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picfor1000Title: Five Freds That Never Happened
Fandom: Angel the Series
Characters: Fred, Fred/Wes, Fred/Wes/Gunn, Illyria, Connor
Rating: R
Notes: For the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picfor1000 Challenge, Challenge Four. Spring. Thank you, Kate, Samantha, Mary, Gloss, and Jess for all your encouragement and ideas and time.
[ i. this primitive cell ]
(once upon a time)
“Time is a constant, that's what they used to think: time marches on and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it, but that's not the case, no sir.”
The cave is etched, it is scored, baroquely carved, and whited with chalk, mark upon mark upon mark.
“Sir Knight, saves the girl, the stupid cow.” Fred nods fiercely and jabs herself in the chest. “Cow got out, someone left the gate open, got herself lost.”
“Lost in time, no, in space.” She shakes her head. Her hair is a white dandelion puff round her scrawny, weatherbeaten face. “Space and time are the same thing, and they're both-,” she walks two fingers down an outstretched arm, “running away from me.”
“Me, I'm her-” her wild arm scratches a circle within a circle, “centre of the universe.” She looks up suddenly, blinks owlishly at the ceiling and confides to it, “Everybody is, you know.”
She drops to her knees and draws a door on the floor. “String! String’s the thing. One rule for them and one rule for me.” “That's me,” she sniggers, “subatomic.”
She scratches a series of symbols that spiral around her. “And here I am,” she mumbles, “in the eleventy-first dimension and I want to go home.”
It is dark in the cave. The suns have gone down. Fred scrabbles on in the night.
[ ii. her imperfect translations ]
(tell me a story)
“A story! A story! Tell me a story!”
She hoists him clumsily onto her hip and pinches the snub of his nose. “Angel!” she hollers over her shoulder. I’m taking this holy terror of yours down to the kitchens to fix his dinner. Want something? Glass of blood?”
“We’re good,” Cordy yells back through the office door.
Connor claps. “Good! Good!”
The kitchens are gleaming steel and half the counters are covered in plastic magnetic letters. Connor squirms out of her grasp and lands with a muffled thump in the middle of a word. He chirrups with annoyance and takes another S out of his dungarees’ patch pocket.
Fred reads over his shoulder. “Stephen,” she tells him. “Make some space for your dinner now.”
Connor kicks his sturdy little legs up in the air. He makes careful short stacks. Darla. Holtz.
Fred throws him a W. “Wes,” she calls.
“Wes,” Connor agrees, and reaches for a G. “Story?”
Fred opens the fridge and pulls out bologna and bread and tomatoes. The light glints off her glasses. “Once upon a time there was a girl who opened the wrong door.”
[ iii. graphic obscene ]
(picture this)
Fred curves through eleven theoretical dimensions and backflips through nineteen theological conjectures. She is infinite. She is closed. She is a rational domain. She is a cosmically bendy repeating pattern and she rolls down her panties and thinks of danger and stubble, again and again and again. She is twelve and her braids are bouncing against her bare, sunburned back. She is one, indivisible and whole.
"I never liked her anyway," she whispers silkily into his ear.
He grins and his eyes crinkle into yellow, feline slits. "That's my girl," he says. Lilah’s rag-doll head flops uselessly between them, her eyes blank and staring holes. He yanks it close and gobbles at the neck. “So we’re evens?”
She stands up in her seat and her long brown hair snaps like a pennant in the wind. Triumphant, she flings a stack of files out of the car. She runs her tongue over her teeth as Wesley slides a greedy hand up the inside of her thigh. “We’re evens,” she yells to the freeway. “We’re superpartners.”
[ iv. rotation ]
(mirror mirror)
It jerks and slides its new body down the beige hallways and comes to a rest outside Wes’s office. Illyria is an obscene travesty of the human body. Illyria is impossibly condensed. Illyria is a divine singularity and its shell casing is cracking under the strain.
“I don't understand.”
