Multifandom drabble: responses from a meme.
Just drabble responses from the last drabble meme/request I posted in my entry. It's multi-fandom and completely skewed. These little imps like getting the hell out of hand.
1. slave2shinigami - Draco/ Harry, Harry Potter
It was a most humiliating match against the Gryffindors, and the faint cheering that he could still hear from outside the dungeons reminded him of his loss. Why, the dogs would surely be celebrating, alright: there would be a lifting of curfew, a bit of fun down the hallways and behind the curtains, the customary smuggled tankard of butterbeer-or two large ones, for that matter, to celebrate Gryffindor’s second Quidditch win that season-and the clamor and swagger of the team as they would walk down the corridors the next day.
In theory, they had lost. Most of the Slytherins in the basement were already fast asleep, many with a soundproof spell cast over their doors. Slytherins were not fond of being humiliated, even if it “was just a game.”
In practice, Draco felt quite triumphant. But didn’t he have all that the big-headed Gryffindors were having, in the delicious privacy of his own quarters? The butterbeer however, was perhaps the only thing missing.
“Well, that can be arranged,” he said almost thoughtfully, as he bent down to tighten the strap of the quivering, golden ball gag that pulled the winning Seeker’s swollen lips to a wide ‘O’.
There would be a very obvious swag in the gait of Harry Potter the next day, but everyone readily attributed it to straddling a Firebolt for a long period of time.
Set somewhere in the 3rd book preferrably after the deciding Quidditch match between Slyth and Gryff, whereupon the latter would go on to win the Quidditch Cup.
Total: 230 W
------------------------------------
2. awildflowersoul - Cloud/ Sephiroth, Final Fantasy VII
The Lifestream was a tricky thing.
He had spent most of his life trying to plumb it for its secrets, and still it eluded him, slipped past his control like tendrils of a dream that the morning would sweep away. His consciousness certainly moved about it; with the power of Jenova he was able to harness the healing processes of the planet, turn its constructive energy into reserves for his own vision.
But the Lifestream seemed to know what he was doing. Like a restless wave of voyeurs, it seemed to watch him, knowingly. As if it knew something he did not, and was merely waiting to use it against him.
This unsettled and aggravated Sephiroth. And this made him more violent, and more forceful, and sometimes, sometimes, his grip would render the blue-eyed soldier he liked to patronize unconscious, and temporarily asphyxiated.
He watched, finally helpless, as his blue-eyed soldier looked down on him, a gentle remorse apparent in the latter's face. A remorse that Sephiroth felt seep into him, fill and smother him; a last, gentle entrance, soft as a Nibel sun falling across an unmade bed.
Above them, the Lifestream reached out from the earth, cupping Meteor and snuffing it out, taking its one-winged sire along with it.
Set somewhere along the last few minutes of the game, after the fight with One-Winged Angel Sephiroth. Hahahahaaha sorry, it's now more like Lifestream/ Sephiroth but Lifestream = Cloud so yeah. ^^;;
Total: 211 W
------------------------------------
3. whitesummerside - Aeris/Tifa, Final Fantasy VII
It was a sticky situation, but they had managed, in the end, to subdue the men who had taken them separately before further damage could be done. Many of the Don’s thugs, as she had expected, operated on a one-track mind; while the Sense materia she had secretly equipped in her bangle told her they were at least worth a fight, they had blanked out completely like a sad pair of moogles when they saw how high the slit of her gown was.
Tsk, tsk, such perverts. But now she was feeling quite deprived herself, after that bit of foreplay. Now she regretted taking them all out, wished she had kept that robust-looking blonde with the robust-looking-
Tifa groaned where she lay, sprawled on the sofa, still half-unconscious. The poor girl had been unlucky enough to have been riddled with four of the Don’s slobbering, much-deprived henchmen. While she did not get a hit into her, she had sampled their vodka, and it had something in it that made her head spin too much.
The irony amused Aeris, and made certain things slip through her imagination. But who would not think the things Aeris did when the little dress Tifa wore seemed far too minute and was threatening, for all the world, to split in half?
Unlike the Don’s men, she could keep a fairly clear head about her in this kind of business. Unlike the Don’s men, she knew how to improvise.
