eleventh_doctor: (the neutral icon)
Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a careful watch kept over her companion’s sleep. Buffy stirs, and the Doctor steps in another few feet. It’s not so much that she spies on her companion’s dreams as she can feel them, Buffy’s timeline twisting in her mind, compounded by the nature of the TARDIS drifting through the Vortex.

“Having dreams again?” she says, soft so as not to yank the human out of her sleep-sweet mist.

Buffy nods, tired, and starts to sit up, gathering sheets about herself in layers of protection.

“Past or future?”

When her only answer is the hum of the TARDIS, she nods, once, and leaves her companion to her peace.

I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Word Count: 1,031
Prompt: 330 - I.O.U. / Over-protective!Eleven for [livejournal.com profile] gr8muppetyodin
Author's Note: Admittedly this prompt more to do with the fact that I saw "IOU" and went oh yeah, I do owe fic than, er, anything else IOU-ish, but that's what prompts are for sometimes! Or sommat. SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE.
eleventh_doctor: (crossed arms :|)
Spoilers for 'The Eleventh Hour' )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Word Count: 435
Prompt: 329 - Get out.
Author's Note: The definition of Doctor is 'time traveler babysitter'. Trufax!
eleventh_doctor: (among the stars)
There is a planet at the co-ordinates 10-0-11-0-0 by 0-2 from galactic zero centre. It has a name of its own, the one its people speak; and it has other names, too, the ones for being spoken by outsiders. They are not the same name. The outsiders can only capture snapshots of this planet; frozen in youth, in the heyday, or filled with awe for a mythical planet long since destroyed. Only one name encompasses the whole of its existence. That is the name its people speak.

This is not home.

Perhaps it would have been, once, in seconds lost to eternity, in the twist of decisions and relentless flow of time. It is, is not, once was but will soon never have been, home.

Humans have a saying, home is where the heart is. It is anachronistic to apply to a Time Lord; their hearts lie in their chests, reliable in the steady tandem rhythms. To speak it is as obvious and useless as it is to say that home is in the body. Of course it is. But it is not the true home, the one hidden in metaphor. And if it isn’t true, then it isn’t really home at all, but merely a place of dwelling.

Time. Is ever-changing. Must we really even consider it?

It would be unreasonable to assume someone accustomed to the evolution of existence, cells dying and regenerating, minds dying and regenerating, to consider something as stagnant as a fixed point home. Home is so much more, so much more amazing and fantastic than any one space. And in the traveling, the journey – that is home. That is right.

On one dark night on Gallifrey, a man who will come to be known as the Doctor steals an elderly, out-of-date TARDIS slotted for destruction. And for the first time in his life, he is home.

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Word Count: 312
Prompt: 327 - "Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home."
eleventh_doctor: (the oral fixation icon)
A List of Things the Doctor Has Invented, or Helped To Invent

Processing... )

Word Count: 209ish
Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 325
eleventh_doctor: (among the stars)
This is a story about relationships, a study in relativity. Concepts defined and linked together in unbreakable bonds; without one, the meaning of the second is altered. One cannot exist without the other and retain its layers of meaning. And at the beginning of this story, the events that comprise it have already begun. Initial velocity in place, and acceleration, the two related to the final ending by only time.

He smiles, then, because he can; because he is inexorably caught in orbit; because once, long ago, he gave himself to the relation of tug and pull, dark and light, and in the acceptance of captivity there is a freedom. In the denial, too, there is liberty; and also constraint. She does not smile, because she is bound; because she, too, must take her place in the attraction of forces, or there is no equilibrium. And all relations must come to equilibrium. By chaos they come to rest, and thus to the deeper order. Push and pull, opposing concepts that, in dependence on their application, may work either together or apart.

but the history books forgot about us, and the bible didn't mention us. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Word count: 668
Prompt: 323 – "The problem, of course, was that people did not seem to understand the difference between right and wrong. They needed to be reminded about this, because if you left it to them to work it out themselves, they would never bother. They would just find what was best for them, and then they would call that the right thing. That's how most people thought." --Alexander McCall Smith, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency

Author's note: So while I was writing this - yes, I had a word etymology dictionary open the entire time - I found the following veeeeery interesting items:
'Domination ... from dominus "lord, master," lit. "master of the house," from domus "home" (see domestic) + -nus, suffix denoting ownership or relation.'
'Meddle ... From mid-14c. to 1700, it also was a euphemism for "have sexual intercourse."'

