Masterlist
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One Was Destroyed. Lee/Kara: PG-13.
There is something about them, that hides in the dark of her, which she can't put her finger on.
Something clever could be on the tip of your tongue, so you carefully run it over your teeth, feeling the even divisions and imagining the damage you could do. 622 words.
Then I Stepped On a Landmine. Kara/Lee, Kara/Anders: PG-13.
There is a poetry in destruction: and you never know what side of it you're on.
You often remember the sky to be clearer and more blue than it really was, and something aches inside you, but up here it's all sky anyways, and most of the time what you truly miss is the feeling of earth, real earth, beneath your boots instead of the cold ringing metal of the Battlestar. 889 words.
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Bad Moon Rising. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
The story of how blood and dust came to be. There is a hunter in all of us.
She rolls her eyes, adjusts the crossbow on her back. "Oh, hell," she says to herself before jumping. 2,583 words.
Been Here Before. Alt!Ten/Rose: PG.
He can't help feeling it. She can't help feeling baffled.
She was staring at him. Really staring at him, like his fingers were stuck in the toaster (again) or he was covered in detergent (…again) or had broken something. (Again). 778 words.
Bless the Weather. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Time has never been a straight line for Rose Tyler. It should have figured that dimensions wouldn't be either.
A face eclipses the sun from her sight and the grin that lights it is almost a little annoying. "Took you bloody long enough," she says conversationally. 2,357 words.
Carbon Monoxide. Ten, Jack: PG.
You will have a day each year. Wednesdays, normally, winter mostly.
Time sometimes flows backwards between your mouths and the past will slip out, unbidden, but it changes nothing. 206 words.
Castles. Ten/Rose: PG.
It can't end like this.
It hurts. She hurts, and her palm is pressing against the side of her stomach where she can feel something warm and wet and thick sliding between the gaps of her fingers. 492 words.
Constellation-Makers. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Andromeda, retold: Serpents fear bad wolves.
She is chained to an enormous slab of rock, rising from the sea as if it was a monument to the gods, and she wonders, again, how she could have expected anything differently when he offered to show her the famed Grecian Isles. 1,918 words.
Everything to Come. Alt!Ten/Rose: PG-13.
They sleep in the same bed. She falls in love with the creaks of wood bending under the wind.
The ocean cannot be kind, can only be cold and endless, stretching out past where your vision falters, begins blurring the line that divides heaven and earth until there is only blue in grades, shades, the veil of the world seemingly disappearing, as it does, the way you know it has, and will continue to do. The memory of what is beyond the horizon pulls at the beat of your heart, sinks in your blood with a heaviness you have grown to be familiar with. You can't imagine how it must be, then, for him. 5,630 words.
Grey (You Always Loved Those Fading Skylines). Ten/Rose: PG-13.
He feels lost- but then again, he is always losing himself. What he never expected was to lose her, and so soon.
A sequel to Castles.
It’s silly, he knows, and entirely unhealthy to be doing this. Carrying on conversation like she’ll respond, but is maybe busy thinking of something clever to say, with fingers pulling against her lips as she waits for the perfect comeback. 4,628 words.
Hesitation. Nine/Rose, PG.
She pulls at her lips- there is always a decision to make.
She is unsure how to begin, and tries, inexpertly, to bring all the pieces together, finding how mapped hearts can draw lines from one place and tangle in another. 100 words.
How We Fold. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Sometimes our endings aren't the way we imagine them to be.
She turns to face him, and smiles with an unusual reserve. “Ready?” he says, but he doesn’t wait for answer. Maybe she doesn’t have one. 1,413 words.
How to Cheer a Species Which, By Many, Is Known To Be Non-Existent
(Or: Why Rose Tyler Is, In Fact, Fantastic) . Nine/Rose: PG.
She understands him- better than he does, probably.
Rose had long ago accepted the fact that the universe was a bizarre and mysterious place, if it was even a place and not some sort of hilarious cosmic joke. 1,047 words.
Lost and Found (Small Deaths Remix). Ten/Rose: PG-13.
They've both seen the mark of her in different rooms, proof that the memory of her, like a ghost, still remains; but now they see how her things affect him.
