Drabble & Ficlets Roundup - More to Come!
Over at this post I'm taking comment fic requests and here's a compilation of what I've done so far. Mostly ficlet-ish drabbles. And okay, a couple of them are more like drabblets. This was my first time doing it and I've had fun with it! I've still got a few more to write, I just wanted to compile them before the list became unmanageable! There's some Supernatural, BSG, and LOST here, and a couple crossovers! Enjoy! :D I could probably take a couple more requests if you are so inclined. ;)
Written for lunar47:
vice, kara/leoben, bsg, fluff, pg13, 237
Kara Thrace has always had her share of vices, but food was never one of them. Sex? Booze? Danger? That was another story.
But now, on Earth, her wings hung up for good, she walks in the garden behind the house and picks blueberries from the bushes.
She loves the way they pop in her mouth when they're not too ripe, the sour sweet taste of them, the traces of blue they leave on her lips and fingers, the feel of their fallen comrades squishing beneath her bare feet, leaving marks on the wooden steps of the back deck when she goes in for the night.
It's the one thing she indulges in.
Leoben smiles, chopping vegetables at the counter. "You keep that up there won't be any left for pie."
"Keep what up?" she says innocently and laughs when he reaches for her hand, kissing the stains on her fingertips.
"You used to be a better liar," he says. But that's not really true. Kara's still an expert storyteller, perhaps with everybody save for Leoben. Because now, they live in secret, and they both tell lies daily. They have to. They'd be dead otherwise.
During the day they drive the hour into town, shop for groceries and pretend that they're just like everybody else. But at night, back at their house, when they make love, they look at each other and know exactly who they are.
-fin
Written for viridian:
heart, kara/leoben, bsg, pg13, 160
Kara's never seen herself more clearly than she does in the mirror in the bathroom where Leoben keeps her on New Caprica.
"This is who you are," she tells herself. Meaning, weak. Meaning, helpless.
Leoben tells her she is strong, tells her she is more than she could ever dream, and the truth is that Kara wants to believe him.
She puts up walls at first, walls she doesn't even have to really construct. They're just there, a part of her makeup. But then he starts to break them down, brick by brick. Kara wants to hate him for that. But instead she starts to see exactly what he sees. She starts to believe.
"Don't you see?" he asks her. "Why don't you see?"
She looks at him, touches his face, and tells him, "I do see, Leoben. I do." And then she stabs him through the heart for the first time.
So afraid is she, of her own reflection.
-fin
Written for savepureness:
the truth in the trigger, kara/sam, bsg, pg13, 50
Sam's confession is a simple one. There's not much time, he says. I can feel myself losing control. He doesn't beg or cry or make promises. He simply gets on his knees and braces himself.
When Kara pulls the trigger, she makes a secret wish.
Come back to me.
-fin
Written for becisvolatile:
of fables, kara, tory, bsg, pg13, 150
To Kara, Tory is as good as an animal, snarling and bearing her teeth, drooling like a ferocious mutt. She'd just as soon kill Kara as look at her, sink her teeth into Kara's soft flesh and rip out her heart.
These are the stories of cylons - the fables humans tell themselves so that they can ignore the fact that cylons are just like them in virtually every way.
But when the alarm sounds throughout the ship and Tory's face falls, when she crumples to the ground at Kara's feet and swears allegiance to the fleet, promises she'd never betray them, says she'd rather die first, Kara can't ignore that truth any longer.
She grabs Tory by the arm and brings the back of her hand across Tory's mouth hard.
Pull yourself together Foster! Kara uses her name. Her human name. We're getting you out of here.
-fin
Written for wolffootball37:
crash, kara/jack, bsg/lost, crossover, pg, 324
There's a look in Jack's eyes when he asks Kara to help him carry the gear from the beach. They always end up back at her crash site.
The funny thing is, she knows it's not that he doesn't believe her, can tell when he looks in her eyes that he believes every word that falls from her lips--dry and cracked in this heat, not used to the exposure. He's one of those guys, guys like Lee; earnest to a fault, and trusting--too trusting. Maybe it's why she likes him.
"I've said it before," she tells him. "Crash landed here like everybody else. Just like you."
"But you're not from here," he says more than asks. Here, meaning Earth. Here, meaning this planet - a concept foreign to him. He pulls back the tarp to expose the nose of her crumpled viper.
