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fandom_musesTell a story to your grandchildren.
( The Day Doctor Who Met A Pirate )
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,924
( The Day Doctor Who Met A Pirate )
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 1,924
Tags:
She is fragile.
Little hands and little fingers but big eyes that sort of look up like pools and she is far too old to be so young. She isn't like the other Timetots of her age, she is smarter, she is more creative. She is a lot like you.
"Are you my Grandfather?"
There's always the chance that you could lie. Tell her that you didn't know her, that the blood that runs through her father's veins is the same that runs through yours---and, therefore, the same that runs through hers.
"You're Susan, then?" you ask, giving the small child a once-over, "Shorter than they said you were."
The other children back away at the harshness of your voice, but she just giggles. It's a rather adorable sound, now that you think about it, but really, she shouldn't be giggling. Far too unladylike an act. Should be studying you, tossing crude comments back at you---the way grown up Timelords do. Grown up Timelords, things you understand.
"That's your ship?" She points to the Greecian column that sits on the end of the yard.
"It's a Time and Relative---"
"Dimensions In Space machines, yes." She beams. "You should call it a TARDIS, for short. It's the initials."
You snort, "Clever."
She analyzes you for a moment, before deciding: "Your hair is all white."
"Oh, you noticed that, did you. They did say you were perceptive." There's no small amount of sarcasm in your voice.
She nods a bit, "They said you were a bully and I wouldn't like you, but they were wrong. You're like my daddy. I like you."
You turn your head to glance at the guardians behind you, but your words are still directed to the little girl you're speaking to.
"They said you wouldn't like me, hmmm?"
"Yes, Grandfather. They were wrong."
A smile cracks the lines and severity of your aged face, "Yes, well, they usually are."
Your hands are wizened, wrinkled, and yet they fit so well when holding the hand of a little girl who likes you.
Together you walk away from them, away from the study yards, and towards your ship. In a fit of immaturity, she turns and sticks her tongue out at the guardians.
"You should leave him alone, you big, stupid, bird-heads!"
You laugh, loud and hard, and it feels like an old friend you thought you'd lost. You murmur something along the lines of, Come along, Susan, and the two of you vanish into the Time and Relative Dimensions In Space machine---TARDIS.
She thinks she has to protect you---perhaps she's not as fragile as you thought.
++
She is fragile.
Her hearts beat quickly and with ever-so-human emotions coursing through each and every artery and vein. She's sixteen, now. She loves Earth a hell of a lot more than you do, but her love for it brings you back every time. You go to Earth, save it a bit, then the two of you leave. She is a constant companion, and your friend.
She wants to stay. But she won't tell you. She's tried to close off those human emotions, deny how much she loves this silly little human rebel she's met, but she does. Oh, she does. It's been so long since you've loved like she loves him and she won't stay with him because she doesn't want to hurt you.
You haven't allowed your hearts to love in a long, long time. But you love her, this elfish-faced teenager that's invaded your life. It's hardest now that you have to let her go.
The doors are locked, and you tell her over an intercom that you won't let her in, that she will stay on this desolate world because it is with a man she loves. And love, well, it's stupid and irrational, but it's the most important thing.
"One day," you say, and you're surprised that your voice isn't breaking, "I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties."
Tears run down her face, but you push on, letting her go, saying good-bye in the only way you know how---through a wall, with a universe between you and no way for her to make you stop.
"Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."
A breath, and you push the buttons, setting your ship, the thing that you will forever call the TARDIS in memory of her, into motion.
"Goodbye, Susan, goodbye, my dear."
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 766
Little hands and little fingers but big eyes that sort of look up like pools and she is far too old to be so young. She isn't like the other Timetots of her age, she is smarter, she is more creative. She is a lot like you.
"Are you my Grandfather?"
There's always the chance that you could lie. Tell her that you didn't know her, that the blood that runs through her father's veins is the same that runs through yours---and, therefore, the same that runs through hers.
"You're Susan, then?" you ask, giving the small child a once-over, "Shorter than they said you were."
The other children back away at the harshness of your voice, but she just giggles. It's a rather adorable sound, now that you think about it, but really, she shouldn't be giggling. Far too unladylike an act. Should be studying you, tossing crude comments back at you---the way grown up Timelords do. Grown up Timelords, things you understand.
"That's your ship?" She points to the Greecian column that sits on the end of the yard.
