Drabblesquid: Kushiel's Legacy / CSI / Harry Potter x2
Four drabbles written for thedrabblesquid
Title: Ends of the Earth
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Jacqueline Carey's, not mine.
Fandom/Characters: Kushiel's Legacy series. Phedre/Joscelin; Phedre/Hyacinthe.
Summary: The night winds call Phedre's name; will she answer?
Word Count: 322
When he made the oath to protect and serve, to follow me wherever I may go, I don't think he understood quite what I required of him.
Well and true, he knows it now, fourteen-some years that he has followed me, oath-sworn; we have walked into hell itself and back, and we still have our love through it all, stronger than any love I ever could have known.
And one day, years after our journey into madness, when the night winds call my name, I find myself faced with a choice that I dared not ever hope to have to make. "Phedre," the night winds say, and I know it is Hyacinthe, calling on me as he promised he would.
But Joscelin, ah! There is Joscelin to think of, not to mention Imriel. Joscelin has followed me to the very end of the world, to Jebe-Barkal and beyond, in search of the lost tribe and of the very name of God that could set my Hyacinthe free.
I think Joscelin will forgive me this once; he has forgiven me so much else, much greater transgressions, that I think mayhap he will understand this one. And thus when the night winds call my name, I go to him, I go to Hyacinthe. I slip from the strong embrace of Joscelin's arms in the night, pressing a kiss to his fair brow, before gathering myself and leaving the safety of our home in Montreve, to follow Hyacinthe's voice, to seek his embrace just this once.
Joscelin is my one true love, but Hyacinthe is my Prince of Travellers, my oldest and truest friend. He will understand; they both will understand.
They must, because I know them. I know they will.
And while it is Joscelin to whom I will always return, with whom I belong, it is to Hyacinthe that I must go now, before the chance takes flight and I lose him again.
Title: Rome Wasn't Built in a Day
Rating: PG-13 for language and boykissing
Disclaimer: Still definitely not mine. CBS, etc. etc.
Fandom/Characters: CSI (Las Vegas). Nick/Greg.
Summary: If Greg thought getting a woman's attention was tough...
Word Count: 319
Greg thought that he had a tough time with the ladies, with them being all stubborn and sending mixed signals and all that shit. Getting a steady girlfriend in Vegas was ridiculous; half of them wanted to start popping out kids three weeks after meeting, and the rest just wanted you for your money.
So he thought he'd try a different tactic, take a page out of the experimenting-in-college days.
Because, you know, sometimes when he was thinking happy thoughts to lull himself to sleep (or to wake himself up), it wasn't the chick with the great rack from that diner down the street that invaded his thoughts; it was one very sturdy Texan coworker. It didn't take long for the second option to consume his thoughts.
He started simple. Spend a little more time hanging around Nick in the locker room, chatting him up a little more. A breakfast here or there, a meal after a shift gets out. A consult on a tough case, some advice about some evidence.
Only, Nick didn't really seem to get it either. When it came to mixed signals, he was the fucking king, Greg decided.
One day, when Nick was just talking and talking and talking about the damn blood spatter from the DB down by the bus stop, Greg just sighed and took the bull by the horns (ha ha, Texas metaphor, Greg's inner monologue cracked his shit up) and kissed him.
"Uh," Nick said, blinking rapidly, hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyebrows shooting up in confusion. "Uh. I think I have to. Uh. Go and. Uh. Run some prints." He made a hasty exit, shooting a befuddled look at Greg one last time before fleeing.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Greg said, throwing up his hands. He was as bad as a girl, that one. It looked like he'd have to work on his game plan a little more.
Title: Clothes Make the Man
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's. I play nice.
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter. Lucius/Severus implied.
Summary: Lucius prepares his protege to meet the Dark Lord.
Word Count: 251
"Lucius, are you sure this is necessary?" Severus sighed, shifting as the tailor at his feet stuck a few more pins into him. "I'm quite sure that this meeting doesn't require new robes quite to this extent."
"Severus, be quiet," Lucius said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned his attention to the tailor. "Can you make the hemline just a bit longer? The length you're giving him now is so entirely last season and you know it."
"Yes, Mister Malfoy," the tailor said, and he began shifting the position of the pins.
