muir_wolf | Multi-Fandom Drabble Tree

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Multi-Fandom Drabble Tree

Last time we did this it was both super fun and super helpful, so without further adieu -

How this works: below is a drabble. To participate, reply to this post with another drabble containing a sentence or phrase from the original. Please leave the words you took on the subject line, as well as the fandom in parentheses. (If no fandom/any fandom, just write "any"). The next person continues the trend, taking a sentence or phrase from any of the existing drabbles and creating their own as a reply.

You can draw from any drabble as many times as you want. It's okay to change the tense or the POV of the bit you've taken if you need to for it to make sense.

Also, all fandoms are welcome, including rpf, etc. Because of that, you can also substitute any character name for any other character name.

And, of course, make sure to add any trigger warnings if necessary.

&:

The storm picks up, rattling the windows, and his hand tightens in hers. She smiles at him, pretending there isn't a gun in her hand, that he’s enough to keep her safe. They only have a few minutes left. She wants to tell him the truth, but the words catch in her throat. She doesn’t know how to say goodbye. The roof is leaking; the volume on the TV is turned low. This was supposed to be a weekend in the woods—a chance for them to start over. His lips press against her neck, and he holds on tight.

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d r a b b l e

He wants to tell her the truth, but the words catch in his throat. He can see it every time he looks at her, and nightmares keep popping up where he’s naked in front of his high school graduation and she keeps screaming; “You’re a liar, Shawn! A dirty stinking liar!”

He’s a liar. Just like her Dad, even if he is kind of cool. Just like her step-dad.

And he knows it’ll break her heart when she knows for sure that his ‘psychic powers’ – the one thing that brought them together – is nothing but a phoney fraud.”

“I’m sorry.”

If she didn't feel that she did a service for the people of Melbourne, Phryne would feel guilty that the thing that had brought - and kept - so fine a man as Detective Inspector Jack Robinson into her life was murder. Perhaps the true karmic justice of it all was that they both strove so hard to eradicate the one thing that brought them together. She idly swirled the whiskey in her glass and recrossed her legs and wished, for one moment, that her relationship with Jack could be as innocent and uncomplicated as that of Dot's with her young constable.

Lisbon shuts her front door with a little more force than is necessary. He’s a liar. He’s a liar, and he plays games with things that are going to get him hurt—have gotten him hurt—and she never signed up to worry about him, care about him, get swept up in his quest for vengeance. There’s going to come a day, she thinks, when Jane is going to have to choose between the team and Red John. She’s not looking forward to it. He’s a liar, he is, but right now he’s hers, and she can’t bear thinking about the aftermath that’s painted on the horizon, can’t believe that everyone that ever warned her about him is right.

It was never part of her plan. He was never part of her plan.

It was always supposed to be just her. Emily Thorne versus the world. She didn't need him, didn't want him, never asked for him to be her partner and most of all she never signed up to worry about him.

But he had taken hold in her life little by little until all she could do was worry about him.

When he is taken away from his office in handcuffs, for crimes he most certainly didn't commit, she is there by his side. He pleads with her calmly, but desperation clear in his eyes, "Don't let them do to me what they did to him."

And all she can do is mouth the words, "I promise" to him as the FBI agents push him into the elevator.

Edited 2013-03-23 08:44 (UTC)

The city is under attack. The shield isn’t going to hold forever.

When she took this job, they called it a scientific expedition, but she’d been in command of the SGC before—she knew how dangerous the world could be. She signed up anyway, knowing everything they could meet, every way they could die. She’s a diplomat, but she’s had to become a leader.

They evacuated everyone they could beforehand, and now all that’s left is a skeleton crew. She presses her hands to the console, wishes she could have sent the rest of them away, too—Rodney still muttering beneath his breath as he tries to divert more power to the shields, willing them to hold; John, who’s looking at her so steadily, desperation clear in his eyes, knowing the call she has to make; Ronon and Teyla, who refused to leave without them, not when there was still the smallest hope left.

“We can’t let Atlantis fall into their hands,” she says. “We don’t have a choice—we can’t wait any longer.”

Edited 2013-03-23 22:49 (UTC)

The way the world ends: earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis.

Magnus grasps his hand, wrenches him away from the bodies. Her nails bite into his flesh, her voice hoarse. "We don't have a choice—we can't wait any longer."

She's bleeding. The earth is shaking, screaming, spewing. Will struggles to his feet, tightens his grip on Magnus' hand, and together they climb to the surface.