She sits in his chair. His desk is piled high with scrappy papers and raggedy, dog-eared scrolls. His meticulous annotations spider across them, wandering off the sides of the pages and into the grain of the desk top. She frowns at him; the slanting light shines through the blinds and stripes his face, shadowing his eyes.
“You never do.”
“You will teach me. I command it.”
Fred leans forward and stares up into Wesley’s stolen face. The blue sea crashes behind his eyes. “No,” she says. “Never.”
[ v. uniform ]
(John 15:1-5 )
She sees them through the hinge gap in her bedroom door and the click in her head sends her bounding through it. She winds and wiggles herself into the middle of their embrace and they open and enfold her between them. She is surrounded; they mash their lips into her neck and her skin thrills to the scrape of beards. It is a chargeless acceptance.
They squirm and snuggle into each other, pushing and grinding their hips with lazy desire. They were always heading here. She sits; she tugs on the untucked tails of Wesley’s cotton shirt and he tumbles backwards onto the bed.
“It’s all so simple,” she tells him, and traces her name into his shoulder blade.
Fred slots her slim legs around his back and Charles sits back on his heels in front. They are a tessellated mass of limbs and nips and giggles and buttons that need undoing. Charles, serious for a moment, kisses Wesley firmly, deeply, one hand twisting in his hair. Wesley drops his head back into the crook of Fred’s neck; he swallows and blinks at the ceiling in wonder.
“It’s all so easy,” Charles says as he circles his tongue round Wesley’s rising, hardening cock.
Fred gasps as Wesley runs his hands over the slight curve of her breast. He clutches once at her narrow shoulders and they both smile, eyes shining.
And together in burgeoning ecstasy they chant, “Jasmine! Oh! Jasmine!”
Fandom: Angel the Series
Characters: Fred, Fred/Wes, Fred/Wes/Gunn, Illyria, Connor
Rating: R
Notes: For the
picfor1000 Challenge, Challenge Four. Spring. Thank you, Kate, Samantha, Mary, Gloss, and Jess for all your encouragement and ideas and time.(once upon a time)
“Time is a constant, that's what they used to think: time marches on and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it, but that's not the case, no sir.”
The cave is etched, it is scored, baroquely carved, and whited with chalk, mark upon mark upon mark.
“Sir Knight, saves the girl, the stupid cow.” Fred nods fiercely and jabs herself in the chest. “Cow got out, someone left the gate open, got herself lost.”
“Lost in time, no, in space.” She shakes her head. Her hair is a white dandelion puff round her scrawny, weatherbeaten face. “Space and time are the same thing, and they're both-,” she walks two fingers down an outstretched arm, “running away from me.”
“Me, I'm her-” her wild arm scratches a circle within a circle, “centre of the universe.” She looks up suddenly, blinks owlishly at the ceiling and confides to it, “Everybody is, you know.”
She drops to her knees and draws a door on the floor. “String! String’s the thing. One rule for them and one rule for me.” “That's me,” she sniggers, “subatomic.”
She scratches a series of symbols that spiral around her. “And here I am,” she mumbles, “in the eleventy-first dimension and I want to go home.”
It is dark in the cave. The suns have gone down. Fred scrabbles on in the night.
(tell me a story)
“A story! A story! Tell me a story!”
She hoists him clumsily onto her hip and pinches the snub of his nose. “Angel!” she hollers over her shoulder. I’m taking this holy terror of yours down to the kitchens to fix his dinner. Want something? Glass of blood?”
“We’re good,” Cordy yells back through the office door.
Connor claps. “Good! Good!”
The kitchens are gleaming steel and half the counters are covered in plastic magnetic letters. Connor squirms out of her grasp and lands with a muffled thump in the middle of a word. He chirrups with annoyance and takes another S out of his dungarees’ patch pocket.
Fred reads over his shoulder. “Stephen,” she tells him. “Make some space for your dinner now.”
