Ugh, I hate college. It takes up all my roleplaying time. And since I’ve got like 3 exams next week, I’ll probably be scarce ‘till then. Which means no activity on timelord-inabowtie either. But I’ll be back the week after next, things will be a lot more tame then.
Taa for now.
“Two thousand years, Rory. You won’t even sleep. You’ll be conscious every second. It would drive you mad.”
(Source: matthewsmitth, via bowtiesandjammiedodgers)
Sam was on a job, something rather nasty. He was pretty sure it was a ghost haunting the building, but he wasn’t sure as of yet if it was random killings or if there was a vengeance involved. While researching Sam had run out of coffee.
He stood and left the building, ready to go get some more from the store, but instead noticed a familiar face. He frowned briefly, before heading over to her, his face transforming into a smile. “Hey, Amy, what’re you doing here?” He asked, hoping she was just here for the day. He didn’t want her getting hurt, after all.
“Oh, you know,” she said, wrecking her brain for a legitimate, foolproof excuse. “Vacation,” she said after a moment or two, with an innocent grin sprawled across her face. “Just a few days, hopefully. If all goes well. What about you? Vacation, as well?,” she said, realizing, after mentioning the word ‘vacation’ twice in two sentences that a side street motel would be a odd choice for a holiday getaway. Especially with all the talk of odd happenings in that particular building.
You’re not allowed to win the pillow fights, then.
“That’s fair enough for me. Where shall we begin?” he asked, a slight smirk spreading across his face.
“I don’t know,” she said, plainly, playing coy for a moment before suddenly rushing past him and up the stairs like a child, headed towards their bedroom to dominate all the pillows.
Rory rolled over a bit so he lay on his back, his face wrinkled up in thought. Surely Amy wouldn’t make them both starve all day. Besides, he wasn’t all that hungry yet, since he’d just woken up. He poked his arms out from the blanket and gently pulled her on top of him. “Cuddling session it is,” he decided with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.
Amy giggled as Rory pulled her on top of him and kissed his lips gently and silently. “I comply,” she whispered, and ran her fingers through his hair, as if grooming his messy sandy blonde hair, smiling down at him. “I’m lucky,” she said, in a soft, gentle tone, still, as she moved to lie down next to him.
“Me?” She asked, wondering what it was that the woman did that would ‘scare’ Rose so much. She didn’t care if Amy thought Rose was mad when she told her, or if she just laughed in her face. “I um, I hunt aliens for a living.” She said with a straight face, taking a sip of her wine as she awaited the reaction.
Amy was in the midst of sipping a little more of her wine when Rose mentioned that she’d hunted aliens for a living. Anyone else, would’ve choked on their drink but Amy knew better than that. Amy froze and then parted her glass from her lips slowly, and set her glass on the table. “You what?,” Amy asked, not eliminating the chance that she might’ve heard the young woman beside her wrongly. “I think you’ve had one too many, love,” Amy said with a laugh, trying to classify it as a joke.
“Well, he has been with every other companion I’ve had, well, except Donna, but that was probably because she’d murder him for trying.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Why am I worked up? They’re bad news, Amelia. Jack Harkness is bad, bad news.” He told her, before he sighed and walked away slightly. “Yes, Pond, a rip in time!” He sighed, before he realised he had called her Pond; an old nickname. “I apologise for that.” He sighed, turning to look at her.
“Where am I going? I’m going to sort this rip in time. I’m going to close it.” He shrugged. “Disappear? Amy, I left you and Rory alone to be happy. I thought you would have forgotten. Every body else does.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Well, I bloody well will!” He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest in a childish fashion. He looked at her, and watched her walk away, wiping his eyes furiously.
