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musings of a forgotten teenager
13 January 2008 @ 15:22
musing forty  
Title: Parallel Worlds
Genre: Howl's Moving Castle, book-verse
Rating: T (FanFiction.net)
Summary: Sophie is a witch, but not by chance. She is part of something bigger than she could ever imagine. Upon finding things that once belonged to her late mother, including a strange book, the truth about her world is uncovered. Bringing back beloved characters Sophie, Howl, Calcifer and Michael, as well as introducing new ones such as the mysterious Alan Smith.

 
 
 
Feeling: content
 
 
musings of a forgotten teenager
06 January 2008 @ 23:10
musing thirty-nine  
Title: For Every Reason
Genre: Howl's Moving Castle, book-verse
Rating: PG (Just to be safe)
Summary: Sophie answers a very compelling question: why does she love Howl?


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Why do I love him so much?
 
People always ask me that and when I tell them they always say “That’s not a reason!” Well, so what? I don’t care if it is a reason to them or not. It is my reason. I just love him and there is no way to explain it. At times I used to doubt his love for me but never mine for him. I always thought, back when we met, that I was safe from ever falling in love with him behind my old lady exterior… but I couldn’t. It’s like it was predestined to happen the way it did. Like it was written in the stars…
 
Ha, yes, a star called Calcifer!
 
If you can’t understand then don’t ask! It’s not my fault that my love isn’t the perfect fairytale that all people imagine marriage should be. Keep your fairytale! There is no way I’ll let children’s stories rule my life.
 
Howl isn’t exactly a fairytale prince, is he? I mean how many princes run away and leave you to chop the dragon’s head off? Oh, he can be brave if he needs to. He has been brave for my sake many, many times.
 
Oh, but he is so vain, so selfish sometimes, and I can’t get him to do any of the simple things. I’ll be like, “Howl, put that shelf up!” and he’ll say, “Yes, in a minute!” and then several months later I’ll ask again, and he’ll say “Oh not now, cariad!” and then we argue about it. I’m one of the only people who can make him angry. I’m not nagging I’m just telling him. Every married woman can relate to this, you ask him to do something, and it never happens, so you have to either do it yourself or bring in a handyman to put it up, right?
 
Well, I got Michael to do it in the end in return for one of my strawberry short cakes. I know how much he, Martha and the children love them, and it was the least I can do. Then, once it’s all done, I draw Howl’s attention to the wall to see if he notices anything different. “What do you see?” ask I, and he looks and looks and says: “Oh, have you cleaned again?”
 
Typical, the best wizard in the country, maybe even the world, in anyway world, maybe… Yes, defiantly in every world I know of or have seen, and Howl has shown me a lot, he is the best… and he won’t even put up a bloody kitchen shelf. He forces me to ask my busy brother-in-law, who has enough on his plate with six children and another on the way, to put it up.
 
“You should have asked Ben or something!” he’d say.
 
“Ben can’t DIY to save his life,” say I, “and I asked you!”
 
“When did you ever ask me? I don’t remember!”
 
“Four months ago I asked you!” doesn’t make you want to fume when they do that? “And again last month, and nothing happened. This shelf has been lying there on that floor for months and months, gathering dust. Meanwhile my spices are piled up on top of the fireplace and they keep bothering Calcifer. The other day Morgan came in here and knocked the whole lot over. All over the floor! Calcifer wouldn’t stop sneezing.”
 
“Only four months?” questioned Howl in his way. “You need to have more faith in me. I normally do these things eventually. Remember your oddments shelf? I put that up.”
 
“Yes, after eight months. I had the twins in that time frame, Howl!”
 
“I still put it up, didn’t I?”
 
Goodness, all men are the same it turns out. Well, he’s not perfect but he’s Howl and I wouldn’t have him any other way. He wouldn’t be the man I fell for if I didn’t have to nag him to do every little thing. I think I’d go mad with a perfect husband. To have a man who did everything when I asked him to, or never disagreed with me, or could walk into a room without making a mess in a swing of a door, would bore me and make me feel out of place, cheap, and a bad person.
 
