Designated Human

waves nervously

2014-11-15T11:42:25Z

where did the time go? Wish I had more to report really but I've just been pootling along. Job's going great, hopefully get to keep it a while longer as the Trust is in the cludgie financially speaking - but then so is the rest of the NHS. I think I'm pretty safe for at least the next year but may well up the level of job seeking from mildly curious to vaguely interested. I really really don't want to move jobs again. I like my job, I like my boss. I like most of the people I work with (and the twat in the corner I can tolerate).

Otherwise, house is still falling down, marriage is still wonderful. THe creative muse has well and truly buggered off - haven't written anything fictionwise in over two years. Don't even read that much fanfiction anymore.

Holy Cr*p, it's been a while

2012-06-10T11:14:29Z

So... 48... so far so good. Heading out for birthday lunch with Liz shortly and then possibly to the cinema if the headache quits (don't fancy two hours of 3D cinema experience with a headache no matter how much I want to see Prometheus). Impressive amount of loot recieved for birthday: several DVD box sets notably the complete Sopranos so I think my Olympics survival kit is more or less complete.

So what's been happening with me the last six months or so. Not much. Fanfics started: about 30. Fanfics finished: 0. Keep having these wonderful ideas but the actual execution of them escapes me. Have got back into actual reading in a big way. Latest discovery is Ben Aaronovitch's wonderful 'Rivers of London' series. And of course 'Snuff' (Terry Pratchett) which was just about perfect. About to embark on a rereading of Mary Gentle's Ash/1610/Ilario which should take me through the summer.

The job is going pretty well. Still enjoying it very much and seem to have come thru this financial year's round of cuts more or less intact. Healthwise, okay. Persistent anaemia which is being investigated and stil can't lose weight but I'm hopefully being put on a new diabetes drug that will help (or at least takes me off the drug that makes me put on a steady pound or so a month even if I never ate again).

Liz and I will celebrate our seventh wedding anniversary next month. Wow, that went fast.

New Fic! Yes... really

2012-01-22T02:45:50Z

Two stories I wrote for AJ's Winter Solstice Advent Calendar

http://archiveofourown.org/works/324665

"Hardly Begun" An X Files / Dr Who crossover. Dana Scully, River Song and a closet.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/324817

"In the Light" Stargate SG1 Sam Carter / Janet Fraiser. Warning: Post Heroes.

woohoo

2011-11-23T23:18:52Z

Bit of a personal celebration. Have finished two stories for AJ's solstice advent calendar. Around 5,000 words. That brings my total finished stories this year to 3. And I have hopes of finishing a 4th if I can get River Song and Helen Magnus to stop being excessively timeywimey, behave, get out of bed and actually accomplish the plot as designed.

Or they could just stay in bed and b*gger the plot

And just to say, the new Kate Bush album (50 words for snow) is amazing. Has been on replay since I got it on Saturday.

RIP Anne McCaffrey

2011-11-23T18:19:57Z

Met her at Armadacon about 20 years ago and was lucky enough to spend about 20 minutes in her company discussing the merits of Sapphire and Steel. She was fierce and funny and I liked her a lot.

Loved the Dragonrider Books, particularly those dealing with Menolly and a couple of her other series as well.

Story Recommendation

2011-11-15T22:03:43Z

Thoroughly recommended for all those Dr Who fans who want a little more Vastra and Jenny...

The Adventure of the Hopping Vampire (29276 words) by David Hines
Fandom: Doctor Who (2005)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warning: Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jenny/Vastra (Doctor Who s06e07)
Characters: Vastra (Doctor Who), Jenny (Doctor Who s06e07)
Summary:

SOME OF OUR MORE IMAGINATIVE READERS INFORM US that the events of the past few days -- the grisly deaths, the tragic fire, the flying carriage that caused the egregious delays on the Metropolitan and District Railway -- are attributable to the fevered pursuit of a Chinese vampire, known in its native land as a jiang shi, by the adventuress detective Madame Vastra. These readers, whose persistent letters are beginning to become tiresome, claim that this is but one of many times Madame Vastra's unravelling of a mystery has saved all of an unknowing London.

We advise these peculiar devotees that we have yet again sought an audience with Madame Vastra, who, as ever, politely declines comment on any of the wilder rumors in circulation, but wishes it known that any unusual cases requiring investigation may be brought to her attention care of this newspaper.

Fiction: Time Was (Dr Who - River Song/Liz X)

2011-07-16T10:33:42Z

TIME WAS

By Celievamp (jo.raine@ntlworld.com)

Genre: Dr Who Pairing: River Song/LizX

Spoilers: All televised episodes, particularly any River episodes.

Disclaimer: Dr Who belongs to the BBC, River Song belongs to Stephen Moffatt and the wonderful Alex Kingston. I’m just… imagining stuff and writing it down.

Rating: Mature.

Wordcount: 3260

Originally written for the Dog Days of Summer 2011.

Summary: The Queen had never expected to see her again.

TIME WAS

With the Doctor it was handcuffs, with Liz it was guns. From the feel of the barrel pressed against her ribs it was an old fashioned pistol. Well, she was providing the treason and plot, it was only right that Liz brought the gunpowder. River kept her hands raised. She thought she had timed it right, but the vortex manipulator did have an annoying drift sometimes. “I know, I know. I’m in the Royal Collection and you’re the bloody queen.” The queen’s next comment answered her question.

“I thought you were only here for one painting.” Her stance changed, though the pressure against River’s ribcage did not ease up. “The Doctor?”

“He’s fine, really. At least he was the last time I saw him – he’d just saved all of time and space again so he was feeling pretty good. Actually… this has nothing to do with him. I’m er… freelance this time.” River said turning to bestow a smile on her majesty whilst taking the liberty of lowering her arms. The Queen quirked a grin of her own and slid the pistol back into its holster on her shapely hip. River had noticed the curves on her last visit but had been on the clock that time.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure on this occasion?” Liz asked. “How can the British crown be of assistance to Dr River Song at this time?” She held out her hand. River knew her etiquette, up to a point. She bent her head, kissed the royal fingers. It didn’t entirely surprise her when those fingers caressed her cheek. She had also noticed the queen noticing her own curves on their last meeting.

“I need to borrow something – an item from the Crown Jewels,” River said. “A diamond…”

Her Majesty was well schooled in her history. “The diamond.”

River nodded. “I don’t need to tell you your own family history. The creature it destroyed last time is rising again. In all the time since no one has come up with a better weapon against it.”

“The hour of the wolf has come again, after all this time.” Liz stared at her speculatively then seemed to come to a decision. “You had better come with me then.”

“We have a file on you you know. Well, I don’t but my secret service does. My man Hawthorne sees to things like that although apparently he did find you a bit of a challenge to track down. Terrible trouble getting events in the right order. Anyway, after your last visit I made sure that I was briefed on you. You’re a bad girl, River Song, one of the worst. But you’re in with the Doctor so there must be something redeemable about you.”

“He seems to think so,” River said. “And whatever I did – or will do – I usually have a very good reason for it. Like today…”

Their boots left clear prints in the dust on the floor. No one had been in this area of the space ship for quite some time. Liz’s orange tawny cloak which swept the floor with every step should be thick with dust but something about it seemed to repel the dirt. A handy attribute if you were chronically short of cleaning staff, River thought.

