Non-Recovering WoW Addict ([info]heinous_bitca) wrote in [info]15minuteficlets,
@ 2004-12-28 23:33:00
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Word #87
*steps in*

Please post a link here to your ficlet, but ficlets in comments are fine as well. If you do write the ficlet on your own page, please put the word behind an lj-cut tag (or hidden in some way), so as not to spoil anyone for the word.

Word for today is: Interrupted.

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[info]garney
2004-12-29 05:22 am UTC (link)
Title: Scolding
Series: Crossings - Original fiction
Pairing: none
Warning: errrr, no

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[Giggle][Empire Records][Mark/Lucas][PG-13]
[info]endless_fever
2004-12-29 07:15 am UTC (link)
Lucas kisses him to see if that will stop the giggle. That damn nervous giggle that drives Lucas half mad because he can't figure out what it means on any given day. Today it was nervous. Tomorrow it could mean Mark's stoned. Or happy. Or being tickled or he's confused...

That doesn't matter. What matters is Lucas is trying to have a meaningful conversation here --about sexual orientation and what is Mark's because yes he saw Mark looking at his ass and that kind of raised some questions in Lucas' head and also made him decide to wear these jeans the next time Mark works with him. But Mark kept laughing between his words, blushing bright scarlet. Each laugh made Lucas want to twitch.

So he gave up on talking and shoved him in the count out room. And kiss Mark until he'd stop fucking giggling. And it works. Mark returns the kiss eagerly and his mouth is warm, hands cold against Lucas' skin.

Lucas' hands work under Mark's shirt, and then the door opens. Lucas and Mark both freeze. And Mark lets another short giggle of a laugh out, into Lucas' mouth. Lucas pulls back, turns and straightens his shirt.

"Hey Joe." Lucas says evenly, but he lets out his own nervous little laugh --great, now he's caught it. Behind him, Mark giggles. Just when he got it to stop.

"Not in the store." Joe says then closes the door.

Lucas looks at Mark, relieve that Joe didn't scream or yell or wig out at all. Mark looks back at him, large eyes even larger with the shock, lips kiss swollen.

They stare at each other for a long moment, then they both release a nervous little laugh at the same time. Lucas pulls Mark close and kisses him again. To shut them both up.

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Re: [Giggle][Empire Records][Mark/Lucas][PG-13]
[info]cupkeyk
2004-12-29 06:10 pm UTC (link)
oooh I loved empire records. I imagine Lucas's giggle is more uh huh...uh huh while Mark's is all shoulder and grin ahihihihihi.

Its very very good, the tension is fantastic!

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[info]florahart
2004-12-29 07:48 am UTC (link)
Harry Potter, Neville/Twins, R-plus, 14 minutes, 555 words:

Here

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[info]odyssea
2004-12-29 07:51 am UTC (link)
Title: Interruptus
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Spoilers: None
Characters/Pairings: H/Hr
Summary: It shouldn't have surprised Hermione that there were endless ways of interrupting people's lives in the wizarding world.

Here

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[info]christhiane
2004-12-29 10:22 am UTC (link)
Author: Jalita/Christhiane
Title: Brothers
Rating: G
Challenge: [info]15minuteficlets, Word 87
Words: 461
Feedback: Yes please.

Brothers

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[info]diceandzombies
2004-12-29 12:23 pm UTC (link)
Original.
No warnings.
304 words.

Third Age Lore (pseudo-hobbits) for my dear [info]sage_quinlan.

"Ball and Chain"

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[info]vagablonde
2004-12-29 03:07 pm UTC (link)
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG

Interrupted.

Before the crash, his life had become something less than perfect but entirely of his own making. He cocooned himself in a steady, repetitious drone of days filled with early mornings, surgical procedures, missed lunches and the echo of his own footsteps at the end of the day in an apartment empty of personality or warmth. The detachment was a security blanket, a comfort. He depended on himself alone, using his skills to carve away the monsters that plagued his nights, methodically carving a distance from his father and everything the man had been and become. But the crash had changed that, interrupting the dull anonymity.

