Drabbles English
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haltlos: 400 Words, therefore Supernatural 1x06 Skin, Dean PoV, this was something in the back of my mind since I first saw this episode and yeah, this was an experiment. Edited to add, that I know that this is really scattered all around the place and my logic behind it was, that they established a physic link between the shapeshifter and his victim, so Dean killing it reverberates through his being. Plus I was already one word over the top, so no explanation just random thoughts. You two hit the road without a (clue about dad’s) destination – Just keep moving, because you don’t flee. Never. (Except when a furious sheriff is tailing you, but this isn’t the case and Dean Winchester is officially dead and memories of yourself (not you) strangling your own brother (fuck no!) shouldn’t have the power to haunt you anymore. You've seen worse (twice) (not true) (once) (liar!).) Silence between you gets thicker with every mile (no funeral jokes) (Metallica on full blast doesn’t calm you down enough to ignore the way Sam’s stare goes back and forth between avoiding you (your face over him – ready to kill – your hands around his throat) and staring intensely). You aren’t sure how many miles you have to go till it’s a tangible creature you can kill with your bare hands, but you test your luck. You know damn well, that the moment his memories stop haunting Sam (even for one day) you be again left alone (as always). He will go back to a normal life and you should be (fucking) proud of yourself, that you were able to protect him from the deepest wounds (for some time) long enough, that he tasted normality (love) (and will again) and loves it. But you aren’t. (It’s too fragile. Naturally it shattered the moment you stepped back into his life and you admit (never aloud) that you were lonely and (hurting and) tired and that this was the reason, why you drove to Stanford in the first place. You needed to see Sam, needed to know that he was happy, safe and over every fuck-up you and your dad produced in the last 22 years. (You didn’t anticipate the anger or envy bleeding like a fresh wound. Contagious and lethal -) Jess’ death was something you should have seen coming and it hurts that you can’t bring yourself to care about her (at all). Instead you drive yourself crazy with the way she died (reason why you never gave into the temptation of staying a second night with any woman) (she meant this much to Sammy - remember) (lesson reinforced) (don’t stay). Sam always was the sensitive one - this new dark edge in him cuts you open every (fucking) time it creeps on the surface.) Your brother’s nightmares, rage and guilt keeps you busy the rest of your waking time (another outside force) (just like dad). |
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Lost, Sawyer, Spoiler 2x04, minor Jack/Sawyer You thought you were prepared for death. Chasing one thing or another all your life, mostly women and money and you thought that you had finally figured out, that the things you were ultimately seeking out your entire life weren’t revenge or love or success, but death. And that it would be sweet and kind, end your misery. So you offered Michael supplies for a spot on a death-man-sailing, valued the insanity of his attempt of escaping this whole nightmare in a tiny nutshell and found comfort in the conclusion that at least you wouldn’t be bothered by the Doc while you’re dying. You were wrong. No surprise there, huh? Death isn’t fast and final. It creeps in, marks you and it stinks. You observe your shoulder wound one more time – hurts like fire and looks like hell, although the red lines aren’t there yet and the Doc wouldn’t lie about them, so you’re still hoping for the best. Even when the itch started hours ago and you don’t need Lara Croft anymore to stomp on it to get the fireworks of pain started behind your eyes, just a wrong move. Everything feels wrong now. You’re pretty sure, that you don’t want to know, what the medical term for ‘You are so fucked’ here is. You can imagine the look on Jack’s face precisely would he examine you at this instant and you start to wonder, if by now you are losing your mind, because suddenly you want a coffin of all things. Not people mourning your passing and all that shit. You just don’t want to lie in a shallow grave in the jungle not deep enough to keep the boars from digging you out again. You don’t want to be left behind as animal food. So you grind your teeth again and ignore the dizziness inside your head. Forgetting about the inferno in your shoulder is a harder task, because the sweat fuelling the flames there and the firebomb of agony goes off with each move. At least you are still in pain, able to feel it whisk in your body, in places that shouldn’t hurt from a goddamn bullet hole. Aren’t even near, but you don’t have the energy to bitch about it. So you hold on harder, trying to keep the arm immobilized and your breathing even. Don’t show your weakness. You cling to the routine of taking one step after another. Just keep moving, because you are finally close enough to decide that you don’t like the smell of death and you will walk away from it. So you need another thing to chase. You made up your mind. You wonder what Jack smells like and imagine all things clean and aseptic. Sounds like heaven now. |
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charmax: Spy daddy and Spy mommy - "Sydney's wedding, the alcohol was freely flowing and Sloane was busy playing the embarrassing relative on the dance floor" I feel like I slipped into twilight zone this morning and everything just gets more – normal as the day progress. It freaks me out. I never handled normalcy well. Irina’s voice is nagging in my ears, hint of hysteria creeping in at the edges, “Jack, do something for god’s sake, before I kill him.” And well, I really should, she is capable to go through with her threat and Sydney wouldn’t like a blood bath on her wedding day or perhaps she would see it as her mother’s special gift and I can’t risk having Irina beat me in that department, so I nod seriously. After all I am the father of the bride, but my sick curiosity gets the better of me. Instead of dragging Sloane’s drunk ass from the dance floor, spare everybody the embarrassment of watching him try to boogie, my feet take me to the DJ and I hear myself requesting Janis Joplin’s ‘Me and Bobby McGee’. And if he was trying to dance earlier, he is now spinning out of orbit and I can’t fight the laughter anymore, shacking off the deadly glances throw my way from very skilled assassins. I’m so dead, but this is worth it. Vaughn tries to get him off the dance floor now and the old man scents the danger of being towed in a lethal trap, if he not stays public. So he let go of the middle aged red head and takes the groom as unwilling substitute. A very pissed off Irina once again sliding up beside me and her tone is acid, “You’re happy now?” “Yes, it’s just like our wedding, only it is more fun to observe than taking part in it.” Her face changes by the memory, softer, “It was a night to remember.” Against my better judgement I feel something tighten in my chest. She always will have this special power over me, no reason in denying it. So I find myself sharing her warm smile and extending my hand, “May I have this dance?” Our hands connect, the familiar slight buzz of electrify jolting through my body. It’s so easy to forget and remember in her presence and that was the reason I fell for her a long time ago. And I never landed. |
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haltlos: Pairing: Faith/Wesley, no sex, phrases: giddy, stay, "Sod off!" As you wish... Set after AtS Season 4, instead of joining Wolfram & Hart, Wesley hooked up with Faith... It all started five minutes ago with a British voice saying, “Mister Wyndham-Pryce, you are a hard man to find.“ Wesley’s harsh, “Sod off!” sounded like a natural response to this distinguish tone demanding authority in a dark alley around 3 am and Faith felt rather giddy about the unexpected outburst of her oh so elaborate Watcher. And suddenly everything went to hell. Not literally, they just found themselves encircled with Watchers and henchmen and a lot of pointy weapons aimed their way, like they were some sort of rabid animals in need to put down. Faith crammed the real hard way to trust Wes’ knowledge. She could taste the danger and fear of them in the air like an odour of a rotten corpse and instructed her body to stillness, because the man behind her knew how to get them out of this fucked up situation and if he whispers, “Don’t move.” She so doesn’t. Faith learned a long time ago to not listen to the things people said to her or about her. Instead she was clinging to the truth that lies beneath the cloths and it’s hard to break a habit so old. Especially if this fight essence is to listen, to stay still and do as they told. Be a good little Slayer with nothing to add. His hold on her waist is firm, solid wall of determination behind her, sophisticated words exchanged to defuse this explosive situation and she feels herself zooming out of it. Not her battle and she will not endanger him with a sharp lash of her tongue. He stopped talking to her this way a long time ago and it reminds her of Sunnydale and failures und she doesn’t need to reminisce about that gloomy part of their lives. The itch is creeping up slowly of pressing her body hard in his. Sinister curiosity of his reaction, both his body’s and the one his mouth would come up with, here surrounded by the Council. Because for all their good fights and roads of redemption they travelled together over the last months, this is unknown territory. It was never his part to protect her and hers to watch. But he is perfect in adjusting to new circumstances. She feels him wrapping himself around her like a safety blanket and doesn’t like to admit, that this is indeed nice and yes, she could hide from the world in this place he creates here. As fast as they found themselves in this mess, it is over, only the two of them standing in the darkness and he doesn’t lose his hold and she doesn’t feel like slipping out of his arms. “Chicago it is, huh?” “Yeah, seems like an apocalypse is brewing there.” Faith thinks that something more dangerous is brewing here and neither one of them is ready for the changes it implies and neither one is able to stop it and it will follow them to Chicago, just like a hunter tracing his prey before the kill. |
