nekare

I think I'm definitely liking to write Fight Club way too much XDD Yours got a bit out of control, really, and I think it's the very first fic I've ever used the word 'cock' in 0_o Really, you should be honored *g*

Withdrawal
Fight Club – Narrator/Tyler – “I never liked that shirt anyway,” – Red - 611 Words

I enter the room and throw the beer bottle at the wall. “Whoa!” goes Tyler as he ducks, and he avoids most of the glass shards and the yellow liquid that is sliding down the grimy wall in not quite that satisfying way blood does.

“Why aren’t you gone?!” I ask as I get closer, hands raking through my hair and my constant swallowing of spit making the still-open would in my neck itch through that bandages. It is not fair, not fair, not fair, I fucking pulled a gun to my mouth to get rid of the bastard, and now he’s there, standing with that smirk of his and throwing back his shoulders and his infuriatingly red leather jacket with them in that superiority act he’s always pulled.

I reach him, get my hands around his neck, and his smile is suddenly broader. “Answer me! How can you be alive?” I scream into his face, saliva getting into his skin and making it shine under the lonely light bulb that comes to live and goes off three times each minute.

Tyler laughs, his tongue against his teeth, palms pressed to his hips. “But I’m not alive, that’s the thing. And you’re fucking walking on rotting feet, so we’re pretty much the same thing, you know?”

“I killed you. I killed you, I know I did!” I keep on screaming, my thumbs pressing into Tyler’s airway more strongly, and that’s the moment I realize he’s not breathing. Shit. I hate the way he’s the only one that manages to bring me out of my lethargy.

Tyler pushes at my chest, and even though I don’t release him, he still manages to corner me against a wall, to get so close I can see the pores of his skin and the nicotine-stained teeth. “Yes, you did. And you also brought me back to life, because apparently, you’re too pathetic to be by yourself. Should I say thanks?” He asks with a genuinely curious look, and then I don’t get to say anything, because Tyler’s forcing his tongue inside my mouth, and I can taste smoke and make-believe and it’s not. Fucking. Real.

(And I don’t care at all.)

My hands move from his hateful little neck to the lapels of his red jacket, and then I’m taking it off him and I know if someone were to enter they’d seem me kissing the air and grinding against the wall as if someone larger than me was pressing me against it. Tyler laughs against my ear, and I bite his shoulder, draw fake blood as he punches me in the gut and fills me up with bruises. I get my left hand down Tyler’s trousers, and I know it must be my own cock the one I’m pumping.

I rip his shirt beyond repair; twist the imaginary fabric with my blunt fingernails. “I never liked that shirt anyway,” We both say at the same time, and it comes out as a moan for me, a breathy laugh for him, and even my pleasure is shared, and nothing is really mine. I don’t even know if I own myself.

“You make me real,” Tyler says.

“I make you real,” I agree, and nibble at his throat.

With Tyler, the point of no return was a long time ago – no second guesses, no second chances. I crossed that line the moment I made myself believe there was another voice talking to me through the telephone, as I saw ash fall from my deceased flat.

I crossed it then, and I’m crossing it again.

Oooh, Tabby pimps me out way too much XD This was SO much fun! I should really try someday and write something larger for Fight Club. (And your choice of color? AWESOME.)

That Nasty Thing You Do
Fight Club – Narrator/Marla – The Narrator finding out Marla is an imagination as well – Puke-green – 297 Words

We sit on opposite sides of the room, a leak between us (tip-top-tip-tap goes the water as it falls on the frying pan).

Marla smokes on the bed, staring at me through the grayish smoke, legs open wide and her dress hiked up to her waist – pure wanton look that makes me melt and makes me wish Tyler had never been.

(Because it feels too easy to take advantage now.)

The light bulb had been broken, and the only thing I could find in the old house at Paper Street is this wretched puke-green bulb that lights Marla in a slightly sickening fashion, pure contrast and cutting angles.

“You’re not real,” I say, my hands in my pockets.

