Pics, fics and a-thons, Oh my!
Jun. 23rd, 2010 01:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seren_ccd30 Day Meme
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
So, here are the three fics I've done for the ongoing Doctor Who Fic-a-thon. There are some gorgeous fics over there, go check them out!
Either Way - Master/Amy
He likes her hair.
Especially how it looks in the dark; a deep, heady red, with waves that remind him of pulsing veins.
She likes how he never lies.
When he speaks, he may be hurtful and he may be vile, but it's never anything less than the absolute truth.
He found her on a planet, weak and nearly dead after a negotiation gone wrong. The Doctor had tried, bless (curse) him, but even the great and powerful Doctor has bad days and sometimes people just won't listen to reason. So, a war broke out.
Amy was the collateral damage. A stray teleporter stream gone wrong and Amy was some place (some-when) else.
Luckily, the Master has a thing for red-heads. And Amy is oh, so tired of being left behind, however inadvertently.
He's cruel and sometimes his eyes go a bit dead. But, when he gently smooths a hand down the length of her hair, they light up with a childish glee. Amy knows that the gentle hand is about to tighten and pull, baring her throat. However, his mouth on her skin is wicked and hot and she's learning to like the pain.
He tells her stories of Gallifrey and of the Doctor. Amy can hear the love and hate in his voice and it reminds her of her own heart.
He takes her to watch empires burn and fall. She begins to find beauty in chaos.
They stand on a hillside watching the fall of Arcadia. He is behind her, his arms tight around her waist, his voice in her ear as he describes exactly what is happening below is equal parts seductive and frightening.
Amy turns her head and meets his eyes. "You're completely mad, aren't you?" she says.
The Master smiles and kisses the pulse beating in her throat. "No more than you, Amy Pond."
She smiles back.
Comparing Notes - Amy and Rose
"He calls her 'dear'," Amy said.
"Oh, tell me about it," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "I caught him once with his cheek pressed up against the time rotor. And I'm not exactly meaning the one on your face."
The girls giggled.
"I find myself talking to her though," Amy said. "At night, in my room. Is that weird?"
"No, no, it's not," Rose said softly. "Does it bother you, that's she's in your head?"
Amy frowned. "It sort of did, at first. But, now I'm not sure what I'd do if it wasn't there."
"You'd miss it," Rose said looking over at the two figures talking and gesturing wildly; one full alien, the other a half of one.
"I suppose I would," Amy said softly. Without knowing why, she reached over and takes Rose's hand and squeezes. Rose looks over and smiles and squeezes back. Her Doctor looks over and gives her a concerned look. Rose grins.
Amy's Doctor looks over and gives her a thumbs up. Amy repeats the gesture.
"Have you found the pool yet?" Rose asked.
"Oh, yes! It's in the library," Amy said. "I pushed him in it last week."
"Why?" Rose asked with a laugh.
"He was doing that thing where he just goes on and on, expecting you to keep up with scientific explanations that haven't actually been discovered yet in your time and then complaining when you don't get it." Amy shrugged. "It was self-preservation, really. Another minute longer and I would have done something violent involving his bow-tie."
"God, the bow-tie," Rose said. "And I thought the Chucks were ridiculous."
Amy grinned and looked down at their joined hands. "It's worth it all, isn't it?"
Rose nods her head. "It is, yeah. It's worth... everything."
Comparing Notes - Amy and Rose
The Doctor has only been gone a few minutes before Vincent starts to finish a painting he started earlier in the day. He falls into the colours and the patterns and forgets there is someone else in the room. It isn't until he hears a scratching behind him that he remembers Miss Pond. Vincent turns and the sight that greets him feels so familiar and he wonders if he knew her in another life.
Miss Pond is sitting at his kitchen table, with one of his spare bits of paper and a piece of charcoal and is busy sketching. She's got an eye for form and for shadowing and he watches her smooth out a dark line with the side of her little finger and his breath catches in his throat. The colours swirl around her body in deep reds and golds with a deep, dark underlying purple that reflects the loss she still suffers.
She looks up. There is a smudge of charcoal on her cheek.
Vincent clears his throat. "I suppose I should have guessed," he says. "You're an artist, too?"