"No, not here." She'll say it again and again and again until it sinks in, until he understands.
-
One evening after dark he finds her at the site, alone with a flashlight.
"I swear to the gods," she says. "I can fix it, I just need some spare parts, and maybe some fuel."
"Right," he says. "Gotta get back to the fleet." His voice is laden with an air of sarcasm that betrays his distrust, his skepticism.
Kara narrows her eyes at him and her fist curls at her side but she doesn't swing. He's kept her secret so far. Who knows what the others would do to her if they knew the truth about who she was, where she came from.
"I could help you find parts," he says off her look. "Tomorrow. We'll talk to Sayid."
-
When it's time for her to go, Jack comes to her that morning. He hands her a small glass jar filled with sand and a little dirt. "Proof," he says.
She smiles and shakes her head. "I won't need it."
-fin
Written for akzseinga:
lady lazarus, dean/claire, spn/lost, crossover, pg13, 80
There's a scar on her chin that Dean can only see when she's above him, her blond curls messy and swept back as she arches against him.
He only asks about it once.
What scar? Claire says and grips him tighter, her fingernails digging deep enough to hurt - to draw blood.
He kisses her then and tastes her pain, the paths she's walked, the people she's lost, the maps to where she's been, and all the words she'll never say.
-fin
Written for theladyscribe:
there's always tomorrow, dean/jo, spn, pg13, 239
Dean's read stories about survivors - plane crashes, cancer, stroke. He hears about how they take off more time from work, spend more time with their families, take better care of their bodies.
But when Dean escapes death, escapes damnation, he doesn't do any of those things. He drinks more, swears more, smokes more, drives faster. And by the next weekend he's in Duluth with Sam, taking out a nest of thirsty vampires.
After, he shows up on Jo's doorstep, half drunk and leaning against the frame in that way of is. She opens the door and he stumbles into her small living space without so much as a word.
Well, hey yourself, she says, but she's only half as annoyed as she seems. Sure it's been over a year, but old friends are hard to come by when they keep dying off and she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how drunk it is.
He pushes himself up against her on the sofa, kisses her neck, tells her she's pretty, and falls asleep before even getting to third base.
Jo slips off the couch and covers him up as best she can, plants a pillow on the floor beside him to cushion the fall in case he rolls right off--which he probably will--and looks at him, her head cocked to one side.
What are we gonna do with you, Winchester?
-fin
Written for lunar47:
vice, kara/leoben, bsg, fluff, pg13, 237
Kara Thrace has always had her share of vices, but food was never one of them. Sex? Booze? Danger? That was another story.
But now, on Earth, her wings hung up for good, she walks in the garden behind the house and picks blueberries from the bushes.
She loves the way they pop in her mouth when they're not too ripe, the sour sweet taste of them, the traces of blue they leave on her lips and fingers, the feel of their fallen comrades squishing beneath her bare feet, leaving marks on the wooden steps of the back deck when she goes in for the night.
It's the one thing she indulges in.
Leoben smiles, chopping vegetables at the counter. "You keep that up there won't be any left for pie."
"Keep what up?" she says innocently and laughs when he reaches for her hand, kissing the stains on her fingertips.
"You used to be a better liar," he says. But that's not really true. Kara's still an expert storyteller, perhaps with everybody save for Leoben. Because now, they live in secret, and they both tell lies daily. They have to. They'd be dead otherwise.
During the day they drive the hour into town, shop for groceries and pretend that they're just like everybody else. But at night, back at their house, when they make love, they look at each other and know exactly who they are.
-fin
Written for viridian:
heart, kara/leoben, bsg, pg13, 160
Kara's never seen herself more clearly than she does in the mirror in the bathroom where Leoben keeps her on New Caprica.
"This is who you are," she tells herself. Meaning, weak. Meaning, helpless.
Leoben tells her she is strong, tells her she is more than she could ever dream, and the truth is that Kara wants to believe him.
She puts up walls at first, walls she doesn't even have to really construct. They're just there, a part of her makeup. But then he starts to break them down, brick by brick. Kara wants to hate him for that. But instead she starts to see exactly what he sees. She starts to believe.
"Don't you see?" he asks her. "Why don't you see?"
She looks at him, touches his face, and tells him, "I do see, Leoben. I do." And then she stabs him through the heart for the first time.
