All Chloe-centric and all fun!
Most of my entries are Chlean and one Chlark--
“Cat,” Chloe said, arranging the papers on her desk for the end of the work day. “Dates are a maybe in a blue moon kind of thing and blind dates are just leper colonies, okay?”
Cat Grant, the Daily Planet’s new society columnist, wouldn’t have it. Having taken Chloe under her wing when the young Sullivan had returned to the bullpen, Cat had slowly and surely reintroduced Chloe to life after so much sadness, disappointment and death.
“You’ll like him, he’s a great guy!” Cat protested. Her heavily make-up’d face gave her a look halfway between supermodel and Vegas madame.
Chloe pointed out the obvious, “Really? And with you still searching for Mister Tall Dark and Fabulous, why do I get the great guy cast offs?”
Rolling her eyes, Cat put her arms on Chloe’s shoulders and shook her a little, “This is not a proposal, it’s drinks with the option of dinner and the slight hope of getting laid. This is all the world can offer in such uncertain times,” she beamed.
With a sigh Chloe slumped and said, “Fine, fine, whatever.”
Clapping excitedly, Cat scribbled off his phone number and handed it to her young friend. “He’s in town for work, like I said, so you don’t have a lot of time. Call him!”
Chloe snatched the paper and with a grumpy and cross look on her face, glanced down to the paper. “Winchester? Cat, come on! I don’t do preppy yuppie assholes!”
“He’s not, I swear!”
“Dean Winchester? God,” she said, grabbing her handbag and tossing it over her shoulder, digging out her phone. With a grumble she said, “This has light beer written all over it.”
( Read more... )
All Chloe-centric and all fun!
Granted, she’d just gotten her ass kicked but she figured now was as good a time as any to fiddle with the ring she’d seen fallen to the floor. It was so mysterious and curious and . . . so much like a high school graduation ring that she just had to investigate this strange item. Reaching over and slipping it onto her finger, a rush of cold swept over her and then . . . nothing.
Rokk looked through his massively impressive telescope and through the millions of filters allowing him to see the direct face of the yellow star he saw the portal he and his team had positioned just at the surface. There was a vortex whirl and then a sudden flash like a fly caught on a bug zapper. Then . . . nothing.
“That should be it. Doomsday is gone.”
Garth whooped, “He did it!”
Imra smiled, “The future looks bright.”
simplytoopretty hosted drabble tag and we just finished.
Most of these are Chlark and Chloom with an Oliver/Tess and Davis/Tess thrown in for spice.
**PS: if you think one of these should be expanded to a full length story, I'll think about it!
“Lady Macbeth’s got nothing on you,” Tess said, circling Davis like a cat. He’d looked up from the bathroom mirror to see her icy blue eyes boring into him, chilling his soul. The porcelain sink was flecked with red and his hands were raw from his furious scrubbing.
“How did you—”
“LuthorCorp still owns this building. I heard a few curious reports from the night manager and it was easy enough to figure everything out once I got hold of the security tape before Ms. Sullivan had the chance to erase it. I have to say, she’s good,” the vowels stretch and linger on the air in a dirty innuendo. “From what I could tell, she’s tamed you. She’s got that . . . loving feeling. But, oh dear, where is she and what will she say when she sees what you’ve done?”
He closes his eyes, her words twisting sharply like a knife inside.
“I have a proposition. You may feel inclined to accept. I’ll keep this break in your diet a secret if you do one thing for me.”
He remains silent, tension roiling through him.
“I need you to kill Clark Kent.” With a humorless arch of her brow she amends, “Well, try your hardest at least.”
“I have a counteroffer,” he whispers, his voice rough. “I’ll keep my own secret,” He turned to her, his eyes as blood red as the mess on his hands. “and you try not to scream.”
( Read more... )
Written for Chlark 24/7
PG: just off-center future AU.
Just an ordinary day and a not so ordinary promise.
