Author's notes: DO NOT proceed if you're easily offended.
Somewhere on Fanfic Floor 500….
Rose Tyler knocked on the large golden door with an equally golden nameplate that read "Fanfic Executive Producer." A sly male voice called out, "Come on in, babe!"
The blonde rolled her eyes in pure disgust and, plastering the requisite smile on her pretty face, she strolled in – bluish-purple leather jacket, form-fitting black slacks, maroon shirt and all – to the large executive office and sat at the mahogany desk in front of a tall, brown-haired male with spit-slicked hair, a white Oxford buttoned down to the middle of his chest, and too-tight grey trousers that hugged his legs and crotch. He wore a Rolex watch on his left wrist and several gold rings decorated his fingers. The man leaned back in his brown leather swivel chair. "Ah, Rose, sweetheart. Have I got the role for you! Fanfic's having a Doctor Who Festival in honour of Steven Moffat's departure after season 10. Let's talk concept!"
Rose beamed at the man. "That's brilliant! Does that mean that I'll get to fly the TARDIS? Maybe go back and get my doctorate in theoretical physics? Maybe even discover a new planet? Oh, I know! I could team up with River Song, Amy Pond and Donna Noble! I've so many ideas!"
The executive frowned and shook his head. "No, see, Rose, we must discuss concept."
She puckered her brow, confused by his answer. "Concept?" the woman asked, rolling the word along the tongue. "How do you mean?"
"Well," the executive leant forward, "you're Rose Tyler, the girlfriend of the Ninth and Tenth Doctors. One of the ones he wanted to marry, but couldn't."
"Yeah, so?"
"Our audience doesn't want to see you as anything but a 19-year-old British version of Molly Ringwald. The majority of viewing and fanfic audiences gravitate toward one male and one female protagonist who are supposed to ooze sexual tension; the younger, the better. Instead of character development, where protagonists and antagonists interact with each other and are plot-driven, TV show writers and producers bate fan bases with the promise of fucking and babies at the very end. Hence, you, Rose. Hence, my job." He held out his arms as if presenting an exquisite present.
"Well, fan fiction is supposed to be written by fans, yeah? Some really enjoyed me as a companion and want to see me have a 'happy ending.' I always wanted to travel the stars and save the universe. That's what the Doctor and I do, together."
"No, no, no, no, Rose. You're not thinking concept," the large man said, drawing a frame into the air with his fingers. "You're there as what we call in the fanfic business as 'arm candy.' You're not supposed to do anything independent of the Doctor 'cos you're in love with him. Everything's about him, of course, and well, you're a fill in the blank. The only way that you'll travel the stars, babe, is if he does. If you're with Tentoo, then unless he has the TARDIS, you're stuck. Even if he has it, you're stuck. Everyone knows that you're only capable of essentially three lines in fanfic: 'Oh I love you, Doctor!', 'Wherever you wanna go, Doctor!', and my personal favourite, 'Oh, your alien tentacles are so hot, Doctor!' Your job is to provide sex and babies, period. And occasionally serve as the crass, jealous fishwife to anyone – man, woman, animal, vegetable or mineral – that the Doctor flirts with. If you fall in love with the male protagonist, you can't think. It's an unquestioned rule in the business."
"Now, hold on!" thundered the blonde. "I saved the multiverse on the show! I found the Doctor, when even he said it was impossible."
"Calm down, dear," replied the executive. "No need to shout. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. Besides, it's not a bad life. You get to shag the sexiest alien on TV 24/7 and you're the mother of multiple alien-human hybrids. You're like Robin Maxwell from "V", only British. What more do you need?"
Fuming, Rose crossed her arms and took a deep breath. "No, I won't do it. 'Sides, I'm only in my mid-20s. Who the hell in my generation has a million kids in their 20s? Why can't I go to school? Travel the world? I dunno, help the Doctor build 'nother TARDIS or supersonic space flight for everyone on Pete's World? I'm supposed to live a fantastic life. This isn't right."
The executive glared at the young woman seated across his desk. "Sorry, sweetie, but life isn't fair. You're female. You're blonde. Your ovaries cannot be left to waste. You were written to be the Doctor's companion, not his equal. Besides, a female Doctor, can you imagine?" The fat man shuddered. "The most interesting storyline you can hope for is living a long, long life as Bad Wolf without Tentoo and becoming an alcoholic hermit as a result. Because obviously, you can't have adventures without the Doctor."
"You forget River Song and the Doctor-Donna," replied Rose smugly.
"And they're both dead," enunciated the man. "In fanfic, you rarely ever see the Doctor-Donna. When you do, she's always romantically tied to the Doctor, because the only way Donna Noble can ever be a truly fulfilled female protagonist is if she's married to Ten. Same with River Song and Eleven or Twelve. It's a rule of hetero shipperdom: The Pen-is mightier than the sword."
"Fine," Rose growled, throwing up her hands. "Then can I please have Ten or Tentoo go off with Reinette? That way, I can find someone more my equal and be brilliant on my own," she added sarcastically.
