DRABBLE MEME

[fahye]

Yes! I have a free Saturday, so I'm finally going to do that drabble meme that everyone else did ages ago. I can do Good Omens, Harry Potter, any Milliways characters that you think I know well enough, Lost, a handful of anime fandoms...you people know what I do. Ask and ye shall receive. I'd prefer at least a pairing and an object/setting/theme/other prompt.

~

What do I do when I'm bored? I collect icons of my friends! Spurred by cyrulean's Kelsey-icon and the fact that I've spent the past few days getting hugely ahead of myself and planning my in-three-years-time trip around the world to visit all you crazies.

Obviously some of you don't believe in showing your real self online and that's understandable. But if you do have any icons of yourself, when you request your drabble, comment using the one you like best? Even if you have to upload it for a day, to give me time to save it, and then take it down.

Yes, of course I'm planning to stalk you all.

I kid. I just have a folder of icons called 'Friends' and it needs filling up.

~

Went for coffee and Chinese and general catching-up with not_in_denial and tairamika today, which was lovely :)

Comments

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

Bé~renger!

He's crazy.

Failing that, our favorite brand of: it's just not healthy.

[rimestock.livejournal.com]

Yeah, so, I'm the one on the left. and at least in this picture there are no ropes.

I would like to see something combining Good Omens and Harry Potter, with no reference to Milliways at all. Also, if you like, it can involve Machiavellian lemondrops, because everyone needs more of those.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Trust you to go with the most utterly random request ever. Uh. I will attempt the first but possibly fail miserably, so don't be surprised if it's the second.

Re: Camille et David - tu es trop douée de vivre! Pas juste.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Machiavellian...?

Whateeeeeever you say, Beth :D

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

I like both!

Someday, someday, every Bérenger Ionesco ever wrote will meet up. Because they're all different! Kind of. I realize that the only person capable ofa ddressing even three or more of them is, well, me, so I don't know why I'm talking.

Aw, merci mon chouchou! I knew you were one of the two (?) people who would know wtf I was on.

[indy-go.livejournal.com]

Oh, well, you know I'm a sucker for your take on Bernard and Tonks... :D

[ryokophoenix.livejournal.com]

XD DRABBLE FOR ME?
It'd have to be Remus/Sirius of course, MWPP, and lets see...
*looks at interests*
Alright, how about fluffywuffy kitty cats, making strange noises, sparkly things and...erm...Peter Pan. Oh, and things with bells (it's cheating if you put them on the kitties).
For bonus points, throw in some Greek religion and at least one secret passageway. XD

*snickers* I do this to you every time, you'd think you'd learn. :D

Bwahahahahahahahahha!

[rimestock.livejournal.com]

Well, they don't have to be there.

But! It's fun!

:D!!!

[ryokophoenix.livejournal.com]

Or, y'know, if you're chicken - just some R/S with a side of top hat and waistcoat would be most welcome. :D

[fahye.livejournal.com]

YOU should do the meme. Yes.

Je ne suis la belette le chou de personne!

Ahaha. Amelie, elle habite dans mon cerveau.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

I hate you.

Good thing your requests are so much fun.

[ryokophoenix.livejournal.com]

I know. *pats*
PS. This (http://apps.ecy.wa.gov/shorephotos/scripts/bigphoto.asp?id=SNJ1145) is where Anna is right now. See that dock? That's the dock she jumps off.
I am awesome.

[shoiryu.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter meets X. Somehow.

(This is me when I was about seventeen. Three years ago or so.)

[ripedecay.livejournal.com]

I don't have a 'me-icon' yet as I don't have a picture that appeals to me right now :E But here is my request ::

I wouldn't mind some SeishirouxSubaru. I can't think of any decent crack pairing I'd like right now. But the setting/theme/whatever? Pirates.

Or going along something normal-ish, something SxS with some type of music or musical instruments, a beach house, and apples.

[littledust.livejournal.com]

Luna/Cho, whatever school year you wish, and a mad tea party.

