Meme'ing it up, bb
So I'm trying this meme that my dear friend slothfulzel has posted on her journal.
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
I'm gonna try to do this pairing-by-pairing, the first attempt being Lost-oriented. This'll be fun, too, since I've downloaded so many fanmixes, I literally don't know what 3/4ths of the music in my music player is.
Aaaaaaand I've decided to cheat. I'm listening to the song before I write, then re-playing the song and writing while I listen to it the second time around.
All-in-all, I'm actually surprised at how happy I am with the song choices. Sometimes the drabble I wrote actually vaguely applies to the song. Most of the time... it doesn't. My bad.
1. Sunshine, by The All American Rejects 3:00
2. Bunin' For You, by Blue Oyster Cult 4:31
3. Two Nobodies in New York, by Title of Show 2:51
4. Devil, by Staind 5:00
5. You Are the Moon, by The Hush Sound 3:27
6. I Don't Want To Live This Life (Anymore), by The Ramones 3:29
7. Halo, by Pussycat Dolls 5:37
8. When Angels Fly Away, by Cold 3:85
9. Free, by Shawn McDonald 3:28
10. Dance With the Devil, by Breaking Benjamin 3:44
Jacob/Richard/Esau
1.
Sunshine wasn't the first thing he noticed, to be honest. It was Jacob.
It was always Jacob.
The man -- the deity -- was saying something vastly important about the universe, the intricacies of human desire, and all Richard could think about was, Twenty years. It's been twenty years and I haven't aged a single day.
And there he was; Jacob. Cutting open a fish, gutting it, his hands covered in blood, his body drenched in the sickly aroma of a pathetically deceased sea creature. The waves beyond crashed -- always violent -- and though the sun was bright, glaring, reflecting off the white sands, all Richard could focus on was the way it reflected off of the other man; how it curved through his white-washed locks, messy hair falling flat against his neck.
Richard swallowed, turned his attention to the fire he was building, nodding appropriately as Jacob spoke of peace while shucking the head off of a dead fish.
2.
His hands were trembling, and he found that so very quaint. Smiling, he clenched his fists, wrung out the rag he held, dipped it back in the water. His stomach was bleeding, and even though he knew he wouldn't die from it, the stain was starting to crust over and it made moving all the more bothersome.
The trees shook. He glanced up and saw him. Blinked. Looked back down.
So what if he was watching? It wasn't like it mattered, anyways.
He had all the time in the world, all the opportunity to burn this island to the dredges of the salt and dust beneath the soil. And this man -- this idiot -- kept him from it.
Esau dug into his own flesh, didn't bother to wince at the pain of fingernails scraping against an open wound.
"Do you need help?"
He heard it, but he couldn't find a good enough reason to respond.
The pebbles shook after the trees, footsteps inching closer.
"Do you need help?" Jacob repeated.
Esau still trembled.
3.
Jacob was the tenor, and it was a given that everybody would like him. He played the righteous hero, the valiant vanguard of purity, of good.
Esau was Byronic in his own right. He played the part of the villain, the bass with a voice demanding enough, controlling enough to sway, perplex, and mesmerize.
And they were totally in love.
Problem was, Richard had a crush on both of them.
Sure, on stage they were vicious rivals, whose voices clashed and thundered, but even then the chemistry between them was undeniable. The play between them crackled, and it was heard in their voices, seen in their expressions, that a strain of something deeper infected the rest of their bodies.
And really, Richard was absolutely justified in his attraction, because anyone who spent ten seconds watching them couldn't help but be sexually aroused.
Not like he stood a chance, though. There was a line that was drawn amidst the theatre troupe, that separated actors from workers. For Stagehand #7, aka. Richard Alpert, getting the two stars of the show to even look his way was a fanciful impossibility.
4.
"I swear I'm not the devil."
That's what he says every time they meet. It's like an entreaty, a promise spilling from the lips of a man only capable of lying. It's worthless, like ash in the mouth, and Richard points this out every time.
"I don't believe you."
You lied.
You wanted me to kill him.
I don't trust you.
Esau has broad shoulders, strong and capable, but they always curve in at this declaration -- they always, without fail, fall.