She would help the dress out of its trouble, if only for a short while. And she had managed to locate her staff as well, a robust-looking Mythril Rod from Wall Market itself, good for many things, lady, I assure you, here, for a small price…!
Set anytime during the Don Corneo sequence, preferrably when the Don chooses Cloud over any of the girls. Um, ew. Anyway. ^^;; I liked this one, haha. Much kink indeed, and better than het! XD
Total: 290 W
------------------------------------
4. layangabi - Irulan, Ghanima, Leto II, Dune
She had been watching them, for quite some time now, behind the sheer curtain that separated her inner chambers from the rest of the drawing room: the sister disguised in the plain gown of a palace attendant, almost ghostly in the light of the twin moons; the brother, shrouded, the thick, sandtrout-skin peeking from the edges of his sleeves. She had been watching them, even as she continued writing, well into the night.
They were young, too young. In flesh, these were children, albeit children of the feared Muad’Dib. The Kwistaz Haderach, one generation removed, a failure and the collapse of a thousand-year-old genetic scheme. His seed, these children, these abominations, stood as mocking reminders of what could have happened.
Jessica made her choice. And Paul made his choice as well, which was why she remained childless, she, trained daughter of the Sisterhood, and princess-daughter of Shaddam himself. There was often little room for decision, in the upper tiers of the Empire.
For what are choices for but to make us human. Softly, she dipped her pen into the inkbottle. She recalled her trial with the gom jabbar, the True test of pain designed to reveal the humanity of its subject. It was the choice between excruciating agony, and the end of all things, the gom jabbar to the throat.
Tomorrow, Ghanima Atreides of Muad’Dib’s line would be married to Farad’n of Harkonnen. She would carry the mission of continuing the lineage of failure and glory, the blood of the Lisan-al-Gaib. And standing there, beyond the curtains billowing softly in the desert wind, standing in the evening shadow of Arrakis’ moons, the twins were facing a decision just as painful as any gom jabbar test.
Irulan closed her tome softly, announcing her presence, and the twins, turning in her direction, discreetly moved towards another part of the hall. She had her own decisions to make as well. While she could not foster the Atreides’ line in the way that Ghanima would, and Chani did before her, she could still do so in other ways.
These children, these rulers, would find care from her hands, even as she sought to prevent their existence long ago. Their quiet trial, she vowed, would not pass unmourned.
Set between CHILDREN OF DUNE and GOD-EMPEROR OF DUNE, just before Ghanima weds into the Harkonnen name. Good god, this is the longest one yet. @_@ I'm sorry for going WAAAY overboard in this one. XDDD I hope it doesn't disappoint!
Total: 373 W
------------------------------------
5. neritheka - Cloud/ Tifa, Final Fantasy VII
“Corel Slugger, on the rocks.”
She raised her eyebrow slightly, both mildly surprised and curious at the answer. She complied nevertheless, readying vodka and filling a shot glass with the rich, tallow-coloured liquor that was the bar’s winning order. This was a something new.
“No salt today, soldier?” she teased, winking at him over the counter. She knew how much Cloud preferred the particularly potent Salty Dog she made for him. Seeing how tired he looked, she fully expected a brimming three-shot, straight down.
He only responded with a nonchalant shrug. “Just one reactor today, is all.”
The eyebrow arched slightly higher. “Barrett being difficult?”
“Typical.”
“No injuries?”
“…not really.”
“Not really?”
“Bit of a fight back by the train tunnel, but nothing big.”
There was a finality to his voice that she did not want to disturb. For a full three minutes only the sound of ice clinking against glass filled the silence between them. She slid his drink to him and wiped her hands. She watched him with a resigned quietness as he downed his drink, as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and prepared to join the rest of AVALANCHE in the basement.
“Oh yeah,” he said almost thoughtfully, and reached into his pocket to pull out a decidedly disheveled flower. A magnolia, it looked like, and at the sight of it, Tifa did not bother to hide her surprise.
“These things don’t just grow anywhere,” she said in wonder. “And I’d expect you to bring home a wound or two after blowing up a reactor.”
“Well,” he replied, perfectly blank, “I’d pay you after Barrett gives me my share but-”
At that, she laughed, and his face twitched, a mixed expression of relief and confusion.
“But okay, okay,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “A magnolia for a shot.” She popped the flower into the cocktail mixer with a flourish. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier. And I don’t mean repayment from your spoils of war.”
