(no subject)
Aug. 2nd, 2005 06:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cherryAm finally registered in all my classes. Go me.
Am slightly confused, as there are a few (large) stories vying in my mind to be written: the DLM one, Detective Frannie Vecchio, the latest Emma piece, a Firefly war story, the 1987 O11 one, that piece for the Fandom Which Must Not Be Named...
This has led to a logjam in my brain, so I am taking requests for drabble (I promise at least a drabble) and/or icons.
That's right, get your drabble and/or icons here.
I think you all know fandomwise. XM, dS, DLM, HP, O11, LXG, CSI, Alias, Firefly, Eternal Sunshine, Disney, PotC, Dogma, Power Play... I'd try DCU, SV, the Fandom That Must Not Be Named, or pretty much anything else you throw at me.
Fandom, media (fic/icon), prompt (optional).
Please?
Am slightly confused, as there are a few (large) stories vying in my mind to be written: the DLM one, Detective Frannie Vecchio, the latest Emma piece, a Firefly war story, the 1987 O11 one, that piece for the Fandom Which Must Not Be Named...
This has led to a logjam in my brain, so I am taking requests for drabble (I promise at least a drabble) and/or icons.
That's right, get your drabble and/or icons here.
I think you all know fandomwise. XM, dS, DLM, HP, O11, LXG, CSI, Alias, Firefly, Eternal Sunshine, Disney, PotC, Dogma, Power Play... I'd try DCU, SV, the Fandom That Must Not Be Named, or pretty much anything else you throw at me.
Fandom, media (fic/icon), prompt (optional).
Please?
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 12:25 am (UTC)::loves on you::
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 01:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 01:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 10:13 pm (UTC)"Mal?"
"Yeah."
Inara shook her head slightly, and Kaylee felt the brush moving through her hair pause. Hardly a second, she thought, but with someone as graceful as Inara it said a lot.
Jarred Fry didn't raise no fools.
"Yeah,"Kaylee said. "Mal. Isn't too hard to look at, is he?"
"No, he's not," Inara said with a wry smile. Continued to brush Kaylee's hair. "He is, however, insufferable to speak with for any length of time, and has a oftentimes hypocritical spate of protective instincts."
"He doesn't mean anything by it, 'Nara," Kaylee said. "Just his way."
"Yes, well," Inara said, placing the hairbrush carefully on her table, "You know what they say about leopards and their spots."
"You ever seen a leopard?"
"Once. On Ariel, actually."
"Always wanted to see one. Fancy client took you on a safari?"
Inara laughed lightly. Dug through a drawer. "To the zoo."
"Was it pretty?" Kaylee asked, eyes closed.
"Fierce," Inara said, and Kaylee could hear her smile. "Caged, but you could tell she was fierce."
Hands in her hair again, separating and twisting and pinning. "Is that why you're leaving?" she asked, finally. "Cap'n and his protective instincts?"
Inara's hands stilled completely this time. "It's complicated, Kaylee."
Kaylee kept her eyes closed, because she didn't want to see the reflection of Inara's eyes. "Because he doesn't mean anything by it, he doesn't."
"Kaylee," Inara said. "Kaylee. I haven't been happy for a long time. This is just..."
"The straw that broke the camel's back," Kaylee said. "I know, Inara, I know. I just. I don't want you to go."
"Oh, sweet heart," Inara said, and drew her close. Hugged her tight, and Kaylee opened her eyes and stared determinedly across the room. She was not going to sniffle all over Inara's fancy dress. "I am going to miss you so much."
Okay, maybe she was going to sniffle a little. "Me too," she said. "Who's going to make me all pretty when you're not here?"
And Inara laughed. "Just remember to wash your face, and you'll be fine. If you ask nicely, I'm sure Jayne will do your hair."
Kaylee pulled back and frowned. "His guns always make me a mite nervous."
"Somehow, mei mei," Inara said, and stroked her hair, "I don't think that's something you have to worry about."
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 12:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 01:50 am (UTC)*stabs registration system with a spork*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 12:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 12:59 am (UTC)Anyway.
The night outside is hot and loud. John's laying in his bed on top of the covers and trying not to doing anything strenuous, like breath too hard. The dorm window is propped open with a biology textbook that's never been opened, and his roommate's fan wheezes and stirs the slightest breeze. Crickets chirp and across the green he can hear a group of students playing night ball.
Finals are coming on fast, and the book holding up the window hasn't been opened since he bought it. One more year, he thinks.
One more year, and then what? Grad school, pilot's license, asking "Would you like fries with that?"
Across the room, his roommate sighs and shifts in his sleep, muttering something under his breath about the Dallas Cowboys.
