prompts! because writing about friendship is always fun

[harborshore]

So I'm making soup, and that made me think about writing. (Shut up.) I haven't felt like working on any of my longer fics for a while (for those of you keeping track, the current priority order goes: 1. Brian getting hypothermia, 2. the Theatre Production, 3. Ray/Mikey college AU of awkward pining, 4. Big Bang sequel), but now I want to write short things. Tiny bits of warmth for the fall, if you will.

So here's what I want: give me a fandom or a crossover--bandom, BTVS, Veronica Mars, DCU, others if you feel like giving me a REALLY wacky crossover (hint: I love it), a pairing or character, and a prompt quote or picture. I want the prompt to have something to do with fall, friendship, or warmth, or all three. So if someone feels like linking to a soup recipe, that's totally okay.

♥

Comments

[giddy-london.livejournal.com]

I would really love something involving any or all of the MCR boys and this photo because you cannot go wrong with snuggly boys and duvets and cool weather and coffee, right?

Also, I really, really want #3 on your list up there, just so you know. :D

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

"Hey. Psst, hey."

Gerard groans and bats at whoever's enough of an asshole to come poking at him in the morning, then burrows deeper into his duvet.

"Gee, no, come on." And suddenly there's a weight in his bed and, what the fuck, someone, no, that's a dog, licking his face and Gerard can hear Mikey laughing like he almost never does, not that loudly.

"You gotta come see this," says Mikey, ignoring Gerard's yelps because the dog is just not giving up, dammit. "I have coffee," Mikey adds, and Gerard finally gives up the struggle and sits up, making gimme hands.

After draining half the cup in one go, he gets out of bed and roots around for a marginally clean shirt. Him and Mikey are back in Jersey for the week, because everyone needed a break from the album. Gerard had kind of thought that the 'break' part wouldn't mean he had to get up three hours before he normally did, though. Stupid little brothers, they never stop being obnoxious.

Mikey sighs at him impatiently when he takes too long and then tells him to put on a sweater.

Gerard is appalled. "Wait, you mean we're going outside? What the fuck, Mikey--"

"Yeah we are, just on the porch. Bring your blanket if you're going to be, like, a pussy about it."

And they do, they go outside, Gerard mutinously wrapped in his duvet and muttering about cold and people who have stupid ideas in the morning, and then, and then--

The trees in the back yard are bright red and yellow, blazing and burning and Gerard forgets about the cold in the air and just stares. He knows Mikey is smug as shit right now, but he doesn't care, he wants to draw, to paint, but he's going to just look for a while, just look until he knows he won't forget. Leaning against Mikey, keeping the cold away, he stands there until he feels like he's drowning in fire.

[crowgirl13.livejournal.com]

I dunno; I think it's pretty easy to see the connection between making soup and writing.

Crossover:Bandom/BtVS
Bob/whoever [as I'm easy like that]

"People live in one another's shelter."

And I bounced with glee, reading the longfic list. \o/!

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Really? Excellent, I like it when I'm less crazy than I thought I was. *grins*

This is set vaguely during season seven. Kind of.


Bob wipes at his axe with a dishtowel, blotting the tiny bats (Frank bought the towels, before he left for LA) with red. He knows he should go find the actual cloth Giles gave him for this purpose, because taking care of his weapon is Important with a capital I, but he's too goddamn tired to bother. Today was a long day. Zombies, werewolves, and bears, oh my. Never mind that Bob himself happens to be a werewolf, he's still not too fond of the murderous kind.

He groans when someone knocks on the door, because he doesn't think he can take company right now. Still goes and gets the door, though, but not without checking who it is (Bob has never been dumb, and Sunnydale's made him downright sharp), and he blinks in surprise when he sees Willow outside.

She doesn't say anything when he lets her in, just shakes her head when he asks if she wants anything. Finally, after both of them staring helplessly at each other for a bit, her face crumples.

"Hey, no," he says, moving close. Careful, because anyone who's seen her in action is careful around Willow, but she's shaking and crying in his apartment, and he knows she's hurting. Knows she nearly ended the world that one time, too.

Still careful, he opens his arms a little, and she pretty much falls into his arms, holding on so tightly. Bob maneuvers them both to the couch, sitting down and letting her curl up, hands clutched in his shirt.

"Hey," he says, "hey." He keeps stroking her back, keeps sitting there until she stops shivering and relaxes slightly. "Did anything--"

Willow shakes her head. "Thanks," she says, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Sorry, I just, today was a lot."

"It really fucking was," he agrees. "You wanna hang out for a bit? I was going to order pizza or something, or maybe Chinese."

Willow's shaking her head again. "Definitely pizza," she says. "I'll tell you why ordering Chinese in Sunnydale is a bad idea while we wait, if you want."

"Uh, do I want to know?"

She giggles at that, settling in. "See, it was like this--" and then she's off into a wacky story involving ghouls and curses and noodles that did most emphatically not act like noodles should. Bob can't stop laughing, and somehow the day feels less heavy. He forgets about the axe he was cleaning, forgets to order pizza (they end up making a weird dinner out of ramen, some vegetables, and the random canned things they find in a cupboard Bob had forgotten was there) and, you know. Sunnydale might not be so bad after all; he might end up liking this fighting evil gig. As long as it comes with redheads like this one, that is.

[iamsupernova.livejournal.com]

I want to read everything you write, but especially Ray/Mikey college AU with pining.

Bandom/Criminal Minds? >:)

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Oh lord. If you get more specific, bb, I'll totally do it. As in, I need a character or a pairing and a prompt. (FIENDISH, I tell you. FIENDISH.)

[strange-bt-true.livejournal.com]

Soup = writing. IT TOTALLY MAKES SENSE.

Number 2 sounds partcularly awesome. Here is my prompt:

-Veronica Mars (I have a soft spot for Kristen Bell.)
-Veronica and Gerard. It could be gen, I just think Gerard would be suprisingly helpful, if slightly awkward, in a dectetive-type situation.
- can I just make something up? Um, something involving piles of autumn leaves. Because leaves don't change colour here. D:

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

I have the biggest soft spot ever for Kristen Bell and her determined lady detective. ♥



Veronica stands in the middle of the park and looks around. She's not despairing or anything (Veronica doesn't despair, she grits her teeth and keeps going), but the prospect of rooting through all the piles of leaves in the park for the proof she needs is, uh, daunting. It's kind of a big park.

She starts out with the pile closest do her, kicking the leaves around and almost wishing she'd brought Backup--at least he would have enjoyed himself. But then someone calls out behind her.

"What, no, what are you doing?"

She turns around to see a pixie-looking guy, messy hair and leather jacket, who's only a little taller than her. He's waving his arms around and yelling and she stiffens, because that doesn't usually mean good things.

But when he gets to her, he says, very seriously, "I was drawing the leaves, see, and the way you were standing, like, your shadow, right here, and then you started moving the leaves--"

She interrupts him, because it seems like he could keep going for a while. Trying not to laugh, she says, "I'm looking for something, some papers in a folder. They're supposed to have been left here, in one of the piles?" Not for her, but he doesn't need to know that.

His eyes widen. "That sounds like a movie or something. Are you, why are you looking for them?"

"It's for a case, I work as a PI. I'm trying to catch a blackmailer."

And wonder of all wonders, the snide comment or the disbelieving stare that she's expecting, the reaction she always gets--none of it happens. Instead, he smiles, bright enough to make her smile back tentatively, and asks (kind of breathlessly) if he can help, and if they can make a pile of leaves again for him to draw when they're done.

"I'll even stand still for you, if you want," she says. "Since my shadow was working for you, or whatever."

"Thanks, and yeah, fuck, that would be awesome!" he says, and then starts rooting through the leaves. She stifles a giggle (it takes him about thirty seconds to get leaves in his hair) and starts working, listening to his excited muttering. After a while she realizes why he looks familiar (Mac had talked her ear off about the Black Parade until she could practically recite the origin story for the album herself) and wonders at the frontman of a rock band who wanders around in parks drawing leaves, but she thinks she likes him better for it.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

"Oh wow, oh, that's fucking awesome. Then what happened?" Gerard is doing everything but telling this Buffy Summers that he's been in love with her ever since he first read about the Slayer, and Brian can tell Buffy is torn between being flattered and bemused. Which tends to be the common reaction, really, when faced with Gerard in full-on fanboy mode.

Brian tries to go back to the text he was looking over (who knew werewolves were not the only evil furry creatures to be drawn out by the moon?) but fails again. It's not like the Magic Box is a big store, so the fact that he keeps getting distracted by Gerard and Buffy laughing, well, it's not that fucking weird, isn't it? He's not sure why the two of them can't keep it down. Him and Gerard came here for a reason, really, not to--

He looks up from the book when someone sits down in front of him. It's the redhead he noticed when they came in; she's smiling sympathetically.

