January 13th, 2010

dark!doctor they will obey, they will obey

for trickster_loki: New Fool At An Old Game


(That) I'm a new fool at an old game
A kid out of school tryin' to find my way
But I don't know the rules, (so) teach me how to play
I'm just a new fool at an old game…

"It's funny, I thought you liked me."

He's standing on the edge of a cliff, watching a world burn. No, not just the people on the surface, not just the plants and the trees and the civilization. The whole world is burning from the inside out.

"If this planet stayed, then in fifty years, they'll declare war on a larger part of this galaxy. Billons more would've died."

It's strange. He's not the sort of man to explain himself. It's why he doesn't keep companions anymore. It's why he doesn't let anyone travel with him who isn't directly related to his goals. Except for the man he's talking to, now. Well, the god, if he wants to be all technical about it.

"I'm saving lives."

The god doesn't respond. He's not certain he's ever seen the god without one of his big, manic grins and tricksterly ways. But now, no, now the god is expressionless, cold. It sends a chill up his spine, seeing the god this way. It makes him want to explain himself. It makes him feel like he has to.

"I don't have to explain myself to you!"

The shout comes immediately after the thought, because he doesn't like the idea that some god thinks he can influence his thoughts. He's altered galaxies, he's changed timelines, he's rewritten the very fabric of time. But the god doesn't speak, he just stares.

"All that matters is that I save lives!"

He's destroyed worlds.

"I can do anything!"

He's ended civilizations.

"It's my business, mine alone!"

He's caused devastation. All in the name of saving the universe.

The god speaks. Despite his youthful appearance, he sounds impossibly old. "Chaos."


"You've caused chaos. That is my business." The look the god gives the man is full of pity. "And I've played this game far too long to let fools like you in."

Muse: The Doctor (Valeyard)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 303
doctor/master angels and devils

for tambores: Ben Bernanke


Hello there, Spencer.
I see you, you boy, boy.
I see you, Spencer.
With my eyes.

You’re the architect of my dreams, Spencer.
You plan them, and build them on blue paper,
And hand them to me.

And then I dream them Spencer,
That’s what you do for me.
Thank you for that, Spencer,
You prick.…

He used to dream about Gallifrey.

The swirling sky, the vast estates, the sloping fields of red grass.

Back before, when there was nothing but memories and the hate pumping through his veins. Back when he had no home world.

Now, that is all they have. They have Gallifrey, they have the estates and the whole stupid Time Lord planet at their feet. The Master even has something akin to a harem of people, following him, adoring him. No longer an exile, he's practically welcomed back to his home world with open arms. He has nothing to fear, not anymore.

And he still dreams.

Dreams of the drumbeats, dreams of the anguish and anger. Dreams of the Doctor.

Oh, so much.

He opens the door to the tiny club-like room. It's empty, now. Empty but for the Doctor, making his customary cup of tea. They don't fight, not here, not recently at least. Still, a tension settles over the room. Heavy and thick and not quite hatred and not quite desire. It's a frustrating sensation.

"Just us today?" the Master says. "I had hoped to have someone intelligent to talk to."

"I've invited a few others," the Doctor says.

The Master snorts. It won't be long, he assumes, until the whole room is full of people, ready to talk and drink and argue their way through another night. It lends the current moment to a sense of urgency. They only have the briefest moment to connect, to talk, to do something before their privacy is broken.

"Do you dream, here?" the Master asks.

"I don't dream at all," the Doctor lies, and the Master knows it is a lie.

"I dream." The Master lets the words hang for a moment, longing for the time needed to properly stretch that sentence to its fullest dramatic potential. And if he knows the Doctor, the Doctor would want to let it stretch, too. They're very like each other, and that makes the Master smile, privately. However, they only have a brief time, now.

"What of?" the Doctor says.

"You." The Master's smile remains, widening only the slightest flicker at the Doctor's expression, something that is not quite horror and not quite intrigue.

There's a slight bang as the door swings open, permitting Tempest, John, Rose, and Jack. More are on their way, Jack says.

