So bored!

Mar. 27th, 2009 12:56 am
athousandwinds: (ta-ra-ra boom-de-ay)
[personal profile] athousandwinds
Okay, so you know how sometimes when you're really busy and you want to do a zillion things at once just so that the thing you want to do gets done?



Sweeney Todd, DWJ, early Kuroshitsuji, Count Cain, Witch Hunter Robin, Watchmen, Shakespeare, L. M. Montgomery, Murdoch Mysteries, Maurice, you know, anything you think I might write.


(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 12:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
(looks through list) You do Shakespeare?

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 04:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I've written Shakespeare fic, yes. I probably couldn't do the histories, though.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 01:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Watchmen! 8D

...oh, damn. Hm. The only prompt ideas I have are things I was thinking of writing, I think. Hmm... do you just want prompts, or specific pairings, or what?

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 04:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Anything you like, though preferably not Dan/Rorschach.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 06:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Hee. Fair enough. I can't really see Rorschach with anyone, although I do want to write him with Jon sometime... Um. Anyways. How about Veidt meets Alexander? (somehow) Or what would he say to him if he did?

Also, just for the sake of pure crack: one of the characters discovers the existence of those shiny blue promotional condoms! XD

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 02:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Count Cain! Or L. M. Montgomery! OHOHOH! DWJ!!!

Conrad and Christopher, plus a guitar. (Is that the type of prompt you're asking for?)

Thanks in advance. =D

It's not the type of prompt I refuse, anyway.

Date: 2009-03-27 05:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
When I was seventeen, in the way that you do when you're seventeen, I took up the guitar.

"What," said Christopher scornfully, "are you planning to serenade senoritas in the moonlight?"

"I'll be serenaded if you want to practise," said Millie, so that was that. The annoying thing about Christopher is that he likes to be superior at everything and he dislikes it when he's not. And he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, if you know what I mean.

"I wish very much," Gabriel de Witt said after a few weeks of enduring this, "that Christopher might stop practising music and start playing it."

Which I thought was a bit harsh, really, because I wasn't terribly wonderful at it myself, but no one was saying anything to me. So I went on practising laboriously and it never went very well because I had to keep stopping to check my fingers were in the right place or to glance up quickly from the strings to see which note came next and perhaps I wasn't as quick about it as I thought I was.

Christopher had the room next to mine and I suppose I must have bothered him a lot, because he came in one evening and said, "Grant, stop it."

It was usually easiest to take the path of least resistance with Christopher, so I said, "All right," and laid the guitar down on my bed.

"That's not what I meant," said Christopher. "You're holding it all wrong, to begin with."

I wanted to say, It sounds better the way I play it, which was true, but Christopher picked up the guitar and I looked at his hands, instead, because I really did want to get better at it. Only Christopher had an advantage over me, in that he had longer fingers and was much more deft, like a surgeon, whereas I always fumbled and messed it up when other people were watching.

"Look at me, Grant," and I glanced at his face to say, rather crossly, that I was looking at him, thank you very much, but he caught my gaze and I couldn't think of what it was that I was going to say.

"Christopher," I said, my voice gone all funny. He broke away and said,

"Grant. You're too tense when you play, that's the trouble."

"You're too relaxed, that's yours," I said.

"At least I can get through a whole song without stopping and apologising every time I hit the wrong chord."

"At least you can tell what song I'm trying to play."

And that was all it was, really. But I'm trying to tell this story as honestly as I can and I think if I hadn't spoken then, if I hadn't said Christopher's name quite like that and broken the moment, things might have been different. But I did, and they weren't, so there it is.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-27 04:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
L.M. Montgomery, Emily of New Moon? <3

(no subject)

Date: 2009-03-29 05:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Dean has travelled the world many times; he has seen many women and known many women, in the Biblical sense, and here is something that they all had in common: they were not Emily.

Dean has travelled the world a great deal, and he has seen a great deal that Emily is not.

For example, he has seen a painting of a woman with a smile so maddening that learned men have written reams and reams about how it was done and what she was thinking when it was done and never come up with a satisfactory answer. Her smile is not like Emily's. If Dean wants to see a smile like Emily's, all he has to do is discover a shop in Paris which imports Canadian magazines and find out which of them the great Theodore Kent has deigned to be published by this week. If Dean ever meets the great Theodore Kent (which he can't ever remember doing, but he must have done at some point. Impossible, in that godforsaken hole Blair Water, not to have met someone) he's going to pop him one right in the eye for using Emily's smile without his permission. As if he could. Theodore Kent is probably a lithe, athletic young man, or Emily wouldn't be so fascinated by him and not Jarback Priest.

When Dean's in Paris, all he has to is walk to a park and suddenly he is inundated with memories of Emily, her face shaded by ancient cedars. In point of fact, when Dean is anywhere, all he needs to do is close his eyes and he can see her, perhaps laughing at the foibles of a neighbour (because while Dean knows to his cost that Emily is a good girl, she is not a nice one, not always). Wherever he is. It's only that it's worse when he's in a place that reminds him of the garden at New Moon, peaceful and green with summer.

This is the real reason why Dean will not return to Blair Water. In Paris, he is only homesick; Canada would make him heartsick.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-04-20 09:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

I loved this - I think your Dean is spot-on, and the writing is so graceful and understated.

(And, um, if you're still taking prompts... I recently saw Watchmen and fell for it completely, so -- Adrian Veidt/the Comedian, with the prompt 'mutual dislike'?)

(no subject)

Date: 2009-04-21 07:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
(But only if you feel like it, of course.)

(no subject)

Date: 2009-04-22 01:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, I always feel like drabble prompts, don't worry. I'm just thinking of what to write.

(no subject)

Date: 2009-04-22 10:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Haha, OK, it just occurred to me that it might be a little rude to burst in like that, asking for fic, so I thought I'd make it clear that I didn't expect anything. ;-)


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September 2012


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