iTunes Shuffling, blah :-(
I know it's sad, I never ever wanted to write like that, but I've been having some issues getting motivated. Script Frenzy is almost over and I haven't even dented 20 pages, but, last night/this morning I said "Fuck it" and just turned the iTunes on the shuffle and forced myself to write. I got some drabbles, mostly all centered around Faith, she seems to be the only chick I want to write about these days so here are 5 tiny drabbles which hopefully can get me on the road to something.
Out of Control - Hoobastank (Faith-centric)
The night air was warm and sticky against her already sweaty flesh. Faith was more used to the slightly chilled nights of the Boston air. Christ, she missed home, well not the plethora of loser boys, nor the sob story that was her old life, but that was besides the point. This new Watcher, the tight ass Brit with a stick rammed up his English Channel was really grating on her, pushing her more sane urges to do something stupid. But slaying helped. Fucking too.
Christ, the slaying seriously helped. The company wasn’t half bad. B had Giles at least and then.. Oh shit, was that a human?
Whiskey Yer The Devil - Beatnik Turtle (Spike/Faith)
Spike liked bars. Besides the alcohol, there was usually an ample amount of fresh blood, well, not that he drank humans anymore, but watching them, the piss ants. They were entertaining. What else was entertaining was the firecracker of a brunette that he came with. He couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his features as he turned in his bar stool to observe her hustle two burlier piss ants at pool. He took a long drag from the bottle of Jack in his hand and puffed on his cigarette as she caught his eye and grinned most wickedly. Sinking the eight ball, his girl sauntered over to him, giving the patrons a lovely view of her swaying hips in tight leather.
A familiar tune hummed over the jukebox and Spike chuckled to himself. Faith raised a quizzical brow and called for a beer, plucking the bottle from his hands and taking a deep swing, that grin never really leaving her features.
“What’s up?” she asked setting the bottle down between them.
He reached into the pocket of his duster and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, and lit another one, handing her the fresh cigarette. “Not much, ‘bit, this song’s familiar, that’s all.”
She thanked him for the cigarette and took a greedy drink from her beer when it arrived, all the while listening carefully. “Nope,” she popped her lips. “Don’t know it.”
Now Spike raised his eyebrows, “it’s a drinking song.” He patted the bar stool next to him, “Come here, sit, and I’ll teach it to you,” he smiled.
She laughed and complied.
Sad But True - Metallica (Faith/Dean)
There was something about that backseat. Sprawled out across the leather, in denim cut-offs that she pranced around in, wiggling her ass just a little more than normal, just to smirk at Dean’s reaction, her feet propped up and shoeless(for once), toes unpainted, hanging out the window behind Sam’s head. She’d call him Sammy, even though he’s older than her, and feels like a kid brother, but only Dean can call him that. She readjusted her bottom on the seat, un-sticking her thighs from the hot leather, one arm propped behind her head, the other, rested on the back of Dean’s seat, her hand finding the hairs that danced across the back of his neck in the wind. This felt normal. It sort of was.
She really should leave soon though, before it all went to shit, and with her track record, it was pleasantly surprising that it hadn’t already. But seriously, at the next town, after they got rid of the big bad there, she’s grab her duffle from the trunk, wave adios to the temperamental twins up front and hit the highway in the opposite direction. ‘Cause this whole end of the world, brothers-destined-to-kill-each-other shtick really wasn’t cutting it for her. Sure, Dean was a tiger in the sack, she’d give him that, and Sammy wasn’t hard on the eyes either. But this hunting/fucking/traveling routine that she had gotten herself into with these two was about to come to an end real quick. Because there wasn’t going to be a happy ending here. It was the sad truth.
But seriously, next stop, she was gone. Her fingers swirled in Dean’s hair, absently grabbing it close to his skull. It really was getting long, she should tell him that before she left. Not to sound like his father, because that was a whole other can of shit worms that she never wanted to come near again. Maybe she’d call Angel, see how things are going in L.A. She hadn’t spoken to him since she took off with Red back to Sunny-D to stop the Big Bad. And that was over a year ago, holy shit. Yeah, next stop, she convinced herself, adjusting again. She pulled her hair back from Dean’s hair and folded her arms across her chest.
She looked up between the two of them and caught Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. There was everything there, every look he ever gave her in their seven month tryst was playing right through his eyes, burning into her soul in the backseat and she gasped for breath, seeing, knowing that he knew exactly what she was thinking and begging, pleading her not to do anything about it. She’d been seeing that look more and more lately, which surprised her that she hadn’t done anything about it.
It wasn’t love, she knew that. It was convenience. Love didn’t happen to people like them, but it was scary how she had come to trust these two, and that’s what Dean needed from her. Because right now, Sammy, in Dean’s eyes at least was one toenail away from falling down that slippery slope once again, and he frankly didn’t give the kid enough credit. Faith knew he was trying, hell, a few years back she was in the same spot. Dean couldn’t see that, and he didn’t know details about her darkest days, but Sammy did, and she knew that he was clinging to that hope that he could do it to, because if she could do it, well, in play Sam had said that he wouldn’t be out-done by the chick that happened to be hunting with he and his brother. Faith had laughed and replied along the lines of that wasn’t all she was doing with his brother, which Sam laughed to in return.