"It's a Time and Relative---"
"Dimensions In Space machines, yes." She beams. "You should call it a TARDIS, for short. It's the initials."
You snort, "Clever."
She analyzes you for a moment, before deciding: "Your hair is all white."
"Oh, you noticed that, did you. They did say you were perceptive." There's no small amount of sarcasm in your voice.
She nods a bit, "They said you were a bully and I wouldn't like you, but they were wrong. You're like my daddy. I like you."
You turn your head to glance at the guardians behind you, but your words are still directed to the little girl you're speaking to.
"They said you wouldn't like me, hmmm?"
"Yes, Grandfather. They were wrong."
A smile cracks the lines and severity of your aged face, "Yes, well, they usually are."
Your hands are wizened, wrinkled, and yet they fit so well when holding the hand of a little girl who likes you.
Together you walk away from them, away from the study yards, and towards your ship. In a fit of immaturity, she turns and sticks her tongue out at the guardians.
"You should leave him alone, you big, stupid, bird-heads!"
You laugh, loud and hard, and it feels like an old friend you thought you'd lost. You murmur something along the lines of, Come along, Susan, and the two of you vanish into the Time and Relative Dimensions In Space machine---TARDIS.
She thinks she has to protect you---perhaps she's not as fragile as you thought.
++
She is fragile.
Her hearts beat quickly and with ever-so-human emotions coursing through each and every artery and vein. She's sixteen, now. She loves Earth a hell of a lot more than you do, but her love for it brings you back every time. You go to Earth, save it a bit, then the two of you leave. She is a constant companion, and your friend.
She wants to stay. But she won't tell you. She's tried to close off those human emotions, deny how much she loves this silly little human rebel she's met, but she does. Oh, she does. It's been so long since you've loved like she loves him and she won't stay with him because she doesn't want to hurt you.
You haven't allowed your hearts to love in a long, long time. But you love her, this elfish-faced teenager that's invaded your life. It's hardest now that you have to let her go.
The doors are locked, and you tell her over an intercom that you won't let her in, that she will stay on this desolate world because it is with a man she loves. And love, well, it's stupid and irrational, but it's the most important thing.
"One day," you say, and you're surprised that your voice isn't breaking, "I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties."
Tears run down her face, but you push on, letting her go, saying good-bye in the only way you know how---through a wall, with a universe between you and no way for her to make you stop.
"Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."
A breath, and you push the buttons, setting your ship, the thing that you will forever call the TARDIS in memory of her, into motion.
"Goodbye, Susan, goodbye, my dear."
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 766
Does History Repeat Itself?
"One day, I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."
With those words, his aged fingers flipped shut the monitor, and he pulled the TARDIS back out into orbit. Away from his grandchild. Leaving her.
Oh, but she wasn't alone. She'd never, ever be alone. She loved a human, he saw it, he knew it. He knew love, he'd seen love, felt it. She couldn't deny it, but she would deny it to herself, if he'd've let her. She was willing to sacrifice her happiness, sacrifice a chance at life---something the Doctor never would have---to stay with him. To keep him from being alone.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
"I can't miss Gallifrey!" The way she said the words showed that she was never really serious about leaving him, that the personal objects in her hands---what was it with that stuffed owl?---were just a way for him to notice her, to pay attention, to realize she was hurt.
There wasn't a choice. A call was a call, and he had to go alone. Completely alone. No matter how much she would've loved Gallifrey, would've loved just being part of his home world, he couldn't give that to her. Humans weren't allowed. It was the rules, and if he tried to break this one, it would get her killed.
The way she said good-bye was almost physically painful. She didn't want to be apart. She wanted to give him her whole life, dedicate it to helping him, protecting him. Keeping him from being alone. As she walked down the street towards her home, he knew she would've, too. And a life with Sarah Jane wouldn't have been too bad, not at all.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
He had, honestly, never found a more difficult companion. Probably best, because he was rather difficult, himself. They argued, they bickered, they saved the universe. No matter how much they fought, though, she loved him. Wouldn't have left him, not for the universe. She stayed with him, because no one else would. She kept him from being alone.
Without her, though, the world was suddenly, just...empty. She was missing. Gone. The Timelords said she was dead---his fault. His fault. The guilt racked through him, shooting through his every vein, and it was all he could do to stay standing at the podium during his trial. Peri. What had he done?
