Mar. 20th, 2014

ameliaponders: (Default)
Hi! I'm Kat and I don't understand.

As obsessive fandom-y as I am (Doctor Who being my #1), I am only good with the words. That's about it. Making things that are pretty is scary and unknown to me including icons, gifs, and more. SO I'm going to use this journal to post my Doctor Who fics, and I suppose other writing if I'm feeling bold/crazy. I have the same username at AO3 and Teaspoon and an Open Mind, and I'm probably just going to post everything everywhere and uniformly. If I try to get creative and do different things on different sites, I'm gonna get overwhelmed. Also, I'll feel guilty when I inevitably neglect them.

So anyway, my neuroticism aside I will say hello, please enjoy things I write, and please feel free to help me, you know, learn the internet. I'm like Clara Oswald before the spoonheads got a hold of her.

It's nice to meet you! Feel free to (friend? follow? I don't know) keep in touch with me and I hope to meet a kind soul or two! And feedback on my writing is always appreciated!

ameliaponders: (Default)
Summary: Just a little one-shot vignette. Amy is suddenly overcome by a strange feeling during an everyday moment in her post-Angels '50s life.


It happens while she is holding a laundry basket, which is sort of unexpected. Not that you ever expect this sort of moment, but for it to come while you are holding a laundry basket just seems absurd. Maybe that’s why Amy promptly lets go of the basket, spilling clothes all over the staircase she is halfway down at the moment. Her bathing suit catches her eye as it falls, but she makes no move to pick up any of what she’s dropped, instead sucking in a sharp breath as a memory floods her being.

It was right after she and Rory had gotten married; so many years ago, but going by the calendar currently on their kitchen wall, still fifty-eight years away. The Doctor had finally gotten them to Rio, actual proper Earth Rio, and in the Seventies, no less. The three of them were on the beach, reveling in the sun, sea, and colorful mess of humans and human stuff that surrounded them. Amy was particularly excited that she had used the contraption they’d just picked up on Adonica Nine – a sort of scanner thing that provided flawless, 24-hour UV protection with the push of a button and no greasy lotion. “Finally,” she said, “I can enjoy a beach without worrying that I’ll become a human tomato.” This led to a twenty-minute monologue by the Doctor about a fascinating race of sentient tomatoes he’d met four hundred years before. Rory whispered a joke to her about tragic spaghetti sauce and they’d laughed. Then the Doctor got hit in the face with a thong that, they’d learn a moment later, belonged to someone a few umbrellas down and all three of them laughed, especially when the owner turned out to be a six-foot-five, eighty-year-old man.

Who knows why this was what she thought of now. It was a silly memory, really, paling in comparison to a thousand other more exciting adventures. But oh, how they had laughed. So much that she’d had tears streaming down her face…

“Amy?” Rory’s voice brings her back to the present as he rounds the corner and stops by the staircase. “I heard a noise… are you okay? What happened to the laundry? Why are you crying?”

She touches her cheek and discovers tears, but says nothing and keeps looking straight ahead, in a daze.

“What’s the matter? You’re starting to freak me out. Are you hurt or something?” Rory starts going into nurse mode, gently touching her arms, her face. “Talk to me.”

She still won’t look at him, is too overcome by this sudden and strange sense of loss that she feels with every part of her existence. Finally, words come out of her mouth in a whisper, but they, like her gaze, are not directed at her husband.

“Raggedy Man…goodnight.”

And with that, she snaps out of her sort-of trance, collapsing in a heap on the stairs and sobbing in earnest. Rory understands now, and goes to her. They hold each other and cry. A few minutes later, Rory helps her collect the laundry and put it back into the basket. And life goes on.
ameliaponders: (Default)
Summary: Rose has a big, long, exhausting report to read and the Doctor suggests how she should study it. Fluffy PWP TenToo/Rose domesticity. This fic is what happens when a Whovian goes to grad school and wants to avoid doing her homework! Also inspired by the Wedding of River Song quote “I could help Rose Tyler with her homework" that was posted as a fic prompt on the Doctor Who Fic Prompt Tumblr.Even though I don't understand Tumblr, that one is pretty straightforward.


