Prompt round up
Drabble prompt round up:
Okay, so for those of you who requested prompts in this post, you should have already gotten them. However, some of the stories were too large for the comments, so I had to pare quite a bit of what I had originally written. And seeing as how it looks like no one else will be requesting, I figured I'd have one big posty with all of them for everyone's convenience...or something like that.
For grindhouseblues: "something Star-Trek related"
Why Kirk Loves Earth
PG for a sexual reference, 500-ish words
Silly humor
The crew of the Enterprise sat on the various surfaces of the control room, having just docked above Earth. They waited impatiently, fingers drumming, feet tapping, for the shuttle to take them back home to arrive. In fact, the tension was nearly palpable and Spock resisted the urge to sigh. Humans. They were so childish sometimes.
He glanced across the room to where Jim Kirk sat spinning in his chair and watching the ceiling, looking for all the world like an overgrown child. All of a sudden, a grin lit up the captain’s face and he stopped spinning and faced the restless crew members.
“Know what I miss most on Earth?” he asked. Spock arched an eyebrow, wondering if Kirk was being serious or, more likely, he was joking with the crew. As it was, Kirk was adamant on being completely immature some of the time, which, Spock grumbled to himself, was not at all what a respectable captain should act like.
“Being able to get bloody drunk and having a gorgeous, equally drunk girl underneath ya?” Scotty quipped, his eyes going faintly misty at the mention of alcohol.
“Vat, drunk on visky? Piss vater! Hah, drink some vodka and feel like a man!” Chekhov interjected impatiently, waving a hand as he laid on the floor. He and Scotty immediately began a quiet but vicious argument while debating the differing virtues of their national alcohols. From the looks of things, both were too tired to actually start a fist fight, so Spock settled and didn’t bother to interfere.
Bones gave Kirk a slightly bitchy look. “Not waking up every single day and having to worry about whether or not your ship will fall apart and you’ll be sucked into the deadly vacuum of space where your blood with boil in the absence of all gravity?” Rubbing his stubble, Bones glanced around at the walls as if to ensure that they weren’t about to burst.
Spock nearly snorted. “There is absolutely no reason to ever think that the Enterprise would just ‘fall apart.’ It is clearly the pinnacle of-present human engineering, and as one of the consultants in the formation of its design, I can assure you that it is as safe as any ship currently in space,” he said archly, though no one missed the slight stumble as the Vulcan recalled the mind-boggling (mis)adventures he’d just undergone with the captain. Some things weren’t worth talking about.
“Just ‘cause its safe, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. Look at the damn Titanic,” Bones shot back, annoyed at Spock’s tone. His fingers twitched.
Spock turned back to the window to watch Earth slowly rotate, not bothering to answer. As though one could compare ancient human technology (sea-faring, coal burning, transportation!) to a spaceship designed with help from a Vulcan. It was rather degrading.
He caught Uhura’s disapproving glance from across the room, and felt slightly ashamed at his disrespectful thoughts about her race. So there were a few humans that weren’t complete morons.
Impatiently, Jim waved his hand and gave a quick spin of his chair before setting back and grinning again at the crew, his face crinkling with laughter. “Bones, now you’ve pissed off Spock, so kiss and make up later. Just not while I’m watching…or anyone else, for that matter ‘cause no one needs to see that. But anyway, I really missed-”
“Your mummy, cupcake?” One of the burly trainees leaning near the doorway behind Kirk mocked, his brutish face lighting up with gorilla-like joy at his taunt. His companion next to him laughed dumbly.
“Shut up.” If it wouldn’t have been completely inappropriate for the captain of the most prestigious ship in the Starfleet to have blown a raspberry, Kirk would have. So he didn’t and settled for sticking his tongue out and giving the man the middle finger over the back of the chair instead. “No-I really, really missed decent goddamn ice cream.”
Spock raised his eyebrows skeptically. Only Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise would be more worried about food than his own heroic homecoming. He just hoped that that wasn’t what Kirk was planning on saying in his press release.