Cloud, clearly not understanding, only shrugged again and made for the arcade machine. She watched him, this time clearly amused, as he disappeared below the bar. Shaking her head, Tifa cleared the counter.
“Chivalry lives,” she muttered, and laughed to herself.
Set in the Seventh Heaven just after you blow up the Reactor at the beginning of the game. Obviously Cloud chooses to give the flower to Tifa and not Marlene. ;) Pun at high alert here ahahaha. Fuck. It's getting longer and longer. @_@
Total: 379 W
------------------------------------
6. Aragorn/ Boromir, LOTR
For a captain of Middle-Earth’s most formidable armies, the Steward-Prince of Gondor could not sleep a wink. He had been tense and restless for the most part of the night, troubled by an unnamed specter that had taken ahold of his thoughts.
It was a specter of his making, clearly; even Frodo, who was inconsolable after the fall of his greatest friend and guide, had found consolation. The peace of Galadriel extended throughout her realm, and the woods of Lothlorien breathed a calm that seemed to soothe their spirits.
“Rest easy, Boromir,” he assured the captain, “these borders are well protected.”
“I will find no rest here,” came the sharp retort. “Nor anywhere else in Middle-Earth. There is chaos here, and there is no hope that I can see.” Clearly vexed, Boromir sat himself beside the Ranger, a heaviness in his sigh.
He shifted, leaned against the white root of the mallorn he sat on, and lifted his head to the sky. Above him, between the silvery canopy of the forest, Earendil had climbed the Northern Hemisphere.
“There is a place,” he murmured, “where all shadow fades to light. There is a place of white shores, and silver waters, where the spirits of the Numenor breath their hope to the very stars.”
“No place in this world, Aragorn,” Boromir replied ironically. There was a sadness in his tone that belied his answer. “Too long has shadow held sway.”
“There is a place,” he continued, his tone softening a notch, “where all who are called sail away on grey ships that skim the northern sky. To where the Valar wait. And all will turn to silver glass. May you dock safely in the white shores of Aman.”
He lifted his hand to his forehead in salutation. It was the oldest, most benevolent farewell of the Elves that he had learned, the old blessing that accompanied those who sailed the Great Ocean for the West.
Boromir too, trained his eyes upward and for the shortest moment, his face lit up with a hope that only children in their great faith could muster. Only a second; but the High Captain had long since forgotten the art of keeping faith, and too early had he given up his childhood for the sword.
“Nothing more than stories,” he muttered, before standing up again and resuming his restive vigilance.
Aragorn would repeat the prayer with the utmost grief, several weeks later, as he gently lay the body of Boromir, son of Denethor the Steward, on the Elvish boats. He hoped, as he never hoped when he was a child listening to tales at Elrond’s feet, that it was indeed more than a story.
Set in the anytime within the month-long stay at Lothlorien in the first book, Fellowship of the Ring. Myth referred to here is both the journey to the West for the Elves, and the ships of Earendil.
Total: 450 W
------------------------------------
7. Aragorn/ Boromir, LOTR
It would always be the short, restive month in the Golden Wood that would colour his sleep, even long years after Eldarion took up his crown, and Elandaryn bore his first grandchild.
He would awake, always to the deepest feeling of remorse. For his wife, because he believed that this memory would cheat her out of her final, mournful decision, the decision to become mortal; for his children, because the memory contradicted their very existence; and for himself, for keeping the burden willingly.
It was when the season turned that he would remember most vividly. The leaves from the orchards of Osgiliath (by now a flourishing riverside city, far removed from the wasted ruins it was during the War of the Ring) would fall in the colour of what had been the High Captain’s hair, a dark yellow that left a dull golden carpet underfoot.
And when he watched his family gather and make merry under its trees of ash, it would be the Steward-prince he would see, walking alone and bearing the burden of his people. When he lay with his wife in the deepest silence of evening, it would be Boromir’s hair he would imagine beneath his fingers, and the colour of the leaves falling around where they too had lain like this, long ago, in the silence of Lothlorien.
Set after the events in the book, in teh far future, when Aragorn becomes king of Gondor.
