writerverse library

Challenge #06: Dead as a Doornail

i_llbedammned — Thu, 20 Oct 2022 04:21:18 GMT

Title: Impact
Word Count: 412
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): None
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Vivid gore descriptions
Summary: Phoenix was just pushed off a building. He wasn't supposed to live, yet he did.

The crack of his bones on the pavement was more sickening than the feeling of impact. The impact, the impact felt like nothing. The impact felt like a cessation of pain, like he was floating in everything all at once and the world was moving fast, so fast that none of the details mattered. Somewhere distantly he knew that it should hurt, that logically a body could not be flung off of a building and not be in pain, yet in the moment he didn’t feel it. Everything felt kind of soft and soupy. Like everything was gonna be okay. It was kind of cold but he felt tired. Enter the blackness of the void.

The next time he opened up his eyes he definitely felt the pain. It was like the previous floating feeling was just the universe winding up for the big punch. Every inch of him screaming with shooting, broken glass feelings that lanced all over whenever he made the smallest movement. Red hot shooting needles, shards digging under his skin, and the awful crimson taste of bone and blood in his mouth. Something crunchy was in his mouth and he dimly realize that might be teeth.

Someone was talking to him but the bright lances of pain were too much. Way too much. Fed back like static feedback into a giant scream and all the sound faded away into the scream. Sounded like electronic feedback.
How the fuck did he get here? How did he get from being on top of the world, soft lips upon his as their enemies burned around them, corona radiata of euphoria to this sick, shooting needles of broken bones and blood, falling from a building, hands on his shoulders pushing him backwards as he tumbled into the black?

It was too much. Blackness swallowed him up in the space of a blink.

Came to again in a place where time didn’t exist. No windows, some grey metal walls bedecked with posters and neon. The world pulsed and the light hurt. The light fucking hurt. He groaned weakly. Phoenix knew he should be dead. He wasn’t. Synth-psyche knew that he wouldn’t be that fucking lucky. Tubes dangled out of his arms, down his throat. He tried to vomit and a wet squelch went down the tube.

That was all he was now, tubes and wires and pain. That was all he could be for the moment. It was almost zen in a way. Just be. No thoughts.

Challenge #10: Tropical Paradise

i_llbedammned — Wed, 26 Jun 2019 23:31:35 GMT

Title: Sand, Salt, Sea
Word Count:1,721
Rating:R
Original/Fandom:Original
Pairings (if any): Marcelaine/Mermaid
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Some sex
Summary: Marcelaine rescues a woman that she finds half drowned in the waves only to find her be nothing like what she expected.

There was something that always drew Marcelaine back to the sea. She loved as the way that the salt in the air seemed tangible, like she could just extend her tongue and taste the flakes. Maybe it was because she had never been to the sea before she was 21. (Growing up in the middle of Kansas to some poor farmers did that to you.) Whatever the case may be, she eagerly dug her toes into the sand and ran towards the ocean each time she was near it. She would sing and dance in the waves, enjoying feeling like one with nature. It made being stuck on this island much more bearable when she could commune with nature.

Normally there was nothing there but water, the moon and the sharp cut of the shells to join her. However today was different. Today something very solid brushed against her legs, making her stop. Shark, her first instinct said, but no pain of a bite came along. She looked down and saw something very pale bobbing against her dark legs in the waist-deep water. It almost looked like-

A body!

Her green eyes went wide as she fully processed what was before her and she plunged under the water and lifted the poor soul out. Years of weightlifting had made this an easy task, the person felt no lighter than a baby bird when she picked them up. It was a woman, a beautiful green haired woman with lips that glittered like rubies, naked in the surf. A wound on her head bled a little and her skin felt icy cold.
“Help!” Marcelaine cried out, hoping that anyone would hear her, but at this hour there was no one on the beach but her. She lay the woman on the sand, covering her with a towel to try and warm her up. First she looked at the head wound and it appeared like it had already stopped bleeding, thankfully. Given how jagged it was, it likely came from hitting her head on the rocks as she was swimming. There was a good chance she was dead, but there was no way that Marcelaine was going to let her go without a fight.

Going through the familiar motions of CPR, the EMT breathed into the woman’s mouth and pushed on her chest. Sand and sweat met with panic as she desperately hoped to bring life back to this stranger. Oh the woman felt so cold, surely there was no way that she could be brought back, but after four cycles the woman’s eyes opened and she began sputtering for air.

“Easy now, you have taken quite a blow to the head.” Marcelaine gently said, pressing the woman down so she wouldn’t just sit up. “Just take a few breaths, how do you feel?”

The woman, her eyes looking golden in the dim light, blinked a few times. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it almost seemed like she had a second eyelid that flickered over her eye before he flesh membrane did so. It was unusual, but there were humans out there with all sorts of strange conditions. “I am fine.” She spoke with her voice a deep, sultry alto that sounded like the old lounge singers.

“What is the last thing you remember?” The Morrocan-French woman asked her, gently helping her to sit up after running through diagnostics to make sure nothing was broken.

“I remember a song. A wonderful song that called to me from the waves.” The woman’s face looked dreamily out over the silver encrusted waves with a placid smile.

“A song called you from the waves?” Marcelaine looked puzzled. She had been singing, but the phrase “called from the waves” threw her for a loop. She knew the tales of mermaids, but there was no way she had just found one, right?

“Yes. Was it you who was singing?” The woman turned her gaze towards the other woman with a questioning tilt of her head.

“I was, but can we go back a second? What did you mean was called from the waves?” the raven haired woman incredulously asked.

“I live there,” the pale woman said, motioning broadly to the ocean, “I will have very little time before they call me again. Please let me hear you sing, up close.”

“Uh, wouldn’t you rather go to the hospital?”

“Hospital?” the woman looked confused at the very notion.

“Yeah, for your head.” She pointed to the spot on her own head that would be a parallel to the other woman.
“Oh!” As if she had forgotten, the other woman raised a hand to her head and nodded as if she was making a note of it. When she next opened up her mouth a deep song came out that made Marcelaine feel hopeful. The wound on her head glowed blue and sealed itself up.

The human’s jaw dropped open in shock. Well, there was no getting around it. She was either dreaming or that was some straight-up magical mermaid in front of her.

“Please, I wish to hear you sing. Little time.” The mermaid beckoned, moving close enough that her shoulder touched Marcelaine’s.