"And have you run off with, say, John O'Reilly? Or, heaven forbid, Clara?! Sorry, but the Ten/Rose shippers sent enough hate mail to the Fanfic Network to have O'Reilly pulled from Johannes Kepler's fanfic. Now, he's working in the Brokeback Mountain fandom – gay cowboys eatin' pudding in San Francisco is hugely popular nowadays. But I'm sorry to report that our ratings for O'Reilly's debut in gay cowboy porn have been rather low. Kepler, as it turns out, can't write gay for pay to save his gigantic ass. We've had to bring in a ghostwriter to correct the problem. Turns out David Tennant isn't bad." The executive leaned toward Rose conspiratorially, his body odour burning her nostrils, "Don't tell anyone that I told you, but his penname is Scotus Scatologicus Caledoniae. He's a modest guy, so he doesn't want his fan base to know. It's Latin, of course. He's such an intelligent man, you know."
Rose glared at him. The man reclined in his brown, plush swivel chair. "As for Clara, it's not a bad idea, but only if Tentoo and I can watch and jack off while you get it on."
"You're disgusting," hissed Rose.
The man shrugged, raising his hands in an attempt to placate the irrational blonde. "Hey, babe, don't shoot the messenger! I just give the fangirls and bros what they want. Why would anyone want to watch you have sex without the Doctor? It's not like you're a real woman or anything. Even if you were, your choices are babies or blowjobs. Not at the same time, though. That's just wrong. Like real life, yeah? Babies and blowjobs are always better than brains."
"No!" yelled Rose, "it's not like real life. The companions are jus' as complex as the Doctor is. I mean, isn't that the point of Doctor Who? That we can all be better than jus' the status quo? Better than beans and toast?! Seek out new life? The Undiscovered Country? No, wait – sorry, that's Star Trek … and Shakespeare. That we're all capable of bein' brilliant? Just' because I'm from the Estates and loyal doesn't mean I'm mindless! Jus' 'cos I'm the Doctor's companion doesn't make me an incubator or a blathering cow!"
The man suddenly jammed at a button on his black speakerphone to his assistant, snarling, "Send in reinforcements, Poppy!"
Placing her hands on her hips, Rose raised an eyebrow. "What reinforcements?"
He smiled smugly as Jackie Tyler angrily entered the large executive office. "Oi! Airs and graces again? The man's good as promised you the Doctor on a silver platter! You're bein' a right cow for not gettin' with the Doctor and givin' the fans what they want! Can't you see that the Doctor's a misunderstood artist? Shame on you, Rose Marion Tyler!"
Rose stared silently in disbelief at the executive, who was stifling a chuckle, and at her mum, who was glaring meaningfully at her. "But…He didn't even look for me and he leaves his companions every year or two. How can I have a meaningful relationship with Mr Unavailable?"
Jackie walked up to her and cupped her cheeks tenderly. "Well, then be with Mr Unavailable for the next year or two. Don't be thinkin' that your feelings matter! Rose, I want you to be happy. I want you to be the best blonde chav this side of London. I want you to have chav-alien hybrid babies. There's money to be made in this. Once he pulls a runner, you could sue the Doctor for intergalactic child maintenance."
The executive's phone rang; he held up his index finger to the women and gingerly answered, "What's happening, babe?"
Rose huffed in frustration, ignoring the conversation in the background. "But why should I do that? Shouldn't I have learnt from Jimmy Stone? Why can't I run off with Jack and Ianto? Or Donna? I always fancied 'er!"
"But Rose," shrieked Jackie, "Donna can't get you up the duff! And since she's not the Star, it doesn't make sense that you'd be interested in 'er! The Doctor's gotta get his piece of fluff! At least he's better than that bloke Kilgrave. Do you really wanna do snuff fic?"
"Sorry ladies," interrupted the executive, hanging up, "but the Network's made a decision that everyone, I think, will be happy with…."
A few months later…
"Ah, Rose, the latest reviews are in; your latest performance was amazing!" cried the executive happily.
Rose Tyler sat slumped dejectedly in the visitor's chair. Her greasy, uncoloured hair stuck up on ends and her tired body was easily a stone heavier than it was months previous. A gaggle of crying toddlers, cats, dogs, octopuses, goats, starfish and aliens that closely resembled mini-pink dildos swirled, ran, whinged, cried, pleaded and giggled at her feet. The man took a close look at her, shaking his head in dismay. "Oh, Rose, babe, gotta lose that weight and put some makeup on. You don't want to be old news in the Fic Business."
"Too late," bit out Rose. "Whilst I was takin' care of our family, the Doctor had a midlife crisis and changed his name from John to James Noble, then to Valeyard, and finally to Candide. Then he decided that I was too fat and boring and left me for Reinette and some bint named Mary Sue."
The executive leant back in his chair and shrugged. "Yeah, I did see that episode. Bummer, babe. But that's what happens with his companions and exes. They either die or he leaves them. But we could write a fic where you beg him to take you back. I mean, after all, it is your fault that he left. Lose the weight, get a little plastic surgery and turn back the clock a few years, botox, you know. Of course, we've got to write it so that he doesn't take you back – he's the Doctor, he's always right! He's the Star of the Show!"
Rose bowed her head tearfully in disappointment and despair.
"Ah, cheer up, babe," said the man, rising from his chair to stand next to the seated woman, mindful of the crying toddlers, cats, dogs, octopuses, goats, starfish and aliens that were each attempting to get Rose's attention. He put a comforting hand on her left shoulder. "Remember the first rule of fanfic: each story's the best of all possible worlds. Remember, concept," he drawled.
Rose just sighed in response.