Writing meme!
Because a certain someone (*cough* devilsduplicity *cough*) tagged me.
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
1. Clocks - Coldplay
Castiel had never thought much about human pursuits before. Had never needed to - in Heaven there were far greater concerns than games and sports, though they had not been without pleasures of their own. Recent centuries had simply demanded those pleasures be forfeited for the greater good.
They had spent a great deal of their time indoors but Dean had stopped by the beach, apparently for Sam's sake more than anyone else's, though Castiel doubted the gesture was entirely unselfish. They had taken off down the beach on their own, walking together and stopping every so often to talk or to be distracted by various objects and creatures found on the shore. Castiel left them to it, had learned a little of human desires for privacy, even if he felt the idea of privacy was foolish given how thoroughly Heaven knew all of its subjects.
Foolish ideas seemed all the more compelling in the wake of the apocalypse, and Castiel shed his clothes, ignorant of odd looks from the handful of others on the beach, left his vessel's boxer shorts on to maintain the illusion of decency, and headed out into the water.
Water licked at his ankles, then shins, borrowed nerves distantly reminding him that the temperature was cool. Strange, how his body reacted to the cold, nipples pebbling, skin shrinking back to protect itself.
He dived effortlessly, had never dived before but knew full well how to, and let the water close over him. Dean and Sam had each other, and he had himself.
When left alone to his own devices, sometimes that loneliness didn't feel so cruel.
2. Everloving - Moby
Sometimes, before he gave up on the idea of saving the world and switched to the idea of simply stopping Lucifer, Dean would play the guitar.
Castiel had ignored it for a while, let others enjoy the simple music, didn't understand the appeal himself. When it became clear Heaven wasn't waiting for him, that he had no home to return to save this, Castiel had screamed out first, then demanded Dean end it for him, and finally had found some sort of solace in preventing any further sober thought. Alcohol alone was no use, but marijuana was a weed, grew dense and quick appropriately, and he was not the only one who turned to it when the future seemed ruined.
Castiel listened to Dean's music then, the melancholy in his voice something all of them understood, turned peaceful against the light of campfire, peaceful when played out over carefully tuned strings.
Castiel remembered the songs of Heaven, how different a tone the songs of the spheres possessed, and leaned his head against Dean's thigh between tunes, claimed it was alcohol making him sleepy though they both knew better.
Dean normally shoved him away, but once in a while he would pause and stroke Castiel's hair for a moment, forgetting himself.
Castiel saw the appeal in music once he realised it was not so far from what he had sought from suicide, from alcohol and narcotics.
Escape was escape, however you found it.
3. Dark - Gary Numan (Hybrid version)
Sherlock's skin is roasting where it meets John's, unsurprising really in the heat of the club; the walls are too close, fire hazard, if he thinks about it logically, but even with only two pints inside him there's something intoxicating about the crush here. He doesn't know how Sherlock stands it, given how he normally seems to avoid human contact and it's impossible to do so here - the very walls are damp, and John pretends to himself it's not with condensed sweat though there's no other reason for them to be that way.
With Sherlock pressed up against him it's hard to concentrate at all, especially given he doesn't know what it is they're supposed to be looking for - Sherlock didn't opt to tell him, just invited him here, and he's rarely been more aware of their height difference, feels a little emasculated by the fact the difference between them makes him feel protected by Sherlock's height. Hell, he's the one who was a soldier, if anyone should feel like the stronger of the two of them, it's him - but there's something thrilling about it all nonetheless. Sherlock's shadow claims him, marks him as different from anyone else in the anonymous crush of the club.
One of Sherlock's hands slides down his side, and he has to close his eyes, because if he doesn't change what he's thinking about quickly he's going to be too hard to walk anywhere else.
4. Author Unknown - Jack Off Jill
Heat doesn't know why he's angry all the time; the funny thing about anger is once it's there, it feeds itself. It doesn't need an explanation, and trying to remember why the anger started only feeds it further - rage burns on its own fuel.
His anger at Serph is a seething, cold thing, and it terrifies him sometimes that he doesn't know where it comes from - why he has that same anger for Argilla, why he feels only indifference and irritation towards Gale and Cielo.
Why he cares so much for Sera it hurts.