They passed through a second security door and then a third. River spoke seventeen languages but ‘Restricted Access’ for some reason never translated with her. She blinked as her skin prickled… some sort of molecular scanner. They must be close now.

The lighting was low here, the shadows impressive. River had never been afraid of the dark, afraid of the shadows before but something about this place was getting to her. She drew her sonic screwdriver out of her pocket switched to passive scan and studied it for a moment. It was registering subthreshold audiowaves. Obviously, another security device, designed to sow fear and paranoia in the mind of any would-be thief. Now she knew what it was she could ignore it.

The room seemed to be completely empty, even of dust. There was no other exit, the grey metal bulkheads devoid of any apparent cupboards, drawers, seams, switches, anything. River had experienced her fair share of prison cells recently. Maybe she should have been paranoid after all.

“Your Majesty?”

“Be patient, girl,” Liz walked towards the far wall and putting her face only inches away, breathed gently on the surface. The metal seemed to sublime away revealing the shape of a face, as if a mask had somehow been embedded in the wall. It was the queen’s face and it was not. River was reminded of one of the most ancient of Earth antiquities, the bust of the Egyptian queen Nefertiti, rumoured to be one of the most beautiful women who ever lived. River had always meant to go check that out for herself one day.

Liz brought her face level with the mask and keeping her eyes open kissed it softly on the lips. The mask came to life, the eyes blinked languorously, the lips curved in a slow sensual smile. “It has been too long, your majesty.”

Liz caressed the cheek lovingly. “You have been a good and faithful servant.” She beckoned River forward. “Your turn.”

River stood in front of the mask. It regarded her with glowing black eyes. She felt a prickle of something about an inch behind her own eyes. It was scanning her brain. This could be interesting.

“Your full profile is not in my system. However I extrapolate a 98.6% probability that you are Professor River Song, archaeologist, time traveler,” the AI said with a familiar broad smile. “It’s about time we were properly introduced.”

“Kiss her,” the queen instructed.

“I’m not usually so forward on a first date,” River lied as she did as the queen instructed. She was usually more careful with her DNA imprint but she trusted the queen.

“River Song is added to the registry, your majesty,” the VI said. “What are your orders regarding her disposition?”

“She is to be allowed access but only if in my company,” the queen said. “Otherwise, all appropriate measures are to be taken for her capture and detention, up to but not including internment.” Obviously, the trust did not work both ways, but River had expected nothing less.

“Understood. It will be as you order,” the VI said. “Do you require access to the vault at this time?”

“We do,” Liz said crisply. “We will be visiting the Crown Jewels.”

“The viewing chamber is prepared. You may enter,” the VI said. “A pleasure to finally meet you Ms Song.”

“And you,” River replied.

A section of the wall in front of them disappeared revealing a room filled with cabinets of light. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, silver, gold, platinum glittered and shone all around them. The archaeologist in River could feel the weight of history pressing down upon her. “Magnificent!” she breathed.

The queen shrugged. “It amazes me that with everything else we lost or sold or left behind we still managed to keep all this intact. Sometimes I wonder why. What good will it do us?”

“Continuity with the past, I suppose,” River said. “They say that nothing is ever truly forgotten. And, like today, you never know when it will come in useful.”

“Imagine if the wolf had got its way… the Victorian Age accelerated… starships and missiles fueled by coal and driven by steam, leaving history devastated in its wake… the British Empire in all its glory painted across the stars.”

The Koh-I-Noor diamond, liberated from the Crown that had been its resting place for centuries, nestled in the palm of her hand. “They say it was worth the wages of the entire planet for a whole week.”

“They said a lot of things. Most of it complete rubbish. All that business about the Curse. It won’t do you any good. The weapon it powered was dismantled and lost long ago,” Liz said.

“We’re both women – the curse won’t work on us anyway,” River smiled. “And I am very good at being an archaeologist, you know. And the ability to travel in time gives me an added advantage. Who do you think dismantled and conveniently ‘lost’ the weapon all those centuries ago? Lady Isobel was glad to see the back of it. Too many bad memories. Sweetie, you’re far from being the first ruler of England I’ve helped out of a spot of difficulty. And I doubt you’ll be the last.” She tilted her head. “You know, there were rumours that the infection lingered in the Royal Family bloodline, passed down the generations.”

Liz smiled toothily. “Unfounded, I assure you.”

River took the stone from her and secured it somewhere about her person. “If it is possible, I will bring it back to you,” she said.

“If… don’t you know?”

“Not yet – for me – for both of us, it’s the future. At the moment its linear. That doesn’t always work for me.”

“How do you keep track?”

“I just do,” River shrugged. “I always have. It’s just the way I am, the way I was born.”

“What is it between the two of you? I’ve heard stories – that you’re his wife, his mother, his lover, his daughter, his murderer, his saviour, his inspiration, his nemesis, his future self, even the incarnated spirit of that ridiculous blue box of his. Which is true?”

“All and none of them,” she smiled. “Sometimes I know and sometimes he knows and sometimes the secrets are written in the stars themselves or in the company of others who know when to keep silent and when to speak.” She remembers Father Octavian who did not survive the fall of the Byzantium and even though she does not believe sends up a silent prayer for the repose of his immortal soul anyway.

“I’m fighting the urge to put you in chains again,” Liz growled.

The wide smile of the eternal predator graces her features, the cat anticipating the cream. “Oh don’t fight on my account,” River purred. “In the right setting…” Then suddenly she’s serious again. “The only thing you need to know about my relationship with the doctor is that I would die for him and I would certainly kill for him.” There was more, of course, a universe of reasons. A relationship based on universal truths and many many lies. Lies of omission – secrets, lies of choice – spoilers. It has nothing to do with love, or trust though there is both in abundance. She has no idea how and when it will end between them but sometimes something in his gaze when he looks at her makes her think that the Doctor does know. All that she does know is that she would die for him, without a moment’s hesitation. She has written as much in her magical blue book, her bible, her guide to all that is and ever will be the Doctor. Sometimes some of the pages are blank, sometimes they are written in in her own hand or another hand she does not quite recognize. There are blood stains and tear stains, coffee stains and chocolate stains and other stains to puzzle over.

Many of the stories about her are pure fiction: she knows because she wrote them herself or told her tales to wordsmiths and bards who wrote them down in their turn or set them in remembrance, the figure of a laughing woman in a niche in a wall in a memory garden. Some of the more personal tales are recorded in her blue book, a figment of her own imagination. Even as a small child (she is fairly certain she was one once upon a time) she told herself stories of her place in the universe, about who she is and what she’s done or what she’d like to do. She’d be the first to admit that the lines between what’s real and what’s not sometimes blur just a little and she knows she has memories of impossible things. But then that goes with the territory: here be dragons.

For all they’ve been through, she knows that she is still a puzzle to him. He could be downright nasty to her about it sometimes; he didn’t like it when other people knew more than he did. Yet for all his bluster, he knows she will never give him the easy answers and she suspects that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The last time. A man shouldn't know it was the last time to see a friend. A man shouldn't have to know that.

