extemporally (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
extemporally) wrote2010-05-25 10:48 pm
extemporally) wrote2010-05-25 10:48 pm
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---
So a while back I asked for five prompts! I limited the number so I wouldn't not finish filling them all and feel bad. And I ended up... not filling them all, and feeling bad. Ah well! To be fair, three out of five is okay.
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shantalanadevil asked for Johnny/Stephane and singing lessons.
Johnny was running late. He swore as he strode down the hall -- not running, never running -- and nearly knocked over a freshman in his hurry. She squeaked, and Johnny stopped to right her properly.
"Sorry, Mirai," and she smiled at him, saying, "It's okay," before walking away.
Johnny hadn't meant to be late, exactly -- sometimes an obnoxious late arrival was exactly his intention -- but not this time. His guidance counselor had kept him late even after he'd expressly told her he had choir practice on. She'd said, "I won't keep you then, dear," and then continued wittering on at him for fifteen more minutes.
Whatever. Johnny strode down the hall and turned, before breaking into a run and entering the old classroom where practice was being held. His vocal section stopped to blink at him, and he blinked back deliberately, pushing his glasses up his nose. He hadn't even had time to put in contacts, today.
His teacher sighed heavily and raised his finger again. "And without the interruption, now," he said drily, and everyone started singing again. Johnny reached into his bag and brought out his music sheet, before slipping into place beside Stephane. He'd missed the warm-up exercises already, but he managed well enough.
In between the end of that song and the next Stephane turned to him and grinned. "In a hurry today, no?" he whispered.
"You bet," Johnny said, and was about to say more, only then they'd moved on to the next song. Johnny shrugged. There would be plenty of time for gossiping after choir itself.
Johnny stole a glance at Stephane's profile as they started up. It was a good profile, with attractive cheekbones and a mouth that turned up at its corners just so. Stephane blinked, sensing Johnny's scrutiny, but he just turned to Johnny and smiled, without ceasing to sing.
You really weren't supposed to talk or pass notes in choir -- breathing was only just allowed, under Mr Carroll's stern eye, by virtue of helping with the singing -- but Johnny managed to get his phone out during the boring ah-ah-um part, and keyed out a message without being noticed. He elbowed Stephane slightly, and positioned his phone so Stephane could see the screen.
Dinner afterwards?
Beside him, Johnny felt rather than saw Stephane's slight nod, and smiled big as they finally hit the chorus.
---
egelantier asked for Ryan/Z as partners in crime.
"We're on the run," Ryan says, slumping in his seat at the back of the bus. It's one of those bright cold early mornings, and the sun's filtering in through the window something fierce so Z pulls her mask over her face again and looks away.
"Yeah," Z says. Then she lowers her voice and hisses, "Ryan, if it's actually true you don't have to say it, oh my god. Don't draw any attention to us."
Ryan looks around pointedly. There are a whole bunch of interesting specimens on the Greyhound -- a woman with three young children, all under the age of six, clustered around her, the seriously stinky old man in the row in front of them, a couple of businessmen. People, generally.
Ryan once read that the Greyhound was the last recluse of the travel-starved who didn't want anyone -- not their family members, not the government -- to know where they're going. No one's asked them for their passports yet, which is just as well since they haven't got them now.
"No one notices us," Ryan says, like he's trying to persuade himself of the fact. Then his voice gains conviction along with the saying of it, because hey, why not. No one is noticing them. Just a couple of sweet nutty kids in Halloween costume.
An old Asian man shuffles up the aisle in bedroom slippers, clears his throat loudly and Z raises an eyebrow when she hears the phlegm. Then she coos when she sees the little girl clinging to the man's hand. Eight years old, and she's wearing her pyjamas. The man smiles at Z kindly.
"Z," Ryan monotones, and Z can tell Ryan's probably about to throw her own warning back in her face.
"Yeah," she says, "I get you." She shoves at the dingy curtain and draws it across the glass, and there it is, blessed relief from the light.
