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Here it is, the obligatory post for concrit and feedbackery! Comments, questions, suggestions, platypi? Comment here, and I'll get them! Screened, as per custom.
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Contrary to appearances, I have not abandoned Watch!Ten. A thread between he and [livejournal.com profile] chez_desouza (Christina, of course) has been developing over the past few weeks, slowly.

He reaches out, copying the exact gesture she remembers from her father, this gesture that says 'are you really there, or are you just a figment of my mind as well?'

Spectators welcome, but be warned, there may be triggers for child abuse. Nothing graphic or descriptive; so far, just oblique references to remembered trauma.
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It's been a while since I've posted anything I've written at all (or, well, really, since I've written anything at all, never mind posting), so here's a nothing I wrote for [livejournal.com profile] kmegumi2, who prompted me to write something with Watch!Ten being devious.
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'Verse: This is, of course, my AU!Doctor, who still wears Nine's clothes, has the drums, etc. The nice thing about AU? I can take canon's characters and have 'em meet Ten under different circumstances.
Words: 630.
Notes: What the hell am I doing writing a Doctor bit? Avoiding writing my original stuff, that's what. I SEE WHUT I'M DOING THAR. And WARNING FOR CHARACTER DEATH. Of course.





He is at her side when she dies. She has been dying for days—both of them have known this, though they have not said the words. She is old, the doctors—the medical doctors, the doctors of one subject, the doctors whose expertise is important right now—have told him. Organs only last so long. The body only lasts so long.

She smiles at him, lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes, even now, when he feels the pulse in her hand—a hand scarred from a lifetime spent digging in the past—falter and waver, double-beat and return.

Her hair has gone gray and her body small, too small in the hospice bed, and the last time he saw her, three of his months ago, she was young and straightbacked and full.

She won't give him any details, tell him if it's been worth it, if he kept coming to her, if the last time he saw her they'd parted on good terms or bad. It doesn't matter, he tells himself, because he's here now, and whatever mistakes he makes or has made, they're in the past/the future and this moment is their moment, the only time he will ever watch her die. He takes some comfort in that. She dies of old age, and she dies now, and every time he runs with her, after this, she will live.

He's young, she says. Not so young, he tells her. )
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As there's a bandwagon, and those suckers are magnetic, with gravitational force nigh onto a none-more-black hole, here I am, posting.

I WANT YOUR IDEAS AND YOUR FIRST-BORN CHILDREN.

Or just your ideas. Children are too much work.

Or some gummi penguins, wrapped in ideas.

Seriously, ideas. For any of my muses, any non-muses, whatevah.

Also, if I started up a prompt community based around something like "write a haiku based on this prompt and other people can write the two-line tanka response to your haiku accompanied by a fic-bit inspired by the resulting poem, if they want" or some such, would anyone be interested? I like haiku. I dunno why, it coalesces a little idea down and then you can blow it back up into a big idea, it's kinda neat. I also like the idea of the Heian-period poetry exchange, with poety-and-response. This one I have no explanation for except a passing Japanophile period a few years ago.
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The Magister, the Doctor/Master AU!future!version of Watch!Ten whom I've been playing about with recently has earned his own journal, just so I don't get my wires crossed, muse-wise. So if anyone wants to follow him, he'll be over at [livejournal.com profile] cosmos_without, PBed by ye olde David Tennant in his recent future and Tim Roth in his further future.

Currently, the journal's bare as a nudist colony, but I mean to work on that.
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Proving once again that I am a Lord of Time Mismanagement, [livejournal.com profile] firstofhiskind and my weird Doctor/Master hypothetical combination character, who's decided to go by the Magister, muck around some more.

I would like to note that, by the end of this chatlog, the Magister looks like Tim Roth and Spike looks like Edward Norton. I want to be on their TARDIS, seriously.

And I *will* get back to playing my standard Watch!Ten, I swear. He's emo about me getting distracted from his goofy hyperness.
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I haven't written for a while, and I'd like to work on that.

But I thought I'd ask for prompts, to make it a little more challenging.

What might you like to read from me that you think I'd have a hard time writing? As in, that I'd have to stretch myself to write, topic-wise, form-wise, anything. And it doesn't have to be confined to my Doctor. It can be the Moctor, other characters, hell, even non-DW. Anything goes.

Can't guarantee I'll answer prompts exactly (or, uh, promptly >_>), but I'm curious. I like brain food.
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There's that thar meme going around again.

Request any fic of mine and I will provide you with a commentary/annotations, like a DVD extra.

Now, I don't really write much fic, so...well, if you've threaded with me and wondered about an idea in a tag or how I was thinking through something as we went, then I can comment on that, too. Or, you know, you could just ask a question about the character or my writing or whatnot, and I'll try to answer. I'm flexible, yo.
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He strolls through the halls of the Master’s TARDIS—through Lolita. He runs one hand along her walls, as he does when he walks through the Type T-40 that he’s bound to—the TARDIS that, as much as one set of his memories, protests, is his. Lolita doesn’t respond to his touch, doesn’t answer in his mind. He understands. She has her Master, and a TARDIS never divides its loyalties.

His Lolita died in the War, when the Master abandoned her for the Doctor—Time Lords often divide their loyalties. He misses her, and he misses the Type-40 that should fill the empty space in his mind, the TARDIS that’s responsible, partially, for the patchwork person he’s become. Rubbishy junker, interfering addled busybody, mixing him up the way she has, trying to make him into the Doctor when he isn’t. The Doctor’s old girl, and his, this new person’s, even dearer friend. Half of him, when he’s already two halves the whole. He should work out a lease system, he thinks. Charge for synapse space. He really needs to get all of these subletters together, arrange some room for him in between all of their differing claims. They’re all his property now, after all. Well. Not the TARDIS. But the two others.

They’re dead, like Lolita, and he’s the benefactor and not certain he feels like he’s benefiting. They’re ghosts and they are going to have to learn to rest peacefully, or it’ll be sleepless nights for him for the rest of his life.

Damn, damn, damn, he needs a name.

He turns a corner, hand still trailing along the wall, and without thinking he turns in at the first door on the right. This should be the Herparium, and it shouldn’t surprise him when it is, but it does. The Master’s memories come as instinct still, startling bubbles of certainty and knowledge, and each one that finds its mirror in reality, that finds confirmation, unbalances him.

He is the Master.

He is the Doctor.

He isn’t either. He’s the blurring, the tmesis, the portmanteau, the word between the two, made up of the two, fusion/fission. The blend. Of oil and water.

Charming.

The Herparium smells of the dry dusty must of scales and the bright veined life of foliage. The branches of trees tangle overhead, light filtering green and gold through them, diffuse and liquid, full of the hazy damp heat of the place, pregnant light falling through pregnant air, air rich with pauses and eddies that trails across his face like skin and sweat. )
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And then it was time for the Moctor to go meet his adopted-ex-vampiric-Time-Lord-son-thing-person, [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla's [livejournal.com profile] firstofhiskind. Which means we now have a Doctor-Master mesh talking to a Time-Lorded Spike from BtVS. I blame the internet. One can always blame the internet.

Also, my Moctor has no clue what to call himself. The Expert? The Mobius? Should he just give up and change his name to some obscure symbol? Decisions, decisions.

And have some Firefly references. Because a little meta is good for you.

I could just call you Grumpy Twat. )
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Chatplay being the Great Enabler, [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and I mucked about more with the Moctor idea I came up with earlier, in which my Doctor discovers he's both the Doctor *and* the Master. This time, her canon!Ten ([livejournal.com profile] or_timelords) and my...whatever he is, poor man, he's probably very tired of me running theoreticals with him, confronted each other.

Who do you think you're *talking* to? D'you think there are two of us in here, left-brain, right-brain, the Odd Couple, flatmates? There's just *me.* Two sets of memories, one man. It's a royal cock-up, but that's how it is. )
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I have this thing, it seems, for coming up with theoreticals and "what ifs" and testing them out, especially if they involve exploring identity issues. This is a transcript of a little fiddling about [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I did in AIM, exploring an alternate idea for where my Doctor's drums may have come from (and also explaining what, exactly, happened to the Master in my Doctor's universe, a question I still haven't answered for myself, definitively).

I'm oddly fond of the scenario, even though it would be ridiculously complicated and disorienting to work out in RP, but...it's sticking with me. I may have to play with it, somehow. It explains a lot about the character, in my head. Though it brings up as many questions as it answers, and new holes to fill.



