(no subject)
May. 4th, 2007 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabI'm trying to write at least five hundred words a day; help me out? Give me a prompt in, let's say, Doctor Who or Slings & Arrows and I'll write you at least 250 words on it?
Thanks for comin' to my assistance in these trying times!
ETA:I'll take as many as you guys can come up with; I feel ambitious. Got a good collection now! Writing ahead, small craft warning!
Thanks for comin' to my assistance in these trying times!
ETA:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:57 am (UTC)“I’m not going to kill you,” says the Doctor, looking regretful and not a little wounded.
“I know that,” she says. “I mean, I think I do.”
She takes his hand, but over in the corner she’s got her eye on a big piece of torn-off bumper that could double as a bludgeon in a pinch.
“I was gonna say, I don’t know anything about you,” she says. “But it’s not true. I know more about you than I did.”
“You know more about me than any living creature,” the Doctor says.
“Save you.”
The Doctor looks away. “So!” he leaps to his feet. “To space and time we go?”
“Not yet,” says Martha, but she stands. What she knows about him is that he’s angry, terribly angry and almost as lonely. That Rose was a palliative but not a cure, and that she, Martha, didn’t sign on as his doctor to heal his lonely soul. Goddamned broken men, always ruin the best girls, Martha thinks. None of us can resist the urge to fix ‘em.
New New York is ripe around them, the heavy smell of exhaust fumes mingling with rotting fruit and flesh, but Martha’s not ready to leave yet.
“Admit that you’re damaged,” she says. “It’s the first step toward getting well.”
The Doctor chuckles. “Oh, there’s no doubt whatsoever as to whether I am damaged, but I sincerely doubt there’s much chance of getting well from what it is ails me.”
Martha lays a hand on his shoulder, but he’s still looking away. “I did a psych rotation,” she says. “I know about post traumatic stress, depression disorders --“
“Don’t.” The Doctor holds up a hand, and his eyes are so cold and so terrifying that Martha wants to run somewhere and hide. “Just…don’t.”
She closes her mouth.
“Sorry,” says the Doctor. “That enough of that, then? Off we go? Space and time?”
“Off we go,” says Martha, following him into the TARDIS. “Space and time.”
They don’t talk for much of the trip, but somewhere between the Cowan Nebula and Planet Zigmagorax Martha can’t keep quiet any longer.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to psychoanalyze you.”
“That’s just exactly what you meant to do, but, no matter, it’s behind us.”
“Man, you’re evasive,” says Martha.
“It’s one of my finer traits,” the Doctor says. “Got where I am by being evasive. Evading criminals, evading catastrophe, evading death -- and sometimes narrowly, I might add.”
She just glowers.
“Look,” he says. “I may look human, but you have got to understand how profoundly I am not.”
“Even aliens get lonely,” she says. “I’ve met a few who even tried to feel me up at parties, so don’t try that on me.”
The Doctor grins. A big grin, and it almost scares her more than the cold eyes had. “Martha Jones,” he says. “Doctor Martha Jones, who won’t quit until she gets her diagnosis. I love it!”
She smiles despite herself, nervous.
The Doctor steps forward and takes both her shoulders, hard enough to shake her off her feet a little. “Martha Jones!” he says again. And then he’s kissing her, and it’s like nothing she’s ever experienced in her life, hungry and electric and so much more than that first genetic transfer could have ever prepared her for, when he took an untried medical student in the hospital corridor and trusted her to save mankind.
She draws her arms around him and he’s narrow and strong and she pulls him close and kisses him more, and again, and again.
And even as she’s doing it she knows she’s just another palliative, but damn it she doesn’t care, because the Doctor is kissing her like he means it, and for now, she’s going to believe he does.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 08:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 05:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 09:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 05:41 am (UTC)OH, STORY.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:19 am (UTC)Dr. Martha Jones is perhaps not a fan of the show House.
LOLZ.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:37 am (UTC)OMG U KNOW ROSE IS FTW!!!!!111!!!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 05:08 am (UTC)They went back to London, but snuck in about a year before Martha’d left hoping she wouldn’t feel compelled to visit her folks and screw with the timeline. Now it’s London, 2005, and the department stores are right where Martha remembered them, and the dollar value’s close enough for her to feel right at home.
“So somewhere out there there’s another me, yeah? Going to class, working in the hospital, seeing my mum for dinner maybe…”
“Yep,” says the Doctor. “And we’re going to stay far, far away from anyone here who might carry the name Jones.”
“We’re gonna buy you a suit, is what we’re doing,” Martha says, and she takes his arm and leads him into the Norton and Sons on Savile Row.
“Got anything lined with that nice flannel?” the Doctor asks the tailor. “Gets chilly where I come from.”
The tailor, a tiny, ginger-haired bloke squinting behind thick, wire rimmed specs, pulls out a tape measure and orders the Doctor to strip down to his skivvies and touch his toes, and any last bit of regret Martha might have had for not being able to see her family is immediately replaced with the swelling thrill of lust. The Doctor stands again, and his chest rises and falls with each breath, and Martha has to resist the urge to run her hands down that long, lean Time Lord frame.
Sixteen measurements later, the Doctor’s dispatched to put his clothes back on, and when he zips up his pants he throws Martha a wink, conspiratorial, and she can feel herself flush.
“I want pockets,” says the Doctor, while the tailor scribbles notes. “Some of those hidden pockets, good for bits of space junk and matchbooks, you know?”
The tailor snuffs and makes more notes.
“And one pocket just for me,” says the Doctor. “Put it anywhere you like, just make sure it’s bigger on the inside.”
Now the tailor looks at Martha, who laughs and shrugs. “I sold him on the idea of bespoke,” she says. “Told him he could get anything he wants.”
Six weeks later they return in the TARDIS to pick up the suit, a deep grey flannel that hugs the Doctor’s body in all the right places, and before he makes Martha pay the man the Doctor inspects every inch, tracing seams with his sonic screwdriver. Excited, he waves for Martha to come over.
“It’s bigger on the inside!” he says, showing her a pocket tucked into the lining. “Look!”
He shoves his sonic screwdriver in the pocket, then Martha’s wallet, then his glasses and tie. This time the tailor winks.
“Made to measure,” says the tailor.
They pay, and then, decked out in his new finery, the Doctor and Martha hit the town to find a chip shop and watch the humans who haven’t been to space yet and probably never will.
“How d’ya think he did it?” Martha asks, pulling open the Doctor’s jacket so she can pull out her wallet. She feels his warm breath on the back of her neck as she ducks her head.
“Ohhh, you Londoners,” says the Doctor, dismissively. “You’ve got your own sort of magic.”
Martha raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” says the Doctor. He eats a chip and turns to look out the window before he says, “Haven’t gotten anything from London yet that wasn’t just what I wanted.”
no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 05:44 am (UTC)erm
GAH.
You're doing great things w/ this fandom!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 05:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 06:09 am (UTC)HEART.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-06 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 12:39 pm (UTC)or, if you want something more standard: ten/jack or ten/jack/martha, martha pov.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 01:26 pm (UTC)Yeah! I like this idea. Where can I sign up for this idea?
no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 02:34 pm (UTC)1. DW: Jack/Martha, all about the Doctor; OR
2. S&A: Ellen/Barbara, karaoke.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-12 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 08:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-10 06:02 pm (UTC)I'm THRILLED that you're working on the Slings & Arrows project. and btw, there's still your Boomer story. though I think