Doctor Who fanfic

The internet is a lovely, lovely thing. The extent of Doctor Who resources (or, in fact, "anything" resources) on the web just blows me away. Repeatedly. I have found not only massive pages of Doctor Who research, timelines, factoids, etc, but gigantic collections of fanfic - short stories and even long stories by the legions of devoted and talented fans. In truth, one can find fanfic for probably every science fiction fandom. Certainly there's lots of Star Trek fanfic. I actually once found a page of West Wing fanfic.

One of my happy finds recently is the "Mauve and Dangerous" awards from 2005; the Doctor Who community on livejournal apparently put this together after the first season of the new Doctor Who. I haven't read them all, but every one I have read has been superb. Thoughtful, literary, beautiful.

http://www.loony-archivist.com/mad/winners.htm

Here's a couple of paragraphs that I thought did such a nice job of describing personalities and cameraderie between Rose and the Doctor. I ought to credit it; here's the source:

http://ljconstantine.com/fanfic/ivory.htm

"From the start, she treated the Doctor just as she would have Mickey or one of her mates, and he had responded in kind. She would give his shoulder a solid whack when he was mouthing off, playing the arrogant know-it-all. He would poke her in the side with a stiff finger when he wanted her undivided attention, or grab her elbow to steer her in whatever direction he was headed. She would deliberately crowd him, and he would playfully push her aside with his hip or shoulder, pretending annoyance, but always grinning—within, if not without. She couldn't begin to count how many times, once the console had stopped oscillating, the Doctor had swept her up and spun her around in sheer joy at anticipation of the next death-defying scrape he was about to get them into.

Like Mickey, the Doctor acted like a big kid. Rose found it equal parts endearing and exasperating. 900 going on 5, she would always tease him. Then again, playing grown-up at the tender age of 19 to an overgrown adolescent was hardly uncharted territory. Her mum was always kitted out in some outfit better suited to a girl half her age, and making passes at Rose's boyfriends whenever she brought them home.

In contrast to her mother fiercely clinging to her long-forgot youth, the Doctor's youthful exuberance was natural, genuine. It sprang from a child-like sense of wonder, rather than a childish denial of age. It softened his features, which could—and Rose had seen this far more times than she'd ever expected—go stony cold in an instant, fierce and calm and deadly serious. Then she could believe he was hundreds of years old and the last of a nearly immortal race with mastery over space and time.

But when he was grinning over some mad plan, or a rare flower blooming on a desolate world, or because some seven-armed, three-headed alien had just offered him 20 of his/her/its newly-hatched offspring as concubines, then it was easy for her to forget. Easy to pretend he was 40 going on 5, and she was 19 going on 40, and they could meet up halfway on the sliding scale of maturity."

These writers out there! They take what we're given in the TV show and ponder it, consider the ramifications, elaborate, imagine, make it more than it was.