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Jul. 27th, 2010 10:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
why_me_why_notUgh, nightmares and insomnia - why do they exist? So over that shit!
Next time I start feeling all whiny and shit, someone needs to shove me in the direction of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stratospherique's LJ. It's probably wrong on some level that the Brat Prince Verse is happy place fic for me, but that's okay. Also, I owe stratospherique and apiphile comments, but the point is that BPV makes me happy.
I'm still playing catchup on drabbles/ficlets. I think it's a forever kind of prospect.
275 words, written forwook77, prompt: sectumsempra, scars, names
Every scar tells a story, even when the tale is something a person wants to forget. There's something special about scars made by magic, something that leaves a mark that is more than skin deep and stays forever.
Draco knows spells and charms and tinctures, things that could diminish the scars across his chest. Not one of them could erase the betrayal Draco felt, hearing that strange spell - Sectumsempra - feeling his blood seep out slowly, taking with it his ridiculous belief that Potter was going to save them all. He always thought that "all" included him.
So Draco keeps the scars, lets the anger run hot and free through his veins each time he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It's not only anger, but he can't put a name to all the rushing emotions that accompany it.
He keeps them well hidden when he isn't alone. Glamours work when he's showing off, the pale, toned skin he keeps hidden being bared for display at some random Muggle club. The men there are easy, and there is never a shortage of men about his age with messy dark hair and a willingness to play rough.
In the dimly lit corners of the club, the dark alleys behind it, the dull apartments of these nameless conquests - the glamour sometimes falls but no one ever notices.
It's when he's at home alone, staring in the mirror in the morning-after light, that Draco lets the glamour fall completely. He almost expects they'll be faded, but they never are.
If every scar tells a story, Draco's still looking for the end of this one.
225 words, written forphelixstar, prompt: van-days Bert and Quinn in a battle against the heat/boredom
"It is so fucking hot!" Bert whined, shifting in the seat so that he was sprawled out over Quinn.
"You're making me hot, asshole," Quinn complained, trying to push Bert off of him.
Bert pulled back enough that Quinn could see his smirk. "I love making you hot, baby!"
Quinn rolled his eyes. Yeah, he had walked right into that one, but it was lame. He tried again to push Bert off, kicking his feet a little, but Bert was a clingy fucker.
"Quinn, this van sucks and it's hot and I'm bored." With each complaint, Bert poked Quinn in the shoulder.
Quinn leaned over to bite Bert's finger. "What the fuck do you want me to do about it?"
Bert's tiny little grin was the one Quinn couldn't resist, the one that convinced him to steal that pair of sneakers Bert wanted, the one that Bert used to get Quinn to make a mess in his parents kitchen at 3am when Bert wanted chocolate chip pancakes. Quinn knew that whatever Bert wanted, he was going to get.
Later, with Bert sprawled across his lap in the backseat, mouths stained red from the slurpee Quinn had bought after talking Branden into stopping at 7-11, Quinn shook his head. It was still hot, and the van kinda did suck, but at least Bert wasn't complaining anymore.
Next time I start feeling all whiny and shit, someone needs to shove me in the direction of
stratospherique's LJ. It's probably wrong on some level that the Brat Prince Verse is happy place fic for me, but that's okay. Also, I owe stratospherique and apiphile comments, but the point is that BPV makes me happy. I'm still playing catchup on drabbles/ficlets. I think it's a forever kind of prospect.
275 words, written for
wook77, prompt: sectumsempra, scars, namesEvery scar tells a story, even when the tale is something a person wants to forget. There's something special about scars made by magic, something that leaves a mark that is more than skin deep and stays forever.
Draco knows spells and charms and tinctures, things that could diminish the scars across his chest. Not one of them could erase the betrayal Draco felt, hearing that strange spell - Sectumsempra - feeling his blood seep out slowly, taking with it his ridiculous belief that Potter was going to save them all. He always thought that "all" included him.
So Draco keeps the scars, lets the anger run hot and free through his veins each time he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It's not only anger, but he can't put a name to all the rushing emotions that accompany it.
He keeps them well hidden when he isn't alone. Glamours work when he's showing off, the pale, toned skin he keeps hidden being bared for display at some random Muggle club. The men there are easy, and there is never a shortage of men about his age with messy dark hair and a willingness to play rough.
In the dimly lit corners of the club, the dark alleys behind it, the dull apartments of these nameless conquests - the glamour sometimes falls but no one ever notices.
It's when he's at home alone, staring in the mirror in the morning-after light, that Draco lets the glamour fall completely. He almost expects they'll be faded, but they never are.
If every scar tells a story, Draco's still looking for the end of this one.
225 words, written for
phelixstar, prompt: van-days Bert and Quinn in a battle against the heat/boredom"It is so fucking hot!" Bert whined, shifting in the seat so that he was sprawled out over Quinn.
"You're making me hot, asshole," Quinn complained, trying to push Bert off of him.
Bert pulled back enough that Quinn could see his smirk. "I love making you hot, baby!"
Quinn rolled his eyes. Yeah, he had walked right into that one, but it was lame. He tried again to push Bert off, kicking his feet a little, but Bert was a clingy fucker.
"Quinn, this van sucks and it's hot and I'm bored." With each complaint, Bert poked Quinn in the shoulder.
Quinn leaned over to bite Bert's finger. "What the fuck do you want me to do about it?"
Bert's tiny little grin was the one Quinn couldn't resist, the one that convinced him to steal that pair of sneakers Bert wanted, the one that Bert used to get Quinn to make a mess in his parents kitchen at 3am when Bert wanted chocolate chip pancakes. Quinn knew that whatever Bert wanted, he was going to get.
Later, with Bert sprawled across his lap in the backseat, mouths stained red from the slurpee Quinn had bought after talking Branden into stopping at 7-11, Quinn shook his head. It was still hot, and the van kinda did suck, but at least Bert wasn't complaining anymore.
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<3
Date: 2010-07-27 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-27 09:11 pm (UTC)