Let the Promptathon Begin!

[sansets]

To join the battle, all you need to do is pick a prompt from below (any prompt, even if it's your own) and write/vid/manip/icon/draw/whatever the most creative bit of whatever you can create! And remember - PLEASE feel free to vid or icon or manip or do something non-written. We love ALL kinds of creative output equally!

When you've written/painted/made it, paste it into the comments here. Once you've done that, you can post it wherever else you want.

You may enter as many times as you like, so long as each entry is completely separate (not a series of linked pieces). Also, please do not link to old work - this should be something new, produced for the challenge, based on one of the prompts.

THE RULES

1. It must fit in one comment, so the limit is 4,300 characters (there's no minimum limit). It can be part of a longer piece that you may post elsewhere, as long as it's something new and based on one of the prompts, but all we want here is the part that you are most proud of. If you make art, if it's larger than 350 px wide, please use a thumbnail linking directly to the piece (directly to the artwork, not a post or site). The thumbnail can be up to 350 px wide, and 300 px high, and should include as much of the art as possible. If it is a vidlet or something else requiring dowloading, like a fanmix, please post the link to where we can download. Feel free to post a teaser image, but please confine yourself to the artwork preview rules.

2. Important! Please use the subject line of your comment to identify the snippet, like so: Title, prompt, rating (i.e. Fandom, Pairing, prompt word, rating system of your choice). For example, I might write: "Staying Awake, One Tree Hill, Lucas/Nathan, rain, R", or "The Sun Has Gone Down, Crossover, Torchwood/Stargate Atlantis, Jack/John, under fire, for all ages".

3. You have one week – the post will close for new entries next Sunday, April 1, at midnight eastern standard time. PLEASE be certain to check the World Time Clock to verify the deadline time in your area.

4. Don't forget that these prompts are only written as character one/character two for convience, NOT because of any requirement to make it a relationship story! Gen and friend are very welcome here. They can be interpreted in ANY WAY, so just imagine the FUN possiblities. You can take one prompt and write it, draw it, icon it, fanmix it, AND vid it. (Although if you have the time to do all of that in the week that these prompts are open, I might just have to kill myself out of jealousy :o) And you can use the characters in a different way each time. Don't be afraid to think outside the box!

5. Please don't post anything but your creations or feedback/feedback replies (to individual stories) here. If you've got any questions or comments, please leave them on this post right here, NOT on this post that you are currently reading. We'd like to keep this purely for the creative output (and feedback on the creations - readers/voyeurs, please do show the writers/artists much love for their creative offerings).

The prompts are right here
Thanks SO much to sageness for coding and lending hosting space on her site!

The prompts using only one character were listed first, followed by the prompts for more than one character. ALL crossovers are under both fandoms, so you don't need to worry about looking in multiple places for your crossovers - those listed under Smallville are the same listed under Supernatural, if you are looking for prompts for a Smallville/Supernatural crossover.

Finally! Warning: ALL ratings are acceptable here, from the things that you would show your aged grandmother, all the way up to to the things that would make a sailor blush. Use your own discretion, and please label your stories, art, and other creative output accordingly.

Thank you kindly!

rules stolen from oxoniensis and her AMAZING porn battle

Comments

Lazy Sunday, Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Dan, threadbare, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Dan frowned at the ground. Morning dew and ocean spray glistened on the grass and he didn't want to get his pants wet. Duck told him to wait and jogged the short trek back to his truck. He returned with a blanket, threadbare and faded, but good enough. They spread it out and sat down, huddling slightly so they'd both fit but touching only where Dan rested a hand on top of Duck's. They watched the sun pull free from the horizon and rise high into the sky, breaking the silence only to point out ships passing in the distance.

Re: Lazy Sunday, Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Dan, threadbare, G

[catwalksalone]

Lovely and delicate and so much said in so few words.

Re: All the World's a Stage, RPF, Paul Gross/Martha Burns(/CKR), audience, NC-17

[eledhwenlin]

... Darling, I truly love you. I am awed. AWED.

[grey853.livejournal.com]

OMG, that's so sinfully hot. We're both going to hell in a handbasket, but lordy...

[malnpudl.livejournal.com]

I expect that the company in the Special Hell will be outstanding. ;-)

Back to Basics, Twitch City, Curtis/Newbie, shootout, R

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Curtis usually isn't one for pondering the big questions in life. What's the point in wondering how you got from there to here when 'there' is one side of the couch and 'here' is the other? On this particular occasion, though, watching Newbie use his foot to clear an open spot on the floor, place a Sharpie-drawn picture of a television in the clearing, then start to pull down his pants, Curtis asks himself how exactly he got here.

Pause. Rewind. Play.

He reviews the footage in his head. Newbie came over. Newbie produced a copy of one of the three The Littlest Hobo episodes that Curtis had never managed to see before. They watched the episode. Newbie challenged Curtis to a shootout. Newbie shoved some tapes out of the way, set a piece of paper on the floor, and started unbuckling his belt.

"What shootout rules are we playing by, exactly?" Curtis wishes, not for the first time, that Newbie came with closed captioning.

Newbie says something about science and technology getting in the way of art and needing to get back to basics. Curtis nods because Newbie sounds like he knows what he's talking about and, besides, Rex said something similar eight episodes ago. Newbie says that in its purest form, a shootout isn't about distance or angles of reflection; it's about precision and accuracy. And that even something that feels like a natural extension to them -- like a remote control -- can't match the simplicity of a shootout where it's nothing but you and the target.

It does make sense. As much as his hand feels like it was built to hold a remote control, Curtis can't deny the fact that his dick makes an even better fit.

All through his explanation, Newbie had been slowly pumping away and he now has a clear head start. Curtis gets up off the couch and walks around to the other side of the paper. He notes the carefully drawn bull's-eye on the bottom right corner of the television, unzips his jeans and slips a hand into his briefs.

Re: Back to Basics, Twitch City, Curtis/Newbie, shootout, R

[catwalksalone]

This is awesome in a way that is completely indescribable. It. Just. Is.

I would have to quote the whole thing back at you and I still wouldn't be any closer to describing it.

*love*

*BIG love*

[elementalv.livejournal.com]

You are indeed going to the special hell.

I'll save a place for you.

[malnpudl.livejournal.com]

*beams*

So lovely to know that all my favorite people will be there with me. :-D

[lipstickcat.livejournal.com]

Oh- I- Oh.... *melts*

Start Spreading the News, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, New York, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Casey wonders how the news will go over. He has a pretty good idea.

All the excuses he gave before (it's too big, too busy, too expensive, too unsafe, no place to raise a child) will be thrown back in his face and topped off with a bitter accusation: what's in New York now that wasn't there when the Late Night offer came in?

He'll come up with some reason why it's different now. They'll both know it's a lie. She'll scream and yell and then gladly start making arrangements because New York is still where she wants to be.

Casey nurses his celebratory beer, in no rush to head home and start that conversation. He pushes away his dread and focuses instead on Dan as he giddily rattles through lists of all the sights and activities that await them.

The part that he'll never tell Lisa is that the first excuse he gave her is the truth: New York is too big for him. It's a sink or swim place and Late Night would have been far over his head; he wouldn't have made it. With Dan beside him, though, he just might be able to pull it off.

Re: Start Spreading the News, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, New York, G

[catwalksalone]

meep and also YES!

*hearts Casey*

Step by Step, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Danny/Suzanne, Dance, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Danny thought it would never happen, so he's smiling more brightly than anyone else in the room as Matt and Harriet finish their first dance as husband and wife. Even up to the last minute, with their petty, meaningless quarrels over the ceremony, it was never certain... It makes Matt happier than anything else, so Danny's happen.

As other couples join Matt and Harriet on the floor, Danny feels someone tap his shoulder, and turns around to find Suzanne standing there. "Do you want to dance?" she asks, her cheeks a little flushed, and Danny's smile broadens a bit at that, the not-quite innocence in the question.

He stands up and takes her hand. "With you? Of course."

Danny leads her onto the floor, her hand still in his, and suddenly he is acutely aware of the slight weight and warmth of her hand, the light pressure of her other hand on his shoulder. He moves his free hand, almost awkwardly, to rest on the small of her back. They've only danced a few steps when he accidentally steps on her foot and Suzanne looks up at him with that perfect, long suffering look of hers, no longer blushing as she asks, "Do you want me to lead?"

"Listen," he says, mock-sternly, "I was doing this when you were– Actually, let's not go there, because it makes me feel old and creepy."

"Agreed." Suzanne beams up at him. "Just don't step on my feet."

Danny gives her an ironic smile and answers, "Yes ma'am."

Power Structure, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Matt/Suzanne, urgent, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"Matt," Suzanne says quietly, watching as Matt stares at the lineup board with that focused, not-all-there look she's grown used to. He's chewing his lower lip, and doesn't seem to even hear her. "Matt!"