For pixel_0: American Idol AU with Adam Lambert: "Drake [Adam's BF] gets asked by Bravo to be a consultant on one of their latest shows, so Drake and Adam go to this big Bravo party. Drake runs off to go talk with the producers, leaving Adam to make small talk with any/all of our favorite Bravo reality stars."
Most Famous Guy in Black Leather
PG for language, slightly slashy happenings, 800-ish words
Maybe he was stressed, maybe he hadn’t eaten enough for lunch that day, or maybe it was one of those male PMS days, but whatever was the cause of his foul mood, Adam grumpily thought, it had better resolve itself pretty damn quickly as he looked around the crowded party lit with a soft purple light for ambience.
“You gonna be okay?” Drake asked, his faint Southern drawl easily cutting into Adam’s pessimistic thoughts. “I wanted to go talk to the producers in person…thank them, you know. But if you’re not comfortable…”
“Yeah. No, I’m great. I’m fine.” The star reassured Drake, giving his hand a tight squeeze before letting it go to grab a shot as a server passed by with a full tray. Nodding, Drake bee-lined for a group of men in women in business suits that stood in a knot across the room, leaving Adam to toss back the alcohol.
“Hey,” a tinny voice said behind him. Turning, his necklace swinging, Adam looked down-very far down-to a petite black haired man who seemed to vibrate with nervous energy. “Ohmygod, it is you! I’m Christian Siriano, and I must say, I am a huge fan, mister. You’re just so glam-rock fierce!”
“Thank you.” Adam smiled down at Christian. “You’re the designer, right? I’ve seen your work and you’re amazing.”
“Oh stop, I’ll blush,” Christian giggled and flapped his hands. “Damn, there’s Heidi. Must make the rounds, but it was fabulous meeting you! Mwah!” Blowing Adam a kiss, Christian bounced away, soon lost in the mass of people and dim lighting.
Shaking his head, Adam turned back around and bumped into another man, spilling the other’s drink. “Oh God. I am so sorry!” Adam blurted, blushing furiously under his makeup as the (gorgeous) blonde man smoothly dabbed at his shirt.
“It’s not a problem. Really,” he said, his voice cool and British, though a smile warmed his face briefly. “I’ve got a baby boy at home who does much worse to the wardrobe.” Clapping Adam on the shoulder, the man moved off and Adam blinked, trying not to stare at the guy’s ass to long.
WELL then Mr.-oh-so-fancy-British-man! Adam slowly wound through the crowd, recognizing a few faces: Padma Lakshimi, Tyson Beckford, Kathy Griffin (there’s a good reason she’s still on the D-list, Adam learned), and a few other notables.
Emerging out of the mass of people to the edge of the room where there was some breathing room for a man of Adam’s size, his sighed and searched the crowd for Drake. Not seeing him, Adam gave another heavy sigh and snagged a passing canapé.
It tasted like dog shit. Grimacing, Adam swallowed reluctantly, then quickly downed another mouthful of alcohol, hoping to cleanse his mouth of the horrible after taste. Were they serving any gasoline to burn the taste out?
“Yeah, I’d watch the food. This party’s part of a Top Chef Challenge, so the dishes are kinda hit and miss tonight,” a man said.
Adam laughed and gave the red-headed man a subtle once-over, then said. “That explains a lot.”
“Dale Levitski. I’m a chef and was on Top Chef.” The man-Dale-stuck out his hand.
Adam took it and, warming to Dale’s straightforward manner, smiled. “Adam Lambert. American Idol.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that. You’re only about the most famous man in the world at the moment. Besides, y’know, maybe Obama.” Dale grinned, exposing his adorable gap-tooth smile.
“You ready to go?” Another red-haired man sidled up to Dale, his flashy outfit and oversized belt buckle winking in the dim mood lighting.
“Yeah babe.” Dale dropped a kiss onto the other man’s head and looped an arm around his waist. “Adam, I’d like you to meet my partner, Kayne Gillaspie. He’s a designer.”
