Birthday ficlets, Part III.
Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedSlowly but surely is still the watchword. Happy belated birthday to you, dear ones.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ophelia_winters: Human Ten and Rose.
To err is human."
There are things that are too strange, now, to be anything but the human bits; the rubbery-cold feet when he sits on the edge of the bathtub too long, reading her magazines when she's not looking; the phantom taste of overcooked carrots and the ensuing gag reflex; the way his solitary heart beats more slowly, and then more quickly, when she enters a room. The fact that he can almost never tell what time it is. The fact that he can't run three miles without stopping for air anymore.
Well, two miles. One-and-a-half. Damn.
But it's still up there, ticking away, his brain. He clings to that. He can still assemble a sonic manipulator out of a car stereo system and a waffle iron. He can still draw a map of the Calufrax system on a bar napkin. He can recite the eleventy-hundred High Chancellors of Plompt, sober or drunk, though the accompanying dance is better done sober. He can still take joy in things that are new and things that are old, and things that are hers, and more recently things that are theirs.
He doesn't always get it quite right.
"You said Vienna sausages."
"No, I didn't," Rose sighs, with a tin in each hand and an exasperated expression between them. "I said Vienna fingers. Fingers." She hands him one tin and waggles her digits at him for good measure; he examines the label.
"They look like fingers," he suggests. "You could even put little slices of onion on them to look like nails."
"Oh, ew." She shoves the second tin at him, disgusted, and they stare at each other for a moment. He gestures with the cans like he's about to take up juggling and she laughs, stills him with her hands on his wrists. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he says, automatically. "I didn't get it right." She gives him a funny look and takes the tins away from him, sets them on the counter and then leans against it, pulling him closer by his trouser pockets. He shivers, delighted.
"There's such a thing," says Rose, "as marks for effort."
Humanity is growing on him.
Foradriana_is: Doctor/Rose and The Master. This may actually become a longer... thing. Eventually.
Family.
He finally does it.
He finally does it, he does; he slips a tablespoon (okay, four tablespoons) of hallucinatory pollen into the Doctor's mug and tells Rose that the antidote is outside and down the hill and he will stay with him until it passes and he will not dress him up and convince him he's a kabuki actor. And when she's gone, he tells the Doctor the door is a giant jam biscuit, and when the Doctor has tired himself out gnawing on the hinges, he takes a blood sample and kicks him out on his ass and uses the sample to fool the ship's DNA-triggered steering system and he has finally done it.
The Master has never been happier. Never. Not even on last year's birthday, when Rose baked him a cake and he put the Doctor's face in it.
"I did it !" he crows, to them, and then frowns when he remembers that they aren't there and he hates them, anyway. He sets the controls to 1843, because he wants a meat pie and he's good with steam-powered death mechanisms. There's a good beat in the back of his brain; he dances a little, and tries to remember how to loosen a corset with one hand. There's a slight turbulence. There is more turbulence, the sensation of wind and looming space, the wildness of time- in short, something goes a bit wonky, he does a good milkshake impression and falls down on the floor a lot. Something snaps back into place. The gears grind to a halt and the landing is shaky at best; he is certain that the ship is angry with him. Fine. He kisses the glassy center column with a little tongue, just to piss her off further, and stalks to the doors. Flinging them open, just to hear the smack, he inhales deeply and savors the invigorating scents of-
-peroxide and burnt toast.
"Rose ? Darling ?" says Jackie Tyler, coming in from the hall. He shuts his eyes and opens them again, in case the pollen somehow got underneath his fingernails or into his nose. He blinks.
Everything is very wrong.
He knows it is Jackie Tyler because he has seen the photographs, the terrifying photos of strange human women in bathrobes on some holiday morning, curlers in their hair and everywhere yards of pink chenille. It is blue chenille, today. Jackie scowls at him. "Who the hell are you ?" she asks. He knows that tone, twenty years younger, too well. Her eyes narrow. "And where the hell is my daughter ?"
"Oh, balls," says the Master.
For
ophelia_winters: Human Ten and Rose. To err is human."
There are things that are too strange, now, to be anything but the human bits; the rubbery-cold feet when he sits on the edge of the bathtub too long, reading her magazines when she's not looking; the phantom taste of overcooked carrots and the ensuing gag reflex; the way his solitary heart beats more slowly, and then more quickly, when she enters a room. The fact that he can almost never tell what time it is. The fact that he can't run three miles without stopping for air anymore.
