piecesofalice (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
piecesofalice) wrote2006-10-11 10:30 pm
piecesofalice) wrote2006-10-11 10:30 pm
Entry tags:
tessa and drabbles and SPN, oh my!
I have a confession. I am madly in love with Tessa, the reaper from Supernatual. Between her and my Pretender obession? I ain't getting much done.
Quick Tessa Drabble!
Hey, Soldier
11th October 2006
------------
You don't like this. You don't like having feelings, or sensibilities, or whatever.
"Hey, soldier," you winked at the young Marine, in the guise of Betty Grable, "it's time to go, honey."
And that was that, a hundred deaths ago, he put his hand in yours and you took him. But this Winchester, this vunerable, strong-willed boy - his mind filled with his father and his brother and a love for steak sandwiches; a half-read copy of Michael Crichton's latest airport thriller still lapping at the edge of his brain and a mental note to buy a new toothbrush when they hit the next town.
Humans were so simple, you often thought. But you knew he - and his family - were so different, so unlike anything you'd come up against in the past, that even having to fool him, to throw him off your scent, confused your thoughts and suddenly made the whole process unclear.
You hate this. You summon and squash as he walks through the door, the anger on his face and the hurt in his eyes.
Because you're a reaper after all. And that's all you can ever be.
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Fin.
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Don't think I won't be fleshing that out. Or her out. To the tune of Blue Oyster Cult.
Quick Tessa Drabble!
Hey, Soldier
11th October 2006
------------
You don't like this. You don't like having feelings, or sensibilities, or whatever.
"Hey, soldier," you winked at the young Marine, in the guise of Betty Grable, "it's time to go, honey."
And that was that, a hundred deaths ago, he put his hand in yours and you took him. But this Winchester, this vunerable, strong-willed boy - his mind filled with his father and his brother and a love for steak sandwiches; a half-read copy of Michael Crichton's latest airport thriller still lapping at the edge of his brain and a mental note to buy a new toothbrush when they hit the next town.
Humans were so simple, you often thought. But you knew he - and his family - were so different, so unlike anything you'd come up against in the past, that even having to fool him, to throw him off your scent, confused your thoughts and suddenly made the whole process unclear.
You hate this. You summon and squash as he walks through the door, the anger on his face and the hurt in his eyes.
Because you're a reaper after all. And that's all you can ever be.
----------
Fin.
----------
Don't think I won't be fleshing that out. Or her out. To the tune of Blue Oyster Cult.