completelysane asked: For Wash/CT: "But I will not chase your shadow as you go from room to room/dropping handkerchiefs and daggers, smoking guns and other clues"

CT never thought herself hard to find, not for someone who had all of the Freelancer network at their disposal. Sure, the Insurrectionists had done their best hiding her behind a new voice and a new signal and, for good measure, in the middle of a desert, but she knew better than to think the Director didn’t know about it. She still spent those first few months waiting for someone, someone very specific, to do just a little digging and follow the smoking trail of self destruction that she left in her wake.

completelysane asked: "There’s no one to talk to/All I can think/Is your eyes are full of train smoke/And your mouth tastes like rain/And I know when I know nothing/I will always know your name" Wash/CT, maybe AU where she stays during the time he's implanted.

For the longest time since meeting him, she refused to call him anything other than Wash. Washington was never even an option. She remembered when he introduced himself and said “David”, our of habit. His cheeks turned red and he immediately tried to correct it, saying he wasn’t used to code names. She cut him off and said her name was Connie, and he thought she’d also confessed her real name for an entire month. York had come up to her later and said his name was Wash, when she asked what it was short for, York laughed. She looked it up in on a map later.

“David,” she would say as she sat next to his hospital bed, her hand tentatively next to his but never touching. It always calmed him down. It took her a few days to realize she should try it. She’d been saying “Wash” with no effect.

She only had another few days left. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet.

She kept going back and forth on her goodbye. If he was still unconscious, it might be easier. She thought about taking his hand. Maybe kissing him. Would she kiss David? Would she even kiss Wash at this point?

He moved again, and whimpered. She leaned close and whispered that everything was going to be alright.

That she was here for him.

Here for you,

David.

completelysane asked: Prompt: "I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear dagger proof tunics..." ~Lemony Snicket. Wash/CT, Sandtrap.

“It’s like you don’t trust me,” she murmured with a small grin, that half joking manner that they were finally coming back to. He scoffed, the sound harsh in her ear piece, and walked past her pointedly as she was loading up her gun, exposing belly, back, unarmed, unfisted hands. “I’m not so sure you should, anyway,” she added, and took aim before he had time to turn.

queen-of-france asked: "I'll love you to death, I guess that's what you get/ And I don't know where we are all going to/ Love don't get stranger, it is what it is/ And I don't know where we are all going to/ Everything happens today, and that's what you get/ And I don't know where we are all going to" - Spiritualized, "Ladies And Gentlemen We're Floating In Space"

“I always hated that question,” she said accusingly, staring Wash down as if it would prevent him from asking it. “It’s my last chance,” he explained, and she tried to sigh but she was too busy being nervous and anxious, planning her way off this ship for good, in five minutes’ time. “Where do we go from here?” he said, softly, and she looked at him with all the harshness she could find and said in a voice that only cracked twice, “we don’t.”

queen-of-france asked: "Too late today, for the sky to open/ No living place lay here for the sky to fall/ No one remembers when the wheel was broken/ Made a rut so deep, made a massive hole/ Made a man so small" - Emily Haines, "Pretty Head"

“Command? You want me to be Recovery Command?” she threw her helmet down on the hanger, metal upon metal clanging echoes off of her ships. Her ships. “What kind of a fucking demotion is that?”

“Pilot!” the Counselor whispered a warning.

“Sorry,” 479er corrected. “What kind of a fucking demotion is that, sir.”

“The kind, Pilot 479er, brought on by the failure of every member of the team you were responsible for carrying,” the Director said, eyes never leaving the page on the clipboard in front of him.

“What? What happened with the team was…it wasn’t my fault.”

“Are you part of the team?”

“Of course,” she answered, without hesitation.

“Then it’s your fault too,” the Director said simply, walking on. “Report for training in two hours, Recovery Command.”

Behind him, muscles, tendons, sinew, bone, all gave way under the weight of that thought. One by one, the joints crumpled and fell until the human being folded with it under that one string of words. You’re part of the team. The team fell apart.

What are you part of now?

“Not the sky,” she muttered, bitter, as the last barrier fell and her hands opened in defeat on the cold metal floor.

queen-of-france asked: "You can't take back, the one mistake/That still lives on after life it takes/ In that one day that changed our lives / And bitter memories are left behind" - The Offspring, "End of the Line"

“I remember you,” she said, defensively, sitting by the fire in the cold desert.

“Good for you,” Wash responded, terse, patronizing, effective. CT remembered him, yes, but she sure as hell didn’t know him.

havefuncarolina asked: Here, have a random prompt because it's Saturday. :) And you didn't mean to do it/So I don't have to believe it/If you didn't really mean it/Then magical thinking gets us by

“It wasn’t her,” he bleated out, a haze of drugs distracting from the slow flow of blood. South looked at York for something, a sign, a lead, a word of comfort that she wasn’t sure how to give. But North, predictably, was the one holding the bandage over the gunshot, helping the health pack keeping Wash alive, and it was he who answered.

“We all saw it, Wash. It was CT.”

Wash’s eyes focused, eyelids half closed, as he said with determination, “Connie wouldn’t do that. She didn’t mean to. She can’t have…”

South said, quietly, in a voice so unlike her usual, “Connie wouldn’t…but CT might.”

