![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
regndoft1. My illustration for 50 Years of Whovians is up.
2. Since I haven't finished the drabbles yet (five sentences! It's pathetic, I know) I thought I'd snag this from a bunch of people on my F-List.
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Not counting... kink meme fills and fandoms I haven't been in since grade school. >___>
The Character Study That Escalated (Ainley!Master/the Valeyard)
Started writing this last summer. It wasn't supposed to be a long thing, except then it decided it wanted to be without my consent, and I... still haven't figured out the finer points of the plot. Haah.
“I know the Doctor,” he says, and it’s the truth. The Master knows the Doctor like he knows the pain of burning flesh; he knows the Doctor as well as he knows the shape of his own teeth and lips.
The Valeyard quirks an eyebrow and purses his lips, like he wants to say something but thought better of it. It’s an expression he wears fairly often.
“I’m not the Doctor,” he says instead of whatever words he hid under his tongue, “not that I’d expected someone as single-minded as you to have taken notice, even after all this time.”
He smoothes out the inky black robe like a priest might his frock, or an assassin reaching for the knife.
“Dedication is the foundation of all great achievements,” the Master replies, the insult missing its mark by miles. He pauses for a moment to let the silence settle, marking his next words: “The Doctor was always proficient at self-deception.”
“The Doctor will be dead before I garn other robes than these.”
“And such noble robes they are, too! But then again, isn’t that the point?”
Fake-marriage and onion soup, oh my (Shalka!Doctor/Shalka!Master)
Originally written becausestalkerbunny wanted the story behind the throw-away line about the Master literally losing his face in a soup tureen during a dinner party on the TARDIS in the novelisation of Scream of the Shalka (I shit you not, Paul Cornell actually wrote that). It ended up with a very extreme Mood Whiplash between comedy and srs fic, which should be evened out before I ever publish it.
“Stop frowning. Do you want to smell of onions for the rest of the decade?”
“I will stop when you’re not waving that rag in front of me,” he said and wrinkled his nose at the worn piece of cloth, “as I’ve already made myself presentable again. I’m not an infant, Doctor, whatever you might be inclined to think of your companions after travelling with humans for so long.”
“Well you obviously made a less than satisfactory job of it, since there’s soup in your hairline.”
It had been an accident. A maybe not so common one, as most species in the universe don’t come with detachable faces, but an understandable enough accident. There is always the possibility that someone will bump into you when you happen to be standing too close to the soup tureen.
And if you happen to be in the minority of beings in the universe whose face is less attached to you than the other way around, you might find yourself fishing after it with a pair of silver tongs.
Castrovalva thingie (Ainley!Master/Fifth Doctor)
Exactly what it says on the tin. Think I started writing this more to figure out my own interpretation of Ainley, and then never finished it. Probably never will either, but for the sake of the meme...
If he concentrates, the Master can hear the sound of Castrovalva breathing, as alive as the mind that keeps it standing.
Anyone else who would care to listen at this time of night might mistake it for a mellow breeze rustling the trees beyond the city walls, or the steady hum of nocturnal insects holding concert, but the Master knows better. It’s the sound of corners folding in on themselves into infinity without collapsing, age sinking its claws deeper into rock and wood no older than a day, creating antiquity where there is none.
If the Doctor had been awake and within full capacity of his senses, he’d indubitably know to appreciate the workmanship.
Yet Another Cheetah Fic (Seventh Doctor/Cheetah!Master)
I just really, really, UN-IRONICALLY, love Survival. And wanted to take a stab at exploring what could have happened next, without going the "Doctor picks up Master and cures him of the virus, The End" route. There might have been timey-wimey and Seven being... Seven.
The second time he lands on a night with no moons, the darkness thick as ink pooling underneath the trees and boulders.
If the planet had seemed dead during his last visit, all dry wood and yellow grass growing in a losing battle against erosion, it has now become alive with the sounds of strange creatures coming out of their crevices in the dark. The Doctor paves the way with the tip of his umbrella as much to make up for his lack of vision as to set any local fauna that might be lurking there on its way.
The Master has always been territorial and his extended visit amongst the Cheetah People would hardly have changed that; the Doctor made sure to land close to where they last saw each other.
He hasn’t walked for long before he spots embers carried on the wind, red against the dark and starry sky.
He starts making his way towards the height, finding an already beaten path. The dry grass rustles; he doesn’t care to try to be stealthy. The Master will know he’s there already, will have smelt him on the wind blowing east. As the fire becomes bigger and bigger he can make out the dark shape beside it more clearly; the Master’s features seem to melt into the shadows around him, sharpening his features and deepening the grooves in his face.