This is the first time she’s made it as far as the royal bedchambers, she’s certain of that. They must have been impressive in their day but were quite shabby and ramshackle in a slightly endearing way. River got the impression that not many people at all made it this far. She expected to be the one to make the running but again, the queen surprised her. For once she was the prey, not the predator to the great tawny eyed cat that crouched over her, far more feline than the wolf that supposedly stalked the royal line though no less dangerous. River lets her get away with it because she can and because its been a while. Sooner than she thought possible she’s naked on the burgundy satin sheets smiling up at her majesty who is still fully dressed. The queen lets her velvet cloak drop away from her, then her white silk shirt and butter soft second-skin black leather trousers are gone and River can’t wait any longer, burying her face in the dark softness of her breasts, taking in the scent of her, the queen’s long lean body covering her own, dark against light. For a long time there are no words. They take their time. After all, one is the ruler of all she surveys, the other a time travelling archaeologist: who can gainstay them?

Within minutes River is pleading for her life. Her Majesty is not without mercy. Teeth and tongue, lips and nose, fingers, nails, skin and hair all play their part in reducing her to a sobbing, quivering mass of unfulfilled need. She feels a dark smile against the skin of her abdomen. “You beg so prettily.” Liz presses her fingers to River’s lips and River opens her mouth to take them inside, laving the long slender digits with her saliva. Then they are gone and seconds later River gasps as she feels two then three fingers press deep inside her, angled to catch her just… as a strong slightly calloused thumb rubs over her clit. Liz kisses her spread thighs, the curve of her belly as her fingers curl and twist inside. The tide of feeling crests inside her, pushing River over the edge into freefall.

Unusually, there is cuddling in the afterglow. The queen’s lanky frame is spooned around her. Soft kisses press against her shoulder blade, the nape of her neck. She could grow to like this.

“Is it true that you know his real name?” Liz asked.

River considered this for a long moment. “For his safety and mine I can’t confirm or deny that. For his people true names are a powerful thing.” The truth is sometimes she does, sometimes she does not. She is used to the dichotomy. Sometimes she remembers things twice or thrice but not quite the same, a turn left instead of right, a different phrase, a kiss on the lips or a slap on the cheek. There is the truth, there is the legend and there is the lie. Sometimes they can all exist at the same time. She is the proof of that. Her own true name for example, mutable but unchanging.

“You’ve known him a long time.”

“Yes,” River said. For most people that would be enough but the queen deserves more. “When I first met the doctor a long long time ago he knew all about me – think about that – an impressionable young girl suddenly this man just drops out of the sky and he’s clever and mad and wonderful and he knows every last thing about her. Imagine what that does to a girl. Trouble is it’s all back to front, my past is his future. We’re travelling in opposite directions. Every time we meet I know him more he knows me less. His firsts are my lasts. I live for the days when I see him. But I know that every time I do he’s one step further away. The day is coming when I look into that man’s eye – my Doctor – and he won’t have the faintest idea who I am… and I think it’s going to kill me.”

“I wish…” Liz pressed her lips to River’s shoulder for a moment. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” River urged her softly. “Tell me.”

“I know I was born to this life of privilege, even in our straitened circumstances, but I want more… different… Sometimes I wish…”

“The pirate queen,” River drifted long deft fingers through the dark ringlets. “Cape swirling and guns cocked. Swashbuckling her way across the universe.”

“With you at my side,” Liz smiled. “It’s a dream I have occasionally.”

“Not a bad one, as dreams go,” River said. She had stayed too long. The queen had her path and she had hers. She wriggled out from the other woman’s grasp and started the hunt for her clothes. “It’s time for me to go. I have an appointment with a wolf.”

“Stay… you’re a time traveler… does it matter?”

“It does to me,” River said gently. “This…” she indicated the bedroom and their mutual state of undress, “wasn’t’ supposed to happen. I didn’t mean to hang around – I never do. All of this… so much history. I decided I could not pass up the opportunity to see it live, so to speak.”

“Is that all I am to you – a living history lesson?” Liz asked, already knowing the answer.

River did not reply. But her storm blue eyes said everything and nothing. Liz said nothing more, turning her back on River and hastily dressing. The silence quickly became uncomfortable. River wished she could think of something to say to allay the queen’s suspicion that she was just another tick mark in River Song’s little blue book.

Checking the diamond was safe in its pouch, River turned to find herself face to face with Liz. “I am the Queen of England,” Liz snarled, her dark eyes flashing. “I could just have you arrested, you know. My prison cells may not be quite as impressive as the Stormcage but they should suffice to hold you to await my displeasure.”

“But you won’t,” River smiled. She reaches out, cups Liz’s cheek with her palm, drawing her close. Their lips touch just long enough for Liz to crave more. It does not prevent her from being acutely aware of the weight and position of her gun in her holster under her cape. It would only take a second… Whatever passed between them this woman was still a very real threat to the security of her nation.

“I could order you…” Liz didn’t bother to finish the sentence in the face of River’s impossibly wide smile, the nonchalant confidence that shone from her. River Song didn’t do orders.

“I will see you again, won’t I?” Few had or would ever hear their queen sound so needy.

River smiled, enigmatic, her eyes heavy lidded. “Spoilers,” she whispered.

Stuff

2011-06-11T10:33:32Z

Well, another birthday, another year older

47

Sounds almost grown up. Bugger that.

So, how's things? Still not writing much. Do have plans to finish a story for AJ's solstice ficathon this weekend, it's 99% done (but then it was 99% done for her last solstice ficathon as well). But. Will. Finish. It. Today. See - determined.

Mourning the lack of Dr Who. Have watched the half-time finale approx 6 times now. Much to love about it. Want to write xover fic with Sanctuary for the Madame Vasari(?)/Jenny(?) Victorian crimefighting duo.

And talking of Sanctuary: Thought Pax Romana a little rushed. Hangover... iffy. Can't wait to see Normandy in a couple of weeks.

Last couple of episodes of Fringe Season 3 were pretty awesome. Glad to see there's a season 4 on the horizon. Not ready to lose the awesomeness that is Olivia Dunham quite yet.

In other things. Mum is not doing too well at the moment. We have definitely arrived at the demented stage of dementia and the meds they are trying her on don't seem to be easing the paranoia and confusion at the moment. She is... disturbing to be around at the very least. It's difficult to know what to do for the best.

My own health isn't too bad at the moment apart from the continued weight gain. I'm being switched to a different treatment - a drug called Byetta which involves injections rather than tablets, a synthetic based apparently on gila monster spit! I think that's pretty cool. Or maybe I've just watched too many episodes of X Files/Millennium/Fringe. As well as helping with the diabetes it's also an appetite suppressant. We live in hope.

Job wise. Pretty okay. Still love the job and the team. THe general fear and loathing about the state / future of the NHS is affecting everyone as you can imagine. The Trust I work for has to make savings of £22m next year as well as getting paid about £6m less for what we do. And we can't cut services, lose beds etc. etc. We're all encouraged to come forward with money saving ideas, and there have been some really good ones so far. Redundancies are still a possibility but only as last resort.

