Just Prompts
Locked inside: http://i36.tinypic.com/34yeazs.jpg.
I.
The blood is sticky and smells like artron. It oozes from the numerous welts on her body, staining the blankets and covering his body. He licks her slowly, almost painfully, savouring the taste of her blood and then forcing her to taste it in a pinning tongue fuck kiss. She knows without doubt that this will be the last time they make love in this body.
When he finally thrusts into her, it’s without warning. Her body is still wet and willing, needing him when any sane person would run. He climbs up her body, biting and scratching. She moans and arches into him and only gasps as his hands go to her throat. They fuck rabidly and every time he rolls his hips and penetrates, his hands tighten around her already bruised neck.
And as she climaxes, he strangles her. She gasps for breath just as she gasps in response to the burning pleasure consuming her body. But she can’t breathe. He’s killing her. She’ll die again.
Regenerate for me, Jenny, he sends to her. She’s already obliged to his last command, coming happily as she has so many times in the past whatever years. I know you can do it. Regenerate. Focus. You’ve seen her image. You can do this, my dear. I know you can.
It hurts and hurts and hurts more than anything ever has before. But there’s a peace that comes with the death, too. A death that, this time, only lasts for seconds before that golden glow overtakes her body and she changes into that human girl slumped dead somewhere within the TARDIS.
It’ll be an awful fifteen years without him.
II.
The music starts to play. In the aisles, rows of human heads turn to look at her. She has dreamed of this day since the second day into their relationship when she had realized she had fallen in love with him. There’s nothing at all faked about this day. The glow on her face is genuine, the smile in her eyes alive. It’s all a part of his plan (their plan) but it thrills her nonetheless.
Butterflies dance in her stomach. For once, she can look up at the face of her false father without plotting his death. She smiles and smiles and can’t stop. After six months of courtship, today is her wedding day.
She walks down the aisle, dressed in an undeserving white gown; pristine and perfect and the picture of pureness. The line between lie and truth is so deliciously thin right now. She loves it. She loves every moment of the day. She loves the way their eyes meet across the heads of insignificant mayflies. She loves the delicious spark in them, the promise to ravish her tonight in a way he hasn’t been able to in years.
One foot in front of the other, one step then another. The veil is lifted from her face and she kisses her father gently on his cheek. Her hand is placed in his and she feels complete for the first time in years.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate in the joyous union of Harold Saxon and Lucy Cole…”
The rest of the words are lost to the images he sends. She sends her own in return, face impassive as she remembers the lovely feel of the riding crop on his back. The priest continues to talk. Her parents watch with genuine pride. It’s almost a shame this wedding can’t end in tragedy with the deaths of all but the bride and groom.
“I do.”
She remembers that.
III.
Her feet ache from standing. Her mind races with scenarios, all the many different ways she’ll reveal herself to Dad. He won’t recognise her, not when he doesn’t yet know her. It won’t be like on Koomiali, when he came to rescue those idiots from her rule. That deliciousness of hearing his hearts break as she kissed his worst enemy. But still. She’s certain it’ll be fun.
Being interrupted isn’t on her agenda. But when she sees Vivien Rock enter with that Tish girl, she smiles. A chance for fun! It’s been too long since her last chance for fun. She slips into her human persona easily enough as she plays hard to get.
“Oh, can’t I just have an hour to myself? It’s been a hell of a day.”
It’s the perfect bait for a spy in disguise as a journalist. The dialogue continues. She plays her role perfectly. Everything about her dear, darling husband is a lie? Oh, the indecency of the suggestion! Playing the indigent wife is rather easy to do today after those dull conferences. How could anyone say such things about her Harry, her Master?
The only real concern is Archangel. She files the information in her brain; a point to bring up with him after this lovely charade is through. Oh. Perhaps Vivien does have a point. Reel her in. Let her feel safe. It makes the kill so much sweeter.
“The thing is… I made my choice.” She smiles. And smiles some more. No one will ever know how long ago she made her choice. And just how easy it was. “For better or for worse. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
IV.
