MOSHMOSHMOSH good word

[nny]

I don't know what to writing today therefore:

FIRST TWELVE PEOPLE WHO ASK GET A DRABBLE. It may not be an exact drabble but I will try for it.

I would prefer nonspecific requests? So, like, songs or colours or emotions or words rather than pairings, plz.

Comments

[darthrami.livejournal.com]

Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.


snuggly.

ER. SORRY.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

There was no sun.

Like all myths, this story is created of lies and brown paper, carefully constructed with wax adding flavour to an otherwise bitter tale. Wind-wrapped string (or vice, or versa) attempts to tie itself to the breeze and, largely, succeeds. There is laughter here, and here, at colours creating a patch-worked quilt, the borders of a dream country where childhood was allowed and freedom existed. This view held his dreams, unrealities outlined by windows and held close as his pillows.

There was no sun, no melting; confronted by the cold reality of clouds, Icarus let himself fall.

[ladycat777.livejournal.com]

Comfort.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

The structural integrity of pillows not being everything it should, we base the construction around your portfolio and our tennis rackets, balanced between the precariously legged sofa and the pile of coffee table books neither of us has got around to reading. The raw silk cushion (all your mother could afford from the wedding list my parents forced on us) forms the apex, designer throws curving down around us and hiding how far wall-to-wall carpet must stretch. The strident answer machine messages will never be loud enough to reach us here.

Some day they will understand money can’t buy this.

[apiphile.livejournal.com]

Exasperation, books.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

The important things are on the rickshaw, with those less so pulled behind on a lopsided cart that frequently overturns, scattering cramped-copy leaves in a scrawled mess. Clothes, shoes, tin plates are tied to his back, a lone frying pan bouncing rhythmically off his head as he hauls his high-piled leather-bound passengers across the border.

“Ungrateful bastards!”

It’s the wheel this time, tottering slowly sideways and collapsing into the road, taking the rickshaw down with it. He kicks out (carefully aimed at wood) and snarls, “Why can you not fucking flap yourselves?”

That’s never been how the books’ magic works.

[florahart]

*asks*

prompt: cumbersome and/or hummingbird.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

(My mother said I never should
Play with the fairies in the wood…)

‘Umber’ was turned to ‘cumbersome’ with a more than moderately smug look, a handful of points and a triple word score that was inscribed onto the official scrabble pads that no one retained for more than one game – an interesting answer to that riddle, this. A moment’s consideration, a sharper than usual smile, and a masterful springboard leap into ‘hummingbird’, which would net him –

“Peony, you unutterable bastard, how many tiles do you bloody well have, anyway?”

(I’m not sure this is quite the danger she meant.)

[ms-ntropy.livejournal.com]

A night in with a girly movie.

:D

[villainny.livejournal.com]

"This is the part," you said carefully around the lisp of a tongue that still ached just a little, “where we’re supposed to finally articulate our feelings in excruciating detail as the music swells triumphantly, right?”

The light from the TV, pastel colored DVD menu long-since silenced, was gentle and pale but just enough to see the outlines of her as she stretched languidly under the sheet, tantalizing moving outlines against cotton that were somehow less distracting than the highlighted edges of her smile.

“What are we,” she asked, her voice outlining the laughter better than a half-glimpsed grin, “girls?”

[brewsternorth.livejournal.com]

Drabble!

Snow.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

There was a time when he’d taken joy in his work. Genuine craftsmanship, each beautifully unique, crystalline patterns taking shape under his hammer and sent off into the world. He’d waited through the English summer months, barely paying attention to the cloud formations; it took vast imagination to see any sort of shape in them at all, as he waited for the temperature to fall enough…

Then the world had changed, and extremes of temperature were expected instead of celebrated. His hand ached as his hammer rose and fell mechanically. Each snowflake was different, still, but the art was gone.

[in-the-blue.livejournal.com]

Not trying to be intentionally obscure, but this is what comes to mind:

California versus tea.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

The ancient Bentley, which shouldn’t have been running as well as it did – which had got across the Atlantic, not a soul knew how – trundled along unfamiliarly straight roads with a pleased hum. The bickering inside went unchanged from Texas to the Niagara Falls; the journey was meandering and took far longer and shorter than it ought to have. South to North oughtn’t to be measured in years, but nor should it take in almost every state, city, collection of houses; save for the invisible line around California, uncorrupted and unblessed because of the tea stain in the angel’s atlas.

[skygiants]

MACHIAVELLI.

;)

[villainny.livejournal.com]

A smile grew on his lips as he swirled his glass, regarding the man opposite him.

Dark hair was swept back from narrow features, his eyes close set and small but sharp with intelligence and a delightful curiosity. It suggested more a need for a mechanic’s plans than a desire for conversation; levers and fulcrums and architectural weaknesses carefully detailed for the examination. The smile was thin lipped and slight, knowing, hinting only barely at the conversational delights that lurked behind.

He replaced his glass on the table and leaned forward.

“Tell me, Niccolò,” Torquil said. “Do you like music?”