"After we cross into the next state," Ryan murmurs, "Freedom." He sounds way too trusting -- like he's so sure of it. Because of this, Z looks away and doesn't contradict him, not even when he noses along her neck and jaw, just reaches up to touch the back of his neck, and lets him kiss her.
(Bonus explanation --
egelantier: why won't you post it in the post? :D
also what what WHAT WHAT IS GOING ON THERE WHAT DID THEY DOOOOOOOOOO
tell me a story!
me: I shall post it later! when all the other ficletty things are done!
they robbed a bank
duh
egelantier: aaaah
me: in FULL COSTUME, and it was supposed to be wicked ironic because
egelantier: LOL
me: no one even does that nowadays
egelantier: lololololol OF COURSE
me: but what matters is they robbed the bank, and it was halloween -- when we meet them on the greyhound it's become november the first -- and no one thought to stop them, because they were just dressing up for halloween
egelantier: yep
who would guess?
me: they swung in and got out with a whole lot of loot, and z was a rich man's daughter, but now they have to run.)
---
frankkincense asked for Ryan/Brendon and green apples.
"I hate green apples," Ryan said, pacing around the kitchen. "They're so..."
"Green?" Brendon offered lazily from the couch, and pretended not to notice Ryan's glare.
It wasn't even his problem, anyway. He'd known Ryan was going to be in town, and when they met in the street inviting Ryan back to his house had seemed like the only polite thing to do, and hey, why not.
Except that Brendon had kind of forgotten what an asshole Ryan could be. He wanted fruit, and Brendon didn't have fruit, except a couple of green apples left, and now Ryan was stomping around Brendon's kitchen like Brendon was personally responsible for fulfilling his daily Vitamin C requirement.
"They're inedible," Ryan said, and Brendon felt that old desire to punch Ryan rise up in his gut again.
"Oh, I don't know," Brendon said. "I keep them for people I don't really want to feed." That was a lie. He hadn't been expecting Ryan, and he used them for juice and smoothies.
"Where's Spencer?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
"I'm not his keeper," Brendon retorted automatically, and Ryan pulled a carton of juice out of Brendon's refrigerator, filled a clean glass with the same long-suffering motions he'd perfected when he was eighteen, and fuck, that was long ago.
"Of course you aren't," Ryan said. "I only asked because you might know. And I thought you might know, because you guys lived together."
"Are you always this obnoxious?" Brendon asked. Without being quite aware of doing it he'd placed a hand flat on Ryan's chest and shoved him lightly against the wall, and Ryan started back, flush rising high above his cheek, before he smirked. Brendon dropped his hand. He could still feel the warmth of Ryan, through the fabric of his shirt.
"Only around you," Ryan said, and Brendon felt sixteen and stupid, the same way he felt when he fell in love for the first time, all over again.
In conclusion: I wrote some stories yay! & thank you for prompting me! Sorry if I didn't get to yours, I would have liked to write Ryan & Spencer & Z on the beach plus Johnny/Stéphane long-distance pining, but I suck like a sucking thing.
shantalanadevil asked for Johnny/Stephane and singing lessons.Johnny was running late. He swore as he strode down the hall -- not running, never running -- and nearly knocked over a freshman in his hurry. She squeaked, and Johnny stopped to right her properly.
"Sorry, Mirai," and she smiled at him, saying, "It's okay," before walking away.
Johnny hadn't meant to be late, exactly -- sometimes an obnoxious late arrival was exactly his intention -- but not this time. His guidance counselor had kept him late even after he'd expressly told her he had choir practice on. She'd said, "I won't keep you then, dear," and then continued wittering on at him for fifteen more minutes.
Whatever. Johnny strode down the hall and turned, before breaking into a run and entering the old classroom where practice was being held. His vocal section stopped to blink at him, and he blinked back deliberately, pushing his glasses up his nose. He hadn't even had time to put in contacts, today.
His teacher sighed heavily and raised his finger again. "And without the interruption, now," he said drily, and everyone started singing again. Johnny reached into his bag and brought out his music sheet, before slipping into place beside Stephane. He'd missed the warm-up exercises already, but he managed well enough.
