Snowflake Challenge 13
Jan. 25th, 2020 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsIn your own space, create a fanwork. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
I was wondering when this one would turn up.
I'm just going to copy what I've done for other snowflakes which is to offer drabbles, and give myself some slack with double drabbles if I want to write more.
So, give me a pairing and prompt and I'll write you something with exactly 100 or 200 words. Any fandom I know is fair game.
Responses may not be immediate as I'm a bit behind online atm, but I will get them done.
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Date: 2020-01-25 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-02-03 06:10 pm (UTC)~*~*~*~
Gerard grabs a mug and fills it with coffee, takes a long drink before he sits next to Frank with a sigh and says, “Group meetings never used to be like this.”
Frank grins and points at Gerard with a plastic toy he’d found shoved down the side of the sofa, something that spins and makes a whirling noise while flashing obnoxiously bright. “Things have changed, we’ve changed.”
From deep in the house Frank can hear high-pitched laughter and the barking of dogs, which is fine, Frank’s well used to organised chaos. What he’s not used to is having Gerard back in his life, not like this anyway, as they finalise shows and music and prepare to light the fuse of longterm plans.
“It’s going to be great,” Gerard says, excitement brimming even as he adds, “That’s if I don’t seize up on stage, I’m old now.”
“Older, not old.” It’s an important distinction. Frank can’t ever imagine Gerard being old, even if he does like wearing cardigans on occasions. Plus, there’s one other thing. “You can’t be old wearing glitter”
For a moment Gerard looks confused, then pats at his cheeks which are highlighted with silver courtesy of Frank’s daughters.
Gerard grins, causing the glitter to sparkle as it catches the light. “If glitter keeps us young we should wear it on tour.”
Frank pretends to consider, “So we’d be glittery witches?”
“Well, technically sparkly warlocks, but yeah. In fact….”
Gerard jumps to his feet, yelling for Mikey and all Frank can do is smile in response, because he’s missed this.
The relentless work and practice, the jokes, travel and planning, but more than anything he’s missed performing together and he can’t wait for the tour. Even if it does end up a strange hybrid of warlocks and glitter.
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Date: 2020-02-03 09:51 pm (UTC)This is lovely - thank you!
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Date: 2020-02-04 06:56 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-10-04 10:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-01-25 07:08 pm (UTC)Ray/Gerard love handles
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Date: 2020-02-03 05:17 pm (UTC)~*~*~*~
Comfortable in the middle of the bed, Gerard sits with his legs crossed, an open sketch pad on his lap, and countless torn out pages littered around him. Most will end up in the trash, but some have potential, and Gerard taps his pencil against his knee as he considers the aesthetics of cloaks.
“Hey, Ray, what do you think of a red lining? I think….” Gerard trails off, any thoughts of stage costumes gone when Ray steps out of the bathroom.
Freshly showered, his hair is still damp, wet strands clinging to his neck and he’s got a towel wrapped around his waist -- a hotel issued one, that means it’s just slightly too small.
“Frank would strangle himself if he wore a cape.” Ray frowns as he looks down at the towel. “I might as well be wearing a washcloth.”
“It would be a little hard to secure, but you’d make it work.” Sketchbook forgotten, Gerard deliberately looks Ray from head to toes. “Not that I don’t like this look.”
“Yeah?” Ray grins, cocking his hip so the towel gapes at his thigh. “You like this?”
In response, Gerard moves, paper crumpling under him as he knee-walks to the end of the bed. “Come here.”
Ray’s grin widens as he moves closer, positioning himself so he’s directly in front of Gerard. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Gerard says and rests his head against Ray’s chest, feeling damp skin as he lets his hands wander, feeling the swell of Ray’s stomach and the love handles Gerard always wants to hold onto.
“You’re obsessed with those,” Ray says, and Gerard both hears and feels the accompanying fond laughter.
Which is true, Gerard does love the dips and curves of Ray’s body, but there’s one big distinction and he says, “No, I’m obsessed with you.”
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Date: 2020-02-03 08:19 pm (UTC)I loved this so much! It’s so sweet and up the image of Ray like that is just... unf🥰thanks so much!
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Date: 2020-02-04 06:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-10-04 10:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-01-26 12:58 am (UTC)winterhawk, animal crackers.
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Date: 2020-02-03 04:28 pm (UTC)~*~*~
When Bucky comes around he’s always alone -- except, this time, he’s not.
His whole body aching he rolls onto his side, twigs snagging his hair, the taste of blood and flesh in his mouth as he sits up and looks around for the bag he’d left hidden.
“Heads up.”
