Commentfic Dump (Torchwood, Supernatural, Firefly, Doctor Who, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)
Work this time, dammit.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: team
Rating: PG
Prompt: tw100's #211: Quiet before the storm
Some days are whirlwinds, weevils and rift spikes and bullets and blood.
But those days are few and far between, and most of the time spent in the hub is filled with the steady clacking of Tosh's keyboard, the sweep of Ianto's broom or the clanging of the coffee machine. Owen might be testing his latest toy on a frozen weevil and Jack's in his office, doing whatever Jack does. Gwen keeps the back room well-stocked with old board games, courtesy of Rhys' mum, and there's this little Chinese place round the corner with the best spring rolls any of them have ever had.
Alarms bring the storm, but the eye of it isn't too bad either.
*
Title: The Longest War
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: the general vampire community
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Vampires: Supernatural, any, they are vampires waging a war against hunters
Despite what they may think, they aren't hard to find.
They leave traces, just like everything else. A disappeared serial killer here, a graverobbing there, a guy with weird injuries who skips out after the ER and leaves behind a fake insurance card. They think they're so good at vanishing into thin air.
They keep their eyes on the papers, looking for things to hunt. We keep our eyes on the papers, looking for them to kill.
And it's so easy to kill them and go unnoticed. Their weakest point is their solo natures, always traveling alone or in pairs. Most of them only ever pick up the phone if they're in a real pickle -- and if someone doesn't answer, it's no big deal. He's on a case, maybe, or dead on the job. Happens all the time.
The best part, though, is when we are noticed. Maybe one or two hunters go missing in northern Florida. The job they never finished gets picked up by someone else, so we kill him too. Soon enough someone puts it together -- usually one of the old guys, those who lived long enough to retire and put together a network of other hunters. They delegate jobs, do research, pull phone duty. That guy notices a pattern, maybe half a dozen hunters missing from that same region of Florida. He calls up a friend or two, sends them down to check it out. Easy pickings. And before anyone can muster anything more we're gone, vanished into the wind the way humans like them never can.
We each have our own way of dealing with the ones we catch. Some of us just lop off their heads. Poetic justice, and all that. Some torture them, teeth and knives and broken bones, draw it out for days. So fragile, these humans, so many ways to hurt them as they scream. Well well, we whisper, looks like you hunters aren't so tough after all. The rest, we turn. Keep them locked up, maybe put a human just out of reach. Let them beg and scream and claw their own throats out in want of blood. Maybe we'll blind them, tear out their eyelids and tie them down in the sun. Dead man's blood, over and over and over till they beg.
You come after us just for living, hunters. Is it any wonder we still kill you?
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel
Spoilers: 4.20, 6.22
Rating: PG
Prompt: Supernatural, Castiel, form
A vessel isn't so much a body as it is a piece of clothing. Like that same outfit you keep returning to, over and over, because it's comfortable and familiar. Dean's leather jacket, Bobby Singer's cap, Jimmy Novak's coat. A change in vessel is nothing but a change in style.
For lesser angels, at least. Jimmy Novak had been selected from several dozen pious men (and women) across the world. Archangels have it harder -- they'll burn through in an instant if they try on a vessel that isn't right.
Castiel wonders if it's true for him now, too. He's certainly stronger than Raphael. Is it only Jimmy Novak's line that will hold him now?
Sometimes he regrets having taken a vessel at all. Jimmy Novak was a righteous man; he deserved nothing of what Castiel has put him through. His family should not have lost him.
But just as humans can't wander the streets without their clothing, so an angel can't do without a vessel.
If he's careful, this single form may last him millennia. If he's lucky, he may never have to pick out a new outfit again.
*
Title: This Mile's Just the Start
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, the Impala
Rating: PG
Prompt: Supernatural, Dean, Soldier’s Eyes by Jack Savoretti
He doesn't flinch as the whiskey cascades over his arm, though he does wince a little as he pulls the needle through his skin. It's old habit by now, though, and he bleaches the motel carpet to get out the worst of the stain. He showers, washing away the day's sweat and grime and the last of the blood, and his cell phone's silence in the other room is heavy in the air.
Packing his bags, he slides into the front seat and adjusts the rearview mirror, and catches a glimpse of his own reflection. It's the same as it was a few months ago, but at the same time, his eyes are different. He feels older.
He revs the engine and pats the dashboard. "Ready to go, baby?"
They glide out of the parking lot and down the road, with a stretch of highway sprawled out in front of them. Another town saved, but that's behind him. Right now all there is is road: home.
*
Title: Five times Sam Winchester heard the voice of God, and one time he spoke back
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, God, briefly various others
Spoilers: up to s5 finale 'Swan Song'
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Supernatural, God & Sam, only Sam Winchester would tell God to his face that his parenting skills are sorely lacking
Dad is in the bathroom, and Dean is watching TV, and Sammy is bored. There are guns on the table, at least eight (that's as far as Sammy can count, but he's learning), and he's curious. If Dean's allowed to use them then he can too.
He reaches for one. It's heavier than he thought it would be, and he holds it in both hands, trying to figure out how it works. He wonders if he can shoot the bottles off the car hood like Dean does, and whether Dad would be impressed if he did.
"Put the gun down, Sammy," Dad says from behind him, and Sammy puts it down quickly. He's not supposed to be touching the guns.
When he turns around, no one is there, and Dad is still in the shower.
-
"Hey Sam," Brady says, tossing an arm around Sam's shoulders. He's drunk, and possibly high, and grinning in a way Sam has come to learn means trouble. "Why don't you go chat up that girl over there?" He inclines his head in what is probably meant to be a subtle manner at a tall blonde girl at the other end of the bar. "Her name's Jessica, pre-med. Suuuper hot." He drags out the word for emphasis. "Go!" he demands, and shoves Sam off his stool.
"She's not your type, Sammy," Dean says from behind. Sam whirls. Brady winks.
Too much to drink, Sam decides, and picks his way over to the girl at the end of the bar. She is hot, and if nothing else he could use a good lay.
-
The knife is in his hand, Jake pinned beneath him. He raises his arm, the blade flashing in the sun, and for a moment all of Cold Oak falls silent.
"Kill him, you idjit!" Bobby urges. Sam takes a breath, and drops the knife.
When he turns to walk away, he realizes that Bobby isn't there just in time to feel the blade driven deep into his spine.
-
Yes, he thinks, more fervently than he's ever thought anything. His shoulders tense, but they'll do no good to steel himself against Lucifer.
"Brace yourself," Jimmy Novak says, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
A burning heat floods his core until he trembles, his lungs starving for air but he can't catch a breath, and then Lucifer is there, blinding, pulsing, and Sam knows now why the Devil is called the Lightbringer.
He fights, truly, but he's squashed beneath Lucifer's heel like a bug and he watches helplessly as the Devil plays. Dean's eyes fill with hope, and then with crushing despair, and Jimmy Novak is nowhere to be seen.
-
Sam burns as he falls, down and down and down, because this is what the Cage is, always bracing for the impact that never comes.
He falls, and the angels rage. Lucifer screams inside him, and Michael is fighting his way free of Adam, and he burns and he falls and he--
"Sam."
The voice is John's and Bobby's and Dean's, Ellen's and Mary's and maybe even Castiel's, and yet it's also none of those voices at all. It is genderless and ageless and emotionless; it screams across the universe as the gentlest whisper brushing past his ear.
It's gone, and the angels rage.
-
Michael has taken Adam. Where, Sam doesn't know, and only has time to wonder in those brief seconds of quiet as Lucifer prepares his next torture, before the airless space again fills with screams. It's been days of this, or maybe weeks, or maybe just an hour. He doesn't truly care, because all he knows is that he's at the end of his rope.
"You know, Sam, you could have stopped this. I gave you all the help you needed."