After a few second wracking her brain for a song, Marcelaine finally found one. It was a long, low bluesy song – the kind those lounge singers would sing. It was about love and though she was sure the mermaid would think it too simple it was all she could think of at the time. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to look at the strange, supernatural sight in front of her and just let herself feel the music.
A laugh like a peal of bells met her ears. “Beautiful!” The mermaid threw her arms around Marcelaine’s neck, laughing and repeating, “Beautiful!”

Marcelaine’s eyes opened, “Glad you think so.”

“You are just so-“ the mermaid looked frustrated at not being able to find the right word and placed her lips on Marcelaine’s cheek. “Understand?” She asked.

“I think so.” The other woman smirked, “You may need to tell me again and slower though.”

Though language eluded her, she understood what that meant. “Like this?” Her ruby lips softly kissed Marcelaine’s brown cheek and then made their way over to her lips. They were colder than a typical lip, but they tasted like sea salt and some sweet fruit that was completely unheard of on the surface world.

Marcelaine’s curls bounced as she nodded, “Yeah, like that, but also like this.” She kissed the woman, letting her tongue explore the mouth filled with pointed teeth carefully. It had been so long since she had known the contact of another that she was only too eager to take all that the mermaid was willing to give to her.

After that there were no more words needed between them. The mermaid’s hands worked underneath Marcelaine’s top, massaging her brown nipples until she felt them harden underneath her grasp. Her fingers wound their way through the mermaid’s hair, pressing her close until the mermaid pressed her into the sand, tearing off her top in the process. The pale woman’s mouth sucked on her breasts as she tugged down the bottoms of her swimsuit and worked her fingers there before letting her mouth follow. For being unaware of how to speak proper French, the mermaid certainly did know the human woman’s body well. It was only a matter a time before she was moaning under her grasp, cursing and enjoying every minute of it.
With one webbed hand the mermaid guided Marcelaine’s fingers between her legs as she rose up to kiss the woman’s neck. Everything felt so human that if it wasn’t for the cool touch of the skin, she would have sworn she was with a human woman. That is until she reached between the mermaid’s legs and felt a hard , fleshy shaft growing between her folds.

“Eggs. Now.” The woman said and Marcelaine nodded, gratefully accepting as the strange flesh was thrust inside of her. It was weird, sure, but she could roll with weird and it wasn’t like she was particularly concerned that unfertilized mermaid eggs would impregnate her. It was no different than a strap-on really.
If you had asked her how she would have ended her day, in no way would she have ever said getting thrust by a mermaid’s ovipositor, but there she was kissing the woman and writhing in the sand. Hot lust boiled up inside of her until it all spilled over and she felt her body shaking with their combined efforts. The mermaid followed in close suit, gasping and crying out in a language she could not understand but the shudders of her body felt the same as she finished.

They lay there for a moment, gasping and rolling in the aftermath. Language failed them both. The mermaid pulled herself up and looked out at the sea. “Little time.” She said sadly, beginning to scramble her way towards the ocean as the sky began to lighten.

“Wait!” cried Marcelaine, grabbing ahold of her hand, “What’s your name? How will I find you again?”
The mermaid pointed at her chest, “Murena.” She smiled, pointing to the waves, “Find me. Sing to me.” With that said she gently pried the other woman’s arm from her and dove into the waves as the sun broke the horizon. She was gone like a dream at morning’s light.

Marcelaine was left confused, pleased and a little heartbroken on the beach. There was no reason she should have been heartbroken, they had barely known one another. If it wasn’t for the fact that she could still trace the small cuts of the woman’s teeth on her still naked body, she would have assumed that she dreamed the whole thing. Why her of all the people in beaches? With a soft groan she rolled herself in her towel and grabbed her swim suit off the sand. Going to the water, she washed the traces of sand and sweat off of her. Guess she would just have to sing at night til she could find Murena and ask her. Maybe if she was lucky she could get a repeat performance. Til then she had the salt, sea, and the sand to keep her company.

"In the past"

gothtique — Sat, 15 Jul 2017 18:57:04 GMT

"Lonely in a crowd"
Word Count: 641
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: navel gazing
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): N/A
Summary: Morose reflection on being alone
Link:http://gothtique.livejournal.com/

Looking back, it was hard to remember a time in her life when she hadn't been lonely.
She wracked her brain and fought back tears.

Knitting together and drinking with a group of women who had collected around her. Some made better scarves than others, some came religiously, some patterns more interesting, but it usually involved a steady klatch, more than one bottle of wine and desceded in to laugter that carried them long into the evening. Perhaps they were some of her oldest and best friends, but they had all gone their own ways, moving, having kids, changing jobs. They had not been togther in over a year.

Maybe the folks she met at a favorite local bar, on Wednesday nights when she dropped her children off at boy scouts. It was 90 minutes, once a week, but there is something to be said for going some place where everyone knew her name and looked forward to her arrival.

The dozens of families and children she knew through having 2 children. Band practice, know your school nights, volunteering to chaperone class trips, carpools. Graduating classes of 400 kids, and they had all grown up and moved away, their families drifting away with them.

People in college to play bridge with, intermural sports they were horrible at, but still played just to hang out together for a bit and laugh.
Nearly 30 years later, there were maybe a half dozen she was friends with on facebook. They didn't really talk anymore, but played a long from home, keeping track of marriages and how many spawn they had produced.

She had been surrounded by people who knew her, her whole life it seemed.
Growing up in a small town where everyone knows everyone.
She had gone to her 25th high school class reunion. Everyone seemed inpressed with the stories she told of traveling to far away places, the interesting jobs she had had, her current work. Truly, it was simply morbid curiousity. Had she done better by running away from that valley in the middle of no where, or were they better having stayed home? Locked into the familiar? Growing where they had been planted.

More than anything she missed her children.
20 years of shopping for them, feeding them, buying clothes and birthday presents. running them to school, rehearsals, lessons, games, performances. Planning parties and celebrating holidays. She had worked so hard to never miss a performance. To always be there on the sidelines so, when they looked up into the crowd, they saw her and knew that she was there. That they were not alone.

But her children were gone now.

Maybe it was partially her fault. She had tried to keep up with her children after the divorce, but they were 1200 miles away and were still as busy. She wondered who drove them to band practice now. Did their father even bother to show up for performances?
She could message them, but the often ignored her messages.
She could call them, but her calls usually went to voice mail.

Settled now in a large midwestern town, she had lived there a year. There were maybe 30-40 people she would know if she ran into them at the grocrey store. People from the arts association, the liquor store she stopped by weekly, 1 or 2 from the YMCA where she tried to stay strong. Their names were in the back of her head, somewhere, but she could never remember them when surprised by a joyful "Hello!" in some random place. They had never come to her house or invited her to dinner.

Surrounded by people in the grocery store, neighbors, strangers on all sides, everywhere she had looked. Thousands of people at a parade, at a concert, at the fireworks on 4th of July.

Alone in a crowd.
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Challenge #08: Original Soundtrack

theun4givables — Sun, 21 Dec 2014 15:01:42 GMT

I, of course, chose my duology featuring Jazz and Savin. Most of these songs will probably pertain to Gray Morning over One Day at a Time, but all of these songs either make me thing of certain events or the characters present across both storylines. :)

1. THE Jazz and Savin breakup song:

2. Mitchel Foraker's Theme Song:

3. Savin to Mitchel:

4. Jazz to Savin in Gray Morning, as things begin to fall apart between them:

5. Jazz to Mitchel (or Savin to Mitchel, depending on how you want to look at things...):

6. Savin to Jazz:

7. Also Savin to Jazz:

8. Jazz to Savin, when their relationship was building:

9. Mitchel to Savin, more or less:

10. Ravi to Jazz:

Challenge #27: November Table of Doom

theun4givables — Sun, 09 Nov 2014 23:07:29 GMT

Title: Grounded
Prompt(s) Used: On Your Terms, Prince Charming
Word Count: 2017
Rating: R
Original/Fandom: Original (GM 'verse)
Pairings (if any): Jazz/Savin
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): Language.
Summary: Jazz and Savin have to do their first public appearance as a couple for a Late Night talk show. While Jazz still hasn't received an answer to his proposal, Savin has something up his sleeve. ;)

Savin fidgeted in his seat, his hands busying themselves with his tie. They were surrounded by other guests, each small group making small talk amongst themselves. Jazz sat next to him -- sat against him, actually, his body half-leaning on Savin’s and his head on Savin’s shoulder.

Jazz smacked Savin’s hands away from his tie. “Stop messing with that,” he said, keeping his voice low. He wrapped his fingers around Savin’s and held Savin’s hands tightly. “Why are you so nervous? You’ve done plenty of things in front of an audience before --”

“This is different,” Savin grunted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He looked away from Jazz and frowned. He even tugged a hand free, touching his nose where glasses would have been, had he been wearing them. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to act.”

“Like yourself,” Jazz offered, an easy smile playing on his lips as he shook his head. He squeezed the hand Savin hadn’t pulled away from him. “We’re the special guests, tonight. The whole Empire wants to see us relaxed and happy, okay?”

“Relaxed. Right,” Savin grumbled, pulling his other hand free and wrapping his arm around Jazz. “We’re both in suits --”

“You act like we both don’t wear suits all of the damn time,” Jazz said, vibrating with quiet laughter. He turned to Savin and cupped Savin’s cheek. “Do we need to sneak off into a bathroom somewhere...?” he whispered as he leaned forward, pressing his lips to Savin’s.

Savin cracked a smile at that. “Maybe after we go on,” he murmured back. “Wouldn’t want them to find their Emperor in a compromising position, after all,” he whispered in Jazz’s ear, nipping at it despite himself.

“Who said it’d be me in the compromising position?” Jazz asked, smirking at Savin. He glanced around the room, noticing they were now alone. “I am quite capable of pushing you up against a wall, Dr. Bates.”

Savin shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders eased some as he relaxed against the small couch he and Jazz shared. “It’s a compromising position for you either way. The Empire would rather not think of their Emperor as a sexual being.”

“Have you looked at the magazines lately?” Jazz asked, giving Savin a haughty look. “I’m being touted as the sexiest Emperor in all of history.”

“That’s because you are,” Savin said, smirking, tightening his arm around Jazz. “And you’re mine.”

“Mm. I like the sound of that,” Jazz said, intertwining his fingers with Savin’s. He rested his head against Savin’s shoulder again. “You feeling better, now?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because we’re on in five minutes,” Jazz said, grinning and pushing himself off the couch. He tugged Savin off the couch with him, dragging him towards the crew member standing just twenty feet from them.

“What’s gotten into you?” Savin asked, laughter evident in his tone. “You usually hate these things.”

“Not necessarily true!” Jazz said, turning to Savin as he softened his smile. He didn’t let go of the other man and squeezed Savin’s fingers in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I’m just excited to do a public appearance with you, for once. It’s important to me that the Empire gets to know you.”

Savin scoffed. “They apparently think I’m stringing you along, if the tabloids are any indication,” he muttered, his smile fading from his lips. “Or they think I’m cheating on you with Mari.”

Jazz shrugged. “We both knew they were going to hone in on your friendship with her before I was even crowned Emperor. You two are close -- it’s hard not to notice,” he said, the levity disappearing from his voice. He tried not to think about the most recent tabloid expose, where the writer had managed to find an old picture of Savin and Mari together.

“Yeah, but if it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t even be together,” Savin said, wrapping an arm around Jazz’s waist. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Jazz’s ear as he spoke. “Or would you have just gone home with me without her encouragement, anyway?”

Jazz smirked and shook his head. “I think we need to change the subject before we get on stage,” he said, pulling away from Savin. The crew member stopped them short in a dark hallway, murmuring something that Jazz caught but Savin didn’t seem to.

It wasn’t long before Jazz heard their names announced, and Jazz grabbed his hand and dragged Savin out into the bright lights and in front of the cheering crowd. Savin almost seemed to hesitate, his footsteps not quite matching Jazz’s as they strode across the stage to shake the hands of their host, Larry.

Jazz let go of Savin as the two of them made to sit in their seat, an elongated chair meant for couples like themselves. Savin’s arm slid around his waist as he sat down, causing Jazz to jump a little at his touch. He then eased into it and smiled out at the audience, the expressions of the crowd unreadable, thanks to the blinding stage lights.

