Frustrated was probably just a bit of an understatement at this point. It was dark, and she was sweaty, and absolutely bathed in varying degrees of cold and wet. Quite honestly she didn't know why no one else could've handled this case; why she specifically had to get so soddin' caught up in it. Of course it wasn't exactly as if anyone else would be so obsessed with this case, and it was his fault. As it always was. The Time Lord that had left her so very long ago, with no sign of returning. 

Three months ago she'd been assigned to an irrelevant case, no more than house-keeping. And she'd been prepared to send some people out to capture him, get it over and done with quick and fast so she could get on with the paperwork. But the second she laid her honey-coloured orbs on the culprit who was killing the supernatural beings Torchwood were making deals with, she fell into a downward spiral. He looked exactly like the Time Lord who'd shown her a different life, evidentially only to trap her in one she couldn't get out of.

But it took merely days for her too realise it wasn't him. Not in the least. This man was arrogant. Focused. A killer of the supernatural. The Doctor could barely grasp a gun without crossing his own morals. Not to mention how highly annoying this mans little rades had proved to be. He had her tracking him day and night as his killings have stretched from the odd vampire or two, to entire clans. Clans that had been supplying Torchwood with essential information. 

She'd had enough now, and Rose had resolved on ditching the whole 'looking on from afar' plan and find the bloody man. The blonde would only lose her credibility at Torchwood the longer she stretched this out for; and the bosses daughter most definitely couldn't have that. Not to mention the fact that she didn't want her 'dad' or her mum for that matter to find out who was involved in this case - more specifically what he looked like.

A slick noise- liquid against flesh-- blood, she assumed, has suddenly drawn her attention, and after bracing her fingers in a coil around her gun, the golden-haired girl leant against a brick wall, shading herself from the thrumming rain, daring to peer her head around the corner. Oh yes. The tip off she'd received had been quite accurate. It was him. In all his slayer glory. Keeping her up at 3 in the flippin' morning. She served the purpose of simply gazing at him, making sure to stay hidden and silent as he finished off the last of what seemed to be three vampires. Brilliant. More allies of Torchwood dead. 

If you want to plot with me, send me a ✯. If you’re just following just to stalk me, send me a ♡.

(Well then!~)

She’s bored of the movie—seriously, Peter, B-movie horror? Her life is a horror-thriller-action-sci-fi flick with a dash of drama. Invasion of the Kraken Aliens is less interesting when she just dealt with a mini-outburst from a passing alien tourist who accidentally had a bit of calamari.

Somewhere around ten minutes in she laces her fingers with his. A quarter of the way through she’s decided his hand is a toy to be swung about and tugged on when she’s bored. She’s mildly surprised he doesn’t put up a fuss over it.

When, halfway through, they can’t even get the anatomy of a squid right she lifts his hand up to eye level to examine it just so she doesn’t have to watch the film itself. After a moment or two, she straightens his index finger and leans in to kiss the tip of it.

No reaction? Really?

Pfffffffffffffffffffffffft.

23: Biggest turn on: