#then there’s Jamie who just hates his full name because he thinks it sounds stuffy and old fashioned

[cloudbattrolls]

Why they don’t like their first names, last name user edition:

Amdzah: He just thinks ‘Klerik’ sounds lame. It does not fit his bubblegum boy bimbo aesthetic.

Allond: ‘Haliim’ is very much a masculine name in Selatakian culture, and Allond is non-binary, so they don’t like using it.

[sarriane]

writing examples

Hello! This post contains several writing examples as reference for participants of the Dr Who HopeZine BigBang. If you aren’t familiar with the event, please check out their blog and consider signing up. Signups close March 1st!!

You can find my work on AO3 @ sariane! Below are three examples from my fics. Please mind the warnings if you click through to the entire work!

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i. from Five Things to Do in Isolation to Annoy the Doctor:

The Doctor is awoken from his nap by a great unholy shrieking – something between the Great Hornox of Bestros giving birth and a primary school at recess.

He jolts out of his armchair. The noise echoes around the concrete walls of the University basement. His fingers are too slow and fumbling as he tries to get the Vault locks open.

“What the hell is that noise?” Nardole asks, walking in from the adjacent room. He’s wearing his horrible orange dressing gown. “Oh. Doctor. What are you doing down here?”

“Fell asleep reading,” the Doctor says quickly. If he sometimes likes to sit outside the Vault and think, that’s no business of Nardole’s.

The noise shows no sign of stopping by the time the Doctor gets the Vault doors open. If anything, it’s gotten louder.

The Doctor bursts through the doors to find Missy perched on top of her piano again. Playing the bagpipes.

The Doctor freezes in his tracks. Nardole walks in past him, a sour expression on his face. The noise coming from Missy’s bagpipes doesn’t even vaguely resemble music.

“What are you doing, playing that at this hour?” the Doctor asks her loudly “You’ll wake up the whole campus!”

Missy lowers the bagpipes and smiles sweetly. He hates when she does that.

“You told me I had to find a hobby,” she says, still smiling with an infuriatingly innocent air. “Learn a new skill,” she says, in a stuffy imitation of him. “Discover something new about yourself, Missy. Something non-violent, preferably.”

“What you’re doing to my ears is violence,” the Doctor says.

Missy fiddles with a drone, one of the long wooden pipes sticking out of the bag. She sighs. “I’ve got the accent, why shouldn’t I learn about the culture?”

“I think that’s cultural appropriation,” the Doctor says.

Nardole snorts, “So is your accent.” The Doctor throws a dirty look at him.

Missy takes this as an opportunity to begin playing the bagpipes again, blissfully swaying in time (not that she’s playing in it).

“Where did she even get bagpipes?” the Doctor asks Nardole loudly, over the noise. Nardole shrugs, looking guilty. The bagpipes squeak and shriek as she tortures them.

The Doctor finally gives up and approaches Missy, fingers stuck in his ears. Her legs dangle from the piano, and she aims a kick at him as he passes her.

How To Play The Bagpipes, For Beginners lays on top of the piano next to Missy, completely ignored. As the Doctor picks it up, Missy’s bagpipes emit the loudest, most horrible note yet. The Doctor pulls out his sonic and points it at the instrument threateningly.

“Don’t you dare!” Missy shouts, cradling her bagpipes like a very gassy baby. They let out a little squeak.

“At least let me tune them!” he says. “Or check that you’ve not stuck a cat inside.”

“Not with that bloody electric toothbrush of yours,” Missy spits. She caresses her bagpipes possessively. “Don’t worry, Jamie, I won’t let the Doctor hurt you.”

“You named it Jamie?!” the Doctor shouts, livid.

“Yes, after the hunk from Outlander,” Missy smiles dreamily. She strokes one of the long drones suggestively.

“Oh, dear,” Nardole says.

