Tag: drabble

one of several different khr/sm verses I’ve been dabbling in. 

(…this is the one that makes me cry when I think about it.)

—————————————————

“He’s dame and— and— and he needs to stay dame!”

The frustrated outburst rends the silence that had fallen between the two old friends; the speaker staring down at her hands, desperately willing them to stop shaking, and the listener pausing for a long contemplative moment before setting her cup on the table between them.

“Why?”

“I… I just… I can’t do this again!” her breath hitches and her voice trembles on each word. It drops to a whisper in an attempt to control it, “In middle school it was you. In high school it was Gurio. In college it was Iemitsu. N-Now it’s my son? H-how can I stand by? How can I pretend that none of it bothers me? That I don’t know that something is going on?”

“Na—”

“Let me finish!” the retort is sharp and at odds with the rest of the conversation; loud enough to cause others in the cafe to turn and stare. Once more silence falls between them until their witnesses turn away and give them the illusion of privacy. She continues in the faint trembling voice of a woman at her wits end, “E-everyone leaves me behind, Usagi. There’s always something that they need to do. Something bigger, something dangerous, something… something that for whatever reason I can’t know about. You… you don’t know how that feels. I-I watched you go through hell and back. I was Gurio’s shoulder to lean on. I patched Iemitsu up despite his silence. And now… now…”

Usagi leans forwards, taking her friend’s hands in hers and slowly forcing them flat. Pinpricks of blood drop from the cuts her nails had dug into them onto the table, but neither woman paid all that much attention to it.

Her breath shudders, “A-and now it’s Tsu-kun’s turn. I don’t want that for him. If he stays… if he stays “no good”, then I— I can hope everything will go back to normal.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” the blonde woman’s smile was pained. “No matter how much I whined, or cried, or complained, nothing ever went back to normal. Crybaby Usagi had to grow up. Tsunayoshi is going to grow up, Naru. Though… hopefully in a safer manner than we did.”

“Somehow…” Sawada “Nana” Naruna turns her hands over to clutch at her childhood friend’s, “…I don’t think that it will be.”

If you hadn’t guessed yet, I’ve been struggling with the next part of AMC. The first half just does not want to come together.

So have this little piece set in the same universe, some years later, and not involving Ryan in any way.

—-

“Nice tattoo.”

“Fuck off.” the response is almost instinctual by that point; too many people had mocked him for having a “geek” tattoo so large on his arm that just mentioning it wad enough to catch his ire. Michael Jones’ ire was a flame that burned bright and hot and one did not want it directed at them.

His infamous rage didn’t quite gutter out as he finally gave the clerk his full attention. The glare he’d originally intended dulled to a confusion-tinted glower as he realised that whoever the woman behind the counter was, she was definitely not the regular Ammunation clerk he dealt with. “Who the fuck are you?”

The redhead woman smiled cheerfully, ignoring the temper that made his bones creak trying to hold it in, and rocked back on her heels. “Lindsay. I’m subbing in for Joe. Poor guy bumped his head and had to rest.”

“Riiiiiight,” Michael could not have possibly cared less. “I’m here for ammo.”

That was about the extent of their interaction. She rang up his purchases and sent him on his way with a smile and a wave.

The groan at her feet brought her back to reality, where she could only click her tongue in dissappointment. The upside was that the tattooed cutie had disappeared before it happened. The downside… “Now Joe, that’s not very nice of you! I even sold some of your merchandise! I’m practically a coworker!”

The tip of her boot dug into his neck, “And workers get paid, so I’ll be taking that from you too.”

siluria42:

bonesys:

Star Trek/Pacific Rim AU: Marshall Christopher Pike recruits James Kirk for the last mission to save the world. He teams up with Leonard McCoy, with whom he’s Drift compatible, and falls in love along the way.

“Bones. He’s my copilot.”

People who don’t know them don’t understand how it is they work.  How it is that he managed to drift with a doctor rather than the man they all thought he was perfect for.

Jim thinks it’s obvious.  He’s a rule breaker.  He reads the situation as it happens and he adapts to it.  Spock, on the other hand, follows the rules.  His skills are beyond compare, but he fights according to the manuals and his plays come right out Pike’s frontal lobe.  Jim doesn’t think that way.  Besides, it’s pretty fucking obvious that Spock will only ever drift with Uhura.

Leonard McCoy on the other hand.  He’s temperamental, adaptable, and a rule breaker in his own right.  That was how they ended up on the same chopper out to California.  Maybe Jim had unconsciously decided during that flight that McCoy was going to be his co-pilot, but it doesn’t matter when he made his mind up, only that he knew he wasn’t going to drift with anyone else.

Because when you drift, you have to accept the other person without question; who they are, every perfection, every flaw, every shitty thing that has ever happened to them. 

It was only going to be the man he now calls Bones.  Because, besides Pike, Bones was the only person who accepted Jim from the start.  He’s never had to prove himself.  Bones calls him on his shit, but follows his lead when the time’s right, and he has enough of his own demons to not mention Jim’s.

Jim’s never been so close to anybody before.  Yet it’s not enough, and despite his previous aversion to relationships, somehow he wants to be closer still.  It’s a thought he’s desperate to keep from his co-pilot, from Bones, he’s just not sure how long he can manage that for, not when each drift takes them deeper into each other’s heads.

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, nails digging into the fabric as the clock tick-tick-ticks in her ears. She’s purposely turned her back to it, but it’s more than just being able to see the numbers. To see time ticking inevitably forwards.

Her nails match the autumn red of her skirt, filed and shaped to perfection, though she fears that if she tightens her grip any more she’ll break one of them. That wouldn’t… that wouldn’t… 

Deep breath. 

Tick-tock.

<You don’t have to do this.>

Tick-tock.

“Yes I do.”

Tick-tock.

<Jake…>

Time’s up, Jakey-boy.

“It’s Rachel, now.”

supernatural x sailor moon crossover drabble

I really need to come up with a name for this drabble series… I mean. It’s going to be background for the new identity series, but I kinda want all the SPNXSM stuff to be able to stand alone too.

——- prompt: SOUND ——-

Contrary to all expectations, to mortal prophecies, to the beliefs of psychics, doomsayers, and mediums, the first sign of the apocalypse was not a particularly noticeable sign. Not to humanity.

It did not come with warnings of disaster. It did not turn seas to blood or air to ash. There was no cultist, no terrorist, no danger that man readily recognized accompanying the sign. There was nothing at all that would cause those who were not expecting it to understand it for what it was.

The third morning of August, 1981, was the beginning of the end. On that morning the Earth herself began to sing; not in words, and not in any ways that humans could hear but oh how she sang. Murmurs and whispers of sound were crooned into the ears one of newborn child.

The Heavenly Host rejoiced, and the Legions of Hell began to put plans millennia in the making into effect.

Equally unnoticed was the second sign of the apocalypse. At the end of July in 1984, the Moon lent her voice to the song of the Earth. Together their voices rang loudly and echoed through the natural world, almost loud enough to be heard by human psychics. Almost but not quite.

The Prince of Earth and the Princess of the Moon had been reborn; the sounds of joy and rapture drowning out the screams of rage and hate, and muffling the scrape of whetstone across blades. It hid the wails of infants transformed and the screams of mothers burning.

The End of Days began with a song.