Liz is looking for a job and for outlets for her art. She's stopped volunteering at the Artrium for various reasons and has been trying to get her creative mojo going again.

There's probably more I could say but I'm in need of coffee. Onward...

Sad News

2011-04-19T21:05:14Z

First the Brig and now Sarah Jane. Both gone too soon.

MEME: Which Dr Who Companion are You

2011-03-18T19:48:08Z

Filched from acciochocolate

Romana
Take Which Doctor Who companion are you? (girls) today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

You're Romana!

Silly Doctor. It's adorable, really, how hard he tries. And he is pretty brilliant, you'll give him that. But he always seems to overlook the obvious--including the fact that he's not the only Gallifreyan onboard, thank you very much. You are always calm and collected, and more often than not wonderfully witty, in the face of adversity. The Doctor knows he can count on you, even when you infuriate him!

Lots of Inspiration for stories and artworks

2011-03-02T19:31:25Z

Thanks to a link on Facebook (from the wonderful Jonathan Carroll), came across this wonderful set of photos. Real or acts of imagination, I don't know (or care). Just wonderful.

Teasers

2011-02-05T23:17:16Z

Hi, remember me? I used to post here from time to time. I will try to do better in 2011, I promise.

Idea shamelessly pinched from rowan_d .

My finished fiction output last year was 2 stories. I counted. Twice. Somewhat less than 6000 words. Which is pitiable. But I am still writing. Each word might as well be handcarved in granite for the length of time it is taking me to produce anything of worth, but writing is happening, mostly around Sanctuary. So, here are a few teasers for stories which might appear her sometime this decade.

RARE ORIGINAL FIC

“Matthew, where were you on Friday evening at about eight o’clock?”

“I was in the back alley off Muldaur street. I had just finished praying for guidance, waiting for someone to come to show me my path. And there she was, in answer to my prayer, an old woman and her sins were heavy on her soul. I could see them clearly. I helped her to find her way to God. I took her sins upon myself and gave her peace.”

“Are you saying that you killed this woman?” I asked carefully.

Matthew lifted her hands from her lap and looked at them palms and then backs, silently for a long moment before placing them palms down on the table in front of her. “That’s what all of you are saying,” she said at last. “My hands are clean. The old woman died without sin.”

“Did you kill her?”

“My hands are clean,” she repeated and then fell silent. Matthew said nothing more for the rest of the session.

SANCTUARY FIC SET JUST PRE WW1. The Forty Elephants were a notorious all-female criminal gang in the 18th, 19th & early 20th C in London and surrounding areas

He opened the file and began to lay out photographs one by one. “These are all members of the Forty Elephants gang brought to justice over the years. One or two have been persuaded to give evidence against others of their kind in return for lighter sentences. Their testimony speaks of gang members having the ability to walk through walls, to gain access to spaces only a few inches wide, to enter and leave locked rooms and vaults at will, to climb high buildings without the use of equipment, to render themselves invisible. The oldest gang member interviewed was in her eighties. She swore that the same leader had been in control since she joined the gang as a child. And that in that time her appearance remained unchanged. She appeared not to have aged a day.”

“Do we know her name?” Helen asked. At his questioning look, she explained. “Abnormalities run in families. It may be that we have some record if not of this woman then of one or more of her relatives.”

ANOTHER SANCTUARY FIC SET IN 1932 LONDON - NAME DROPPING HERE

1932 London.

She was in male drag, lounging against a pillar, fedora at a jaunty angle, champagne flute held loosely between her fingers, a smile on her face as her companion crooned softly in her ear.

The song was all the rage, from dear Noel’s latest review ‘Words and Music’ which Helen had gone to see with James and some old friends a few nights earlier.

Will it ever cloy… this odd diversity of misery and joy… I’m feeling quite insane and young again and all because I’m mad about the boy

So if I could employ… a little magic that will finally destroy… this dream that pains me and enchains me… but I can’t because I’m mad… I’m mad about the boy…”.

Deft fingers undid the tiny buttons of her fly, slipped inside, found Helen’s secret… there was a muffled giggle. “Gertrude, don’t be a minx…”

A DOCTOR WHO FIC - RIVER SONG AND LIZ X

With the Doctor it was handcuffs, with Liz it was guns. From the feel of the barrel pressed against her ribs it was an old fashioned pistol. Well, she was providing the treason and plot, it was only right that Liz brought the gunpowder. River kept her hands raised. She thought she had timed it right, but the vortex manipulator did have an annoying drift sometimes. The queen’s next comment answered her question. “I know, I know. I’m in the Royal Collection and you’re the bloody queen.”

“I thought you were only here for one painting.” Her stance changed. “The Doctor?”

“He’s fine, really. At least he was the last time I saw him – he’d just saved all of time and space again so he was feeling pretty good. Actually… this has nothing to do with him. I’m er… freelance this time.” River said, lowering her arms. The Queen quirked a grin and slid the pistol back into its holster on her shapely hip. River had noticed the curves on her last visit but had been on the clock that time.

ANOTHER ORIGINAL FANTASY PIECE

The clocks ticked the night away. Old Mother Midnight slept the quiet breathy sleep of the venerable, her mind flickering between dream and memory, all of her dead sitting down to table to break bread with her one more time, to tell her the secrets of the world beyond the daylight world, secrets that her waking mind could not grasp, no matter how she tried. Her two sons, her long dead daughter, more mysterious and powerful than most coming as she did from the land of the neverborn, her first husband, twice dead. Bent and palsied now, she presided over them, her bright button eyes in her wizened face, creased with the contours of all her years, her silver white hair still as abundant as it had been in her long ago youth twisted up in plaits and ringlets, combs and clips, scraps of ribbon, lace and tangle. She could not remember the last time it had been properly combed out, or when someone had last admired it - or her. Once upon a time she had had suitors aplenty though she only had eyes for one.

Her daughter's spirit was fey, sometimes a child, sometimes a young woman sometimes a crone matching her mother for years, wisdom and eccentricities. She spoke in riddles and half truths, small deceits. She was playful as a cat with its prey. She could not be trusted yet everything she spoke had a kernel of truth. She had no name and would not have answered to any. She came and went as she pleased but it often amused her to answer her mother's unspoken call.

A SANCTUARY / NEVERWHERE CROSSOVER

They were in Leinster Gardens. Hunter hurried them across to the middle of the row of houses, its windows darkened in contrast to the brightly lit windows of its neighbours. Lady Portia was waiting for them. “Here is where we enter London Below,” she said softly. She placed her hand on the door and it opened revealing not a room but a shaft, a metal ladder affixed to the concrete wall disappearing down into darkness. Portia reached into her jacket and drew out a metallic object about the size and shape of a cricket ball. She cupped it in her hands for a moment and it began to glow, steadily brightening. She dropped it down the shaft. After a second or two they heard it hit bottom. The light weakly illuminated the bottom of the shaft but at least they could now see it was not in fact bottomless. Hunter held a similar ball which she attached to the armour on her shoulder.

“It is a long way down,” she said. “Can you manage with the child or do you wish me to carry her? She will be safe, I assure you.”

“I can manage,” Helen affirmed. Hunter nodded.

“Lady Portia, if you would go down first, Dr Magnus next. I will guard our rear in case we are followed. The owls are flying and I do not like the smell of the wind.”