Connor kicks his sturdy little legs up in the air. He makes careful short stacks. Darla. Holtz.
Fred throws him a W. “Wes,” she calls.
“Wes,” Connor agrees, and reaches for a G. “Story?”
Fred opens the fridge and pulls out bologna and bread and tomatoes. The light glints off her glasses. “Once upon a time there was a girl who opened the wrong door.”
(picture this)
Fred curves through eleven theoretical dimensions and backflips through nineteen theological conjectures. She is infinite. She is closed. She is a rational domain. She is a cosmically bendy repeating pattern and she rolls down her panties and thinks of danger and stubble, again and again and again. She is twelve and her braids are bouncing against her bare, sunburned back. She is one, indivisible and whole.
"I never liked her anyway," she whispers silkily into his ear.
He grins and his eyes crinkle into yellow, feline slits. "That's my girl," he says. Lilah’s rag-doll head flops uselessly between them, her eyes blank and staring holes. He yanks it close and gobbles at the neck. “So we’re evens?”
She stands up in her seat and her long brown hair snaps like a pennant in the wind. Triumphant, she flings a stack of files out of the car. She runs her tongue over her teeth as Wesley slides a greedy hand up the inside of her thigh. “We’re evens,” she yells to the freeway. “We’re superpartners.”
(mirror mirror)
It jerks and slides its new body down the beige hallways and comes to a rest outside Wes’s office. Illyria is an obscene travesty of the human body. Illyria is impossibly condensed. Illyria is a divine singularity and its shell casing is cracking under the strain.
“I don't understand.”
She sits in his chair. His desk is piled high with scrappy papers and raggedy, dog-eared scrolls. His meticulous annotations spider across them, wandering off the sides of the pages and into the grain of the desk top. She frowns at him; the slanting light shines through the blinds and stripes his face, shadowing his eyes.
“You never do.”
“You will teach me. I command it.”
Fred leans forward and stares up into Wesley’s stolen face. The blue sea crashes behind his eyes. “No,” she says. “Never.”
(John 15:1-5 )
She sees them through the hinge gap in her bedroom door and the click in her head sends her bounding through it. She winds and wiggles herself into the middle of their embrace and they open and enfold her between them. She is surrounded; they mash their lips into her neck and her skin thrills to the scrape of beards. It is a chargeless acceptance.
They squirm and snuggle into each other, pushing and grinding their hips with lazy desire. They were always heading here. She sits; she tugs on the untucked tails of Wesley’s cotton shirt and he tumbles backwards onto the bed.
“It’s all so simple,” she tells him, and traces her name into his shoulder blade.
Fred slots her slim legs around his back and Charles sits back on his heels in front. They are a tessellated mass of limbs and nips and giggles and buttons that need undoing. Charles, serious for a moment, kisses Wesley firmly, deeply, one hand twisting in his hair. Wesley drops his head back into the crook of Fred’s neck; he swallows and blinks at the ceiling in wonder.
“It’s all so easy,” Charles says as he circles his tongue round Wesley’s rising, hardening cock.
Fred gasps as Wesley runs his hands over the slight curve of her breast. He clutches once at her narrow shoulders and they both smile, eyes shining.
And together in burgeoning ecstasy they chant, “Jasmine! Oh! Jasmine!”
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Date: 2006-03-02 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-02 11:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-02 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-02 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 12:01 am (UTC)Five Things are such fun.
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Date: 2006-03-03 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 12:23 am (UTC)#1 is a cobbled together thing from some notes I found from aaages ago. It's cheating and wrong but I was over the deadline and flailing.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 02:14 am (UTC)I didn't understand the Connor one. Splain?
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Date: 2006-03-03 02:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 05:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 09:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 09:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 09:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 01:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 08:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 08:47 pm (UTC):):):):):):)
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Date: 2006-03-10 06:35 pm (UTC)Vamp!Fred is lovely too.
Good stuff, Dody.
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Date: 2006-03-10 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 02:16 pm (UTC)