Who Fic: Sucks to Be You
So apparently I made Martha an American in this and didn't notice for about two years. I'm leaving this up because a remix links back here.
These are addictive and will probably cost me much sleep.
Title: Sucks to Be You
Characters: Martha
Rating: PG
Spoilers: only through the end of S3
Disclaimer: The rights to Doctor Who belong to the BBC, not myself. I am making no money off of this.
Notes: Written for 15_minute_fic prompt #74. In accordance with their rules, the prompt is hidden under the cut.
Word count: 376
Prompt: frantic
Her prom dress doesn't fit right. This is an Emergency. It fit before, when there were weeks to go, but now, with most of an hour left before she leaves, the shoulders are too loose. Tish insists she's imagining things, and Leo is just kind enough to pretend to hide his laughter, but Martha ignores them both and carries on panicing.
This, Martha thinks the next day, is the most frantic she'll ever have been.
The problem with overloading in Uni is that the classes themselves may fit neatly into a weekly schedule with no overlap, but they'll still all have the same finals week. Though she knows (being pre-med and all) that a good night of sleep has been scientifically proven to raise test scores, she stays up all night trying desperately to memorize every bit of trivia four separate academic fields have ever produced.
Through a wicked caffeine headache that she pretended she didn't see coming, Martha reasons that at least now, she won't associate stressing out with prom dresses anymore.
The hospital is running out of oxygen and an (attractive) alien just kissed her as part of a plan to fool an (ugly) alien's DNA scanners and also something about radiation and two hearts and hopping about in one shoe.
...Yeah.
Martha is fairly certain she remembers having been a simple med student this morning.
She was lucky to find this house. It's the first night in the seven weeks since she came back here from the end of the Universe that she's been able to have both shelter, food, and human company. Real human company, fellow resistance members that she can talk to honestly, not people in labor camps who look up to her as some sort of superhero with a Big Plan to Save Us All.
So of course, they all die. Horribly.
Hiding from the toclafane in a closet, clutching the TARDIS key around her neck, Martha swears that no promise of the stars and no relief at seeing him alive will ever make her go with the Doctor again. Not even if she loves him. There was a time when clothing and dancing and boys seemed like things worth feeling frantic over. She'd like a chance to remember it.
These are addictive and will probably cost me much sleep.
Title: Sucks to Be You
Characters: Martha
Rating: PG
Spoilers: only through the end of S3
Disclaimer: The rights to Doctor Who belong to the BBC, not myself. I am making no money off of this.
Notes: Written for 15_minute_fic prompt #74. In accordance with their rules, the prompt is hidden under the cut.
Word count: 376
Prompt: frantic
Her prom dress doesn't fit right. This is an Emergency. It fit before, when there were weeks to go, but now, with most of an hour left before she leaves, the shoulders are too loose. Tish insists she's imagining things, and Leo is just kind enough to pretend to hide his laughter, but Martha ignores them both and carries on panicing.
This, Martha thinks the next day, is the most frantic she'll ever have been.
The problem with overloading in Uni is that the classes themselves may fit neatly into a weekly schedule with no overlap, but they'll still all have the same finals week. Though she knows (being pre-med and all) that a good night of sleep has been scientifically proven to raise test scores, she stays up all night trying desperately to memorize every bit of trivia four separate academic fields have ever produced.
Through a wicked caffeine headache that she pretended she didn't see coming, Martha reasons that at least now, she won't associate stressing out with prom dresses anymore.
The hospital is running out of oxygen and an (attractive) alien just kissed her as part of a plan to fool an (ugly) alien's DNA scanners and also something about radiation and two hearts and hopping about in one shoe.
...Yeah.
Martha is fairly certain she remembers having been a simple med student this morning.
She was lucky to find this house. It's the first night in the seven weeks since she came back here from the end of the Universe that she's been able to have both shelter, food, and human company. Real human company, fellow resistance members that she can talk to honestly, not people in labor camps who look up to her as some sort of superhero with a Big Plan to Save Us All.
So of course, they all die. Horribly.
Hiding from the toclafane in a closet, clutching the TARDIS key around her neck, Martha swears that no promise of the stars and no relief at seeing him alive will ever make her go with the Doctor again. Not even if she loves him. There was a time when clothing and dancing and boys seemed like things worth feeling frantic over. She'd like a chance to remember it.