“Let me just say that I am honored to have the both of you here tonight,” Larry began, settling into his own chair and scooting it forward at his desk. “I know the two of you are incredibly busy people, and finding time out of your schedule just to visit us on this boring ol’ Late Night Show means a lot -- to me and my viewers.”

Jazz smiled and turned to Savin, noticing that the older man was managing a smile as well. Good, he thought to himself. Savin was starting to relax into it. “It’s not a problem, Larry,” Jazz said. “It was actually harder for Savin here to get off tonight than it was for me.”

Savin gave a soft snort at that, shaking his head. “Look, just because my father doesn’t understand this whole, ‘my son is dating the Emperor’ thing...”

“You work for your father?” Larry asked, genuine interest crossing his features. “What’s that like?”

“Hell on Earth,” Savin answered, his tone even and completely controlled. He glanced at the camera, a slight smirk on his face as the audience gave a quiet chuckle. “It’s actually not that bad. It just gets confusing, sometimes. Like when they page ‘Dr. Bates,’ and you have no clue which one they even fucking mean.” Jazz elbowed him, making sure not to jab Savin too hard. Savin gave him a confused look before his eyes widened. “Oh, shit, sorry, I forgot -- live TV.”

The audience laughed even louder that time, and Jazz didn’t have to look at Savin to see the faint blush on his cheeks. Instead, Jazz gave Savin’s knee a sympathetic squeeze.

“It’s alright, Savin,” Larry said with a wide smile and suppressing a laugh of his own. “A lot of my guests are way more tiring on the censors than that, so I think you get a pass.”

“Good, because I’m not even aware I’m cursing, half the time,” Savin said, a sheepish grin overtaking his features as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Jazz probably gets tired of elbowing me, whenever we’re in public together.”

“God, yes, I do,” Jazz said, unable to hide his smile as the audience laughed once again. “I’ve gotten better at being discreet about it, at least?”

“I don’t think that last one was that discreet, Emperor,” Larry said, smirking. He fixed his eyes on Savin. “‘Jazz’?”

“It’s my nickname,” Jazz said, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I actually really despise my whole first name.”

“I actually like your whole first name,” Savin said softly, his arm tightening around Jazz’s waist in a soft squeeze. “I think it suits you -- ‘Jazz’ just suits you more.”

Jazz and Larry both raised an eyebrow as they turned to Savin. “How so?” Jazz asked, leaning an arm against the edge of the loveseat and resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

Savin’s faint blush returned, this time deepening as his eyes flicked towards the crowd. “I -- okay, I’ll entirely admit this is dumb, but...” He took in a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes as he met Jazz’s gaze. “You remind me of jazz music itself. Like -- like how you can go from panicking over which color tie to wear to completely smooth and in control within minutes, and how both sides of you are both so you. It’s -- it’s just been really fucking amazing, watching you take this whole ‘Emperor’ thing in stride.”

The audience cooed, and Jazz felt his own face heat up as Savin’s words fully registered in his mind. He looked away from him and wished the heat in his face would die away. “Language,” he chided instead, causing the audience and Savin himself to laugh.

“I think that one was warranted,” Savin said, nudging Jazz. “I honestly don’t know how you do it -- being the Emperor seems to come so effortlessly to you.”

“I’ll have to agree with Savin on that one, Emperor Callahan,” Larry said, shifting in his own seat behind his desk. “Even Emperor Casio didn’t seem as comfortable with his role as you do.”

“Thank you,” Jazz said, sitting up straight. He glanced at Savin before intertwining his fingers with Savin’s. “I don’t think I would be able to do it at all, if it weren’t for Savin. He keeps me grounded when I need it. It’s --” Jazz cut himself off, biting his lip.

“It’s?” Larry prompted, giving Jazz a look of total interest.

“It’s why I asked him to marry me,” Jazz finished, his lip still caught underneath his teeth. He felt Savin stiffen beside him, and gave Savin’s fingers a squeeze. “I can’t imagine ruling this Empire without him by my side.”

Savin still felt all too tense beside Jazz. He then cleared his throat and whispered, “You won’t have to.”

Jazz blinked, his brow wrinkling in confusion as Savin pulled his hand away from his -- as Savin slipped off the couch and onto one knee. A collective gasp came from the audience as Jazz’s eyes widened, landing on the ringbox that had materialized out of no where. “Jasper Callahan, will you let me keep you grounded for the rest of our lives?”

Tears clouded his vision and his mouth dropped open. “You motherfucker,” he gasped, reaching for the ring with shaking fingers. “You -- you --” The sound of Savin’s rich laughter cut him off, causing his brows to knit together. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Language, Jasper,” Savin said, clucking his tongue before grinning at Jazz.

Jazz’s whole body burned at Savin’s statement, and he put his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he groaned between his fingers.

“I know,” Savin said, settling back onto the couch beside Jazz, his arm a heavy but comforting weight on top of Jazz’s shoulders. “Should I expect to wait for an answer?” he asked, gently pulling Jazz’s hands away from his face.

Their eyes met, and Jazz felt a shy, slow grin make its way across his face. He leaned forward, pulling his hand free from Savin’s and cupping Savin’s cheek. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he whispered, brushing his lips against Savin’s.

When they broke apart, the audience all stood on their feet, their applause ringing in Jazz’s ears. Jazz brushed his tears away, his fingers tightly clasped around Savin’s. “I love you,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Savin slipped the ring over Jazz’s ring finger, green eyes shimmering in the bright lights of the stage. “I love you, too,” he murmured. When he moved to capture Jazz’s lips with his own yet again, Jazz let him deepen it, which elicited further cheers from the crowd.

He wondered what the tabloids would say about them, in the morning.

Challenge #18, Weekly QuickFic #6

theun4givables — Tue, 07 Jan 2014 16:17:21 GMT

Title: Risks
Prompt: “Live, love today, and come tomorrow what may; don’t stop even for a sigh, it doesn’t help if you cry. That’s how I’ll live and I’ll die, devil may care” (“Devil May Care” by: Jamie Cullum)
Bonus?Yes
Word Count: 245
Rating: PG-13
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): One-sided him/her
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): None, really
Summary: She knows it's a risk but it's one she's more than willing to take.

She doesn’t care if she’ll get hurt. She wants this. She wants this more than anything, and wasn’t the point of all her hard work so she could take risks, make mistakes, and do what she needs to do for herself?

