Fuck all, let's do something stupid.
Jun. 8th, 2007 07:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chibi_trillianBecause I haven't done one in like a year and I need to stop being freaking lazy and stretch my writer-muscles: Drabble request meme. Anything you want, preferably from the OP fandom since I'm rather rusty with most of my other fandoms except for Harvey Birdman and Metalocalypse but you don't need to know that. Gimme character/pairing and prompt and I will sincerely attempt to write you something.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 11:45 am (UTC)Prompt: encyclopedia
It's not much of a prompt, but it's something?
I don't know, really.
Date: 2007-06-11 03:52 am (UTC)The bookseller was making small, apparently futile gestures at a handcart. It took Robin gently pointing it out to him before he noticed it and deposited the encyclopedias there, chirping joyously about how smart she was to spot such a thing.
Robin wondered at him sometimes, wondered what made him tick. His heart was like a starving child, ravenous for anything that looked like love but too frightened and young to do anything other than beg for it and hope an adult would drop a morsel into his mouth—that whispered of neglect at some point in his life. At the same time, he was so painfully desperate to prove that he was all grown up. Smoking, drinking, swearing, screwing, aping the mannerisms of an adult in the hopes that it would help others to believe him so—that spoke strongly of a powerful father figure, someone he looked up to and wanted to be just like.
Even with as often as he called himself handsome, she could tell he didn’t think himself attractive—his clothes hid too much, were designed to bulk up his thin frame and transform him into an abstract, inhuman figure of long black lines and elegant angles. Moreover, he hid part of his face behind his hair, the missing left half an irresistible mystery to Robin, slow torment of curiosity over the past four weeks since they’d sailed out of Alabasta.
He cooked with a passion that bordered on fanatical, and his favorite method of lavishing love on someone was to ply them with food, little pieces of his heart beautifully presented on a platter. Robin didn’t even know what to start thinking about that.
She wanted to open him up, sometimes, split open his mind like a ripe watermelon, devour his sweetness and spit out his bitter flaws, eat him up until there was nothing left but a hollow rind drying in the sun. But he’d lie down in her arms willingly, and thank her for destroying him even as he wept with the pain of it. And that vulnerability, that submissiveness, stayed her hand.
The world of users and abusers, of people who looked at a ten-year-old girl and saw not a frightened child but a monster or a bounty head—these were familiar to her. This utter trust that the Strawhats had for each other—it was alien and unpredictable. Every delicate test she performed only produced stranger results.
She watched Sanji’s slim back sway as he pushed the cart loaded with all of her shopping, thick heaps of neatly-ordered knowledge and sensible facts propelled down the street by someone who was, like his captain and his nakama, full of neither.
When they got back to the ship, she found a paperback romance novel slipped in with the encyclopedias. She didn’t remember buying it, but it went on her bookshelf anyway.
Re: I don't know, really.
Date: 2007-06-11 03:00 pm (UTC)Thank you for that.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 11:54 am (UTC)Prompt: Legacy.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 11:57 am (UTC)Yay for writing!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 12:14 pm (UTC)Not that I'm not obsessed or anything but I would adore seeing some Nathan/Pickles or Chuck/Pickles or hell all three! with the prompt: that lavender mesh shirt from Pickles' SnB days makes an abrupt reappearance.(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 03:23 pm (UTC)Lavender mesh shirt: Red shirt of the Metalocalypse fandom? I think yes, I think it is teh sexay, I think...it's giving me a nose bleed(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-16 07:09 pm (UTC)Usopp had apparently not entirely given up on the thought of having his cake and eating it too, and Kaya had been the epitome of understanding—she didn’t want to see Usopp upset, she’d told him with her huge brown eyes radiating innocence and naiveté, and she was concerned for Sanji’s feelings as well. Sanji had told her he, of course, had no feelings of a romantic nature regarding men and what he and Usopp had had was a matter of two lonely sea-warriors doing each other favors. She’d given him a look that said she’d heard about the mess he’d been after a few drinks during the bachelor party, and then said she’d really miss his cooking, and her own cook had been looking to spend some time off with her grandchildren, and, well, that had been that.
Really, he should have suspected something. But being here with assorted Strawhats bouncing in and out all the time and a huge, ancient kitchen under his complete command had been distracting. And then the old man had gotten sick, and Sanji had needed to stick around (so he could steal the Baratie after the funeral, he said in public, and, in private, because he wasn’t sure he could deal with the old bastard’s death on his own).