Well, two miles. One-and-a-half. Damn.
But it's still up there, ticking away, his brain. He clings to that. He can still assemble a sonic manipulator out of a car stereo system and a waffle iron. He can still draw a map of the Calufrax system on a bar napkin. He can recite the eleventy-hundred High Chancellors of Plompt, sober or drunk, though the accompanying dance is better done sober. He can still take joy in things that are new and things that are old, and things that are hers, and more recently things that are theirs.
He doesn't always get it quite right.
"You said Vienna sausages."
"No, I didn't," Rose sighs, with a tin in each hand and an exasperated expression between them. "I said Vienna fingers. Fingers." She hands him one tin and waggles her digits at him for good measure; he examines the label.
"They look like fingers," he suggests. "You could even put little slices of onion on them to look like nails."
"Oh, ew." She shoves the second tin at him, disgusted, and they stare at each other for a moment. He gestures with the cans like he's about to take up juggling and she laughs, stills him with her hands on his wrists. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he says, automatically. "I didn't get it right." She gives him a funny look and takes the tins away from him, sets them on the counter and then leans against it, pulling him closer by his trouser pockets. He shivers, delighted.
"There's such a thing," says Rose, "as marks for effort."
Humanity is growing on him.
For
adriana_is: Doctor/Rose and The Master. This may actually become a longer... thing. Eventually. Family.
He finally does it.
He finally does it, he does; he slips a tablespoon (okay, four tablespoons) of hallucinatory pollen into the Doctor's mug and tells Rose that the antidote is outside and down the hill and he will stay with him until it passes and he will not dress him up and convince him he's a kabuki actor. And when she's gone, he tells the Doctor the door is a giant jam biscuit, and when the Doctor has tired himself out gnawing on the hinges, he takes a blood sample and kicks him out on his ass and uses the sample to fool the ship's DNA-triggered steering system and he has finally done it.
The Master has never been happier. Never. Not even on last year's birthday, when Rose baked him a cake and he put the Doctor's face in it.
"I did it !" he crows, to them, and then frowns when he remembers that they aren't there and he hates them, anyway. He sets the controls to 1843, because he wants a meat pie and he's good with steam-powered death mechanisms. There's a good beat in the back of his brain; he dances a little, and tries to remember how to loosen a corset with one hand. There's a slight turbulence. There is more turbulence, the sensation of wind and looming space, the wildness of time- in short, something goes a bit wonky, he does a good milkshake impression and falls down on the floor a lot. Something snaps back into place. The gears grind to a halt and the landing is shaky at best; he is certain that the ship is angry with him. Fine. He kisses the glassy center column with a little tongue, just to piss her off further, and stalks to the doors. Flinging them open, just to hear the smack, he inhales deeply and savors the invigorating scents of-
-peroxide and burnt toast.
"Rose ? Darling ?" says Jackie Tyler, coming in from the hall. He shuts his eyes and opens them again, in case the pollen somehow got underneath his fingernails or into his nose. He blinks.
Everything is very wrong.
He knows it is Jackie Tyler because he has seen the photographs, the terrifying photos of strange human women in bathrobes on some holiday morning, curlers in their hair and everywhere yards of pink chenille. It is blue chenille, today. Jackie scowls at him. "Who the hell are you ?" she asks. He knows that tone, twenty years younger, too well. Her eyes narrow. "And where the hell is my daughter ?"
"Oh, balls," says the Master.
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no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 10:33 pm (UTC)The Master one is great too! The end had me laughing harder than I'd expected... :)
no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 11:37 pm (UTC)I love Human Ten. I love the handy-spare-hand wiggling, and imitating Donna, and his Rose-kissing and Rose-matching and being duped by Jackie. Briefly. I sort of love that we have a whole universe for him and Rose to play in.
Glad you enjoyed these. :)
no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Wednesday, June 3rd, 2009 11:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 01:05 am (UTC)the way his solitary heart beats more slowly, and then more quickly, when she enters a room
Oh, this makes me smiiiiiiiiiiile.
Just like that, too.
Smiiiiiiiiile.
Stretched out and satisfied and fitted perfectly on the end of a sigh.
The way Rose affects him will never not be the most wonderful thing ever.
The fact that he can almost never tell what time it is.
OH NO YOU DIDN'T.
Oh yes you did, and god does it hurt more than I thought it would.
I've been living my life believing fully and with a full, stubborn heart that the Doctor in Pete's World has most everything he has in the TARDIS, Time sense and all, but you, of course, write everything so fucking truthfully that it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to ignore it and pretend like he can still squint at the sun and pretend like it's telling him what time it is when he totes just naturally knows.
Though on the plus side, I guess now he can do that for reals.
STILL. That hurts.
The fact that he can't run three miles without stopping for air anymore
Well, two miles. One-and-a-half. Damn.
THE DOCTOR SHOULD ENTER THE OLYMPICS.
He would shock the world with his skinny legs and knobby knees that, while skinny and knobby, would be covered in manly hairy hair, and Michael Phelps and like, whoever passes for the stud of the track and field portion of the Games, would be jealous and not see what all the fans thought was so great about this British bloke who rambled on about things no one understood and liked to rhyme and whose admittedly great hair always by the end of the day looked like a rooster, and also how he landed such a smoking hot chick.
But that is just their bitterness talking.
Secretly they want to be just like him and ask him for sex tips, ever since he threw one out that none of them had ever heard about one day in the showers after listening in on someone's conversation about spicing up their sex life.
Family.
LOL TO THIS WHOLE THING. DOUBLE LOL. TRIPLE LOL.
JON AND KATE PLUS 8 LOL, TO THIS WHOLE THING.
There's a good beat in the back of his brain; he dances a little, and tries to remember how to loosen a corset with one hand.
I bet you three dollars that once Jackie berates him into picking back up the Doctor and Rose, the Master tricks the Doctor into a situation that would lead Rose to put on a corset, and tries to subtly practice his one-handed corset removal skills on her.
Whether or not this earns a slap or a lesson on how to do it properly is up to you.
SO, HOW COME THERE IS NOT AN ICON FOR THE DOCTOR, ROSE, AND THE MASTER'S ADVENTURES YET, BB.
I will see what I can do about this, since. Blasphemy.
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 01:06 am (UTC)Is it wrong that I kind of want to see Simm!Master in the mid-nineteenth century, building his steam-powered death mechanisms, loosening all sorts of corsets, and cackling maniacally while he steals the Tethered Aerial Release, Developed In Style from Jackson Lake?
Love the 10.5 bit too. Aww.
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 02:26 am (UTC)Well-said. :)
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 02:24 am (UTC)"There's such a thing," says Rose, "as marks for effort."
I do so love your post-JE Ten/Rose. xD
And when she's gone, he tells the Doctor the door is a giant jam biscuit, and when the Doctor has tired himself out gnawing on the hinges, he takes a blood sample and kicks him out on his ass and uses the sample to fool the ship's DNA-triggered steering system and he has finally done it.
The Master has never been happier. Never. Not even on last year's birthday, when Rose baked him a cake and he put the Doctor's face in it.
I think I might love your Master even more, though. This was delightful. <3
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 04:14 am (UTC)I mean this is what, less than 1000 words all told and yet there's waffle irons for parts and eleventy-hundred High Chancellors of Plompt and things that make me never want to eat Vienna sausages again and hallucination pollen and the Doctor chewing doors and meat pies and Jackie Tyler being Jackie Tyler and so much love and hilarity and ILU OKAY? It's just, this perfect balance of the little things that matter and the big things that matter.
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 02:45 pm (UTC)LOL.
The second one. OMG THE SECOND ONE. I feel like there was a hole in my life that cannot be filled unless it is filled with many, many Master/Jackie fics. I never even knew that hole was there but now... NOW. OMG NOW. I'M GONNA JUST REREAD THIS FOREVER UNTIL YOU CONTINUE, K? PLEASE COME RESCUE ME WITH MORE FIC.
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 04:18 pm (UTC)I love Handy/Rose fics
and I love your Master, extra marks for steam-punk-ness.
A+++++++++++++++
no subject
Date: Thursday, June 4th, 2009 09:37 pm (UTC)tries to remember how to loosen a corset with one hand
I think you need to write this.
no subject
Date: Friday, June 5th, 2009 12:57 am (UTC)He kisses the glassy center column with a little tongue, just to piss her off further Oh yes! That's my boy!
The Master has never been happier. Never. Not even on last year's birthday, when Rose baked him a cake and he put the Doctor's face in it.
See? This is exactly why I love him so much. (swoon)
If you leave it here, I am perfectly content. Thank you so much, this is wonderful. (hugs you)
no subject
Date: Friday, June 5th, 2009 01:03 am (UTC):) So very glad you liked.