Rec: Coil by draegonhawke
Oct. 15th, 2010 01:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neveralarch posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
best_enemiesOkay, this is it for me! Remember - the commentathon is ending, so here's an opportunity to uh, comment.
Coil
Pairing: Nine/Author-Created Master
Length: 1,900
Warnings: author warns for bloodplay, and graphicness. R-rated fic.
Author on LJ (or Teaspoon, or Prydonian):![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
draegonhawke
Why this must be read: I hesitated about reccing this, because it's one of those fics that just hits all of my buttons. It's post Time War fic, where the Master, the Doctor, and the TARDIS all just barely survived. There's hurt/comfort where it's not really clear which is hurt and which is comfort. There's a sort of crisis of identity on all sides. As a fic, and a style, it hovers between the Classic Series and New Who, drawing from both.
Anyway, then I tallied all of that up, added in the truly beautiful prose, and realized probably a lot of other people would like this fic as much as I do. Hope you do!
Excerpt:
It's evening – well, it's always evening somewhere – when the Master steps into the Cloister Room to find the Doctor in a bed of bare wires, ozone and singed leather in the air around him. The pursuit is nothing new; the Doctor's been working since the end of the War, trying to put the TARDIS back together again. Replace the fuses and the burnt-out bits, scrub the soot of his holocaust from the walls. His quiescence, on the other hand, is unusual.
The Master moves with light steps, careful not to disturb his keeper's rest. Time was, such a scene would have been an open invitation to murder.
Coil
Coil
Pairing: Nine/Author-Created Master
Length: 1,900
Warnings: author warns for bloodplay, and graphicness. R-rated fic.
Author on LJ (or Teaspoon, or Prydonian):
draegonhawke Why this must be read: I hesitated about reccing this, because it's one of those fics that just hits all of my buttons. It's post Time War fic, where the Master, the Doctor, and the TARDIS all just barely survived. There's hurt/comfort where it's not really clear which is hurt and which is comfort. There's a sort of crisis of identity on all sides. As a fic, and a style, it hovers between the Classic Series and New Who, drawing from both.
Anyway, then I tallied all of that up, added in the truly beautiful prose, and realized probably a lot of other people would like this fic as much as I do. Hope you do!
Excerpt:
It's evening – well, it's always evening somewhere – when the Master steps into the Cloister Room to find the Doctor in a bed of bare wires, ozone and singed leather in the air around him. The pursuit is nothing new; the Doctor's been working since the end of the War, trying to put the TARDIS back together again. Replace the fuses and the burnt-out bits, scrub the soot of his holocaust from the walls. His quiescence, on the other hand, is unusual.
The Master moves with light steps, careful not to disturb his keeper's rest. Time was, such a scene would have been an open invitation to murder.
Coil
