flowsoffire: (Liz Ten)
Title: Backwards the clock goes ticking
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: River Song, mentions of the Doctor and Amy Pond
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: K+
Word count: 495 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Sunlight burns and water gleams, and River Song stands suspended. Lake Silencio, twice.
Author's note: Here is my (early) entry for the Sun drabble challenge on [community profile] who_contest. Should be exactly 500 words, or pretty near that, my wordcounts won't agree. Enjoy :)





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flowsoffire: (XXX)
Title: Hunger and Wrath
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Amelia Pond, aunt Sharon, Mels Zucker, Rory Williams, the Doctor
Genre: Angst/Drama/Friendship/Family ;)
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 2800 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Amelia Pond is a thief. A story of longing and elusive realities.
Author's note: Written for the “Stolen” one-shot challenge on [community profile] who_contest. Enjoy =)



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flowsoffire: (Asleep)
Title: Flesh and mind
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: classic!Who
Pairing/characters: First Doctor, a bit of the TARDIS
Genre: > General
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 400 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: The Doctor feels his first body failing, fading away.
Author's note: An entry for the “Ail” challenge on [community profile] who_contest, because I always seem to come back to the First Doctor and regeneration. Thank you for reading and enjoy!


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flowsoffire: (OTP)
Title: Steel to Steel
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: classic!Who
Pairing/characters: Liz Shaw, Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, mentions of the Third Doctor.
Genre: > General, with a hint of romance if you squint.
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 1000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: The Brigadier’s choices are not met with approval. Set between The Silurians and Ambassadors of Death.
Author's note: This was written for the "Yellow" drabble challenge on [community profile] who_contest—it was a bit hell getting this under 450 words to enter the round, but I did it in the end =P I much prefer this original, longer version though. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!


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flowsoffire: (Baby)
Title: Stars in our eyes
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Rory Williams, Amy Pond, Mels Zucker
Genre: Drama/Family
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 1300 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: In which the Ponds realize they've had and lost a daughter in their childhood friend. Post Let's Kill Hitler.
Author's note: This was written for the "Blaze" one-shot challenge on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. The idea came from a discussion with my friend [livejournal.com profile] radiolaires—kudos to her for having all the great ideas :) Thanks for reading!


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flowsoffire: (Big damn hero)
Title: Stars in our eyes
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Rory Williams, Amy Pond, Mels Zucker
Genre: Drama/Family
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 1300 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: In which the Ponds realize they've had and lost a daughter in their childhood friend. Post Let's Kill Hitler.
Author's note: This was written for the "Blaze" one-shot challenge on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. The idea came from a discussion with my friend [livejournal.com profile] radiolaires—kudos to her for having all the great ideas :) Thanks for reading!


 


All of it only sinks in later.

There is a strange lull in the TARDIS, a feeling of suspension like holding one’s breath. The soft noises and whirrs of the ship appear subdued somehow, and the Doctor is nowhere to be seen. It is as though they were giving them space. After the commotion of the day, the stillness and relative silence seem a bit surreal.

Rory leans against the railing for support and attempts to order his tired thoughts. River. Hitler.

Mels.

The image of Mels is seared onto his brain, the way he saw her last, glowing, blazing before she erupted into light. His childhood friend—his best friend, he could call her in a way, now that Amy and he are much more than that. It isn’t quite true, though. Mels was always Amy’s best friend and he was… he was there, finding his place between them—between their loud voices and wicked laughter, their conniving glances and the shadows of their frowns. Mels was wonderful and exhausting, occasionally intimidating. She always brought out the shy, self-conscious boy in him.

He is thinking of her in past tense and his stomach tightens as he finally absorbs the realization. Mels, Melody regenerated before his very eyes. She was shot to death and recreated herself.

Becoming River Song, or a wilder, even madder version thereof. Becoming his daughter.

He can’t quite register it. He knew Mels, knew her radiant and commanding character, her flaws and some occasional, unexpected vulnerabilities. She was a part of his world, and now she is something different entirely, something foreign… She has become a part of the chaos. Their lives were not supposed to be impacted in such a way. For sure, there was danger—but there were adventures, and then there was home. A childhood and a life, some steady, familiar things to remind himself of when his head was swimming, the barriers too blurry between clumsy nurse and ancient centurion.