"Me? Oh, no," Amy says shaking her head and looking down at her sketch. "Not like you. It's just something I do, to get stuff out of my head. Clear it a bit."
"You think I don't know about trying to clear one's head?" he asks with a grin. Amy looks back up and smiles. He feels flustered and his hands feel too big and he wishes he'd thought to go for a swim earlier, because he's sure he doesn't smell his best. But, he finds himself holding out his paintbrush and saying, "Would you like to try with this?"
Amy's eyes widen and her face lights up.
"May I? Really?" she asks. He has no idea why this makes her so happy, but it thrills his heart to hear the joy in her voice and he loses his voice a little in the face of such happiness, so he can only nod.
She jumps up and is by his side in a second, smelling of fruit and wine and youth. He clears his throat again. He moves her over to a painting of his that he's been stuck on for months with no real sense of where to take it, the inspiration simply gone. Vincent hands the brush to her and he can tell she's had some formal training with the way she holds it. He grins.
"What?" she asks. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No, the opposite, Miss Pond," he says. "You're doing it absolutely right."
"Mmm, a little too right, I'm supposing," she says with a glint in her eye that makes him take a step closer.
"We'll see about that," he says. "Now, paint."
She studies the trees already on the canvas and dips the brush into some deep blue paint and gently dabs it onto the canvas. She's biting her bottom lip and looks worried. Vincent shakes his head.
"No," he says. "Don't be afraid of it." He moves to stand directly behind her and grasps her wrist. "It's only paint and fabric, you won't hurt it. Let go and let the images go, let it all go."
This last bit is spoken in a harsh whisper next to her ear and her hair is stirred by his breath. Amy shivers and he sees it. He wonders if she would let him paint her. Would her pale skin shine in the moonlight? Would she let him lay her on a bed of bluebells and would the blush in her cheeks spread over her naked body? He's so busy looking at the pulse beating waves of yellow in her throat, that he's surprised when he looks back at the painting to see the courageous strokes she's made.
He smiles. "Better."
"Is it?" she asks sadly. She turns her head and looks at him. Her lips are full and her eyes are sad and it would be a travesty not to at least taste her.
So he leans in and kisses her.
No one is more surprised than he when she kisses him back.
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
So, here are the three fics I've done for the ongoing Doctor Who Fic-a-thon. There are some gorgeous fics over there, go check them out!
Either Way - Master/Amy
He likes her hair.
Especially how it looks in the dark; a deep, heady red, with waves that remind him of pulsing veins.
She likes how he never lies.
When he speaks, he may be hurtful and he may be vile, but it's never anything less than the absolute truth.
He found her on a planet, weak and nearly dead after a negotiation gone wrong. The Doctor had tried, bless (curse) him, but even the great and powerful Doctor has bad days and sometimes people just won't listen to reason. So, a war broke out.
Amy was the collateral damage. A stray teleporter stream gone wrong and Amy was some place (some-when) else.
Luckily, the Master has a thing for red-heads. And Amy is oh, so tired of being left behind, however inadvertently.
He's cruel and sometimes his eyes go a bit dead. But, when he gently smooths a hand down the length of her hair, they light up with a childish glee. Amy knows that the gentle hand is about to tighten and pull, baring her throat. However, his mouth on her skin is wicked and hot and she's learning to like the pain.
He tells her stories of Gallifrey and of the Doctor. Amy can hear the love and hate in his voice and it reminds her of her own heart.
He takes her to watch empires burn and fall. She begins to find beauty in chaos.
They stand on a hillside watching the fall of Arcadia. He is behind her, his arms tight around her waist, his voice in her ear as he describes exactly what is happening below is equal parts seductive and frightening.
Amy turns her head and meets his eyes. "You're completely mad, aren't you?" she says.
The Master smiles and kisses the pulse beating in her throat. "No more than you, Amy Pond."
She smiles back.
Comparing Notes - Amy and Rose
"He calls her 'dear'," Amy said.
"Oh, tell me about it," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "I caught him once with his cheek pressed up against the time rotor. And I'm not exactly meaning the one on your face."
The girls giggled.
"I find myself talking to her though," Amy said. "At night, in my room. Is that weird?"
"No, no, it's not," Rose said softly. "Does it bother you, that's she's in your head?"