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xandra_ptv: not hard yet, but this time I'm thinking freaky. Ted/Justin LOL. He always appreciated drama, hence the reason why he loves opera and he would rather die than admitting out loud, that he loves the way Justin makes Brian squirm in the palm of his hand. Not only because he is fond of had his balls attached to his body. Thank you. But because sitting here with a shitty coffee and observe Brian secretly falling apart is too good to miss. Sometimes he wonders what makes Justin so special, that even Brian Kinney is unable to keep his distance. Yeah, sometimes was all the time in the first year the twink hanged around them, like a moth drawn in by the flame. But things have changed. Night became day and the flame became consumed by the sunshine light. He giggles loud about the screwed metaphor which suited Debbie better than him, can’t help it and brown eyes snap to his. Sneer intact, “What incited your amusement, Theodore?” He can’t think of any other time he felt even close to the same level as the man sprawled out in the opposite site of the boot, “You.” “Enlighten me.” “You are sitting here like a lovesick unconventional ex-partner, instead of preparing your morning meeting, which is about to start in – “ Unnecessary glance to his clock “Oh, ten minutes ago.” A fuck and some hasty movements later he is alone, his eyes lingering on the determinate blond behind the counter, who is facing the door with a thoughtful expression. It never stops to amaze him, how he fought for his place in their lives, filled in a part of the family nobody knew was missing before and really, it feels like the third act is about to start soon. He orders another coffee and thinks life is good, when he feels Em’s greeting lips on his arriving in time with his refill. |
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haltlos: I want Spangel... handkerchief and peppermint. *plop* Your last restrain snaps with the sound of his chewing gum and you have him nailed against the wall in less then a second. Satisfied smirk and raised eyebrows and you bury the primeval urge to eliminate his face from your line of vision for good in the depths of your soul. “I warned you, Spike!” “And I asked for a handkerchief to wrap it, bugger.” You fight the need to break your fist through his teeth and feel saintly when you are able to just tighten your hold on his neck. “Swallow it – now!” “No way, it’s not healthy.” Toothy grin and peppermint breath and you wonder idly, if he would mind your cock down his throat. It would solve all of your issues, the gum-problem and you can stand his presence so much better with a recent orgasm circling through your system. Instead you lean in closer, snarling, “The only health-problems this gum is gonna cause is when you don’t swallow it – NOW!” “Say please.” And with that little remark he has pushed his luck too far. You kick his legs out from under him and he is on his knees, still leering and perhaps he isn’t out of luck at all. Maybe this what he wanted all along. Your voice is firm, slipping into the tone you haven’t used in forever with him, silky dark promises, “Afterwards.” |
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bunnythenavia: BtVS, Riley/Kennedy. hmmmm. when the potentials go underground they also meet another form of evil: Riley. haven't read a horror fic in a long time ;) She has no idea why she sought him out after all, spent an unholy amount of money in finding him, when all she knows about him are fragments and punch lines. Perhaps she has too much time on her hands with her newfound single status. But he is sitting there on the other end of the restaurant with his wife, who looks nothing like Buffy and pretty much like her and the irony of her situation hits her like a sledgehammer. She heard about him. Sure, that’s the reason she searched for him. Side notes in the stories of the inner circle pretty much like her own now. Something that came after and never replaced the true love that was before. Not the kind of sentences that drifted into sudden painful silence of longing. Lingering there unfinished, rotten to the core and still so very precious. He was the rebound guy. She was the girl. They filled their parts. Closed their eyes, clicked their heels three times and wished themselves elsewhere. Dependant clauses. Just incomplete without Buffy or Willow to give their existence in their supernatural world meaning. Forgotten in an instant, their only use now is a lame inside joke. Uncomfortable laughter split over a mediocre mistake. She never thought about herself that way till the whole relationship blew up in her face and she is sure, he handled it in the same manner. She could be sitting there on his table – happy and unknowing, if she just stayed away from Sunnydale and the temptation of having a fate. Having someone outside the norm. Someone extraordinary. |
