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thebadtimewolf · 10 months

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hey

do yall know any genuine rose tyler stans that are actually upset about how s1 rose was treated as an equal AND a love interest but as soon as s2-s4 rose was treated more as a equal BECAUSE of her being pideonholed as only a 'i can do things too! see!' archetype of love interests that it took two other characters to be treated as an actual equal? like why did ten thru donna said that he needs an equal and that what the dr needs an equal??

rose was already an equal in season 1. its established bts that rose was an equal to ninth doctor? but now why didn't that sentiment continued on with ten? what happened?

like martha is treated like an actual equal because the dr in the past have always hated themselves, reflected back at them, but still shared the joy and comradarie during a joint adventure with said version of self. like even the time lord victorious two parter book - 8 was flirting and 10 flirted back but at the end of the day - both of em can carry themselves without the arrival of the other, leaving the eyerolling and mild disgust or disinterest aspect to ninth dr when he shared a room with them. like the dr not wanting to "date" martha even though he literally in text trying real hard to pull the wool in both ur qnd his own eyes is essentially him trying not to fuck himself.

donna is - in an almost wish-fufilled in what the dr missed from the master - considered an equal preestablished since season 3 guest appeared and fully in season 4. shes seen as a pea in the pod like the dr master rani and romana - keeping up with that specific lot of em without going thru the 'but im better than you' alien egoist rhetoric that the time lords fall to in times of upper handedness. she can manipulate she talk fast she tech-savvy yet people-grounded BUT she makes sure the respect isnt temporary and doesnt lord it over people because everyone is great and without that person, the whole system can fall apart.

because so far, it doesnt feel that way. like are yall not mad that tenth doctor gave rose up?

after seasons of build up and getting shot and everything? the funky alien eldritch being in a mask of an earth lookin boy that had a chance to man up and show feelings when the opportunity is very in your face given to him to do so in a space where he could do so and — he just gave her up? all that moping and whining and when given what he wanted, he just went: no. here. i need an equal and i have donna so im giving you what i TEN think you want as an equal in me and thats him. BUT NINEROSE ARE EQUALS SHE NEVER SAID SHE WANTED HIM HUMAN BUT RATHER HIMSELF AS HE IS.

its like fridging rose but worse. in s2-4 you made her in memory of someone else that ALWAYS treated her as an equal instead of actually continuing on with that with the next face. death wouldve been more forgiving and thats not a great thing to come to a conclusion to. The one that really treated you as both a love interest AND equal is dead, and now you're married to the discarded imitation of the one that only typecasted you as a love interest.

tentoo should be mad abt this too but this aint about him, this is about yall and the rose tyler connundrum.

i wouldve settled for her having the hand - settling for the hand if that hand turned into ninth doctor (like full on christopher eccleston doing donna impression everything) instead of what we got - which was dust. it made more sense that way. because then the dialogue narrative - the doctor's excuse - wouldve been more well recieved. Does it need saying would have more weight if Eccleston played a NineToo whispered i love you because you know it was well meant. Genuine. Its coming from someone that always treated you as an equal and also getting that i love you and not just - oh the human i love. i miss them not because i treated them on equal terms, its strictly because i only love them - no equality at all

like yeah chris wasnt going to return but hes a movie actor - hes used to green screen. he couldve sent a video message in a leather jacket and let it be done. like we couldve had nine saying i love you to rose on doomsday like do you get what im trying to say like. like tooth and claw if it was nine and rose both wouldve been like 'oh look at that a werewolf transformation!' And not what. we got. LIKE DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN

#tv: doctor who #c: rose tyler #c: ninth doctor #c: tenth doctor #{no because im tagging because i want genuine responses and not ANON HATE I WANT ACTUAL DEPH ANALYSIS}#{i dont think i have a tentoo tag. if i did i forgot}#{but i ship the dr with everybody including every TARDIS i see}#{but like i dont ship 10rose or 8rose. like those should be n' stay as platonic SO GLAD 8ROSE IS CANONICALLY PLATONIC thats drdonna LOVE IT}#{like 10martha is more appealing because that man flirted outwardly to her in front of a class and main hospital chief}#{meanwhile 10rose got deleted waste.of.time hand holding seasons 'we had to cut for time' professional sayin IT WAS A WASTE OF TIME}#{THEY CHOSE DUST INSTEAD OF THE FOOD NINE GAVE US FOR FREE WITH LATER 98% DISCOUNTS}#{so yeah but um yeah}#{but like yknow make a comprehensive argument: also goal here non poc ppl TRY NOT TO BE RACIST IN YOUR WORDS}#{i know how easily tempted you are as soon as you see martha and ten in the same sentence let alone the same post: check yo self}#{like 'oh rtd might bring to rose' he might kill her and its feeling and more like hes going to just to appease tories}#{because billie is VERY MUCH not a tory aka conservative so yeah do YOU see why i dont rose back but the moment}#{like he killed off 9 and that was probably due to him being antiroyalist so i IM RIGHTFULLY WORRIED FOR OUR GURL}#{IF she returns as rose tyler. if she returns as the interface THE MOMENT AS SHE IS WELLKNOWN FOR i wont have anythin to worry abt}#{as well as bts conditions but LIKE👀 the worry is there the worry is prevalent present and here}#{she need to come back with tentoo and mia in tow: linked arms handcuffed to each other SOMETHING THAT CALMS ME}#{i dunno who they'll cast for mia i dont care BUT MIA BETTER BE IN TOW WITH HER ON SCREEN IF IS MISS ROSE COME BACK}#{its to calm me.}

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quietwings-fics · 4 months

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Dastardly Alien Cheesecake

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Ship: Gen (Ten & Donna) Additional Tags: Trust, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Poison, Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting, The Doctor & Donna Noble Friendship Wordcount: 3761 Summary:

Donna eats something she’s not supposed to.

Notes:

I'm going to state it outright here so that everyone knows what they're walking into: yes, this is a fic about the doctor sticking his fingers down donna's throat to make her throw up. you have now been warned of the contents and can proceed if you so wish.

The honeymoon period of traveling across time and space is followed by the most intense bout of homesickness that Donna has ever felt, which perhaps isn't saying much when she'd never been that far from home in her life before the Doctor.

To stand on an alien planet and realize just how far away she is from her granddad is a massive step up from missing him when he's only a drive away. Her room in the TARDIS is all hers, and it even fills itself with comforts that Donna forgot to bring, — like a blanket on the heavier side and a little squeezy stress ball that always seems to roll out from under her bed when she's upset — but at the same time, it never forgets what it is, an alien ship flown by an alien man. Something about the corners where the walls meet the floor are never right, never quite what a person, a human, would have built.

She doesn’t tell the Doctor about any of this. She doesn't have to. He must see it in her eyes because he starts pointing out little details on their journeys to her. He can somehow find a little piece of home to show her no matter where they are. They wait at a train station that will take them a few hundred miles below the surface of a planet and laugh at the confusing and colorful layout of the map provided, correcting each other back and forth about which station, exactly, they're even waiting at. Another time, he fiddles with a radio (or, what she assumes is a radio) with the sonic screwdriver until it starts to call out mournfully for Major Tom, singing a signal that got sent out into space thousands of years ago all to be picked up by the two of them. Even among aliens, there are commonalities, there are always reality TV shows that play on screens no one is watching (even if the contestants are a little more green... or blue... or translucent than she's used to) and automatic doors that never work right.

Constants in the universe that she'd be lost without, really. The Doctor knows where to look for them.

(Not for the first time, she wonders if that's because of how many humans he's had to curb the homesickness of, or because while she can look up at the stars and know home is still there for her to return to, even if she has no intention of staying, he can't.

Even Timelords must have had reality TV.)

The one constant that can center her like nothing else is food. Everyone in the universe cooks.

