sparklebutch: (Default)
Title: Desert Candle
Fandom: Buffy
Character: Ethan Rayne
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] all_unwritten #181 : "I've never been anywhere"





He's never been anywhere that was quite as nowhere as this. The Nevada desert stretched an infinity from one small dusty town to the next. When he stumbled into what seemed like a ghost town, tired and hungry, he found people living there. Actual, real people. Not a mirage. They gave him a sandwich and some fresh orange juice.

He keeps going, not sure why he doesn't try to stop one of the cars he sees twice, three times a day. Or why he doesn't try magic.

Oh, he uses magic all the time. He couldn't have survived otherwise. A fire at night, a sheen during the day to replace the sunscreen he doesn't have. And water. He keeps hydrated through magic alone.

He just doesn't use it to stop this continued existence of desert and aimlessness and wandering down the highway.

He drags his feet along the endless road of boiling asphalt into what looks from afar to be two shacks and a petrol pump. Up close, there's a very ornate metal sign claiming this proudly to be a city. Something City. The letters are half rusted off. He doesn't see anyone.

He's never been in a place quite as depressing as this.

Differently depressing, yes. He's been in small, bleak Northern English towns where it rained all the time and everything was grey, from the sky to the roofs to the people who lived under them. He's been locked in a house in Africa once, unable to leave until an attack of some kind of insects would stop. That one may have been partly his fault.

He's been at his parents' house for many years, but that was long ago.

He can go on. It's a long list. He's been, after all, in Sunnydale, California, a hellmouth.

He's been in prison. Not for long, but it was unpleasant nonetheless.

This, the desert, Nevada's vast empty nature, it's different. The clarity is in his brain. The sun in his eyes, the heat in his bones.

He encounters the bleached carcass of... a cow, he believes. He's not exactly a biologist. It's fairly large. Big skull. Empty eyeholes. He wonders what a cow was doing here all alone, walking by the side of the road.

With a short delay, the thought catches up with him and he laughs.

Wandering closer, he discovers the details, the beauty. Small purple flowers grow in the shade of the massive ribcage. A spider has woven its web in one eyehole and down to the jaw. Or maybe it was two spiders, being neighbours.

He's not sure, but he thinks some of the bones are missing. They probably are. There are things here, howling every night. They would've picked everything they could have, probably.

Two days later he finds the skull of what could be a small dog. He amuses himself with the thought it may have been a coyote, and he'll never know. He continues down the road.

Then turns back.

He takes the skull and carefully puts it in a small plastic shopping bag he took from the last pit-stop town. He'll take it with him. He'll find out, sooner or later, if it was coyote or just a dog.

That's the first time Ethan thinks about leaving this desert. About ending this journey. Returning to civilisation. He's tired of nowhere, of being a nobody in the middle of nothing.

Time to go back.
sparklebutch: (fluff)
Title: The Breakfasts
Fandom: Buffy
Prompt: Mary, "Giles and Ethan and omelettes".
Drabble: a 100 words


They're yellow and soft, a bit runny on the inside, whisked briskly and poured to hiss and sizzle in the pan for too short a time. The smell is heavenly,

"Proteins burning,"

he says and smiles. Adds black pepper, and the melted cheese spills from the sides when he cuts into it.

"I like it," he says through a mouthful too hot, greedy first bite taken too hastily, "I like when you make me breakfast."

I like the normalcy, he means to say. The compassion, the kindness, however slight. It's love, he means to say. Love in the morning light.
sparklebutch: (awash with ambiguity)
Like all stories, it started with a kiss. Boy meets boy under moonlit skies. Boy looks deep into boy's eyes. Maybe there's music in the background, something with a low bass beat, something with hard guitars. Either way, boy and boy move together into the kiss, and the moment is like in the movies.

But boy and boy go back into the club after that brief break in the back alley, and there boy starts dancing with a girl, and the one he just kissed looks on and pointedly starts dancing with another man. Only his dancing soon becomes more than dancing. Boy who was dancing with a girl becomes agitated, and boy and boy have a very ugly shouting match over the loud noise inside. Boy drags boy outside to have the shouting match in a quieter setting.

Boy wants more than a kiss. Boy wants more than what boy can give, perhaps. He wants everything, he wants to be loved. He wants to love, if he can. Boy wants boy all to himself.

He demonstrates it badly, with a push and a shove and hissing insults into the face of the one he loves. Instead of pushing back, running, yelling, the boy melts under his assault, becomes pliant. Smiles and his eyes are half-lidded.

Rough hands pulling down too-tight jeans, eager fingers tear at clingy shirts in a hurried attempt to get them out of the way. Boy loves boy, boy wants boy. Boy takes boy, breathless and keening and whispering words, fervent words of devotion, love, apology, need, threats, promises.

Their arms are locked around each other. It ends with a kiss, like all good stories. A soft kiss under the early dawn's skies. Boy looks deep into boy's eyes. The beeping of a dustcart backing somewhere nearby can be heard over the noise of traffic starting to pour into the streets. And the moment is perfect.
sparklebutch: (ethan praying on halloween)
Prompt 138
Empty
[livejournal.com profile] all_unwritten



Empty is when the magic was there, but now isn't.

You look inside yourself to the place where once wonders came from, and you find nothing. You scrabble desperately, scrape for whatever you find, residue stuck to the walls... Anything. Anything at all. But it's empty.

He wakes from the nightmare screaming, panting. The terror is real, very real. So real he can't focus, can't find his centre at first. That only adds to this feeling of sinking, swirling out of control. But he's had years of practice.

Deep breath. Existence; mentally checking on every part of his body, making sure everything is in place, so to speak.

There. The wave of panic is gone and he's on the shore, shaking but alive and in one piece. He reaches inside and like starting a fire, it's there, a shivery spark at first, but it catches. The magic is there. It's not wildfire, but he's not looking to create storms just now, he just wanted to make sure, be sure it's still there. And it is, burning brightly and keeping him warm at night.
sparklebutch: (emotional maturity)

Strange fun adventures and fantasy concepts,
Bright coloured mod boys and tweed Jazzy poets,
Howard and Vincey all tied up with strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Fishmen in tutus and coconuts singing,
Goth girls and Goth boys, bananas with things in,
Saturn and bright Moon exchanging their rings*,
These are a few of my favourite things

When the fen bite, when Real Life's shite, when I'm feeling sad
I think of the Boosh and how Mighty they are, and then I don't feel so bad!

[*yes, I know it's not in canon.... yet]
[Vague blame: [livejournal.com profile] accio_arse]




The next one is unrelated, it's a personal bit I wrote this morning, after I got an email: )

=====

ETA - [estimated time of arrival of my brain, about five minutes after the post is made]:

Also there is art. Well, macros, it's almost the same. )

short story

Jan. 5th, 2008 01:05 pm
sparklebutch: (knowledge)
Two Trees / a mythology & Methos origin story


When Adam roamed between the trees, looking for leaves to cover his shame, the serpent slid fast and silent towards the other tree. Knowledge wasn't enough for him; the eye-opening experience of gaining a mind, an awareness, the moment of turning from beast to sentient - he'd already done that. He wanted more.

He knew that soon enough, shit would hit the fan. He crawled, slid, slipped quickly up the branches and sank his sharp, elongated teeth into the sweet fruit.

They were both kicked out, of course. But all man had was toil, sweat and tears; all he could look forward to was childbirth and then death. The serpent, now nothing more than a myth, walking on two legs, had neither to expect, to live for. Only immortality to regret.

Lughnasadh

Aug. 1st, 2007 09:51 am
sparklebutch: (daisies)
Title: Lughnasadh
Fandom: Highlander
Characters: Methos, ofc
Prompt: [livejournal.com profile] highlander100 challenge #146; Circle of Life


Bless the Gods of the Earth, bless the ground and the sky, bless these rains that will soon come, bless the harvest. Midsummer, and everyone dances, circle within circle, people holding flowers, rejoicing at the year ahead. He dances too, in a circle just for two, hands tied to those of his blushing bride with the wool her grandmother's woven. She's not a shy one, the bride, flushed from the thrill and the dance, and the chill of the night. A year and a day; this time next year their bond will be untied. Methos dances and blesses the harvest.

[100][Q to Methos]
Lughnasadh
sparklebutch: (princess bride)
Title: Fisherman's Wife



She stands on the rocks and watches the boat in the distance. She thinks she can see them standing together on the deck.

