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Post by Brambleshadow on Sept 9, 2016 12:15:09 GMT -5
 "He kills without a thought.
He murders all that's good.
I know I can't refuse, and yet, I wish I could
Oh god, if I agree, what horrors wait for me?"A collection of drabbles/one-shots. Most (if not all) serve as headcanons for Teine, my Dark!Tenth Doctor RP muse in his main universe. You can find out more about him here. After saving what remained of Captain Adelaide Brooke’s team from the Flood on Bowie Base One, the Doctor did not stick around to see how Adelaide reacted to his declaration of being the Time Lord Victorious. Fast forward to finally answering the Oods’ summons, battling the Master and the other Time Lords, and Wilfred being trapped in the radiation chamber. Instead of saving him, he left Wilfred to die.
Having escaped regeneration, he kept traveling—kept running. Sometimes he travels with a companion; sometimes he’s alone.
MUSE BIO
The Doctor is a renegade Time Lord from House of Lungbarrow in the Prydonian Chapter on the planet Gallifrey. To make a long story short, he stole a malfunctioning Type-40 TARDIS with his granddaughter Susan back in his first incarnation and they traveled the universe, often stopping on Earth. Since then, he’s developed an affection for the planet and often thinks of it as a second home. After the events of the Last Great Time War, he is the last Time Lord in existence and still finds himself on Earth more so than any other planet. (Strange how that happens, isn’t it?)
Currently in his Tenth incarnation, this Doctor is more human personality-wise than any of his former selves, save for possibly the Eighth Doctor. However, while he started out having a lot of faith in humanity, this faith was slowly stripped away during his travels with Martha Jones and (later) Donna Noble, and left him altogether after encountering the Midnight entity.
He never witnessed Adelaide’s suicide after saving her and what remained of her crew from the Flood on Mars in 2059 and didn’t take Wilfred’s place in the radiation chamber after the Time Lords had been sent back into the Last Great Time War.
During his travels alone after the events on Bowie Base One and the Time Lords’ attempt to break Gallifrey out of the timelock, he slowly lost most (if not all) of his morals and found himself turning more and more to violence to solve his problems—sometimes without even thinking; he would also psychologically mess with whoever he encountered on his travels.
The Doctor is Number One Most Wanted on Torchwood, U.N.I.T., and the Shadow Proclamation’s lists. (He’s an insane time-travelling serial killer with absolute authority over Time. That should be a pretty good indication as to why they are after him.)
He is obsessed with avoiding regeneration and is aware of the multi-verse.
CHARACTER NOTES
My Doctor in this universe goes by the Scottish Gaelic nickname of Teine; is canonical up until The Waters of Mars and The End of Time, everything after which is AU; and is absolutely insane. The War Doctor, The Day of the Doctor, and the entirety of Eleven and Twelve's eras are not canon for him. However, the EDA novels (except War of the Daleks), Looms, the Cartmel Masterplan, Dr. Nyarlathotep, and Faction Paradox are canon for my muse. Eight's Big Finish audios are also canon for him in a flash-sideways fashion.
FAQ
What are Looms?
Before we talk about Looms, we need to talk about the Pythia's curse.
Back in the days before Rassilon, Gallifrey was ruled by a matriarchy led by the Pythia, a group of female Gallifreyans that possessed incredible psychic powers and the power of precognition/premonition. (During this time, Gallifreyans believed strongly in magic and myth.) Then Rassilon and the Neo-Technologists came along, completely disrupting this ideology. (Rassilon also killed off most of the Pythia and the indigenous Gallifreyans.) The last of the Pythia was unable to see into the future near the end of her reign, and in order to gather more information on Rassilon's movement she recruited a skilled psychic Gallifreyan named Vael. When the plan failed, the Pythia sent Vael and her other followers to the planet Karn (where they became known as the Sisterhood of Karn), cursed Gallifrey with sterility, and committed suicide by throwing herself into an abyss beneath her temple.
As a result of the Pythia's curse (and killing off most of the indigenous Gallifreyans), Gallifreyans could no longer reproduce naturally and so Rassilon and co. (probably mostly Co., though Rassilon most likely took all of the credit) created Looms. (Plus, when you're a hivemind that can barely call itself a species, building your own bodies sounds like a pretty good idea.)
