13 posts tagged “writing”

I've a new story I'm going to post on here in the near future.

WORKING TITLE: Sinners and Saints

RATING: R (for violence, language, cannibalism, and gory stuff.)

MISC. : Will contain but is not limited to the following - MPreg, demonic posession, sadomasochism, very strong language, zombies of a sort, general troublemaking, SEVERE ANGST, and dismemberment. If you can't handle that or don't want to see it, then don't read the story when it's posted. Thank you.

SUMMARY: Alabaster Willem is immortal. His unexpected lover is not. Al had come to terms with Sam's mortality long ago, and in fact was thankful for it. It gave him a reason to keep fighting his darker half. Over the years, Sam has asked time and again to be turned into the same thing as Al. An ageless, immortal non-flesh eating zombie. Time and again he was refused. But when Sam finally makes it a demand and not a question, the immortal Fallen finally gives in. The price? His own tormented soul.

This is a teaser for the super secret project I'm working on.

Enjoy.

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Prompt - Where do you see yourself in five years?

I've been going through.... well, some stuff lately. And it's hindered my creative process. But here's some new dribbles! Written over the past 3 days! YAY!

enjoy! n.n!!!

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just a bit of shameless self promotion.

i have a bit of story up on Fictionpress.com that i wrote a long time ago (roughly 2003-2004 time period)

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2688478/1/Lost_World_RPC

it's the prequel to my larger work, Project 8-13, which is forever in re-writes. i'm going to be posting the first version, the oldest, more raw writing of mine in that project/universe on FP.

so go, read, and enjoy. and tell me what you think.

mind you, my writing has gotten much better since then. i've learned to use Spell Check (though i choose to ignore that button lol!)

So, it's another Alabaster dribble. But it's a fresh one. That I wrote this morning/afternoon. It still has that new car smell.

Mmmm.... New Car.....

Anyway, they are a bit... sad. meh, more like bittersweet, i think.

They were all inspired by the following images:

Demon1

Meh. Enjoy. n.n

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 "I... I can feel you," he whispered, timidly stroking his jet black cheek. "Everything you felt. The pain... the loss... and the little moments of joy. Hope, faith, doubts... Love. I can feel it all, inside my heart, and burning into my soul."
 The demon stared at him. But what Ty saw in his eyes were a mere moment of recognition. He only saw the animal, the beast now unchained, and wholly a creature of instinct.
 He felt a pang of loss weaving through the waves of joy. His best friend, the man he loved enough to suffer time and again the pain of death and rebirth, had given his life. No, more than that even. He had sacrificed his very soul for the sake of the human race...
 For him.
 He felt shame then. Washing over him abruptly. "I'm so sorry..." he said, his voice cracking as his hand slipped away and  his head dropped to stare down at the blood drenched clothes that clung to him. Tears, warm and bitter rolled down his cheeks. But he could not will them to stop.
 All of the knowledge, wisdom, and power of God at his command. And he could not keep from crying.
 There was a slight stinging at his chin, as a razor sharp claw tried gently to urge him to look upwards. Slight pressure. Barely a cut, barely a scratch. It felt more like a papercut. He knew, despite the irritation it caused him when it touched his skin that it was meant to be a kind, careful gesture.
 When his head lifted, and his eyes trailed up to meet the green gaze staring back at him in confusion, he noticed a thick, dark liquid forming along the bottom lids, building up at the corners and trickling oh so slowly down the hellfire heated cheeks. Crimson trails with crimson droplets were the only sign of this demon, this monster's sadness.
 And then, the monster, despite their shared tears, broke into a smile. And that smile gradually became a smirk as the demon reached up to try and stroke his hair, only to stop before he touched the golden locks and shake his head as if in laughter at his near-mistake.
 The soft flicker in the green eyes brought to mind a laugh. Sinister and amused at once. And though the demon did not speak, Tycen realized what the other had already known. That pull of emotion, tugging at his senses and his thoughts was a reminder. The realization that the man who had caused him so much heartache, and had made life worth living every time was not lost.
 He was still there, held within himself. No longer the shining knight he had strived so hard to be. No. Now, it was the Forever Man who needed protecting. He had become Tycen's secret treasure.
 Belial's smirk faded, and a frown came to his hideous features as he tilted his head. Green eyes stared at him in confusion. He did not understand what was happening to the human in his lap.
 It was the human's turn to smile, and give what small comfort he could as the familiar darkness began to settle in. The void between one world and the next that he knew so well beckoned to him.
 And for the first time, that blue-eyed soul knew that he wasn't going to be there alone.