“Adam Lambert?! Ohemgee, I love your style!” Kayne gushed in a drawling Southern accent, his face lighting up. “If you EVER want anything designed for you, let me know!” He dug out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Adam. “Honestly, it would be a such a pleasure!”
“Nice meeting you, man, but we have to go,” Dale said, and shook Adam’s hand another time, then steered Kayne away, muttering furiously at his partner excitable like an old mother hen.
Spotting Drake far across the room, Adam plunged back into the crowd, weaving around an enormously tall man making out with a blonde woman, while Dale looked on in shock, an aloof, tattooed man waving at Kayne, and a strikingly handsome, but very young male model hugging a woman with cropped blonde hair.
Drake finally noticed Adam’s head in the crowd and waved him over. “Hey! Doing okay?”
Grinning, Adam looked around at the eclectic mix of Bravo stars. “Having an awesome time.”
For mariagoner: Little Women (but of course!): Jo and Laurie, at whatever age you'd like, in whatever marital condition you'd like, caught under the mistletoe! It'll be sweet. ;)
Out of, Right in, Place
G, 900 (okay, 880) words...it just kept coming!
NOT following prompt, but involves mistletoe! Summery fluff. :)
The summer woods ring with Laurie’s laughter, the deep chuckle so different from the boyish giggles that Jo still remembers from their seemingly long-ago childhood together. She takes a special pleasure in knowing that she is the reason, right now, that this man-this wonderfully educated, wholly intelligent man, this Laurie-is happy, bug bites in the woods and all.
Laurie and Amy have just returned from Europe, bearing gifts from Italy and London, wielding their stories of sun-bathed Greek shores and misty nights on the Seine, and glowing with the relish that comes from a triumphant return to home-bound relatives.
Upon seeing them hopping out of a smart carriage when the duo first arrived, Amy’s hand tucked familiarly, intimately under Laurie’s arm, Jo’s heart had a twinge of lonely jealousy. Though she had turned down Laurie’s offer-quite right, too; she had a career to think of and a wealthy, attractive man like him couldn’t be seen with a mousy, coltish spinster at his arm, so better a golden-haired angel like her sister-Jo had often sighed over her lost chance, writing future or no.
But then, gods had smiled, the stars aligned, and the classic poets cheered, for Laurie and Amy were still nothing more than old friends delighting in having found each other in a far-away place. Jo nearly laughed and danced with joy, manners be damned.
The next day, after the Marches and Laurie enjoyed a leisurely luncheon, Laurie had suggested a walk through the New England forest nearby. Meg was diffident, Beth preoccupied, and Amy unwilling, so Jo politely agreed, though she was grinning a foolish grin inside.
For some reason, now that she was out in the woods with him, Jo can’t stop imagining kissing Laurie under the sun-dappled oaks they had played beneath as children. Must be that salacious new story of yours, March, Jo tells herself sternly. You have to stop pandering to low-brow tastes and concentrate on your novel of fine literature!. She shakes her head at her own scandalous idiocy, then bundles her skirts into one hand and dashes after Laurie through the mud.
A few minutes later, mud-splattered and laughing, Jo stops to rest beneath a large tree, sitting on the ground with her skirts fanned around her, while Laurie leans against the trunk above her, staring up into the greeny depths of the leaves.
“Look,” he says, pointing to a gold-tinged mass that dripped from a branch. “Mistletoe.”
Jo’s heart does an inexplicable double-thump. “You know, you never think of mistletoe beyond the Christmas season and kissing, but here it is in the middle of summer. Funny how it shows up where you least expect it to.”
Laurie is silent for a moment, handsome face inscrutable, then looks down at Jo. “Yes, things like that are funny. For instance, isn’t it odd how you were never where I thought you’d be?”
“I beg your pardon?”