"Buffy has that effect on everyone," she says. "For what it's worth, she pretty much never looks back, and she likes her boys to be at least almost as strong as she is."

Jesus fucking Christ, is he really being this obvious? Brian sighs at himself and checks his first impulse to vehemently deny it. He's smarter than that, and this girl is obviously way past smart enough to see through him.

"Do you know anything about this?" he asks instead, turning the book so she can see what he was looking at.

"Oooh, yes," she says, and now she sounds, well, she sounds like Gerard, actually, when he's really really into something. Brian can only follow about half of the explanation (it has to do with the peculiarities of October), but he manages to describe what chased them and Willow (Anya, the blond manning the counter comes over briefly to demand help with something, and so Brian gets both their names) gives him a simple spell to set up a quick ward, should it ever happen again. Once he's proven that he's done magic before, that is.

Then she wants to see his tattoos closer, because "well, they're really magical, aren't they? Did you have them done that way, or is it your innate abilities--" and when she's tracing the marks on his arm, Brian turns to see Gerard looking over at them, frowning. Brian looks back at Willow, who seems to be stifling a smile.

"I told you you didn't have to worry," she murmurs.

[anoneknewmoose.livejournal.com]

LJ keeps eating my top-level comments, so if this double posts I apologize:

Gimme that Ray/Mikey AU of pining! *____*

And for a prompt, MCR, Bob/Frank, and Halloween. :D?

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Everyone seems to want that one! This is very encouraging. :D Mostly I'm having trouble getting into Ray's head to write it, but once I figure that out, it should be better.


"Really, Bob, you have to sit still if this is going to work."

Frank is frowning impatiently at him and Bob squirms a little, uncomfortable with having Frank so close, leaning into his personal space. Also, he's not sure when he agreed to dress up at all, let alone as Frankenstein's monster. He's too fucking easy, that's what it is--he can't say no to that little asshole, never could.

Frank, of course, is a really short dr Frankenstein, dressed in a bloody white coat and waving a makeup kit around--apparently he wants Bob to be green.

Leaning back to avoid Frank's outstretched hand, Bob swears. "Frank, fuck, be careful, please. I need to see the drums in order to work for your band, remember, so if you could avoid poking my fucking eyes out, that'd be nice."

Frank makes an impatient noise and crawls into Bob's lap, straddling him and hanging on, laughing when Bob tries to push him off. "Come on," he says, sliding his left hand into Bob's hair. "Sit still."

Bob freezes when he feels the pull and breathes out, shakier than he likes. Goddamn Frank, anyway. Too fucking perceptive.

He closes his eyes when Frank starts to paint his face, tries to pretend he's just getting made up for a show (not very helpful, that, it's not like he likes it), but he can't help but lean into Frank's grip on his hair. Just a little.

"Hey," Frank says, voice low. "I'm, I'm done with the green, I think."

Bob opens his eyes slowly, and shit, Frank is really close now, nose practically nudging Bob's cheek. "What--" he tries, voice cracking.

"Hey," Frank says again, smiling quietly and, and, okay, so he's kissing Bob. That's what this is.

And he's still pulling at Bob's hair. Fucker.

Bob breathes in and gets his hands up to do something, push Frank off maybe, but he finds himself dragging Frank in close, close, and kissing him back. He spares a thought for the green face paint, which must be getting smeared all over Frank's face, too, but he decides it's Frank's own fault, really. Maybe they'll both be zombies, instead.

[mahoni.livejournal.com]

Bandom/DCU crossover, Bob/Batman (...okay, or Bob & Batman, I'm not picky :P). Prompt. Or if that's not very prompty (even though it is quite tasty), my icon is the prompt.

(Also, 'Batman' could = Batman, or could = Bruce Wayne.)

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

♥, you, and that first prompt works just fine. (I reposted because I wanted to change an adjective.)


"Bruce. Bruce." Bob's been trying to get his attention for a while now, but Bruce hasn't moved from where he's staring intently at the oven. Grinning to himself, Bob walks closer and touches his shoulder.

"Hey," he says. "What's this?"

Bruce finally looks up at him. Not surprised, no (Bob doubts he could ever be sneaky enough that Bruce wouldn't notice, even when he's out of the suit), but bemused, like he's not sure why Bob's talking to him.

"What?"

Bob looks at him. "What are you doing?" he elaborates, pointing at the stove and the counter, where it looks like Bruce has been slicing pumpkins. The pumpkins that are now in the oven.

"Oh, that. Well, I'm making soup." And Bruce goes back to looking intently at the oven.

Biting his lip, Bob tries valiantly not to laugh. He sort of feels like he's talking to both Batman and Bruce at once, in a way--serious and focused but unmistakeably cheerful. "You know they have timers, these modern ovens."

Bruce makes a disdainful noise. "The recipe said about an hour, which is really very imprecise. I mean, ovens are different. It might be done after forty-five minutes, even."

Bob nods. "I see," he says, as seriously as he can make it. "I guess we'd better stay in here, then." And with that he crowds Bruce against the counter next to the stove, knowing Bruce is letting him, but it's still nice, this, leaning in and biting at his jaw.

Laughing, Bruce tilts his head and Bob makes use of the access he's been granted.

"If you make me burn my pumpkins, I'll take it out of your hide," Bruce breathes against his ear, and Bob smiles. The kitchen is warm, he's got Gotham's Black Knight up against the wall, and nothing hurts right now, nothing.

[antihysteric.livejournal.com]

HMM. How about this:



:D Veronica/Mac or Lyn-Z/Alicia would be fantastic, but (despite the, er, adult nature prompt) it can be totally platonic if you prefer. <3

Mac/Lyn-Z, 1/2

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

How about Lyn-Z/Mac? *grins* Let's pretend they're both at Hearst, yeah?


Mac knocks on Lyn-Z's door with only a little bit of trepidation.

Okay, a lot. Lyn-Z Ballato has this really unsettling tendency to make Mac's palms sweaty and, like, Mac stammers when she talks to her and it's just embarrassing, all of it.

Except she really likes Lyn-Z, so she wants to keep talking to her. And now Lyn-Z has invited her over, because she wants Mac's help with a website she wants to make for her art class and this is crazy and Mac should just turn around and--

The door opens and Mac smiles helplessly at Lyn-Z, who looks really happy to see her.

"Come in!"

And Mac goes, taking a deep breath and going through what she was going to say. "I thought we could start with--" and then she doesn't know how to continue, because Lyn-Z's dorm room (a seriously sweet single) is, well, there's a blanket fort. The desk is still uncovered, but the bed is hidden beneath a couple of blankets that hang from the shelves across the bed, anchored with what looks like two enormous books on art. Also, there are pillows everywhere.

"You made a blanket fort," she says, instead of going into her thoughts on Web Design for Newbies.

Lyn-Z smiles, this bright, unfettered smile that makes Mac's breath catch. "Yeah," she says, and she sounds shy, which is something Mac's never heard in Lyn-Z's voice before. "I thought maybe, um--" and she edges a little closer to Mac, so close Mac could just lean in and, oh, now she really can't breathe.

"Really?" she manages, and Lyn-Z nods, reaching out and touching her face.

"I just," she says, "you're kind of amazing and I always want to kiss you." Which she does, at that, softly and quickly, and Mac doesn't think either of them is ever going to stop smiling.

Lyn-Z breaks away to continue, cheeks going red, "I didn't know how to tell you, so I thought, you know, blanket forts are kind of the universal signal for cuddling, or, maybe--"

"I like 'or maybe'," Mac says, as firmly as she can, and feels something sing inside, something she thought she'd forgotten how to recognize. She holds out her hand and Lyn-Z pulls her in close, and then they crawl onto the bed and Mac wants, oh, she just wants so much.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Neither of them mind when they pull the blankets loose from the bookshelves within three minutes, effectively ruining the fort, they just laugh and squirm out of the tangle and get close again.

Lyn-Z slides her hands up the back of Mac's shirt, grinning in delight when it makes Mac shiver. "I want this off," she says, and Mac nods, unable to look away from the bright, intent look in Lyn-Z's eyes.

"You too," she says, and starts unbuttoning the white button-down Lyn-Z is wearing. When the buttons defeat her Lyn-Z takes over again, and Mac can sit back and watch, just, Lyn-Z's skin, it's almost too much. Mac follows Lyn-Z's hands with hers, and when they get to Lyn-Z's breasts, they both shudder.