Suddenly he's no longer in the Cage, no longer in Hell. The room that's appeared around him is sprawling, open. Windows look out on a shifting landscape: an ocean, a mountain range, Jerusalem. He catches a glimpse of what might be Central Park that changes to the Golden Gate Bridge, and stops looking.
There's no furniture, but he notices the different cultures woven seamlessly into the architecture: the Japanese mats, the Grecian columns, the various characters and hieroglyphics that dot the walls. The Mayan alter in the corner is, thankfully, clean of blood.
And finally, he sees the man kneeling in the center of the room. Even on his knees, he towers above any human, but Sam has the feeling that standing, the man wouldn't reach his shoulders.
"Sit down, Sam," God says. Sam doesn't, and He sighs. "You never did like to listen to Me. Ah well. Curse the Campbell line for making you stubborn."
"Where were You?" Sam demands, and though rationally he realizes that he's speaking to God -- not a god, but the God, capital-G one-and-only God -- he feels more like he's standing in front of Dad and demanding that he be treated as more than a soldier.
"Watching."
"So, what, the apocalypse goes down, Your children are killing each other, and You decide to put it on Tivo?"
God chuckles. "Only a Winchester would meet God and chide Him for bad parenting. You remind Me of Isaac. Now there was a boy who loved his father." Sam opens his mouth, but God continues, "Yes, yes, I know, his father tried to sacrifice him to Me, but he did forgive Abraham. Eventually. Now, Sam." God gazes at him with a sudden intensity, His fingers steepled beneath His chin. "The moment you leave this place you will forget it exists. But know this: I do care."
The room flickers once, and then it’s gone.
Lucifer hums happily as he prepares for Sam's newest torment. Sam's breathing is heavy, his wrists raw and bloody from shackles, and yet -- somehow -- he‘s filled with a strange sense of peace.
*
Title: Never Coming Down
Fandom: Firefly
Characters: Wash/Zoe
Rating: PG
Prompt: Firefly, Wash, fashion
The first time he asked her out, she looked at him for a second, then laughed, like he'd been telling a joke. Then she turned away and continued firing her rifle out the back of the Mule bike.
The fifth time he asked her out, she answered, "Only if you tell me why you wear those stupid shirts."
"Because they're stupid," he said.
She said, "That's not an answer," and returned her attention to the task at hand -- that is, holding her torn pressure suit closed while she crawled over the belly of the ship without a line.
It wasn't until much later, on one of those long, lazy days spent in bed, on and off of each other as the mood took them, that he thought about what he'd meant.
He'd never been a very stand-out child. School wasn't really his thing. Neither were the violent games the other boys liked to play. He wasn't even the class clown -- more like, he was that kid who sat in the back and daydreamed through lectures. He wasn't a bad student, he'd just rather see the sky.
And as an adult, before he'd first sat behind the controls of a CL-54 Cargo Lifter and known that he never wanted to come down, he'd just melted away into the crowd, a man with nothing to offer and nowhere to be. So he wore screaming Hawaiian-print and played with toy dinosaurs and grew a silly mustache and when he finally touched the sky, he just couldn't see the point in stopping.
The third time he asked her to marry him, she answered, "Only if you tell me why you wear those stupid shirts."
"Because they're stupid," he said, and it was good enough for both of them.
*
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Nine/Rose/Jack
Rating: PG
Prompt: Cyberpunk: Doctor Who, Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler/Doctor (any), Clockwork TARDIS
The engines hum along to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork, drifting aimlessly through the Trinity system.
-Three stars, the Doctor says. -Their planets only have night twice a year.
The doors are thrown open and Rose sits, her feet dangling off into empty space. Beneath her, gears turn silently to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork.
They speed through time, Rose and her boys, watching the suns whirl and dance and never quite touch. The Doctor sees physics and the angle of light, calculates the very moment they'll collide and collapse the whole system in on itself. Rose sees grace and elegance in the way they move, and thinks, that's us. Jack listens to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork and wonders if there's a way to pause it forever.