But Laurie continues as though he hasn’t heard Jo. “If anything, I would have expected to see your face in painting of ancient queens or in the young academics I met. In fact, I steeled myself against it. But I didn’t,” he rambles, smiling humorlessly though his eyes are distant and wondering. “I would see your eyes in the queen of hearts’ when I gambled away money in Paris, and your smile on the lips of a woman I paid- I saw your lovely crooked nose on a pickpocket’s daughter in Zurich. Once, I thought I saw you in an Italian theater, but it was too fat to be you-”
“Oh Laurie-”
“And another time in Germany, and again some other place. And I would, every time I got on a train or walked in a city, think about how much it was you I wanted to share it with. How much I wanted to see you looking up at me as we lay together in a Venetian gondola boat, as the Parisian sunrise made its way over the spires of Notre Dame, as the chimes of London Tower rang out.
“I wanted you and you alone, Jo, and I know I have asked you once before, and love-sick fool that I am, I can only ask you again to marry me. To share all of Europe and all the world together. To dream, to laugh, to love endlessly with me. to stay with me, so I don’t have to imagine your lips are whose I’m kissing.”
Jo sits, speechless at his eloquent, unasked-for proposal, her brown curls tumbling around her face as a frog croaks in a pond close by. She stands, with some help from Laurie, who watches her every move with a mixture of hope and terror.
She takes his hands in her small ink-stained own and looks up into Laurie’s eyes. It is the face of her best friend, her brother, her neighbor, but also the only man she’s ever loved. She could count the freckles on his nose in the dark and loves the way his hair curls about unprofessionally. She doesn’t mind that he’s been with other women or can be as dense as a piece of wood, because he is hers.
So Jo finally gives Laurie the only answer she can, whispering to him, “Yes," and kissed him.
For mariagoner again: Harry Potter: Something with Luna and snorkaks.
Farewell to the Loony Child
G, 450-ish words
You set out from your tent today while the dew is still nestled heavily in the grass, the ends of your blonde hair carelessly snarled like a child’s, and eyes gummy from sleep, leaving Rolf to snore for awhile longer. The Swedish sunrise is barely there, the faintest brushstrokes of peach staining the tops of the eastern hills. You feel like you’re seventeen again, just out of Hogwarts and barely beginning your life, not nearly twenty-five, married and a successful naturalist in the wizarding world.
All in all, you much prefer to be sleeping to tromping around in the meadows at this hour, but you had the thought that perhaps Snorkacks, like unicorns, prefer female humans to males, explaining why your father and then Rolf had had so little success finding the elusive creatures.
However, you also had another, even stranger thought as you sleepily bumbled around this morning, trying not to wake your husband. What if the Crumple-Horned Snorkack doesn’t exist at all? What if Hermione Granger, with her bossy voice, and new wedding ring, is correct?
Maybe all those taunts at Hogwarts are beginning to matter to you after all these years-crazy, loony, off-her-rocker aren’t exactly the most flattering descriptions, even to you. It wasn’t as though your radish earrings made you deaf after all. After the war, you gained more respect, but you still noticed how people muttered behind their hands to one another when you showed up at parties. It wasn’t the stealing and being tripped by naughty boys from your school days, but it, to you, was just as immature.
Not that any of this really bothers you, especially as you’ve proven some of your father’s wild findings to be correct. But the name “Loony Lovegood” (It should be Loony Scamander, you grumpily think), still has stuck and you still find that name used by your critical fellow naturalists. Backwards, chauvinistic twats, you meanly think, then immediately regret it.
Sitting in the early morning sun, you shrug, a comment to your own internal conversation. However, when it comes to the Snorkack, you are admitting defeat today. Despite years of your father and you and Rolf (dear, dear man) searching for evidence that it exists, you’ve come up empty handed and out a few hundred Galleons once again.
You stand and stretch, the decision reached that once you return to London, you’ll give your father the devastating news and let go of that bit of your childhood that remains. For now, you slowly walk back to the tent and snuggle in beside Rolf, toeing off your loafers as you kiss his neck, feeling for the first time like an adult.