With Howl I think that because we are both terribly faulted we feel comfortable with each other. I have never really taken account of his faults and I don’t think he has of mine. Fine, he points out I’m nosey but I have other bad habits too. He never points them out. He never makes me feel bad. In fact, he makes me feel amazingly good with myself. He’s a waste of space sometimes, he’s lazy, messy, vain, selfish… no, no; he is not selfish, not really.
 
Not many people realise this but Howl is very, very selfless when it comes down to it. He does everything in his power to protect me. When danger, real danger faces us, and there is no escape, he will shield me from the flames. Even if he has to face his greatest fears, face certain death, he will do it for me. I know this because he has done it. They are not the words of a husband that mean nothing. That isn’t Howl’s style. He won’t even kiss me in public. He doesn’t go for all of the poetic talking that turn some women to jelly. He can’t say anything directly. I’m not stupid and I know people lie, and Howl could fib his way out of a room with no doors, and I know some men are pigs but not my Howl.
 
Some may have that believed Howl to be cowardly and selfish but he just isn’t. I know him better than any of you who might not understand why I stay with him or why he stays with me. I’m the only one who can see just how self-sacrificing and brave he is. Even Howl doesn’t realise it. But he is, he is, he is!
 
And that’s why, I think, he prefers me to other women, because I see all these things, his faults, and still loves him more than them. Believe me, I knew he was a cad a while before I fell in love with him. He thinks I see things in him that aren’t there. But I see the real Howl. I’m the only one who sees the real Howl.
 
Okay, he’s a cad but he’s my cad! Dear me, how pathetic was that? I don’t care. We all need some moments of weakness. I’m not blinded by love… Oh, maybe I am. But then, why else do you love someone? Pray tell, why do you love your partner so much? Can you answer that question easily?
 
Why do I love Howl so much? Because I just do; does everything need a reason?

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Feeling: complacent
 
 
musings of a forgotten teenager
11 July 2007 @ 20:16
doctor who fic: nothing special  
Title: Nothing Special
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Prompt: Fleeting
Jack sees Martha through the window of a café on the corner not far from Torchwood.

Part of the Ficathon: Staying Behind here and here


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Drinking coffee at the café, Jack made it his business to get there early before it became crowded. He had no idea why it did become crowded—it was a disgusting place really; dirty, depressing and dreary. And it was raining hard, making it downright depressing. Maybe that would drive the unsuspecting people into the café. Knowing that the trains, the buses, and all means of public transport were awful these days he knew the passengers late coming to or from work would pour through the doors just for shelter and warmth.
 
But they would be disappointed. The coffee was awful; but then Jack was used to Ianto’s coffee which was a damn fine cup of coffee. This café was no Twinned Peeks; it had to be the cheapest ever. Why did he decide to come again? He should have gone somewhere nicer where the coffee didn’t taste like mud and you didn’t find hairs in your food. Of course, this was the closest place to the train station and very close to the Hub. Too close to pass up on a rainy day.
 
It really was coming down in buckets. The roof of the café still had parasols and plastic tables and chairs out that were covered in puddles of rain. The parasol filled with a heavy amount of water, and others, along with the tables and chairs, blew away down the street. One of the café workers noticed and rushed out to retrieve them. Within seconds he was soaked through, as if caught in a storm at sea, and Jack had to chuckle as he threw down the payment for the coffee and left the table. He glanced out of the window as he made his way out, noticing a young woman battle her way through the rain and wind carrying a carton of milk in one hand and an umbrella in the other, between her freezing fingers. He couldn’t see her face but took the chance to check out her figure.
 
Another gust of wind blew suddenly and snatched the woman’s umbrella right out of her hands. Within seconds she was drenched with rain water. Jack braced at the sight of the woman’s face—it was none other than Martha Jones! She swung to watch her umbrella flying away down the street, into the road and under a bus; had it been in a film it might have been funny but all it did to Martha was annoy her. She threw the carton of milk to the ground and rushed under one of the remaining parasols to keep dry. She was unsuccessful as the rain dripped right onto her anyway, and once the water became too much for the parasol an entire cup full fell all over her.
 
Jack rushed out the door and called to her, “Martha!” she turned and smiled. “It is Martha Jones, right? I’m not looking at a double or secret twin?”
 
