midsommarnattens ljus (prompts post)

[harborshore]

Tonight is Midsummer Night's Eve. I realize I haven't yet finished the female characters prompts, but I promise I will (part of the problem is that I want to write epics for every one of those prompts, so I'm trying to slash them down to a manageable size--telling part of the story, if you will) and I couldn't let tonight go by without doing this. It's my favorite holiday, the shortest night of the year (technically that was on Monday, but hey), and it comes with dancing and the sea and food and magic.

So prompt me, dearlings. A pairing or gen (give me a character, then), a fandom (The Like, Bob and Brian, Veronica Mars, the Bats (DCU), BTVS, the Panic boys, Greta, Kitty and Lyn-Z...), and a quote from A Midsummer Night's Dream. They'll be my reward come Monday when I'm allowed to think about other things again.

And now I am off! An island awaits. ♥

Comments

[blindmouse.livejournal.com]

Annie/Tennessee, put a girdle round about the earth ♥

(Longest night? Is that a typo, or is your summer far stranger than I realised?)

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Annie always thought fairies were supposed to have wings. And be tiny. And--well, be imaginary. But the glowing girl in her garden had no wings, and she made definite tracks in the grass, and she was also very tall and very naked. And swearing.

"Can, can I help you?" Annie asked, and tried not to think about all the stories that said not to offer fairies anything (they'd take the whole cow and the barn besides if you gave them a glass of milk, her grandmother had said).

The girl looked up. "Oh! No, no, it's very kind of you to offer, but I flew so fast I lost my wings and I have to go back, and--"

"Well, maybe I can help you look?"

"Mortals can't see--come to think of it, mortals shouldn't even be able to see me at all." The girl came closer and took hold of Annie's chin, peering into her eyes. "You must have a touch of fairie, Annie Monroe."

Annie couldn't look away from that gaze, so steady on her. "My grandmother got fired from at least five jobs because she kept saying things she shouldn't have known about," she offered.

"That might, yes," the girl said. "In that case, I suppose you could potentially help me, couldn't you."

So they looked for her wings together, and Annie found out the girl was called Tennessee because the fairy court had once passed through there and stopped to upset a concert ("My queen has a sense of humor," Tennessee said. "I suppose I'm fortunate she didn't name me Nashville."), and she found out Tennessee had come here from halfway across the world.

"But why here?" Annie said. "There's nothing in this town. I teach kids piano and grow plants and every day is the same."

Tennessee didn't answer her, she just smiled, and Annie sighed and kept looking.

They found Tennessee's wings lodged in the rose bushes, and Annie thought for a second that meant they were ruined. She fought hard to keep the smile from her face: Tennessee obviously needed her wings, it wasn't fair of Annie to be happy just because she might stay.

Tennessee made a pleased noise though, and petted at the roses a little, and then the wings were in her hand. She raised them and then she shimmered, and Annie gasped. Tennessee had already been glowing but now she shone brightly.

She was the most beautiful thing Annie had ever seen, and now she would leave.

Tennessee held out a hand to Annie and said, "Come along, then."

Annie shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"I was sent to find a seer," Tennessee said, and took Annie's hand in hers, smoothing her fingers over Annie's. "And a player, too, a music-maker. Come with me."

Annie breathed in and tried to think about what she'd be leaving, but mostly, oh, a way out of here, a way out--"Yes," she said. "Yes. Only promise I won't be gone for a hundred years."

"Time passes differently with us," Tennessee said, "but not as different as all that." She was smiling again when Annie stepped in close, and then everything shimmered and they were gone.

[softlyforgotten.livejournal.com]

Ryan/Z, and I will sing, that they shall hear/I am not afraid.

♥ Enjoy your island.

1/2

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

They called her Z. No last name, no full name, nothing that could identify her.

Ignoring the rain, Ryan wedged his way into the crowd and turned his face up. There she was, bathed in stage lights, short blond hair messier than usual, the short skirt she wore in defiance of every regulation regarding women's clothing clinging to her legs. Ryan couldn't breathe, and she wasn't even singing yet.

And then she opened her mouth. No one sang like her. Every word sharp, every note clean and cutting and growled at the sky; she made them all silent, she made them all listen, and she made them unafraid. The signal for the raid came, and they scattered to the winds, but they ran like they could fly, this time. From where he was hiding, Ryan saw the ones who were caught, how there was no fear in their posture.