I think we all know what this means: a botched proposal and extremely elaborate come hither message gone horribly, horribly awry. It all makes sense now!
eleventh_doctor: (the time lady icon)

Prompt: 319 - Friday, and 
[info]best_served_hot 's first lines meme.
Word count: 997, not including the borrowed first lines..
Author's note: Idk what you mean when you say you want comprehensible plot. 

the end.

The air was light and cool, blowing gently and ruffling their hair and clothes without being bothersome. The Doctor shut her eyes briefly, sharpening her perception to the feel of wind on her skin, then slowly allowed her senses to open outward, from the tips of her fingers to the sensitive skin of her bare shoulders.

The Master splayed his fingers out along her collarbone, and she shivered. He was close now, close enough that she could feel a distinct bulge pressing against her hip bone.

She tilted her head so she could see him better and smiled, a little cheekily. “Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”



Glass shattering roused the Doctor abruptly. She didn’t move or open her eyes at first - just the feel of time flowing around her was too much sensation right now, even without the addition of light, colour and motion. But someone kicked her in the ribs, lightly at first, then more insistently. “Rise and shine, Doctor,” the Master said, his voice grating on her mind. “It’s time to face the day.”

Her eyes opened, unfocused at first. His faced blurred and swam in front of her eyes, so she rolled onto her side and threw up a bit. It didn’t help, but at least some of it landed on his shoes, which was probably decent payback for whatever he did to her that she couldn’t remember.

Annoyingly, he didn’t seem particularly bothered by the presence of stomach acids on his leather shoes. “That’s it,” he said, purposefully too loud. “Detox! I should take pictures of you like this and broadcast them to your companions. They can make Christmas cards.”

“What happened?” she said, once she felt like she could speak and her head wouldn’t fall off or explode or anything inconvenient like that. He just laughed and pulled her to her feet, too fast.

And then the world exploded.



Friday the Thirteenth (or, why the Doctor could never get the hang of Thursdays, cnt'd.) )

eleventh_doctor: (Default)
{Quiet and formless, a thought with no words yet to give it power; she waits.}

    (Run, run, run-)
She hits the ground running because that’s what she always does, running and running forever and always. She lands on the ground, foot bent slightly the wrong way – but it’s alright, not that story, not this time – and she’s off again. It’s time to save the princess from her high tower because they never pay attention, no matter how many times she tells them to listen. Don’t touch, don’t stray, stay right where you are and don’t wander off. There’s a set of rules to follow in this world, rules she’s been learning since Susan went to school, since long nights reading fairy tales with her and puzzling out the inconsistencies.

    (as fast as you can)
–And just. Fantastic, so very fantastic. She comes to a sudden halt, sighting the wolf in the middle of the path ahead; of course, she should have seen that coming. She can feel the thread of story tugging at her, but she doesn’t have time for this.

“Where are you going?” he asks, teeth bared in a smile as politely dangerous as can be.

She doesn’t smile back, not quite rude but not quite friendly, either. “What business is it of yours?”

“Oh, none, none at all,” he says, and sweeps a paw out at the woods beyond the path. “I just happened to find a patch of the rarest flowers around that corner, and I thought if I should find a pretty lady, I would take her to see them.”

My,” she says, wry because this is a familiar tale, “What big teeth you have.”

ever after (happily) )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Word count: 2,198
Prompt: 317 – What do you still have from when you were young?
Author's note: I hate RichText. I tried to use it for this, and then it decided my story was too long and froze the screen.
eleventh_doctor: (worlds out there)
What if the Doctor regenerationed three seasons early and then proceeded to meet all of Joann's Doctor Who headvoices (and then some)?

[livejournal.com profile] eleventh_doctor as the Doctor
[livejournal.com profile] not_theman_iwas as the Other Doctor
[livejournal.com profile] lynda_with_a_y as the sweet one
[livejournal.com profile] just_koschei as the snarky-but-heroic other-universe Master
[livejournal.com profile] blewupthewizard as the demolitions expert
[livejournal.com profile] loud_and_ginger as the misplaced bride
[livejournal.com profile] born_running as the human archetype
and [livejournal.com profile] rose_and_thorn as the Lady.
(Also starring Schrodinger as the time-traveling cat companion extraordinaire - otherwise known as himself.)

Guest-starring Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, Mickey Smith, Martha Jones, and several others.