OR

Karen/Yuzuriha, three blind mice, and dishwashing.

Femmeslashers represent, yo. :D

[dopplegl.livejournal.com]

I would kill for some Loki/Bartleby or Boone/Shannon (Can I get both? *tempts*) in any situation your genius mind can think of.

[ashen_key]

*eyes*

Why don't you pick one of my requests over the past few months that you haven't done yet and drabble that?

numero uno! très bizarre

[fahye.livejournal.com]

“Good man,” Jean insisted.

“As you say.”

“Truly retentive.”

“I’ve forgotten who we’re talking about.”

“Salt of the earth.” Jean waved his wineglass and Bérenger nodded gloomily.

“It’s a very odd thing to say about someone.”

“What?”

“Sodium…swimming pool. That word. I don’t know.”

“Chlorine.” Jean nodded, scowled, possibly trying for wise and ending up looking fierce.

“You’re so clever, Jean.”

“Retentive!”

“As you say. It hardly sounds flattering, in any case. Salt means that nothing can grow.”

“The earth retains its seeds?”

“I didn’t mean –”

“We shall put it down to the quirks of the British,” Jean said with finality.

Bérenger laughed through his nose, his mouth being occupied with bread.

“You have a strange laugh.” Jean squinted into the bottom of his glass, as though counting the few remaining droplets.

“Really?”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“How nice of you.” Bérenger beamed. Jean clapped him on the back a little too hard; his arm shot out and knocked over the salt and pepper shakers. The salt rolled, hexagonally and with clicking sounds, and then fell.

Jean clicked his tongue and watched as Bérenger fumbled to pick it up, and a few white grains fell directly onto the place where, in precisely one month four days and ninety-seven minutes, a herd of rhinoceros would trample them into the earth.

and the second. uh. Lucifer and I cannot make the boy be quiet.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Lucifer’s mouth pulls blood to the surface on the boy’s neck, where the pulse should be.

Thom takes his hand and traces the scar with his fingertips, tentative, feeling an echo of the power that created it.

Nothing; familiar and everything.

The boy likes to lie everywhere, which is sometimes downright irritating but nothing, it seems, can be done about it. Lucifer remembers, because it’s the season for it: Hob lying close but never intrusive, touching at one point or many and occasionally opening eyes too deep and near for comfort, a sleepy smile with echoes of reverence. Thom manages to end up sprawled on top of him, tucked under limbs and pinching him in the side to make him move into a more accommodating position. Asleep too fast. Disgustingly resistant to being pushed away.

When he smiles, it’s either brief and spontaneous or he’s trying to annoy.

Thom sets his chin heavily in his hand, the elbow digging into Lucifer’s chest, and looks down at him, smug.

“I was right. You’ve been on edge for far too long.”

Lucifer won’t say that he still is, idiot boy, but he blinks up down up and it means the same thing, in the end

Thom with scratches on his cheek and lips swollen and asymmetrical and hair pushed in odd directions is in himself a work of art and magic. He tastes nothing like ricepaper. Purple power and hunger and forgetting, a taste with clean sharp edges to it. He also likes to talk, although the effect is exaggerated this night. Probably because he’s been shut up by himself and is purging the desire to babble.

Lucifer doesn’t mind, for now. He supposes that he should be indulging in sensation – not thinking – but that’s never really worked as a distraction method. Easier to think about something else entirely. He doesn’t talk himself but he listens, watching through eyes not quite closed. Thom uses his hands to make a point, traces designs on bare skin, and his rambling speech changes purpose mid-metaphor. Something about the way his mouth moves. He grins and ducks his head and suddenly the words don’t matter as much as the meaning, which is I think you’ve stopped listening, and I need you to shut me up.

When that happens Lucifer plays at sensory deprivation, catching Thom in his own trap. Eyes closed and no flicker of acknowledgement leads to a peevish grip on his shoulder, lips on his, moving in a slow rhythm.

“Bastard,” Thom murmurs idly, in between. “I know what you’re doing.”

