#i will never be normal about tensimm

[stere0typical]

I need writers to stop having David Tennant play characters who beg their camp, gay, blond "friend", who is the only other being like them in the universe, to run away with them to go see the stars, but they say no since they're fundamentally different, and end up back at the corrupt government they ran away from, that wants to fight a war that will end with the two's planet being destroyed because I will never not bawl over it.

[heatwa-ves]

For the character headcanon ask game!!!! Firstly, the Tenth doctor as I like that guy and secondly,,,, Klavier or Kristoph Gavin or both because they are just so epic to me,,,,,

under the cut because I talked a Lot

ten

sexuality + gender: canonically genderfluid yippee!! as for sexuality idk. rose tyler.

fav ship: tenrose u will always be famous. tensimm you will be famous too I guess because what the fuck was. Everything. in the end of time. not my fav incarnation of thoschei but I do enjoy it . "you could be beautiful" doctor do you have something to share with the class.. OH. TENJACK ALSO. I am perpetually haunted by the scene in utopia wjat the hell is this

fav platonic relationship: doctordonna is LEGENDARY. they're so good they're sooooooo good. entirety of S4 is banger after banger after banger I'm excited to watch the 60th specials and see donna and dt again but im still dragging myself through chibnall era. It's bad.

general opinion: I used to like ten more than I do now not that I dislike him but watching twelve set a gold standard for doctors and I think none of the others quite reach it. am I biased because I'm obsessed with peter capaldi? No comment. anyway. ten is really good and has a lot of strong episodes particularly with donna ofc. I like his relationship with martha in theory I just wish the show didn't hate her guts . Midnight is one of theeee best episodes on television and ten is so good in it he's also particularly good in waters of mars tho I do wish the time lord victorious was dragged out a bit longer like for another episode or so before that finale. His regeneration never fails to make me tear up especially the part with rose... she WILL have a good year. sobs. Finally obligatory mention that fear her is a GOOD EPISODE IM SICK OF THE HATE.

klavier

sexuality + gender: bi + genderfluid she/her pronouns would solve all her problems

fav ship: klapollo I love u... t4t

fav platonic relationship: his relationship with trucy they're sooooo silly look at this art . also obsessed with what we see of his relationship with kristoph I'm thinking about them always and I wish we saw more

general opinion: she's my fav from aa4... No one is surprised. cute + silly + has problems + sees the protagonist and is like omg hi. did you know I'm bisexual. did you know im really into you . just saying. 0.5 seconds after meeting. I would like it if the game went more into his feelings on losing kristoph and then daryan and then kristoph again all back to back but I guess that's what fanfiction is for. guilty love is such a good theme I don't normally listen to just instrumental songs but.... She's beautiful. the concept of the gavinners is fucking stupid so I'm living in my dream world where they're a normal band not a weird law cop themed one.

kristoph

sexuality + gender: idk nothing in particular .

fav ship: he and phoenix definitely fucked at some point

fav platonic relationship: once again gavin siblings. I wish the game also went more into how his relationship with apollo is like I assume they were working together for a while pre 4-1 .. it's interesting to think about but there's not much to go off

general opinion: beautiful evil man. I love him and it really surprised me how many people hate him??? the godawful mischaracterisation I've seen on ao3 haunts me like yes he's a cunt but he wouldn't fucking do THAT. he's a cunt in a different way. please hate him correctly at the very least. I want to know what goes on inside his head. he was definitely lying about why he killed zak there was more to it than just being a petty bitch like the black psyche locks and everything... I don't think he's the sort of person who'd resort to serial murder over just not being chosen as lawyer there's definitely things he didn't tell us. I like him. he's also kind of stupid like if he just hadn't tried to be all poetic describing the cards in the first trial he never would've been caught??? and come on now why is he using the same fancy rare nail polish that he poisoned as a gift. If he hadn't used it they couldn't have proved he gave it to vera. I could not fix him but I could fuck him.