Dean’s eyes flickered back to the road as the soft hum of the B side Metallica tape that they’d played quietly (for Sammy’s sake) rolled through the back. Faith had thought about leaving before, sooner than this, more frequently as of late, but she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t. It wasn’t that these men trusted her and she couldn’t shattered that precious trust, because it was that too, but maybe she needed to trust them too, that they could figure this out without turning into bad memories of her and B. She’d stay and ride this thing between Lucifer and Michael out to the end. Because she couldn’t leave these boys. Sad, but true.
Doll Parts - Hole (Faith-centric)
Flea bag motels really sucked. Going to Sunnydale High gave me something to do during the day that didn’t require working for my keep, and watching bad soap opera reruns. Plus, I got to see B and try and fit myself into B’s group. It didn’t feel right, they were too, clean and white and all full of innocence, and I’m not. I’m was jagged and shattered and pieced back together like a doll that got its limbs ripped off. They fit back on alright, but then they were always double-jointed and stuck out too far.
B had it all, she got to be that perfect little shiny princess Barbie that went to the ball and the mall and got her prince, and I’m that discount doll that stands next to Barbie on the shelf that nobody wants to buy.
But B isn’t perfect really. I mean she is, but ya know, she’s just like me. Sorta. In the way that we’re two of a kind. And I think that if our roles were reversed, she’d be just like me. Hell, if she’d just stayed dead maybe that’d be me in there, the Slayer, with the cool Watcher and the fun friends who want to hang out on weekends and after school before I go on patrol, and they may even come with me!
But that’s not the point, because B is like Barbie and I’m the discarded doll parts.
Bleed It Out - Linkin Park (Spike-centric)
I can’t trust these pansy assholes that work here anymore, especially not Captain Brooding. Fuck him. He’s all locked up wasting away in his office, forgetting what it’s like to really fight the forces of evil. Like I am right now. The thrill of a good fight is - okay, well good fights are hard to come by these days, but hell, I’ll take what I can bloody get! And the evil in this town really has to get creative, or maybe the lines are so blurred by the great Poof upstairs, that everyone else is still stuck in the mix, unsure what they are. Well it’s simple really, black and white, you kill humans, you hurt harmless mortals, I’m gonna chop your head off, or maim you in a very painful way so that you remember your lesson. Because Spike’s not going to stand for evil in this city anymore. And while Angel can sit upstairs all day and brood over his stupid law firm, I’m down here, in the streets fighting the good fight.
Out of Control - Hoobastank (Faith-centric)
The night air was warm and sticky against her already sweaty flesh. Faith was more used to the slightly chilled nights of the Boston air. Christ, she missed home, well not the plethora of loser boys, nor the sob story that was her old life, but that was besides the point. This new Watcher, the tight ass Brit with a stick rammed up his English Channel was really grating on her, pushing her more sane urges to do something stupid. But slaying helped. Fucking too.
Christ, the slaying seriously helped. The company wasn’t half bad. B had Giles at least and then.. Oh shit, was that a human?
Whiskey Yer The Devil - Beatnik Turtle (Spike/Faith)
Spike liked bars. Besides the alcohol, there was usually an ample amount of fresh blood, well, not that he drank humans anymore, but watching them, the piss ants. They were entertaining. What else was entertaining was the firecracker of a brunette that he came with. He couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his features as he turned in his bar stool to observe her hustle two burlier piss ants at pool. He took a long drag from the bottle of Jack in his hand and puffed on his cigarette as she caught his eye and grinned most wickedly. Sinking the eight ball, his girl sauntered over to him, giving the patrons a lovely view of her swaying hips in tight leather.
A familiar tune hummed over the jukebox and Spike chuckled to himself. Faith raised a quizzical brow and called for a beer, plucking the bottle from his hands and taking a deep swing, that grin never really leaving her features.
“What’s up?” she asked setting the bottle down between them.
He reached into the pocket of his duster and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, and lit another one, handing her the fresh cigarette. “Not much, ‘bit, this song’s familiar, that’s all.”
She thanked him for the cigarette and took a greedy drink from her beer when it arrived, all the while listening carefully. “Nope,” she popped her lips. “Don’t know it.”
Now Spike raised his eyebrows, “it’s a drinking song.” He patted the bar stool next to him, “Come here, sit, and I’ll teach it to you,” he smiled.
She laughed and complied.
Sad But True - Metallica (Faith/Dean)
There was something about that backseat. Sprawled out across the leather, in denim cut-offs that she pranced around in, wiggling her ass just a little more than normal, just to smirk at Dean’s reaction, her feet propped up and shoeless(for once), toes unpainted, hanging out the window behind Sam’s head. She’d call him Sammy, even though he’s older than her, and feels like a kid brother, but only Dean can call him that. She readjusted her bottom on the seat, un-sticking her thighs from the hot leather, one arm propped behind her head, the other, rested on the back of Dean’s seat, her hand finding the hairs that danced across the back of his neck in the wind. This felt normal. It sort of was.