She’s terrified of telling him this, though. Terrified that he’ll still reject her, that he will try to protect her, because he doesn’t want her to get hurt. But will she regret this, if she doesn’t pursue, at least a little? Will she later plague herself with questions of what ifs and might bes? She likes him. A lot. She wants a relationship. A lot.

She can’t promise him she won’t fall for him. She probably already has. And she can’t promise him she’s truly ready for something like this -- because who ever really is?

But she wants to try. She wants to see the stories they create, together. She wants to see what it’s like, to do something purely for herself and not because someone else gently pushed her (or not so gently shoved her) towards a decision.

Will it be worth the almost inevitable pain? She hopes so. And even if it’s not, it’ll be a lesson well-learned, a lesson she needed to have, and a lesson she’s more than willing to sit through, whether it’s a month or a year or five years -- she wants this.

And she wants him.

Can he really blame her for trying?

Title: Pitch and Timbre
Prompt: Overpowering
Bonus? Also yes
Word Count: 351
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): Him/Her
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): None, really.
Summary: She gets an unexpected phone call from a good friend, one she might be falling for.

It’s a little overwhelming, just how much his voice affects you. It’s not at all what you expected, yet it resonates deep within you, causing a smile to break out on your face before you can stop it.

Your first phone call, and it was while he was at work. A literal minute where he decided it’d be worth it to call you, just so you can hear his voice (because damn, did you want to hear his voice) -- and it was while he was at work, probably busy, and probably breaking a rule or two.

So maybe it wasn’t his voice at all. Maybe it was the fact he took a want you had and fulfilled it, as quickly as he could, without giving you any sort of warning of what he was about to do. All you know is that you were sitting in your bed, book propped open in your hands, your phone at your side (since you were using that to talk to him over facebook, since it’s less distracting than your computer), and the phone started vibrating beside you. A number you don’t recognize, but the word California underneath the number, and really, who the hell else could it be?

And yet, you couldn’t get yourself to answer with anything more than a shy and hesitant, “Hello...?” and then a moment later, “I’m assuming this is you,” and him affirming yes, that would be a good assumption. And the whole time, your heart can’t make up its mind whether to pick up its pace or stop dead in its tracks as you try to memorize the exact pitch and timbre of his voice, so that you can recall it later at will.

Sixty seconds, maybe less, and you’re not sure you succeeded in memorizing it, but there may be more phone calls and therefore more times to have your breath taken away by it, to memorize it. And that’s enough for you, for now.

But as much as he’s already overpowered your heart, you know it’ll one day ask for more.

24 Hour Challenge A

theun4givables — Tue, 31 Dec 2013 16:50:31 GMT

Title: Brainstorming
Word Count: 1184
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): Him/Her
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): None, really.
Summary: She needs an idea for this silly writing competition -- and he's more than willing to help her find one.

She chews her bottom lip, her pen pressed to the notebook underneath her hand. She needs ideas. She needs them now. Needs to have at least a small idea of what she’s doing next for the writing competition.

After all, he’ll be there, soon. They agreed to a meet-up in public, at a Panera Bread close to her home. While she’s enjoying the sunlight and the moments of peace and quiet without her child, the writing prompt “At the last minute,” torments her.

She’s a procrastinator by nature, after all. Why do today what one can put off until tomorrow, and all that. Except this prompt is due in the next 48 hours, many of which she intends to spend with her friend -- it’s the first time they’re meeting in person, after all, and she doesn’t want the looming deadline to dictate how they spend time with one another.

Except she knows him -- he probably hasn’t even started his entry, yet, and yet here she is, berating herself for not having at least an idea of what she wants to write about. At the last minute.

Maybe fiction? She jots down a few choice words, “Too late,” “Saved in the nick of time.” Little cliches and phrases, each one as useless as the last. Maybe nonfiction? But she wrote nonfiction the past two weeks in a row, and she prides herself not writing any one particular thing, one particular theme.

Nothing pulls at her, though. She taps her pen against her notebook, resting her chin in her palm, her shoulders slumped and back to the entrance of the restaurant. She’s sitting outside, since the inside was too crowded, too filled with talking and the clatter of plates and bowls for her to concentrate.

She doesn’t notice him walking up behind her, not as she bends her face close to her notebook again, pen in hand as she begins to twist the prompt in any way she can. She needs this to be unique, she needs it to be good, perfect -- her spot in the competition hangs in the balance, after all, and --

“Well hello, there,” she hears him murmur from behind her, his breath awfully close to her ear. She jumps, putting her hand to her chest as a startled yelp escapes her.

“Jesus,” she gasps, ignoring the burning in her cheeks as she looks up at him over her glasses. “Don’t scare me like that.”

He just smiles back at her, laughter dancing in his eyes as he settles in the seat opposite of hers. He then glances towards her notebook, the pen in her hand. “Writing by hand?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you did all of your writing on your computer?”

“I do,” she answers, willing her blush away as she pushes her hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. She sucks on her bottom lip for a moment, trying to will her sudden bout of nerves away. “I’m trying to think of what to write for Idol, though.”

His eyes light up, then, and he leans his elbows on the small table, moving closer to her. “You don’t have an idea yet?” he asks. “‘At the last minute’ is so easy.”

“Yeah -- that’s precisely my problem,” she says, pursing her lips together for a moment. She glances down at the notebook in front of her, at her notes and quotes and single lines, jumping points for anything that might grab her. “I mean, how many people d’you think are gonna do meta? Or talk about how they’re procrastinators in real life, or --” She cuts herself off as he grins at her, shaking his head. “What?”

“You’re thinking about it too hard,” he says, tugging her notebook free from her fingers. He leans back in his seat, some, studying her sloppy handwriting.

“This coming from the guy who has to have the whole plot of his stories before he can write the right words?” she teases, twirling her pen between her fingers. She chews on the back of it a little bit as he glances at her before returning his attention to her notebook. His brow furrows a bit as he flips through the couple of pages of notes she made.

“I, at least, already know what I’m going to write,” he says, smirking at her as he puts her notebook down on the table. His finger lands on one sentence, in particular. “Write this one.”

She raises an eyebrow and squints at the words. “‘A last minute kiss’?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “But that’s so -- basic and reminds me of fairy-tales and -- look, I’m not so good at the fairy-tale thing, okay?”

