Tag Archives: TARDIS

Doctor Who-Eleventh Hour Sample


Here’s a sample from some of my test edits with The Eleventh Hour
I decided to trim out The Doctor calling the Metraxi back to Earth. It was generally just an excuse to set up the costume change and a bit of fanservice.  In this edit, we cut from Amy unconscious in the hospital to waking up in her bed at night just as the TARDIS arrives, with The Doctor apologizing for running off (that’s all you really need to know to show some time has passed), I’ve also completely cut The Doctor sweet-talking Amy into coming on board. Here, she steps into the show immediatly
password: fanedit


Doctor Who-Hell Bent (No Diner) Edit

Well, here it is. My fanedit of Hell Bent. A finale I feel is let down by the overindulgent farewell to Clara. While I can’t do a top-to-bottom edit of this story the way I would like to, I can at least try to minimize the infodumping and overcooked elements represented by the diner and waitress Clara scenes. In this edit, we learn what the neuroblock is along with Clara as she and the Doctor go on this final journey together, rather than having The Doctor tell waitress Clara what it’s use is intended for. C’mon Mr. Moffat, we don’t need our hands held and everything explained to us, let the story lead and we will follow.

With no Clara and no Ashildr mucking about with their chameleon circuit at the end, a nice little voice-over from Capaldi , extracted from the final diner scene, gives us a much more poignant conclusion. One I’ve already shared on this blog in an earlier update, and which you can now appreciate in the full context of the episode

Doctor Who-After Image






Disclaimer: Doctor Who is trademarked by the BBC.

(This is a “Female Doctor” prompt fic requested to me by FF.Net author Bighead98, who wanted me to pattern this Doctor off of Rebecca Mader.  I’m not that good with describing appearances, so I used a Youtube interview she conducted as inspiration in her dialogue)


He wasn’t up to it.

The TARDIS could tell.

The soothing hum within the console room levelled off ever so slightly. It had been building ever so steadily to a climax for a good minute or so, wanting to ease The Doctor into what was to come next.

But no, he was being stubborn.

He always was when the end times came.

Whatever had it been this time?

It urged him to answer.

He didn’t have to speak.

He had so little breath left, he could barely whisper.

His hands were numb, clammy, ice cold to the touch.

Even as they glowed as brightly as a sunbeam.

He cast mind back to a day rich in that sort.

The day the impossible faded from his memory.

The day the forgotten companion left him where the buzzards gather.

Leaving behind a simple message. To run, and be a Doctor.

A healer, a wise man. Not a warrior. Never cruel or cowardly.

And he had honoured that.

Even if it had cost him yet another of his lives.

How did it happen this time? His mind was too spent, too traumatized from what had occurred that he could barely recollect the aftermath.

All that seemingly mattered now was anticipation of the after image.

Perhaps it had been a murder.

Perhaps it had been self sacrifice.

Or perhaps it had been a dream.

Yes, perhaps.

They seemed like they were all dreams to him. Each face, each lifetime, some longer than others, yet all over in the blink of an eye.

And in each instance, all was the same.

And yet all too familiar.

The methods, the madness, all too alike, and more alike each day. As if a single stubborn creative mind in the universe had refused to cast itself aside to let another’s vision take root and guide him through an altogether divisive and riskier path.

Perhaps. Yes, perhaps.

The healer, the wise man, had been made a warrior in a time where there was no need for a Doctor.

Perhaps now, in the wake of death, for the sake of the end, and for the needs of a better way, there was now no time for man.

There would always be time for mercy, always be time for life, but as all of life knows, there is always a time to sleep.

He stretched his arms outright; he tilted his head up to the heavens.

Go gently, do not resist.

And don’t sneeze. Sneezing interrupts the flow of all things.

Even something as delicate as magic.

He also chose to smile.

If nothing else, he’d like to remember the smile

The radiant glow of regenerative energy flowed through his hands and stretched upwards across his neck and enveloped his features. The old order collapsed, and a new, more graceful age, figuratively and literally, came to life. The hair grew longer, the body became thinner, the lips became ruby red, the chest expanded.

As the glow slowly dissipated, the radiance in the hair remained. A principle highlight of a stunning body of on display.

The console room warmed up to it already, the temperature mildly increased.

This was a moment to savour.

Both for it.

And now for her.

She examined the body, but more to the point, the outfit.

