rude_not_ginger | Entries tagged with verse [active]: 00: canon

I remember at some point in my earlier lives I really didn't like Christmas. Flat out despised the whole human tradition. First of all, I've always had an issue with giving a gift just to get a gift, which is what the whole concept of Christmas appears to be when you look at it from eight hundred billion light years away on a SightScope.

Of course, now I'm at Rose's on Christmas. Which is surprisingly quite nice. Sure, the turkey Jackie made is underdone---all right, it's practically raw at the center, but it looks nice. Even the ship breaking up in the atmosphere looks pretty. The comets and the falling ash are almost magical. Almost.

( The regeneration went badly. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,370

Current Mood: melancholy

Tags:

You are their teacher.

You know what it's like, being a boy and holding a gun for the very first time.

You are their teacher.

You've watched them turn from boys into…into slightly older boys but they're still boys and now they're holding up against an impossible and terrifying enemy.

You are their teacher.

Now, here you all are. Holding guns. Making a stand. They've got tears streaming down their faces, and they're positively terrified. They have to kill people. Real, proper people. They know this and it terrifies them. As just it should, you think.

You are their teacher.

You don't cry. You're frozen to your bones and the gun is heavy in your hands and you're right there with the boys that you don't want to kill anyone, but you know your post. You know what you must do. You have to stand with them. Stand with your pupils.

You are their teacher.

The wall starts to break and you raise your weapon. It's not just a gun or even a rifle, it's a weapon. You're about to use it to kill people. Real, proper people. You steady the muzzle against your shoulder, ready on the sight and put your finger to the trigger. You can almost swear it stings against your fingertip.

You are their teacher.

You know how to do this. You know how to fire this gun. You know how it should buck back and you know how it should smell after it fires and yet you can't. Your boys, your pupils fire faster than you do. They hit accurately even with tears streaming down their faces. They're the soldiers.

You are their…

You try to imagine how the Doctor would do this. That imaginary hero in your mind. That romantic lost prince with a dark and dangerous past. The man that Martha keeps insisting that you are. How would he pull the trigger? Wouldn't he be brave where you're being a coward? You try to imagine him pulling out some magical gun and firing it to save the day, but you can't. You can't imagine that the Doctor could press down on this trigger. You can't imagine him wanting to kill. That's not the sort of man he is.

You are…

Those dreams, oh, those dreams. The dreams of the evil and the destruction. Of the water and the fire and the pain and the death and he would never want it. He would never hold a gun unless he absolutely had to. He would never kill unless he had no choice. Every death he causes, every pain he creates leaves a mark on those impossible two hearts he has. He's scarred from what he's done in his past.

Your trigger finger goes slack. The gun lowers even before the fight is finished. Your pupils continue to fight while you stand there, gaping at the cowardice within yourself. The cowardice within the Doctor.

You are their teacher.

You are not a killer. You can't be. Whatever part of you that imaginary hero came from, it isn't the part that can kill.

What are you, Doctor? Coward or killer?

Coward. Any day.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten) / John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 511

Tags:

I.
He wanted him to have a purpose.

He always called him an idiot, but he knew that wasn't true. For all that he bumbled and fawned over Rose and bumbled some more, he had a good mind on him. He tried.

Far from the tin dog. No matter how much he teased. The Doctor just wanted him to feel like he was part of the universe. Took him traveling. Got a spaceship on his first go, he said. All that excitement, all that energy. The Doctor envied that. If that energy could be put to some good cause...well, he didn't think there was anything Mickey couldn't do if he really wanted to.

And then he found it. His purpose. To become Mickey the hero under the guise of Ricky. He found a home. Something the Doctor never had. Maybe another reason to envy Mickey. A family, a home, and a purpose.

The Doctor got what he wanted.

II.
He wanted her to have the family she deserved.

He never had a chance with a family. Family like his, anyway. By the time he realized he wanted children they'd already up and grown. Susan was all he had, but she grew up too fast, too. And now…now they're all gone. He wanted her to have her parents, have her friends. Have everything he couldn't.

He nearly sacrificed the world in his last incarnation to keep her father alive, promised her mother he'd always keep her safe. He even went so far as to spend time with that irritating mother of hers. Took Mickey along. Had tea with one of her more boisterous aunts.

Everything seemed to unravel. Couldn't save Pete. Mickey left. Rose's mother just kept getting sadder and sadder. He just wanted them to be happy.

Then they had it. Pete had Jackie and they both wanted Rose and…well, it only made sense. Even as he stood where the breach had been, his head pressed against the cold wall, all he could think was that it was what he wanted. He wanted her happy.

The Doctor got what he wanted.

III.
He wanted him to be a hero.

Someone as bloody brilliant as Jack Harkness? He had to deserve more than just being a run-of-the-mill con-man with slicked-back hair and a Chula warship. He was cowardly yet dashing and the Doctor could see so much more in him.