“It will rain tomorrow,” the Doctor predicts, leaning on his umbrella, “you shouldn’t sleep somewhere so exposed.”
The Liz/Rani one, Take One and Two (Liz Shaw/the Rani)
This one's a bit more complicated. Originally, I'd planned to write a case fic with these two (because it would be AWESOME, that's why), but then that turned out to be making things much too complicated for me - that's Take One.
Take Two would have been independent of Take One (although in my mind it was a continuation of the first fic), set much more broadly AU, and probably have been more light-hearted and cracky and a bit romantic (because Liz/Rani/Science is the ultimate crack OT3, obvsly).
You get both.
She scribbles notes all throughout the night, rows upon rows of a neat hand turned sloppy with haste and frustration.
It hits her like a wall of glass, as clear and impenetrable; this problem is too large for her to solve. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really. Whoever is responsible for these equations is of extra-terrestrial origin, from a world decades, probably centuries ahead of earth in regards to the scientific advantage. By their standards this might be child’s play and yet Liz can’t make any sense of it as the numbers and fractals fold in upon themselves, unknown elements parting and joining in what seems to be some kind of genetic key.
The thought makes her curiously angry. This seems like one of dozens other sleepless nights spent poring over notes and books, as if she’s been relegated back to some uppity, over-confident student by virtue of taking on this task.
She tells herself she keeps pouring new cups of coffee at four AM because it saves lives. But Liz was never good at self-deception, always too frank with others to be anything but a polished shield to herself, and she knows that this is no Silurian virus.
***
When the Rani says that she can see the benefit of taking up a student for the exercise in memory and challenge to one’s adaptability, Liz makes sure to sterilise the content of several petri dishes completely.
There is a carefully arranged row of flowers from three different systems waiting to be catalogued on her writing desk when she gets back to her room.
The Epistolary Fic (Various Doctors/Masters)
I like alternative writing formats, and epistolary fic just seemed... appropriate. This fic is the most recent, and I still have hopes of finishing it some day; as it is this snippet is grossly scribbly and more a general outline of the first letter than anything else (maybe). The tricky thing about writing epistolary fic is that the character can choose to conceal/emphasize whatever they want, not necessarily reflecting their state of mind, and I'm not really certain enough what the fic will be about to be able to write things in between the lines atm.
If I continue it, I really want to experiment with a bunch of different kinds of letters, both historical and made-up/futuristic ones. But the obvious place to start is obviously The Sea Devils, when the Master actually would've had cause to write... a lot...
My dear Doctor;
I had no sooner handed over the first letter I wrote for you to the governor before it was rejected, and so they’ve demanded that I write in English from now on. Under the circumstances, I can not offer any major complaints; it is a simple language, but so is my life between these prison walls.
Do not think I am not grateful; I have spent time in considerably more inhospitable institutions than this, as I’m sure you’re aware of (or at least capable of deducing). In comparison it is indeed distasteful in its extravagance. At the moment my most pressing concern is the full English breakfast they serve and expect me to consume every morning, together with their mostly substandard television and literature. Incidentally, Blake does not live up to your quite voluminous praise, but I find Tennyson surprisingly readable.
The Epic Edwardian AU (Third Doctor/Delgado!Master)
The NaNo of 2012! Considering there's 50k of this thing (and it's just a bit more than halfway done, argh) I feel like I should post a much longer excerpt, but. The problems I've encountered when trying (note: trying) to edit it have been... numerous. And embarrassing. And I love this fic so much but there's so much that needs fixing I grow more and more scared I'll never finish it. :c
For those new-ish to my F-List: the Three/Delgado Edwardian AU is... exactly what it sounds like. John Smith is an Edwardian adventurer forced to return to England after meddling in foreign affairs one time too many who then spends an absurd amount of time and police funds trying to prevent his childhood friend/ex-lover from starting WWI a couple of years too early.
In my head, it's more quality than it sounds.
Emil snorted. He took his tea with milk and no sugar these days, he noticed absent-mindedly.
“Surely you don’t want to waste time talking about the weather, Doctor? We both know there are so many more fascinating topics relevant to our interests.”
John sat up and ran a hand through his hair. The tea, he noted, had steeped for too long; he supposed he’d become too used to the green teas he’d taken such a fancy to during his travels in the Far East.
“What do you suggest? Your path towards becoming a cheating and murdering scoundrel? I’ve assisted Lethbridge-Stewart for half a year and there doesn’t seem to be one major heist that doesn’t imply your involvement.”
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
“No. No, I’m not. It’s not exactly a habit you’ve picked up recently, and I’ve had time to visit every capital in Europe ten times over since I left England. Though I didn’t realise it was you until I came back.”