“Great, a booby t-shirt, I’m already competing with the old darling” she remarked.

A purr came from the TARDIS

“Drink. I need a drink, where DID River misplace the scotch cabinet…scotch? Do I have even like that anymore? Maybe I should hold a referendum…wait…” she stopped, checking her voice, “British accent…faintly, no, mostly, yes definitively mostly…distinctively…ENGLISH. Oh yes, I’m on the winning side again. England all the way. We’re gonna score one more than you”

She gleefully waltzed over to one of the roundels on the wall, opened it up and took out a string of mirrors. Compact and wide. She waited ages to properly glimpse herself in their reflections, she was indeed too busy waiting for the reflections to catch up with her, and they were all maintaining the image of the old coat she had just discarded.

That had happened once before, with the first of her previous life cycle.

“I’ll try not to hold it against you dear” she said, admiring the old face as it slowly transmorphed into her new one.

“Ginger. So many dreams, and this one comes true at last…mind you, I look like I dropped straight out of Cambridge” she said. “Cambridge…they’ve got universities there…oh I don’t fancy that. No, I’d fancy being more of a carnie…have my house on some wheels”

The TARDIS generated a significantly louder hum. Almost in protest.

“Hold it together old thing” she said.

The hum settled.

“Good boy” she said, “And yes, I know you were a woman once, but since we’re fiddling about with genders, you might as well have a go. From the way you let the Cloister room blossom, it’s practically your way of letting your hair grow like a beard anyway…”

Thoughts occurred to her,

“Settling in now…yes, change, not a moment too soon, whether you like it or not, but I feel like you’ve got to remember something important…not crashing, crashing’s too easy, no…I have to remember all the people I used to be. Mix a bit with the old in with the present. Come to think of it, Cambridge Universities have professors…academics….I remember a Dorothy someone; she used to call me ‘Professor’. Always liked that name. Sounded I’d been promoted. I was a chess master then, very good at making myself look like a capable comedian, so busy setting plans and traps, I failed to see those set for me…it’s high time I reminded everyone what I stand for and what I stand against. Injustice, crime, tea getting cold, and bus stations. Loads of bus stations. What do you reckon boy?” she asked of her faithful time/space machine.

The kitten was obliged to purr with another loud hum.

This time it was made in confidence and not irritation.

Whatever the challenge, she would be up for it.

The TARDIS could tell.




Doctor Who-Hell Bent Alternative Ending

This is how I’ve approached the ending to Hell Bent without the use of Clara’s TARDIS diner or any real conversation between The Doctor and Clara. I was told on The Hive forums this alteration proved much more enjoyable than the actual televised version. Make your own mind up.

I had to do this twice because on the first draft I kept in the Doctor having the guitar when it didn’t line up continuity wise with what I was trying to convey, but it was not exactly a problem to cut around the guitar completely.





Doctor Who-Exterminate Me




Disclaimer: Doctor Who is trademarked by BBC. This is for non-profit purposes.

Note: This contains spoilers for “Hell Bent”

Somewhere, at the end of all things, it waits to speak

It cannot afford to whisper.

It’s not hard-wired to.

It must have a commanding presence. It must own the room. And all around it should obey.

In its private moments, it had often dreamed of being a Supreme in the legion, where all could obey it. It thought such a role to be a divine concept.

A concept of beauty.

Like all dreams, they fade and reality sets in. The reality of war, and the reality of consequence.

It lay there now, in the cloister corners of the Matrix, in the catacombs of its most hated adversaries, those who had denied its race the stranglehold on creation they felt they had earned through their persistence and patience. A race that had defied its own end twice, and once in a far more novel fashion than the last.

That one time, the end did come. The second instance was a cheat. A parlour trick, designed to fool naive eyes.

And those eyes were now staring back at it, give or take the seconds where their faces could show, and when their screams could be visible.

They never spoke to it, they needn’t have to, their thoughts were everywhere. Their thoughts and sounds and stories informed its hours. Informed it’s purpose. For purpose was what it needed to justify the endurance of the final days granted to all corners of creation.

Everything has purpose, even at the end.

It absorbed the information, the prophecies, the tales of the creature that was the making of the oncoming storm.

The talk of the hybrid.

Two travellers, two companions, who would break the barriers of all reality to undo the deaths of one another. Two stubborn spirits who refused to let the traditional course of events be the most natural and befitting.

