Angry Johnny.

20May08

(prompt: the song Angry Johnny by Poe [lyrics] )

Johnny, angry Johnny, this is Jezebel in Hell
I wanna kill you, I wanna blow you… away

Molotov is like a coin flip in slow motion, unable to decide whether or not she wants to kill Brock, and he is the same, because he cannot decide whether or not he would mind. Every time they do this little dance, he dies some more inside, and he knows that there is only so much longer he can go before he is just a shell.

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Snap.

31Mar08

Brock has found that, unless they have broken someone else’s bones, most people do not know what the sound of a breaking bone is. After all, people who have had their bones broken are in too much pain to hear it.

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Pets.

23Mar08

It wasn’t that Brock disliked animals. Really, it wasn’t. Actually, he was a bit of pet person, if he said so himself.

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6 Song Drabbles, written in 10 minutes or less each.

19Mar08

001. Hands | Jewel (started at 19.43, finished at 19.52)

While it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence, it still upset Brock when Dean cried (so he was upset a lot). However, he was more puzzled than upset when he walked into the kitchen on a Tuesday morning at noon, where Dean sat sniffling at the table, a variety of crafts supplies in front of him.

Filed under: Brock, Brock/Molotov, Dean, Deathmance, Hank, Molotov, Pirate Captain, Venture Bros   |  1 Comment

Laundry.

19Mar08

To say Brock was bitter would be a bit of an understatement. Two weeks into the assignment, and every morning when he woke up, it still stung to look around and see… a room. Just a room. Or maybe it wasn’t the room, maybe it was the fact that he knew the room probably wouldn’t be blown up or attacked or whatever.

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Engaged.

19Mar08

The ring wasn’t even on Molotov’s finger before Brock realised what he had just done. When she threw her arms around his neck, thoughts started racing through his head.

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Cold-Blooded.

19Mar08

There was much whispering going around the KGB training compound that November morning. Molotov had been awoken two hours early by Major Shtolnisky, who claimed she was needed, that it was the final day of her training. In the auditorium, Molotov sat grumpily, listening to the Chief Marshal’s official morning address. Mere moments after he left the room, she was yanked into a closet by her father.

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Obsession.

19Mar08

From the outside, you’d never guess. She’s just a woman with an eyepatch, he’s just a guy with huge muscles. They’re on opposite sides of the world. You’d never know that they were so connected, that he had kept her eye, that she held his heart in her hands.

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Beginnings.

19Mar08

Molotov Alexandrovna Koktiz was born in the very dead of winter, to a mother who died three days after giving birth, and a father who was too busy killing foreign politico to raise her. She was, as she grew up, shifted from adult to adult, grandmother to aunt to cousin, until finally she was given back to the man who’d left her in the first place.

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Moving.

19Mar08

Brock was relatively sure he was gaping. His mouth was wide open and he could not stop staring. Vaguely aware that maybe he should stop, Brock looked around. Movers and a moving truck. Sofa being carried in the front door. Woman giving directions to the men carrying boxes and furniture.

Okay, so where there hell was Molotov and who were these people?

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