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Jul. 9th, 2008 02:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
why_me_why_notso, life is kicking my ass at the moment. How about some fic? Well, approximation of fic, anyway. There may be real fic on my lj again one day, but I wouldn't advise holding your breath.
I asked some of my favorite girls for prompts this morning. I don't think they turned out the way anyone anticipated or meant for them to. I'll put the non-bandom ones first, okay?
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alli_everyday. Sam/Dean: laugh, dream, doubt. 150 words.
Nights in some random motel room are the worst, when Sam wakes up in the dark and reaches across the bed only to come up empty handed. He falls asleep more often in the passenger seat of the Impala, wrapped in the memories of warmth and laughter, of fights and uncomfortable silences, first kisses and flashes of wet naked skin. He curls up with Dean’s jacket covering him like a blanket, and allows himself the slightest indulgence in delusion when he wakes – that this has all been some fucked up kind of dream and Dean’ll be back any minute with cheap coffee and some pretty girl’s phone number, anxious to get back on the road. But in this life of doubt and despair and death, Sam knows that the most important “D” of all -- Dean -- is out of his reach, but he hasn’t given up hope. Not yet.
Forltlredhairdgirl. Harry/Giant Squid: beach ball, tofu burgers, accio. 150 words.
Harry sat on the end of the dock and dangled his feet into the lake. He was glad to be spending time with his friends, but he was really ready for them to go home. He felt a sticky tentacle wrap around his ankle and reached down to pet it, glancing over to the shore where Hermione was grilling tofu burgers for the kids. She had been instructing Ron from the picnic blanket, but had quickly traded the baby for the spatula. No one was surprised. Harry rolled his eyes and slid into the water, immediately comforted by the way the Giant Squid wrapped herself around him and held him up. He fumbled with his wand and aimed it toward the rocks. “Accio!” He plucked the beach ball from the air and held it above his head. “I think they’re going to be here for a while, love. Wanna play?”
Fornasus221. Marshall obsessed with Greta. 150 words.
Marshall stood off to the side of the merch table, watching the stage. Watching Greta. He occasionally was distracted by a fan wanting his autograph or a picture or something, but this was the best spot in the venue to see her, so he did what he had to do. Finally, Cash came out to join him and attracted most of the fangirl attention. Marshall totally knew he was going to catch hell later. The other guys all gave him shit about his obsession with Greta, but Cash was the worst. He could have counted on that, though, because Cash was a douche.
But Greta. Greta was pretty and sweet and had a voice like an angel and Marshall totally wanted to go on picnic lunches in the park and hold her hand and make music together. And yes, he actually meant music, not some euphemism for sex, Cash Colligan.
Forwearethestars. Bdon/Spencer: Nevada desert, fall/falling, boots. 280 words.
Spencer stared out at the Nevada desert, miles and miles of sand painted by the setting sun. The temperature was starting to drop, not really cool but significant enough that it registered through Spencer's thoughts. He really should be getting back; he'd promised Ryan he'd be there in time to go with him and Brendon to pick up Jon at the airport. But Brendon was part of the reason he was out here, and he still hadn't reached any sort of conclusion.
Of course, when he did meet up with them, he was going to have to answer for the fact that that he'd had his cell off all afternoon. But when he had picked Brendon up yesterday – at the public library, of all places – he had stood in the doorway of the preschool room, torn between watching the faces of the kids in the circle and joining them in their awed attention towards Brendon.
Brendon was a charismatic storyteller, and he'd gone all out – Brendon didn't feel there was such a thing as over the top – prancing around the room in a bright yellow slicker and fucking rain boots. Fucking Brendon.
The image had been stuck in Spencer's mind when he went back to his apartment, stared at the space on the balcony where his life had fallen apart. Where just three nights ago he'd offered Haley a ring and she'd offered tears and apologies. He's still wondering if it should have hurt more than it did.
Spencer turns his phone on long enough to text Ryan, apologize with a promise to call him after he has some time to think, and gets into the car and just drives.
Forreallythateasy. Tom/Travis: picture, phone call, one night stand. 325 words.
Tom doesn’t look when someone slides their arm around his waist, just leans into the touch and keeps his attention on the story Nick is telling, but the whispered “I’m pregnant,” has him choking on his beer. After he manages to catch his breath, he glares at his laughing companion. “Fuck, Travis!”
“We did! And you never called!”
Tom laughs despite himself. “You didn’t give me your number.”
Travis rolls his eyes. “You know Pete’s better than the yellow pages when you want a phone number.”
Tom shrugs. He’s not discounting their night together, because it was something. (Tom had been hiding out in the background, trying to photograph the party without becoming the party photographer, and when he wandered away from the music and the noise and the lights, he caught sight of Travis sitting on the bottom stop of the outside stairwell and brought his camera up instinctively. He’d snapped a few random shots, until he noticed the look on Travis’s face as he hung up the phone. He dropped the camera and sat down beside Travis…)
Okay, so maybe that night was more than something. Tom sometimes thinks in photographs – ones he’s taken with his camera and ones he’s taken in his mind and ones he can’t believe he missed. That night, the night with Travis, had several photographic moments, and Tom could still close his eyes and picture Travie – dark skin and colored ink sprawled out on the bluegreen sheets Tom’s last girlfriend had left behind. It was fun and it was fucking HOT, but it’s not like Tom’s been pining for Travis ever since. He knew from the start it was only for the night; he’d been around that block more than once.
“Didn’t want it to be awkward.”
“Whatever, man, fuck awkward. Come meet my new girl. She’s got this kinky-ass idea that we need to fuck in front of a camera, and there’s no other photographer I’d trust.”
Foririsgirl12000. Butcher/Bden: drums, Australia, bandana
Brendon sometimes wishes he played the drums. Not that he’d trade his center spotlight to be forced to sit still behind a drum kit for an entire show, but there are times when he’s got all this pent up energy (fueled by irritation and anger and jet lag) that he can’t seem to find a suitable outlet for, and pounding out a loud, indignant rhythm on the drums sounds like it’d be an awesome form of expression.
He wraps his arms around his bent knees and tries to stop the way they’re jittering. A clatter from the opposite side of the room startles him, and he looks up to find Butcher walking towards him. “Hey, Urie, Zack’s looking for you.”
Brendon huffs out what could almost be a laugh, but it’s not. “He told me not to leave the building; I haven’t stepped outside.” Besides, Zack would know where Brendon was, except he was too busy with his girlfriend, same as everybody else in Brendon’s life. Not that Brendon has anything against Zack’s girlfriend. He likes her the same way he likes Keltie and Haley and Cassie and Regan, but since they all had to come to Australia with them, it means he’s the fifth wheel. Or the… eleventh wheel. Whatever. It means his friends have other things to do besides entertain him. And he’s normally all good with having to entertain himself – Brendon’s very entertaining, thankyouverymuch – but not today.
He’s kinda glad when Butcher drops down to sit beside him on the floor, like it’s an everyday thing. He almost expects him to take a crack at Brendon, give him a hard time for sitting in an empty room pouting, but what he says is, “Awful lot of bandanas on the doorways in our hallway.”
Brendon has to laugh at that. The bandanas are Beckett-code, something he and the rest of Panic picked up on the first time they toured with TAI… When everybody has key cards to everybody elses’ rooms, there has to be some way of signaling “sexytimes and nakedness in progress; go the fuck away.” (It could be worse, Brendon supposed. They could be like Gabe and just leave the doors unlocked or cracked open on purpose, an open invitation for anyone and everyone to join in on the sexytimes and nakedness. Brendon wonders how many times strangers have got in on that.)
When Brendon doesn’t say anything, Butcher says, “I saw a coffee shop on the corner; wanna sneak out with me?”
“Are you really offering me caffeine this time of night?”
Butcher laughs as he stands and holds out a hand to help Brendon up. “I’m pretty sure I can handle you, Urie.”
The smirk and the challenge in his tone make Brendon smile and shake his head. He takes the offered hand and lets Butcher pull him to his feet. “We’ll see about that.”
Butcher laughs some more but doesn’t let go of Brendon’s hand as he leads them out the side door.
I asked some of my favorite girls for prompts this morning. I don't think they turned out the way anyone anticipated or meant for them to. I'll put the non-bandom ones first, okay?
For
alli_everyday. Sam/Dean: laugh, dream, doubt. 150 words.Nights in some random motel room are the worst, when Sam wakes up in the dark and reaches across the bed only to come up empty handed. He falls asleep more often in the passenger seat of the Impala, wrapped in the memories of warmth and laughter, of fights and uncomfortable silences, first kisses and flashes of wet naked skin. He curls up with Dean’s jacket covering him like a blanket, and allows himself the slightest indulgence in delusion when he wakes – that this has all been some fucked up kind of dream and Dean’ll be back any minute with cheap coffee and some pretty girl’s phone number, anxious to get back on the road. But in this life of doubt and despair and death, Sam knows that the most important “D” of all -- Dean -- is out of his reach, but he hasn’t given up hope. Not yet.
