The last two word prompt ficlets (and two bonus!); plus, new writing project!
Firefly for jjjean65
Title: Waiting
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon (preslash)
Rating: PG
Words: light, cream, tin, hobbit, boots
In the dim light of the cave, Simon watched in amazement as Mal pulled off his boots, and settled back onto his makeshift pillow. "You're insane," he said, "We have to get out of here. We can't just..."
Mal opened his eyes, fixing the doc with an unflinching stare, "Don't rightly see any other way, son, 'lessen you think you know a better way to get past those purple-bellies without some distinct unpleasantness."
"Well, I don't know, but we could try to..."
"Ain't nothing for it, right this minute. Don't mean there won't be in the morning." Mal sniffled, ruining the effect, but it did galvanize Simon into movement.
"You're still sick," he admonished, and Mal rolled his eyes beneath closed lids.
"Nothing for that, either, and stop mothering me," Mal said, scratching diffidently at a fresh nick on his neck, "I ain't River."
"Stop that!" Simon said, swatting at Mal's hand, "You'll get it infected."
"Mothering."
Simon sighed, knowing this was a losing battle. Perhaps Mal was right, he certainly had been in enough situations like these to have an idea of what to do. It just didn't seem right, though, sitting still, waiting for discovery.
"Lay down, boy," Mal said softly, holding his arm out and motioning for Simon to come closer. Simon narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Wha...?"
"C'mere and lay your head down. You're worrying so loud over there, I can't think."
Simon, against all reason, did as he was told, shyly resting his head on Mal's chest. "I'm not, I mean, are you...is this alright?"
"Wouldn't have told you to do it otherwise. Now, be still, and rest that big ol' brain of yours for a spell."
Certainly Simon's brain let go of his worry over Alliance patrols, but only because he had something much more intriguing and immediate to obsess over.
Which is precisely why Mal did it, of course.
The silence in the cave was deafening. After a while, Simon couldn't take it any more, he had to say something. "It's not all that bad. The cave, I mean. It reminds me of hobbit-holes..."
"We ain't stayin' long enough to set up housekeeping, doc," Mal said, grinning.
"You've read Tolkien?" Simon asked with barely-disguised disbelief.
"Among other things."
"Oh. Well, that's....that's good," Simon finished softly. He hated how the captain always seemed to catch him off his guard. It made him feel like the young kid Mal obviously thought he was. Like a little brother, to be hushed and admonished.
"What other things?" he asked, trying to alleviate his own discomfort at having his head on Mal's shoulder like a little girl...or a girlfriend.
"Hush," Mal admonished.
Simon flushed red, and tried to roll away, but Mal gripped him around the shoulders. "Simon, be still and close your mouth up for a minute. That's all I'm asking. Let me get a bearing on what's to do next, and then we'll talk all night if you want. Hell, we can braid each other's hair and talk about boys. Just be quiet for me, hear?"
Simon hushed obediently. His brain was still in overdrive, but that was nothing new. The warm arm around his shoulders, the broad chest beneath his cheek, that was new. He figured he was just being strange, as usual, but it seemed a bit friendlier than the situation warranted. And the captain had called his name, which he never did.
He worked over the problem until he finally fell off to sleep.
He didn't wake again until morning.
The smell of coffee was in the air, and Simon noted sleepily that the crew must have been successful in their latest crime, as there hadn't been coffee on Serenity in three (long, horrible) weeks.
Then he remembered that he himself was part and parcel of the latest crime, and that said crime had gone terribly wrong. He jerked fully awake, expecting Mal's lean body to be next to his. He was oddly upset to find that it wasn't.
Said body was towards the front of the cave, resting on his haunches in a most provoking manner. With a tin cup in his hand. "Please tell me you didn't drink it all," Simon wailed.
"Nope. Saved you a cup. There's even cream, and sugar, too. Know you take yours like somebody's little meimei."
"Shut up and hand it over."
Mal laughed, and handed it over. Simon was notoriously ill-tempered without his caffeine. "How did you manage this?" he asked between sips.
"Purple belly got too close," Mal said. He didn't elaborate. Simon wasn't sure he wanted him to. "Had a comm on him though, so I was able to give a holler to Wash. Serenity will be here presently."
Simon nodded, sagging gratefully to the dirt, legs tucked neatly beneath him. He blushed, noting that Mal was watching with ill-disguised inteest. "Thank you," he said softly. He wasn't sure what all he was thanking Mal for, but between the coffee, the rescue, and the lust-filled glances, there was quite a lot of thanks to go around.
"My pleasure."
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Angel for mermaidrain
Title: Good Times
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Wesley/Fred *pre*; Spike/Angel *but only if you squint*
Rating: G
Words: pirates, lunch, lovely, defenestration, lovely, mythology
Wesley was minding his own business.
That's what Wesley did, mind his own business. Not minding his own business had brought disastrous consequences in the past.
It was, however, extremely difficult to mind one's own business, when Angel and Spike were airing theirs at the top of their lungs.
Another fight, this one having to do with some ancient, obscure slight Angel had supposedly done Spike, something to do with rum, and pirates, and there may have been kidnapping or attempted slavery involved. There was definitely blood involved. There always was.
He flipped through the files on his desk, trying to find something mindless enough that he could do it while listening to the Fang Twins. He finally landed on the request of one of their clients, trying to trace their genealogy to some demon god or another. Mythology, always fun.
He could make most of it up and the client would be pleased. Just so long as they had something to brag about at the next ritual sacrifice.
Unfortunately, the fight outside showed no signs of flagging, and had actually escalated to blows. Wesley sighed.
Pity it was still daylight outside. Defenestration was only fun when you could hear the sharp smack at the end. Throwing either vamp through a window right now would only lead to a rather unsatisfying heap of dust in the road.
Luckily, Fred came to his rescue, flinching at every slap and punch. "Wesley, you've gotta save me. I can't take it any more. How do you feel about taking me to lunch?"
Wesley smiled, and grabbed his coat. "That would be lovely."
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Dresden Files for priscellie
Title: The List
Fandom: Dresden Files
Pairing: Thomas gen, some mention of Thomas/OFC, Harry/Karrin
Rating: PG
Words: apple, mirror, swag, manifesto, Thursday
Notes: If you've never read Dresden Files, here's some back story. Harry is a wizard, Thomas is his vampire half-brother (they're more emotional vampires, Thomas' kind, and sex is what they do), and in my dreams, Harry and Murphy will one day see the light and get together. But I have no doubt that Thomas will be their on-again, off-again roommate.
"That's cute, Harry," Thomas says dryly, "Really cute."
It's been a long week, and it's only Thursday. Thursday afternoon to be exact. Thomas has just roused himself from sleep, and is not amused to find his brother's sense of humor already in effect.
Affixed to the bathroom mirror is a manifesto of sorts. And sure enough, The Dresden Manifesto, it proclaims, in bold red cursive writing. It isn't Harry's writing.
Ah, a conspiracy.
He can fight Harry, but they both know he's powerless against Murphy (he will always think of her as Murphy, married or not).
He sighs, and takes it down. It ought to be good for a laugh, at any rate. He scans the rather lengthy missive, smiling at all the right places. They are quite clever, if annoying at times. They also have too much time on their hands, apparently.
He is particularly fond of the eighty seventh paragraph, which goes into great detail as to why swag curtains should not be used for entertainment purposes. What they don't know is that the swag curtains were only put to use because he and his date had graciously refrained from having it out on the kitchen counter.
Oh, well, that's good. Kitchen counter is right there, number ninety-eight. And really, 124 is unfair. The apples were not used as a sex toy at all, they were merely unfortunate casualties of sex toy use. Really. They could get it right, at least.
He reads on for a while and then, aggravated, he rips it up and throws it in the garbage. After a moment, he reconsiders, grabbing it out and making towards their bedroom. #1, indeed, as if he'd ever have sex on their bed....he stops, considering.