Marla laughs, coughs a bit with the smoke. “If you think you know already, why are you asking?” She leans closer to me, blows smoke into my face and my eyes water. I’m not entirely sure how, but I’m standing almost next to the bed now.

Wonderful, more plotholes in my already blank life is just what I need.

Marla throws herself backwards on the bed, stares at the ceiling with her limbs spread open. I poke her shin, and it’s surprisingly corporeal.

“I’m asking because I don’t want to realize I already know.”

She smiles, puts the cigarette out on the dirty sheets, and I almost wish it was my skin so I could feel something, anything, in the way I haven’t felt since Tyler went away.

“Well aren’t you the rhetorical one?”

I smirk, and decide that drowning in my insanity isn’t so much as a bad idea after all.

(Touching her is completely different than touching Tyler, and yet, it’s feels the same at the end. I’m not quite sure if I dislike it or not.)

Bah, that's all right, I consider Aziraphale/Crowley an odd pairing since I never write it, so it's all good. XD *ponders drabble*

This was surprisingly interesting to do, and oooh, but I loved the angst. Hope you like it, dear. :) (aaah, I remember the old times when I would get furious if someone tried to split James and Lily. My current open-mindness sometimes scares me 0_o)

Listen to the Finger Against Your Lips
HP – Sirius/Lily, Sirius/James – Rain Boots – Red - 576

Lily stands in the rain outside Sirius’ flat, her red rain boots clashing horribly with her hair as they lock eyes through the window, Sirius with his shirt off and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, and he even gets closer to the glass to see if it’s really her.

He puts on the first coat he finds laying around on the pile of semi-clean clothes by the entrance, storms out and forgets to lock the door in his haste. He’s drenched in seconds, trying to blink water out of his eyes. He nearly gets run over with a blue Ford as he crosses the street, and when he finally reaches Lily and holds her arms with a grip that must be painful she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything but to look into his eyes with that serious expression of hers and with her hair wet and plastered to her forehead.

“God, Lily, what are you doing in here?” he asks, mutters, really, but she still won’t speak. She’s shivering now, her teeth chattering as she finally moves her arms (that had been resting at her sides, just hanging here like the arms of a broken doll), she turns her hands into fists and presses them against her chin and her mouth (And the gesture is so odd, so rare, that Sirius thinks that he’ll never truly understand her).

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

They go up the stairs in silence. Sirius turns his back on Lily for a moment as he takes off his damp coat, hangs it in the back of the door handle. When he faces her, she’s just as immobile as before, her lips still tinted with the barest of blues as water slides down her face, her clothes. There’s a puddle at her feet, and her rain boots are filled to the brim with water as well, a pool for her white, pruned feet. Sirius lets her stay where she is, locks the memory in his head for later.

“My parents are dead,” she says, and she sounds and looks like such a child. It’s the first words he’s heard her say since she last saw her at their final day at Hogwarts, after she had broken up with James.

Sirius doesn’t know what to do, so he crosses the room and kisses her, slowly, and then there’s nothing childish in the way her icy hand gets under his trousers, in the way she rubs herself against him. He fucks her on the couch, as she cries, because she needs it and he wants her and because she’s had James and it’s the only way Sirius could ever have him.

(He wants to taste James in Lily’s skin, but he can only taste rain-water and wet cotton).

“I know you want James,” Lily says afterwards, when she’s clothed again in her soaked clothes and he wants to see more of her pale flesh.

“I know you love James,” Sirius says two minutes later, still naked and sitting at the couch. Lily nods. She puts her rain boots on again, the rubber making squealing noises in the silence between them, and she goes out without a word.

Two weeks later she’s dating James again, and when Sirius sees her smile for the first time since her parent’s funeral, her index finger getting sucked by James, Sirius still doesn’t know which one of them he wants the most.

Oooh, I'd never thought about it (nor did I know that they were sisters), but it might be a possibility, I mean, what kind of name is Tegan? You'd have to get it out of somewhere...