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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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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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Oh, what the hell. We write these things in AIM, we might as well post 'em up for posterity.

Continuing on from the massive still-ongoing thread of doom in which [livejournal.com profile] or_timelords' canon!Ten wakes up in watch!Ten's TARDIS one day and decides to stay and help his other out, this is a theoretical follow-up to the thread.

It involves moonshine and singing and, of course, ANGST. We loves our angst.

How much does a polar bear weigh? )
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Okay, this was a ridiculous Epic of Theoretical Projection chatplayed by [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I, in which we explored what might happen if my Doctor Chameleon-Arched the Master for his own good and then took Harry Saxon on as his companion. It is ENORMOUSLY LONG. My writing in it's not the best, but Harry Saxon and the Doctor have some ridiculously cute moments in here; I've edited the transcript to remove about 98% of both lsn-mun and I's AWs ;)

I'd love feedback; I think I still have a lot of work to do on spontaneous dialogue and physical specificity.

NOTE: I'll probably be hiatusing, at least from AIM chatplay, for a week or so here. This log took a ludicrous amount of time, and, yeah, I think I should give myself some space after that. But, well, I think it's also worth reading?

And it's true. God, it's true, what he says. The deja vu and the drums and that strange, comfortable familiarity with the Doctor. It's all true. He swallows. 'Who am I?' )
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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. )
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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! )
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So, [livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic and I were chatting about Watch!Ten and her Master, as we were finishing up their angst!swordfight thread, and we ended up discussing possible dark!futures for them, in which the Master succeeds in corrupting the Doctor further and the two decide to do the ruling-the-universe thing together (we also discussed the ball scene in Labyrinth as played by the Master as Jareth and the Doctor not as Sarah, dammit, he objects in silver vaguely-Renn-Faire gear and the glitteriness of this, and yes, I'm being infected by the Master/Doctor shippage, it's terrible XP). But, we ended up committing extended narration/pseudo-fic, and it all turned out very tragically for both Master and Doctor and it's not a good future, but it is oi, a bit wrenching. So here it is, I think it's worth the read.


[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic Well, at least this Doctor understands the fact that not everybody is redeemable. And that sometimes death can be a very good thing indeed. Though, argh, all this talk of Koschei and Theta in conjunction with this Doctor's darker tendencies is making the Master think sappy thoughts of the Doctor ruling the universe at his side. Because wouldn't that be fun?! *bounces* And who better? Surely they two are the only ones left in the universe with the right, and the ability.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me The Doctor would like to point out that ruling things involves a lot of time and responsibility and staying in *one place.* Can you see him going along with any of that, Master?
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic The Master could do the staying in one place, and the Doctor could... go out and quell rebellions
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic Or something
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me lol
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic *handwave*
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me Ten: "Great, I'm the errand boy."
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me Ten: "Run down to the shops and quell that rebellion, if you don't mind."
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me Ten: B| "Quell your own rebellion."
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic No, but seriously, if they ever did rule the universe together, he wouldn't just be the errand boy. They'd be equals. And the universe would cower before them, the Master and his *ahem* and the Doctor.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me lol
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me I'm seeing the Doctor as running around adding new bits to the empire, and the Master consolidating.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me The Doctor would probably also be good at finding new talent and tracking down discontent.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me The Doctor is not pleased at me for saying any of this.
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic See, he wouldn't just be an errand boy! He'd be essential to the empire. Besides, *smirk* every king needs a queen.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me Ten: "Yes, that's why you have *Lucy.* :|"
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic Oi, this is the new Time Lord empire- hundreds of years into the future. Lucy's only going to last another seventy
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic He says this very casually, but he will be all full of repressed anger and grief and confusion when she does die, and have no idea how to deal with any of it
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me The Doctor will be happy to lend a shoulder to cry on. He's had people die on him before.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me This may or may not lead to consolation!sex.
[livejournal.com profile] watch_is_me In which case, hoorah, long live the queen, oops :\
[livejournal.com profile] laser_not_sonic The mun appreciates this, but the Master does not. He will kill things and destroy things and sulk for long periods of time because of course she was going to die, she was a human; what, does the Doctor think he didn't know that? And he'll be even more obnoxious than usual, because he... has he ever grieved at someone's death? I don't think he actually has.
watch_is_me: God, the Doctor will be insufferable. )
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The Doctor grins across the console at Ting as the TARDIS hums and shudders to a halt. Hair wild, and eyes bright, he sparks with enthusiasm like static electricity—it's almost a force, snapping in his expression and body language, eager, alive, ready to jump to anyone near him.

