, the two familiar faces who had greeted him upon his entry to this world, who had dealt with him through adjustments and meltdown. One mortal. One immortal. Between them, they'd taught him the value of time, viewed through the dual lenses of the moment and of eternity. 

And just - just when he'd started to learn those lessons, just when he'd started to learn to breathe again, fate conspired to remind him of the crueller - cruellest - side of all of this.

He could practically feel the device strapped to his chest ticking now, even though there was nothing so crude as a timepiece or clockwork in it. Nevertheless, it sat in silent judgement, right over his hearts, measuring out the steady dual heartbeat with the same inexorability of sand sliding through the hourglass. 

The end, as they said, was nigh. And he owed it to the two who'd said hello to him, when he stepped into this new world and this new life, to have the chance to say goodbye.

He stepped into the bank, casting his eye around the hasty setup that Martha had put into place, not really seeing any of it. Once, he would have been all over the equipment, peering, poking, criticising and making random comments and adjustments. He had no time for that now, caught between the need to find the Necronomicon and to wrap up all his personal business before the sand ran out. Brushing past, he sought out Martha, trying to keep his step as jaunty as possible to keep up appearances. 

It took a moment to spot her, and he paused in the distance to watch, smiling fondly, his mind running back through memories of their travels together. A different lifetime. A dozen different skies. 

He felt his thoughts sliding towards melancholy, and firmly pulled them back on track. "Martha Jones!" he exclaimed, grinning as broadly as he could, bounding up to her like an overexcited puppy. "What's this, then? A makeshift clinic? Brilliant! You've been keeping busy, then? Not too busy, I hope - a busy doctor means a bunch of patients, which isn't terribly good, but at least they have you." He smiled and cocked his head. "They really couldn't ask for anyone better."

[moremetathanmeta]

Text | Martha and John

John: Martha!

John: We haven't seen each other in ages! Free for a cuppa?

[moremetathanmeta]

Smith and Jones and Chips | John & Martha

Contrary to what John had told Martha, he hadn't picked up his cooking skills during his time travels. He had learnt the basics, of course, back when he'd been the travelling Time Lord in the Blue Box, but cooking with the time vortex or via sonic wave was a different skill set altogether. Compared to the great culinary artists of the universe, that had been more akin to sticking something in the microwave, with the added advantage of not even having to wait the requisite amount of time for the ding. Ah, he missed having a time machine. 

Learning to cook with terrestrial materials and technology had been a more recent thing. A single heart apparently meant a human's metabolism and dietary requirements as well, and he needed to eat so much more than he'd ever needed to as a Time Lord. After Rose had found him in his room surrounded by empty marmalade jars, she'd thrown a few cooking books at him, then threatened him with the prospect of getting lessons from her mother if he didn't pick up the skill on his own.

What had started out as a matter of survival had quickly turned into an something of a hobby (possibly, a guilty hobby). He'd found himself bored and at loose ends with Rose at work for long periods of time, and this regeneration had always had a bit of an oral fixation... it was no surprise, then, that he'd taken to cooking like a Dalek to extermination. 

Whipping up a batch of chips was, by now, something he could do while asleep. Regretfully, it was also somewhat nutritionally inadequate, even for a human-Time Lord metacrisis, which was how he found himself dunking fish in beer batter and flash frying the fillets to produce that staple of English cooking. The parallel universe, travesty of travesties, didn't seem to have anything in the way of decent fish and chips, preferring instead to steam the fish or coat it in breadcrumbs before frying. It simply wasn't the same. (Read: It was heresy, plain and simple). 

It wasn't long before he heard the front door to the diner open. Sonicking the oil to speed it along, he called out an "in the kitchen, Martha!" as he hunted through the shelves for cutlery. 

[satuseppaarchive]

Wide Awake - Mama & Papa Abroms, also Gabriel & Papa Abroms and Gregory & Papa Abroms (ABROMS FAMILY FEELS GIVE ME THEM)

A RANDOM 3AM THOUGHT MY CHARACTER WOULD HAVE ABOUT YOURS

Mama&Papa Abroms

My feet are freezing.

Where are the blankets...?

...George............

You're going to regret this.

She always loved waking him up to freezing feet against his back.

Gabriel&Papa Abroms

He's working late again when a sudden memory pops into his head.

Laughing, he picks up his phone, tapping into the app that sends out delayed text messages. 

Setting the send time to 7:50am, about when his father would be driving to work, food and drink in hand, Gabriel quickly types out the three words that would get his father back for the last time the words were said to him.

Drop the bass.

Gregory&Papa Abroms

Oh God. Is that...?

NONONONONONONNONONONONONO LALALALALALALALALALLALAALALALALLAALALA

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP STOP STOPST OPST

In the end, he has to leave the for the night and crash at the Fire House for the sake of his sanity.

[oswinosgood]

PICSPAM MEME | martha jones + colours abound

requested by riversmelodyy