Someone touched his back and he froze, turning slowly, and, oh. She was even shorter than she looked on stage, he thought, and tried to figure out what to say.

Z laid a finger to her lips, miming Shhhh. Ryan nodded. They waited there until they could be sure that every last Squad member had gone, and then she nodded at him.

"Thanks," she said.

Ryan ran his hand through his hair. "No problem, I mean, thanks, I mean, the show."

"It never ever feels like enough," she said.

"No, you--" he couldn't figure out how to put it. "You do so much," he said. "So much."

Z looked uncomfortable. "I have to," she said. "They took--anyway, I can't not do it." She looked tiny and tired and Ryan couldn't not say anything.

"If we win," he said, voice low, "if we win, it'll be because of you and the other singers. And the artists. You, you make everyone remember why we're doing it."

"You're in this too, huh?"

He shrugged. "I write stuff. I'm trying."

"What's your name, writer of stuff?" She sounded a little less weary, more amused.

"Ryan," he said. "Ryan Ross."

"Ross, huh." She bit her lip. "Seems to me I've heard that name before. Anyway, better come with me." She turned away, started getting out.

Ryan was stunned. "I--what?"

"You should come and meet more people who do stuff." She grinned at him over her shoulder; he'd pretty much follow her anywhere to see her do that again.

2/2

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

--

The old airplane hangar was full of people. Making art, sleeping on cots, eating out of tin cans. It was a mess, and Ryan loved it. Z led him straight through the crowd to a table where a short dark-haired guy was arguing loudly with a guy and a girl about chord changes, of all things.

"Brendon, Annie, Alex," Z said, pointing to each of them in turn. "This is Ryan. Brendon, I haven't seen his stuff yet, but he writes, so I thought maybe words for your music? Just a feeling I had."

Brendon grinned. "Sure, why not," he said, and the two girls got up and Ryan sat down. He was a little overwhelmed, but Z was--she wrote her own songs, she'd told him on the way over, so her instincts were probably alright for this stuff. He dragged his notebook out of his pocket and leafed through it until he got to the two songs he'd started in on.

"Here," he said. "Can you do something with those? I don't, like, where I live I can't play the guitar, so I can't ever do much to make actual music."

"Poetry is an artform too," Brendon said absently, "but I think, yeah, these are songs. I can--yeah. Go stare at Z or something, I can't write when people are talking to me."

A little huffily, Ryan got up and walked over to Z. She was on a sofa between Annie and Alex, feet in Alex's lap and head on Annie's shoulder.

"No word, still," she was saying in a low voice when Ryan reached them.

"I haven't heard anything yet either," Alex said.

Annie bit her lip. "She could still be okay," she said, but her voice was tired.

"I fucking hate this," Z said. "I fucking hate this so much."

Ryan swallowed. "Did someone get taken?" he said, and didn't think about Spencer at all.

Z turned to look at him. "My best friend," she said, and Ryan sat down right where he was standing. The concrete was hard on his knees, but that was okay.

"Mine too," he said. "Last month's raids on Vegas."

Z half-fell off the couch and went over to him. Before Ryan quite realized it, she was hugging him. "We're going to get them back," she said fiercely, voice hoarse.

Then cheers went up near the entrance. Ryan started at first, but then realized that cheers would be a good thing.

"We should go check on that," Alex said, and Ryan looked up to meet his amused eyes. "But feel free to stay and cuddle, Annie and I can bring you the news."

"No, we'll come. And shut up," Z said, struggling to her feet and offering Ryan her hand to help him up.

Shortly after, Ryan was introduced to Laena, who came bearing prisoner records for the nearest Squad holding facility on a chip she'd been carrying under her tongue for miles and miles.

"She's very good at what she does, huh," Ryan murmured to Z, watching Annie work at extracting the data from the chip and Laena leaning on the table next to her, muttering instructions for the encryption schemes that kept coming up. "You all are."

Z nodded, eyes fixed on the screen.

When Annie finally confirmed that yes, Tennessee Thomas was in cell 103Q, Z started crying. And when Annie read out all the names, and it turned out Spencer Smith was in cell 54F, Ryan hid his face in her hair and possibly did the same, just a little bit.

That night, he didn't sleep; him and Z sat on one of the couches and didn't talk, just kept each other company. Halfway through the night she took his hand and said, low, with the same intensity as earlier, like she was trying to conjure them up and make it all true: "We're going to get them back."

