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!
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Cry ‘Havoc’ and Let Slip the Dogs of War
“Sam?” Dean called to his right, glancing away from the almost empty stretch of highway and taking stock of his quiet brother. Sam stared out his window, silently observing the passing of random trees. The hunger and need and pain had dissipated from its initial intensity to a low buzzing under his skin and remained a barring presence in his mind. Whatever the Archangel had done, she’d blocked the worst of it, but it was still there forcing him to curl in on himself in the passenger’s seat of the Impala. Not really hearing Dean, all Sam could see was Ruby’s face and hear her voice over the last year as she lied and betrayed him. She’d lied and Dean was right; he always had been right about her. He knew not to trust her and all Sam did was hand himself over to her. Demons lie. How many times had he been told that? How many times had that been drilled into his mind? How many arguments and fights had he had with Dean because he was defending her?
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This is mostly drag and drop and copy and paste at the beginning but at the end it presents a whole new dynamic and jumping point if I was ever tempted to making this a longer tale. Most of the dialogue comes from the film; no infringement intended. Not so much a crossOVER as a Character A is now Character B transformation. Prompted by catdancerz
He stood before the academic counsel of Starfleet Academy. Facing the dean, Admiral Richard Barnett, he remained quiet. Maybe not patiently quiet, but quiet none-the-less.
“Cadet Winchester, evidence has been submitted to this counsel suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation 17.43 of the Starfleet code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?”
“Yes,” Cadet Dean Winchester said, glancing to the Board of Directors. “I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly.”
Admiral Barnett looked towards the assembly behind him and Dean turned only to catch eyes with someone he hadn’t seen in over twelve years. He’d gotten taller. Locking piercing stares, a moment of tension passed between. So, he would really do this?
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Sam Winchester opened his eyes to the faint light of the dawn streaming across his face. A little bearded man in square, horn-rimmed glasses was hovering over him. Bolting up, Sam twisted around, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. When had he gotten here? He could barely—
“Yeeeah, you had minor-ish, maybe loosely definable as major meltdown,” Chuck said, his hands in his robe’s pockets. He looked as if he’d been awake a week and was only surviving out of his coffee pot. But he was smiling. Sam had never seen the Prophet so happy and . . . “Calm,” Chuck said in answer to Sam’s unspoken thoughts. His voice and manner seemed to define the word. “Sorry, I squeaked out a couple of pages last night so this is all reruns to me. Wrote all the way up to brunch.”
Chuck pinched his features. “She does brunch. It’s weird. Doesn’t have to eat but she does brunch,” he shrugged.
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“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?”
-- Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Without getting too heavy on the details, he knew he needed to tell his brother two things before he died. “I love you” was probably obligatory but he figured Sam knew that already, even if it had never really been verbalized. Love wasn’t something in the Winchester vocabulary, just something detailed by actions set out in the Winchester playbook. Probably number two in the playbook if he had to count them out; number one being kick ass at all costs.
The first thing he had to tell him was to keep fighting. Their world was dark and as much as he didn’t want to say it, Dean was sure God had packed up and left Earth ages ago. He was probably hovering over the little baby Jesus that was Luke Skywalker in that galaxy far far away just itching to pen a new gospel. The angels had proven to be less than stellar and if it had to be just them against all the forces of darkness, then it would be. Someone had to do it and if they were now the backwater of the universe and God was playing in a whole new shiny corner of creation, then so be it.
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The White Storm
“He’s coming,” Sam exhaled, barely breathing, fear closing off his body and mind. The end of the world was here and it was all his fault. Dean was right; the voicemail playing over and over in his mind. He was a monster, hoisted up by his own ego and need to prove his tainted soul worthy. “I’m so sorry,” he said, repeating himself in a half-strangled voice. The words just didn’t seem enough.
Gripping the bloodied knife in his hand, Dean couldn’t take a moment to steel his courage. Everything was moving so fast and spinning out of control. This, right here, was Ground Zero for Armageddon and if he’d just been less of a dick and reached out to Sam instead of pushing him away, things could have been different. He’d started this mess and in confronting Sam the way he’d done he’d precipitated it. This was all his fault.
“Sam, get behind me!” He barked, positioning himself before the great and swirling vortex that seemed to get bigger every second. Staring into the brilliant white center of the maelstrom, Dean knew this was it. This was the end.
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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.”
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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... )
Includes a manip at the bottom of the page with a partial face of the new Doctor.
Don't look if you're concerned about casting spoilers.
Characters: The 11th Doctor[not based on anything besides my imagination so read freely w/o worry], 10.5, Rose and Tyler [oc]
The 11th Doctor
Time travel and parallel universes were funny things.
Well, perhaps not so much funny as not-funny, at all, really.
Hmm . . .
Chapter 1: Anderly Park
When the TARDIS landed on Earth.2 he wondered where exactly he was and when exactly he’d gotten there. The entire situation was strange really. He was on the other side of the great big universe at the opposite end of time and then in an instant a rumble rumble here and a shaky shaky there and here he was. Earth. Most definitely Earth by the glaring yellow sun and what stars he could make out through the bright blue sky but little things: the bird’s song, the fluffy white dandelion seeds dancing by, the distinct genetically variant race of Vashta Nerada, and most telling, the sweet hint of methyl-themerol-chlorixide in the air, told him this place was not the Earth of his universe but of another. Methyl-themerol-chlorixide was never developed on Earth prime. It would be three Earths later in vastly different galaxies before the technology to cross-pollinate via chemical spraying vs. the then extinct bumble bee would be approved by the Interstellar Department of Agriculture.( 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.”
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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... )
My dad’s a badass. No one knows it but me. It’s a secret I’ve kept since I was too little to really understand that I was keeping a secret. He told me not to tell anybody or our family would be in danger. If I didn’t really get anything else he was saying, I got that. He trusted me with our safety and I really got that too.
Dad has a day job that sucks ass and is kinda embarrassing when I tell people what he does but it’s a front. It’s not the truth. It’s a bunch of facts he’s memorized to get by but it’s not what he really does, it only covers up his real job. When he’s supposed to be at work and we’re at school, he’s really tracking down and fighting monsters who used to be people and tracking down people so close to monsters that definitions almost don’t even matter.
( Read more... )