so this is what responsibility feels like

[fahye]

Wow. Having a dead computer makes me actually behave like a med student. I went to my two labs this morning -- Jesus Christ, bones are tricky little buggers when you actually look at them, and I am rethinking my love of the clavicle -- and then I spent some time in the LIBRARY with my NOTES and I've thoroughly revised my upper limb anatomy and the entire text chapter on clinical examination of the respiratory system. Man. The things you have time to do when you don't have classes from 8am-5pm (this week is remarkably light \o/) and also don't have fic writing itself feverishly in your head.

Tomorrow classes finish at 11am and I am determined to be likewise productive in the afternoon, but you know what, I'm kind of enjoying this being-uncharacteristically-prolific thing, so for the gaps in between study:

Drabble requests?

You know what I write. Though if you're having trouble deciding, I'm on this serious animated-things kick at the moment, so throw me Avatar/anime-of-your-choice prompts and everyone will be happy.

(Please note that due to the fickle natures of both free time & inspiration, I am not putting my hand on my heart and swearing to finish every request this time, but...request away anyhow! We'll see how I go.)

Comments

[ashen_key]

Yours is...coming. I've been hit by Mexico!mood, thanks to uni. Mexico&Cortez&Malinche=/= Mordred/Galahad inna not!heaven, alas.

So. Um. Lucifer! In Russia. With a Russian chick called Sasha in a fur hat.

If you can?

[sainfoin-fields.livejournal.com]

Mexico&Cortez&Malinche

!

You have intrigued this random passerby, madam.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

He wouldn't have looked twice except for the way she lifts her arm to catch hold of the overhead bar, swaying with the train's motion as though she is rehearsing for something. Thin-boned hands and a few fair curls escaping from the muffling bulk of her hat; one of the city's hundred of ballerinas, Lucifer has no doubt, and she lifts her eyes as she becomes aware of his assessing gaze -- looks away instantly -- looks back, and colour starts to appear in her cheeks. Lucifer's coat is expensive and cut to perfection and the cold has brightened his too-bright eyes, but the hunger that is in her face is not the normal physical hunger but rather that profoundly Russian lower-class hunger for a domestic blaze, for the touch of fur-warmed hands, for oil lamps and warm soups and anything that holds the wind at bay.

Because she has seen the fire in him, he asks her name, and her mouth tucks into a smile that only strengthens her resemblance to another small blonde dancer that Lucifer has known.

"Aleksandra Viktorovna Korovina."

And this is the problem with this country. No power on earth, or above, or below, could entice Lucifer -- who speaks in titles because they often hold more meaning than names themselves -- to use a patronymic. To define himself in such a manner.

So he says, "Sasha. A pretty name," in a voice like strong coffee, and watches the way she moves through affront at the familiarity, and then uncertainty, and finally settles into a curiosity that goes well with the flush of her cheeks and the way her hair is caught in her eyelashes.

"And what should I call you?" she asks.

Lucifer smiles and says, "Kolya," because he has been Nikolay in this city for long enough to know what its diminutive sounds like when hissed through the lips of someone whose soul he holds in the palm of his gloved hand.

[ryokophoenix.livejournal.com]

*grins an evil, evil grin*

Shall I?

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Hurry up then, I'm about to get offline! (I can slaughter you later.)

[miscellanny.livejournal.com]

I don't want animated stuffs, I want squints!

*sulks*

[fahye.livejournal.com]

I can do squints! Prompt?

[a-white-rain.livejournal.com]

AZULA/TY LEE BOARDING SCHOOL ANTICS

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Do you mean...Fire Nation boarding school, or an AU?

[tammaiya.livejournal.com]

Kyouya/Tamaki, best laid plans/interruptions?

Hm, I need an Ouran icon.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"Forty percent."

"Fifteen," says Tamaki, who isn't really paying much attention. Kyouya is spinning a pen in his fingers and has one long leg clad in very expensive black fabric stretched out over the arm of the sofa, and his shirt is so flawlessly stiff that Tamaki wants to throw himself bodily onto his best friend and wrinkle it all up.

Come to think of it, he can't think of a good reason not to.

"Thirty-seven," says Kyouya, who never bargains like normal people, but creeps downwards or upwards as though someone's glued him to a ladder, "and I -- oof --"

"Twenty." Tamaki grins at him from a focal distance, liking the way the other boy's eyes cross and then align distractedly behind his glasses. "Hi."