[mahoni.livejournal.com]

I hope you have a lovely time!

Prompt: Bob in the Bat-verse (ship of your choice or gen) (or Brian, or Greta, I'm really not picky. :P)

I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henchman.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, but I'm not the type." Bob really thought he made that clear the first time.

Brian fucking Schechter, who was some sort of sorcerer's apprentice, looked up at him and smirked. "Not the type to have magic?"

Bob gritted his teeth. "I'm a fucking sound tech. That's what I do. Wires and tech and frequencies, sure, but those are real things."

"Well, when Zatanna told me my apprentice would be found at the Gotham show, I didn't believe it either. But them's the breaks, kid, you have magic and you need to learn how to use it."

They were in an alley outside the venue, and Bob had smoked approximately a pack and a half of cigarettes. He was a little stressed, was the thing.

"Look, asshole, I have a job. I can't take time off to go to Hogwarts."

"You need to take some kind of time off," Brian said patiently. "It's going to fuck you over if you don't."

"I've been doing fine so far," Bob insisted and lit another cigarette.

"Really?" Brian said. "No inexplicable electrical outages?"

Bob dropped his lighter.

Brian looked smug. "Yeah," he said. "That's what it'll do, until you either learn to work with it or, uh, the stage explodes."

That didn't sound like fun. Bob closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Fine," he said. "Tell me how to do this without losing my job, please."

Brian started, but they ended up having to finish it later at the hotel, because at this point about eight insane clowns came upon them in the alley, brandishing knives and pies and shouting about some kind of joker, and Bob found himself shoved behind Brian in order to "not be in the way," as the asshole put it, while Brian made short work of them.

Bob did have to hit the last one over the head with a trash can, because Brian had gotten distracted and then hit in the face with a pie. Which was apparently filled with something other than whipped cream, because he shouted and fell over.

When Bob hit the last one over the head, a boy wearing shorts and a cape swept into the alley. He bent down and sniffed at Brian.

"Chloroform," he said knowledgeably, and then grinned at Bob. "Nicely done, there. I take it you're his apprentice? A little more hands-on than the usual approach."

"No, I--" Bob gave up. "Yeah, I guess I am. Who were those guys?"

"Oh, they belong to the Joker. I'll take them in, don't worry about it. Get him back to a hotel instead, and order him some coffee to take the edge off. He'll be pretty groggy once he wakes up." The kid hesitated. "Uh, and then I'd get out of Gotham if I were you. It's not a great town to do magic in."

"It's a hell of a place, huh," Bob said, and the kid nodded.

"Good luck though," he said earnestly. "I'm looking forward to meeting you again."

Eventually they did, and Bob had to admit he hadn't seen Nightwing coming from the kid he met in that alley. But Dick was a hell of a fighter; Bob could respect that. And if Brian wasn't especially fond of him ("Stupid flashy tights," he muttered, and Bob grinned and kissed him), well, whatever, they fought together just fine.

[saekokato.livejournal.com]

Have a wonderful time!

Prompt: Bob/Brian; No, he hath simply the best wit of any handicraft/ man in Athens.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

(It's possible Bob turned out to be a girl in this one. Oooops?)



"When am I gonna get you to tech for me, Bryar?" Brian was leaning on her sound booth. With anyone else, Bob would have been yelling (or at least glaring; she'd perfected an impressive glare over the years). But with Brian, well.

She shrugged. "When you can pay me what I'm worth, asshole." She continued adjusting levels; outdoor shows were a bitch, but there was a trick to it, if you could do pre-sound to check on shit.

Brian tilted his head. "I don't think that'll ever happen."

Uh, what? That was kind of-- "That's kind of a weird thing to say."

He looked oddly serious. "You're one of the best sound guys, I mean people, in the business. You know that, right? Paying you what you're worth is, like, a fucking expensive proposition."

She wasn't going to blush. Bob hadn't blushed in goddamn forever.

She was totally blushing. Dammit. "Thanks, I guess," she mumbled, and got a cigarette out to cover her confusion.

"Only telling the truth, Bryar, you know me," Brian said, and he looked like he wanted to say something else, but then shook his head. "Anyway, I just stopped by on my way to get coffee. You want anything?"

"You know how I like it," Bob said unthinkingly, and then closed her eyes. That wasn't--she wasn't obvious, she was never obvious.

