Make It All Come True

AU: The Donna Trilogy | If I Could Turn Back Time

Note: This story started so long ago. Back when I had the time and energy to more actively respond to prompts and requests. I think that this might have been one of the first proper AU of BTaS that I dreamt up, actually. Fleshed out enough that I was even asked at one point if I was replacing the 'canon' story with it. And it never will replace the origins of Zepheera and the Doctor, but after so many years it does hold a special place in my heart.

And now it's grown into a multi-part mini series of an AU. I really hope you guys enjoy, because the journey continues here and now.

(Featuring characters from Zepheera's Origins)

~~~

Earth, 1969 C.E.

Under the floorboards of a quiet cottage in the countryside, in a tiny home built for two and occupied by one, a borrower squinted in the slightest amount of light that cut through the darkness.

Fair skin did nothing at all to hide the deep circles under his light blue eyes. Half awake, he stared unblinking at the second pillow and the other half of the bed. Both empty. Just as they'd been every morning.

He wasn't sure if he'd say he'd slept that night, or any he could remember recently; he'd lie down in the cold bed each night and close his eyes, and when he managed to open them, it was morning. One might accurately call that ‘sleep’, but it was hardly restful for Orrick.

With a heavy sigh, Orrick pushed himself to sit up in bed. He yawned and scratched idly at his short beard, a few patches of which had gone the way of the hair at the edge of his temples and sideburns: lightening and greying from the light ginger.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother being any sort of active at this hour. It was only by some automatic instinct that he got out of bed at all, usually well into the afternoon, and ate enough to stay alive. 

Today, though, he had work to do. And he knew it would take him all day.

Orrick shuffled into the kitchen out of habit, and his hand found its way to the pencil lead on the table. He made one small stroke on the little slip of paper that had stayed there for weeks.

Right under the words ‘I'm sorry’ were thirty hash marks. One for each day since his wife vanished without a trace.

The Act of Untying

AU: A Patient, and Time (Donna AU); aftermath of The Question, and a conclusion...?

Note: It's David Tennant's birthday! And once again I'm posting the last chapter of one of my stories... I promise I'm not doing this on purpose.

This chapter is designed to be the last one of A Patient, and Time. I almost guarantee I'll add bits and pieces here and there in the middle of the story, but no matter what, this is where it ends.

...Or is it?

~~~

Zepheera was everywhere and nowhere.

The bright blue light that consumed her was all around, and it sent her careening. Like someone had picked her up and tossed her at full strength, and it just kept going on and on without end.

Until it ended.

The ground found her immediately. Even once she landed on her face, everything continued to spin– though that was based on feeling more than sight. Zepheera's vision was blown out from the brightness that seemed to last an eternity and an instant all at once. She very nearly vomited from the motion sickness.

Cheap and nasty, the Doctor had always called time travel of this sort.

Wait…

That device… the temporal what-was-it? Edwin had been going on and on about it, and had it pointing at Zepheera just before…

Zepheera’s next breath was deep, like she'd just emerged from underwater. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the blue and take in the world around her. 

Where was she? When was she??

A Small and Precious Thing

Harry Avery barely held himself together that day. He sat through appointment after appointment, assessed patient after patient, but each time part of him was somewhere else entirely, worrying about the tiny man who now lay passed out upstairs. Now that the day was done emotions boiled between his ears like the water in the pot in front of him. He couldn’t even tell what they were at this point. Anger? Outrage? Disappointment? Fear? What did Joe think he was doing ending up drunk in a lake like that?

He tossed a coin of ginger root into the pot as he dwelled on the events of the day, dissecting and quantifying and rationalizing. One question above all others still persisted in his mind: is this the right thing to do?

Harry still couldn’t answer. Joe was tough stuff; that much was apparent. The little man could hold his liquor down. Joe had been thoroughly green the entire journey home but hadn’t once thrown up, which was more than Harry could say for himself whenever he had been in Joe’s shoes. The so-called floating thing by the lake which Harry had gone in search of that morning had been considerably far away from the Stinson House, much further than expected. To think that Joe traveled all the way across the city with such regularity astounded Harry. Maybe Joe could make his own decisions, but would they be safe decisions? Could he really trust Joe’s judgment when he had found him at the mercy of a snapping turtle?

Then there was the fact that Joe had the audacity to horse around after nearly getting bitten in half. To look him in the eyes and call him a big, sexy giant on top of everything else. It was practically an insult. Surely Joe had been joking with those words, but joking in what way? How big was big he wondered? How sexy was sexy? How giant, exactly, was giant?

I drew 20 cute bugs!

POV - you're Iggy, a 24 foot all junk giant who has befriended a 6 inch tall borrower teen named Ozzy. You lost your earpiece, so you're trying to communicate with Ozzy while you search for it in the best way you know how. Ozzy is trying to be patient, but they're not a fan of being held up like this.

Iggy and Ozzy (c) Kelly Seitz, from the story Stowaway

Love these two idiots...

Let's bring artist trading cards back. It's a small, low pressure trade scenario where you could either swap pre-made cards or make custom trade pieces that are approachable because of the small canvas size. Also, collectible, miniature, and could be an affordable way to collect work from favorites, and you could collect the physical cards easily because they'll ship cheaply. I see few drawbacks, and my obsession with mini things makes it that much better. You wanna do a card swap hmu! I'm going to start making some on 2.5x3.5" bristol for the hell of it.

