Wow, Aren't I...Literal.
And also, aren't I very easily susceptible to peer pressure. Or even the suggestion thereof. Oh, I'm lame.
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
I'll admit to some editing, spelling wise. Because there's no reason you all should read crap that isn't at least well spelled. Oh, and there's one in Spanish, for the very simple reason that I can't write English while listening to Spanish, apparently.
Anyway, this started off being just Plaude but...didn't stay that way.
Maybe, This Time: OK Go
He’s gone. Left. And what made very much, very simple, very real sense (keep hidden, don’t get caught, every man for himself) isn’t making nearly as much any more. Because he’s left, but what’s left isn’t really him, anymore.
He was sure this was right; he can’t teach the boy anymore than he already has, and if he fails now, it won’t be as much his fault as that of circumstance, conspiracy, plans beyond his comprehension.
Except that he already has; he got attached, and he screwed them both over.
He was wrong, and he’s already lost.
Here It Goes Again: OK Go
The voice isn’t his.
Not in his mind, so much, although sometimes he wonders.
Most things now aren’t exactly clear. He’s not sure what those pills are (sedatives, probably, that would make sense, said something about the Haitian, whatever kind of sense that makes) but they make him hear things that he can’t be sure if their there.
But he hears the voice, and the voice seems right, somehow.
Voice of command, and isn’t it always just.
And he’s a poodle, or so some have said.
Other voices like that. Of command.
And if there’s one things poodles do, or at least the metaphorical kind, because he’s known others, is follow commands.
And what else can he do, in the face of his nature.
Ain’t That a Kick in the Head: Robbie Williams
He would never have considered himself a masochist before.
As vanilla as it comes really, sex wise.
Except for a certain amount of variability, in partner choice, but really, other than that, very much normal.
Well. He’s not one to judge.
Not that other things aren’t normal, they’re just not him.
But damn it if he hasn’t sort of started looking forward to ending up beaten, bloodied, bruised.
And ain’t that a kick in the head.
Literally.
Mr. Bojangles: Robbie Williams
He doesn’t think Claude would do much dancing.
Not that he wouldn’t be good at it, he’s got the grace for it.
Thrashing some one as thoroughly as he manages to do, that takes a kind of ease of movement Peter normally associates with marital arts training and that’s not quite so far removed.
But dancing, really, that takes a kind of person that he’s pretty sure Claude isn’t.
Because, more or less, in any kind of dancing that’s worth doing, you need a partner.
And he’s pretty sure Claude’s not exactly looking for that, anymore.
If he ever was.
David: Nellie McKay
Stalker doesn’t exactly have his kind of ring to it.
Well yes, technically, he is following the boy.
Not his fault he couldn’t keep out of trouble if he tried.
Not his fault he’s totally and utterly dependent on the loudest, firmest voice he last hears.
And most definitely not his fault that the loudest, firmest voice Peter’s happened to hear is apparently his own.
Slideshow: Rufus Wainwright
“The problem,” the voice had told him, “Is not quite what you believe it is.”
He hadn’t answered; they weren’t at that stage yet.
“You think it will make a difference, that you haven’t done anything,” and for someone who had been in that cell for longer than he’d been alive, apparently, the voice sounded rather bored. “It’s debatable whether you have, or haven’t, but the fact remains that it doesn’t.”
Another pause, as he tried to figure out what the bloody hell he’d done to deserve such a verbal cell…well…grate-mate.
“Because the other fact that remains, my dear boy, is that they believe that they are right. And that whatever it is they’ll do to you, and there’s plenty that they will do,” a kind of smug chuckle, “They’ll think that is right as well.”
He turned over in his bunk, to face the wall.
“You are surely familiar with the term, might makes right?” the voice didn’t bother for confirmation that he’d probably figured wouldn’t come, “You'll come to understand, and if they're very, very good, believe, that for your new friends, it’s quite the other way round.”
Busca Un Problema: Natalia Lafourcade
Nueva York es una ciudad de suenos, de ideas que ella nunca ha podido entender.
Pero de lo que se acuerda, de lo que se imagina, de lo que ha visto en peliculas y leido en libros, lo que si entiende, sin saber, es que tiene nieve.
Y ella...ella lo quiere ver.
Porque algo tan blanco y puro es algo que, en el polvo y la oscuridad de su casa y su escuela y su vida, es algo que deberia ser imposible pero no lo es.
Y eso, mas o menos, ha de ser la fe.
Y la fe ha de ser lo unico que le queda.
Sweetest Goodbye: Songs About Jane
He’s following.
One step behind or one step ahead, it all really comes out even in the end.
Always, always, following, and that means everyone’s at risk, who’s around him.
He has to leave, leave comfort, leave New York, leave Matt, leave Molly.
Not because he loves them more, not really.
But because he couldn’t stand another death on his conscience.
Couldn’t stand more guilt.
And he’s a selfish man, he’s come to realize.
Because he’d rather be dead, than guilty.
Rather be alone than normal, than safe.
And he is normal, but he’s never really alone, and he’ll never really be safe.
A Sentimental Man: the Wizard (Joel Grey) from Wicked.
He likes this new world he’s stepped into.
Thirty years seems to have given the world a kind of new lease on life.
And it’s special, really. Lovely.
And he almost, almost wonders if there might be another way.
Except that there’s even more war to be had, more famines, more troubles.
The catastrophes they should be able to see coming (for they can see so much further now), the disasters they could be preventing, do not appear to have caught anyone’s attention.
And he’s glad to be right, in a way.
But in another…well, there’s something to be said for this new world.
He’ll remember it fondly, at least.
Die Sonate vom guten Menschen: Gabriel Yared & Stéphane Moucha, from The Lives of Others.
What the hell they’re doing in Berlin is beyond him.
No, he knows, it’s an assignment, and you don’t question assignments, but enough cold looks and enough cold weather and enough cold stones make him wonder, perhaps they really do need that fire-starter around.
Claude would go along with it, at least.
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.
3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it’s over. No lingering afterwards!
4. Do ten of these, then post them.
I'll admit to some editing, spelling wise. Because there's no reason you all should read crap that isn't at least well spelled. Oh, and there's one in Spanish, for the very simple reason that I can't write English while listening to Spanish, apparently.
Anyway, this started off being just Plaude but...didn't stay that way.
Maybe, This Time: OK Go
He’s gone. Left. And what made very much, very simple, very real sense (keep hidden, don’t get caught, every man for himself) isn’t making nearly as much any more. Because he’s left, but what’s left isn’t really him, anymore.
He was sure this was right; he can’t teach the boy anymore than he already has, and if he fails now, it won’t be as much his fault as that of circumstance, conspiracy, plans beyond his comprehension.
Except that he already has; he got attached, and he screwed them both over.
He was wrong, and he’s already lost.
Here It Goes Again: OK Go
The voice isn’t his.
Not in his mind, so much, although sometimes he wonders.
Most things now aren’t exactly clear. He’s not sure what those pills are (sedatives, probably, that would make sense, said something about the Haitian, whatever kind of sense that makes) but they make him hear things that he can’t be sure if their there.
But he hears the voice, and the voice seems right, somehow.
Voice of command, and isn’t it always just.
And he’s a poodle, or so some have said.
Other voices like that. Of command.
And if there’s one things poodles do, or at least the metaphorical kind, because he’s known others, is follow commands.
And what else can he do, in the face of his nature.
Ain’t That a Kick in the Head: Robbie Williams
He would never have considered himself a masochist before.
As vanilla as it comes really, sex wise.
Except for a certain amount of variability, in partner choice, but really, other than that, very much normal.
Well. He’s not one to judge.
Not that other things aren’t normal, they’re just not him.
But damn it if he hasn’t sort of started looking forward to ending up beaten, bloodied, bruised.
And ain’t that a kick in the head.
Literally.