But time marches on, even for them, and they mark its passing not through the quiet tickticktick of clockwork, but by the steady beats of four good hearts.
*
Title: Five things Ford never understood about England, and one thing he didn't have any trouble with
Fandom: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Ford, Arthur, various OCs
Rating: PG
Prompt: England: Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Arthur /& Ford, things Ford is not "English" enough to understand.
1. Tea
"Would you like some tea?"
"Er, I suppose," Ford said, having no idea what tea was at all. The old woman who he was meant to be paying in return for living space tottered off to the kitchen and returned minutes later with a tray of clinking china. The steaming concoction was doled out into very small cups.
"How do you take it, dear?"
"Just like that," he lied.
"Really, dear? I prefer cream and sugar, myself, but to each his own, yes?"
He sipped cautiously at the proffered drink. Why, it was nothing but flavored water!
Very odd, these humans. Behind his back, he scribbled down a line in his notebook for the Guide about the curious local beverage.
"Er-- just out of curiosity, how exactly is that spelled?"
2. Politics
"So who do you like for Minister?" asked the man beside him at the bus stop.
"Sorry?"
Clearly under the impression that Ford was slightly deaf, the man raised his voice and repeated, "I said, who do you like for Minister?" Without waiting for an answer, he barged on, "Personally, I favor that Macmillan chap; a shoe-in if I ever saw one--" And then, as if by the hand of God, the bus pulled up and Ford only escaped by pretending he wanted the next one.
In his notebook he jotted down a quick line -- Minister, Macmillan, shoe-in, research later -- and considered himself lucky that the man never noticed the stop only served one line.
3. Pyjamas
"Aren't those the same clothes you wore yesterday?" Arthur asked with a frown.
"Yes." Ford failed to see the trouble in it.
"I see." Arthur looked oddly smug and didn't explain. Under the table Ford put down a reminder to buy a change of clothes.
4. Digital Watches
"See what I got?" Arthur held out his wrist proudly.
"A cloth strap, yes, very nice," Ford said absently, crossing out a few wrong observations in his notebook.
"No, no, Ford, it's a digital watch!" He seemed oddly satisfied. "Brand new, only just came out."
"Oh." Ford looked at the watch, as that seemed to be the thing to do. "Very nice." Flipping to a fresh page, he wrote, proud of the invention of the digital watch.
5. Telly
"What do you mean you've never seen Doctor Who?" Arthur gaped at him incredulously.
"Is it important?" Ford asked, scratching his head.
"It's only the most popular show on the BBC -- here, it's on in five, I'll go make us a cuppa." Arthur switched on the television and disappeared into the kitchen.
Tea again. Ford watched as a horrific mix of colors swirled across screen, complete with blaring theme music, a blocky logo and the grinning face of the series' hero.
Ten minutes in, he was not only lost -- clearly the man was as human as Arthur himself, though he claimed to be from some place called Gallifrey which Ford was certain didn't even have a mention in the Guide -- but deeply confused as to why his space/time machine had taken the form of a large blue phone booth. He brought out his notebook and pen and looked up at the screen, then back down to look at the blank page, then back up to the screen again. Without writing a word, he gave up and put the notebook away.
1. Alcohol
"Stupid . . . Earth," Ford slurred under his breath. Three rather pretty bartenders poured him another shot. "Stupid England." They consolidated back into one as she moved away. Sparing only a moment on drunken confusion, he knocked back the whiskey, shuddering as it seared down his chest. God, could he use a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster right about now.
"To England," Arthur toasted quite loudly, having misheard Ford. He was now waving his drink in the air, spilling rather more of it over his hand than he was going to consume.
"To alcohol," Ford returned. Even drunk, he had the sense not to add the and twelve years on this rock out loud.
When he woke the next morning with a hangover the size of Betelgeuse and a full bladder to match, Ford remembered he'd left his notebook in the bar, and found he didn't much care.
