bookblather (
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rainbowfic2015-07-31 11:58 pm
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Dragon Scale Green 7, Flame 5, Milk Bottle 5: Killers
Author: Kat
Title: Killers
Story: Shine Like It Does - CIA AU
Colors: Dragon scale green 7 ("Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts), flame 5 (match), milk bottle 5 (Goldfish pond)
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, eraser (CIA), graffiti (Duck Gallery), charcoal
Word Count:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: That's not who they are at all.
Warnings: violent imagery, drowning.
Notes: Jesus Christ, brain, what. Literally all I know about this is the AU it's in.
"Marry me," he says, "and we'll move to Paris," and she giggles because that's adorable.
That's not what she is. That's not what they are. A cozy little flat above the Rue des Écoles, a queen-sized bed in the morning sunlight, baguettes and fresh cheese for breakfast and lovemaking in the sweet breeze; that's not their happy ending.
They are death and bones and cackling laughter, drowning in the fishpond and pecking out eyes. She wraps her arms around amorous sailors and drags them to their doom. He soars above battlefields and laughs at the bloody carnage. They are killers and they know it.
They love it.
"No," she says, and laughs, and wraps her arms around him, draws him closer. Drags her nails down his back, bites his earlobe, breathes it close to his skin. "Never."
Title: Killers
Story: Shine Like It Does - CIA AU
Colors: Dragon scale green 7 ("Let me tell you: the only way to get rid of dragons is to have one of your own." ― Eugene Shvarts), flame 5 (match), milk bottle 5 (Goldfish pond)
Supplies and Materials: Bichromatic, eraser (CIA), graffiti (Duck Gallery), charcoal
Word Count:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: That's not who they are at all.
Warnings: violent imagery, drowning.
Notes: Jesus Christ, brain, what. Literally all I know about this is the AU it's in.
"Marry me," he says, "and we'll move to Paris," and she giggles because that's adorable.
That's not what she is. That's not what they are. A cozy little flat above the Rue des Écoles, a queen-sized bed in the morning sunlight, baguettes and fresh cheese for breakfast and lovemaking in the sweet breeze; that's not their happy ending.
They are death and bones and cackling laughter, drowning in the fishpond and pecking out eyes. She wraps her arms around amorous sailors and drags them to their doom. He soars above battlefields and laughs at the bloody carnage. They are killers and they know it.
They love it.
"No," she says, and laughs, and wraps her arms around him, draws him closer. Drags her nails down his back, bites his earlobe, breathes it close to his skin. "Never."
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