[ficlets, reposted] femslash unporn
Originally posted at the unporn battle here.
[Firefly RPF. Morena/Summer. Toes. PG-13. 204 words.]
The Lap of Luxury
"I don't know why it's always my dressing room," Morena says mildly to Jewel, who's staring critically at herself in Morena's mirror.
"You're the boss," says Summer with a flirty laugh.
"Really. My lawyer will have to read my contract to me again."
"Yeah, you're the boss, and also, has anyone told you you're in charge of giving me footrubs?"
"Footrubs?" Jewel raises a skeptical eyebrow at her reflection. "What else goes on in here when I'm on set?"
"Very little," Morena says firmly. "We read lines. Camille and Leo stop by and make Summer sit still so they can put makeup on her. Things like that."
"Also things like this," Summer says, carefully lifting one leg and balancing her foot in Morena's lap.
"What goes on again?" Jewel asks. In the mirror, Summer looks like a very talented dyslexic ballerina.
"Very little," Morena repeats faintly. She touches silver nail polish to Summer's big toe. It's not a big deal; someone will wash it off eventually. Summer's feet are big stars, and have their own makeup artists. She feels a little overwhelmed, having such celebrated performers in her lap. It makes her nervous, and she starts to laugh.
Summer smirks and wiggles her toes.
[Baby-Sitters Club. Janine/Mary Anne. PG. Ancient history. 604 words.]
Aftermath
Mary Anne is full. Her stomach is full of turkey and gravy and tofu and mashed potatoes; her eyelashes are full of snow and sleet, and her head is full of swirling thoughts. She can't remember the last time the whole family was home for Thanksgiving. Usually either Dawn or Jeff was with their dad, or she or Dawn or Jeff was with a significant other, or Dawn was with friends, or she was with Kristy, and one year, Sharon had appendicitis and they all had Thanksgiving in Stoneybrook General.
Having all of them (plus Dawn's wife and two small children, and Jeff's girlfriend) eating together made Mary Anne remember. Not bad memories. Well. Some arguments, and even some screaming, because there was a lot of screaming at first. But mostly it was quiet. When Mary Anne was in high school, living with just Dad and Sharon, the nights were unbroken silence, almost lonely. It was strange to have so many people and so many sounds tonight. Uncanny.
She's so full of yesterday that she loses track of where she is, and slips on an icy patch. She can feel the snow seeping into her fancy holiday dress and her dignity seeping into the snow when a red-gloved hand reaches down to help her up. She stumbles to her feet, embarrassed.
"Thanks -- Janine."
"You're welcome." Janine smiles a little awkwardly. "I'm surprised anyone else is outdoors tonight."
"I needed to clear my head -- too much turkey."
"Ah," Janine says, and apparently doesn't feel the need to say anything more. Mary Anne can't remember the last time she saw her. It seems like eons since she and Kristy and Stacey raced past Janine's room to escape from her pedantic grammar corrections and weird computer sounds.
"Did you have a nice dinner?" Mary Anne asks.
"Yes," says Janine. Then she says, "No," and stumbles a little. They've turned onto Burnt Hill Road. Janine is walking her home. "It was quiet," she concludes.
"Ours was loud," says Mary Anne. "Two kids... seven adults... it's pretty different from just me and my dad."
"We used to have fancy holiday dinners, my aunt and uncle and the four of us and Mimi. I was always very fond of the whole family eating together. I felt... comfortable."
"Claud never felt comfortable," Mary Anne has to remind her, then feels mean. Janine drops her hand. "I didn't mean --"
"My dinner was very quiet," Janine repeats.
Mary Anne shuffles through the snow, knows that she's making a mess with her tracks. She hopes she does. She hopes everyone who drives on Burnt Hill Road tomorrow, hurrying to the mall, will see her footprints side by side with Janine's, and draw all the wrong conclusions.
"Well." The old house looks older and smaller than ever, but is bright within. The peeling paint is flecked with laughter. "Here you are."
Mary Anne isn't quite sure what to say. "Have a nice walk home," she tries. Janine nods and pivots on her heel. Mary Anne realizes Janine is resigned, and in a moment of clarity despises her resignation. Janine was never the beautiful one, never the dazzler. She walks through life in gray and mauve while her sister dances in silver and scarlet. There's no reason for it and nothing that could rectify this injustice. It's too late for Mary Anne to be brave or Janine beautiful, for Mary Anne to be spontaneous and Janine surprising. When the sky clears, the harvest moon shines heavily on misleading footprints where two women paused for a moment in the snow before retreating towards home.
