rosa_acicularis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosa_acicularis) wrote2010-09-11 01:23 am
rosa_acicularis) wrote2010-09-11 01:23 am
Entry tags:
two mini commentaries and some sex jokes (in poor taste).
Two commentaries promised in this meme! I quite enjoyed doing these, brief as they are, and I'd be happy to do more. Though after these you might all wash your hands of me; it's hard to say.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
melnay13's chosen passage from A Little Health Competition:
I wrote this fic for two reasons: the first was so I'd have context for the bit of dialogue below, and the second was so I could finally work a joke into a fic about Rose being a Spice Girls fan. So. Mickey and the Doctor are bickering about which of them knows Rose better (slow day on the TARDIS, obviously) when Mickey pulls out the big guns.
“I’ve had sex with her,” Mickey said. “A lot.”
I often find the words a lot hilarious for no particular reason. I think it's a timing thing. And so I use them. A lot.
The Doctor’s expression was a strange, unreadable thing. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Well,” he said slowly, “I happen to know that she’s mildly allergic to pine nuts.”
I doubt Rose even knew this about herself. I think he tests his companions for these things while they're sleeping. (Hey, it's important stuff to know. Pine nuts pop up rather unexpectedly in certain pasta dishes. And...salads.)
“Yeah,” Mickey said, his voice gentle with a definite undercurrent of smug, “but that’s not quite the same thing, now is it?”
The Doctor would not meet her eyes. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”
So the Doctor and Rose have this intense, devoted relationship, have ever since "I'm so glad I met you" and "We'll go down fighting, yeah?", but I firmly believe that it's not something they talk about. Rose and Nine danced around the sex issue (so to speak) but here Mickey's forcing sex into the conversation, and suddenly they aren't just the Doctor and Rose, they are the Doctor and Rose Who Do Not Have Sex.
Here's me planting an idea in your head. I say, "Don't think about elephants." Now what are you thinking about?
The Doctor and Rose having sex? Well, now they're thinking about it, too.
Rose dropped her feet to the floor and sat up. “Doesn’t count.”
Mickey turned on her. “What? Of course it counts! In a fight over who knows you better, I think the fact that I’ve, you know, known you and he hasn’t counts for an awful lot!” He paused, his eyes widening. “He hasn’t, has he? I mean, you and Big Ears never—”
And now everyone's thinking about Rose and Nine having sex. Good times.
The Doctor flushed and made a small choking sound in the back of his throat. Rose stood, scattering draughts pieces onto the floor. “The Doctor,” she said, pointing to the man in question, “was there for my first near-death experience.”
This battle between the Doctor and Mickey isn't really about Random Rose Trivia, obviously -- it's about intimacy. Mickey and Rose have been sexually intimate, and you can't really blame him for thinking that should trump the Doctor and Rose's platonic friendship. But two people who regularly risk death together (who have, in fact, almost died for each other) share an intense sort of intimacy, too, maybe even something as immediate and physical as sex.
Sex and death, baby. And you thought this was fluff. ;)
++
Andplatypus' choice, from Incurable.
platypus' perfectly reasonable question was why this fic ends with yawning instead of sex. I have two answers to that:
1) Pacing. A sex scene would've detracted from the emotional climax reached just before things turned physical. Thus the yawning denouement.
2) AHH WHAT I CAN'T WRITE SEX OMG NO JUST GO TO SLEEP YOU GUYS GEEZ.
I've sort of got over this porn paranoia in recent years (I wrote this fic in, like, 1997; I don't know, a while ago) but I still find it nerve wracking. It takes a certain kind of talent to make sex sound deathly boring; I have that talent. A lot.
And with that fairly amazing statement he began to pull the waistband of her pajamas down her hips, inch by inch, at a maddeningly slow pace. His lips explored the newly uncovered skin and her hand fisted in his hair. It took all the admittedly small concentration she had left to keep from squirming impatiently. He was obviously determined to make this as excruciatingly slow as possible,
So. Many. Adverbs. I could smack myself in the face.