He shrugs his shoulder, another playful smile tugging at his lips. “It doesn’t have to be a fairy-tale, though -- could always be realistic fiction. Or even nonfiction, if you wait to write it ‘til tomorrow.”

Her confused expression doesn’t falter at first, but with the teasing look in his eyes, she feels her face heat up again and she looks away from him. “You say that like I’m gonna be able to wait that long,” she mumbles under her breath, closing her notebook and resisting the urge to hide behind it.

“Wait that long for what?” he asks with feigned innocence, a wide grin spreading itself across his features.

She wants to hate him, but she can’t contain her grin, either, as she pushes herself out of her seat. She leaves her notebook on the table, her hand brushing against his as she walks along the edge of the table. Part of her wants to bite the bullet and lean down now -- catch him off guard while she can.

Except with the way he looks up at her expectantly, there’s no way kissing him now would catch him off guard.

She’d just have to wait, she tells herself as she feels the moment pass. Instead, she taps her fingers on the table and picks up her notebook, cradling it to her chest. “Want something? I’m gonna go get an iced green tea.”

He snickers quietly to himself, pushing himself out of his own seat and standing directly in front of her. Their height difference is more apparent, now, and she feels so short, compared to him. Safe, even if this was the first time they met in person. “Here -- I’ll go with you,” he says -- and without warning, he leans down and presses his lips against hers. “And now you don’t have to wait,” he continues, smirking at her as she blinks at him in surprise.

She just shakes her head and smiles. “I guess not -- though that takes nonfiction off the table, definitely.”

He laughs, following her inside the Panera Bread. She turns her pen over in her fingers and steps in line, frowning in thought. After a moment, her eyes widen, a wide grin spreading across her face.

It might not take nonfiction off the table, after all.

Challenge #13, QuickFic #4

theun4givables — Sat, 28 Dec 2013 11:30:04 GMT

Title: Meet the Parents
Prompt: Faithful & True, Skeletons in the Closet
Bonus? Nope
Word Count: 3533
Rating: PG-13
Original/Fandom: Tomorrow Trilogy 'verse
Pairings (if any): Savin/Mitchel
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Language, a tiny bit of sexual content, bigotry
Summary: Something borderline fluffy for Savin and Mitchel. Mitchel's meeting Savin's parents for the first time effort, and well -- it goes, let's just put it that way. ;)

Savin frowns, his brow furrowing together as he picks his way through his disastrous living room. Why the man insists on doing his own upkeep, I’ll never know, as he’s so terrible at it that I wish he wouldn’t. “You’re here already?” he asks, regarding me with an odd look.

“Of course I’m here already, Bates,” I murmur, my fingers reaching for the knot in my tie -- though I’m not wearing one, since Savin requested I dress a little more casually for today. There’s no one else around, but I still feel the need to annoy him a little, referring to him by his last name. I’ve come to the understanding that he hates it whenever I do it and we’re in private. “It’s Christmas -- and we decided we would be celebrating together, this year.”

“It’s -- still a little early, yet, and my family --” He stops, stumbling over his own coffee table for a minute. Now that he’s a little closer, I can tell he hasn’t slept. “I still need to clean up.”

“Clearly,” I say, glancing around the living room. “When was the last time you cleaned up in here?”

“A -- couple of weeks ago?” he answers, sounding unsure of himself. He begins picking up various articles of clothing he has tossed about the room -- I have a feeling some of them were because of our more hurried love-making sessions, but I don’t say anything to allude to that. “D’you mind helping me clean up, a bit? I just -- need to get this room and the kitchen in order, that’s all --”

“Where do you want to put your paperwork?” I ask, not even waiting for the rest of his explanation. I’ve never seen the man this fraught with nervous energy. Even when the Empire had been falling apart at the seams, he never once appeared this nervous.

“The spare bedroom is fine for now,” he answers, his shoulders slumping in relief. “I’m sorry the place is a mess, it’s just --” He stops and swallows the rest of his words.

“I understand,” I whisper, picking up various files and folders strewn about his coffee table. With the minimal amount of picking up we’ve already done, the room already appears to be a lot cleaner. I suppose he just has an issue with clutter.

I have a feeling that Jasper once helped him keep the clutter to a minimum. While Savin and I have been on -- much more intimate terms, as of late, he doesn’t allow me to help him tidy up, now and again. I suppose it can’t be helped. We’re both still adjusting to our relationship and our feelings for one another, after all.

Except I realize that we’ve been together for roughly eight months, now. Didn’t he and Jasper move in together, by this point? I still haven’t met his family -- in fact, that was one of the reasons why I was visiting with him, today -- so I could meet them. I know the man wasn’t scheduled at the hospital last night, so that isn’t why he hasn’t slept. Is he that nervous about me meeting his family?

These thoughts continue to occupy me as the two of us move in companionable silence, cleaning what we can and removing clutter from the shared living space of his apartment. The kitchen, thankfully, took less time than the living room. This was, perhaps, due to the fact Savin clearly hadn’t cooked for himself in quite a few days.

He’s the first one to break the silence, his voice thin and cracking as he looks over at me, emerald eyes shimmering in the light of the kitchen. “I can’t believe it’s almost been a year,” he whispers, looking away from me.

At first, I have no earthly idea what he’s speaking about -- but then he places a hand over his chest, over his scar, and I know. My amiable mood breaks, and my chest feels heavy as I look away from him. “It has nearly been that long, hasn’t it?” I ask, keeping my voice low as I pick up the broom to sweep.

I killed Jasper nearly a year ago. I nearly killed him a year ago. “Is that what kept you up, last night?” I press despite myself. Like the man needs to be reminded any further about the awful things I’ve done.

“Kinda,” he answers honestly, exhaustion apparent in his voice. “My father’s not -- exactly a pleasant man, either. And I know how he felt when I started dating Jazz, to begin with, and -- he knows who you are, obviously. Same with my mother. And what you’ve... y’know, done.”

“Ah.” I suppose he would be nervous, in that case. “Are they at least aware you’ve started seeing someone?”

“Not -- really,” Savin answers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He then shakes his head. “My mother has an idea, but my father...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air for a moment before he brushes them aside with a wave of his hand. “Well, I’m sure you’ll understand why I don’t talk to him much, when they get here. Which should be --” He pulls out his phone and glances at it, his eyes widening. “Shit.”

