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mephistopholes.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
So, these aren't all the WIPs I have on my computer, and some of them might very well forever regulated to WIP status, but here we go.
On the ferry ride back Molly fell asleep, curled into Matt’s side, face buried in his coat for warmth. He wrapped his arm around her and stared out the window, thinking, as the fairy stopped briefly on Ellis Island, about how for so many years, that statue was the first thing people saw when they came to America. It had been the first thing his great grand parents saw, huddled together with all their possessions on this very island, leaving everything they knew behind to start a new life.
Wasn’t that what he was doing?
He thought it was right, that the first thing they did here in New York City was visit the Statue of Liberty. Sure, he wasn’t an immigrant, but coming here was still like moving into a whole new world, a whole new life.
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free--that’s what it said on the statue. Matt felt like he fit under that.
He hadn’t been able to breathe freely for months.
“Spock. Arrange for a landing party to beam down. I’ll meet them in the transport room.” He launched himself out of the captain‘s seat and swiftly headed toward the turbo lift. He didn’t quite make if before his First Officer spoke.
“Captain, it is Starfleet regulation that when first beaming down to an unexplored planet the Captain remains--”
Jim sighed and turned around, cutting Spock off. “I know, Commander.”
Spock’s lips thinned and tightened into what Jim knew he would deny as irritation. “And yet, you insist on beaming down to the planet yourself.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Jim barely restrained himself from pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing again. He had hoped to avoid this argument. It seemed that every time they came across a new planet he and his First Officer would waste several minutes fighting over this same issue before anything could get done. One would think that Spock would just give up, seeing as how Jim ended up beaming down every time anyway.
Stubborn, that’s what all Vulcans were. Stubborn.
Day 4
She had a day time ceremony and he watched from a mausoleum, too far away to really see anything. He tried not to be resentful about it. He knew that the people of Sunnydale were too smart to offer nighttime funerals, even if most of them still denied that there was anything unusual about the town they lived in. Besides, if they had it at night there was a chance it would be interrupted by some nasty demon or cocky fledgling. She deserved better than that.
(He tried not to think about the time she sat in his lap years ago, happily chatting about a daytime ceremony under the trees in the park. He knew this wasn’t the type of ceremony she had in mind.)
The steady cadence of the preacher’s voice floated from the gravesite, easily picked up by his vampiric hearing. It was a typical sermon, though appropriate. Spike didn’t think that shadow of death and fear no evil could ever be applied so literally as it could to Buffy Summers.
“That’s me, when we first met.” The other Doctor nodded to him, and he couldn’t help but hold very, very still, eyes fixed on the two of them. “And you made me better. And now you can do the same for him.”
His heart sped up again. It was all he wanted. He didn’t have the TARDIS, didn’t have eternity, but he could have her, he could have--
“But he’s not you!”
He sucked in a breath. Rejection hit him hard in the stomach, even though it shouldn’t have, because that was true too, what she said. He was a whole different Doctor, with a new body and strange new thoughts and memories from Donna spinning around in his head, and he remembered how Rose used to say my Doctor like there was a possibility there was another him running around and she needed to make sure to claim the right one and he tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t matter that these new hands had never held her hands, that his arms had never been around her, that his nose had never pressed down into her long blonde hair to smell that overly fruity shampoo she used, even though in his mind he had and the very idea that he hadn’t made him want to reach out, to grab her and make sure than no matter what happened in this new life of his, that his skin had touched her skin--and now Donna was saying “tell her,” and he was suddenly unsure as brown eyes were turned expectantly to him.
“But why not? If every decision we make, every one we could have made sprouts a new dimension, who’s to say what decision created this one? When it was created?” She too leaned forward, swiping impatiently at her hair as it fell in her face, words coming out rushed and quiet. “He could be out there, Jake! He could even be here, in London, and I wouldn’t even know it!”
She was breathing fast, feeling her heart race as she focused on the idea, every heart beat screaming the Doctor, the Doctor, the Doctor… She quickly glanced at the window again, almost convincing herself that she’d see him, stepping out of the TARDIS, brown coat on, crazy story on his lips, ready to be told.
Jake gently grabbed her hand, steered her away from the window. “But, Rose,” his voice was soft, like he was speaking to a distressed child, “he wouldn’t be your Doctor would he? There was no Rose Tyler in this world for him to meet. For all you know, he wouldn’t even have the same face! Mickey told me about that regeneration thing.”
She said nothing, bending her head forward so that her hair hid her face as her breath caught and her stomach clenched. He’s right… The Doctor wouldn’t know me…
Jake sighed. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want him to anyway. It would be hell: to always see his face, hear his voice, but have it not be him. To have all these memories of him, and not be able to share them with him. To look into his eyes and know that he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t even know you, not really.” She lifted her head. Jake wasn’t looking at her anymore, but staring at something behind her, across the room. She followed his gaze.
Mickey was by her father, happy smile on his face as he talked, hands filled with a blue paper plate, piled high with the cake and biscuits served on the kitchen table. And for a moment, she didn’t see Mickey there, but saw Ricky. Ricky with his rough attitude and seemingly permanent scowl, but with a special grin reserved just for Jake…
How painful must it be, to see the mirror image of your dead lover every day?
“Sometimes you forget it’s not him though,” Jake said softly, “and its so much worse when you remember.” She turned back to him, squeezing his hand sympathetically. He smiled sadly. “Take it from me, Rose: don’t go looking for a replacement, you’ll only be disappointed.”
mephistopholes.When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
So, these aren't all the WIPs I have on my computer, and some of them might very well forever regulated to WIP status, but here we go.
