Anyway, on with the fic:
Story: The Music Snob of Sherwood
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 200
Author's Summary: The Doctor does not have a very good bedside manner.
Characters/Pairings: The Doctor (12th), some "Merrie" Men
Recced because: Well, we're five episodes in to Series 8 of New Who/the Twelve era/whatever you want to call it, and on the whole I'm enjoying it greatly so far. So I thought I'd definitely include at least one Twelve fic in this reccing run just to highlight the fact that a lot of people are already doing good work with the new Doctor and his era. I'm sure they'll be doing even better work when S8 is over and Twelve is bedded in and we know more about him, but stuff like this is very nice to be going on with in the meantime, very nice indeed. And I don't know about my fellow reccers on here, but I always get a certain satisfaction to securing the bragging rights of having recced hot-off-the-presses good fic like this before any of the rest of them got to it. ;)
I also thought this fic would be a good one to draw attention to at this point because it highlights one of the aspects of the new Doctor and his stories that I am especially enjoying, namely the Twelve's brilliant cantankerous spikiness; he may or may not be a good man, he shows signs of being a kind man underneath it all, but he quite a lot of the time is far from being a nice man, at least not when he's right in your face. Peter Capaldi plays this aspect of the Doctor (and let's be honest, pretty much all of the other ones too) brilliantly, and you can almost hear him spitting the words out in this nicely done double drabble. It also builds on what has for me so far been possibly the most purely enjoyable S8 story, the amazingly silly (this is not a bad thing in Who, if you ask me) Robot of Sherwood, and more than does justice to the side of the Doctor displayed in that particular episode.
And on top of all that, let's be honest; this is an author you know you're in safe hands with. She does not disappoint. And that goes for this fic too. Go and read, enjoy, and offer appropriate words of appreciation over on Teaspoon.
But there was a certain indignity to being stabbed in the shoulder–the same shoulder!–twice in as many days, by an ally. He clapped his hand to the throbbing spot. "Ow! What is the matter with you, you long dark streak of misery? Are you half mosquito?"
"On my father's side," the Doctor said, and rolled his eyes slightly.