Well, [the Doctor] was devastated. I think Rose had helped him reform himself. I think Rose had influenced who he became when he regenerated into me. I think her influence was very formative for the Doctor, having come out of this terrible war and all of these extraordinarily awful things that he'd been to and been borne witness to. And that she helped him recover, helped him become the man that he re-found. To lose her was devastating, and yet, as it went for the Doctor, kind of inevitable. That's part of that tragedy of that character, that every relationship that he forms with anyone other than a Time Lord—and of course, there were none of them left—was, by its very nature, transient, because he's effectively eternal next to a human being, who might get a hundred years if they're lucky. So that's one of the tragedies of that character that makes him sort of timeless. So yeah, to lose Rose—the woman who'd helped him rebuild who he was, and the woman he almost dared to fall in love with, I think—was devastating for him, and took him a long time to get over. And maybe he never did. He was certainly never quite over it while he was me.
—David Tennant, “Why Losing Rose Was So Devastating On Doctor Who”
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prompt: forbid (april 4th). 583 words. @jegulus-microfic.
“Forbid it?” Regulus says, his voice echoing. “Sirius you can’t just—do that.”
James waits hesitantly for Sirius’ reply. He’d just been gone for a second, grabbing a jumper from his bedroom for a particularly stubborn draft. Really, he ought to go into the room properly—it’s not right to eavesdrop—but when Sirius says his name, he can’t quite resist.
“James is being insufferable about it,” Sirius groans, and James can practically hear him roll his eyes.
“Insufferable about what?”
James tries not to hang on to every word Regulus says. He fails.
“About his little crush,” Sirius finishes.
Crush. Crush. Fuck.
Regulus suddenly goes very silent. “I think you might be misinterpreting things, Sirius. James and I are just friends.”
Just friends. The words ring through his head, too. James can’t help but suppress a smile at the thought, though.
Him and Regulus, just friends? At this point, James thinks, Sirius ought to know better. Him and Regulus have been dating for the past three months, and he still hasn’t caught on.
It started off as a little joke, between the two of them. "We’re practically dating already,” James had said. “Only thing I haven’t done yet is kiss you.
Of course, Regulus had found that rather funny, and it’d turned into what it is now—a little game they play, seeing how long it’ll take for Sirius to catch on to the fact that James’ crush is more than reciprocated.
“Just friends, my arse,” Sirius laughs. “You should see the way he looks at you. Practically turns into Bambi.”
“Well, I don’t see why it’s necessary to forbid him from asking me out. And I don’t see why you’re telling me about it.”
“Because I want to be upfront about it, with you,” Sirius continues. “And besides, it has to have been driving you crazy. I mean, I know what it’s like when Prongs gets a crush, I saw him around Lily—“
“—Okay,” Regulus cuts him off. “I get the idea. Still, Sirius, I think you might be overstepping a bit.”
Sirius goes quiet, and James worries for a moment that Regulus has hit a nerve.
“Overstepping?” Sirius wonders. “If anything you should be thanking me, I mean you hate it when he—“
“I don’t.”
James’ smile grows wider. If there’s any accomplishment that he prides himself on, it’s in breaking the stony exterior of Regulus Black.
“You don’t what?”
Regulus sighs. “I don’t—I don’t hate it.”
A pause
“I don’t mind, really.”
James can practically see the flush dusting Regulus’ cheeks. He always blushes around sappy things, James has learned.
“Oh my God,” Sirius says. “You totally like him back.”
Under his breath, Regulus whispers, “Shut it. He’s only supposed to be gone for a few minutes.”
At that, James has to bite back at laugh. Leave it to Regulus to be embarrassed for having feelings for his boyfriend.
“Would it be such a bad thing, if he overheard?”
“Yes,” Regulus states. “It would be. Mostly because James does not need to know—“
James, of course, chooses that moment to walk back into the room.
“What do I not need to know?” He asks, eyes fixed to Regulus’ mortified face.
“Nothing,” Regulus says, a little too quickly.
“Really?” James asks. “Didn’t seem like nothing.”
Regulus’ face burns. James revels in it, a little, even when Regulus gives the slightest shake of his head.
“Nothing,” Regulus glares.
Sirius looks giddily between them. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
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so. what if i decided i wanted to post a poem of mine? what would you all do to stop me?
anyway. here's something. :)
full poem below.
"looking at my childhood home on google earth"
feels a lot like finding an old photo
without a date.
maybe i can guess when it was taken,
press my fingers to the screen, feel the thorns
of the never-flowering rose bushes in the front yard,
pricking my skin. could it be that warm soil Spring
when dad had us pulling up rotted roots
while i planted my mother’s prayers for growth,
for change.
see, the fence is still wood here. half-built, fixed
on being unfixed. i can see my devout mother, her
honey-do’s. her honey-won’t-do anything.
could this picture be taken that desert Winter
when she and i made that dollhouse, and i grew plants
from fake moss and hot glue?
when we built a home that felt alive
but couldn’t fit any of us in it?
perhaps the Fall when pine needles crunched
under suitcase wheels, loaded into the back
of dad’s chevy. the year we slept on my mother’s
bedroom floor and i was dreaming
of the walls up in flames. when i dreamt of dry
knees being skinned and curling and crawling
but i was left behind, the only thing left of him being
this photo might’ve been taken
during the first fatherless Summer, whispering
to a handful of dried thorns,
like dandelion seeds. as if they could’ve saved me
from the cinder block stoop burning
the backs of my legs—like they could’ve saved me
from wishing on the grated leaves
of a flowerless rose bush,
for a chance
of rain.
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