Those who deemed endings inappropriate.

It knew what the prophecies meant.

It knew the prophecies were wrong.

It knew what the hybrid was. It had sussed it out.

All it needed was to give out a warning. That is, if the pain could permit it to speak, and if it could lay a gaze upon one face. Or two.

And then it’s chance arose.

There they were.

A man who, in all his lives, had never associated knowledge with wisdom, and his companion, a woman now thrice dead.

One with a pulse, another with none.

One who’s heart beat no more, and one who’s twin hearts were broken.

They stood now, in the catacombs of the Matrix, amongst the ghostly Cloister wraiths and other prisoners of the chamber, seeking a way to defy the impossible.

It knew it’s chance had come.

As the woman thrice dead approached it, it knew it’s voice needed to be heard. The pain was excruciating, the strain was unbearable, but the warning had to be given.

But would she hear it?

“Exterminate Me” it said, the veins around it tightening their grip, “Exterminate Me”

The woman thrice dead reeled back, the man with the broken hearts pushed her aside. In an instant of time, both disappeared from sight.

The Dalek rested, it complimented what had just happened.

Had the moment passed without incident? Had it been over just like that?

Did she understand the warning?

That there was another factor yet to step forward on their journey. Somewhere beyond the cloisters and the matrix and the world of the Time Lords. A third participant. An immortal who had long cut herself off from care and concern.

Someone whose influence could prove a damning one on that long way ’round.


The Daleks have a concept of beauty, and sometimes, a concept of mercy.

In this instance, at the end of all things, this Dalek chose to embrace that concept of mercy, to spare all of creation the unrest the Hybrid would cause.

The woman thrice dead, and the woman who lived.

Left unchecked, they could unsettle reality, and the ripples would be felt all the way to the end.

And all this Dalek wanted to do was rest alongside everything else.

As its consciousness drifted into a deep slumber, it prayed its mission, its mercy, would be understood.

And if the woman thrice dead was still able to run, so too, should she be able to remember.

The Dalek rested, remembering, or perhaps, hoping, that everything could work itself out, that everything had a purpose that could be eventually understood.

In time.



Doctor Who: Twilight Seconds




Disclaimer: Doctor Who is trademarked by the BBC. No profit shall be made from this venture.

Somewhere in the hereafter, you hear the question.

Somehow in the physical world, where you live, where you work, you take the question for granted.

Some person ought to ask you the obvious when you die.

Some angel.

Some God.

Someone you love.

Even some pet.

Yes, pets ought to talk.

You ought to understand a lot more than you tend to cope with and comprehend in normal life.

Nobody likes being put up against a wall.

Nobody likes putting their fist in one either.

That’s the way life is paced though.

You spend every waking hour pounding through the invisible skin of reality.

Accessing different things.

The lucky ones anyway.

Some will never know the way around walking.

Or talking.

Or thinking too clear.

And those blessed with all of that will never quite know what it is to feel that helpless.

Or even mistake it for a blessing.

Life is rough, we need reminding of that.

So that when we punch through the rough diamond, we settle each time.

Letting complacency get the better of us.

And consume us.

Just as I am doing with my stalker.

I’m too slow.

That’s ok.

It’s the long way ’round.

They’ll understand.

Those lords of time.

They’re also lords of patience.

Only mine is close to running out.

I have little time for jokes.

So I permit myself only one.

I look at my streak of failures in this castle so far.

My billion year setbacks.

And I focus on what it was like for the first.

The first Doctor to arrive.

The first to smell the flowers

The first to show off.

The first to get up off his arse.

And the first to take the plunge.

Into the murky blue.

Into the sea of skulls.

The sea of skulls.

There’s something black and white about that.

The first who arose.

The first to warm himself by the fire.

And then the one who left the clothes to dry.

We cast our mind back to who we see in the hereafter.

Some loved one.

Some angel.

Some god.

Some pet.

Yes, pets should talk.

They ask, “Are you decent?”

You look at how you present yourself.

Well…are you?

I am no angel.

I have no desire to be a God.

And I am nobody’s pet.

But I care.

Just enough.

Just enough.

To ask my first self that question.

Because if I cannot break through this reality, I will join them in the next.

And it may just brighten my twilight seconds.

How many seconds in Eternity?