----------------------------------------------------

He didn't look at him as he tightened his belt, though he longed to burn the scene into his mind. The blond had not only reached 30, he had surpassed it by four years. And now lay stretched out on a pile of rags beside the dying fire. Thought it should have been a happy occasion, their union would not last. The morning brought with it a truth bittersweet.

"No matter what happens," he started, dropping down to fasten the buckles on his boots. "I'll will always love you. Have always loved you."

"Al, what are you saying?"

"I'm going to do it. I'm going to face them, and-"

"You don't know what will happen." He sat up, letting the thin blanket fall to his waist as he watched the relic of a man. "That much power... you know you can't handle it. You can barely keep a balance with yourself. It would kill you."

"I have to. I'm the only one that can," he said, about to rise to his feet again. But a gentle hand stopped him with a touch to his elbow.

"You said there's others like you. And then there's the angels. They could help us find another way. A way that doesn't involve you going on a suicide mission, and leaves us to run off together."

He smiled, turning his head at last to look at him. After a moment, he gave a soft chuckle. "That's a load of bullshit and you know it. We've exhausted all other options, Ty," he said. "For once, please just admit that I'm right."

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"I... have this gift, you see. I used to think it was a curse, but I know different now. It was my salvation."

"I don't understand."

"I can, I have saved damned souls by taking their sins away, taking them into myself. I used to have an actual system in place. Lots of paperwork. You should know, you were there. But then... there were others. More complex that required more... personal means of conduct."

He narrowed his eyes, puzzling it out before turning a faint shade of red. "Oh... So that's what you were calling it."

He nodded, his own cheeks turning a little pink. "It sustains me, the power of sin. It's what makes me immortal. Allows me to survive. The more I take in, the more I devour, the stronger I become. But I change," he said, casting his eyes away. "There's something inside me that grows powerful, too. Each time I take in more, the hunger grows. And now, it's unbearable. I lose myself, and it consumes me."

"You're becomming like them. One of those... creatures. The Legion."

Al sighed, propping himself up on his elbows as he let his head fall back to stare up at the stars. He had forgotten how beautiful such a sight was. It was calming, serene. But such emotions did not comfort him now. There were things he needed to say, to explain, just in case when the deeds were done, and the dustclouds settled... Tycen would understand what had happened to him, and why he may have to do the unthinkable.

"Al?" he asked, shifting to lay on his side, a nimble hand sliding across the immortal's exposed abdomen. Fingertips tracing scars over a lifetime old. "You know how to stop it, right? You've gone for 2000 years keeping it under control. Why can't you-"

"In the past, I've had friends, even a family. They gave me hope, and strength. And I could keep the balance, knowing that they believed in me, and cared for me. I wanted more than anything to keep them safe. They gave me a reason to keep the demon chained."

He leaned in close, pressing his lips against Al's shoulder with a sigh. "What about me?"

He smiled, turning his head and returning the affection with a light kiss to the younger's forhead. "Strawberries," he said, shifting his weight so that he too was on his side, facing the 34 year old.

"What?"

"You taste like strawberries."

"That's hardly the thing to say at a serious time like this."

"Is it?" he said, smirking and draping an arm over Tycen's side, pulling the mortal against him. "I crossed radioactive continents. Eight different wars, five of them with only one eye and a chunk of shrapnel in my lung. I've had people standing right next to me one minute, and the next they've got a bullet in their brain. Vampires have tried to use me as their never-ending food source. And I've taken a walk around the moon without a space suit." Al smiled, and it was a mischevious one. "And all the while, the one thing that kept me going was that maybe, just maybe, I might find that person that always made me think of strawberries every time I was lucky enough to get a taste."

Tycen laughed, pressing his forhead against the other man's shoulder and shaking his head. "You and your stories. You always have to make things sound so dramatic. News Flash Al, you're not the center of the universe."

He couldn't help but join his laughter. "But it's true though," he said between breaths. "You do taste like strawberries."

As the pair fell into another fit of laughs, the darkness of Al's thoughts receeded. Replaced by the smile on his lover's lips and the warmth found in his large blue eyes as he took him again beside the fire.