AND I STILL WRITE SAM/JANET

The rings activated around them automatically and briefly they found themselves somewhere in an enclosed area momentarily lit by the energy from the ring transport. Then the ground began to shake and Janet was thrown violently sideways and plunged into darkness.

Her eyes were open. She thought her eyes were open, but there was no apparent change in the quality of darkness. Her head hurt and her body seemed to be contorted into an odd half crouching position, sharp rocks digging into her back and ribs. She could hear water dripping and the slight wheeze of her own breathing. The air was dusty. Janet tried to move her extremities – right hand and arm seemed okay, left arm would move but strongly protested the activity. It seemed to be soft tissue damage rather than a break in the bone. Likewise her right leg was fine but her left leg seemed to be pinned somewhere below her knee. She could still move her toes but the pain from the crushing injury was increasing exponentially. Her back was a little sore and her ribs… she bit back a scream of pain as she tried to straighten herself a little. Definitely damage to her ribs. She had quite a bump on her head as well.

Her trusty penlight was in one of her pockets. Gingerly she patted herself down until she found it. It would not give off much light but anything was better than absolute darkness. She also had a box of matches somewhere but decided to save them for emergencies. She resolved not to think about what might actually qualify as an emergency given her current circumstances. She had been awake a couple of minutes now and hadn’t heard any signs of anyone else. Sam…

She turned on the light. The air was full of drifting dust which explained her wheezing. About a foot to her right Sam Carter lay sprawled on her back, her face a mask of blood, her blonde hair dyed scarlet. The vividness of the colour in the light from her small torch made Janet gasp, her stomach fluttering in panic for a moment before her medical training reasserted itself. Scalp wounds were deceptive. Even superficial ones often bled a lot. Reaching over as far as her damaged ribs would allow she pressed her fingers to Sam’s throat. Life flared beneath her touch and she sobbed quietly in relief. Janet carefully probed the visible injury, wincing at the glimpse of white bone but there was no give that she could feel which meant a skull fracture was unlikely. The thick Carter skull had come good again.

INCLUDING AU VERSIONS

“We can’t let the Inquisition have them,” Janet turned to Samantha. “I’m surprised Watchers haven’t been nosing around all ready, all the alarms you set off.” She looked at the newcomers. “I’m sure you’re as human as the rest of us but the Inquisition haven’t updated their definitions since the 14^th Century. You appear or are created through an act of magic and so you are a demon. And the rules for dealing with demons are very exacting.”

“Indeed they are Doctor Fraiser and for good reason.” A tall thin man stood in the doorway his pale ascetic face framed with shoulder length grey hair. “Doctor Carter, Doctor Jackson. There are questions which require answers.”

“Inquisitor Simmons,” Captain Jack uncoiled himself from his position leaning against the wall. “Always happy to aid the Inquisition in its quest for truth and justice.”

“So I well recall, Captain O’Neill. Once upon a time you were indeed most resolute in our cause. But those days are long past I fear. Your association with alchemists, hedge-witches, exorcists and mercenaries has tolled on your resolve.” He seemed to notice the Gate for the first time. “What new heresy is this, Doctor Carter?”

“No heresy, Inquisitor,” Samantha said steadily. “Merely old knowledge recently rediscovered. Harmless, I assure you. And research that was approved of in advance by the Society.”

“Harmless – yet it spawns demons who can mimic the form of God’s creation,” Simmons growled. “I cannot believe that the Society approved this. Master Littlefield is already helping us to come to an understanding of this… technology.” He phrased the last word as if it was the ultimate evil. “Sometimes knowledge is forgotten for a reason, Doctor Carter. And now I require you to hand over all documents, incunabula and paraphernalia relating to the manifestation of these creatures.” Four dark-robed men appeared in the doorway behind them. “You will all surrender yourselves for judgment.”

“I suggest you do as he says,” Janet Fraiser said softly. “It will go easier for you. The Inquisition can be very… persuasive.”

Hope you enjoy at least some of the teasers, let me know - you never know it may encourage me to finish one or more

A thought for a snowy day

2010-11-24T19:13:53Z

My thought for the day, courtesy of Sir T Pratchett

"It is important that we know where we come from, because if you don't know where you come from, then you don't know where you are, and if you don't know where you are, then you don't know where you're going. And if you don't know where you're going, you're probably going wrong."

Writers meme

2010-11-23T19:20:50Z

The Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets [and comic book authors] included)* who've influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag everyone, because I'm interested in seeing what authors my friends choose.

Emily Bronte
Mary Gentle
Michael Moorcock
Jonathan Carroll
C S Lewis
Frank Herbert
John Varley
Philip K Dick
Margaret Atwood
Fay Weldon
Neil Gaiman
Colin Greenland
Terry Pratchett
Robert Holdstock
John Varley
Guy Gavriel Kay
Gwyneth Jones

I know there's 17 but they're the first names that came into my head in the 30 or so seconds it took to type the list out.

Spirit Day

2010-10-10T21:54:42Z

Originally posted by neo_prodigy at Spirit Day

It’s been decided. On October 20th, 2010, we will wear purple in honor of the 6 gay boys who committed suicide in recent weeks/months due to homophobic abuse in their homes at at their schools. Purple represents Spirit on the LGBTQ flag and that’s exactly what we’d like all of you to have with you: spirit. Please know that times will get better and that you will meet people who will love you and respect you for who you are, no matter your sexuality. Please wear purple on October 20th. Tell your friends, family, co-workers, neighbors and schools.

RIP Tyler Clementi, Seth Walsh (top)
RIP Justin Aaberg, Raymond Chase (middle)
RIP Asher Brown and Billy Lucas. (bottom)

REBLOG to spread a message of love, unity and peace.

FIC: Miles from where you are. Sanctuary Ficathon entry for [info]openended

2010-10-09T01:11:50Z

Miles from where you are

By Celievamp (jo.raine@ntlworld.com)

Written for the sanctuary ficathon for openended :

Who requested amongst other things: Helen-centric, something based on "Set the Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol. I hope this fits the bill.

And apologies for being so late.

Spoilers: back story episodes for Magnus and the Five.

Warnings: contains male/female and female/female sexual pairings and oblique references to male/male.

Rating: Mature.

Wordcount: 2,965

Disclaimers: Sanctuary belongs to Damian Kindler, Martin Wood and Amanda Tapping and the Syfy Channel. I’m merely a fan.

Synopsis: After she shoots Druitt, Helen flees. But can she really escape.

Miles from where you are

Steeling herself she raised her pistol and shot him. The blood blossomed on his face scarlet-black in the gaslight as he reeled back and vanished in a flash of sickly greenblue light. She had killed him or so she hoped and feared. It was over. It was just beginning.

She ran.

Ten days later James Watson tracked her down in Prague, in a tiny room on the top floor of back street hotel hunched over a wash stand. The baby did not like the local food.

“Helen?”

She whirled, backed away from him, one hand wiping across her mouth, her pistol pointing at his chest. He had never seen anyone look as afraid as she did just then.

“James! How did you find me?” Her lip quivered. “John… he’s not with you is he?”