[ihavecake.livejournal.com]

RAINBOWS! And also optional puppies.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

The puppies gambolled in the last of the sunlight that leaked around the edges of rolling black clouds, the first gentle drops of rain – soon a patter, soon a torrent, soon a flood – gently coaxing runnels of seven colours from their coats.

Nearby the People waited for the time of reaffirmation and the renewing of their Covenant with God. They watched the dregs of the litter - for the best two must be spared, two must always be spared - with hungry eyes (and unsheathed knives).

It would be years before they found that the bows came after rain, regardless.

[pennyplainknits.livejournal.com]

Me!

Giraffe

[villainny.livejournal.com]

god pushed the drawing stick into her – new stuff, autonomous, on her head; she hadn’t come up with a name for it yet but it was springy awesome.

Somewhere nearby her creative team argued about ways to convey her vision, what was feasible and within their budget, which combination of colours best filled the marketing brief for ‘tiger’. Mostly god was ignoring them, only occasionally going out to waggle a cup hopefully at someone in the hopes of more of the bouncy-making brown stuff.

She grinned and rubbed out, re-extended a line. She couldn’t wait to see reactions to ‘giraffe’.

[requiem2adream.livejournal.com]

Me please!

Crying. Cause that's what I'm doing now. Smoke from cooking tears, not sadness tears :)

[villainny.livejournal.com]

She curls in on herself and weeps silently, salt water dripping through her fingers and falling away. She won’t – she can’t explain it, her breath coming in uneven ragged gasps, each one tearing at the walls of the place she occupies in his heart.

“It’s not you,” is all she’ll tell him, “it’s never about you,” but he rages and blows through the house, unwilling and unable to accept that he will not and can not own this part of her. If it’s not about him, it has to be about someone else, and Wind’s anger storms around Rain, implacable.

Me please: hope

[celtic_maenad]

I request a drabble about hope. Because I am feeling angsty today and need some hope. :}

Thank you.

Sorry it's so late!

[villainny.livejournal.com]

He’s come too late and the party is over. Work, and the commute, and he only ever sees the remnants of it, the pair coiled together so tightly even as they sleep on the sofa, the empty bottles that look so tawdry until he traces the lightest of fingers across their green glass.

She’s gone, of course. She rarely stays this long, sometimes leaving when the stars are still glimmering close to the horizon even. Their work hours hold them apart but Sun still catches hope; the scent of her, night and Moon, still carried on the barest of breezes.

[wildestranger.livejournal.com]

Red wine!

Sorry it's late.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

He watches the revels with saliva-slick lips, his pupils wide and dark and fixed on the glimpses he gets of the boy’s face and expression.

He doesn’t stand out from the crowd; he is as beautiful as they, as ascetic and slender and cold. He wears the right clothes and the right face and the right smile, quotes the right books, watches the right revels with the right light in his eyes.

But the revels he has seen don’t hold a candle – always by candlelight, of course – to what they do to him because the liquid he drinks doesn’t congeal.

[sumerianhaze.livejournal.com]

Look away now if you do not wish to see a revelation of appalling ignorance:

Please miss... what is a drabble?

[villainny.livejournal.com]

precisely 100 words of ficcage. OH THE WANK THAT HAS BEEN CAUSED BY ONE HUNDRED AND ONE.

[bethan-b-bad.livejournal.com]

I fear that you have more than twelve! But, but, I want a drabbleplz, kind Nnylet.

Plz?

(Angels, glitter and snow! *is Christmassy*)

Sorry it's late!

[villainny.livejournal.com]

In the gallery they’d visited that afternoon there’d been a photograph of an angel in snow; a grave marker glittering in the cold winter sun, beatific and dignified and beautiful and Crowley had got dirty looks for laughing, because that just wasn’t it at all.

Reality involved sneezing and the careful rearrangement of words to fit into the spirit of swearing if not the letter. Reality involved unattractively reddened cheeks, the only glitter that of the snowflakes that caught in Aziraphale’s eyelashes and distracted him enough to walk into a startled bush that honestly hadn’t been there a second before.

[mashimero.livejournal.com]

ILU Nny! Your words are so wonderful I just want to wrap myself up in them or something. ♥♥♥♥

[villainny.livejournal.com]

Just found this comment again because I'm finishing up here, and I am so grateful for it.

♥!

[ladyflowdi.livejournal.com]

OH MY GOD I GO TO BED EARLY ONE DAY, ONE, AND YOU DO A DRABBLE POST THINGY. My internet-fu is so off these days, I swear.

UM UM UM HOW ABOUT.....

telescope, green, and/or Mars Bar. :D



.....she said, before rereading the original post and realizing you were only doing 12 drabbles. ::head. desk.:: IGNORE ME REALLY.

[villainny.livejournal.com]

“You’d better not let any of them catch you with that,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale started and snapped the telescope shut guiltily.

“I know they haven’t quite got to the lens grinding stage yet,” the angel said defensively, “but it’s difficult to be subtle about the cause of the benedictions and such when you’re up close, and getting worshipped myself just isn’t the point at all.”

“No?” Crowley asked; he’d always rather enjoyed it, himself. And the little fat statue that’d been made of the angel hadn’t been half so hilarious as the expression on Aziraphale’s face on seeing it.