The island had dwindled his carefully cultivated segregation down to the length of a pristine strip of beach and slowly closing walls of a cave. The faces around him either looked to him for their every decision or looked at him as an obstacle to their own ascension. He'd never wanted to be the guru of the ragged, malformed amalgamation, but each day found him desperately fighting off challenges to his position. If anyone else were good enough, if anyone else could do the job as well, make the right decisions, the best choices, he would have gladly given up the position. He knew noone else could. And he knew noone else could see that, could realize that obvious conclusion, noone else had his insight, noone had his perspective, his knowledge, his skill...

The voice of his father whispered at the back of Jack's mind....noone else would ever be as good as he was.

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[info]bausserirdische
2004-12-29 06:24 pm UTC (link)
Lost... Is that some sort of version of the Lord of the Flies? Anyway, this is a nice little piece. :)

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[info]vagablonde
2004-12-29 11:39 pm UTC (link)
Thanks - Lost is a television program, new this season to viewers but I have compared it to Lord of the Flies on several occasions. It follows the lives of 47 people stranded on an uncharted island after their plane crashes during turbulence several thousand miles off-course.

Thank you for reading the piece, especially considering you didn't know the fandom! I'm really glad you liked it!

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[info]bausserirdische
2004-12-30 12:56 am UTC (link)
Yeah, I just thought that it may have been a movie version of the Lord of the Flies because it mentions being lost on an island and Jack, and it just sounded like him.

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Mine for this week
[info]cupkeyk
2004-12-29 04:58 pm UTC (link)
"So when the meat is done you turn off the heat and add the coconut milk. We wouldn’t want to curdle it."

Spices filled the room with its scent. Tom sat on the kitchen counter, ducking under copper pots and pans that hung decoratively above him. Meanwhile, Carl has his back to him, in front of a stove, making curried goat. He has been stewing the goat for an hour now in tomatoes and lime leaves and roots and bark and spices. His wooden ladle was yellow with the turmeric. His cotton shirt hinted at his muscled back where his sweat stuck to him.

"You do realize that it will take us fifteen minutes max to eat that, and you’ve been poring over it since yesterday." By ‘us’, Tom meant the potluck New Year’s party they were going to, by yesterday he meant the hour long walks in the mostly closed markets looking for curry ingredients during the holidays.

"That’s not true, good food will be enjoyed for hours or even days. Someday in the future you’ll have curry and my curry will come jealously come back to you and haunt you."

Tom drew a twiddled a small clump of his hair. Now the curry has the right to be jealous, rolled his eyes.

Carl, recognizing the Tom’s signature gesture, turned around and placed a hand upon Tom’s thigh. "You get jealous of everything. I…"

"You stink of dead goat and Indian side streets."

I wake up every early morning to cook for you, take a shower and brush my teeth in time so we can still wake up side by side. Of course Carl didn’t say it aloud.

"I’ll take a shower then."

"Well, I was watching you the whole time you know… I stink too." Carl heard from behind him. Already hands were upon the hems of his shirt, lingering on his stomach. He wanted to pout but his lips smiled instead.

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Erase imprinted ink
[info]fairy_dust_2430
2004-12-29 05:24 pm UTC (link)
Erase Imprinted Ink

I hate the way certain days remain forever imprinted in your conscious. Quiet at times, but always living, breathing, screaming your endless regrets. They rattle at your thoughts with effortless rage; reminding you of days once past. In life there will always be a day that lives forever. Reminding you of your faults and of how you are a stupid, stupid girl. I have them. I have one. I am one. It is only in my later years that I have realized that when a thought consumes you, you become it. It rules every decision and speaks every word. It takes over your bleeding heart slashing apart the flimsy pieces of your life that remained. It is there to remind you always, what you did and how your life used to be.