“Helen, I’ve some bad news… John’s dead,” he said gently.

She had regained some composure and her hand shook only slightly as she laid the pistol down on the bedside table. “I know…” she said softly. “I thought I did, anyway, but I wasn’t sure…”

Her lack of focus intrigued and frightened him. “Your father is very worried about you,” he said. “I managed to track you as far as Dover and then discovered you’d taken passage across to Le Havre. I took a wrong turn via Munich to Lucerne… you covered your tracks very well.”

“Not well enough. You found me,” Helen swallowed convulsively as her stomach riled again.

“In my defence you are a somewhat unforgettable woman, Helen.” She had always had difficulty in acknowledging her own beauty, even after the likes of Dante Gabriel Rosetti had camped before her father’s door demanding to paint her after one glimpse of her. And she had been barely out of her teens then.

The shadowed glass over the washstand showed her what she expected to see, hollowed haunted storm blue eyes in a grey pinched face, her dulled hair caught up in haphazard curls, a wreck of the woman she had been a scant ten days before.

“I don’t understand... none of us do... why did you run? Why didn’t you come to one of us? We would have protected...”

Ire flashing in her eyes she turned on him. “I don’t need anyone to protect me... I never have. I don’t know why you all – you, father, John, all society – insist that I am some weak and pitiful creature. I am not... I am...” Her mouth worked silently for a moment as her ailing stomach threatened to overwhelm her again. She staggered to the washstand again, James politely turning aside as she retched. Once she had finished he took hold of her delicately by her elbows and steered her over to the bed and helped her lie down. He brought her a damp washcloth so that she could freshen her face and cool her burning cheeks, giving her a moment’s grace to recover before repeating his original question.

“Why did you run, Helen?”

“I discovered the truth about John, I saw him... kill a young woman. I had come prepared. I shot him... I saw him fall, disappear...”

“You didn’t kill him, Helen. I received a telegram from your father four days ago. John’s body was recovered from the Thames – he had drowned himself it seems, perhaps in remorse for his actions. His brother positively identified the body.”

“That cannot be,” Helen said flatly. “He felt no remorse. He revelled in his actions. What I can’t understand is how long it took me to realise what he had become.”

“You loved him. He used that against you, to deflect you from getting too close to him, to what he was becoming.” James reached out as if to touch her hair, perhaps to brush back a tendril of curls from her cheek but withdrew as if he feared her touch would burn or contaminate him somehow.

“He had changed these last few months. It was becoming harder for him to hide I think.”

“We were always careful. Always. The last time… something was different. He was different. He did not care. He wanted me, wanted me completely. He treat me…”

“Like one of his whores,” James whispered, his gaze taking on vast distances she could not see. “He used such language, he was forceful, commanding… and something in you enjoyed it.”

“Yes,” Helen whispered, her cheeks scarlet.

“The release, the freedom from all the strictures. For a moment, you became like him. There are theories, still controversial, of how pain and pleasure commingle, the giving of yourself…”

Shocked, Helen realised that he was not just imagining John’s encounter with her, he was telling her however obliquely about his own encounter. She had known for as long as she had known him that James Watson loved John Druitt as completely as any one person could love another. On John’s part in was a deep and loving friendship, completely platonic. James had always wanted, needed more but both of them were English gentlemen. And for almost as long as there had been James and John there had been John and Helen.

It was five days later. James had taken the room across the corridor but spent most of his time with her. Their landlady would probably have been scandalised if she hadn’t fallen completely for James’s old English mannered charm. Her daughter watched them with a quietly amused smile. Her name was Agnete and she had taken care of Helen when her illness had incapacitated her. She knew the truth of Helen’s condition: that she was with child and that the father of that child, the man she had intended to marry, was dead.

"You know that I have always... cared for you,” James whispered. She lay across him, his fingers tangled in her curls, the sound of his heartbeat solid and reassuring in her ear. James would take care of everything if she let him, up to and including marrying her to provide a readymade father for her child and shelter her from any more scandal. He was sweet and solicitous and treat her as if she were porcelain, somehow better than other women. But she didn’t need to be placed on a pedestal or told that she looked like an angel. It would have been so much easier if it had been Nikola who had come to her rescue. He would have expected her seduction as his due, turned her over the nearest piece of furniture and thrown her skirts over her head. James was gentle, a gentleman. It had taken her three sleepless nights before he had agreed to lie with her in bed and even then she was under the covers and he was fully dressed on top. He had kissed her but chastely on the forehead, almost daringly on the cheek. She wanted to feel the rasp of his beard on her skin and not just on her lips. Her nipples ached for his touch and lower, lower the ache and heat was a constant distraction.

She raised herself a little, laid her hand on his cheek and looked down at him, studying his lean, angular face closely, his gentle eyes and the beard that framed his sensitive mouth. He tolerated her scrutiny with his usual infinite patience a puzzled smile quirking his lips. Earlier she wondered what his reaction would be if she asked him to take her hard and fast, up against the wall or tied to the bed frame, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain. Would he blush, would he even be able to look her in the eye any more? A pity – now that the nausea had passed, her libido had reasserted itself with a vengeance. John Druitt had schooled her well in the ways of pleasure and a part of her was anxious, fevered even to see if it was as she secretly feared and that John had spoiled her in more ways than one for any other man.

Thankfully, those fears were not realised. She had all but seduced the man but James managed at last in his own sweet way to bring her to orgasm and was endearingly pleased with himself for doing so. Helen knew she could never let him know that the only way she had come was by remembering the feel of the rough Whitechapel wall against her cheek and breasts as John took her from behind.

She trusted him implicitly, trusted him to do the right thing, whether that was to propose marriage to her to preserve her good name and prevent her child being born a bastard or hold her through the sleepless nights when the night terrors beckoned. She doubted she would ever sleep the night through again. And it was a bleak thought indeed that for her ‘ever’ could be a very long time.

That damnable foolhardy experiment. The source blood had changed her, changed them all. Tesla’s was the most obvious change, the source blood had reinvigorated the dormant vampire ancestry that ran through his blood and bones. Nigel had developed the ability to become invisible, to reflect his surroundings on his skin. John had developed the ability to move instantaneously in space and perhaps in time. Whether he had also become a brutal killer because of it or whether that was due to some inherent darkness brought into the light by the serum much as Tesla’s vampire characteristics had been she did not know. And James’s native intelligence and observational skills had been enhanced a thousandfold. Though she could still wind him round her little finger, it seemed.

She could outlive everyone else, outlive the child she carried in her womb. The thought tormented her. What was the point of loving if you had to go through the pain of losing them over and over again? Of all the gifts she could have received from the source blood, why this?

His finger tracing the line of her cheek brings her back to herself. “Why so pensive?” he asked. “Did… did you like…”

“I had a wonderful time with you, James,” she smiled down at him, glad to see him relax a little. “You are a good man, a better friend than I deserve. And I know that whatever happens you will be there for me and for my daughter.”

He smiled, reassured. “We should make preparations to head back to London. There are things that need to be settled – John’s estate for one. He named me executor of his will. I’ll send a telegram to your father in the morning…”

“That sounds like an excellent plan, James. But I’m not coming with you, not yet. I need more time to… consider my future.” Helen said.

