[ID: Digital art, cell-shaded. In Thirteen’s TARDIS, Missy, Jo, Rose and Clara have recently jail-broken the Doctor. All wear prison jumpsuits, and Thirteen is affectionately embracing Missy, visible from the hips up. Due to Thirteen’s unfortunate lack of hygiene in recent memory, Missy recoils at the attention (or at least, that’s her excuse). In the background, the three companions look on (drawn in chibi form), clearly finding the situation adorable. /End ID]
Rose, Missy, Clara, and Jo Grant attempt to rescue the Doctor from a space prison; Rose deals with weirdly fluttery feelings for Clara; aliens are threatened; and strikes are considered.
“I’m Quinn! I organized this event and I’m amazed at the incredible writing and fic everyone’s produced. I’m a bio major with a penchant for writing too many twissy oneshots and cuddling with my cat!”
“I’m Ro and I write and draw things that make me happy! My technique is traditional sketching and inking, followed by digital clean-up and colours. It was a treat to work on two very different pieces for the Masterversary, and a double treat that one of them involved Missy!”
Clara and Missy’s eyes flick between the three of them, the rhino and the two small women. Missy mouths something to Clara that looks suspiciously like Drama in the sludge fandom?
The alien swings a fist at Rose, and Rose ducks out of the way just in time, scrambling out of her seat and glancing around for something that might look like a weapon. Her hand closes around her spoon and she brandishes it in front of her like a sword. “Leave us alone,” she spits, focusing on keeping her hand steady and her expression fierce.
Missy snatches the spoon out of her hand, and Rose darts back as she slams it against the tabletop, snapping the head clean off, the new edge jagged and sharp. The alien lunges forward again, and Missy jabs the end of her new weapon into their arm. All Rose can hear is her own ragged breathing, but as the alien screams, the noise pierces her ears, and she covers them with her hands, ducking her head down. Missy shoots her an unreadable look, and yanks the spoon out of the alien’s flesh, pressing it against the delicate pinkish grey skin of their throat.
“Hello,” says Missy. “Are you going to make this easy for me, or am I going to have to poke around in that mushy brain of yours?”