The grim discussion was put off in favor of comfort and solace in one another's arms. But as he listened to the blond's breathing later in the night, he knew the dawn would find them, and force him to explain himself in full.

 She watched them, milling about like mice in the streets below her. Some

pecked at devices in their hands with stylus or finger. Pecking like birds among the

mice, fighting for the same seeds hidden in the depths of identical Starbucks cups.
 An amorphous blob of red and pastey pinkish-peach waddled among them.

A wild boar tramping along the floor of a forest made of skyscrapers and street lamps.

Stuffing its face with burgers and fries from the corner joint. Neurotic women scurried

out of the way as if nervous squirrels, holding their purses close as they skirted around

the hog. Holding their purses close, for that was where they hoarded their husbands'

money like so many acorns and nuts.
 She sighed, shaking her head as she walked along the building's top.

Walking along the concrete sides and peering down into the zoo below. Sirens,

sounding distant to her as she stood so high above them, her private little show.
 Police chasing like a pack of dogs suspects, cat burglers and overzealous

rats running for their lives. But they need not fear the domesticated men in blue. No,

they were merely doing what they had been trained to do and no more. Simple dogs,

simple tricks.
 She moved along to the third side, and spied a child climbing a tree. She

smiled and gave a small chuckle. A playful monkey, with a rather annoyed gorrilla of a

mother trying to pull him from the tree. She waved down at him, knowing he probably

could not see her up so high, and moved her attention to another animal.
 A man, standing in front of a shop window, preening himself like a rooster.

Slicking back his hair and checking his collar, then his breath. He must have thought he

was the cock of the walk, but he was merely insecure.
 She moved on, comming at last to the fourth and final side and peered

down. Old women, their hair short and curled in that unnatural way. Blue haired women

and bald men. Sheep and goats. Too old to care. Too old to be useful. Bleating at the

youth nearby in futility. Their time had passed, yet they didn't want to accept it. So

oblivious to the fact they had outlived their purposes. Too stupid to notice their lives

had become routine, and their homes now in one larger dormatory for the elderly.

Sheep and goats, they lot of them. They disgusted her.
 Her ears perked as she heard a creaking.
 "Who's there?" she demanded, whirling around to find a dangerous creature

indeed.
 "Come on down, Nessa. Yer mum's waitin back at me an Sam's place fer

ye."
 She shook her head. "Not just yet," she said, turning back to the great

expanse before her.
 "It wasn't a request, girlie." A firm paw landed on her shoulder, nails, claws

digging into her expensive blouse. Biting at her skin. She knew he meant nothing by it.

He was nervous. He was frustrated.
 When she was younger, she thought of him as another dog. Housebroken,

loyal, and easily distracted. But now, as she came to understand the world she realized

only a cruel, vicious predatory creature could have given rise to her. For everywhere

she looked, she saw only weak and powerless prey.
 Slowly, she nodded and turned to leave the rooftop where she had come to

seek solitude and serenity. She could feel his eyes on her as he followed. The careful

gaze of a monster, of a killing machine.
 "Da?" she asked, breaking the silence of the elevator ride to the Lobby on

the bottom floor.
 "Hrn?"
 "What kind of animal, do you suppose, are you underneath your human

skin?"
 He smiled, giving a small laugh and shook his head. "Do you really want to

know?"
 She nodded eagerly.
 "Opossum."*
 "What?"
 "Opossum."
 "Da, I'm serious."
 He grinned as the bell chimed. The doors began to grind open and he

stepped out of the elevator. "So am I. Now, ye wanna take the limo er a cab? I was

thinkin it'd be fun ta pull up in a drive thru in either one," he said as he led the way

across the lobby towards the large glass doors which gave way to the zoo outside.

--------------------------------

FOOTNOTES

*Opossum, not to be confused with the Australian Possum.

Excerpt on Behavior from the Wiki Page:

Opossums are usually solitary and nomadic, staying in one area as long as food and water are easily available. Some families will group together in ready-made burrows or even under houses. Though they will temporarily occupy abandoned burrows, they do not dig or put much effort into building their own. As nocturnal animals, they favor dark, secure areas. These areas may be below ground or above.