Total: 222 W
------------------------------------
Hell yeah, you WIPs, your turn next! Very, very surprised that there wasn't a single Naruto commission. XD Anyone up to it though, can respond in that entry and I'll see waht I can do. ;j
1. slave2shinigami - Draco/ Harry, Harry Potter
It was a most humiliating match against the Gryffindors, and the faint cheering that he could still hear from outside the dungeons reminded him of his loss. Why, the dogs would surely be celebrating, alright: there would be a lifting of curfew, a bit of fun down the hallways and behind the curtains, the customary smuggled tankard of butterbeer-or two large ones, for that matter, to celebrate Gryffindor’s second Quidditch win that season-and the clamor and swagger of the team as they would walk down the corridors the next day.
In theory, they had lost. Most of the Slytherins in the basement were already fast asleep, many with a soundproof spell cast over their doors. Slytherins were not fond of being humiliated, even if it “was just a game.”
In practice, Draco felt quite triumphant. But didn’t he have all that the big-headed Gryffindors were having, in the delicious privacy of his own quarters? The butterbeer however, was perhaps the only thing missing.
“Well, that can be arranged,” he said almost thoughtfully, as he bent down to tighten the strap of the quivering, golden ball gag that pulled the winning Seeker’s swollen lips to a wide ‘O’.
There would be a very obvious swag in the gait of Harry Potter the next day, but everyone readily attributed it to straddling a Firebolt for a long period of time.
Set somewhere in the 3rd book preferrably after the deciding Quidditch match between Slyth and Gryff, whereupon the latter would go on to win the Quidditch Cup.
Total: 230 W
------------------------------------
2. awildflowersoul - Cloud/ Sephiroth, Final Fantasy VII
The Lifestream was a tricky thing.
He had spent most of his life trying to plumb it for its secrets, and still it eluded him, slipped past his control like tendrils of a dream that the morning would sweep away. His consciousness certainly moved about it; with the power of Jenova he was able to harness the healing processes of the planet, turn its constructive energy into reserves for his own vision.
But the Lifestream seemed to know what he was doing. Like a restless wave of voyeurs, it seemed to watch him, knowingly. As if it knew something he did not, and was merely waiting to use it against him.
This unsettled and aggravated Sephiroth. And this made him more violent, and more forceful, and sometimes, sometimes, his grip would render the blue-eyed soldier he liked to patronize unconscious, and temporarily asphyxiated.
He watched, finally helpless, as his blue-eyed soldier looked down on him, a gentle remorse apparent in the latter's face. A remorse that Sephiroth felt seep into him, fill and smother him; a last, gentle entrance, soft as a Nibel sun falling across an unmade bed.
Above them, the Lifestream reached out from the earth, cupping Meteor and snuffing it out, taking its one-winged sire along with it.
Set somewhere along the last few minutes of the game, after the fight with One-Winged Angel Sephiroth. Hahahahaaha sorry, it's now more like Lifestream/ Sephiroth but Lifestream = Cloud so yeah. ^^;;
Total: 211 W
------------------------------------
3. whitesummerside - Aeris/Tifa, Final Fantasy VII
It was a sticky situation, but they had managed, in the end, to subdue the men who had taken them separately before further damage could be done. Many of the Don’s thugs, as she had expected, operated on a one-track mind; while the Sense materia she had secretly equipped in her bangle told her they were at least worth a fight, they had blanked out completely like a sad pair of moogles when they saw how high the slit of her gown was.
Tsk, tsk, such perverts. But now she was feeling quite deprived herself, after that bit of foreplay. Now she regretted taking them all out, wished she had kept that robust-looking blonde with the robust-looking-
Tifa groaned where she lay, sprawled on the sofa, still half-unconscious. The poor girl had been unlucky enough to have been riddled with four of the Don’s slobbering, much-deprived henchmen. While she did not get a hit into her, she had sampled their vodka, and it had something in it that made her head spin too much.
The irony amused Aeris, and made certain things slip through her imagination. But who would not think the things Aeris did when the little dress Tifa wore seemed far too minute and was threatening, for all the world, to split in half?
Unlike the Don’s men, she could keep a fairly clear head about her in this kind of business. Unlike the Don’s men, she knew how to improvise.
She would help the dress out of its trouble, if only for a short while. And she had managed to locate her staff as well, a robust-looking Mythril Rod from Wall Market itself, good for many things, lady, I assure you, here, for a small price…!