Brian blinked. "I, yeah. Black, right?"

"Uh-huh." Bob was just going to wait until he left and then she was going to hit herself in the head a couple of times.

"Hey," Brian said, and Bob looked up. "I didn't, um. You're. Oh, fuck it." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, fast like he was scared to do it. "That, okay? I do." He turned and walked off, calling, "I'll be right back with the coffee," over his shoulder.

Bob smiled a little, and decided to finish up while she waited for him to come back. Maybe they'd have enough time to take a walk. Or something. She still wasn't sure what had just happened, but she knew, oh did she ever, that she wanted to investigate a little further.

[crowgirl13.livejournal.com]

You already have a couple Bob/Brian - if you want to do more, then that would be keen. :) Otherwise, Bob on BtVS land, pairing [or not] of your choice.


They willfully themselves exile from light
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night.

But we are spirits of another sort.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Brianne stretched her arms out, feeling the crackle of twilight at her fingertips. Her tattoos moved with her, dancing under her skin. Ha, yeah, this, fucking this; tonight was going to be big, she could feel it already.

Leaping from her oak to the next one and the one after that--she was being slow, really, so she could watch the forest change under her as the sun set--she called out under her breath and everything, everything answered.

This was her job: Brianne hadn't seen another fairy for months (being put in charge of the most remote forest in the land meant that visitors were scarce, especially if you were known for being territorial and prone to anger), but she didn't really mind it. Her own thoughts were better company than the rest of them and their games. Brianne didn't play, and so they didn't like her.

She was halfway through the oaks when movement in a clearing made her freeze in mid-air and touch down on the ground. Someone was picking flowers; a human was picking flowers. That just wasn't on, not on Brianne's land.

Making that shift that made her visible, she started walking closer to the human. She cleared her throat when she was close enough, and the human startled and turned.

Brianne froze. Those were, her eyes, the bluest blue she'd ever seen. Instead of telling the human to keep out, instead of pulling the forest about her and throwing her out, she reached out and touched the human's face.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, but her voice was soft, not at all what she meant it to be.

"Sorry," said the human, the girl. "I didn't mean--I didn't know it belonged to someone."

"Why did you come?" Brianne swallowed, trying to breathe slow, breathe like a person did, not fast like a fairy. Her heart felt like, like it was hammering. So odd.

"I needed herbs," the girl muttered. "I'm the healer's apprentice, so--" she waved her hand at the flowers in her basket. "They told me not to, but I've walked through worse places than this one."

Brianne saw a brief flash of those places on the wind and winced. "You shouldn't have to," she blurted. What was this? She was never like this; she always knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"I go where I'm needed."

You're needed here, Brianne thought, and never ever leave me. Out loud she said, "Well met by moonlight, healer girl. Will you walk through my forest with me? I can get you the herbs you need."

"I suppose," said the girl. "Tell me who you are though, first. I don't go walking with strangers." That was a smile, there. A smile and a slight blush.

Brianne took a deep breath. "Brianne," she said. "This forest is--you could say I guard it. Now tell me your name." Names were important.

"Roberta," said the girl. Brianne smirked. "Or Bob, please. Roberta is stupid."

"Bob," said Brianne. "I can do that. It suits you better than Roberta."

"Don't I know it," Bob said ruefully.

--

The night fell around them and Brianne could feel the wonder of her forest as they walked, the way the air softened in response to how Brianne could hardly keep herself from touching, couldn't keep herself from smiling. The branches rustled apart for Bob, the roots withdrawing to let her walk without falling, just like they did for Brianne, like they loved her because Brianne did, abruptly and heart-stoppingly.

Even when the stars came out, it didn't feel like real darkness. Brianne thought she'd never see true night again, not if Bob was there. Swallowing all the things she wanted to say, she kept walking next to Bob, who never asked about her tattoos or her strange clothing but kept smiling down at Brianne, kept on smiling until Brianne couldn't breathe with it.

At dawn, Bob left the woods to go back to her village, and Brianne couldn't help herself, leaning in and kissing her cheek and then turning to go back before she could see Bob's face. A hand on her shoulder turned her back around; Bob's cheeks were a little pink.

"I don't know what you are," she said, "but I'll be back tonight. I just--thank you." She touched Brianne's bare shoulder quickly, and Brianne bit her lip to cover how that felt. "Tonight, okay?" Bob said.