When I was seventeen, my life changed in a multitude of ways. All from one moment; one trip to a quiet room with bare walls and murky wisps of a shadow of a life. I sometimes dream of re-visiting that room. Of seeing if the pale girl that I used to be still resides there. I think she does. My whole life remains locked away in that room, tucked away from the cold bright world. Maybe someday it will resurface and whisper the one thing that I have yet to find. Happiness.

In many ways I died that day. I am nothing but a pastel ghost with slippery memories and thoughts of how I used to be. I am nothing but a blurred shadow on a wall or a hushed voice that haunts you as you lie in your bed in-between sleep and awake. Thoughts and dreams. Life and death. I am nothing but a past.

Sometimes I will pinch myself, just to see if I am still here. I will cut my wrists, just to see the rush of blood. Just to feel pain, just to feel something. I want to be tangible and I want to be real. I want to have something to look forward to and something to care about. I want someone to care about me and hold my hand and tell me everything will be ok. I need someone to take me in their arms and never let me go. I need someone to forgive me for what I did. I need someone to interrupt my life. Please, please interrupt me.


Author's note: Okay, depressing, yeah. I don't know why but this was the first thing that came to my mind. Locked in your past and raging against one stupid mistake. Pleading for forgiveness, and praying for a way out. Maybe it's a "I am looking back on the life I never really lived" sort of thing. Eh, sorry to be such a downer. Think of rainbows and butterflies.

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Re: Erase imprinted ink
[info]christhiane
2004-12-30 12:50 am UTC (link)
Lovley ficlet. =)

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[info]zilly14
2004-12-29 05:53 pm UTC (link)
Title: Conversations With Dead People
Fandom: BtVS/Angel, post-serieses
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon's the genius, not me.
Rating: PG
Word count: 186
Notes: The story is a LOT longer but I still haven't finished it (my muse attacked me). The first part, written below, was written within 15 minutes, LoL!

Spike and Buffy sat on the Italian beach, watching the moon rise above the horizon.

“The little blonde bint was always yakking away about France, always interrupting my thoughts.” Spike sighed. “God, she was so annoying.”

“Well, you were the one who started dating her,” Buffy laughed. “Who’s fault was that?”

“At least she paid attention to me. After you gave Parker boy what he wanted he dropped you like garbage.”

“Parker… was a mistake,” she admitted. “I should’ve realized what he was doing.”

“No, he made the mistake in messing with you. If I were you I would’ve kicked his ass.”

“No, you would’ve sucked him dry… So what about Drusilla? I thought your love was eternal.”

“And you and Captain Brood weren’t? Listen, we might’ve been soul mates…” Spike cleared his throat, “well, vamp mates… but sometimes lovers grow apart.”

“Angel and I, we didn’t grow apart.”

“No, the ponce just moved away and left you.”

Buffy paused to look out towards the ocean. “It seems like everyone leaves me. Dad… Angel… Parker… Riley. Gosh, even you left me.”

“But I came back, love.”

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[info]irishvampire13
2004-12-30 01:24 am UTC (link)
Kinda bittersweet. :) Good one.

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[info]scribblemoose
2004-12-29 06:26 pm UTC (link)
Interrupted
by scribblemoose
Rating: 18 (NC-17)
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing: Gojyo/Sanzo
Archive: No.
Note: 25 minutes, although there was a phone call in the middle so it's hard to tell. Ah, the irony...

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HP, rated pg
[info]erised1810
2004-12-29 07:47 pm UTC (link)
Writen in 14 minutes or so.
No toasts

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[info]acerbus_instar
2004-12-29 11:36 pm UTC (link)
Title: Legendary
Series: Dragonball Z
Characters: Son Gohan, Son Goten
Rating/Warnings: PG/none
Time: 10-12 minutes

Cliccy qui.