He tries to aim the anger as best as he anger, but anger is like any other fire - it won't be tamed. It's the price for something that not only sustains itself, but grows without prompting.
You can't control something that feeds itself.
5. Love Song - Snake River Conspiracy
There is no 'off' switch on Sherlock.
It takes John a while to realise it - he keeps waiting for the moment when days without eating and nights without sleeping take their toll, but when Sherlock is between cases he is - moments of insanity and shooting at the walls aside - almost normal. Almost. He doesn't sleep for twelve hours at a time to catch up what he's missed, doesn't eat like a horse - he just slips into almost normal sleeping and eating patterns as if he'd never given them up.
John doesn't know much about Mycroft, but Sherlock's insinuations about his older brother are telling enough that John knows it isn't a family trait - the intelligence is, but that burning need to prove it to the exclusion of anything else, day to day needs included, that isn't there with Mycroft, or doesn't seem to be.
Making Sherlock even more of a mystery. If John ever wanted to move into psychology he could probably base half his studies on Sherlock - though that said, from what Mycroft has said, if he had a therapist who knew what they were doing they would likely think the same of him.
He still watches Sherlock, waiting for the day when some hint comes up, some indication of how Sherlock ended up as - well, as Sherlock, but the more he watches, the more he realises there isn't any hint to be found.
He's been pulling the same trick his therapist did - basing his studies on an incorrect assumption. She wrongly assumed he missed the war. He wrongly assumed something about Sherlock was broken.
Sherlock works perfectly, and that's the beauty of it.
6. Inertia Creeps - Massive Attack
Crowley was poison; vicious, quick, and deadly. Castiel knew full well the danger of getting involved with the demon, knew the sensible thing would be to keep his distance, to stay detached.
If he were any good at staying detached he wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place.
Crowley was a lot less bitter once he'd settled again - with Lucifer out of the picture, and Hell a mess, it was easier to carve out a slice of Earth for oneself as a demon. Territories were up for grabs and Crowley had taken London, left America to Meg and her kind.
Crowley was a salesman, not a destroyer, and there were so many souls for the taking in the ruins of England's economy. London could not have been a better base for operations, and while Crowley's flat did not initially seem to compare favourably with his mansion of old, it had an opulence of its own.
Crowley spread Castiel out on a leather sofa, Castiel aware of the borderline pain wherever he moved his bare skin from the surface, sweat tacking him in place. Crowley seemed to revel in his discomfort, though that was no real surprise.
"Why do you keep coming here, angel?" Crowley asked, hand around Castiel's cock, lips plump and damp. The new vessel was prettier, even more tempting than the last, high cheekbones making already inhuman eyes look all the more startling.
Castiel didn't know the fine details, but he knew the basic reason. "I need the change," Castiel said, shivering under the demon's touch. "I need something different."
Crowley smirked, tightened his hold on Castiel, teasing. "Because Heaven is that boring?"
Castiel shook his head, sweat pooling on his upper lip, salty when he licked at it. "Because living is that boring."
"Then you're doing it wrong," Crowley replied, and would only ever elaborate with a laugh.
7. Drowned Abbey - Legacy of Kain OST
Dante hated swimming, unless he had a damn, damn good reason to go underwater. He was good at it, of course - couldn't be otherwise, given any creature could swim a little in water and he happened to have the advantage of not really needing to breathe - but it didn't mean he had to like it.
Chasing Vergil underwater was about as close to fun as Dante could have while wet - but it was worth it. Vergil's already close-fitting clothes took on an outright pornographic element when soaked, and underwater, like they were here, there wasn't anyone around to spy on them.
No one could see him slide Vergil's shirt free of his pants, kiss him and pull him down into his lap, because peeling away clothes was too much of a hassle like this and it wasn't as if they were running the risk of damp patches.
It was worth it to see Vergil undone, underwater light hitting already demonic features and turning fang teeth into something feral.
8. Dream is Collapsing - Inception OST
Arthur arches back into the scrape of teeth against his neck, hates himself for the loss of control even if it's what he craves, what he demands from these meetings with Eames.
It kills him that he needs this but it's the only way to maintain the facade of control through the rest of his life - he needs somewhere safe to break away from it, somewhere he can collapse and just be, and as insane as it is to say so, he finds that with Eames.