Looms basically work by weaving together a body from genetic material. Originally, they were a lot like traditional childbearing, in the sense that 1-6 people would want to have a kid and mix their genetic material in order to build one. By the Doctor's time, it's all gone a bit pear-shaped. Looms are connected to Houses, with a communal DNA base—so, basically, everyone in a House are biologically cousins. There aren't actually proper parents anymore, technically, since Gallifreyans are (for the most part, with the possible exception of a few renegades) asexual and each House is allotted a certain number of Cousins. (If they're allotted 45 Cousins, then by Rassilon, that's how many Cousins they'll have.) If a Loomling is lucky, one of their older Cousins will take on a parental role.
(And if you say, "But Susan—" I'll slap you. She was probably Loomed illegally, or she was an orphaned Gallifreyan girl the Doctor decided to adopt and the 'Grandfather' thing just stuck, or she's the Other's granddaughter—which would also automatically make her the Doctor's granddaughter [see below]. Also, the Doctor and his older brother Irving Braxiatel probably had the same DNA doners, if you want to slightly tweak how Looms work in the EU. Also, I'd like to point out that we don't know if the Doctor actually had a wife back on Gallifrey: the fandom just assumes she existed.)
What is the Cartmel Masterplan?
Okay, so, back in the Seventh Doctor era, Andrew Cartmel and some other Doctor Who writers thought too much had been "revealed" about the Doctor, so they decided to turn it all on its head and introduced a figure of Gallifreyan mythology known only as "the Other", one of the founders of Time Lord society. A lot of the myths are divided on who, or what, exactly the Other was—but a lot of people thought they were an alien (read: non-Gallifreyan/eldritch abomination).
Eventually, the Other ended up in the Matrix and was reincarnated into a Galifreyan body a couple million years later. They were born/loomed into the Great House of Lungbarrow, an Oldblood House in the Prydonian chapter, and eventually became the renegade Time Lord known as the Doctor.
What is Dr. Nyarlathotep?
Dr. Nyarlathotep is made up of a rather small subfandom of the Classic Who and EU fandoms and is actually something that’s explicitly implied in the novels with Seven (and, later, a few with Eight) where the Doctor (and all Time Lords/Gallifreyans, really) are really eldritch abominations. Specifically, the Doctor is Nyarlathotep. Yes, that Nyarlathotep. I can practically SEE you recoiling, but wait. The thing about Nyarlathotep is that he's a shapeshifter who often takes human form and is very interested in Earth. He even takes on humans as companions and takes them to places they otherwise never would be. Sound familiar?
Also, the Doctor and H.P. Lovecraft were in correspondence for a while, and the Doctor even considered taking him on as a companion (The Taking of Planet 5, 1999)
So, it's not that complicated. The Doctor = the Other = Nyarlathotep.
What is Faction Paradox?
Out of universe, Faction Paradox refers to the time-traveling group invented by Lawrence Miles that first appeared in the Eighth Doctor Adventures (EDA) novel Alien Bodies. They were a key part to the time war plot that began in that book and showed up in a few other EDAs. Their last EDA appearance was in The Ancestor Cell by Stephen Cole and Peter Anghelides, which ended that plot in a way Miles didn't like and considered non-canon for the Faction. So, because of the way copyright works, he was able to jump ship to another publishing company (and then another when Mad Norwegian Press stopped publishing FP books) and write stories featuring the Faction and other Whoniverse characters under different names. There were twelve audios published and right now the main source of Faction material is books.
In universe (in their own words):
Essentially, a bunch of Time Lords got bored and left/were kicked off Gallifrey a long time ago, and they now amuse themselves by being as chaotic as possible in the middle of the War in Heaven while trying to stay somewhat neutral.
(The War in Heaven is essentially fought against the Time Lords and the Enemy with occasional help—on both sides—from the Faction, the CIA/Celestis, the Remote (media-controlled genetically engineered humans), and assorted eldritch abominations—including the Master's vampiric humanoid TARDIS. All that's known about the Enemy is that they are time-active and they are not the Daleks.)
They're known for wearing bone masks that are a cross between a Time Lord's skull and a vampire bat and having a pseudo-familial hierarchy. Grandfather Paradox never existed and now has never existed for over 200 years, but otherwise he's their founder. Their home base is the Eleven-Day Empire, a shadowy mash-up of London from various time zones that was created when the Faction bought the missing eleven days from when England switched over to the Gregorian calendar in September of 1752.