They collapse, staring into the depths. The earth has swallowed the Sanctuary, their friends and their family. They're all that's left.

The ash is everywhere. It lingers. It settles into his lungs and his skin. He tastes it when he swallows. It's a reminder everyday of what he's lost.

This isn't new to Magnus, outliving everyone, but Will doesn't know that he can survive it. There are too many voids, so many empty spaces Abby and Henry and Kate once filled.

"There's always something left," Magnus whispers at night. Hers hand always finds his in this new dark.

She smiled at him, pretending there wasn't a gun in her hands, ignoring the way her arms were shaking from the unfamiliar weight. The cold, implacable metal warmed slowly in her hands, as she fought the urge to readjust her sweaty grip. She blinked back tears and wondered how it had come to this.

Joan had never been a hasty woman, and she meant her hippocratic oath when she recited it, but if there was anything that she'd learned in the time since she met Sherlock, it's that a human being can be pushed further than she'd ever imagined was possible.

"I have to, Sherlock. He's never going to stop, he'll never let you out of his web." Her voice quaked, but at the same time her arms steadied.

"You're a doctor at heart, Joan. You can't do this."

"I have to."

She had to.

[ugh my tenses are probably fucked, sorry all]

There it is again. The unfamiliar weight, making it twice as hard to stand, making her knees lock and tremble. Seven months gone and it still feels unreal. Not unreal in that it's happening (they had sometimes planned, her and Wash, but in pencil instead of ink; it was tentative, a future-dream) or that she doesn't want it (she does, so badly, oh so much). But that's it's her, only her. Here she is, and there he isn't.

You don't say those things, Mal tells her. You don't. You ain't ever alone. Course, he don't say it as such, not in words. But he tells her with his eyes. Same way she knows he misses him, too. Makes carrying this little one in her belly that much harder. It's okay, though. Zoe knows what hard is.

She'll carry on in this way, her own way, well enough.

She'll carry on in this way, her own way, well enough.

The road winds through woods she's familiar with, and eventually gives way to a rocky coast. India has never cared for the sea. The rough waves pound against her, from miles away, drowning the cries of gulls and people alike.

She prefers the mud flats just a few hundred yards inland. Under grey skies the ground is as black as night, silvered with shallow pools of standing water when the tide recedes. In the bright summer sun, it cracks from the heat.

India lies still as a stone, watching the birds wheel overhead on silent signals before alighting among the reeds.

There's a hollow space in her shoulder where the stock of her rifle should rest. The mud and sand are cold on her skin where her shirt has crept out of her belt. The ghost of her father lies beside her, his fear and care still buffeting her like the waves against the rocks.

"I knew what you were doing," she tells him. "I never said."

He almost smiles. "I know."

She nods, tracking a heron as it struts through the drying mud.

"It feels different now," she says to the empty air. Gone is the restlessness that sent her into the woods. The fascinations, the rebellions. New York looms large in her mind, the crush of noise and people stinging like salt water. Charlie could never have survived there, but she will.

The TV is turned low these days. In moments of clarity he thinks back to when he would sit seven inches from the screen, eyes glued to the magic, moving colours, lost in that cheery fast-fast world where even cereal commercials could hold him in steady rapture; where a tiger curled its paws by his bare legs, claws threaded and threatening to pierce the carpet. He doesn't really have those moments now, they come and go and disappear so quickly he wonders if they were there at all.

He swallows the pills and nods at the nurse to come closer. She's pretty, dark hair cut in a round bob. Another not-quite memory. "Think you could turn that up a notch, miss? My fingers won't make these dang buttons work any more."

She smiles and picks up the remote. They watch for a few seconds. "You like nature programs, then? My five-year-old can't get enough of them. He's crazy about lions. I swear he wants to be one when he grows up."

There's dry air where he wants to answer, I did, too. She doesn't hear it, of course. Nobody does these days.

Jan looks out the windows. So many stories up, the sounds from below shouldn’t carry so well, but they do. Her palm lies flat on the glass, air unsteady in her lungs. She doesn’t know what to do anymore—nobody does, these days. Smoke in the air from the endless fires, rioting in the streets, and right now all she can do is stay inside Tony’s tower, safe from the world by suits and metal—a thin veneer that will eventually fall against the unstoppable decay of their world.

Tony steps up behind her, his reflection visible in the glass. He was there when they were teenagers, high and flying through a city too big and not big enough for them; it’s fitting he’s here with her now. Now when they’ve lost so much, and so many. His hand settles on her shoulder, saying things he’d never have managed with words.

