vertigoevie

leofað cyning We were but legends, Seeking out the dust of our crumbling parchment, Blotting out the drops of ink that caked the truth. The arrows showered from our fortified Camelot walls, Carrying the song of Albion with them. We were but legends, Our stories veiled in the dust our citadels were doomed to crumble into. The translations lost in time, The fairytales misconstrued, The magic lied and lost. The shopkeeper diligently sweeps, cleans and sings, His young face so full of hope when the wind chimes to his shop door rings, Falling when he sees no light in those eyes. “Your king is dead” spells the air that sighs. (Fo

Words just tumble through my head. Ghosts are whispering them behind my ears. No origin to trace, Or to prove it's even real. It takes two partners to start this dance; You're leaving me hanging. Are you afraid of the sound? They're just letters and heaven knows, I've built up a wall, But you -you- just keep on breaking it down -own -own. No swords or arrows. No words. No sounds. My mind has a silver tongue, But my mouth is quicker and more cunning than I would like it to be. I'll regret my words, but yours just keep pouring And oh -it's a knife to my pride -and at my side You're wearing the woman's wedding veil, White and pure, you say in

Spoilers for "The Angels Take Manhattan" Petrichor The days and nights in the TARDIS following the Ponds' departure were slow. The hours seemed forever endless; time ticked too slowly. Soon, everything became blurred. They had to keep moving on, keep walking, keep running, the two of them. The Doctor and River Song, never stopping long enough. River stayed with the Doctor for a few weeks, holed up in a room somewhere in the back reaches of the TARDIS, typing away at Melody Malone. The tears fell freely as she neared the end of the book. The pain was still fresh in her mind and in her heart. She cried, but silently. And every time she deci

The Avengers sat around the meeting table at the deck of the repaired SHIELD helicarrier. Fury was debriefing the team on the latest thwarted extraterrestrial attack. The target had been a children's hospital and clean up was proving to be messy with all the patients displaced and much of the hospital staff –doctors and nurses included- injured and unfit for work due to the staff's preoccupation with protecting the kids. Fortunately, no injury was life threatening and the children that were injured only sustained mild cuts and bruises. While everyone else listened with genuine or –in Tony's case- faked interest, Bruce sat in his se

Part One He holds onto the anger that General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross gives him. It's a familiar anger. It's the root of all his problems, of the situation he must now live with. It's a constant anger that is set at a low simmer. You see, Bruce Banner absolutely resents the general. There's nothing General Ross can do that will take that away, even if he wasn't a stubborn old military man. It's incredibly ironic and Bruce laughs to himself whenever he thinks about it. The universe sure has a sense of humor, because the one thing that Bruce uses to control himself is the reason why he's like this in the first place: cursed and persecuted

I've always felt a little bit lonely. I've always felt a little lost. I've always felt the need to hide away, To a place I thought I'd be safe. I've always felt the need to run. I've always felt the need to leave. The path I took led to sorrow; Same old, same old tomorrow. But you showed me a garden. And you showed me a life. You pulled me up. Guess that's why I feel this way tonight. Now to be honest, I don't who to blame; The anger's lost on me. To be honest, there were signs I guess I just didn't want to see. But in my defense The way you acted, The way you stared at me. Well in my defense The way you smiled & laugh

I wish my life was a song, A lilting melody of unceasing piano keys, Ivory and ebony, Strong fingers gliding over and confirming each note, Each decision, Each choice, Each fragile thread of my fate.         (My red string keeps tangling and I know not where to find you,         If you are flesh and blood,         If you are merely an apparition              –a figure sprung from a crack–         If you are blind and I am certain.) But your harmony should fit like a glove, Never wavering or distorting. Our cadence should melt away into the black and white sheets. There should be no caesura of uncertainty, No poi