Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry...

Fic: Broken Record

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 09:56:02 GMT

Title: Broken Record

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger

Genre: Humor/Het

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Thanks to a student inches away from being force-fed poison, Severus Snape has his own personal soundtrack playing over and over and over and over and over some more. In his head.

Notes: I do not own “Do You Believe In Magic?” by The Lovin’ Spoonful. ;P And thanks to Diana Ross for “I Hear A Symphony”, as this struck me while listening to it (at two o'clock in the morning).

Friday’s last potions class of the day had been so far uneventful, apart from a small incident with a box of newt’s eyes. Severus Snape sat at his desk, scrawling D’s and T’s on essays as the seventh year class toiled away around their cauldrons. Just ten more minutes and the brats would be gone for the weekend. Severus started softly as he nicked his thumb with the point of his quill. He swore quietly under his breath, lifting the small scratch to his lips to suck away the blood that had blossomed.

He jumped in his seat, his eyes widening as it started.

Dada-dada-dada-dada-dada-dada-dada.

Music. The first few dreadfully annoying guitar trills led into what some deluded idiot might call a song –

“Do you believe in magic? In a young girl’s heart – how the music can free her, whenever it starts.”

He sat stock-still in his chair, glaring around at his pupils as the music continued to play. He growled over it.

“Which one of you imbeciles just made the dire decision of assigning nightly detention to yourself for the rest of the year?”

The class looked up, confused. What had they done this time?

“And it’s magic – if the music is groovy, it makes you feel happy like an old time mo -”

“ARGH. I demand you switch it off at once. Or else I will personally have you expelled.”

The class stared back at him, dumbfounded, looking rather worried. A number of them sported expressions that said clearly they thought he was loosing his marbles. He raked the crowd for a guilty face and found none.

“I'll tell ya about the magic – it’ll free your soul, but it's like trying to tell a stranger 'bout rock n roll.”

Severus took a deep breath, raising spider-like fingers to rub softly at his temples. He couldn’t pin-point the music to any particular direction. He decided to go broad-spectrum and punish everyone.

“Fifty points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin. Get out. Out. And take the godforsaken music with your or there will be hell to pay.”

The class filed out, some looking stunned, others looking thrilled out of their minds. The stone slab of a door fell shut behind the last student, Hermione Granger.

“Ohhhh, talkin' bout magic!”

“Fuck.” Severus swept his arm across the face of his desk, spilling paper and the odd jar of dead something-or-another soaking in formaldehyde. He held his breath as the song ended, hoping…hoping…

“Do you believe in magic? In a young girl’s heart -”

He stood in a flash, stalking around the room with his wand, searching under desks and inside cauldrons, putting every possible revealer and cessation spell to the test, but nothing doing. There was nothing for it but to leave the dungeon and hope it had stopped by the time he returned from dinner.

Severus closed the door behind him with a snap, striding through the corridor to the stairs, his glare more pronounced than usual. He took five steps and stopped, fuming.

“If you believe in magic, come along with me…We'll dance until morning, just you and me, and maybe, if the music is right, I'll meet ya tomorrow, so late at night…”

There had been no fluctuation in volume. The noise was not dropping. It was following him – it was everywhere – it was playing in his head.

“Bloody hell.” Severus’s eyes smoldered, his lip curling ferociously. He snaked his fingers around his wand, snatched it out of his pocket, and blasted a galleon-sized hole in the stone wall of the corridor. A passing first year started and ran off, whimpering.

Severus slammed his way through the doors of the Great Hall, stalking to his chair at the head table, his robes billowing around him like hellfire as he fumed, a right walking hurricane of doom, death, and highly deserved destruction. He was livid. Every face in the hall turned his way, their features shining by the lights of the floating candles. He sneered at them unpleasantly, silently promising the purveyor of his rage slow and highly painful death by force-fed poison.

“Severus? Is there a problem?” Albus Dumbledore’s strikingly blue eyes twinkled from behind his half-moon spectacles as Severus swept by his seat. He paused briefly.

“Just go and listen - it'll start with a smile - it won't wipe off your face no matter how hard you try!”

Severus grimaced.

“Not at all, Headmaster.” He flew into his seat, electing to eat as little and as fast as possible.

---

If the day was dreadful, the night was Hell with a large dose of class with Potter and Weasley on top. He lay awake, breathing deeply, counting spiders on the ceiling and trying his best not to –

“And you can't seem to find how you got there, so just blow your mind!”

- go completely insane.

He took some comfort in devising punishment strategies – flaying the perpetrator to within an inch of their sad, sorry life while stuffing dead puffskeins down their throat – drowning them slowly in a large cauldron of acid…

---

By morning he had invented forty-eight fun and fantastic ways to kill someone, fourteen of which he was rather proud of, including the one involving pepper spray and play dough. It wasn’t until lunch (which he did not attend), that he really started to listen to the song’s lyrics…

“And maybe, if the music is right – I’ll meet ya tomorrow, so late at night…”

---

At ten o’clock at night, Severus decided it was time for a breath of fresh air. He had momentarily entertained the possibility of taking a trip to the hospital wing to see what Madam Pomfrey would make of it, but decided against it. He didn’t need the whole school knowing.

He slipped through the large oak doors to the grounds, pulling in a lungful of cool, damp spring air. A bit of the pulsing in his head went down.

“Believe in the magic that can set you free!”

He strode silently through the dewy grass down to the lake, groaning as the last notes of the song died away for the millionth time, anticipating the cheery millionth and one start…

It didn’t come.

He listened, and heard a whole lot of…

Nothing.

