Non-HP Sandbox

[scribblinlenore]

I'm happy for all my HP-loving friends on their big day. But I feel a little left out on LJ today. So I thought of a game we Smallville peeps can play.

The Smallville Drabble-a-Thon

Our show offers so much to stir our drabble-writing imaginations, whether it's the long, lingering glances between Clark and Lex in pretty much every episode in S1, Pete checking out Chloe's ass in the rearview mirror in "Rush," or the Lionel-in-Clark lust for mamma Martha in "Transference."

Every episode of Smallville gives us something to write about, a missing scene to add, a wrong we'd like to right. So I propose a drabble-a-thon that does just that. Below you'll find a comment with the name of every Smallville episode that's ever aired. Choose one and write a drabble based on that episode. When you're done, leave it as a comment to the episode title. If you're having fun, do another one! My goal is to have a drabble for each one, so the drabble-a-thon will go on as long as that takes. *g*

Come on out and play! You know you want to. If you don't want to write a drabble yourself, have fun reading them and be sure and leave the authors some love in the comments to their drabble. And please, help spread the word!

And to my lovely HP friends, if you need a break, we'll be here.

ETA: By drabble, I mean something short enough to fit into the comments. It doesn't have to be exactly 100 words, although it can be, if that's what you prefer. Have fun with it!

Here's a running list of drabbles we have so far:
Pilot
Metamorphosis
X-Ray
Cool
Hourglass
Craving
Jitters
Rogue
Shimmer
Hug
Leech
Kinetic
Zero
Nicodemus
Stray
Drone
Crush
Heat
Red
Ryan
Dichotic
Visage
Prodigal
Fever
Visitor
Exodus
Exile
Phoenix
Extinction
Slumber
Perry
Shattered
Asylum
Delete
Velocity
Obsession
Truth
Memoria
Forsaken
Covenant
Jinx
Spell
Bound
Scare
Pariah
Blank
Ageless
Commencement

48 down, only 40 more to go!

Comments

Pilot

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Pilot

Re: Pilot

[hyperfocused.livejournal.com]

It seemed like an ordinary day, but Martha Kent could feel the change in the air.

She was finally feeling strong again. Jonathan still loved her just as much as ever – even if she couldn’t give him the son he wanted, or the daughter she dreamt about. This last time, they hadn’t wanted to know what they’d lost.

But little Lana’s “wish” had brightened her spirits, and Jonathan’s sweet words to her gave her hope. “The doctors are wrong,” he’d said, handing her the tulips. “I know you’ll be in bloom, soon.”

Driving into the crisp fall day, Martha believed.

Metamorphosis

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Metamorphosis

Re: Metamorphosis

[bexless.livejournal.com]

Not really a drabble, and also it's a looong time since I saw this episode so it probably doesn't make any sense:

***

"You know how like, when you get a bug on you, and then you can still feel it all day, on your neck or in your - um."

"Hair?" said Lex evenly, eyeing Clark over the top of his glass.

Clark looked quickly at the floor. Because the world was a terrible place, no enormous holes opened up to swallow him. "Sorry. Never mind."

Lex made a quiet sound that could have been a laugh. "Despite my follicular disadvantage, Clark, I believe I am familiar with the sensation you're describing." He put his drink down and picked up his pool cue.

Clark watched in silence as Lex made a shot that Clark would never, ever be able to make as long as he lived, because he just wasn't that cool. "Well. I feel like that, only Greg was like, Greg-sized, and it was so gross, Lex, and - ugh."

"You need a distraction, Clark." Lex finished clearing the table - Clark privately congratulated himself on actually having potted a whole one of the balls himself this time - and looked up at Clark. "Something to take your mind off recent events."

"You got any tips?" said Clark, and then wondered when he'd started looking up at people through his lashes. Especially when he was taller than them. Lex always made Clark act so weird.

Lex looked at Clark for a long time before answering. "I do have one activity in mind."

Clark had a funny feeling he was never going to be able to play pool without blushing, ever again.

***

This is a great idea, Lenore! *runs off to publicise*

Hothead

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Hothead

X-Ray

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

X-Ray

Re: X-Ray

[garnet-words.livejournal.com]

Tina entered her room, tossed her bookbag in a corner, and turned to face the mirror. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, anticipating the rush that always came from turning into someone she wasn't. When she opened her eyes, he was staring back at her.

She grinned, but it looked wrong on his face, so she tried to imitate the lazy smirk she'd seen him toss around at the Beanery. She ran her hand over the smooth scalp, and couldn't help laughing.

Perfect.

She morphed back and picked up her bag.

This was gonna be so easy.

Cool

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Cool

Cool - I do miss s1 Clark

[vylit.livejournal.com]

He’s not nervous. He’s not. He’s just anticipating. Anticipating a not-date because a not-date is nothing to be nervous about. It’s two friends going out to a concert. Going to a concert in a limo, and god, who goes on a not-date in a limo? Clark tries to imagine asking Pete to go to a Radiohead concert with him in a limo and laughs. Pete would ask if he could bring along some girls.

“It’s an opportunity, Clark. Getting Lana away from the quarterback and showing her a good time is the first step,” Lex had said when Clark told him, and while Clark is trying not to think about it that way, because it is a not-date and getting his hopes up will definitely cause something weird and Smallville-like to happen, like a freak hail storm that will close the roads and get them stuck somewhere where he’ll trip and get mud on clothes.

Clothes.

He has no idea what to wear. If it was just Chloe or Pete, he’d grab the first thing in his closet and put it on, and yeah, they like to make fun of his plaid, but it’s comfortable and he’s use to it, so it’s not a big deal. But Lana – Lana doesn’t date people who look like farm kids.

You sound like a fourteen year old girl, Clark. Chloe’s voice snarks at him in his own head. And OK, maybe he does. A little. But it’s not like he’s been on a lot of dates or not-dates with girls, so it’s new territory.

Of course Lex would know what to wear. Those tight, long-sleeved dress shirts that cost more than Clark’s parents make in a year have half of the women in Smallville turning around to watch him when he walks down the street, and Clark has never, ever saw him look the slightest bit wrinkled, like Lex’s shirts wouldn’t dare make Lex look less than perfect. Maybe there’s something about really expensive fabric that makes it stay perfectly ironed, but Mr. Flannigan at the bank has a lot of money too, and he never looks so… put together.

He should call Lex. Lex would be the perfect person to call and ask. If what Chloe says is right, Lex has had more than his share of dates. And Clark can believe that, something about the way Lex moves, the way he holds his head when he looks at you. It’s like Lex doesn’t see anything else, doesn’t hear anyone but you, like everything in the world just pulls back a bit. It’s overwhelming and – and hot.

Not that Clark thinks Lex is hot. Well, he does, but in a purely observational way. Sure, he might stand a little too close to Lex and smile a little bigger for him than other people, but that’s because they’re friends, and not for the reasons some of the football players were snickering about in the bathroom. And, if sometimes, late at night, he thinks of Lex’s mouth, of the scar on Lex’s top lip and wonders what it would feel like against his fingers, against his lips… well, that’s just curiosity and Lex’s fault for having a soft mouth that looks like he’s just been kissed, for walking like sex, for that voice that promises…

Clark adjusts his pants and reaches for the phone. Maybe he’ll call Chloe instead.

Hourglass

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Hourglass

Re: Hourglass

[digitalwave]

The water runs red although Lex never notices. He can't remember how long he's stood there; all he knows is that he can't stop. Ever. His hands will never be clean again, the stench of death chokes him, stealing his breath.

From a distance he dimly hears someone calling his name. Strong arms circle his waist pulling him back from the abyss.

Tears not his own mingle with his as gentle fingers wipe them away. Comfort steals over him, cooling the fire from his mangled hands. His voice ragged as his heart, he whispers a single word, his salvation.

"Clark."

Craving

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Craving

Jitters

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Jitters

Re: Jitters

[barely-bean.livejournal.com]

"You could have died," Clark says. His eyes are wide and innocent, and you wonder if you were ever that young.

"Yeah."

You exhale, digging yourself deeper into the second hand couch in the loft. The cheap fabric scratches the back of your head, uncomfortable against the bruise that Earl Jenkins’ gun left behind.

Clark reaches out, his hand ghosting over your scalp, before he pulls back, embarrassed, a tell-tale blush coloring his cheeks. "I’m sorry," he mumbles, mournful, and you have to smile.

"Not your fault," you say. "My father’s fault."

"Yeah," he says, and something dark and guilty flashes in his eyes. You don’t understand it now, but later you will. Later, you’ll wonder if this is when you started hating him.

"I’m glad you’re okay," you say, surprised at how honest the phrase is in your mouth. You should fear this, this honesty, this truth that he brings out in you, but he shifts on the couch, and drops his hand close enough to yours that if you just reached out, you would be holding hands, and you feel okay.

"I’m glad you’re okay," he replies.

You close your eyes and exhale once more.

You don't reach for his hand, but you're glad it's there. You will miss it when it's gone.

Rogue

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Rogue

Re: Rogue

[ingrid-m.livejournal.com]

"What's this?" Clark asked

He picked up the black and white photo from its perch resting against the vase on Lex's desk. It was a picture he didn't remember anyone taking, yet the adoring look he was giving Lex was unmistakable.

It was a look he couldn't help but throw his way every time they were together.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to help with their little agreement to be discreet. But then again, neither would Lex keeping such a memento out in the open.

At his curious look, Lex shrugged. "If you're not going to hide it, neither am I."

Shimmer

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Shimmer

Hug

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Hug

Re: Hug

[lastscorpion.livejournal.com]

Party Tricks


"Hey, Bob, the new catalog's here...." Kyle's enthusiastic voice trailed off once he got the hotel room door open. His partner wasn't alone.

A young girl, eighteen at the most, sat naked on the floor, silently crying her eyes out, while Bob nonchalantly knotted his tie at the mirror.

"The new catalog? Great!" Bob totally ignored the girl at his feet and took the book from Kyle's unresisting hand. "Oh, we'll sell plenty of these in Nebraska!"

"What's - Is she okay?"

Bob glanced briefly at the girl, then returned to perusing the catalog. "What, Doreen? Just a little buyer's remorse. Don't worry, she was very willing last night, and swore she was of legal age. I have it all on tape." Rickman smirked and patted his briefcase. The girl cried harder.

"Bob, you can't - that's not what - Bob!" Tippet protested incoherently.

Bob loomed over him. Kyle had always been a little intimidated by the bigger man, and Bob knew exactly how to use his bulk to get into a person's space. "You have a problem, Kyle?"

Kyle looked down. He had to admit, he was the one who'd started the party tricks, using the handshake to get kisses from girls in bars. But he'd never take it this far!

"No, um, no problem, Bob."

"Good!" Rickman clapped Tippet heartily on the back. "Let's go make some sales!"

Leech

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Leech

Re: Leech

[yavannauk.livejournal.com]

Lex has never had to be careful with Clark before, but something's changed now. He knows when Clark lies and there's no deception in the gasps and flinches when his grip strays too close to the bandages around the boy's chest. A part of Lex still hadn't been certain, despite the report from the doctor at the hospital, but now he has no doubts.

No matter that Lex knows Clark survived a sixty mile an hour collision with a Porsche, right now his ribs are undoubtedly bruised and aching and somehow that makes everything more real. Driven by an odd mixture of desire and curiosity, Lex presses Clark back against his sheets and skims gentle fingers over skin marred by scratches and scrapes.

Soon, Clark is gasping for an entirely different reason as Lex follows the same path taken by his hands, this time with his lips and tongue. Then he slides lower, closing his mouth over Clark's cock and sucking firmly. When Clark responds, trying to buck up off the bed, Lex holds him down, hands grasping Clark's hips to keep him still.

It's easier to do than Lex remembers, but he doesn't question it as Clark moans his name on a stuttered breath and comes. When Lex has swallowed everything he sits back on his heels, finally releasing Clark.

Sharp blue eyes meet startled green as they both see the reddened marks on Clark's skin where Lex's hands have been; imprints that show no sign of fading.

Lex opens his mouth to ask about this new development, but closes it with an audible snap. Whatever the truth of this change, he's not sure he wants to hear it. Nor is he willing to listen to a new set of lies falling from Clark's pretty lips. The simple facts of the matter are that he's alive and Clark is lying in his bed, naked and willing. It's time to close the book on anything more.

With that decided, Lex leans down and begins a new exploration. Finally, he can leave a trace of his ownership on Clark's body and that's an opportunity Lex doesn't want to waste. He won't hurt Clark; Lex knows how to be careful.

Kinetic

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Kinetic

Re: Kinetic

[slodwick.livejournal.com]

She didn't hear him at first, so Pete hovered in the doorway. In his backpack was her laptop; in his hand, a bunch of wildflowers he'd grabbed on the way to the hospital.

He’d never seen Chloe so pale, so drained. The bruise on her face was already beginning to fade, turning ugly yellow at the edges; Pete knew it was less painful for her now, but that didn't ease his hurt.

He squeaked his sneaker on the shiny floor. Her answering smile lit the whole room, the whole building, the whole town, and Pete knew then they’d both recover.

Zero

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Zero

Re: Zero

[khohen1.livejournal.com]

The thing is, you’d never been ashamed of it. You’d never been ashamed of your past, of your extravagances. Of the drugs you did, the alcohol you overconsumed. Of the sex you had, the partners you’d discarded. It was all part of the past, and it was just something you’d done and were over. It was regrettable, what had happened, who you hurt in your wake, but you weren’t ashamed.

But looking into his eyes, those bright innocent eyes, you just can’t tell him. You can’t tell him about the man you were, because it would shatter the image of the man he wants to think you are. The Lex he knows is troubled, sure, but wouldn’t take out his troubles on others. The Lex he knows wouldn’t betray a friend because he wanted to sleep with his girlfriend.

But that’s not even it. It’s not that you want to protect him, it’s not that you want to shield him. It’s not that you don’t want to shatter his perception of you. It’s that you want him to be right. You want to be the person he sees. You want it so bad you can taste it.

So even when it becomes apparent that he’s in this no matter how much you don’t want him to be, even when you see the field of dead cows and know that you can’t shield him any more, you still can’t stand the thought of telling him.

When that gun goes off, you think ‘now he’ll never know he was wrong about me,’ and you feel relief.

But the bullet doesn’t kill you, and for one second, you’re sorry it didn’t.

Nicodemus

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Nicodemus

Re: Nicodemus

[dianehc.livejournal.com]

Clark could pinpoint the moment, down to the second, that he truly knew he was an alien. Intellectually, he realized that they were telling the truth, but he didn’t understand it – not yet. He didn’t feel it when his parents told him or when they showed him the ship or in the cemetery later that night or in Reilly field the next day

Clark actually hadn’t really know that he was – for certain, without any doubt— an alien for several months after that. He didn’t know it, in his heart, until his father’s shotgun blast struck him square in the chest – leaving a spattering of quarter-sized bruises… but no other visible scars. He knew that Jonathan had been driven to violence by the Nicodemus plant’s spore; but, sometimes in the late night quiet, Clark still wonders if Jonathan would have shot a human son.

Stray

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Stray

Reaper

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Reaper

Drone

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Drone

Re: Drone

[yavannauk.livejournal.com]

On his first night in the White House, Lex Luthor sat in the Oval Office and stared at the old, dusty box on the desk in front of him. He slowly drank his way through three glasses of scotch before he reached out and carefully removed the lid.

He hadn't looked at the contents in a long while - they belonged to a past he'd walked away from years before - but now Lex took his time going through them. There were a surprising number of photographs, the colours as sharp and bright as when Chloe had taken them. There were other reminders too, cards and a few hand-written notes, and bundled up with them Lex found what he was looking for.

He pulled out the somewhat creased flyer, smoothing the paper with his fingers. "Clark Kent - The Man of Tomorrow" stared back at him from the page and Lex sighed reminiscently. Clark had lost his election, all those years ago, but Lex could remember confiding his own presidential aspirations in the boy. He wondered if Clark still recalled that conversation too, or if he'd pushed everything pertaining to their friendship out of his mind.

Somewhat wistfully, Lex found himself wishing that he could ask Clark, but they hadn't spoken outside of interviews and press conferences in far too long. As he focused on that night in the Talon, Lex remembered Clark ruefully admitting that when Chloe had asked him what he stood for, all he'd been able to think of to say was truth, justice... and other stuff.

A faint smile curved Lex's lips at the memory. There was a part of him that couldn't help reflecting that maybe those really weren't such bad things to believe in.

Lex picked up the flyer, folding it with care, and put it back in the box, along with the photos. Then he replaced the lid, shutting away the images of his younger self and Clark, together and smiling. Happy. Lex opened a drawer and firmly set the box inside before sliding it shut again.

It was time to face the real world. Lex had a job to do.

Crush

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Crush

Re: Crush

[elandrialore.livejournal.com]

Too long for a drabble, too short for a story:)

He’d been walking for hours, ever since they’d buried Mr. Fordman. A heart attack, and the man who’d been invincible to a young Whitney was being wept over by the gods. He’d been walking for hours wondering about his own father so strong and untouchable. He couldn’t imagine losing him. Couldn’t imagine the desolation, the emptiness.

Loss.

It had been a theme the last couple of weeks, the last couple of months. Loss of life, loss of chances, loss of innocence.

Loss of identity.

Or maybe he was looking at this all wrong. Maybe the glass was really half full. Maybe he hadn’t lost the identity of Clark Kent normal sixteen year old boy, maybe he’d gained a gift. Maybe he hadn’t lost his chance to be with Lana, maybe he had gotten a friend. Maybe he hadn’t lost Chloe’s friendship, maybe they’d gotten closer.

Maybe he wasn’t lost.

He looked up to see where his feet had taken him, the gray dusk fading into a purple night as the rain slid seamlessly into snow.

Castle gates that stood ominously in the yawning dark, deterring intruders, forestalling the curious. So easy to slip through the gates. So easy to…

“Mr. Kent?”

Clark turned to see the hazy form of the security guard as he walked forward, his flashlight doing little to cut through the gloom. Before he could answer, the gates were swinging open.

“Mr. Luthor’s in the library this evening, I’d be happy to let him know you’re here.”

It was a question. A choice.

Clark nodded, the snowflakes so much gentler than the pelting rain, he almost couldn’t feel them. He walked through the gates and up the steps, and in the way of efficiency that only money could bring, the door was opened, a towel already in hand.

Maybe he wasn’t lost.
***
She was dying.

He had spoken with doctors, looked at her charts, knew enough about cancer to know that there was nothing he could do about it. Maybe if he’d known six months earlier.

Maybe if he’d known.

There was hate there, still. Even after he knew what had happened between Pamela and his father. There was anger. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the anger. She’d been trying to protect him from being disinherited.

She had no way of knowing just what he would inherit from his father.

He was his father’s son.

Not Pamela’s.

Not even his mother’s.

He would have saved her if he could. For what he’d felt for her then, for what could have been. For what she’d been to his mother. Despite his father, he would have saved her for himself.

She’d fallen asleep and still he stayed by her side, her hand in his. They asked him gently to leave when it was over.

He left the book by her bedside and walked out of the hospital dry-eyed.

It was gray outside, colors muted and faded in the white wash of rain. He drove carefully on his way home, the roads slick under his tires. He felt beaten down. Empty.

And in such a long time, adrift.

The silence only broken by the sound of the windshield wipers as they showed the endless black of Kansas roads.

Inside the manor now he was watching the fire, white flames eaten by darkness only to flare up again. He wasn’t drinking because he wanted to. Wanted to lose himself in the mindlessness of liquor. Wanted something else to be blamed for the numb, coldness that was swallowing him from the inside.

His mother and Pamela: two women he’d loved and lost: two women who could have saved him.

Maybe it was just too late.

“Mr. Luthor?”

“Yes, Enrique,” he said without turning.

“Mr. Kent is at the gates.”

Slowly he drew his gaze away from the fire, looked up at the butler. “Get some towels,” he said, then waited for the man to leave before he stood, slowly.

By the time he reached the door, Enrique was holding out warm towels. He took them and the other man discreetly exited.

Maybe he couldn’t be saved.

He opened the door.

Obscura

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Obscura

Tempest

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Tempest

Vortex

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Vortex

Heat

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Heat

Re: Heat

[sinisterf.livejournal.com]

Wrote what I thought would be a drabble for this ep but came out much larger.

It can be found on by following the link below since it is too long to post in the comments.

Care for a Game? (http://www.livejournal.com/users/sinisterf/171625.html)

Duplicity

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Duplicity

Red

[scribblinlenore.livejournal.com]

Red

rated r

[khohen1.livejournal.com]

“Clark Kent and Lex Luthor,” he says, his eyes shining, smile wide. “I like the sound of that.”

Is it your fault if you see flashes of skin in your mind’s eye? Tanned dark skin on top of black satin sheets, glistening in the blue-gray light of the moonlight through he windows of the high rise. Glistening with sweat, baring the marks of your fingers, the scratches of your nails.

Is it your fault if you feel yourself flush at the thought of corrupting him? Bending down to kiss him when he least expects it, your fingers lacing in the belt loops of his jeans, drawing his hard body against yours. Crushing your mouth to his neck, grazing your teeth down the gentle slope to his shoulder blade.

Is it your fault if you can feel your cock hardening at the thoughts of what sounds he would make? Soft sighs as your fingers travel down his waist, over taut skin and even tauter muscles. Gasps when he can’t quite catch his breath when you unzip his jeans.

Is it your fault if the first thing you do when you tell him to wait there is make a hard left, get in your car, and head straight to the Kent farm? Because this isn’t Clark. This isn’t the kid you’ve come to know pretty well. You don’t know what’s wrong with him, and part of you wants to not care, but damnit…

If you’re gonna taste him, it’s gonna be him that you’re tasting.