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'Verse: Personal canon—any 'verse, really. I'm sure he does this in his multiverse!verse, too.
Words: 798
Prompts: None, just me—and watching Castrovalva. This was a 30-mins., no real rewriting, I just want to write something, I haven't in ages piece. So rather stream-of-consciousness and undisciplined.

You retreat.

You often do, these days. It used to be all running, and saving, and the worlds around you, the universe, a blur of sights and sounds and new experiences and friends by your side.

It used to be wonder and each moment new and nothing constant except the beauty and the terror and the new faces you would see in a crowd, the eyes met across a room, the adventures. The invitations. The stowaways and the tagalongs, and the human beings you loved the moment you saw them and loved until the moment they left and love still and will always love.

Even though you destroyed their future.

Even though you ended what they become.

Because you chose. Because something in you said, yes, you loved them, but the universe mattered more. The final death of the destroyers mattered more than the possible life of those you loved.

So you retreat.

You come here.

They made repairs for you, when you came back, the renegade returning, to volunteer for the Time War. They didn't have to summon you. You knew. You knew that War would need you, and you knew there was nowhere to run. For the first time.

The TARDIS runs better now than it ever did, though it maintains those idiosyncracies you love, the round-and-round-she-goes-where-she-stops-nobody-knows unpredictability of her travel. She doesn't have to. She does it because she loves you.

You don't know what to do with that. You don't know where to put that, how to accept that gift.

It doesn't matter. Because she gave it to you anyway. Your life, your body, your freedom, your mind. She remembered them all for you and put them back together and you are her labor of love and you cannot give that back. This gift that keeps on giving.

And taking.

The Zero Room. That's where you retreat to. )
watch_is_me: (Default)

It's Christmas! Or close to Christmas! And given the terrible record he has with Christmases, the Doctor has decided to spend this Christmas in the TARDIS, right outside of the normal stream of time and space. This also ought to help Astrid get over her fear of Christmas, kind of ease her into the whole "you don't always die on the holidays" thing.

HOWEVER! Before he can zip the TARDIS out beyond time and space for a very merry unChristmas, it must be properly decorated. With EVERYTHING. Lights, and tinsel, and more lights, and more tinsel, and a tree, and holly, and boughs, and presents, and stockings, and nutcrackers, and there will be so much DECKING. The TARDIS will be DECKED OUT. Like woah.

And it's always more fun to decorate with friends. It makes things go quicker, and you can play in all the boxes and the wrapping paper and argue over where the ornaments should go.

SO! There's a Christmas decorating party in Ten's TARDIS and everyone's invited! Anyone he knows, anyone who he hasn't properly yet met but might wish to make his acquaintance or the acquaintance of anyone else who might show up, whatever. It'll be assumed he's parked it somewhere with some kind of mild Anti-Violence Field, so there'll be no chance of sabotaging the TARDIS or hurting anyone too badly while in it. Unless of course fun plot happens, what with Masters and Brendan and such-like and then, hey, Christmas violence and season's greetings!

Threadjacking and hopping is go, unless folks lock threads; and threads can take place at different times, so characters can come back to the party more than once. AND. Folks can thread in any combination, even without Watch!Ten being involved. It's a party, the doors are open, mingling will happen, and he's a terrible, terrible host who may be in a back room snogging Astrid trying something clever with Christmas lights and Hallmark electric ornaments that might repair the Chameleon Circuit. Maybe. Possibly. Not.

Feliz Navidad! Mi TARDIS es su TARDIS! )
watch_is_me: (Default)
Give me a word, any word, and I'll respond with something about my character's relationship to that word/concept. Love, death, genocide, cats, hats, papercuts, Africa, parakeets, anything. Big or little.
watch_is_me: (Default)
Right, don't know much of anyone, really, not counting one of myselves, the Amazing Reconstituted Stoian (Stoic?) Woman, and a daughter who's not mine (if she was mine, she wouldn't be dating the Master, some of me are falling asleep on the job—hello, mes, have a little self-criticism, free without purchase). Oh, and a very tall bodysnatcher who got my jacket wet.

But! TARDIS, Rift, got hours left 'til she's primed for blast-off, and the good chip shop's closed. Oil fire, too bad I know about it now, or I'd pop back later/earlier and fix it. Now, I could rework the TARDIS filing system, or I could ask strangers, selves, and acquaintances to pry into my personal life.

Here, have a go.

The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really, we know nothing about each other. So I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about.
watch_is_me: (Default)
'Verse: None in particular; uses personal canon as a base.
Words: 3,038
Prompt: [ profile] oncoming_storms, 59.4, "Write a conversation between your character and another using only dialogue. However, both characters are doing something and it must be obvious from the dialogue what it is." And that pairings meme that was going around. This is what comes of me thinking about Astrid/Doctor meeting in my universe.

So, all dialogue, long, long, long, and ROUGH. Really rough. But I think there's potential here and would like to get it cleaned up and tightened. Any feedback would be spectacular.

Through a mist, to a wood, Where within a haunted castle, Something's lurking that you don't see every day‚Ķ )
watch_is_me: (Default)
'Verse: Open!verse. Personal canon or 2Docs+1, depending on respondees, if any.
Words: 198.
Prompt: [ profile] onapostcard, vaguely the Walt Disney quote "It's kind of fun to do the impossible." Very vaguely.

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Right! Don't know who I'm writing this to, really, but that's the point of writing, isn't it? The discovery. It's like travel, writing, never know where it'll take you.

Saw this film for the, what is it now? Tenth time, premier night every time, always get seats smack in the middle. Lovely. Treat watching them all file out afterward, not a dry eye in the house, ups the old faith in humanity. Brought my own nibblies, Pimm's Sugar-spinners. Had a job explaining to the woman next to me that they weren't actually spiders. Offered her one. It spun her up a gumdrop, and she couldn't keep her hands out of them after that. Ate half the box. Didn't get the queen. I'll put her in a vat of simple syrup, ought to have another batch in a few days.

Recipient, recipient. Oh, I'm not going to bother making up my mind. Limits the possibilities. Whoever gets this, there's a transmitter under the stamp, tap it four times fast six times slow, tell it your name—enunciate— and I'll send you along some of this next spawn of spinners. No more space. Wish cards were bigger on the inside. Cheers!
watch_is_me: (Default)
Right. You, whoever you might be, have reached the voicemail inbox...thing of the Doctor. Not a doctor—if you were looking for one of those, go call another number, my practice is full up and you're not getting in, even with a recommendation, thanks. If you're looking for the Doctor, you might have found him, but, blimey, there are a lot of us thes running about, so who's to know I'm your the?

Mm. Oh, yes, I'm the one who never met Rose.

[Off, as though speaking turned away from the phone] Oi, I am not a bitter old man, you take that back.

[Speaking into the phone again] Leave a tone after the beep. No, a message after the tone. Or the beep. A message after the tone-slash-beep-slash-your-onomatopoeiac-phrase-of-choice. Get on with it, I don't have to tell you how to do everything, do I?


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February 2010

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