drabbles - GG; Supernatural; Firefly; AD; HP
::clears throat:: Since you lot refuse to entertain me, and, uh, a lot of other reasons (my current inability to title anything), I bring you a meme game!
Put your music folder/playlist on random, pick a line from the first five songs and use them as titles for five drabbles/ficlets. Come on, you know you want to.
Roll Me Up in Coffee Cake - GG - Gen - G - 100 words
She drags her fork across her plate. Her mouth is down turned at the corners, heavy with lipstick and worry and syrup that she licks away absently, with the tip of her tongue, looking out the window while he takes Kirk's order.
There's an empty seat next to her that shouldn't be empty and it's not like Rory's gone it's just that Rory's not here in all the small ways. He slides another plate in front of her, with the kind of caffeine and sugar that she loves for breakfast, and walks away. When he looks back again, she's smiling.
(One Minute at a Time) - Supernatural - Gen - PG - 300 words
"I really, really hate you," Dean says, and sounds kind of chipper about it, so apparently this is worse than Sam originally thought.
And Sam originally thought it was pretty damn bad, you know, all things considered. It's dark, and it's hot, and there's a serial killer of the chainsaw wielding variety on the other side of the door that they can't open, and they're in a closet of all places. And really, he's not sure which of those things is worse.
Sam, casually, stretches his foot four inches and, through razor sharp instincts, kicks Dean in the shin. "This is not my fault," he hisses, and adds as an afterthought, "Shh!"
"Oh, Dean, don't be stupid, this is exactly our kind of problem! We have to help this poor, defenseless girl! She's one of my friends from college, and trying to help them out has never gotten us into any kind of trouble," Dean answers, in falsetto. "Hey, remember the guy who stole your face and now you're legally dead?"
Sam just kicks him again. "This is not my fault," he repeats just for clarification. "Just because it's some freak reenacting horror movies instead of-"
"There are police for a reason, Sam."
"And the police were doing such a bang up job-"
"You're right," Dean says, after sixteen seconds of listening to a chainsaw somewhere in the distance on the other side of the door. There's a dull scream. Dean's still got his fist wrapped tight around the butt of his gun, and it hits Sam's thigh kind of hard because he's angry. "Fine, okay, you're right. Are you happy now?"
"Oh, God." Sam deflates, leans back against the wall with horror. "We're going to die."
"Shut up," Dean says, and kicks him. "I've got a plan."
The Morning After Daze - Firefly - River/Mal - PG - 100 words
He dreams too loudly, and it keeps her from sleeping. But he doesn't dream of blue hands or needles or the faces of Miranda. He dreams of fields, of animals who know what they are. There's a woman there with her hands on her wide hips, tanned from sun with palms that're rough from work and she whispers in his ear and makes him laugh.
River laughs too, softly, splays her too-soft hand on his shoulder and slides it down, cups his elbow, cradles his wrist, catches his hand and he wakes.
"What're you doing," Mal asks, and she laughs.
Cigarettes and Sweets - AD - George Michael/Maeby - PG - 200 words
"What… What are you doing?" George Michael asks, ignoring the part of him that probably doesn't want to know and the part that already does.
Maeby laughs like she does when he asks a stupid question, like she's still smarter than him and he'll never be able to catch up with her. "Nothing," she says, twirling a cigarette in her fingers. She blows out smoke and it smells like cherry. "I'm thinking of running away to England."
He sits down beside her, uninvited, and gets sand in his shoes. "That's… England is pretty far away. Don't most people just run away to the beach or something? I mean, I don't know, I've never done it. I'm just guessing. You hear people talk about running away to join the circus, but never to England." George Michael pauses to take a breath and laughs nervously, laughs like he's as scared as he is. "Besides, I mean, I'd miss you if you were that far away."
"You'd have to come with me," she says, like it's obvious, and tries to hand him the cigarette but he shakes his head. "That's the whole point."
And George Michael will never be able to catch up.
In This Desert Dry - HP - Sirius/Remus - PG-13 - 100 words
Sirius shivers, feet bare in the snow that stretches up to his ankles, shifts up to his calves, breathes over his knees-slowly and all at once-hands over his ears, elbows exposed to the cold. There's a howling in the distance, like there was at Hogwarts, and he wants closer, knows where he should be but he can't get there. He shivers, shakes, trembles, and wakes to a palm warm on his stomach, fingers spread out, holding him in, together. Holding him close. Remus is warm, behind him, breathing on his shoulder and pretending to sleep, and Sirius shivers.