"What about everything? What about aeroplanes, and
What about ships that drink the sea?
What about, what about the moon and stars? What about soldiers,
Battle scars, and all the anger that they eat?
I am not in need.

Get away and come with me,
Come away with me and we'll see
If I was right on that night, that a future was made."

It turns out if you take the Time Vortex into you willingly, it comes out like a suicide in that your next regeneration lacks key reproductive organs you’ve had for millennia.

“How do I look?” is the new Doctor’s first sentence.

“Blimey,” says Lynda.

“Oh, my God,” says Rose.

“Nice,” Jack says, and leers just a bit. But no one pays attention to him, because that’s just Jack for you.

After they’ve had a few adventures together, they settle into a pattern, of sorts. The Doctor tends to split them up in groups of two– because, she claims, she can’t keep track of three people at once. She rotates the groups to ‘keep things interesting’; at any given time it could be Lynda and Rose on their own, next Lynda and Jack. Jack’s groups tend to come back adrenaline-flushed and with shirts wrinkled or backwards, but as long as they still find time to follow whatever instructions she leaves them with, the Doctor chooses to ignore it.

what about aliens? what about you and me and what about gold beneath the sea? )

Prompt: "What About Everything", all the DW pups you have.
Word count: 1500+
Author's note: I demand better-quality chocolate. Chocolate is my beta.
eleventh_doctor: (you know you want it)
Barbara Manatee,
You are the one for me!
Sent from up above,
You are the one I love.

After tightening the rear valve, recalibrating the manifold intake, and sorting through one-eighth of the Wardrobe Room’s racks, the Doctor decided she’d had enough and marched off in search of her latest companion. Buffy had declared a veto on setting foot outside the TARDIS until she’d finished ‘something really important’ without explaining why or what, and it was time to put an end to this stagnation.

She found her in the lounge, surrounded by empty snack wrappers and a stack of DVDs, intently watching the television. The Doctor cleared her throat, loudly. “Hello?”


“You know, it’s very rude to not answer someone who’s talking to y– Is that Endangered Love?”

“Shh,” Buffy said, eyes not leaving the screen. “Bill just admitted he can’t dance, and Barbara has no one to take her to the ball. It’s like my life, except with less undead and more flippers.”

“Addicted to aquatic soap operas,” the Doctor said, nodding wisely. “I ought to’ve warned you about that. They can be very – “

After a few minutes and a startling confession about manatee lipstick had passed, Buffy realised something had been said. “Very what?”

“Is this the episode where she tries on that new blue bow?” the Doctor said. “I love that one.”

Ten hours and countless bags of popcorn and chocolate bars passed before they resurfaced from the world of Manatee Love. Both agreed the marathon had been well worth it.
eleventh_doctor: (watching the ceiling cat watching you)
Time doesn’t run linearly, of course. Just because a Doctor occupies one point in time and space, doesn’t mean she can’t be occupying others simultaneously. Ten years is a long time.

He sits at her table, not the other way around. The reasons blur over time, but she thinks it was because she looked a little lonely. He smiles brightly, and chatters, and offers her a pastry. She buys him a cuppa, and the pastries, too, so he won’t have to steal money from a bank machine this time.

He chats with her for an hour, and then runs off to save the world (again).

Not quite.(

every angel is terrifying. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 316 - What were you doing ten years ago?
Word count: 895
Author's note: This was supposed to be a silly Doctor&Doctor catch-up fic. My brain had other ideas. Sulk.
eleventh_doctor: (headtilt weighing options)
That ball of fire that sits beside me-
He beats the earth, and Jesus loves him.
His days are long, his bones are broken;
I served him right, I go to heaven.

Their relationship is like a dance, twisting, turning. A long dance over the ages, a tango, a waltz, a swing step. The music changes, the partners age – a beard there, a new gender here– but the dance lives on.

They’re dancing now. He twirls her on the down-beat, almost enough force applied to dislocate her arm. In a minute, she’s in a position to snap his neck – muscle memory changes, but the memory of Venusian Aikido doesn’t die. They smile, and make it look so effortless that no one can tell the work going into their steps. It’s a fight in disguise. It always has been.

I go with him. )
eleventh_doctor: (split screen uncertain)
Crop circles in the sand. The universe always starts with riddles. They’re her downfall, the mysteries. She’s like an object caught in their orbit, endlessly looping them in messy circles, inspecting, taking the pieces of the puzzles in her hands and searching for the shape of how they’re put together.

