Fic Post

[settiai]

This post is where everything happens. All stories/ficlets/drabbles go in the comments here. If your story's too long to fit in a single comment, please post it in your own journal and leave the link in a comment here along with your next pairing request(s). Make certain that you include the pairing you've written as the title of the comment, so that specific pairings can be found easily.

Please don't post any comments that aren't stories. That way, this post will show an accurate count of all the written stories. If you make a mistake or forget something, just edit your comment. If you write a story featuring a specific pairing but somebody posts their story before you post yours, please post it in the overflow post instead of the main one.

If you need help thinking of a pairing to request next or getting inspiration, don't forget The Doctor Who Random Pairing Generator. It includes all of the "main" characters from the various shows, audios, books, and spin-offs. People who aren't participating in the writing can list pairings here that authors can write and/or use as requests in this post.

The rules can be found on the community profile. The masterlist of all written pairings can be found here, while all requested pairings that are still open can be found here. If you want to leave feedback for one of the authors, please go to this post. Any other questions can be asked here.

Note: If you're writing a story for someone's request, please post it as a reply to their comment. Only create a new thread if you've written a pairing that nobody has requested yet.

Comments

Jenny/River Song

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

She reminds River of someone, but that's not unusual, because sooner or later, everyone does, and it's always one specific someone. Maybe it's something in the way they smile, reckless and wild and something of a dare. Or maybe they get angry and quiet, something like a storm, raging behind locked and barred steel doors, though it never really impresses her because they're not him. Or maybe they talk too much, but never about the important things. Maybe it's just that they live too fast because they're afraid to look back. Maybe it's in the little gestures or fleeting expressions, something that makes her smile fondly at them though they never know why.

Jenny is all of that and more.

River runs into Jenny in the catacombs of Sibrine Major, and Jenny looks at her like River's the one who doesn't belong.

Jenny fights off tomb robbers, first with hands and feet and a rather unnerving gymnastic ability and then with a gun one of them dropped, and is very careful not to kill any of them, and when they're gone, River can't help but laugh and kiss her, and Jenny seems surprised by it.

River had booked passage on a ship to take her home, but Jenny has a ship, and Jenny offers to take her anywhere she wants to go, with a bright, hopeful, oh so familiar smile, and River couldn't possibly turn down an offer like that.

Jenny's ship is tiny, and there's one bed. They share it, and sleep naked and tangled together, River with the easy comfort of a 51st century upbringing lends, Jenny unthinking and unselfconscious and untainted by any sort of upbringing whatsoever.

River is somehow unsurprised to notice how cool Jenny's skin is, by the double heartbeat she can hear pounding in her chest when they're lying curled together. With all the similarities, now it finally makes a strange sort of sense.

The next time she sees the Doctor, River mentions meeting a girl called Jenny who reminded her of him, and she can't decide whether the look on his face at that makes her want to smile or if it half breaks her heart.



Requests: John Hart/River Song, Donna Noble/Toshiko Sato, Harriet Jones/Rose Tyler

Harriet Jones/Rose Tyler

[rainshaded]

I wrote this for the_randomiser almost a year ago, but apparently neglected to post it here.


It had been spring. Eight o’clock on a bright spring morning, over two years since that winter day. It had been spring, new birth, before these measurements and descriptions were made meaningless, before the Earth was moved so very far away from the star it orbited which gave them days and times and seasons.

Now she feels cold. She’d expected heat somehow. A burning bolt of energy, killing every cell in her body simultaneously. After that, she’d expected to be cold, but she hadn’t expected to feel it. And this cold isn’t numbing; it’s biting, sinking its teeth into her flesh and making her bones ache.

She still has senses, senses which tell her that she still possesses both of the aforementioned organic structures. She opens her eyes (still have those) and an intake of breath becomes a gasp. The air is chilled and makes her throat sore.

She’s moving, breathing, feeling, thinking, in what seems to be a corporeal body. The obvious conclusion is that she’s still alive. Logical, but completely nonsensical.

She’d been standing in her home, facing the Daleks, facing death. Now she stands outside, on some kind of beach, and looks out across slopes and towering peaks of ice.

“It’s called Woman Wept.”

She turns, and yes, she has joints - shoulders, hips, knees - and muscles contract and stretch and her body turns.

“What is?” she asks, of all the questions she has.

“This planet,” Rose gestures around them. “Or at least the planet that it’s meant to look like.”

Rose sits down and, after a moment’s consideration, Harriet joins her.

The ice looks real. Rose scratches at the ground, which is real enough to support them, and inspects her fingernails afterwards.

“I’m supposed to be dead,” Harriet Jones tells Rose Tyler, a neat little conversation starter that she hasn’t used before.

“Perhaps,” is the reply. “Perhaps I am.”

Perhaps. The list of the dead from the Battle of Canary Wharf held the name Rose Tyler. Yet here she is.

Perhaps the list wasn’t that wrong. The Rose Harriet had last seen, Christmas Day 2006, shone. Not all of it was reflected from the Doctor. Rose Tyler shone like a star, a sun, warm and bright and blonde, and her petals were vibrant and alive that day, even though they would wither and fall in time.

This is a different winter, a deathly winter, a hard-packed winter that squeezes the world tight as the cracks run together. Always winter and never Christmas.

This Rose Tyler is colder. She’s frozen like the landscape around them, her rose frozen in perfection yet somehow less colourful, and ice is strong but brittle.

She might not be Rose. She might be a reimagination of Rose, a Rose that might be, a Rose that no longer was. Harriet likes to think so.

Then again, she might not be Harriet. Harriet Jones might be dead, should be dead, and she’s merely an echo caught up and bounced between the collapsing universes with delusions of corporeality.


She tries to remember the life that ended. It slips away, hides in the cold and the white and the dark; it might not have been her life. Perhaps her life started there. All she knows now, or ever, is here, Rose.


Rose cries. She says she can’t remember, then she can’t remember why.


Perhaps they kiss.

Perhaps there’s strength and life and warmth and hope in it.

Perhaps it floats tantalisingly just out of reach; if only they fight that little bit harder.


“I’m too old for you,” she tries to say.

“I could say the same thing,” Rose replies.


Perhaps they drown when the ice melts.


Perhaps not.


Requests: Toshiko Sato/Leela, Nine/The Rani, Delgado!Master/Hex