Here is Jay – pen sketch

I like. Really I do, just, maybe ditch the tragic backstory?

I mashed the keyboard with my palm, knocking the tablet flat on my cluttered desk. What the fuck Kasabian94? Yeah, I get your point, but what’s wrong with injecting a bit of colour, a bit of misery into his past?

I stared at the comment, my eyes boring into the screen. Seriously.

‘Jez, JEZ, can I borrow this?’

I tore my gaze away from Tumblr. My aggravating brother was slouching against the doorframe. He was after something.

‘I’ve told you a million times Dan, don’t call me Jez. It’s Jay.’

‘Whatever man, I just need to borrow this. Alright?’ He held up a jacket. My jacket. My vintage denim jacket. I shot him ‘the look’. ‘No Dan.’

‘Go on Jez…Jay. I need it for tonight.’

I didn’t bother asking. There was no point really. Ever since he was fourteen, my impossibly good looking and cool brother had set out on some kind of socialising marathon. He was out every night, I was in, always very much in.

I sighed. ‘Will you leave me alone if I say yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alright then.’ I looked back at my tablet and propped it up again on its stand.

‘What’re you doing then?’ Dan asked, peering forwards.

I slumped across my desk with my very best fainting American belle. ‘Not your business. You’ve got what you wanted.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Dan paused before he left the room. ‘It’s far too much tragic backstory though mate.’ He laughed like a drain as I threw a balled up sock at his head, then ducked out of the doorway and back to his room. My brother, the pain-in-my-arse.

I thought that it helped to set up the scene, I typed, my fingers plodding slowly on the keys. It’s important for the plot that Amy knows his past before Rory meets him.

Oh yeah, I suppose I should have mentioned that. I write Dr Who fan fiction, and no, it’s not slash fic (but it is sometimes) and no, I don’t hold with AU stuff, UNLESS it’s done really well. Also, I’m equal opportunity when it comes to the Mary Sue approach. After all, if you’re not willing to stick yourself in the story, how could you possibly inflict it on some other character? Anyway, I’m getting off the point. The point is this, imagine me sitting at my desk (OK, so you’ve done that), annoying brother elsewhere and I’ve just typed a stinging response to Kasabian94, and that’s basically where I am.

I puff out a long breath, jutting my chin forwards and tap my forefinger against my teeth.

Now what?

 

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