“I see. So my reputation precedes me.”
“There’s no need to sound so pleased about it, you know. No one speaks your name with fondness, and only admiration born from a deeply ingrained disgust,” John replied gruffly.
“Admiration is admiration nonetheless. As you said, I haven’t laid idle since you left.”
“And your alias,” John continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “it’s a bit presumptuous, is it not? Not exactly a name that inspires loyalty in your henchmen.”
“I couldn’t care less what other people thought of it; it is my right, nonetheless. I chose it, as you chose yours – you never did earn your doctorate, did you? You left without finishing your studies.”
“I am more than qualified,” John huffed, irritated that Emil had pointed that out, “what need do I have, to be restricted by the whims of old men who wouldn’t know progress if it asked them for a waltz around the campus?”
“Oh, I agree. As if age was a privilege you’d earned simply because you haven’t passed away before you earned it.”
“As if experience was the same thing as wisdom, or knowledge,” John nodded, “exactly.”
Realising he’d just accidentally agreed with his old friend about something, he cleared his throat as if to disperse his earlier words, wave them out of the thin air. If Emil found any amusement in it, he didn’t say anything.
“It makes you uncomfortable,” he said in a tone that suggested that it wasn’t a surprising, but fundamentally unreasonable reaction, “the ways that I have chosen to improve on the world.”
“Improve? You’re a liar and a murdered and you’ve spent the last decade effectively undermining every political system in Europe. As if the monarchs and politicians in Europe weren’t doing a good enough job of that already. Also, you tried to kill me, so forgive me if I hesitate before shaking your hand.”
“I understand your feelings on the matter, Doctor. But you have to understand that it was nothing personal – you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, if you were to put it like that. And with your inclination towards exacting justice, at least according to the terms you personally dictate... you’ve turned out to become quite a spanner in the wheels, lately.”
The worst part, John supposed, was that Emil was probably perfectly honest.
... This makes it look like I never write anything except Doctor/Master. Which is a bit true, maybe. It's just that all my gen fic tend to be ficlets or drabbles, and therefore short, or they never get to enjoy a life outside my own head at all.
A Mostly Finished Genfic (EMH!verse, Hank Pym & Tony Stark)
This is an ooold one I... think I practically finished, but never decided to clean up and write a proper ending for. Not sure I will, as only season 1 was out when this fic was written and I have no idea what might've changed since. Originally, it was brought about by the s1 finale of Earth's Mightiest Heroes and Hank's decision to depart; I thought Tony would know a thing about guilt or two and that they might have interesting things to say to each other, especially since they don't really see eye to eye in the series.
“I’ve made my decision,” Hank protests immediately. He remembers the heat and venom in Jan’s voice when he refused to let her convince him and swallows. “You said it yourself Stark, you can’t force me to stay on the team, I’m not bound by legal contract or—“
“—Woah,” Tony interrupts. “I know what I said. That’s your decision; no point in trying to talk you out of it. I doubt you’d listen to me anyway.”
The words he’d prepared die on Hank’s tongue. If there is no argument to be had there is no reason for Tony to be here, but he doesn’t turn and walk out the way he came. Instead he strides across the floor towards the window. Hank can’t tell whether the frown on his face when Tony turns to face him is out of concern or something else entirely.
“How are you feeling, Hank?”
He was responsible for the creation of a genocidal robot that nearly caused a nuclear apocalypse. He’d been so high-strung the last couple of days from anger and guilt edging towards depression that his entire body is hurting. He hasn’t slept more than three hours this night. Nausea tears at his guts every time he looks into a mirror knowing he could’ve destroyed everything.
“Brilliant.”
This is the first time since the Ultron incident anyone has asked him how he feels.
Different Careers AU (616, gen)
A bit of a weird one. Also very old. Was quite fond of it for a while, but haven't written enough of it to ever consider finishing.
Steve doesn’t give up until he has been rejected by every recruitment centre in the State of New York.
Some days he feels like his frail body will burn up from the inside, incinerated by the will and passion he has in abundance; a cruel joke of a higher power, it seems, when no one is willing to give him the opportunity to use that fire for the greater good. It’s a curse, the way his lungs wheeze and his thin limbs grow cold in the winter while his heart burns.
When he goes back to art school, many other male students have already left. Not enough to make the halls echo with emptiness, or for some classes to be shut down, but there are still gaps to fill, spaces in every corridor where there should be people laughing and gesticulating. Steve can’t say he misses them because he doesn’t know anyone there well enough to miss.
After Pearl Harbor, the empty spaces grow.
The Armored Adventures AU One (eventual SteveTony that never happened, hah)
Aannnd now we enter the are of eternally unfinished Big Bangs. This one was a lot of fun, it's a bit sad I never wrote more than 5k.
