IDoF 2010 Drabblethon!
Okay, it's very nearly officially July 17th in Line Island time, so it's time to start our Drabblethon! If you still want to submit prompts, don't worry feel free to go ahead and add them to the previous post for the next few hours - I'll add anything posted over the night to this post when I wake up in the morning.
The rules are fairly simple ( Read more... )
The rules are fairly simple ( Read more... )
Comments 236
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She could clearly see the appealed of it: to have someone who would love you endlessly, enjoy all of your sexual kinks and strange methods, see your weaknesses as your greatest strengths and no matter how fat, ugly or rude you act, it (it, for Adelle couldn't bring herself to call the software anything else) would love you and worship the ground you walk on forever. Yes, Adelle could see the appeal. And yet, such perfection did not seem appealing to her. Maybe it was because she had witnessed how pathetic the rich people who hired her Dolls were. Or maybe it was because she saw how such 'relationships' only damaged what had already been fragile in their hearts. Love - pretended or real - always hurt when parting came to the picture and with the Dolls, parting always came. Another treatment, another client ( ... )
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And I love that we both, independently, posted stories at almost the same time that both have 'Whiskey', italicized, on a line of its own. ::Applause::
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Tasha bent to refill her glass - turquoise at her neck caught the light. Deanna guffawed.
‘What?’
‘That.’
‘It’s Betazoid - I thought you’d like it.’ Tasha’s mind was frank. She didn’t know.
‘Oh, it’s Betazoid. But it doesn’t go around your neck.’
‘Where then?’
‘Your waist.’ She felt Tasha’s blush before she saw it.
‘Ah.’ Tasha re-fastened the clasp at her hip.
‘Not quite.’ Deanna half-choked on her chuckle. ‘You’re... meant to be naked.’
‘... Oh.’ Swigging from the bottle, Tasha stood. Her trousers dropped, then her shirt. ‘Better?’
Whiskey.
‘...Much.’
*
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Glad Tasha worked for you - I've never really had a handle on her, and was worried she'd be washed-out here.
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B’Elanna finds she’s allowed to touch back. Their minds and their eyes on their work, B’Elanna’s hands learn to touch back.
Firm, on her shoulder: pride. Quick, squeezing her wrist: excitement. (Intellectual; otherwise.)
Brushing across the small of her back: eagerness. (Professional; otherwise.)
The captain’s smile might be encouragement.
Casual, open, on her hip: familiarity. (Desire.)
The captain’s hips shift, imperceptibly. She’s imagining it. Isn't she?
Maybe. No? ...Yes.
The captain smiles. Encouragement?
Maybe.
*
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When you only have a hundred words, punctuation's gotta do some serious heavy lifting.
the erotics of the semi-colon
The phrase alone makes me swoon. I shall use it!
{Oh! And I have a Winn drabble for you that I forgot to post - doing so now. A silly thing, sadly - I despise her too much to do her justice. But it does have an extra asterisk, so there's that.}
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‘Aw! Why not?’
‘Just no!’
‘Come on! Please?’
‘Really? I'm so fucking sick of bruising my knuckles on Lancelot’s face.’
‘But you’re cute when you fight. Aagh! Okay! Not cute!’
‘That’s right.’
‘... We could go rafting.’
‘We can go rafting on Bajor.’
‘You’ve never taken me rafting on Bajor!’
‘You’re cute when you’re indignant.’
‘You’re evading the subject!’
‘Keep being so cute about it, and I’ll keep evading.’
‘If I’m so cute, come play in the holosuite with me.’
‘Why bother? We can play right here.’
‘Mmmnf.’
‘Exactly.’
‘...Nerys!’
‘Mm?’
‘That’s... oh. Yes. That’s...’
‘Better than a holosuite?’
‘Yes.’
*
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