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Stardust: a Doctor Who fanfiction (part 2) Chapter Two
“A TARDIS? What’s that?” she asks as we turn to leave. Not really wanting to explain that I have a time traveling spaceship right now, I just say, “You’ll find out soon enough, and I don’t think we should spend much more time in here before that Mr. Bently returns.”
When we start to leave the dusty room selling what appears to be half price pens, as if on cue, a short, bit more than slightly overweight man with a comb-over dressed in a ratty suit and tie stands a few feet away.
Stardust: a Doctor Who fanfiction (part 1) I wake up on a Wednesday morning to the usual annoying sound of my alarm clock buzzing in my face; it read 7:47, wait, 7:47?!?
“Oh no! My shift starts at eight!” I say to myself as I immediately jump out of bed and throw on an old pair of jeans, a pink tee, an ice blue hoodie, a pair of blue trainers, and grab my necklace, a pretty gold symbol with all sorts of circles, dots, and lines engraved into it, pull my knee-length hair through a brush before yanking it back into my snowflake headband and take a brief look at myself in the full length mirror in my room. A pale, skinny girl in her early twenties (even though I still look about seventeen) with white- blonde hair stares back at me for a moment before I rush out the door.
“Ugh, I wish I could just fly to work,” I mutter to myself as I turned a street corner.
When I finally arrive at the shop where I work, a
The Planet of Frostaro (Stardust/Society)
Excerpt from the Stardust/Society book series where Alura is describing her home planet. YAY!!!
Frostaro, now there's a story. It was once known as the planet where magic and science coexist together in peace. Hard to believe, right?
Surrounded by the Winter Forests was the capital of Frostaro, with great spires of crystal ice reaching up to the deepest and most beautiful of royal blue skies, surrounded by silver gates closed with impenetrable frost. The twin suns would rise in the North and light up the entire city, casting it in a breathtaking blue glow. Outside the city, the silver leaves on the trees of the Winter Forests would never fall, even in the coldest of winters. It snowed almost every day, blue-white flakes blanketing the entire forest in a soft winter glow. Beyond the forest and the Mountains of Arctic Seasons, was the Academy of Ice, where c
Doctor Who: Stardust (Teaser)I woke up on a Wednesday morning to the usual annoying sound of my alarm clock buzzing in my face; it read 7:47, wait, 7:47?!?
“Oh no! My shift starts at eight!”
I say to myself as I immediately jump out of bed and throw on an old pair of jeans, a pink tee, an ice blue hoodie, a pair of blue trainers, and grab my necklace, a pretty gold symbol with all sorts of circles, dots, and lines engraved into it and rush out the door.
“Ugh, I wish I could just fly to work”
I mutter to myself as I turned a street corner.
When I finally arrived at the shop where I work, a dusty little secondhand store that’ll sell anything from furniture to pet shampoo, run by a very testy Mr. Bently. The clock read 8:05, and to him, five minutes late might as well be five hours.
I am a shadow. You cannot see me. I am invisible.
I think to myself as I try to sneak behind him into the back room.
“Oh, hello Alura, I didn’t expect to see
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More