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: team
Rating: PG
Prompt: tw100's #211: Quiet before the storm
Some days are whirlwinds, weevils and rift spikes and bullets and blood.
But those days are few and far between, and most of the time spent in the hub is filled with the steady clacking of Tosh's keyboard, the sweep of Ianto's broom or the clanging of the coffee machine. Owen might be testing his latest toy on a frozen weevil and Jack's in his office, doing whatever Jack does. Gwen keeps the back room well-stocked with old board games, courtesy of Rhys' mum, and there's this little Chinese place round the corner with the best spring rolls any of them have ever had.
Alarms bring the storm, but the eye of it isn't too bad either.
*
Title: The Longest War
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: the general vampire community
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Vampires: Supernatural, any, they are vampires waging a war against hunters
Despite what they may think, they aren't hard to find.
They leave traces, just like everything else. A disappeared serial killer here, a graverobbing there, a guy with weird injuries who skips out after the ER and leaves behind a fake insurance card. They think they're so good at vanishing into thin air.
They keep their eyes on the papers, looking for things to hunt. We keep our eyes on the papers, looking for them to kill.
And it's so easy to kill them and go unnoticed. Their weakest point is their solo natures, always traveling alone or in pairs. Most of them only ever pick up the phone if they're in a real pickle -- and if someone doesn't answer, it's no big deal. He's on a case, maybe, or dead on the job. Happens all the time.
The best part, though, is when we are noticed. Maybe one or two hunters go missing in northern Florida. The job they never finished gets picked up by someone else, so we kill him too. Soon enough someone puts it together -- usually one of the old guys, those who lived long enough to retire and put together a network of other hunters. They delegate jobs, do research, pull phone duty. That guy notices a pattern, maybe half a dozen hunters missing from that same region of Florida. He calls up a friend or two, sends them down to check it out. Easy pickings. And before anyone can muster anything more we're gone, vanished into the wind the way humans like them never can.
We each have our own way of dealing with the ones we catch. Some of us just lop off their heads. Poetic justice, and all that. Some torture them, teeth and knives and broken bones, draw it out for days. So fragile, these humans, so many ways to hurt them as they scream. Well well, we whisper, looks like you hunters aren't so tough after all. The rest, we turn. Keep them locked up, maybe put a human just out of reach. Let them beg and scream and claw their own throats out in want of blood. Maybe we'll blind them, tear out their eyelids and tie them down in the sun. Dead man's blood, over and over and over till they beg.
You come after us just for living, hunters. Is it any wonder we still kill you?
*
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel
Spoilers: 4.20, 6.22
Rating: PG
Prompt: Supernatural, Castiel, form
A vessel isn't so much a body as it is a piece of clothing. Like that same outfit you keep returning to, over and over, because it's comfortable and familiar. Dean's leather jacket, Bobby Singer's cap, Jimmy Novak's coat. A change in vessel is nothing but a change in style.
For lesser angels, at least. Jimmy Novak had been selected from several dozen pious men (and women) across the world. Archangels have it harder -- they'll burn through in an instant if they try on a vessel that isn't right.
Castiel wonders if it's true for him now, too. He's certainly stronger than Raphael. Is it only Jimmy Novak's line that will hold him now?
Sometimes he regrets having taken a vessel at all. Jimmy Novak was a righteous man; he deserved nothing of what Castiel has put him through. His family should not have lost him.
But just as humans can't wander the streets without their clothing, so an angel can't do without a vessel.
If he's careful, this single form may last him millennia. If he's lucky, he may never have to pick out a new outfit again.
*
Title: This Mile's Just the Start
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, the Impala
Rating: PG
Prompt: Supernatural, Dean, Soldier’s Eyes by Jack Savoretti
He doesn't flinch as the whiskey cascades over his arm, though he does wince a little as he pulls the needle through his skin. It's old habit by now, though, and he bleaches the motel carpet to get out the worst of the stain. He showers, washing away the day's sweat and grime and the last of the blood, and his cell phone's silence in the other room is heavy in the air.