Jasper: ...I had this idea of AUing my own AU earlier, where my Doctor figures out he hears the drums because he actually *is* the Master, the Master having taken over the Doctor's body to survive the Time War (since in my fanon, the Doctor was the only one who'd be in any position to survive the War, since he's chosen to trigger the Eye of Harmony--ye olde 'eye of the storm' effect--and the Master'd learned about this ahead of time and decided he wanted to survive, dammit, because that's what he does). And he had to really be convincingly the Doctor for the Council to go ahead with the plan, so he subsumed his personality as far as he could, set it up to assert itself gradually, later. Which it does, in pieces, with the drums and the sliding towards violence, and in dreams. But it integrates instead of taking over, which wasn't the plan, and so you've got this new person who's kind of both of them and kind of someone new. I may write fic about this, or just ramble in AIM! )
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If you'd like to see some of the oddness [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and I have gotten up to in chatplay with her Spike and my Doctor, she has some transcripts up at her journal.

The first is two alternate takes on how Spike and my Doctor met--and how he got Time-Lorded.

The second is the Doctor being in denial about Spike being a Time Lord and then giving in and helping the poor guy sort out the inside of his head. And, aw, look, they're family! The Doctor Does Not Want.
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Well, this is a new one on me. The chatplay [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and I have been goofing about with over the past few days, with BtVS's Spike getting accidentally Time-Lorded by my Doctor and then traveling around with him, has spawned...well, Teyla's given random-crossover!Spike his own journal, [livejournal.com profile] firstofhiskind.

They're getting on well.

RP is the most bizarre animal. At least my Doctor didn't Time Lord...I don't know, JD from Scrubs or anything. Though I bet they'd get along better than Spike and the Doctor!

Also, I still believe Bill Nye the Science Guy is a Time Lord and must resist writing some cracky crossover fic about *that* little hypothesis.
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When I said I was in a slump, I apparently meant for, except when I'm lured into chatplay with [livejournal.com profile] t_eyla and end up with Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my Doctor's TARDIS.

And then run with this scenario on and off with her for two days.

What we're learning?

One, if you're a vampire and you drink from a Time Lord, your heart starts up again. A little. Regenerative properties, dontcha know.

Two, if you then defibrillate said heart after giving the vampire more Time Lord blood, you end up resuscitating said vampire properly. However, if you screw up and there's too much Gallifreyan blood in the vampire's system (or your mun just hates you and agrees to let screwy things happen with your medical experiments), you trigger regeneration instead of just accelerated healing, and hoorah, you now have your very own Time Lord. Damn.

Three, you aren't a proper Time Lord until another Time Lord has touched minds with you and showed you how to sort your own mind out (discovering my own fanon, in keeping with the Looms idea, but kinda...going off on my own with it is fun!). This is something cousins do for newly-Loomed siblings, the moment they first exist, and it establishes an instinctive familial bond. So, if you neglect to do this with your vampire, because he's *not* a Time Lord, dammit, then he goes around feeling lost and disoriented and like he can't find a settled point in his own mind. And then when you do go and do it, because you're feeling rather guilty about not and the fellow keeps walking into walls and the like, you establish him as family, in your biological/mental instincts' opinion. Great.

Four, the Doctor doesn't know what to do when someone close to him gets hung up on hierarchy. He doesn't want to go around doing the alpha male thing, he just wants to be mates. He's not the table-pounding type of Dad, he's the "Can't we go explore and then if you screw up I'll glare at you and be disappointed and not quite bother to explain what you did wrong?" kind. And vampires, apparently, like hierarchy.

Five, the Doctor has a rather good friend called Tony, who runs a bar that serves the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters in the universe. Tony has four arms and a purple third eye in the middle of his forehead, and gets little paper umbrellas imported from Earth just because the Doctor likes about three of them in his Pan Galactics. He is also not above serving drinks to ex-vampiric Time Lords, especially if the Doctor has just told him it's time to cut said Time Lord off. Tony is a jerk, and thinks drunk Time Lords tell the damnedest stories and get into sing-offs and it livens up a dull night.

...I may post this up in bits later, it's just...random.

OOC: Meh

Jan. 7th, 2009 10:25 pm
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A little down this evening. I know there are folks waiting for tags from me, but I may be kind of slow here. I tend to cycle through "life is fine, I'm getting the hang of it" and restless, searching periods where I'm not content with anything. I'm in a restless bit right now, and can't seem to find the patience or inspiration for much, RP included. It'll prolly come back; it usually does.

Hm. Inspiration fishing's never bad. Any random ideas, questions, prompts, anything you want to throw at this post would be cool. Meh. I am *super unexciting* when I live on my own, apparently.

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