Dresden Manifesto, hm? Better call it the Dresden Wish List.
From his jeans pocket, Thomas drags out a phone number from last night's debauchery, and dials the phone. "Sweetheart, are you busy at the moment," he asks sweetly.
She isn't.
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Stacy/Cameron for little_himself and Kare
Title: Clingy, Obsessive
Fandom: House
Pairing: Stacy/Cameron pre-slash (pre-femmeslash, rather), mentions of House/Wilson
Rating: G
Words: clear nail polish, chrysanthemum, diet soda, light bulb, shoelaces
NOTE: If not for Kare, this would never have been written. Sage originally req'd the pairing, and I refused. Then he brought out the big guns. Blame them.
Stacy hates going to the gym, almost as much as she hates dealing with House. At least she can go the gym early in the morning and get it over with.
Walking into the gym, she kneels down to tie one of her shoelaces. When she looks up, she's startled to see Cameron nearby, staring a hole through her.
Narrowing her eyes, Stacy gets to her feet, wondering vaguely if she's about to be embroiled in a cat fight. It wouldn't be the first time. For all he's a complete and utter asshole, House always seems to attract the clingy, obsessive types.
"Can I help you?" she asks, diffidently, shocked to find that Cameron has actual tears in her eyes. For heaven's sake...
"Come on," she says firmly, taking the girl's arm and steering her towards the bathroom. Clingy and obsessive, check. Cameron doesn't make a noise of protest, doesn't say a word at all.
The bathroom is hellish, apparently in the midst of being remodeled. Under the single, bare light bulb, Cameron's tear-streaked face clashes horribly with the chrysanthemums emblazoned on the peeling wallpaper. Stacy wets a brown paper towel, and hands it to Cameron, who stares at it dumbly.
Sighing, Stacy takes it back from her, and wipes her face kindly. "He's not worth it," she says, forcing Cameron to look her in the eyes, "I know you think he is, but I promise you, he isn't."
"It's not...well, it is, but..." Cameron begins, then her voice drops off. She picks at her clear nail polish diffidently, almost shyly.
"Oh, sweetie," Stacy says, in a rare fit of sympathy. Poor kid, to be so torn up over House, of all people. She'd gone through it herself, of course.
"Allison, I don't want him. Or maybe I do, but certainly not enough to give up my entire life for him. And that's what it takes to keep House. You have to devote everything. And you'll get nothing in return."
Cameron smiled a watery smile, "I know that. But I had hoped that I could..."
"Change him? Deal with it? Teach him to love kittens and puppies?" Stacy asked sarcastically, "Have a talk with Wilson, see what it's doing to him."
Cameron considered that statement, and then opened her mouth as if to speak. She closed it without a word.
"You didn't know."
Her whispered "no" echoes in the small space as if she'd screamed it from the mountain tops.
"Honey, the only person alive that has a chance with Greg is Wilson, and I promise you, he's going through the tortures of hell right now. Do yourself a favor and move on."
Cameron doesn't answer, just washes her hands and pats water on her face. Her makeup was shot, anyway. Someone should talk to her about waterproof mascara. Unless she does it on purpose.
Stacy does feel somewhat guilty, for springing it on her that way, and besides, her interest in pilates has definitely waned in the past few minutes.
So she asks Cameron to accompany her to the cafe next door. She'll buy the girl a diet soda and send her on her way. Or not.
She is pretty cute.
In a clingy, obsessive sort of way.
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And that is the last of them, folks. Thanks to EVERYBODY that requested, commented, posted, what have you. Lots of love to ya'll.
So, you know what that means! Time for a new writing project.
Basically, it's a raffle. I have seven fandoms. House, Angel, Buffy, Firefly, Dresden Files, Bones, and Harry Potter. So, you give me a number 1-7, and it will correspond to a random fandom. Then, give me a starting sentence.
Still with me? If that's confusing, just tell me. I'll take seven of these, one for each fandom.