He was sad that he was letting his best friend go for the second time on bad terms, and angry at himself for getting mad at her. She needed to earn a living, and Torchwood seemed to be doing that for her. She was happy, by the looks of it, and he should be happy for her, for his Amelia; the girl who waited. But, he wasn’t…
“Who’s Donna?,” Amy asked, pretty sure that he’s never mentioned her before to Amy. “Oh, sure you’d know that, wouldn’t you? ‘They’re bad news’, this people have been like family to me, Doctor. So you’ll forgive me, if I say I can hardly believe that as of this moment,” Amy said, defensively. Torchwood has really been like a second-home to her. The people there understood her, she could talk to them about everything. About her experience with aliens, planets and time travel and they wouldn’t tell her to see a shrink. Amy felt an odd melancholic feeling at her heart at mention of her old nickname the Doctor used to call her. ‘Pond’. Amy said nothing but dropped her gaze as he apologized to her for calling her that.
“Yeah, go ahead and sort it. I’ll do my own job while I’m here, and you can go on ahead and do yours,” Amy said, and was about to drop the matter and walk away when the Doctor continued on. “Left us to be happy?,” Amy said, rather loudly, trying her best not to raise her voice to a yell. “Doctor, how could I be happy, when you’d just left us and stopped coming back to visit us after a while. I worried all the time, I even wondered if you — if you were alive. You never called, you never popped by. There was a seat set at every thanksgiving dinner for you, a seat that was left empty,” she said, trying not to choke up. “And moving on from that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Now, I’ve found Torchwood and it helps fill a bit of the places that you’ve left empty, and here you are telling me I should leave it?,” Amy said, huffed and close to tears. “Well, I’m sorry, Doctor, but I’m not leaving my friends, and assuming they’d be happy that I left.”
(Source: fiery-amypond, via makemymeatsuitalldewy)
Sarah Jane shook her head, “I don’t think we have, actually, sorry. Well.. Maybe you have met me before, but I don’t think I’ve ever met you.”
“No, I guess we haven’t then,” Amy replied plainly, and was about to tell the woman that she’d stop bothering her when caught on to something the other woman had said. “Uh, what do you mean by that, exactly?,” questioned Amy, playing dumb, obviously.
(via yoursarahjane)
“Oh yes. Tea would be great, my Amelia Pond.”
“It’s been a while for me, actually. More than a long time, been in a submarine with an alien soldier from Mars during the Cold War. Not a very good adventure, that one. Then there was the ghost one…Which wasn’t really a ghost. They’re never ghosts. Ad then there was that thing with the WiFi. You missed a lot of stuff. Oh, and I met someone. Her name’s Clara. But here’s the funny thing, she’s the exact same woman from— Wait, hold on. I don’t know where you are in your timeline… you been to the Dalek place-y place yet with me and Rory?”
“Alrighty then, we can bring this conversation to the kitchen,” Amy said, smiling at him and then proceeded to filling up a kettle with water. “You what?,” she said as she placed the kettle on the stove. “Your life never stops getting crazy, does it?,” she said with a light giggle. “So soldiers from Mars during the Cold War,” she emphasized and cast a glance at the Doctor, as if waiting for him to assure her that she’d gotten it right. “And what — ghosts?,” she added. “Ah, see, I knew you say something like that. Typical.”
Amy’s heart sank as he mentioned that he’d met someone. She’d been replaced, she thought. He’d moved on. “Clara, yeah? Who’s she, then?,” she said, feigning a smile to the best of her abilities, still, making sure she looked normal on the surface. “Yeah, yeah we’ve been through that. Clara’s — oh don’t tell me — souffle girl?,” Amy exclaimed.
The Master smirked. “Well for one, that accent. And two I can smell the Vortex on you from here.”
He looked the ginger over, silently appraising her. “So then. Where are you from? Or should I be asking when?”
“My accent?,” Amy asked, getting defense. “What’s that supposed to mean?,” she asked. Amy turned up blank, however, for a snappy retort back at the man, after that.
“I -,” Amy stuttered, unsure whether or not to trust the stranger of a man that stood in front of her. “Tell me who you are, first,” Amy said, a weak argument, she’s aware, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment. She didn’t know this person at all, and every precaution needed to be taken.