Tony had an entirely improvised shooting range put up for target practice before he even considered letting Rhodey go into the field as War Machine.
“You know why I called it the War Machine, Rhodey? Because it has guns. Lots of guns. And missile launchers.”
“And you don’t want to unleash an untrained pilot in it on the innocent bystanders of New York; I get it Tony, that’s surprisingly sensible and thoughtful of you. Wish me luck out there tonight.”
“You,” Tony said and rapped a wrench against the steel grey bulk of the War Machine armor, “Are not going anywhere until I’ve double-checked every square inch of this thing and you’re able to hit a can of soda from a fifty yard distance, okay? “
“I know you worry about your babies, but you seem to forget I’ve already piloted the War Machine armor. Twice.”
“The Iron Man armors are not my babies, Rhodey, more like… Cybernetic rottweilers, or something. And that’s not the point anyway; the point is that you can’t go charging at every supervillain you see in a suit of armor you don’t know how to control properly, both for the sake of yourself and whatever innocent buildings that happen to be in your way.”
As soon as he’d said that, Tony suppressed a wince and hoped in vain that Rhodey wouldn’t know exactly how hypocritical that statement was.
“I’m sorry; I seem to recall you flying into several skyscrapers for your first public appearance.”
In Tony’s defense, he’d been sixteen years old. That was an entire year younger than he was now.
The Curse Workers AU (Movieverse, SteveTony)
No one would have read this. I'm not sure how popular those books even are. But I still maintain that it's an awesome AU premise. Also, this is actually the first scene of the fic.
Causality is one of the fundamental assumptions of science. Cause and effect, the idea that every action contains the seed of another one, and one after that, and another. Every human is a causal system, Tony thinks as he's bleeding out on the floor, because no one is influenced by something that has yet to happen; only the possibility of what could soon occur.
The sound of footsteps shake the floor like earthquakes where he's lying and Tony idly wonders where he'd be now if he'd had any idea that this is where he'd end up.
Tony doesn't believe in fate. But to be able to avoid ending up where he had he'd have to know where it all began.
Cause and effect, Tony thinks because it's easier than contemplating the look on Obie's face as he pulled the trigger or Steve's outstretched hands, seeming so much larger without gloves, and certainly easier than marveling at the feeling of being drained, warm blood a shade disturbingly similar to red wine seeping through his ridiculously expensive shirt and suit jacket.
The X-Files Fusion One (616, SteveTony, maaaybe CarolJess on the side)
Yes. Yes, I love AU fics.
The first time Steve kissed Tony, he had been bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound in the shoulder.
Tony had been covered in something unidentified and bright green that smelled strangely similar to lemongrass. Steve had had enough time to be surprised by that before passing out.
After having spent five days in hospital (Steve), one week in quarantine (Tony) and Dr. Pym had declared the green stuff to be nothing more than “matter”, Steve had planned on doing it again in order to stay conscious for long enough to register his partner’s reaction. His plans had been thwarted before he’d been able to carry them out, however.
Steve hadn’t managed to feel very upset about that; Tony taking the initiative had saved him the effort while providing him with a detailed answer.
The Marriage Proposals One (Marvel Adventures, SteveTony)
A bingo prompt. I am bad with marriage fic. This happened.
Later, Tony would insist that scooting his chair out at the exact moment the waiter passed by with two bottles of wine hadn’t been an escape, it was a tactical retreat.
“I can’t believe you said no!”
Jan was leaning against the kitchen counter, brandishing a chocolate bar like it was a rapier.
“I can’t believe I said no. When someone proposes to you, you don’t just say no. It’s unheard of. A grudging ‘yes’, perhaps, but how many Hollywood movies have you seen where a proposal ends with a resounding ‘no’?”
“None that I can remember,” she replied, “regrettably, real life isn’t like the movies.”
“Speak for yourself; The Invincible Iron Man was in the Top Ten highest grossing movies last year.”
The One Where Steve Stress Bakes (Marvel Adventures, SteveTony)
Exactly what it says on the tin.
“I haven’t been allowed near anything in his kitchen running on electricity since I was nine,” he added helpfully, “That’s what the yellow tape is for.”
Steve glanced down at the yellow lines taped across the floor tiles about one meter from the counter itself. It would’ve made a perfectly symmetrical rectangle if not for the thin indentation in front of the coffee maker. He then glanced towards the doorway and the tape with lines added with green permanent marker across the threshold.
“Hulk isn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore,” Tony explained.
2. Since I haven't finished the drabbles yet (five sentences! It's pathetic, I know) I thought I'd snag this from a bunch of people on my F-List.