“All your memories," the Doctor had started explaining once, and Donna had learned to measure how long he would ramble about something by his tone alone. This voice was the 'at least twenty minutes before he'll take a breath' one. "Are stored away in your hippocampus, rubbing right against where your brain lights up when something hits your tastebuds, so-" Donna had taken those few moments to weigh her willingness to listen to him babble through their entire meal and decided instead to pick up the sandwich he wasn't eating and shove it in his mouth to shut him up. It had worked pretty well.

That’s why, when the Doctor wanders off into the crowd of the party they’re technically crashing and leaves Donna alone, she doesn’t think twice about approaching the buffet table. She’s not having much luck striking up a conversation, so she might as well find something to pass the time. She doesn’t recognize any of the food — hardly surprising when she’s only the third human in the room, as far as she’s seen.

She walks along the table, taking her time and half-wishing the Doctor would come back to keep her company. Maybe he’d gone off and gotten himself kidnapped. She grinned. Now, that would give her something to do and something to gloat about when the doing’s done.

At the end of the table, just as she begins to despair (and contemplate one of the less appealing looking snacks,) there’s a plate of cheesecake. She blinks at it. It doesn’t squirm, or bleed, or make any weird noises when she gingerly scoops a little onto her plate. It’s just cheesecake. Looks like it, smells like it… She picks up a fork and pokes it one more time before breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth. Tastes like it. It’s deliciously sweet.

She eats the whole piece far too quickly. She only tenses once, a scolding voice creeping up in the back of her head that sounds too much like her mother, but then, she’s a billion miles and thousands of years away. Donna can have as much cheesecake as she damn well pleases.

With a lighter step, Donna takes another piece to wander with. It’s just as good as the first, but she takes the time to savor this one.

”Donna,” the Doctor seems to appear out of nowhere, the only warning of his approach a familiar touch on her back sliding to grip her shoulder for a moment, “oh, you’re going to love this. They’re-“ He stops. She watches the grin on his face suffocate slowly. “What do you have there?” he asks. She’s been in enough life-or-death situations with him that his excited tone dropping so quickly makes her itch with the need to run.

”Cheesecake,” she answers. The Doctor grimaces.

”Right,” he says. “No. You don’t.” Donna looks down at her plate. “Definitely not cheesecake. Very not edible for humans. How long have you been eating that?” Donna feels her appetite drop out of her and pick up a bindle to hitchhike to someone who needs it more.

”I don’t know?” She looks around, which is useless because no one in the future bothers to keep clocks on the wall. They probably just have their alarms microchipped into their brains. The Doctor takes her plate away. He sets it down, and his attention returns to her immediately. His mouth is pinched as he takes her hand in his and starts checking her fingers for… something.

“How much did you have? Stick out your tongue,” he says.

”What?” But his gaze is deadly serious. Donna sticks out her tongue and fumbles her words around it. “One piece. One and a half.” The Doctor stares very closely at her tongue. He lets out a sigh of relief, which she takes as permission to stop looking like a fool and put her tongue back where it belongs.

”You’re alright. You’ll be alright.” She’s not sure which of them he’s reassuring, but if it’s her, he’s not doing a very good job of it. He puts a hand on her shoulder and starts guiding her through the party. “Come on. We’ll take care of this.”

”Take care of what?”

”Just a minor… major… ‘possibly fatal if we don’t handle it’ case of food poisoning. Why are you putting things in your mouth that don’t belong there?”

“You’re always letting me eat alien food!”

“After I’ve made sure it’s safe!”

“Maybe you should have warned me that death by cake was an option-” She cuts herself off as she frowns at the hallway he’s leading her down now that they’ve escaped the party. “The TARDIS is the other way.”

”I know.” She turns her gaze suspiciously onto him. He dropped the argument far too quickly for him not to be playing it up for her sake.

“So… we’re going to whatever nurse they have here to pick up the antidote?” The Doctor makes a face that’s answer enough.