No, no. The Matrix was meddled with, she was alive. Alive and surviving. Trapped in a strange planet, but surviving. Alive. Too close a call, in the end. He couldn't go back, couldn't risk just knowing that she could've died again. She would never understand.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
The whole bloody world was coming to an end. Daleks, Cybermen---he wasn't exaggerating when he told the Cyberman that the only thing he could think to do was to hop into his TARDIS and watch the whole planet burn because there was nothing else he could think to do.
But then again, there was another way. Open up the breach, suck the monsters into hell. The breach would open, everyone would just be sucked through. End of it. No more monsters. Suck him and Rose through, too. Unless one of them went to the other side of the breach. Was there, was safe before they opened it.
"I've had a life with you for nineteen years. But then I met the Doctor and... all the things I've seen him do for me. For you. For all of us. For the whole... stupid planet and every planet out there. He does it alone, mum."
She was making the wrong choice for him, because she thought it was what's right. She wanted to keep him from being alone. He had a transporter, though. She didn't know about it.
"But not anymore, cause now he's got me." The transporter chain went around her neck, and with the press of a button, she was gone. She would hate him, later. For taking her from him, for giving her a life she'd wanted.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 661 (not including dialogue from Dalek Invasion of Earth, Hand of Fear, Trial of a Timelord, and Doomsday.)
"One day, I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine."
With those words, his aged fingers flipped shut the monitor, and he pulled the TARDIS back out into orbit. Away from his grandchild. Leaving her.
Oh, but she wasn't alone. She'd never, ever be alone. She loved a human, he saw it, he knew it. He knew love, he'd seen love, felt it. She couldn't deny it, but she would deny it to herself, if he'd've let her. She was willing to sacrifice her happiness, sacrifice a chance at life---something the Doctor never would have---to stay with him. To keep him from being alone.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
"I can't miss Gallifrey!" The way she said the words showed that she was never really serious about leaving him, that the personal objects in her hands---what was it with that stuffed owl?---were just a way for him to notice her, to pay attention, to realize she was hurt.
There wasn't a choice. A call was a call, and he had to go alone. Completely alone. No matter how much she would've loved Gallifrey, would've loved just being part of his home world, he couldn't give that to her. Humans weren't allowed. It was the rules, and if he tried to break this one, it would get her killed.
The way she said good-bye was almost physically painful. She didn't want to be apart. She wanted to give him her whole life, dedicate it to helping him, protecting him. Keeping him from being alone. As she walked down the street towards her home, he knew she would've, too. And a life with Sarah Jane wouldn't have been too bad, not at all.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
He had, honestly, never found a more difficult companion. Probably best, because he was rather difficult, himself. They argued, they bickered, they saved the universe. No matter how much they fought, though, she loved him. Wouldn't have left him, not for the universe. She stayed with him, because no one else would. She kept him from being alone.
Without her, though, the world was suddenly, just...empty. She was missing. Gone. The Timelords said she was dead---his fault. His fault. The guilt racked through him, shooting through his every vein, and it was all he could do to stay standing at the podium during his trial. Peri. What had he done?
No, no. The Matrix was meddled with, she was alive. Alive and surviving. Trapped in a strange planet, but surviving. Alive. Too close a call, in the end. He couldn't go back, couldn't risk just knowing that she could've died again. She would never understand.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
--
The whole bloody world was coming to an end. Daleks, Cybermen---he wasn't exaggerating when he told the Cyberman that the only thing he could think to do was to hop into his TARDIS and watch the whole planet burn because there was nothing else he could think to do.
But then again, there was another way. Open up the breach, suck the monsters into hell. The breach would open, everyone would just be sucked through. End of it. No more monsters. Suck him and Rose through, too. Unless one of them went to the other side of the breach. Was there, was safe before they opened it.
"I've had a life with you for nineteen years. But then I met the Doctor and... all the things I've seen him do for me. For you. For all of us. For the whole... stupid planet and every planet out there. He does it alone, mum."
She was making the wrong choice for him, because she thought it was what's right. She wanted to keep him from being alone. He had a transporter, though. She didn't know about it.
"But not anymore, cause now he's got me." The transporter chain went around her neck, and with the press of a button, she was gone. She would hate him, later. For taking her from him, for giving her a life she'd wanted.
But it was too late. He knew what was best for her, and he did it.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 661 (not including dialogue from Dalek Invasion of Earth, Hand of Fear, Trial of a Timelord, and Doomsday.)