"Idiot. We're leaving in ten minutes, do you think I have time to get my shirt re-ironed?" Kyouya's mouth becomes a straight line and he drops his pen so that he can take firm hold of Tamaki's shoulders and push him off. "I spend my life making sure things run smoothly, and this is what I get."

"Yes, yes, I don't deserve you," Tamaki rambles, resisting the push, wriggling around and making himself more comfortable. Kyouya hasn't put his tie on yet; Tamaki works the top button of the Ootori's shirt open, and then the next. "But you'd be bored if your plans never got interrupted."

Kyouya removes his glasses with two neat fingers and gives Tamaki a slow, mathematical look, the look that means he's calculating time losses and contingency plans in his head, and enjoying it. After a moment he picks up his cell phone and makes a brief call, ordering two more formal suits to be prepared and laid out in the guest suite. Then he snaps the phone shut and places it carefully on the ground. "Fifteen minutes," he says finally, tangling his fingers in Tamaki's hair. "Don't waste it."

Tamaki grins and undoes three more buttons.

[questofdreams.livejournal.com]

Sasuke and Naruto, comrades in arms :D (uncreative, sorry XD)

[questofdreams.livejournal.com]

wait, comrades in arms + exploding tags and ninja wire. :D

[agonistes]

Iroh and Bill Adama, Broody Son (Or Nephew) Support Group.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"This is Admiral William Adama," the President says, and there's an uncharacteristic roughness of tone when she says the man's name that makes Iroh think she is accustomed to a more familiar form of address.

"Good to meet you, General."

"It is an honour, Admiral."

Iroh smiles and their eyes meet over their firmly-grasping handshake, and that's all it takes for them to recognise each other as soldiers of the truest kind. It's a relief. Iroh admires Laura Roslin intensely and the woman has a way of letting her reddish hair fall across a white shirt that reminds him of certain firebending techniques, but she is no soldier.

"You have a son, I recall. An excellent commander?"

"My son is no longer a member of the military," the man says stiffly, and Iroh decides not to point out that he was making a comment about skill, not title.

Instead he says, "Ah. I have a nephew, myself -- currently at a most troublesome age," and he smiles again, and the atmosphere shifts from two soldiers to two men who have had to deal with adolescent males. Well and good, Iroh thinks.

Roslin laughs; accusingly, but without bitterness. "Maybe I should be grateful for never having been blessed with a son."

Iroh is still looking at the Adama. "You are blessed with a very capable head of state, I think," he says politely, testing, and the Admiral's face creases in pleasure. So Iroh adds, "And beautiful, too," just so he can watch the man cough and move an inch closer to the President, voicelessly and almost unconsciously defining the boundaries of his command.

[pirateygoodness.livejournal.com]

Katee Sackhoff/Jamie Bamber!

Alternately, Lexie Grey! (If you want, it can be Lexie Grey on the Galactica. I am flexible.)

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Katee tells herself every night before she goes to sleep that the world is not a television show, but it's hard to keep control of your mental boundaries when every word you say during the day belongs to a girl whose world is not a world but the whole universe; who has conquered even what passes for death on the small screen; who has visited Earth and spun away again to be with the man she loves.

Katee's cell buzzes green in the darkness and she sits on the edge of the bed looking at it, blinking the few lines of text into focus, before walking over to the front door of her apartment -- her bare feet slap against the wooden veneer -- and opening it.

"You could have just knocked," she says.

Jamie smiles.

It's only okay when looked at from outer space. It's only okay because one day they'll be allowed to stop looking at each other like they're the only universal constant, and then maybe Katee will be able to stuff her thoughts back within normal boundaries. Maybe she'll be able to forget the fact that in her breakthrough role she broke the one cardinal rule and fell into a love that could only be reached by scaling the fourth wall at midnight and dropping down into the Eden on the other side.

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

EYAI/LES MIS

this could be terrible and I would honestly be unable to tell.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"Do you believe in God?"

It is not the first time Ignacio has been asked this question and it won't be the last; "No," he says, pausing with the snuffer held at such an angle that the man's face is reflected in the conical gold surface.

The man laughs. Ignacio has never heard a psallopiano but he has heard the sound described, and he thinks that it might sound like this, like this shifting note that holds more complexity than should be possible considering the technical specifications of the human throat. "Good for you," he says.

