a couple of unrelated drabbles
Um.
So melissima asked for Anti-Valentine fic.
Somehow, my brain translated this to deathfic.
Don't ask.
1. white collar
He knows Peter's usual florist. Knows Peter's credit card number, too. And the florist's so used to Neal being Peter's gofer that they don't even blink, let alone ask for ID, when he comes in.
A dozen roses in a vase is traditional to the point of boring, but it's also Peter to a t, so he goes with traditional. The card (forged handwriting, of course) reads: /Miss you. -Peter/
He sets the vase (sans one borrowed rose) on the front step, rings the doorbell, and flees like a goddamned coward.
The single rose gets left, unsigned, atop Peter's grave.
#
2. numb3rs
There are a lot of things that aren't supposed to happen.
Charlie's not supposed to be there. Neither is the second shooter, a sniper with military training who waits outside the cleared zone.
Shots aren't supposed to get fired.
Charlie isn't supposed to get in the way.
His blood isn't supposed to be this bright, his eyes this unfocused, his words this restrained.
We aren't supposed to be outed this way, but fuck protocol, fuck everything; I plead with him, yell at him, tell him he's not allowed to die like this, not now--
It shouldn't be happening.
It is.
#
3. merlin
"I had no idea, sire," is all Gaius says on the matter; he gives Merlin a sympathetic but helpless look.
Uther is silent for a moment. He doesn't look at Merlin at all. "I lost my wife to magic," he says finally. "I didn't expect to lose my son to him as well."
"I was trying to *save* Arthur," Merlin yells desperately. "I still *can*-- please--"
Gaius hears him. Uther doesn't.
"Follow the law," Uther tells the guards, but first he makes Merlin, bound and gagged and kept at swordpoint, watch Arthur succumb to the sickness he could have cured.
...
...yeah. I tried for porn, really I did...! *sigh* Dangit. I think I need ice cream now.
Cross-posted between DW (here) and LJ. Comments welcome in either place; DW has
comments
So melissima asked for Anti-Valentine fic.
Somehow, my brain translated this to deathfic.
Don't ask.
1. white collar
He knows Peter's usual florist. Knows Peter's credit card number, too. And the florist's so used to Neal being Peter's gofer that they don't even blink, let alone ask for ID, when he comes in.
A dozen roses in a vase is traditional to the point of boring, but it's also Peter to a t, so he goes with traditional. The card (forged handwriting, of course) reads: /Miss you. -Peter/
He sets the vase (sans one borrowed rose) on the front step, rings the doorbell, and flees like a goddamned coward.
The single rose gets left, unsigned, atop Peter's grave.
#
2. numb3rs
There are a lot of things that aren't supposed to happen.
Charlie's not supposed to be there. Neither is the second shooter, a sniper with military training who waits outside the cleared zone.
Shots aren't supposed to get fired.
Charlie isn't supposed to get in the way.
His blood isn't supposed to be this bright, his eyes this unfocused, his words this restrained.
We aren't supposed to be outed this way, but fuck protocol, fuck everything; I plead with him, yell at him, tell him he's not allowed to die like this, not now--
It shouldn't be happening.
It is.
#
3. merlin
"I had no idea, sire," is all Gaius says on the matter; he gives Merlin a sympathetic but helpless look.
Uther is silent for a moment. He doesn't look at Merlin at all. "I lost my wife to magic," he says finally. "I didn't expect to lose my son to him as well."
"I was trying to *save* Arthur," Merlin yells desperately. "I still *can*-- please--"
Gaius hears him. Uther doesn't.
"Follow the law," Uther tells the guards, but first he makes Merlin, bound and gagged and kept at swordpoint, watch Arthur succumb to the sickness he could have cured.
...
...yeah. I tried for porn, really I did...! *sigh* Dangit. I think I need ice cream now.
Cross-posted between DW (here) and LJ. Comments welcome in either place; DW has
comments