Snips!
Snails! Puppy dog tai-- wait.
Ahem.
edit: holy potato, there are more of these than I thought.
One Les Miserables:
They shared a bed as they shared a pen, chastely and easily. In the night Enjolras woke with his head on Combeferre's shoulder, and sighed.
* * *
LOTS of Westmark:
When he heard the details, he took it quietly, in hard-won stoicism. She had hated extravagance, and he had wasted her life.
* * *
I don't like you either, Mickle thinks crossly, staring at Justin across the council table. Unfortunately, it isn't true.
* * *
"I like this," Connie confides, with that winning grin of his. "You can't imagine how pleasant it is, just to sit quietly by the fire with an old friend, and not talk--"
"I certainly can't, if you keep on like that," she says dryly.
* * *
Justin is determined not to be won over: not by a fatuous Regian kinglet with no stomach for blood. In his anger, he is not conscious of having told Constantine as much as he has ever told Florian.
* * *
"At least pretend you have some sense!" Zara snapped finally, and Rina threw a handful of type at her.
Florian sighed. "Sisterly love."
* * *
"I still don't entirely like it," Florian says, the morning of leavetaking.
Rina rounds on him. "You don't imagine I'll back out now?"
"Not for a moment." He takes her shoulders and kisses her once, gravely, the way she always wished he would. "Go well, my child." And walks away.
* * *
And a drabble:
When he gets back to headquarters, Zara is nowhere to be seen; he is left to seek out Florian for himself.
He's sitting at the familiar table among the maps and dispatches and the neglected, guttering candles, his head buried in his arms. He looks up as Luther sets down the packet of letters, his eyes bleak and defiant. Luther understands: one of Zara's duties is to protect him from being seen like this, to save his pride.
But Luther has been with him a long time now. He rests an arm across Florian's worn shoulders and stands there, silently.
* * *
Les Mis/Westmark:
There's no dangerous beauty here, nothing in this lean, scarred, humorous face to trap him. Grantaire comes back to listen only for old times' sake.
* * *
Enjolras had actually looked behind him before he caught the woman's smile. "How did you do that?"
The smile turned impish, a gamine triumphant. "Practice."
* * *
After a while, Clarion noticed that his shirts were coming back not only mended, but subtly embellished, with embroidery or drawn-thread work in the most delicate taste. He never mentioned it.
* * *
They met by chance in a quiet cafe. The boy reminds Florian sharply of lost friends, of his own distant youth. He stays, talking, laughing, until dawn, and leaves with an ache in his heart.
* * *
The young man came to consult with Torrens; he stayed, with eyes shining, to expound to the Queen on astronomy and gardening. When he left, she was smiling for the first time in months.
* * *
PotO/Westmark:
Raoul hangs about with longing eyes, and orders more clothes than he can possibly wear. Zara is unmoved. She has no interest in viscounts.
* * *
Good Omens:
"I'll be nice to my houseplants," said Crowley sulkily, "when you stop wearing that ungo-- unho-- unbelievable tie."
* * *
And finally, random crack for Soujin:
"And what do you do?"
"I-- well, I can read Hebrew."
The Englishman laughs. "On purpose?"
"I like old languages," Jehan protests, needing to explain. "They're not dead as long as I know them."
The man's dark eyes grow gentler. "Is that so? Then I'll teach you another."
* * *
*curtseys, exits stage right*
Ahem.
edit: holy potato, there are more of these than I thought.
One Les Miserables:
They shared a bed as they shared a pen, chastely and easily. In the night Enjolras woke with his head on Combeferre's shoulder, and sighed.
* * *
LOTS of Westmark:
When he heard the details, he took it quietly, in hard-won stoicism. She had hated extravagance, and he had wasted her life.
* * *
I don't like you either, Mickle thinks crossly, staring at Justin across the council table. Unfortunately, it isn't true.
* * *
"I like this," Connie confides, with that winning grin of his. "You can't imagine how pleasant it is, just to sit quietly by the fire with an old friend, and not talk--"
"I certainly can't, if you keep on like that," she says dryly.
* * *
Justin is determined not to be won over: not by a fatuous Regian kinglet with no stomach for blood. In his anger, he is not conscious of having told Constantine as much as he has ever told Florian.
* * *
"At least pretend you have some sense!" Zara snapped finally, and Rina threw a handful of type at her.
Florian sighed. "Sisterly love."
* * *
"I still don't entirely like it," Florian says, the morning of leavetaking.
Rina rounds on him. "You don't imagine I'll back out now?"
"Not for a moment." He takes her shoulders and kisses her once, gravely, the way she always wished he would. "Go well, my child." And walks away.
* * *
And a drabble:
When he gets back to headquarters, Zara is nowhere to be seen; he is left to seek out Florian for himself.
He's sitting at the familiar table among the maps and dispatches and the neglected, guttering candles, his head buried in his arms. He looks up as Luther sets down the packet of letters, his eyes bleak and defiant. Luther understands: one of Zara's duties is to protect him from being seen like this, to save his pride.
But Luther has been with him a long time now. He rests an arm across Florian's worn shoulders and stands there, silently.
* * *
Les Mis/Westmark:
There's no dangerous beauty here, nothing in this lean, scarred, humorous face to trap him. Grantaire comes back to listen only for old times' sake.
* * *
Enjolras had actually looked behind him before he caught the woman's smile. "How did you do that?"
The smile turned impish, a gamine triumphant. "Practice."
* * *
After a while, Clarion noticed that his shirts were coming back not only mended, but subtly embellished, with embroidery or drawn-thread work in the most delicate taste. He never mentioned it.
* * *
They met by chance in a quiet cafe. The boy reminds Florian sharply of lost friends, of his own distant youth. He stays, talking, laughing, until dawn, and leaves with an ache in his heart.
* * *
The young man came to consult with Torrens; he stayed, with eyes shining, to expound to the Queen on astronomy and gardening. When he left, she was smiling for the first time in months.
* * *
PotO/Westmark:
Raoul hangs about with longing eyes, and orders more clothes than he can possibly wear. Zara is unmoved. She has no interest in viscounts.
* * *
Good Omens:
"I'll be nice to my houseplants," said Crowley sulkily, "when you stop wearing that ungo-- unho-- unbelievable tie."
* * *
And finally, random crack for Soujin:
"And what do you do?"
"I-- well, I can read Hebrew."
The Englishman laughs. "On purpose?"
"I like old languages," Jehan protests, needing to explain. "They're not dead as long as I know them."
The man's dark eyes grow gentler. "Is that so? Then I'll teach you another."
* * *
*curtseys, exits stage right*