“Very soon, I’ll take it?” I ask, walking over to him. I pull the last remaining plate from his hand and put it down on the counter. I then bring him close to me, placing a hand on his cheek and brushing my lips against his. “Go make yourself presentable, then. I’ll let them in, should they arrive before you’re done.”

“Fine,” Savin says with a huff. “Just -- finish putting the dishes away for me, alright? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

I nod, watching as Savin then steps away from me and heads back towards his bedroom, where I’m sure he’ll take a scandalously quick shower before returning to the living room, shortly thereafter. No matter, I have other things to worry about.

I should have known to consider that my name isn’t exactly obscure. That the general public knows who I am and what I did, what I took away from them. While I am quite used to the distrusting looks I’ve been receiving from others around the building -- and while I certainly don’t blame them for their lack of trust in me, perhaps dating the man whose husband I murdered wasn’t one of the best decisions I’ve ever made -- if I want his parents to trust me, that is.

I don’t have much time to think about that, however, because as I’m putting the last of the dishes in their place, there is a knock on Savin’s door. I pause, taking a moment to collect myself and run my fingers through my hair. What sort of an excuse should I have prepared for them? Should I simply tell them the truth? Perhaps Savin and I should have talked about this a little more in depth, when we initially planned this meeting.

I brush those thoughts aside as I make my way to the door. As I open the door, an older man and woman are both standing before me. The woman is petite, with eyes that are precisely the same color and shape as Savin’s -- while the man is much more an aged version of him, glasses and all. Undoubtedly, these are his parents. “Merry Christmas,” I say, offering them both one of my best smiles as I hold the door open. “Savin is currently taking a shower -- he should be out shortly.”

The woman smiles back, and there is a warmth to it that I hadn’t quite expected. “Of course he is,” she says with a quiet laugh. She offers me her hand. “I’m Nina, Savin’s mother. This is my husband, Hajime. And you are...?”

I clear my throat, hoping that my face doesn’t betray the sudden rush of nervousness I feel rising in my stomach when I take her hand in mine. “Mitchel. I’m a -- close friend of Savin’s.” A lie -- but one with enough truth. I’m sure Savin would understand.

Hajime raises an eyebrow, his expression darkening somewhat as he regards me with suspicion. “Mitchel -- as in Mitchel Foraker?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Yes, as in Mitchel Foraker, Father.” Savin’s voice, harsh and protective from behind me. Before I can react or turn on my heel, I feel Savin’s arm wrap around my waist. “And we’re more than friends.”

“Clearly -- otherwise you wouldn’t be introducing him to us at all, Savin,” Hajime says with a snort. “Just what would Jazz think, if he knew you were dating the man who killed him?”

I can feel Savin’s arm tense around my waist, and the way he frowns and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. “Jazz once loved Mitchel, too,” Savin answers, his fingers shaking as he pulls his hand away from his face. “This man has helped me pull the Empire back together -- and has proven himself to be loyal to me. I trust him. I expect you to do the same, and to treat him with respect -- otherwise, I will have the Guard see you out.”

He gives his mother an apologetic look, then, who just gives him a soft smile in return. She then rounds on her husband, her smile changing somewhat as she places a hand on Hajime’s arm. “I’m sure Savin has battled with the guilt of dating Mitchel enough, dear,” she says, her voice just loud enough for the both of us to hear as well. “There is no need to remind him of what Mitchel has done.”

I must say, I am impressed. Nina clearly trusts her son’s judgment almost to a fault. Hajime stares at her in stony silence before turning his head away from her. “I guess there isn’t,” he says after a moment. “Though I am curious as to how Mitchel managed to escape imprisonment and execution for what he’s done?”

“I needed his help,” Savin answers. “I made him a deal -- I would pardon him for his crimes as long as he helped me rebuild the Empire. So far, he has done exactly as I said, and has given me invaluable information against the Resistance in the process.”

“So you let free the man who nearly tore down your entire Empire single-handedly?” Hajime presses, raising an eyebrow yet again. He walks further into the living room, his hands folded behind his back. I have a sense that he and I would get along, had we met in different circumstances -- but in this context, it is clear the man will look at me with nothing more than contempt.

There are worse things, I suppose. Either he adored Jasper just like everyone else, or he simply has issues with his son dating other men. Both, judging from Savin’s behavior earlier, seem quite likely, now, as he lowers himself into Savin’s chair. The same one Savin has almost expressly forbidden me to sit in, myself. Hajime crosses one leg over the other and settles into the chair, meanwhile Savin says nothing.

“Technically, I am not truly free,” I begin, selecting a corner of the couch to sit down in. I, too, cross my legs and fold my hands on top of my knee, glancing at Savin for permission to continue. He gives me a slight nod of his head. “I am under watch by the Guard. My apartment, as well as Savin’s, are the only places I have any privacy, and I am only allowed to travel to designated areas within the Palace. Anywhere else, and I have to get express permission from Savin himself, and the Guard obviously follows my every move. It’s -- quite restrictive, actually.”

Savin looks away from me, then, sitting next to me on his own couch as his mother sits on his opposite side. She turns to me, then, after regarding her son critically. “Doesn’t that bother you?” she asks, pursing her lips together. I can see the similarities between her and her son more, now, as her facial expressions change. “Savin is allowed to go wherever he pleases --”

“I can go anywhere as long as Savin is with me,” I answer with a slight shrug of my shoulders. “Savin’s also a rather busy man -- running the Empire is quite the feat, especially after such a heavy loss. While even I didn’t necessarily agree with setting me free to help him run the Empire, his current Council -- minus myself, of course -- is borderline useless and inept. The Empire would have collapsed on its own within a year, if he hadn’t enlisted my help. His decision, in this case, wasn’t wrong.”

“I suppose his mind always was better suited for medicine, not for politics,” Hajime murmurs, frowning to himself. “Have you been by the hospital, lately, Savin? Mari says she hasn’t spoken with you in quite some time.”

“I haven’t really had the time,” Savin answers, running his fingers through his still wet-hair. I have to resist the urge to fix it and make it presentable -- though I’m sure his parents wouldn’t be quite comfortable with such a positive display of affection between the two of us. “How is she, by the way?”

I frown a bit to myself at the note of concern in Savin’s voice. While I am aware of his history with Mari, I haven’t heard him speak of her in a few weeks, myself. I haven’t seen her, either, wandering down the Palace halls looking for him.