"So, Ting. First trip on the TARDIS, and it's on random. Well, it was on random, now it's not on anything, baseline, does that when it comes to a halt. But! Random! Universal shuffle, could be on any track in all of time and space." He swings away from the console, springs across to the front door, and stands by it, still grinning, a showman about to pull aside the curtain and reveal the Greatest Wonder This World Has Ever Known. "Where d'you reckon we are?"

He pushes the door open the tiniest crack, but doesn't yet look through himself. This is all for her, her first trip in the TARDIS, and the honor of making the discovery, seeing where exactly they've come to rest, is hers. This time.
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He flies around the TARDIS console, piloting with both hands, both feet, his nose, an elbow here, an elbow there, nudge this lever this way, and that one that way, just a touch, a smidgen, there, there, can't she go any faster? Of course, it doesn't matter, faster doesn't matter, not when you're traveling through time, but it feels as though it matters. Human beings always wonder when he fails to explain the complexities of time and this is it, this is why, because time's personal and shared, everyone and no one's, relative and set, and can't she go any faster?

"Come on, old girl, come on, come on... Amps to 11, ludicrous speed, damn the torpedoes, come on."

And he jumps back from the console, bounces on his toes, because he's made all of the adjustments he can, and it's up to her now, the TARDIS. He trusts her, she'll get him where he needs to be, but he can't help the impatience.

First they'd landed in London instead of Edo, and, really, those just weren't the same. Tokugawa Japan and 21st-century London, they both had their merits, but the ukiyo—kabuki and geisha and chonin and samurai—wasn't one of London's. Well, not yet. Give it a few millenia.

So he'd settled down to repairs, and she'd gone off to see the sights and the shops; he'd given her a mobile before she'd taken off, universal roaming enabled, certain she'd be fine. If she could handle the Titanic, disintegration and reintegration, she could take on London.

Halfway through the repairs, the TARDIS had started up, of its own accord. A time scoop, he'd thought, but that was impossible, they were
gone, all dead, the ones who could do that to him, summon him at will.

It hadn't been a time scoop. Temporal genetic lock, the Menagerists, an elite group of 7000th-century dilettantes who collected rare...animals of all types, all across time and space, and kept them on an elaborate prison planet. A zoo. And what rarer than the last of the Time Lords?

It had taken him minutes to escape, but months to get the
rest of them out. There had been human beings there, future humans, survivors past the destruction of the Earth, and how could he leave them?

But the instant he'd had them all away, out in the Menagerists' hijacked private star-yachts, he'd shot to the TARDIS, because he couldn't leave
her, either. Astrid. His Astrid.

The TARDIS sets down, and he thanks her, a mental nod, nothing spoken, as he bolts through the doors, out into an alleyway. The same place. Good. The same time? He's not so sure. Maybe. Has to be. He can't be that far off, can he?

And he fishes his own mobile out of his jacket pocket, dialing her number as he dashes out into the streets proper, eyes scanning over every passerby, every shopfront window. She's here. She's got to be here. He didn't mean to leave, and he won't let this be another parting, another failure, something to remember and regret.

Faster, faster, the phone has to dial faster, ring faster, he has to run faster, through the streets, as though velocity were like gravity, an attractive force. As though faster mattered.
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'Verse: Personal canon
Words: 81
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] onapostcard, Quote: "A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal," Oscar Wilde. Combined with the lyric prompt: "Hoping / Is out of style / So look happy /It's the end of the world," Matthew Good Band.




