Drabbles: The Amazing Spider-Man, Elementary, The Hunger Games
I've been playing drabbletag over at femslash100, which I love doing and you should all go do it too because it's got out of hand, so I'm popping my fills over here too.
t: Learning Curve.
f: The Amazing Spider-Man
p: Gwen/Gwen
p: Clones.
r/wc: G/250
This stopped being scientific a good half-hour ago.
The labcoat is maybe the only bit of the whole procedure that’s still following protocol, really, and Gwen considers knotting her hands in the pockets until something makes her stop.
“This is going to look great in your research paper,” the other Gwen says, and giggles; a giggle that matches Gwen’s exactly, enough to make her touch her lips to check that her mouth definitely isn’t open.
“Like this isn’t going to be a governmental secret until about sixty years after we’re both dead,” Gwen scoffs, uses the opportunity to shake her head a little, maybe clear it.
Her cloned self grins, cocks her head to one side, hair spilling over her shoulders. She doesn’t have bangs, and her teeth are straighter than even Gwen’s expensive dental work achieved. She’s Gwen, but not quite Gwen; she’s got all the nature and none of the nurture, only half of her body language. She’s free of birthmarks and scars, whatever the movies promised, but she’s the same height, the same weight.
It’s kind of a relief to note that one of her boobs is bigger than the other too.
“If it’s a government secret then you should carry on with what we’re both thinking,” other Gwen says, because clone, because herself. “We can call it testing reaction times.”
She pulls Gwen’s hand, the scientific one that isn’t shaking, it isn’t, between her thighs. And Gwen, well, Gwen’s never been one to resist an experiment.
t: Like, Ever
f: Elementary
p: Joan/Carrie
p: Reconciliation // fc_smorgasbord #2. grudge
r/wc: G/250
The compromise is a cup of coffee in a place neither of them ever went to after a long day at work, at a time not entirely convenient for either of them. Carrie wears the worn lines of the hours of her shift, and Joan wears heels she could never have worn into an operating theatre, hours on her feet and lives in her hands. Carrie smells like the hospital, of Red Bulls in the breakroom and frantic new pairs of scrubs, chemicals and handwashing and something bitter that means she saved a patient and lost one too. Joan knows the smell intimately, because she carried it for years.
“You’re still with that Holmes guy?” Carrie asks, and Joan could remind her that Carrie walked away from her long before Joan walked away from medicine, the curl of nicknames sour on her tongue as they fought to keep the hallways neutral, a break-up where nobody yelled and nothing really changed but nobody smiled easily anymore.
Sherlock jokes, but Joan knows he read it in her body language. How could he not; she can feel it there still, sometimes, cosied up against her bones.
“I am,” Joan agrees, and sips her coffee, and watches Carrie like the stranger that she is now.
She was angry once, a half-dozen times, but she isn’t anymore. Things change, things break, but she can adapt, and when their knees knock together under the table it’s enough to make her smile without the old customary sting.
t: i don't want anything in-between
f: The Hunger Games
p: Johanna/Enobaria
p: Hiss // fc_smorgasbord - #27. negativity
r/wc: R/250
“You miss me because the world’s better now,” Enobaria says, head rolling easily on her neck, expression bored as it always is these days.
“Well, I don’t miss you for the conversation,” Johanna snips back, contemplates baring her teeth but Enobaria still wins that one.
They have peace, or what passes for it, and nobody sends their children to die at each other’s hands, and Johanna has lost the people who mattered and the people who didn’t and unlike certain Mockingjays she could mention, she can’t bow her head and pretend her world can be held in cupped hands.
They’ll never understand each other, but Enobaria’s lost her purpose too. A career tribute left living in a world with no careers or tributes for anyone.
This isn’t group commiserating, hugging and tears: it’s fucking, unyielding and uncompromising, fighting a fight that was never won and never completed. Johanna remembers that Enobaria tore out another child’s throat whenever those sharpened teeth scrape her own jugular, not a kiss, not a bite, but it feels more like surviving every time she makes it out of Enobaria’s grip unscathed, and she misses that: surviving, not living.