He’s never been tender but he’s always overwhelmingly considerate. She’s understood the reasons but hadn’t been able to verbalize them. To her understanding, the greatest limit inside of him was his fear to harm anything he touched. A soft touch to him could mean pain to anyone else. A caress could become sandpaper. He was strong and when passion took anyone else they gripped, they held, they absorbed the one they loved with eager need but he had to be different. His passions were tempered by the same love that lit them. To keep someone close, he had to keep them at arms length.
For a boy who had to learn to hug watermelons before he could drape his arms over someone’s shoulder; for a boy who learned to caress eggs before he dare touch someone’s cheeks, she understood his fear. Crushed fruit and broken shells were his lessons and his warnings that the softest touch could take someone away from him.
All this she would learn later, years after they’d met. The stories of his self-imposed school-yard isolation only made sense then. The reasons behind his hesitant handshake and cautious handholding were made clear.
What he loved the best he feared the most to touch.( Read more... )
PART ONE | TWO
“You say you’ve known the Kents for years?” Lois inquired, following a quickly moving John down the tight corridor. “Well, I’ve never met you,” and her words were tinged in suspicion and curiosity.
“I didn’t realize there was a prerequisite,” he mumbled, his hand in his pocket, blindly and accurately texting Oliver that he now had an anchor. He hit ‘send’ and turned to ladle the files into her hands. “Thanks,” he said with a smile, turning and heading onto the staircase. Lois stood at the top of the stairs, a bitter smile on her lips and a fire in her eyes.
“Attaché doesn’t mean secretary!” She shouted.
“No, it means briefcase.”
About to toss the files after his head she calmed herself remembering it was a felony and rightly suspecting he was doing this to have her thrown off the case. With a sickly sweet smile she descended the stairs head high and shoulders back, like an Empress. She muttered, “And asshole only has one meaning.”( Read more... )
Friday. May 29, 2009. Burbank, California. 3:46 pm.
“Leave it alone,” General Beckman said. Chuck observed she was pinching her face even tighter than its usual sour-lemon look, if that were at all possible. “Starhawk was one of the DDS’s more egregious mistakes. It was not properly authorized and the personnel were not fully vetted. Several civilians were caught up in the investigation based solely on their location. Clark Kent was one of these civilians.”
Sarah had never seen the General this agitated. Team Bartowski had faced bioterrorists, secret anarchist factions of government, drug lords and demagogues but the mere mention of ‘Clark Kent’ was spiking her blood pressure. She knew there was something the General wasn’t saying.
Chuck asked, “And the satellite stuff?”
“Attached to the same investigation,” was all the General would say.
“Excuse me, General,” Casey said, interrupting. “Is this gonna be a problem with Bartowski flashing on civilians? It seems like a waste of time and resources. Can’t we just dig into that brain of his and delete non-pertinent information?”( Read more... )
prompted by tragicllyhip
The girl stepped lightly on the cool stone of the square. People stared at her and she tried to cover herself up, knowing what she must have looked like, knowing how she must have appeared to them. It was a strange thought she supposed, to be so self-conscious at a time like that but she was scared and a frightened mind could only react in specific learned ways. Hers was modesty. She tried to speak but her throat was dry and all she could do was open and close her mouth, silent croaks and pleading eyes asking for help. She recognized this place, she’d seen it in books and movies but she wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get halfway across the world to now be barefoot and naked in the center of the Winter Palace Square in St. Petersburg, Russia. A woman from the growing crowd pushed through and circled a jacket over the girl’s thin shoulders.( Read more... )
prompted by carolandtom
Friday. May 29, 2009. Burbank, California. 3:21 pm.
Jimmy was panicked. It wasn’t anything Clark hadn’t seen before, of course, but when they had less than forty minutes to get to their assignment, Jimmy’s panic had taken on an entirely different level of hysteria.
“This is bad, CK,” he said, leaning nearly halfway out the window of their rental car searching for any and everything. A RadioShack, a Circuit City, anything. “Tess is gonna kill me.”