He stands in the background. She knows he’s there. She always knows when he’s around. The red silk of her dress swishes around her as she walks. His eyes are on her arse, the pert little thing she knows he loves. How it must annoy her father to know he has such a devoted companion. A wife that doesn’t mind if he cheats on her, as the humans would think. Such narrowed mindedness. Gods like them don’t belong to anyone.
It’s a part of the act. She stops in front of the cage and stares at the wizened creature within it. With the paradox machine in effect, they can kill him. She’ll live with her father’s death. And they two, she and her Master, will be the last of the Time Lords. As it should be.
But he won’t let her kill him. It bothers her sometimes.
“Hello, Dad.”
His old eyes are sad and confused as she speaks those words. It makes her laugh with delight.
“Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey,” she continues. “Isn’t that what you like to say?”
He doesn’t know what to make of her. He doesn’t know whether he should believe her. How delicious. A quick turn of her head reveals that he’s still watching her. The lovely human woman massages his shoulders as she does and she wants very much to join them. But she’s dreamed of this day. She’ll make it come true.
Smiling, she places her fingertips on his wizened temples. Her eyes seek out permission and, for some odd reason, he agrees. Not that it matters. She’d have done it even if not. Remember me, Dad. Remember what you’ve lost.
V.
She had told him he should have fixed the Archangel Network, hadn’t she? Over a year ago, she had warned him. But that’s the problem with gods, sometimes. They don’t listen. And now, as she stands and watches, his brilliant creation is being used against him.
It hurts her hearts to watch.
And still, as the world unites, she closes her eyes. She shouldn’t; it’ll betray him and she owes him her life. He taught her, he moulded her. In effect, he created her. And while she despises her father, despises him with all her heart, that doesn’t change one small fact:
He is her father.
“Doctor.” Then, more confidentially, she repeats it: “Doctor.”
For a moment, that naïve soldier girl she had once been comes rushing back. She’s the girl that yearns to see new worlds, that yearns to run, and yearns, more than anything, to make her father proud. That girl has been locked away for so long. And it hurts and hurts, nearly as much as dying had. It hurts too much and she - Jenny - just wants to be free of it all.
No one sees the gun. No one notices until the shot rings out.
She’s betrayed them both.
Perhaps now, she can be free of it all.
I.
The blood is sticky and smells like artron. It oozes from the numerous welts on her body, staining the blankets and covering his body. He licks her slowly, almost painfully, savouring the taste of her blood and then forcing her to taste it in a pinning tongue fuck kiss. She knows without doubt that this will be the last time they make love in this body.
When he finally thrusts into her, it’s without warning. Her body is still wet and willing, needing him when any sane person would run. He climbs up her body, biting and scratching. She moans and arches into him and only gasps as his hands go to her throat. They fuck rabidly and every time he rolls his hips and penetrates, his hands tighten around her already bruised neck.
And as she climaxes, he strangles her. She gasps for breath just as she gasps in response to the burning pleasure consuming her body. But she can’t breathe. He’s killing her. She’ll die again.
Regenerate for me, Jenny, he sends to her. She’s already obliged to his last command, coming happily as she has so many times in the past whatever years. I know you can do it. Regenerate. Focus. You’ve seen her image. You can do this, my dear. I know you can.
It hurts and hurts and hurts more than anything ever has before. But there’s a peace that comes with the death, too. A death that, this time, only lasts for seconds before that golden glow overtakes her body and she changes into that human girl slumped dead somewhere within the TARDIS.
It’ll be an awful fifteen years without him.
II.
The music starts to play. In the aisles, rows of human heads turn to look at her. She has dreamed of this day since the second day into their relationship when she had realized she had fallen in love with him. There’s nothing at all faked about this day. The glow on her face is genuine, the smile in her eyes alive. It’s all a part of his plan (their plan) but it thrills her nonetheless.
Butterflies dance in her stomach. For once, she can look up at the face of her false father without plotting his death. She smiles and smiles and can’t stop. After six months of courtship, today is her wedding day.
She walks down the aisle, dressed in an undeserving white gown; pristine and perfect and the picture of pureness. The line between lie and truth is so deliciously thin right now. She loves it. She loves every moment of the day. She loves the way their eyes meet across the heads of insignificant mayflies. She loves the delicious spark in them, the promise to ravish her tonight in a way he hasn’t been able to in years.