”Not quite.” He herds her along to a door near the end of the hallway. The automatic door clicks twice at them like it’s annoyed at having to do its job, and then it only opens up halfway, leaving them to have to scoot in sideways one after the other. Donna goes first.

Another constant in the universe: everyone has toilets. Even species who don’t need toilets create toilets, though those were less than useful to Donna and she really didn’t feel like marveling at universal similarities when she needed to go. Bathrooms also only came in two types, through which you could tell how much the janitors (another thing that everyone had) were being paid: clean enough to eat off the floor or so disgusting that Donna would seriously consider just waiting until they got back to the TARDIS.

This one was, thankfully, the former. Donna breathed a sigh of relief before remembering why the Doctor had brought her here in the first place. He spoke before she could ask. “There’s no antidote for this. Luckily, it’s also extremely slow to break down.”

Donna can put two and two together.

”You want me to throw up the cake.” It isn’t a question. The Doctor treats it like one.

”Sooner rather than later, yeah.” He rocks back on his heels. Donna peers around. No stalls here, but there are identifiable toilets, which is more than some places can boast of. “I’ll turn around if you want some privacy.”

”I can’t.”

”Sure you can, just-” He unsubtly mimes sticking his finger down his throat. Donna glowers at him.

“And I’m telling you,” she repeats, “that doesn’t work.”

”How do you know that?” Donna doesn’t answer him. The Doctor grits his teeth together and looks to the side. “Okay. I’ll…” He trails off. “I’ll help?”

”Help?” Donna repeats back to him, incredulous. The Doctor turns back to the automatic door, which has taken its sweet time closing and clicks angrily at him when he moves in range again. He whips up the sonic screwdriver in a flash and quiets the door. The sensor above goes dead, locking it.

“Donna, we have to get it out of you,” he says. “Trust me when I say this is the quickest, least unpleasant way we can do this.” She does trust him. That doesn’t mean she has to like it.

”So what?” She glances down to the screwdriver he’s fiddling with, almost nervously. “Are you going to sonic my insides?”

”What? No!” The screwdriver disappears into one of his pockets. “Look, I can just- I can help.”

”How?” she demands.

“I can make it happen,” he replies. “If you can’t do it yourself.”

Donna fixes him with a look. It clicks.

“You are not sticking your fingers down my throat!” She takes a step back and even sweeps a hand in front of her to protect the distance between them.

”Donna-” he starts, stubbornly, but on equal footing like that, she won’t give any more ground than he will.

”Stick your fingers somewhere more useful!”

”Donna.” He tries again, but there’s no argument in it this time. His voice is quiet and serious. His eyes plead with her to let him help. (He’s doing that on purpose, she knows he is, because no one could unintentionally look so despairing. And it’s still working on her.)

”…It’s really going to kill me if we don’t, isn’t it?” she asks. She doesn’t want to look at it. Can’t. Danger is something they’re supposed to be able to run away from.

”Yes,” he confirms. There’s a reassuring lightness to his voice as he continues, stepping forward and waiting to see if she pulls back again. She doesn’t. “Death by cake. Agonizing. Embarrassing. How do I explain that to your mom and granddad?” Donna snorts. It isn’t anywhere close to a laugh. The Doctor is close enough to touch her now, and he does, hands wrapped around her own and squeezing as she takes a deep breath.

”We’ve done weirder, I guess,” she says.

”I definitely have,” he says. “You’ve got a much nicer mouth than most of the ones I’ve gone poking around in.” He squeezes her hands a second time. She looks down at them, at his fingers firmly wrapped around her, his thumb rubbing the back of her right hand.

“You’d better wash them first,” she says. This close, she can see the Doctor’s relief in the minute drop of his shoulders and the way the lines around his eyes relax into something happier. Her hands still feel warm when he lets them go. She tucks them close to her chest almost instinctively, like she can keep a little of his presence with her.