Wash shook his head in disagreement, but didn’t offer more. They rode back to the ship and to the medical bay in silence.

queen-of-france asked: "One day they woke me up/ So I could live forever/ It's such a shame the same will never happen to you/ You’ve got your short, sad life left/That’s what I’m counting on/ I’ll let you get right to it/ Now I only want you gone" - Portal 2 OST, "Want You Gone" (been a while since I had any lyrics '_')

“Goodbye my only friend,” Wash said, looking over the remains from the battle, and in a strangely expected spark of cruelty he added, “oh, did you think I meant you?” to the icy canyon drop.

completelysane asked: "Oh I’m locked inside/Trapped inside this body/I can’t get out/And there’s not enough room/I’m glued to the back of this bone mask" Wash + Sarge

“You’re still building robots,” Wash observed from the side of the base. Sarge shrugged at the new visitor, the only “blue” he could tolerate on his property. “Why?”

“Well, I got all these spare parts,” Sarge said easily.

“Spare parts? I think Lopez said he could have upgraded your jeep if you weren’t dead set on your…your project.” Wash wasn’t sure what made him hesitate, what made him censor the colorful and descriptive Spanish the robot had actually used. Yet Sarge seemed married to the idea that Lopez is like a son to him, so it seemed right, seemed like the right thing to do.

Better late than never.

“Caboose asked me to,” Sarge expanded. “Besides, when that blue fella and his girlfriend come back, they better not try and steal my robot again.”

“The Alpha isn’t coming back,” Wash said firmly.

Sarge just turned with a small smile. “Son,” he said, “I’ve been trying to kill that team for nine years. Trust me. He’ll come back.”

Wash thought about trying to explain how impossible all of that is, but he knew Sarge was a man of conviction and saw it’d be a losing battle. Instead, he just said, “well, do you need any help?”

timetravelresetbaby asked: "cupid, have mercy / on fools such as me / you never had it so good / i ain't saying this to hurt feelings, you just look at me" - wifs, "fiend in wien"

Willow had thought about it before, idly and before Tara had said anything about magic abuse, she’d thought that maybe she could find some kind of love spell, or anti-love spell, or stupid-cupid-stop-picking-on-me spell and make Buffy’s life, for once, a little bit easier.

queen-of-france asked: "Oh, Lilian/ I should have run/ I should have known/ Each dress you own/ Is a loaded gun" - Depeche Mode, "Lilian"

Something that fell through the cracks with Tex was Allison’s ability to dominate every war, every form of fighting she ever cared to get in. Leonard Church thinks fondly to the first time they met, the next time he saw her in that unforgettable dress, makeup, everything, how she reeled him in with a brief, non-committal smile, how he didn’t have a choice because she had won this battle, this war, before he even knew it had started. He remembers how Allison could change and carry herself depending on what her passion dictated, what she wanted, and looks at Tex with her one-track soldier mind, looks at what his memories of Allison have become and reels from admiration to resentment of this empty, almost-there echo.

basiacat asked: Prompt! :D "And in the burst of light that blinded every angel/as if the sky had blown the heavens into stars/you felt the gravity of temper grace falling into empty space/no one there to catch you in their arms."

In the months that Castiel defied heaven and everything he lived for in the name of two stubborn human boys, he often thought of Anna; at first as some kind of a role model, and then with the tiny seeds of jealousy that felt so unfamiliar in his mind. She fell to Earth, defied and escaped and lived, she fell and she was separated from herself, from her grace, and she seemed happy, in a way. Castiel thought of her and envied that it was ripped out all at once, that it wasn’t a part of her any more, because he imagined, he could only imagine, that having it pulled out of you was better than feeling your grace deteriorate and fade away, bit by bit.

timetravelresetbaby asked: "because i can / cause no one can stop me / cause it makes up for things i've lost / to feel your tug on my soul / and the slap of your gaze over my face" - world/inferno friendship society, "addicted to bad ideas"

There was a certain point, she figured, when “I’m just a twenty year old girl” would stop being an excuse. She was smart enough to know this was really, really stupid, much more so than her crush on Troy. Than her constant flirtation with Rich. This was so much more stupid than she’d allow herself to be.

She convinces herself that he’s nicer than he is, and for a while she thinks it’s working, her subtle trick is encouraging him to be nicer. But, like always, he turns it around with a defensive jab of the old Jeff, the lawyer Jeff, the one she never thought attractive, and she has to start building from the ground up again. It’s happened often enough that she doesn’t mind it.

She doesn’t realize how horrible that sounds.

She knows at some point her defensive, reflexive hiding behind her age will stop distracting people from the fact that she’s in love. And she knows they won’t understand when she tells them she’s not, not really. She’s not in love with Jeff.

She’s in love with what Jeff can be.

And she knows, somewhere, how stupid it all is, how dumb of a statement and a feeling it is, how she’s setting herself up to fall so spectacularly.

But then he smiles at her, or says “milady”, or does something decent and slightly redeeming, and she hides beind “I’m just a twenty year old girl” for a bit longer.

queen-of-france asked: "I saw her body organ/ She was laughing while pressing the keys/ She said my favourite book was dirty and /'You shouldn't shout, you can read'" - The Knife, "Forest Families"

The way she moved was music. It felt so odd, since her apartment was so bare from any kind of instrument or player, she was so content to sit in silence, but Leonard realized she was never sitting in silence, not really. Every small movement a short, quiet note, every violent motion a sudden rush of horns, every muscle relaxing a relieved string, Allison was a symphony.

It was the hardest thing to get right about her. The Allison that had appeared along with Alpha, the Omega, Tex, she had Allison’s thoughts and words and, to a certain point, her memories, she had her smile and expression and attitude, but she so obviously, inescapably lacked her music. Allison was an orchestra and Tex was a rock band, and he could never quite completely hide the look of disappointment when his Agent moved, and moved wrong.