Featured: Doctor Who: Companionship
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Doctor Who: The First Day of Wrath
It’s a defence mechanism he has developed over the years.
Close your eyes. Calm down and concentrate, keep your mind together as it teeters over the abyss. Ignore the tantalising promise of madness, of blissful oblivion.
Try to hold on to what you still have.
He paces around aimlessly, shaking, his chest and throat burning, and shuts out the gloating voice that’s coming from the chair. Tries to. Try, damn you. Hold on.
(“Please! Please, I'm begging you.”)
He gives a hollow, hopeless curse under his breath, and his vision threatens to blur. No. No tears. Falling down. Down we go to the nightmare place, to join the voices. This is a nightmare anyway, so why not? All the screams like singing in the void.
And it has never occurred to him before, but the very fact that he has this defence –and that it’s failing– says a lot about his life.
(Yeah, let’s call it that.)
What have you still got?
Doctor Who: A Whale of a Tale
It was a lovely afternoon in April, sun and twittering birds and all that good stuff, when an unsuspecting Nardole casually opened the door of the Doctor’s office and narrowly avoided getting hit in the face by a heavy object that had been hurled from the desk with a loud cry of exasperation that was bordering on agony.
The Doctor slumped against the polished wood hiding his face in his hands, and snarled an uncharacteristically foul swearword in response.
“This is a university, you know!”
“Oh, I know that well enough, trust me.”
The object that had slammed onto the wall was a large, leather bound book. Nardole picked it up and tentatively placed it on the desk with a sigh.
“They want you to teach this, don’t they?”
The Doctor had melodramatically reclined in the classic “Edwin Booth Thinking Hamlet” pose and looked just about ready to start bemoaning his too,
Doctor Who: Mr. Sandman, bring me your screams
The Cloister Bell begins to sound.
He springs to his feet and darts to the console, forcing his swimming head to focus. A quick scan reveals that the TARDIS is about to collide with a huge moon entirely covered in lava. Right. No matter what planes of madness his soul is merrily skipping through at the moment, he probably still is somewhere in the known universe, isn’t he?
His hand is at the lever that will take him far away from any danger but he suddenly changes his mind. Let the bloody bell toll for as long as it likes. He makes a few swift calculations, pushes a few buttons, fiddles with several switches, and there: a nice, stable orbit.
(Of course, she’s not satisfied, still too close to a fiery death, and makes her irritation known by continuing the ominous ringing noise. As if he needed one more reason to cause him a splitting headache.)
He walks to the doors and opens them wide. Though the landscape far beneath looks very close to traditional dep
Doctor Who: Guilty creatures sitting at a play
And a magic voice and verse
Hath baptized thee with a curse;
And a spirit of the air
Hath begirt thee with a snare;
In the wind there is a voice
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;
And to thee shall Night deny
All the quiet of her sky;
And the day shall have a sun,
Which shall make thee wish it done.
He comes to a halt, panting, a few feet from the exit. There’s no door and he can see a bare, blank room, with a few cold, neon lamps and pieces of machinery scattered across the floor. A light like that of a spotlight is shinning at something out of his field of vision.
There’s a sudden loud bang, hollow, the sound of metal violently hitting metal, and he jumps.
There are more ominous metallic, clanging noises, some quieter than the first, but always harsh. He takes a few steps
Doctor Who: The Judgment of the Dead
By thy cold breast and serpent smile,
By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile,
By that most seeming virtuous eye,
By thy shut soul's hypocrisy;
By the perfection of thine art
Which pass'd for human thine own heart;
By thy delight in others' pain,
And by thy brotherhood of Cain,
I call upon thee! and compel
Thyself to be thy proper Hell!
The boy is not Davros. It’s you. That age when you cried, when you where afraid of the monsters under the bed, of the dark, of the future ahead of you. And yet here you are, your rest unburdened, free from nightmares.
(He kneels beside the child and he’s briefly, irrationally envious of the peace he can see on the young face.)
Because someone comforted you. Someone told you it was okay to be afraid. Fear is a superpower. Fear can make you faster and cl
Doctor Who: Sinnerman
Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low.
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw:
O make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
It all starts with a loose panel in a corridor near the TARDIS library.
He could have missed it. He’s just turning around the corner, fingers trailing absentmindedly on the nearest wall, when he sees it out of the corner of his eye, stops, and changes direction. It’ll only take a minute.
(The Doctor lies; and the Doctor is very good at not thinking about things he doesn’t want.)
It’s only when he kneels down beside it, instincti
Doctor Who: The King of Infinite Space
Though thou seest me not pass by,
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye
As a thing that, though unseen,
Must be near thee, and hath been;
And when in that secret dread
Thou hast turn'd around thy head,
Thou shalt marvel I am not
As thy shadow on the spot,
And the power which thou dost feel
Shall be what thou must conceal.
Right, Doctor. Focus.
He can see a tunnel-like corridor opening up to his left, light visible at its end. His first instinct is to run towards it but he forces himself to turn his back. He’s not playing along.
The console is behind him –and above him, the place where he’s standing a good twenty feet lower than it should be.
What else is new.
He grabs a fallen blackboard and balances it against a stair that has no reason
Doctor Who: Join the Triumph of the Skies
What to bid speak
Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance, and Change?
A very long time ago, an alarm is sounding.
“It's the repair shop. What kind of idiot would steal a faulty TARDIS?”
(A bored one. A scared one. A desperate one, perhaps, who has good reasons to be in a hurry. Most importantly, one who despite his looks, is still too young to admit that he is an idiot.)
Even when it’s the right TARDIS, it’s a museum piece. A Type 40? Really? There’s a reason it’s in here, you know.
But sometimes, there are things that matter more than logic.
Arkytior is looking anxiously around, at him. But he walks slowly to the console. He touches it, hesitantly, admiringly, and something happens. He smiles.
“I said you were the most beautiful thing I had ever known.”
“Then you stole me. And I stole you.”
Doctor Who: The Great Gospel of Humanity
If the abysm
Could vomit forth its secrets . . . But a voice
Is wanting, the deep truth is imageless;
He’s dangling in the chasm, a tiny, bright orange thing, over the impenetrable darkness.
Casual talk. Keep the unpleasant feeling that’s rising in your stomach in check.
“Neo Classics, have they got a devil?”
“No, not as such. Just er, the things that men do.”
“Same thing in the end.”
“What about you?”
Now, there’s a rare question. It’s always: “Can you save us?”, “what is that thing?”, “how on Earth did you do that?” etcetera. Everyone expects him to know everything, but it’s as if they sense subconsciously that the great mysteries are great for a reason, even for a Time Lord who casually gallivants through all of existence.
“I believe, I believe I haven't seen everything, I don't know.”
(He undoes the
Doctor Who: The Night Behind Which Is Dawn
For what would it avail to bid thee gaze
On the revolving world?
It's as if the ice from the cryochambers is seeping into his bones, filling them with cold and unbearable weight. It takes conscious effort to look Kazran in the eye. Because how can it matter to him, right now, what he was trying to do?
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise..."
"All my life, I've been called heartless. My other life, my real life, the one you rewrote. Now look at me."
And just for a second, he wonders.
He wonders if once, some god, or perhaps some demon interfered, for a reason he never realised and can never know.
He wonders if somewhere in time there was once a Time Lord of the Prydonian Chapter, a man with a real name who had no reason to find another, a proper Time Lord with an ordinary job and an ordinary life, who never hated, passionately loved, or horribly suffered in any of his thirteen incarnations, a man who simply obse
The Woman Who Didn't
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Peri Brown (Worrier Queen aspect)
Author's Note: Slightly spoilerific for "Peri and the Piscon Paradox". Familiarity with the story is recommended, but if you haven't listened to it, then all you need to know is that this Peri only traveled with the Doctor in "Planet of Fire" and left him afterwards, returning to Earth and living her own life until "Peri and the Piscon Paradox".
This story is intended to evoke the style of narration of "Peri and the Piscon Paradox", because the world can use as much Nev Fountain as it can get.
People always think that if you’ve got your own show and you can stay on the air for a couple of years, you’ve got it made, that the dough just comes rolling in. Well, I can tell you, it doesn’t work that way. Yeah, it’s true that with every successful season, when my contract comes up, I can usually wheedle my way into a hefty salary bump, but it usually comes hand in hand with an
An Offer You Can't Refuse
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Seventh Doctor, Ace McShane
An airy blast of diesel fumes, metallic tang, and stale coffee accompanied the whirr of the TARDIS doors as they opened. A hint of a satisfied smile crept into the Doctor’s eyes at the familiar atmosphere. He always enjoyed visiting Calibris, the transportation hub of the galaxy, with ships of all types coming and going in a whirling dance of baggage carousels and timetables and the rush of travellers from all worlds, each dashing off to their destinies, never stopping on this world of in-between. It was the perfect place to simply watch. Today, however, he was here for a purpose, and, hooking his umbrella on his arm, he marched through the doors and let them close behind him, his shoes clunking on the bare steel floor of the fabricated planet.
Pushing his way through the steady stream of sentients dashing toward their next connections, the Doctor ducked into an observation lounge set in
Doctor Who: For Whom the Cloister Bell Tolls
He is standing there, a lone figure under the bright, burnt orange sky.
He looks up at it, looks around. He hesitates briefly, then takes off the sunglasses (the barrier, the armour), letting the familiar hues and shapes invade his vision. What could he scan, what could he use them here for, anyway? There’s nothing that he observes which is unknown.
The small golden disk weighs heavily now, drags his hand to the dry, cracked ground –the ground once so beloved, so mourned for and so sacred– so he puts it in his coat pocket, bigger on the inside for the bigger on the inside.
He doesn’t feel anything.
“Home; the long way round”.
He takes a deep breath (every single element in the air just perfect, his body made to breathe them) and it seems to get stuck somewhere above his chest. His gaze drifts again to the mountains, to the sky.
The Citadel looms in the distance, gleaming, pristine, the dome around it shining in the light as if the War had neve
Doctor Who: In which Gallows Humor is exploited
He drops to the floor, and everything is dark and very, very painful.
4 hours later. Middle of the weird, glistening, narrow corridor thing. Pain.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh Gods, dear Fates, sweet Universe, anyone who’s listening, Clara, Clara, Clara, I’m doing this again, why am I doing this again, I don’t want to do this again, I can’t do this again–
9 hours later. Stairs. Agony.
That stupid mountain, and that stupid Emperor, and that idiot shepherd’s boy, and that bloody stupid bird–
13 hours later. Top of the stairs. Nausea and burning. Don’t forget the burning.
Legs. You move them back and forth to create motion, in order to propel yourself towards the indented destination. See, in theory everything sounds so easy. Maybe… Ouch. Walking
Doctor Who: John Smith and The Common Men
“Hey girl, you are the one
That's all I have to say
My love burns like the sun
I'll blow your world away!”
“Wake up, Smith.”
Oh dear God, please. Please, five more minutes.
“Wake up, Smith. Wake up, Smith.”
“…‘m awake…I’m awake!” Stupid mechanical voice.
Please don’t be Monday. If I wish hard enough maybe it won’t be.
Of course, it still is. Damn. (Rent due, write it down, or you’ll forget). “Time stoops to no man’s lure”, like the poet says.
(Oh, what does he know? Pessimistic, decadent killjoy. And don’t get me started on his silly opinions about love; or his worldview. Besides, something’s wrong with it. Something’s wrong with tim-)
Nothing’s wrong. You just have to plan a bit better, stick to the routine, and you’ll manage. It has worked so far, hasn’t it?
Shabby, dark corridor, broken lift. It’s alright,
Doctor Who: The Ballad of Time and Space, Canto I
He stole the box and now he runs
Away from friends and kin
To see the world, to see the stars
That was a little sin
With sentence bleak his future mars
And does so with a grin.
The fourth dimension his to roam,
The universe’s call,
Beneath wide heaven's coloured dome
It sounds: “Come see them all,
The clouds, the moons that shine like chrome,
The worlds that rise or fall!”
And all he needs, a hand to hold
Her laughter in his ears
This young, young man who looks so old
And has no time for tears
The frightened one who acts so cold
And laughs when danger nears.
And then he learns to love as well
And grumbles all the way
With friends he‘d never thought he’d need
While hiding with the lost
To fight for those who need him most
He’d come to save the day.
The child grows up, they do, you know
-That’s only the first blow-
One day he will, he shall come back
He leaves, his oath he swears
With patient hearts his burden bears
(“One day, one day
Nebula of Lost Souls
The Doctor and Clara find something very strange in a disappearing nebula.
"Clara!" the Doctor's yell reverberated down the Tardis corridors.
"Clara, Clara, Clara!" the Doctor poked his head around the corner, looking both ways. "Oh, there you are!" He sidled around the corner, a tall gangly man in a hoodie and a black frock coat, looking a bit like a preying mantis or grasshopper.
Clara shambled down the corridor, her hair askew. "What do you want?" she demanded petulantly.
"Where have you been?" he asked, prancing up and taking her biceps. He started dragging her toward the console room.
He looked her up and down, trying to figure out what was wrong with this picture.
"I was asleep. I'm human, we require a certain amount of sleep every 24 hours."
"That explains the nightgown," he sniped, eyebrow raised. He looked down at her cotton night gown with the tiny purple flowers. He shrugged and continued dr
Doctor Who: Phoenix Unbound
“The only difference between past and present is semantics. Lives, lived, will live. Dies, died, will die. If we could perceive time as it truly was, what reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed?”
He has just enough time to register a bright, blinding light and a thunderous sound like iron wheels turning. Then he fully materialises, coughing and struggling to breathe behind the glass.
He opens the door carefully and steps out, closing it behind him.
There’s no one else to follow him, someone always follows him when he steps through a door, and that brings back the memory, the grief, the impotent fury.
“If you think because she is dead, I am weak, then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her, and you're not afraid, then you understand nothing at all.”
The last grains of sand trickle through his fingers, seconds in the hourglass of Time.
“So, for your own sake, understand this. I
After the Crash
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Fifth Doctor, Romana
Few people were aware of the existence of the tiny garden behind the Panopticon, tucked between the High Council's chambers and the main archives, and that was the way Romana liked it. It meant that when she was of a mind to, she could change from her formal robes into something simpler and slip away from her duties for a few moments of peace alone. It had been quite a long time since she stepped foot out of the Citadel, away from civilisation; the garden was the only glimpse of the natural splendour of Gallifrey that she managed to enjoy these days.
Cleverly situated among the soaring towers, the garden was illuminated by the twin suns for exactly fifty-three microspans in the late morning and thirty-seven microspans just before twilight every day. It was currently bright and warm, the silver leaves of the trees above shimmering in the light breeze from the dome's climate generators. Romana often considered adopt