(I won't, though. That hurts.)
and while some distant part of her mind found this idea rather appealing, the rest simply insisted that down there, now would be nice, thanks.
Then a strange, rumbling ache began to build in her ears and the space just behind her jaw. She clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth together, and squeezed her eyes closed. Then the pressure built to an irresistible thunder, and she couldn’t stop herself. She yawned — a massive, blinding yawn with just the tiniest, high-pitched squeak at the end.
I have a tendency to kick out with my left leg while I yawn. It's really weird. Sometimes people stare.
The Doctor stilled, his lips against the skin of her hip. “Either that was an odd and somewhat premature orgasm, or I’m deeply insulted.”
OH THIS JOKE. I WOULD MARRY IT IF I COULD. (Are you supposed to say these things about your own stuff? Probably not. Sounds a bit incestuous.)
She blinked down at him blearily, a little mortified and a little amused at the same time. “Well, I’m sorry, but you did wake me in the middle of the–”
“You humans and your sleep,” he muttered, making his way back up the length of her body. “You snore and you drool and you dream, and where does it get you?”
“I’m not that tired,” she said hurriedly, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulders. "No, no, darling, keep going. I'll wake up when it gets good."
He dropped a light kiss onto her nose. “Yes, you are. A lot.”
“Am not.”
“Rose,” he said with a great forbearance that made her rather want to smack him, “you just yawned so hard that I felt the aftershocks in your knees. You’re tired.” He sighed woefully. “Too tired.”
Too tired for the Tiem Cock? COCKPOSSIBLE.
(My apologies. The potential for alliteration was too much for my sad, addled mind.)
In other news, I've been compulsively listening to Bowie's Life on Mars on repeat for the last two hours, and every two minutes or so I get intensely teary and emotional about SAM TYLER and GENE HUNT and THAT BEAUTIFUL SHOW. In a few minutes I intend to switch over to Ashes to Ashes and OH ALEX DRAKE I LOVE YOU LIKE BREATHING.
I might be a little premenstrual. Just a smidge.
melnay13's chosen passage from A Little Health Competition: I wrote this fic for two reasons: the first was so I'd have context for the bit of dialogue below, and the second was so I could finally work a joke into a fic about Rose being a Spice Girls fan. So. Mickey and the Doctor are bickering about which of them knows Rose better (slow day on the TARDIS, obviously) when Mickey pulls out the big guns.
“I’ve had sex with her,” Mickey said. “A lot.”
I often find the words a lot hilarious for no particular reason. I think it's a timing thing. And so I use them. A lot.
The Doctor’s expression was a strange, unreadable thing. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Well,” he said slowly, “I happen to know that she’s mildly allergic to pine nuts.”
I doubt Rose even knew this about herself. I think he tests his companions for these things while they're sleeping. (Hey, it's important stuff to know. Pine nuts pop up rather unexpectedly in certain pasta dishes. And...salads.)
“Yeah,” Mickey said, his voice gentle with a definite undercurrent of smug, “but that’s not quite the same thing, now is it?”
The Doctor would not meet her eyes. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”
So the Doctor and Rose have this intense, devoted relationship, have ever since "I'm so glad I met you" and "We'll go down fighting, yeah?", but I firmly believe that it's not something they talk about. Rose and Nine danced around the sex issue (so to speak) but here Mickey's forcing sex into the conversation, and suddenly they aren't just the Doctor and Rose, they are the Doctor and Rose Who Do Not Have Sex.
Here's me planting an idea in your head. I say, "Don't think about elephants." Now what are you thinking about?
The Doctor and Rose having sex? Well, now they're thinking about it, too.
Rose dropped her feet to the floor and sat up. “Doesn’t count.”