Brianne nodded. "Tonight." And every night hereafter, she thought.

[sansets]

(Because I'm apparently totally obsessed and I blame you in part for it. ♥)

Batverse, Steph/Babs - I woo'd thee with my sword/ And won thy love, doing thee injuries

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

(I understand, trust me. ♥)


"How was that?" Steph asks, feeling for loosened teeth with her tongue. Her jaw is swollen (small wonder, with the punches she took) and her shoulder hurts, but other than that, tonight was the first patrol where she came out ahead, really ahead.

"Not bad," Oracle says, voice dry as ever. "You still telegraph every left-handed move, but you've gotten faster and you still don't stay down for anything."

Steph grins, because praise from Oracle--from Babs--is all too rare, and every time it happens she feels like someone has given her a great shiny gold star. "Am I done for the night, then?"

There's a silence at the other end of the line. "Actually, if you could swing by before you head out, that would be great."

"Sure thing," Steph says, not thinking about what the tentative tone means, and then she's up in the air again, the closest thing to flying she can think of (not counting lifts with superpowered friends). She resists the urge to yell "Wohoooo!" as she swings (she did it once when she was Spoiler; Tim didn't talk to her for a week after that), but she thinks it, and she's not surprised when Oracle laughs at her.

"Do refrain from scaring the population at large." Babs has always been near-telepathic, especially with Steph.

"I will, I will. Promise." Especially if it gets her what she wants.

--

Steph mostly patches herself up, Babs providing dry commentary about how she wouldn't have to ice her jaw if she'd just duck faster.

Steph halts at that, looking over at her. "Seriously, duck faster? That's your advice? What happened to the great all-knowing Oracle, who always out-strategizes everyone else?" She shakes her head mournfully. "I'm going to have to tell Batman about this, I think."

Barbara mutters something about this all being his fault, anyway (Steph's not sure which Batman she means) and then she's reaching out for Steph, careful hand circling around her wrist and pulling her close.

"I worry," she says. "I worry, and it occurred to be that I worry about you in a very specific way."

Oh. "Oh," Steph says.

"You can say no," Babs says. "In fact, you probably should say no. This never ends well."

Steph kisses her then, kisses her quiet. Barbara's hands are so careful on her jaw, like she knows (and she does know, of course) exactly how to hold in order not to hurt. Steph might be thinking about how to get her to play a little harder eventually, but she's also so very content to just stay here, under the lights of the kitchen, bruised up and tired and achy, and kissing Barbara. She doesn't need to move, not right now.

[x_dark_siren_x]

Wow, I cannot imagine the views you must get of sunset on Midsummer. I'm jealous (and a little confused - do you guys celebrate later, or is this a geographical thing?).

You would pick the one Shakespeare I can't quote a damn thing from off the top of my head...let's see...

Okay, how about Bob/Veronica Mars in the same verse as your Lyn-Z/Mac, and These are the forgeries of jealousy.

I know, it seems like a totally random line, but I always liked Titania best (she's got more sass than the rest of the girls put together, in my opinion), and there are a million and one things you could do with that line, either by itself or in the context of the rest of her speech. Um. Not that I'm telling you how to write it, or anything. >.<.

Oh! But could I request a happy ending, pretty please? (And some Weevil, if you can work him in, though he's not essential. I just think Weevil needs more love.)

An island? Really? You lucky, lucky thing. Have fun, darling. ♥

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

We celebrate on the third Friday of June, no matter where the solstice actually falls.

And this is a little punchy, um, sorry.


"You know, I do have to talk to people and sometimes I get them to help me. It's kind of my job. As a detective and all."

Bob sighs. He's maybe being an idiot. But. "He's your ex. He's your, like, meant-for-each-other ex."

"He's also dating Ryan," Veronica points out. "Which, I think that's best for all involved: the amount of angst they bring to the table is somehow canceled out by the other one, and it leaves the rest of us free to not, you know, be involved. Also, Logan scored some excellent weed, or so he says."

Bob can't help but laugh. "I suppose that'll help with the angst," he says. "I just wish I could help with the job instead of him." Which he can't, because he doesn't have a fucking boat.

"Last time you encountered one of my jobs you ended up stuffed in a trunk," Veronica says firmly.

"Well, I was fine," Bob says.

Veronica squeezes his hand a little and swallows. "I don't like it when you get hurt," which sounds like 'I love you' in Mars-speak, and suddenly Bob doesn't really care if she gets her rich ex to drive her around on his yacht.

