#darkdevilishdesires

“You can do your worst. At the end of the day, it's what you do best.”

Disgraced, debased, disentangled from the two men who trusted him most in this cruel world, and yet still dangerous. In spite of it all, he hadn’t lost his bite. Even if the situation was unbearable most days, he managed. No one dared to speak of it in his vicinity. Like a livewire that no one wanted to touch, everyone stayed away from him.

Daniel stalked the halls, turning a corner into the bullpen. He wandered past the cubical area to return to his office, a fishbowl, just a room he wanted nothing to do with anymore. He couldn’t retire just yet, couldn’t really afford to, and he hated the monotony of it all. Too much had happened. His past had caught up with him, and the skeletons in the closet had piled too high.

By the time he reached his office, his eyes lifted to find a woman inside. She was sitting in front of his desk, patiently waiting for him to return from afternoon errands. Her hair was a fiery red, back straight. She checked her nails, glancing at the wall, and eventually down again.

Opening the door, he brushed a polite preamble aside and asked, “Can I help you?” He certainly wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries today. 

“And so it goes, and so it goes. And you're the only one who knows.”

(This story is from twitter and has migrated here. This was the final reply, and this is as far back as you can go to read.)

Months passed, and things were slowly getting better. Alicia had physically healed. Malcolm went back to work for her, doing what he could. Eventually, she returned to work as well, although with more bodyguards than before.

They could do this.

She could win the seat for the Secretary of State for Defence. Oddly enough, news of the kidnapping had surfaced mere weeks after it had actually happened, and the public were entirely on her side. That hadn't changed in the months it took her to heal from it all. If anything, it had only helped her. Fucking awful lot, the public.

“Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving. I mourn what could have been, what will not be, what I can't save.”

(This story is from twitter and has migrated here. This was the final reply, and this was how it all began.)

After heading into the cottage to place his empty coffee mug in the sink, Kenneth found his way to the guest bedroom. He readied himself for the day ahead, humming quietly beneath his breath.

Just to be an arsehole, and because it did amuse him and would probably get a chuckle out of Lilith as well, he wore a collar. Dark suit, Paul Smith, priest's collar, wingtips, etc. He felt as if he was ready to take on the world. The thought of a room filled with witches and warlocks who already despised him, however, was almost his undoing. He couldn't (and wouldn't) let it overwhelm him.

He'd dealt with worse in his life. Things would be fine.

“Show me your thorns and I'll show you hands ready to bleed.”

Wandering into the Vault after a rather long day of marking and lectures, the Doctor dropped a bag of takeaway on the dining table. He cast a soft glance in Missy's direction.

"Hungry?" he asked, brows rising. "I know I am. Come eat with me."

“I want the you That no one has, That no one has ever had, That no one will ever have, That no one knows.”

(This story has migrated from twitter, and here were the first and final replies.)

Alistair was still in bed from the long rest he needed after being wounded. He was healed but sore. Lilith said it would pass. He was stronger now, having her blood running through his veins. The scar in the center of his chest was only further proof of his dedicated to Lilith. He would have died for her in Israel. He was hers, in every way, and that scar only solidified it. It was a near-death experience that he never wanted to repeat.

For a while, the pair chatted away. She shared her blood with him and drank tea. Lost in thought, he glanced down to check his chest. It was completely healed, yes, but the stitches were gone. Lilith must have taken care of them during the night.

His eyes met hers as he spoke. "We'll need to leave for Hell sometime soon, my love. The Dybbuk box is ready for Lucifer. We're the only reason he isn't yet inside of it, but at least I'm healed."

“She is the devil’s poetry.”

(This story migrated from twitter, and this was how it all began.)

Cresswell was listening as she spoke.

"Let me show you to your private bedroom," Hannah said. "I think you'll be comfortable there. I had the mattress brought from England, and the furniture is from the finest mahogany."

His belongings were brought into her home, where he carried them upstairs to the room that would be his either from now on or simply for now.

"Very lovely space, Miss Hart," he teased. "You have excellent taste, if I may say so myself."

“I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me.”

The Doctor was sitting across the pub from her, silently watching as she chatted with the patrons. He waited with an absurd amount of patience until she glanced his way, finally noticing him. By the looks of things, she instantly understood that she had bumped into him post-Darillium. Some time had passed for him, but still.

He waited until she began wandering his way. Sipping at his pint, he sat back and cleared his throat. As she took a seat across from him, he tittered at her. "Lady Brook, I presume? Clever, really."

“My only desire is to remain by your side.”

Jack was wandering late into the night. The day was November 1st, and he — (f)rightfully so — needed the time to decompress after yet another fantastic Halloween. He came upon a clearing in the woods, finding an odd sight to greet him. A gnarled tree was swaying in the breeze, relaxing him. He sat upon a rock, taking the tarnished, black ring off of his bony finger, just a simple gift from the Mayor, and placed it upon a branch as one would with a finger.

"For you," he mumbled, amused with his own antics. "It looks far better on you, actually."

Something beneath the ground shifted, and it took him far too long to realize there was a grave was beneath the soil. What he originally thought was a tree branch was in fact a woman's hand. She sprouted up from the dirt as if she was a twin to the nearby tree, and his eyes went wide in surprise.

"I... Hello. Sorry, my sudden appearance feels a bit rude, now that I think about it. Are you quite alright?"