The silence of the room is not friendly, but neither is it uncomfortable; it almost seems sad, and she wonders, a little, how she got to the point where even the absence of something could be touched with tragedy. 3,0125 words.
My People Were Fair and Had Sky In Their Hair
(But Now They're Content to Wear the Stars on Their Brows). Ten/Rose: R.
Ends aren't always everlasting.
Sometimes, if you look closely, you can see the horizon in her eyes before the sides crinkle and her lashes brush it away, but in that one slow second she has your entire world wrapped in hazel irises. 1,089 words.
Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark. Alt!Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Excerpts of the life they're rewriting.
He is hopeless with things like curtains and working the dishwasher, but hopes she doesn’t mind, hopes she remembers that he cannot forget what he knew, still knows, the names of people and places and how to calculate the exact velocity of a mug she might or might not throw at him for saying something about her mother. 2,406 words.
Relativity. Eleven/Rose: PG.
A life can't be lived in reverse- but he is still curious, and part of him will always want to see her.
If he's honest, well, if he's realistic, he doesn't end up at a wedding once he's ripped back into the universe. 2,377 words.
Shoreline, She Says: A Dreamer's Tale. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
She never thought her beginning and end would be on a beach.
Most nights, the waves are calm, and there is no sound save for a wind which does not stir anything. She falls through things those nights, the sand becoming unsteady, her feet sinking with each step as the earth itself opens to new horizons, and unexplored terrain. 1,190 words.
Silverbells. Four/Sarah-Jane, PG.
A glimpse into the life of Sarah-Jane Smith.
She likes to remember he has that way about him, everything untraditional and untoward, all mocking and rage and cleverness wrapped up in the stripes of his scarf. 488 words.
Songs Your Mother Never Sang You. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
But the truth of it is: you will never hear your heels click- only the ticking of a clock.
Sometimes you dream in black and white. You never used to, before, but now soft grays color your mother's face, and sometimes she will sing songs that you have never heard before, but you will feel like you should have remembered them somehow. 1,083 words.
The Dream Within A Dream. Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Beyond the forest, and the sea. The wolf will wait for thee.
He wants to show her the gardens, but he warns her to stay out of the forest. "The trees," he says a little uneasily, "have a bit of personality." 3,491 words.
The Fine Art of Falling Apart
(A Poetic Retelling of An Unfortunate Event). Ten/Rose: PG-13.
Theirs is a special death, but only in the way that it is not a death at all, but an impossible future in which their lives are not lived.
There is a girl-shaped hole in the universe, this universe at least, a proverbial yawning gap of negative space, and the edges between herself and her idea of completion scrape and grate against one another, creating a dissonance in the chorus she's trying to rewrite. 4,782 words.
The Journey-Work of Stars. Ten/Rose: PG.
She is more than she was, but the same as before.
She feels like an unknown dirge, a multipart symphony in patience and distance unbroken by the clawing sensation of unjustness which calmly and constantly exists in her throat. 677 words.
The Violet Hour. Nine/Rose: PG-13.
A small, quiet horror story with Nine and Rose.
But in the dark, they can hear the sounds. New moons, when risen, force all the women to shield their children, while the men restlessly guard their homes. 1,432 words.
Undone. Ten/Rose: PG.
The return of Rose Tyler.
Dawn will glow in her eyes as she wakes, and there will be a slight shift in her axis, a beat in her blood, a pull toward the next minute, minute, minute. In her mind there will be a quietly whirring clock, a silent grind of gears measuring even and heavy, a metronome to something she will not grasp, not right away. 966 words.
When Sleep and Less Collide
(Re: How the Potato Caused the French Revolution). Ten/Rose: PG.
Rose can't sleep, and the Doctor explains the historical significance of the potato.
She remains sprawled, unmoving, for what seems like hours before lifting herself into a sitting position. Elbows on bent knees, she rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, the pressure causing explosions of color to appear and then fade behind her eyelids. 3,976 words.
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A Hush, Distilled. Peter/Claire: PG-13.
They live in the moments of hesitation, but things are different now.