Goodbye, Snorkack. Goodbye, little Loony Lovegood, you think.
fin
Hope you all liked them!! :)
Okay, so for those of you who requested prompts in this post, you should have already gotten them. However, some of the stories were too large for the comments, so I had to pare quite a bit of what I had originally written. And seeing as how it looks like no one else will be requesting, I figured I'd have one big posty with all of them for everyone's convenience...or something like that.
For grindhouseblues: "something Star-Trek related"
Why Kirk Loves Earth
PG for a sexual reference, 500-ish words
Silly humor
The crew of the Enterprise sat on the various surfaces of the control room, having just docked above Earth. They waited impatiently, fingers drumming, feet tapping, for the shuttle to take them back home to arrive. In fact, the tension was nearly palpable and Spock resisted the urge to sigh. Humans. They were so childish sometimes.
He glanced across the room to where Jim Kirk sat spinning in his chair and watching the ceiling, looking for all the world like an overgrown child. All of a sudden, a grin lit up the captain’s face and he stopped spinning and faced the restless crew members.
“Know what I miss most on Earth?” he asked. Spock arched an eyebrow, wondering if Kirk was being serious or, more likely, he was joking with the crew. As it was, Kirk was adamant on being completely immature some of the time, which, Spock grumbled to himself, was not at all what a respectable captain should act like.
“Being able to get bloody drunk and having a gorgeous, equally drunk girl underneath ya?” Scotty quipped, his eyes going faintly misty at the mention of alcohol.
“Vat, drunk on visky? Piss vater! Hah, drink some vodka and feel like a man!” Chekhov interjected impatiently, waving a hand as he laid on the floor. He and Scotty immediately began a quiet but vicious argument while debating the differing virtues of their national alcohols. From the looks of things, both were too tired to actually start a fist fight, so Spock settled and didn’t bother to interfere.
Bones gave Kirk a slightly bitchy look. “Not waking up every single day and having to worry about whether or not your ship will fall apart and you’ll be sucked into the deadly vacuum of space where your blood with boil in the absence of all gravity?” Rubbing his stubble, Bones glanced around at the walls as if to ensure that they weren’t about to burst.
Spock nearly snorted. “There is absolutely no reason to ever think that the Enterprise would just ‘fall apart.’ It is clearly the pinnacle of-present human engineering, and as one of the consultants in the formation of its design, I can assure you that it is as safe as any ship currently in space,” he said archly, though no one missed the slight stumble as the Vulcan recalled the mind-boggling (mis)adventures he’d just undergone with the captain. Some things weren’t worth talking about.
“Just ‘cause its safe, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. Look at the damn Titanic,” Bones shot back, annoyed at Spock’s tone. His fingers twitched.
Spock turned back to the window to watch Earth slowly rotate, not bothering to answer. As though one could compare ancient human technology (sea-faring, coal burning, transportation!) to a spaceship designed with help from a Vulcan. It was rather degrading.
He caught Uhura’s disapproving glance from across the room, and felt slightly ashamed at his disrespectful thoughts about her race. So there were a few humans that weren’t complete morons.
Impatiently, Jim waved his hand and gave a quick spin of his chair before setting back and grinning again at the crew, his face crinkling with laughter. “Bones, now you’ve pissed off Spock, so kiss and make up later. Just not while I’m watching…or anyone else, for that matter ‘cause no one needs to see that. But anyway, I really missed-”
“Your mummy, cupcake?” One of the burly trainees leaning near the doorway behind Kirk mocked, his brutish face lighting up with gorilla-like joy at his taunt. His companion next to him laughed dumbly.
“Shut up.” If it wouldn’t have been completely inappropriate for the captain of the most prestigious ship in the Starfleet to have blown a raspberry, Kirk would have. So he didn’t and settled for sticking his tongue out and giving the man the middle finger over the back of the chair instead. “No-I really, really missed decent goddamn ice cream.”
Spock raised his eyebrows skeptically. Only Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise would be more worried about food than his own heroic homecoming. He just hoped that that wasn’t what Kirk was planning on saying in his press release.
