Another birthday has come and gone – I’m 35. Oddly, this one does feel different, although I’m not quite sure how to describe it.

Work’s fine. The pace has been uneven, but that’s to be expected in the new year. I’m still stressed about the things that normally stress me, but overall… work’s just fine.

I started on some fanfic early in the month, but I’ve been distracted by all of the other stuff going on in my life. Erich has some gaming dates with the guys in the next few weeks, though – so I may reserve some of my time to just tinker. No idea where it will lead. I’m not putting any expectations on myself other than to scribble some scenes and see if anything takes me anywhere. I’m debating posting draft scenes under a friends’ lock on LiveJournal for feedback… any thoughts?

I’ve been doing a decent amount of stitching, too. As part of “Guilt Free January” over on The Wagon, I’ve started two pieces so far this month: Legends of the Dragons and Astrology Sampler. I’ll post pics this weekend on them. I’ve debated starting one more piece for Guilt Free January to throw some variety into my rotations the rest of this year… I’m mulling over starting Spring Queen by Mirabilia or Witchy Washy by Raise the Roof. Not sure yet… but I probably will get something else underway in the next week or so.

I haven’t, to my surprise, been playing a lot of World of Warcraft. Erich tossed the Guild Leader tag on me earlier this month, and I need to start doing something to salvage the guild in some way. Not sure what yet – it will be a casual setup, but I need to get on the polls I took earlier this month.

That’s it for now – new work just came in, so I need to get offline.

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Turns out, I didn’t need to worry – there was a very easy blogger to WP importer.  I do need to clean up my categories a bit, but that’s not as big of a deal to me.

So yay!  It’s fixed and running!  Now if I could just get the Zero Room back up again, I’ll feel on top of things website-wise.

Taking a half-day today from work, planning on getting laundry hung up then getting back into writing Wiggie’s fic.  Ever progressing… *sigh*

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Meh, I’ll get over it. And he did just want I asked him – check to make sure my verb tense is okay, and if anything jars, give me a heads up so I can rework.

(He’s a much faster beta than I am, by the way. I realize now that I do, in fact, suck.)

Also got to the post office this morning – sent off a couple small packages, bought a crapload of stamps. My first batch of cards is going into the collection box over my lunch hour. I have a few family and friend cards left to write, but for the most part I’m in good shape to get everything in the mail with plenty of time, I think.

So it’s now down to getting some promised beta work done, start drafting my Support Stacie fic, and just getting some other cleaning projects done around the house.

Hard to believe it’s only a week until Yule and a few days extra until Christmas. Where the hell did this year go? And why is it December and feeling like early May? (Yes, I know you guys in the Midwest are icicles right now… ugh! Stay warm!)

Random question – I stopped posting my journal entries from the UK trip due to personal craziness, but I’m going to have some extra time again now that the chaos of the holidays are over. Is it something that’s now a “old news, move on” thing, or is there anyone who wants them posted?

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The Choice

All around him, the world spins in confusion. Hillsides roll at impossible angles, dropping off into nothingness. He sees fragments of the world drifting in space, the green and amber hues of their grasses gleaming in the hazy sunlight above. Rivers meander down their beds, dropping off of the endless chasms in steady waterfalls, the spray of water steaming down into invisible nothingness. Large herd animals graze calmly, unaware that their footsteps are mere feet away from unexplained doom. It is a world of dichotomy, of confusion among the calm.

He’s been here once before, this planet without a name. The Time Lords named it the World of Choices generations ago – a world accessible only in dreams, by those whose fates are locked at a crossroads. As a child, he heard that this place was a caller of dreams, of potential futures, where all of the possible timelines come together for each individual who walks its paths, and the walker chooses the path best suited for healthy ongoing life. It’s much different than his last visit here, however. Then, he’d traveled a rocky path among barren, jagged peaks. His choice had been one that had determined the fate of the Time Lords themselves. His decision was one he still found impossible to discuss, out of shame and anger. He still doubted that choice, even though he knew – for the greater good – it was the right one.