***

ii. from En Garde!: 

Yaz takes the honor of opening the TARDIS doors. The Doctor follows her out into a busy street, her boots squelching in mud and straw. They’re absolutely surrounded by people, but none of them pay the TARDIS a second glance. The Doctor can smell the stench of latrines on the air.

“Ah, looks like the TARDIS has taken us to medieval England! Not far from fourteenth century Aleppo, after all,” the Doctor says, squinting in the bright sunlight. Nearby, someone is playing a lute and singing a bawdy song. Everyone is in fancy dress, drinking and eating on the streets, stopping at vendors to buy trinkets. A man passes, chomping on a turkey leg.

“Must be a festival day or something,” the Doctor says.

“Yeah, that explains the cell phones,” Yaz says sarcastically, pointing to a man snapping a picture of his kids. The crowds part to let through a procession of bagpipers, armed guards, and a woman in white makeup with a long, poufy dress. “Or is that the real Queen Elizabeth the first?”

The Doctor ducks behind Yaz to hide. “Elizabeth? Where?”

As the woman passes, the Doctor frowns. “That’s not the real Elizabeth. Or even the fake real Elizabeth.”

“What? Why are you hiding from Queen Elizabeth?” Yaz asks with a laugh.

“She’s my ex-wife,” the Doctor says seriously. Yaz looks skeptical.

“So, your time machine didn’t take us to actual medieval England. It took us to a Renaissance Faire. In Pennsylvania ,” Yaz says, picking a flier from a stall and waving it in the Doctor’s face. “Some Time Lord you are.”

“Those costumes are very historically accurate!” the Doctor says defensively. “And the smell!”

“We’re in front of the toilets,” Yaz points out, noting that the TARDIS has landed at the end of a row of Port-A-Potties, as if it’s one of them. “Yuck.”

“I wonder why the TARDIS took us here,” the Doctor says, looking around suspiciously. “They sell reproductions of astrolabes at these kinds of festivals, not the real deal. That would be astronomically expensive, pun intended.”

“Maybe there’s an antiques dealer who’s really bad at appraisal,” Yaz says, unfolding the flier into a map. “If only we knew where to find them…”

“You know what, maybe you should be in charge, Yaz,” the Doctor says, picking up a map of her own.

“Really? Then our first stop is the concessions stand,” Yaz says. “I want one of those turkey legs.”

***

iii. from Reflex Memories (a Steve/Bucky Captain America fic):

Absurdly, his friendship (if that’s what it is) with two founding Avengers gets him invited to all of the Avengers events. The Winter Soldier isn’t officially an Avenger – he turned down Rogers’ offer a long time ago – but he’s called in whenever they need him.

Now, he’s texted whenever they think he should get out of his apartment.

Of course, Natasha’s text neglects to tell him that the “night out with a few friends” at a local club is actually a full-blown surprise birthday party for Captain America.

Bucky stands up against the wall in the red, white, and blue party that’s enthusiastically been organized and decorated by Janet Van Dyne. He feels like an idiot. He hasn’t brought a present, he doesn’t want to be here, and it seems like all of the Avengers have come (including some of the kids, who seem to have snuck in).

Tony, Jan, and Carol lead a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday,” and Bucky watches from the edge of the room as Steve blows out his candles.

“One hundred years old,” Sam laughs, patting Steve on the back. “And lookin’ good, old man.” Steve mutters something under his breath that makes Sam tip his head back and laugh.

Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around, casing the place for the tenth time tonight, checking for the nearest clear exit. He turns towards a side door near the bathrooms that empties into an alleyway.

It’s quiet and shadowy in the alley, the hot night lit only by a nearby streetlamp. It casts the dumpsters and trashcans in a thick yellow light. Bucky takes a deep breath though his mouth, ignoring the smell of trash and steaming sewer, and reaches into his pocket. He picks out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, hoping the pretense will keep anyone from the party from seeking him out.

He’s unlucky, though, because the door opens a moment later, letting out a burst of light, music, and a tall figure.

