nny: (*lip bitey*)
[personal profile] 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.
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Date: 2009-12-02 07:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] darthrami.livejournal.com
Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.


snuggly.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:09 pm (UTC)

Date: 2009-12-02 07:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] apiphile.livejournal.com
Exasperation, books.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:10 pm (UTC)
florahart: (writing)
From: [personal profile] florahart
*asks*

prompt: cumbersome and/or hummingbird.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ms-ntropy.livejournal.com
A night in with a girly movie.

:D

Date: 2009-12-02 07:14 pm (UTC)
ext_3685: Stylized electric-blue teapot, with blue text caption "Brewster North" (happy)
From: [identity profile] brewsternorth.livejournal.com
Drabble!

Snow.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] in-the-blue.livejournal.com
Not trying to be intentionally obscure, but this is what comes to mind:

California versus tea.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:21 pm (UTC)
skygiants: Princess Tutu, facing darkness with a green light in the distance (pwnage: kyouya)
From: [personal profile] skygiants
MACHIAVELLI.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ihavecake.livejournal.com
RAINBOWS! And also optional puppies.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:21 pm (UTC)

Date: 2009-12-02 07:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] requiem2adream.livejournal.com
Me please!

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

Me please: hope

Date: 2009-12-02 07:26 pm (UTC)
celtic_maenad: Oil painting of girl's shoulders & head. The girl has ram's horns and red hair, pulled back. (Firefly - River River Book)
From: [personal profile] celtic_maenad
I request a drabble about hope. Because I am feeling angsty today and need some hope. :}

Thank you.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:35 pm (UTC)

ER. SORRY.

Date: 2009-12-02 07:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.

Re: ER. SORRY.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] darthrami.livejournal.com
THAT IS NOT SNUGGLY.



It is super nice, though. I like. :DDDDDD

Re: ER. SORRY.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] villainny.livejournal.com
But he thought the clouds were? So there were dream snuggles? I'M SORRY I FAIL AT FLUFF. XD

Re: ER. SORRY.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] darthrami.livejournal.com
THAT'S OKAY.


I'll fluff YOU. er. or something.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sumerianhaze.livejournal.com
Look away now if you do not wish to see a revelation of appalling ignorance:

Please miss... what is a drabble?
Edited Date: 2009-12-02 08:12 pm (UTC)

Date: 2009-12-02 08:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] villainny.livejournal.com
precisely 100 words of ficcage. OH THE WANK THAT HAS BEEN CAUSED BY ONE HUNDRED AND ONE.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.

Date: 2009-12-02 08:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.

Date: 2009-12-02 09:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] apiphile.livejournal.com
<3 YOU. :D

Date: 2009-12-02 09:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.)

Date: 2009-12-02 09:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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?”

Date: 2009-12-02 10:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] 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.
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