One foot in front of the other, one step then another. The veil is lifted from her face and she kisses her father gently on his cheek. Her hand is placed in his and she feels complete for the first time in years.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate in the joyous union of Harold Saxon and Lucy Cole…”
The rest of the words are lost to the images he sends. She sends her own in return, face impassive as she remembers the lovely feel of the riding crop on his back. The priest continues to talk. Her parents watch with genuine pride. It’s almost a shame this wedding can’t end in tragedy with the deaths of all but the bride and groom.
“I do.”
She remembers that.
III.
Her feet ache from standing. Her mind races with scenarios, all the many different ways she’ll reveal herself to Dad. He won’t recognise her, not when he doesn’t yet know her. It won’t be like on Koomiali, when he came to rescue those idiots from her rule. That deliciousness of hearing his hearts break as she kissed his worst enemy. But still. She’s certain it’ll be fun.
Being interrupted isn’t on her agenda. But when she sees Vivien Rock enter with that Tish girl, she smiles. A chance for fun! It’s been too long since her last chance for fun. She slips into her human persona easily enough as she plays hard to get.
“Oh, can’t I just have an hour to myself? It’s been a hell of a day.”
It’s the perfect bait for a spy in disguise as a journalist. The dialogue continues. She plays her role perfectly. Everything about her dear, darling husband is a lie? Oh, the indecency of the suggestion! Playing the indigent wife is rather easy to do today after those dull conferences. How could anyone say such things about her Harry, her Master?
The only real concern is Archangel. She files the information in her brain; a point to bring up with him after this lovely charade is through. Oh. Perhaps Vivien does have a point. Reel her in. Let her feel safe. It makes the kill so much sweeter.
“The thing is… I made my choice.” She smiles. And smiles some more. No one will ever know how long ago she made her choice. And just how easy it was. “For better or for worse. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
IV.
He stands in the background. She knows he’s there. She always knows when he’s around. The red silk of her dress swishes around her as she walks. His eyes are on her arse, the pert little thing she knows he loves. How it must annoy her father to know he has such a devoted companion. A wife that doesn’t mind if he cheats on her, as the humans would think. Such narrowed mindedness. Gods like them don’t belong to anyone.
It’s a part of the act. She stops in front of the cage and stares at the wizened creature within it. With the paradox machine in effect, they can kill him. She’ll live with her father’s death. And they two, she and her Master, will be the last of the Time Lords. As it should be.
But he won’t let her kill him. It bothers her sometimes.
“Hello, Dad.”
His old eyes are sad and confused as she speaks those words. It makes her laugh with delight.
“Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey,” she continues. “Isn’t that what you like to say?”
He doesn’t know what to make of her. He doesn’t know whether he should believe her. How delicious. A quick turn of her head reveals that he’s still watching her. The lovely human woman massages his shoulders as she does and she wants very much to join them. But she’s dreamed of this day. She’ll make it come true.
Smiling, she places her fingertips on his wizened temples. Her eyes seek out permission and, for some odd reason, he agrees. Not that it matters. She’d have done it even if not. Remember me, Dad. Remember what you’ve lost.
V.
She had told him he should have fixed the Archangel Network, hadn’t she? Over a year ago, she had warned him. But that’s the problem with gods, sometimes. They don’t listen. And now, as she stands and watches, his brilliant creation is being used against him.
It hurts her hearts to watch.
And still, as the world unites, she closes her eyes. She shouldn’t; it’ll betray him and she owes him her life. He taught her, he moulded her. In effect, he created her. And while she despises her father, despises him with all her heart, that doesn’t change one small fact:
He is her father.
“Doctor.” Then, more confidentially, she repeats it: “Doctor.”
For a moment, that naïve soldier girl she had once been comes rushing back. She’s the girl that yearns to see new worlds, that yearns to run, and yearns, more than anything, to make her father proud. That girl has been locked away for so long. And it hurts and hurts, nearly as much as dying had. It hurts too much and she - Jenny - just wants to be free of it all.
No one sees the gun. No one notices until the shot rings out.
She’s betrayed them both.
Perhaps now, she can be free of it all.