She has to pick out a toilet. The locked door means privacy, but the lack of stalls still sets some part of her on edge. Lavatory instincts. The desire not to be seen when she’s about to be at her lowest. No one invites a friend in to watch them throw up after having too much to drink at a party. The last time she must have had anyone around for that, she’d barely been in double digits. She wasn’t sure exactly who it had been, but she remembered having her hair held back to keep it clean while she was miserably sick.

She got down on the floor next to the toilet. A moment later, the sink the Doctor was using had switched off, and she could hear him pad over.

“Ready?” he asks as he gets down beside her. She takes a breath.

”No?” She turns to him. “What should I…?”

”Try not to bite me.” Donna’s mouth twitches up for a brief moment.

”No promises.”

The Doctor puts his other hand over hers again, but his fingers rest on her chin first. His touch is very light, very still, waiting to see how she reacts. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. They feel chapped. He waits a moment before moving, lifting his fingers to place two of them against her bottom lip this time.

“Should I stick my tongue out again?” she asks. It’s strange to speak with him touching her lip. The pressure of his fingers doesn’t impede her at all, but it is… there. His fingers bump her upper lip at certain sounds. They stay where they were when she’s finished until he answers.

“That would make it easier.” Donna goes to lick her lips again without thinking, but when she bumps a finger, she sucks her tongue right back into her mouth, slightly mortified. And then she snorts another almost-laugh because she has no idea what else she can do with the feeling. The Doctor smiles. He draws his fingers back to let her open her mouth.

She tries to keep her cool. The Doctor’s finger barely brushes her tongue, and… she bites him. And her tongue. Not hard enough to hurt, but they both hiss in surprise. The Doctor retreats, and she can see the pale indent of her own teeth on the top of his index finger.

”Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Again?” She nods. This time, the Doctor lifts his other hand and places two fingers at the edge of her mouth, firm against her lower canine and lip and holding them open. She breathes, trying to relax. She doesn’t do a very good job of it. This time, when she feels his finger touch her tongue, she doesn’t bite down. Couldn’t now if she tried, but she’s proud of herself for keeping that reflex under control.

Having his finger in her mouth is… odd. He delves in with purpose. She can feel the pad of his finger slide back along her tongue as his knuckles rub against her teeth. She can hear herself breathing around it.

He still goes slow, and so it doesn’t feel like an intrusion as much as it does an exploration she’s submitted to. Minute movements of her tongue feel amplified when they rub against his finger. A moment later and his nail bumps up against her soft palate. His eyes narrow and his finger slides deeper until Donna feels the urge to swallow around it.

”Hm.” He frowns. She did warn him. “You don’t have a very strong gag reflex.”

She tries to respond and resorts to making an insulted noise in the back of her throat when she can’t.

“I can still trigger it. Give me a minute.” She makes a questioning noise as his finger withdraws. He keeps her mouth open with his other hand. His thumb rests along her jaw, grounding her. Gently, he inserts his middle finger next to his index the second time he goes probing in her mouth. She grunts in discomfort.

She wonders if she should close her eyes. She would, except that whenever she tenses or makes a sound, his gaze jumps up to meet hers. It’s comforting to know that they’re stuck in this strangeness together.

Breathing around two fingers feels more difficult. They squish against her tongue as they push back to her throat. Sensation becomes less sure the further back they are, until she can mostly feel a pressure that makes her want to pull away. She clenches the bottom of her dress up in her fists to keep still. The Doctor’s knuckles bump her teeth as he probes around in her throat.

It starts as a tingling sensation. Donna frowns. The Doctor pushes somewhere uncomfortable, and she makes an involuntary noise, her eyes welling up. He looks up to her again, and his sure expression is the only thing that keeps her calm.

He withdraws a little. “Breathe,” he says, and Donna does, once, before he orders, “and stop.”

The constant sound of her own breathing freezes at his word. He pushes his fingers back in.

Donna feels an awful choking sensation, her throat convulsing around some obstruction, and then a wave of nausea has her grabbing at the Doctor’s hand. He yanks his fingers out quickly as she bows forward over the toilet and throws up. Her throat burns.