He spins around to look at her, blinking like he's just been woken up from a trance. "Huh?"

"How many times have you eaten in the past 48 hours?"

"Uh..."

"Slept?"

"Well..."

"Thought about anything but the show?"

Matt gestures frantically at the clock, which is at 0:23:31:05 and counting. "I ill, just as soon as I write one more–"

"No," Suzanne says firmly, taking him by the arm and all but dragging him to his desk chair and forcing him to sit. "You can finish writing, but first you're going to sit here, and I'm going to bring you a sandwich, and you're going to eat."

"But–"

"Stay," she says, and darts out of the room, presumably to get food, and Matt's left sitting there, staring at the doorway and trying to figure out why he listened.

Belonging, Firefly, River/Saffron, belong to me, PG-13

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"Have you ever belonged to someone?" River's fingertips trail over her arm, and she shivers. Only River ever does that to her.

"I belong to myself," she says, a little defensively, and isn't sure why. It was an innocent enough question, at least from River. "Not to anyone else."

River shifts to roll over, so she's straddling Saffron's hips, slender, graceful hands twining around Saffron's wrists to pin them to the bed. She's beautiful, all shadows and light, from pale skin to dark hair and eyes like the black, endless. "Never? To anyone at all?"

Saffron clenches her jaw, wondering if she should pull her hands away, push River off, or try to. She knows River would win. "No."

"Good," River says, and presses an almost chaste kiss to her lips. "Then I'll be the first."

The kiss becomes a little less chaste, and Saffron would pull back to protest – but then she realizes she's even thinking of herself as Saffron, because River likes the name, so that's who she is.

Re: Belonging, Firefly, River/Saffron, belong to me, PG-13

[sheepfairy.livejournal.com]

Oh, very sexy! And I like River's possesiveness.

Stages of Love (Pt 1), Rent, April/Mark, hot chocolate, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"It's just, you know, lonely when Roger's gone," she says, and you nod dumbly. You could say all sorts of things – you used to feel that way all the time, when it was just you and Roger in a tiny apartment together, and he'd go away for a couple days, though then it had been visiting family rather than touring with his band. Instead of saying any of those things, which would make you sound smart, or at least not an idiot, you can only stare at her and take note of the way winter light falls on her face, how the snow rests to lightly on auburn hair, or her smile, that's like a ray of pure sunlight...

April doesn't seem to know you're watching.

She gasps and shivers as the two of you walk underneath a tree and it chooses just then to dump some of the snow from its branches, so it lands on the back of her neck, sliding a little down her coat. That's perfect and beautiful too, the rounded shape of her mouth as she gasps, the graceful way her shoulders move as she hunches then. You realize you're composing shots in your mind, and drag your thoughts away from that.

"Let's go find a coffee shop somewhere," you tell her. "Somewhere warm. I'll buy you coffee."

She smiles and asks eagerly, "Can I have hot chocolate instead?" Your heart gives a single, painful, joyful throb at the fact that that smile is, at the moment, all for you.

Stages of Love (Pt 2), Rent, April/Mark, what is love, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

You never quite understood love – real love, romantic love, deep and wild and passionate love. Love in friendship, love in family, that's different, that you get, but you never understood how people can lose themselves so completely in another person, until now. Until her.

Love is spending money you really can't spare, buying a single flower from the store on the way home from work – a yellow rose, not to be too romantic, too presumptuous – and leaving it on her bed, just to see her smile when she gets home.

Love is watching her with Roger, out of the corner of your eye, and feeling a pang of jealousy at every kiss because it should be you, and a pang of guilt at the same time, because it's Roger, you shouldn't feel jealous of your best friend. Then again... it's her.

Love is wanting to film every second of her, every smile, frown, movement, capture the way she tilts her head, or bites her lip when she's thinking, or sprawls carelessly on the couch with a charming gracelessness, thinking that every second of her needs to be captured and saved.

Love is simply April.

Stages of Love (Pt 3), Rent, April/Mark, blow, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

You used to dread Roger's absences just because it meant you'd be alone for a week or so. Now you dread them for different reasons.

The thunderstorm knocked out the power, so you've got candles lit here and there, the few that you could find. It's hot, humid with no air conditioning, so April's wearing just underwear and a camisole, and you're trying not to look at her.

You don't really notice the candles are going out one by one, until April walks up beside you, where you're sitting at the table, and leans over to blow out the candle you were using to read. The room plunges into darkness, shadows and half-visible shapes. "April, what–"

She kisses you, and you can't tell if the flash behind your eyelids and the crashing in your ears is from the storm, or something else.