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
Not counting... kink meme fills and fandoms I haven't been in since grade school. >___>
The Character Study That Escalated (Ainley!Master/the Valeyard)
Started writing this last summer. It wasn't supposed to be a long thing, except then it decided it wanted to be without my consent, and I... still haven't figured out the finer points of the plot. Haah.
“I know the Doctor,” he says, and it’s the truth. The Master knows the Doctor like he knows the pain of burning flesh; he knows the Doctor as well as he knows the shape of his own teeth and lips.
The Valeyard quirks an eyebrow and purses his lips, like he wants to say something but thought better of it. It’s an expression he wears fairly often.
“I’m not the Doctor,” he says instead of whatever words he hid under his tongue, “not that I’d expected someone as single-minded as you to have taken notice, even after all this time.”
He smoothes out the inky black robe like a priest might his frock, or an assassin reaching for the knife.
“Dedication is the foundation of all great achievements,” the Master replies, the insult missing its mark by miles. He pauses for a moment to let the silence settle, marking his next words: “The Doctor was always proficient at self-deception.”
“The Doctor will be dead before I garn other robes than these.”
“And such noble robes they are, too! But then again, isn’t that the point?”
Fake-marriage and onion soup, oh my (Shalka!Doctor/Shalka!Master)
Originally written because
stalkerbunny wanted the story behind the throw-away line about the Master literally losing his face in a soup tureen during a dinner party on the TARDIS in the novelisation of Scream of the Shalka (I shit you not, Paul Cornell actually wrote that). It ended up with a very extreme Mood Whiplash between comedy and srs fic, which should be evened out before I ever publish it.“Stop frowning. Do you want to smell of onions for the rest of the decade?”
“I will stop when you’re not waving that rag in front of me,” he said and wrinkled his nose at the worn piece of cloth, “as I’ve already made myself presentable again. I’m not an infant, Doctor, whatever you might be inclined to think of your companions after travelling with humans for so long.”
“Well you obviously made a less than satisfactory job of it, since there’s soup in your hairline.”
It had been an accident. A maybe not so common one, as most species in the universe don’t come with detachable faces, but an understandable enough accident. There is always the possibility that someone will bump into you when you happen to be standing too close to the soup tureen.
And if you happen to be in the minority of beings in the universe whose face is less attached to you than the other way around, you might find yourself fishing after it with a pair of silver tongs.
Castrovalva thingie (Ainley!Master/Fifth Doctor)
Exactly what it says on the tin. Think I started writing this more to figure out my own interpretation of Ainley, and then never finished it. Probably never will either, but for the sake of the meme...
If he concentrates, the Master can hear the sound of Castrovalva breathing, as alive as the mind that keeps it standing.
Anyone else who would care to listen at this time of night might mistake it for a mellow breeze rustling the trees beyond the city walls, or the steady hum of nocturnal insects holding concert, but the Master knows better. It’s the sound of corners folding in on themselves into infinity without collapsing, age sinking its claws deeper into rock and wood no older than a day, creating antiquity where there is none.
If the Doctor had been awake and within full capacity of his senses, he’d indubitably know to appreciate the workmanship.
Yet Another Cheetah Fic (Seventh Doctor/Cheetah!Master)
I just really, really, UN-IRONICALLY, love Survival. And wanted to take a stab at exploring what could have happened next, without going the "Doctor picks up Master and cures him of the virus, The End" route. There might have been timey-wimey and Seven being... Seven.
The second time he lands on a night with no moons, the darkness thick as ink pooling underneath the trees and boulders.
If the planet had seemed dead during his last visit, all dry wood and yellow grass growing in a losing battle against erosion, it has now become alive with the sounds of strange creatures coming out of their crevices in the dark. The Doctor paves the way with the tip of his umbrella as much to make up for his lack of vision as to set any local fauna that might be lurking there on its way.
The Master has always been territorial and his extended visit amongst the Cheetah People would hardly have changed that; the Doctor made sure to land close to where they last saw each other.
He hasn’t walked for long before he spots embers carried on the wind, red against the dark and starry sky.
He starts making his way towards the height, finding an already beaten path. The dry grass rustles; he doesn’t care to try to be stealthy. The Master will know he’s there already, will have smelt him on the wind blowing east. As the fire becomes bigger and bigger he can make out the dark shape beside it more clearly; the Master’s features seem to melt into the shadows around him, sharpening his features and deepening the grooves in his face.
“It will rain tomorrow,” the Doctor predicts, leaning on his umbrella, “you shouldn’t sleep somewhere so exposed.”