Startled, Bucky reacts instinctively, grabbing hold of the bottle that’s thrown in his direction. It’s cold, condensation slippery under his fingers, and Bucky should be bristling right now because this is wrong.
No one should be here after a change, it’s never happened, shouldn’t happen, because Bucky should have erupted into fur and teeth as soon as anyone came close. Instead, it seems, he’d kept sleeping.
“I’ve got coffee, but water’s better at getting blood out of your mouth.”
Bucky looks over at Clint. He’s sitting on the ground, looking relaxed as he uses a tree as a backrest, a bag of animal crackers open in his lap. He’s also got crumbs down his front and a giant cooler close by.
Using his teeth, Bucky twists the top off the bottle and swills water around his mouth then spits. Only then does he say, “What are you doing here?”
“Felt like a picnic.” Clint smiles and picks up another cracker, crunching it between his teeth. “I heard it’s peaceful here.”
“It is,” Bucky agrees, and though he’s not in wolf form right now, he can still hear the rustle of trees, see the early morning sunlight that dapples the ground. It’s a place he comes to run, hunt and howl at the moon, but it’s also a place where he comes to be grounded, a place where he’s completely alone.
Except for now.
The packet rustles as Clint takes another cracker, flicks it up into the air and catches it in his mouth. “I brought food, but if you want, I can go.”
Bucky’s instant reaction is to say yes, but somehow the words won’t form. Instead, he stills, lets the forest air settle around him as he realises, he wants Clint to say.
He wants to eat the pizza and hamburgers Clint’s got in the cooler -- which, gross, what kind of breakfast is that? -- and lie in the sunshine and take this morning where he can be his true self.
Questions can wait until later, and there will be questions. But until then, all Bucky says is, “Stay.”
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Date: 2020-02-04 06:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-01-26 09:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-02-03 03:44 pm (UTC)~*~*~*~
“You let this happen.” Hands braced against the bar, Dutch leans in, staring at Pree . “You let this happen and you’ll deal with the aftermath.”
Unrepentant, Pree stares right back and then smiles, pushing a bottle toward Dutch. “He’s a big boy now, I couldn’t have stopped him if I wanted to.”
“You could have tried,” Dutch points out, but the thing is, Pree’s right. Johnny is a grown adult -- at least, supposedly a grown adult, sometimes his actions don’t support that -- and will always take his own path. Like now, when he’s downing shots of something that’s both luridly green and smoking on top. “How many has he had?”
Pree steeples his fingers together, taking a moment to reply before he says, “As of a few minutes ago, 12.”
Dutch curses under her breath and grabs the bottle, taking a swig before she has to wade in and save her partner from certain stomach rotting death. “He’s an idiot.”
“He is,” Pree agrees and winks as he adds, “But a cute one.”
“He won’t look cute when he’s dying of gut rot.” Dutch takes another swig from the bottle then sets it down as she stares over at Johnny. Right now he’s laughing, lips stained green and smoke escaping from his nose. He’s also distinctly outnumbered by a group of strangers, each one bigger and openly displaying weapons as they loudly chant and urge Johnny to drink more.
Right now the situation seems to be contained, but Dutch knows all it’s going to take is one wrong word and things will go bad -- fast.
“Dutch! Hi!” Johnny grins when he sees Dutch, sweeping his hand over the table and barely missing multiple empty glasses and a large pile of joy notes. “These fine gentlemen bet me I couldn’t outdrink them.”
“And you took them up on that bet, of course, you did.” Dutch eases herself through the group, reaching for Johnny. “You say yes to everything.”
“That’s because I’m a good drinker.” Johnny lowers his voice, attempting a whisper. “But they don’t know that, so hush.”
“I think they know now.” Dutch glances around, taking in the shifting mood as she reaches for the notes, and stills, voice icy as one of the group reaches for his weapon. “Touch that and I kill you.”
“Those are our notes.” One of the group steps forward, crowding in. “It’s our bet and we’re going to win it.”
“No, you’re going to back up and let us past.” Deliberately, Dutch pockets the notes and rests her hand on Johnny’s lower back, urging him forward. “We’re going now.”
Another man steps up, starting to raise his gun. “And if we don’t want you to go?”
“Then we’ll both kill you,” Johnny states, all trace of his grin gone as he straightens, his own gun drawn as he looks around and says. “Told you I was a good drinker.”
“He did,” Dutch agrees, and, in step with Johnny as always, starts to walk for the exit. “Next time, believe him.”
Her back prickling, Dutch trusts Pree to keep watch, only relaxing when they’re outside, Johnny slumping as soon as the door swings shut behind them.
“Dutch…”
“You’re an idiot.” Dutch cuts Johnny off before he can explain or make his excuses. “They could have killed you and you’ve probably got gut rot.”