[butchtwelfthdoctor]

2 & 14? :3

hi! :D

2 - otp?

uhhhh sort of??? for doctor who i just..... am not suuper invested in their relationships in a romantic or sexual way, i prefer just a really interesting dynamic, which is often not one that could end in a nice happily ever after yknow??? But. Twissy. twissyyyyyyyyyy twissy twelve and misyyyyyyy. i just think they have most fascinating and unhinged and, yeah, pretty sensual relationship. there's just so much there to unpack!!!! the end of the eaters of light alone.............. ough............ even their first meeting in s8................. normal people do not do that!! people with normal relationships do not do that!! like the singular ship across any media i've been most invested in is aziraphale and crowley but like... i know they're going to get a happy ending and while their dynamic is interesting it doesnt have the same level of batshit unhingedness that makes twelve and missy So Fascinating to think about. like ineffable husbands boils down to 'forbidden love' but twissy has too many layers for that. yay <3

14 - is there a character/ship you were so sure you would never write or draw but now you've changed your mind?

gonna be honest i was not sold on thoschei when i was mostly seeing tensimm stuff but twissy changed my mind completely. like the art people do for tensimm is great but idk not really my thing i cant quite get past the year that never was, but then after the end of time and then into twissy stuff there's a...... its not even a redemption arc for missy but there's a level of character development that makes it better for After the end of time. like simmmaster refusing to regenerate in teh doctor's arms & ten crying over him was, to me, something i only got at an intellectual level idk - like ok yeah he's upset cos that's teh only other time lord in existence buuuuuut he did just keep you prisoner and humiliate you and torture a whole planet for a year idk man........... like it was wild but it doesn't invoke the same feral energy in me that twissy does. does that even count as the same ship?? it kinda doesnt. idk. but idk i havent drawn tensimm but i have drawn twissy a bunch of times and if were to write a doctor who fic other than the one i've got going atm (i would put missy in it if i could but she doesnt quiiiite fit) (except i just had an au of my au idea for that lol) it would have twelve and missy in it for sure

[veraynes-blog]

19 with TenSimm for the cuddle prompts, if you please 😁

19. While someone's sick. Ten/Simm

In which the Master reluctantly plays doctor. Please excuse his questionable methods of care, he's never had to work at making someone feel better before...

So this got massively longer than I intended, but I hope it's the sickfic you were thinking of! 😄❤

~

They don't notice the Doctor's apparently caught something from their latest travel destination until they're two galaxies and half a millennia away. It's not the kind of thing Time Lords are particularly wary of, picking up illnesses. They have an immune system that fights off most things, and failing that the TARDIS has a sterile field built in which scans and eliminates contaminants.

Neither of them are sure how exactly the Doctor manages to avoid all failsafes, only that, somehow, as he stretches up to adjust the temporal settings on their flight path, there appears to be the beginnings of an angry red rash on the inside of his wrist.

"What the hell is that?" the Master demands when he first sees it, jerking his own hand back from the control panel and safely out of reach.

The Doctor blinks in equal surprise, pushing his sleeve back to examine the marks. "Oh. Not sure. Huh."

The Master wrinkles his nose in distaste at how genuinely interested the other man sounds at the development. He really will do anything for novelty.

"What did you touch?" he snaps accusingly. "...Or should that be 'who'?"

The Doctor shoots him a scathing look, and doesn't bother to address the latter. "I don't know, nothing that's jumping to mind." He runs one finger carefully over the little red lumps. "It doesn't hurt. Not even that itchy."

The Master feels like he's having a stronger vicarious aversion to the whole thing than the Doctor. He can't help looking down at his own hands and wrists, turning them over quickly in search of spots, mercifully finding nothing. Even so, his skin suddenly feels like it's crawling, and he rolls his shoulders unhappily as he imagines half a dozen vicious itches spring up across his back and chest.

"It's probably just a reaction to something," the Doctor dismisses absently, tugging his sleeve back down with a shrug. "Must have an allergy in this regeneration. Can you grab the -?"

But the Master is already striding for the door. "Absolutely not, keep your scabby hands to yourself. Talk to me when you're back to normal." He's going to go shower, thoroughly, and check in the mirror just to be sure that no suspicious blemishes have materialised anywhere on him.

Behind him, the Doctor scoffs. "Thanks for your heartfelt sympathy," he mutters, and then the door closes on whatever further whinging comes next.

~

"It's freezing in here."

The Master arches a sceptical eyebrow over the top of the computer tablet he's working on. It most certainly is not. In fact he rather suspects the other Time Lord has already been messing with the ambient temperature settings of the ship to crank it up a few notches.