.......................................................................................
Title: Waiting
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon (preslash)
Rating: PG
Words: light, cream, tin, hobbit, boots
In the dim light of the cave, Simon watched in amazement as Mal pulled off his boots, and settled back onto his makeshift pillow. "You're insane," he said, "We have to get out of here. We can't just..."
Mal opened his eyes, fixing the doc with an unflinching stare, "Don't rightly see any other way, son, 'lessen you think you know a better way to get past those purple-bellies without some distinct unpleasantness."
"Well, I don't know, but we could try to..."
"Ain't nothing for it, right this minute. Don't mean there won't be in the morning." Mal sniffled, ruining the effect, but it did galvanize Simon into movement.
"You're still sick," he admonished, and Mal rolled his eyes beneath closed lids.
"Nothing for that, either, and stop mothering me," Mal said, scratching diffidently at a fresh nick on his neck, "I ain't River."
"Stop that!" Simon said, swatting at Mal's hand, "You'll get it infected."
"Mothering."
Simon sighed, knowing this was a losing battle. Perhaps Mal was right, he certainly had been in enough situations like these to have an idea of what to do. It just didn't seem right, though, sitting still, waiting for discovery.
"Lay down, boy," Mal said softly, holding his arm out and motioning for Simon to come closer. Simon narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Wha...?"
"C'mere and lay your head down. You're worrying so loud over there, I can't think."
Simon, against all reason, did as he was told, shyly resting his head on Mal's chest. "I'm not, I mean, are you...is this alright?"
"Wouldn't have told you to do it otherwise. Now, be still, and rest that big ol' brain of yours for a spell."
Certainly Simon's brain let go of his worry over Alliance patrols, but only because he had something much more intriguing and immediate to obsess over.
Which is precisely why Mal did it, of course.
The silence in the cave was deafening. After a while, Simon couldn't take it any more, he had to say something. "It's not all that bad. The cave, I mean. It reminds me of hobbit-holes..."
"We ain't stayin' long enough to set up housekeeping, doc," Mal said, grinning.
"You've read Tolkien?" Simon asked with barely-disguised disbelief.
"Among other things."
"Oh. Well, that's....that's good," Simon finished softly. He hated how the captain always seemed to catch him off his guard. It made him feel like the young kid Mal obviously thought he was. Like a little brother, to be hushed and admonished.
"What other things?" he asked, trying to alleviate his own discomfort at having his head on Mal's shoulder like a little girl...or a girlfriend.
"Hush," Mal admonished.
Simon flushed red, and tried to roll away, but Mal gripped him around the shoulders. "Simon, be still and close your mouth up for a minute. That's all I'm asking. Let me get a bearing on what's to do next, and then we'll talk all night if you want. Hell, we can braid each other's hair and talk about boys. Just be quiet for me, hear?"
Simon hushed obediently. His brain was still in overdrive, but that was nothing new. The warm arm around his shoulders, the broad chest beneath his cheek, that was new. He figured he was just being strange, as usual, but it seemed a bit friendlier than the situation warranted. And the captain had called his name, which he never did.
He worked over the problem until he finally fell off to sleep.
He didn't wake again until morning.
The smell of coffee was in the air, and Simon noted sleepily that the crew must have been successful in their latest crime, as there hadn't been coffee on Serenity in three (long, horrible) weeks.
Then he remembered that he himself was part and parcel of the latest crime, and that said crime had gone terribly wrong. He jerked fully awake, expecting Mal's lean body to be next to his. He was oddly upset to find that it wasn't.
Said body was towards the front of the cave, resting on his haunches in a most provoking manner. With a tin cup in his hand. "Please tell me you didn't drink it all," Simon wailed.
"Nope. Saved you a cup. There's even cream, and sugar, too. Know you take yours like somebody's little meimei."
"Shut up and hand it over."
Mal laughed, and handed it over. Simon was notoriously ill-tempered without his caffeine. "How did you manage this?" he asked between sips.