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[info]littlekasumi
2004-12-29 11:46 pm UTC (link)
Title: Alone
Fandom: Day of Hunters - Original
Rating: G
Word Count: 612
Notes: This took me 35 minutes to write. I went way overboard! Sorry. Oh yeah. And I changed Schiender's name. It's Schneider now. His name iz pastede on yey!

(Being alone with you makes me happy.)

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[info]meltyoudown
2004-12-30 02:24 am UTC (link)
Title: Morn
Fandom: The West Wing/Without a Trace
Pairing: Donna/Samantha
Rating: NC-17

http://www.livejournal.com/users/meltyoudown/23011.html#cutid2

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More drabble than ficlet, but...
[info]crackling
2004-12-30 02:51 am UTC (link)
PG, Harry Potter. Was braindead when writing this. Honestly.


“Pansy,” Blaise said thoughtfully, “Did you know Draco and Potter are seeing each other?”

Pansy looked up from her Witch Weekly with some surprise. “Of course I did,” she said. “Who else covered for them when that Finnigan fellow was sniffing around Potter’s arse?”

“Oh,” Blaise said, and sat down. “Only Professor Snape wanted to see Draco and I told him to look in the dorms, but I just went in and…”

Pansy just rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine. “You wouldn’t be the first person,” she muttered.

“No,” said Blaise after a pause. “Nor the last.”

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Interrupted
[info]dismantlinglily
2004-12-30 04:23 am UTC (link)
Title: Heroics
Fandom: Original
Genre: angsty romantics
rating: PG-13 for slight cussing and masochism
time: 16 minutes with spell check
words: 657


!@#$%^&*)*&^%$@#$%^&*()_)(*&^#$%^&*(&^#$%^&*($%^^&*((_)&&%^

Frankly, I wanted some one to open the door, pick the lock, kick aside the piles of cloths and depression that clouded and blocked everything near me. Truthfully, I wanted him to open the door and fix this. Save me, like every fantasy, every dream, every story I chose to tell. I was always good at spinning a fairytale, but I could never spin the truth. Until now. I guess ideals had to be shattered with my perfect, architecturally sound walls. Walls that apparently had one fatal flaw, where one direct shot, from the correct person, could shatter everything, like a crack creating chaos. One fatal flaw had to be perfect. Had to be that beautiful crazy boy, with his tumble of dark curls and his crooked, cocky smile, almost always connected with a sweet, pale blush. All he had to do was break my heart, that crack was enough to send me shattering back to this path.
If he shattered my ideals, he shattered my strength and my goodness, both of which that had been so new and so fragile to begin with. Now I can spin the truth like a web of lies that I weave for everything but him. I weave together perfect smiles, accompanied with perfect make up and a perfect care-free joy. A fucking fake joy, which no one ever saw through, except him, and he still isn’t here. Here to stop me, here to push aside the truth and the wreckage from the walls and from the heartbreak.
I need to feel my hands weave through his hair, coaxing curls to twirl themselves around my finger, and keeping my hands too busy to shake or do worse. Do this. Funny, he drove me to it, and yet I want him to break through the door, easily as he broke my walls, and my heart and all my ideals, all my innocent fantasies that he loved for me to tell him, as I buried my face in to the sweet blackness and the dark, swirling eyes. I need those eyes to stop me from what I need to do to forget them. I need to forget them or else I'll need him forever and everything will get worse and his curls will be some one else’s and I'll collapse and never rebuild. I need to forget how to collapse and remember how to build my structurally sound sanctuary again. And this is how.
Carefully, I draw the silver to my arm, I let the little charmed spindle slice me, make me befall the spell. This time I get to be the beautiful, but cursed princess in her fairytale sleep. He gets to be the bad guy to drive me to it, and to press the blade into my skin, with his charm and his curse and all the beauty he ever showed me in a poison world. But I get to be the charming prince. And I just might decide not to kiss myself awake. Maybe I prefer him stabbing me again and again.
But it's not like he interrupted me, ran into my room to stop me. He doesn't get to rescue the princess this time. Never again. Even if I wanted him to. Why couldn't he see this, see my mess, and my pain? Why couldn’t he bewitch it away? Stories say he should, the beautiful boy with the luscious curls and perfect face of prince charming should burst in, bringing the heroics and wrapping his arms around the princess, directing her hands into his hair, to keep them from slicing another crack into her skin, to keep the blood from breaking down her walls, real or glamoured.
He should be all heroics; he should have interrupted my downfall. He should have stopped me, he should have kissed me awake, and he should have been prince charming. He should have been a hero. I wish he had been my hero.