Mickey turned on her. “What? Of course it counts! In a fight over who knows you better, I think the fact that I’ve, you know, known you and he hasn’t counts for an awful lot!” He paused, his eyes widening. “He hasn’t, has he? I mean, you and Big Ears never—”
And now everyone's thinking about Rose and Nine having sex. Good times.
The Doctor flushed and made a small choking sound in the back of his throat. Rose stood, scattering draughts pieces onto the floor. “The Doctor,” she said, pointing to the man in question, “was there for my first near-death experience.”
This battle between the Doctor and Mickey isn't really about Random Rose Trivia, obviously -- it's about intimacy. Mickey and Rose have been sexually intimate, and you can't really blame him for thinking that should trump the Doctor and Rose's platonic friendship. But two people who regularly risk death together (who have, in fact, almost died for each other) share an intense sort of intimacy, too, maybe even something as immediate and physical as sex.
Sex and death, baby. And you thought this was fluff. ;)
++
And
platypus' choice, from Incurable. platypus' perfectly reasonable question was why this fic ends with yawning instead of sex. I have two answers to that:1) Pacing. A sex scene would've detracted from the emotional climax reached just before things turned physical. Thus the yawning denouement.
2) AHH WHAT I CAN'T WRITE SEX OMG NO JUST GO TO SLEEP YOU GUYS GEEZ.
I've sort of got over this porn paranoia in recent years (I wrote this fic in, like, 1997; I don't know, a while ago) but I still find it nerve wracking. It takes a certain kind of talent to make sex sound deathly boring; I have that talent. A lot.
And with that fairly amazing statement he began to pull the waistband of her pajamas down her hips, inch by inch, at a maddeningly slow pace. His lips explored the newly uncovered skin and her hand fisted in his hair. It took all the admittedly small concentration she had left to keep from squirming impatiently. He was obviously determined to make this as excruciatingly slow as possible,
So. Many. Adverbs. I could smack myself in the face.
(I won't, though. That hurts.)
and while some distant part of her mind found this idea rather appealing, the rest simply insisted that down there, now would be nice, thanks.
Then a strange, rumbling ache began to build in her ears and the space just behind her jaw. She clamped her mouth shut, grinding her teeth together, and squeezed her eyes closed. Then the pressure built to an irresistible thunder, and she couldn’t stop herself. She yawned — a massive, blinding yawn with just the tiniest, high-pitched squeak at the end.
I have a tendency to kick out with my left leg while I yawn. It's really weird. Sometimes people stare.
The Doctor stilled, his lips against the skin of her hip. “Either that was an odd and somewhat premature orgasm, or I’m deeply insulted.”
OH THIS JOKE. I WOULD MARRY IT IF I COULD. (Are you supposed to say these things about your own stuff? Probably not. Sounds a bit incestuous.)
She blinked down at him blearily, a little mortified and a little amused at the same time. “Well, I’m sorry, but you did wake me in the middle of the–”
“You humans and your sleep,” he muttered, making his way back up the length of her body. “You snore and you drool and you dream, and where does it get you?”
“I’m not that tired,” she said hurriedly, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulders. "No, no, darling, keep going. I'll wake up when it gets good."
He dropped a light kiss onto her nose. “Yes, you are. A lot.”
“Am not.”
“Rose,” he said with a great forbearance that made her rather want to smack him, “you just yawned so hard that I felt the aftershocks in your knees. You’re tired.” He sighed woefully. “Too tired.”
Too tired for the Tiem Cock? COCKPOSSIBLE.
(My apologies. The potential for alliteration was too much for my sad, addled mind.)
In other news, I've been compulsively listening to Bowie's Life on Mars on repeat for the last two hours, and every two minutes or so I get intensely teary and emotional about SAM TYLER and GENE HUNT and THAT BEAUTIFUL SHOW. In a few minutes I intend to switch over to Ashes to Ashes and OH ALEX DRAKE I LOVE YOU LIKE BREATHING.
I might be a little premenstrual. Just a smidge.