Stages of Love (Pt 4), Rent, April/Mark, you, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

I love you.

It's an unbidden, unexpected thought, one that leaps to the forefront of your mind whenever she's near. When she speaks, laughs, God, when she touches you, you want so badly to say it. It never makes it past your lips.

I hate you.

Something that never crossed your mind about Roger before this, before her. Now you can't stop it, however you try, because he has her, and you don't. You never do say it.

"I need you."

This you can say, and it's as true as any of the others, but not true in the way Maureen thinks or wants. She's beautiful, she's charming, wild, funny, but you don't love her, and aren't sure you ever will.

Stages of Love (Pt 5), Rent, April/Mark, lost and found, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

You thought it would all go away, if you kept a polite distance, reminded yourself she belongs to Roger, tried to love Maureen, everything would set itself right. And it works for a while.

Then April smiles at you, and it's not like her old smiles, it's quiet and sad and lovely, and if you could just get that on film you know you could break a million hearts. Then again, you don't need to, because it breaks your own. In that moment, every hidden wish and want and hope and desire you ever had about her comes pouring back, and you realize you're never going to move past that, not in a million years.

"Are you okay?" you find yourself asking, and she answers, still with that sad smile, "Yeah. It's nothing."

She pauses, and then says quietly, "I love you, Mark."

You try to tell her you love her too, but your voice gets choked off in your throat.

Stages of Love (Pt 6), Rent, April/Mark, never again, PG-13

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

It's all over.

April is dead, Roger's in rehab, Maureen's off God knows where, and you are here, alone. The bathroom still needs to be cleaned, but for now you are standing in the middle of it, shattered mirror and the tub stained red-pink, the razor and the note gone now. You feel hollow and empty, like every drop of blood drained from her took something of you with it.

You can still see her lying there, prone and pale, her head tipped back so you can see a few hickeys Roger left on her neck two days ago. Funny that you should notice that, but... dead people shouldn't have hickeys. Dead people shouldn't look like they're only sleeping, except for how pale...

Standing there, staring at the tub, you decide never to let this happen again. From now on, love is something that happens to other people.

Outmatched, Firefly, River/Saffron, read your mind, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"Don't," River warns softly, before Saffron even reaches for the gun she has hidden. She hesitates, then lets her hand fall to her side, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

River steps forward, and she would step back in response, but her back's already to the wall. Another step, and now she steps forward, fisted hand whipping at River's temple. River catches her by the wrist, slender fingers implacable and steady.

Saffron draws a sharp breath, eyes widening in something that's almost fear. She's just realized you can't play someone who knows your every move before it's made.

Re: Outmatched, Firefly, River/Saffron, read your mind, PG

[ana-grrl.livejournal.com]

This is great! I love the thought of the two of them going head-t-head.

Power Play, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Ethan, power, PG-13

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

It crept up on him slowly, like an autumn rain – he could see the clouds rolling in, and yet it surprised him all the same when he wound up drenched.

It was always about competition with Ethan, before friendship, before anything else. He remembered the first time Ethan really seemed to respect him, an image that was burned into his memory for one reason or another: Ethan, looking up at him with a bloodied nose and a somewhat wild smile, Rupert looking down at him, fist clenched and a little sore, breathing hard. Still smiling, Ethan said with perfect equanimity, "Well then, Ripper."

With anyone else, it would seem there ought to be more to that, but with Ethan, that was all he needed to say. Rupert watched him for a moment, feeling his blood pulsing with adrenaline, and flexed his hand. He'd won something, however briefly, in a game with Ethan he hadn't known he was playing. He liked that feeling.

Rupert held a hand out to help him up, the adrenaline and anger cooling, and Ethan took it, getting to his feet. The anger faded. The fierce rush of pleasure at having won didn't.

They kept testing and pushing each other's limits from there on, in little, subtle ways no one else would notice. Simple things – who could learn spells the fastest, perform them the best, who could push the other the furthest before he snapped and it ended up, as always, with someone's bloodied nose or a blackened eye. And before long it turned to other things, that felt so much darker and more dangerous than the rest of it.

Rupert's eyes were closed as he intoned the harsh-sounding, accented syllables of the spell, candlelight creating a warm red glow through his eyelids, voice rising steadily as he went on. He heard Ethan move, but it sounded like a mere shift in position, and Rupert didn't open his eyes. Then he felt Ethan's breath on the back of his neck, and he stumbled over the words, starting a bit. Ethan ran his tongue over the shell of his ear, then murmured in a low voice that made Rupert's stomach drop, "Finish the incantation, Ripper."