He’s relieved that this time, fate appears to not feel so stern with him. He smiles as he walks the well-tended path, the weight of his continuous grief lightened by his surroundings. Flowering trees line the path, a few of their petals trickling down like raindrops, tickled by the breeze that carries their soft, jasmine-like scent. He feels comfortable here, knowing that he’s on the right path, living his life alone without attachment. It’s safer this way, after all. No ties to any one place, no risk of breaking his heart along the way. No more responsibility to his own race or to anyone else’s. He’ll stop and help where he can, but skip places where he knows he will get too attached. An easy life of traveling – that’s all he wants; the life that he can lead only by being on his own.

As he reaches a fork in the road, he stops. Which route to take? To the right, the flowering trees continue, the path bright and continuing to be well kept. He knows that he’ll be safe there, knows he should go that way. When he turns to the left, he gasps at the sight several meters away, and realizes that he’s now at his crossroad – the one at which the World of Choices has determined will decide his life.

In front of an apple tree bursting with blooms, the glowing form of a woman rests. He cannot make out her features, yet he recognizes her instantly, awestruck by the rush of emotion that washes over him. He cannot walk away from her; he knows this. To do so would undo all of the healing he’s experienced since the Time War. To walk away from her would be to walk away from everything he’s learned, everything he is – and everything he knows to be right.

As he watches, the glow dims, revealing the woman he already knows is there. Rose sits, eyes closed, her shoulders wrapped in a brown shawl. She’s dressed for bed, wearing a simple, silky blue pyjama set. He’s never seen her like this before, the layers of life’s experience washed away. Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, her arms and feet pink from the warmth of a recent bath. Here, Rose glows with the ethereal nature of the World of Choices – the object of his crossroads.

Without even questioning, he leaves his path, walking toward Rose’s tree. At first, she does not appear to notice him. She continues to sit, eyes closed, a curious little smile on her face. As he creeps closer, he notices that the brown shawl is not a shawl at all, but is instead his battered leather jacket.

“Rose?” His voice is smaller than he’d expect.

Her eyes flutter open, and she frowns, momentarily confused as she gazes at the strange world around her. “Where are we? Doctor – where’s the TARDIS?” Her voice rises quickly in pitch as her senses sharpen. “I’d just gone to bed…”

“You’re all right, Rose,” he reassures. “You’re still on the TARDIS. It’s just a dream.”

She blinks. “A – dream? I don’t understand… how could I be talking to you in a dream?”

He sighs and attempts to deflect the question. “You never have dreams where you have conversations with people?”

“Not like this, no.”

“Oh.” Attempt failed.

“So… if we’re still in the TARDIS, why am I sitting in the grass against an apple tree?”

“You’re here because I need to make a choice.”

“About what?”

At first, he doesn’t answer her because he knows what choice he’s making here. He knows he’s in love with her – has known for a while now that it’s beyond a mere fascination or attraction. Ever since she stated her willingness to sacrifice her life for the good of her planet, he’s loved her. Her pureness of heart, the goodness she projects without effort awes him.

The world flashes, and he’s in his own memories , leaning against the wall of the main boardroom in Ten Downing Street. Rose and Harriet Jones stand with him, pacing as they decide their next move. Rose says something about finding a way out, and he begins to speak instinctively.

“Because I could save the world, but lose you.” He stares at her, and she looks back at him with that same serene smile she had when he first approached her at the apple tree…

Realization floods him as the tree ripples back into view, and he knows his choice is made. “You love me, too.”

“Yes,” she responds without reservation. She holds out a hand to him, and he grasps it firmly, helping her to her feet.

He leans down, placing the gentlest of kisses against her lips. In the single moment before she responds he panics. But then her lips part, and she returns the kiss eagerly, flooding his senses with the warmth of her love and desire. The kiss deepens, and he feels the emotional walls he’s built around himself to keep himself angry and full of shame since the Time War dissolve instantly.

Breaking the kiss, he leads her back to the fork in the road. She quickly matches his strides, swinging his hand playfully as the grass swishes around their feet. Once back at the crossroad, they turn, and he smiles. The two paths have blended into one – the fruit trees and flowering trees merged along what now is a paved road, full of promise. He leans down and kisses her once more, closing his eyes as the kiss deepens.

Upon opening them, he smiles against Rose’s lips. They are back in the TARDIS, standing in the console room. As in his dream, Rose is dressed in her PJ’s and his jacket. He pulls it tighter around her and whispers in her ear.

The path chosen, they walk into the depths of the TARDIS, their fates intertwined and complete.

— END —

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Becoming Unravelled

“Silent Night, indeed,” he whispers, staring out over the lights of London, twinkling in the dark. It’s Christmas Eve, and despite being here for four months, he’s still not used to the differences between this world and the Earth he remembers from Life Before; the life that his all too human body never actually experienced yet remembers clearly. Like these strange late night streetlights that glow blue instead of the yellow-white of Old London.

He’s finding that he’s using the Old prefix a lot these days. Old London, Old Earth. Old Universe.

Old him. As opposed to New him, who looks identical to Old him, despite having only one heart, a normal human respiratory system, and a shelf life of potentially up to one hundred years or so. Well, sixty odd at this point, perhaps. His forged birth certificate places him at just shy of forty.

His first birthday will be his supposed fortieth. Now that’s depressing. Wasn’t that supposed to be the dreaded over the hill birthday? Or was that fifty?

He quickly tips back his glass, catching the last drops of the earthy red liquid on his tongue. It tickles his taste buds in a complex, unfamiliar pattern. He should be able to recognize what type of wine this is simply by the chemical breakdown, but the human limits on his senses prevent it. Regardless, he likes it, and likes the airy feeling that’s now surrounded him after four glasses.

“Doctor?”

He turns toward the sound of Rose’s voice, and gapes.

She leans against the doorframe, her right knee curving her body into a seductive silhouette against the soft light from the corridor behind her. She wears nothing – except for the long red scarf he gave her earlier this evening as a teaser Christmas gift.

“Come to bed.” And then she disappears, the sound of her footsteps diminishing into silence as she retreats down the corridor.

For a moment, he stands motionless in the darkened living room stunned. Despite two years of traveling with her – and now four months of living with her – she continues to surprise him in the most incredible, personal ways. Once, he would have scoffed at any man who said the love of his life could turn him to liquid with just a look. That was before he met Rose. Even Before, when they were still on the TARDIS, he’d feel shaky when she looked at him across the console, her eyes glittering with excitement each time he’d launched them to a new adventure. She loved him, loved his life, and loved her life with him. Her joy filled his heart, made him whole, yet managed to strip him of all of the pompousness of being a Time Lord, down to the simple man beneath.

Finally willing himself to move, he trips on the corner of the rug near the hall, stumbling with a couple of loudly thumping steps before regaining his balance.

“Right then,” he mutters. He reaches the bedroom doorway, and pauses when he hears the rustle of the bedclothes. Smirking, he counts silently to ten before entering the room.

She’s lying in bed, curled onto her side as if she’s asleep. He chuckles quietly as he tiptoes across the floor, his desire rising with every step. She knows exactly how much this flirtatious “innocence” game attracts him, and knows exactly how to get his attention every time.

Slipping under the covers, he rolls his eyes when she doesn’t move an inch. Little does she know that her lack of movement clues him in every time to the fact she’s not asleep. On the nights where she retires before him, she always grumbles a bit in her sleep and moves close to his body heat as he crawls under the covers. Here, she lies perfectly still, barely breathing as she waits for his touch.

He skims his fingers lightly over her exposed shoulder, biting back a laugh when he feels her shiver at his touch. Yet she still insists on pretending she’s asleep. Taking this as a challenge, the Doctor broadens his ministrations, running his hand down her body, then back up again, his pressure firmer. He knows once his hand reaches that spot, just…there…

Rose moans softly, arching into his touch, and he reacts by even further deepening his movements, pulling her body toward him, kissing her firmly. They both sigh into the connection, shuddering from the spark of sexual energy that rushes through them both.

The Doctor cannot understand why they didn’t do this sooner, why he’d been so afraid to express his feelings on the TARDIS. No longer able to justify his past behavior, he’s embraced everything about Rose – the smell of her hair, the soft noises of contentment as he licks and nips all of the secret pleasure spots on her body. His past self had been so stupid to deny himself this…

Her breathing rate has increased; he can feel her ribcage expand under his touch as he slides down the bed, positioning himself to kiss the small of her back. If memory serves, this should…

“Ooooh….” Rose tucks her leg up, finally abandoning her ruse.

Yep, memory serves, he smirks.

He pushes up to a crouch and leans over her, leaning his head on the curve of her waist, still trailing a wayward finger across her skin. He can’t help touching her – his new senses are so different than they were before – so limited in their capacity, yet so intimate and treasured due to said limitations.

“Hello,” he says, then flashes her his proud, beaming smile.

When Rose responds with an equally bright one of his own, his heart thumps. Her smile is timeless – the same as it was for his previous incarnation, the same as it was when they leaned against the grass on New Earth, the same as it was when he saw her running toward him in that wreckage-strewn street in Chiswick.

“Hello,” she whispers.

He pulls a wedged tail of scarf up from between them and tickles her nose with the fringe. “I like this fashion choice.”

“Thought you might.”

“Very… how should I say… easy?”

She pushes back from him and gives him a mocking swipe. “You’re saying I’m easy, then?”

“No, not at all,” he replies airily. “I’m well aware of your not-so-easy sexual history, thanks to the many bottles of wine we’ve tossed in the recycling bin.”

“Oh, so now I’m a drunk, too.”

“I didn’t say that!” he protests.

Laughing, she pulls him closer for a kiss. It’s not chaste, and almost immediately the Doctor responds by pressing firmer, deeper, opening her mouth to taste her, feeling the vibration of a moan in her throat. When the need for air breaks them apart, her cheeks are flushed.

“For someone not easy, you must have a natural knack for dirty kissing, Rose.” He waggles his eyebrows.

She shakes her head in amusement and sighs, then rolls to stretch out on her back and allows her knees to fall open.

“Ah, I see,” he chuckles. “Nope. Not easy at all, then.”

“I’ll have you know I’m the model of a proper modern woman,” she scoffs, rolling her knees back together and wrapping herself dramatically in the scarf. “I think you’re misinterpreting my current state of dress…”

“Well, you are dressed rather… provocatively. If you’d rather I go…” He feigns a pout as he moves away from her.

“No!” she cries, grabbing him and pulling him down on top of her. She kisses him soundly, taking in a deep, shaky breath through her nose, her fingers trembling as she runs them down his sides, circling slowly around his hipbones before drifting them toward the center, meeting each other, stroking the growing length beneath his trousers.

He shivers at her touch, feathery-light yet somehow piercing him with intense warmth that rockets through his entire body. The sensation forces him to pull away from her, gasping. He’s not going to last long if she’s able to keep finding focus points. Deciding to take control, he places a series of slow, strong kisses along the front of her shoulder, just above the line formed by her collar bone. She responds first with a sigh, then with a low moan as he swirls his tongue against her skin.

She used the flavoured lotion tonight. Supposedly it’s raspberry, but it’s really only the smell that changes between the different ones she bought. Orange tastes like lime tastes like raspberry. Even the smells aren’t real, but recognizable as Fake Strawberry and Fake Lime. And perhaps they should discuss that some time when he’s not rolling his tongue around the hard nub of her nipple.

Knock it off he warns himself, pushing away from her to quickly solve his state of overdress, his eyes catching hers as she watches him hungrily.

“Can’t ruin this now, can we?” he murmurs, untangling Rose from the scarf, and flinging it across the room.

He drifts over her body with kisses, finding the little spots that make her gasp or sigh or stretch out languidly. An inch to the left of her navel seems to be a particularly good spot, resulting in a slurred mumble of approval. He drifts further down, lying across the bed now, tracing a soft line with his tongue until he reaches her most private spots, smooth and soft beneath his touch.

With one broad, wide swipe of his tongue, Rose opens beneath him, and he begins to explore her, finding even smaller, more intense focus points that spark exciting reactions – a mew of pleasure, a roll of her hips toward his tongue, an occasional sigh praising him or a deity she doesn’t specifically believe in, yet finds reason to praise now. A stray hand reaches down, wrapping around and stroking his length, setting a steady, gentle rhythm. He scoots his lower body closer to her, pressing into her hand, matching her speed. As her reactions become quicker, his ministrations intensify. He uses her cues, rolling with her, helping her toward the ecstasy to which she’s lost herself.

She comes, not crashing and jerking as he’s seen in the past, but in a gliding series of waves, her breath catching in her throat as she welcomes it. As she drifts back down, he slows his movements, knowing she’ll be hypersensitive now, and glances up to her face. This is Rose at her most beautiful, her least guarded state. .Her eyes are closed, a small, dreamy smile on her face, and every ounce of experience, age, and stress are evaporated away.

He props himself up on one elbow and continues to watch her in wonder. How could he be this lucky, being allowed by Rose to see her like this? He realises the level of trust she must have in him, loving her more for that gift, and wonders if she knows he trusts her implicitly, too, although he worries she feels he doesn’t allow her in.

He tries to wait patiently for her to begin to move, but she appears far too content to just lie there, basking. Finally, his instincts to keep moving kick in, and he traces his index finger in lazy circles around her navel.

“Yes?” she asks, a small smirk stealing across her lips.

“Better?”

“Oh yes.”

He pushes up to his knees and creeps up the bed, stealing a kiss as he nudges her knees apart and positions himself above her. “That’s good. Don’t want to disappoint.”

“Mmmm,” she hums into another kiss. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

He beams proudly at her, and then pushes home, gasping at the myriad sensations that sweep over him immediately. He wants to remain still, resting inside her, but the urge to move is too strong. He quickly finds a rhythm, all of his senses hyperaware of Rose – the faded smell of her perfume mixing with the musky scent of sex, the salty taste of the skin on her brow the tickles of her fingers over his back, forcing him to thrust deeper, faster… and oh, that delicious heat…

The burn washes over him, and he is lost – gasping with every stroke, moving faster as he feels her push back against him, encouraging him, moving with him until finally his head is floating and he is crying out in sheer bliss as he finds release.

And for just a small moment when everything else goes dark and still, he touches Time, just as he always could Before, feeling the spin of the Earth, awed by its speed and power. And then the world crashes back around him. Exhausted, he places small kisses on Rose’s neck, feeling the pound of her pulse beneath his lips before he collapses next to her, wrapping her in his arms as the world slowly stops spinning.

Much later, he kisses her softly on the cheek, waiting as she stirs and stretches.

“You know, a long time ago I had a much longer scarf. “

“Oh yeah? Ever use it for…”

“Something like this? Erm, no. No exactly.”

“Want to try?” she teases, turning toward him with a wry smile.

He chuckles as she rolls him to his back

Perhaps not such a Silent Night, then.

— END —

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I know that both dameruth and misssara11 have written pieces for me this week – I hope to be sitting down to relax and read them tonight, once I know my obligations are all set. (an early thank you to both, since I’m always excited to read special fic!)

Christmas cards are finally done – I’m mailing them off tomorrow. aibhinn, I’m also mailing your RSC items tomorrow – two separate packages, FYI.

So this week, I’m going to focus on getting some beta work done for avoria, and start drafting my piece for wiggiemomsi for Support Stacie. And maybe… just maybe, I’ll get my office tidied up so I can start writing there for the winter. I need to put a lot of work into scrubbing it – I haven’t really been in there since August or so. I’d planned to do some work on it today, but my back’s very sore… I think I just slept wrong last night, but I admit I’m overly paranoid about it right now.

So I’m spending the downtime playing WoW. I levelled one of my lowbies to 30 and got her first mount (sooo much cheaper than when I got my mount for Tennetty!). I levelled Tennetty to 73, and she’s now halfway to 74. Cowtastrophe is about 1/4 away from 61. Slowly but surely.

The weather’s been odd this weekend. We were NOT among the millions affected by the ice storm, thankfully. Rhode Island just got a crapload of rain. A few of our friends did lose power, still out now on Sunday evening. Said friends were able to find safe places to stay, thankfully, since the temp dropped very low last night (mid teens). I guess tomorrow’s supposed to be quite warm again – somewhere around 60 degrees. No wonder I’m still feeling like I’m fighting off a bug. *sigh*

Looking forward to our office party on Tuesday – we’re going to the reopened Hard Rock Cafe, now that it’s moved to Faneuil Hall. And we’re having a Rock Band competition. Heh. Should be interesting. As long as I’m not forced to sing!

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I realize that when we get in an hour late due to yet another engine breakdown, I totally understand the attitude of “screw it, I’m already late” and you decide to take your dear sweet time.

HOWEVER… morning trains generally involve this glorious invention called coffee to get the body moving. And when the train has been forced to sit dead on the tracks for an hour, that coffee generally has had time to work through the human system, and the bladder goes into distress whilst waiting to get to a place guaranteed to have an accessible bathroom – which sadly is NOT Back Bay station, even though it’s the first stop past the breakdown. As you all know – there may or may not be a bathroom on the morning train. AND, even if there is one – it’s impossible to know which car it’s in, nor if you will even be able to access it due to people having to stand in the aisles because the train is so full.

So really – get off the phone, stop walking at the same speed the train-pushing-a-train crawled along the tracks for 40 minutes from Hyde Park, and MOVE YOUR ASS into the station, so the horde of women driven to madness due to needing to pee can get past you to go to the scary bathroom they’d otherwise never want to use. Short urethras and all that make for some desperation when you’ve thought about nothing but having to pee and how to prevent yourself from having an accident for over an hour.

Thank you.

(why no… um… I have no personal experience with this issue this morning… why do you ask?)

——

Writing update:

Draft for hearts_in_time – done. Although if I have time, I may further tinker with it. Needs beta work.

Draft for oh_she_knows – mostly done… although smut bunnies decided to make a housecall. So currently, the Doctor is having a glorious time kissing Rose. My posting window’s the 11-15th, so I’m in good shape there. Needs beta work.

Support Stacie auction – waiting my instructions from wiggiemomsi *waves since she’s now on my friends list). I’m plotting with wendymr regarding our joint win for dameruth. And I think I’ve decided what I’d like to request from clevermonikerr. Maybe, hopefully… *strokes chin thoughtfully*

And I have so many weird broken draft attempts for the first two that I just couldn’t get moving in the timeframe I had available. Hmm….

Overall, I do feel good right now. Scary – when do I ever feel good in regards to writing deadlines?

—–

It’s quite cold out there today, and the sea is the prettiest shade of bright blue right now. Not a cloud in the sky. Absolutely lovely.

—–

It’s clearly winter because I’m waking up with somewhere between 2-4 cats on the bed every morning.

—–

Apparently Erich managed to finally get Hoodsie to purr last night. Given that I have yet to hear this personally, I still disbelieve. But it’ll be a wonderful breakthrough if this cat purrs. We do get chuffs from him, and he does breathe very heavy at times when you pet him, so he’s been *close* to purring… but not quite.

We’ll see.

Traumatized cat with major abandonment issues may be headed for a big breakthrough sign of being domesticated again.

—–

OK… need to work now.

- Mel.

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On a similar note… I got a preliminary email regarding the 25th Anniversary event, but there weren’t any details about what’s going on at said event, and ticket prices go up immediately after the new year. *sigh* I’d hope we’d learn what’s going on before that price increase. Maybe it’s just me, but while yes, I do plan on going… I’d kind of like to know what the money’s going toward. Especially since there will be a 25% ticket price increase in January. I don’t mind a surprise during the event, but to keep it completely in the dark just doesn’t sit right with me.

Maybe it’s just me. *shrug*

My fanfic writing is worth $65, according to the winning bid for the Support Stacie auction, which was won by wiggiemomsi. I have to admit that I’m a bit intimidated by it all, but I’m excited to get started… and I hope she’s pleased by the result. Meanwhile I have dameruth and clevermonikerr under my control (*insert evil grin here*). No, seriously… I’ll be kind.

Okay… almost to work. More later.

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Support Stacie Auction

The auction ends approximately 12 hours from now – so please go bid! There are three additional eBay auctions to help the cause. If a sibling or child asked for Star Wars: The Force Unleashed for a Wii, PS3, or XBox, you can get a copy signed by the voice/face actor of the main character in the game… buy it AND have the money go to a good cause.

My fic is currently sitting at $65. I’m going to match the final auction amount. So go bid! Get together with other people and do a collective bid if you’d like.

Info for bidders

Where to place bids

Who is Stacie?

Holiday Cards

I definitely want to get mine out this weekend if at all possible, so if you would like a card, please go HERE. I’ve updated that post with usernames of everyone I have to date, between my own post and popping around to other peoples’ posts.

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