But Mels wasn’t something safe, something part of Leadworth. She was out of place, so perhaps he should have known? Amy seemed the same though, and where does that leave him? He just wants things to make sense. She was his friend and can’t be his daughter.

Yet she was, she is—

She was.

His childhood friend regenerated before his very eyes, and the Doctor told them about regeneration. He knows.

She is alive, and she is River, and she is the same but she is different. Mels is no more.

He allows the truth to fall into him, then, down to the very depths of his being until the reality of it feels overpowering. It tastes like grief, and it is. His baby, his friend, both are gone and can never be found again. He is shaking inside but he thinks of Amy, and turns, his gaze sweeping over the corridors. He realizes he has no idea where she is.

He finds her in their room, sitting on the bottom bunk bed with her knees drawn up against her chest. That one is his; so is the pillow her left hand is gripping, brightly coloured nails digging in. For a second, he almost expects to see the prayer leaf, but of course it would be tucked out of sight. It would all be so much simpler if everything was that easy to hide—as far as Amy is concerned, at least.

"Amy?"

His own voice sounds unsteady and small, and he wishes he were stronger for her. He can stand hard and still and be her rock, but the solidity deserts him whenever he has to make her talk. They have hardly broached the subject at all, or only to go through facts and decide what to do. Amy doesn’t discuss feelings. She never has. He always considered it was probably best for her; if she would rather glare or snort or run away or play Raggedy Doctor, he would go with whatever coping technique she might prefer.

It is different now, though, and watching her quietly feels like losing her. It takes too long before she glances up. Her eyes are dark, her face expressionless.

"Yeah?" Her tone is short, almost defiant. He suppresses a wince.

"Are you okay?" he asks carefully.

"Sure, I am." She pauses. "Are you?"

He shakes his head.

After a moment, he moves closer to the bed and then sits at its foot, back propped up against the side of it, close to Amy yet some distance away and not looking straight at her. Her hands are fidgeting now, and he longs to grasp them. He doesn’t. "I miss her," he says. "I’ve been missing her, really. I just didn’t think about it much. You know, we always were kind of busy."

"We were." Amy’s gaze has moved off into the distance, somewhere out of reach. It may be that, or the tiny, stubborn twist of her lips, that makes him feel so angry at everything.

"This is where you ask me which her I was talking about."

Amy only gives a muffled snort. He pushes, forcing for a reaction. "You know. Mels. Our best friend that was our daughter that was our weird friend from space, the one with the guns that flirted with your imaginary friend. You know what? There are too many friends in the equation. And too many daughters except none of them is ours."

Amy stands up. He does catch her wrist, then. "Hey. Talk to me."

"That’s not true, she was mine. She was my baby and then they took her away, but she belonged to me, to us."

"Yeah, and after that—before that, whatever—she was ours, too. She was always ours. We loved her."

She makes a small, rageful, pained sound like a wounded animal and wrenches her hand away. She stalks off and he rises and follows, yet she whirls back to him as she nears the door.

Amy’s fists beat against his shoulders in a hollow rhythm, like it can change anything—and he grabs her arms and then the back of her neck, drawing her to him, encased into his warmth and embrace. She sobs. He feels too cold to manage even that.

"Shhh," he whispers. "It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here." She shakes and hits him some more, as best she can.

Mels would hit things when she was anxious, too, he suddenly recalls like a deeper punch. He witnessed it very few times, yet he remembers. Mels had anger issues and panic attacks and for years he didn’t realize. When he did though, everything felt different for a moment. She turned from him in rageful shame and he awkwardly grasped her shoulder, wincing but not letting go when she snarled at him. "It’s okay," he told her like he just told Amy.

That was the day he realized how being a nurse could make him strong. Being a nurse meant leaving his fears at the door. It meant looking past how people made him feel, and right at them. Helping them. When he saw Mels shaking, wild-eyed, he did not feel embarrassed—he only reached out.

In whatever way he could, he took care of his daughter. And she helped him grow as much as he did her.

Perhaps that comes with being a parent. He doesn’t know and his eyes are stinging. He doesn’t know if little Melody was as scared at night. He doesn’t know if River still feels so out of control sometimes. Deep down if he faces the truth, he doesn’t want to know, or is not ready at least.

"I want her," Amy gasps into his skin. "I want my baby, I want—" She doesn’t say if she wants Mels, too. Maybe she doesn’t and can’t, maybe things are too strange, impossible. He couldn’t tell what he wants if he tried, but Mels is the one he knew best.

And he watched her dissolve into golden light, wounded beyond healing. Glorious and unafraid and blazing as she abandoned them.

He cries, too. It burns, but he needs to.


 

flowsoffire: (Big damn hero)
Title: Burn Now (Or Die A Traitor's Death)
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Eleventh Doctor, TARDIS
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Rating: T
Word count: c. 2000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Before his death, the Doctor makes the hardest sacrifice. AU!verse, the Doctor destroys the TARDIS.
Author's note: Y'all have seen this fic before. The comments for it sparked a discussion with the wonderful <lj user="eve11" /> that made me realize that the premise of my AU was not entirely clear, and she was kind enough to offer her insight and advice—so with her precious help, I tackled the thing and gave some parts a good rewrite :) I'm quite pleased with the improved version, and I hope that it will make some things clearer. I'm open to any comments/advice/questions/discussion so feel free if you have anything to add :) Thanks for reading!


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She glows.

The light gleams and flickers, an iridescent beam. Under his eyes and hands, everywhere it pulsates—a living thing. His TARDIS, time-soaked and timeless, miraculous.

Like orange heat, the glow kisses the pliers between his tense fingers.

He breathes. He tries, at least; his chest is tight, his ribcage clenched around his hearts. A vicious, destructive urge is tingling through his veins as he squeezes the implement, hard enough to hurt. Wicked, unhinged laughter is echoing in his head, a cynical cackle.

Perhaps this is madness.

It is absurd. It is horrid. It is unescapable. Perhaps this is what it tastes like—steel upon his tongue, acid in his lungs, fire in his gut. Hatred, rising and rushing in a capricious wave, turned inwards.

No… he cannot claim that. He cannot assume the cloak of innocence.

His beautiful machine…

His eyes are dry, stinging. The console is all rippling patterns of light and dark; the beauty of it almost sickens him. His hearts are in his throat and he must discard them and leave them on that floor, he knows—then tear them apart, and run, one last time. His head must be the sole master for this. The head giving commands, and automatic gestures to follow them, falling together one after the next. Only this way can he survive this.

The hovering, surreal feel of the whole situation might be the thing that saves him, in a manner, or sees him through this. Saving is a relative notion after all, when he will not be surviving it for long. There is some comfort in the notion, he finds. A circle—as his death makes the sacrifice necessary, the sacrifice shall make the death welcome.

He does laugh out loud then. The sound echoes, deranged and startling. His shudder is almost convulsive.

He takes the shields down.

Perhaps the TARDIS knows. He trembles as he turns functions off, one by one, leaving only the manual controls. On the screen, he can see his target: a young star, bubbling with furious flares, chaotic, glorious and hungry. He grits his teeth as he steers the machine, positioning it carefully… right over the burning ball.

Vortex manipulator clasped tight around his wrist, he is ready. He grips the edge of the console.

No choice… he has no choice.

If he could close his eyes these days, be it for one minute, if he were not that viscerally afraid—maybe he would see his TARDIS sitting quiet and inconspicuous at the corner of some street, gathering dust. He planned this before; two faces back, he sent his ship away, one cherished human life shielded inside of her. In the face of his doom, he saved the two most precious things he had to hold onto—none of them his to claim. Yet that was counting without Rose's fierce willpower. He can see her in his mind's eye, even now, blazing bright with the ship's ageless energy…

No one is here today to save him, or her. He left the Ponds home, to their life, their world… Amy won't be back for him this time. She came once, as he was trapped in this very room; she popped here with that very same manipulator he now wears with shame, all fierce eyes and flaming hair, grasped him and left. Even then, the TARDIS was a burning sun, and still in the end he saved her… But he won't be there to do that every time. The universe will have to do without him. His fate is set and sealed, unescapable.

His friends are safe, free to build whatever future they might wish. That much he could do for them, at least—that responsibility he will not have to carry any longer, more selfishly. His beautiful humans, together, protected, where they belong. There is no one with him in the console room now, no one to brush the controls or mock his driving… like Amy used to. No one. There never was anyone.

This is a path to be walked alone, quietly. Acceptance. The concept is a new one, tasting of ashes in his mouth.

All that he wishes for—desperately, with all of his mind and hearts—is merely to make things right. Make his loved ones safe. If only he could…

He wants a quiet goodbye to his TARDIS, wants to leave her on the corner of a street, forgotten and safe. He yearns for it, he would dream of it… yet if he surrendered to exhaustion, if he let the darkness take over him, he would not be granted such peaceful delusion. No, he would have truth, a truth twisted enough no lie could scald fiercer, or stab deeper. He would see his options—destruction, or surrender.

They took his ship before. They commanded her and drove her as they wished, they had him trapped and helpless within, deprived of any control—and once he is gone, they can seize her again. The last TARDIS in the universe, and he saw the abominations that could be done from and to her, once stolen from her thief. The knowledge burns in his mind, under his closed lids—the paradox machine, seared into his memory, corrupted and screaming…

The choice lies in his hands. He knows the risk, and knows it is not one he is willing to take. The responsibility is his also, as with the decision comes the consequence, the deed. If he cannot protect his precious TARDIS—

—then he has to end her.

Alone remain the anti-gravs. He hovers, they hover, separated and together. She will fight him on this.

Lightning-fast, he pushes the lever.

The console lurches. Their fall is not a fall as the ship surges to willful life, flips some controls back with a furious wheeze. The pliers gleam murderous with the TARDIS' light when he cuts a cord, then another. The anti-gravs snap back into place. He rams at the command, and madness seizes him for a moment. She won't accept, she won't allow this, so he must forestall her resistance, he must strike and maim—

He flies away from the console, tossed off like a tiny thing, landing hard into one of the staircases. Breathlessness overwhelms him—abandon or destroy, abandon or destroy—and he struggles his way upright, lurches back to the centre. The anti-gravs are ruined, or close enough. It could be a fast repair, seeing how blindly he stabbed, with just a bit of time—time the ship doesn't have. She can't dematerialize, yet can keep some modicum of direction, and reels in her struggle against the star's attraction. He might be crying; he wipes or swipes or claws at his face, pushes towards the console. He strikes again in a blur. New stars seem to burst blearily under his hands; fire runs and roars, a severed cord hangs limply, and wish as he might that he didn't, he knows the weakest points. Sensitive or delicate, rather than weak, gently brushed or long tweaked at; he tears at them. The TARDIS shrieks in betrayal.

There is one shift he fails to clearly perceive, but at some point she falls and falls, the conflagration rages everywhere as it did on some distant day of his rebirth into this body, and he wants to blaze and burn with her, extinguished. But there is one set moment he cannot escape, one appointed time and place and this is not it. Fixed points; he will have to bend and not die screaming in the inferno of his ship. He waits until he knows for sure she cannot escape any longer, wishing desperately that he could not, either. The manipulator at his wrist is ready for that second, preset with heavy hearts. The vortex sucks him in.

Then there is Earth and he falls like a man gutted out. He sees nothing, and he hears nothing and he feels nothing, yet there is fire and flashes like the first taste of true madness; possibilities, reeling, flying, fading. Somewhere and sometime and everywhere throughout every second of their history, his ship is screaming out for him and for something—something never born that tastes like water and tangible warmth and regeneration energy. The severed connection talks through images and symbols in a senseless broken cry, with hidden layers and words within words and words rewritten, never spoken. Reality unfolds, his universe tips, and he catches glimpses of impossibilities, grieving for things that don't exist.

Then the smells and sunlight assault him; he gags and shakes, his entire mind seeming to frantically reach out for something gone. There is a terrifying numbness where a connection used to glow, a gaping wound in his sense of time, a void in eleven dimensions. He sobs and forgets his name and past and sense of self, for all only existed cradled in her; for she saw him born as truly the Doctor, she saw him change, the first time, then time and time again. It is over. He is no Doctor now, but a wretched gasping thing—the Bringer of Darkness, truly, the Executioner.

He curls under the cruelly warm caress of the sun, the distant noise of voices that seem half a universe away, human lives unfolding. A bird chants, and gravel digs into his palms; normality, the cycle of linear time are pushing against his skin, prodding his every sense. He is overwhelmed and hollowed out, scarcely lucid yet too aware. Time drifts around him, spans into possibilities that seem so dim now, so small. Without her he hardly feels, hardly thinks, and his head touches the ground. He finds no will to pick himself up. He might as well die there. He would sooner have burned.