[Buffyverse. Buffy/Nina. PG-13. Post-"Chosen". Smoke. 336 words.]
Alight
Buffy's cigarettes smell like Spike, three years post-Sunnydale. When she leans against a wall and inhales, she can almost feel him, expects she'll hear him any moment, casually drawling, "D'ya have a light for an old flame?" before setting her on fire.
"Got a light?" Buffy startles, stubs her cigarette against the brick and lands a decent punch on the woman's jaw in one smooth motion before realizing she's not a vampire, just another starving artist on the streets of New York. Purple paint under her fingernails and a frightened flicker in her eyes distinguish her; druggies' eyes are dimmer, and vampires rarely ask Buffy for favors; she has something of what you might call a reputation.
The woman rubs her jaw but doesn't run away like a smart person might, which pisses Buffy off. She'd like to smoke alone tonight, brood about Spike and feel sorry for herself.
"Do you have a light?" the woman repeats.
Buffy nods and tosses it. "So, why aren't you beating it after I, um, beat you up?"
"I figured you had a reason, and I'm craving nicotine so badly right now I'd take a light from a vampire. I mean. If vampires were real."
She sounds like someone who knows that Buffy knows that vampires are entirely real, which means this is not the time to drop her real name. "I'm Anne."
"Nina Ash." She inhales so deeply Buffy can hear her lungs expand. "I haven't had a smoke in six months."
"Did you quit?"
"In a manner of speaking. I ran away and conveniently forgot to bring money with me."
"Clever."
"But now...." Nina takes another drag, coughs, and smiles. "Now that I've got that addiction taken care of, I can go shopping for paint brushes. Clay. Acrylics. A new boyfriend, not the same as the old boyfriend."
The dry rattle of Spike's bones fades, and the only sound in Buffy's heart is Nina's quiet cough. "Sounds plan-y." She prepares to make this moment yet another new beginning.
[Firefly RPF. Morena/Summer. Toes. PG-13. 204 words.]
The Lap of Luxury
"I don't know why it's always my dressing room," Morena says mildly to Jewel, who's staring critically at herself in Morena's mirror.
"You're the boss," says Summer with a flirty laugh.
"Really. My lawyer will have to read my contract to me again."
"Yeah, you're the boss, and also, has anyone told you you're in charge of giving me footrubs?"
"Footrubs?" Jewel raises a skeptical eyebrow at her reflection. "What else goes on in here when I'm on set?"
"Very little," Morena says firmly. "We read lines. Camille and Leo stop by and make Summer sit still so they can put makeup on her. Things like that."
"Also things like this," Summer says, carefully lifting one leg and balancing her foot in Morena's lap.
"What goes on again?" Jewel asks. In the mirror, Summer looks like a very talented dyslexic ballerina.
"Very little," Morena repeats faintly. She touches silver nail polish to Summer's big toe. It's not a big deal; someone will wash it off eventually. Summer's feet are big stars, and have their own makeup artists. She feels a little overwhelmed, having such celebrated performers in her lap. It makes her nervous, and she starts to laugh.
Summer smirks and wiggles her toes.
[Baby-Sitters Club. Janine/Mary Anne. PG. Ancient history. 604 words.]
Aftermath
Mary Anne is full. Her stomach is full of turkey and gravy and tofu and mashed potatoes; her eyelashes are full of snow and sleet, and her head is full of swirling thoughts. She can't remember the last time the whole family was home for Thanksgiving. Usually either Dawn or Jeff was with their dad, or she or Dawn or Jeff was with a significant other, or Dawn was with friends, or she was with Kristy, and one year, Sharon had appendicitis and they all had Thanksgiving in Stoneybrook General.
Having all of them (plus Dawn's wife and two small children, and Jeff's girlfriend) eating together made Mary Anne remember. Not bad memories. Well. Some arguments, and even some screaming, because there was a lot of screaming at first. But mostly it was quiet. When Mary Anne was in high school, living with just Dad and Sharon, the nights were unbroken silence, almost lonely. It was strange to have so many people and so many sounds tonight. Uncanny.
