Oh ficlets!
Over on tumblr there was a thing going around "AU Song Meme"
I got a couple submissions from Thalia and Kitty (sailorsomething ) and here are the few I've finished (so far).
R/J. 3) College + Sweet Disposition - Temper Trap
She had seen him around campus, like a phantom dancing on the edge of her vision. Soft curls like golden sunshine flitting through her blinds. Proud shoulders strong and broad like warriors of ancient times. Two points of bright blue, dancing like gaslight, full of amusement.
Each time she saw him it was like a jolt of static electricity, sometimes it left her feeling numb, and others it left her feeling alive. Memories would flash in her mind’s eye, images rolling past like a news reel, bringing sensations with them.
A fountain at dusk, a warm hand on hers. A temple, a deep throated laugh. Bright red fruit she had never seen before -- pomegranates -- sweet lips pressed against hers.
But not all were pleasant, not all were things she wished to remember.
A loud city, voices raised in anger. Cold bed sheets, a sense of loss. Bright red staining everything around her, warm and slick against her hands.
The memories, good and bad alike, frightened her. He frightened her. Sometimes, she even frightened herself.
It was a blustery winter day, the kind she loathed, when she ducked into the campus coffee shop. She moved to the counter, peeling off layers as she went, wanting nothing more than hot drink and a quiet corner to read.
“Excuse me?” She stopped at the sound of his voice, unchanged through the lifetimes, feeling the color drain from her face.
She turned around and saw red, her leather glove in his hand. She looked up to meet smiling blue eyes, bright and pleasant like a summer sky.
“You dropped this,” he said, holding out the glove.
“Thank you.” She nodded and snatched it from his hand. The moment her fingers grazed his it was like a jolt of static electricity, racing up her arm and settling in her stomach, where it started to smolder like a fire.
“This might be a bit forward, but I don’t suppose I could buy you a cup of coffee?” He grinned at her, wide and carefree and her heart fluttered. She had missed that smile.
“I suppose you could,” she said, slowly starting to return his smile.
---------
R/J. 12 - ‘20s - Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is by Jet
The first time Joseph McBride stepped inside the Silver Pearl speakeasy, he felt a thrill run down his spine. This was the place he had been looking for, the place he needed.
The wooden dance floor was scuffed and marked, in need a polish. The seats of the booths lining the walls were worn and in need of repair. It was a dive, to be sure, but a dive he could get accustomed to.
There was a stage and tiny orchestra pit, and the bar was lined with more types of liquor than he knew existed. Joseph tightened his grip on his trumpet case and walked down the steps to the bar, flagging down a wiry young man with curly blond hair. The band for the night was tuning up already.
“Hey? Is the owner around?”
“Not yet, kid. What d’ya need?” The bartender lifted chin.
“I’m a trumpeter,” Joseph held up his case, “he told me to meet him for an interview.”
“He’ll be here later tonight, why not pull up a chair have a drink?” The blond lifted his brows, green eyes twinkling.
“Sure,” Joseph shrugged. He sat at a stool at the corner of the bar, half-hidden in shadow, but with a view of the entire place. The bartender handed him a glass of amber liquid, and Joseph sat nursing while the room started to fill up with people.
By the time the place was in full swing, people crowding the dance floor or bellying up to the bar, Joseph had nearly forgotten his original reason in being there, so enthralled with the place was he. He watched the girls on the dance floor. One girl in particular caught his eye.
Her raven black hair was cropped in a short bob, thick bangs falling into smoky eyes. Her beaded headdress glittering under the lights with every tilted of her head. Her ruby lips matched dress, a stark contrast to her pale skin.
She moved with an assured grace, hips swaying, the fringe on her dress jumping and swinging with the rhythm of the music. Between songs she took a break from dancing, moving off the floor and pulling a cigarette from her clutch bag.
Three men immediately came to her rescue, lighters held aloft. She ignored them all, slowly pulling a gold lighter from her clutch, cigarette pressed between her lips. Once it was burning she pulled the cigarette away, held between long, elegant fingers, and blew out a plume of smoke, lips puckered.
Brushing past the men crowding her, she sauntered up to the bar and flagged down the blond barman.
“A glass of bubbly, Zachary,” she said, her voice smooth and refined like the whisky he was sipping.
She stuck the cigarette between her lips and leaned her elbows on the bartop, eyes surveying the room.
“There ya go, Rita,” the barman said, setting down a glass of pale, fizzing liquid.