"I gotta, my bra," Lyn-Z gets out and squirms to unclasp it. Before she can slide her shirt off, Mac leans in to push her bra up so she can mouth over Lyn-Z's breasts, because seriously, damn.

Lyn-Z makes a noise, arching into Mac's mouth. "You, fuck, come on, come here," and she pulls at Mac's hair. "I wanna kiss you some more."

Mac laughs and kisses her way up Lyn-Z's neck until she gets to her mouth. "I'll kiss you forever," she tries to say into the kiss, but ends up laughing at herself.

Lyn-Z shakes her head, smoothing her hand over Mac's hair. "Maybe I'll just keep you here," she whispers, grinning again. "In my nest of blankets. You don't need to go to class, right? You can invent a robot or something who does that for you. I just want to keep you here."

And Mac has to hide her face in Lyn-Z's shoulder at that, because she never thought she'd have this again, really. So she nods, and then she kisses Lyn-Z again, because she forgot what words to use, doesn't think Thank you are the right ones. She just wants to hold on for a while, touch some more, and maybe more than anything, she wants to laugh some more, revel in how being close to someone is making her happy again, finally.

She thinks about how Veronica's going to smile and pointedly not say "I told you so", she thinks about the last time she was in someone else's bed, and she thinks about the fact that really, she has nowhere to be this weekend, nowhere but here.

"I'm never letting you go, not for hours," she whispers into Lyn-Z's skin, and then she thinks about sunshine.

[torakowalski.livejournal.com]

Dude, did I know that you're writing a Ray/Mikey college AU of awkward pining? Do want in the extreme!

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

*tweaks your nose* Perhaps not? It's this marvelous exercise in self-indulgence wherein Ray and Gerard are rooming together, and then he comes back after the summer and discovers that shit, Mikey grew up. Mikey, who used to be a really awkward dorky high schooler, is now a really dorky awkward high schooler who wears tiny scene t-shirts and tight jeans and eyeliner. Really, Ray is DOOMED.

[morebliss.livejournal.com]

Prompt: Bob/Patrick, sweeping up leaves. :D ETA: Oh, you seem to have a lot of leaf prompts. So, maybe, tracking in mud? I don't know. Something domesticy from when they lived together.

Oh, and this is my favourite soup recipe. OM NOM NOM.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Well, idk about a lot, there was really just one. *grins* But, hmm. They lived together in LA, right? Let's assume this is when they go back and visit their respective parents in Chicago, let's say late September. PS. MMM SOUP.


"No, really, ma, the yard doesn't look that bad." Patrick sounds disgruntled enough that Bob can already tell this is a lost cause. They're definitely going to need to deal with the leaves and the other crap in Patrick's parents' yard. Bob's kind of hoping not too many FOB fans live in the neighborhood or anything, because this could get fucking awkward. They'd better just get on with it.

"Patrick, come on, why don't we just--"

Patrick turns to look at him, and whatever he sees makes him sigh and jam his hat down further on his head. "Fine," he says. "We'll rake some leaves, or whatever. Ma, seriously, you know you can afford to hire somebody, right?"

Patrick's mom is smirking. "Right, but this is much more fun."

That seems to be the cue for Patrick to glower at her and then stalk outside, and Bob has to stifle a laugh.

"The rakes are in the shed!" she calls as Bob walks outside too, and sure enough, there they are.

"No need to look so smug, Bryar," Patrick says when Bob catches up to him. "If you're not careful, I'm gonna make sure you get volunteered for everything your mom needs done around the house."

"Yeah, yeah, keep talking," Bob says dryly. "I believe this is your parents yard, and did you notice that there are leaves pretty much everywhere?"

Patrick mutters something in response and walks past Bob to start dealing with the leaves. Bob follows him and starts on his own corner of the yard, and they work in sort-of peaceful silence for a bit (Patrick curses spectacularly when he accidentally slips on some leaves and falls on his ass), until they finish the front half of the yard and move to the back.

Bob walks around the corner of the house and suddenly, he finds himself pressed up against the wall. And yeah, Patrick's looking up at him, grinning like he's figured out how to get his own back.

"So, Robert," he says conversationally, while his hand slips underneath Bob's hoodie and t-shirt, scratching at Bob's stomach.

"Uh-huh," Bob says intelligently, and Patrick laughs.

"The way I see it, you have a couple of options here. Either I suck you off right here or I do it when we get to your parents, but then I'll do it in the bathroom, you know, the one right next to the kitchen."