Packing his bags, he slides into the front seat and adjusts the rearview mirror, and catches a glimpse of his own reflection. It's the same as it was a few months ago, but at the same time, his eyes are different. He feels older.
He revs the engine and pats the dashboard. "Ready to go, baby?"
They glide out of the parking lot and down the road, with a stretch of highway sprawled out in front of them. Another town saved, but that's behind him. Right now all there is is road: home.
*
Title: Five times Sam Winchester heard the voice of God, and one time he spoke back
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, God, briefly various others
Spoilers: up to s5 finale 'Swan Song'
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Supernatural, God & Sam, only Sam Winchester would tell God to his face that his parenting skills are sorely lacking
Dad is in the bathroom, and Dean is watching TV, and Sammy is bored. There are guns on the table, at least eight (that's as far as Sammy can count, but he's learning), and he's curious. If Dean's allowed to use them then he can too.
He reaches for one. It's heavier than he thought it would be, and he holds it in both hands, trying to figure out how it works. He wonders if he can shoot the bottles off the car hood like Dean does, and whether Dad would be impressed if he did.
"Put the gun down, Sammy," Dad says from behind him, and Sammy puts it down quickly. He's not supposed to be touching the guns.
When he turns around, no one is there, and Dad is still in the shower.
-
"Hey Sam," Brady says, tossing an arm around Sam's shoulders. He's drunk, and possibly high, and grinning in a way Sam has come to learn means trouble. "Why don't you go chat up that girl over there?" He inclines his head in what is probably meant to be a subtle manner at a tall blonde girl at the other end of the bar. "Her name's Jessica, pre-med. Suuuper hot." He drags out the word for emphasis. "Go!" he demands, and shoves Sam off his stool.
"She's not your type, Sammy," Dean says from behind. Sam whirls. Brady winks.
Too much to drink, Sam decides, and picks his way over to the girl at the end of the bar. She is hot, and if nothing else he could use a good lay.
-
The knife is in his hand, Jake pinned beneath him. He raises his arm, the blade flashing in the sun, and for a moment all of Cold Oak falls silent.
"Kill him, you idjit!" Bobby urges. Sam takes a breath, and drops the knife.
When he turns to walk away, he realizes that Bobby isn't there just in time to feel the blade driven deep into his spine.
-
Yes, he thinks, more fervently than he's ever thought anything. His shoulders tense, but they'll do no good to steel himself against Lucifer.
"Brace yourself," Jimmy Novak says, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
A burning heat floods his core until he trembles, his lungs starving for air but he can't catch a breath, and then Lucifer is there, blinding, pulsing, and Sam knows now why the Devil is called the Lightbringer.
He fights, truly, but he's squashed beneath Lucifer's heel like a bug and he watches helplessly as the Devil plays. Dean's eyes fill with hope, and then with crushing despair, and Jimmy Novak is nowhere to be seen.
-
Sam burns as he falls, down and down and down, because this is what the Cage is, always bracing for the impact that never comes.
He falls, and the angels rage. Lucifer screams inside him, and Michael is fighting his way free of Adam, and he burns and he falls and he--
"Sam."
The voice is John's and Bobby's and Dean's, Ellen's and Mary's and maybe even Castiel's, and yet it's also none of those voices at all. It is genderless and ageless and emotionless; it screams across the universe as the gentlest whisper brushing past his ear.
It's gone, and the angels rage.
-
Michael has taken Adam. Where, Sam doesn't know, and only has time to wonder in those brief seconds of quiet as Lucifer prepares his next torture, before the airless space again fills with screams. It's been days of this, or maybe weeks, or maybe just an hour. He doesn't truly care, because all he knows is that he's at the end of his rope.
"You know, Sam, you could have stopped this. I gave you all the help you needed."