Tempest looks vaguely bemused. She asks if they interrupted something.

They did. Not that either of the men in the room would admit it.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 416
Based on RP in riseofgallifrey
all doctors nine/ten/eleven, doctor/ninth doctor/eleventh doctor alte

for [Bad username: tasteful_fashion]: We Danced Anyway


The summer air was heavy and sweet
You and I on a crowded street
There was music everywhere, I can see us there
In a happy little foreign town
Where the stars hung upside down
A half a world away, far far away
I remember you were laughing
We were so in love, we were so in love

And the band played song's that we'd never heard
But we danced anyway

"Oh, come on, Doctor, you have to admit this is great," Rose says. She tucks herself next to him, pressing her hand against the tight leather coat covering his crossed arms.

"I didn't say it wasn't good, I just think that parties celebrating the death of another species aren't ones I want to go to."

They'd landed on Yettico Prime earlier that day. The air was thick with perfumed flowers and a heavy atmosphere. It might've even been too heavy to stay, but Jack, being himself, managed to find a brilliant party on the other end of the mountain (right after Rose, being herself, managed to stumble into a number of dangerous men that they had to run from). And now, standing on this illuminated rock face as the twin suns set, it really was lovely.

Not that the Doctor would admit it. It was something one of the men had said, about how the party tonight was a celebration of the destruction of Gallifrey and the end of the Tyrrany. The Tyrrany of the Time Lords, not that Jack and Rose realized that.

"You could at least try to have fun," Rose pleaded.

"Nah, forget about him, Rose, let's dance." Jack reaches out a hand for her, giving her one of his widest grins. He shot a quick look to the Doctor, and then pointedly nodded before taking Rose out onto the part of the dance floor that had been cleared away.

Jack is cleverer than he lets on, it's one of the reasons the Doctor likes him so much, despite everything. Maybe he saw how that man's words affected the Doctor. Jack nods again, looking to the Doctor, and then to something behind him. Or, maybe he just noticed something the Doctor needs to take care of.

Following where Jack had nodded, the Doctor turns around. Standing off in the corner is a woman he hadn't noticed before. Petite, with long, blonde hair. She has her eyes fixed to him, though she stays just on the edge of the party. It's impossible. She can't be standing there, looking at him the way she is.

Before he realizes it, his feet have taken him towards her, until he's only a few feet away.

"Romana," he breathes. "That's impossible, you can't---"

"There isn't any time," she says. "Just listen to me, please."

"You can't be alive," he insists. He's grieved for so long over this, it's impossible, she can't---

"I'm not," she agrees. "This is all just a folded moment of time. Because I have to warn you, Doctor."

"Warn me?" he asks, shaking his head. "Warn me about what? Romana, you're alive!"

She sighs in a way that is utterly familiar to him. So put upon, so frustrated by his inability to listen. He thinks he might remain stubborn, just to watch her make that face again. Just to revel in the familiarity of it.

"You don't believe in prophecies," she says. "But someone will make a prophecy about knocking. Not now, not in this life, but soon. You have to listen to that. The fate of everyone depends on that."

"No one believes in prophecies except the High Council," he says, remaining stubborn for as long as he can.

She doesn't grant him with another one of those irritated expressions, she just looks sad. "Live," she says. "For me, would you?"

He drops the stubborn act and moves right into desperate. She's here, now, she can't go. Not yet.

"Romana, don't---"

"And stop feeling sorry for yourself." She snorts in irritation, and then, like a crease shaken out of a shirt, she vanishes.

He's not sure how long he stands there, staring at the place in front of him where Romana stood. Long enough, because before he's entirely sure what happened, Jack's hand is on his shoulder. He's shooed a curious Rose off to find them something to drink.

"Who was she?" he asks.

No answer is really sufficient. The Doctor takes in a breath and does as Romana asked; he pushes away his self-pity. He doesn't understand what she meant, and he doesn't know what prophecy she's talking about, but one day he will. And today, he'll live. Like she asked.