When threatened or harmed, they will "play possum", mimicking the appearance and smell of a sick or dead animal. The lips are drawn back, teeth are bared, saliva foams around the mouth, and a foul-smelling fluid is secreted from the anal glands. The physiological response is involuntary, rather than a conscious act. Their stiff, curled form can be prodded, turned over, and even carried away. The animal will regain consciousness after a period of minutes or hours and escape.

Adult opossums do not hang from trees by their tails, though babies may dangle temporarily. Their semi-prehensile tails are not strong enough to support a mature adult's weight. Instead, the opossum uses its tail as a brace and a fifth limb when climbing. The tail is occasionally used as a grip to carry bunches of leaves or bedding materials to the nest. A mother will sometimes carry her young upon her back, where they will cling tightly even when she is climbing or running.

Threatened opossums (especially males) will growl deeply, raising their pitch as the threat becomes more urgent. Males make a clicking "smack" noise out of the side of their mouths as they wander in search of a mate, and females will sometimes repeat the sound in return. When separated or distressed, baby opossums will make a sneezing noise to signal their mother. If threatened, the baby will open its mouth and quietly hiss until the threat is gone. 

the title is deliberate, and i won't explain on it at all. it's a little joke for me to know and readers to figure out.

this is yet another fanfic idea, though this one ties together 2 fandoms of mine - Doctor Who/Torchwood and Heroes. It's not just an idea for a single fanfic though. It's more of a "both of these take place in the same universe because..." type of things. Some Heroes may or may not directly interact with agents of Torchwood or aliens. Then again, some time travelers may find themselves picked up by The Company because they seem to have super human abilities. And, Mohinder Suresh may discover that the Torchwood holding cells are not the best place to plead his case of humanity.

I don't really know what direction the ficverse might take. but i digress, sort of.

The premise behind this is actually based on the new ending of my original Torchwood-Time Lord fanfic, which I won't be saying the end of. But it's... trust me, it's convoluted enough to make sense when the original story gets to that point.

Anyway, all that's needed to know is that it takes place in roughly 2010-2015, that general time period. (With the 2012 Olympics taking place in London, England.)

Series wise, takes place after Torchwood Series 2 and Gwen/Jack/Ianto's appearance in Doctor Who Series 4. Heroes, it takes place after Season 3, Volume 4 (ignoring the prelude of Vol. 5).

BASIC PLOT IDEA: Torchwood find themselves out of their depth when confronted with their first evolved human. And The Company find themselves at a loss of what to do when a seemingly normal sci-fi writer happens to have predicted in his novel the date of an alien invasion down to the very second... without having any of the genetic markers calling him an evolved human.

Gwen Cooper-Williams and Martha Jones-Milligan set out across the Atlantic in search of answers when their captive, and their Captain dissapear. What they find is, well... they certainly weren't expecting the president of the United States to go AWOL and slice people;s heads open, that's for sure.

WHO/TORCH OCs include:

Jack Harbourne - former police detective turned sci-fi novelist. has a quick wit and a touch of good old fashioned ADHD.

Quincy Verta - a 911 emergency dispatcher as well as a temp (note: created by my friend Tuttle)

Rose - Jack's golden retriever his uncle gave him when he turned 8 years old.

HEROES OCs include:

Dorian "D.G." Gray - 1/2 brother of Sylar/Gabriel Gray, on their father's side. Doesn't know he has a brother. Is younger (obviously) than Sylar. Has the natural abilities of mimicry and limited remote viewing. has the aquired ability of precognition. is a horror novelist, but also loves to write 9th Wonders fanfiction.

RENAMED WHO/TORCH CHARACTERS:

Jack Harkness (circa 3000AD) - going by the name Jimmy Harbourne and running an antiques shop which specializes in WW2 Allied Forces memorobilia and various other curiosities.

The Doctor (11th) - going by the name Dr. John Smith, and is "surrogate uncle" of Jack Harbourne.

MISC. HEROES CHARACTERS

Hiro Nakamura - still has his power to stop/slow and start time, he chooses not to use it because it causes him physical harm. becomes in the course of the universe the Doctor's companion (for a short time)

Sylar/President Nathan Petrelli - Sylar was presumed dead, his body burned to ash. in reality, he was forced to become Nathan Petrelli, and as such later was elected President of the US. unfortunately, his darker, real self begins to re-emerge.

Matt Parkman - because seriously, he's fucking awsome.

