2 Slade Ficlets
Title: Belief
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 100
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: She's better than that
Content: Death
Spoilers: We've all seen that image of Slade with the gun pointed so not at Dinah...
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead.
Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #34, Judgment
A/N 2: I actually like Ollie and Dinah together but...Slade really doesn't. *g*
"He wasn't good enough for you," was all he got out before Superman cold-cocked him and Wonder Woman kicked his legs out from under him and the Flash snatched his rifle from his hands.
And her cry fried his brain.
He wasn't good enough for her either, but Slade wasn't going to let Dinah waste her life on Oliver Queen. A bullet to the central lobe had ended that, and if he was ended as well by furious heroes and a grief-stricken bride, it was still worth it to save her from a useless man.
She deserved better than that.
End
Title: Freezing
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG13
Content: hints of smut, hints of Slade/Dinah
Word Count: 339
Summary: Slade's in prison and there's no escape
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 15_flames for prompt #17, Ice, Set B
The fire flickers in the howling wind and he moves to place himself between the gusts and the only thing keeping them alive. If the fire goes out, you're dead. On this frozen rock in the farthest corner of space, that's the only given.
The rough cabins, each built to house a dozen prisoners, but, in truth, holding double that number, are riddled with holes that let in the cold and the wind. The number of bodies should raise the ambient temperature, but nothing keeps anything warm here.
Not the frantic couplings, not the small bowls of warm broth, not the twelve hours daily of hard labor.
Certainly not the fires burning low and desperate on the three hearths.
When the woman he's currently protecting comes to him, her hands like ice, a whimper of pain on her lips, he adds another precious log from their tiny daily quota to the fire and takes her in his arms, shielding her beneath his coat, feeling her chilled skin almost burn against his warmer flesh.
He thinks her name is Sirea. They don't speak the same language. She's small and green skinned with pale pink eyes and golden hair cropped too short to make her pretty, but she would have died here within a week without protection, and that golden hair reminded him of someone long lost to him, so he offered.
And, he has to admit that there are some benefits to a warm, soft body in this frozen hell.
As Slade gathers her closer and she snuggles beneath his arm, one of her oddly flat but nimble hands slipping down the front of his rough trousers, he closes her eyes and tries not to think of that feisty fake-blonde with the Jersey mouth. Better to remember her as one of the League that imprisoned him here because no Earth prison could hold him.
In the light of the flickering flames, he drives her from his mind and focuses on warming the woman he's with. Survival is all that matters.
End
Author: Lara
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 100
Fandom: DC Comics
Summary: She's better than that
Content: Death
Spoilers: We've all seen that image of Slade with the gun pointed so not at Dinah...
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, well, a whole hell of a lot of people wouldn't be dead.
Also, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 30_deathfics for prompt #34, Judgment
A/N 2: I actually like Ollie and Dinah together but...Slade really doesn't. *g*
"He wasn't good enough for you," was all he got out before Superman cold-cocked him and Wonder Woman kicked his legs out from under him and the Flash snatched his rifle from his hands.
And her cry fried his brain.
He wasn't good enough for her either, but Slade wasn't going to let Dinah waste her life on Oliver Queen. A bullet to the central lobe had ended that, and if he was ended as well by furious heroes and a grief-stricken bride, it was still worth it to save her from a useless man.
She deserved better than that.
End
Title: Freezing
Author: Lara
Fandom: DC Comics
Rating: PG13
Content: hints of smut, hints of Slade/Dinah
Word Count: 339
Summary: Slade's in prison and there's no escape
Disclaimer: Don't own DC; if I did, Slade would never be so stupidly black and white.
Distribution: My site eventually; all others, please ask.
A/N: Written for 15_flames for prompt #17, Ice, Set B
The fire flickers in the howling wind and he moves to place himself between the gusts and the only thing keeping them alive. If the fire goes out, you're dead. On this frozen rock in the farthest corner of space, that's the only given.
The rough cabins, each built to house a dozen prisoners, but, in truth, holding double that number, are riddled with holes that let in the cold and the wind. The number of bodies should raise the ambient temperature, but nothing keeps anything warm here.
Not the frantic couplings, not the small bowls of warm broth, not the twelve hours daily of hard labor.
Certainly not the fires burning low and desperate on the three hearths.
When the woman he's currently protecting comes to him, her hands like ice, a whimper of pain on her lips, he adds another precious log from their tiny daily quota to the fire and takes her in his arms, shielding her beneath his coat, feeling her chilled skin almost burn against his warmer flesh.
He thinks her name is Sirea. They don't speak the same language. She's small and green skinned with pale pink eyes and golden hair cropped too short to make her pretty, but she would have died here within a week without protection, and that golden hair reminded him of someone long lost to him, so he offered.
And, he has to admit that there are some benefits to a warm, soft body in this frozen hell.
As Slade gathers her closer and she snuggles beneath his arm, one of her oddly flat but nimble hands slipping down the front of his rough trousers, he closes her eyes and tries not to think of that feisty fake-blonde with the Jersey mouth. Better to remember her as one of the League that imprisoned him here because no Earth prison could hold him.
In the light of the flickering flames, he drives her from his mind and focuses on warming the woman he's with. Survival is all that matters.
End