“Jack!” said the watery Martha, hair and face and everything dripping with rain. “What are you doing here?”
 
“This isn’t far from the Torchwood base” he explained, pointing towards the route. Martha turned her head and nodded, not really paying attention; it was hard with all the rain. She was clearly in a hurry but Jack couldn’t help himself. “So what are you doing in Cardiff? You’re not stalking me are you?”
 
“No, no” Martha said, using a wet hand to push back a damp streak of hair “no, I’m here visiting an old school friend and she asked me to pick up some milk, then it started raining and I lost my umbrella—surprised to bump into you, though!”
 
“Yeah” said Jack, unable to stop grinning, “What are the chances? I thought you’d be on some exciting adventure with the Doctor.” He said this with a tinge of bitterness—and he wasn’t sure why. It just seemed the right thing to do. He noticed Martha look awkward and he sighed, “Lost you, huh?”
 
“No, actually” Martha confirmed, head held high “I left him, but I imagine I’ll be seeing him soon. I made sure he took my phone so I can call him.”
 
“I wish I’d thought of that” Jack stated thoughtfully but he laughed and clapped his hands. “Congratulations, since he landed in the 21st century you must be the only companion to leave of her own accord and still have the Doctor hanging.”
 
Martha smiled, “Lucky me, eh?”
 
And there was an odd moment of silence where the only sound was the white noise of rain splashing on the pavement, running down the roof, dripping over Martha. The sky was so dark that the street lights turned on and the ground shone around them. Car lights lit up not only the shadows on the street but also Martha’s damp skin—she seemed to glow. Jack just stared at her for a while before he managed to break the ice with a laugh.
 
She nodded, “Well I better get going; she’ll be wondering where I am…”
 
“Who…?”
 
“Julia, my school friend”
 
“Oh!” Jack said, coming to his senses. He bent down and picked up the plastic milk carton, slightly bend from the assault Martha had inflicted on it in furry. He rubbed it with his sleeve, as it was covered in gritty mud, as handed it to her. He then grinned, “You better get going then; does she live far because if she does I can drop you off in the SUV…”
 
“No, that’s fine” Martha said, brushing off the offer with her hand, flicking water as she did. “It’s only a couple of streets away, I’ll be fine.”
 
Then, in a moment of madness or pity or affection, or all three—either way Jack wasn’t thinking—he removed his coat and draped it around Martha, who was now cold and shaking. The last thing a new doctor needed was a fever or a cold; not a great start. As he stepped back to admire the young woman wearing the large and long coat, she just looked at him, deep in thought. He wondered what she was thinking. What went through the mind of Martha Jones?
 
He stepped back again and nodded approvingly, “You’ve had you fair share of the rain and the hub isn’t far from here—I’ll rush back and change there.”
 
Martha looked at the long coat, hugging it around her; the warmth and scent of Jack was still on it despite the rain. It made her knees feel giddy and relaxed at the same time. It was a very strange sensation but a wonderful one as well. It was like being wrapped up in warm bedcovers on a cold Saturday morning.
 
“If you’re sure” she finally replied. “I’ll return it to you… clean and dry… don’t worry.”
 
Jack just smiled, “Sure… I’ll call you and you can arrange for me to pick it up…”
 
She nodded and turned to leave before she span around quickly, rushing back; “Wait! You don’t know my number!”
 
“I work with Torchwood” he replied, chuckling. “I have everyone’s phone number—I could call the new Prime Minister on his private phone if I wanted.”
 
Martha smirked and leant forward, surprising Jack with a kiss. It was nothing special: it lasted less than a second and he hardly felt it in the dripping rain, but it stopped him dead, still, and looking out at her as she rushed off, turning to give him one last smile before walking off past the corner. And Jack was left standing alone in the rain, in his own watery world that glowed with star light. Better than any planet the Doctor could take him to, or leave him on. Earth had Martha Jones on it—what more could he or the rest of the population of Earth ask for.
 
It was only after he returned from the land of his thoughts that Jack discovered two things: firstly, he was being stared at by the café owner and all inside the café. He must have looked an idiot, standing in the middle of the street staring into space. It was then that he discovered the second thing. 