The Hatian - because I want to write a scene where the Hatian can't use his ability, and gets Hatianed XD

The Bennets - mainly because I want to use Lyle and not Clair or Noah/HRG as much.

i'll be using other characters in this ficverse, of course. it's just a rough list of who i'd like to put in a room with who. (in all honesty, I think a dying match between Claire Bennet and Jack Harkness would be fucking AWSOME!!! but that's just me.)

i don't have a set continuity for this ficverse. it's just a loose side project for when i get writers block on my TW-TL series. kinda like... my playground for random ideas that won't work in an established and outlined preplanned story. n.n

ah. here we are again. Another Green Notebook entry. we're almost near the end of the notebook now. almost. out of 180 pages, not all of them were used for dribbles, and a slightly decent chunk wasn't even used at all. i may save those in my recycle bin for other projects and things.

anyway, as always, my apologies if any of these have been posted before. they shan't return again. and for everything else that hasn't seen the light of day till now, enjoy!

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"You can rest here tonight," he said with a kind smile. "I'll fix up the couch for you and-"

"Damnit Al! You brought back another goddamn stray, didn't you? Don't lie to me! I can smell the bastards 20 miles off!"

"Oh shut it you old blind bastard! This ai'n got nuthin to do with you!"

"I fucking KNEW it!" Sam shouted. "I'm lockin your ass out!" The bedroom door slamed shut swiftly after, and five deadbolts slid into place.

"I'm sorry for causing you trouble. I didn't know your boyfriend-"

"Kid, he ai'n my boyfriend."

"but he said... Aren't you and he..."

"Don't short the brain out tryin to figure it out kiddo. It's just too damn complicated." He reached over and ruffled the boy's hair with a laugh before standing up to fetch a pillow and blanket from the linen closet.

"You go get yourself a bath and I'll make up the couch, yeah."

"But where are you going to sleep? He locked you out."

He smirked. "He knows I'll bust down the door if he doesn't let me in eventually," he said. "Oh... if you need a lamp, we keep the spares in the bottom of the linen closet. Help yourself."

-----------------------

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this..."

"Relax. Nobody'll recognize you. Hell, you look like your sister... only better. Now hold still. I don't wanna poke your eyes out."

"Not like I ever use the damn things anyway," he grumbled, but he did like he was told.

"Well, I LIKE your eyes. I think they're handsome... and the cloudiness makes them a little sexier too," he said, nipping at the blind man's chin as he finished applying the last of the make-up.

"My my, what a pretty young woman you make Miss Samantha," Al said with a snicker.

Sam growled at him. "Let's get this damn bet over with..."

------------------------

"What the HELL do you think you're doing Al!" Sam hissed. Al smiled against his friend's neck. "there's so many hot guys around here I can't help but keep my hands on you."

"Liar."

"Maybe. But I don't want any other bloke tryin to take what's mine."

"I'm not some chew toy Al. I don't belong to you."

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"How do you stay so young looking? You botox?"

"No, I'm... undead, remember. I don't really age. When you're seventy, I'll still look and feel seventeen. Well... maybe more like 20... If I'm lucky. I could always have some work done, wrinkle myself up a bit so you wouldn't look like a pedophile."

"You never did tell me how you got... well... what you are. It's not every day you meet a horny talking corpse."

"That's one story you won't get out of me."

"Not even for an Al snack?" Sam grinned as he exaggerated grabbing his rear.

"Not even for that," he replied.

"Bet your dumb ass told Randy."

"No, not quite. It's... something I try hard to forget," he said.

--------------------------------

"He's like you, that kid." He wrapped his hand around the long neck of the bottle. "Green eyes, red hair. Scrawny and quiet."

"How'd you guess?"

"I'm blind, not deaf. I asked him myself."

"He's like me. He's... mine."

"How do you know?"

"The timing. His age. He's dead inside. Half in this world, half in another. He's lost, alone. All these years spent trying to fill a bottomless void only to meet me and discover that not even I can help him."

"I don't think we're talking about the kid anymore, are we?"

"When I was five years old, I was taken right off the street. Five years old Sam. And I was stripped, beaten, and raped. Every single day of my life for 10 years. I forgot my name, I couldn't remember a time when I didn't wake up to the sounds of my own screaming. I couldn't recall the faces of my family, or if I even had one. Or the smell of grass after a good rain.