STORIES
- Devour (Rating: Gen)
- In the Furnace of Our Love (Rating: Mature) [Read here]
- Lies (Rating: Teen)
- The Hero With Blood in His Eyes (Rating: Teen)
- In the Dark (Rating: Mature) [Read here]
- Nightmares (Rating: Gen)
- The Red Room (Rating: Teen)
- Guten Appetiet! (Rating: Teen)
- Anyone Home? (Rating: Teen)
- Blood Magick (Rating: Gen)
- Curiosity (Rating: Explicit) [Read here]
- Secrets (Rating: Gen)
- Taking Over Me (Rating: Gen)
- The Horror of Our Love (Rating: Teen)
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Post by Brambleshadow on Sept 9, 2016 12:23:02 GMT -5
Devour Devour, devour, suffocate your own empire.
Devour, devour, it’s your final hour.
Devour, devour, stolen like a foreign soul.
Devour, devour. What a way to go!
~ “Devour” by Shinedown The man once known as the Doctor looked out the window at the nightly cityscape. Lights reflected off the low clouds, turned the black sky to dark orange. In other places, small flames licked at the air as the homeless apes huddled close for warmth.
"And I looked out upon all that I created and declared it... good.” The words once spoken by an old friend-turned-enemy played in his mind, and his mouth turned up in a smile.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter!”
Rose joined him. He allowed his eyes to wander over her sleeveless floor-length dark red dress before placing a kiss on the top of her head.
Together, the Time Lord Victorious and his Bad Wolf watched as London burned. |
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Post by Brambleshadow on Sept 9, 2016 12:48:46 GMT -5
Lies
You will never be strong enough. You will never be good enough. You were never conceived in love. You will not rise above.
They’ll never see. I’ll never be. I struggle on and on To feed this hunger burning deep inside of me. ~ “Lies” by Evanescence
The waning crescent moon was barely visible in the night sky. Pale orange streetlights and neon signs flickered over a tall, lean figure in a blue suit and brown trenchcoat. He leaned against the wall of a closed-down video store, watched the humans pass by with a calculating look in his brown eyes.
Already his two hearts quickened in anticipation.
His teachers back at the Academy had said he was never focused enough in his studies, was always too distracted or busy causing trouble with Koschei to earn the rank of a Time Lord. Now they were all dead, and he was the only one left.
He was the reason why, of course; once not so long ago he would have been angsting over it, over what he’d done to end the war. Now, though... Who was there to stop him if he broke any more rules, any of the Laws of Time?
The Time Lords had sworn to watch, never to interfere. That had been one of the rules he’d thrown right out the window the second he’d stolen a Type 40 TARDIS. And right now...
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers, fingered the handles of two athames he’d nicked from Faction Paradox agents in his Eighth form and had kept hidden away in the TARDIS.
Humans. They came flocking to him like flies to honey. It was not long before one—curvy, leggy, ginger—propositioned him. With a smile and a nod, he accepted.
She was found, hours later, in a hotel room with her throat slit and the sheets stained red.
The rogue Time Lord known as the Doctor had long since vanished, already searching for his next victim. |
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Post by Brambleshadow on Sept 9, 2016 12:57:47 GMT -5
The Hero With Blood in His Eyes
Let’s welcome home the soldier boy from (far away, far away).
No angel of mercy, just a need to destroy (fire away, fire away).
Let’s toast the hero with blood in his eyes.
The scars on his mind took so many lives.
~ “Die Hard the Hunter” by Def Leppard
Those who had traveled with him in days long since past would not recognize him now. A smile twitched on the Doctor’s lips at the thought, but then it was replaced by a thin, firm line.
His time after the War, after the Battle of Canary Wharf, after landing on and being nearly killed on the planet Midnight had changed him. After the Time Lords had died, the universe had become less kind—but then, so had he.
No second chances. I’m that sort of a man.
Half of his face was bathed in shadow; the other was lit by flickering orange flames. The shifting contrast of color made it difficult to read his expression.
Reinette had referred to him as an angel—her lonely angel. That was a laugh. He was no angel—he never had been. He’d used to have so much mercy; now, he hardly had any.
The humans surrounded him, as always, drawn to him as if by some magnetic pull. Here, standing in the streets of 1851 London, the Doctor followed Jackson Lake back to the human’s house.
Earlier, the crowd had applauded and cheered their gratitude for him defeating the CyberKing. A wane smile crossed his lips now. They thought him a hero, and he was no hero.
Let’s toast the hero with blood in his eyes. The scars on his mind took so many lives, he thought with a mental sardonic laugh.
Still, he’d allowed Jackson to change his mind about the Christmas dinner invitation. Not many could do that.
Well, there was no looking back now, especially not when they were in front of Jackson’s house with his son and Rosita waiting for them.
