ladymercury_10: (Default)
[personal profile] ladymercury_10
Still doing the fandom meme if you wanna go one post back.  Or, since everybody's doing it, I have nicked this from [ profile] eve11:

Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any story I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

Date: 2012-08-20 03:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Possibly no puns, as this one is a dark few scenes, but:

The planet is covered in stormclouds, angry, black, final. Two suns burn low and dangerous. He wires the bomb wrong and it goes off too soon. He never makes it to the TARDIS, dies smothered in burning vermillion grass, nails digging under his native soil. Another body falls on his, and he thinks he knows whose it is. He never knows if this is the worst dream or the best one.


Susan lives on Earth and he can never find her again. Romana’s dead. He loses Rose, then watches himself kiss her. Donna starts to forget and all he wants is to pull his hands away. Martha marries someone else. Rory’s cut out of time and space. The cracks, the cracks, they cut into his mind like metal biting into his hands, and he doesn’t even know who he’s lost anymore.


In his dreams, she can touch him, but he doesn’t respond.


His face is mashed into the console, and warning lights and bells and whistles are going off all around him. He wakes up choking, and Amy’s crying, and the TARDIS is ready to fall into the sea (which sea?). He flips a lever, spins a red crank, pokes a button he’s never seen before and suddenly all’s quiet.

Amy sobs at his ear and suddenly he’s lost his balance. He reels, finds himself on his knees on the floor, gasping and retching on a rush of cold air. His lungs seize up and for an awful moment, the bypass won’t kick in. Then Amy is by his side again, taking his head in her hands and letting him catch his breath. He can smell her tears.


Neither of them sleep for days. When they both nod off in the library, the TARDIS dims the lights and keeps it warm. A teapot materializes on the table near the swimming pool, flanked by two narrow mugs. It’ll be a long time before they sleep easy, longer for him than for her, but this time, the old girl will be prepared.

Date: 2012-08-20 04:42 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Almost done commentary-ing, but I am debating the best way to post my annotations. I guess I'll see if I get more than a couple requests and then decide.

Date: 2012-08-20 02:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
No problem; there is no rush :)

Date: 2012-08-20 01:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ooh, my favourite meme! (Also: *waves*)

Since I'm very fond of Ten and Martha:

She dreams she meets him at the seaside. She’s in a rowboat and he won’t come aboard, rather keep floundering in the undertow of his coat.

The door seems off, smells different. Instinctively, he licks it. Spends the next hour pulling splinters from his tongue. Never finds out what was wrong.

He told Martha he had business to take care of. Told her to go off and see the sights. Finished early, and now he’s huddling outside the TARDIS in one of those Cardiff downpours. Miserable, drenched. He can’t think how he could have lost his key, and the old girl isn’t any more ready to forgive him than he is to forgive himself. He can make a duplicate, but that’s not the point. Martha shows up oblivious and late, gushing on about shopping or whatever tourist trap she’s been in. She catches his eye and stops mid-sentence. He blinks the rain out of his eyes and the moment is gone.

Martha makes him tea. An hour later, she finds it spilled across the control room floor.

She finds him hunched on the floor next to the console. Lays a hand at the base of his neck and sinks to kneel beside him. Pulls him in toward her.

“How many years ago today?” she whispers along the crown of his head.

“I didn’t–”

“I know.”

“All of them–”

He presses in to the curve of her neck. He doesn’t cry at first, only heaves great dry sobs against her collarbone, gulping in air like a man nearly drowned. When the tears start to slick his face, Martha cards a hand through his hair reassuringly.

He knows she loves him. Realizes then that she’s going to leave, soon. Holds on to her collar and pulls himself back to here, to now.

Takes his first deep breath in weeks.

Date: 2012-08-20 07:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, yay! I'll try to have that up soon. :)

Date: 2012-08-21 08:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Ohhh, this looks like a really really fun meme :D I tried to pick a scene with some dialogue, since I always feel like that makes for the best commentary section, haha.

The screw falls from his hand, and he realizes that he’s shaking. In the bright console room, he’s alone, working in what Amy would call the middle of the night. His people counted time differently; he’s never been able to shake the revolutions of Gallifrey from his nights and days and so he works on.

There’s ash in the console, trapped in the crevices and cracks. When he was young he loved the tang of grass set on fire. His planet had a fall, had leaves that smelled of incense when they burned. Now it’s that smell that hangs heavy in his breath, that haunts him in his dreams, that teases him on the long nights he spends here alone. The TARDIS could repair herself a hundred times and the scent would still linger. He unscrews another panel, his hand trembling so violently that he cuts his thumb on the edge. Without thinking, he puts his finger in his mouth and he tastes the blood mixed up with ash. It sticks in his throat, acrid and metallic and sickeningly sweet.

Gallifrey. All that red grass, and the smell of it as it burned. He retches. When the moment passes, he pulls himself up to the console, chest still heaving. He presses his forehead against the cool metal of the rail.

A hand brushes his shoulder. He turns too fast, and his head swims.

“You’re sick,” Amy says.

He doesn’t meet her eyes. “I’m all right, now.”

“You’re not, though. Look at you.” She sticks out her hand, and it’s not so much an invitation as a demand. “You’re coming with me.”

She drags him to the kitchen, nudges him into a chair. The tea she makes him is far too sweet, but he takes cautious little sips of it to please her.

Sitting across the table, she watches him raise the mug to his lips. The room is warm and dim. For a moment, he can forget himself, imagine a little girl, fish fingers with custard, and a time that’s already very far away.

“Are you feeling any better?” Her voice is too loud, and it shakes him from his reverie.

“Much. I told you, Amy, I’m really not ill.”

“And I told you, hurling all over the TARDIS isn’t something you normally do. And I would know.”

A small, rueful smile plays on his lips. Oh, Amelia Pond, the things you don’t know. Suddenly he realizes she is waiting for a reply.

“Right. Amy, the TARDIS was—is—dirty, and I was cleaning out her panels. Some of the dust—the smell of it made me queasy is all. I’m fine now.” He reaches to tap her on the nose, and she grabs his wrist.

“Your hand. It’s shaking.”

His smile fades.

Date: 2012-08-22 12:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Hooray! I will get to work on that. :)

December 2012

2 3456 7 8
9 101112 131415
1617181920 2122

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 22nd, 2017 09:03 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios