Go out and look at a tree. It starts up from the ground with a single trunk but then branches out into various sections. We are going to write a Drabble Tree!
Re: Inception - Arthur/Eames - PG-13sarahyyyMarch 17 2011, 06:59:20 UTC
“Where are you heading to after this?” Eames asks, getting off the bed on shaky legs. He is careful not to brush against Arthur but allows his eyes to linger on Arthur as Arthur dresses up, fastening up each button meticulously.
Arthur shrugs. “Venice, maybe,” he murmurs as he bends down to retrieve his tie from where it lay on the floor. “Or I might go back to Malaysia to take care of unfinished business.”
Eames snorts. “Don’t push your luck, love. You barely got out of there alive.”
“That was not my fault.” Arthur turns to scowl at Eames. “Just because you got me out of Malaysia unscathed doesn’t mean that you get to mock me.”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” Eames tells him with a roll of his eyes. “You’re being oversensitive.”
Arthur’s scowl deepens but he doesn’t say anything.
“Do I even want to know where you’re going next?” Arthur asks when Eames passes him his jacket.
“Depends,” Eames drawls. “Is it likely that you’re going to come over for a visit?”
Arthur is silent.
“Hawaii,” Eames tells him anyway. “I’m going to lie low for awhile.”
Arthur nods and brushes invisible lint off his suit jacket before he starts to walk to the door of the hotel room.
“Arthur,” Eames calls just as Arthur’s hand closes over the door knob.
Arthur stills but doesn’t turn to look at Eames.
“Don’t get caught,” Eames says, his voice rough with...something, “Don’t get killed.”
Arthur doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and leaves.
Merlin- Arthur/Merlin- PGwldcatsprstr_14March 17 2011, 23:29:32 UTC
“Don’t get caught.”
Those words.
The only words he’d heard from the Prince when he’d woken up to find Arthur looming over him where he’d been sleeping slumped over Gaius’ workbench, his head pillowed on his magic book and Arthur's breeches mending themselves on the table in front of him. Then Arthur had turned and strode from the room, leaving Merlin with his heart pounding in his chest and a million explanations balanced on the tip of his tongue.
“There is no guarantee that I can protect you if any of the knights accuse you. So if you do anything, make sure that they don’t see.”
Those words.
The first not related to chores that Arthur had spoken to him in the month since he'd learned Merlin's secret, his voice low but intense and his grip on Merlin’s arm desperate with his anxiety. They had been just about out with a group of knights behind them to confront the latest to Camelot’s safety, another deadly creature that could only be destroyed by magic and they hadn’t been much but Merlin had clung to those words like a lifeline.
"Try not to get yourself killed.”
Those words.
The last words Arthur had said to him before he’d charged head first into danger, as he always did. If Merlin had had the time, he would have considered the grim irony of those words. But there hadn’t been time. They’d been separated from the group and Arthur had been bleeding out all over his hands, and there just hadn't been time. It was Arthur who had been dying, right there in Merlin’s arms, and Merlin was never going to get the chance to apologize for lying for all those years. He wasn’t going to get the chance to tell Arthur that he’d never wanted to lie to him but he’d just been scared. And then Arthur had started coughing, awful wet coughs that wracked his entire body, and Merlin’s magic had just ripped through him in a great burst, cloaking the Prince in shimmering gold before dissipating across the clearing. As he watched the pain wash from Arthur's sleeping face, not even the harsh "You will release him, sorcerer" could make Merlin regret what he'd done.
“You have bewitched my son and you will burn.”
Those words.
As the king, the swiftness with which Uther could end a life was something like its own kind of magic and if Merlin were a different man, hearing Uther Pendragon sentence him to death might have made him break down and tremble. But he wasn’t a different man. He was Merlin. And that meant he was Arthur’s. And Arthur’s words, shouted across the Great Hall as he struggled in the grips of two guards, had a magic of their own. So Merlin just sat back in his cell and watched the sun rise.
"I will come for you. I won't let him take you. Never you."
Moonlight, Mick/Josef, PG-13angstytimelordMarch 18 2011, 14:20:08 UTC
Mick blinked, looking down at Josef in amazement as the man in his arms murmured in his sleep.
Those words. The words he'd wanted to hear so often from his lover, the words that Josef rarely said even though Mick knew that he felt them. Words that meant everything to him, words that he knew he would never take for granted because it was so rarely that they were spoken. They might be only words, but those words were what he needed to hear from Josef to reassure him that the two of them were as close as they could possibly be.
He shouldn't need words. It should be enough for him to simply know that Josef loved him, enough to know that this man belonged to him. It should be enough to feel in his heart and soul that Josef was his, that the love they shared would go on for eternity, that it would never fade away or die.
That should be enough. But hearing those words could only add to the overwhelming intensity of the love he already felt for the man in his arms. Knowing that Josef felt what he said and actually hearing him say it were two very different things.
There was a power to words spoken aloud; and those words that Josef had just murmured in the throes of sleep meant even more because he was speaking them now. He wasn't just saying those words to Mick's face to let his lover know that he was loved and wanted. He must really feel them if he could murmur them when he was caught up in dreams and his subconscious mind wasn't telling him that he needed to put his feelings into words and speak them out loud.
As Mick watched him, Josef's lips parted again, those same words spilling out as hie head turned on the pillow. His name, followed by the words that Mick wanted -- no, needed -- to hear. The words that Josef always had such a hard time saying, but that Mick knew he felt. Those words that he himself had said so often, those words that bound their hearts and souls together, those words that brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.
"Mick," Josef whispered, his voice soft and throaty. "I love you."
"And I love you, Josef," Mick murmured, leaning down and brushing his mouth against his lover's softly parted lips. "I always have. And I always will." Those words were echoed in his heart, and as he spoke them, he knew that he meant them more than any other words he had ever spoken.
Those words. He had heard them so many times that it had made him sick since he was a very young age.
Britannian, Japanese, Eleven. Words that changed futures, words that would determine someone’s life. Suzaku was Japanese, that had been pounded into his head for days before he was sent to the small Pacific island with Nunnally in tow. They had been sent as hostages, as bargaining chips in their father, the Emperor’s, game. Lelouch shook with rage at the thought of his father, the man that had taken away his life from him. Because of words, he was a prince, he was a pawn. The Kururugi family were his prison guards.
Suzaku had earned another title as well. After their days of hatred, they had become friends. They looked past the labels and saw each other as people. Japanese or Britannian, it did not matter when it was just the two of them and Nunnally. They would take turns carrying his crippled sister through the woods seeking out adventures in the dense undergrowth. When it was just them, labels did not exist.
It was different in the town, where the other Japanese would give Lelouch hateful glances and act as Suzaku was being deluded by the evil Britannian prisoner. Little did the boys know that one day their roles would be reversed, it would be Suzaku receiving the hateful glares and Lelouch getting the strange ones. For in this imperfect world, labels existed.
On a day in the not so distant future, Lelouch and Suzaku would be standing together on a broken field filled with destruction. Britannia had taken Japan, Japan became area 11. The Japanese became elevens. Lelouch swore the he would destroy Britannia. He would make an end to the words that destroyed people’s lives.
Arthur shrugs. “Venice, maybe,” he murmurs as he bends down to retrieve his tie from where it lay on the floor. “Or I might go back to Malaysia to take care of unfinished business.”
Eames snorts. “Don’t push your luck, love. You barely got out of there alive.”
“That was not my fault.” Arthur turns to scowl at Eames. “Just because you got me out of Malaysia unscathed doesn’t mean that you get to mock me.”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” Eames tells him with a roll of his eyes. “You’re being oversensitive.”
Arthur’s scowl deepens but he doesn’t say anything.
“Do I even want to know where you’re going next?” Arthur asks when Eames passes him his jacket.
“Depends,” Eames drawls. “Is it likely that you’re going to come over for a visit?”
Arthur is silent.
“Hawaii,” Eames tells him anyway. “I’m going to lie low for awhile.”
Arthur nods and brushes invisible lint off his suit jacket before he starts to walk to the door of the hotel room.
“Arthur,” Eames calls just as Arthur’s hand closes over the door knob.
Arthur stills but doesn’t turn to look at Eames.
“Don’t get caught,” Eames says, his voice rough with...something, “Don’t get killed.”
Arthur doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and leaves.
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Those words.
The only words he’d heard from the Prince when he’d woken up to find Arthur looming over him where he’d been sleeping slumped over Gaius’ workbench, his head pillowed on his magic book and Arthur's breeches mending themselves on the table in front of him. Then Arthur had turned and strode from the room, leaving Merlin with his heart pounding in his chest and a million explanations balanced on the tip of his tongue.
“There is no guarantee that I can protect you if any of the knights accuse you. So if you do anything, make sure that they don’t see.”
Those words.
The first not related to chores that Arthur had spoken to him in the month since he'd learned Merlin's secret, his voice low but intense and his grip on Merlin’s arm desperate with his anxiety. They had been just about out with a group of knights behind them to confront the latest to Camelot’s safety, another deadly creature that could only be destroyed by magic and they hadn’t been much but Merlin had clung to those words like a lifeline.
