going my way?

justprompts: Ten Love Notes

[A companion piece to notsomerrywidow's ten love notes, which you can read here.]

Left Around the TARDIS

1. Have you seen my jumper? I left it in the second kitchen if you haven't yet.
2. Happy Birthday. I got you a card. It says you're twenty-eight, even though we both know that's a lie. But I thought -
3. You're all the ginger I need in my life.
4. I love you.
5. The dress and I are in the room with the pole. Where are you?
6. Happy Anniversary.
7. Fine, I'll have dinner with your family.
8. Would you take my sonic screwdriver and go to the second floor up from our bedroom and fix the light?
9. It's late and you're asleep, so I can finally hear myself think about how fantastic my life is with you.
10. Ran out of room. I'd be less likely to get yelled at than if I brought you a card with your real age on it.
tongue!

couples_therapy; Week 14, Prompt 3

Who has more authority in your relationship, you or your partner?

Note: Actions will be in italics. "Off camera" dialogue/actions will be in brackets, [like so].

Begin Video Log Response, Couples Therapy Week Fourteen. The Doctor.

Hullo. Waves at the camera. I'm the Doctor. Donna said I should do a video response this week. She said something about sharing my glares and rolling eyes with everyone. Whatever that means.

[You know exactly what it means.]

Rolls his eyes. Haven't the slightest. So, you asked who's got more authority in our relationship. That one's easy; I do. [Laughter.] Oi! I'm the Doctor, after all. Only one Doctor per TARDIS, unless you count the times when I've had to travel with myself for one reason or another, in which case I'd still be in charge when it really comes down to it. [Now there's a mental picture...]

Glares off camera. As I was saying. I choose where we go - when we could go places - and when we get there, I choose what we do. Yes, I take Donna's suggestions into consideration [In one ear out the other.], but it's my decision in the end. Besides which, [Big, ears, at that.] OI! Besides which, she's not a qualified TARDIS pilot yet. I"ve taught her a bit, and - [ You said I have a natural affinity!] I was getting to that! Frowns off camera. She has a natural affinity. But she still needs me as backup, and she can't read star charts.

[Who needs to read bloody star charts, we never land where we mean to anyway!]

Look, Donna, this is my counselling response, maybe you ought to go make us a cup of tea.

[Make you a cup of tea? Oh yeah? Would you like the morning paper and a spit shine on your shoes as well, guv'nor?]

Flails. I only meant that maybe if I were alone, I could better answer the question.

[Uh huh. You want to know who has authority?] Donna! Sit down. This video thing was your - oh. Now? The Doctor's cheeks turn pink. Well.

Yes, dear.




Word Count: 335
bananas are good

OOC- State of the Doctor

Hi everyone.

I just wanted to make a small announcement that you may or may not be interested in.

I've been struggling with the Doctor's voice for a little while, and trying to get to the roots of that struggle. I've felt some disconnect from the fandom as it's moved farther and farther away from the ninth Doctor's season. I've also felt some disconnect from the fandom in general, and have been a little unhappy with the way a few things have developed roleplaying wise in the past few months. All of this has led to almost total silence from my ninth Doctor, and for that I apologize.

Right now I don't know what to do about it. I can't drop him entirely, because I love him and couldn't bear to see him completely in another writer's hands without me having any say whatsoever in the kind of stories that are written for him. I think that's the nature of all of us, to some extent, when we grow attached to a character that other people might write at some point.

So what I plan to do is something of a stop gap. For the foreseeable future, I'm making this Doctor relativespace 'verse based only, with two exceptions (whom I've already spoken to). That goes for roleplay and prompts. I realize that neither of those things have been particularly copious lately, but I'm trying to remedy that. And in order to do so, I need to re-evaluate what I want to do with the ninth Doctor, and whose company I want to do that with.

I hope no one takes this personally. It's not personal, other than that it is about me and I'm a person. I've had difficulty maintaining in character relationships with this Doctor, for whatever reason, and I need to figure out what I want to do to remedy that, and whether or not I want to remedy that at all.

So that's it. I welcome questions/suggestions/comments about how amazing I am and how you understand my decision and love me and want to give me Freema Agyeman's phone number. If you have some sort of killer storyline that requires a ninth Doctor, and I play the ninth Doctor for you, drop me a line and we can chat about it, and maybe you can drag me back into other 'verse playing, or canon 'verse playing again sooner than I would get there on my own.

In the meantime, I'll still be RPing with him in RS and writing RS-based prompts in the prompt communities I'm in.

Less than three.
wtf are you doing here?

thebig_show - 2.12.1 A-Z; 26 F Words

Cheating

The Doctor cleared his throat. He looked over at Donna, who favored him with a shrug, then turned back to the gigantic door, muttering something about useless bloody companions that ought to open doors themselves.

