[OOC] Writing Meme
Apr. 20th, 2009 06:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
themanclionStolen from most of Gene's flist, at this point:
Comment here, with any of your characters and any of my characters (mouseover for journal names), and I will write you a fic. Specifically, I will write you a fic wherein they have OFFSPRING - accidental, surrogate'd, adopted, completely clueless, whatever.
FOAR GRATE LULZ. Or just, y'know, crack.
Comment here, with any of your characters and any of my characters (mouseover for journal names), and I will write you a fic. Specifically, I will write you a fic wherein they have OFFSPRING - accidental, surrogate'd, adopted, completely clueless, whatever.
FOAR GRATE LULZ. Or just, y'know, crack.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-04-21 01:27 am (UTC)...I'd ask for Suzie/Tosh, but Tosh just flails so much in my head every time I think about doing so that I feel bad.
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Date: 2009-04-21 02:31 am (UTC)It took the better part of a year before they could talk about Annie -- the better part of a year in which Sam was shell-shocked, and Gene drank (far away from Maya, of course... he wouldn't turn into his dad, not now or ever), and Maya herself grew increasingly sullen, rebellion in her eyes and strange bits of metal embedded in her skin like she wanted to set off every bleeding metal detector she passed.
He'd made a promise while Annie bled out on the ground between him and Sam, while he clutched at a pale and bloody hand and Sam pressed his hands to Annie's chest as though he could hold all the blood in himself. Every nightmare he'd ever had was reaching up from hell itself to wrap icy fingers around his brain, and he'd tried to avoid saying it at first, told her she'd be fine, but she gripped his hand and made him swear he would, and that was that.
He had to look after a girl he'd had no part in raising, had to be a father when his own made even the most dysfunctional father/child relationships look cheery by comparison.
Not like it mattered -- not like he could claim the title of 'Dad', anyway. That was all Sam, though a fat lot of good he did when half the time he looked at the girl and saw someone she wasn't, someone dead and gone.
Still, he had to do something, even if all he knew was how to shout at her when he caught her stealing his smokes, how to get her to school day in and day out, despite her best attempts at skiving off, how to glower disapprovingly at whatever bit of industrial hardware she'd chosen to shove through unsuspecting body parts this week.
He was no kind of father, that much he knew, but he tried.
The better part of a year passed with Maya slipping away from them both, until the night she'd found one of the flasks he'd secreted about the house, and he caught her with it raised to her lips, and that, that was one slight too many, every previous subversion of his authority boiling over into one giant mass in his brain. There were things Gene Sodding Hunt wouldn't put up with under his own roof, and that was just about number one on the list... Someone had to put some discipline into the little slag, and if it wasn't going to be Tyler, it was damn well going to be him.
"You thieving little..." The words came out in a snarl that was only barely human, and the world vanished in a haze as he crossed the room, one hand snatching the flask from her, and the other...
The other was caught, mid-strike.
"You want to hit something, Hunt?" Sam standing there, his eyes clear and bright for once, full of protective fury, his hand gripping Gene's wrist with all the strength of the nutter he was. "Because if you do, I'm right here."
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Date: 2009-04-21 02:31 am (UTC)Sam stepped smoothly between him and Maya, accusation in his eyes, and was this what he'd come to? This?
He forced words out through gritted teeth, around Sam. "And what would your mum think, if she saw you like this? What would she think if she saw the whole filthy lot of us?"
"She'd think," Sam said, biting out each word, "that you need to leave, Hunt. She'd think you need to leave right now." But that wasn't where Gene's attention was... Behind Sam, Maya was muttering something, something he didn't quite catch, but which made Sam's back stiffen.
"And what was that, luv?"
"I said," Maya replied, tears in her voice, "that it doesn't fucking matter, does it? You won't talk about her, you won't do anything, either of you. All you do is you pretend she was never here, like she never even existed..."
Gene stepped back, under the weight of accusation from them both, the weight of Sam's shame joining his like the two together could crush the life out of everything in the room easy as squashing a bug.
Yeah, he should leave, quick as he could, before it got worse, before he started something worse than he could imagine, but even as he turned away, he found himself speaking.
"Your mum," he said, his voice rasping in his throat, "your mum was one of the best lady -- one of the best coppers that ever worked under me. Clever enough to make foxes look like a set of dunces, one and all, and..."
There was a noise from Sam, then, something choked and painful, but he didn't dare look back.
"...and she never once gave up on any case I put her on, not here or in Manchester, not ever..."
Sam would throw him out, he knew, any minute now, but there was no motion from behind him, and he kept talking.
He'd never been good at mending things, not with hands or words, but he talked until his throat ran dry and his hands knotted uselessly around the air and no one stopped him.
"He doesn't have to leave," Maya said from somewhere behind him, once the words were dead in his throat and there was no getting them back.
"No, luv," he said, still not looking back. "I do."
"Gene," Sam said, and then, "Don't."
"You saw what happened, Tyler. Best I do what Annie would've wanted."
There was no answer, and he really didn't expect one, but at his next step towards the door, a hand caught his arm once more.
Maybe it was enough. But then, maybe it wasn't.
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Date: 2009-04-21 02:40 am (UTC)THIS close to crying. THIS close. Fucking Sam bleedover.
I love you. So much. But fucking ow.
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Date: 2009-04-21 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-22 09:17 am (UTC)http://superiorspectre.livejournal.com/7962.html
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Date: 2009-04-21 01:32 am (UTC)And because I want to see your take it on it, if you so choose to do it:
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:15 am (UTC)"Okay, fine. Nothing to do with it. Say I believe you... How do we fix it?" Des glared right back at the Time Lord sitting across the table.