The Liz/Rani one, Take One and Two (Liz Shaw/the Rani)
This one's a bit more complicated. Originally, I'd planned to write a case fic with these two (because it would be AWESOME, that's why), but then that turned out to be making things much too complicated for me - that's Take One.
Take Two would have been independent of Take One (although in my mind it was a continuation of the first fic), set much more broadly AU, and probably have been more light-hearted and cracky and a bit romantic (because Liz/Rani/Science is the ultimate crack OT3, obvsly).
You get both.
She scribbles notes all throughout the night, rows upon rows of a neat hand turned sloppy with haste and frustration.
It hits her like a wall of glass, as clear and impenetrable; this problem is too large for her to solve. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really. Whoever is responsible for these equations is of extra-terrestrial origin, from a world decades, probably centuries ahead of earth in regards to the scientific advantage. By their standards this might be child’s play and yet Liz can’t make any sense of it as the numbers and fractals fold in upon themselves, unknown elements parting and joining in what seems to be some kind of genetic key.
The thought makes her curiously angry. This seems like one of dozens other sleepless nights spent poring over notes and books, as if she’s been relegated back to some uppity, over-confident student by virtue of taking on this task.
She tells herself she keeps pouring new cups of coffee at four AM because it saves lives. But Liz was never good at self-deception, always too frank with others to be anything but a polished shield to herself, and she knows that this is no Silurian virus.
***
When the Rani says that she can see the benefit of taking up a student for the exercise in memory and challenge to one’s adaptability, Liz makes sure to sterilise the content of several petri dishes completely.
There is a carefully arranged row of flowers from three different systems waiting to be catalogued on her writing desk when she gets back to her room.
The Epistolary Fic (Various Doctors/Masters)
I like alternative writing formats, and epistolary fic just seemed... appropriate. This fic is the most recent, and I still have hopes of finishing it some day; as it is this snippet is grossly scribbly and more a general outline of the first letter than anything else (maybe). The tricky thing about writing epistolary fic is that the character can choose to conceal/emphasize whatever they want, not necessarily reflecting their state of mind, and I'm not really certain enough what the fic will be about to be able to write things in between the lines atm.
If I continue it, I really want to experiment with a bunch of different kinds of letters, both historical and made-up/futuristic ones. But the obvious place to start is obviously The Sea Devils, when the Master actually would've had cause to write... a lot...
My dear Doctor;
I had no sooner handed over the first letter I wrote for you to the governor before it was rejected, and so they’ve demanded that I write in English from now on. Under the circumstances, I can not offer any major complaints; it is a simple language, but so is my life between these prison walls.
Do not think I am not grateful; I have spent time in considerably more inhospitable institutions than this, as I’m sure you’re aware of (or at least capable of deducing). In comparison it is indeed distasteful in its extravagance. At the moment my most pressing concern is the full English breakfast they serve and expect me to consume every morning, together with their mostly substandard television and literature. Incidentally, Blake does not live up to your quite voluminous praise, but I find Tennyson surprisingly readable.
The Epic Edwardian AU (Third Doctor/Delgado!Master)
The NaNo of 2012! Considering there's 50k of this thing (and it's just a bit more than halfway done, argh) I feel like I should post a much longer excerpt, but. The problems I've encountered when trying (note: trying) to edit it have been... numerous. And embarrassing. And I love this fic so much but there's so much that needs fixing I grow more and more scared I'll never finish it. :c
For those new-ish to my F-List: the Three/Delgado Edwardian AU is... exactly what it sounds like. John Smith is an Edwardian adventurer forced to return to England after meddling in foreign affairs one time too many who then spends an absurd amount of time and police funds trying to prevent his childhood friend/ex-lover from starting WWI a couple of years too early.
In my head, it's more quality than it sounds.
Emil snorted. He took his tea with milk and no sugar these days, he noticed absent-mindedly.
“Surely you don’t want to waste time talking about the weather, Doctor? We both know there are so many more fascinating topics relevant to our interests.”
John sat up and ran a hand through his hair. The tea, he noted, had steeped for too long; he supposed he’d become too used to the green teas he’d taken such a fancy to during his travels in the Far East.
“What do you suggest? Your path towards becoming a cheating and murdering scoundrel? I’ve assisted Lethbridge-Stewart for half a year and there doesn’t seem to be one major heist that doesn’t imply your involvement.”
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
“No. No, I’m not. It’s not exactly a habit you’ve picked up recently, and I’ve had time to visit every capital in Europe ten times over since I left England. Though I didn’t realise it was you until I came back.”
“I see. So my reputation precedes me.”
“There’s no need to sound so pleased about it, you know. No one speaks your name with fondness, and only admiration born from a deeply ingrained disgust,” John replied gruffly.