The waves crash and spray her with salt water.

She stands alone and holds her hands together. She thinks she sees them close, so close. Like they are dancing on the small deck. Like they might be holding each other.

They could be kissing each other for all she knows. Far out there in the sea. Her husband's strong arms and two mouths crashing against each other when they think no one sees them.

They're probably just fishing. People need to stand close... It's a small boat.

She stands there all morning, goes home, and returns in the afternoon. The boat turns its nose back to shore when the sky's turning pink in the horizon. It's getting cold. She stares to sea for hours, almost every day.

Light on her feet she runs to the dock and greets them, a smile on her face to hide her suspicions, to hide her mistrust.

"Hello David," she says and kisses her husband's cheek. "Hey Tom," she adds with a friendly wave of her hand. Tomorrow they'll go out to sea again. Tomorrow, again, she'll stand there and watch as they stand too close.


[end]
sparklebutch: (Default)
Title: emo crap doodle
Note: too unfocused to find a title


I remember a time when I sat with a glass in my hand, the dim twilight becoming night around me. Bleak mood, bleak room. Eventually I'd switch on the lights and get on with the day.

I remember crisp, cold mornings, pulling the coat's collar higher up, fast steps down the road, hands deep in my pockets. Efficient, I functioned on. Inside my head I could hear the wind howling over the empty planes that were once emotion.

One more chance to show you that I love you, one more chance to bring you into my home. The empty bed waited for you. The apologies waited for you. I wasn't waiting.

I remember the night you appeared on my doorstep again, suitcase in hand, hair mussed from the winds. You had dark circles around your eyes. I had alcohol on my breath.

The next morning was a crisp, cold one, and I went to my first AA meeting, efficient, brisk, and with a song in my heart.
sparklebutch: (mysterious woman)
Erotica and death; a woman falling from a tall building, her skirt billowing around her like a Marilyn Monroe upside-down. Panic makes it seem like slow motion, beautiful movements in a dance that lasts moments, seconds, last seconds of a life. Morbid, fragile fascination. Her death is a scene. No one thinks about the person inside that body while it's sailing through the air, surrounded by a whirlpool of thin chiffon-y fabric. That is the price you pay for a visual-oriented mind. They only think of the poor dead woman when she's earth-bound again, and broken.
sparklebutch: (chaos)
1. What is the last alcoholic beverage you drank?
Sacramental wine. No, really.

Ethan Rayne moment:



A man walks alone in the streets of a large old city. Wrapped in a large overcoat, he's purposeful and quick, and no one's out here but him and the dustmen. It's five in the morning and there's just barely enough light to assume sunrise.

He enters a large old church, a prominent site in this large old city. It's empty at this hour, closed for tourists. He's not meant to be here, either. He's not a tourist, he was born in this town, but he's been away for so long he's a stranger; to the city, to the streets, to the church.

With the same purposeful, quick step he strides down the aisle, but slows as he draws near. He stops just short of the altar, looking around at the empty large room. Thoughtful, not nervous. Thoughtful.

He goes on his knees and he says a prayer he remembers from childhood. It means nothing except the meaning he gives it; there's a flicker in the old coals of his heart.

A priest comes along, old and shuffling his feet. He offers silent comfort, but not the kind the man wants or needs.

"My child, do you seek peace?"

The man smiles and says "no."

The church opens its doors to the crowds at nine. It fills with busy staff at eight. Until the clock outside hits seven, seven loud chimes of the large, old bell, they sit there in camaraderie, the old priest and the sinner, and drink their fill of the red, red wine.

There's more than one way to save a soul.
sparklebutch: (i really miss boobs sometimes)
Title: The Movies
Fandom: Buffy, Original/HL
Characters: Willow, Taru [*note, Taru, not Tara, and they're nothing alike not even by mistake]
Summary: first kiss challenge
Request: [livejournal.com profile] calime33, Willow/Taru [original character]


Just over 400 words )
sparklebutch: (adam the obscure)
I never studied poetry; I just wrote it. Yesterday I sat with [livejournal.com profile] ceruleancat and she gave me proper meters and I doodled of them.

Results: )
And then I went to sleep.