Set anytime during the Don Corneo sequence, preferrably when the Don chooses Cloud over any of the girls. Um, ew. Anyway. ^^;; I liked this one, haha. Much kink indeed, and better than het! XD
Total: 290 W
------------------------------------
4. layangabi - Irulan, Ghanima, Leto II, Dune
She had been watching them, for quite some time now, behind the sheer curtain that separated her inner chambers from the rest of the drawing room: the sister disguised in the plain gown of a palace attendant, almost ghostly in the light of the twin moons; the brother, shrouded, the thick, sandtrout-skin peeking from the edges of his sleeves. She had been watching them, even as she continued writing, well into the night.
They were young, too young. In flesh, these were children, albeit children of the feared Muad’Dib. The Kwistaz Haderach, one generation removed, a failure and the collapse of a thousand-year-old genetic scheme. His seed, these children, these abominations, stood as mocking reminders of what could have happened.
Jessica made her choice. And Paul made his choice as well, which was why she remained childless, she, trained daughter of the Sisterhood, and princess-daughter of Shaddam himself. There was often little room for decision, in the upper tiers of the Empire.
For what are choices for but to make us human. Softly, she dipped her pen into the inkbottle. She recalled her trial with the gom jabbar, the True test of pain designed to reveal the humanity of its subject. It was the choice between excruciating agony, and the end of all things, the gom jabbar to the throat.
Tomorrow, Ghanima Atreides of Muad’Dib’s line would be married to Farad’n of Harkonnen. She would carry the mission of continuing the lineage of failure and glory, the blood of the Lisan-al-Gaib. And standing there, beyond the curtains billowing softly in the desert wind, standing in the evening shadow of Arrakis’ moons, the twins were facing a decision just as painful as any gom jabbar test.
Irulan closed her tome softly, announcing her presence, and the twins, turning in her direction, discreetly moved towards another part of the hall. She had her own decisions to make as well. While she could not foster the Atreides’ line in the way that Ghanima would, and Chani did before her, she could still do so in other ways.
These children, these rulers, would find care from her hands, even as she sought to prevent their existence long ago. Their quiet trial, she vowed, would not pass unmourned.
Set between CHILDREN OF DUNE and GOD-EMPEROR OF DUNE, just before Ghanima weds into the Harkonnen name. Good god, this is the longest one yet. @_@ I'm sorry for going WAAAY overboard in this one. XDDD I hope it doesn't disappoint!
Total: 373 W
------------------------------------
5. neritheka - Cloud/ Tifa, Final Fantasy VII
“Corel Slugger, on the rocks.”
She raised her eyebrow slightly, both mildly surprised and curious at the answer. She complied nevertheless, readying vodka and filling a shot glass with the rich, tallow-coloured liquor that was the bar’s winning order. This was a something new.
“No salt today, soldier?” she teased, winking at him over the counter. She knew how much Cloud preferred the particularly potent Salty Dog she made for him. Seeing how tired he looked, she fully expected a brimming three-shot, straight down.
He only responded with a nonchalant shrug. “Just one reactor today, is all.”
The eyebrow arched slightly higher. “Barrett being difficult?”
“Typical.”
“No injuries?”
“…not really.”
“Not really?”
“Bit of a fight back by the train tunnel, but nothing big.”
There was a finality to his voice that she did not want to disturb. For a full three minutes only the sound of ice clinking against glass filled the silence between them. She slid his drink to him and wiped her hands. She watched him with a resigned quietness as he downed his drink, as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and prepared to join the rest of AVALANCHE in the basement.
“Oh yeah,” he said almost thoughtfully, and reached into his pocket to pull out a decidedly disheveled flower. A magnolia, it looked like, and at the sight of it, Tifa did not bother to hide her surprise.
“These things don’t just grow anywhere,” she said in wonder. “And I’d expect you to bring home a wound or two after blowing up a reactor.”
“Well,” he replied, perfectly blank, “I’d pay you after Barrett gives me my share but-”
At that, she laughed, and his face twitched, a mixed expression of relief and confusion.
“But okay, okay,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “A magnolia for a shot.” She popped the flower into the cocktail mixer with a flourish. “I’ll hold you to that, soldier. And I don’t mean repayment from your spoils of war.”