Eames is batshit in his own way, but he's bizarrely, weirdly, wonderfully safe, and Arthur rocks back against him, against the press of Eames' cock inside him, and Eames' hand is on his cock, guiding him quickly and surely towards orgasm.
It's selfish, but he doesn't care if Eames' comes too; and weirdly, he gets the feeling Eames' doesn't mind either.
9. Wounded Warsong - Silent Hill OST
Claudia watches Heather stumble blindly through the town, watches and waits for the girl to catch up, to fulfil her potential. Heather already nurses the God inside her, doesn't seem to realise her duties, and that's a good thing. The girl is but a shadow cast by Alessa - her beautiful, perfect Alessa - and Claudia has been waiting so long for this day.
Claudia remembers folding herself into Alessa, both of them curled around each other until they near forgot where one of them ended and the other began, because together, together they were something more. Alessa had all the strength, all the powers afforded her by the gift she would give to the world, and for whatever reason she allowed Claudia to touch her, to kiss her; they did not entirely know what they were doing, but they weren't blind.
Even if Heather shares Alessa's face, Claudia would not allow this girl to touch her as Alessa had. They were the same in body, same in purpose, but not the same in spirit.
Claudia was alone again, but if she burned in the face of her God, it would be worth it to have ensured Alessa's gift, now passed on through Heather, was shared with the world.
10. Alessa's Darkness And Rose Become One - Silent Hill OST
[Set in the Rises and Falls universe]
Dean might regret it later, but he knew he didn't regret cussing Sam out for now. They didn't get enough alone time as things were and soon they wouldn't have any.
Castiel wasn't there much these days, kept drifting off, and Dean couldn't stop it - watching what was left of him rot away because his body didn't carry the infection properly, but whatever made him Castiel did.
Castiel still responded to this, linked his hands behind Dean's back, fingers digging into Dean's skin, careful not to scratch even though Dean let himself bite at Castiel's neck, the pale, cool expanse, and Dean knew soon even this wouldn't be his to have - not honestly, not with Castiel's consent and knowledge and response.
Dean knew it wasn't fucking, hadn't been from the start with Castiel, and if he cried out in pain more than anything else when he came - well, who would blame him?
He'd made the mistake of loving Castiel and he was going to pay the price for it.
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
1. Clocks - Coldplay
Castiel had never thought much about human pursuits before. Had never needed to - in Heaven there were far greater concerns than games and sports, though they had not been without pleasures of their own. Recent centuries had simply demanded those pleasures be forfeited for the greater good.
They had spent a great deal of their time indoors but Dean had stopped by the beach, apparently for Sam's sake more than anyone else's, though Castiel doubted the gesture was entirely unselfish. They had taken off down the beach on their own, walking together and stopping every so often to talk or to be distracted by various objects and creatures found on the shore. Castiel left them to it, had learned a little of human desires for privacy, even if he felt the idea of privacy was foolish given how thoroughly Heaven knew all of its subjects.
Foolish ideas seemed all the more compelling in the wake of the apocalypse, and Castiel shed his clothes, ignorant of odd looks from the handful of others on the beach, left his vessel's boxer shorts on to maintain the illusion of decency, and headed out into the water.
Water licked at his ankles, then shins, borrowed nerves distantly reminding him that the temperature was cool. Strange, how his body reacted to the cold, nipples pebbling, skin shrinking back to protect itself.
He dived effortlessly, had never dived before but knew full well how to, and let the water close over him. Dean and Sam had each other, and he had himself.
When left alone to his own devices, sometimes that loneliness didn't feel so cruel.
2. Everloving - Moby
Sometimes, before he gave up on the idea of saving the world and switched to the idea of simply stopping Lucifer, Dean would play the guitar.
Castiel had ignored it for a while, let others enjoy the simple music, didn't understand the appeal himself. When it became clear Heaven wasn't waiting for him, that he had no home to return to save this, Castiel had screamed out first, then demanded Dean end it for him, and finally had found some sort of solace in preventing any further sober thought. Alcohol alone was no use, but marijuana was a weed, grew dense and quick appropriately, and he was not the only one who turned to it when the future seemed ruined.
Castiel listened to Dean's music then, the melancholy in his voice something all of them understood, turned peaceful against the light of campfire, peaceful when played out over carefully tuned strings.
Castiel remembered the songs of Heaven, how different a tone the songs of the spheres possessed, and leaned his head against Dean's thigh between tunes, claimed it was alcohol making him sleepy though they both knew better.
Dean normally shoved him away, but once in a while he would pause and stroke Castiel's hair for a moment, forgetting himself.
Castiel saw the appeal in music once he realised it was not so far from what he had sought from suicide, from alcohol and narcotics.
Escape was escape, however you found it.
3. Dark - Gary Numan (Hybrid version)
Sherlock's skin is roasting where it meets John's, unsurprising really in the heat of the club; the walls are too close, fire hazard, if he thinks about it logically, but even with only two pints inside him there's something intoxicating about the crush here. He doesn't know how Sherlock stands it, given how he normally seems to avoid human contact and it's impossible to do so here - the very walls are damp, and John pretends to himself it's not with condensed sweat though there's no other reason for them to be that way.
With Sherlock pressed up against him it's hard to concentrate at all, especially given he doesn't know what it is they're supposed to be looking for - Sherlock didn't opt to tell him, just invited him here, and he's rarely been more aware of their height difference, feels a little emasculated by the fact the difference between them makes him feel protected by Sherlock's height. Hell, he's the one who was a soldier, if anyone should feel like the stronger of the two of them, it's him - but there's something thrilling about it all nonetheless. Sherlock's shadow claims him, marks him as different from anyone else in the anonymous crush of the club.
One of Sherlock's hands slides down his side, and he has to close his eyes, because if he doesn't change what he's thinking about quickly he's going to be too hard to walk anywhere else.
4. Author Unknown - Jack Off Jill
Heat doesn't know why he's angry all the time; the funny thing about anger is once it's there, it feeds itself. It doesn't need an explanation, and trying to remember why the anger started only feeds it further - rage burns on its own fuel.
His anger at Serph is a seething, cold thing, and it terrifies him sometimes that he doesn't know where it comes from - why he has that same anger for Argilla, why he feels only indifference and irritation towards Gale and Cielo.
Why he cares so much for Sera it hurts.
He tries to aim the anger as best as he anger, but anger is like any other fire - it won't be tamed. It's the price for something that not only sustains itself, but grows without prompting.
You can't control something that feeds itself.
5. Love Song - Snake River Conspiracy
There is no 'off' switch on Sherlock.
It takes John a while to realise it - he keeps waiting for the moment when days without eating and nights without sleeping take their toll, but when Sherlock is between cases he is - moments of insanity and shooting at the walls aside - almost normal. Almost. He doesn't sleep for twelve hours at a time to catch up what he's missed, doesn't eat like a horse - he just slips into almost normal sleeping and eating patterns as if he'd never given them up.
John doesn't know much about Mycroft, but Sherlock's insinuations about his older brother are telling enough that John knows it isn't a family trait - the intelligence is, but that burning need to prove it to the exclusion of anything else, day to day needs included, that isn't there with Mycroft, or doesn't seem to be.
Making Sherlock even more of a mystery. If John ever wanted to move into psychology he could probably base half his studies on Sherlock - though that said, from what Mycroft has said, if he had a therapist who knew what they were doing they would likely think the same of him.
He still watches Sherlock, waiting for the day when some hint comes up, some indication of how Sherlock ended up as - well, as Sherlock, but the more he watches, the more he realises there isn't any hint to be found.
He's been pulling the same trick his therapist did - basing his studies on an incorrect assumption. She wrongly assumed he missed the war. He wrongly assumed something about Sherlock was broken.
Sherlock works perfectly, and that's the beauty of it.
6. Inertia Creeps - Massive Attack
Crowley was poison; vicious, quick, and deadly. Castiel knew full well the danger of getting involved with the demon, knew the sensible thing would be to keep his distance, to stay detached.
If he were any good at staying detached he wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place.
Crowley was a lot less bitter once he'd settled again - with Lucifer out of the picture, and Hell a mess, it was easier to carve out a slice of Earth for oneself as a demon. Territories were up for grabs and Crowley had taken London, left America to Meg and her kind.
Crowley was a salesman, not a destroyer, and there were so many souls for the taking in the ruins of England's economy. London could not have been a better base for operations, and while Crowley's flat did not initially seem to compare favourably with his mansion of old, it had an opulence of its own.
