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misscamAssorted snippets from the fics-I-will-never-write meme.
Rose and the Doctor have a baby and it makes them completely and finally perfectly happy, as asked by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jonquil:
He wasn't sure how he would feel when the moment came - he'd had nine months to consider every possible emotion and he had generally considered fear, disbelief and a little awe most likley contenders to form a band - but he had been sure it would be more than one thing.
There wasn't. There was just joy.
Rose, forehead still glistening and strands of hair sticking to her face beaming up at him, and the baby, their baby, already screaming at the world and joy, so much joy he thinks he will die and regenerate from it and come back so mushy fool.
Their baby. Half Time Lord. Already, he can feel it in his mind. Not alone. He's almost forgotten how it feels.
"Are you happy?" Rose asks, her eyes beaming at him that she is.
"Yes," he says, and means it. "Oh, yes."
NC-17 Doctor/TARDIS, as asked bynostalgia_lj:
He always feels the TARDIS.
When away from her, like a low buzz in his blood, reminding him who he belongs to. When riding her through time, like a triumphant symphony blazing through his head. When repairing her, like a cat, stretching into his touch. When sleeping, like a lover, taking possession.
His mind has no secret from her. Nor his skin. She knows as it as if she's kissed every part of it, and perhaps she has, in the way she knows. She doesn't need to fuck him to be the only one who's had him and keep having him, over and over and over till death do them part.
the Doctor becomes infected with an evil alien virus that creates an irresistible urge to go around shagging all major world politicians, as asked byadoralyna:
Being President of the United States of America was a job that never had a day alike, George Bush had learned around the fifth year when he'd started composing lines for his memoairs. (That was a good one, he'd decided.) But there was different, and there was different.
Being bent over the Oval Office desk and shagged out of his mind by an self-confessed alien (from Gallifey, was it?) was definitely of the latter. Particulary since George was a proper non-men lusting man, but perhaps he could say aliens didn't count.
Yeah, he could go with that. After all, that was what Tony Blair and Jaques Chirac had assured him.
Too much wine, a fresh corpse and two CSIs of your choice. Must use the word Elephant gun, as asked for bykippurbird:
It was a bad idea to shag your colleague, Catherine knew. It was an even worse idea to do it after two bottles of wine. It was an even worser (was that even a word?) idea to decide to do it in the morgue, even if it was the only place that was properly chilled in the chockingly hot Nevada summer. But it was the worstest idea of all, she had to decided, to get creative in the dirty talking department when quite, quite drunk.
"Warrcik..." she tried again, but he merely continued to laugh at her. "Come on, honey. I was only trying to encourage you."
"With 'Come on you big hunter, load up that elephant gun'?!"
Meanwhile, a newsstory that had me laughing quite a bit: Residents of the Indian city of Mumbai (Bombay) are wondering how long it will take to remove a disused Boeing 737 that has been abandoned in a busy road.
According to the story - It appears that after taking a wrong turn, the driver found himself facing a flyover that was too low for him to take the plane under.
The driver has not been seen since and no-one is assuming responsibility for the 737.
I challenge you all to write down the thought-process that lead the driver to to think this was a brilliant solution to the problem. Because that has to be gold.
Rose and the Doctor have a baby and it makes them completely and finally perfectly happy, as asked by
jonquil:He wasn't sure how he would feel when the moment came - he'd had nine months to consider every possible emotion and he had generally considered fear, disbelief and a little awe most likley contenders to form a band - but he had been sure it would be more than one thing.
There wasn't. There was just joy.
Rose, forehead still glistening and strands of hair sticking to her face beaming up at him, and the baby, their baby, already screaming at the world and joy, so much joy he thinks he will die and regenerate from it and come back so mushy fool.
Their baby. Half Time Lord. Already, he can feel it in his mind. Not alone. He's almost forgotten how it feels.
"Are you happy?" Rose asks, her eyes beaming at him that she is.
"Yes," he says, and means it. "Oh, yes."
NC-17 Doctor/TARDIS, as asked by
nostalgia_lj:He always feels the TARDIS.
When away from her, like a low buzz in his blood, reminding him who he belongs to. When riding her through time, like a triumphant symphony blazing through his head. When repairing her, like a cat, stretching into his touch. When sleeping, like a lover, taking possession.
His mind has no secret from her. Nor his skin. She knows as it as if she's kissed every part of it, and perhaps she has, in the way she knows. She doesn't need to fuck him to be the only one who's had him and keep having him, over and over and over till death do them part.
the Doctor becomes infected with an evil alien virus that creates an irresistible urge to go around shagging all major world politicians, as asked by
adoralyna:Being President of the United States of America was a job that never had a day alike, George Bush had learned around the fifth year when he'd started composing lines for his memoairs. (That was a good one, he'd decided.) But there was different, and there was different.
Being bent over the Oval Office desk and shagged out of his mind by an self-confessed alien (from Gallifey, was it?) was definitely of the latter. Particulary since George was a proper non-men lusting man, but perhaps he could say aliens didn't count.
Yeah, he could go with that. After all, that was what Tony Blair and Jaques Chirac had assured him.
Too much wine, a fresh corpse and two CSIs of your choice. Must use the word Elephant gun, as asked for by
kippurbird:It was a bad idea to shag your colleague, Catherine knew. It was an even worse idea to do it after two bottles of wine. It was an even worser (was that even a word?) idea to decide to do it in the morgue, even if it was the only place that was properly chilled in the chockingly hot Nevada summer. But it was the worstest idea of all, she had to decided, to get creative in the dirty talking department when quite, quite drunk.
"Warrcik..." she tried again, but he merely continued to laugh at her. "Come on, honey. I was only trying to encourage you."
"With 'Come on you big hunter, load up that elephant gun'?!"
Meanwhile, a newsstory that had me laughing quite a bit: Residents of the Indian city of Mumbai (Bombay) are wondering how long it will take to remove a disused Boeing 737 that has been abandoned in a busy road.
According to the story - It appears that after taking a wrong turn, the driver found himself facing a flyover that was too low for him to take the plane under.
The driver has not been seen since and no-one is assuming responsibility for the 737.
I challenge you all to write down the thought-process that lead the driver to to think this was a brilliant solution to the problem. Because that has to be gold.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 12:57 pm (UTC)The story keeps gaining funny, heh.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 12:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 03:37 pm (UTC)Me too.
*is vaguely ashamed*
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 05:10 pm (UTC)Right, I'll just turn down this road and...uh-oh. Flyover. Well, maybe I can get the plane under.
That's a pretty /low/ flyover...
Oh, heck.
Okay, plane won't fit. Now what do I do?
Back up!
Oh, no. People behind me. Can't back up. Does this thing even know how to back up?
If my superiors find out that /I/ got this thing stuck here, I'm dead.
...City control can deal with it. I'd better scarper.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 05:38 pm (UTC)and i liked the babyfic too. ( i won't lie, i'm a sucker for them. well written ones at least.)
thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 09:09 pm (UTC)Hrm... as for the Plane driver...
"Oh, great, now I'm stuck. I should call AAA... wait, they don't have that here... damn. I know! I'll go to America and find the AAA and get them come over here and tow the plane away."
no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 03:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-05 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 05:39 pm (UTC)"I can't believe I was drug into work for this. Wait, what the hell is that in front of me?!?! Screw this - I'm going to go find a buffet with a bar and call it a day. The union is SO going to hear about this."