The Doctor looked at their expectant faces, stifled a sigh, and allowed himself to be ushered inside. It would only be for an hour or two, he told himself, and then he would be home free, on the loose once more in his TARDIS.
He found that he couldn’t wait.
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:08:26 GMT -5
Nightmares The Doctor doesn’t sleep much; but when he does, he dreams.
His dreams are filled with terrified, painful screams; cries of "Exterminate!”; whole planets—his planet—burning.
At other times, he dreams of those he once knew and are long since gone. Romana, Peri, Tegan, Adric, Grace, Ian, Barbra. …The list goes on. They accuse him with harsh, silent glares and angry words as they close in around him. “You left us!” they cry. “Just dumped us off in the middle of nowhere when you tired of us.”
“You murdered us!” Adric and Romana’s faces swim before him, mere shades of their former selves They’re barely there, and their voices are like the hiss of a snake. And, in more ways than one, they’re right. His Fifth self more or less did nothing and let Adric die; he’d had no choice but to destroy Gallifrey—and his species, his friends and family—during the War.
Lately, however, he dreams of the Wolf. Instead of the Ood, it is she who comes for him—a golden goddess of Time foretelling nothing but death and destruction. The Bad Wolf.
(The Guardians, he thinks, have nothing on her.)
And still she wears his human lover’s face. Her brown eyes shine gold, her expression chilling. It’s disconcerting, terrifying.
But then, Love and Death are more alike than people think. The only difference is that Death is sometimes kinder.
Whenever he wakes, his respiratory bypass kicks in and snatches the breath from him before he can scream.
He never does go back to sleep after that. |
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:13:26 GMT -5
Notes: Mildly creepy one-shot. Includes psychological horror and really, even if you haven’t seen what show this was heavily inspired by, you should be able to take a pretty good guess. Or, this is what happens when I look up creepy scenes from Twin Peaks on YouTube.
The Red Room Through the darkness of future past,
The magician longs to see.
One chants out between two worlds…
Fire, walk with me. He’s not quite sure where he is or how he ended up here, but the one thing the Doctor knows is that he shouldn’t be here and that he has to leave right now.
Except for the fact that he can’t. Every step he takes leads him further and further into the maze.
There’s red curtains everywhere, the floor a tiled zigzag pattern of black and white. As far as the Doctor can tell, there’s a hallway that connects two nearly-identical rooms, and no matter how many times he tries to leave he always ends up back here in the hallway. One of the rooms is nearly empty save for a couple statues of who he assumes to be Aphrodite; the other contains a couple leather chairs, maybe a couch, and some fancy lamps.
Since he figures there’s not much else to do, the Doctor takes a seat in one of the chairs. A few moments later, one of the curtains that makes up the walls in this eerie place parts and in walks a dwarf with cropped black hair and a red suit.
“Who are you and where am I?”
The dwarf just stares at him for a few moments with cold, blank eyes and an off-kilter head tilt as he sits down in the chair. When he speaks, his voice is high-pitched, slow, and distorted: “When you see me again, it will not be me.” There’s another pause, another eerie stare. “This is the Waiting Room. We’ve been waiting for you.”
The Doctor’s mouth has gone dry. He swallows hard. “What d’you mean?”
The dwarf says nothing for a long while, stands and stamps his foot in a brief tap-dance movement before sitting down in the chair again and studying him with that unnerving expression. “Would you like some tea?” he asks at last, smiling. “Some of your friends are here.”
The instant the last word is out of the dwarf’s mouth, there’s the sound of heels clicking on tile and suddenly Rose Tyler is there, crouching down next to the chair facing him with one hand on the armrest. She’s wearing a slinky black number and the Doctor’s hearts stop beating for a second. Because she can’t be here. She can’t. If Rose is here then that means she’s . . .
Those familiar light-brown eyes suddenly glint gold; her warm smile now almost predatory. That’s when he knows: This isn’t Rose. It’s—
“Hello, Doctor,” the Bad Wolf says, her speech just as slow and distorted as the red dwarf’s.
His eyes widen. She’s come for him, he can feel it in his bones—or whatever the Gallifreyan equivalent for the human expression is, anyway. He shrinks back in his chair away from her, heedless of the red-suited dwarf’s penetrating gaze.
A smile plays on her lips; she winks, snaps her fingers. “I’ll see you again, my Doctor.”
Then she’s gone—if she was ever there at all.
The Time Lord’s eyes narrow as he stares down the much smaller man. Where is she? What have you done with her?! The questions are on the tip of his tongue, but he’s unable to spit them out. Each time he tries, it’s as if an outside force smothers his mouth and sews his lips shut.
