![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Bah. The drinking didn't take long and now they're back on the TARDIS with Rose refusing to wear any used underwear from the wardrobe. Hmm. That should be "knickers" right?
Okay, you two are going to have to do *something*. For like three scenes since Ten is still dinking around with Martha and Jack.
(From the way I talk, you'd think this *would* be an NC-17 fic, wouldn't you?)
*taps fingers*
I've got slugs, tribbles and robots already. Maybe the TARDIS needs a bath?
ETA: Switched over to an ending section and now AU!Nine, Ten and Rose are playing ring around the console. Yeah, that's getting cut. Frickin morons.
Okay, you two are going to have to do *something*. For like three scenes since Ten is still dinking around with Martha and Jack.
(From the way I talk, you'd think this *would* be an NC-17 fic, wouldn't you?)
*taps fingers*
I've got slugs, tribbles and robots already. Maybe the TARDIS needs a bath?
ETA: Switched over to an ending section and now AU!Nine, Ten and Rose are playing ring around the console. Yeah, that's getting cut. Frickin morons.
no subject
Oh, the fandom was lovely. Small, friendly, intelligent.
The show -- or, more precisely, the bipolar hack of a creator/exec prod -- ripped our hearts into little pieces, stomped on them, and took lighter fluid and a match to the remnants.
And then tried to claim he'd been making a tragedy all along. Which, um...no.
The reason so many people I know won't touch Gray's Anatomy with a ten-foot pole, no matter how much raving we hear about it, is that Jim Parriott is involved in it. And we will never, ever, ever trust him again.