“Admiration is admiration nonetheless. As you said, I haven’t laid idle since you left.”
“And your alias,” John continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “it’s a bit presumptuous, is it not? Not exactly a name that inspires loyalty in your henchmen.”
“I couldn’t care less what other people thought of it; it is my right, nonetheless. I chose it, as you chose yours – you never did earn your doctorate, did you? You left without finishing your studies.”
“I am more than qualified,” John huffed, irritated that Emil had pointed that out, “what need do I have, to be restricted by the whims of old men who wouldn’t know progress if it asked them for a waltz around the campus?”
“Oh, I agree. As if age was a privilege you’d earned simply because you haven’t passed away before you earned it.”
“As if experience was the same thing as wisdom, or knowledge,” John nodded, “exactly.”
Realising he’d just accidentally agreed with his old friend about something, he cleared his throat as if to disperse his earlier words, wave them out of the thin air. If Emil found any amusement in it, he didn’t say anything.
“It makes you uncomfortable,” he said in a tone that suggested that it wasn’t a surprising, but fundamentally unreasonable reaction, “the ways that I have chosen to improve on the world.”
“Improve? You’re a liar and a murdered and you’ve spent the last decade effectively undermining every political system in Europe. As if the monarchs and politicians in Europe weren’t doing a good enough job of that already. Also, you tried to kill me, so forgive me if I hesitate before shaking your hand.”
“I understand your feelings on the matter, Doctor. But you have to understand that it was nothing personal – you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, if you were to put it like that. And with your inclination towards exacting justice, at least according to the terms you personally dictate... you’ve turned out to become quite a spanner in the wheels, lately.”
The worst part, John supposed, was that Emil was probably perfectly honest.
... This makes it look like I never write anything except Doctor/Master. Which is a bit true, maybe. It's just that all my gen fic tend to be ficlets or drabbles, and therefore short, or they never get to enjoy a life outside my own head at all.
A Mostly Finished Genfic (EMH!verse, Hank Pym & Tony Stark)
This is an ooold one I... think I practically finished, but never decided to clean up and write a proper ending for. Not sure I will, as only season 1 was out when this fic was written and I have no idea what might've changed since. Originally, it was brought about by the s1 finale of Earth's Mightiest Heroes and Hank's decision to depart; I thought Tony would know a thing about guilt or two and that they might have interesting things to say to each other, especially since they don't really see eye to eye in the series.
“I’ve made my decision,” Hank protests immediately. He remembers the heat and venom in Jan’s voice when he refused to let her convince him and swallows. “You said it yourself Stark, you can’t force me to stay on the team, I’m not bound by legal contract or—“
“—Woah,” Tony interrupts. “I know what I said. That’s your decision; no point in trying to talk you out of it. I doubt you’d listen to me anyway.”
The words he’d prepared die on Hank’s tongue. If there is no argument to be had there is no reason for Tony to be here, but he doesn’t turn and walk out the way he came. Instead he strides across the floor towards the window. Hank can’t tell whether the frown on his face when Tony turns to face him is out of concern or something else entirely.
“How are you feeling, Hank?”
He was responsible for the creation of a genocidal robot that nearly caused a nuclear apocalypse. He’d been so high-strung the last couple of days from anger and guilt edging towards depression that his entire body is hurting. He hasn’t slept more than three hours this night. Nausea tears at his guts every time he looks into a mirror knowing he could’ve destroyed everything.
“Brilliant.”
This is the first time since the Ultron incident anyone has asked him how he feels.
Different Careers AU (616, gen)
A bit of a weird one. Also very old. Was quite fond of it for a while, but haven't written enough of it to ever consider finishing.
Steve doesn’t give up until he has been rejected by every recruitment centre in the State of New York.
Some days he feels like his frail body will burn up from the inside, incinerated by the will and passion he has in abundance; a cruel joke of a higher power, it seems, when no one is willing to give him the opportunity to use that fire for the greater good. It’s a curse, the way his lungs wheeze and his thin limbs grow cold in the winter while his heart burns.
When he goes back to art school, many other male students have already left. Not enough to make the halls echo with emptiness, or for some classes to be shut down, but there are still gaps to fill, spaces in every corridor where there should be people laughing and gesticulating. Steve can’t say he misses them because he doesn’t know anyone there well enough to miss.
After Pearl Harbor, the empty spaces grow.
The Armored Adventures AU One (eventual SteveTony that never happened, hah)
Aannnd now we enter the are of eternally unfinished Big Bangs. This one was a lot of fun, it's a bit sad I never wrote more than 5k.
Tony had an entirely improvised shooting range put up for target practice before he even considered letting Rhodey go into the field as War Machine.