He almost asked, While you're doing THAT?, but then he recognized it as a challenge, same as any other, a test of wills. He swallowed hard, eyes still closed, and continued the incantation through gritted teeth, trying to ignore Ethan's mouth moving down to his neck, biting softly at first, then harder, and oh God, it was so hard not to gasp or squirm or whirl around and grip his wrists and pin him down and...

He managed to finish, opening his eyes as light incandesced before him, and Ethan pulled away, settling back into his position across the circle from Rupert – really just a line, with only the two of them. Rupert ignored the urge to reach up and rub at his neck, just as he ignored the knot of desire twisted in his stomach. Games of power, same as any other. He thought he'd won this round.

The next round was his move.

He waited a week to make it – patience ever was a part of their games – but when he made it, it was with all the fierceness and abruptness that had earned him his name. Ripper. Ethan pushed him just far enough, taunting words he wouldn't even remember later, and Rupert shoved him into the wall. Usually, on a normal day, that would be the end of it – in the unspoken rules of the game they played, Rupert had broken first, so Ethan had won.

Rupert held on to him, though, fingers digging into his shoulders, and kissed him hard, and that was nowhere in the rules.

Ethan kissed back roughly, his hands rising before Rupert gripped his wrists and pinned them to the wall. He pressed his knee up between Ethan's legs, relishing the soft groan that got from him. He could feel Ethan smiling into the kiss, like he'd won some victory, the damnably cocky smirk that always got under Rupert's skin, so he bit his lip, not entirely gently. The smirk disappeared, with a soft noise from Ethan.

Rupert released Ethan's wrists at last, dropped his hands to swiftly unbutton his pants, while Ethan's hands ran up under Rupert's shirt, and none of this was in the rules either. This one they might have to call a draw.

Re: Power Play, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Giles/Ethan, power, PG-13

[malnpudl.livejournal.com]

Oh, I like that!

Portrait of a Junkie, Rent, Roger, portrait, PG-13

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Mark held his breath as the nurse unlocked the door for him, and didn't let it out until he'd already taken several steps inside and the actual place hit him. He'd expected the psychiatric unit to be loud, chaotic, frightening... It was quiet, except for music he noticed playing from some unidentified source. A large room with couches, television, ping pong table, someone's pathetic attempt at a welcoming space. His eyes shifted around the room, automatically cataloging patients (half of them hollow-eyed with the look of detoxing junkies), nurses (in blue or green scrubs, one nearby dismissing medications), doctors (a pair of them in white coats, in deep conversation as they passed him)... He seemed to be the only visitor.

"Which patient are you here to see?" the nurse asked, as the door closed behind her with the sound of a lock clicking. Mark turned back to her to respond, fighting to focus thoughts that had become increasingly fragmented by one thing after another, April's suicide, Roger's diagnosis, Roger's overdose and all the shit that went with it...

"Uh, Roger. Roger Davis."

She nodded. "He's in the back," she said, pointing him in the proper direction, and departed without another word. Mark glanced after her for a moment, took another breath, and headed down the hallway that led back, a long row of doors opening to patients' rooms. Glancing in, Mark noted that they looked almost like small hotel rooms, with the same sense of false welcome, just suicide proof, as most hotel rooms were not.

He would have expected Roger to be in his bed, staring despondently out the window, or maybe sleeping, but as the nurse hadn't directed him to a specific room, Mark followed the hallway to its end. Another large room, though smaller than the first, and a row of padded green chairs facing a plexiglass window looking out over the East River. A piano in the corner – Mark glanced at it, recognizing that as the source of the music he'd noticed before, then froze, recognizing the man who played it. Almost recognizing, half recognizing. Not quite, though. He seemed changed since the last time Mark had seen him.

Mark found himself holding his breath as he watched Roger play, completely unnoticed. Roger's fingers danced across the keys with a delicate ease Mark had seen before, but that was with a guitar. He'd never known Roger could play piano. The tune was familiar, and gradually Mark realized where it was from – one of the operas April had so loved. Mark swallowed back an involuntary sob as that realization hit.

The music ended without flourish, and Roger simply sat there in the silence that followed, eyes closed, fingers still on the piano keys. Mark took a few cautious steps forward, and said softly, "I never knew you could play piano."

Roger didn't jump, which seemed strange to Mark. Under the circumstances, he should have been high-strung, but drugged as he probably was... He turned around slowly, unsmiling. "You never asked," he said, and paused. "And we don't have a piano."