“Thank you, you’re the bees knees!” she said with a wink, stubbing out the cigarette in the heavy ashtray on the bar. She took a careful sip as the barman left to attend another costumer. Dark eyes fluttered toward Joseph.
“So, are you going to stare all night or might you introduce yourself to a girl?”
Joseph blinked in confusion. “I’m-I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play coy now, tiger. I couldn’t help but notice you, sitting over here all alone, noticing me on the dance floor.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
She snorted into her champagne. “They never do,” she mumbled. Sitting down her glass she turned on him and held out her. “Rita Andrews.”
“Joseph McBride.” He gave her hand a firm shake.
“Do you dance, Joseph McBride?”
“I don’t,” he glanced down at the trumpet case sitting at his feet, “but I play.”
“Well ain’t that just the bees knees?“ She fished out another cigarette and lit it. “You any good?”
Joseph straightened up. “I like to think so.”
“So you’re here to see Darien about a job?”
“Yeah…. how did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” She puffed out a breath of smoke. “Tell you what? Why don’t you get up there and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“I can do that?”
“Sure you can.“ She shrugged. “So get up there, show me what you got, Joseph McBride.… maybe I’ll even show you what I got?”
She lifted a dark brow at him, lips quirked, and sauntered back toward the dance floor. She paused half-way and glanced over her shoulder, “Well? You coming or not?”
---------
R/J. 7 - apocalypse/post-apocalypse. + The Valley by Okkervil River
A/N: I literally have no fucking clue what happened with this....
The man had a slashed throat, like a gaping red smile. He’d been scavenged clean, whoever had a go at him not even leaving his smalls and a shred of dignity.
Jackson shielded sky blue eyes from the sun and turned back to his group, shaking his head. His blond curls were dark with sweat and plastered to his head, the desert heat oppressive and unyielding.
“Need to keep on,” he said as he started walking back, pointing his crossbow to the ground as he uncocked it.
“Who keeps killing them? They’re just nomads, they barely have anything to their name.” Amelia Crane muttered, slim hand rubbing her forehead. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore, darlin’,” Jackson muttered. He looked out over the heated wasteland that had once been southern California, now it was wreckage and rumble resembling the wilds of the Mojave desert than San Diego.
The crunch of boots on rocks alerted them to the approach of another person. The group quickly drew their weapons, assuming an attack formation. After a moment a head of thick, auburn hair appeared around a corner with hands held up.
“Only me,” Nathan grumbled. “Did you forget I was scouting ahead?”
“Nor our fault you sound like a stampede of wild animals, you big lug.” Macy tucked away her twin blades, sweeping back her blonde ponytail.
“Yeah, yeah.” Nathan rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a house up the ways, looks to be occupied, and there’s a horse tethered out front.”
“Wonder if they know anything about the raiders killing innocent folk?” Jackson purse his lips in thought.
“Perhaps we should return to town and let the elders know? They might have some ideas,” Amelia said. Macy nodded her agreement.
“Nah, let’s investigate first.” Jackson started forward, in the direction Nathan had pointed.
“Who put you in charge, Jack?” Macy frowned deeply, arms crossed, blue eyes narrowed.
“Just come on, it’s a good lead. We might even end up with some real news for the elders.”
With a soft growl of indignation, Macy followed him and Nathan, Amelia in tow. They walked underneath blistering sun until they came to a small valley, a hovel nestled in the middle. It was ramshackle, hastily put together with pieces of ruined buildings by someone who likely didn’t know what they were doing. Grey smoke puffed out of the tiny tin flue, and a small black horse was tied near the door, munching a bucket of oats.
The foursome quietly moved down to the building, mindful not to startle to beast or the occupant inside. When they were half-way to the door it opened slowly and a young woman leaned against the frame. She wore tattered skirts and black boots that disappeared under the hems. Her shirt was patched together and fitted her form tightly. Long raven hair cascaded down her back, gleaming under the noonday sun. She wore a large amethyst pendant on a gold chain, and her bright eyes were nearly identical in color.
The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, a small smile curved her full lips. “I was wondering when you would show, Jackson.”
“Ruslana, as I live and breath.”
“You know each other?” Nathan quirked a brow, brown eyes flitting back and forth between the two.
“Yeah, we go way back,” Jackson said.
“I would suggest you come inside. I have some answers to your questions.” She turned, moving away from the door. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I never do, Lana.” Jackson shrugged at his companions and followed the dark haired woman inside.