Lucifer tucks one hand around Thom’s back and one pulling at his hair – it’s an old old game and Thom’s quick smile says that he likes the promise of tension – and speeds the kiss up.

“Really.”

“El-e-men-try,” he drawls. “Ask me how.”

Dreadful ego, say Lucifer’s lips.

Gotcha, say Thom’s.

[linnpuzzle.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, you asked for it.

Aziraphale/Crowley, 'losing a bet'. Plus evil sense of humour.

oh my lord, did this turn out strange

[fahye.livejournal.com]

(I figure the words 'Prince' and 'lemondrops' in the same sentence count, right? Also: apologies if this is so obscurely cryptic as to be incomprehensible. I might even expand and play with the idea later, because I like it.)

~

one

Tom Marvolo Riddle dreams an orphan’s dreams of filthy death and love denied.

Sometimes he writes about them.

two

A girl with red hair wakes breathless and trying to erase the lines of writing from her mind; lonely writing on a page and you understand me, Tom and the hiss of a snake heard through the mists of memory.

She lies down again, curling against the young man in her bed and pressing a kiss to the scar on his forehead.

The excuse of safety only works when you’re not in a state of war.

three

Carmine Zuigiber isn’t called that any more. It’s not a good name for the time, although time means very little to her, which is why she’s here in the first place. The world didn’t end, and she’s come back – gone back, in time as well as presence – to see if she can’t do something about that.

She sits and looks at her serviceable sword for a while, and when she stands up it is shining silver topped with enormous rubies.

Tacky, she murmurs, approvingly.

The thing about being banished to the minds of men is that you can pick up all sorts of fascinating ideas on the way through.

four

In one line of time a rabbit is pulled out of a hat.

In another, it’s a sword.

A phoenix drops tears and the ripples spread like derision among children.

five

The Half-Blood Prince sorts lemondrops and humbugs and ignores the way his fingers shake. He remembers passwords and green light. This is why he does not sleep much, these days, although nobody can claim to keep any sort of regular pattern. They snatch their sleep when they can.

A witch with red hair laughs in the next room, and shows the Death Eaters how Muggle weaponry can penetrate certain magical shields. They don’t like the idea, but she’s very persuasive. And the weapons do work.

Don’t you want to win? she asks.

Don’t you want to win?

Lord Voldemort has killed his dreams. He haunts those of others instead. Nagini curls around his feet and he speaks to her of war in quiet hissing words. He wouldn’t tell anyone else, but he trusts his own soul.

six

Another girl with hair just as red and a love just as fierce is not sleeping; she runs her hand through her fiancé’s blond hair and wishes that she could remember why she is dreaming about a sword.

Thunder claps its hands miles away – a storm is coming. She shivers and burrows under the blankets, because the electricity and heaviness in the air is indefinably familiar.

Déjà vu.

Sword and snake.

seven

A single golden-orange feather falls to the floor.

eight

Somewhere, something like historical precedence.

Red and gold, she-who-was-Carmine whispers to the man, centuries away from the rest of the building storm, are such lovely colours. She sprawls on the bed. Red hair and golden eyes. It’s not subtle, but neither is he.

He agrees.

Of course.

The next day she gives him the sword.

nine

Saving the world isn’t for everyone.

One young man has already done so, but he remembers.

Another is yet to do so, and it worries him.

The present unites them. Held in the arms of a red-haired girl they sleep through the night, and they do not dream.

ten

War is upon them all.

She’s laughing.

[luminaire.livejournal.com]

Okay, drabble. Remus/Sirius involving one of them hogging the bathroom. And make it pre-HBP as I've not read it yet. :P

Re: oh my lord, did this turn out strange

[rimestock.livejournal.com]

... strange?

Yes.

Very strange.

Also fascinating and I really really hope you DO play with it more. :D

Re: oh my lord, did this turn out strange

[fahye.livejournal.com]

War/Godric OTP, man.

Re: oh my lord, did this turn out strange

[rimestock.livejournal.com]

And the scarier thing is that that works...