For pixel_0: American Idol AU with Adam Lambert: "Drake [Adam's BF] gets asked by Bravo to be a consultant on one of their latest shows, so Drake and Adam go to this big Bravo party. Drake runs off to go talk with the producers, leaving Adam to make small talk with any/all of our favorite Bravo reality stars."
Most Famous Guy in Black Leather
PG for language, slightly slashy happenings, 800-ish words
Maybe he was stressed, maybe he hadn’t eaten enough for lunch that day, or maybe it was one of those male PMS days, but whatever was the cause of his foul mood, Adam grumpily thought, it had better resolve itself pretty damn quickly as he looked around the crowded party lit with a soft purple light for ambience.
“You gonna be okay?” Drake asked, his faint Southern drawl easily cutting into Adam’s pessimistic thoughts. “I wanted to go talk to the producers in person…thank them, you know. But if you’re not comfortable…”
“Yeah. No, I’m great. I’m fine.” The star reassured Drake, giving his hand a tight squeeze before letting it go to grab a shot as a server passed by with a full tray. Nodding, Drake bee-lined for a group of men in women in business suits that stood in a knot across the room, leaving Adam to toss back the alcohol.
“Hey,” a tinny voice said behind him. Turning, his necklace swinging, Adam looked down-very far down-to a petite black haired man who seemed to vibrate with nervous energy. “Ohmygod, it is you! I’m Christian Siriano, and I must say, I am a huge fan, mister. You’re just so glam-rock fierce!”
“Thank you.” Adam smiled down at Christian. “You’re the designer, right? I’ve seen your work and you’re amazing.”
“Oh stop, I’ll blush,” Christian giggled and flapped his hands. “Damn, there’s Heidi. Must make the rounds, but it was fabulous meeting you! Mwah!” Blowing Adam a kiss, Christian bounced away, soon lost in the mass of people and dim lighting.
Shaking his head, Adam turned back around and bumped into another man, spilling the other’s drink. “Oh God. I am so sorry!” Adam blurted, blushing furiously under his makeup as the (gorgeous) blonde man smoothly dabbed at his shirt.
“It’s not a problem. Really,” he said, his voice cool and British, though a smile warmed his face briefly. “I’ve got a baby boy at home who does much worse to the wardrobe.” Clapping Adam on the shoulder, the man moved off and Adam blinked, trying not to stare at the guy’s ass to long.
WELL then Mr.-oh-so-fancy-British-man! Adam slowly wound through the crowd, recognizing a few faces: Padma Lakshimi, Tyson Beckford, Kathy Griffin (there’s a good reason she’s still on the D-list, Adam learned), and a few other notables.
Emerging out of the mass of people to the edge of the room where there was some breathing room for a man of Adam’s size, his sighed and searched the crowd for Drake. Not seeing him, Adam gave another heavy sigh and snagged a passing canapé.
It tasted like dog shit. Grimacing, Adam swallowed reluctantly, then quickly downed another mouthful of alcohol, hoping to cleanse his mouth of the horrible after taste. Were they serving any gasoline to burn the taste out?
“Yeah, I’d watch the food. This party’s part of a Top Chef Challenge, so the dishes are kinda hit and miss tonight,” a man said.
Adam laughed and gave the red-headed man a subtle once-over, then said. “That explains a lot.”
“Dale Levitski. I’m a chef and was on Top Chef.” The man-Dale-stuck out his hand.
Adam took it and, warming to Dale’s straightforward manner, smiled. “Adam Lambert. American Idol.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that. You’re only about the most famous man in the world at the moment. Besides, y’know, maybe Obama.” Dale grinned, exposing his adorable gap-tooth smile.
“You ready to go?” Another red-haired man sidled up to Dale, his flashy outfit and oversized belt buckle winking in the dim mood lighting.
“Yeah babe.” Dale dropped a kiss onto the other man’s head and looped an arm around his waist. “Adam, I’d like you to meet my partner, Kayne Gillaspie. He’s a designer.”
