TITLE: Friday I'm in Love
PAIRING: Dean/OFC
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: This is... this is a high school first love story, ya’ll. No, I am NOT kidding. But it’s a high school first love story that’s more like an out and out war when Dean finally meets his female match. Oh, and there’s cooking! And possibly the longest first!time (first!time for her, not Dean) porn scene ever written.
WORD COUNT: 11,114 --OMG, you guys! This was supposed to be a drabble. A DRABBLE! OMG, Dean! Why do you do this to me? *facepalms*

No. No interest there at all. Just because he’s gorgeous and he walks around like sex on legs, daring everyone in the world hit him or fuck him or possibly both doesn’t mean she has to have any interest in doing either one. She’s neutral. She’s Switzerland.

Yeah, Switzerland.

( Friday I'm in Love )

TITLE: The Plans I Make Still Have You in Them
PAIRING: Sam/Dean (slight Sam/Jess)
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 1926
SPOILERS: Through end of S2
SUMMARY: It begins with fire and a promise, with blood and love deeper than bones.
NOTES: Cuts to my LJ since my IJ RSS feed doesn't respect lj-cuts.

Sam isn’t sure how old he is the first time he feels it.

In school he learned about the unseen pull of the moon, the tug of gravity against his skin, the attraction of the planets to the sun, and sometimes he thinks this feeling is like all of those things at once.

( The Plans I Make Still Have You in Them )

TITLE: Something Like Summertime
PAIRING: Buffy/Angel
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: Not fluff, but happy fic.
NOTES: Written for ljgould for her generous donation to the fire_fic fund.
SUMMARY: She's never had a choice before.

He likes to run in the morning, washed white, rocky path winding endlessly through the swells of lush green trees. Likes to feel his heart pound in his chest, his breath grow short and sharp. Likes to put his hands on her face and bend her backward, kissing her until she’s breathless, too, slides his fingers down her throat and feels her pulse pound through thin skin.

( Something Like Summertime )

Okay, so... much to my chagrin, until I've given everyone sufficient time to drop the LJ RSS feed for my IJ, I am going to be posting long fics over there *sigh* Because apparently, when you post as many words as I just did, it breaks the RSS feed completely, and not onlyshows all 10,000 words of what you just posted behind the cut, but pulls in your last five journal entries on their friends page all over again. I want to delete the RSS feed very, VERY badly. So...

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TITLE: Not With a Leap, But a Series of Staggers, Pt. 2/3
PAIRING: Sam/Dean
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: Angst/Drama (with a happy ending)
NOTES: AU after ELoC. Go read Part 1
WARNING: Wincest! Explicit.
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine... oh, how different life would be.
WORD COUNT: 9,983 (I am beyond possessed)
SUMMARY: Wherein Sam and Dean both try to survive finding out things they'd rather not know. Now with actual sex!

Dad’s dead. Dad’s dead because of him, and it isn’t right, and it isn’t fair, and it hurts, bone deep and soul hard, an ache that suffuses his entire body. He lies in bed and stares at the wall, spends the days and nights in a torpor, trying to ignore that even deeper down than all that, is the anger that his Dad left him behind with all of this on his shoulders.

( Not With a Leap, But a Series of Staggers, Pt. 2/3 )

TITLE: Family Tradition
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: None (shades of Sam/Dean)
WORD COUNT: 533
SUMMARY: A father and his two boys and the open road. That's the way it's always been.
NOTES: Short and ouch-y sweet. Dedicated to yourlibrarian, who sparked this whole idea. And to my shower, where this story assaulted me and wouldn't let go till I wrote it.

Family Tradition

The Impala kicks up desert dust, summer sun catching in the driver’s side mirror. He rests his hand on it, tilts it outward down the side of the car, to where he can see its long smooth, black side, sailing down the highway.

( Read more... )

TITLE: Not With a Leap, but a Series of Staggers, Pt. 1
PAIRING: Sam/Dean, some Dean/OFC
RATING: NC-17
GENRE: Angst/Drama (with a happy ending)
NOTES: AU after Everybody Loves a Clown. First half of this Part is from Sam’s POV, last half from Dean’s.
WORD COUNT: 10, 425 (clearly I’ve been possessed)
Summary: Reeling in the wake of their father’s death, things change.