“Sorry,” Steve says automatically as he realizes he’s intruded upon someone. Then, he realizes it’s Bucky. “Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. “It’s you.”

Bucky bites back a sigh – he’d hoped to avoid this – and takes a drag on his cigarette.

“Who you hiding from?” Bucky asks, his words tainting the air with smoke.

“Tony,” Steve sighs. “There’s  another cake, and I’m pretty sure this one has a stripper inside.”

Bucky snorts, “Sounds like Stark to me.”

“Who’re you hiding from?” Steve asks. Bucky looks down at the cigarette in his metal hand, the ember glow diffusing across the silver like ripples on a pond. He wonders what Steve’ll think if he’s honest. After a minute, he tells himself he doesn’t care.

“No one, anymore,” Bucky answers. “Looks like he found me.”

Steve looks chagrined, so Bucky waves his hand dismissively.

“I forgot to bring you a present,” Bucky says, smiling a little. “Natasha neglected to tell me it was your birthday party.” He almost expects Steve to say something corny, like, ‘Aw, that’s alright, your company is a present,’ but Steve just smirks.

“Guess you’ll have to find some way to make it up to me,” Steve chuckles.

Before Bucky can reply, the door opens and Clint pokes his head out. Steve jumps behind the dumpster.

“Oh, hey, Barnes,” Clint says, glancing around the alleyway.

“Barton,” he nods, wondering if he should give Steve away. It’ll get him back his peace and quiet if he does.

“You seen Steve?” Clint asks. “We owe him a hundred spankings.” Bucky lets out a noise that might be a snort.

“Nope,” he says, flicking his cigarette.

“Dammit,” Clint says. “Well, if you see him, tell him that he can run, but he can’t hide.” Clint lets the door swing shut behind him.

Bucky waits until the count of ten before he turns and says, “He’s gone.” Steve steps out from behind his dumpster, shaking his head.

“Thirty-three,” Steve mutters. “I am thirty-three years old, not counting all the years I was frozen, and they insist on saying I’m one hundred this year.” Bucky laughs.

“How old does that make me?” he asks, knowing he technically hit the big 1-0-0 last year. “Not counting all my time on ice.”

“Oh, forty, at least,” Steve smiles. “Don’t know why anyone insists I’m an old man when you’re around.”

“And lookin’ good for it, aren’t I?” Bucky says.

“Better than me,” Steve says. Bucky laughs and throws his cigarette butt onto the pavement, grinding it out with his shoe. “You took up smoking?” he asks curiously.

“Not really,” Bucky shrugs, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “It’s a good excuse to get away from the crowd, sometimes, if I need to. I don’t make a habit out of it.” He gives Steve a searching look, then asks, “Did I, uh, smoke? Before?”

“Huh?” Steve starts. “No, no – it bothered my asthma.”

“People keep telling me I’m going to get cancer,” Bucky says humorlessly. “Guess I should start telling them I’m already a hundred and one.”

“Hey, you know we qualify for one of those senior citizen discount cards,” Steve says.

“Really? You got one of them?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, works like a charm when a guy who looks twenty-five takes it out and tries to get a free complimentary coffee at the doughnut shop,” Steve snorts.

“That’s when you pull out the baby blues and flirt your way through it all,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head, biting at his cheek trying to hold back his smile. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to hide his anymore. With a great sigh, Steve scuffs his boot against the asphalt and glances at the door.

“Guess I’ll have to go back in eventually,” he sighs. “Sharon keeps trying to get me to dance.”

“Tell you what,” Bucky says. “If you go back in, I’ll go back in, and I’ll dance with anyone who tries to ask you so you don’t have to.”

“Wow,” Steve says, holding the door open for him. “So selfless.”

“I know,” Bucky says cheekily. “But I’m not protecting you from birthday spankings.”

“Damn,” Steve shakes his head as he follows Bucky back into the club. “Should’ve brought my shield.”

***

Thank you for stopping by and reading! <3