“Okay,” she says. Wasp says. “Let me get my suit.”

Edited 2013-03-23 06:24 (UTC)

He swallows the pills with his eyes half on the bottle in his hand, half on his best friend - slash - somethin' else entirely. They take the edge off; it's why he hates them and why he has to take them because part of him’s just as scared as they are.

“No more hospitals,” Face promised, holding his hand after the last escape. “Not if I can help it.”

Three more doses in the bottle, then they’re back to playing roulette again if they can't get more before they have to skip town.

But they’re together. It’s what counts.

Edited 2013-03-23 07:52 (UTC)

It’s what counts, family, even if aint by blood.

Those boys may’ve been Johns but he’s happier when they’re under his roof than being drug around Hell’s half-acre after whatever monster’s popped up now.

“You can stay for once, you know…” Bobby offers as John pours a pair of drinks. They left the boys curled up in his bed in a nest of blankets, dead asleep for at least the next few hours.

John takes a long sip before answering; “You know we can’t.”

“Boys outta have a home, John.”

He still regrets never putting his foot down on that.

"Have you nothing to say, brother? I offer you power and you give me silence."

There was dry air where he wanted to answer.

"Fair blood binds us, but already you grow weak and fat." She moved toward the high stone table where a young girl was bound, her eyes dark with fear and pain.

"Or has your heart grown as cold as this land I rule?"

Finn watched as Ravenna's blade split flesh and bone. Blood spilled over her smooth hands, but the girl gave only a small weak cry, like an animal, and his heart burned hot indeed.

He has this dream.

He's drowning. The saltwater burns his eyes, but he can see the sky. He kicks, propelling his body toward the surface, but the waves push him down. He struggles for hours, it seems. Then finally, the ocean spits him out. He drifts along for a while, staring at a strange constellation in the night sky. Her hears a voice in the distance — John! He turns his head toward it and finds he's standing on an Atlantis balcony. He isn't alone.

"Elizabeth?"

She smiles. "John." His hands find hers hands, then she's in his arms. His lips press against her neck, and he holds on tight. "It's time, John."

He wakes up.

It's a gate address, the constellation.

She's waiting.

If waiting outside the temple where your ex-girlfriend's getting married, bent on one knee, wearing the same suit J. Timberlake wore on SNL is wrong, then Schmidt doesn't want to be right.

It's been ten minutes and his kneecap burns but eventually double doors in front of him do burst open. Cece's sari is bunched at her sides, mid-run.

For a second, Schmidt forgets to breathe, before Jess comes bounding behind with Nick and Winston trailing after and his hands shudder to life. The small velvet box flips open.

"I've loved you since the day I laid eyes on you. And who can blame me, when you look at that face and beautiful body. But it's more than that, now. Or maybe it always has been. I'm in love with you. Because of the way you laugh and the way you refuse to go to Italian restaurants with me because ordering takes too long and the way your hand fits in mine while we're falling asleep. I thought I didn't want to sleep alone because it meant I didn't find anyone to hook up with but now I know I don't want to sleep alone because it means I won't end up with you. Cecilia Parekh, will you marry me?"

She steps down and holds out her hand. Winston chokes on a sob.

"So is that a yes?"

"Yes, you wonderful idiot."

Schmidt beams, sliding one ring off and the other one on her finger. Cece grins back and his hand tightens in hers. She pulls him up from his knees and into a kiss.

Edited 2013-03-24 08:43 (UTC)

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Multi-Fandom Drabble Tree

Ex: sentence or phrase from drabble (fandom + trigger warning if applicable)

She wants to tell him the truth, but the words catch in her throat. (Psych)

the one thing that bought them together [Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries]

He's a liar. (The Mentalist)

she never signed up to worry about him (Revenge)

desperation clear in his eyes (stargate atlantis)

“we don’t have a choice—we can’t wait any longer.” (sanctuary)

she smiles at him, pretending there isn't a gun in her hand [Elementary]

the unfamiliar weight (Firefly)

She'll carry on in this way, her own way, well enough. (Stoker)

The TV is turned low (Calvin & Hobbes)

Nobody does these days. (Avengers EMH or MCU)

He swallows the pills (A-Team)

It’s what counts. (Supernatural)

There's dry air where he wants to answer (Snow White & the Huntsman)

his lips press against her neck, and he holds on tight. (stargate atlantis)

and his hand tightens in hers (new girl)