On the ferry ride back Molly fell asleep, curled into Matt’s side, face buried in his coat for warmth. He wrapped his arm around her and stared out the window, thinking, as the fairy stopped briefly on Ellis Island, about how for so many years, that statue was the first thing people saw when they came to America. It had been the first thing his great grand parents saw, huddled together with all their possessions on this very island, leaving everything they knew behind to start a new life.
Wasn’t that what he was doing?
He thought it was right, that the first thing they did here in New York City was visit the Statue of Liberty. Sure, he wasn’t an immigrant, but coming here was still like moving into a whole new world, a whole new life.
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free--that’s what it said on the statue. Matt felt like he fit under that.
He hadn’t been able to breathe freely for months.
“Spock. Arrange for a landing party to beam down. I’ll meet them in the transport room.” He launched himself out of the captain‘s seat and swiftly headed toward the turbo lift. He didn’t quite make if before his First Officer spoke.
“Captain, it is Starfleet regulation that when first beaming down to an unexplored planet the Captain remains--”
Jim sighed and turned around, cutting Spock off. “I know, Commander.”
Spock’s lips thinned and tightened into what Jim knew he would deny as irritation. “And yet, you insist on beaming down to the planet yourself.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Jim barely restrained himself from pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing again. He had hoped to avoid this argument. It seemed that every time they came across a new planet he and his First Officer would waste several minutes fighting over this same issue before anything could get done. One would think that Spock would just give up, seeing as how Jim ended up beaming down every time anyway.
Stubborn, that’s what all Vulcans were. Stubborn.
Day 4
She had a day time ceremony and he watched from a mausoleum, too far away to really see anything. He tried not to be resentful about it. He knew that the people of Sunnydale were too smart to offer nighttime funerals, even if most of them still denied that there was anything unusual about the town they lived in. Besides, if they had it at night there was a chance it would be interrupted by some nasty demon or cocky fledgling. She deserved better than that.
(He tried not to think about the time she sat in his lap years ago, happily chatting about a daytime ceremony under the trees in the park. He knew this wasn’t the type of ceremony she had in mind.)
The steady cadence of the preacher’s voice floated from the gravesite, easily picked up by his vampiric hearing. It was a typical sermon, though appropriate. Spike didn’t think that shadow of death and fear no evil could ever be applied so literally as it could to Buffy Summers.
“That’s me, when we first met.” The other Doctor nodded to him, and he couldn’t help but hold very, very still, eyes fixed on the two of them. “And you made me better. And now you can do the same for him.”
His heart sped up again. It was all he wanted. He didn’t have the TARDIS, didn’t have eternity, but he could have her, he could have--
“But he’s not you!”
He sucked in a breath. Rejection hit him hard in the stomach, even though it shouldn’t have, because that was true too, what she said. He was a whole different Doctor, with a new body and strange new thoughts and memories from Donna spinning around in his head, and he remembered how Rose used to say my Doctor like there was a possibility there was another him running around and she needed to make sure to claim the right one and he tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t matter that these new hands had never held her hands, that his arms had never been around her, that his nose had never pressed down into her long blonde hair to smell that overly fruity shampoo she used, even though in his mind he had and the very idea that he hadn’t made him want to reach out, to grab her and make sure than no matter what happened in this new life of his, that his skin had touched her skin--and now Donna was saying “tell her,” and he was suddenly unsure as brown eyes were turned expectantly to him.
“But why not? If every decision we make, every one we could have made sprouts a new dimension, who’s to say what decision created this one? When it was created?” She too leaned forward, swiping impatiently at her hair as it fell in her face, words coming out rushed and quiet. “He could be out there, Jake! He could even be here, in London, and I wouldn’t even know it!”
She was breathing fast, feeling her heart race as she focused on the idea, every heart beat screaming the Doctor, the Doctor, the Doctor… She quickly glanced at the window again, almost convincing herself that she’d see him, stepping out of the TARDIS, brown coat on, crazy story on his lips, ready to be told.
Jake gently grabbed her hand, steered her away from the window. “But, Rose,” his voice was soft, like he was speaking to a distressed child, “he wouldn’t be your Doctor would he? There was no Rose Tyler in this world for him to meet. For all you know, he wouldn’t even have the same face! Mickey told me about that regeneration thing.”
She said nothing, bending her head forward so that her hair hid her face as her breath caught and her stomach clenched. He’s right… The Doctor wouldn’t know me…
Jake sighed. “Trust me, you wouldn’t want him to anyway. It would be hell: to always see his face, hear his voice, but have it not be him. To have all these memories of him, and not be able to share them with him. To look into his eyes and know that he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t even know you, not really.” She lifted her head. Jake wasn’t looking at her anymore, but staring at something behind her, across the room. She followed his gaze.
Mickey was by her father, happy smile on his face as he talked, hands filled with a blue paper plate, piled high with the cake and biscuits served on the kitchen table. And for a moment, she didn’t see Mickey there, but saw Ricky. Ricky with his rough attitude and seemingly permanent scowl, but with a special grin reserved just for Jake…
How painful must it be, to see the mirror image of your dead lover every day?
“Sometimes you forget it’s not him though,” Jake said softly, “and its so much worse when you remember.” She turned back to him, squeezing his hand sympathetically. He smiled sadly. “Take it from me, Rose: don’t go looking for a replacement, you’ll only be disappointed.”
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Really want to read the BtVS one, and both the DWs...
Write them! Write them!
(Would love to do this meme myself, because it looks interesting, but unfortunately have no excerpts. Just unwritten plotbunnies.)