Now I'm gonna be posting these rapid-fire…
…Depending on how long they end up being.
Or how long this temporary lull lasts at my place.
God bless and have a Merry Christmas!
ThePro-LifeCatholic
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own Christmas. I don't own the time that I'm wasting on this site…but I like it here, so it can't be that wasteful, can it?
Meowers: Thanks for the review! YES, FUNKO POP TINY TEN KEYCHAIN IS AMAZING. That's awesome that you have a tiny TARDIS for him, too. The possibilities are endless! He can go on amazing little adventures!
Dog: Firstly, let me say this: very original guest name. ;) Also, I love how it's a guest named Meowers, and then you reviewed directly afterwards. I don't know if that was planned or not…
About your request, though: I'll write prompts about a season no matter how far away from the season we are. Christmas season ends tomorrow (as of today, anyhoo), but I'll definitely write it if I'm feeling Christmas-y. It's Christmas time all the time for me. Keep checking out this story; I'll definitely get around to it. Sounds like it'll be a fun one to write!
Writing Prompt: 8th Day of Christmas
Characters: Eleventh Doctor, Amelia Pond, Rory Pond (Williams?)
Shippings: None
Genre: Friendship/Humor/Christmas-y
Rating: K
On the Eighth Day of Christmas
The Doctor let me see:
Trees falling over
A sled ride down a mountain
Tea after Midnight
SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!
Carols from the Past
Mugs of Hot Chocolate
A new red bike,
And a small Babe asleep in the hay.
"This is all your fault," Amelia Pond stated, glaring accusingly at the Doctor.
"My fault?!" the Doctor exclaimed, raising his hands in the air defensively. "Why would any of this be my fault?"
Amy looked at him, then pressed her face to the metals bars of their prison, staring at the scene outside.
A handful of aliens dressed in red, white, and green outfits were struggling madly, trying to free themselves from several inches of goopy figgy pudding. It was quickly turning into a greyish-purpley cement. Hopping in and around them were small, furry creatures with white coats of fur. They were about the size of rabbits, with large amber eyes and three pairs of legs. There were about a dozen of them, and they were all dashing forward and back, nipping samples of the figgy pudding before it completely hardened.
Directly to Amy's left could be seen several creatures dressed in grotesque mouse costumes. They wielded swords and spears (very really looking ones), and their faces were turned upward. Above their heads, suspended by a coil of thick rope, was the one and only Rory Williams. He was clinging desperately to the rope and inching his way slowly upward. The mice shrieked and batted the air with their weapons.
Some children were busily trying to construct a snowman out of the fake snow that littered the ground, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The Doctor had tried to get their attention before with jammie dodgers, but none of them seemed interested.
"We were supposed to be seeing The Nutcracker," Amelia said, facing the Doctor. The Time Lord fiddled with his sonic and didn't make eye contact with his companion.
"This is not The Nutcracker," Amy continued, motioning to the pile of collapsed trees that had toppled over – seemingly on their own – no more than two seconds ago. "This is…what did you say this play was, again?"
"You don't have to rub it in," the Doctor muttered, sticking his lower lip out. Amy glared icy daggers at his face. Then she turned her attention to the stage outside, just in time to see an army of gingerbread men with sharped candy canes closing in on them.
"Oh, that's right!" she exclaimed. "We're now part of the futuristic and 'sophisticated' play known as The Christmas Sacrifice!"
"I'm sorry!" the Doctor squeaked, adjusting his bowtie. "Yes, I messed up. I apologized. Are you happy now?"
"Save us first," Mrs. Pond demanded, casting a look in the direction of her husband. "And save my husband. Then we'll talk about forgiveness."
"Tough companions," the Doctor muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Right then," he said, straightening his tweed jacket. Pulling a Santa hat out of his bigger-on-the-inside pocket, he perched it on his head and flashed an impish grin at Amelia Pond.
"Geronimo," he whispered.
Here's a short, slightly random one featuring Eleven, with Amy being the main companion in this piece.