It's been a few peaceful hours since he left the Doctor tinkering in the control room. He's sprawled across one of the couches in the library, tablet propped up on his chest, so he has to push himself up enough to peer over the back of the cushions, mouth already open to offer the sarcastic response he's got in mind.

But he stops, and blinks wordlessly at the sight he's met with.

The Doctor's discarded his suit jacket and tie, despite his protestations about being cold, and the reason is fairly obvious as the Master flicks a glance down over him. He's sweating visibly, an unhealthy sheen across his forehead and his shirt damp with it. His skin looks flushed, eyes far too bright as his gaze trails disinterestedly around the library

The Master sits up slowly, vaguely incredulous frown in place.

"Are you... actually sick?"

The other man gives him a slightly blank look, and then wanders closer. The Master almost flinches, because he can catch the faint sour wrongness of it now, and can only watch in amazement as the Doctor slumps tiredly onto the other end of the couch like his strings have been cut. This close, he can see through the open collar of his shirt that the rash has spread to his chest.

Frankly, the Master has no idea what he's supposed to do with the development. 

It really isn't often that Time Lords get sick, not like this. He can't even remember being around it before. He has a distant memory that there'd been an opulent, cathedralesque hospice on Gallifrey, for aging Time Lords beyond their final regenerations, but he'd never gone near. And his own brushes with illness and injury have been very different experiences to this.

He stretches out a hand, pausing momentarily in the air, and then hesitantly presses the inside of his wrist against the Doctor's forehead with a little bump. That's what people do, isn't it? He's definitely seen it done. It's an unpleasant sensation, if he's honest, clammy and startlingly hot.

He snatches his hand back in surprise, gingerly wiping it off on his suit trousers.

"You've got a fever," he says, uselessly, like the Doctor might not have noticed.

The other man gives him a half-smile, looking stupidly charmed by his clumsy attempt at diagnostics.

"Yeah. Sorry."

~

It gets worse quickly after that.

The fever keeps rising, along with the Master's mounting horror as he realises he's going to have to do something to help, and has precisely no idea what. Irritably, he goes scrounging through the TARDIS medical ward and comes back with ice packs, painkillers, and various medicines that might in some way be useful, dumping the collection in front of the other man.

"Come on, you're the Doctor here - which of these are you prescribing yourself?" 

"S'metaphor," the Doctor slurs slightly, from where he's slumped back against the headboard of his bed. He stares listlessly at the offerings, then lifts a shoulder. "Not medical."

The Master sighs tightly. "Yes, whoever imagined that particular pretension might come back to bite us, hm...?" He shoves one of the ice packs none too gently over the other man's forehead, ordering him to keep it there, and perches on the edge of the bed with his tablet to search through the TARDIS’s database for what else he's supposed to do.

He can't figure out exactly what it is the Doctor's picked up from the planet, although that doesn't surprise him much. They tend to react differently than other species anyway, so there's every chance the same illness presents completely differently, or like nothing at all, in the humans he caught it from.

He is, however, more than a little concerned that whatever's wrong could be contagious. If the Master gets sick as well, it doesn't bode well for either one of them, but he's not sure what other option he has but to take the risk. Leaving any Time Lord in the care of some alien medical facility is out of the question, as far as he's concerned; even the best of them have no understanding of the complex physiology they're dealing with, and the worst aren't always above taking advantage of the chance to study them, which the Master won't tolerate.

But nor can he afford to just... keep his distance, because within the day the Doctor is in no state to look after himself.

The fever makes him lethargic and slow to respond, sulkier than usual in his discomfort. He keeps falling into restless sleep, and when he is awake he's nauseous and dizzy and won't stop scratching at his stupid rash until the Master threatens irritably to restrain him if he keeps going.

For his part, the Master resigns himself to setting up on the couch in the Doctor's bedroom. He brings a book. It turns out to be somewhat optimistic, sadly, because what he actually ends up doing is listening to the Doctor's increasingly pathetic complaints like he's proclaiming dying wishes.

"Nggh. Everything hurts. I can feel my organs hurting. I can feel organs I didn't know I had hurting."

"Take another painkiller," the Master suggests blandly, flipping a page.

"Fine." There's a pause. "...Can you get me a drink?"