“You know why I called it the War Machine, Rhodey? Because it has guns. Lots of guns. And missile launchers.”
“And you don’t want to unleash an untrained pilot in it on the innocent bystanders of New York; I get it Tony, that’s surprisingly sensible and thoughtful of you. Wish me luck out there tonight.”
“You,” Tony said and rapped a wrench against the steel grey bulk of the War Machine armor, “Are not going anywhere until I’ve double-checked every square inch of this thing and you’re able to hit a can of soda from a fifty yard distance, okay? “
“I know you worry about your babies, but you seem to forget I’ve already piloted the War Machine armor. Twice.”
“The Iron Man armors are not my babies, Rhodey, more like… Cybernetic rottweilers, or something. And that’s not the point anyway; the point is that you can’t go charging at every supervillain you see in a suit of armor you don’t know how to control properly, both for the sake of yourself and whatever innocent buildings that happen to be in your way.”
As soon as he’d said that, Tony suppressed a wince and hoped in vain that Rhodey wouldn’t know exactly how hypocritical that statement was.
“I’m sorry; I seem to recall you flying into several skyscrapers for your first public appearance.”
In Tony’s defense, he’d been sixteen years old. That was an entire year younger than he was now.
The Curse Workers AU (Movieverse, SteveTony)
No one would have read this. I'm not sure how popular those books even are. But I still maintain that it's an awesome AU premise. Also, this is actually the first scene of the fic.
Causality is one of the fundamental assumptions of science. Cause and effect, the idea that every action contains the seed of another one, and one after that, and another. Every human is a causal system, Tony thinks as he's bleeding out on the floor, because no one is influenced by something that has yet to happen; only the possibility of what could soon occur.
The sound of footsteps shake the floor like earthquakes where he's lying and Tony idly wonders where he'd be now if he'd had any idea that this is where he'd end up.
Tony doesn't believe in fate. But to be able to avoid ending up where he had he'd have to know where it all began.
Cause and effect, Tony thinks because it's easier than contemplating the look on Obie's face as he pulled the trigger or Steve's outstretched hands, seeming so much larger without gloves, and certainly easier than marveling at the feeling of being drained, warm blood a shade disturbingly similar to red wine seeping through his ridiculously expensive shirt and suit jacket.
The X-Files Fusion One (616, SteveTony, maaaybe CarolJess on the side)
Yes. Yes, I love AU fics.
The first time Steve kissed Tony, he had been bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound in the shoulder.
Tony had been covered in something unidentified and bright green that smelled strangely similar to lemongrass. Steve had had enough time to be surprised by that before passing out.
After having spent five days in hospital (Steve), one week in quarantine (Tony) and Dr. Pym had declared the green stuff to be nothing more than “matter”, Steve had planned on doing it again in order to stay conscious for long enough to register his partner’s reaction. His plans had been thwarted before he’d been able to carry them out, however.
Steve hadn’t managed to feel very upset about that; Tony taking the initiative had saved him the effort while providing him with a detailed answer.
The Marriage Proposals One (Marvel Adventures, SteveTony)
A bingo prompt. I am bad with marriage fic. This happened.
Later, Tony would insist that scooting his chair out at the exact moment the waiter passed by with two bottles of wine hadn’t been an escape, it was a tactical retreat.
“I can’t believe you said no!”
Jan was leaning against the kitchen counter, brandishing a chocolate bar like it was a rapier.
“I can’t believe I said no. When someone proposes to you, you don’t just say no. It’s unheard of. A grudging ‘yes’, perhaps, but how many Hollywood movies have you seen where a proposal ends with a resounding ‘no’?”
“None that I can remember,” she replied, “regrettably, real life isn’t like the movies.”
“Speak for yourself; The Invincible Iron Man was in the Top Ten highest grossing movies last year.”
The One Where Steve Stress Bakes (Marvel Adventures, SteveTony)
Exactly what it says on the tin.
“I haven’t been allowed near anything in his kitchen running on electricity since I was nine,” he added helpfully, “That’s what the yellow tape is for.”
Steve glanced down at the yellow lines taped across the floor tiles about one meter from the counter itself. It would’ve made a perfectly symmetrical rectangle if not for the thin indentation in front of the coffee maker. He then glanced towards the doorway and the tape with lines added with green permanent marker across the threshold.
“Hulk isn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore,” Tony explained.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-12 09:43 am (UTC)and looking forward to reading the WIPs when i'm not trying to finish my own :D
no subject
Date: 2013-03-12 09:52 am (UTC)If it makes you feel better, the Unconventional Courtship fic isn't in there. Because I haven't started writing it yet. Which I need to remedy, when I don't have assignments to write.