His heart beat a soft rhythm against his ear drums. The lake rippled softly, the reflected moonlight splashed across its surface distorting into soft, quiet, noiseless, wonderful waves of light.

Severus whirled around, searching the grounds for any sign of anyone. The windows of Hagrid’s hut were dark, opaque only in the moonlight. The trees of the forbidden forest were still. The doors to the castle were shut, but…

There. Up against the side-face of the stairs stood a figure. Severus stared. The figure stared back.

Hermione Granger stepped into a slice of moonlight, her bushy hair fanning out across her shoulders. Severus’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He started forward, tramping up across the grass to the unexpected culprit.

“Ms. Granger.” His voice was steely, all knives and dangerous shards of ice.

“Professor.” She held her head surprisingly high, her voice calculated and unwavering.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for wandering the grounds after hours. Two hundred points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all who doesn’t know what’s good for her. Fifty points back to Slytherin for wrongful accusation. Twenty points from Gryffindor for giving me reason to accuse them in the fi-”

He broke off quickly, rather frightened at the look she was giving him. This was completely unexpected in every possible way. The girl was not trembling in rage – not cowering in fear – not tearing up for being such a goddamn failure – no, Granger, Hermione Granger was…smiling. Grinning a big, infuriatingly pretty grin that sent his stomach plummeting to his feet if for nothing more than its being unexpected in appearance and unexpected in appeal. He quickly went back over the fourteen admirable tortures he had formulated the night before, reminding himself of the fact that he was supposed to be putting them to use – not admiring the fucking criminal. He took a deep breath and blinked.

“Ms. Granger -”

“Do you believe in magic, Professor?” Hermione’s eyes twinkled. She took a small step forward and he could tell that she could tell that he was highly uncomfortable with their current position. He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Granger?” He narrowed his eyes dangerously, hoping to ward her off.

“Do you. Believe. In magic. Professor?”

“I-”

Her lips were soft. He drew in a sharp breath and bunched his fists at his sides. Hermione’s hand brushed his cheek as she pulled away. He leaned forward instinctively, unsteady on his feet.

“Professor?”

Severus met her gaze, fumbling for something to say.

There was a long, painfully awkward pause.

“Two-hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor.”

He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the castle. Hermione’s voice stopped him. He turned his head back partway, his black hair falling across his face.

“Professor – what are the points for?”

Severus mulled this over, finally settling on:

“Everyone believes in magic,” before slipping into the castle and out of sight.

FIN

Fic: Spectrum

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 09:29:12 GMT

Title: Spectrum
Author: interpretthis
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Alex/Michael
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash
Beta: shinyboot
Challenge: psych_30
Prompt: 18 - Instinct
Summary: Alex is not a psychic.
Note: Written for the fifth pbfic_exchange2.

The man shuffled the cards. Cocked his head. Grinned. Rifled through and pulled one out. The card was pristine. Blank.

“Next?”

Alex glared at the man. Clenched his fist.

“I don’t have a flying fuck of a clue.” He slumped in his chair, swinging his long legs up to land on the table. The man went at it again, sorting through the large pile. He selected the top card, holding it up for Alex to see. For Alex to see.

“No.” Alex ran a shaking hand through his hair. Gripped the arm of his chair.

Again. Shuffle. Grin. Remove. Display.

Alex gave a low growl, shooting out of his chair. Palms slammed onto the table in place of his feet.

“I’m not a fucking psychic. I couldn’t tell you what shit’s on the back of your goddamn cards in a million years,” he spat at the man, digging his fingers into the ribbed plastic tabletop.

“Huh.” The man leaned forward. Grabbed the top three cards and flipped them over simultaneously. Their backs were splashed with color. Alex took them in hungrily, raking his eyes over the images. The first card displayed a VW bug. Green. The second a yellow picket fence, its points meeting the white of the card full-on. On the third was an orange. Round, ripe, succulent. It made Alex’s mouth water. He tried to meet the man’s eyes, but the face in front of him blurred, fuzzing into a mass of bleary features before reforming itself into a face he knew all too well.

“Michael!”

Alex shot up with a start, his pulse ramming through his head, a freight train of uncurbed anxiety. Too many nights had passed this way. Random dreams, frustrating images, all having nothing to do with Scofield and yet inherently determined to connect to him in a spontaneous flash of his face – a word spoken in his voice. They unhinged Alex. It’d been more than a year since he’d last spotted Scofield, comfortably stashed in the window seat of a train on its way to Georgia. Michael never made it to Georgia (always a man of unpredictable predictability). Matter of fact, he hadn’t even made it to the next stop before he was off again (should have known). The case had lost its publicity – had been outstripped by new escapes, new murders, new rapes. Unsurprisingly, the case hadn’t been lost to the recesses of Alex’s mind.

Not Scofield. (Why not Scofield?)

Alex showered, letting the rough water pound his shoulders into his chest, its heat scorching his skin. It was a necessary distraction, a device on which to focus his mind. As his logic went, if it he could focus his mind, he was one step farther from losing it. He liked to repeat this to himself. It calmed his nerves. (Calmed nerves are happy nerves.)

Alex had managed fairly easily by now to sort his life into manageable categories:

Work (Life) - Eat (when did everything start to taste like cardboard?) - Sleep (ideally dreamless) - Concentration (not on anyone in particular) - Mingling (trying to act as human as possible).

Six o’clock on a Monday morning fell into the overbearing category of Work, which, depending on the job, often helped Alex in the Concentration department (the good kind), while inevitably throwing him into the unfortunate area of Mingling (human as possible, human as possible).

Alex decided six fifteen on a Monday morning was the prime time to start believing in coincidences as he pulled into the right lane behind a vibrantly green VW bug. Thirty seconds later, as the red light turned green, he decided that any decisions made by his mind were weak at best and not worth sticking to. He didn’t even bother to tail the bug surreptitiously as it veered calmly around the corner, heading for the residential streets (never could ignore a lead).

Alex was already whacking his frail mind into shape the moment he laid eyes on the easter-yellow picket fence, its points riding up into the white of the house it ensconced, too alike the white of the man’s card (Michael’s card). He pulled into a space across the road, not even waiting for the bug to park in the driveway.

Michael was out of the car before Alex could blink. (Fuck.)

Alex popped the door handle, stepped out onto the crunchy black asphalt of the street underfoot (can’t leave without finding the…orange).

Alex crossed the street quickly, moving his way through the fateful yellow picket fence, his hand hovering over the gun stashed in his belt before moving away (who needs a gun to capture an unawares pacifist anyway?).

Michael stepped through the doorway slowly. He still hadn’t turned (he knows).

Alex kicked the door in as Michael let it fall shut behind him. The satisfying crack of wood against plaster rang out. Alex moved through the opening in one quick movement, kicking the battered door shut behind him, his Concentration on Michael now (always back to Scofield). Alex slammed him into the wall as Michael turned to face him, that self-satisfied smirk still playing about those too-red lips (could make them darker).

“Scofield,” Alex hissed, trying his best to sound dangerous (should have opted for the gun).

“Alex. Took you long enough.”

His breath played across Alex’s face like a dream (can’t breathe). His eyes – those damn blue eyes – too intense (look away). Alex stared (fucked-up). Michael’s red-red lips came closer (let them come).

Alex pushed away, moving through the nearest doorway with the agility and speed of a cat. The kitchen. He pulled out a chair and sat down as fast as possible. Looked around as Michael moved in to sit across from him. A window to his right looked out on that goddamn yellow picket fence. Purple flowers Alex hadn’t noticed before spun their way around the countertop. He looked at the table, trying to avoid those eyes. Oranges. A damn bowl of oranges, smack dab in the middle of the table (well fuck). Alex grabbed one and started peeling. Michael watched his every move (damn eyes).

Alex split the orange, easing a juicy slice off the top. He brought it to his lips. Sucked. The (damn) eyes followed.

“You know something?” he said finally, going to rip off another (delicious) slice. He didn’t wait for Michael to reply. “I don’t believe in coincidences Michael.”

He went to work on another slice. Michael stared.

“Nah, I don’t believe in any of that shit.” Alex’s eyes flickered up to Michael. Michael shifted in his seat (want him).

“And you know what else Michael? I’m not a psychic. Nah – ask me to prophesize what you’ll eat for breakfast tomorrow and I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything beyond the most pathetic guess of Lucky Charms or some shit.” Alex licked his lips. “But I know what you’re thinking right now. Right this very second. And it has nothing whatever to do with coincidences or psychics or even Lucky Charms.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael’s voice was slick, his brow furrowed. He met Alex’s eyes straight on and Alex had to suppress a groan (god).

“Yeah.” The corners of Alex’s lips twitched. He stared down at the orange, his resolve finally broken (damn eyes).

“You want me.”

FIN

Fic: Charade

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 09:22:27 GMT

Title: Charade

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Lost

Pairing: Juliet/Kate with an undertone of past Ben/Juliet

Rating: NC-17

Genre: Femslash
Challenge: 7_deadly_sins_
Prompt: #3, Wrath
Summary: Post "DOC". Kate needs to forget. Juliet just needs revenge.

Notes: This one's been in the works for months, contributing somewhat to the age of writer's block I had in there. It actually started as a Juliet/Sun piece, but I've been wanting to slash Juliet and Kate forever, so I switched. A bit more PWP than I intended. My first venture into the femslashy world…

There were no questions asked. Not about the hatch. Not about the room with the faded memories of mothers long lost to the island’s insatiable belly. Juliet supposed Kate had taken to caring less and wanting more by now, with Jack being nothing less than could possibly be called Jack.

Kate was not surprised to feel Juliet’s stilling fingers against her wrist, nor did she pretend to be. The ultrasound slipped to its table and was forgotten, lost in the intricacy of moments yet to come and moments ready to be left behind. Juliet’s cool palm pressed softly into the underside of her breast and Kate pressed back, eager to lose herself. To get lost.

Juliet rose softly, crawling onto the table with the sort of soft but deadly elegance that seemed to go with her every move. Their legs tangled together as Juliet slid up Kate’s front, lifting her light camp shirt over her head. Kate gave an encouraging sort of smile that looked shaky, as if it were meant more for herself. Juliet splayed her hand across the younger woman’s cheek, brushing the soft dip of skin just under her left eye.

There were no words spoken. The kisses were light at first, almost chaste. Juliet initiated, but as the minutes wore on, Kate grew bolder. Juliet felt a warm palm up under her shirt, pressing against her hip, crawling slowly upward to cup the curve of her breast, brush a nipple. She moaned softly, smiling against Kate’s smile.

Clothes disappeared, as they have a funny way of doing in such situations, and the cool metal of the table took in a few degrees. Kate’s kisses were hungry, furious lips working with one end in mind: forget. She let herself go, clutching at Juliet’s arms, asking with action to leave her gone.

Kate flipped Juliet in one swift motion. Juliet was clearly pleased to see Kate responding so positively. She wrapped her legs around Kate’s and pushed her head back into the table, leaving the column of her neck arched and exposed. Kate worked her way down Juliet’s neck, across her collarbone to her breasts, pulling the pink tip of a nipple into the heat of her mouth. Juliet moaned loudly.

Kate’s fingers found their way to the crevice of Juliet’s thighs, followed closely by her lips. Juliet’s finger’s twisted into Kate’s curls, pushing her on eagerly as her eyes slipped shut in abandon.

“Juliet…” Kate spoke softly, her mouth pressed to Juliet’s thigh. As she went back to work with her tongue, laving her clit, Juliet jutted her thigh upwards to slit between Kate’s legs. Kate bucked her hips against the milky-white surface of Juliet’s thigh with a whimper. She rode frantically, her fingers rubbing Juliet’s clit as she rose up now, breasts bouncing, putting all her effort into finding release. Juliet looked on as Kate’s face contorted in pleasure, soft moans and whimpers falling from her lips, eyes squeezed shut – she needed it. Juliet watched fixedly, hardly caring about the loss of Kate’s talented mouth, her focus on the young woman riding her, desperate for release. Kate let out a long moan, her wetness slicking to a stop against Juliet’s leg as she panted heavily. Juliet came shortly, shuddering, crying Kate’s name to the room, Kate’s fingers still moving inside her as her tongue just touched back.

The two women fell back together, limbs crossing over limbs, brown curls falling across sleek, blond tresses. As soon as Juliet was sure Kate had nodded off, she detangled herself, tiptoeing across the frigid floor to unlatch one of the many lockers lining the wall. Her hair skimmed over her shoulders, falling against her breasts as she leaned in to grab the small, hand-held tape recorder. She stared at the tiny, identifying dot of light that marked the device as “on” with a gleam of malice in her eyes, bringing her lips to rest against its speaker.

“It looks as if these Dharma batteries last well enough.”

She flicked the side-switch to “off” and put the recorder back in its place, where it sat, ready to be picked up and listened to by Benjamin Linus.

FIN

Fic: Loving Design

Mon, 20 Aug 2007 09:17:49 GMT

Title: Loving Design

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: House MD

Pairing: House/Chase

Rating: Mature

Genre: Slash

Challenge: 7_virtues
Prompt: #2, Kindness.

Summary: House decides to be nice to Chase…in his own special way. Drabble-y. Prompt table here.

On day one (a Monday) of what House liked to deem The Relationship, he let Chase go home early for no particular reason.

This annoyed Cameron. This annoyed Foreman. This later annoyed House, upon the realization that he had a hard-on the size of Everest and no one to bring him off.

He kept Chase late on Tuesday.

On day three, House didn’t complain when Chase returned from lunch two minutes late. Not even a warning.

On day four, House gave Chase his coffee after making a big show of choking into it. Chase drained it into the sink. House pouted.

On day five, House decided he was getting rather bored of this be nice to Chase thing and asked him not to come into work so he could ignore him without actually being face-to-face. Chase sounded suspiciously pleased with his decision.

On day six, House kissed Chase before lowering his own zipper and pushing Chase’s lips downdowndown.

On day seven, House kissed Chase before fucking him into the wall of the men’s room.

On day eight, House fucked Chase into the wall of the men’s room.

On day nine, Chase broke up with House.

On day one of being Single again, House downed upwards of ten Vicodin, drank six cups of coffee (and a few tumblers of non-coffee), fucked himself (sans wall), and tried to fall asleep.

FIN

Fic: All's Fair (1/?)

Mon, 02 Jul 2007 19:14:24 GMT

Title: All’s Fair

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Severus Snape/Sirius Black

Genre: Slash

Rating: Future R to NC-17 for smutiness.

Part: 1/?
Disclaimer: The world is an unfortunate place that a very fortunate Goddess owns. It's not mine - it's Jo's.

Summary: Post HBP. Severus Snape returns to a Voldemort intent on partnering him with a most hated man from his past.
A/N: My first started WIP in...eheh. Well, let's just say a while. I just felt I needed to contribute as HP takes over again and the end of the end looms nearer (!).
X-posted to do_me_profsnape, hp_fanfiction and hp_slash.

L.B. to A.P.W.B.D.

Severus Snape and Sirius Black

AS THE AGED ENEMY FALLS TO FRIEND, TWO SIDES WILL BE REUNITED…LION AND SERPENT, LIGHT AND DARK, LIFE AND DEATH…ONLY THROUGH THEIR COOPERATION CAN THE GREAT EVENT COME TO PASS…THE MOST MONUMENTAL HAPPENING IN THE HISTORY OF THE DARK LORD…COMES TO PASS…AS DARK AND LIGHT REUNITE….

***

He landed face down in the dirt, his wand arm twisted under him at a grotesque angle as his ebony wand lay feet away, still shivering and sputtering red and gold sparks into the dead night air.

His chest heaved, rising and falling erratically, the heady, earthy scent of the damp ground muddling his mind. Slowly, testing his free arm, he pushed himself up with a shaky hand, snatching his now motionless wand as he stumbled to unsteady feet. He paused. Stood still, letting the darkness fill the spaces around him. He touched his cheek with his free hand, examining the vibrant mixture of blood and liquid rage that came away with it. The least of the night’s consequences. A deep breath and a few steps later, he was at the door of a rundown shack, which at its best, with some effort, could have been called a dreadfully shabby house. It opened immediately, allowing the corpse of a snake on its face to swing in sick semi-circles around the fulcrum of its rusty tack.

“Severus.”

“Pettigrew,” he snapped, pushing past the diminutive man in the doorway to enter the house beyond. “Draco arrived I trust?”

“Just a minute ago. He’s down reporting to the Dark Lord now.”

Snape let loose with a low hiss, striding across the room to throw a furious wave at a stretch of blank, paneled wall. It moved aside with a high creek.

The stone stairs into the basement of the Gaunt house grew steeper and more precarious with each step, but Snape rushed down them and into the subterranean tunnel as quickly as his feet would carry him. He reached the third doorway and paused, raising a pale hand to rap on the warped wood.

“Enter,” came a hiss from the other side. Snape wasted no time.

“Ah, Severus…” Voldemort’s delighted eyes met Snape’s own with a garnet flash. “The hero of the night!”

Snape gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. “My Lord.”

He spotted Draco’s limp form draped over a spindly chair in the dark corner. He stood his ground, though his eyes betrayed himself with a flash of alarm.

“He is not dead Severus. He is being taught…a lesson.”

Voldemort’s eyes danced.

“But enough about Mr. Malfoy. He will recover. Physically. It is another I wish to hear about tonight. One who is not to be quite so fortunate.” He beckoned Snape into a chair with a wave of a skeletal hand before sweeping into another across the scrubbed wooden table.

“Tell me how it happened, Severus. I want to see exactly how it went. Down to the smallest detail. I want to see Albus Dumbledore’s life extinguished.” His eagerness was all-encompassing – it crackled with each sharp breath he took. “Tell me everything.”

Snape shifted in his chair, bunching his fists in the folds of his lap.

“Malfoy’s Vanishing Cabinets managed to transport the necessary…reinforcements. Rosmerta tipped him off as Potter and the Headmaster,” he cleared his throat as Voldemort let out a choked sigh of glee at the first mention of his fallen adversary, “arrived below the trap, our mark, on the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy made it up first, prepared to do the deed. I followed him up, intent on ensuring our success. It seems the Headmaster had done some talking, attempting to convince young Mr. Malfoy -”

“Yes, yes, I know. Stop equivocating Severus. Get to his end.”

Snape blinked, the black pools of his eyes fixed on the fiery red ones opposite.

“Of course, My Lord.” He shifted in his seat with unflinching eye-contact. “I reached the top of the tower as fast as possible. It quickly became clear to me that Mr. Malfoy would be unable to perform his assigned task. I pushed him aside. Faced the Headmas -”

“Do not call him what he is no longer. I want to hear you say his name, Severus. Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore. He was only a man. And now he is only a dead man.”

Snape’s dark eyes flashed.

Voldemort’s thin slash of a mouth curled up in malicious delight.

“I faced Albus Dumbledore, my wand pointed directly at his heart. I channeled every last bit of hate, of rage, of pure detestation the man has caused me to feel since the moment I laid eyes on him into the mother of unforgivable curses. I killed him, showing no mercy for the merciful as he lay begging at my feet, reduced to the pathetic sobs of lost hope.”

Voldemort gave a low growl, his eyes flashing with furious lust, the jealously of a life that should have been his to take. He took a tremulous breath, curling and uncurling his spidery fingers.

“You have done admirably, Severus.”

A charged silence flooded in then, sinking into the room like a weight, settling into their breastbones.

Finally, Voldemort stood, sweeping over to the door in a flash. He turned then, meeting Snape’s eyes full-on.

There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Severus.” He gave a dark chuckle. “Well. Perhaps ‘meet’ isn’t the proper word. How about become reacquainted with? I’ve decided to partner you up – it can’t do any harm.”

Snape stood in a flash, his robes billowing about his ankles.

“I work alone.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You work with who I tell you to work with, Severus.” He slammed the door behind him.

Snape clenched his fists. After all that had passed… He lashed out, kicking the chair in a spurt of base human rage. He smirked as he felt its leg split, splaying out in a frazzled array of splinters. His breaths came in quick succession as he sank his palms down onto the rough tabletop, his eyes falling shut, body tense. It was seconds before he heard two sets of footsteps trailing down the hallway outside. The door opened. He didn’t turn, not until he recognized the arrogant, self-satisfied, unbearably cocky drawl of the man behind him.

“How’ve you been Snivellus?”

His lip curled as he turned on his heel, face to face with his worst enemy of twenty years, an utter bastard of a prick, a dead man –

“Black.”

Drabble Meme (PotO, 2 PB, House, Twilight)

Tue, 08 May 2007 05:28:29 GMT

Title: Misunderstanding

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Requested by: orangeokapi13
Pairing/Characters: Erik/Christine

Rating: PG

Summary: But she only wanted to…! (Parody)

The music flows from his fingers like chardonnay from the neck of a bottle. It charms her, spinning through her mind in an intoxicating whorl of life and sensuality. She sneaks up behind him, taking advantage of his attention to the full embodiment of the song. Her dainty hands reach up behind him…

He whirls around, catching her wrists in a vice of a grip, hissing all the while. Something about his face and how he’ll never allow her to see it. How could she possibly dare to reach for his mask?! How could she?!

Christine manages to calm Erik down and tells it to him straight.

“Erik. I don’t care about your face. It wasn’t your mask I was reaching for.”

Erik’s eyes flash with hope.

“It wasn’t?” He’s a wounded puppy.

“No, of course not silly. I only wanted to strip you of that already gaping shirt and marvel at the Apollonian beauty of your stone-hewn, chiseled abs of Sex.”

“Oh. Well if that was all…” Erik reaches for the remaining buttons.

“Oh Erik, you’re such a dear.”

FIN

Title: Resurrection

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Prison Break
Requested by: pamalax
Pairing/Characters: Alex/Pam

Rating: PG

Summary: “Alex. Give me the gun.”

“Alex. Give me the gun.”

I am surprised. She has managed to keep the panic that is in her eyes out of her voice. I say nothing. I am out of words. I keep the gun. I imagine that says enough alone.

“Things are bad. They have been bad for a long time. I don’t know when they will change. You don’t. But there is one constant here Alex, and that is that things do change. We can make them change. And we don’t have to change them with a gun. You don’t have to. Not anymore.”

The gun is out of words. I speak.

“Nothing in my life has ever been as easy as this.”

I watch as her panic dies and anger is given life in its place. She is yelling now.

“Easy, is it? Easy to take your own life and leave me behind? Easy to leave our son? He’s seven years old, Alex. How will I tell him his father didn’t want to be with him anymore?” Malice stirs in the depths of Pam’s eyes and she strikes out, her voice lowering to a hiss. “How do I tell him that his father would rather be in hell than with his own son?”

I want to turn the barrel on her for what she’s said. What will it matter anyway? In a minute I will be dead. On the way from its place against my head to point at her own, the gun falters and falls. My fingers have a mind of their own. My entire self has a mind of its own and I am shaking and shaking and shaking and I think maybe I will die anyway. I watch her malice die and I don’t know what is there now, but I can’t see her eyes anymore and her arms are holding me and her lips are in my hair and I shake as I pull her to me.

FIN

Title: Survival

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Prison Break
Requested by: pellamerethiel
Pairing: Alex/Michael

Rating: PG

Summary: Two men find will in each other.

Sona Penitentiary is always buzzing – whether it be night or day. Its many parasites wandering, hardly aware but clashing constantly, rotting away day by day, night by night. The spared fall – blade to the gut, plain lethargy to stagnation to oblivion. Withstanding its reality takes more than most men have.

In a shady corner, two men prevail. Animal instinct from the outside, human survival from in. They no longer know how long they’ve stayed. It does not matter – they will not be here much longer. They pass whispers, kisses, swallow moans - holding back from those who won’t survive. This is their fight.

FIN

Title: Unbirthday

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: House
Requested by: kansasspice
Pairing: House/Chase

Rating: PG

Summary: House has his fun. Chase plays along. Cameron…is Cameron.

The roses gripped in House’s fingers contrast as sharply with the man as the thorns do with the roses themselves.

“Flowers Cameron? How did you know it’s my unbirthday? What am I not now? Twenty thousand or so?”

Cameron is plainly taken aback.

“I didn’t give you flowers.”

“You didn’t. Chase did.”

House drops the flowers to the table, not bothering to watch the silky petals settle into place post-fall. He limps back to his office to be met by a pair of hungry lips.

“Flowers House?” Chase fits out around kisses.

“You bought them for me.” House’s grin is sly.

Chase nips his ear, moaning loudly to be sure it reaches the conference room. “I always knew you were a romantic.”

FIN

Title: Impotence

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Twilight
Requested by: skinny_bacon
Character: Carlisle Cullen

Rating: PG

Summary: An accident.

I am not hurt - not even a scratch - but jarred. The sun shines mercilessly down onto my face, and I shine back. There is no warmth in its kiss, and I am not warm for it.

Blood is everywhere. Its heady scent fills my nostrils and stirs nothing. A part of me, the part that is not dazed and broken, feels pride. Even when so much is sprung on me at such an unexpected time I am left feeling nothing. I have trained myself well.

I have to get out of here. No one around is conscious enough to notice the sun jangling off my exposed skin in shards of glimmering light, but the emergency crew will be here soon. I leave my totaled car behind with a twinge of sadness and head for the woods, forcing the desperate moans and muffled cries for help from my mind. People will die. I cannot always be the doctor.

FIN

Fic: Speeding

Mon, 30 Apr 2007 01:58:26 GMT

Title: Speeding

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Raines

Pairing/Characters: Raines/Boyer

Rating: PG

Summary: Phone conversation between the boys during 1x07. Doesn’t have to be slash, but it certainly can be taken as such. ;)

“Yeah? Boyer here.”

“Coyer? Toyer? What was that? I’m an old man – my ears aren’t quite as shiny and new as they once were.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll turn it down.”

“Ta. Sacramento?”

“Nothing. The investigation was a complete wash. The trip’s not nearly as bad as I figured it would be though. This baby’s flyin’!”

“Yeah. Well. Watch out for the CHP. Bastards love bestowing tickets upon wayward, doughnut-consuming, ah, police officers.”

“No fucking kidding. Double whammy. Same son of a bitch both times too - the guy’s got it in for me.”

“Boyer?”

“Boss?”

“How fast?”

“Aw – I pushed the beauty past a hundred – clocked in at one-oh-four – bitchin’!”

“Right. Boyer?”

“Ah, yeah?”

“Slow down.”

“Love you too boss.”

“Good, good, keep that love alive Boyer, keep it alive.”

“Hey boss, I was thinking about goin’ out for a drink or two tonight. Pickin’ up a lady. Or two. You in?”

“Two seconds back in LA and cheating on me already? You’ll pay for that tonight you naughty boy.”

“In your elderly wet dreams boss. Drinks?”

“I’ll pass. Just remember to come home on time, eat your veggies, and avoid strangers with candy and sharp, metallic appendages. I see enough of you as it is.”

“Whatever you say boss.”

“Boyer?”

“Yo.”

“Love you too.”

FIN

Fic: Hero

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 06:41:07 GMT

Title: Hero

Author: interpretthis

Fandom: Prison Break

Pairing: Alex/Michael

Rating: R

Genre: Slash

Challenge/Prompt: psych_30, #27 Catharsis
Summary: Follow-up to “Sona”. Alex has everything left to fight for and nothing at all.

Notes: Songfic to bits of Regina Spektor’s “Hero”. Prompt table here. Started during my mock AP exam. ;P

Alex spots him up ahead, framed in a lit doorway, the glow of unseen, high-watt bulbs beyond casting a ghostly sheen over the other man’s stark face. Alex can tell even from this distance that Michael is soaked through to the bone, black hoodie hanging off of him like a soggy, elephantine second skin. He clenches his fist, seeing red flare up from his corneas without the color being drawn from his palm. He digs his nails deeper into his skin, yet still does not draw blood. It makes the crimson tinge in his vision a shade darker. Too fucking alive. Yet not enough to bleed.

He never ever saw it coming at all.
He never ever saw it coming at all.
He never ever saw it coming at all.
it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright

it’s alright.

He strides towards Michael with a purposeful gait, trying not to think about what he’s stepping on. He overlooks the shells of people broken and defeated as he passes on the way to his quarry. Quarry. Quarry doesn’t seem quite the right word anymore. Prey, more like. Revenge. Victim. Epitome of everything that keeps him from his life. A tiny, trifling voice screams in the back of his head. Something about impulsivity, the company, mercy and redemption. The rushing roar in his ears drowns it out. He’s through with listening to that particular voice. Where has it got him? Hell, that’s where.

Hey, open wide, here comes original sin.
Hey, open wide, here comes original sin.
Hey, open wide, here comes original sin.
it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright

it’s alright.

Michael turns just as Alex reaches him. Alex wonders vaguely why he ever thought of him as Michael – still thinks of him as Michael – before landing the punch on his jaw with a crisp crunch. Michael tries to ward off the second blow with his forearm, but Alex manages to claw past in his fit, intent only on causing as much damage as possible. All the damage on earth could not set Alex’s world back onto its proper axis. He knows it and he does not care. He does not care and he fights.

They fall to the dingy dirt floor in a mass of limbs and rasped swears. Michael is still trying to push Alex away, but only half-heartedly now. His palms are splayed against the older man’s sodden chest, fingers gripping cool, moist cotton and pushing. Alex feels a whimper push out of his own lungs, half-sob, half-sigh and shakes Michael’s shoulders, losing energy and resolve as his arms start to turn against him, lead seeping into his veins. He shivers and strikes out at Michael blindly at the shattering feel of soft, wet lips against his jaw. A tremor dashes through him before he lashes out once more. Realizes he’s forgotten what he’s fighting for as Michael kisses him again, just missing his lips this time around. Gives up and changes course.

No-one's got it all.
No-one's got it all.
No-one's got it all.

The rush is back, but it doesn’t quite reach his ears this time. Alex gives a low growl and tugs at Michael’s earlobe with bared teeth, a renewed fervor taking hold as he grinds down against him. He drinks in the tiny whimper it draws from Michael as he meets his hips thrust for thrust. The hallway is dim and Alex reckons little much has changed from their tussle in the eyes of the stoned and catatonic bystanders. He doubts men fucking in the open is much of an anomaly here anyway as his lips brush against Michael’s on their way to his neck. A slow, roiling wave of fire curls in his abdomen as their hips set an animalistic rhythm, hardened cocks meeting briefly with each stroke through their jeaned confines.

We’re trying to be faithful, but we’re

Cheating, cheating, cheating.

Alex’s eyes slip shut with a groan as he draws his own bottom lip into his mouth, desperate to cry out but unwilling to draw attention to their actions. He grinds down one last time, a metallic taste alighting his tongue as he shudders in release. Blood flow after all. Life. Warmth seeps through his crotch as he empties himself, the front of his jeans soaking a shade deeper in the dark. Michael thrusts up against him, desperate to reach his own release in this dysfunctional, addictive relationship they’ve created. Alex claims his lips fiercely, capturing the younger man’s cry as his hips still and he spasms with release.

I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.
I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.
I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.
I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.

Alex rolls off to the side, pulling Michael with him. His back lies flat against the rough, graffitied wall. He feels sated and dirty. Feels like he shouldn’t be holding Michael, not even now that they’ve gleaned what they’ve long wanted but could never take from the other. Not now that he’s got nothing to fight for anymore. Nothing to fight for. He grips Michael closer and rethinks his statement.

it’s alright,

it’s alright.

No-one's got it all.
No-one's got it all.
No-one's got it all…

FIN

Master List!

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 00:49:35 GMT

Here we go. Continued self-pimpage under the guise of archiving. Will be updated as new fic is added to have an all-encompassing entry of lurve. Fics are listed in order of publish date and all are posted on my LJ interpretthis, save for the one ff.net one I like (or at least did last time I went through it).

Prison Break

Home - PG-13 - An anonymous tip-off leads Alexander Mahone straight to Michael Scofield. [Alex/Michael]

Thought Processes - PG-13 - It takes Michael less than three weeks to decide what he likes best about Alex. [Alex/Michael]

World on Fire - PG-13 - Follow-up to "Disconnect". It’s more than Alex can handle. And, it seems, more than Michael can handle too. [Alex/Michael]

Sensory Perceptions - NC-17 - Set at the end of "Killing Box". Alex decides it’s time to take the initiative. [Alex/Michael]

Not a Desk Job - R -  Alex needs help of the sort drugs can't give him. Luckily for him, Wheeler is a perceptive man. [Alex/Wheeler]

Better - R - Set during 2x19.   Alex breaks down and Sara’s there to comfort. [Alex/Sara]

Storm Before the Calm - NC-17 - Alcohol causes problems. Problems lead to… [Lincoln/Michael, Alex/Michael]

Haze - R - Follow-up to "Panama". Sucre sees the message Alex left in his name on goldfinch and warns Michael. Michael decides to switch plans up a bit and reply. [Alex/Michael]

Hero - R - Follow-up to “Sona”. Alex has everything left to fight for and nothing at all. [Alex/Michael]

Resurrection - PG - “Alex. Give me the gun.” [Alex/Pam]

Survival - PG - Two men find will in each other. [Alex/Michael]

Spectrum - PG-13 - Alex is not a psychic. [Alex/Michael]

Harry Potter

Potter's 11 - PG-13 - Harry Potter plans the heist of a lifetime involving the robbing of a prestigious wizard’s bank - Gringotts. (Ocean’s 11 - Potter style!) - Post-Hogwarts - WIP [Harry/Ginny]

The Aftereffects of Amortentia - NC-17 - Dumbledore asks Snape to replenish the Ministry’s supply of Amortentia. The essence of the potion hangs around the dungeon long after it’s made and sent off to the Ministry. Hermione arrives for detention to discover a very disgruntled Potion’s Master with a biting headache…much smutty fun ensues…[Snape/Hermione]

Sacrifices - PG-13 -  Fleur finds a way to keep Bill from the war. Character death. [Gen]

Beginning of the End - G - Simon's shift at the Leaky Caldron is interrupted by the arrival of four strange wizards. [Gen]

Broken Record - PG-13 - Thanks to a student inches away from being force-fed poison, Severus Snape has his own personal soundtrack playing over and over and over and over and over some more. In his head. [Severus Snape/Hermione Granger]

Lost

Let Go - PG-13 - Follow-up to 3x04. Juliet tries to grab the last chance. [Ben/Juliet]

Deep Six - PG-13 - Ben can’t breathe. Juliet’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. [Ben/Juliet implied]

Monsters - PG - Ben liked to think he could control any monster. [Ben/Juliet implied]

Paradox - G - Set during 3x07. Ben’s POV on "allowing" Juliet to go home. [Ben/Juliet]

Dark Meat - G - Ben and Juliet have had chicken for dinner one too many times. [Ben/Juliet]

Charade - NC-17 - Post "DOC". Kate needs to forget. Juliet just needs revenge. [Juliet/Kate with light past Ben/Juliet undertones]

House, M.D.

Provocation - PG - A fun little spur-of-the-moment ficlet where Chase is annoyed and House is amused…[House/Chase]

Vicodin and Other Addictive Substances - PG-13 - Typical House behavior coupled with the angry husband of a patient brings out a strange reaction in Chase. [House/Chase]

Fair Warning - NC-17 - Follow-up to "Half-Wit". “Why Robbie…just what can I do for you this lovely evening?” [House/Chase]

Love Yourself - R - Chase’s night with House ends with an unpleasant surprise. [House/Chase]

Unbirthday - PG - House has his fun. Chase plays along. Cameron…is Cameron. [House/Chase]

Loving Design - R - House decides to be nice to Chase…in his own special way. [House/Chase]

Twilight

Impotence - PG - An accident. [Carlisle-centric]

Raines

Speeding - PG - Phone conversation between the boys during 1x07. Doesn’t have to be slash, but it certainly can be taken as such. ;) [Raines/Boyer]

Phantom of the Opera

Misunderstanding - PG - But she only wanted to…! (Parody) [Erik/Christine]

WIP

All's Fair - Harry Potter - NC-17 - Post HBP. Severus Snape returns to a Voldemort intent on partnering him with a most hated man from his past. [Severus Snape/Sirius Black]

Other

Prompt Tables

7_deadly_sins_ - Ben/Juliet

7_virtues - House/Chase

psych_30 - Alex/Michael

7spells - Remus/Ginny

[Updated August 20, 2007]

Well hi.

Tue, 24 Apr 2007 06:27:11 GMT

Claire here. My fic is being mean to me, so I decided to create this here journal in the mean time. Yes, I've excellent logic, I know.
So...
If you're here you likely know me, if not head on over here for my personal journal, and friend me if it floats your boat. I decided to be special and writerly (making up new words already) by creating a fic journal, because I like LJ and I like fic. So all is good. A quick intro to my fic is in order...I write mostly one-shots. Some of my stuff is posted on ff.net, but I highly advise against reading it if you value your sanity, seeing as I wrote the majority of it as a thirteen-year-old who didn't know the difference between then and than nor anything else substantial. And hell, I still can't spell worth a damn, but that's what spell check is for! *smooches spell check* Just...avoid the ff.net work at all costs. I'm working on a few challenges which I'll likely be posting the tables for, and I write in a number of different fandoms...

Ta-Da!

Fandoms: Harry Potter, Prison Break, Lost, House, Bones,Twilight

I read in a gazillion others, but so far that's the extent of my written (though not all published, now that I think of it) work. I love writing and reading smut. Go figure. I am also a crazy slasher and a super OTP whore - I switch some ships multiple times per ep. However, there are a number that I hold dear to my heart and will never, ever ever change...

HP: Draco/Hermione, Snape/Hermione

PB: Alex/Michael, Lincoln/Michael, Alex/Sara, Michael/Sara

Lost: Ben/Juliet, Shannon/Boone, Juliet/Kate

Bones: Booth/Bones, Bones/Angela, Hodgins/Zach

Twilight: Carlisle/Bella, Alice/Bella, Edward/Bella

I've tons more, but it's late and my brain is dead. And I imagine your brain doesn't much care, so I'll spare it.

Anyhow, the gist: Here I will post my fic. If you read and review I will give you e-cookies! Friend away - the love will be reciprocated!

Ta and love,
Claire

PS: Sign up for round five of the pbfic_exchange2! You will be loved forever, promise!