Donna sucks in a breath when it’s over. It hurts. Her mouth feels sour and disgusting. She blinks to see what mess she’s made, but aside from a splatter that she cringes from on the toilet’s side, she got the rest of it where it was supposed to go.

She inhales again. Her eyes are watery.

The Doctor is holding her hair. She only realizes that as she comes back to herself, but he’s got it all in his hand, the other on her shoulder holding her still. He lets go, smoothing her hair down back into place. Donna shuts her eyes to feel it better.

”Tell me it’s over,” she mutters. The Doctor doesn’t say anything. She forces her eyes open, unformed tears blurring her vision. “Doctor. Please.”

”Just one more time. I promise.” Donna makes a face, squeezing her eyes shut. She spits into the toilet, but that does very little to get rid of the sour taste flooding her mouth.

“That better not be the hand that was in my mouth,” she mumbles. The Doctor stops touching her hair, and she regrets calling attention to it. She forces herself to sit up straight again and opens her mouth. She feels disgusting.

The Doctor touches her cheek this time before he secures her mouth open with his fingers. He doesn’t even look grossed out about touching her after she’s thrown up.

He uses two fingers from the start this time. Donna’s jaw aches slightly. The Doctor’s fingers taste marginally better than the inside of her own mouth right now, and that’s some kind of relief. She’s never had cause to think about it before, but he tastes like… Well, he just tastes like some bloke. How fingers are supposed to taste, like skin and the salt of sweat. Not unpleasant, not enjoyable, and not alien at all.

“Hold your breath,” he says. This time, she can brace herself as each sensation comes. The growing pressure of his fingers touching things he shouldn’t. The catch in her throat. The spasms. He pulls his fingers away. This time, when she lurches forward, she can feel the way the Doctor catches her shoulders on the way, helping her get everything into the toilet. He’s got ahold of her hair a second later, keeping it out of her way as her stomach’s contents are dragged out of her.

Tears streak down her cheeks this time. She sniffs, and even the inside of her nose feels like it’s burning this time. She swallows, a mistake that makes her gag again, and then spits up bile from the back of her throat.

“That’s it,” the Doctor is saying. He’s rubbing her back. It’s the only good thing she can feel right now. “It’s over. You’re safe.” She feels his lips press to her temple as she gasps in air, and then his own relieved exhale. “You’re safe.”

Donna groans miserably.

The Doctor only moves a little to flush the toilet for her. She slumps into him, and he wraps an arm around her, resting his head atop hers.

“Never eating alien food again,” she mutters. “From now on, you’re bringing me back to Earth, and we’re ordering take-out.”

“What about that little place on Muscolane?” he asks.

”…One exception for Muscolane.” Leaning against him like this, she can feel his chuckle as well as hear it.

He helps her to her feet. She wipes at her eyes and her nose as he brings her over to the sink. She doesn’t even bother to question it when he picks up a towel to wash her face off with. Donna stands perfectly still for him as he brushes it over her mouth and chin. She balks a little more at him picking a small paper cup from a dispenser and filling it before holding it for her to drink from. There’s something so tremendously earnest about him doing it that she allows it anyway. She sips slowly, fills her mouth and swirls it around, and then spits it into the sink as the Doctor refills the cup again.

She takes it from him this time and drinks it at her own pace. He starts washing his hands, and her gaze darts down to his sleeve and a very conspicuous stain on it. She should feel embarrassed about that, but she’s too worn out for it. Besides, he knew what he was getting into.

Someone rudely bangs on the door the Doctor locked. Or broke. Those words usually mean the same thing with him. The Doctor sneaks a glance at her, and when the pounding comes again, followed by demands to be let in, they both have to choke down giggles.

“Back to the TARDIS?” he asks.

To answer, she takes his hand.

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#fanfiction #1001-5000 #teen and up audiences #doctor who #genfic #the doctor & donna #ten & donna #the doctor #tenth doctor #donna noble #h/c #vomiting

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