For
ltlredhairdgirl. Harry/Giant Squid: beach ball, tofu burgers, accio. 150 words.Harry sat on the end of the dock and dangled his feet into the lake. He was glad to be spending time with his friends, but he was really ready for them to go home. He felt a sticky tentacle wrap around his ankle and reached down to pet it, glancing over to the shore where Hermione was grilling tofu burgers for the kids. She had been instructing Ron from the picnic blanket, but had quickly traded the baby for the spatula. No one was surprised. Harry rolled his eyes and slid into the water, immediately comforted by the way the Giant Squid wrapped herself around him and held him up. He fumbled with his wand and aimed it toward the rocks. “Accio!” He plucked the beach ball from the air and held it above his head. “I think they’re going to be here for a while, love. Wanna play?”
For
nasus221. Marshall obsessed with Greta. 150 words.Marshall stood off to the side of the merch table, watching the stage. Watching Greta. He occasionally was distracted by a fan wanting his autograph or a picture or something, but this was the best spot in the venue to see her, so he did what he had to do. Finally, Cash came out to join him and attracted most of the fangirl attention. Marshall totally knew he was going to catch hell later. The other guys all gave him shit about his obsession with Greta, but Cash was the worst. He could have counted on that, though, because Cash was a douche.
But Greta. Greta was pretty and sweet and had a voice like an angel and Marshall totally wanted to go on picnic lunches in the park and hold her hand and make music together. And yes, he actually meant music, not some euphemism for sex, Cash Colligan.
For
wearethestars. Bdon/Spencer: Nevada desert, fall/falling, boots. 280 words.Spencer stared out at the Nevada desert, miles and miles of sand painted by the setting sun. The temperature was starting to drop, not really cool but significant enough that it registered through Spencer's thoughts. He really should be getting back; he'd promised Ryan he'd be there in time to go with him and Brendon to pick up Jon at the airport. But Brendon was part of the reason he was out here, and he still hadn't reached any sort of conclusion.
Of course, when he did meet up with them, he was going to have to answer for the fact that that he'd had his cell off all afternoon. But when he had picked Brendon up yesterday – at the public library, of all places – he had stood in the doorway of the preschool room, torn between watching the faces of the kids in the circle and joining them in their awed attention towards Brendon.
Brendon was a charismatic storyteller, and he'd gone all out – Brendon didn't feel there was such a thing as over the top – prancing around the room in a bright yellow slicker and fucking rain boots. Fucking Brendon.
The image had been stuck in Spencer's mind when he went back to his apartment, stared at the space on the balcony where his life had fallen apart. Where just three nights ago he'd offered Haley a ring and she'd offered tears and apologies. He's still wondering if it should have hurt more than it did.
Spencer turns his phone on long enough to text Ryan, apologize with a promise to call him after he has some time to think, and gets into the car and just drives.
For
reallythateasy. Tom/Travis: picture, phone call, one night stand. 325 words.Tom doesn’t look when someone slides their arm around his waist, just leans into the touch and keeps his attention on the story Nick is telling, but the whispered “I’m pregnant,” has him choking on his beer. After he manages to catch his breath, he glares at his laughing companion. “Fuck, Travis!”
“We did! And you never called!”
Tom laughs despite himself. “You didn’t give me your number.”
Travis rolls his eyes. “You know Pete’s better than the yellow pages when you want a phone number.”
Tom shrugs. He’s not discounting their night together, because it was something. (Tom had been hiding out in the background, trying to photograph the party without becoming the party photographer, and when he wandered away from the music and the noise and the lights, he caught sight of Travis sitting on the bottom stop of the outside stairwell and brought his camera up instinctively. He’d snapped a few random shots, until he noticed the look on Travis’s face as he hung up the phone. He dropped the camera and sat down beside Travis…)
Okay, so maybe that night was more than something. Tom sometimes thinks in photographs – ones he’s taken with his camera and ones he’s taken in his mind and ones he can’t believe he missed. That night, the night with Travis, had several photographic moments, and Tom could still close his eyes and picture Travie – dark skin and colored ink sprawled out on the bluegreen sheets Tom’s last girlfriend had left behind. It was fun and it was fucking HOT, but it’s not like Tom’s been pining for Travis ever since. He knew from the start it was only for the night; he’d been around that block more than once.
“Didn’t want it to be awkward.”
“Whatever, man, fuck awkward. Come meet my new girl. She’s got this kinky-ass idea that we need to fuck in front of a camera, and there’s no other photographer I’d trust.”
For
irisgirl12000. Butcher/Bden: drums, Australia, bandanaBrendon sometimes wishes he played the drums. Not that he’d trade his center spotlight to be forced to sit still behind a drum kit for an entire show, but there are times when he’s got all this pent up energy (fueled by irritation and anger and jet lag) that he can’t seem to find a suitable outlet for, and pounding out a loud, indignant rhythm on the drums sounds like it’d be an awesome form of expression.