“I could do A-Levels,” Rose had said once. The memory echoed through her mind as she stared at the paper in front of her, the completely dense, tiny type blurring together now that she’d been staring at it for more than two hours. A small smile crept across her face at the memory of telling the Doctor about A-Levels, and she couldn’t help but chuckle when she recalled why she hadn’t done them in the first place. Jimmy Stone was the first man (okay, he was a boy, but still) she’d chased after, starting something of a trend in Rose Tyler’s life.

“What’s so funny?” Rose looked up to see the last man she’d chased – the one she’d finally, finally caught. Well, it was the man she chased less one extra heart and a respiratory bypass system, but a year into this life together, she knew this half-human Doctor was, in fact, the man she’d always loved.

“Oh, just remembering something,” she answered as the Doctor sat next to her at their dining room table. “A silly boy I swooned over.”

“Oi! You said you like when I’m silly!” The Doctor said, mock-offended.

“Not you,” Rose replied, and the Doctor looked momentarily hurt. “This grungy bloke named Jimmy Stone. Remember? The reason I didn’t do my A-Levels?”

“Oh yes. The juvenile delinquent. Well, joke’s on him, look at you now. Successful career woman, rising to the top of her field, and looking sexy as ever while doing it, too.” He hugged her from behind her chair and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Rose sighed. “We’ll see about top of the field. I swear, I’m never getting through this program.” For the last few months, Rose had been in Torchwood’s Executive Training Program. It was extremely rigorous, and half the recruits had dropped out after only a week. Rose was one of five that remained in what amounted to a PhD program in alien hunting. “I mean, I identified and arrested an entire council house full of Zygons last month. I know what I’m doing…why am I reading what amounts to academic papers on it? Is this a test to see how well we deal with boredom?”

The Doctor cocked his eyebrow. “It’s possible. After all, the Petsonians actually use boredom as a weapon. They scan your brain to figure out what you find uninteresting, then telepathically bombard you with it so it’s all you see, feel, and think about until your heart stops and you die!” The Doctor clapped his hands together excitedly; he found trivia – even slightly morbid trivia – utterly delightful.

“Well, they might’ve invaded Torchwood via white papers instead of telepathy, because reading this is just deadly. I mean, listen to this: ‘Raxacoricofallapatorian intergroup conflict mediation protocol standards, practices, and deviations when faced with Desivon System planetoid populations: a detailed history.’ That’s just the title! And I have one night to read the entire 300 pages on this, and talk about it tomorrow. It’s absolutely dreadful.”

“That is a pretty terrible title,” the Doctor agreed. “Who wrote that?” He squinted at the paper. “Dr. Silas Brix. Is he that purple suckery creature on the eleventh floor?” Rose nodded. “Oh, he’s never any fun. Once he came to my lab to deliver something and stayed for an hour explaining how and why I should rearrange my shelves. It’s no wonder he makes you read his stuffy papers. Tomorrow he can tell you all about what the paper actually means and why what you think about it is wrong. He just likes to hear himself talk.”

“I’ve never met anyone like that before,” Rose giggled.

The Doctor playfully swatted her on the shoulder. “At least I talk about interesting things,” he muttered. Rose patted his hand affectionately and then got back to the paper in front of her with a deep, frustrated groan.

A moment later, the Doctor crouched down beside her. “You know there’s another way you can do this,” he said gently. “It doesn’t have to be this complicated.”

“No, Doctor, it’s cheating. I need to do this on my own.”

“But it’s not cheating! You’re still getting all the same information as everyone else. You’re still learning.”

“It just doesn’t feel right. Like I’m taking the easy way out.” She continued reading silently, head in hand, as the Doctor sat next to her.

