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Making BerthThe Doctor stood in the lamplight, outside a pub in vacant London. False snow clung to his hair, and his breath whirled visibly in the cold breeze. Christmas night Hed had to come here, after all hed lost. Had to see what hed done, the 6 billion people hed saved To prove that it was worth it. Even if hed never believe it himself.
6 billion and 3. His subconscious countered. He had to see them and feel them and bathe in their goodness, their magnificence. Had to convince himself to go on, for their sakes. For Martha. For Jack. For Rose. For all the others out here Surviving. Living.
And for Astrid. For Adric. For all the beautiful people tossed to the wayside- unnamed, unknown, all with their beautiful futures that The Doctor had marred beyond recognition. Those who had been brave and good, those he couldnt save Whose faces hed see every night, every blink, behind his eyelids.
They all thought the doc
FearGranny Crane lived next to a graveyard.
In a small trailer park near the Gotham church. They lived there partially because the rent was cheap, as the funereal location was less than alluring, and partially because Granny Crane liked being so close to the church. Jonathan didnt mind, even if she would drag him there daily to confess the sins she believed him to be festering in. No, Jonathan didnt mind, because sometimes, at dusk, when Granny was gently snoring with her drinks and her stories, he could sneak out and weave through the gravestones, with the amber autumn sun at his back, then the rising harvest moon.
Jonathan was afraid of many things, but he didnt fear the dead. In all his time at the graveyard, no ghosts had plagued him, and that was more than young Jonathan could say for the living. He was afraid of the living- of the bullies who beat him blue and shouted names, of his grandmother who drank and swore and called the devil down on his bastard head, of bir
Going HomeThis isnt exactly what I imagined when you suggested fighting across the constellations. The Master said, gazing out at the broad expanse of universe surrounding them. The two Time Lords lay suspended in the TARDIS protection field, on an asteroid, a few scorch marks its final testimony to the planet it had burst from only moments ago. In the light of the supernova they talked like old friends and old enemies, because what's the need for titles after all they had been through? They were themselves, and each other, and the last. The Master turned.
Why did you do it? Images of The Doctor racing back and forth, cradling the bleeding time lord to his chest. Into the TARDIS, smash controls, keep him breathing until you get to god-knows-where.
Im The Doctor. Cheeky. And you very well know why.
Its nice to hear.
I need you. Just as much as you need me.
You knew it was me,
Echoes of Rain -Death Note-Rain pounded the pavement in hard, wet drops; not a playful summer shower, no, not this. This was harsh, stinging, biting rain, without relent, without forgiveness. This was the rain that stuck hair to your face and made you feel soaked and abandoned, hopeless and alone.
Matt never minded the rain.
Matt was nothing; He was a shell. Lost, adrift, empty- floating dimly through a wasteland of disenchantment, barely taking any of it in, barely even there. A sharp mind, a quick wit with no purpose, no destination. Dark goggles shrouded apathetic eyes, just another barrier between himself and the world, himself and caring.
A long drag of a cigarette, a fleeting wonder about how it even stayed lit in this weather. Fleeting, yes, that was Matt. Always moving on, glancing away, no time to get bored, no time to care. He twirled a key ring around his index finger like a helicopter- little things. It almost made him feel human.
Brushing wet auburn hair from his eyes, Matt trudged up the steps to h
The boys body fell to the pavement with a thud. He groaned, pulling himself off the grimy sidewalk as he half-heartedly gestured at the bouncer whod thrown him from the bar. His vision swam violently as he attempted to walk, now thoroughly drunk. Clambering loudly through the silent midnight streets, his long, threadbare trench coat swaying in the howling autumn wind, the boy ducked into a dark alley- maybe hed be able to find an almost-stable fire escape to sleep on tonight.
But the boy stopped dead.
In front of him stood a man, tall and menacing and ethereally pale, who looked as though he was locked in a passionate moment with the young woman beside him. The boy gasped loudly, however, when he saw the thin stream of blood dripping from the womans neck. At this sound, the intimidating figure turned, dropping the girls body unceremoniously onto a pile of trash.
The boy cried- a quiet, strangled sound. He couldnt move- The mans wi
Words That We Couldn't Say
Words That We Couldn't Say
Vicious' long fingers wrapped around the neck of the vodka bottle, bringing it to his pale lips for another swig. He was dimly aware of his surroundings, that he was laying half-frozen on a moth-eaten bed in some slummy motel. The icy Callistan wind bit brutally from the open window, but Vicious didn't care. Didn't care if he died, alone, in this rat-infested hell hole. In fact he hoped for it.
He took another swig.
The syndicate had disbanded. The organization he'd pledged his life to was gone. Gone, in an instant. In a blink of an eye, the past fifteen years of his life meant nothing. There was nothing left for him now.
He took another swig.
Vicious didn't really know why he came to Callisto. He'd driven here on emotional autopilot after he'd gotten the news of the Syndicate. He dimly supposed it was because the last time he was here was the last time he'd actually felt.
Vicious grimaced. That name brought up feelings better left unsaid.
Broken RecordInsanity is doing something with a lack of reason
A deranged state of mind; everything's an illusion
Doing it over again, expecting a different end
Almost like a broken record that you're trying to mend
You set the needle back, hoping for a tune
But only vast, empty silence fills the room
They say the broken record would never be fixed
But still the insanity continues, leaving you transfixed
A different result you expect, from setting the needle back again
But never did it hit you that the attempt was vain
Endless trying, never succeeding
Perhaps it was just the insanity speaking...
Different is GoodWhy do people seem to think
That its good to fit in?
That being different is evil
That not conforming is a sin
All people that conform
They are sheep, you can't trust them
But one who dares to be themselves
Now there's a hidden gem
Just think of who you'll meet
When you decide to just be you
So many fascinating people
And friends who love you true
Those who have a dream
Or a passion, or an art
They bravely face their fears
And can truly touch your heart
If you just be yourself
And love to live and learn
That is truly beautiful
And you help the world turn
Being different is good
Despite what people say
I'm different and I like it
It's easier that way
Ruba'i of MichelRuba'i of Michel
Rulers fell since history
Times change and stay the same
I look outside and still I see
But they claim it's in freedom's name
Everyone may be to blame
I head for my room silently
There can be only one thing true
In my privacy I am really free
Nobody can interfere with me
When I tell my honey
I love you
And I do
La Main de GruyereLe pieu rubicond de mortalité,
À l’assaut de mon membre fermenté,
Affine la flasque main de gruyère,
Pour lever ses croûtes et cratères.
Sur l’épiderme fondant et bulleux,
Les cloques claquent leurs corps fibrineux,
Suintant la bistre et laiteuse liqueur,
En une superficielle douleur.
La pâteuse meule anthropomorphique,
Laisse germer cinq doigts analgésiques,
La pasteurisation est amorcée,
Je vois, sa voie lactée cailler.
To My Own Worst Enemy (Writing Prompt)He's knocking on my door again,
He whispers, "You can do that another time."
"Just put it down a minute and then..."
Before I know it, it's a quarter to nine.
I must refuse him, I must --
or else I'll never get anything done.
Before it collects any more dust,
I must force myself to run
To the finish line, and don't give in!
Tell the procrastinator inside, "No way!"
I can finish, I can win!
I will not waste my time -- not today!
Sins of the MaskedBetween the face
And its reflection
Twixt the dream
And its inception
Falls the Lie
Our Father, who art in Heaven
Between the twilight
And the waking
Twixt the longing
And the taking
Falls the Lie
Give him a mask
Between the reason
Twixt the truth
And the confusion
Between the spark
And the illusion
Falls the Lie
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