Words That We Couldn't SayWords That We Couldn't SayVicious' 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.GrenůVicious grimaced. That name brought up feelings better left unsaid.
Don't Leave Me Alone AgainRoy gazed around the ravaged battlefield, tears stinging his deep ebony eyes. With Edward gone, what was left for him here? Maes was dead, and thusly avenged, and the military hed devoted his life to was all but disbanded
All that lingered here were memories. Painful memories, of the war, of the horrible things hed witnessed, of the horrible things hed done
And happy memories, which were quickly turning sour, as Roy realized the source of most of these was currently residing in a different world, and that the door between them was about to be closed forever.Roys lost control of his body. Before his mind could react, he flew full speed to the rapidly closing chasm, spurting flames at anyone who tried to interfere.Seconds. Some dim, far-off corner of Roys mind realized he had seconds before the door was sealed. And then all semblance of logical thought left him, and hedove head-first to the void, scarcely scraping through as alche
Sail Me AwayTwelve year old James Hook sighed, His deceptively-clear indigo eyes scanning the moonlit sea outside his porthole window. Idly, he skimmed the book in his lap while twirling a strand of his shoulder length black hair, not really reading or taking anything in. It was almost midnight, and the gentle lap of the sea should have lulled him to sleep, but it only made him thirst for the one thing he wanted more than anything- freedom. He'd thought he'd find that freedom sailing the high seas with his pirate father, but alas. Jim craved adventure, not his father's petty thievery. He wanted to fight, he wanted to fear for his life, and damn it all if he didn't want to find someone in this god-forsaken world that really understood him.Jim thought of his mother- A tavern wench, a whore; She'd reluctantly raised him all his life, since the night she'd 'made that awful mistake' with his father, as he was told. Jim despised her, but no more than she despised him, which she'd made pai
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.A beat.You knew it was me,
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