writey mcwriterface

[urbancate]

I just updated my Fic Master List (because working is BORING, OKEEDAY?), mostly with drabbles written for recent comment!fic memes. [I recommend the Karl/Serena van der Woodsen. No, really, I do. I rather like how it turned out. Also my first Zach/Chris. (1297  is so enabling helpful that way) Check it out.]

And then come back here and give me a prompt or an idea or a even a request! Because I NEED TO BE WRITING, but my muse has up and disappeared. Any good comment!fic memes happening this weekend? If not, should we have one here?

Comments

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Maybe I'll have a movie weekend! Sean Bean in that Percy movie, and Shutter Island and probably a couple more I want to see. That's a good weekend plan.

But please do feel free to prompt or request fic from me otherwise. My workday could always use a good drabble or two.

(And maybe the muse left because I'm on a diet? Damn muses and their need for chocolate and wine.)

[izzyfics.livejournal.com]

Need prompts, you say?

McCoy/Uhura (or Karl/Zoe)
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly.
Off the coast and I'm headed nowhere.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Except I've started this as Karl/Zoe. :-)

So gimme a McCoy/Uhura prompt, lovely!

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

In Other Words

“Dance with me, honey,” Leonard pulls her away from the dinner table into an old-fashioned twirl and embrace. They move in subtle concert with the unhurried romance of the music, of old friends and lovers.

She hums her contentment, laughs as he twirls her again. “You're a silly old man, Len.”

He shakes his head a little, pulls her a little closer. “But I am your silly old man, aren't I,” he drawls more than growls. He saves the growling for work.

“That you are,” she replies. It is the old joke, their secret. He may be the oldest of them, but somewhere along the way - he would say it was when he discovered her - he has found his youth again. Nyota believes he would have found it any way, had already found it, it was his secretly bright brimming energy that pulled her out of her own black hole.

With their fingers entwined and their bare feet moving in lazy figure eights across the carpet, she thinks perhaps it's that they found each other. That's exactly what it was - the first time he held her hand and she felt life running through her veins again.

He fills her and she returns the favor, he makes her laugh and she breezes through the corridors of his life he would otherwise neglect.

They dance, they are dancers.

She presses a kiss to his palm as he leads her to the bedroom. It doesn’t really need to be said – she used to think she was fine with never saying it – but she says it anyway, because it feels good and it’s true and she likes the way it feels across her tongue and her heart, the way it looks in his eyes –

“I love you.”

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

You are so very welcome. &hearts

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Do Not Drift Too Far

It's old news by now. It should be old news by now. That was supposed to be one of the perks of not living in Los Angeles - that the gossip-hungry infotainment machine ignored you, even when you separate from your wife. Or your wife separates from you. Mutual separation, an agreement to disagree, amicable discord, he can never remember the legalese.

Except here he is in Los Angeles, and he's looking like McCoy again, and they're filming with J.J. again - the whole crew of mega-watt shooting stars, of which (at this particular moment) he'd like to think he is a little less mega. Hell, he looks in the mirror every morning and knows he is less shiny, is a little tarnished and broken coming out of this.

But he smiles and poses with his hand the pocket of his shiny new suit, smiles and laughs for this command appearance at a semi-related premiere, engages with the cameras and his co-stars (smiling all the time) even as a good third of the press lined up shouts out digs or questions and general none-of-anyone's-bloody-business nonsense. He does a fine job at being Karl Urban, Movie Star, when he has to.

There are the requisite photos with Zoe, of course, and she is all eyes and legs, in a shimmering approximation of what might be called a dress but looks more to him like something made for the bedroom. Or the bedroom floor. Which train of thought earns him a sideways look, because she can read these things (and his hand is lingering longer than it should at the small of her back).

She is alone, too.

Sometimes alone is worse when there's someone lying next to you. Sometimes it isn't worse at all, sometimes (and often, of late) you (he, they) can find some comfort in sharing the space of alone.

He leaves early. (Karl Urban, Divorce Not Finalized)

She finds him a little later, half-weighted and half-adrift, that curious place in between heartache and forgetfulness. A little more whisky and he just might drift away, he thinks, and it wouldn't be a bad thing. But the ethereal creature sitting next to him is a tether, and for all her weightlessness she pulls him firmly back to earth.

"You left."

"Had enough of all that -

"Bullshit, I know." She is lovely and soft. She will only tolerate wallowing for so long. (Emo something or other, like he knows this new vocabulary.)

"You left," she says again, and he realizes now what she is actually talking about. She is talking about his life.

"I did." And isn't that the kicker? "Author of my own misery." He waits for her to refute it, take his side, tell him he's being melodramatic.

It doesn't come. So, she agrees, he thinks. And then he knows, because she kisses him softly - the goodbye kiss.

"Go home, Karl-Heinz. You were not made for alone."

That is the secret, then, of stars blinked out and swimming through blackness - light can be borrowed, but only for so long.

[izzyfics.livejournal.com]

Oh, I love it when you get all atmospheric and, of course, I love it when you write Karl. I also love how Zoe cuts through his "emo" bullshit and gets to the heart of the matter. And it's left in the air, unresolved--just like life. *sigh*

Thanks, bb. ♥

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

You're welcome! &hearts

I read it after posting it and thought "Oh, god, how off prompt and awful is this?" So, glad you like it.

[izzyfics.livejournal.com]

Pshaw. Prompts are merely starting-off points. You can take it wherever you want. :)