"Ten years of pain. Ten years of a steady diet of bread, cum, and water. And then, a woman came. She said she was going to make me a real man. She came down into the dungeon day after day... and she..." He was quiet. Wringing his hands in his lap anxiously, drawing in a shakey breath as he looked away from his dear friend's sightless stare of... shock? Disbelief? He didn't dewll on what his friend might now think of him. He needed to get it out. He needed to get the burden of his past off his back once and for all.

"That's why I don't trust women. All those years of being used by men, and my first conscious memory of a woman was so frightening, so painful that it literally made me afraid of them all.

He sighed, staring down at his now shaking hands. He tried, and failed, to will them back into stillness. "But that's not the worst of it. Before all of that, I was a sick, frail child. Born with a weak heart. Couldn't run, couldn't even go down a few stairs without fainting. And when I got better, somehow, those monsters knew it. My heart would give out, and they'd get a doctor. Nurse me back to health only to do it all again. And each time they brought me back, part of me stayed dead. Part of me would stay behind in the firey pits of Hell. And it seemed a paradise compared to what my life was like. I remember... the last time, the very last time I died. There was a man waiting for me there. He was so kind. So strong and powerful. And he told me to go back. He told me not to be afraid. That he'd go with me, and he'd make sure no one ever hurt me again.

"the next thing I remember is waking up naked in the snow. I was so cold. An American man and his brother found me. They smuggled me into the country, into New York. They took care of me, and they helped me find out what I am."

---------------------------

"There are others out there, like you. Leviathan, Samael, Lucifer. And another unknown."

----------------------------

"Daddy!" the girl exclaimed, running down the hall into his opened arms.

----------------------------------------

----------------------------------------

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"Tem?"

"Yeah?" he said, closing his eyes and resting his head against his lover's chest.

"I love you," he said. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"That's the first time you've said it like that."

"Like what?" Joe asked, a bit puzzled.

He sighed and nuzzled his face against his chest. "Like you really mean it."

-----------------

"The pair of you, perfectly balanced. Alone you are strong, but your power consumes," she said, breathing in the thick, toxic vapours. "Together, you are unstopable. But something looms overhead. I can scarecely see it through the veil."

--------------------

He was a tall young man. His body trim, well kept. His face was soft. Icy blue eyes opened as he yawned, stretching his once limp limbs.

"Leviathan," Belial said smiling. "Welcome to Earth, my friend." He held out his hand, and Leviathan took it. Belial pulled him to his feet.

"Why does it hurt so?"

"The pain will pass. It is only the soul dying inside the body."

-----------------

"Many years ago, my ancestor did terrible things. But they were not by his own will."

-------------------

"Long ago our ancestors were the destitute, the outcast, and the tossed aside. But one man saw the good in them, and he took them in. Through him, they reclaimed their pride and their freedom. They reclaimed their lives. None of us would be here, had it not been for him... The Boss. He asked for nothing in return for his kindness except friendship and loyalty."

"We began 2000 years ago as an army of 10,000. But now, we're 100,000 strong!" a woman shouted.

"You there!" Belial snapped.

The woman came forward, and grinned.

"What is your name?"

"I am Carmina, of the house Hayden," she snapped as she saluted, a classic 21st century sniper rifle hanging off her back.

He smiled and gave a small nod. "I see the love of firearms is hereditary."

"Sir?"

"Your patriarch, Hayden Westbrook. Born in Glasgow, raised in Ireland. His idea of solving any problem, especially spiders, was to shoot to kill."

--------------

He stopped, turning and stepping back in front of a young woman who stood at attention. She was tall, she was proud, she was weary. But he saw her back stiffen, her pupils dialate and shrink back again as she tried to maintain perfect stature in front of the general.

"I know you," he said, giving her a small smirk. She could not help herself, and gave one in return.

He gave a small nod. "House of Harrison, the line of Connor, correct."

"No, sir," she snapped. "House of Devlin, line of Willem."

"I see," he said, his smirk broadening into a genuine smile. "One of the Black Widow's offspring then."

"Yes, sir. The Lady Nessa Rose is my line's matriarch, sir."

"Good. We'll need a good eye for a flamethrower. How are you with tanks?"

"Only the old Soviets will do, sir."

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"Al? That you?"

"Yeah. Gimme two ticks, yeah."

"what the hell are you doin over there?"