"Try not to get yourself killed.”
Those words.
The last words Arthur had said to him before he’d charged head first into danger, as he always did. If Merlin had had the time, he would have considered the grim irony of those words. But there hadn’t been time. They’d been separated from the group and Arthur had been bleeding out all over his hands, and there just hadn't been time. It was Arthur who had been dying, right there in Merlin’s arms, and Merlin was never going to get the chance to apologize for lying for all those years. He wasn’t going to get the chance to tell Arthur that he’d never wanted to lie to him but he’d just been scared. And then Arthur had started coughing, awful wet coughs that wracked his entire body, and Merlin’s magic had just ripped through him in a great burst, cloaking the Prince in shimmering gold before dissipating across the clearing. As he watched the pain wash from Arthur's sleeping face, not even the harsh "You will release him, sorcerer" could make Merlin regret what he'd done.
“You have bewitched my son and you will burn.”
Those words.
As the king, the swiftness with which Uther could end a life was something like its own kind of magic and if Merlin were a different man, hearing Uther Pendragon sentence him to death might have made him break down and tremble. But he wasn’t a different man. He was Merlin. And that meant he was Arthur’s. And Arthur’s words, shouted across the Great Hall as he struggled in the grips of two guards, had a magic of their own. So Merlin just sat back in his cell and watched the sun rise.
"I will come for you. I won't let him take you. Never you."
Those words.
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Those words. The words he'd wanted to hear so often from his lover, the words that Josef rarely said even though Mick knew that he felt them. Words that meant everything to him, words that he knew he would never take for granted because it was so rarely that they were spoken. They might be only words, but those words were what he needed to hear from Josef to reassure him that the two of them were as close as they could possibly be.
He shouldn't need words. It should be enough for him to simply know that Josef loved him, enough to know that this man belonged to him. It should be enough to feel in his heart and soul that Josef was his, that the love they shared would go on for eternity, that it would never fade away or die.
That should be enough. But hearing those words could only add to the overwhelming intensity of the love he already felt for the man in his arms. Knowing that Josef felt what he said and actually hearing him say it were two very different things.
There was a power to words spoken aloud; and those words that Josef had just murmured in the throes of sleep meant even more because he was speaking them now. He wasn't just saying those words to Mick's face to let his lover know that he was loved and wanted. He must really feel them if he could murmur them when he was caught up in dreams and his subconscious mind wasn't telling him that he needed to put his feelings into words and speak them out loud.
As Mick watched him, Josef's lips parted again, those same words spilling out as hie head turned on the pillow. His name, followed by the words that Mick wanted -- no, needed -- to hear. The words that Josef always had such a hard time saying, but that Mick knew he felt. Those words that he himself had said so often, those words that bound their hearts and souls together, those words that brought a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes.
"Mick," Josef whispered, his voice soft and throaty. "I love you."
"And I love you, Josef," Mick murmured, leaning down and brushing his mouth against his lover's softly parted lips. "I always have. And I always will." Those words were echoed in his heart, and as he spoke them, he knew that he meant them more than any other words he had ever spoken.
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Britannian, Japanese, Eleven. Words that changed futures, words that would determine someone’s life. Suzaku was Japanese, that had been pounded into his head for days before he was sent to the small Pacific island with Nunnally in tow. They had been sent as hostages, as bargaining chips in their father, the Emperor’s, game. Lelouch shook with rage at the thought of his father, the man that had taken away his life from him. Because of words, he was a prince, he was a pawn. The Kururugi family were his prison guards.
Suzaku had earned another title as well. After their days of hatred, they had become friends. They looked past the labels and saw each other as people. Japanese or Britannian, it did not matter when it was just the two of them and Nunnally. They would take turns carrying his crippled sister through the woods seeking out adventures in the dense undergrowth. When it was just them, labels did not exist.
It was different in the town, where the other Japanese would give Lelouch hateful glances and act as Suzaku was being deluded by the evil Britannian prisoner. Little did the boys know that one day their roles would be reversed, it would be Suzaku receiving the hateful glares and Lelouch getting the strange ones. For in this imperfect world, labels existed.
On a day in the not so distant future, Lelouch and Suzaku would be standing together on a broken field filled with destruction. Britannia had taken Japan, Japan became area 11. The Japanese became elevens. Lelouch swore the he would destroy Britannia. He would make an end to the words that destroyed people’s lives.
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p.s the second letter in my username is an L, not an I. Easy mistake though!
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