Cloud, clearly not understanding, only shrugged again and made for the arcade machine. She watched him, this time clearly amused, as he disappeared below the bar. Shaking her head, Tifa cleared the counter.
“Chivalry lives,” she muttered, and laughed to herself.
Set in the Seventh Heaven just after you blow up the Reactor at the beginning of the game. Obviously Cloud chooses to give the flower to Tifa and not Marlene. ;) Pun at high alert here ahahaha. Fuck. It's getting longer and longer. @_@
Total: 379 W
------------------------------------
6. Aragorn/ Boromir, LOTR
For a captain of Middle-Earth’s most formidable armies, the Steward-Prince of Gondor could not sleep a wink. He had been tense and restless for the most part of the night, troubled by an unnamed specter that had taken ahold of his thoughts.
It was a specter of his making, clearly; even Frodo, who was inconsolable after the fall of his greatest friend and guide, had found consolation. The peace of Galadriel extended throughout her realm, and the woods of Lothlorien breathed a calm that seemed to soothe their spirits.
“Rest easy, Boromir,” he assured the captain, “these borders are well protected.”
“I will find no rest here,” came the sharp retort. “Nor anywhere else in Middle-Earth. There is chaos here, and there is no hope that I can see.” Clearly vexed, Boromir sat himself beside the Ranger, a heaviness in his sigh.
He shifted, leaned against the white root of the mallorn he sat on, and lifted his head to the sky. Above him, between the silvery canopy of the forest, Earendil had climbed the Northern Hemisphere.
“There is a place,” he murmured, “where all shadow fades to light. There is a place of white shores, and silver waters, where the spirits of the Numenor breath their hope to the very stars.”
“No place in this world, Aragorn,” Boromir replied ironically. There was a sadness in his tone that belied his answer. “Too long has shadow held sway.”
“There is a place,” he continued, his tone softening a notch, “where all who are called sail away on grey ships that skim the northern sky. To where the Valar wait. And all will turn to silver glass. May you dock safely in the white shores of Aman.”
He lifted his hand to his forehead in salutation. It was the oldest, most benevolent farewell of the Elves that he had learned, the old blessing that accompanied those who sailed the Great Ocean for the West.
Boromir too, trained his eyes upward and for the shortest moment, his face lit up with a hope that only children in their great faith could muster. Only a second; but the High Captain had long since forgotten the art of keeping faith, and too early had he given up his childhood for the sword.
“Nothing more than stories,” he muttered, before standing up again and resuming his restive vigilance.
Aragorn would repeat the prayer with the utmost grief, several weeks later, as he gently lay the body of Boromir, son of Denethor the Steward, on the Elvish boats. He hoped, as he never hoped when he was a child listening to tales at Elrond’s feet, that it was indeed more than a story.
Set in the anytime within the month-long stay at Lothlorien in the first book, Fellowship of the Ring. Myth referred to here is both the journey to the West for the Elves, and the ships of Earendil.
Total: 450 W
------------------------------------
7. Aragorn/ Boromir, LOTR
It would always be the short, restive month in the Golden Wood that would colour his sleep, even long years after Eldarion took up his crown, and Elandaryn bore his first grandchild.
He would awake, always to the deepest feeling of remorse. For his wife, because he believed that this memory would cheat her out of her final, mournful decision, the decision to become mortal; for his children, because the memory contradicted their very existence; and for himself, for keeping the burden willingly.
It was when the season turned that he would remember most vividly. The leaves from the orchards of Osgiliath (by now a flourishing riverside city, far removed from the wasted ruins it was during the War of the Ring) would fall in the colour of what had been the High Captain’s hair, a dark yellow that left a dull golden carpet underfoot.
And when he watched his family gather and make merry under its trees of ash, it would be the Steward-prince he would see, walking alone and bearing the burden of his people. When he lay with his wife in the deepest silence of evening, it would be Boromir’s hair he would imagine beneath his fingers, and the colour of the leaves falling around where they too had lain like this, long ago, in the silence of Lothlorien.
Set after the events in the book, in teh far future, when Aragorn becomes king of Gondor.
Total: 222 W
------------------------------------
Hell yeah, you WIPs, your turn next! Very, very surprised that there wasn't a single Naruto commission. XD Anyone up to it though, can respond in that entry and I'll see waht I can do. ;j