Thy-Demon

What is a woman, in her private moments? When she is naked, in the absence of anyone but herself, Does she caress her curves lovingly, in the absence of hate? Does she feel her folds sensually, in the absence of shame? Does she know her body fully, in the absence of an audience? In the absence of man Then the question becomes, what is Woman, without Man? Is she a queen? A goddess? Is she frail and small? Does she rule her kingdom with pride? Or cower from it, afraid? What is Woman without Man? Can She know Herself without Him? Can She define Herself in His absence? His ever-watchful gaze, His ever-listening ear, His ever-breat

Title: Voice Interface Confrontation Summary: I was uh, reluctant to post this because it's Eleven and most of us aren't too fond of our shoe-faced giraffe Doctor, but... well... I've kinda warmed to him, so I wrote this deleted scene from 'Let's Kill Hitler'. Pairing: Eleven/Simm!Master Length: 1,435 words "Voice interface come on, emergency!" the Doctor panted, wheezing on the ground as his vital organs slowly started to freeze up, River's poison attacking his stomach and digestive system first, not quite in the blood stream yet though, but getting there. "Voice interface enabled," an eerie hologram of himself echoed. The Doctor cringe

The Horror of Our Love 13:13 ...Where No One Can Hear Us Scream "Get out of the way..."          I didn't do it for him.  Whatever anyone else says, I didn't do it for him.            I wanted to kill Rassilon and he was in the way, that's it.  Wanting to kill doesn't begin to describe how much I wanted to destroy him.  Every atom, everything that could possibly represent Rassilon was going to be decimated from the inside out for what he'd done to me.  The drums... always, the drums... Driving me

What is a woman, in her private moments? When she is naked, in the absence of anyone but herself, Does she caress her curves lovingly, in the absence of hate? Does she feel her folds sensually, in the absence of shame? Does she know her body fully, in the absence of an audience? In the absence of man Then the question becomes, what is Woman, without Man? Is she a queen? A goddess? Is she frail and small? Does she rule her kingdom with pride? Or cower from it, afraid? What is Woman without Man? Can She know Herself without Him? Can She define Herself in His absence? His ever-watchful gaze, His ever-listening ear, His ever-breat