Suddenly he's no longer in the Cage, no longer in Hell. The room that's appeared around him is sprawling, open. Windows look out on a shifting landscape: an ocean, a mountain range, Jerusalem. He catches a glimpse of what might be Central Park that changes to the Golden Gate Bridge, and stops looking.
There's no furniture, but he notices the different cultures woven seamlessly into the architecture: the Japanese mats, the Grecian columns, the various characters and hieroglyphics that dot the walls. The Mayan alter in the corner is, thankfully, clean of blood.
And finally, he sees the man kneeling in the center of the room. Even on his knees, he towers above any human, but Sam has the feeling that standing, the man wouldn't reach his shoulders.
"Sit down, Sam," God says. Sam doesn't, and He sighs. "You never did like to listen to Me. Ah well. Curse the Campbell line for making you stubborn."
"Where were You?" Sam demands, and though rationally he realizes that he's speaking to God -- not a god, but the God, capital-G one-and-only God -- he feels more like he's standing in front of Dad and demanding that he be treated as more than a soldier.
"Watching."
"So, what, the apocalypse goes down, Your children are killing each other, and You decide to put it on Tivo?"
God chuckles. "Only a Winchester would meet God and chide Him for bad parenting. You remind Me of Isaac. Now there was a boy who loved his father." Sam opens his mouth, but God continues, "Yes, yes, I know, his father tried to sacrifice him to Me, but he did forgive Abraham. Eventually. Now, Sam." God gazes at him with a sudden intensity, His fingers steepled beneath His chin. "The moment you leave this place you will forget it exists. But know this: I do care."
The room flickers once, and then it’s gone.
Lucifer hums happily as he prepares for Sam's newest torment. Sam's breathing is heavy, his wrists raw and bloody from shackles, and yet -- somehow -- he‘s filled with a strange sense of peace.
*
Title: Never Coming Down
Fandom: Firefly
Characters: Wash/Zoe
Rating: PG
Prompt: Firefly, Wash, fashion
The first time he asked her out, she looked at him for a second, then laughed, like he'd been telling a joke. Then she turned away and continued firing her rifle out the back of the Mule bike.
The fifth time he asked her out, she answered, "Only if you tell me why you wear those stupid shirts."
"Because they're stupid," he said.
She said, "That's not an answer," and returned her attention to the task at hand -- that is, holding her torn pressure suit closed while she crawled over the belly of the ship without a line.
It wasn't until much later, on one of those long, lazy days spent in bed, on and off of each other as the mood took them, that he thought about what he'd meant.
He'd never been a very stand-out child. School wasn't really his thing. Neither were the violent games the other boys liked to play. He wasn't even the class clown -- more like, he was that kid who sat in the back and daydreamed through lectures. He wasn't a bad student, he'd just rather see the sky.
And as an adult, before he'd first sat behind the controls of a CL-54 Cargo Lifter and known that he never wanted to come down, he'd just melted away into the crowd, a man with nothing to offer and nowhere to be. So he wore screaming Hawaiian-print and played with toy dinosaurs and grew a silly mustache and when he finally touched the sky, he just couldn't see the point in stopping.
The third time he asked her to marry him, she answered, "Only if you tell me why you wear those stupid shirts."
"Because they're stupid," he said, and it was good enough for both of them.
*
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Nine/Rose/Jack
Rating: PG
Prompt: Cyberpunk: Doctor Who, Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler/Doctor (any), Clockwork TARDIS
The engines hum along to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork, drifting aimlessly through the Trinity system.
-Three stars, the Doctor says. -Their planets only have night twice a year.
The doors are thrown open and Rose sits, her feet dangling off into empty space. Beneath her, gears turn silently to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork.
They speed through time, Rose and her boys, watching the suns whirl and dance and never quite touch. The Doctor sees physics and the angle of light, calculates the very moment they'll collide and collapse the whole system in on itself. Rose sees grace and elegance in the way they move, and thinks, that's us. Jack listens to the quiet tickticktick of clockwork and wonders if there's a way to pause it forever.