“Probably,” Johnny agrees, and drapes his arm over Dutch’s shoulder, leaning in heavily as they walk toward home. “Hold my hair back when I’m puking my guts up later?”
Dutch tries not to smile, but can’t help it as she says, “Always.”
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Date: 2020-02-03 07:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-01-26 10:01 am (UTC)JC meets Lamp for the first time.
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Date: 2020-01-27 01:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2020-02-02 05:47 pm (UTC)It isn’t that JC is nervous; it’s just, this is Lamp.
Lamp with his beautiful sleek figure. Lamp who’s full of bubbly fun. Lamp who’s so important to Chris.
Which is why this has to go well. If it doesn’t…. Well, JC can’t even think about that.
Instead, he mentally ticks off his list. He’s bathed, shaved, even trimmed down below, despite Chris insisting Lamp wouldn’t be fussy. Still, JC can’t take the chance, and he presses his hand over his pocket, double-checking his bottle of lube.
Reassured, he pulls in a breath and walks into the bedroom.
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Date: 2020-01-26 06:43 pm (UTC)What about Katsumoto/Thomas and "pretending".
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Date: 2020-02-03 02:28 pm (UTC)Hope it suits as I ended up with a triple drabble.
~*~*~
Thomas is used to bad dreams.
They’re a part of his life and he’s become resigned to waking up screaming, body soaked with cold sweat as a lifetime of bad memories rip through his head.
He’s used to sitting up gasping, throat sore and hands clenched into fists, nails digging in as remembered past hurts make his heart race.
And that’s okay, that’s fine, Thomas has learned how to deal. A wide smile, some glib words, practised reassurances to anyone who happens to hear. Not that being overheard happens that often. Thomas is no angel, has had countless people sharing his bed, but mostly they don’t stay the night. It’s just easier that way.
Which is why this is so stupid.
Thomas isn’t even in bed, had no plans for sleeping, but a late stakeout where they’re trapped inside a small car, a warm muggy night, the sound of Katsumoto’s soft breathing, and now Thomas has woken with a shout, unable to stop himself shaking as cries of stop, please, stop! are caught on his lips and remembered blood coats his hands.
“Magnum?” Katsumoto reaches out, grasping Thomas’ forearms, grip sure as he says, “Thomas, wake up. It’s okay, you’re safe.”
Thomas does wake, shame blossoming as he takes in a shaky breath, using well practised coping techniques as he pulls in air, one, two, three times and then forces a smile as he says, “It’s okay, I’m fine….”
Katsumoto tightens his hold, a grounding force, never looking away as he states, “No you’re not.”
Thomas knows the lies he should say, the fake smiles he knows how to use to perfection. Tonight though, they all crumble around him and he can do is try to keep breathing. All words beyond him as Katsumoto holds on.
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Date: 2020-01-26 07:37 pm (UTC)Gerard/Mikey, at the beach
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Date: 2020-02-03 01:43 pm (UTC)~*~*~*~
Poison’s huddled in tight, tucked into the scant shade from the Trans Am. There’s dust in his mouth and sand gritting his eyes as he watches Kobra, who’s standing staring off into the distance.
“Sometimes I let myself remember.” Kobra takes a careful step forward, millimetres away from liquid lava that laps at his feet. “About cold salty water and not liquid fire.”
“You hated the beach.” Poison remembers sand that didn’t sting and a previous life that’s turned blurry and brittle with age. “You cried when you first saw the ocean.”
“It was cold… I think.” Kobra rubs at his eyes, steam whisping around his ankles as the lava splutters and burns. “I can’t remember.”
“It was fucking freezing.” Poison pushes himself to his feet, squinting against the relentless glare of the sun as he forces back memories of cool water and childish innocence to a place they won’t hurt. “We should go.”
“I know,” Kobra agrees, but makes no effort to move until, suddenly, never looking at Poison. “I miss it, Gee.”
And the name is a cool drop of water in the vast expanse of the desert, painful and bewitching at once.
Poison simply says, “Me too.”
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Date: 2020-01-27 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-02-01 04:48 pm (UTC)~*~*~*
Frank steps off stage, his ears ringing and his whole body electrified, powered by screams.
Sweat sodden, his throat sore, it’s impossible to remain still and he grins as he launches himself at Mikey.
“Can you believe we’re doing this again?” Frank says, clinging on as Mikey comes to a stop.
“We were summoned,” Mikey says, and his t-shirt is soaked through, his skin salty when Frank kisses his neck. “We had to come back.”
“We were.” Frank drops to the ground, thinking about capes and rituals and a band -- friends -- who’ll never say quit. “And thank fuck for that.”
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