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Amanda Seyfried

sourstroodle in master_rose

his voice is exactly like she imagined it. (a Master/Rose drabble)

Note: My friend Beth (http://wr1t3rbl0ck3d.livejournal.com/) and I have decided to collaborate our talents. She writes fics/drabbles and I make accompanying graphics.
his voice is exactly like she imagined it.

a funny thing to focus on, really. his voice. but she does, because she can, and because there’s not much else to focus on. she never heard it before he took her, never had any way of knowing. never could have guessed at the intonation, the lilt, the way it makes fear and something else, something lingering, creep down her spine. she never could have predicted how she would feel to wake up to that voice, and fall asleep to it.

never, never, never.

“oh, ro-ose,” he sing-songs.

she shifts, and the manacles around her ankles clank dully in the darkness. she doesn’t want to admit to herself that the tingle in her tummy is anything more than fear. she doesn’t want to admit to herself that the burning in the heart of her is anything more than anger. she should really know better.

“rose, rose, rose…”

he whispers her name into the curve of her neck and she doesn’t know how he got from one side of her to the other without making a sound. she doesn’t know if that excites her more than it scares her. he keeps repeating her name, like a mantra, like a prayer, and when his lips make contact with her skin, she jerks and makes the necessary whimpers.

“don’t—you really…” she says. her voice cracks. “he’d… he’d kill you.”

in the dim light coming through the window, she thinks she sees a flash of white teeth. “oh, rose. dear, sweet rose. you’ve no idea, do you?”

she does, though. she used to wake up to his name, in the middle of the night. she used to wake up to murmured begging, words pressed into a pillow or her neck. regenerate, regenerate, you barmy old fool, you can’t win if you die. how will you gloat if you’re not here to see me lose? regenerate!

now she wakes up to this. silence and a voice and touches and caresses and pleasepleasepleasemasterplease—what? please what? she doesn’t know what she’s begging for anymore.

“rose,” he says softly, quietly.

his voice is exactly like she imagined it.


This is totally awesome, fic and banner. Both have that enchanting creepy vibe, which is what I find so fascinating about this pairing. Great work!
I am tottaly agree with ninedaysaqueen))
Also want to ask sourstroodle permission for translation of this drabble to Russian) Is it ok?