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xandra_ptv: Scully/CSM, "En Ami", remember when he drug her and woke up in different clothes. Men kill for one reason – power, doesn’t matter in which shade it is hiding, religion, money or sex, it all comes down to control over the obsession they yearn for. His own weakness was always his one true strength – indifference. He killed because someone told him to, even now he can easily move the guilt to other parties. His existence is part of chess match larger than life itself and was also void of the emotions other humans bear, apart from victory or surrender. He broke Scully’s Ten Commandments without any regret or repercussion and he broke more people than she could ever imagine in the progress. So careless he was in the past, so easy it became to not be bothered at all, everything is about influence and it is effortless to be enthralled by the lack of. He wants Scully to be the mother of his child. She has a passion for the truth and the good, that burns even him, after all the years of feeling nothing at all, it’s a strange sensation. And he craved his purgatory for a long time. The funny thing is, now that his seed is planted and she is laying peaceful there in drug-influenced slumber, he starts to wonder what other men live for. Not that it matters, he is dying and that is the one lie he didn’t construct. |
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charmax: Puppet Angel/Sid the dummy. lol “Did you do it?” Spike’s voice is all delighted sneer and I ponder the question, not the response. I did a lot of unconventional things when I became a vampire, right, I already told that expletive deleted tale Buffy and she was all watery eyes and shocked impression, because I dared to act on my vampire nature while soulless. Give me a break. I would like to weep now, because I never fancy fucking a puppet would be on my done-list, it ranks there right beneath killing my sister and bestiality, which only happened once under opium intoxication, because the pimp wasn’t kidding, when he said it was good stuff. Didn’t stop me from killing him, but saved his whore, not his horse. “You’re sick.” “Not as sick as you are.” Eyes flash yellow and he starts to laugh, fucker, I hate family. So very, very much. |
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evil_trisha: give me hot weevil/logan.. doesn't have to be long.. just a pretty rollercoster ride around logans head ;) First you wanted to break him, because he touched Lilly and then you realized that she never belonged to you in the first place. So you settled for second best, fuck him and replace all the images you came up with for the two of them with certainty of you two. He gives into you faster than you thought, considering his wannabe bad boy image and all that trivial shit. You suck him in the closet next to the girl’s room, because you can imagine Lilly telling the stories of her conquests there and you just want her to shut up in your head. You bend him over the bench next to the gym, because you can easily visualize them making out there and she always was a thrill seeker. You let him fuck you in the privacy of your home, because it is the one place you can’t picture them together and it makes you dizzy and shaky in the aftermath, because you suddenly realize, that Lilly perhaps didn’t picture you fucking her brother there either. |
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xandra_ptv: Wesley/Cordelia, fredless, the petending of being Angel/Buffy goes to far... Hot lip nuzzling your troath and it is all fun and games and then it isn’t. Scrape of teeth and moisture and you are suddenly painfully aware of male hands on your body. Like someone switched the lights on after a vision, everything becomes hazy and you feel light-headed, but good – so good. Tidal wave of laughter shifts in desire, shooting through your body and is leaving you breathless in its wake. Maybe the fact that you didn’t get laid in like forever is an acceptable explanation – except it is Wesley and the closest thing you have to an annoying brother, who makes you feel feminine and alive. So you try to find your footing, searching for ground beneath you, since all you can do is cling to his frame and not press your mouth against his, not breathe him in, invite him and discover all the dirty secrets he kept from you in the past. Because this is forbidden and ancient and all the other bullshit you were making fun of not a minute ago. |
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