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Re: Interrupted
[info]fairy_dust_2430
2004-12-30 05:55 pm UTC (link)
Wow. Yeah, I have never really replied to one of these things but oh well. This "piece" is so beautiful. I can feel the pain and saddness seeping out of her. The entire thing is like one pleading cry for help. It's beautiful and artisitc and amazing. I hardly ever read these, I ususally just post and move on but yours just caught me. Wonderfully written <3

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[info]xsh0ckwave
2004-12-30 05:11 am UTC (link)
Title: I Remember
Fandom: Harry Potter
Time: 14 minutes
Words: 574
'Shippings?: Harry/???
Genre: Angst

http://www.livejournal.com/users/xsh0ckwave/21116.html#cutid1

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Something...slightly different. *grins sheepishly*
[info]irishvampire13
2004-12-30 06:22 am UTC (link)
Title: Molten Masses
Fandom: Original
Rating: G

Sheila gazed in wide-eyed fascination at the scene before her. She simply couldn’t turn away.

Beyond the confines of the glass, a white substance expanded in the heat. As it grew, a dark fluid oozed out from beneath it. This molten flow slid in slow torrents over a coarse, grainy surface. Dark brown melded with snow white, forming an unrecognizable mass. Sheila’s jaw dropped as it progressed, wondering if anything could stop it.

Her rapt staring was interrupted as the microwave dinged. Grinning, she retrieved the object of her fascination: A platter laden with warm, sweet-scented goo. “S’mores, anyone?”

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Enterprise
[info]redwolfoz
2004-12-30 12:28 pm UTC (link)
( Enterprise ) — original

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No Rest For The Weary
[info]bausserirdische
2004-12-31 01:40 am UTC (link)
Rated: PG
Warnings: Implied Horror Themes
Fandom: Resident Evil 3
Genre: General/Horror
Words: 315
Exerpt: She opened the nearest door and steered herself inside of a small building, holding her breath for the best but expecting the worst.

[Read It!]

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[info]tainted4life
2004-12-31 04:14 pm UTC (link)
Title: Body Language
Fandom: My original sci-fi project.
Rating: PG
Words: 436
Time: 14 minutes
------------

Lupus sighed. "Look, Rue? I've never been good at this sort of thing."

Rue stared at him, his eyes blinking once and his left ear twitching. In Keedrow body language, Lupus knew, this would be defined as a 'blank stare'.

Keedrow people didn't sigh, laugh, or smile the way that humans did. That was to be expected, of course. A humanoid species evolved from lions rather than apes would have a very different body vocabulary.

Rue's tail swished from left to right, the very tip flicking a bit. Impatience.

Lupus looked up, gathering his thoughts.

He waited to speak until he had the right words. "I'm not exactly sure what your problem with me is. You don't seem like a bigot, so I'm assuming that you don't actually have that many problems with being led by a half-human."

He looked Rue in the eyes and widened his own a bit, pulling his lips back just a tad.

"That leads me to think that your problem with me has roots in whatever happened that caused the dissolution of your previous Squad."

Rue looked away, his ears drooping. But Lupus noticed that Rue's knuckles had swollen out, making his claws more prominent on his hands.

