My brain is struggling with five ideas at the same time and while I kind of want to write all of them, I also don't feel like jumping into a real story right now. The solution, of course, would be drabbling all over the place, which is why your support would be most appreciated. Which is to say:
Prompt me! And others! And yourself! Like so:
- I queued
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Lyrics are here.
And you know I am so totally counting on you to answer a prompt or two. *nudges*
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Like it's a surprise, but H50, Steve/Danny :)
I may have to try this, though I'm kind of...obssessing over that other thing at the moment... :)
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And while I approve of that other thing (so much OMG), I still want you to play. Just a short little drabble? *dimples*
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Cause I still see the light
Steve/Danny (huge surprise, I know *g*)
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(you have 13637 songs?!)
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(One can never ever have too much music!)
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Well, I'm not into H50, so I would love to read some (more) Holmes/Watson from you, but if you're not inclined that's fine, too :)
I'm trying hard, you save my soul
Well, I'm a helpless fool
Watson POV
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would you mind writing some bandom again? if you don't want to i'm totally fine with H50 cause i love it so :D
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And I could try, as long as it isn't Nu!Panic! Totally! (Or maybe someone else will jump on the prompt!)
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But I'll cheat and give you two, so you can choose :P
Promise you'll meet me later (Jon/Ryan)
or
These days I feel like a stranger (Steve/Danny)
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Steve's quiet when he gets out.
Everything's too loud, too bright, too fast, Danny most of all, Danny who hides everything badly, in plain sight underneath eighty-mile-an-hour bluster and gossip. Most of it is stuff Steve already knows, shared over a shitty six-foot phone line between three inches of glass, read and reread and tucked into his boots, the boots he wore before. He curls his toes, reassured by the folds of the letters under his soles, and watches a pair of sunglasses land in his lap.
Danny must have seen the squint. Steve puts the glasses on but doesn't look up; he's not quite ready for sky just yet.
The house, when they get there, is far too big, open and rattly and wrong, and Steve wants nothing more than to be in his boxers and thongs again but he stops himself from taking off his boots; he stops entirely when he's halfway to the kitchen, completely at a loss for what to do with himself.
Danny closes the door behind them, and he's finally, finally quiet, probably watching ( ... )
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