By the time one of Chopper’s miracle cures had brought Zeff back to health, Sanji had found that he couldn’t leave if he wanted to. Every time he talked about it, something would come up—some little crisis that made him miss the day he’d set for himself to leave—and he’d wake up in Kaya and Usopp’s big bed the next morning with the two of them tangled around him, preventing him from going anywhere without waking them up.
...annnnnd part two.
Date: 2007-06-16 07:09 pm (UTC)This was about the point where suspicion filtered into his brain. He decided he’d make one last manful attempt to leave, and if that failed he’d give up and stay here. He wasn’t going to announce it, he was going to sneak out one morning and leave them a nice letter saying “Thanks for the memories.” Okay, a nice letter and some of that sweetbread that Kaya liked so much. And maybe some spicy dumplings for Usopp—he could set them on top of the stove to keep them warm. But then he’d be gone.
So of course Kaya told them both she was pregnant the day before he was going to leave. She’d given Sanji a distinctive “SURRENDER PUNY MORTAL, YOUR PATHETIC PLANS ARE FOR NAUGHT” look as she’d told them, and Sanji had waved the metaphorical white flag as Usopp whooped and swept Kaya off her feet.
And now he was trying to make raspberry sorbet five weeks before raspberries came into season, because Kaya was having the most awful craving for it. He’d found some dusty raspberry preserves in the fruit cellar, and he prayed, as he popped the wax seal on the lid, that they were still good.
The old man was moving the Baratie to All Blue this week, aided by Nami’s maps and Franky’s additions to the ship. The Baratie had been formidable before, but it was a goddamn floating fortress now, making up for its slow cruising speed with thick armor and every weapon that had ever rattled through the twisty little gears of Franky’s head. It could, as Franky kept crowing, take out a Sea King in eight point two seconds (nine point five in the middle of the dinner rush). Zeff had said, when he’d come over to say goodbye, that he fully expected to see his grandchildren as often as humanly possible. He’d given Kaya a kiss, Usopp a slap on the back, and Sanji a kick to the head. Such was life.
And the raspberry preserves were still good, but much too sweet, practically raspberry syrup. Such, also, was life. Sanji sighed in frustration.
Slim tanned arms wrapped around his waist, and he could feel Usopp going up on his tiptoes to rest his chin on Sanji’s shoulder. He murmured “What’s wrong?” right in Sanji’s ear in that way that sent tingles up and down Sanji’s spine.
He told him, and Usopp was still for a moment before shrugging, body moving warm and distracting against Sanji’s back, and saying that as long as it tasted vaguely of raspberries Kaya would love it.
So Sanji made raspberry sorbet. It wasn’t the best of all possible sorbets, and it wasn’t what he’d been planning, but it was good enough and it made Kaya happy. A little like his life.
He thought that too sweet was better than too bitter, and went back to the kitchen to make lunch.
Re: ...annnnnd part two.
Date: 2007-06-18 10:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 12:15 pm (UTC)Prompt: I am the shadow on the moon at nigh
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 01:11 pm (UTC)Prompt: In which Usopp tops. >D
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 02:22 pm (UTC)Pairing: Robin/Nami
Prompt: history lesson
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 02:32 pm (UTC)Pairing: Sanji/Usopp
Prompt: Summer!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 03:26 pm (UTC)Peanut (Harvey Birdman)/Chuck (Metalocalypse)
Prompt: the intern.
[insert evil laughter here]
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-09 04:31 am (UTC)“Peanut.”
Charles Ofdensen resisted the urge to send this…person out to go make a dent in the yard wolves’ feed budget for this month. He there was already a Pickles here, after all, and William’s last name was genuinely what was on his birth certificate. After that, “Peanut” was positively mundane.
Mundane, unlike the fact that Mr. Peanut had shown up for his internship interview in a superhero costume. With wings.
“Do you have any previous experience, Mr. Peanut?”
“Well, before I got into the music business, I used to work for a lawyer.”
Ofdensen lifted an eyebrow. This sounded promising. “Paralegal?”
“More like ‘paramilitary,’ really, but hey, what’s a few letters’ difference?”
Ofdensen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the incipient headache he could feel starting to press its way in just behind his glasses. “I’ll need a phone number.”
Peanut crossed his arms, shook his head sadly. “Oh, no can do. Harvey fluttered off to that great courtroom in the sky. Totally not my fault, at least not that anyone can prove.”
Dead references were rarely a good sign, though they seemed to be uncommonly common in the music industry. He scanned the trainwreck of a resume in front of him and his eyes caught something near the bottom. “You speak Japanese?”
“Hai. By the way, is that iron maiden real? Can I borrow it?”
Hn. They could use greater penetration in the Japanese market—it only had 95% saturation, and Ofdensen was fairly certain that they could make that 98% by the end of this year with the right marketing. Mr. Peanut’s Japanese skills would be useful, and if he didn’t work out…well, there were always the yard wolves. Provided the members of Dethklok didn’t kill Peanut first. He shut the interview folder with a decisive snap.
“Very well, Mr. Peanut. You have an unpaid internship. Congratulations.” He considered offering his hand, then decided against it, mostly because he wasn’t sure if he could resist the temptation to throw him through the window.
“Well that’s just swell. By the way, do I get a gun?”
Maybe he’d fit in better here than Ofdensen had thought. “I’ll think about it.”
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-08 05:20 pm (UTC)Prompt: sun-dried
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-10 02:06 pm (UTC)Characters: Usopp/Franky or Franky/Usopp or sumfing liek that
Prompt: Is that legal?!
fresh from lurkingtowne and late to the party
Date: 2007-06-12 02:12 am (UTC)prompt: mischief
PS. Metalverse makes my LJ 100% shinier. Yay!
Metal!verse for you.
Date: 2007-06-14 02:48 am (UTC)They reminded him of the old days with Tom and that dumbass Iceburg, planning buildings like this. Well, nowadays, Iceburg built ‘em, and Franky knocked ‘em down, and he ordered beers for the whole crew every time they demolished a Galley-La building.
This one wasn’t a Galley-La building, though. This was an old, old building, almost as old as the city. After this place had been idled by funding cuts in the mid-nineties, it had turned into a drug den and squatters’ paradise because there was an obscure statute in the city code that stated that as long as the building stood its doors would never be locked. This meant the developers who wanted boxy, ugly high-rises in the heart of the historic district and the councilmen who saw crime statistics and thought about reelection had united to bring the place down. The historical society had had their work cut out for them, and they’d taken the city to court over and over to keep the place from being declared a danger to the public. They’d lost for the final time last year.
The historical society had tried to buy the property as a last-ditch measure, but the money just hadn’t been there. So they’d sent somebody to walk through the old heap one last time and pull out anything of particular historic significance.
He’d expected a librarian, really. Not somebody who looked like a model, with a tiny little waist, a magnificent ass, an absolutely SUPER set of tits…
…and the saddest damn eyes he’d ever seen. He felt guilty and impure just standing there, like a child caught in the middle of some malicious mischief that had caused mor harm than he knew. He barely remembered to tell her to put on a hard hat before going in.
She just gave him a look and pushed open the big doors to the main lobby. He had to go running after her, and he found her gently touching the building’s dedication plaque.
He looked at it, really looked at it for the first time, and was stunned.
In more languages than he’d ever seen before, more than he’d really consciously recognized existed, a single simple sentiment was repeated over and over:
For the people and the children of the world, the Tree of Knowledge Library will always be an open door to learning.
Oh. That explained the unlocked doors.
And then she started talking, in this gorgeous smooth voice he could have listened to all day long, about how this place had been a haven for troubled teenagers and lonely foster children. How it had nurtured young minds in a way the indifferent public school system had not. How it had offered shelter and warmth no matter the time of day or night. How the librarians had been kind and had celebrated a little girl’s birthday when her foster parents had barely remembered to feed her that day.
She looked at him then, sharp under the cool surface, and he kind of really wanted to curl up and die of shame. He thought of the dynamite strapped to all the load-bearing walls in the building, precisely placed at points he’d mapped out himself. Suddenly, he felt an intense urge to ask Idiotburg if his schmancy construction company could buy this place and restore it.
No.
It would never work.
He was never speaking to Iceburg again, and that was that.
He opened his mouth to say that he was sorry, but he had a job to do, and instead his traitorous voice said, “I know a guy…”
Re: Metal!verse for you.
Date: 2007-06-15 01:14 am (UTC)