femmealunettes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
femmealunettes) wrote2009-09-01 01:30 am
femmealunettes) wrote2009-09-01 01:30 am
Entry tags:
under five minutes
I don't know why I ever say "I'm going to bed now" because it never actually happens. *facepalm*
Anyway. Meme. With a time limit, so I can't disappoint myself.
Give me a character, fandom and prompt that you want me to write for. Then, go through your iPod/iTunes and give me the name and artist of the most appropriate song you hear. I will have as long as the song lasts to write you the fic.
Lay it on me, kids.
...also, I don't know if I should be sad that things like this are necessary, but I kind of wish that this program was available for Windows. It would do a lot more help than harm, that's for sure.
Anyway. Meme. With a time limit, so I can't disappoint myself.
Give me a character, fandom and prompt that you want me to write for. Then, go through your iPod/iTunes and give me the name and artist of the most appropriate song you hear. I will have as long as the song lasts to write you the fic.
Lay it on me, kids.
...also, I don't know if I should be sad that things like this are necessary, but I kind of wish that this program was available for Windows. It would do a lot more help than harm, that's for sure.
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--
He never slows down, not for a minute, and some days it's all Winona can do just to stay upright in her son's wake. He's brilliant ("not challenged enough" say the teachers) and active (hyperactivity no longer being recognized as a disorder) and in so many ways Jimmy is, not the spitting image of his father, but like enough in enough ways to cut like a knife at the least provocation.
It's the edge of his smile when she chides him or the flash of his eyes when she praises him. It's the way his dirty-blond hair cowlicks toward the back.
It's the way that she can hold a picture of her boy up next to one of George at the same age, and not find the similarities that haunt her on the off days, until she wonders if she's making it all up, if she only wants to see those tiny grace notes of her husband so badly that she's imagining them in any angle of Jimmy's face except straight-on.
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still waiting for
<33 winona. i also love cowlicks. is that weird? i squee anytime they're in a fic.
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...you have a thing for cowlicks, I have a thing for Stockholm syndrome. Now I hope
Anyway yeah, cowlicks, don't they just scream mischief? I love them too!
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Heroes/Trek cross! Peter/Spock cuteness, the song is Let Go by Gabriel and Dresden. //so random it hurts.
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For some reason, the new ship's counselor has the first officer flustered, and Dr. McCoy is determined to find out why. The usual methods come up dry-- that is, asking Sulu if there's any gossip about the new doctor turns up a whole crop of fluttering eyelashes and manfully restrained admiration throughout the ship, but nothing particular that would have Spock so on edge; mentioning it to Kirk just gets him a sulky look and the strange information that the biweekly chess matches he and Spock engaged in are indefinitely on hold.
The counselor seems normal enough. Doctor Petrelli's a nice guy, one of those wide-eyed empathetic types that gets people to spill their secrets before they can figure out what they're doing. Professionally, McCoy respects that. Personally, he's glad he doesn't have to manage the mental health of the crew on top of the physical when a good three-fourths of them are showing signs of PTSD. But privately, the kid bugs him almost as much as he seems to bug Spock, because McCoy just can't figure him out.
Of course, it would be an accident that turned the oddness into focus, just a thoughtless pop of the CMO's head into his subordinate's office that catches--
No, no way.
"Can I help you, Dr. McCoy?" Petrelli asks, not letting go of the long-fingered hands clasped between his. McCoy can't see Spock's face, but the abrupt rush of emerald to the tips of his ears is more telling than any non-expression anyhow. "The Commander and I are almost done..."
"No, take your time, I--" Whatever reason he'd had for entering the counselor's office, McCoy would be damned if he could recall it now. "Sorry to interrupt."
"Yup." Casual, almost flippant, Petrelli lifts a hand from Spock's for long enough to wave McCoy out. The doctor practically sprints away.
Well, that bit of gossip will be at the root of his drinking problem for a while now.
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That app is a thing of beauty.
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Staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, he listens to the steady tick of the analog clock he brought home the week after the new-and-improved company rose from the ashes of Sylar's funeral pyre, and debates the merits of counting sheep against taking a pill he can't recall being prescribed, but has in his medicine cabinet anyway.
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In the meantime... Heroes, Sylar/Luke, Almost Easy by Avenged Sevenfold - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lPmiDoK-fo
Shame pulses through my heart from the things I've done to you
It's hard to face but the fact remains that this is nothing new
I left you bound and tied with suicidal memories
Selfish beneath the skin but deep inside I'm not insane
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"I don't get it, if it's not a party--"
"Just get out," he says again, and when his roommate finally leaves Luke locks the door and falls back into the couch-- same couch that was in the living room the day a god walked through his home and made Luke reveal the one special thing about him.
He doesn't know where Sylar is, never heard from the man again after being ditched in a diner in the ass end of nowhere, but that doesn't stop Luke from marking the anniversary of his life's only important event to date-- even if all he does is get drunk and try to remember everything about the scant couple of days he got to ride shotgun with the most powerful guy on earth.
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You're totally awesome. I do love me some heartsick Luke.
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John Barrowman-Anything Goes
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Sometimes it was a matter of tit for tat-- he turns a blind eye toward a bit of scandal involving a state congressman and ends up spending two weeks in a really nice mountain resort in that politician's district, just in time for his anniversary. Sometimes, it was a matter of letting someone dig their own grave-- let one incident slide just to see a businessman with more money than brains do the same dipshit move again, but this time with discreetly placed microphones. Or cameras. The ones with cameras were the fun ones, really.
He's not a bad politician, really he isn't, and part of what Nathan learned was that it was easier than most people thought to get what he wanted. All he needs is the right leverage, a greased palm or a slippery slope, and as far as Nathan needs to worry, anything goes.
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