seraphcelene: (it mocks me)
Title: Quarter Note
Author: seraphcelene
A/N: 100 words written for the "Tease" prompt at Open On Sunday. Spoiled for Angel 5.15: A Hole in the World.
Summary: What's your favorite color? What's your favorite song? Lorne can see everything in the first quarter note.

"But the cavemen have fire," she says, and her voice teases his brain.

Like breathing, Lorne measures the intonation, cadence, and syntax. It's a habit.

"You'll still find me for lunch, though, right?"

Lorne brushes the tingling away like a stroke of his hand to scatter cobwebs.

"I'll just look where the sun shines," he says and begins to sing. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

Fred smiles at Wesley, and completes the refrain, "You make me happy..."

Everything there is to know unwinds in the timbre of her voice. Stunned, Lorne turns to catch her as she falls.
seraphcelene: (it mocks me)
Title: The Red Queen
Author: seraphcelene
A/N: written for the open on sunday Plastic challenge. Spoiled for AtS: Damage. Head and heart. Keep cutting until you see dust.



"Be careful of this one," Jim said.

They strolled past Dana's room and peered through the window set into the door. Most days Dana stared at the padded walls, her Thorazine gaze doll-dark and blank.

"Violent?" Peterson, the new orderly, sneered. He'd tamed his share of uncontrollable patients.

*

When she wakes, for real this time, crystalline reality is warped and smudged by time and event. With no drugs to dull her edges, Dana will break Peterson's neck. His vertebrae will snap with the easy, sharp, satisfying crack of a plastic spoon.

*

"Strong," Jim said. "You never know what's to come."
seraphcelene: (it mocks me)
Title: Junior
A/N: 100 words written for the First Impression(s) prompt at [profile] open_on_sunday. Spoiled for AtS: Salvage.

Connor is barely grown-up. Stupid puppy, more anger and libido than anything else. Faith knows the attitude, recognizes the snarl on his heavy mouth and the way he crowds close. He wants to throw himself against the baddest son of a bitch he can find. Faith recognizes the flavor of that rage. Connor wants to burn out.

He's waiting for her to knock him down. He wants to grapple, his hands on her body. She could bloody his nose and break his ribs, and he'd get right back up and beg her to hurt him just a little bit more.



Title: Slayer/Faith
A/N: 100 words written for the First Impression(s) prompt at [profile] open_on_sunday. Spoiled for AtS: Salvage. Inspired by some stupid, throw-away reference to the smell of menstrual blood.

Faith is a warrior, and Connnor's cock goes hard the moment she crosses the threshold.

"Listen up, junior. When I need a blood hound, I'll call you."

Connor's sulking, red mouth curls into a smirk, and he wonders if she realizes that he can smell the spicy-metallic, bitter-pungent scent of marigold and iron pooling between her thighs.

When Faith gets in his face, Connor stiffens. All he wants to do is beat the shit out of her, and fuck her. He itches with need. Connor isn't sure that he'd win in a fight, but he wants to try her anyway.

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August 2016

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