three drabbles (Sun/Jacob, Eko/Claire, Miles/Ilana)
Title: vultures in my garden
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Sun/Jacob
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: Jacob doesn't understand irony.
It was supposed to be you, he whispers when he saves her.
Sun aims with precision at his enemies. Jacob calls her a symbol of hope because he doesn't understand irony. She imagines a bullet piercing her empty womb.
Sliding his hand across the number forty-two, he lies again. It was supposed to be you.
Sun hides her ring in a shoebox. Jacob's hoarse laugh sounds like a tribal drum.
Her nails carve curses into ancient hips. Jacob drags chalk through her hair and buries dreams of pink-frosted birthday cake beneath the broken loom. His tongue presses perfect Korean against her ear.
It was supposed to be you.
Title: so we make our choices
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Eko/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: Madness is relative.
In the land of the dead and unreal, Eko's only fear is the line between them.
Claire appears with spiderwebs in her hair, silver threads cutting into his hands. She laughs at his chapel of fallen soldiers. "Penance isn't going to do them any good." (she's been trying forever)
He disagrees, contradicts her on all accounts, his dirt-stained fingers a shadow across porcelain cheeks. "You are not here," he tests her.
She kisses him through a pout, mouth slick with saltwater and blood. "I'm just as real as anybody."
Slivers of doubt scratch his skin in the form of bitten fingernails. Behind him, her martyrs curse them both.
Title: a million dead-end streets
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Miles/Ilana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: She's the kind of girl that doesn't even have a league.
Miles knows he's playing with fire. "You don't matter," Ilana sneers.
"That makes two of us, sister." Let's be honest, he kinda digs angry kisses and a rifle jammed into his side.
Her tongue drags dead languages along his throat. She marks him as another victim of her precious war, nails in his shoulders and watered-down accent scraping against his skull.
His hands leave nothing but sweat across skin that tastes like gunpowder. Obscenities burn his mouth and fall out gibberish.
Ilana grips his elbows, holding him steady against her as she cries for him, for anybody to save her.
Miles groans. "Babe, I can't even save myself."
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Sun/Jacob
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: Jacob doesn't understand irony.
It was supposed to be you, he whispers when he saves her.
Sun aims with precision at his enemies. Jacob calls her a symbol of hope because he doesn't understand irony. She imagines a bullet piercing her empty womb.
Sliding his hand across the number forty-two, he lies again. It was supposed to be you.
Sun hides her ring in a shoebox. Jacob's hoarse laugh sounds like a tribal drum.
Her nails carve curses into ancient hips. Jacob drags chalk through her hair and buries dreams of pink-frosted birthday cake beneath the broken loom. His tongue presses perfect Korean against her ear.
It was supposed to be you.
Title: so we make our choices
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Eko/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: Madness is relative.
In the land of the dead and unreal, Eko's only fear is the line between them.
Claire appears with spiderwebs in her hair, silver threads cutting into his hands. She laughs at his chapel of fallen soldiers. "Penance isn't going to do them any good." (she's been trying forever)
He disagrees, contradicts her on all accounts, his dirt-stained fingers a shadow across porcelain cheeks. "You are not here," he tests her.
She kisses him through a pout, mouth slick with saltwater and blood. "I'm just as real as anybody."
Slivers of doubt scratch his skin in the form of bitten fingernails. Behind him, her martyrs curse them both.
Title: a million dead-end streets
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Miles/Ilana
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 108
Summary: She's the kind of girl that doesn't even have a league.
Miles knows he's playing with fire. "You don't matter," Ilana sneers.
"That makes two of us, sister." Let's be honest, he kinda digs angry kisses and a rifle jammed into his side.
Her tongue drags dead languages along his throat. She marks him as another victim of her precious war, nails in his shoulders and watered-down accent scraping against his skull.
His hands leave nothing but sweat across skin that tastes like gunpowder. Obscenities burn his mouth and fall out gibberish.
Ilana grips his elbows, holding him steady against her as she cries for him, for anybody to save her.
Miles groans. "Babe, I can't even save myself."