drabble post: Torchwood, White Collar, Supernatural, Chronicles of Narnia
FANFICTIONS, I HAVE BEEN WRITING THEM. There's also a Matt/Natasha fic I can't find.
Title: Those Damn Flirty Americans
Fandom: Torchwood/White Collar
Warnings/Rating: none/PG
Summary: Some things about Neal Caffrey, the sly, suave leader of Torchwood.
The thing about Caffrey is that he claims he's from the future. It's a believable claim. But Caffrey can make a lot of people believe a lot of things, so perhaps because it's such a convincing part, Owen doesn't believe it.
He says as much to Tosh, who shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Shouldn't've expected anything more out of her though; whatever past she's got with the man, she's loyal to a fault. They're a damn good team, Caffrey and Sato. If it were just information they gathered, they wouldn't need anyone else.
Well, maybe Ianto. Someone's got to be organised around here.
Ianto agrees with him right off, something of a surprise. "You can't trust what he says," he says, never taking his eyes from the screen where he's running searches on entries referencing music boxes. And what that's got to do with anything, Owen hasn't the foggiest.
"So why do we always go along with him?" Owen asks.
A pause; they watch the entries scroll up the screen, to fast to properly read. "Because you can trust what he does," Ianto says eventually.
Ianto's a bit of a suck-up, but he has a point.
Later Owen is pointedly looking away while Caffrey lays the charm on Ianto; so is Gwen, and she makes a face at him when she catches his eye. "Is he always this unprofessional?" she asks, getting up and walking over.
"Caffrey flirts with everything," Owen replies, leaning back in his chair. "Hope you didn't think it was just you."
"Piss off," Gwen says, but not like she means it. "Anyway, I have a boyfriend."
"So does he." Owen jerks his thumb back at Caffrey and Ianto. "Never stopped him from looking. Or touching."
"What can I say?" Caffrey calls over, tipping his hat at them. "I can't resist a fine piece of art."
--
Title: By My Hands, From The Inferno
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings/Rating: injury by fire/PG
Summary: Steampunk AU. Dean wakes up with a new arm.
Dean flexes the metal hand, and with a whirr of gears his fingers move by his mental command. He looks up to stare at Cas, who is watching him closely, biting the top of his lower lip in that way he does when he's accidentally acting human.
"My arm burned off?" Dean asks, closing his prosthetic hand with another spin of gears. There's no feeling there, but he can still probably throw a punch with it. It'll work fine. He can't let this be a problem, not with a world full of evil to destroy and people to save.
"You were badly scorched," Cas says, looking down at his own living hands. "But the arm was... When I reached you, it was too late."
Cas doesn't look like he'd just been through inferno, but then, angels probably don't singe easy. That probably explains what happened to the coat, though. Dean wants to ask what happened, but then, he can probably guess. He lowers his arm again, the fake one, rests it on the cot at his side. "Guess I owe you one."
Cas has his hand in the pocket of his new coat, and won't look up at Dean. He says, "You don't need to repay me. I would do it again."
He would, too, and without expecting anything for it. That, more than the new arm, more than the near miss, or the prospect of death-by-fire, is what scares Dean the most.
--
Title: The story of an umbrella
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Warnings/Rating: none/G
Summary: Susan, years later, dealing.
All her friends call to console her when Andrew leaves her, and she contemplates picking up the phone and letting them indulge her distress, but ends up letting it ring. She's not as upset as they think, and the room is pleasantly quiet the rest of the time. Andrew was always loud and bright. He liked her stubborn streak, he said, and he left because she wouldn't let him take care of her. All Susan knows for certain is that the row ended when he decided to leave, and after that they could smile at each other again.
She decides to go out, instead of cooking for herself, but pauses by the coatrack. It's not often she thinks of Narnia now, that children's tale that tore their family apart, and she's happier that way. The afternoon seems a little colder, and she recalls the pinprick chill that slipped right through the fur. Lucy shouted after her the day Susan walked out of Christmas dinner, something about the lion and how Susan had believed then. But Lucy never did understand the intricacies of growing up, and how some things get left behind. A first love, a grand dream, a new torch. An umbrella Andrew will probably miss tomorrow, when it starts raining. He'll go buy a new one, though, because he's moved on. Like Susan did.
Susan likes to think he wasn't just a replacement brolly, picked up when the rain started and she realised she'd left hers somewhere. Likes to think it's all been of her choosing, abandonment of the old because the new fits better. It's all part of growing up, leaving behind the easy things for the sensible ones, the desired for the attainable. Not everyone she's ever loved has walked out of her life this easily. She cried all night the last time she spoke to Peter.
That night she dreams of dark hair, a stormy face, riding horses at breakneck speeds and a kiss goodbye. When she wakes up she washes and dresses for another day. When she leaves, she takes Andrew's umbrella to fend off the rain.