Mr. Bojangles: Robbie Williams
He doesn’t think Claude would do much dancing.
Not that he wouldn’t be good at it, he’s got the grace for it.
Thrashing some one as thoroughly as he manages to do, that takes a kind of ease of movement Peter normally associates with marital arts training and that’s not quite so far removed.
But dancing, really, that takes a kind of person that he’s pretty sure Claude isn’t.
Because, more or less, in any kind of dancing that’s worth doing, you need a partner.
And he’s pretty sure Claude’s not exactly looking for that, anymore.
If he ever was.
David: Nellie McKay
Stalker doesn’t exactly have his kind of ring to it.
Well yes, technically, he is following the boy.
Not his fault he couldn’t keep out of trouble if he tried.
Not his fault he’s totally and utterly dependent on the loudest, firmest voice he last hears.
And most definitely not his fault that the loudest, firmest voice Peter’s happened to hear is apparently his own.
Slideshow: Rufus Wainwright
“The problem,” the voice had told him, “Is not quite what you believe it is.”
He hadn’t answered; they weren’t at that stage yet.
“You think it will make a difference, that you haven’t done anything,” and for someone who had been in that cell for longer than he’d been alive, apparently, the voice sounded rather bored. “It’s debatable whether you have, or haven’t, but the fact remains that it doesn’t.”
Another pause, as he tried to figure out what the bloody hell he’d done to deserve such a verbal cell…well…grate-mate.
“Because the other fact that remains, my dear boy, is that they believe that they are right. And that whatever it is they’ll do to you, and there’s plenty that they will do,” a kind of smug chuckle, “They’ll think that is right as well.”
He turned over in his bunk, to face the wall.
“You are surely familiar with the term, might makes right?” the voice didn’t bother for confirmation that he’d probably figured wouldn’t come, “You'll come to understand, and if they're very, very good, believe, that for your new friends, it’s quite the other way round.”
Busca Un Problema: Natalia Lafourcade
Nueva York es una ciudad de suenos, de ideas que ella nunca ha podido entender.
Pero de lo que se acuerda, de lo que se imagina, de lo que ha visto en peliculas y leido en libros, lo que si entiende, sin saber, es que tiene nieve.
Y ella...ella lo quiere ver.
Porque algo tan blanco y puro es algo que, en el polvo y la oscuridad de su casa y su escuela y su vida, es algo que deberia ser imposible pero no lo es.
Y eso, mas o menos, ha de ser la fe.
Y la fe ha de ser lo unico que le queda.
Sweetest Goodbye: Songs About Jane
He’s following.
One step behind or one step ahead, it all really comes out even in the end.
Always, always, following, and that means everyone’s at risk, who’s around him.
He has to leave, leave comfort, leave New York, leave Matt, leave Molly.
Not because he loves them more, not really.
But because he couldn’t stand another death on his conscience.
Couldn’t stand more guilt.
And he’s a selfish man, he’s come to realize.
Because he’d rather be dead, than guilty.
Rather be alone than normal, than safe.
And he is normal, but he’s never really alone, and he’ll never really be safe.
A Sentimental Man: the Wizard (Joel Grey) from Wicked.
He likes this new world he’s stepped into.
Thirty years seems to have given the world a kind of new lease on life.
And it’s special, really. Lovely.
And he almost, almost wonders if there might be another way.
Except that there’s even more war to be had, more famines, more troubles.
The catastrophes they should be able to see coming (for they can see so much further now), the disasters they could be preventing, do not appear to have caught anyone’s attention.
And he’s glad to be right, in a way.
But in another…well, there’s something to be said for this new world.
He’ll remember it fondly, at least.
Die Sonate vom guten Menschen: Gabriel Yared & Stéphane Moucha, from The Lives of Others.
What the hell they’re doing in Berlin is beyond him.
No, he knows, it’s an assignment, and you don’t question assignments, but enough cold looks and enough cold weather and enough cold stones make him wonder, perhaps they really do need that fire-starter around.
Claude would go along with it, at least.