He was getting wet.


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Currently At: Home
Feeling: indescribable
Listening To: I Can't Decide - Scissor Sisters
 
 
musings of a forgotten teenager
19 June 2007 @ 16:51
doctor who fanfic: Lonely Gods  












Two banners - please do credit if used, May be used in forums (that was what they were originally made for) or anything else. Do not edit.

Fanfic:

Series:
Doctor Who
Characters: The Doctor, The Master (and Martha)
Notes: Spoilers for episode 3.11 "Utopia"
The Doctor's thought upon finding out that the Master is alive.


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Lonely Gods


Ever since we became the infamous aliases of “the Doctor” and “the Master” we have been anything but cosy. It’s like a tragic love story, or that was how I had once seen it. Two people who are outcasts of their society forced to change by people who claim they know better. A pair of renegade Time Lords fighting to change the society for what we think is better, and all they do is resent us for it. Two lonely gods, wandering through their lives alone; two souls thrown into the void of time and space: If humans had a chance they could make a film about the Master and me.

I couldn’t feel you—because you were human all along. In the Professor’s eyes, I had seen a man who I could care for, who I wanted save from that barren planet at the end of the universe. I could see us all travelling together, two lonely gods, two people—and Martha, wouldn’t leave her behind, or Jack—wouldn’t dare leave him behind again! Jack, Martha, the Professor and me, all together in the old motor; my sensitive old TARDIS!

Why did you have to open that watch and ruin a good thing? I suppose it is too much to expect you to leave your life locked up in that watch. To live a lie when the universe needs what you call a supreme Master of all Masters. I cannot judge you nor call you a coward. It’s no different from the urge I felt when I pulled the same trick on the Family of Blood. You should have met them—now they were something to hide from—the thought of returning to that watch, to living a lie forever until I died, no way, certainly not.

The tragic thing is this—you were a good man, a kind man, a saintly man who gave your life for those humans trying to reach Utopia. You gave up his life to serve them. That was how you would be as a human.

You weren’t like me, or what there was of me in that human; a man who was foolish and stupid and careless. If you put John Smith and the Professor into a room together, I’m sure that he would have been kind to old John, putting up with his stupidity. John Smith would never have done what Professor Yana did. I was rubbish at humanity, and yet I’m the one who spends my days adopting them into my world. It is such irony that you, the Master, who hates humanity above all creatures made such a wonderful man.

Oh, if there is a way to lock him in that watch and keep him in my pocket forever then tell me now!

As soon as Martha told me about that watch, I knew it had to be you. How could it not be? You would survive the crunch of the universe! The Master, the Master, and the Master again! The Face of Boe’s words, playing over and over in my head, like a broken record; or the drums inside the Professor’s head.

So that’s why I thought I was alone: you made yourself human, you sly fox. But why human, of all creatures, you chose to be the animal you hate the most? Is it because you thought not one would look for you there? Or is it because you knew, somewhere those old hearts of yours, that I would one day find you? You knew that I would find you, pity you, rescue you, and sooner or later discover that watch…

And you stole my TARDIS, I always knew you would! While waiting to be given our assignments by the Time Lords we had spoke of what was to come. The Time Lords wouldn’t have a war without us to help—we are both geniuses and expendable. You told me that if all hell broke out and I truly died for good, you’d rush off with my TARDIS before the Daleks could get a shot off on you.

“You can’t go around, stealing other people’s TARDISes” I told you.

“Your granddaughter stole my TARDIS” you retorted, “And now I’m doing the same to you. I think that’s fair.”

“Punishing me for something Susan did? How is that fair?”

“Would you rather I stole from your own granddaughter, then?” you asked harshly. You spoke in a voice which was as sympathetic as he could, which was anything but comforting. “Maybe I should… Oh, wait! I can’t, can I? She’s dead.”


Swords through the hearts would hurt less then some of your cut-throat words, Master. I don’t blame you for hating me for leaving you. In all the darkness, the chaos and destruction I didn’t think to go back to check if you had died or regenerated or were still alive all those years ago when we were fighting on the front lines.

