International No Diet Day: Food

[chibifukurou]

Hi everyone! I’m chibifukurou and this will be my last day of enabling your comment_fic addiction.

Today’s theme is Food. Turn your favorite character into a kid and have them indulge in a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or break out the jello shots, the possibilities are endless

But wait before you start prompting let’s have a quick review of

The Rules:

■ Don’t prompt more than 5 prompts in a row or 3 prompts per fandom. When someone has answered your prompt, you can prompt again.

■ No spoilers in your prompt until at least 1 week after the original airing or publication date. If there are spoilers in your fic, you must warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces.

■ Thank your fic providers they thrive on feedback.

■ For the sake of the code monkeys’ sanity, remember to format your prompts correctly.
Formatting examples:

Leverage, Alec, Orange Soda

Supernatural, Dean, Mary, breakfast with Mommy

Xmen/Fantastic 4, Pyro/Johnny, eating hot peppers

None of today's prompts interest you? Make someone’s day and answer one of the myriad of
Lonely Prompts!

[theme tag=Food]

Comments

Of Introspection and Ice Cream: Part 2 of 3 (Amy/11)

[falconwhitaker.livejournal.com]

The Doctor watched Amy walk away and disappear into the labyrinth of rooms and passages beyond the console room before he turned back to the vortex to sit; to watch; to hurt. To sit and watch and hurt in his hearts and his soul and his head and in every inch of the flesh on his bones. He felt like a fresh bruise. No, not a fresh bruise: an old bruise. A deep, old bruise that lingered long after it had overstayed its welcome, throbbing down to the quick.

Everybody lives, he'd said. But they didn't. Not any more. Two humans stuck in stasis for a thousand years; three Silurians confirmed dead; and Rory.

Oh Rory.

There was nothing he could have done to save him. Nothing. He'd done the only thing he could do: just watch as Rory slipped through the cracks and disappeared through the very fabric of time, space and existence. And he tried to save the memory of him, to keep him alive in the mind of one who knew him so well, of one who loved him so much, but in the end, he failed. He failed.

Rory was gone. Amy's brilliant, brave, wonderful Rory was gone. And the Doctor was the only one who knew he had ever existed. And worst of all, Amy – his amazing, fairy tale Amelia Pond – had lost half her world and she didn't even know it. Would never know it. And it was all his fault.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Those cracks were wrong. And more than that, they terrified him. Inside that crack, he had found a broken shard of the TARDIS. Whatever happened, he had been there. And the idea that he had caused all this – that he had created those cracks, those things – is almost too much to bear. Like a hammer blow to the face. One that he probably deserved, too.

Oh don't start that again, you insipid, self-pitying twit.

He had bigger things to worry about than his hurt feelings, like finding out where those cracks came from, and what caused them, and why they were following Amy, and why the epicentre of this event contained pieces of his TARDIS. He and Amy would have to –

Wait. Where was Amy again?

Oh, right, yes, swimming pool.

He should probably go and find her. They needed to get moving, find something interesting, go on adventures. The worlds were turning and time was flowing and he was just sitting here, dithering around and feeling sorry for himself. It was time to get going. Keep calm and carry on.

Ah, he remembered that poster. In fact, he seemed to remember that he was the one who'd said that. Two or three faces ago, mind you, but still. It was a good mantra to live by. Keep calm and carry on. There was a catastrophe in space and time that he needed to fix and he was the only one who could do it.

But first, maybe he should do something for Amy. Something... nice. It couldn't make up for what he'd done to her, but it was the least he could do.

–

Amy wasn't sure what she had imagined the swimming pool to be like, but what she had found was nothing like what she had expected. She had thought of the swimming pool in Cardiff that she'd visited once or twice with her aunt, a thing of bright lights and white tiles.

This was different. For one thing, the tiles weren't white: they were a checkerboard of black and deep bronze-gold; and the walls looked like industrial red-brick, interspersed with Grecian-style columns made of brass that occurred every two or three feet. In the centre of each of the four walls was a gigantic brass cog set with small spotlights that glowed softly; the same sort of spotlights could also be found at the bottom of the pool, their gentle glow making the water glimmer. It was quite attractive, in its own way, but it was odd, too, and it felt old. It was a bit like the Doctor, in a lot of ways.

Having found a bikini in the Doctor's extensive wardrobe – why exactly he needed a rather attractive turquoise bikini was a question she was trying very hard to avoid – she'd dived right in; now she was floating on her back, her arms spread and her red hair billowing out around her head like a halo, staring up at the brass ceiling and the glass skylight in the centre that looked out over a dark night sky of stars.

She'd been dreaming of this pool since she was seven years old and now she was here and she in it. Amazing. Almost unbelievable.