Crowley spread Castiel out on a leather sofa, Castiel aware of the borderline pain wherever he moved his bare skin from the surface, sweat tacking him in place. Crowley seemed to revel in his discomfort, though that was no real surprise.
"Why do you keep coming here, angel?" Crowley asked, hand around Castiel's cock, lips plump and damp. The new vessel was prettier, even more tempting than the last, high cheekbones making already inhuman eyes look all the more startling.
Castiel didn't know the fine details, but he knew the basic reason. "I need the change," Castiel said, shivering under the demon's touch. "I need something different."
Crowley smirked, tightened his hold on Castiel, teasing. "Because Heaven is that boring?"
Castiel shook his head, sweat pooling on his upper lip, salty when he licked at it. "Because living is that boring."
"Then you're doing it wrong," Crowley replied, and would only ever elaborate with a laugh.
7. Drowned Abbey - Legacy of Kain OST
Dante hated swimming, unless he had a damn, damn good reason to go underwater. He was good at it, of course - couldn't be otherwise, given any creature could swim a little in water and he happened to have the advantage of not really needing to breathe - but it didn't mean he had to like it.
Chasing Vergil underwater was about as close to fun as Dante could have while wet - but it was worth it. Vergil's already close-fitting clothes took on an outright pornographic element when soaked, and underwater, like they were here, there wasn't anyone around to spy on them.
No one could see him slide Vergil's shirt free of his pants, kiss him and pull him down into his lap, because peeling away clothes was too much of a hassle like this and it wasn't as if they were running the risk of damp patches.
It was worth it to see Vergil undone, underwater light hitting already demonic features and turning fang teeth into something feral.
8. Dream is Collapsing - Inception OST
Arthur arches back into the scrape of teeth against his neck, hates himself for the loss of control even if it's what he craves, what he demands from these meetings with Eames.
It kills him that he needs this but it's the only way to maintain the facade of control through the rest of his life - he needs somewhere safe to break away from it, somewhere he can collapse and just be, and as insane as it is to say so, he finds that with Eames.
Eames is batshit in his own way, but he's bizarrely, weirdly, wonderfully safe, and Arthur rocks back against him, against the press of Eames' cock inside him, and Eames' hand is on his cock, guiding him quickly and surely towards orgasm.
It's selfish, but he doesn't care if Eames' comes too; and weirdly, he gets the feeling Eames' doesn't mind either.
9. Wounded Warsong - Silent Hill OST
Claudia watches Heather stumble blindly through the town, watches and waits for the girl to catch up, to fulfil her potential. Heather already nurses the God inside her, doesn't seem to realise her duties, and that's a good thing. The girl is but a shadow cast by Alessa - her beautiful, perfect Alessa - and Claudia has been waiting so long for this day.
Claudia remembers folding herself into Alessa, both of them curled around each other until they near forgot where one of them ended and the other began, because together, together they were something more. Alessa had all the strength, all the powers afforded her by the gift she would give to the world, and for whatever reason she allowed Claudia to touch her, to kiss her; they did not entirely know what they were doing, but they weren't blind.
Even if Heather shares Alessa's face, Claudia would not allow this girl to touch her as Alessa had. They were the same in body, same in purpose, but not the same in spirit.
Claudia was alone again, but if she burned in the face of her God, it would be worth it to have ensured Alessa's gift, now passed on through Heather, was shared with the world.
10. Alessa's Darkness And Rose Become One - Silent Hill OST
[Set in the Rises and Falls universe]
Dean might regret it later, but he knew he didn't regret cussing Sam out for now. They didn't get enough alone time as things were and soon they wouldn't have any.
Castiel wasn't there much these days, kept drifting off, and Dean couldn't stop it - watching what was left of him rot away because his body didn't carry the infection properly, but whatever made him Castiel did.
Castiel still responded to this, linked his hands behind Dean's back, fingers digging into Dean's skin, careful not to scratch even though Dean let himself bite at Castiel's neck, the pale, cool expanse, and Dean knew soon even this wouldn't be his to have - not honestly, not with Castiel's consent and knowledge and response.
Dean knew it wasn't fucking, hadn't been from the start with Castiel, and if he cried out in pain more than anything else when he came - well, who would blame him?
He'd made the mistake of loving Castiel and he was going to pay the price for it.