→ The Eighth Doctor and the Bad Wolf fight the Time War side by side (x)
He knows her, somehow. Perhaps he has forgotten, but when she calls him My Doctor, he is certain he will walk with bloody heels until he finds her again.
Her skin is lined with the glow of the vortex; planets move along her blades and bones. It is she who protects him in the front lines of the War, who locks her shield with his against the Meanwhiles and Neverweres and the Could’ve Been King, who follows him into the siege.
President Romana, in all her faith, hands him a weapon, a choice. The Medusa Cascade detonates in cadmium light and leaves his body mangled. She calls him to her, and when he wakes he is new and she has gone.
Paris has a deeper and stranger connection to its underground than almost any city, and that underground is one of the richest. The arteries and intestines of Paris, the hundreds of miles of tunnels that make up some of the oldest and densest subway and sewer networks in the world, are just the start of it. Under Paris there are spaces of all kinds: canals and reservoirs, crypts and bank vaults, wine cellars transformed into nightclubs and galleries. Most surprising of all are the carrières—the old stone quarries that fan out in a deep and intricate web under many neighborhoods, mostly in the southern part of the metropolis.
These sections of caverns and tunnels have been transformed into underground ossuaries, holding the remains of about 6 million people. Opened in the late 18th century, the underground cemetery became a tourist attraction on a small scale from the early 19th century, and has been open to the public on a regular basis from 1874.
The official name for these subterranean veins is l’Ossuaire Municipal. Although the cemetery portion covers only a small section of underground tunnels comprising “les carrières de Paris”, Parisians today often refer to the entire tunnel network as “The Catacombs.”
Icarus laughed as he fell. Threw his head back and yelled into the winds, arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world.
(There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring.)
The wax scorched his skin, ran blazing trails down his back, his thighs, his ankles, his feet. Feathers floated like prayers past his fingers, close enough to snatch back. Death breathed burning kisses against his shoulders, where the wings joined the harness. The sun painted everything in shades of gold.
(There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the centre of the flames.)
found another one of those “meet the blogger” surveys
Name: tamsin Favourite saved url: um, it’s not so much saved as backup, but i’ve been using my old url timeladyofbakerstreet to save stuff relevant to this thing i’m working on, which is mostly angel info, and i quite like it :) The next movie you’re planning to watch: either spy kids, bc i was talking w/ some friends about how great those movies are the other day, or the mummy, bc apparently it’s gr10 but i’ve never seen it The last movie you watched: mr and mrs smith The book you’re currently reading: sharp teeth by toby barlow and eating fire by margaret atwood Favorite male fictional character: i am just guessing here, bc decisions are hard, but i’m gonna go with peter pan for now Favorite female fictional character: probably alice from alice in wonderland The number of songs on your iPod: i… have absolutely no idea at all That one song that’s been stuck in your head all week: ’run boy run’ by woodkid The fictional character you identify with most: hermione granger Favourite word: pulchritude, defenestrate, schmetterling, papillion