"You need to look elegant, Severus. I know you come from… such unfortunate upbringings, but you must understand, He does not want men of such calibre in his service." Lucius circled around Severus, taking a step up onto the tailor's block behind him, pressing their bodies close together. "I have spoken very highly of you to Him, you know this." He rested his hands lightly on Severus' hips, where a green and silver-flecked snake embroidered its way up the seams of the robes.
"He doesn't know that you're a filthy halfblood," Lucius whispered, low and dangerous. "He knows you solely as the man I trust, as the little potions genius that can turn His dreams into reality." Severus tried very hard not to shudder under Lucius' touch. "You've played the part of the liar for a long time now, Severus. Playing my little game just one more time at His feet can't possibly hurt you that much."
Title: Eating the Magic Mushrooms
Rating: C for Crack
Disclaimer: Oh god these definitely aren't mine.
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter. Dobby and Winky.
Summary: Dobby and Winky prepare dinner for Master Potter. I can't believe I wrote this.
Word Count: 228
"Dobby think that Master Potter want some of these mushrooms for dinner," Dobby said, holding a basket of oddly-shaped fungi aloft. "We better try them to make sure they not be killing Master Potter, not like the last dinner you made him that turned Master Potter blue."
Winky wailed and started smacking herself in the face with the chopping board. "Winky didn't mean to poison Master Potter, Winky bad elf, very bad, very bad!"
Dobby patted her on the head and wandered over to the salad they'd already prepared, making sure it was mushroom-suitable. "Eat a mushroom, Winky, before Master Potter hear you screaming."
Winky stifled her sobs for a moment, reaching one hand out for a mushroom while forlornly hitting herself atop the head with the board. She chewed on it for a while, then swallowed heavily. It didn't take long for the chopping board to slip from her fingers, and she stared at Dobby with glassy eyes.
"Winky think Dobby need to eat mushroom too," she said dreamily. "Mushroom make Winky feel happy. When did Dobby grow wings? Are you upside-down walking, Dobby?"
Dobby looked at his fellow house elf curiously, then looked back down at his basket of mushrooms. Winky was laying on the floor, legs wiggling in the air. "Perhaps Dobby not feed mushrooms to Master Potter tonight," he mused, setting the basket aside.
Title: Ends of the Earth
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Jacqueline Carey's, not mine.
Fandom/Characters: Kushiel's Legacy series. Phedre/Joscelin; Phedre/Hyacinthe.
Summary: The night winds call Phedre's name; will she answer?
Word Count: 322
When he made the oath to protect and serve, to follow me wherever I may go, I don't think he understood quite what I required of him.
Well and true, he knows it now, fourteen-some years that he has followed me, oath-sworn; we have walked into hell itself and back, and we still have our love through it all, stronger than any love I ever could have known.
And one day, years after our journey into madness, when the night winds call my name, I find myself faced with a choice that I dared not ever hope to have to make. "Phedre," the night winds say, and I know it is Hyacinthe, calling on me as he promised he would.
But Joscelin, ah! There is Joscelin to think of, not to mention Imriel. Joscelin has followed me to the very end of the world, to Jebe-Barkal and beyond, in search of the lost tribe and of the very name of God that could set my Hyacinthe free.
I think Joscelin will forgive me this once; he has forgiven me so much else, much greater transgressions, that I think mayhap he will understand this one. And thus when the night winds call my name, I go to him, I go to Hyacinthe. I slip from the strong embrace of Joscelin's arms in the night, pressing a kiss to his fair brow, before gathering myself and leaving the safety of our home in Montreve, to follow Hyacinthe's voice, to seek his embrace just this once.
Joscelin is my one true love, but Hyacinthe is my Prince of Travellers, my oldest and truest friend. He will understand; they both will understand.
They must, because I know them. I know they will.
And while it is Joscelin to whom I will always return, with whom I belong, it is to Hyacinthe that I must go now, before the chance takes flight and I lose him again.
Title: Rome Wasn't Built in a Day
Rating: PG-13 for language and boykissing
Disclaimer: Still definitely not mine. CBS, etc. etc.
Fandom/Characters: CSI (Las Vegas). Nick/Greg.
Summary: If Greg thought getting a woman's attention was tough...
Word Count: 319
Greg thought that he had a tough time with the ladies, with them being all stubborn and sending mixed signals and all that shit. Getting a steady girlfriend in Vegas was ridiculous; half of them wanted to start popping out kids three weeks after meeting, and the rest just wanted you for your money.