Ruh-roh

Harry and Joe belong to @fireflywritesgt. The big boy is in danger. <3 Please never break spaghetti. It's a crime. My final message

Behold! Doctor Herman Avery aka Harry, one of @fireflywritesgt's main characters from their story The Art of Love and War. Be sure to check it out, it's beyond amazing. You won't regret it.

If I had mandibles I'd clack them together like tongs all the time

The Night Market

It was not alcohol Joe was seeking when he hopped through the entrance to Captain Calloway's that evening, but the monthly night market. Due to the time and effort involved in their maintenance, it was rare for miniatures to have dedicated store fronts unless they were from exceptionally well-to-do communities. Rather, for the vast majority of them, places of social gathering also doubled as flea markets of sorts during their off-peak hours, especially on nights of the full moon as this night was. This was the time when the wheeler-dealers of the miniature world came out of hiding to haggle and barter, trade and negotiate, split hairs and pinch pennies and make offers their fellows couldn’t refuse, all in the name of scoring the best deal. This sprawling mass of makeshift stalls took up the entire lower portion of the abandoned steam dredge’s engine room on their best months, and boasted everything from jewelers to tailors to cooks to salons and anything and everything in between.

Joe, who could wheel and deal with the best of them, had thrown on his good borrowing gear, stuffed his pockets and rucksack full of soap and pure chocolate, and left in the hopes of making a quick scrap or two that night. To his amazement he had been cleaned out shortly after arriving, and after making more than enough from his dealings to buy a few nice things for himself, he sat at the counter after going on a date with a straight razor at the barber’s and putting in an order for new set of clothes. All he had to do was wait for the tailor to finish them and he would be a whole new person.

Even Captain Calloway barely recognized him it seemed, for instead of giving Joe his usual greeting he just smiled at him and poured him a drink. Joe, still fuming at what Harry had said earlier, downed the entire thing at the speed of light and asked for another.

“That’s never a good sign.” Said Captain Calloway. “What’s up? Trouble in paradise?”

As Joe sat before the bartender he debated how to play his cards. The argument with Harry had irritated him so much it was hard to keep it in, but he had no idea how he would articulate any of it to the captain without losing an ear. At the same time, this was a position Joe was sick of being in with Harry. He had been here before, when he had broken the teacup and the clock and hijacked the phone. Joe had thought Harry had genuinely learned to listen to him then, but now here they were back at square one.

After much consideration he decided to begin with,

“…so there’s this guy.”

I'm sick of internet negativity, so let's combat it: reblog this and saying something nice/pay a compliment to the prev in the tags.

Some outfit studies for the little rascal. >:) [Joe Piccoli belongs to @fireflywritesgt. I'm just a humble fan!]

A Whole Lot of Precious Time

AU: A Patient, and Time (Donna AU); set right after Picking Up the Pieces

Note: Some emotional hurt/comfort, as a treat. Bit of a long one under the cut, couldn't find a good place to chop it. Some of the dialogue inspired by these hurt/comfort prompts.

~~~

It was unbearably quiet in the TARDIS for a very long time.

Zepheera was emotionally exhausted when they returned, and understandably so. Ever since the incident with the Time Beetle, it had all been non-stop. The stolen Earth, Davros and the Daleks, Rose and everyone all coming back, coming together and going their own ways… Losing Donna… It was a lot to process, to say the least. Even for the Doctor.

While she insisted on making her own way down the corridor toward the hidden ‘room’ she now occupied within the walls of the TARDIS, the Doctor stayed behind in the console room to set all the lights to dim. Having a simulated night cycle usually helped his companions get their sleep, and Zepheera was certainly in need of rest now.

And as the room around him slowly darkened, leaving the blue-green glow of the center column of the console as the main light source, the Doctor dropped heavily into the old seat alongside it.

He was still there hours later, staring into the shadows.

Every fiber of his being felt wrong without Donna on board the TARDIS. Zepheera was obviously taking it hard as well.

They had become an inseparable trio, a far cry from how things were when the Doctor first brought Zepheera aboard. She'd slowly come to trust the human and the Time Lord, opened up to them as individuals and truly came into her own as a member of the team. They weren't just travel companions who quite often banded together to save people across the universe. After everything they'd been through, they were equal peers and close-knit friends.

Donna was a load-bearing pillar in that dynamic. That much was clear now.

The Trick to Eating Chocolate

When Joe Piccoli had set out to grab a few things from the pantry that day, he had expected a journey that was identical to the last day’s journey, which had been identical to the journey of the day before that. What he had not expected to encounter was the brazen insult that now stood before him.

“Dear sneak-thief”, read the handwritten cursive on the folded note that stood as high as he was tall, “if you want something to eat, just ask!”

Sneak-thief. Sneak-thief! The audacity of it. Didn’t his new neighbour know that Joe was practically the landlord when squatter’s rights were taken into account? Oh, but that was not the end of it! That tall bastard was not only accusing him of being a thief for taking food from his pantry, but clearly attempting to murder him as well. The note had been set upon a small saucer, and on that plate was a brick of brown gold that the guys down at the docks would kill for: a piece of chocolate about the length of his forearm. Easily worth a fortune, deadly though it often was.

To top it all off, the offering had been placed next to the wall in the kitchen, directly outside of Joe’s favourite entry and exit hole where the pipe from the kitchen radiator entered the floor, as if this human whom he now regrettably had to share air with were saying, I know where you live.

One of my favourite moments from Chapter 15 of "The Art of Love and War", by @fireflywritesgt <3

Some scenes and quick studies for Joe my beloved. Joe and Harry are @fireflywritesgt's amazing characters, go read their story or else