"A friend," he says. "Just a friend."

Muse: The Doctor (Nine)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 719
doctor/river the end is where we start f

for everybody_lives: The Spectrum Song


Red, yellow, green, red, blue blue blue
Red, purple, green, yellow, orange, red red
Red, yellow, green, red, blue blue blue
Red, purple, green, yellow, orange, red red

Blend them up and what do you get?
Ceries, chartous, and aqua
Mauve, beige, and ultra marine, and every colour in between
Hazo ka li ka no cha lum bum

Companion to this amazing story.

Oh, little prince! Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your sad little life . . . For a long time you had found your only entertainment in the quiet pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the morning of the fourth day, when you said to me:
"I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset now."
"One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"
And a little later you added:
"You know--one loves the sunset, when one is so sad . . ."
"Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"
But the little prince made no reply. ~ The Little Prince

River is 23.

The Doctor is not.

He’s reached the very old point in his life, the point where he no longer truly remembers how old he is and he really doesn’t care to remember. After all, what good comes from remembering one’s age?

To River, in all of her youth, she sees him as some sort of impossible statue of time. He could tell her he was 78 and she’d gape in awe. She’s of the opinion at this point in her life, however, that she is terribly wise and confounding. She is always confounding, but she’s not wise, not yet.

She will be, one day.

He stands at the door to the TARDIS, watching her reaction with eager eyes. He’s always taken her places after she met the TARDIS, never knowing when the first time was. She would never tell him, she would say it was ‘too personal’, or some other excuse that went along with her confounding nature.

The first time in the TARDIS is always special. Even now, to River, whom he has known for years (although she has not known him nearly so long). He thinks about the first time Ian and Barbara walked through those doors, believing it all to be an illusion. Or the first time Leela proclaimed it magic, or when Martha announced it was all bigger on the inside.

They’re all gone, now.

It has been lifetimes since he’s had a companion on board, but it has also only been days. Everything is happening and has happened at once and, in a way, he can see all of them on River’s face, now. The way she sees everything for the first time, as they did, once.

It takes him a moment before he realizes that she’s spoken. "It’s beautiful," she says.



"She’s beautiful," he says. He presses his hand to the coral of one of her columns. "Bit of a small word for her anyway, really. But close enough."

River grins, and he’s certain for a moment that she’ll begin some sort of a verbal spar with him. In his loneliest, saddest days, she always makes sure the sparring is vicious, mean-tempered, and hard. She knows it will bring him up.

But River is too young, now. She doesn’t know it, yet. She drops the subject, believing the TARDIS something not to be argued over. She does tease, which feels good. It feels normal, the way it does when they’re both on the same timeline. It’s far less frequent, lately. She’s constantly behind him and he’s struggling to make sure he doesn’t spoil her.

She grins at the TARDIS, and the whole room seems to light up with her smile. It never ages, even when she does; that smile. It’s like a thousand lights bursting at once or a billion stars swirling around a galaxy or a thousand sunsets. It’s radiant. So radiant, it makes him think terribly romantic thoughts, which is never a good thing, for him.

"All right," he proclaims, now full of romantic desire. "Off we go!"

She demands where, something she doesn’t realize will be a frequent demand of hers in the future. He doesn’t reply, something she doesn’t realize will be a frequent response to her demand in the future.

He is engaged. Preparing for departure, departing, already gone, there, next place, all of them, hasn’t even arrived to pick up River yet. Everything is happening right now, and she doesn’t realize it yet.

She will.


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Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,126
doctor/donna supercool and funky fresh, ooc: supercool

The Drabble Meme: Take Two


I found all of the stories I wrote for the last meme to be really cathartic and extremely muse-reviving. So I'mma gonna do it again!

1. Put your mp3 player on shuffle and take the first 25 songs it gives you.
2. Link to the lyrics.
3. Let your friends assign you a song and character(s) to write a drabble to.

Preferred pairing or other characters to include?:
Would you like me to include your muse?:

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