5 Dexter Drabbles
Because I am such a whore. This is all the fanfic I have that is postable right now. GOD I NEED TO WORK FASTER.
Gonna give these an R rating due to the serial killer nature of the main character.
Bathtub
He couldn't count on all ten fingers and toes the amount of bathtubs he's photographed during his employment with Miami Metro Police Department. It's a popular way to die - to murder, to commit suicide - and accidents in tubs happen so frequently. One little slip and the skull could collide with the faucet - the knobs - and then that person would be dead. Bleeding out, drowning. His camera flash brightens the room for a moment, white light exploding then dimming. The amount of blood splashed over the sides, onto the pristine white tiles below, is astounding.
It's also indescribably beautiful.
Language
It's frustrating how easily words can be misinterpreted. How something meant to convey one emotion can be warped and turned back on you to mean something completely different. Language, spoken and written, was tricky that way. Dexter re-learned this lesson daily.
Maybe Rita was being intentionally obtuse in her interpretations - things had been tense lately, so it wouldn't be surprising if she was grasping at straws for reasons to fight.
“I don't understand what I've done wrong,” complete honesty - his newly turned over leaf thanks to counseling.
All he'd done was tell her the dress wasn't flattering.
Urge
Spontaneity was something Harry had always warned him against; something frowned upon and responded to with a harsh lecturing.
“When you don't plan it out, then you make mistakes,” his less-than-shiny father had told him, “You leave behind evidence.”
But sometimes the urges were too strong; sometimes there were actions demanding to be carried out so powerfully that it seemed like refusing them might destroy him.
“Stay away from my wife,” he demanded, his tone murderous.
Punching Elliot hadn't been in the cards, but he didn't need a kill room to express how much Rita was his.
Cut
“You can't do that kind of stuff,” Dexter chastised, slipping with practiced ease into the role of loving, worried father.
Cody looked up at him earnestly, eyes pleading for mercy as his bleeding hand was held beneath the flow of cold water from the tap. Dexter sighed. He'd always had a soft spot for children.
“Knives are dangerous,” he said, eyes darting briefly to the steak knife that lay abandoned on the kitchen floor. “You could have been seriously hurt.”
That look again.
“Your mother would've been sad.”
Ah, there it is. Shame.
“Sorry, Dexter.”
Shopping
This is not my preferred habitat.
Dexter Morgan: serial killer by night, loving father of three and devoted husband by day. And now? Shopper. It's too crowded here; a mass of writhing, empty-headed consumers. Lambs to slaughter at the hands of advertising agencies the world over.
And me? Wolf? Victim? Regretful spouse and parent?
I almost wish the department would call; for a grisly murder with lots of blood to be happening right now in a location far away from this place.
“Dexter! What do you think? Isn't this shirt wonderful for Astor?”
A double homicide, maybe?
Yes, Please.
Gonna give these an R rating due to the serial killer nature of the main character.
Bathtub
He couldn't count on all ten fingers and toes the amount of bathtubs he's photographed during his employment with Miami Metro Police Department. It's a popular way to die - to murder, to commit suicide - and accidents in tubs happen so frequently. One little slip and the skull could collide with the faucet - the knobs - and then that person would be dead. Bleeding out, drowning. His camera flash brightens the room for a moment, white light exploding then dimming. The amount of blood splashed over the sides, onto the pristine white tiles below, is astounding.
It's also indescribably beautiful.
Language
It's frustrating how easily words can be misinterpreted. How something meant to convey one emotion can be warped and turned back on you to mean something completely different. Language, spoken and written, was tricky that way. Dexter re-learned this lesson daily.
Maybe Rita was being intentionally obtuse in her interpretations - things had been tense lately, so it wouldn't be surprising if she was grasping at straws for reasons to fight.
“I don't understand what I've done wrong,” complete honesty - his newly turned over leaf thanks to counseling.
All he'd done was tell her the dress wasn't flattering.
Urge
Spontaneity was something Harry had always warned him against; something frowned upon and responded to with a harsh lecturing.
“When you don't plan it out, then you make mistakes,” his less-than-shiny father had told him, “You leave behind evidence.”
But sometimes the urges were too strong; sometimes there were actions demanding to be carried out so powerfully that it seemed like refusing them might destroy him.
“Stay away from my wife,” he demanded, his tone murderous.
Punching Elliot hadn't been in the cards, but he didn't need a kill room to express how much Rita was his.
Cut
“You can't do that kind of stuff,” Dexter chastised, slipping with practiced ease into the role of loving, worried father.
Cody looked up at him earnestly, eyes pleading for mercy as his bleeding hand was held beneath the flow of cold water from the tap. Dexter sighed. He'd always had a soft spot for children.
“Knives are dangerous,” he said, eyes darting briefly to the steak knife that lay abandoned on the kitchen floor. “You could have been seriously hurt.”
That look again.
“Your mother would've been sad.”
Ah, there it is. Shame.
“Sorry, Dexter.”
Shopping
This is not my preferred habitat.
Dexter Morgan: serial killer by night, loving father of three and devoted husband by day. And now? Shopper. It's too crowded here; a mass of writhing, empty-headed consumers. Lambs to slaughter at the hands of advertising agencies the world over.
And me? Wolf? Victim? Regretful spouse and parent?
I almost wish the department would call; for a grisly murder with lots of blood to be happening right now in a location far away from this place.
“Dexter! What do you think? Isn't this shirt wonderful for Astor?”
A double homicide, maybe?
Yes, Please.