I got a couple submissions from Thalia and Kitty (sailorsomething ) and here are the few I've finished (so far).
R/J. 3) College + Sweet Disposition - Temper Trap
She had seen him around campus, like a phantom dancing on the edge of her vision. Soft curls like golden sunshine flitting through her blinds. Proud shoulders strong and broad like warriors of ancient times. Two points of bright blue, dancing like gaslight, full of amusement.
Each time she saw him it was like a jolt of static electricity, sometimes it left her feeling numb, and others it left her feeling alive. Memories would flash in her mind’s eye, images rolling past like a news reel, bringing sensations with them.
A fountain at dusk, a warm hand on hers. A temple, a deep throated laugh. Bright red fruit she had never seen before -- pomegranates -- sweet lips pressed against hers.
But not all were pleasant, not all were things she wished to remember.
A loud city, voices raised in anger. Cold bed sheets, a sense of loss. Bright red staining everything around her, warm and slick against her hands.
The memories, good and bad alike, frightened her. He frightened her. Sometimes, she even frightened herself.
It was a blustery winter day, the kind she loathed, when she ducked into the campus coffee shop. She moved to the counter, peeling off layers as she went, wanting nothing more than hot drink and a quiet corner to read.
“Excuse me?” She stopped at the sound of his voice, unchanged through the lifetimes, feeling the color drain from her face.
She turned around and saw red, her leather glove in his hand. She looked up to meet smiling blue eyes, bright and pleasant like a summer sky.
“You dropped this,” he said, holding out the glove.
“Thank you.” She nodded and snatched it from his hand. The moment her fingers grazed his it was like a jolt of static electricity, racing up her arm and settling in her stomach, where it started to smolder like a fire.
“This might be a bit forward, but I don’t suppose I could buy you a cup of coffee?” He grinned at her, wide and carefree and her heart fluttered. She had missed that smile.
“I suppose you could,” she said, slowly starting to return his smile.
---------
R/J. 12 - ‘20s - Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is by Jet
The first time Joseph McBride stepped inside the Silver Pearl speakeasy, he felt a thrill run down his spine. This was the place he had been looking for, the place he needed.
The wooden dance floor was scuffed and marked, in need a polish. The seats of the booths lining the walls were worn and in need of repair. It was a dive, to be sure, but a dive he could get accustomed to.
There was a stage and tiny orchestra pit, and the bar was lined with more types of liquor than he knew existed. Joseph tightened his grip on his trumpet case and walked down the steps to the bar, flagging down a wiry young man with curly blond hair. The band for the night was tuning up already.
“Hey? Is the owner around?”
“Not yet, kid. What d’ya need?” The bartender lifted chin.
“I’m a trumpeter,” Joseph held up his case, “he told me to meet him for an interview.”
“He’ll be here later tonight, why not pull up a chair have a drink?” The blond lifted his brows, green eyes twinkling.
“Sure,” Joseph shrugged. He sat at a stool at the corner of the bar, half-hidden in shadow, but with a view of the entire place. The bartender handed him a glass of amber liquid, and Joseph sat nursing while the room started to fill up with people.
By the time the place was in full swing, people crowding the dance floor or bellying up to the bar, Joseph had nearly forgotten his original reason in being there, so enthralled with the place was he. He watched the girls on the dance floor. One girl in particular caught his eye.
Her raven black hair was cropped in a short bob, thick bangs falling into smoky eyes. Her beaded headdress glittering under the lights with every tilted of her head. Her ruby lips matched dress, a stark contrast to her pale skin.
She moved with an assured grace, hips swaying, the fringe on her dress jumping and swinging with the rhythm of the music. Between songs she took a break from dancing, moving off the floor and pulling a cigarette from her clutch bag.
Three men immediately came to her rescue, lighters held aloft. She ignored them all, slowly pulling a gold lighter from her clutch, cigarette pressed between her lips. Once it was burning she pulled the cigarette away, held between long, elegant fingers, and blew out a plume of smoke, lips puckered.
Brushing past the men crowding her, she sauntered up to the bar and flagged down the blond barman.
“A glass of bubbly, Zachary,” she said, her voice smooth and refined like the whisky he was sipping.
She stuck the cigarette between her lips and leaned her elbows on the bartop, eyes surveying the room.
“There ya go, Rita,” the barman said, setting down a glass of pale, fizzing liquid.
