(Untitled)
He gets to his feet and wipes at his chin, then reaches out for her.
“That hand of yours still gives me the creeps,” she smirks.
“Oi! This is the original model, remember?” he protests, persistently wiggling his fingers.
“Doctor,” she laughs, “I’m all wet.”
“Already?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up.
And, well. How could she refuse an invitation like that ( Read more... )
“That hand of yours still gives me the creeps,” she smirks.
“Oi! This is the original model, remember?” he protests, persistently wiggling his fingers.
“Doctor,” she laughs, “I’m all wet.”
“Already?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up.
And, well. How could she refuse an invitation like that ( Read more... )
God, this is everything that a Layers companion ought to be: full desperation and angst and yet also this hope for better things to come. I love Rose's little spasms of fear and of paranoia; I adore her growth and how well you've depicted her taking charge, but at the same time also showing how there's still some part of her that's nineteen years old and desperately in love with this man that she somehow can't not be apart from anymore. That it's okay, sometimes, to be that girl.
Also, the fact that they're obsessing over being apart while being in the same building feeds so well into my angst proclivities, and is glorious unto itself, but then you throw these jaw-droppingly beautiful lines at me like her palm slides up against the wall driven by sheer muscle memory - and it's like you've made all my dreams come true. It's like Christmas has come early. It's like a birthday cake for lunch. It's amazing.
AND OH MY GOD, BATHROOM SCENE. Seriously, just as amazing and incredible and glorious as ever.
This comment is not nearly as long as it should be, I know, but I've just realized that reading your fics and having my brain short-circuit from the cute isn't helping me getting this Art History essay written. BUT IT'S SO WORTH IT.
I adore you, Leah ♥.
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