He really was a very clever man. “I see. I know it would be useless to try and change your mind, Helen. You know, if there is anything you need, you have only to send word…” She pressed her lips to his again, caressing the soft bristles of his beard.

“I know. Thank you James. For everything.”

The distant sounds of the early morning street came to her as she stood at the window, a shawl wrapped around her. The subtle crunch of foot steps on the cat-ice that had formed on the puddles over night, the sound of cart wheels on the cobbles as the stall holders began to set up in the market square. As she watches a carriage draws up outside the hotel and a tall, elegant man in a black silk top hat and heavy overcoat comes down the steps, bag in hand. He looks up even though he can’t possibly see her, smiles and waves. Her beautiful, obedient James. She blows him a kiss she knows he cannot see but will feel and sends him only good thoughts for a safe journey home. Minutes later, he gets in the carriage and with a jingle of harness and a harsh clop of hooves on the cobbles it moves away.

She is alone again. But she has stopped running.

Agnete raps politely on the door before opening it. “Miss Magnus, your bath is drawn ready.”

“Thank you, Agnete.” Helen turns from the mirror where she is combing out her long hair dressed only in her petticoats, the shawl loose around her shoulders.

“Will you need my help with your hair. It is very… abundant,” the young woman said. “I am not a proper ladies maid, but I have assisted before.”

The water is still steaming when Helen lowers herself gingerly into the tub with a sigh of sheer pleasure. The girl has scented it with some sort of oil. Helen can detect sandalwood and something else she is not familiar with. She lets the young woman pour jugs of water over her head to wet her hair then rub in the soap, careful not to make too many tangles in the curls. Carefully she rinses out the soap, shielding Helen’s eyes with her hand so no soap irritates them. Then before Helen can say anything she picks up the wash cloth and begins to run it over Helen’s arms and back. Her touch is soothing, almost mesmerising. The cloth moves slickly over her breasts and belly, her thighs, calves and feet, washing away the sweat and grime, washing away James’s touch.

Helen is almost asleep in the tub when she feels soft lips touch hers. She opens her eyes to see Agnete’s dark amber eyes only inches away. “You are very beautiful Miss Magnus.”

“Call me Helen,” she whispered. “And you are very beautiful as well, Agnete.”

The girl is skilled in ways still new to Helen. The revelation that there is more to learn in the world shakes her, to be truly on foreign soil, long may it continue. She had allowed herself to become jaded, stale.

“You have bad dreams,” Agnete whispered. “I have heard you cry out in the night. My mother says you are haunted, perhaps by the man you were to marry. The one who died.”

“I suppose I am afraid to sleep,” Helen admitted. “John… the future without him still troubles me.”

“Would you like me to tell you a story? Perhaps it would distract you from your bad memories.”

Helen managed a smile. It had been a long time since she had been told a bedtime story. She closed her eyes at a fleeting memory of a tall fair haired woman, pale with ice blue eyes sitting beside her bed, a book of old folk tales open in her lap, a soft voice she could not quite recall. “If you think it would help.”

Cool fingers stroked her brow, teasing away the incipient headache. Helen stiffens, then forces herself to relax as fingers are replaced with lips, cool and soft, leaving it seemed a trail across her skin, the sensation persisting long after the butterfly touch. The lips move down her cheek, along the line of her throat, down her sternum. The heat between her legs rising in counterpoint to the cool precision of her lover’s touch.

“I thought you were telling me a story.”

Agnete smiled. “So I was. Once upon a time,” she began. Her hand cupped Helen’s breast, the pad of her thumb caressing the turgid nipple, “when the world was young there were many creatures that walked the land. Alongside the sons of Eve and the daughters of Lilith were those that were born under the light of the full moon. It was said that those born in that magical light were special in one way or another, endowed with great beauty or great talent, shapeshifters or magi, weatherwitches or dowsers, bards and storytellers. But most special and magical of all were those born in that light with a caul over their face. For they were the were-folk able to take on the form of beasts at will but forced to change into their animal selves when the light of the full moon fell across the land again. If they carried a piece of the caul with them in a pouch over their heart then no man could harm them and no witch could enchant them against their will.” The girl smiled. “Or so the story goes.”

The girl mouthed her breasts, the flat of her tongue washing over her sensitive nipples before the tip teased. She planted wet open kisses over Helen’s ribcage, tickling as well as titillating. Helen was unable to hold back a gasp as hot breath seared the sensitive skin around her navel. Helen’s hands curled into fists, gripping the sheet beneath her as soft kisses followed the curve of her belly (and it was not her imagining that that curve had become more pronounced in the last few days) and follow the V of light hair to the juncture of her thighs. She writhed as those soft lips and clever tongue had their way with her, lapping her closer and closer to the sweet oblivion she sought. Somewhere where John could not find her. Better than any drug the touch of a willing and generous lover. Seconds, minutes, hours passed she could not tell. She was willingly, joyfully lost.

The world slowed to its normal rhythm, fingers tangled in her hair, teasing out the golden ringlets so different from her lover’s dark locks. Dark amber eyes gazed at her, Agnete’s olive skin dark against her own pallor.

Already the last of the daylight is fading, the frostbright moon is rising, full bellied but not yet complete. Helen’s eye is caught by the small leather sack suspended by a cord around Agnete’s slender throat that nestles between her breasts over her heart and she realises just how special this new friend of hers is.

Says it all

2010-05-17T05:42:12Z

Twelve voices were shouting in anger, and they were all alike. No question, now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.

George Orwell, Animal Farm

Would the last one to leave...

2010-05-11T22:03:31Z

I would say turn out the lights, but the country's in such a parlous state we'd have probably been disconnected for non-payment before then. So much for 'Vote Clegg get Brown'. Thought GB's 'i'm out of here' speech was pretty well done and I do wish him well. Which leaves us at the mercy of the overgrown public school boys.

So much for the political new dawn.

I'm going to bed.

Dr Who: Flesh and Stone

2010-05-03T10:29:13Z

Okay, I may have been a little premature when I said last week's was the Best Episode Ever.

Okay, who/what the hell is River Song? I thought she was/will be his wife? Liz and I speculated about her being his mother for a while but hte signals were very very mixed, especially for Saturday tea time, so we still are thinking wife. Or some metaphysical representation of the TARDIS. Possibly.

I am getting to like Matt Smith's Doctor more and more, the expressions on his face when an idea goes supernova, the utter cluelessness when Amy decided she wanted a quick shag. "A forest in a bottle in a starship in a maze - have I impressed you yet Miss Pond?" I loved the whole concept of the forest/oxygen generation plant. The interchange with the Bishop as the Angel is about to kill him. "I wish I had known you better." "I think you have known me at my best, sir." Amy walking with her eyes closed through the forest of angels and how they all started to turn towards her when she fell. The countdown and the chilling conversation with Angel Bob - because it's fun. Wonderful. River saving the girl. River in handcuffs. Again. The promise of future/past meetings. (Strongly hinted in the 'Confidential' was just how much Steve Moffat would like to chart all of their meetings. Pretty please!) Was the Doctor the 'good man' that she killed? Please don't let that be the last time we see the Angels.

