Hello Whovians, and welcome to my second Fanfiction. Now, as you may have guessed, this is not really a story. It's a compilation of texts between the Doctor and his companions. This is NOT a copy or imitation of the story 'Texting' by TimeLordFury (go read that if you haven't already. It's brilliant). This is my own idea and I will be using my own original thoughts.

The fic starts with a tiny bit of background info. After that, the hilarious conversations will begin:D Mostly, these texts will be between Clara and the Twelfth Doctor, but I will also write conversations using the other Doctors and companions as well.

Reviews, constructive criticism, and prompts are appreciated. I love them all. And I love you guys. Thank you for being such great readers.

Now let the story begin. And oh yeah - I don't own Doctor Who, unfortunately.

CHAPTER 1:

His companions always made him get a phone. Why did they always make him get a phone?

The Doctor usually ended up losing them, or throwing them into a supernova, or 'accidentally' chucking them out into deep space, or sitting on them. But that didn't stop everyone from constantly finding new ways to give him one.

It had started with Rose. After he'd accidentally left her on a different planet for a whole day with no means of communication, she'd forced him to keep a phone on him at all times. Basically, so she could call or text him and yell at him whenever she felt like it. It hadn't been much of a tragedy when a rampaging bull had stepped on it while trying to squeeze its hindquarters out of a manhole in Paris (long story). Rose swore later that she'd seen the Doctor actually throw the phone under the bull's hooves, but of course, he denied that.

Then there was Martha, who'd given him a phone just before she left. Hey, I'm giving up all of time and space! Have a phone! He still had that one. Somewhere.

The Doctor had thought he was safe when Donna came along. She didn't mention a phone for months on end, and he was beginning to think that she didn't really need to get him one, since she yelled at him all the time anyway. Why text people or shout at them on the phone when you could yell at them in person? But then, one Christmas, there it was: a little box outside his bedroom door with a note on top that read: Sorry, I spilled some bleach on it. Think it'll still work though. Merry Christmas, Spaceman. P.S. I hope you got me a present.

As a matter of fact, it had still worked, but not for long. The Doctor cringed just remembering the smell of that toaster after he'd experimentally dropped his phone inside it.

Amy and Rory had provided him with a phone as well - a Blackberry. "A Blackberry?" he'd protested disgustedly. "This looks nothing like a blackberry." He'd gnawed curiously on a corner and wrinkled his nose. "It doesn't even taste like one."

Well, that phone had lasted longer than any of his others - about three months. But it had met a sad end in the bowels of a supernova, along with his TARDIS instruction manual.

Out of all the people who had pressed phones into his hand, though, Clara was the most persistent. Clara. Sweet Clara, determined Clara, control freak Clara. She'd given him not one, but three phones. Three. The Doctor had really thought that she would take the hint after he 'accidentally' squished the first under his shoe and even more 'accidentally' dropped the second in the toilet. But the next day, she'd simply hand him another phone, with a steely glint in her eye that seemed to say, You can't escape this one, Mister.

And, it seemed, he couldn't. At least not while he kept companions around.

(Author's Note: From now on, the stories won't have that background information above. They'll begin with a conversation such as the one below).

Clara: Doctor, are you there?

Twelfth Doctor: No. Go away.

Clara: I know you're there.

Doctor: I'm really not. I'm definitely not here. Not now. Not ever.

Clara: I know you're there because you're texting me.

Doctor: Who said I'm texting you?

Doctor: I'm not texting you.

Clara: Yes, you are.

Doctor: Nope.

Clara: Then how are we communicating?

Doctor: Telepathy.

Clara: Really.

Doctor: Yes. How can you prove that we're not? What if texting is just an illusion that brains invented so humans can mentally communicate and still have something to look at? You humans always need something to look at.

Clara: I don't think texting's an illusion.

Doctor: I do.

Clara: Well, either way, you're still talking to me right now. That's not an illusion.

Doctor: Yes it is, because I'm not talking to you.

Clara: Okay, then what are you doing?

Doctor: Anything but talking to you.

Clara: Stop being annoying.

Doctor: I'm not being anything except unresponsive, because I'm definitely not talking to you. I said I would never use this phone for texting and I haven't.

Two minutes and twelve seconds later:

Doctor: Clara?

Doctor: Are you there?

Four minutes and nine seconds later:

Doctor: Clara? Where'd you go?

A minute later:

Doctor: Okay, yes, I suppose I am talking to you. But only because I've got nothing else to do.

Thirty-four seconds later:

Doctor: Clara?

Doctor: Clara?

Doctor: Clara?

Doctor: Clara?

Doctor: CLARA?

Doctor: CLARA?

Clara: OH MY STARS, STOP SPAMMING ME, I'M HERE. And stop shouting.

Doctor: I DIDN'T SHOUT.

Clara: Yes you did. It looks like you're shouting when you use caps lock.

Doctor: WHAT'S CAPS LOCK? AND I'M NOT SHOUTING. THE BIG SQUIGGLES JUST CAME ON AND I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO TURN THEM OFF.

Clara: They're called capitals, and that would be the caps lock. You're about as tech-savvy as my Gran.

Doctor: I figured it out now.

Doctor: Why weren't you responding earlier?

Clara: Well, you apparently weren't talking to me, so I wasn't talking to you either.

Clara: So you do like your phone after all. You've been texting me for ages after you said you never would.

Doctor: I have to go.

Clara: HA!

Clara: You do like it. You just won't admit it.

Doctor: Shoo.

Clara: Okay. Can you send me a picture of you to use as a contact photo?

Doctor: No. I don't have any pictures of me. Only humans could come up with the idea of constantly taking pictures of themselves.

Clara: I'll just Google 'stick insects'.

Doctor: Very funny. And I'll just google 'blobfish' for your contact picture.

Clara: I don't know what those are but I'm pretty sure you just insulted me.

Clara: Anyway, you don't have to go to the trouble of looking up the most insulting pictures you can find. I've got a million selfies. Hang on, I'll send some to you. Be back in a minute.

Doctor: Great.

Aaaaand that's it for Chapter One! I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know what you thought, and leave me a prompt if you so wish:) Have a great week, everyone!