Richard knows what that means. He pretends he doesn't care. The force of his caring makes him shudder. He blames the ice of it, the chill of it, the way his body goes frozen the second the man in black steps closer; the second his hands reach out, and that spark of misplaced possessiveness flashes across his eyes.
Esau wants him. He wants to take the man away from Jacob; wants to keep him, hold him, protect him. Hurt him. Have him. Force him to his knees. Force him into subservience. Esau needs to break him, to build him up again, because he thinks it's such a shame to release a man from one set of chains only to have him thrown into another.
5.
He stands in a circle between them, and something stark, something definitive tells Richard that he's the line between Yin and Yang. He glances between them, at the shadows cast across the sandy beach, the elongated lines of wicked trees touching the tip of his nose with the darkness of their limbs.
Esau blends with it; with the forest, like he somehow naturally, intrinsically belongs to this place. Like the island is his, almost as much as it's his prison.
Jacob blends with the moon; the pale light brushing across his brow, the unfathomable depths pushing against the inside of his eyelids, screaming for a way out.
Richard feels terribly insignificant in that moment.
The darkness shifts, curls, inching closer to his feet, tickling his toes. The light presses to his back, cradling him, holding him upright while simultaneously trapping him. It's suffocating, and he finds it harder and harder to breathe; the caress of black against his lips, the flow of light draped across his shoulders.
And he, the man caught between.
6.
If it strikes like fire and scorches like the sun, then surely he's been burned.
Right?
Richard wasn't actually physically capable of saying 'no' anymore.
He arched into the touch, his mouth falling open, blood straining against skin. Fingers pressed with purpose, pulled within reason, and each movement made him writhe all the more; made his fingernails scratch along the rough fabric cover, back pressed into the thin roll of a cot.
He'd said he wanted to die. Jacob was just showing him there was something left to live for.
7.
"Say you want this."
Richard says it, but he can't tell if he's lying or not.
Jacob is there, watching. Allowing.
"Please," Richard pants, eyes closed. They fly open when he feels the other man press a kiss to his forehead.
They finish, and Esau pulls out, turns to Jacob.
"Next?" he asks, and Jacob gives him a disdainful look. Calm, ever-patient with this man (not always so ever-patient with others).
Jacob turns to Richard, tied to the floor, naked, vulnerable, and bends down next to him. He reaches out, brushes his knuckles against Richard's cheek, contemplates him for a moment before bending over him and untying the ropes that trap him.
He knows how much Richard hates to be bound.
Esau is hovering over Jacob's shoulder, watching intently, then gives a light laugh, a cruel whoosh of breath leaving his lungs.
"You always take care of your pretty little toys, don't you, brother?"
Jacob shrugs out of his shirt, drapes it across the private areas of the shivering man.
"Always," he confirms.
8.
He switches more than he cares to admit. Back and forth, it's like a seesaw. Dizzying.
One day, he wants him.
The next day, he wants the other.
This isn't his war -- this isn't anyone else's war -- but they bicker, and they threaten, and they bite each other with razor sharp teeth, and Richard is helpless to prevent it. He can only watch it, confused; stare at a wreck of emotion he can't even pretend to understand.
He's been in hell for a very long time.
First one is dark, and one is light, and then they switch and he doesn't know up from down anymore.
It's all that can be expected, after all.
They're in love, and Richard supposes that's a very good thing to fight for, except they only ever end up fighting each other.
With each casualty in this battle, his eyes become a little duller, his senses a little darker, until he starts to feel like them, starts to understand things he never really wanted to comprehend.
It's only a matter of time before he's part of their war. It's only a matter of time before he's fighting for his own side, instead of choosing one of theirs.
9.
They've got something in common, the monster will say to him. They both want freedom.
Richard says he's already got it.
The monster smiles sadly, shakes his head back and forth.
"Jacob is all you have," he points out. "You can't leave him."
Richard says he can. He can leave any time he wants.
Twenty years pass and he's still there.
The monster comes back, like he always does, and says it again.
"Are you ready to be released from those shackles?"
Richard sneers, wrings his hands together.
"I don't need you."
Fifty years later, and he's on the island, saying the same thing. Like a record, broken, scratched, old.
"Don't you want to be free?" the monster will ask.
And Richard will never say yes.
10.
Esau is trembling because he's going to die and there is no one in their right mind who would ever be willing to save him.
He's never cared about death before, because he's never had to worry about it.
He was never meant to die.
This is unnatural. Unholy.
He takes in a shuddering breath. It racks through his chest in tumbles and rolls, quaking beyond what is terrible, dusting off creaking limbs. It bubbles inside, the wicked black oil of his life, no longer vapor, no longer ash, but grease, and liquid, and stain. His death constitutes a new take on his life.
He is ugly down to the very core.
In the dredges of his slow decomposition, he feels a touch at the back of his neck, a palm against his forehead. He feels a light chasing away the dark, sealing up the wound, mending the tears in flesh that never should have existed in the first place.
Unwillingly, he leans into the touch, closes his eyes, lets a bitter laugh bubble up and spill out between his lips.
"Are you the devil?" he asks, certain hell has opened up its gleaming maw, ready to swallow him whole.
"Maybe," is the reply, and those hands move to his back, his shoulders.
Esau spares a glance in the direction of his brother, coughs, tastes blood on his tongue.
"But that would make you God," Jacob says, and Esau burns open a smile just for him.
----
FIN
----
I'll probably cross-post this to my fanfic community as well. I just wanted to get it on here first.
OKAY, SO I TAG high_flyer87, emerald_embers, pinkowitch, AND janie_tangerine. (Fuck tagging only three people.) I would've gone for slothfulzel and sin_unforgiven, but since I know them so well that almost feels like cheating.
.... Aww, who am I kidding? I love to cheat. YOU GUYS ARE TAGGED AS WELL.
In fact, I would love to see music-inspired drabble fic from everyone on my F-list. \o/
BECAUSE I AM BOTH NEEDY AND DEMANDING.
Oh, and I'm thinking about writing out an actual sort of user info page thing. Y/N/FY? You guys don't want to know about me, I'm certain. :|
1.) Turn your iTunes (or whatever music player you use) and set it to shuffle
2.) For each of the first ten songs that plays, write the first thing that comes to mind.
3.) When the song switches over, you have to start writing something new.
4.) Post the resulting drabble-y bits in your journal, with the titles of each song you ended up using.
5.) Tag three people to do the same!
I'm gonna try to do this pairing-by-pairing, the first attempt being Lost-oriented. This'll be fun, too, since I've downloaded so many fanmixes, I literally don't know what 3/4ths of the music in my music player is.
Aaaaaaand I've decided to cheat. I'm listening to the song before I write, then re-playing the song and writing while I listen to it the second time around.
All-in-all, I'm actually surprised at how happy I am with the song choices. Sometimes the drabble I wrote actually vaguely applies to the song. Most of the time... it doesn't. My bad.
1. Sunshine, by The All American Rejects 3:00
2. Bunin' For You, by Blue Oyster Cult 4:31
3. Two Nobodies in New York, by Title of Show 2:51
4. Devil, by Staind 5:00
5. You Are the Moon, by The Hush Sound 3:27
6. I Don't Want To Live This Life (Anymore), by The Ramones 3:29
7. Halo, by Pussycat Dolls 5:37
8. When Angels Fly Away, by Cold 3:85
9. Free, by Shawn McDonald 3:28
10. Dance With the Devil, by Breaking Benjamin 3:44
Jacob/Richard/Esau
1.
Sunshine wasn't the first thing he noticed, to be honest. It was Jacob.
It was always Jacob.
The man -- the deity -- was saying something vastly important about the universe, the intricacies of human desire, and all Richard could think about was, Twenty years. It's been twenty years and I haven't aged a single day.
And there he was; Jacob. Cutting open a fish, gutting it, his hands covered in blood, his body drenched in the sickly aroma of a pathetically deceased sea creature. The waves beyond crashed -- always violent -- and though the sun was bright, glaring, reflecting off the white sands, all Richard could focus on was the way it reflected off of the other man; how it curved through his white-washed locks, messy hair falling flat against his neck.
Richard swallowed, turned his attention to the fire he was building, nodding appropriately as Jacob spoke of peace while shucking the head off of a dead fish.