“Adam Lambert?! Ohemgee, I love your style!” Kayne gushed in a drawling Southern accent, his face lighting up. “If you EVER want anything designed for you, let me know!” He dug out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Adam. “Honestly, it would be a such a pleasure!”
“Nice meeting you, man, but we have to go,” Dale said, and shook Adam’s hand another time, then steered Kayne away, muttering furiously at his partner excitable like an old mother hen.
Spotting Drake far across the room, Adam plunged back into the crowd, weaving around an enormously tall man making out with a blonde woman, while Dale looked on in shock, an aloof, tattooed man waving at Kayne, and a strikingly handsome, but very young male model hugging a woman with cropped blonde hair.
Drake finally noticed Adam’s head in the crowd and waved him over. “Hey! Doing okay?”
Grinning, Adam looked around at the eclectic mix of Bravo stars. “Having an awesome time.”
For mariagoner: Little Women (but of course!): Jo and Laurie, at whatever age you'd like, in whatever marital condition you'd like, caught under the mistletoe! It'll be sweet. ;)
Out of, Right in, Place
G, 900 (okay, 880) words...it just kept coming!
NOT following prompt, but involves mistletoe! Summery fluff. :)
The summer woods ring with Laurie’s laughter, the deep chuckle so different from the boyish giggles that Jo still remembers from their seemingly long-ago childhood together. She takes a special pleasure in knowing that she is the reason, right now, that this man-this wonderfully educated, wholly intelligent man, this Laurie-is happy, bug bites in the woods and all.
Laurie and Amy have just returned from Europe, bearing gifts from Italy and London, wielding their stories of sun-bathed Greek shores and misty nights on the Seine, and glowing with the relish that comes from a triumphant return to home-bound relatives.
Upon seeing them hopping out of a smart carriage when the duo first arrived, Amy’s hand tucked familiarly, intimately under Laurie’s arm, Jo’s heart had a twinge of lonely jealousy. Though she had turned down Laurie’s offer-quite right, too; she had a career to think of and a wealthy, attractive man like him couldn’t be seen with a mousy, coltish spinster at his arm, so better a golden-haired angel like her sister-Jo had often sighed over her lost chance, writing future or no.
But then, gods had smiled, the stars aligned, and the classic poets cheered, for Laurie and Amy were still nothing more than old friends delighting in having found each other in a far-away place. Jo nearly laughed and danced with joy, manners be damned.
The next day, after the Marches and Laurie enjoyed a leisurely luncheon, Laurie had suggested a walk through the New England forest nearby. Meg was diffident, Beth preoccupied, and Amy unwilling, so Jo politely agreed, though she was grinning a foolish grin inside.
For some reason, now that she was out in the woods with him, Jo can’t stop imagining kissing Laurie under the sun-dappled oaks they had played beneath as children. Must be that salacious new story of yours, March, Jo tells herself sternly. You have to stop pandering to low-brow tastes and concentrate on your novel of fine literature!. She shakes her head at her own scandalous idiocy, then bundles her skirts into one hand and dashes after Laurie through the mud.
A few minutes later, mud-splattered and laughing, Jo stops to rest beneath a large tree, sitting on the ground with her skirts fanned around her, while Laurie leans against the trunk above her, staring up into the greeny depths of the leaves.
“Look,” he says, pointing to a gold-tinged mass that dripped from a branch. “Mistletoe.”
Jo’s heart does an inexplicable double-thump. “You know, you never think of mistletoe beyond the Christmas season and kissing, but here it is in the middle of summer. Funny how it shows up where you least expect it to.”
Laurie is silent for a moment, handsome face inscrutable, then looks down at Jo. “Yes, things like that are funny. For instance, isn’t it odd how you were never where I thought you’d be?”
“I beg your pardon?”
