(no subject)
Two of the ficlets I owe.
For cinderlily, who wanted ice cream. Sam Winchester/Harry Potter. no, really. Spoilers for Devil's Trap.
They meet in a dark alleyway, both chasing down the same demon, and somewhere after the screams and knives and dead flesh, there is rain and rough brick, and, oh.
The sun comes up, low and warm, and they sit on a park bench and watch. Sam looks over at the guy, feels the adrenaline singing through his veins, vibrations running through his body like he might shake apart at any moment.
“What’s your name?” They never asked, never stopped. Sam's knuckles are grazed, and it isn't from the fight.
“Harry,” and there’s an ice cream in his hand, and Sam doesn’t know where it came from.
Harry tips his head back, closes his eyes in the warmth and smiles. Sam just feels bitter, and it’s always like that these days.
“What are you smiling about?”
Harry looks over at him, and there’s something weirdly peaceful about him.
“We killed a demon. Sun’s up. It’s a Thursday. War’s over, mate.”
Sam thinks of his family. Of his father, who walked out the hospital weeks ago and never looked back. Of his brother, who has been sleeping for months. Looks away, and there’s different worlds inside this one.
“Mine’s not.”
Harry’s hand is hot against his, sticky from ice cream, and Sam holds it like he’s drowning in the sun.
For carolinecrane, who asked for Chase. Spoilers for Euphoria.
There’s thick glass between them, but when Chase lifts his hand, places it across from Foreman’s, he closes his eyes and thinks he can feel heat. Leaning against the glass, and they’re mirror images in dark and light, heads together and not, and,
“It’s okay,” Foreman whispers, and Chase gently exhales something that might have been laughter.
“I can’t fix you.” and he wants to reach out, feel something real.
“Chase..”
“House can,” Chase’s whisper is fierce. “And I’ll do whatever he says.”
Foreman thinks, that’s always been the problem, but he says nothing and presses his palm firmer against the glass.
Have spent the day updating iTunes with the eleventy million playlists and fan soundtracks I have, and giving them album covers. Being unemployed might just send me crazy.
For cinderlily, who wanted ice cream. Sam Winchester/Harry Potter. no, really. Spoilers for Devil's Trap.
They meet in a dark alleyway, both chasing down the same demon, and somewhere after the screams and knives and dead flesh, there is rain and rough brick, and, oh.
The sun comes up, low and warm, and they sit on a park bench and watch. Sam looks over at the guy, feels the adrenaline singing through his veins, vibrations running through his body like he might shake apart at any moment.
“What’s your name?” They never asked, never stopped. Sam's knuckles are grazed, and it isn't from the fight.
“Harry,” and there’s an ice cream in his hand, and Sam doesn’t know where it came from.
Harry tips his head back, closes his eyes in the warmth and smiles. Sam just feels bitter, and it’s always like that these days.
“What are you smiling about?”
Harry looks over at him, and there’s something weirdly peaceful about him.
“We killed a demon. Sun’s up. It’s a Thursday. War’s over, mate.”
Sam thinks of his family. Of his father, who walked out the hospital weeks ago and never looked back. Of his brother, who has been sleeping for months. Looks away, and there’s different worlds inside this one.
“Mine’s not.”
Harry’s hand is hot against his, sticky from ice cream, and Sam holds it like he’s drowning in the sun.
For carolinecrane, who asked for Chase. Spoilers for Euphoria.
There’s thick glass between them, but when Chase lifts his hand, places it across from Foreman’s, he closes his eyes and thinks he can feel heat. Leaning against the glass, and they’re mirror images in dark and light, heads together and not, and,
“It’s okay,” Foreman whispers, and Chase gently exhales something that might have been laughter.
“I can’t fix you.” and he wants to reach out, feel something real.
“Chase..”
“House can,” Chase’s whisper is fierce. “And I’ll do whatever he says.”
Foreman thinks, that’s always been the problem, but he says nothing and presses his palm firmer against the glass.
Have spent the day updating iTunes with the eleventy million playlists and fan soundtracks I have, and giving them album covers. Being unemployed might just send me crazy.