Amy frowned. "It sort of did, at first. But, now I'm not sure what I'd do if it wasn't there."
"You'd miss it," Rose said looking over at the two figures talking and gesturing wildly; one full alien, the other a half of one.
"I suppose I would," Amy said softly. Without knowing why, she reached over and takes Rose's hand and squeezes. Rose looks over and smiles and squeezes back. Her Doctor looks over and gives her a concerned look. Rose grins.
Amy's Doctor looks over and gives her a thumbs up. Amy repeats the gesture.
"Have you found the pool yet?" Rose asked.
"Oh, yes! It's in the library," Amy said. "I pushed him in it last week."
"Why?" Rose asked with a laugh.
"He was doing that thing where he just goes on and on, expecting you to keep up with scientific explanations that haven't actually been discovered yet in your time and then complaining when you don't get it." Amy shrugged. "It was self-preservation, really. Another minute longer and I would have done something violent involving his bow-tie."
"God, the bow-tie," Rose said. "And I thought the Chucks were ridiculous."
Amy grinned and looked down at their joined hands. "It's worth it all, isn't it?"
Rose nods her head. "It is, yeah. It's worth... everything."
Comparing Notes - Amy and Rose
The Doctor has only been gone a few minutes before Vincent starts to finish a painting he started earlier in the day. He falls into the colours and the patterns and forgets there is someone else in the room. It isn't until he hears a scratching behind him that he remembers Miss Pond. Vincent turns and the sight that greets him feels so familiar and he wonders if he knew her in another life.
Miss Pond is sitting at his kitchen table, with one of his spare bits of paper and a piece of charcoal and is busy sketching. She's got an eye for form and for shadowing and he watches her smooth out a dark line with the side of her little finger and his breath catches in his throat. The colours swirl around her body in deep reds and golds with a deep, dark underlying purple that reflects the loss she still suffers.
She looks up. There is a smudge of charcoal on her cheek.
Vincent clears his throat. "I suppose I should have guessed," he says. "You're an artist, too?"
"Me? Oh, no," Amy says shaking her head and looking down at her sketch. "Not like you. It's just something I do, to get stuff out of my head. Clear it a bit."
"You think I don't know about trying to clear one's head?" he asks with a grin. Amy looks back up and smiles. He feels flustered and his hands feel too big and he wishes he'd thought to go for a swim earlier, because he's sure he doesn't smell his best. But, he finds himself holding out his paintbrush and saying, "Would you like to try with this?"
Amy's eyes widen and her face lights up.
"May I? Really?" she asks. He has no idea why this makes her so happy, but it thrills his heart to hear the joy in her voice and he loses his voice a little in the face of such happiness, so he can only nod.
She jumps up and is by his side in a second, smelling of fruit and wine and youth. He clears his throat again. He moves her over to a painting of his that he's been stuck on for months with no real sense of where to take it, the inspiration simply gone. Vincent hands the brush to her and he can tell she's had some formal training with the way she holds it. He grins.
"What?" she asks. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No, the opposite, Miss Pond," he says. "You're doing it absolutely right."
"Mmm, a little too right, I'm supposing," she says with a glint in her eye that makes him take a step closer.
"We'll see about that," he says. "Now, paint."
She studies the trees already on the canvas and dips the brush into some deep blue paint and gently dabs it onto the canvas. She's biting her bottom lip and looks worried. Vincent shakes his head.
"No," he says. "Don't be afraid of it." He moves to stand directly behind her and grasps her wrist. "It's only paint and fabric, you won't hurt it. Let go and let the images go, let it all go."
This last bit is spoken in a harsh whisper next to her ear and her hair is stirred by his breath. Amy shivers and he sees it. He wonders if she would let him paint her. Would her pale skin shine in the moonlight? Would she let him lay her on a bed of bluebells and would the blush in her cheeks spread over her naked body? He's so busy looking at the pulse beating waves of yellow in her throat, that he's surprised when he looks back at the painting to see the courageous strokes she's made.
He smiles. "Better."
"Is it?" she asks sadly. She turns her head and looks at him. Her lips are full and her eyes are sad and it would be a travesty not to at least taste her.
So he leans in and kisses her.
No one is more surprised than he when she kisses him back.