She's so full of yesterday that she loses track of where she is, and slips on an icy patch. She can feel the snow seeping into her fancy holiday dress and her dignity seeping into the snow when a red-gloved hand reaches down to help her up. She stumbles to her feet, embarrassed.
"Thanks -- Janine."
"You're welcome." Janine smiles a little awkwardly. "I'm surprised anyone else is outdoors tonight."
"I needed to clear my head -- too much turkey."
"Ah," Janine says, and apparently doesn't feel the need to say anything more. Mary Anne can't remember the last time she saw her. It seems like eons since she and Kristy and Stacey raced past Janine's room to escape from her pedantic grammar corrections and weird computer sounds.
"Did you have a nice dinner?" Mary Anne asks.
"Yes," says Janine. Then she says, "No," and stumbles a little. They've turned onto Burnt Hill Road. Janine is walking her home. "It was quiet," she concludes.
"Ours was loud," says Mary Anne. "Two kids... seven adults... it's pretty different from just me and my dad."
"We used to have fancy holiday dinners, my aunt and uncle and the four of us and Mimi. I was always very fond of the whole family eating together. I felt... comfortable."
"Claud never felt comfortable," Mary Anne has to remind her, then feels mean. Janine drops her hand. "I didn't mean --"
"My dinner was very quiet," Janine repeats.
Mary Anne shuffles through the snow, knows that she's making a mess with her tracks. She hopes she does. She hopes everyone who drives on Burnt Hill Road tomorrow, hurrying to the mall, will see her footprints side by side with Janine's, and draw all the wrong conclusions.
"Well." The old house looks older and smaller than ever, but is bright within. The peeling paint is flecked with laughter. "Here you are."
Mary Anne isn't quite sure what to say. "Have a nice walk home," she tries. Janine nods and pivots on her heel. Mary Anne realizes Janine is resigned, and in a moment of clarity despises her resignation. Janine was never the beautiful one, never the dazzler. She walks through life in gray and mauve while her sister dances in silver and scarlet. There's no reason for it and nothing that could rectify this injustice. It's too late for Mary Anne to be brave or Janine beautiful, for Mary Anne to be spontaneous and Janine surprising. When the sky clears, the harvest moon shines heavily on misleading footprints where two women paused for a moment in the snow before retreating towards home.
[Buffyverse. Buffy/Nina. PG-13. Post-"Chosen". Smoke. 336 words.]
Alight
Buffy's cigarettes smell like Spike, three years post-Sunnydale. When she leans against a wall and inhales, she can almost feel him, expects she'll hear him any moment, casually drawling, "D'ya have a light for an old flame?" before setting her on fire.
"Got a light?" Buffy startles, stubs her cigarette against the brick and lands a decent punch on the woman's jaw in one smooth motion before realizing she's not a vampire, just another starving artist on the streets of New York. Purple paint under her fingernails and a frightened flicker in her eyes distinguish her; druggies' eyes are dimmer, and vampires rarely ask Buffy for favors; she has something of what you might call a reputation.
The woman rubs her jaw but doesn't run away like a smart person might, which pisses Buffy off. She'd like to smoke alone tonight, brood about Spike and feel sorry for herself.
"Do you have a light?" the woman repeats.
Buffy nods and tosses it. "So, why aren't you beating it after I, um, beat you up?"
"I figured you had a reason, and I'm craving nicotine so badly right now I'd take a light from a vampire. I mean. If vampires were real."
She sounds like someone who knows that Buffy knows that vampires are entirely real, which means this is not the time to drop her real name. "I'm Anne."
"Nina Ash." She inhales so deeply Buffy can hear her lungs expand. "I haven't had a smoke in six months."
"Did you quit?"
"In a manner of speaking. I ran away and conveniently forgot to bring money with me."
"Clever."
"But now...." Nina takes another drag, coughs, and smiles. "Now that I've got that addiction taken care of, I can go shopping for paint brushes. Clay. Acrylics. A new boyfriend, not the same as the old boyfriend."
The dry rattle of Spike's bones fades, and the only sound in Buffy's heart is Nina's quiet cough. "Sounds plan-y." She prepares to make this moment yet another new beginning.