So afraid is she, of her own reflection.
-fin
Written for savepureness:
the truth in the trigger, kara/sam, bsg, pg13, 50
Sam's confession is a simple one. There's not much time, he says. I can feel myself losing control. He doesn't beg or cry or make promises. He simply gets on his knees and braces himself.
When Kara pulls the trigger, she makes a secret wish.
Come back to me.
-fin
Written for becisvolatile:
of fables, kara, tory, bsg, pg13, 150
To Kara, Tory is as good as an animal, snarling and bearing her teeth, drooling like a ferocious mutt. She'd just as soon kill Kara as look at her, sink her teeth into Kara's soft flesh and rip out her heart.
These are the stories of cylons - the fables humans tell themselves so that they can ignore the fact that cylons are just like them in virtually every way.
But when the alarm sounds throughout the ship and Tory's face falls, when she crumples to the ground at Kara's feet and swears allegiance to the fleet, promises she'd never betray them, says she'd rather die first, Kara can't ignore that truth any longer.
She grabs Tory by the arm and brings the back of her hand across Tory's mouth hard.
Pull yourself together Foster! Kara uses her name. Her human name. We're getting you out of here.
-fin
Written for wolffootball37:
crash, kara/jack, bsg/lost, crossover, pg, 324
There's a look in Jack's eyes when he asks Kara to help him carry the gear from the beach. They always end up back at her crash site.
The funny thing is, she knows it's not that he doesn't believe her, can tell when he looks in her eyes that he believes every word that falls from her lips--dry and cracked in this heat, not used to the exposure. He's one of those guys, guys like Lee; earnest to a fault, and trusting--too trusting. Maybe it's why she likes him.
"I've said it before," she tells him. "Crash landed here like everybody else. Just like you."
"But you're not from here," he says more than asks. Here, meaning Earth. Here, meaning this planet - a concept foreign to him. He pulls back the tarp to expose the nose of her crumpled viper.
"No, not here." She'll say it again and again and again until it sinks in, until he understands.
-
One evening after dark he finds her at the site, alone with a flashlight.
"I swear to the gods," she says. "I can fix it, I just need some spare parts, and maybe some fuel."
"Right," he says. "Gotta get back to the fleet." His voice is laden with an air of sarcasm that betrays his distrust, his skepticism.
Kara narrows her eyes at him and her fist curls at her side but she doesn't swing. He's kept her secret so far. Who knows what the others would do to her if they knew the truth about who she was, where she came from.
"I could help you find parts," he says off her look. "Tomorrow. We'll talk to Sayid."
-
When it's time for her to go, Jack comes to her that morning. He hands her a small glass jar filled with sand and a little dirt. "Proof," he says.
She smiles and shakes her head. "I won't need it."
-fin
Written for akzseinga:
lady lazarus, dean/claire, spn/lost, crossover, pg13, 80
There's a scar on her chin that Dean can only see when she's above him, her blond curls messy and swept back as she arches against him.
He only asks about it once.
What scar? Claire says and grips him tighter, her fingernails digging deep enough to hurt - to draw blood.
He kisses her then and tastes her pain, the paths she's walked, the people she's lost, the maps to where she's been, and all the words she'll never say.
-fin
Written for theladyscribe:
there's always tomorrow, dean/jo, spn, pg13, 239
Dean's read stories about survivors - plane crashes, cancer, stroke. He hears about how they take off more time from work, spend more time with their families, take better care of their bodies.
But when Dean escapes death, escapes damnation, he doesn't do any of those things. He drinks more, swears more, smokes more, drives faster. And by the next weekend he's in Duluth with Sam, taking out a nest of thirsty vampires.
After, he shows up on Jo's doorstep, half drunk and leaning against the frame in that way of is. She opens the door and he stumbles into her small living space without so much as a word.
Well, hey yourself, she says, but she's only half as annoyed as she seems. Sure it's been over a year, but old friends are hard to come by when they keep dying off and she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no matter how drunk it is.
He pushes himself up against her on the sofa, kisses her neck, tells her she's pretty, and falls asleep before even getting to third base.
Jo slips off the couch and covers him up as best she can, plants a pillow on the floor beside him to cushion the fall in case he rolls right off--which he probably will--and looks at him, her head cocked to one side.
What are we gonna do with you, Winchester?
-fin