Underneath said table, on the floor between them, sat a small child who was currently using a sonic screwdriver to quite intently scan the Master's chair.
"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Master. "If you're so determined to pick my brain, why don't you just walk right up to the members of the Kashtta Trust, who are, at this very moment, looking for me and the Doctor both, and ask them to pretty please give me my memories back so we can fix our tiny, defenseless, and easily-controllable Doctor. I'm sure if you pout endearingly enough, they'll just rush to help."
"No one likes a smartass," Des growled.
The Master narrowed his eyes. "And yet, people still put up with you. Fascinating, isn't it?"
They glared at each other a while longer, until the Master felt a tugging on his trouser leg. "Koschei! Koschei, look! I got a screwdriver! And I can do... stuff." And, at that, the Master's chair collapsed beneath him, dropping him to the floor with a muffled 'oof'. "See?"
The Master growled something inarticulate in Gallifreyan.
"That's an inappropriate juxtaposition of concepts," said the child. "You shouldn't say that around me. I'm impressionable."
"Oh, we'll see what kind of impression I can..." Whatever threat the Master might have made was abruptly cut off by Des hauling him to his feet, away from the tiny Doctor.
"He's still the Doctor," Des pointed out. "Easy."
"Oh, trust me. I know that. That's what's going to make this so very enjoyable."
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:17 am (UTC)"Fine. Fine. What do we call you?" Des was looking a bit out of his depth, and the Master simply smirked.
"My name's..." and then the boy who insisted on not being the Doctor said something. It was thirty-eight syllables long.
"Riiiight. Anything shorter?" Des looked from the mini-Doctor to the Master.
"Nope! That's my name!"
"Okay. So in the meantime, how about we call you..."
"Theta," the Master filled in. "Just Theta will do, won't it?" A bit of mental exertion, and...
"You're not s'posed to mess with my brain! I'm telling!"
The Master rubbed at his temples and growled something else obscene.
"You're not s'posed to say that either." The tiny Doctor -- Theta -- was looking insufferably smug, for a five-year-old.
"It doesn't matter what I'm supposed to say," the Master pointed out. "There's no one to tell."
Theta set his chin stubbornly. "I can tell Martha."
Des chuckled. "I'd watch out for that. He means it."
"Ah, the horrors Dr. Jones can visit upon me. I'm quaking with terror. I'll be running and hiding any moment now, just you wait."
"...Okay! I've decided Theta's all right. If you have to call me something that's not..." and again, the thirty-eight syllable construction.
Des winced. "Back to the point that I think we lost track of about five pissing matches ago... I don't see why you have to be involved," he said, picking up the glare where he'd last left off.
The Master raised an eyebrow, his smirk replaced by a look of too-earnest curiosity. "And I suppose you know how to raise a Time Lord?"
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:17 am (UTC)Theta looked at Des, his brow furrowed. "Boyfriend? Ugh. Don't want one. ...Can I take the other chair apart, too?"
The Master shrugged, using every bit of movement possible to convey his absolute unconcern. "I prefer the term 'creatively moral'."
"Yeah, and I prefer the term, 'annoying guy who I just kicked out of my house'. But look at that. You're still here. Can we fix that?"
"If you insist." The Master shrugged. "There's nothing left for me here, at any rate..."
"But I like Koschei," Theta muttered, gearing up for what was bound to be a sulk of epic proportions.
Des attempted to look stern. "Doc-- Theta. What have I told you about liking evil people?"
"Nothing, really." Des reflected that the Doctor and the Master really shouldn't be allowed to talk in unison. Especially not when the Doctor was five.
"Not the point! He's evil, and he's leaving!"
Theta ran a hand through a shock of hair -- which had no business being so adorable, still, and set his chin. "Really, do I have to scream? I can do it. Loud. And for a very very very very long time. And if you make Koschei go away, I will."
Des growled. "Yeah, kid, keep making threats."
"I could tell Martha you touched me inappropriately." No child should look that solemn when making threats like that, Des decided. But then, no child that age should have a vocabulary that large in the first place. The Doctor just had to be special all over, didn't he?
The Master looked from Des to Theta and back again. "You know, on the other hand, I think I'd be delighted to stay."
"Brilliant!" Theta bounced a bit. "I can show you my room!" He frowned again. "...Des? Can I have a room so I can show it to Koschei?"
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:18 am (UTC)And when they got him back to the age he was supposed to be...
The kitchen door chose that moment to start playing "Forever Young" as he walked through, and Des aimed a kick at it.
"I'm..."
"Telling. I know."
Some days, Des reflected, it really didn't pay to be the Doctor's boyfriend.
...And again, he thought, looking at the boy walking hand-in-hand with the Master, ew.
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:27 am (UTC)"Yeah, and I prefer the term, 'annoying guy who I just kicked out of my house'. But look at that. You're still here. Can we fix that?"
WIN.
"...Des? Can I have a room so I can show it to Koschei?"
MORE WIN.
Getting the evil guy away from his suddenly prepubescent boyfriend -- ew -- was the point.
ALL THE WIN.
AND I AM IN CAPSLOCK MODE, BECAUSE I CAN'T STOP CRACKING UP. THE BANTER IS JUST THAT AWESOME. Seriously, if Des and the Master are half as awesome IN GAME as they are in this fic, I will throw Des at him, like, every chance I get, because... YES.
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Date: 2009-04-25 06:34 am (UTC)Good to know it turned out well. ^_^
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Date: 2009-04-28 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-04-21 03:13 am (UTC)And Raziel.
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Date: 2009-04-21 03:21 pm (UTC)http://paradoxkitten.livejournal.com/1193.html