Tags:
You didn’t watch her die, you heard it. Her voice echoed out of the comm as though it was bouncing off the Great Halls of Marubaro. It vibrated through your ears, pierced your brain. To this day you sometimes wake up in a cold sweat, your name vibrating through your ears in that horrific wail.
Susan.
She looked older than you during the War. That happens sometimes, children aging in a regeneration further than their parent. It was common, normalcy. All the same, even with your youthful face and dark red curls versus the streaks of white in her ginger hair, she still called you ‘Grandfather’ and you doted on her...that’s the way a family should be. Ice cream in the parks, watching meteor storms light up the sky.
The War. Not three hours after you saw her for the first time in two centuries, and you were barking orders of death into a communicator to your grandchild, and she was calling you ‘Sir’. The thought of her calling you that makes you nauseated today. Why had you let her go? You were guardian, that meant that you had the ability, no the responsibility to make her stay behind. Protect her. Stop everything from going to hell.
And go to hell it did. The lines fell back, Susan lost a regeneration and the rest of her squadron in the battle. Curled up and hiding from the swarming Dalek forces, she pieced together her communicator to make a last goodbye to you.
“It was never your fault, Grandfather.”
You don’t remember what you said in return. Something blubbery and infinitely immature, begging her to try, that you would find her. Save her.
“No, Grandfather, you can’t. It’s my time.”
The comm. Was staticy, and you could see in the white noise your granddaughter. Brilliant Susan. Tiny dark pigtails and bright pink bows reading aloud from Charles Dickson to you as the TARDIS flew in orbit. Growing, maturing, tinkering with bits of machinery and brightly smiling at you through the glow of the console as a new destination was picked. Holding your hand as you aged, keeping you safe when you might’ve died. She was your child and still your hero.
“There must be no tears,” she said, quietly, her voice muffled and frightened-sounding, “No regrets. No anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine. I love you, Grandfather.”
There was a sound of a crash.
“EX-TER-MI-NATE!”
That scream.
Parents should not outlive their children. You just outlived your whole line. Your only living family, dead. And with her, a large piece of you died as well. A kinder, more merciful piece. By the time the rest of the communicator crew turned to offer condolences, you were already gone, armour on, gun in hand.
Payback.
You don’t like to think what you did to that Dalek squadron. One day you’re sure you’ll come to terms with it. That day is not today.
Muse: the Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 495
Susan.
She looked older than you during the War. That happens sometimes, children aging in a regeneration further than their parent. It was common, normalcy. All the same, even with your youthful face and dark red curls versus the streaks of white in her ginger hair, she still called you ‘Grandfather’ and you doted on her...that’s the way a family should be. Ice cream in the parks, watching meteor storms light up the sky.
The War. Not three hours after you saw her for the first time in two centuries, and you were barking orders of death into a communicator to your grandchild, and she was calling you ‘Sir’. The thought of her calling you that makes you nauseated today. Why had you let her go? You were guardian, that meant that you had the ability, no the responsibility to make her stay behind. Protect her. Stop everything from going to hell.
And go to hell it did. The lines fell back, Susan lost a regeneration and the rest of her squadron in the battle. Curled up and hiding from the swarming Dalek forces, she pieced together her communicator to make a last goodbye to you.
“It was never your fault, Grandfather.”
You don’t remember what you said in return. Something blubbery and infinitely immature, begging her to try, that you would find her. Save her.
“No, Grandfather, you can’t. It’s my time.”
The comm. Was staticy, and you could see in the white noise your granddaughter. Brilliant Susan. Tiny dark pigtails and bright pink bows reading aloud from Charles Dickson to you as the TARDIS flew in orbit. Growing, maturing, tinkering with bits of machinery and brightly smiling at you through the glow of the console as a new destination was picked. Holding your hand as you aged, keeping you safe when you might’ve died. She was your child and still your hero.
“There must be no tears,” she said, quietly, her voice muffled and frightened-sounding, “No regrets. No anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine. I love you, Grandfather.”
There was a sound of a crash.
“EX-TER-MI-NATE!”
That scream.
Parents should not outlive their children. You just outlived your whole line. Your only living family, dead. And with her, a large piece of you died as well. A kinder, more merciful piece. By the time the rest of the communicator crew turned to offer condolences, you were already gone, armour on, gun in hand.
Payback.
You don’t like to think what you did to that Dalek squadron. One day you’re sure you’ll come to terms with it. That day is not today.
Muse: the Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 495
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