"Purple belly got too close," Mal said. He didn't elaborate. Simon wasn't sure he wanted him to. "Had a comm on him though, so I was able to give a holler to Wash. Serenity will be here presently."
Simon nodded, sagging gratefully to the dirt, legs tucked neatly beneath him. He blushed, noting that Mal was watching with ill-disguised inteest. "Thank you," he said softly. He wasn't sure what all he was thanking Mal for, but between the coffee, the rescue, and the lust-filled glances, there was quite a lot of thanks to go around.
"My pleasure."
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Angel for mermaidrain
Title: Good Times
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Wesley/Fred *pre*; Spike/Angel *but only if you squint*
Rating: G
Words: pirates, lunch, lovely, defenestration, lovely, mythology
Wesley was minding his own business.
That's what Wesley did, mind his own business. Not minding his own business had brought disastrous consequences in the past.
It was, however, extremely difficult to mind one's own business, when Angel and Spike were airing theirs at the top of their lungs.
Another fight, this one having to do with some ancient, obscure slight Angel had supposedly done Spike, something to do with rum, and pirates, and there may have been kidnapping or attempted slavery involved. There was definitely blood involved. There always was.
He flipped through the files on his desk, trying to find something mindless enough that he could do it while listening to the Fang Twins. He finally landed on the request of one of their clients, trying to trace their genealogy to some demon god or another. Mythology, always fun.
He could make most of it up and the client would be pleased. Just so long as they had something to brag about at the next ritual sacrifice.
Unfortunately, the fight outside showed no signs of flagging, and had actually escalated to blows. Wesley sighed.
Pity it was still daylight outside. Defenestration was only fun when you could hear the sharp smack at the end. Throwing either vamp through a window right now would only lead to a rather unsatisfying heap of dust in the road.
Luckily, Fred came to his rescue, flinching at every slap and punch. "Wesley, you've gotta save me. I can't take it any more. How do you feel about taking me to lunch?"
Wesley smiled, and grabbed his coat. "That would be lovely."
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Dresden Files for priscellie
Title: The List
Fandom: Dresden Files
Pairing: Thomas gen, some mention of Thomas/OFC, Harry/Karrin
Rating: PG
Words: apple, mirror, swag, manifesto, Thursday
Notes: If you've never read Dresden Files, here's some back story. Harry is a wizard, Thomas is his vampire half-brother (they're more emotional vampires, Thomas' kind, and sex is what they do), and in my dreams, Harry and Murphy will one day see the light and get together. But I have no doubt that Thomas will be their on-again, off-again roommate.
"That's cute, Harry," Thomas says dryly, "Really cute."
It's been a long week, and it's only Thursday. Thursday afternoon to be exact. Thomas has just roused himself from sleep, and is not amused to find his brother's sense of humor already in effect.
Affixed to the bathroom mirror is a manifesto of sorts. And sure enough, The Dresden Manifesto, it proclaims, in bold red cursive writing. It isn't Harry's writing.
Ah, a conspiracy.
He can fight Harry, but they both know he's powerless against Murphy (he will always think of her as Murphy, married or not).
He sighs, and takes it down. It ought to be good for a laugh, at any rate. He scans the rather lengthy missive, smiling at all the right places. They are quite clever, if annoying at times. They also have too much time on their hands, apparently.
He is particularly fond of the eighty seventh paragraph, which goes into great detail as to why swag curtains should not be used for entertainment purposes. What they don't know is that the swag curtains were only put to use because he and his date had graciously refrained from having it out on the kitchen counter.
Oh, well, that's good. Kitchen counter is right there, number ninety-eight. And really, 124 is unfair. The apples were not used as a sex toy at all, they were merely unfortunate casualties of sex toy use. Really. They could get it right, at least.
He reads on for a while and then, aggravated, he rips it up and throws it in the garbage. After a moment, he reconsiders, grabbing it out and making towards their bedroom. #1, indeed, as if he'd ever have sex on their bed....he stops, considering.