Rassilon, he’s beginning to hate this place.
“Fire walk with me,” the dwarf grinds out, and for an instant the Doctor has an impression of a ball of flame roaring up into a night sky. Then the room is plunged into darkness and white flashing strobe lights. A scream—one he’s well familiar with—pierces the air, and his blood runs cold.
That’s Rose’s voice.
A snarl rises from his throat; he’s on his feet and stalking across the room to the exit.
Between the dark and the flashing lights, he doesn’t notice that the dwarf has vanished.
Everything is strangely silent by the time he’s in the hallway and walking the short distance to the other room. He draws the scarlet drapes back, steps inside . . . and sees nothing. The room is empty, save for furniture set up in a mirror to the opposite room. Wary now, the Doctor steps back and makes his way to the original room.
The dwarf is there, sitting completely still and pointing an accusing finger at him. “Wrong way!”
“Sorry,” the Doctor mutters sarcastically, retreating and walking back to the other room. Every so often he pauses, glances back over his shoulder. He can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s being watched, and there’s something wrong about this place, something he cannot quite put his finger on.
There is no one there save for himself when he first enters the room. Then there’s the sound of maniacal laughter and the dwarf appears, hands and legs twitching with that wheezing cackling pouring from his throat as he sits back in the green velvet armchair, his eyes never leaving the Doctor’s.
“Another friend!” His laughter now sounds more like he’s fighting for breath; his hands convulse as he lifts himself from the chair, slowly walks around behind it. The instant he’s out of sight, the laughter stops.
A female figure is silhouetted through the curtains; when she enters the room, the Doctor pales and steps back.
She looks like Sarah Jane, but she can’t be Sarah. There’s no way. Sarah’s still alive—he knows she is.
“My Thief.” Like the red-suited man and the not-Rose, her voice is distorted, slowed. She may resemble Sarah Jane Smith in looks, but that’s as far as the resemblance goes. “Watch out for yourself and my Wolf.”
Before the Doctor can respond, not-Sarah fades away to nothing.
Thoroughly spooked now, he backs out of the room and jogs back down the hallway. Entering the other room, he freezes when he sees that it is completely empty. There’s no furniture, no sign that anyone was ever here.
He glances down, notices that the dwarf is there . . . except, there’s something off. His face is a grotesque mask, his eyes milky white and the pupils a murky pale blue.
“Doppelganger,” he snarls, his arms and legs twitching as though he’s about to break out into a dance.
The Doctor glances away, spots not-Rose there as well. Instantly the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He has to get out, get out before . . .
Her eyes are the same murky mixture of white and pale blue; her hands are positioned as though she’s holding up a painting or a cup of tea on a saucer. “Meanwhile . . .” Her head throws back, mouth gaping open. The effect is nightmarish—and that’s before she starts shrieking a blood-curdling scream that sends a cold chill down the Time Lord’s spine.
Lights flicker over her face in a myriad of pinks and blues before the room is plunged into darkness.
The Doctor knows nothing after that.
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:19:53 GMT -5
Summary: The Time Lord Victorious invites some former companions over to dinner. The main course... may not be what they expected. Guten Appetiet! The light reflected silver off the gleam of the carving knife the Doctor held in his hand. A split second later, he brought it down hard, cleaving the meat cleanly in two.
Blood, still fresh, spilled onto the counter and slowly dripped, pooled stickily onto the TARDIS’s kitchen floor. (It always amazed him how much blood there was in the human body.) At least he wouldn’t have to skin the pelt or pluck the feathers out of this meal, the Time Lord thought with a grim smile.
The legs and arms had already been severed, as had the head. Now all that remained was to remove the organs, toss out some and save the rest for later—he did rather enjoy the liver and the single heart—and then prepare and cook the meat.
He had guests waiting, after all.
Twenty minutes later the corpse was gutted, stripped of excess hair, and cooking in the oven. When the timer went off, the Doctor took it out, set it on the counter, and tried a small bite.
Satisfied, he carved up the golden-brown meat into slices, put them on a platter, and carried the main course out to where his guests were waiting.
“Guten appetiet!” he said once everyone had been served. Then he sat, cut into his own portion
—And rejoiced.
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:22:21 GMT -5
Anyone Home? He hummed quietly to himself as he moved through the dark corridors of his Ship, heard the lyrics in his head: Hunting you, I can smell you—alive. Your heart pounding in my head. …
As he neared the room where his most recent companion was living, he changed songs: On a sidewalk Sunday morning there lies a body oozing life. …
Then again, this time singing softly: “Hello, hello, is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home? Come on, come on now, I hear you’re feeling down. Well, I can ease your pain, get you on your feet again.”