2.
His hands were trembling, and he found that so very quaint. Smiling, he clenched his fists, wrung out the rag he held, dipped it back in the water. His stomach was bleeding, and even though he knew he wouldn't die from it, the stain was starting to crust over and it made moving all the more bothersome.
The trees shook. He glanced up and saw him. Blinked. Looked back down.
So what if he was watching? It wasn't like it mattered, anyways.
He had all the time in the world, all the opportunity to burn this island to the dredges of the salt and dust beneath the soil. And this man -- this idiot -- kept him from it.
Esau dug into his own flesh, didn't bother to wince at the pain of fingernails scraping against an open wound.
"Do you need help?"
He heard it, but he couldn't find a good enough reason to respond.
The pebbles shook after the trees, footsteps inching closer.
"Do you need help?" Jacob repeated.
Esau still trembled.
3.
Jacob was the tenor, and it was a given that everybody would like him. He played the righteous hero, the valiant vanguard of purity, of good.
Esau was Byronic in his own right. He played the part of the villain, the bass with a voice demanding enough, controlling enough to sway, perplex, and mesmerize.
And they were totally in love.
Problem was, Richard had a crush on both of them.
Sure, on stage they were vicious rivals, whose voices clashed and thundered, but even then the chemistry between them was undeniable. The play between them crackled, and it was heard in their voices, seen in their expressions, that a strain of something deeper infected the rest of their bodies.
And really, Richard was absolutely justified in his attraction, because anyone who spent ten seconds watching them couldn't help but be sexually aroused.
Not like he stood a chance, though. There was a line that was drawn amidst the theatre troupe, that separated actors from workers. For Stagehand #7, aka. Richard Alpert, getting the two stars of the show to even look his way was a fanciful impossibility.
4.
"I swear I'm not the devil."
That's what he says every time they meet. It's like an entreaty, a promise spilling from the lips of a man only capable of lying. It's worthless, like ash in the mouth, and Richard points this out every time.
"I don't believe you."
You lied.
You wanted me to kill him.
I don't trust you.
Esau has broad shoulders, strong and capable, but they always curve in at this declaration -- they always, without fail, fall.
Richard knows what that means. He pretends he doesn't care. The force of his caring makes him shudder. He blames the ice of it, the chill of it, the way his body goes frozen the second the man in black steps closer; the second his hands reach out, and that spark of misplaced possessiveness flashes across his eyes.
Esau wants him. He wants to take the man away from Jacob; wants to keep him, hold him, protect him. Hurt him. Have him. Force him to his knees. Force him into subservience. Esau needs to break him, to build him up again, because he thinks it's such a shame to release a man from one set of chains only to have him thrown into another.
5.
He stands in a circle between them, and something stark, something definitive tells Richard that he's the line between Yin and Yang. He glances between them, at the shadows cast across the sandy beach, the elongated lines of wicked trees touching the tip of his nose with the darkness of their limbs.
Esau blends with it; with the forest, like he somehow naturally, intrinsically belongs to this place. Like the island is his, almost as much as it's his prison.
Jacob blends with the moon; the pale light brushing across his brow, the unfathomable depths pushing against the inside of his eyelids, screaming for a way out.
Richard feels terribly insignificant in that moment.
The darkness shifts, curls, inching closer to his feet, tickling his toes. The light presses to his back, cradling him, holding him upright while simultaneously trapping him. It's suffocating, and he finds it harder and harder to breathe; the caress of black against his lips, the flow of light draped across his shoulders.
And he, the man caught between.
6.
If it strikes like fire and scorches like the sun, then surely he's been burned.
Right?
Richard wasn't actually physically capable of saying 'no' anymore.
He arched into the touch, his mouth falling open, blood straining against skin. Fingers pressed with purpose, pulled within reason, and each movement made him writhe all the more; made his fingernails scratch along the rough fabric cover, back pressed into the thin roll of a cot.
He'd said he wanted to die. Jacob was just showing him there was something left to live for.
7.
"Say you want this."
Richard says it, but he can't tell if he's lying or not.
Jacob is there, watching. Allowing.