With ill grace the Master fetches water, and begrudgingly even sorts food (soup, because it's easier to pin him down and force him to drink it, if he has to, than endure pleading with the uncooperative prat to feed himself). He adjusts the ship temperature to the recommended settings (taking great joy in overriding the Tardis's safeguards against him) and diligently picks through the eclectic mix of mostly alien medications he found earlier, trying to determine which ones will safely treat a fever in a Time Lord by cross referencing against the medical sites he pulls up on his tablet.

He's not what anyone would call a natural caregiver, he suspects, more impatient with the whole process than anything. But he is precise, and capable, and thankfully the Doctor is not unaccustomed to doing as he's told these days.

It's not until he can't get a sensible answer out of the other man that he really starts to worry.

"Go to sleep."

"No, I need to get the... the thing. The thing, you know. With the magnets."

The Master closes his eyes in tired exasperation, and when the Doctor starts pushing off the covers like he's going to get up, he shuts his book with a snap and goes to stop him. A quick, efficient shove puts him flat on his back without issue, and the Master insistently puts the ice pack in place again.

"Stay." It's not unlike having a particularly hapless pet, he thinks, ungenerously, and wonders again how long this is likely to go on for.

Rolling his eyes, he turns for the door. "I'll be back in a minute, I need to -"

"Don’t."

The Master glances at him curiously, surprised to find himself met with a strangely fervent expression.

"Don't go." The Doctor says it with such sudden desperation that the Master is immediately sure he's not talking about him just stepping out of the room for a minute. "Don't leave."

"You're delirious," he informs the other Time Lord flatly, prodding at him to try and get him to lie back down. "Go to sleep."

The Doctor makes an uncoordinated grab for him, catching at his sleeve. "No, stay. Please. Stay with me."

The Master shakes him off with a frown, a little unnerved. They don't ask each other things like that. They just don't. It's understood.

But then they don't usually get sick, either.

He deliberates silently, unsure of himself, as the Doctor continues to look up at him with a faintly pleading expression.

Finally he sighs, supposing it's as good a way to keep him pliant as any. Reluctantly, he takes off his tie and waistcoat and lays them aside. Then rolls up his shirtsleeves and unbuttons his collar, because the unnatural heat that's pouring off the other Time Lord can be felt even from where he stands at the edge of the bed, and he can only imagine it's going to be worse the nearer he gets. He moves one of the pillows back and sits stiffly on the edge of the bed.

Agitatedly propped up on one elbow, the Doctor watches him with glazed, too-bright eyes, brows pitched up hopefully. His hand sneaks out across the sheets, already plucking at the edges of the Master's shirt before he's even settled. The Master ignores him for the moment, bringing his legs up on the bed to cross atop the covers, adjusting the cushion behind himself so he can sit propped against the headboard. He remembers he's forgotten his book a second too late - because by then the Doctor is already tipping into his lap, cheek resting heavy against his thigh, one arm thrown awkwardly around his waist.

The Master blinks down at him in bemusement, hands hovering a few inches away from touching. Everything he's done today has been beyond the realm of his typical experience, but this...

He's not sure he's ever been anyone's source of comfort before now.

Warily, he lets one hand settle on the Doctor's shoulder, resigning himself to staying put for a while. There's not much else he can do anyway, in terms of pragmatics; there's water on the sidetable, and he's already plied the other man with what food and medications he can keep down. So he tips his head back against the headboard, gaze drifting upwards, and tries to make himself comfortable.

~

The Master wakes up disoriented. At some point in the night he's slipped down to lie properly on the bed, finds himself curled on his side half-tangled in the mess of sheets. He squints, looking round himself in confusion - and then experiences a moment of senseless panic as he realises he's alone.

He isn't sure what he thinks, in that brief second. That the Doctor's wandered off, that he's gotten worse, that he'll make himself worse. That - he couldn't possibly, it wasn't that bad, surely? - that he might even have regenerated while the Master slept.

He doesn't have time to fully sit up in alarm before the bathroom door opens, and the Doctor steps out. He looks worse for wear still, bumping tiredly into the doorframe on his way through, but far more aware of himself than he'd seemed last night. And in the same regeneration.

The Master relaxes gradually, embarrassed by his own irrational reaction as he lets himself rest back onto the pillow, rubbing the gritty sleep from his eyes. There's a crick in his neck and his shirt's twisted uncomfortably round him and he's never wanted a shower more in his lives.

