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Jul. 2nd, 2020 03:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsLike I mentioned yesterday I was playing with drabbles for a response to the Sunshine Challenge prompt of Red. I doubt I'll post these anywhere official like A03, but they were fun to mess with.
So, behind the cut are drabbles for The Musketeers and Winterhawk and double drabbles for bandom and popslash. No warnings for any, unless you count a small bit of blood and angst I guess.
The bandom one is total indulgence after I got a nice comment on We're Going Down Swinging so I dipped into the universe again. To briefly sum it up, it's a Post Apoc world where they're battling aliens that appear through a giant portal -- as they do.
Gerard’s sheltering in a doorway, chin down and bundled up in his oversized coat, his breath misting as he says, “I miss colour.”
Frank understands. Sometimes he dreams of a world filled with rainbows of advertising hoardings, garish magazine covers and the bright blue of the sky. But right now…
Now there’s nothing but white grey and black.
Burnt buildings and scorched walls, signs of scrawled defiance, words faded with time. And always, the mounds of iced snowbanks against endless expanse of dark clouds.
Frank hates it how he’s cold always and his stomach growls as he blows onto his hands, but he has to hold on. To push back memories of spots of red against ice, of the portal spitting out creatures and he says, “Tell me about colours.”
A long pause, then Gerard says softly, “Before. It was summer and mom bought a paddling pool for Mikey and me, it was hot, the sun burning yellow….”
Frank listens, shivers as the snow keeps falling and Gerard keeps talking, recalling a world that’s destroyed for them both.
It’s not enough. It’s can’t be.
Even so, for the briefest of moments, Frank feels the touch of the sun on his face.
~*~*~*~
And now, popslash dragons because as you'll have noticed, I've been enjoying dragons lately.
“I’m too old for this,” Chris mutters, hunching over his dragon, the reins clutched in one hand as they swoop forward.
Far below he can see Justin circling the crater, the scales of his dragon gleaming as they catch the red glow of the lava that ripples below.
“Fly higher,” Chris yells, frowning as they get close. And it’s not that he doesn’t get the appeal of dancing with danger, he does, of course, he does and has the scars to prove it. It’s just, Chris can’t let Justin be burned to a crisp on one of his first solo flights. “I swear if you burn off your feet you’re on dragon shit duty.”
In response, Justin grins, and his dragon roars as they soar upwards, looping through a cloud high above.
“Seriously.” Chris shades his eyes with his free hand and watches, tempted to turn and go back to base.
It’s what Chris should do. What a leader should do. Instead, he grins, clutches the reins tighter and squeezes Fu’s sides with his knees as he says, “Ready to show those upstarts what good riding actually looks like?”
Instantly Fu banks and shoots upwards, Chris’ yell matching his roar.
~*~*~*~*~
And some classic bloody h/c for my Musketeers.
Porthos presses his hands against his stomach, the blood between his fingers warm and slick.
He swallows, tongue coated with copper.
“A few stitches and you’ll be fine.” On his knees, Aramis’ hands are sure as he threads a needle. “It’ll be my finest work.”
Porthos shivers, his heart racing and skin clammy, and is glad that at the end he won’t be alone.
“Aramis…” the word is blurred at the edges, soft with fear and blood.
“Don’t.” Aramis snaps, and then, softer, “You’ll be okay.”
Porthos knows it’s a lie.
He smiles slightly, says, “Yeah, yeah I will.”
~*~*~*~
And some nighttime angst for the sniper bros.
Bucky wakes abruptly, a scream trapped in his throat and memories made red with destruction and blood.
Hyper-focused, he scrambles up, back against the wall and checking for threats. Windows closed, weapons safe under his pillow, the only sound a distant dripping of water.
Even so, it doesn’t feel safe, the tendrils of nightmares still clinging.
“Bucky,” Clint murmurs, sleep soft as he rolls over, his body warm as he drapes his arm over Bucky’s thighs, a reassuring presence without holding him down.
Bucky needs that contact, a focus as he pushes back memories until, finally, the red drains away.
So, behind the cut are drabbles for The Musketeers and Winterhawk and double drabbles for bandom and popslash. No warnings for any, unless you count a small bit of blood and angst I guess.
The bandom one is total indulgence after I got a nice comment on We're Going Down Swinging so I dipped into the universe again. To briefly sum it up, it's a Post Apoc world where they're battling aliens that appear through a giant portal -- as they do.
Gerard’s sheltering in a doorway, chin down and bundled up in his oversized coat, his breath misting as he says, “I miss colour.”
