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

Amy Pond/Vincent van Gogh

[janeturenne.livejournal.com]

Amy Pond would never dream of stealing the TARDIS out from under the Doctor. Convincing River to borrow the TARDIS while the Doctor and Rory are out and take Amy on a little trip is another thing altogether.

The Doctor, after all, would insist on coming too. Interfering. But River just gives Amy an intense, curious look, and agrees to hop forward in the TARDIS while Amy pays her second visit to Auvers-sur-Oise, 1890. It's a sisterhood thing, Amy thinks, giving River a smile on her way out the door. Or maybe it's just that the Doctor has to at least pretend to be responsible with Time, and River doesn't bother.

It's only one little painting. How much can that matter, in the grand scheme of things? How much, that is, compared to what it will mean to Vincent and to her?

She comes prepared: a fresh canvas, to stop Vincent painting over any more masterpieces, and a large handful of period currency—much less than a portrait could possibly be worth to her, but far more, she thinks, than Vincent will ever be willing to accept. During the week she sits for him, it becomes a game between them, Amy hiding coins and notes around his rooms when Vincent isn't looking. Four of five, she finds back in her pockets again by the end of the day. She's willing to bet the remainder represents more money than he's had to his name in years.

And a week later, it's finished.

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," she breathes.

"Of course it is," he says, smiling his beautiful, crooked smile, "it's you."

"It's beautiful because it's yours."

"It's yours, now," he says, and hands her the portrait.

"Come with me," says Amy, looking at him, looking over her shoulder. "Come with us. I know the Doctor would love to see you again."

"I can't, Amy," he says. "I could never live with your husband. I would have to duel him to the death for your love."

She laughs. "I meant to invite you to my wedding, but it won't happen for a hundred and twenty years. Don't worry, I won't let you miss the most important part."

"What part is that?"

She stands up, and wraps her arms around his neck. "Kissing the bride," she says, with a flirtatious flutter of her lashes.

He blushes as red as his hair. "I couldn't..."

"I'll be terribly offended," she teases.

Blushing even redder, he gives her what he clearly intends to be a quick, decorous peck. But she brings her hands up to his cheeks, quickly, and holds him still, lips against hers. Only once she considers herself fully and properly kissed does she let him go.

"There," she says. And then an all-too-familiar sound is screeching just outside Vincent's door.

"Always right on time, River," says Amy, hugging Vincent tight. "I'll be back to see you," she says. "So you just remember that, and keep yourself well, all right?"

This time, she doesn't believe that'll work. She can't help saying it, anyway. "I don't need to say the same to you," says Vincent. "I feel sorry for the monster that meets you, Amy Pond."

She laughs, and glances out his door at the TARDIS. "I meet a lot of monsters," she says, looking back at Vincent, "but a lot of very nice people, too." She gives him one last smile, and then she's dashing for the blue box that's more home than any house, canvas in her hands. "Thank you so much for the painting!"

"Thank you for the visit," he answers. She wishes, as so often, that he didn't look so sad.

She stands in the blue doorway and waves, until the Vortex swirls through him like blending colors on his palette, and she can't see his face any more.

*

Rory stares, the ridiculous, stupid stare she loves so much.

"Is this..."

"Yes," she says, draping herself in his lap. "Happy Birthday."

"Amy," he says.

"Yes."

"This is a Van Gogh."

"Yes."

"Of you."

"Right again."

"How did you..."

"I had to kiss Vincent for it," she says.

He sighs. "Of course you did."

"Forgive me?"

"Only a kiss?"

"Only a kiss."

"Just the one?"

"Cross my heart."

He looks at her. "Oh, all right." He looks at the painting, and smiles his beautiful, crooked smile. "It's beautiful."

"Of course it is," she says, snuggling up against her husband. "It's me."

---

Requests: Mephistopheles Arkadian/Romana II, Ninth Doctor/Professor Yana, Romana I/Rodan

Mephistopheles Arkadian/Romana II

[janeturenne.livejournal.com]

"We really must stop meeting like this, Madam President. People will talk."

"You might have considered that before you invited me to dinner, Arkadian." Romana spreads her napkin demurely across her lap.

"I would have asked you somewhere more private, if I believed there was any chance you might accept. As it was, the best I could manage was to hearken back to my favorite of our previous trysts."

"As I recall the incident on Earth, 'debacle' would be a preferable term to 'tryst,' but I must admit I don't mind the setting this evening. It is difficult to find fault with the Orient Express in Space.

"And the prices are very reasonable since that unfortunate Sekhmet incident," says Arkadian, cheerfully.

"How kind of you to be concerned on my behalf, as I'm certain you fully intend once again to leave me with the bill."

"Only by way of completing the atmosphere of happy reminiscence."

"Of course," says Romana, rolling her eyes. "Can we get down to business, Arkadian? Your message was cryptic as ever."

"Was it?" he asks, feigning surprise. "You must forgive my bumbling ways, my Lady, but I flatter myself that no man so consumed as I would find it easy to put words to his emotions."

"Oh no," sighs Romana. "Must we go through all this again?"

"My own heart, incomparable Romana... I may call you Romana?"

"You most certainly may not."

"It is so easy for you Time Lords," he says. "You can give your hearts away, and still have one to spare. But when we poor humans lose ours, we are helplessly bound to follow where they lead."

"And what about men who haven't any hearts at all?" she says, sourly.

"Well may you ask, since you stole mine away."

"You're the thief, not I."

Her hand sits on the table, beside her empty glass. He takes it between both of his. "If I could but steal your affections," he says, "I might begin to call myself worthy of such praise."

Romana leans across the table, gazing intently into his eyes. "Arkadian," she says, in a low, husky voice.

"Yes, my flower?"

"Did you know that a Time Lord's muscles are approximately seventy-eight times stronger than those of the average human?"

He dips his head, and murmurs, "Is that an invitation to find out what some of yours can do, my Lady?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Oh, my dear Madam P..."

"Specifically," she purrs, with a sensual little smile, "if you decline to release me in the next ten nanospans, to demonstrate the efficiency of my fingers by breaking every single bone in your hand."

He drops her hand with a sigh, and retreats to his own side of the table. "Like a rose trapped in ice," he says, mournfully shaking his head. "So beautiful, and so cold. Some day, my Gallifreyan goddess, I will find a way to melt you."

"Better life forms have tried," she says. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that everyone who's tried has been a better life form."

"And therein lies my advantage!" proclaims Arkadian, lifting the wine bottle and moving it towards her glass, which she covers with a hand before he can pour. He shrugs, and fills his own glass instead. "I am beyond question a deplorable old sinner, Madam P, only the faintest embers of goodness yet stirring in my soul. Imagine what a woman it would take to reform such a one as me. Think of the challenge. Think of the fame. Think of the everlasting glory to she who could accomplish such a feat!"

"Believe it or not, being the most powerful woman in the known universe is enough challenge, fame and glory to content me just at present. It also means that I haven't got time to waste with your childish games. Are you ever going to tell me why you invited me this evening?"

"I yearned for you with every sinew of my being. Isn't that reason enough?"

She rolls her eyes, and stands. "Goodbye, Mephistopheles Arkadian."

"Ah," he says. "Before you go... It does seem a shame always to be mixing business with pleasure, but..."

One of Romana's eyebrows quirks as a knowing smile tugs at a corner of her mouth. "Finally," she says, settling herself back into her chair. "Out with it, then, Arkadian. What do you really want?"

---
Requests: Bernice Summerfield/Jason Kane, Bernice Summerfield/Irving Braxiatel, Jack Harkness/Rory Williams