"Pissin on Aiden. What else would I be doin?"

"Damnit Al, she's been dead for 15 years. Just let it go."

"I am."

"That's not what he meant!" an identical voice barked angrily.

--------------------------

"Oh shut up," Al snapped, burrying his face into Sammy's neck.

"Hey! Don't fuckin bite me! Fuckin vampire!"

But Al ignored him, growling like some caged beast as he straddled the smaller man's lap.

"stop that!" Sammy yelled, trying to shove Al off of him. But the taller man wouldn't budge.

"Look, we can either do this the fun way or I'll make you. So just try and enjoy it asshole."

"You'd rape me?!"

"If I had to, yeah."

"You wouldn't dare."

He sat up straight, glarind down into his mossy eyes with a wicked grin. "Is that a challenge, Mr. Donnelly?"

----------------------

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"I left my boots under the bed."

"So?"

---------------------

"Sunuva!-" he screamed, holding his head as he nearly jumped over the back of the sofa.

---------------------

"Hi. My name is Alice. How do you do?" he said with a ruby smile. "Sammy never told me how delightful a family he has."

"This has got to be some kind of a joke."

"Excuse me?"

"Sammy, with a girlfriend? That's hard to believe."

-------------------

"So, what does your girlfriend do?"

"Alice is NOT my girlfriend."

"Say what you want," she said. "But a mother always knows."

"She's a teacher at some college."

"Oh, well! That explains it then."

"explains what?"

"Her cheerfullness. But she does seem a little young to be a teacher..."

"Don't let her looks fool you. She's a lot older than she seems."

----------------------

"Look, I'd rather be myself right now, but Sammy didn't want you all to know how-"

"I know."

"If you don't tell anyone else, I'll let you raid my closet and even give you some tips for hiding certain 'things' if you want."

-----------------------

"Marshall and I are going out for a while. Call if you need anything, love," he said, giving Sammy a small kiss on the cheek. He took Marshall by the arm and giggled as they went out the door.

in case no one has noticed, many of the things from "another green notebook" posts aren't exactly chronological, and are often contradicting. XD but, i'd like to point out that despite their non-cannonicity (in most cases) they do happen in the same universe.

still confusing?

okay, how's this? the Eight Doctor Adventures book series of Doctor Who is not considered 100% canon material, since it is in book/novel form and not televised like the rest of the series. This presents further problems when the Gallifrey series of novels also takes place, and Longbarrow, and then of course the novels that go along with the New Who series, and so on and so forth. though not 100% canon, they all take place in the same Whoniverse, despite all of them contradicting one another. see what i mean?

okay. if you're still confused. then i don't think i can really explain it to you.

anyway, enjoy. and sorry if some of these have been posted before.

like i said in a previous post somewhere (or maybe on my xanga) i'm ripping the pages out when i've got them typed up so i don't repeat them ever again.

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He pulled his hands out of his pocket, reaching the grubby fingers into the glass cabinet for the badly wrapped box on the bottom shelf. "What's this?"

"What's what?" Al called from the kitchen area.

"This box," Sammy said, giving it a shake. Something inside rattled lightly.

Al came around the screens with a tray of cookies and cocoa. "That was a gift," he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

"From who? It doesn't say," he said, shaking it again. "It's pretty light."

He didn't answer at first. Instead he busied himself with the tray. Setting the cups on matching saucers, adding a few cookies beside them.

"Hey! Answer my question!"

"It was from Sam," he said quietly, placing napkins down before he sat in the recliner. "He was so proud of himself. God only knows why. He'd picked it out and somehow managed to wrap it without help. But... he never had a chance to give it to me."

"Oh," Sammy said, sitting down in front of a cup. He set the box down on the tray. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he said. "It was a long time ago."

"But it still hurts."

"Like i've been stabbed in the chest with a machete," he replied casually, dipping a cookie into his cocoa. "But it's getting better." He smiled softly. "I've stopped crying myself to sleep at least," he joked.

"You should open it."

He shook his head.

"Why not? He got it just for you."

"Yeah... But what if I don't like it. I can't really complain about it 40 years after the fact." He laughed lightly, holding his cup in both hands and snuggling deep into the recliner's seat. "Besides, the value of a gift isn't determined by how much it cost, but by the reasons and feelings of the person giving it. I know it sounds silly, all this sentimental bullshit."

