Fic: Clothes Make the Man
So... um, a while ago (last August, good grief), LJ's DW_straybunnies comm ran a "fem!Doctor regenerates into a male" challenge. Me being me, I wrote a non-serious response based entirely on the fem!Doctor costume designs I'd been working on for a while (since I can't draw and have no time to sew), plus a few I had to dream up for the occasion.
I really, really wish I could draw. ;-)
Title: Clothes Make the Man
Summary: The Doctor has always been female. UNTIL NOW.
Notes: Gen, rated G. 511 words. Eleventh Doctor.
"What do male humans wear anyway?" the Doctor muttered, glaring at the wardrobe room. Most of her companions - his companions? Hers, she (he) decided, since they'd been in the past tense - most of her companions had been female, like her and her ship, and the clothes they'd left or found in the wardrobe were almost all feminine.
Trousers. Male humans usually wore trousers. The Doctor hated trousers. She'd hated them even when she was female; they were all alike, just longer or shorter and in a few different fabrics. Skirts were so much more fun.
Short skirts, long skirts, narrow skirts, swishy full-bustled skirts. There was the dropped-waist black-and-houndstooth flapper dress she'd worn in her second incarnation, with the bow on the shoulder and the short box-pleated skirt; there was the brocaded evening gown and velvet Spencer jacket she'd stolen from a San Francisco costume shop; there was the eye-searing Edwardian coatdress she'd once paired with a frighteningly 1980s permanent wave. She was rather glad she had no photographs of the latter look.
She pushed her hair (his hair) out of her (his) eyes. If she was still female, she'd - he'd - be looking for a hair ribbon right now; there was even more volume here than last time's stylish shag cut. But she was fairly sure male humans didn't wear hairbows. When they wore bows at all it was bow-ties around their necks. Hmm, that sounded interesting...
Male. Male, male, male. What sort of shirts did males wear? Not the frilly blouses from her once-beloved velvet riding habits; not the cropped leather jacket and miniskirt; definitely not the tight ribbed jumper and full-skirted beige coat worn over that stripy orange hoop skirt. The knitted waistcoat might have had potential if it hadn't been both nauseatingly hideous and too small.
Aha! In her fourth incarnation she'd taken a fancy to annoy the Brigadier by dressing like a bag - layers upon layers of mismatched clothing, starting with a man's shirt "borrowed" from Sergeant Benton. It looked big enough, plain enough... would it fit?
The Doctor quickly stripped off her pinstriped blazer, low-cut blouse - now sagging sadly against a very flat masculine chest - and totally useless brassiere. She (HE!) took a moment to appreciate the first apparent advantage of his change in gender: if this lasted, he might never have to wear a corset or any similar apparatus again. Then he slipped on the shirt.
It fit. The Doctor buttoned up his new old shirt and grinned. A nicely tailored tweed jacket stolen from the Brigadier caught his eye, and he put that on too. Now for some nether garments.
Not trousers; quite apart from the lack of variety available, the newly male Doctor couldn't really imagine running while wearing something that was fitted that closely right there. There had to be some other solution.
Of course! "Bless you, Jamie," the Doctor muttered, slipping out of the ill-fitting pencil skirt. "The very thing!"
He pulled on the kilt, fastened it up, and twirled around. It fit perfectly.
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/86479.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)
I really, really wish I could draw. ;-)
Title: Clothes Make the Man
Summary: The Doctor has always been female. UNTIL NOW.
Notes: Gen, rated G. 511 words. Eleventh Doctor.
"What do male humans wear anyway?" the Doctor muttered, glaring at the wardrobe room. Most of her companions - his companions? Hers, she (he) decided, since they'd been in the past tense - most of her companions had been female, like her and her ship, and the clothes they'd left or found in the wardrobe were almost all feminine.
Trousers. Male humans usually wore trousers. The Doctor hated trousers. She'd hated them even when she was female; they were all alike, just longer or shorter and in a few different fabrics. Skirts were so much more fun.
Short skirts, long skirts, narrow skirts, swishy full-bustled skirts. There was the dropped-waist black-and-houndstooth flapper dress she'd worn in her second incarnation, with the bow on the shoulder and the short box-pleated skirt; there was the brocaded evening gown and velvet Spencer jacket she'd stolen from a San Francisco costume shop; there was the eye-searing Edwardian coatdress she'd once paired with a frighteningly 1980s permanent wave. She was rather glad she had no photographs of the latter look.
She pushed her hair (his hair) out of her (his) eyes. If she was still female, she'd - he'd - be looking for a hair ribbon right now; there was even more volume here than last time's stylish shag cut. But she was fairly sure male humans didn't wear hairbows. When they wore bows at all it was bow-ties around their necks. Hmm, that sounded interesting...
Male. Male, male, male. What sort of shirts did males wear? Not the frilly blouses from her once-beloved velvet riding habits; not the cropped leather jacket and miniskirt; definitely not the tight ribbed jumper and full-skirted beige coat worn over that stripy orange hoop skirt. The knitted waistcoat might have had potential if it hadn't been both nauseatingly hideous and too small.
Aha! In her fourth incarnation she'd taken a fancy to annoy the Brigadier by dressing like a bag - layers upon layers of mismatched clothing, starting with a man's shirt "borrowed" from Sergeant Benton. It looked big enough, plain enough... would it fit?
The Doctor quickly stripped off her pinstriped blazer, low-cut blouse - now sagging sadly against a very flat masculine chest - and totally useless brassiere. She (HE!) took a moment to appreciate the first apparent advantage of his change in gender: if this lasted, he might never have to wear a corset or any similar apparatus again. Then he slipped on the shirt.
It fit. The Doctor buttoned up his new old shirt and grinned. A nicely tailored tweed jacket stolen from the Brigadier caught his eye, and he put that on too. Now for some nether garments.
Not trousers; quite apart from the lack of variety available, the newly male Doctor couldn't really imagine running while wearing something that was fitted that closely right there. There had to be some other solution.
Of course! "Bless you, Jamie," the Doctor muttered, slipping out of the ill-fitting pencil skirt. "The very thing!"
He pulled on the kilt, fastened it up, and twirled around. It fit perfectly.
This entry has been crossposted from http://curuchamion.dreamwidth.org/86479.html. You can comment here or there - you can comment anywhere! (sorry *g*)