The duck pond without ducks, the fact that it's all about Amy and the day she marries is the day the crack happens and shatters time forwards and backwards. And sideways? And if time can be rewritten - what is he thinking of doing?

next week Vampires in Venice. Eep!

In his eyes... "Stuck" Liz/Bernie

2010-04-29T21:49:11Z

This is the first piece of writing I've completed in 2010 (and its May in 2 days time!) so I thought it should get a wider audience. It was a comment-fic in response to a meme in rowan_d 's journal.

In His Eyes 'Stuck' Liz/Bernie

She was on the cusp of her last fix, as high as she could get without beginning the long slow fall of need and pain and begging. She was on their ratty half-collapsed couch, her bare feet up on the packing case they were using as a table, legs parted. Bernie was slouched on the beanbag opposite. Bernie beanbag Bernie beanbag her mind singsonged and she laughed. Bernie smirked and cocked his head getting a clear view of her lack of underwear today. "Are you feeling good, baby?" he asked. She nodded, ran the tip of her tongue over her lips as her fingers began to inch up her skirt revealing the long lines of her pale thighs. Slowly, slowly she inched up her skirt feeling herself getting wet in anticipation. She loved it when he watched, that slow sexy grin on his face. She loved the expression in his eyes, the knowledge of how much he loved her, how beautiful he found her. She rested her hand on her knee for a moment before drawing her fingers down the silky skin of her inner thigh. "You're so hot, baby," he whispered as she touched herself for the first time letting herself feel everything, the different textures of her skin, the wet hot silk of her folds, the yielding of her centre as she dipped a finger inside herself then brought it to her mouth to taste. Sweet and sharp like peaches and cream. Bernie crawled towards her as she dipped her fingers inside herself again and then held out her hand, palm uppermost so that he could take them in his mouth and taste her too.

Dr Who: The Time of Angels

2010-04-25T21:12:01Z

River Song, Weeping Angels and the Labyrinth of the Dead

The opening sequence... brilliant, just brilliant. We now know High Gallifreyan for 'Hello Sweetie', River's crack about being taught how to pilot the Tardis by the best... and it was a shame the Doctor was busy that day... (so who taught her?) She has a spotter's guide to the Doctor because they keep meeting in the wrong order, Amy calling him Mr Grumpy Face... that which holds the image of an angel becomes itself an angel... and the Weeping Angels are still on par with Buffy's Gentlemen for the scariest aliens/demons ever and the speech about the one thing you never want in a trap from the trailer (which explains why he was holding a gun) and oh, a great cliff hanger and is it next week yet.

Best. Episode. Ever.

Politics

2010-04-22T21:37:03Z

Just watched the second leaders debate. Haven't really changed my opinions from the first one. Gordon Brown still hasn't realised that Labour's record on well most things isn't exactly shining and the last two years under his leadership haven't really been stellar either. He comes across as pompous and petulant. And you can tell he's been told to smile more. It's fake and frightening in equal proportions.

David Cameron was supposed to be the one who would come out best in these events. He comes over almost as pompous as GB and I'm sorry his reiterations of I'm one of You and We're all in this together come over as totally false and patronising. At least we didn't have quite as many of the 'heartwarming' personal interest man-in-the-street stories this time. But the 'I went jogging this morning with someone whose just finished a tour of duty in Afghanistan' didn't sit right. And love, you are not a new bright and shiny party. Thirteen years is not that long ago. We remember. And I really would like one of the news shows to play one of Blair's pre 1997 election speeches about how they were the bright shiny new hope and see how many lines DC has nicked.

And Cleggy. A bit shaky at times but still way ahead of the other two. Admittedly he'd have to be pretty awful to be as pompous as his opponents. Unfortunately it would have to be a landslide of unprecedented proportions for him to get even a sniff at power. I have been a supporter of the LibDems in the past and do have more of a feel for their policies than the other two.

I know who I'm definitely not voting for, but I'm still not 100% certain on who I am. I'll see how the next debate and the next two weeks play out. Trouble is, whatever you think of the leaders, its the local candidates that you vote for. I think we have five candidates in my constituency, the three main parties, UKIP and (spit) the BNP. Five white anglo saxon middle aged males, all with distinctly shrubbish tendencies. I just wish we had a Green Party candidate standing!

Dr Who: Victory of the Daleks

2010-04-18T08:22:22Z

Spent the episode speculating about crossing timelines and just how many iterations of Cpt Jack Harkness could he possibly bump into

Loved the khaki daleks with the union jack emblazoned on the side. And nearly fell off the couch laughing when one asked if he could get them a cup of tea. Of course it had to be too good to be true. Thought Ian McNiece did a pretty decent Churchill and Bill Paterson was as always, brilliant. Not completely sold on the primary coloured new new daleks. Both Liz and I said at the same time, oh god, dalek power rangers. Though did change my opinion slightly when the Moff said in the Confidential afterwards that he wanted to heark back to the original Dr Who and the Dalek movies. So, anyway... by my reckoning the 9th doctor and Rose are somewhere across London meeting a pre-immortal Jack Harkness around this time (are you my mummy?) and somewhere on the Yorkshire? coast the seventh doctor and Ace are combatting the curse of Fenric (one of my fave episodes). As well as the pre-immortal Jack Harkness, there's the Bilis Manger time-travelled Jack Harkness in Cardiff, the one in cryo in the Cardiff Hub vaults and the immortal taking-the-slow-route Jack Harkness waiting for the Doctor to come back. And of course the Jack Harkness whose identity he stole in the first place. I think.

And next week, River Song, Weeping Angels and buggering about in caves, oh my!

Now for my second cup of coffee of the morning and the illicit pain/pleasures of 'Over the Rainbow' if last nights show has been put up on I-player.

Dr Who: The Beast Below

2010-04-10T23:53:25Z

What is it about Brit first time space travellers and the urge to wander around in their dressing gowns?

There was much to love about this episode. The whole idea of UK plc in space and the Scots sodding off on their own. Liz10... ahh... Liz10 played by one of my favourite actresses. I want her to abdicate and go off with River Song and have gorgeous swashbuckling adventures. I loved Liz10, loved the idea of her and the whole cyclical nature of everyone choosing to 'forget' the sordid truth of their little space jaunt. The smilers weren't quite as scary as I thought they would be though those things in general give me the creeps. Favourite lines which may or may not get recycled into the Dr Who story of doom I've been writing for the last 18 bloody months... 'a long time ago tomorrow morning', 'this isn't going to be big on dignity' and 'I'm the bloody queen mate. Basically, I rule.'

On the whole, I'd give it a 7 out of 10. And the trailer for next week.... oh boy.

Dr Who: The Eleventh Hour

2010-04-04T09:43:07Z

New Titles - meh
New Doctor - in his own words hasn't finished cooking yet but shows great promise
New Assistant - me like. Feisty and sexy
New TARDIS - omg. WANT!

The story itself was a good one, a nice intro, some good humour not completely overdone, a new alien and of course the introduction of the now ubiquitous thread o'doom to run through the series. The preview of what's to come at the end had me salivating.

Bring it on.

(And an afternoon of Classic Who on Sci-Fi channel beckons)