Dear...there are so many of you. River, Sally, Mickey, Sarah Jane, Tegan, Ian, Barbara, Jo, Nyssa, Peri, Grace, Mel, Turlough...you know who you are, all of you, I don't have time to go on.

I wanted you to know, Utopia is perfect. Just what the word implies. Peaceful, no conflict, everything and everyone in accord. There's never a voice raised here, except in praise of our true Lord and.

They tell me the weather is beautiful.

I wish you were here.

Waiting,
The Doctor
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'Verse: Personal canon, I think. A bit of self-retconning.
Words: 1,163
Prompts: Lessee. Well, now that I know more about canon and am over my initial Mad Enthusiasm of New Musedom (well, a bit, at least), I've pondered going back and smoothing out my muse's AU backstory. Particularly the way he gets out of the watch, making it something less violent and potentially OOC and less complicated. What with everyone kind of mourning the upcoming loss of Ten, I thought I'd write...the opposite of loss. In a way. Also, I owe a lot to reading [livejournal.com profile] brigadiertardis's characterization of the TARDIS, in this fic. So shout-out there!

So, what's needed to read this? In my AU, the Doctor had no companions when he used the Chameleon Arch to hide from the Family of Blood. He left his human half in 1913, to live and die normally, and threw his Time Lord watch half out into space and time, locked away in the TARDIS. This is how he became himself again, after.




She was patient. She had always been patient, with him. Patient when he left, patient as he had his adventures, as he met and brought back and left and lost his many friends; patient as he made a mess of her circuits and a mess of her rooms; patient as he remade himself, over and over again. Patient as she learned the quirks and needs of each of his new faces, each of his personalities, the little things that would never be the same again and the great beautiful certainties that always held steady, that made him her Doctor, her partner, her family, her symbiote, her self.

Home, his humans said, is where your heart is—and hers was with him and his with hers, a fourth heart beating along with their shared three. They lived within each other and were each other, and she was always patient, because he was her and she was him, but now…

Now she had waited for so long, and she was losing her mind. Had lost it, when he locked himself away from her. )
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'Verse: Personal canon.
Words: 992.
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] badcompany_muse, "Vengeance." Yes, this is where that went in my head. With all of the Doctor's potential for Oncoming Stormness, he ends up...doing this.



Sally waved to the Doctor, as he swung out of the movie-rental shop and came sauntering across the parking lot toward her and the TARDIS. He’d parked rather far out—most of the free spaces had been for the handicapped, and he’d insisted that he wasn’t, thank you, no matter what Sally might say about his piloting skills—so she had time to judge his mood by his body language, as he waved back, ducked past a car reversing out of its spot, bounced over to her, hands in pockets, grinning, with that walk he had, like the tarmac was ever so slightly rubber or Time Lords ever so slightly gravity-resistant.

She didn’t need the TARDIS to translate. That body language read: OH, yes, I was up to something, and it went well. Very well, and I’m impressed with myself now, and the universe should share that. My impression. Impressiveness. The degree to which I have left an impressive impression on myself.

Well, maybe the TARDIS didn’t need to translate so much as run grammar-check. )
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'Verse: Personal canon.
Words: 465.
Prompt: Just me.

In my personal alternate universe canon thingie, the Doctor never reclaimed his human half in the equivalent of the "Human Nature" eps. So John Smith got to live his own, entirely mortal life. This is part seven of a long story I've got drafted and am writing up this week, on how that life might have gone.

Part one is here, part two here, part three here, part four here, part five here, and part six here.



In the end, illness took him away from the war—not the irritation of trench fever, they’d all dealt with that and pulled through, but the terrible wave of influenza.

The flu. He lay in the hospital bed, and, in his lucid moments, wondered at the universe. )


Part eight is here.
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Take a picture of yourself right now.
Don't change your clothes, don't fix your hair--just take a picture.
Post that picture with NO editing.
Post these instructions with your picture.

I WASN'T READY YET. Last time I let the TARDIS choose the shot. )
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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.

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