Titles are from, in order:
The Shins 'Your Algebra'
The Fight Club Soundtrack 'This is Your Life'
The Vines 'She's Got Something to Say'
Ryan Adams '1974'
The Decemberists 'The Legionnaire's Lament'
Put your music folder/playlist on random, pick a line from the first five songs and use them as titles for five drabbles/ficlets. Come on, you know you want to.
Roll Me Up in Coffee Cake - GG - Gen - G - 100 words
She drags her fork across her plate. Her mouth is down turned at the corners, heavy with lipstick and worry and syrup that she licks away absently, with the tip of her tongue, looking out the window while he takes Kirk's order.
There's an empty seat next to her that shouldn't be empty and it's not like Rory's gone it's just that Rory's not here in all the small ways. He slides another plate in front of her, with the kind of caffeine and sugar that she loves for breakfast, and walks away. When he looks back again, she's smiling.
(One Minute at a Time) - Supernatural - Gen - PG - 300 words
"I really, really hate you," Dean says, and sounds kind of chipper about it, so apparently this is worse than Sam originally thought.
And Sam originally thought it was pretty damn bad, you know, all things considered. It's dark, and it's hot, and there's a serial killer of the chainsaw wielding variety on the other side of the door that they can't open, and they're in a closet of all places. And really, he's not sure which of those things is worse.
Sam, casually, stretches his foot four inches and, through razor sharp instincts, kicks Dean in the shin. "This is not my fault," he hisses, and adds as an afterthought, "Shh!"
"Oh, Dean, don't be stupid, this is exactly our kind of problem! We have to help this poor, defenseless girl! She's one of my friends from college, and trying to help them out has never gotten us into any kind of trouble," Dean answers, in falsetto. "Hey, remember the guy who stole your face and now you're legally dead?"
Sam just kicks him again. "This is not my fault," he repeats just for clarification. "Just because it's some freak reenacting horror movies instead of-"
"There are police for a reason, Sam."
"And the police were doing such a bang up job-"
"You're right," Dean says, after sixteen seconds of listening to a chainsaw somewhere in the distance on the other side of the door. There's a dull scream. Dean's still got his fist wrapped tight around the butt of his gun, and it hits Sam's thigh kind of hard because he's angry. "Fine, okay, you're right. Are you happy now?"
"Oh, God." Sam deflates, leans back against the wall with horror. "We're going to die."
"Shut up," Dean says, and kicks him. "I've got a plan."
The Morning After Daze - Firefly - River/Mal - PG - 100 words
He dreams too loudly, and it keeps her from sleeping. But he doesn't dream of blue hands or needles or the faces of Miranda. He dreams of fields, of animals who know what they are. There's a woman there with her hands on her wide hips, tanned from sun with palms that're rough from work and she whispers in his ear and makes him laugh.
River laughs too, softly, splays her too-soft hand on his shoulder and slides it down, cups his elbow, cradles his wrist, catches his hand and he wakes.
"What're you doing," Mal asks, and she laughs.
Cigarettes and Sweets - AD - George Michael/Maeby - PG - 200 words
"What… What are you doing?" George Michael asks, ignoring the part of him that probably doesn't want to know and the part that already does.
Maeby laughs like she does when he asks a stupid question, like she's still smarter than him and he'll never be able to catch up with her. "Nothing," she says, twirling a cigarette in her fingers. She blows out smoke and it smells like cherry. "I'm thinking of running away to England."
He sits down beside her, uninvited, and gets sand in his shoes. "That's… England is pretty far away. Don't most people just run away to the beach or something? I mean, I don't know, I've never done it. I'm just guessing. You hear people talk about running away to join the circus, but never to England." George Michael pauses to take a breath and laughs nervously, laughs like he's as scared as he is. "Besides, I mean, I'd miss you if you were that far away."
"You'd have to come with me," she says, like it's obvious, and tries to hand him the cigarette but he shakes his head. "That's the whole point."
And George Michael will never be able to catch up.
In This Desert Dry - HP - Sirius/Remus - PG-13 - 100 words
Sirius shivers, feet bare in the snow that stretches up to his ankles, shifts up to his calves, breathes over his knees-slowly and all at once-hands over his ears, elbows exposed to the cold. There's a howling in the distance, like there was at Hogwarts, and he wants closer, knows where he should be but he can't get there. He shivers, shakes, trembles, and wakes to a palm warm on his stomach, fingers spread out, holding him in, together. Holding him close. Remus is warm, behind him, breathing on his shoulder and pretending to sleep, and Sirius shivers.
Titles are from, in order:
The Shins 'Your Algebra'
The Fight Club Soundtrack 'This is Your Life'
The Vines 'She's Got Something to Say'
Ryan Adams '1974'
The Decemberists 'The Legionnaire's Lament'