"So, if you want to tell me--"

"--I don't," Rue interrupted, and Lupus would have had to have been nearly deaf to miss the distinct increase in the 'ger' sound in his voice.

That meant that the little bone in the back of Rue's throat had flipped into that position that leant a growly undertone to Rue's voice, rather than a breathy or sibilant undertone.

Anger, maybe. Or frustration, or hostile discomfort.

Whatever it meant, it wasn't a good sign.

"Look," Lupus confessed. "I know about the incident, okay? I'm sorry about what happened. But I don't intend to repeat your LAST Squad Leader's mistake, okay?"

"It wasn't an accident. It wasn't a mistake," Rue snarled. "It was an intentional miscalculation BY my Squad Leader that resulted in his death, and the deaths of two of my Sqaud-mates. Five of us managed to get the hell out of there alive, but because of HIM, and his damn depression--" Rue broke off and made a choking sound.

And then he turned his back, those powerful legs putting as much distance between them as possible.

Lupus watched him go, content to wait. Aurelia would pick up the pieces, if Rue's emotional stability shattered again.

/Oh Father,/ Lupus wondered, /just why would you assign him to US almost immediately after the dissolution? WHY couldn't you have sent him in for a little therapy?/

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[info]sayianchild86
2004-12-31 05:24 pm UTC (link)
I actually not one to usually do the pokemon genre- but this came to mind when I saw the word this week. ^^;

Title: Curse Me You
Fandom: Pokemon
Rated: PG-13 [for some bloodshed]
Genre: Supernatural
Words: 546

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Harry Potter, slight Lavender/Parvati.
[info]twentyfourhours
2005-01-02 03:44 am UTC (link)
The girls' dormitory was quiet, a sharp contrast to the party downstairs. Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup, and there had been a party on until late in the night. Even their studious roommate Hermione was still down celebrating with her boys, so Lavender and Parvati were guaranteed privacy. It wasn't that they didn't enjoy celebrating for Gryffindor, it's just that they never had any opportunities to talk anymore. Not that it made any difference to them anyway, as they acted like they were in their own little world, most of the time. Secret giggles and girlish codes of friendship. Shared dreams and confidences. Sitting as if glued together from shoulder to knee, side-by-side on Lavender's bed, surrounded by a comforting wall of scarlet and gold. They were safe from the world.

Lavender brushed her hair back with irritation, as a strand kept straying into her eyes as her and Parvati chatted. She was about to rise from the bed to find her hairbrush, when she was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, pushing her slightly to turn around.

"Wait. I have a better idea." She could feel her shoulders being pushed down slightly by Parvati as she sat back on her heels on the bed, her hands falling to her sides.

"Thanks, I'm useless at this without knowing the Grooming Charms yet, replied Lavender amiably as Parvati set to seperating her hair into three strands, plaiting them over and under and around again. She curled Lavender's hair into a French plait, then took her own wand out of her bun and tapped it once to get it to lie in place.

"I know you completely despise your hair not behaving, but I'm so jealous of the colour of it, Lav. Better than my fuzzy dark hair. Yours is more unique... it's really... bright." Parvati's voice trailed off strangely, and Lavender could feel one hand still against her neck. Intoxication. She was still looking at things through the alcohol-drenched sticky haze that was probably due to the Firewhiskey that the Weasley twins had smuggled up earlier. She felt out of her body, almost, as she inclined her cheek to rest on Parvati's hand.

"I'm glad we get to talk like this... we never do anymore." This came out of Lavender's mouth almost at no one's bidding. Lack of conscious control over her inhibitions, just blunt honesty and no walls anymore. It was she that she felt most comfortable with. She'd take down Voldemort for her, without a doubt. Lavender glanced up into Parvati's face and saw the same kind of look in her eyes, the same kind of gleeful yet intoxicated grin, the same kind of question.

In that moment, they seemed to move inescapably closer, both too fast and torturously slow.

Lavender closed her eyes.