"No, it's not silly. Well, it is, but... it isn't," Sammy said, eyeing the box as if he knew the value of what sat inside.

"Ah well. No point dwelling on it. It's just a silly little present. I'm sure he got is as a joke, really. He was always like that. At least, when it came to me anyway."

He cast AL a rueful glare before muttering under his breath.

"He was only ever nice to me when he wantes something I wouldn't let him have. Other than that, we fought all the time... even when we-" He stopped and looked down into his cup. "Sorry," he said sheepishly before regaining his composure. "Would you like some more cocoa?"

"No. I'm fine, thanks," his guest said, having watched his host bounce back and forth between pleasant to thoughtful, and down into a strange fondness as he spoke of constant fighting. Then the sudden shift back to politeness and hospitality in the last instant.

He smiled, the quiet, sentimental man hiding once more behind a mask of forced contentment. Even now that he was so close to the man who haunted him, the Bogeyman looked so lonely.

----------------------

"When you're young you think you have all the time in the world. Truth is, you don't. And you put things off. One day becomes two. Days turn into weeks... Before you know it you're old and wrinkled and there isn't any time left."

------------------------

"What do you think is in it?"

"Dunno."

"Open it."

"No."

"What if it's the big romantic gesture you've always wanted?"

"Sam? Romantic? Trust me, the world would explode before that would happen."

"It might be."

"It's not."

"How would you know? You haven't even opened it!"

"Even if it is, it doesn't matter now."

"Yes it does."

He shook his head and put it back on the shelf.

"Open it!"

"I said no." He closed the cabinet.

"but-"

"I know. But i'd rather not know than be dissapointed."

"Dissapointed?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure I'd love whatever it is. But... I want him to be there when I do, so I can either show him how much I love it or bean him in the head with it. Which... is impossible all things considered."

-----------------------------

"Everyone made him out to be this awful, cold person. But he wasn't. Not really. He could fool everyone else, but he couldn't fool me. He'd always been an asshole, but I knew it was his way of saying what he couldn't really say, even if he was drunk." He smiled warmly. "I know he'd never admit it out loud. And neither could I."

-----------------------

In fact, he truely was. He had built a wall between himself and the world that day. He had ceased being himself, and became a shell through which nothing came or went.

Desperately people tried to get him to open up. But it seemed that the more they tried, the more reclusive the once amiable man would become. At last, he had been left alone, the haunt of Devlin Manor. He'd gone about his days there the same way he had before that fateful day. He would make meals for two. Change the linens though they hadn't been slept in. He would even argue with thin air, as if his worse half had never left.

And then, the nightmares began. Night after night he would toss and turn in that queen sized bed. And each night he would wake, screaming out his name...

Only to realize he wasn't even there.

----------------------------------

"Hi, are you Abbigail?"

"yes."

He held out his hand daintily with a smile. "I'm Alice. Alice Eveline. I wrote to you a few months ago."

"Oh, yes. Come in, come in. Pardon if I don't stand and great you."

"It's quite alright, ma'am," he said, waiting for her to turn her chair around, then followed her to the sitting room.

"This is quite a lovely apartment you have Miss Abbigail."

"Please, have a seat," she said, motioning to the couch.

"Thank you," he said, pushing up his glasses.

"To what do I owe the honor that's brought someone from Al's side of the family calling on me?"

He smiled as polite as he could manage. "As I explained in my letters, my grandfather has recently passed."

"It took him long enough, the old bastard," Abbigail said.

Al bit his tongue and swallowed his pride, trying to maintain his composure. "His final wish was for Mr. Devlin's artwork to be returned to the Manor."

"Why?"

"My grandfather was very fond of your uncle, as I understand it. But I don't have any legal standing since I'm not a blood relative and the two never... made things official." He reached into his purse, pulling out a pamphlet he'd scooped up from the museum on his way over. "If you would lend me your help, I would be more than happy to provide as much funding as you need for the new African Art and Culture wing at the museum. Consider it a trade for your help."

--------------------

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I've been where you are before. Not knowing who you are, or what you're supposed to be."

"Yeah?"

"I found what I was looking for, and at first I was happy. Overjoyed. But after a while, I realized it really wasn't what I wanted. I was where I was supposed to be, with the people I was supposed to be with... but something was missing. And I only realized what it was after it was much too late."