"Erm. Fearless. Fantasia. Flying. Fire. Flirt. Flatulence. Foolish. Felony. Finite. Forward. Fae. Flamingo. Frog. Fudge. Freak. Filter. Ferry. Frank. Fork. Fate. Flip. Foreboding. Funny. Fantastic. Fan. Ford."

He did that all without a breath, and Donna quirked an eyebrow, impressed.

"Repiratory bypass system."

Donna rolled her eyes. "Okay. And what was that, then? Time Lord pass code?"

He shook his head. "Celtic."

Word Count: 99
Tongue: In Cheek
the ears!

oncoming_storms; 32.2a: Beginning


A Beginning is a Delicate Time

All the best human stories start in the middle, so that’s where this one starts. You lot even have a name for it: in medias res.

In medias res! Fantastic! You have to appreciate Latin. How many languages do you know that could die and still get used all the time?

This is a human story, which is why I’m telling it a human way. Time Lords don’t really have things like beginnings, middles, and ends. We’ve got parts that come before other parts, but since Time is an infinite loop of never ending experience, what’s the point in beginnings and endings?

Exactly.

I was hanging upside down by my ankles, a bit annoyed at the situation, trying to find my sonic screwdriver.

It all started with a picnic, you know. A perfectly innocent, lovely picnic on a planet known for its perfect picnic weather.

What? I’ve already started the story, I can hop back to the beginning if I want. Besides, we finished the picnic later. There, now you know the ending. Let’s finish the middle bit; I’m late for dinner.

I was hanging upside down by my ankles, trying to find my sonic screwdriver. All the blood was rushing to my head, which set off little sparkleys behind my eyes, and made it ridiculously hard to see properly. That was why I was having trouble finding my sonic screwdriver.

Suddenly, much to my delight, the sonic screwdriver was in my hand. I don’t remember being telekinetic and, it turns out, I’m not. I twisted around a little, only to find an upside down Reinette – it’s all relative, you know – smiling down at me.

“You seem to be in an intriguing situation, Doctor.”

I scowled. “You’re just saying that because my shirt’s off.”

“That, yes,” she set to work at the bindings around my ankle. “But you also appear to be upside down.”

“That’s only because you’re looking at it from your point of view, Reinette. I promise I’m very right side up the way I look at things.”

“Of course you are.”

I rolled my eyes, just as she got my first leg free. “Reinette?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Why aren’t you tied upside down with your shirt off?”

Her hands paused at the second binding, and I could just make out her upside down face warring between amusement and embarrassment. That seemed to be a pretty common thing for her since she started traveling with me. Actually, that seems to be a pretty common thing for all of my traveling companions. Ah well.

“I believe I persuaded the… locals… that I was no threat to them.” She undid the second binding, and I fell to the floor.

“OOOOOF,” was about how it sounded, but what I meant, as I clarified a second later was: “We were only having a picnic! Is this the kind of planet that jails people for picnicking? If it is, it’s not the sort of planet I want to picnic on in the first place. That’s daft.”

She made it through without interrupting me before she crossed her hands over her chest – that’s a companion thing, too! – and said, “I do not think picnicking was your offense.”

I stood and dusted off my pants, and set about looking for my jumper and coat both of which, of course, Reinette already had on hand. “Fantastic. So I was wrongfully convicted of nothing.”

“That is not what I said.”

I grabbed my jumper from her and scowled. “Well, what was I imprisoned for?”

If it had been anyone else that told me what Reinette told me at that moment, I’d probably have stalked back to the TARDIS and not come out for a week. Not that I’m sensitive, mind, just that people tend to pick on, well:

“Your ears.”

Yes, yes, that’s right. They were afraid of my ears. They were a small-eared people! Who knew? I didn’t! Besides, there are plenty of small-eared people in the universe that don’t have big-eared bigotry!

Reinette was biting back laughter, I could tell. But she remained as poised and graceful as ever as she handed me, of all things, one of those hunting caps with the ear flaps. The ones that come down and cover your ears.

“They said you’re free to go, provided you agree to wear this head covering at all times.”

Bloody small-eared people.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, snatching the hat and placing it firmly on my head. The jumper and coat followed a few minutes later, after I finished ranting about the small minded, small-eared people of the universally famous picnicking planet.

We got our picnic, like I said, and it was a good one. There was the slight issue of the flannel hat clashing with my jumper and causing me to sweat profusely, but Reinette didn’t seem to mind. She handled it all with poise and propriety I’ve come to admire in her.

And she seemed to like that hat. Now that’s the end of the story: Reinette, the hat, and me. But that’s none of your business.
bff - rose

makeyourlist; Week 9.3 - Make Your Own List

Things I Need to Do For Rose's Birthday

1. Get some chips.

2. Pick up a year's supply of those glossy magazines she likes to read, and plan a schedule for giving them to her once a week. Like a subscription, except... actually, a subscription. I'm brilliant.