“Rose, you’re one of the hardest working people at Torchwood, not to mention one of the smartest people I know. Look how far you’ve made it in this program that so many people quit! Hell, even Ty from Accounting quit and he literally has the biggest brain in Torchwood. The average Duzerid brain weighs 46 pounds, and Ty’s on the large side of his species! And you’re smarter than he is! So, isn’t it smart to just get your studying done more efficiently? Besides, then you could, you know, come play with me?” He looked at her with those irresistible puppy dog brown eyes, purposefully putting his glasses on so they seemed even bigger.

“Play with you? What, like at recess? Fancy a game of kickball, Doctor?” she teased.

“Well, sure, but not the Pete’s World way. You have to put on all that equipment, and sometimes the robots misfire… I just meant that you deserve a break. With me. And the TARDIS. I think she’s finally at intergalactic capability, and I’ve really wanted to show you this planet whose surface is basically a trampoline.”

He was practically whining like a kid now. Rose realized that all of her studying and long hours at the office were taxing not only for her, but the Doctor, too. Especially since she’d postponed their date night four times in a row, so it had been a while since they’d spent some quality time together. And when the Doctor had too much time to himself, he started to brood. The Oncoming Storm would relive every dark moment he’d seen, every awful moment of war…all while mulling over what it meant to be half-human and coming to terms with a mortality he never had to face before. His anguish over these things broke her heart. Sometimes, it would take days for Rose to pull the Doctor out of his funk, and the last thing she wanted was for him to find his way back into one just because she’d been so busy lately and he was lonely.

Rose glanced at the Doctor again. His eager, hopeful look made him that much sexier, and soon Rose was completely distracted by thoughts that definitely had nothing to do with studying Raxacoricofallapatorians. And besides, the part she’d read already confirmed what the Doctor had said – Brix was a windbag. Maybe, just maybe she could take a shortcut this once…

“You’re changing your mind!” The Doctor said excitedly.

“I might be,” she conceded.

“Come on, Rose! Please? I promise tomorrow I will write a paper about how this is most definitely not cheating, and you can read the whole thing in the same way you’re reading now.” He gave her the puppy eyes again, and actually stuck out his bottom lip. Rose’s resistance dissolved.

“Just this once. But…the trampoline planet will have to wait until tomorrow. After all, you wanted me to play with you tonight, right?” She smiled that tongue-between-teeth smile that she knew drove the Doctor crazy. “I have some, um, games in mind that we play right here at home.” She smirked suggestively.

The Doctor was at her side in the blink of an eye. He grabbed the paper and flipped through it for a few seconds, staring intently at it before redirecting his attention to Rose. “Okay, you know the drill. Deep breath, clear your mind. Close your eyes.”

Rose did as he asked as the Doctor followed the same procedure. He then gently, almost reverently, touched his fingers to her temples. Rose gasped. Even though they had done it many times, the feeling of the Doctor being inside of her mind and Rose being inside of his was still an overwhelming sensation. She felt the contents of the report she’d been reading fill her mind like water being poured into a glass. In an instant, she completely understood the entire document and felt little sparks of energy as her mind started analyzing and making her own insights on the material.

And then she noticed something else nudging at the corner of her consciousness. It wasn’t facts and figures this time – it was a feeling. A feeling of pride and confidence in her that she hadn’t been feeling lately. Clearly, the Doctor had, and he was sharing it with her now. Sensing a bit of resistance, the Doctor sent Rose another thought: this is how I feel about everything you do, everything you are. I love you, Rose Tyler, and I could not be more proud to know such an incredible person and call you mine.”

Rose opened her eyes then, looking directly into the Doctor’s as he moved his hands from her temples down to cup her face. Being so tired lately, and now with the Doctor’s outpouring of support and love, it was enough to make tears roll silently down Rose’s cheeks. The Doctor brushed them away with his thumb and smiled at her. “My brilliant pink and yellow human,” he whispered. “I think that’s enough studying for one night.” As he kissed her for the first of many times that evening, Rose decided that her new study technique might just be the best one after all.


ameliaponders: (Default)

May 2014


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