“She’s doing alright for herself,” Hajime says, pushing his own glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t turned to her more, in your time of need. She is a close friend of yours, isn’t she?”

“She is, but --” Savin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t feel like talking about it now, okay? I’m just glad to hear she’s doing alright.”

I raise an eyebrow, studying both Savin’s and Hajime’s expressions. Savin is obviously uncomfortable, the way his fingers never seem to settle on any particular thing. Hajime, on the other hand, looks as though he’s still passing judgment -- and perhaps he is. It also appears as though he knows more about what is happening between Savin and Mari than I do -- which, perhaps, is also true. When Hajime parts his lips to speak again, his attention focuses on me.

“You are aware that Savin and Mari have a rather extensive history, yes?” he asks, pursing his lips together. If he had a glass, I’m sure he’d be bringing it to his lips right about now. Instead, though, he taps his fingers against his chin as he leans back in his -- Savin’s -- chair.

“I’m well aware of it, yes,” I answer before Savin can open his mouth. I can feel him seethe beside me, and without thinking I put a hand on his knee and squeeze. “Jasper used to come to me for advice, when he thought Savin and Mari still had unresolved feelings for one another.”

This prompts a raised eyebrow from both Hajime and Nina. It’s Nina who speaks first, her voice quiet but entirely controlled. “Jasper? You mean Jazz, right?”
“Yes,” I respond, trying not to cringe at the nickname. “I apologize -- while Jasper and I used to be close, I never really took to his nickname. Couple that with several years of tension and hurt feelings between us, well....”

I jump as Savin places an arm around me again and gives me a soft squeeze. “Look, Mitchel knows Mari and I used to be engaged. He also knows that she and I haven’t had any romantic interest in one another since before Jazz and I started dating. So I would appreciate it if you would stop trying to instill doubt about where my own loyalties lie.”

“I simply wanted him to be aware that you have had an interest in women, in the past,” Hajime says with a shrug, frowning to himself.

“I’ve had a passing interest in a few women in my life, as well,” I tell him, keeping my own voice in careful control. Still, I can feel it quaver, just slightly, as I give a dismissive wave of my hand. “It’s quite possible to be interested in both sexes, Mr. Bates.”

“Doctor Bates,” Hajime nearly growls. Savin gives me a look -- one where I can tell he’s trying to hide a smile. Probably because I am trying not to smirk myself -- clearly, I already knew his father was a surgeon as well. And, clearly, the importance of being referred to by one’s title is a trait Savin picked up his father.

“I apologize, Dr. Bates,” I say, trying to sound contrite. I’m not sure I succeed at it, the way Savin shakes his head. “My point still stands -- bisexuality does, in fact, exist, and while you may not be pleased with Savin’s interest in men, I can assure you that he is very -- enthusiastic -- about his interest.”

“I have no doubt about his interest in Jazz,” Hajime says in response, his face turning red -- most likely in anger. I don’t dare look at Savin, who’s probably trying to hide a blush at my comment. “Jazz was -- different than most men.”

“Jasper was rather effeminate, you mean,” I say without hesitation, getting up from my seat. I glance around the living room and put on a charming smile. “I’m going to get myself something to drink. Would anyone else like something?”

“Here, I’ll go with you -- I know what they want to drink, anyway,” Savin says, pushing himself off the couch as well. “We’ll be right back.”

As we round the corner of the hall and walk inside the kitchen, Savin immediately turns to me. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses, moving closer so that his parents can’t hear him. “Why are you antagonizing my father?”

“Because the man’s an asshole,” I respond with a shrug of my shoulders. I feel no need to mince words. “If I’m going to be forced to be in the man’s presence, I’m going to at least have a little fun at his expense.”

Savin blinks, then shakes his head as he tries to suppress his own laughter. He’s still shaking his head as he turns away from me and begins plucking glasses from his cabinets. He then looks at me, his smile turning into a smirk as he nears me again, putting the empty glasses down on the counter. He pulls me close, kissing me fiercely.

I respond in kind, slipping my tongue past his lips as I push him against the counter, pressing myself flush against him. “You know better than to kiss me like that when we have company present, Bates...” I murmur against his lips as we break apart.

“I apologize,” he breathes back, his hand landing on my behind and squeezing. He gives me a knowing smirk. “It’s hot, watching you antagonize my father like that...”

“Reminds you of when I used to antagonize you, does it not?” I respond, letting my own hands wander underneath the edge of his shirt. I know we don’t have the time to take this any further, but I want to make it quite clear that I’d like to, as well. I press my lips to his neck, relishing in the way he gasps as I do so.

“God yes,” he says, managing to untangle himself from me. He gives me another smile over his shoulder, grabbing the glasses and bringing them over to the refrigerator. “Just don’t make it too obvious -- it’ll piss off my mom, and we don’t want that.”

“I’ll try to be subtle,” I say in response, deftly taking the filled glasses into my hands. I give him a knowing smile of my own. “Though knowing that it makes you ‘excited,’ I might have a little bit of trouble holding myself back.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Savin says, chuckling quietly under his breath. He picks up the other two filled glasses. “You wanted just water, right?”

“Yes -- it might be better if I don’t imbibe any alcohol while around your father. I may not be able to control myself, then.”

With the way Savin looks at me, I know I’ve said precisely the right thing. He gestures for me to follow him back out into the living room, and there’s a slight spring to his step as he walks.

I can’t wait until his parents make their way back home, and we can finally have a little bit of Christmas day to ourselves. I have the feeling Savin would make it more than worth my while....

Challenge #41 Entry

slfcllednowhere — Tue, 27 Aug 2013 01:17:54 GMT

Title: Truth in Your Words
Prompt: Autobiography
Current/Past: Current
Word Count: 100
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any) n/a
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): n/a
Summary: She puts all of herself into the poems.

She sat hunched over the typewriter, mug of black coffee on the desk beside her. The clacking keys were composing her third poem of the morning. Each one made her feel as if she were spilling her blood onto the page. The dark thoughts crowding her head were translated to the black letters against the stark white paper. Anyone who read them would be glimpsing the deepest part of her, seeing her in a way more honest than she could ever present herself otherwise. There was something equal parts terrifying and freeing about revealing the hidden truths of her mind.