She really should leave soon though, before it all went to shit, and with her track record, it was pleasantly surprising that it hadn’t already. But seriously, at the next town, after they got rid of the big bad there, she’s grab her duffle from the trunk, wave adios to the temperamental twins up front and hit the highway in the opposite direction. ‘Cause this whole end of the world, brothers-destined-to-kill-each-other shtick really wasn’t cutting it for her. Sure, Dean was a tiger in the sack, she’d give him that, and Sammy wasn’t hard on the eyes either. But this hunting/fucking/traveling routine that she had gotten herself into with these two was about to come to an end real quick. Because there wasn’t going to be a happy ending here. It was the sad truth.
But seriously, next stop, she was gone. Her fingers swirled in Dean’s hair, absently grabbing it close to his skull. It really was getting long, she should tell him that before she left. Not to sound like his father, because that was a whole other can of shit worms that she never wanted to come near again. Maybe she’d call Angel, see how things are going in L.A. She hadn’t spoken to him since she took off with Red back to Sunny-D to stop the Big Bad. And that was over a year ago, holy shit. Yeah, next stop, she convinced herself, adjusting again. She pulled her hair back from Dean’s hair and folded her arms across her chest.
She looked up between the two of them and caught Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. There was everything there, every look he ever gave her in their seven month tryst was playing right through his eyes, burning into her soul in the backseat and she gasped for breath, seeing, knowing that he knew exactly what she was thinking and begging, pleading her not to do anything about it. She’d been seeing that look more and more lately, which surprised her that she hadn’t done anything about it.
It wasn’t love, she knew that. It was convenience. Love didn’t happen to people like them, but it was scary how she had come to trust these two, and that’s what Dean needed from her. Because right now, Sammy, in Dean’s eyes at least was one toenail away from falling down that slippery slope once again, and he frankly didn’t give the kid enough credit. Faith knew he was trying, hell, a few years back she was in the same spot. Dean couldn’t see that, and he didn’t know details about her darkest days, but Sammy did, and she knew that he was clinging to that hope that he could do it to, because if she could do it, well, in play Sam had said that he wouldn’t be out-done by the chick that happened to be hunting with he and his brother. Faith had laughed and replied along the lines of that wasn’t all she was doing with his brother, which Sam laughed to in return.
Dean’s eyes flickered back to the road as the soft hum of the B side Metallica tape that they’d played quietly (for Sammy’s sake) rolled through the back. Faith had thought about leaving before, sooner than this, more frequently as of late, but she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t. It wasn’t that these men trusted her and she couldn’t shattered that precious trust, because it was that too, but maybe she needed to trust them too, that they could figure this out without turning into bad memories of her and B. She’d stay and ride this thing between Lucifer and Michael out to the end. Because she couldn’t leave these boys. Sad, but true.
Doll Parts - Hole (Faith-centric)
Flea bag motels really sucked. Going to Sunnydale High gave me something to do during the day that didn’t require working for my keep, and watching bad soap opera reruns. Plus, I got to see B and try and fit myself into B’s group. It didn’t feel right, they were too, clean and white and all full of innocence, and I’m not. I’m was jagged and shattered and pieced back together like a doll that got its limbs ripped off. They fit back on alright, but then they were always double-jointed and stuck out too far.
B had it all, she got to be that perfect little shiny princess Barbie that went to the ball and the mall and got her prince, and I’m that discount doll that stands next to Barbie on the shelf that nobody wants to buy.
But B isn’t perfect really. I mean she is, but ya know, she’s just like me. Sorta. In the way that we’re two of a kind. And I think that if our roles were reversed, she’d be just like me. Hell, if she’d just stayed dead maybe that’d be me in there, the Slayer, with the cool Watcher and the fun friends who want to hang out on weekends and after school before I go on patrol, and they may even come with me!
But that’s not the point, because B is like Barbie and I’m the discarded doll parts.
Bleed It Out - Linkin Park (Spike-centric)
I can’t trust these pansy assholes that work here anymore, especially not Captain Brooding. Fuck him. He’s all locked up wasting away in his office, forgetting what it’s like to really fight the forces of evil. Like I am right now. The thrill of a good fight is - okay, well good fights are hard to come by these days, but hell, I’ll take what I can bloody get! And the evil in this town really has to get creative, or maybe the lines are so blurred by the great Poof upstairs, that everyone else is still stuck in the mix, unsure what they are. Well it’s simple really, black and white, you kill humans, you hurt harmless mortals, I’m gonna chop your head off, or maim you in a very painful way so that you remember your lesson. Because Spike’s not going to stand for evil in this city anymore. And while Angel can sit upstairs all day and brood over his stupid law firm, I’m down here, in the streets fighting the good fight.