Time passes in quantified fragments like water through his fingers, or not—he cannot even feel a cold and cleansing touch, cannot hold on to anything pure, anything real. Everything is a blur, a buzz in his ears and he would not find the will to reach anyway. A whole universe, off. All of it is lost to him.

The Doctor shudders on the ground. The light on him declines into darkness; sometime soon or far away, stars will twinkle into life. Stars—another love now robbed from him, branded with pain, deservedly.

His hearts throb like a wound, his lungs swell and deflate, and the Doctor shifts. Weary and thoughtless, he drags a limb after the other until he rises from the sidewalk, a tall hunched form. Two hundred years he spent running. No more.

Now, he can scarcely trudge along, rootless. Now he has no escape, no delusions, no precious stolen instants. Nowhere to lure people to. No home, no haven, nowhere to keep him grounded.

But grounded he is, to a future carved in stone. 22 April 2011, 5:02 PM on a quiet, lonesome shore. Final trip. Heʼll give Amy the manipulator back.

Amelia Pond; the thought of facing her, and her glorious Roman husband, is difficult to comprehend at the moment. He knows, however, that he owes it to them. His friends, his companions, are all that's left of the best of him. He will need them in the end, to carry him through this.

Utah. Blue envelopes in his pockets, for his Ponds. One for them and one for Canton and one for—

Him. One last envelope, for him—the younger, fortunate version, unaware of what his future holds.

One plus one plus one make three. One envelope will do, for both Rory and Amy.

He focuses on the idea, finding his mind faltering, oddly disconnected. It is wrong, like an abstract moment that he cannot picture, or only in a blur; but then again, so is everything else and he ought to get used to this, a world seen through mangled perceptions. It won't be long now. One last goodbye; one step after the other, the simple tasks to prepare his death. Minute things to cling to, as though they held his last flicker of sanity.

Then he can stop. Then he can rest.

Then, he shall burn.

When he looks up, the sun is bleeding over the horizon in accusing hues. He winces, and prays for the dark to come soon, the quiet, secretive night. He will end not as a song, but a succession of panting breaths and then silence.

The shadows swallow him, and for a moment, he is no more.

flowsoffire: (Blue)
Title: Burn Now (Or Die A Traitor's Death)
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Eleventh Doctor, TARDIS
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Rating: T
Word count: c. 2000 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Before his death, the Doctor makes the hardest sacrifice. AU!verse, the Doctor destroys the TARDIS.
Author's note: Y'all have seen this fic before. The comments for it sparked a discussion with the wonderful [livejournal.com profile] eve11 that made me realize that the premise of my AU was not entirely clear, and she was kind enough to offer her insight and advice—so with her precious help, I tackled the thing and gave some parts a good rewrite :) I'm quite pleased with the improved version, and I hope that it will make some things clearer. I'm open to any comments/advice/questions/discussion so feel free if you have anything to add :) Thanks for reading!


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flowsoffire: (Amy)
Title: Many days
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Amelia Pond, Rory Williams
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 450 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: They are never done waiting, and it never stops hurting. Rory finds Amy on Apalapucia.
Author's note: This fic was written for the prompt "Accent" on [community profile] who_contest. The idea for it sparked from a discussion with my friend [personal profile] radiolaires, who wanted me to write Girl Who Waited!Amy. Well, this is not her POV, but I hope it satisfies ;)


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flowsoffire: (Low)
Title: Burn Now (Or Die A Traitor's Death)
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Eleventh Doctor, TARDIS
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Rating: T
Word count: c. 1600 words.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Before his death, the Doctor makes the hardest sacrifice. AU!verse, the Doctor destroys the TARDIS.
Author's note: This was written for a prompt given on the meme "Three fics you think I will never, ever, ever write". The one and only [livejournal.com profile] a_phoenixdragon gave me "The Doctor deliberately, maliciously destroys the TARDIS". That was nice XD But that was the point of the meme, and a good challenge, so I tried my best to make it work. Hence the following. Slight AU, I tried to imply every relevant change clearly enough but I’ll gladly explain in the comments if anything remains confusing. Sorry for the heartbreak. *winces* Hum… enjoy!
Also written for the prompt Light and Dark on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest.