Professor McGonagall's voice echoed in the dormitory, magically amplified to reach anywhere in the school.

All students to their Common Rooms. All Students to their Common Rooms. There has been another attack. Gryffindor Prefects to check attendance in their house, and all Staff to the staffroom immediately.

The voice died away. They froze, then immediately scrambled to get out of the dormitory and down into the common room, not without sharing a look that spoke of uncertainty, of opportunities lost, and of the possibility of many more gained. If Fate was nice to them, that was.

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CSI Ficlet
[info]my_writing
2005-01-02 07:48 am UTC (link)
Word Count: 357

Read here

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Re: CSI Ficlet
[info]my_writing
2005-01-03 10:13 pm UTC (link)
Okay so I screwed up my cut tag. It's here: On the entry for January 1, 2005.

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[info]clez_ficlets
2005-01-02 04:15 pm UTC (link)
Title: Hunger
Fandom: LXG
Character/Pairing: Sawyer/Harker
Rating: High PG-13 - Low R
Genre: General/Romance
Word Count: 644
Time: 10 minutes

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^_^
[info]krazysidhe
2005-01-02 09:33 pm UTC (link)
Title: The Red Room
Type: Original (Race/Jasper)
Rating: R
Warnings: malexmale slash, langues, sex

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[info]setra
2005-01-02 10:58 pm UTC (link)
I actually followed through with one of my new years resolutions and wrote a fic! Yay!

Title: Train of Thought
Series: Prince of Tennis (Rikkaidai D1-Yagyuu and Niou)
Warnings: vaguely yaoi/BL/slashy/gay, and very short

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[info]neko_erin
2005-01-03 08:57 pm UTC (link)
Title: Boredom
Type: Original (Nellie x Razi)
Warnings: MalexMale slash
Rating: PG to PG-13
Word Count: 292

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damn gas stations
(Anonymous)
2005-01-24 03:12 am UTC (link)
The cars wild fumes rose up into the over-polluted sky. I felt the bumps of the road throughout my body, letting each one burn in my skin. It was 1968 then, and I was a tacky Mid-western girl. My cousin Pete got his Ford from his father, so we drove it all day long. I laughed and told him we should think of filling her up, so we pulled over to the nearest gas station. I remember the sign read “open”, so I eyed it and asked Pete for some money. His rough hands slipped me a buck for a soda. I ran over to the station and noticed that the door was glass, so you could see in and out easily. Pete started giving his car gas, so I waved to him and trotted in the old place, wondering where they kept their soda. The strangest part was that it was so clean, you wouldn’t have even guessed the mass of bodies piled up in the place. I looked around slowly, smelling the weird smell you get when a house nearby is burning down. My feet shuffled around the floor, I recall hollering to see if anyone was in the place. It was all so wrong, being there. The only noise was the sad country music playing from the back room. I traced the tile floors for the entrance for that room, passing by empty tables and chairs. I pushed against that door so hard I remember every bone in my body aching like a swarm of locusts were eating at them. Pete remained outside, he wasn’t making a noise. When that door opened my jaw dropped to the ground and I screamed like hell. People, missing all sorts of parts, were on top of one another in a highly inelegant fashion. No one heard me. Some blood dripped on to the floor by my feet, from the estimated 37 people in there. It was a small room, the walls were white, stained with blood, and the floor wasn’t visible. The next thing I did was run away from that unholy sight to the old Ford waiting for me, surprisingly empty. “Pete! Where’d you go Pete? Come here now!” I screamed, letting the highways fill up with my tearful words. I’m still not sure how it happened. I drove the hell away, seeing those people in the back of my eyes, seeing Pete’s darkly tattooed arm on the top of the pile.