Frank understands. Sometimes he dreams of a world filled with rainbows of advertising hoardings, garish magazine covers and the bright blue of the sky. But right now…
Now there’s nothing but white grey and black.
Burnt buildings and scorched walls, signs of scrawled defiance, words faded with time. And always, the mounds of iced snowbanks against endless expanse of dark clouds.
Frank hates it how he’s cold always and his stomach growls as he blows onto his hands, but he has to hold on. To push back memories of spots of red against ice, of the portal spitting out creatures and he says, “Tell me about colours.”
A long pause, then Gerard says softly, “Before. It was summer and mom bought a paddling pool for Mikey and me, it was hot, the sun burning yellow….”
Frank listens, shivers as the snow keeps falling and Gerard keeps talking, recalling a world that’s destroyed for them both.
It’s not enough. It’s can’t be.
Even so, for the briefest of moments, Frank feels the touch of the sun on his face.
~*~*~*~
And now, popslash dragons because as you'll have noticed, I've been enjoying dragons lately.
“I’m too old for this,” Chris mutters, hunching over his dragon, the reins clutched in one hand as they swoop forward.
Far below he can see Justin circling the crater, the scales of his dragon gleaming as they catch the red glow of the lava that ripples below.
“Fly higher,” Chris yells, frowning as they get close. And it’s not that he doesn’t get the appeal of dancing with danger, he does, of course, he does and has the scars to prove it. It’s just, Chris can’t let Justin be burned to a crisp on one of his first solo flights. “I swear if you burn off your feet you’re on dragon shit duty.”
In response, Justin grins, and his dragon roars as they soar upwards, looping through a cloud high above.
“Seriously.” Chris shades his eyes with his free hand and watches, tempted to turn and go back to base.
It’s what Chris should do. What a leader should do. Instead, he grins, clutches the reins tighter and squeezes Fu’s sides with his knees as he says, “Ready to show those upstarts what good riding actually looks like?”
Instantly Fu banks and shoots upwards, Chris’ yell matching his roar.
~*~*~*~*~
And some classic bloody h/c for my Musketeers.
Porthos presses his hands against his stomach, the blood between his fingers warm and slick.
He swallows, tongue coated with copper.
“A few stitches and you’ll be fine.” On his knees, Aramis’ hands are sure as he threads a needle. “It’ll be my finest work.”
Porthos shivers, his heart racing and skin clammy, and is glad that at the end he won’t be alone.
“Aramis…” the word is blurred at the edges, soft with fear and blood.
“Don’t.” Aramis snaps, and then, softer, “You’ll be okay.”
Porthos knows it’s a lie.
He smiles slightly, says, “Yeah, yeah I will.”
~*~*~*~
And some nighttime angst for the sniper bros.
Bucky wakes abruptly, a scream trapped in his throat and memories made red with destruction and blood.
Hyper-focused, he scrambles up, back against the wall and checking for threats. Windows closed, weapons safe under his pillow, the only sound a distant dripping of water.
Even so, it doesn’t feel safe, the tendrils of nightmares still clinging.
“Bucky,” Clint murmurs, sleep soft as he rolls over, his body warm as he drapes his arm over Bucky’s thighs, a reassuring presence without holding him down.
Bucky needs that contact, a focus as he pushes back memories until, finally, the red drains away.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-02 06:35 pm (UTC)Yay dragons!
🥺
*hugs Bucky*
no subject
Date: 2020-07-03 08:21 am (UTC)Looking at your reactions it turned out a sad set of drabbles, next ones will have to be happier.
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2020-07-03 06:13 am (UTC)Chris and Justin made me laugh!
And what a lovely intimate moment for Bucky. I'm struck especially by the wording of the last phrase - I love that you wrote "drains away" and not, say "fades away" - it makes the blood imagery so vivid.
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Date: 2020-07-03 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-03 08:23 am (UTC)Thanks for the encouragement <3
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Date: 2020-07-03 08:23 am (UTC)I'm so glad I read the comment about the original fic while I was thinking about the challenge as it was lovely to write in the universe again.
I suspect young Justin on a dragon would have been terrible, and Chris torn between calming him down and joining in *g*
Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2020-07-04 06:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-05 03:58 pm (UTC)It's always fun to write Chris. And that drabble was a nice change of pace from the others which were all a bit sad.
Thank you!
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Date: 2020-07-04 11:10 pm (UTC)Chris Kirkpatrick: a loose cannon in any 'verse!
This gave me a pure, little jolt of surprise happiness. Thank you, Terri. <3
no subject
Date: 2020-07-05 03:51 pm (UTC)You say the sweetest things always.
And yes, Chris will always be a loose cannon. Just how we want him to be.