Mark sighed and shook his head and said simply, "Yeah," though he was distracted by wondering how many things about his best friend he'd never know because he never asked, never knew the questions to ask. None of that came out, as he pulled a chair up beside Roger at the piano, and smiled faintly. "I missed you."

Roger nodded, with the same hollow-eyed look Mark had seen from the other junkies, and Mark couldn't say why it horrified him, because why would Roger be any different from the rest of them? "Yeah," Roger said, without meeting his eyes. "I know."

Two Goodbyes, Rent, April/Paul, leaving, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Paul's used to people leaving, one way or another – sometimes it's a willing letting go, sometimes it's kicking and screaming. April is the only person who's ever left him twice, and that's entirely unsurprising, because April always was entirely singular, perfectly unique, and she always did step away from the beaten path.

The first time it was with a kiss and a smile, and a promise to keep in touch. She'd clasped his hand, and for a moment he'd thought – hoped – she wouldn't let go. Then she did, and turned to walk away, and he held his breath almost until she was out of sight.

The second time he didn't hear her goodbye – he got it in a letter, addressed in a handwriting he didn't recognize, return addressed to a Mark Cohen. He opened it, and the letter inside was unsigned, addressed only to Paul. It didn't need any more. The only things that mattered were the first sentence and the last – I'm sorry and I love you.

Wish and Want, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy/Willow, goodnight, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Willow knows she's not a Slayer or anything, but she likes to think sometimes she's more or less capable of taking care of herself. Still, when Buffy offers to walk her home after a late night of research, she feels infinitely better. She's not scared (well, maybe a little), but that extra security doesn't hurt, and she walks as close to Buffy as she can get, their shoulders occasionally bumping into each other.

When they stop at Willow's front door, Willow wishes inexplicably that Buffy would kiss her goodnight – which is silly, they were out researching serious demon stuff, not on a date ,and it's Buffy, not some boy or anything. Still, the wish is there.

She'll have to make do with a quick wave and a "See you tomorrow."

Historical Footnotes, Firefly, Mal, history, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

Mal's not overly fond of history. Not that it doesn't have its uses, not that he's got anything against them as like such things, but he doesn't want much to do with it himself.

Maybe it's that he knows you get to looking to the past too much, it trips you up, you can't find the path to the future.

Maybe it's that his own history's to be viewed as just as an interesting point in the history of the war, the Alliance, the verse, and he can't look too much at history without thinking how many other lives got swallowed up in that story called history.

Fjords, Norway and the English Language, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Matt/Danny, fjord, G

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"What do you think about fjords?"

"Fjords? Like in Norway?"

"Is that where fjords are?"

"Somewhere like that. I think I'm more or less neutral toward fjords..."

"I'm just saying, fjord is a funny word."

"Yes, it is. Is this going anywhere?"

"Probably not. I'd just like you to appreciate the oddities of the English language."

"Fjord isn't English."

"...No."

"I'd imagine it's Norwegian."

"Yes."

"Took the wind right out of your sails, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"Oh, it's okay. I'll just sit here with my wounded pride and think of other funny foreign words you won't appreciate."

"Or you could do your job."

"Yeah, but do you think that's gonna happen?"

"Nah."

"Me neither."

Dream in Color, Firefly, River, dreams, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

All her dreams when she was in the box were black and white and shades of gray. Some were clear, in focus – dreams of childhood, of Simon and her mother and father, of the Tam estate, of dancing and knowing every step as if by instinct. Other's weren't as focused – blurry forms and shapes, muffled voices she couldn't make out, monsters lurking in corners, but they always went away, because Simon had promised he'd keep her safe now.

And then she dreamt in color, a splash of blood amidst all of the black and white and gray, and woke up screaming.

Re: Dream in Color, Firefly, River, dreams, PG

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Oh, shivery!

Dance With Me, Rent, April/Maureen, pirouette, PG

[allfireburns.livejournal.com]

"Come here. Dance with me."

A hand outstretched in silent demand, palm up, slender and graceful.

"I never learned how to dance."

"You don't have to learn. You just do it."

Slender fingers twined around a delicate wrist, pulling gently.

"Maur, I really don't think that–"

"Hush. I'm going to lead, all you have to do is follow, okay?"

Hands on hips, bodies pressed together, at once sensual and innocent.

"Okay. Just–"

"What are you afraid of? Someone finding out you're not perfect at something?"

Teasing, confident smile that vanishes a moment later.

"No. You."