The number of dead Victors rises by the month, but Johanna would rather take Enobaria’s angry fist in her cunt and a half-dozen mouthed bruises on her breasts than give up now. It might be fighting, it might be compromising, fury and misery spilling out of her mouth in every snarl, but it’s hers, at long last.
t: Learning Curve.
f: The Amazing Spider-Man
p: Gwen/Gwen
p: Clones.
r/wc: G/250
This stopped being scientific a good half-hour ago.
The labcoat is maybe the only bit of the whole procedure that’s still following protocol, really, and Gwen considers knotting her hands in the pockets until something makes her stop.
“This is going to look great in your research paper,” the other Gwen says, and giggles; a giggle that matches Gwen’s exactly, enough to make her touch her lips to check that her mouth definitely isn’t open.
“Like this isn’t going to be a governmental secret until about sixty years after we’re both dead,” Gwen scoffs, uses the opportunity to shake her head a little, maybe clear it.
Her cloned self grins, cocks her head to one side, hair spilling over her shoulders. She doesn’t have bangs, and her teeth are straighter than even Gwen’s expensive dental work achieved. She’s Gwen, but not quite Gwen; she’s got all the nature and none of the nurture, only half of her body language. She’s free of birthmarks and scars, whatever the movies promised, but she’s the same height, the same weight.
It’s kind of a relief to note that one of her boobs is bigger than the other too.
“If it’s a government secret then you should carry on with what we’re both thinking,” other Gwen says, because clone, because herself. “We can call it testing reaction times.”
She pulls Gwen’s hand, the scientific one that isn’t shaking, it isn’t, between her thighs. And Gwen, well, Gwen’s never been one to resist an experiment.
t: Like, Ever
f: Elementary
p: Joan/Carrie
p: Reconciliation // fc_smorgasbord #2. grudge
r/wc: G/250
The compromise is a cup of coffee in a place neither of them ever went to after a long day at work, at a time not entirely convenient for either of them. Carrie wears the worn lines of the hours of her shift, and Joan wears heels she could never have worn into an operating theatre, hours on her feet and lives in her hands. Carrie smells like the hospital, of Red Bulls in the breakroom and frantic new pairs of scrubs, chemicals and handwashing and something bitter that means she saved a patient and lost one too. Joan knows the smell intimately, because she carried it for years.
“You’re still with that Holmes guy?” Carrie asks, and Joan could remind her that Carrie walked away from her long before Joan walked away from medicine, the curl of nicknames sour on her tongue as they fought to keep the hallways neutral, a break-up where nobody yelled and nothing really changed but nobody smiled easily anymore.
Sherlock jokes, but Joan knows he read it in her body language. How could he not; she can feel it there still, sometimes, cosied up against her bones.
“I am,” Joan agrees, and sips her coffee, and watches Carrie like the stranger that she is now.
She was angry once, a half-dozen times, but she isn’t anymore. Things change, things break, but she can adapt, and when their knees knock together under the table it’s enough to make her smile without the old customary sting.
t: i don't want anything in-between
f: The Hunger Games
p: Johanna/Enobaria
p: Hiss // fc_smorgasbord - #27. negativity
r/wc: R/250
“You miss me because the world’s better now,” Enobaria says, head rolling easily on her neck, expression bored as it always is these days.
“Well, I don’t miss you for the conversation,” Johanna snips back, contemplates baring her teeth but Enobaria still wins that one.
They have peace, or what passes for it, and nobody sends their children to die at each other’s hands, and Johanna has lost the people who mattered and the people who didn’t and unlike certain Mockingjays she could mention, she can’t bow her head and pretend her world can be held in cupped hands.
They’ll never understand each other, but Enobaria’s lost her purpose too. A career tribute left living in a world with no careers or tributes for anyone.
This isn’t group commiserating, hugging and tears: it’s fucking, unyielding and uncompromising, fighting a fight that was never won and never completed. Johanna remembers that Enobaria tore out another child’s throat whenever those sharpened teeth scrape her own jugular, not a kiss, not a bite, but it feels more like surviving every time she makes it out of Enobaria’s grip unscathed, and she misses that: surviving, not living.
The number of dead Victors rises by the month, but Johanna would rather take Enobaria’s angry fist in her cunt and a half-dozen mouthed bruises on her breasts than give up now. It might be fighting, it might be compromising, fury and misery spilling out of her mouth in every snarl, but it’s hers, at long last.