--
Title: Those Damn Flirty Americans
Fandom: Torchwood/White Collar
Warnings/Rating: none/PG
Summary: Some things about Neal Caffrey, the sly, suave leader of Torchwood.
The thing about Caffrey is that he claims he's from the future. It's a believable claim. But Caffrey can make a lot of people believe a lot of things, so perhaps because it's such a convincing part, Owen doesn't believe it.
He says as much to Tosh, who shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Shouldn't've expected anything more out of her though; whatever past she's got with the man, she's loyal to a fault. They're a damn good team, Caffrey and Sato. If it were just information they gathered, they wouldn't need anyone else.
Well, maybe Ianto. Someone's got to be organised around here.
Ianto agrees with him right off, something of a surprise. "You can't trust what he says," he says, never taking his eyes from the screen where he's running searches on entries referencing music boxes. And what that's got to do with anything, Owen hasn't the foggiest.
"So why do we always go along with him?" Owen asks.
A pause; they watch the entries scroll up the screen, to fast to properly read. "Because you can trust what he does," Ianto says eventually.
Ianto's a bit of a suck-up, but he has a point.
Later Owen is pointedly looking away while Caffrey lays the charm on Ianto; so is Gwen, and she makes a face at him when she catches his eye. "Is he always this unprofessional?" she asks, getting up and walking over.
"Caffrey flirts with everything," Owen replies, leaning back in his chair. "Hope you didn't think it was just you."
"Piss off," Gwen says, but not like she means it. "Anyway, I have a boyfriend."
"So does he." Owen jerks his thumb back at Caffrey and Ianto. "Never stopped him from looking. Or touching."
"What can I say?" Caffrey calls over, tipping his hat at them. "I can't resist a fine piece of art."
--
Title: By My Hands, From The Inferno
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings/Rating: injury by fire/PG
Summary: Steampunk AU. Dean wakes up with a new arm.
Dean flexes the metal hand, and with a whirr of gears his fingers move by his mental command. He looks up to stare at Cas, who is watching him closely, biting the top of his lower lip in that way he does when he's accidentally acting human.
"My arm burned off?" Dean asks, closing his prosthetic hand with another spin of gears. There's no feeling there, but he can still probably throw a punch with it. It'll work fine. He can't let this be a problem, not with a world full of evil to destroy and people to save.
"You were badly scorched," Cas says, looking down at his own living hands. "But the arm was... When I reached you, it was too late."
Cas doesn't look like he'd just been through inferno, but then, angels probably don't singe easy. That probably explains what happened to the coat, though. Dean wants to ask what happened, but then, he can probably guess. He lowers his arm again, the fake one, rests it on the cot at his side. "Guess I owe you one."
Cas has his hand in the pocket of his new coat, and won't look up at Dean. He says, "You don't need to repay me. I would do it again."
He would, too, and without expecting anything for it. That, more than the new arm, more than the near miss, or the prospect of death-by-fire, is what scares Dean the most.
--
Title: The story of an umbrella
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Warnings/Rating: none/G
Summary: Susan, years later, dealing.
All her friends call to console her when Andrew leaves her, and she contemplates picking up the phone and letting them indulge her distress, but ends up letting it ring. She's not as upset as they think, and the room is pleasantly quiet the rest of the time. Andrew was always loud and bright. He liked her stubborn streak, he said, and he left because she wouldn't let him take care of her. All Susan knows for certain is that the row ended when he decided to leave, and after that they could smile at each other again.
She decides to go out, instead of cooking for herself, but pauses by the coatrack. It's not often she thinks of Narnia now, that children's tale that tore their family apart, and she's happier that way. The afternoon seems a little colder, and she recalls the pinprick chill that slipped right through the fur. Lucy shouted after her the day Susan walked out of Christmas dinner, something about the lion and how Susan had believed then. But Lucy never did understand the intricacies of growing up, and how some things get left behind. A first love, a grand dream, a new torch. An umbrella Andrew will probably miss tomorrow, when it starts raining. He'll go buy a new one, though, because he's moved on. Like Susan did.
Susan likes to think he wasn't just a replacement brolly, picked up when the rain started and she realised she'd left hers somewhere. Likes to think it's all been of her choosing, abandonment of the old because the new fits better. It's all part of growing up, leaving behind the easy things for the sensible ones, the desired for the attainable. Not everyone she's ever loved has walked out of her life this easily. She cried all night the last time she spoke to Peter.
That night she dreams of dark hair, a stormy face, riding horses at breakneck speeds and a kiss goodbye. When she wakes up she washes and dresses for another day. When she leaves, she takes Andrew's umbrella to fend off the rain.
--