So he kisses the top of her head and watches her drive off, and then he goes to find Ryan. Excellent weed is excellent weed; he could stand to be a little more mellow sometimes, he knows that. Especially when Veronica is off chasing smugglers and hopefully not getting shot. (Possibly he is more worried about that than about her hanging out with Logan Echolls. Just possibly.)

[delphinapterus.livejournal.com]

Am I too late?

Kitty/Brian

This falls out better than I could devise.

AU

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Kitty closed her eyes and opened them again. The short man was not going away.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" she hissed.

He looked apologetic. "I don't--ah, I don't actually know. I was supposed to, there was a spell--"

"Yes?"

"It was meant to take me to the court. I have to plead my case, see, because they're tearing down our village and the fucking mayor of the nearest town has been bought, and--"

Possibly it really had been an honest mistake. Possibly he was out to get her with a tragic story. Possibly--no. If there was anything she was good at, it was people.

She held up a hand. "It seems very complicated," she said. "You'd better go downstairs; I'm sure the queen will see you."

He blinked. "I'm actually at court? Fucking hell, I never thought it would work."

"You are indeed," she said. "Normally people come through the front door, but." She herself sometimes climbed through the windows. Going the other way, mostly, and then coming back in the morning. Sometimes security details were so inconvenient.

She allowed herself one tiny smile as she sent him downstairs with an attendant, and then she reached out for her scepter. She felt like being extra-specially official, today.

[almostblue.livejournal.com]

Laena/Annie.

Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me,
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.

:D?

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

♥!

I read this prompt two ways, here's the first one:

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Laena was kneeling, court-appropriate dress spread out on the ground. She knew her face didn't betray any of the discomfort she felt, how nervous she was. She could still hear Tennessee muttering about how this had to work, it had to, while her quick, quick hands finished the work of making Laena fit to appear before the princess. Z had been preparing Laena's speech, shoulders tight tight and mouth tense while she wrote.

But Laena hadn't been asked to speak yet. She waited, face still, eyes on the ground.

A hand on her face made her draw in a sharp breath and she looked up to see the princess crouched in front of her.

"What would you have of me?" said the princess, and then shook her head when Laena started to speak. "Never mind, never mind, please rise." She took one of Laena's hands in hers and drew her to her feet.

Laena swallowed. The princess was tall and her smile was like--it made Laena less and more nervous all at once, because it was kind, so kind, but so beautiful it was a little hard to breathe.

"I've come to ask you to halt the practice of arranging marriages, your highness," Laena said, and winced when she heard how shaky her voice was.

"That's still--" the princess stopped. "Of course." She looked at Laena, her face much more grave than it had been initially. "I presume you have a speech prepared?"

"I do," Laena said, and before she quite understood what happened, she was standing in front of a council and listening to the princess introducing her, leaving little doubt that she supported what Laena had to say and would push this measure through personally if it was not attended to.

Laena didn't think it would be quite that easy, but something about the way the princess was so calm, voice clear and steady, made her feel like it might be possible. And then it was her turn. She looked at the princess and tried to tell her "Thank you" with her eyes, and the princess nodded like she understood. Somehow, then it was the easiest thing in the world to speak, to say the right things in the ways Z had meant her to say them. The easiest thing in the world to make all of them listen.

And the second one, same verse:

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

Laena finished reading the letter and looked up at Annie (the princess, Laena would never ever get used to calling her by her first name).

"What are the news from home?" Annie said, her smile a little odd.

Laena grinned. "They're finally doing it, they're getting married. They can now, because the law, our law, invalidated Z's betrothal contract. So now she can marry Tennessee and they've set a date."

Annie blinked. "But," she said. "I thought--" she shook her head, smiling much more brightly. "That's wonderful," she said. "Absolutely wonderful."

"What did you think?" Laena said curiously, and was treated to the wholly unexpected sight of Annie blushing.

"I thought, oh, but it's nothing." Annie was looking down at her hands, not meeting Laena's eyes.

Suddenly nothing seemed more important than finding out what Annie meant. "Tell me," Laena said, trying very hard not to reach out and take Annie's hand in hers.

Annie looked up and took a shaky breath before answering. "I thought you and Z--that you wanted the law gone because of that."