Slowly he opened the door, peered inside the dark room.
“Relax, relax, I need some information first. Just the basic facts; can you show me where it hurts?”
There was no response.
Good. He hadn’t expected one.
He stepped inside, twisted elation glinting in his eyes. His gaze fell on the bed, where she lay with a terrified expression, eyes blank and wide open—and surrounded by a pool of her own blood.
The Doctor smiled, and something deep within cackled in triumph. “How about that,” he whispered.
And there’s no one to stop you?
No.
He backed out, shut the door behind him.
“I win.” |
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:24:08 GMT -5
Note: This is what happens when my Dark!Ten muse (aka Teine) wants to try his hand at blood magic, apparently.
Blood Magick A thin slice formed in the palm of his hand; orange-red blood welled up instantly. The Doctor held his hand over the bowl, watched as blood dripped onto the concoction within.
He’d already cast the protective circle; now he watched as the blood drops sizzled upon contact with the herbs and thin wisps of smoke curled up into the air. If not done properly, either nothing would happen—or this could very easily turn way south for him. Working magick was always a tricky and risky business; double so when you were summoning a deity, demon, or some other entity. (He’d picked up something after hanging around with hunters, Witches, and Aleister Crowley, after all.)
The spell was one he’d picked up from an old book, one that claimed to summon a demon. After a moment, the Doctor began to chant in Latin (or was it Ancient Greek?). He repeated the incantation three times, then waited.
Nothing happened.
The Doctor growled quietly, opened the circle, and then dumped the spell in the nearest rubbish bin after tearing it to shreds.
One down. Several more to go.
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Post by Brambleshadow on Nov 15, 2016 14:27:58 GMT -5
Note: Inspired by Ludo's "The Horror of Our Love".
The H o r r o r of Our Love He’s a killer and he knows it—a killer with cold hearts and restless body.
Those who see him and begin to approach often stop dead in their tracks. They’re warned away by a shadow, a glint in his eyes; a subtle shift of his body; a momentary sneer or snarl or twitch of facial muscles. Even former companions sense something is off about him and try to stay away.
All of them, that is, except for her.
“I made my choice a long time ago, and I’m never gonna leave you.” Her words play in his head as he watches her sleep from his standing position in the doorway of her bedroom. He stays for a few heartbeats more, then leaves.
She never knows he’s been there. * * * There are times when he thinks he’d do anything for her: murder half the population of the Powell Estate; kill any man who’s antagonized her or so much as looked at her in the wrong way; leave her love notes on all the gravestones; destroy an entire galaxy (or discover one) and name it after her.
He would never harm her, though. Others, yes; her, no. * * * Even when they make love, it is never enough for him. He wants her stuffed into his mouth; wants to hold her down and tear her open; wants to live inside her and be joined to her in both body and mind.
Sometimes he thinks she can see his thoughts, his intentions, in his eyes: after, with the smell of sex clinging to them both, she’ll draw back from him and cover herself with a sheet. Her eyes never quite meet his.
He draws her back to him with a kiss and murmurs in his mother language that he never translates for her. Gradually she returns his affections; and he fights down his darker urges that whisper for him to bind her to him forever, that leave him with a strange desire to grind against her until even their marrows mix together.
He does, however, take his time with eating from her. She is a pink-and-yellow feast, and he wants to enjoy every single morsel. * * * After the War, he’s never felt more alive than when he’s with her. This body is so attuned to her that he can smell her whenever she’s nearby, can sense the blood flowing through her veins and hear her single heartbeat trying to match his own double heartbeats.
If he wants, he can easily track her from anywhere in his Ship, with or without the sentient timeship’s help. He does so often, much to her bemusement. * * * “I could easily crush you, you know,” he tells her once. She only laughs softly—nervously—and curls up beside him, burrowing into his embrace and returns her attention to the movie on the screen.
He finds himself wondering how it would feel to hold her beating heart in his hands, watch as it slowly gives up working and withers into nothing.
It always amazes him how much blood there is in the human body, and that one little pear-shaped muscle is responsible for its circulation. * * * Then she’s gone, a ghost. Just like the rest of them.
She’s beautiful and terrifying all at once as she haunts his dreams dressed in white and eyes glowing gold.
The Bad Wolf.
He wouldn’t have her any other way.
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