“She won’t kill you,” Clark said with a tight frown, hauling Jimmy back into the car before a truck speeding down the opposite lane chopped him in half. “Keep doing that and she won’t have to,” he warned. Reaching over and with remarkable deft, Clark secured the seatbelt across his friend’s chest with one hand.( Read more... )
bold and underline is the drabble title
italics is the prompt
The Maiden Voyage
“You’re floating,” Chloe breathlessly says.
Clark hovered a few inches off the ground. “I guess it’s the first step? Like crawling?”
“Your version of baby steps,” she muses. “Very cool, very awesome and . . . admittedly, very weird.”
“Glad to know I’m not the only one freaked out here,” he smiles, drifting down back to Earth.
“Nope, definitely freaked. And amazed.”
“I’m thinking, eventually I can fly?” They both walked side by side back to the house.
She smiles up to him, happy he shared this with her. “I’m thinking, I’m glad I was here for the maiden voyage.”
( Read more... )
prompted by tragicllyhip
rated pg-13 for language
He saw the looks on their faces but didn’t understand the expressions there. Their features were scrunching and twisting and making looks that made him intrigued. They pointed to him and he stopped walking to wonder why. He looked down to himself and saw bare flesh and bare feet and turned back to them, seeing the clothes on their bodies and somehow knowing he was different. He put a hand to his chest and was puzzled.( Read more... )
Prompted by ladydey
a/n: i like where this ends but i can see it becoming something larger. y/n in comments
Out of Ice Cold Ashes
He’d been raised with a vigorous disbelief in God. His father only believed in himself and his own powers and refused to let his son be raised under what he’d considered to be a mass delusion. There was enough public posturing to counter the atheism of his household; Lionel Luthor understood that people flocked more readily to those they could identify with and religion was the great mask every public figure had to wear. His catechism was taught, he’d been baptized and every Easter and Christmas he’d find his way to some church or another to be photographed.
Lex didn’t know if there was anyone out there, looking out for him, and if there were he considered just how useless they’d been at their particular assignment. If he’d been given a guardian angel, that creature was the most apathetic or sadistic of all the heavenly hosts, he was sure.( Read more... )
prompted by toby
She doesn’t actually understand why she’s with him. Her brain is only half-filled with facts and images but no real . . . feelings. She can’t find the word. It’s indescribable ‘cause it’s so insubstantial. She feels like she’s absorbed half her life through Youtube and Google searches. Flashpoints of visual memory that don’t mean anything, no thousands words, just blank walls corrupted by a data point here, a factoid there—graffiti everywhere and her life is tagged with the same bulbous balloony writing on the side of a dump truck that means nothing to anyone but the person who put it there. That person, she’s sure, wasn’t her. She’s convinced memories aren’t supposed to be so weightless. So void.( Read more... )
An alarm went off and Chloe blinked away the cobwebs hanging over her mind. The apartment was cold and she could hear the commotion of the world outside. Moving through the headache of a hangover she realized she was in her bed, alone. Raising her hands to her face she squinted hard and put the world into focus. No ring. Thank Jesus.( Read more... )
for and totally inspired by michi
You probably don’t care who I am. You’ll forget about me soon enough but I still have a story. I’ll tell you that story then go back to my life which is wrapped up in a Nine-to-Five that actually stretches out 6:30-5 with no overtime pay in sight. But I get up every morning at the asscrack of dawn because the economy sucks and I don’t want to live off Cup Noodles in my parent’s basement.( Read more... )
prompted by supercaptain182
The End is the Beginning
I hate the word ‘destiny’. It has no definition. Who knows, really, what their own destiny is? No one does and that’s the problem with it right there. People throw around, ‘this is your destiny,’ and ‘you are destined for xyz,’ but they’re assuming something they have no right to assume. If my father is evil, am I destined for evil? If I’m the son of a good man, am I destined to be good?
We all seem to forget that Satan, the definition of evil, was born a loved creation of the very definition of good.
‘Destiny’ is hollow and I refuse to be defined by it.
---( Read more... )