Oh. Laena slid out of her chair, kneeling next to Annie's. "No," she said, "no, I was just the only one of the three of us who would be allowed to speak at court." She took one of Annie's hands then, kissing at her fingertips. "Ever since I first saw you on that day when I came here with my petition, I have been--oh, Annie, if you will have me, I am wholly yours."

Annie took another shaky breath and Laena looked up and saw she was crying, just a little bit. "Come here," she said, "come here."

Laena went, rising to her feet again and letting Annie tug her into her lap, holding her close. "Yours," she said again, low, and Annie slid two hands into her hair and kissed her. There was music in Laena's head, music and sunlight and a knowledge of feeling so whole she'd never thought it possible before.

[egelantier.livejournal.com]

z/charlotte,

Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice verses of feigning love

In some ways, the prequel to the Ryan-and-Z one above:

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

It was summer, but as far as Z was concerned, it might as well be fall. She felt so cold.

"You said--" Z could hear herself stumbling on the words and stopped talking.

Charlotte looked sad, but certain. "But I don't," she said, and started to turn away.

"You--were you lying? The whole time?" She tried to blink away the images behind her eyes: Charlotte sun-warmed and sleepy in her bed, smiling sweeter than she ever did otherwise; Charlotte stripping off her dress and diving into the ocean, laughing; Charlotte kissing her for the first time under a streetlight.

Something momentarily flickered in Charlotte's face, but then she set her jaw. "No," she said. "No, Z, I wasn't lying, but I never said I loved you, did I?"

She hadn't. Z thought about all the times when she had said it and Charlotte had smiled, heart-stopping and clear, and Z had thought that was as good as an admission. Apparently not.

"Fine," she said. "Fine. If you--just go, alright?"

Charlotte bit her lip. "I'll send Tenn up to you," she said, starting to move her fingers in the pattern required to open the Parting gate. Z wanted to still her fingers, to kiss them, to keep Charlotte there by holding on, but she didn't. She let her go.

A BRAT, AM I?

[extemporally.livejournal.com]

*cackles*

1. Midsummer Night's Dream!

The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst
are no worse, if imagination amend them.

gen, B. Urie

2. angsty Julius Caesar

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Charlotte & Z (pairing or gen, anything's cool!)

3. Something Else

My paper wings soar,
brush
your blazing heart. source

gosh I am so tempted to make you write skating fic for me... Laena/Annie!!! From your high school verse.

YES YOU ARE. mumblemumble excellent prompts that I cannot do justice.

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

1. Early days.


Brendon's still really bad at putting on eyeliner. It's funny, kind of, because he ends up poking himself in the eye half the time, which leads to a lot of jokes about poking and eyes and sticks, and he's getting better at those, at the sex jokes. But he's perpetually red-eyed these days, which is kind of annoying.

Mostly it annoys Ryan.

They're fifteen minutes away from their call time and Brendon's in front of the mirror, frowning at the eyeliner that just keeps defeating him. He's wiped off three different versions of the eye makeup at this point. It's, like, it's fucking stupid, is what it is, because it's not like it actually makes him look any different. He could just go without. Except.

"Seriously, when are you going to stop sucking at this?" Ryan sounds irritated, snappish like he's worried about the show.

"I don't suck at this," Brendon replies automatically. "Just at this tiny little part. This tiny little insignificant part."

Ryan sighs. "You don't get it," he says. Brendon knows what's coming.

Walking over, Ryan slides up on the counter in between Brendon and the mirror, one hand on Brendon's jaw and the other uncapping Brendon's eyeliner. "It's not insignificant."

"It is," Brendon says. "Who cares if I--I still sound the same, don't I?"

"Close your eyes," Ryan says. The liner is cold streaks on Brendon's face. "It's not about the sound, it's about the show. Pretending, whatever."

"I can pretend without makeup," Brendon argues, careful not to move his face.

"You can," Ryan says. "But it's easier like this. Being someone else." He taps Brendon's face and Brendon opens his eyes as Ryan is getting out of the way so he can see himself. And it's always--Ryan doesn't always do this, but when he does, there's something--

"See?" Ryan says. "Be someone else."

Brendon blinks at himself, at the shadows on his face-- Okay. Someone different. Pretending.

idk if you're still doing it but...

[dancinbutterfly.livejournal.com]

Spencer/Ryan

(and the quote, because I genuinely cannot BELIEVE that no one used it -really)

"The course of true love never did run smooth."