He saw him change, over time. Hold a bomb in order to save everyone in that field. Rewire the TARDIS like he was born at the controls. Call those who were afraid to fight against the Daleks. Sacrifice himself to give the Doctor more time.

He did change. Hundred years…well, give or take. And he's suddenly telling the Doctor that he's got a good fight to fight. Can't run off and be irresponsible. Can't have drinks on the coast of Pentastico 2 while wearing full plate mail. Have to be strong. Have to be brave. Have to be a hero.

The Doctor got what he wanted.

IV.
He wanted her to be independent.

She was smart and capable. He watched her run around, making decisions and barking orders. But she was always attached to that cell phone, to her family. Then she grew attached to him.

She loved him, she said, once. Oh, Martha. Didn't she realize his hearts were too dried up to love anyone back? He wanted her to just…just get over him. Adoring his companions was always easier when they didn't want something back. Like love.

And then, there was a year where she was on her own. Completely. Cut off from him. She saved the world. All by herself. And then she stood there and told him she was ready to get out. Ready to move on with her life.

She was being her own Martha Jones. And who was he to say no? Who was he to hold her hand anymore? She saved the world, and now she was carving her own path.

The Doctor got what he wanted.

V.
He wanted her to travel the universe.

He knew what it was like to be trapped in a position, trapped without any way of getting free. She didn't have a TARDIS junkyard to hop into and steal a ship, so the escape was so much harder for her.

Oh, but when she looked at the stars, he saw himself in her. Longing for another sky. For another world. To touch the alien sand and hear the cry of strange birds and watch them wheel in another sky. She'd have given anything for that.

He took her down to Earth, and she caught the bug. Silly old Doctor, interfering in Astrid's life. Making her push traveling to the forefront of her brain now and forever. She'd never be the same again.

And when he pushed the button to the sonic screwdriver that twisted the window open, the little pieces that were left of Astrid had the whole universe at their command. To travel forever.

The Doctor got what he wanted.

VI.
He wanted to have companionship. He wanted to never be alone again.

The Doctor didn't always get what he wanted.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 844

Tags:

To murder my love is a crime
But will you still love
A man out of time

The Journal of Impossible Things

November 1, 1913

There are rules for traveling with the Doctor. The dream with them is fading fast, so excuse me if this entry is somewhat disjointed, I'm trying to place them all together.

Rule number one is no wandering off. He's dealt with this many, many times. Having a companion or friend or lover (sometimes they appear to all be the same) wander away and he has to go find them. I think he partially enjoys this, taking care of them. They all appear to mean so much to him.

~~Rule B.~~ Rule number two. He wants to take control of verbal communications with other people or beings, saying "Let me do all the talking". Why he's so adamant to make sure he is in control of the talking, I don't know. Perhaps he does not find them intelligent enough to talk on their own.

For all his affection for his human companions, he appears to be oft uncertain of their intellectual capabilities. Perhaps this is because he is so very intelligent in comparison to them, or perhaps it is left over from when he was young. His world, while beautiful, is full of prejudice based on intelligence, class, race, even what house one is…"sorted" (? perhaps different reference?) into.

As I've lost the rest of the rules, let me move onto this world of his. Orange-coloured skies. I most definitely remember them. Silver leaves on the trees. The scope of the world is overwhelming. It's so utterly alien, so completely a different world. When I dream that I am him, sometimes I forget that he is an alien, that his life was so different. But…it was. He is a man out of time.

This is, no doubt, why he makes up these rules for his companions. It is as when I traveled to here from London. I had set up perimeters for myself while I adjusted. He, on the other hand, never takes the time to adjust. He is constantly in a state of motion, and thus constantly creates things he can and can not do.

He even has rules for himself, though I can not possibly remember any of them. Save one.

Do not become attached.

What kind of a tragic life it is, to travel the universe with those he loves and yet never allow himself attachment.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten) / John Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 383

Tags:

"I'm falling."

You've failed them.

( Cut for spoilers to 4.00 'Voyage of the Damned'. )

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,023

Current Mood: frustrated

Tags:

We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves in order to be like other people.
-Arthur Schopenhauer

"If you're changing every single cell…isn't it gonna hurt?"

He knows it will. He may have never completed the process before, but he's seen it done. He's watched the tele-viewers in his classrooms and he'd documented the cellular changes in experimental subjects. When asked about the pain level, their calm Gallifreyan voices would break a little as they spoke: "Horrific."

"Oh, yeah, it'll hurt."

All the same, he finishes up the settings and sits on the chair. He straps the chameleon arch onto his head and takes a breath. Looks at Martha. She looks so scared.

He wishes there was more time. More time to explain to her what was about to happen, what he needed for her to do. He created that list just prior to getting the chameleon arch ready, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere near enough.

And he couldn't emphasize enough on the list about how she needed to prevent him from eating pears. Not enough time.

"You might want to…" Look away? Get away? He's seen what this can do, and he's not certain he wants to have an image of him screaming burned into her mind. No, he's actually quite certain he does not want that in her mind. Especially if she's going to have to see him as only a quarter of who he truly is for the next few months.

Three-quarters. That's what the experiments on Gallifrey would say. Three-quarters of the DNA and genetic makeup and brain capacity. That's how much is pulled out whenever something like this is done. It's compressed and put into the larger-on-the-inside pocket watch. He imagines it's like he's lost all his limbs and his head and he'll be this bloody torso with only Martha to carry him around, but even that's too much. So much of him will be gone.

He looks at her imploringly. Begging her to leave before he terrifies himself into stopping.

"Quit lookin' at me like that, Doctor, I'm not going anywhere." She's put on a brave face. He has the strangest desire to tell her brave heart, Martha. Maybe he's just feeling nostalgic. Which isn't too terrible a thing. He won't have any memory of what to be nostalgic about in a moment.

He nods. Takes a breath. Presses the button.

3/4ths of him is ripped out in two heartbeats. His cells are pulled and pushed and pulled away and taken and shoved and he screams and screams and screams----two heartbeats of complete agony. Then one more heartbeat. Only one heartbeat. Only one.

He's like them, now. He can hide.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 447

Current Mood: aggravated

Tags:

Ways the Doctor has introduced himself.

1. I am the Doctor. The original, you might say.

2. The 'little fellow' is right here, thank you very much!

3. Smith, then. Doctor John Smith.

4. Well, hello there! I'm the Doctor, how do you do?

5. I am known as the Doctor.

6. A student of science, nothing more.

7. That was my nickname at the Academy. Theta Sigma.

8. I! Am! The Doctor!

9. I'm the Doctor, she's my plus one.

10. I'm the Doctor, and if you want to take it to a higher authority, there isn't one.

Tags:

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows."
--Shakespeare, Love Labor's Lost

Dear Rose,

It's the holidays. Just met this lovely woman by the name of Donna, did some rescuing and all that. When I say "lovely", I mean she's fairly nice. When I say "fairly nice", I mean she's…you know, not bad. When I say "not bad"…

Anyway, it's the holidays. Saw the Powell Estate from a rooftop. Thought a bit about ~~you~~ Christmas last year. Do you remember? Big changes that year. Good year, though. I liked it. Especially liked the turkey I wasn't expecting that your mum made.

Took a trip here. The Christmas Tree Cluster. Not entirely certain why they call it that, probably because of the general shape of the cluster, the larger stars making up the "star" on top of the tree. It's actually quite a lovely place.

Wish you could be here to see it. It's…never right, spending the holidays alone.

Happy Christmas, Rose.

The Doctor

PS: When I say "not bad", I just mean she's ginger. You know how ginger women are.

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 168

Current Mood: melancholy

Tags:

( You're about to view content that the journal owner has marked as possibly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 18. )

Current Mood: uncomfortable

Tags:

He is in control
Keeps on saying you haven't got a chance
You don't want to believe him
Humans always survive

Keeps on saying you haven't got a chance
Same old Master, same old score
Humans always survive
This time he's planning on breaking that rule

Same old Master, same old score
You've always been the best of enemies
This time he's planning on breaking that rule
And he's finally destroying you completely

You've always been the best of enemies
Now you're his dog, his toy
And he's finally destroying you completely
First he has to play with his victims

Now you're his dog, his toy
You watch as he slaughters those you care for
First he has to play with his victims
Ripping memories from their minds before they die

You watch as he slaughters those you care for
Sarah Jane, Donna, Martha's family
Ripping memories from their minds before they die
He fills in the blanks with what he pulls from you

Sarah Jane, Donna, Martha's family
They scream, they howl, and you're forced to watch
He fills in the blanks with what he pulls from you
Memories of companions, of the TARDIS, of Rose

They scream, they howl, and you're forced to watch
Your memories replay again and again for his amusement
Memories of companions, of the TARDIS, of Rose
His commentary on each is cruel and twisted

Your memories replay again and again for his amusement
Every day of this year is longer than the last
His commentary on each is cruel and twisted
Keeping Martha's quest a secret is your only priority now

Every day of this year is longer than the last
You watch your beloved race dissolved into nothing
Keeping Martha's quest a secret is your only priority now
He would only laugh at your insignificant "hope"

You watch your beloved race dissolved into nothing
You don't want to believe him
He would only laugh at your insignificant "hope"
He is in control

Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 327

Current Mood: exhausted

Tags:

He's Fire And Ice And Rage

He's Like The Night

for realmofthemuse: 1.90.2.D You don't know what you have until

for NSIS Prompt 12.31.07 - 4: Trigger

for mind_the_muse: Five Times You Got What You Wanted And One Tim

for oncoming_storms: Songs with Time

for psych_30: Fixation

for mind_the_muse: 3/4 a person

for makeyourlist: Introductions

for onapostcard: Christmas

for muse_erotica:Teach someone/be taught something in the area of

for theatrical_muse: Control

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