“Thank you, you’re the bees knees!” she said with a wink, stubbing out the cigarette in the heavy ashtray on the bar. She took a careful sip as the barman left to attend another costumer. Dark eyes fluttered toward Joseph.
“So, are you going to stare all night or might you introduce yourself to a girl?”
Joseph blinked in confusion. “I’m-I’m sorry?”
“Don’t play coy now, tiger. I couldn’t help but notice you, sitting over here all alone, noticing me on the dance floor.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
She snorted into her champagne. “They never do,” she mumbled. Sitting down her glass she turned on him and held out her. “Rita Andrews.”
“Joseph McBride.” He gave her hand a firm shake.
“Do you dance, Joseph McBride?”
“I don’t,” he glanced down at the trumpet case sitting at his feet, “but I play.”
“Well ain’t that just the bees knees?“ She fished out another cigarette and lit it. “You any good?”
Joseph straightened up. “I like to think so.”
“So you’re here to see Darien about a job?”
“Yeah…. how did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” She puffed out a breath of smoke. “Tell you what? Why don’t you get up there and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
“I can do that?”
“Sure you can.“ She shrugged. “So get up there, show me what you got, Joseph McBride.… maybe I’ll even show you what I got?”
She lifted a dark brow at him, lips quirked, and sauntered back toward the dance floor. She paused half-way and glanced over her shoulder, “Well? You coming or not?”
---------
R/J. 7 - apocalypse/post-apocalypse. + The Valley by Okkervil River
A/N: I literally have no fucking clue what happened with this....
The man had a slashed throat, like a gaping red smile. He’d been scavenged clean, whoever had a go at him not even leaving his smalls and a shred of dignity.
Jackson shielded sky blue eyes from the sun and turned back to his group, shaking his head. His blond curls were dark with sweat and plastered to his head, the desert heat oppressive and unyielding.
“Need to keep on,” he said as he started walking back, pointing his crossbow to the ground as he uncocked it.
“Who keeps killing them? They’re just nomads, they barely have anything to their name.” Amelia Crane muttered, slim hand rubbing her forehead. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nothing makes sense anymore, darlin’,” Jackson muttered. He looked out over the heated wasteland that had once been southern California, now it was wreckage and rumble resembling the wilds of the Mojave desert than San Diego.
The crunch of boots on rocks alerted them to the approach of another person. The group quickly drew their weapons, assuming an attack formation. After a moment a head of thick, auburn hair appeared around a corner with hands held up.
“Only me,” Nathan grumbled. “Did you forget I was scouting ahead?”
“Nor our fault you sound like a stampede of wild animals, you big lug.” Macy tucked away her twin blades, sweeping back her blonde ponytail.
“Yeah, yeah.” Nathan rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a house up the ways, looks to be occupied, and there’s a horse tethered out front.”
“Wonder if they know anything about the raiders killing innocent folk?” Jackson purse his lips in thought.
“Perhaps we should return to town and let the elders know? They might have some ideas,” Amelia said. Macy nodded her agreement.
“Nah, let’s investigate first.” Jackson started forward, in the direction Nathan had pointed.
“Who put you in charge, Jack?” Macy frowned deeply, arms crossed, blue eyes narrowed.
“Just come on, it’s a good lead. We might even end up with some real news for the elders.”
With a soft growl of indignation, Macy followed him and Nathan, Amelia in tow. They walked underneath blistering sun until they came to a small valley, a hovel nestled in the middle. It was ramshackle, hastily put together with pieces of ruined buildings by someone who likely didn’t know what they were doing. Grey smoke puffed out of the tiny tin flue, and a small black horse was tied near the door, munching a bucket of oats.
The foursome quietly moved down to the building, mindful not to startle to beast or the occupant inside. When they were half-way to the door it opened slowly and a young woman leaned against the frame. She wore tattered skirts and black boots that disappeared under the hems. Her shirt was patched together and fitted her form tightly. Long raven hair cascaded down her back, gleaming under the noonday sun. She wore a large amethyst pendant on a gold chain, and her bright eyes were nearly identical in color.
The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, a small smile curved her full lips. “I was wondering when you would show, Jackson.”
“Ruslana, as I live and breath.”
“You know each other?” Nathan quirked a brow, brown eyes flitting back and forth between the two.
“Yeah, we go way back,” Jackson said.
“I would suggest you come inside. I have some answers to your questions.” She turned, moving away from the door. “You’re not going to like it.”
“I never do, Lana.” Jackson shrugged at his companions and followed the dark haired woman inside.