Dean turns his head slightly, looking over at Sam with one lazily arched eyebrow, like Sam can’t possibly be serious. But there’s no life in it, no sparkle. It’s like, with Dad dead, a light’s gone out inside of Dean. His eyes are dark, haunted hallways to empty rooms, heavy circles beneath like shadows of blame. And Dean’s looking at him, but Sam isn’t sure Dean sees him anymore, and that hurts more than he expects, because Sam remembers a time not too long ago when he was all Dean could see.

( Not With a Leap, but a Series of Staggers )

I expect to have the next part finished in the next couple weeks—and only that long because I’m so busy. This story is really pouring out.

Fluffathon Assignment!

TITLE: Pieces of Six (You and Me and Her)
PAIRING: Buffy/Angel/Cordelia
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: There are 6 unique relationships in any three way relationship.
WARNING: Lots of Femslash!
REQUEST: This was written for the Fluffathon, for carlyinrome, who requested Buffy/Angel/Cordelia with candy, lingerie, and a plot beyond heavy petting.
NOTES: This turned into a really strange kind of comedy/romance. I think I really love it. Fluff means, literally, without substance, right? If that's the case, I am completely unable to write pure fluff. Or at least, this is as close as I get when I still have to write a plot. But it's happy.

She’d always loved Angel so much. Loving him was like breathing; necessary, vital. She’d loved him so much she’d thought her heart might burst with the heaviness of it, so much that she’d worried it might kill her. And in the end, it almost had. Her love for him now was nothing like that. It was light, open, and free; utterly unafraid. It pulsed and leaped through her body with a rhythm she’d never heard before but somehow instinctively recognized.

She’d never expected to love anyone like that. Much less, two people.

But there it was.

( Pieces of Six (You and Me and Her) )


---

And this is the story that spawned like footnotes. I had such a difficult time writing this, because it was fluff. My brain kept trying to make it angst, because it's SO easy to see the angst inherent in this triad. If you're in the mood for this triad with serious, twisted angst, go read Something Borrowed

We can has intarwebs! Posting from Dragon*Con for "Bring Back the Porn Day" on InsaneJournal.

( Excerpt from an unfinished Buffy/Angel/Faith PWP )

Author: thenyxie
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: F/A --but it's really all about the B/A
Prompt: Sounds of Snow
Summary: It's winter in LA. Except that it's not.
Notes: Written for the 50_elements challenge. These ficlets/drabbles are going to comprise pieces of one whole story, but are not going to be posted in any particular order.
Previous parts can be found in the Master List here


The Sounds of Snow

I press my fingers against the frosty glass. I leave no mark behind, no trace to show my passing. I cannot feel the cold. Only hear the tiny clink and clatter of ice crystals, falling to the earth, millions of them, like music for an instant as they touch. Before they are absorbed and robbed of their unique beauty.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Faith says. But it’s just something to say. She already knows my thoughts. She was there that fateful morning in Sunnydale. She saw. She remembers.

“Angel?” Her hand on my shoulder, such concern in her voice. But there is trepidation in her touch now, and that’s new. She’s afraid of getting too close.

She should be.

The soft flowing fall of feathery light stars from the heavens that dissipated against her skin as they walked hand in hand. The sound of salvation, and new beginnings.

I'd known once, on that snowy day—-that miraculous, unforgettable day—-who she was, what we meant to each other and what I might yet become.

I had hope. Love. A reason yet to live.

Her bones had shattered like ice. An empty, failing sound that extinguished hope. Destroyed love.

“Angel? What are you looking at?” And now Faith sounds worried.

I run my fingers across the smooth glass, my eyes drawn to the rime of frost at the corners of the pane. I blink, and then—

The sky above LA stretches out over the cityscape, dark gray and dully threatening. Rain drizzles from the skies, gradually picking up speed as thunder rolls in the distance.

“It’s just rain,” Faith says, frowning, beside me now.

And then I remember myself. It’s June in LA, and the summer’s not quite scorching yet, but getting there. Has it ever snowed here?

It seems like I ought to know.

"Angel?"

This Slayer's heart still beats. Her bones would still break and shatter like ice at my whim, if I willed it. Instead, I sink into her and she takes me in, and we writhe and flail and fall, both of us lost without her. Both of us painted in the mezzotint of ice crystals, pointillism in hues of white and blue and black. Shapes indistinct, out of focus.

I no longer know who we are meant to be.





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LJ users, please comment here: http://thenyxie.insanejournal.com/8050.html?mode=reply

Author: thenyxie
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: F/A --but it's really all about the B/A
Prompt: Error
Summary: She won't stop staring. He makes her.
Notes: Wow. This one got rather abstract.
Written for the 50_elements challenge. These ficlets/drabbles are going to comprise pieces of one whole story, but are not going to be posted in any particular order.
Previous Parts can be found in the Master List here


Error

She stares at me with those eyes. Deep, almond, richly brown, hiding secrets, daring hope. Huge, haunting eyes that wait, and believe there must be something more than this.