The Doctor shuffles toward the end of the bed and manages to crawl onto it, but doesn't quite make it all the way back up to the pillows. He gets far enough to collapse with his face pressed against the Master's stomach, one arm draped loosely over his hip, and clearly calls it good enough.

The Master snorts at the attempt, but deigns to place his hand on the back of the Doctor's head, fingers working through the mess of his hair. It's somewhat unpleasant, the strands still damp with sickly sweat, but the other man is in no position to notice his look of distaste as he continues the motion. The feverish temperature has finally dropped, the Master notes absently.

They're quiet for a few minutes, dozing like that. At length, the Doctor stirs against him, fingers curling loosely on his waist.

"You stayed," he murmurs, words distorted as they're spoken right against his midriff.

The Master frowns, keeping his eyes closed. He feels oddly self-conscious, firstly for having done as asked, and now having it commented on. A list of excuses drift automatically through his head. He hadn't had a choice. He'd been being manipulative. Something... sarcastic.

"Shut up," is all he say, though, in the end.

[friendamedes]

99 + tensimm? If youre feeling up to it xx

hi anon! this is extremely similar to the prompt i believe but i sure am!

99: “Would it help if I stayed?”

Note: yeah no there’s no angst happening ever anywhere

The Master crouched behind the Doctor’s chair, listening to the clatter of his typewriter, purposely not letting the TARDIS translate the English.

English was the only language that made him sick. Swedish? Cuneiform? Hell, fucking Klingon was better. But English translation got in his guts and twisted them around, played piano on his brain, sent nausea all the way to settle in his bones.

“I have no idea why you insist on typing on that thing.”

The Doctor jumped in his chair and twisted around. “How long have you been there?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.” The Master grinned. “That horrible machine of yours is very loud.”

“Hm,” said the Doctor, as if he was going to think about replacing it. The Master knew he never would. He loved that typewriter more than he loved the Master. He loved that typewriter nearly more than he loved his piece of shit TARDIS.

The Master stood to go. “Have fun with your busywork.”

“It’s important filing work for the organizational system —“

“Have fun with your self assigned busywork. Nerd.”

The Doctor turned his head to look at the Master with soft, pleading, puppy eyes. “Stayyy.”

“And watch you type? Not my idea of fun, thanks.”

“I have chocolates.” The Doctor tapped his desk drawer.

“There’s nowhere for me to sit. And I don’t think you can type with me on your lap.”

The Doctor lit up and picked up the typewriter. “Follow!”

With a put-upon sigh, the Master followed him down the hall and into his bedroom. Rose Tyler was sitting on his bed, on the phone.

“Well, sure, I can try to make it for dinner, but…” She saw the Master and the Doctor and held up a finger. “One sec, mum. I said one sec.”

She angled the mic away from her face. “You guys are not fucking at noon.” The Doctor went red. “No, I’m — I’m organizing —“

“Yeah, alright. I just have to get my insane mother to… one sec, what about one sec is so confusing… God, yeah, I have to go.” Rose kissed the Doctor quickly and left the room, striking up her conversation with Jackie again.

The Doctor carefully set up the typewriter on his bed (the Master had long suspected it wasn’t a normal typewriter, but some kind of altered laptop) and patted the space next to him. “Here.”

The Master crawled over and pressed a kiss to the skin beneath his ear. “Am I here for kissing or warmth or general entertainment value?” he asked, worming a hand up the Doctor’s shirt.

“All of the above.”

“Did you know that during World War two, sheep in New Zealand outnumbered people ten to one?”

“Really?”

Another kiss, this one on the Doctor’s cheek. “No. Am I entertaining yet?”

“Very much so,” the Doctor reassured.

“Well, did you know…”

[thoscheianddoomreed]

Running Away ~ TenSimm fic

If you asked any Time Lord what he was most fond of on Gallifrey, you would get differing answers. Some would immediately say the Citadel, standing tall and proud in the heart of the planet, where the mightiest of Time Lords watched over the Universe. Watched, only ever watched.

Others would smile almost subconsciously as their minds took them to the rolling fields of blazing red grass, which, on a summer’s day, had the faintest trace of apple on their fiery leaves. Just before twilight, when the suns were almost beneath the horizon, the grass would turn a beautiful crimson colour, like a rustling sea of twinkling rubies, and Time Lords and Gallifreyan’s alike would come outside to run through the soft blades. It wasn’t uncommon to witness the children of Gallifrey laying amongst the shrubbery, pointing up at the stars with a curious expression on their faces.