3. Purchase something called "black ice". I think it's for drinking.

4. Wrap her present. Blimey, where did I put her present?

5. Find her present.

6. Get a conference video call going with Jackie and Rickey.

7. Get chips. Oh, already got that. Nevermind.

8. Figure out how to wrap this bloody present.

9. Rescue Rose from evil, reptillian Garganauts. In fact, best to do that straight away.

10. Finish list later!
going my way?

RotM/TBS - 2.1.B.3.something. I don't know. Good Old Fashioned Loverboy.

It's Six O'Clock. Do You Know Where Your Time Lord Is?
(Inspired by and dedicated to my upstairs neighbors who (we think) wanted to fit some in (pun intended) before the Super Bowl party.)

The Doctor was finishing up a series of completely pointless upgrades to the kitchen. The second kitchen. No, the third. The one with the gas range. Maybe. He certainly hoped it was the one with the gas range, because if it wasn't the next few days would be very awkward and smelly. He sniffed. Definitely the gas range. Fantastic.

That was when Donna arrived. The Doctor didn't know she had arrived, because his head and a good bit of his torso were still in the oven, but then she announced herself. "Why are you in the kitchen?"

Okay, more of an annoyed-voice question than an announcement, but both worked for him. "I'm upgrading the oven."

Silence. The Doctor smiled to himself - or the top of the oven, depending on how you prefer to think of things - at the thought of what was going through Donna's mind. He imagined all the retorts she was running through, and he could picture the look on her face as she decided on the best one.

"We don't use the oven."

That was the best one? Hm.

"Maybe we should!"

He heard Donna's laugh, muffled a little. And then she sat on him.

Unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant.

"Donna?"

"Yes, love?"

"Are you naked?"

She put her hands to his hips and squeezed a little. "How can you tell that? You're wearing pants, and your head is in an oven."

"And part of my torso."

"Yes, and part of your torso."

Silence. Then he remembered that she'd asked him a question. "Oh, I can just tell."

"Really?"

The Doctor tried to nod, but it only caused his head to knock against the top of the oven. "Yes."

"How?"

"Time Lord thing."

"Oh really?" She pinched his hips and he squirmed a little. "Time Lord thing? Well, Mr. Time Lord, you need to see to your wife."

"I agree, I do. But it's six o'clock." More silence. Enough that the Doctor wasn't sure Donna was still conscious. "Donna?"

"What does it being six o'clock have anything to do with it?"

"Six o'clock is an odd time for sex."

Normally that would have caused Donna to stalk angrily (and nakedly) from the room - a fact that the Doctor hadn't seemed to pick up on yet - but for some reason, tonight she stayed where she was. Her hands disappeared, and he imagined she had just crossed them over her chest. Her naked chest. Her naked, well-endowed chest.

"Donna?"

"Mmhmm?"

"It's not six o'clock somewhere."

Donna's hands moved back down again. "I think that's the smartest thing you've ever said."

She was right.


Word Count: 418
nine/donna

realmofthemuse; 1.92.2 - Photoprompt

Photo is here.

Presence

“It's bloody cold.”

The Doctor took his hands out of his jacket pockets and wrapped his arms around Donna from behind. “Better?”

“No! You're bloody cold, too. I need to find myself a warm Martian.”

“I'm not a -”

Donna nudged him with her elbow. “I know. But I'm about to freeze to death on a floating block of ice, all for some reason that you won't tell me. Be happy I'm just calling you a Martian.”

“Right.” The Doctor pursed his lips. “Sorry.”

“So I am about to freeze to death?”

“What? No!”

“Well, you didn't deny it!”

“I was too busy apologizing!”

“Too right, you should be. Drag me all the way to the North Pole, don't tell me a single thing, give me clothes that aren't nearly warm – oh my god.”

A smug smile spread across the Doctor's face when Donna fell silent. “Fantastic, isn't it?”

Donna nodded mutely and lifted her hands to squeeze the Doctor's. The sun had crested over the mountains of ice, and crept slowly towards the large sliver of moon which stretched across the horizon. The world was completely silent except for the lapping of the waves against the ice.

“Happy birthday, Donna.”

“Thank you.” The words were a soft whisper in the wind, but he heard them. She turned in his arms to face him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He grinned down at her. “The rest of your present is inside.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm. And much warmer.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. As they went inside the TARDIS, she took another look over her shoulder at the amazing scene spread before her eyes. “Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Why here?”

“Because it's Earth. Because it's the beauty of your planet, where you were born and raised. What better way to appreciate the day of your birth than to see something of your planet that so few people see? Besides,” he winked, “the Playboy Mansion was booked.”

Word Count: 326