(tin god)
Do not make of me an idol

(straw man)
Do not build of my body a temple

Stares at me as if there might be things left in this world that still have meaning. As if there might still be things worth fighting for.

Like I've got something left to lose.

(martyr)
Do not fashion a God from the blood of my entrails

(hero)
I do not want this.

The mirror reflects her, alone, staring into empty space; a man who isn’t there.

(effigy)
My altar is not made of stone.
My bones cannot bear the weight of your hope.

I have nothing left to offer her.

Your eyes are not her eyes.

Nothing left to give.

Your belief is not my salvation.

And so I kiss her, instead.

How fragile, hope. How perilously frail.

I kiss her, possessing her mouth, my hands restless against her skin.

She closes her eyes.




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NOTE: LiveJournal users, please reply here: http://thenyxie.insanejournal.com/7617.html?mode=reply
or email me at nyxiefic [at] gmail

Drabble using a prompt from 100_situations over on LJ. Series of Mal/Zoe from pre-war to post-Serenity. These drabbles are written in no particular order but do form a whole story. Romantically oriented, PG-13.

Previous parts here.

Beggar

The next time they make planetside after Wash dies, Mal goes out and gets himself good and soused.

That night, he staggers home to Serenity and falls to his knees before Zoe, arms spread wide to beg for forgiveness, or, perhaps, to welcome her wrath.

He stares at her with red-rimmed eyes, and there are no words passed between them, as their way so often is.

After a while, she kneels in front of him and rests her forehead against his. He knows she knows how he feels. Zoe always knows.

He closes his eyes and hopes it's enough.

Knows it isn't.

Author: thenyxie
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: F/A --but it's really all about the B/A
Prompt: 2.45 meters
Summary: He didn't save her.
Notes: Written for the 50_elements challenge. I've claimed Faith/Angel (since Ducks got B/A), and I picked the "Dark" prompts. This story is going to be seriously, SERIOUSLY dark and angsty. These ficlets/drabbles are going to comprise pieces of one whole story, but are not going to be posted in any particular order.
Disclaimer: If I fudged the math, please let me know. I tried really hard, but I suck at converting the metric system and I'm not 100% sure that it's right.


Running to Stand Still

2.45 meters.

8.202083 feet.

98.425 inches.

I know every single way to divide the distance, to break it down to its smallest unit. As if, by decreasing its measurements, I can somehow decrease its meaning.

Faith paces the room like a wary lion, throwing daggered glances at me. She doesn’t have to ask to know what I’m thinking. She alone understands the importance of this tiny, tiny measurement of space and time. The inescapable, eternal significance.

--

She stands before the hulking, dark-skinned beast, rain sluicing down upon her in buckets from the sky. Her eyes burn fire and her mouth drips red, pretty, pretty red like smeared lipstick and lost innocence. Bruised and broken, proud and defiant, she clenches her fists and grits her teeth, shoulders squaring straight.

She is power, raw and primal. Pivot and turn, backfist and kick. She is a dancer, a dealer of death gifted with lithe grace. Mascara streaks her face like war paint, primitive patterns and ancient bones that define her, make her fierce.

She is beautiful. She is everything. My hero. My beloved. Strong. So—

The sound her breath makes when the creature grabs her is wrong. Terribly, terribly, wrong—

2.45 meters, the distance between us.

Two running steps away.

I am fast.

The beast is faster.

--

(2.45 meters) The sound of her neck snapping still echoes in eternity,
(8.202083 feet) and I will always live there, in that moment,
(98.425 inches) that space.

And I will always be running.

I'll be migrating my fic slowly, from most recent to oldest. This being the most recent.

Title: Something Borrowed
Author: thenyxie
Rating: R
Pairing: Buffy/Angel/Cordelia (B/C, C/A, with a B/A focus)
Genre: Angst
Notes: Eeeevil errant triangle plot bunny that refused to be silenced. I wrote it quick, down and dirty this at work, so if there are any errors, that would be why.

Sometimes, in her darkest moments, when the light of comfort leaves her and she stands naked in the truth of her soul, Cordelia contemplates killing them both. She’s never understood homicide or suicide before. Never understood what could drive people to the edges of sanity, beyond the fringes of rational thought.

( Something Borrowed )