Bob raises an eyebrow. "So my choices are public indecency or sex where my parents can hear it? I'll take law-breaking for 1000 dollars, please."

"That's what I thought you'd say," Patrick says, and unbuckles Bob's belt. "I'm just gonna get on my knees then, okay?"

Bob closes his eyes, because he'd like to forget that this is outside, but he can't, not quite, not until Patrick starts, shit, fuck, he's so goddamn good at this--

[enhendi.livejournal.com]

Oooh! I love it when other people write me things!

Um, Amanda Palmer and Gerard gen, involving snuggling. :D? :D?

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

This one has to be big bang verse, yeah? ♥ (And sorry, this is another vaguely angsty one. Paramore!cuddling and big bang verse, damn, I promise I'll write about kittens next time?)


Gerard can't sleep. It's been three weeks since he was miraculously rescued from prison, his hands are getting better, his brother is alive, and he still can't fucking sleep.

He slides out of his sleeping bag, careful not to jostle Mikey (who keeps insisting on sleeping next to him, like he thinks Gerard'll go away if Mikey doesn't not look hard enough) and heads into the kitchen. Some coffee won't help, exactly, but at least he'll feel clear-headed instead of groggy.

Amanda's at the kitchen table, hands curled around a mug. Without turning around she says, "No coffee, Gerard. I made some tea, have some of that instead."

He grumbles a little, but Amanda's been able to tell him what to do since they first started this thing and she turned up, three crates of weapons in her car and a wild look in her eyes. She even managed to teach him how to shoot, which as Brian put it was "nothing short of a fucking miracle."

So he grabs some tea and sits down in front of her.

"You too?" she says.

"Yeah, it's, you know. My head won't stop--" and he makes a gesture that he's pretty sure she'll get. She always does.

Nodding, she turns her mug around in her hands, until the side that says "THE EARLY BIRD CATCHES" is turned to Gerard. She knows he hates the side where you can see the worm pinned under a beak.

"Dreams are bullshit," she says, "but that doesn't help you get rid of them, does it?"

"It really doesn't," he agrees, sipping carefully at the tea. It's at that perfect heat when it doesn't burn your tongue but it makes you feel all warm.

Fine, so it's not coffee, but it's not bad either.

She grins like she knows what he's thinking. "Dusty sleeps," she says, before he gets around to asking. "Her and Katie both--but I keep dreaming about getting to the jail and both of them being, you know."

Reaching out, he covers one of her hands with his. "Yeah, I do," he says, "I do know. Mikey's, I keep, even though I know he's fine."

Amanda lets go of her mug and threads her fingers through his, so they're holding hands over the breakfast table. "They're fine," she says, voice low. "They're fine, and we're okay, and we're going to be safe today."

Yeah, today, Gerard thinks, but doesn't say it, tightening his grip on her hand instead. He'll leave the silence open, for now, open and almost whole, like they could all make it.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

I love that everyone is giving me food prompts! I should have just made it All About Food.


"Wait, Cash, are you cooking? Like, seriously?" Ian rubs the sleep out of his eyes (he kind of took a nap after practice, well, after smoking up anyway).

"Like I don't know how to cook. I'm fucking awesome, watch this--" Cash starts chopping the eggplant into, dude, those are really even slices. Damn.

"Cool," says Ian, hopping up on the stool next to the counter to watch. It's almost hypnotic, the way Cash keeps chopping things so they turn out all even. Chop chop chop, in this really solid rhythm. Also, he looks focused, the way Cash almost never does, focused and serious and, what's that word? Intent, that's it. Intent.

Ian smiles a little to himself and decides he's going to think of more ways for Cash to focus like that. Hmm. Maybe if he--no, that won't work, that'll just make him more unfocused. Plus, he always moves, no matter how much Ian holds his hips down.

Blinking, Ian looks up at Cash, who just snapped his fingers in Ian's face. "What?"

Cash has lost his serious look, smirking at Ian's confusion. "Dude, I bet I know what you're thinking."

"No you don't," Ian replies instantly.

"Really?" Cash reaches out and thumbs at Ian's lower lip. "Really really?"

"...maybe a little. It's not my fault, you're all--" Ian waves his hand at Cash in a way that is supposed to mean "hot and focused and shit." He's not sure if it gets across to Cash; he mostly looks confused.

But then he shakes his head. "Come here for a sec," he says.

