Bite Sized Bits of Fic

NCIS, any, their first love

From:

Firefly, any, the lone survivor

From:

foxstarreh.livejournal.com

It’s like some kind of great cosmic joke. Like some deity with a shit-awful sort of humour thought it’d be all sorts of funny, surviving the ones what shouldn’t reasonably expect to make it out and taking those that by all means ought to still be standing.

Wash just keeps petting Zoë’s hair where the half of her head that ain’t lost to the wilful dust of this gorram planet sits in his lap. He’s bleeding some too, heavy from his shoulder and a smaller, trickling sort of bleed from the cut on his forehead. He either hasn’t noticed or can’t bring himself to care much. Kaylee imagines they both amount to pretty much the same.

She’s standing and there ain’t more than a skeeter bite on her. She watched Jayne’s lungs stop working through the hole in his chest and Inara get sliced in half, shoulder to hip, and fall to the ground with two separate thumps. She shouldn’t be standing.

She stumbles her way over to Wash, the only thing alive in as far as one’s eyes could see. The world is a desert, a wasteland. Weren’t nobody else out there but them and what folks they were set to be meeting.

Maybe they ought to have thought on that more than they had.

She slumps down in the sand and waits for her voice. She reckons it’s been gone an awful long while now, gone the way of the captain’s last breath and the goods they were meaning to sell, but she’s gonna have to wait a while more for it to return.

Wash finds his first. The words that come with it are the ones she’d expect, the ones anyone ought to expect, the ones he’s been mouthing the whole time. “Zoë. Zoë.” Then, maybe it ain’t his voice, even. It keens a bit, breaks some, and doesn’t seem capable of much other conversation.

“Thought it was just me,” she says as soon she can, which is a while still. Her voice don’t much resemble her voice either. It’s small and quiet and choked and she wouldn’t recognise it for her own if she heard it. “Though I was the only one.”

She ain’t sure yet whether or not to be relieved to find that she ain’t. She ain’t sure he’s too relieved about it himself.

Kaylee stares at the red sand, the red sand that had until so recently been sand of its natural colour. It hurts her eyes and her chest and her heart and she leans up against Wash and his weeping and adds her own sobs to his song of sadness.

Book and Simon form a little slump pile over at the edge of one of the dunes, waiting between her and Wash and where Serenity sits, hidden down in a little valley, just too far to have helped them when they could’ve used her.

Kaylee wonders if she ought to go to them, the shepherd and the doctor. Go to them and hold them, since Zoë’s being attended to already. But she doesn’t have the strength in her to even as much as sit herself up properly; the grief and shock suck the energy out of her, melt her into a puddle of mourning and tears and little else.

A noise sounds behind them and they don’t look.

The group back to kill those what seen their deeds? Don’t matter much. They ain’t fighting back.

Bare feet on sand.

Kaylee squeezes her eyes shut. Please no. Please.

“Simon?”

It’d have been better if they’d come back. The other folks.

“Simon?”

She manages to turn. Look at the girl, soaked so thoroughly in blood. Her dress is turned rust brown and wet and clings to her skin in its damp. The blade in her hand, Kaylee wouldn’t know where she’d gotten it, is covered in gore.

When she looks at River’s face, she realises that even though he voice had called for her brother, her eyes had fixed on Kaylee instead. Even though the fear tinged her tone, so audible even in the one word, her eyes held in them understanding.

And the blade tells Kaylee a new understanding of the situation. The blade and the blood together.

She knew just what they are. Ain’t no one else made it out, not from their side or from the other.

Lone survivors.

-------------
(I know this isn't quite what you were looking for, but it sort ended up elsewhere. Sorry.)

Re: Fill

From:

crearealidad.livejournal.com - Date: 2013-02-03 03:19 am (UTC) - Expand

From:

Covert Affairs, Annie, they're all dead

From:

Castle, Castle/Beckett, She's not sure what she expected when he offered to let her read all the parts he left out of his novels, but it certainly wasn't this.

From:

The X-Files, Mulder/Scully, beer and bad timing

From:

ladyjane

Magnum PI/Hawaii Five-O (reboot), Magnum +or/ Steve, "Two SEALs grab walk into a bar..." (or Kamekona's truck or whatev', just get those two together in one fic!)

Any & all other chars are optional.