But Laurie continues as though he hasn’t heard Jo. “If anything, I would have expected to see your face in painting of ancient queens or in the young academics I met. In fact, I steeled myself against it. But I didn’t,” he rambles, smiling humorlessly though his eyes are distant and wondering. “I would see your eyes in the queen of hearts’ when I gambled away money in Paris, and your smile on the lips of a woman I paid- I saw your lovely crooked nose on a pickpocket’s daughter in Zurich. Once, I thought I saw you in an Italian theater, but it was too fat to be you-”
“Oh Laurie-”
“And another time in Germany, and again some other place. And I would, every time I got on a train or walked in a city, think about how much it was you I wanted to share it with. How much I wanted to see you looking up at me as we lay together in a Venetian gondola boat, as the Parisian sunrise made its way over the spires of Notre Dame, as the chimes of London Tower rang out.
“I wanted you and you alone, Jo, and I know I have asked you once before, and love-sick fool that I am, I can only ask you again to marry me. To share all of Europe and all the world together. To dream, to laugh, to love endlessly with me. to stay with me, so I don’t have to imagine your lips are whose I’m kissing.”
Jo sits, speechless at his eloquent, unasked-for proposal, her brown curls tumbling around her face as a frog croaks in a pond close by. She stands, with some help from Laurie, who watches her every move with a mixture of hope and terror.
She takes his hands in her small ink-stained own and looks up into Laurie’s eyes. It is the face of her best friend, her brother, her neighbor, but also the only man she’s ever loved. She could count the freckles on his nose in the dark and loves the way his hair curls about unprofessionally. She doesn’t mind that he’s been with other women or can be as dense as a piece of wood, because he is hers.
So Jo finally gives Laurie the only answer she can, whispering to him, “Yes," and kissed him.
For mariagoner again: Harry Potter: Something with Luna and snorkaks.
Farewell to the Loony Child
G, 450-ish words
You set out from your tent today while the dew is still nestled heavily in the grass, the ends of your blonde hair carelessly snarled like a child’s, and eyes gummy from sleep, leaving Rolf to snore for awhile longer. The Swedish sunrise is barely there, the faintest brushstrokes of peach staining the tops of the eastern hills. You feel like you’re seventeen again, just out of Hogwarts and barely beginning your life, not nearly twenty-five, married and a successful naturalist in the wizarding world.
All in all, you much prefer to be sleeping to tromping around in the meadows at this hour, but you had the thought that perhaps Snorkacks, like unicorns, prefer female humans to males, explaining why your father and then Rolf had had so little success finding the elusive creatures.
However, you also had another, even stranger thought as you sleepily bumbled around this morning, trying not to wake your husband. What if the Crumple-Horned Snorkack doesn’t exist at all? What if Hermione Granger, with her bossy voice, and new wedding ring, is correct?
Maybe all those taunts at Hogwarts are beginning to matter to you after all these years-crazy, loony, off-her-rocker aren’t exactly the most flattering descriptions, even to you. It wasn’t as though your radish earrings made you deaf after all. After the war, you gained more respect, but you still noticed how people muttered behind their hands to one another when you showed up at parties. It wasn’t the stealing and being tripped by naughty boys from your school days, but it, to you, was just as immature.
Not that any of this really bothers you, especially as you’ve proven some of your father’s wild findings to be correct. But the name “Loony Lovegood” (It should be Loony Scamander, you grumpily think), still has stuck and you still find that name used by your critical fellow naturalists. Backwards, chauvinistic twats, you meanly think, then immediately regret it.
Sitting in the early morning sun, you shrug, a comment to your own internal conversation. However, when it comes to the Snorkack, you are admitting defeat today. Despite years of your father and you and Rolf (dear, dear man) searching for evidence that it exists, you’ve come up empty handed and out a few hundred Galleons once again.
You stand and stretch, the decision reached that once you return to London, you’ll give your father the devastating news and let go of that bit of your childhood that remains. For now, you slowly walk back to the tent and snuggle in beside Rolf, toeing off your loafers as you kiss his neck, feeling for the first time like an adult.
Goodbye, Snorkack. Goodbye, little Loony Lovegood, you think.
fin
Hope you all liked them!! :)