Ian thinks about refusing, but Cash has some of that focus back in his eyes, and no, yeah, okay.

So he slides off the stool and then he slides to his knees, looks up, and there it is, that look he wants, and he closes his eyes and leans into Cash's hand, Cash's grip on his hair.

[extemporally.livejournal.com]

http://chocolateandzucchini.com/archives/2005/01/a_simple_soup.php

This soup! Tell me a story, bb. ♥

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

♥

It was an old recipe, handed down on the female side of the family for generations. That is, until Kit was born. Being the only child and the only son, it took his mother years to decide that maybe, maybe even the boychild could be worthy. This boychild, at any rate.

So she sat him down one day when he came home from school and told him. Told him about the spices and what he had to say to make it work, told him he wasn't to give it to anyone until he knew for sure that she was it, she was the one he wanted to spend his life with.

Kit was twelve at the time, so he didn't pay a whole lot of attention, but he remembered the recipe, because he knew what his mother looked like when it was important.

And now, now--he's sitting here, in this tiny college kitchen/lounge, and there's a skinny boy on the couch, crying so hard his thin shoulders are shaking. And there's a girl next to him, stroking his back and looking at Kit every now and then with this helpless, tired look in her eyes.

Kit swallows against the lump in his stomach, because he knows now, knows what his mother meant when she said "Until you're sure", and it's both of them. Both of them. He wants to go call her and yell at her, because it's supposed to be just a girl, he's not supposed to fall in love with two people at once, and everything hurts, just a little.

Except, no, he knows what he has to do.

He tells Aria to wait, to keep talking to Rick, and he walks back to his room, gets the vegetables he bought yesterday instead of the poptarts he went to the store for, and he gets the spice mix he brought from home.

And then he makes the soup, talking quietly all the while, both to the soup and to Aria and Rick, who finally stops crying once the soup starts simmering, and then he pours them both a portion in mismatched mugs. There's none left for him, but there isn't supposed to be any.

Watching them eat makes him a little warm, Rick's mouth and Aria's fingers curled around the mug, and he wants, wants so fiercely it almost scares him. He never feels like this, he's always the one to walk away, but he's so sure now that he won't be able to this time.

And it's okay, it's alright, he decides, because if all he gets to do with this feeling is make them soup, well. He could keep doing it forever.

[blindmouse.livejournal.com]

Mmm. Happy now :-) Also looking forward to some of the unfulfilled prompts people have left.

OK, I want Gerard and this quote by another Gerard (which is about friendship, really):

"Why should a lobster be any more ridiculous than a dog... or any other animal that one chooses to take for a walk? I have a liking for lobsters. They are peaceful, serious creatures. They know the secrets of the sea, they don't bark, and don't gnaw upon one's monadic privacy like dogs do." (Gerard de Nerval)

<3

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Gerard isn't sure when he started to be able to understand sea creatures. It wasn't one of those things where he woke up one morning and bam, he could talk to his goldfish Herbert about things like the best flavor of fish food. No, it was more of a gradual process, weeks and weeks of murmurs and mutterings just at the edge of his hearing, especially when he was on the shore, until--until.

Well, until now, really. He's standing on the beach and there's a lobster looking up at him. He kind of wants to name it Sebastian, except he's pretty sure that would be impolite. After all, the lobster might have an entirely different name.

"Well?" the lobster says impatiently. He looks like a Sebastian, Gerard decides.

Belatedly, he realizes he's supposed to answer. "Well what? What I think about the shore developments?"

"I believe that is what I asked, yes," Sebastian (Gerard is just going to call him Sebastian now--this Disney obsession is All Mikey's Fault) says primly.

"Well, it can be good, right?" Gerard tries. "I mean, they're constructing fucking houses, right, instead of hotels?"

Sebastian huffs. "Yes, but in doing so they're ruining the homes of an entire maritime community."

"Oh, oh, I didn't know that."

Sebastian looks disappointed. It's something about his claws, Gerard thinks. "Humans are so--you don't think about anyone but yourself, do you?"

"No, I didn't--I just didn't know." Gerard takes a deep breath, trying not to remember all the other times he tried to help and how badly they went, and says, "Can I do anything? Can I help?"

And maybe, just maybe, Sebastian is starting to smile.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

I assume you're referring to one of the things I wrote up there (this is a reply to the post, jsyk--I've totally done that before too), so thank you very much! *grins*