From:

Lord of the Rings, Merry/Pippin, marriage

From:

Any, Any, cold nights

From:

helsinkibaby.livejournal.com

A year ago, Greg slept beside his wife, cold nights made colder by the gap between them, by a truth that he didn't want to face.

On the coldest of cold nights, when the truth had been pointed out to him at a Christmas party he'd rather forget, he'd returned home to find the bed empty, the house empty, save for a note left on the kitchen table.

There was a time when he didn't think he'd ever be warm again.

Now, he knows he was wrong, just like he was wrong to want to forget that party entirely. Because now, the one good thing to come out of it lies pressed up against him, her warm body warming him inside and out. He runs his fingers through Molly's hair, kisses her lips, enjoys the feel of her skin, the noises she makes as they move together.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Re: Fill: Cold Nights ( Sherlock, Molly/Lestrade)

From:

gaffsie.livejournal.com - Date: 2013-02-02 09:28 pm (UTC) - Expand

From:

Any, Any, warm lips, cold noses

From:

zoi-no-miko.livejournal.com

As they approach their first winter without power, Miles is pleasantly surprised by the ingenuity the people around him show in their attempts to survive. Walled-off fireplaces are opened up, cleaned out. Cobwebs are brushed off wood burning stoves and chimneys and flu-pipes are cleaned with balls of rags wrapped around sticks, as if they're packing gunpowder into a musket.

Still, it's cold, and Miles is glad of the thick wool uniforms they're slowly making over for their little band. Their budding Militia.

Miles almost always feels cold, even when he's warming his stiff fingers in front of the fire, even when he's wrapped in thick quilts at night. The coldness is something unsettled inside him, an uncertainty. What they plan to do come spring - build a true stronghold, grow the militia, establish peace and order - it's a path that he wants to believe in wholeheartedly, though he can't help but doubt, just a little.

He tries to weigh the pros and cons as he sits in front of the fireplace in their bedroom,theirs because heated rooms are scarce and they are brothers in arms and they protect each other and who is anyone else to say that there's any other reason for it? Miles takes one hand from under the warmth of the quilt he's wrapped around himself and rubs his nose, which is always cold and always makes him feel colder. This is the right course of action, it must be. If they don't take power, someone else will.

The door to the room opens and Bass slips in, closing it quickly behind him to prevent any of the warmth from escaping. He wears only his uniform despite the cold, the beautiful and inspiring picture of authority. Miles pulls him close, wrapping him in his arms and the quilt and catching his mouth in a yearning kiss.

Bass melts into him, and though his body is chilled his lips are warm against Miles's skin, coaxing a slow heat in his core to burn hotter. He doesn't care that Bass's nose is cold against his neck as he kisses his skin; Bass could be made of ice and he'd still want this, this brotherhood and need and security and unshakable love.

Soon enough they'll go to bed and curl close under the mountain of blankets, sharing kisses and touch until they're finally warm enough to wriggle out of their clothes, until he can finally touch and kiss Bass's bare skin like he wants to and lose himself completely to pleasure. But for now he just drinks in Bass's kisses, the feel of him in his arms. This is why, despite any tiny misgivings, he'll move forward with the plan. Because power means safety, because he can't imagine anyone more perfect to lead than Bass; beautiful Bass with his blue eyes and angel curls, with his sweet-spoken confidence and near immovable inner strength.

Bass will lead and Miles will protect him and cold noses will warm as the winter ends.

From:

Sherlock BBC, Ensemble/Any, A supernatural creature comes to John and makes a bargain with me. He can go back to the day of the Fall and try and prevent Sherlock's suicide. But what will John have to give up in return?

From:

aunt-zelda.livejournal.com

makes a bargain with me
Makes a bargain ... with him?

Just to clarify.

Re: Question

From:

mahmfic.livejournal.com - Date: 2013-02-02 05:47 pm (UTC) - Expand

From:

Cabin Pressure/Torchwood, Ensemble/Jack+Douglas, Douglas' father is Jack

From:

Emelan, Tris + or/Sandry, washing

From:

Summer Heights High, Ja'mie, cruel

From:

Silmarillion, Finarfin, the trappings of peace

From:

Animorphs, Rachel/Tobias/Cassie, delight

From:

rattyjol.livejournal.com

Just out of curiosity, are you on Tumblr? Because there's a whole blog (poly-morphs.tumblr.com) for Animorphs poly ships over there.

(no subject)

From:

with-rainfall.livejournal.com - Date: 2013-02-04 12:24 am (UTC) - Expand

From: