And after the great flood, there came life.

They're like disabled people who learn how to walk again, and it's painful.

It’s been 329 hours since you were kidnapped.

Acknowledgement doesn't necessarily imply endorsement.

Go Go Yubari licks her lips, leaving adrenaline where her tongue trails.

You possibly take advantage of her, or she you; you’re never sure anymore which is which.

He still finds it amazing that his every move counts, the way one button can release massive amounts of explosives.

She can practically hear the chaos behind his silence.

It’s how a winning streak damages you so you can’t see the end of it.

The world spun around you at a dazzling velocity.

With the eighth shot comes the self-loathing. co-written with Ellen Milholland.

The skies were awesome and grey the day Leo came back from war.

Cold snow in her red hair, transparent-to-white drops shining in the city lights, indignant against flashes of American flags and snow, snow, snow.

You don't live by days anymore, just nights, one after the other.

And her hands, fingers tapping on the bed to a soundless rhythm in her brain, you can only hear the buzz of the streets, and the sound of her fingers on the sheets, fingernails slightly grazing the fabric as she touches it.

He looks at the show through imported amber for a moment, trapping her image in his drink.

(why boys like girls) the way they fall into your arms when they cry.

A crossover series. Written with BJ.

He promised her whole houses and lies upon lies and she sighed, mad with July and intense with the heat.

13 drabbles. written for sn100 challenge 8: the six feet under title challenge.

Five things that never happened to Joshua Lyman.

“I take a card and recompose myself from what we call ‘the world.’” For Mosca's free verse challenge.

Numbness and things that crawl underneath her skin, and colors that glow underneath her eyelids.

Andi likes the old CJ, the young CJ who spilled her grasshopper all over Toby’s clean, white dress shirt and apologized a million times too many.

Inaugural Whiskey slides down his throat and she averts her gaze.

Back to school fashions and the smell of new shoes always remind you of autumn, beginnings and endings, and you haven’t even noticed that August is no longer a possibility.

And it occurs to Dan that he’s never seen a more nostalgic boy than Casey McCall.

She smells like an alcoholic and tastes like your lover; because she is.

She crosses herself over and over again but she’ll never feel cleansed.

She kisses her; in the moonlight, they shoot sparkles.

She goes by Madeleine now.

You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the sand out of her shoes.

It’s been a long day and it’ll never end.

He dreams about nameless colors.

He's with Pixley now.

The camera flashes surround her like a halo; she’s classy and feminine, and Abbey Bartlet: the First.

You’re a metaphor now, kiddo, for what happens to the losers; you’ve disappeared, up and vanished into thin air. (Ghost World fic.)

Josh just stands there, watching the red, blue and white flags, balloons, streamers, posters; this celebration of an American victory over foreign terrorism.

And you hide your pleasure in a whisper as you die seven times and come to life eight, with that shudder you hate and the Toby you borrowed from another woman.

As uncertainty sinks in, Donna tells herself that it’ll be alright; but then her hand reaches for her hair, giving it a finishing touch, and her seemingly assertive energy crumbles to pieces of insecurity.

And nobody knew what happened on the other side – the loser side, she finds it hard to admit – and this time, neither does Ainsley.

She runs in the circles of Donna’s body, tainting those lines once belonging to him with her tongue, making them her own.

He chuckles because it’s all so silly, and he’s never wanted any of this in the first place, and now he’s stuck in a place that defies him whenever he just sets a foot in it, and he only breaks down in front of her, no one else.

And somehow, the worst thing about this is the tears, streaming down your cheeks, making you feel again like that small child you were before your father pushed you, trying not to wrinkle your dress, into the swirl of his ambition.

"We may be on this road but we're just imposters in this country, you know."

And at this look of recognition in Charlie’s eyes the man just sighs and orders a second beer (at least, another beer). (West Wing/Sports Night)

She’ll forgive and forget. She’ll admire Sally’s curves. She’ll moan when it’s needed. She’ll bend her wishes to fit her lover’s, because it’s the kind of person she is, is what she tells Sally in a non-convincing voice.

He took her out to restaurants and was so romantic, his every “I love you” secretly questioned, yet she still tried to derive happiness from this situation.

It felt like cleanliness, seeing you like this, your emotional grief contrasting my quiet one. (3 out of 3 drabbles)

I barely do think of you now; with your comforting eyes and warm lips. (2 out of 3 drabbles)

It’ll all be so blissfully sane, and sanitary, and remote, and don’t you want that? (1 out of 3 drabbles).

He lets out a relieved sigh, because he knows the street doesn’t care about anything that happened last night.

She’s constantly aware of Andi's existence on him, in him, screaming as they touch, the past forever effecting the present.

The only two words you’ll ever have to learn: no comment.

She pretends to believe her words and his, when he kisses her and promises to never let her go.

His eyes will be all the more penetrating as he watches her briefing; she’ll confuse her words for a moment.

The feeling of finding someone’s suicide note is always awkward, because it usually means that the case is closed; the key evidence.

Because that’s what you do when you’re campaigning, because of the heat, or the added pressure, or if Bartlet drops in the polls, and maybe Josh sticks his tongue down her throat.

“He said you were brilliant. Before, when we were still in... he said he couldn’t give you what you wanted.” The voice, hesitant despite his bold words, matches the way his eyes don’t meet Josh’s.

With every thrust, with every stroke came inspiration; he licked his dialogues into her mouth.

And it would feel so good, wrong, guilty, exciting, secret. So damn good. And no one would know.

He knew a guy whose face he still cannot escape when closing his eyes or opening them, because it is always there. It was short, sweet and when it was over, it just wilted, shriveled into a tiny ball of pain in the back of his mind.

They just stand there, watching the ocean like some painting that, once you look closely at it, you see how flawed with clichés it is: how wrong and unbearably sweet its colors are, how something is happening that shouldn’t be but has every right to.

And it’s all useless knowledge, all of it, and Sam’s mind is just filled with tiny tidbits of inane trivia like this.

The envelope is white and shaped as a perfect rectangle as most envelopes are, and it wouldn’t have been suspicious if it hadn’t been for that one detail.

She would like to think she’s more grown up than this but she keeps waiting; waiting for his damn penny to drop already, for him to realize that she can be valuable to him.

Because she knows Lisa would never know. Not until.

There are certain rules to friendship, and a pretty important one about having sex with your best friend’s ex: you just don’t.

And it doesn’t seem at all sudden, but normal, completely and totally normal for him to be attracted to his best friend of God knows how many years.

The fic Danielle made me write when it was very cold and very late: an unexpected attack on a Sports Night staffer helps bring in conclusions regarding certain feelings.

"I have never done anything that was not helpful to women so far as it lay in my power."

The look in her eyes pleads him to go away and he doesn't have the energy to confront what is already there.

The gun feels smooth underneath your fingers as you slide them up and down the cold metal.

If we make it the way it was supposed to be in our minds, do we become more than we were before?

So he goes to the one place he knows he’ll find comfort, which he does.

His taste on her lips is bittersweet and wet and familiar and late. Too late.

He may have been a little kid but she was his sister. He should be dead, too.

It’s called sexual harassment but it was nothing, nothing, nothing.

They wouldn’t talk about it at work and she would feel trashy and slutty and cheap.

It’s none of her business; their story ended when it began and she’s learned to accept that.

Willow and Xander's boredom leads them to finding out a certain secret. Or something like that.

She doesn’t like country music and she doesn’t understand his need to listen to her as she tries to silence the southern accents inside.

Dana goes out with a new fella, much to Casey's displease.

It was the same feeling as it had been every year, and he should’ve gotten used to it, except he hasn’t.

"I suppose even the son of God gets it hard sometimes..." Sequel to Chad.

I'm pregnant! You're pregnant! We're pregnant!