He wraps his arms around his bent knees and tries to stop the way they’re jittering. A clatter from the opposite side of the room startles him, and he looks up to find Butcher walking towards him. “Hey, Urie, Zack’s looking for you.”
Brendon huffs out what could almost be a laugh, but it’s not. “He told me not to leave the building; I haven’t stepped outside.” Besides, Zack would know where Brendon was, except he was too busy with his girlfriend, same as everybody else in Brendon’s life. Not that Brendon has anything against Zack’s girlfriend. He likes her the same way he likes Keltie and Haley and Cassie and Regan, but since they all had to come to Australia with them, it means he’s the fifth wheel. Or the… eleventh wheel. Whatever. It means his friends have other things to do besides entertain him. And he’s normally all good with having to entertain himself – Brendon’s very entertaining, thankyouverymuch – but not today.
He’s kinda glad when Butcher drops down to sit beside him on the floor, like it’s an everyday thing. He almost expects him to take a crack at Brendon, give him a hard time for sitting in an empty room pouting, but what he says is, “Awful lot of bandanas on the doorways in our hallway.”
Brendon has to laugh at that. The bandanas are Beckett-code, something he and the rest of Panic picked up on the first time they toured with TAI… When everybody has key cards to everybody elses’ rooms, there has to be some way of signaling “sexytimes and nakedness in progress; go the fuck away.” (It could be worse, Brendon supposed. They could be like Gabe and just leave the doors unlocked or cracked open on purpose, an open invitation for anyone and everyone to join in on the sexytimes and nakedness. Brendon wonders how many times strangers have got in on that.)
When Brendon doesn’t say anything, Butcher says, “I saw a coffee shop on the corner; wanna sneak out with me?”
“Are you really offering me caffeine this time of night?”
Butcher laughs as he stands and holds out a hand to help Brendon up. “I’m pretty sure I can handle you, Urie.”
The smirk and the challenge in his tone make Brendon smile and shake his head. He takes the offered hand and lets Butcher pull him to his feet. “We’ll see about that.”
Butcher laughs some more but doesn’t let go of Brendon’s hand as he leads them out the side door.
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Date: 2008-07-09 06:40 am (UTC)I realize it makes no sense, that I might be just a little bit crazy but I love them.
I love your take on my choices, I honestly had no expectations/ideas about what you would do with those prompts. I just read the text and kind of text babbled back at you. You're lucky you didn't get even more random stuff.
Thank you sooooo much for this. Also, you know I want the sequel. Katy Perry and Travis while Tom watches...perhaps joins in? Yes, please!
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Date: 2008-07-09 12:42 pm (UTC)Tom/Travis/Katy would WIN. Absolutely.
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Date: 2008-07-09 12:43 pm (UTC)Also, I've got this idea in my head that they're in Melbourne, and Butcher (being the Butcher, and awesome like that) takes him up Swanston to Lygon Street, and there's this little Italian place - it's not even big enough to really be called a restaurant - and they get a couple of long blacks and sit outside at this tiny table, where their chairs are so close their knees bump. Brendon finishes his coffee in, like, three sips, and he eyes the gelato case they can see just inside the door until Butcher says, "Fruit flavors are the best."
Which is TOTALLY permission to get some to share.
Before he realizes it, three hours have passed, and the proprietors look like they're ready to boot them off the chairs and into the street, which has quieted.
More in my head. Gotta get some work done first, though.
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Date: 2008-07-10 06:07 am (UTC)And Butcher totally would; I 100% agree!
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Date: 2008-07-09 05:17 pm (UTC)Oh, and in regards to the email you sent me a while back, feel free to text/call/comment/email me at any time. I always have time for you, even if I'm not feeling so great. *big hugs*
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Date: 2008-07-10 05:21 am (UTC)I will always write you anyone/Giant Squid, or any other crack you want. I miss writing HP sometimes.
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Date: 2008-07-09 10:51 pm (UTC)♥
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Date: 2008-07-10 05:20 am (UTC)I'm so glad you got your computer back!
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Date: 2008-07-16 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-16 01:51 am (UTC)I'm working on your other one, but mostly it involves Ian sleeping late into the morning in a full size bed with clean sheets and waking up alone, and eating food that doesn't come out of a box or from a drive thru, and going shopping for new socks and underwear b/c it was easier than washing what he had, and taking a cat nap on the couch without Cash trying to draw on his face, and playing songs that he hasn't had to play every night, and reads