It is growing cold in St Stephen's and there is only this single man with his pipe clothing and his pipe voice and something weirdly tube about the angle of his hands in his pockets and the way he looks at the cross above the altar. Ignacio has never seen the Pipe, nor the Tube, but he keeps his eyes open and he listens and he reads, and he is learning. It is odd that he should only be able to think of this man in terms of descriptions given by others. Certainly Ignacio has never seen him before, either, and he is younger than the average parishioner by a good few decades, but this did not seem to stop him from wandering in and sitting at the back throughout the evening service, listening intently, his feet resting on the prayer cushions. Father Nolan talks sometimes, hopefully, about the conversion of the young. Ignacio wonders if this is what has happened here, or if he is just another of those who turn to God only when things turn sour.

And so: "Would you like me to light a candle for anyone?" he asks politely. "Someone you are mourning, perhaps?"

"I am not in mourning, eyai." Again the odd resonance to his voice that is not due to the church, the way he pronounces eyai as though it is a curiosity and not a technicality. "What is your name? Do you have one, or just a number?"

"No, I have a name. Father Nolan calls me Ignacio." He is not sure why he should express it thus, with the qualifier -- Father Nolan calls me -- but it seems reasonable that some day someone else will give him a new name, and then another, and so on: it is perhaps too much to hope for that he should be granted definition beyond the lifespan of a human being.

A pause, then -- "What a coincidence. Our names have almost the same meaning." -- and the man smiles exactly like one of the figures in one of the stained glass windows that Ignacio has gazed at, and though he can remember everything he has ever read he cannot recall which saint or angel or blessed figure this smile belongs to.

[genarti]

Honey and Ty Lee.

And somebody around to have a headache at this combination. *grin* Mai, maybe? Whoever seems most entertaining.

uh...high school AUs ftw?

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"Oh, amazing!" Ty Lee is all but sparkling as she comes out of her combat roll. "It’s so nice to find someone to play properly with."

"Yes." The tiny blond kid is sparkling, Mai is sure of it, it’s like he’s got his own damn light display as well as a six-foot bodyguard. Not that he needs one; he’s holding his own against Ty Lee, and most people twice his size have trouble with that.

Mai clutches her longbow closer to her side and wishes that the archery event was over so they could leave; she is not impressed with this school. Bad enough that her boyfriend was immediately accosted and almost kidnapped by an obnoxiously handsome French-accented freak yammering something about 'broody types' and 'sure to be a hit' – now Ty Lee has found someone almost as good as using cuteness as a weapon as she is. Fantastic.

Mai sits on the edge of a fountain and trails her hand through the water; the school is a madhouse, yes, but it’s also enormous. (Azula’s eyes widened and then narrowed when it first came into view. Mai isn’t sure if she’s considering buying the place or burning it to the ground.)

"At least I don’t have to wear a hideous yellow dress," she says aloud.

"Well, neither do I," a mild voice says. "It’s all a matter of the assumptions people make." Mai looks up: on the other side of the fountain stands the quiet boy who rescued Zuko by calmly hauling his hyperactive blond assailant away.

Mai opens her mouth – looks closer – and almost smiles, but not quite.

[sainfoin-fields.livejournal.com]

Haruhi in the early days of the SOS Brigade or just before.

Read: I want Haruhific but haven't finished the series yet, whoops.

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Umm I tried but I really think I need to rewatch the series before I write anything -- do you want a raincheck until I do so, or do you want to make an Avatar-ish request instead?

[dopplegl.livejournal.com]

Hmm.... Lee/Kara/Anders?

[fahye.livejournal.com]

Sam keeps saying, "I understand," in a voice like the groan of metal on metal, like he doesn't actually understand but hopes he does, and this has always been the thing about Sam, hasn't it? Black and white like the negatives of all the photographs she never took after the world ended: cylon or not cylon. Married or not married. Understanding or the lack of it, and if he doesn't have one then he must have the other, and he can't stand to not understand her.

(Kara knows that he never has understood her, not totally, not once.)

And the ironic thing is that Lee understands her better than she does herself, some days, but he's the one standing there acting like the world has been turned on its head and he understands nothing. He stares at her as though she's inexplicable, but his eyes are blue like the oceans of a planet that Kara is still trying to convince them that she's seen, and he loves her more than she deserves.

The world is certainly turbulent. Lee is a civilian and Sam is a pilot and if Kara didn't know better she'd think she stepped through a mirror into an inverted world, all her negatives lifted up to the light and viewed from the wrong side.

Married or not married?

Kara steps out of the brig and Lee's hands trace the outline of her tattoo, and Sam watches the both of them carefully, hungrily, as though he is learning to see in shades of grey.