But time marches on, even for them, and they mark its passing not through the quiet tickticktick of clockwork, but by the steady beats of four good hearts.
*
Title: Five things Ford never understood about England, and one thing he didn't have any trouble with
Fandom: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Ford, Arthur, various OCs
Rating: PG
Prompt: England: Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Arthur /& Ford, things Ford is not "English" enough to understand.
1. Tea
"Would you like some tea?"
"Er, I suppose," Ford said, having no idea what tea was at all. The old woman who he was meant to be paying in return for living space tottered off to the kitchen and returned minutes later with a tray of clinking china. The steaming concoction was doled out into very small cups.
"How do you take it, dear?"
"Just like that," he lied.
"Really, dear? I prefer cream and sugar, myself, but to each his own, yes?"
He sipped cautiously at the proffered drink. Why, it was nothing but flavored water!
Very odd, these humans. Behind his back, he scribbled down a line in his notebook for the Guide about the curious local beverage.
"Er-- just out of curiosity, how exactly is that spelled?"
2. Politics
"So who do you like for Minister?" asked the man beside him at the bus stop.
"Sorry?"
Clearly under the impression that Ford was slightly deaf, the man raised his voice and repeated, "I said, who do you like for Minister?" Without waiting for an answer, he barged on, "Personally, I favor that Macmillan chap; a shoe-in if I ever saw one--" And then, as if by the hand of God, the bus pulled up and Ford only escaped by pretending he wanted the next one.
In his notebook he jotted down a quick line -- Minister, Macmillan, shoe-in, research later -- and considered himself lucky that the man never noticed the stop only served one line.
3. Pyjamas
"Aren't those the same clothes you wore yesterday?" Arthur asked with a frown.
"Yes." Ford failed to see the trouble in it.
"I see." Arthur looked oddly smug and didn't explain. Under the table Ford put down a reminder to buy a change of clothes.
4. Digital Watches
"See what I got?" Arthur held out his wrist proudly.
"A cloth strap, yes, very nice," Ford said absently, crossing out a few wrong observations in his notebook.
"No, no, Ford, it's a digital watch!" He seemed oddly satisfied. "Brand new, only just came out."
"Oh." Ford looked at the watch, as that seemed to be the thing to do. "Very nice." Flipping to a fresh page, he wrote, proud of the invention of the digital watch.
5. Telly
"What do you mean you've never seen Doctor Who?" Arthur gaped at him incredulously.
"Is it important?" Ford asked, scratching his head.
"It's only the most popular show on the BBC -- here, it's on in five, I'll go make us a cuppa." Arthur switched on the television and disappeared into the kitchen.
Tea again. Ford watched as a horrific mix of colors swirled across screen, complete with blaring theme music, a blocky logo and the grinning face of the series' hero.
Ten minutes in, he was not only lost -- clearly the man was as human as Arthur himself, though he claimed to be from some place called Gallifrey which Ford was certain didn't even have a mention in the Guide -- but deeply confused as to why his space/time machine had taken the form of a large blue phone booth. He brought out his notebook and pen and looked up at the screen, then back down to look at the blank page, then back up to the screen again. Without writing a word, he gave up and put the notebook away.
1. Alcohol
"Stupid . . . Earth," Ford slurred under his breath. Three rather pretty bartenders poured him another shot. "Stupid England." They consolidated back into one as she moved away. Sparing only a moment on drunken confusion, he knocked back the whiskey, shuddering as it seared down his chest. God, could he use a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster right about now.
"To England," Arthur toasted quite loudly, having misheard Ford. He was now waving his drink in the air, spilling rather more of it over his hand than he was going to consume.
"To alcohol," Ford returned. Even drunk, he had the sense not to add the and twelve years on this rock out loud.
When he woke the next morning with a hangover the size of Betelgeuse and a full bladder to match, Ford remembered he'd left his notebook in the bar, and found he didn't much care.