John thinks about flying, about lift and gravity, about his father's dogtags (when he was seven, he walked into his parent's bedroom and found them sitting on the bedside table -- it was the first time he'd touched them, and as he poured the chain between his hands he all he could think was how heavy they were). John's father was never home -- even when his body was there, he was gone, all distracted smiles and morning runs.
Even bad role models are role models.
He lays there, in the heat and the humidity, and watches the campus light. Sweat pools at the hollow of his throat.
He thinks about gravity and tries not to move.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 05:00 am (UTC)Quidditch at the Weasley's. Hermione reading a book. Hr/Fred.
*whistles*
;)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 12:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 11:04 pm (UTC)Hermione is sitting on the Weasley's back porch in the shade, feet drawn up onto the bench and neck pressed against the cool side of the house. Her hair is piled haphazardly on top of her head and pieces have drifted down to stick to her skin. There's a book propped up in her lap, leather bound and heavy. The parchment is warm beneath her fingers.
"Hello, Fred," she says, eyes still running across the words, and the presence at her side drops down easily beside her.
"That was quite impressive," he says, draping his arms across the back of the bench. "You didn't even look."
"You limp a bit, when you walk," Hermione tells him. Traces a line with her fingers, mouths an incantation without giving it voice. "Not much. Mostly only when the weather or humidity's changed. If you try a new product out on me, I'll make you very sorry."
"Huh," Fred says, watching as his brother almost falls off of his broom. "Broke my leg jumping off the roof when I was eight. Bill was supposed to be watching us, but he'd gone into town to meet a girl. George was even more frantic than I was."
"Trying to fly?" she asks with the ghost of a smile.
"Thought I could, actually," he says. "I'd been trying to make a charm that would make a magic carpet for months. Thought I finally had it right. Some of the charm from the carpet stuck to me, and there were complications with the mediwizard. Doesn't bother me much any more."
She looks up from her book then, reminded once against that a lot of the things he and George sell at their shop really are quite impressive.
He's looking at her, smile wry and self-depreciative, and she realizes she must be gaping a little. Blushing, she starts to stammer, but he just shakes his head and grins.
He's used to it, she realizes, and Hermione of all people knows what it's like to have everyone think only one thing about you.
"Right," he says, and tips his head at her. "This has been lovely."
She grabs his wrist as he starts to rise. His skin is sticky in the heat. "I was expelled from school when I was seven," she says. "A boy from school used to call me names, which I was used to, but he started in on this boy from India. Just a little kid, barely spoke English."
Fred sits down again, but she doesn't let go. "I broke his nose. The bully's."
He blinks at her, and a grin spreads across his face. "Our little Hermione is a spitfire," he says, and gooses her lightly.
"Stop that," she says, and bats his hand away. In the sky, Ron and Harry are still laughing. They're her best friends, but there are some things they just can't understand.
"What are you reading?" Fred asks finally, pulls the book from her hands.
"A treatise on forms unspoken magic has taken throughout the ages," she tells him, and smiles when he nods and starts to read.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-09 01:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-03 05:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 12:25 am (UTC)Also, GUH to your icon. Greg is my imaginary TV boyfriend.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 12:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 12:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-04 01:20 am (UTC)Hehehe
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 10:30 pm (UTC)I heard you used to be a pretty fun guy.
When Greg was a kid, he used to sit on the very top of the tallest playground slide, and watch the other kids play Red Rover and make believe and baseball.
Actually, when Greg was really young, he used to mastermind the neighbourhood games of hide and seek and tag. The distance wasn't something that fell onto him, awkwardness as he aged, or saying the wrong thing to the person, or admitting too early he actually did kind of like girls. A lot.
It happened like this: When he was seven years old, his parents gave him a pair of binoculars. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, but he hung them around his neck the next time he was out back climbing in the trees, and he took them out at the top and discovered just how fascinating the world looked from a distance.
Greg is an armchair anthropologist.
He is aware, now, that he is changing -- the jokes get stuck in his chest and when he dreams about girls, they are still and cold and he cannot find a single clue.
He wants -- he wants to find himself caught up in a CD and dancing dorkily across the lab while Catherine shakes her head or Grissom makes pithy comments. Wants to find a girl and take her home without thinking of how reckless she's being, he's being, and cataloguing the crime scenes in his head that started this way.
Stagnation, regret, dinosaurs in tar fields -- life is change, he knows this, but Greg is watching from outside himself and all he wants is to stop.
Greg is changing, and he doesn't know how to stop.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-06 10:59 pm (UTC)You wrote my Greggo! That last line is so perfect and light and deep, it's Greg in the last season! THANK YOU!