"Please," Richard pants, eyes closed. They fly open when he feels the other man press a kiss to his forehead.
They finish, and Esau pulls out, turns to Jacob.
"Next?" he asks, and Jacob gives him a disdainful look. Calm, ever-patient with this man (not always so ever-patient with others).
Jacob turns to Richard, tied to the floor, naked, vulnerable, and bends down next to him. He reaches out, brushes his knuckles against Richard's cheek, contemplates him for a moment before bending over him and untying the ropes that trap him.
He knows how much Richard hates to be bound.
Esau is hovering over Jacob's shoulder, watching intently, then gives a light laugh, a cruel whoosh of breath leaving his lungs.
"You always take care of your pretty little toys, don't you, brother?"
Jacob shrugs out of his shirt, drapes it across the private areas of the shivering man.
"Always," he confirms.
8.
He switches more than he cares to admit. Back and forth, it's like a seesaw. Dizzying.
One day, he wants him.
The next day, he wants the other.
This isn't his war -- this isn't anyone else's war -- but they bicker, and they threaten, and they bite each other with razor sharp teeth, and Richard is helpless to prevent it. He can only watch it, confused; stare at a wreck of emotion he can't even pretend to understand.
He's been in hell for a very long time.
First one is dark, and one is light, and then they switch and he doesn't know up from down anymore.
It's all that can be expected, after all.
They're in love, and Richard supposes that's a very good thing to fight for, except they only ever end up fighting each other.
With each casualty in this battle, his eyes become a little duller, his senses a little darker, until he starts to feel like them, starts to understand things he never really wanted to comprehend.
It's only a matter of time before he's part of their war. It's only a matter of time before he's fighting for his own side, instead of choosing one of theirs.
9.
They've got something in common, the monster will say to him. They both want freedom.
Richard says he's already got it.
The monster smiles sadly, shakes his head back and forth.
"Jacob is all you have," he points out. "You can't leave him."
Richard says he can. He can leave any time he wants.
Twenty years pass and he's still there.
The monster comes back, like he always does, and says it again.
"Are you ready to be released from those shackles?"
Richard sneers, wrings his hands together.
"I don't need you."
Fifty years later, and he's on the island, saying the same thing. Like a record, broken, scratched, old.
"Don't you want to be free?" the monster will ask.
And Richard will never say yes.
10.
Esau is trembling because he's going to die and there is no one in their right mind who would ever be willing to save him.
He's never cared about death before, because he's never had to worry about it.
He was never meant to die.
This is unnatural. Unholy.
He takes in a shuddering breath. It racks through his chest in tumbles and rolls, quaking beyond what is terrible, dusting off creaking limbs. It bubbles inside, the wicked black oil of his life, no longer vapor, no longer ash, but grease, and liquid, and stain. His death constitutes a new take on his life.
He is ugly down to the very core.
In the dredges of his slow decomposition, he feels a touch at the back of his neck, a palm against his forehead. He feels a light chasing away the dark, sealing up the wound, mending the tears in flesh that never should have existed in the first place.
Unwillingly, he leans into the touch, closes his eyes, lets a bitter laugh bubble up and spill out between his lips.
"Are you the devil?" he asks, certain hell has opened up its gleaming maw, ready to swallow him whole.
"Maybe," is the reply, and those hands move to his back, his shoulders.
Esau spares a glance in the direction of his brother, coughs, tastes blood on his tongue.
"But that would make you God," Jacob says, and Esau burns open a smile just for him.
----
FIN
----
I'll probably cross-post this to my fanfic community as well. I just wanted to get it on here first.
OKAY, SO I TAG high_flyer87, emerald_embers, pinkowitch, AND janie_tangerine. (Fuck tagging only three people.) I would've gone for slothfulzel and sin_unforgiven, but since I know them so well that almost feels like cheating.
.... Aww, who am I kidding? I love to cheat. YOU GUYS ARE TAGGED AS WELL.
In fact, I would love to see music-inspired drabble fic from everyone on my F-list. \o/
BECAUSE I AM BOTH NEEDY AND DEMANDING.
Oh, and I'm thinking about writing out an actual sort of user info page thing. Y/N/FY? You guys don't want to know about me, I'm certain. :|