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[info]onlywordsnow
2005-03-12 10:24 pm UTC (link)
Title: Merry Chistmas, Luka Kovac
Fandom: ER
Pairing: Luka/Sam
Rating: G
Time: 14 minutes
Summary: Sam confronts Luka about his bitterness with the Christmas season

Merry Christmas, Luka Kovac

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[info]tarma
2005-03-29 02:04 am UTC (link)
Title: Adverse Conditions
Author: Haruka [info]tarma
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Rated: G
Crossposted to: [info]harukahangout and [info]canadian_haruka

Shigure Souma hummed to himself as he carried his cup of tea to his study. In a couple of hours, his editor, Mitchan, would arrive to pick up his manuscript, and as usual, he would torture her by pretending it wasn’t finished.

Well, actually, at the moment it really WASN’T finished. However, completing his final scene would only take an hour at most, so he had plenty of time.

He had just brought the chapter up on his computer screen when there was the familiar sound of shouting. Kyo and Yuki must be up, he reasoned. He was used to tuning out their bickering, so he didn’t think it would interrupt his thought processes much.

At least until the horrible crash that signified new damage to his house. Shigure sighed. It sounded bad enough that he couldn’t ignore it.

When he went into the main room, he saw that one of the sliding doors was completely destroyed thanks to a Kyo-shaped hole through it. He could see Kyo just pulling himself up by the pond, while Yuki stood at the broken door, glaring at the orange-haired boy.

“Would you two mind not destroying my house for a while?” Shigure asked. “I’m trying to work.”

“Blame HIM!” both boys yelled, pointing at each other.

“I don’t care, just fix it before you go to school.”

“There’s no school today, the teachers are having a meeting.” Yuki began picking up the broken pieces.

Shigure sighed. That meant the boys would be home while he was trying to work, but maybe they’d keep busy fixing the damage for a while. He headed back to his computer and his tea.

He’d actually managed to write a couple of sentences before the next outburst of noise came from the front room. This one sounded like Momiji, but he heard other voices, as well. Enough that it was getting a little loud out there. After typing the same sentence three times, Shigure gave up and went back out to investigate.

Not only Momiji, but Hatsuharu, Ritsu, and Kagura were there.

“Aren’t there any college classes today, either?” he asked.

“Not until this afternoon, Shigure-niisan,” Ritsu said, then his eyes grew wide. “Oh! We should have called before coming over, shouldn’t we? I’m so SORRY! I’ll leave right away and never darken your doorstep again --!”

“Good!” Kyo gasped through the stranglehold that Kagura had on him. “Take her with you!”

“Oh, you don’t mean that, Kyo-kun!” Kagura bubbled even as she choked him.

“Yuki, do you want to go for a walk?” asked Hatsuharu as he tugged gently on the front of Yuki’s shirt.

“Shi-chan, I have a message for you from Ha’ri!” Momiji bounced up to him. “He says he’s going out of town overnight on business for Akito so you get to take care of me! Isn’t that great?”

For once, Shigure was at a loss for words. Unfortunately, it seemed that would be the fate of his manuscript, as well, unless he did something drastic.

“I’m going out!” he declared suddenly. He went to pack up his laptop, then left his house to the tender mercies of the Souma children.

--

The first thing Shigure heard when he came back two hours later was the familiar lamenting wail of his editor.

“I can’t believe he went OUT knowing I was coming for the manuscript!” she sobbed. “What kind of man is so irresponsible?!”

“Well, we’re talking about Shigure here.” Kyo shrugged and Yuki nodded agreement.

“I’m hooome!” Shigure announced.

“Sensei!” Mitchan nearly tackled him in her desperation, tears streaming down her face. “How could you not even BE here when you were expecting me?!”

“This time, Mitchan, if you wanted the work done in time, it was critical that I NOT be here.” Shigure handed her a computer disk. “It’s all there.”

“It’s done?” she said tentatively, then smiled happily. “It’s really done!”

The kids watched her skip out joyously with the disk and turned to Shigure. “Where did you go?” Yuki asked.

“The mall food court,” he replied with a wink. “Not only could I still have tea there, but it was less chaotic than this house.”

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