I don’t know how you got to this place and I probably never will know. But you did, and in the watch lived an angry giant who wanted revenge on the man who left him on our burning planet. We were attacked, you were dead, I ran for my life and took my old girl with me… I admit, I thought I did hear and see you as I took off in the TARDIS…

I thought it was just a dream.

Wishful thinking, yes, even for you I wished it was not true that you were dead. No one wants to be alone, but you have always been alone. When I had my family: my partner, my children, and my grandchildren, you had nothing. And I am sorry for you.

Watching helplessly outside, watching the orange glows of your regeneration. You turn on the speaker so I can hear: “Now then, Doctor… Oh, new voice… Hello… Hello… Hello!”

I might have said the same thing. I can’t even see you but I imagine you a young man. If I’m young then you think you should be too. That’s how you work. It's how I work.

“Anyway,” you finally say. “Why don’t we stop and have a nice little chat while I tell you all my plans and you can find a way to stop me? I don’t think!”

“Oh my God, I know that voice!” I hear Martha cry.

“I’m asking you, really, properly!” I beg, I’m begging to you, listen to me. You should be pleased that I, your greatest enemy the Doctor begging to you; “Just stop, just think!”

“Do you expect me to do that?” I could hear you think. “If I was you and you were me, would you let me in? And don’t lie and say you would… you didn’t the last time. You took off without me, leaving me to reduce myself to the very basics by turning myself into a disgusting, weak-willed human!”

“Say my name” you order me, bitterly cheerful and happy.

Before, he was the Time Lord I always feared, and rivalled; but although he has never had anything but discontent for me I cannot help but feel a great respect for him. I admire him above all Time Lords. Together, we are not only the Last Time Lords but also the greatest and most intelligent.

My jaw shakes, I’d cry if I dared, my eyes wide, pleading, hoping that he will see reason. “Master…” I pause, trying to swallow my fear, my sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry…”

If I could see your face I imagine it was smiling when you replied: “Tough!”

There was no point in stopping you, although I tried, there was no point, “Oh no you don’t!” you snap angrily.

The TARDIS begins to dematerialise. You old, familiar laugh rings in my ears like the chimes of death. Forever we both remain; we both travel in the space of time, alone forever; unless we accept the change, unless we learn to work together. If we fight like animals we shall die like animals! We are the last of the Time Lords; we have to survive for each other…

“The end of the universe; have fun! Bye-bye!”

But you don’t know, do you? You didn’t hear me when I told you it was just you and me alone in the universe. Even if you had, would you have believed me? No, of course not: I don’t blame you either. If you had told me the same thing I wouldn't have believed you. We were always deaf and death to each other weren’t we?

And yet, for all my follies and for all your cruelty, I feel as if we know each other very well, as if we are of the same mind. We are of the same mind—same behaviour, same in-jokes, same university, same breed, same everything. You are the anti-Doctor and I am the anti-Master. You are night and I am day. You are moon and I am the sun. You are fire and I am ice. We are ancient and forever, we burn at the centre of time, and can see the turn of the universe. We are fire, and ice, and rage, we are the night and the storm in the heart of the sun. We are the mighty warriors who survived the Great War, a couple of souls lost in the flow of time.

A pair of Lonely Gods, all alone in the universe; but I will make you see it, one day, I will make you see it…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

All my love,

Sophie

xxx


 
 
Feeling: cheerful
Listening To: voodoo child
 
 
musings of a forgotten teenager
13 June 2007 @ 13:44
dw drabble: Susan  


Series: Doctor Who
Characters: Susan
Notes: None
Susan is waiting for the Doctor to return

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Waiting in the darkness for nothing. Standing in the same spot, waiting for the flashing light to return and to see that old box again. Sticking around for many days, months and years, just wait for hear him come back again. How many regenerations will he have had since they last met? How many things would he have seen? Will he still look like her grandfather, or will he be different. Most importantly, who has he adopted into the TARDIS to replace her? Who has become his foster granddaughter.

By the time he returns he may not know who she is anymore. She maybe a void in his eyes and hearts. No! Never, in the Doctor's heart nobody could replace or fathom the love he has for his Susan. His dearest granddaughter.

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Thanks!

Sophie xxx

 
 
Feeling: flirty