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flowsoffire: (All I have)
Title: Water in the forest
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Amelia Pond, mentions of Melody Pond (a lot) and Rory Williams
Genre: Family/Drama
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 550 words (narrowly under the round's limit!)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: When her life is left to its linear path again, Amelia Pond goes trekking. Character piece, set after The God Complex.
Author's note: Here’s a little drabble for the prompt "River" on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. 546 words, just under the 550-word limit. Enjoy! :)



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flowsoffire: (Some things never change)
Title: Thin Air
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Twelfth Doctor
Genre: Drama/Angst
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 340 words, just narrowly over the [livejournal.com profile] who_contest minimum for this round ;P
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: The Doctor stands alone, suspended and pondering.
Author's note: And this is where I realize I hadn't posted fic for a month and a half. *facepalm*
Well. This was written for the prompt "Bad Guys" on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. I spent a while feeling hopelessly dry regarding that prompt (and writing in general); I figured I needed something that felt new to write, and can you get newer than Twelve? I don't think so ;P Hence the following scribblings. Spoilers for Deep Breath. If you haven't watched the ep, you probably won't be terribly spoiled, but rather confused.




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flowsoffire: (Christmas Cyberman)
Title: Home, the long way around
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who (1963)
Pairing/characters: the First Doctor, Susan Foreman
Genre: Family, General
Rating: K+
Word count: 498 words—oops, that was short :D
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Susan asks about going home.
Author's note: This is a drabble I wrote for the prompt Back on the community [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. I also used a prompt from the lovely and always helpful [livejournal.com profile] a_phoenixdragon. Enjoy!


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flowsoffire: (Child of the TARDIS)
This is a lovefest for [livejournal.com profile] radiolaires because she is awesome and she's the birthday girl ^_^ Have some fluffy love.

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flowsoffire: (Donna)
Title: The blazes of time
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Donna Noble, the Tenth Doctor
Genre: Drama, Angst
Rating: T
Word count: c. 430 words
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Donna burns, and the Doctor saves her—in the most painful way.
Author's note: This was written for the drabble challenge "Block" on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. Enjoy :)



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flowsoffire: (Cleopatra)
Title: The kitten's fur
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: River/Eleven
Genre: Romance, Humor-ish
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 1200
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: River/Eleven, AU!human!story. River falls for a pretty hairdresser; thankfully, he is quick enough to catch her.
Author's note: So here is the hairdresser!AU. XD The one that woke me at 6 in the morning with my brain going like "You are now going to write a human!AU story in which Eleven is River’s hairdresser. Questioning is useless. You may begin work, peasant." Well, whatever you say, brain. Here you are! Enjoy =)




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flowsoffire: (afraid of the dark)
Title: Relative faith
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: Clara Oswald, Eleven
Genre: Angst, Drama
Rating: T for… dying with no permanent consequences, pain and a bit of mental scarring…
Word count: c. 1600
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Clara Oswald wanders, from one story to the next—sometimes dreaming, sometimes dying. There is a pattern; there are silly impressions, a chill down her spine. She still carries on.
Author's note: This piece was written for the prompt "Horror stories" on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. [livejournal.com profile] radiolaires, I thought of you while writing this because meta ;)
Enjoy!



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flowsoffire: (Martha)
Title: Living glow
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who
Pairing/characters: River, the TARDIS (as Idris), slight mentions of River/Eleven and various companions
Genre: General, Family-ish
Rating: K+
Word count: c. 2500
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: River experiences an encounter she would never have imagined. River and Idris interaction, character exploration/dialogue piece.
Author's note: This was written for a prompt given by the lovely [livejournal.com profile] femme_slash_fan: Idris/River, "protected". I'm sorry it took absolutely forever!!! I ended up making it gen and only using the word prompt for part of the fic, but I hope you still like it! ♥
Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] a_phoenixdragon for the constant support, squeeing, and giving me suggestions I ended up not following when I got stuck and begged for them, lol. And for being a shining star ♥
The piece is set after Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS and an AU-ish scenario. Enjoy!



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flowsoffire: (Vicki and One)
Title: Flavours future and past
Author: flowsoffire
Fandom: Doctor Who (1963)
Pairing/characters: Ian/Barbara
Genre: Romance
Rating: K
Word count: c. 450
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: After danger and alarm, Ian and Barbara enjoy a moment of leisure.
Author's note: Here is another Ian/Barbara drabble, because I love those two—written for the prompt "Pleasure" on [livejournal.com profile] who_contest. Set by the end of the episode The Romans, about 450 words. Enjoy!


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