drabbles: McWeir, Teyla/Ronan, Sam/Wesley
Oct. 4th, 2005 01:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wisdomeagleIt turned out I sucked like whoa at recognizing out of context lines from my fics. It's not too late to play.
[McWeir for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mari4212. Warning: soppy.]
Big Love
His capacity for strong emotion has been exceeded. He can no longer become everything he wants for her, can no longer stand up straight under the weight of his love. Part of this is pride: a woman he loves this much must be worthy of this much love. But his logic is as circular as Elizabeth's big-eyed fear when she faces down a gun, when he fucks up. He doesn't know how to act around her, becomes most arrogant in her presence, more cringing at her disapproval. He wants her to be the one he never has to say I'm sorry to.
[Ronan/Teyla forpoisontaster. Post-"Trinity."]
Words Like Weapons
Her words are precision instruments; his are blunt weapons. They spar like this too. She's smaller, uses that to unbalance him. He's been fighting with her for almost a month and is finally starting to see when she's feinting. He's slower with understanding verbal repartee; he is never, never helping her negotiate again.
"Words lie," he says. She suspects it's more complicated than this; everyone has been deceived at one time, and most of them still speak in sentences longer than a few words. But it is not a matter to be pressed, words, like weapons, should be kept private.
[Sam/Wesley forgvambat. S6 SG-1, S3 AtS. Two drabbles.]
Sunrise
Wesley watches the sun come up, enjoying the imagery more than the image. Sunrise, driving the vampires back to the lairs. Infernals retreating, cloistering themselves in their own grime. The world becomes slowly safer as the sun finds its way over the horizon.
He, of course, has hardly moved for two days. The unpatterned movement of the city below feels hollow more than it really is; he thinks if he hadn't sold the motorbike, he'd be riding chaotically to nowhere now. He can almost touch the sparkling sunlit machine of fantasy, but only almost; inertia clings to him like leather.
+
Things are getting better, though never perfect. The sunset no longer makes her think sentimental thoughts about lives fading away to nothing, and she's stopped thinking of Jonas as a temporary resident in Daniel's office. She's still thinking of it as Daniel's office.
She's felt too jumpy in her own skin since Daniel died. She almost thinks he's watching her; cold prickles on her skin when she least expects it. When they get leave, she throws herself onto the bike before she can think better of it, sliding into the wind like it's another skin. She rides into the sunrise.
[McWeir for
mari4212. Warning: soppy.]Big Love
His capacity for strong emotion has been exceeded. He can no longer become everything he wants for her, can no longer stand up straight under the weight of his love. Part of this is pride: a woman he loves this much must be worthy of this much love. But his logic is as circular as Elizabeth's big-eyed fear when she faces down a gun, when he fucks up. He doesn't know how to act around her, becomes most arrogant in her presence, more cringing at her disapproval. He wants her to be the one he never has to say I'm sorry to.
[Ronan/Teyla for
poisontaster. Post-"Trinity."]Words Like Weapons
Her words are precision instruments; his are blunt weapons. They spar like this too. She's smaller, uses that to unbalance him. He's been fighting with her for almost a month and is finally starting to see when she's feinting. He's slower with understanding verbal repartee; he is never, never helping her negotiate again.
"Words lie," he says. She suspects it's more complicated than this; everyone has been deceived at one time, and most of them still speak in sentences longer than a few words. But it is not a matter to be pressed, words, like weapons, should be kept private.
[Sam/Wesley for
gvambat. S6 SG-1, S3 AtS. Two drabbles.]Sunrise
Wesley watches the sun come up, enjoying the imagery more than the image. Sunrise, driving the vampires back to the lairs. Infernals retreating, cloistering themselves in their own grime. The world becomes slowly safer as the sun finds its way over the horizon.
He, of course, has hardly moved for two days. The unpatterned movement of the city below feels hollow more than it really is; he thinks if he hadn't sold the motorbike, he'd be riding chaotically to nowhere now. He can almost touch the sparkling sunlit machine of fantasy, but only almost; inertia clings to him like leather.
+
Things are getting better, though never perfect. The sunset no longer makes her think sentimental thoughts about lives fading away to nothing, and she's stopped thinking of Jonas as a temporary resident in Daniel's office. She's still thinking of it as Daniel's office.
She's felt too jumpy in her own skin since Daniel died. She almost thinks he's watching her; cold prickles on her skin when she least expects it. When they get leave, she throws herself onto the bike before she can think better of it, sliding into the wind like it's another skin. She rides into the sunrise.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 05:45 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 12:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 12:02 pm (UTC)*cuddles drabble*
Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-10-04 12:37 pm (UTC)