Sometimes the pieces are made of glass, and they cut her hands. Sometimes– sometimes. But she can’t put them down, because she has to know, and that’s the paradox of her mind, endlessly drawn to that which will hurt her.

This is old. This is ancient, written in hieroglyphs only men with ghosts in their minds and dust on their hands can translate.

The universe is immutable. Energy and heat, these are forms that will always exist. Only the shapes change, become new in their paths. They fascinate her, the shapes of things. Like a child caught in the wonder of a colourful mobile, she is so dazzled by an unexpected turn that she forgets the endings will all be the same. Entropy takes hold, the constant of the universe.

This is not new. The newness is perceptions of the universe, ever-changing. The newness is the ability to look at a piece of the universe as if it’s never been seen before, as if it isn’t made up of the same matter, energy, heat as a million pieces before it, the same building blocks that have endured for time immemorial. She marvels in her companions’ abilities to make the old new, and in her wonder forgets her own talent for the re-imagining of the universe. From them, she learns, and that’s new; and with them, she forgets, and learns anew. It’s a borrowed gift, one she’ll have to give back someday.

For now, though, she has it. For now, the universe is full of mystery, even when it slices her hearts open to know it. And because it is so filled, she will always renew, always emerge in life. The day it ceases to amaze her is the day she’ll breathe her last, and become part of the immutable pattern.


Today is not that day.

And that’s new, too.

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 313 - Write about something old, something new, or something borrowed.
Word count: 360
eleventh_doctor: (split screen uncertain)
I’ll Explain Later: insights, exploits, and considerably more than you wanted to know about the number of times the world almost exploded.

Cut for 'Waters of Mars' + Christmas promo spoilers )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 312; 250: Write page 57 of your 300-page autobiography.
Word count: 244
eleventh_doctor: (worlds out there)
You collect people.

It’s true and not true. Each one is unique, each one is special to you and separate from the others in your memories. Each one has a personality, a history, each has gone with you to places no one else has been. Each one has done brilliant things that no one else could have done.

In the end, though, they’re all the same; they all leave you, in one way or another.

All of them did ordinary things, all of them ate chips and drank tea and went to shops. All of them had a shared history in the universe, a legacy of breathing in and breathing out, footprints of their lives scattered all over the galaxy. All of them blur together after time, Sarah-Jane Fitz Martha Jamie Frobisher, the details fade into the deep fog of your memory. It’s not true and true.

You collect people.

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 303 - Collection(s)
Word count: 150
eleventh_doctor: (the oral fixation icon)
Query application opened. Do you have a query?


Processing question and calculating variables for 2300 variations of the language you have chosen.

Processing completed. 251 answers found. Proceed?

> YES_

1: A symptom of an unhealthy psyche, characterized by behaviour uncommon to the socialized norm, difficulty distinguishing reality from unreality, and an inability to walk past a shop selling $.25 rubber balls, no matter how many the sentient unit has amassed already.


> YES_

2: A feeling of anger, characterized by grumpy noises and facial cues, complaints, raised voice, and a tendency to throw objects at or near the subject of the anger.


> YES_

3: Madness, March. An inescapable compulsion to watch human beings chase other human beings around a strictly-defined area with an air-filled spheroid.


> YES_




No problem, Dave.


Good night, Dave.

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 300 - This is... (with more than a tip of the hat to 299, Madness)
Word count: 162
Author's Note: idek
eleventh_doctor: (split screen uncertain)

It’s the first thing she notices. Silence, heavy and thick, coating the planet. She accidentally crushes a pile of dead leaves under her boot; she feels the crunch, but doesn’t hear anything. The sound is snatched away before it can reach her ears, gobbled up the silence.

She stands still for a moment, considering possibilities, then climbs a nearby cropping of rocks for a better look at the place, her movements eliciting no sound. From the top, she can see a city, unnaturally still, and a road, and a sign that might once have read “5 miles” or “1 mile” or “Population 1,000,000” but is now blank.

She purses her lips and sets off down the road.

(This is not that story. This is the story of beginnings, and endings, and the bits in the middle. If it muddles, well. Once upon a time can be overwritten.)

These are the scars that silence carved. )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 297 - Crushed
Word count: 886
Serial: Through a Mirror, Darkly
eleventh_doctor: (jiggery pokery)
“There’s a set of rules for this,” Bones says. “An entire set of rules in the Prime Directive that expressly forbid anything even remotely like what we’re doing now. And that’s not even getting into the court-martialable offenses.”

The Doctor doesn’t deign to respond at first, being a little too distracted breaking the Enterprise’s warp core with cherry chewing gum and a ball of twine. “You mean the same ones that ought to be preventing you from gallivanting around the timeline with a member of an extinct race?”

Bones clears his throat loudly and adjusts the collar of his uniform. “That’s them.”

She beams at him before returning to the task at hand. “Just checking.”

These are the Voyages... )

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 294 - Passing
Word count: 625
Author's note: [livejournal.com profile] do_it_in_three was going to get a trailer for his guest appearance, but instead all he gets is this author's note. [livejournal.com profile] curedrainydays doesn't get anything because he's mine.
eleventh_doctor: (you know you want it)

Community: [info]theatrical_muse
Prompt: 291 - Take someone out.
Word count: 1,764

One of the quirks of traveling with the Doctor is that you never know quite where you’re going to land. It’s one of the many variables that adds excitement, that influx of adrenaline when you step outside the TARDIS and realize that anything, anything at all, could happen.


“I don’t know how the hell you got a license to drive that thing.”


The Doctor sucks in a breath sharply and blows it out in the general direction of her traveling companion; it momentarily freezes in the icy air drifting through the open TARDIS door. Outside, the wasteland of frozen ground and gray-white sky makes for a bleak sight. “I could always let you have the controls next time, if you think you could do better.”


Bones slips a heavily insulated jacket over his blue medical tunic and smirks at her. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady.”


“Of course n–“


She cuts off in the middle of her retort, abruptly diving for the floor of the TARDIS. Bones crosses his arms, having recently decided he refuses to be startled by her random moments of distraction anymore. Too much potential for attention whiplash. “What is it?”


She waves a couple pair of shoes in the air with all the triumph of the Olympic torch-bearer. “Ice-skating!”


Refusing to be startled, however, is not the same as being immune to becoming completely flabbergasted. “What?”


The Doctor has already begun tugging off her left boot, pausing in her task only long enough to toss a set of ice skates to Bones. He catches the pair reflexively, coming within an inch of slicing his hand on the energy blades. “There’s miles of ice out there. Haven’t you ever been skating?”


“Well, no,” he admits, “not for a long– “


The Doctors' Traveling Show )
eleventh_doctor: (doctor and master)

except for some stubborn leaves (or, Domesticity for Dummies)

The Doctor is sprawled out on the grass, chin propped up in her hands as she listens to the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the distance, birds singing in counterpoint. Leaves born by gentle breezes paint swirls of colour on the wind; the overall effect is quite lovely.

“You realise, of course,” she says, “that this makes it a full month since you last tried to kill me.”

Her companion, clad all in black despite the hot suns in the sky, is seated stiffly with a tree trunk at his back. “Is that why you called for this ridiculous picnic?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” she answers, just a little bit hurt. “It’s quite nice, and I made sandwiches.”

As one, they turn their heads to examine the contents of the picnic basket. Several of the sandwiches appear to have grown legs, and are attempting to crawl away.

“Well,” the Doctor says, “I made them at some point.”

The two fall into silence as the Master uses his laser screwdriver to reduce the sandwiches to something resembling fried jelly.

“Well.” the Doctor says again, filling in the conversation lull, “I brought cheese, too, and apples.”

The Master fixes her with this look, this look that’s somewhere between frustration and horror and exasperation and just a touch of fondness (or so she likes to think). “Doctor,” he says, “if you attempt to feed me any more of your picnic lunch, I will slip aspirin into it.”

She rolls over onto her side and fixes him with the saddest face she can muster. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do,” he says, and stands, wiping miniscule amounts of dirt from his clothing with gloved hands. “And I think I’ll be taking my leave from this ridiculous affair. Good day, Doctor.”

She means to object, she really does, but at that very moment, the tree the Master had been sitting against falls towards her. Only her fast reflexes prevent her from becoming a Doctor pancake.

“And I believe you’ll find it’s been five seconds, not a month, my dear Doctor,” the Master calls, without bothering to turn back.

She pushes a hefty tree branch off her stomach and huffs. “Git.”

Community: [livejournal.com profile] theatrical_muse
Prompt: 288 - Is redemption truly possible?
Word count: 367


eleventh_doctor: (Default)

May 2010

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