So he thought he'd try a different tactic, take a page out of the experimenting-in-college days.
Because, you know, sometimes when he was thinking happy thoughts to lull himself to sleep (or to wake himself up), it wasn't the chick with the great rack from that diner down the street that invaded his thoughts; it was one very sturdy Texan coworker. It didn't take long for the second option to consume his thoughts.
He started simple. Spend a little more time hanging around Nick in the locker room, chatting him up a little more. A breakfast here or there, a meal after a shift gets out. A consult on a tough case, some advice about some evidence.
Only, Nick didn't really seem to get it either. When it came to mixed signals, he was the fucking king, Greg decided.
One day, when Nick was just talking and talking and talking about the damn blood spatter from the DB down by the bus stop, Greg just sighed and took the bull by the horns (ha ha, Texas metaphor, Greg's inner monologue cracked his shit up) and kissed him.
"Uh," Nick said, blinking rapidly, hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyebrows shooting up in confusion. "Uh. I think I have to. Uh. Go and. Uh. Run some prints." He made a hasty exit, shooting a befuddled look at Greg one last time before fleeing.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Greg said, throwing up his hands. He was as bad as a girl, that one. It looked like he'd have to work on his game plan a little more.
Title: Clothes Make the Man
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: JK Rowling's. I play nice.
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter. Lucius/Severus implied.
Summary: Lucius prepares his protege to meet the Dark Lord.
Word Count: 251
"Lucius, are you sure this is necessary?" Severus sighed, shifting as the tailor at his feet stuck a few more pins into him. "I'm quite sure that this meeting doesn't require new robes quite to this extent."
"Severus, be quiet," Lucius said, crossing his arms over his chest. He turned his attention to the tailor. "Can you make the hemline just a bit longer? The length you're giving him now is so entirely last season and you know it."
"Yes, Mister Malfoy," the tailor said, and he began shifting the position of the pins.
"You need to look elegant, Severus. I know you come from… such unfortunate upbringings, but you must understand, He does not want men of such calibre in his service." Lucius circled around Severus, taking a step up onto the tailor's block behind him, pressing their bodies close together. "I have spoken very highly of you to Him, you know this." He rested his hands lightly on Severus' hips, where a green and silver-flecked snake embroidered its way up the seams of the robes.
"He doesn't know that you're a filthy halfblood," Lucius whispered, low and dangerous. "He knows you solely as the man I trust, as the little potions genius that can turn His dreams into reality." Severus tried very hard not to shudder under Lucius' touch. "You've played the part of the liar for a long time now, Severus. Playing my little game just one more time at His feet can't possibly hurt you that much."
Title: Eating the Magic Mushrooms
Rating: C for Crack
Disclaimer: Oh god these definitely aren't mine.
Fandom/Characters: Harry Potter. Dobby and Winky.
Summary: Dobby and Winky prepare dinner for Master Potter. I can't believe I wrote this.
Word Count: 228
"Dobby think that Master Potter want some of these mushrooms for dinner," Dobby said, holding a basket of oddly-shaped fungi aloft. "We better try them to make sure they not be killing Master Potter, not like the last dinner you made him that turned Master Potter blue."
Winky wailed and started smacking herself in the face with the chopping board. "Winky didn't mean to poison Master Potter, Winky bad elf, very bad, very bad!"
Dobby patted her on the head and wandered over to the salad they'd already prepared, making sure it was mushroom-suitable. "Eat a mushroom, Winky, before Master Potter hear you screaming."
Winky stifled her sobs for a moment, reaching one hand out for a mushroom while forlornly hitting herself atop the head with the board. She chewed on it for a while, then swallowed heavily. It didn't take long for the chopping board to slip from her fingers, and she stared at Dobby with glassy eyes.
"Winky think Dobby need to eat mushroom too," she said dreamily. "Mushroom make Winky feel happy. When did Dobby grow wings? Are you upside-down walking, Dobby?"
Dobby looked at his fellow house elf curiously, then looked back down at his basket of mushrooms. Winky was laying on the floor, legs wiggling in the air. "Perhaps Dobby not feed mushrooms to Master Potter tonight," he mused, setting the basket aside.