Dresden Manifesto, hm? Better call it the Dresden Wish List.
From his jeans pocket, Thomas drags out a phone number from last night's debauchery, and dials the phone. "Sweetheart, are you busy at the moment," he asks sweetly.
She isn't.
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Stacy/Cameron for little_himself and Kare
Title: Clingy, Obsessive
Fandom: House
Pairing: Stacy/Cameron pre-slash (pre-femmeslash, rather), mentions of House/Wilson
Rating: G
Words: clear nail polish, chrysanthemum, diet soda, light bulb, shoelaces
NOTE: If not for Kare, this would never have been written. Sage originally req'd the pairing, and I refused. Then he brought out the big guns. Blame them.
Stacy hates going to the gym, almost as much as she hates dealing with House. At least she can go the gym early in the morning and get it over with.
Walking into the gym, she kneels down to tie one of her shoelaces. When she looks up, she's startled to see Cameron nearby, staring a hole through her.
Narrowing her eyes, Stacy gets to her feet, wondering vaguely if she's about to be embroiled in a cat fight. It wouldn't be the first time. For all he's a complete and utter asshole, House always seems to attract the clingy, obsessive types.
"Can I help you?" she asks, diffidently, shocked to find that Cameron has actual tears in her eyes. For heaven's sake...
"Come on," she says firmly, taking the girl's arm and steering her towards the bathroom. Clingy and obsessive, check. Cameron doesn't make a noise of protest, doesn't say a word at all.
The bathroom is hellish, apparently in the midst of being remodeled. Under the single, bare light bulb, Cameron's tear-streaked face clashes horribly with the chrysanthemums emblazoned on the peeling wallpaper. Stacy wets a brown paper towel, and hands it to Cameron, who stares at it dumbly.
Sighing, Stacy takes it back from her, and wipes her face kindly. "He's not worth it," she says, forcing Cameron to look her in the eyes, "I know you think he is, but I promise you, he isn't."
"It's not...well, it is, but..." Cameron begins, then her voice drops off. She picks at her clear nail polish diffidently, almost shyly.
"Oh, sweetie," Stacy says, in a rare fit of sympathy. Poor kid, to be so torn up over House, of all people. She'd gone through it herself, of course.
"Allison, I don't want him. Or maybe I do, but certainly not enough to give up my entire life for him. And that's what it takes to keep House. You have to devote everything. And you'll get nothing in return."
Cameron smiled a watery smile, "I know that. But I had hoped that I could..."
"Change him? Deal with it? Teach him to love kittens and puppies?" Stacy asked sarcastically, "Have a talk with Wilson, see what it's doing to him."
Cameron considered that statement, and then opened her mouth as if to speak. She closed it without a word.
"You didn't know."
Her whispered "no" echoes in the small space as if she'd screamed it from the mountain tops.
"Honey, the only person alive that has a chance with Greg is Wilson, and I promise you, he's going through the tortures of hell right now. Do yourself a favor and move on."
Cameron doesn't answer, just washes her hands and pats water on her face. Her makeup was shot, anyway. Someone should talk to her about waterproof mascara. Unless she does it on purpose.
Stacy does feel somewhat guilty, for springing it on her that way, and besides, her interest in pilates has definitely waned in the past few minutes.
So she asks Cameron to accompany her to the cafe next door. She'll buy the girl a diet soda and send her on her way. Or not.
She is pretty cute.
In a clingy, obsessive sort of way.
......................................................................................
And that is the last of them, folks. Thanks to EVERYBODY that requested, commented, posted, what have you. Lots of love to ya'll.
So, you know what that means! Time for a new writing project.
Basically, it's a raffle. I have seven fandoms. House, Angel, Buffy, Firefly, Dresden Files, Bones, and Harry Potter. So, you give me a number 1-7, and it will correspond to a random fandom. Then, give me a starting sentence.
Still with me? If that's confusing, just tell me. I'll take seven of these, one for each fandom.
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