A hush, distilled, echoes quiet voices through the hallways and she wants to believe that when she looks up across the room, his eyes will greet hers and this was all a dream, all a dream. 484 words.
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Time Between. Sherlock/John, Molly: PG.
A loss, a gain, and the time between the saying.
There is a moment where neither of them say anything at all, and it seems to her that a whole universe could have been born in the space between them, worlds forming and turning. 1,623 words.
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Heart and Lungs. Eric/Sookie: PG.
She cannot understand the extent to which they are bound. Maybe she doesn't want to.
Her breath is hot, stays caught in the air like a fly in amber. Summer has arrived, its heavy air a seasonal voodoo, humid and inescapable. 1,413 words.
Nightly Cares. Eric/Sookie: PG.
She always loved the rain, the calm and cool of it. But Eric is more of a thunderstorm.
She made her way to the porch to where he was sitting, the white of the outdoor lights distorted and reflecting strangely in the downpour, her eyes making out his large, familiar outline, the glow of his face feeling nearly welcome. 863 words.
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For the Love of Reblog. Castiel, Dean, Sam: PG.
Castiel gets a Tumblr. No, really.
He's pushing buttons, and the laptop keeps making that dull ringing tone that means you shouldn't be pressing any buttons at all. 1,175 words.
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Syllables. Jim/Pam: PG.
Jim has a normal, everyday conversation with Pam.
He thinks her eyes are reflecting life, and can nearly see rows of fluorescent lights dotting the bits of green in her irises. 480 words.
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Chiaroscuro. Klaus/Caroline: PG.
A study in contrasts.
"Love," he says, simply- as if it doesn’t cut to the core of her, doesn’t taste sharp and bright in her mouth, a flutter of wonder and resignation and curiosity. 339 words.
What the Devil Brings, Part 1. Klaus/Caroline: PG-13.
Five times Caroline definitely does not want to kiss Klaus. And one time she kind of does.
But on this night, a murder-night, a blood-soaked sheet night in a house down the lane, there are girls that continue laughing, and magic that continues humming, and there is a man that calls himself Klaus who continues to wonder how of all places, he finds someone he is curious of, drawn to, in the place he once called home. 7,004 words.
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A Dirge Before Morning. Edward/Bella: R.
How she met him on the other side of death.
When she says her goodbyes, she doesn’t feel the finality of them until much later, when they’re driving somewhere she can’t even remember, and they are so heavy, she whispers to him, they’re so heavy and this is it, this is where her life starts, right? This is where the ending begins, the music swells? Right?. 1,308 words.
Another Step Toward the Lux Aeterna. Edward/Bella: PG-13.
There was a time when he did not burn with her, but that was long ago.
They hum. She does not realize the extent of it - perhaps she shouldn’t - but there are silent tones ringing in the space between them, and with their constant presence he can feel even the slightest change in her atmosphere. 942 words.
There Is a Number of Small Things. Edward/Bella: PG.
Life, as always, is only a series of blurs until he arrives.
Her eyes wander the horizon, fading fast into darker and darker hues, and she knows he’s watching her think, wants to know how she works inside. 764 words.
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Assorted Greens: Two Doctors and an Anesthetist. Doctor Who/Green Wing: Five, Peri, Caroline, and Guy. PG.
The Fifth Doctor and Peri land at East Hampton Hospital Trust and encounter some of their staff.
“Well,” he says carefully, “I can’t imagine why the TARDIS would bring us here.” 637 words.
The Day Just Keeps Getting Longer Doctor Who/Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Ten/Rose, and the Master. PG-13.
A trip to the supermarket, almost.
"What the f-," Dean begins, alarmed. Sam sighs. Its going to be one of those days. 755 words.
The Continued Adventures. Doctor Who/Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Ten/Rose, and the Master. PG-13.
They're running from a giant, nine-legged cross between a wildebeest and a tortoise.
Fuck, Dean thinks. What is it with these people? 719 words.
Once More. Doctor Who/Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Ten/Rose, and the Master. PG-13.
Demons singing. Must be another apocalypse.
Dean drops unceremoniously into a chair beside him and says, "So that was pretty fucking weird." 1,043 words.