This one is completely unrelated )
sparklebutch: (burn the witch)
Some time ago [livejournal.com profile] calime33 prompted me with "scent". Here's the longest "poem" (=story in a funny form) I ever wrote. Even has chapters!

But they're short. )

April Fic

May. 2nd, 2007 11:22 pm
sparklebutch: (typist to the muses)
Blessed Joss:

White Fangs: Wes/Spike/Angel pwp
Mischief: Giles/Ethan
Strike: Giles
Ex Officio: Giles/Ethan pwp
This Bed: Giles, Giles/Ethan
Prequel to a Smut: Giles/Ethan or...

Original Stories: [I rather like those]

Lydia's Party:
Her:

Stuff:

Alphabet Meme ficlets: General, Ethan, Giles, Methos, Duncan

14 word Tick fics: Big Blue smutlets

Sex in 200 words: challenge

Bad Romance Novel Meme: Nathan Stark (Eureka); Mal (Firefly) / Marvin (Hitchhiker's Guide); DC

Highlander:

Pitch Dark: Methos/Kronos kissage
Domsetic Abuse: Duncan crack

Medium quality drabbles for [livejournal.com profile] highlander100:

Gardening & Digging: 2 drabbles
Clouds
So Long ago
Authorship
Punch, Touch, Slosh: 3 drabbles
At Peace, At Last
Cure-All
sparklebutch: (adam the obscure)
From [livejournal.com profile] janedavitt:
Describe something, anything, in 26 words, in alphabetical order. Post them here or on your own LJ.


[General]
A barren cross, devoid enough; for god's hell's irresistible. Jealous kindred learn more. No order, precious quest rolls, strutting, towards unearthed, voyeuristic world. Xenophobia, your zeal.


[Ethan Rayne]
Alone, because Chaos devoted Ethan for grandeur, hell, individuality. Joking kindly. Learning man, nature, other. Pouring questions, rousing storms. Teaching untraditional values. Without x-factor, yearning zygosis.


[Giles' POV]
And Buffy. Careless, dangerous. Easy, fun-loving girl. Her inner juncture - kill, live, mourn, never offer pause... Queen's ransom, strength's tiara. Unity, victory: Willow, Xander... young, zealous.


[Methos]
Adam's been careful, decades, eons, for generations. Hidden in juniority. Kronos loved Methos, no options presented, questions ruled-out systematically. To unwilling veteran, warning, x-sign, yield, zehirut.


[Duncan]
Always be chivalrous, Duncan. Even for girls. Help in jeopardy. Kill lawless men, neuter oppressive patrons. Quart random strangers, teach unsuspecting villains. Wield x-rated yoga Zen.
sparklebutch: (boys will do boys)
Cat: How much sex can you have in 200 words?
Adam: Lots. It's not gonna be very good sex, but lots.


sex )

.....Cat made me post it.
sparklebutch: (boys will do boys)
Title: Prequel to a Smut
----


It started... with a kiss.

A kiss, so soft, like two roses gently nudging one another... no, it was nothing like that. No dainty metaphors, no pink petals, just two mouths of flesh and spit meshing together in the preliminary steps to lust. Just lips on lips, tongue on tongue. A kiss, nothing more, and it could've ended there, could've been a goodnight kiss, a goodbye kiss, a see you in the morning kiss.

"Come up for a nightcap."

"You mean sex."

"We could have a drink afterwards, if you insist."

Groping as they clamber up the stairs, pausing by the light switch for so long they have to press it a second time. Another kiss, and another. One man fumbles for the keys in his pocket, while the other fumbles in the first one's pockets for no good reason at all.

"Just... a minute... There."

"Managed to stick it in?"

He spares a moment to glare before turning the key and opening the door. They walk inside and he locks the door behind them and turns back. And.

"Where were we?"

"Right... Here."

Another kiss, but this time two bodies press flush against one another, against the doorframe. This time the contact isn't only mouth on mouth, it's everything on everything. One starts undoing his shirt buttons. The other helps out, eager. They pause to kiss again, can't get enough of one another's taste. There's so much this simple gesture can say. I want you. Not that it isn't obvious.

They make it to the bedroom. A dark red shirt is left solitary by the front door.


...

Title: Her

Apr. 7th, 2007 07:53 pm
sparklebutch: (slashed love)
Title: Her
Original Story


Her )

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