And then, if you asked Koschei what /he/ liked the most about Gallifrey, he wouldn’t say his father’s estates, which spanned across the surface of the brilliant orange planet like a never ending blanket, or the materialistic items that his family’s wealth bought him.

No, the thing Koschei was most fond of, was Theta.

Orphaned from an early age, the future Time Lord clung to Koschei like a lost puppy, bonding with and defending his older friend like his life depended on it. And though they would squabble and fight over who had the best toy screwdriver ‘Theta, laser is sooooo much better than sonic’, when one of them was upset or hurt by another of the Academy’s recruits, the other would come calling, like a ball of rage and fire and in Theta’s case, ice. Then, both Time Lords would cling to each other and ignore the world, muttering to each other about the day when they would steal a TARDIS and travel the Universe together.

xXx

Ten years later.~

Theta, or as he called himself these days, the Doctor, walked across the great crimson fields. His hands brushed over the top of the fresh barley, disrupting seeds and sending them fluttering into the night sky. How many wishes did he have? As he watched the tiny seedlings disappear into the darkness, he wished for only one thing.

To have his best friend back.

But his and Koschei’s relationship was broken years ago, when the Time Lord council made them both stare into the Time Vortex. In one moment, one fleeting second, their friendship was shattered, the pieces spilling out like the seedlings into the sky. Never to be whole again.

Whilst the Doctor wanted to run, to leave Gallifrey and never look back, Koschei or as he was called now, the Master, wanted to dominate, to destroy. The once bubbly, innocent Time Lord, who would never harm a fly, now had a darkness inside of him. The Doctor could see it in his eyes, an essense of insanity dancing behind those brilliant brown pools.

And so, when the Master and a few other recruits left to go on a field trip, the Doctor knew he had to escape, before he too, sunk into the temptating darkness.

He forfeited the trip, claiming to be ill, but he knew the Master was suspicious. Their earlier conversation had confirmed his fears.

'I know you think I’m insane,’ Koschei said, gripping the front of Theta’s robes, 'but please don’t leave me.’

'I’ll be here when you get back.’ The taller Time Lord responded, fixing a faux smile to his lips.

'Do you promise?’ Koschei was desperate now, genuine fear consuming his facial features, eyes wide; pleading.

'I promise.’

And here he was, breaking that promise only a few hours later. Taking in a deep breath, the Doctor had no idea if he would ever see Gallifrey again. The Citadel, the Academy, the endless fields that he and Koschei used to run across. At one point, they were his home.

But not anymore.

His current destination was a building on the far side of the Academy, one story tall and no bigger than your average shed. The worn and crumbled stone walls made it look like a stable, but on the inside was the Time Lords most precious items. Stepping into the darkness, the Doctor heard humming, low and soothing, followed by a grating sound. In the far corner of the room, was a TARDIS, new and barely functional. A green glow was creeping out of its open door, silently beckoning the Doctor closer.

He knew it was wrong, he was barely a qualified Time Lord yet, and at the age of eighteen, he was still under the Academy’s wing. But he had to escape, before the darkness corrupted him like it corrupted his best friend. And yet… the thought of leaving the Master made his hearts break.

Maybe he could return one day, when his friend was fixed, when everything was back to normal. Deep down, the Doctor knew that that day would never arrive. His old friend was dead, the council had ruined him, and one day, they would pay the ultimate price.

The TARDIS hummed again, breaking into his thoughts and adding some new ones: /let’s run away/ /far, far away/ /you and me/, and the Doctor found himself unable to resist.

The night air around him was charged with a static electricity, and he suddenly felt excited. As he moved into the newly grown TARDIS, the door slammed shut behind him, the green glow turning into a faint orange. The inside was massive with an almost endless ceiling. He had never been inside a TARDIS before, as they were off limits, but he felt like he /belonged/ here, that this was his new home. The column directly in front of him started to move up and down in a steady rhythm and he jumped towards it, a nervous yet excitable smile edging onto his lips as he ran his fingers over the numerous dials and knobs. A lever to his left caught his eye and he pulled it, instantly grabbing onto the console as the entire TARDIS started to vibrate.

He was leaving, he was free. But a small part of him knew he couldn’t run forever…