In between the end of that song and the next Stephane turned to him and grinned. "In a hurry today, no?" he whispered.
"You bet," Johnny said, and was about to say more, only then they'd moved on to the next song. Johnny shrugged. There would be plenty of time for gossiping after choir itself.
Johnny stole a glance at Stephane's profile as they started up. It was a good profile, with attractive cheekbones and a mouth that turned up at its corners just so. Stephane blinked, sensing Johnny's scrutiny, but he just turned to Johnny and smiled, without ceasing to sing.
You really weren't supposed to talk or pass notes in choir -- breathing was only just allowed, under Mr Carroll's stern eye, by virtue of helping with the singing -- but Johnny managed to get his phone out during the boring ah-ah-um part, and keyed out a message without being noticed. He elbowed Stephane slightly, and positioned his phone so Stephane could see the screen.
Dinner afterwards?
Beside him, Johnny felt rather than saw Stephane's slight nod, and smiled big as they finally hit the chorus.
---
egelantier asked for Ryan/Z as partners in crime."We're on the run," Ryan says, slumping in his seat at the back of the bus. It's one of those bright cold early mornings, and the sun's filtering in through the window something fierce so Z pulls her mask over her face again and looks away.
"Yeah," Z says. Then she lowers her voice and hisses, "Ryan, if it's actually true you don't have to say it, oh my god. Don't draw any attention to us."
Ryan looks around pointedly. There are a whole bunch of interesting specimens on the Greyhound -- a woman with three young children, all under the age of six, clustered around her, the seriously stinky old man in the row in front of them, a couple of businessmen. People, generally.
Ryan once read that the Greyhound was the last recluse of the travel-starved who didn't want anyone -- not their family members, not the government -- to know where they're going. No one's asked them for their passports yet, which is just as well since they haven't got them now.
"No one notices us," Ryan says, like he's trying to persuade himself of the fact. Then his voice gains conviction along with the saying of it, because hey, why not. No one is noticing them. Just a couple of sweet nutty kids in Halloween costume.
An old Asian man shuffles up the aisle in bedroom slippers, clears his throat loudly and Z raises an eyebrow when she hears the phlegm. Then she coos when she sees the little girl clinging to the man's hand. Eight years old, and she's wearing her pyjamas. The man smiles at Z kindly.
"Z," Ryan monotones, and Z can tell Ryan's probably about to throw her own warning back in her face.
"Yeah," she says, "I get you." She shoves at the dingy curtain and draws it across the glass, and there it is, blessed relief from the light.
"After we cross into the next state," Ryan murmurs, "Freedom." He sounds way too trusting -- like he's so sure of it. Because of this, Z looks away and doesn't contradict him, not even when he noses along her neck and jaw, just reaches up to touch the back of his neck, and lets him kiss her.
(Bonus explanation --
egelantier: why won't you post it in the post? :Dalso what what WHAT WHAT IS GOING ON THERE WHAT DID THEY DOOOOOOOOOO
tell me a story!
me: I shall post it later! when all the other ficletty things are done!
they robbed a bank
duh
egelantier: aaaahme: in FULL COSTUME, and it was supposed to be wicked ironic because
egelantier: LOLme: no one even does that nowadays
egelantier: lololololol OF COURSEme: but what matters is they robbed the bank, and it was halloween -- when we meet them on the greyhound it's become november the first -- and no one thought to stop them, because they were just dressing up for halloween
egelantier: yepwho would guess?
me: they swung in and got out with a whole lot of loot, and z was a rich man's daughter, but now they have to run.)
---
frankkincense asked for Ryan/Brendon and green apples."I hate green apples," Ryan said, pacing around the kitchen. "They're so..."
"Green?" Brendon offered lazily from the couch, and pretended not to notice Ryan's glare.
It wasn't even his problem, anyway. He'd known Ryan was going to be in town, and when they met in the street inviting Ryan back to his house had seemed like the only polite thing to do, and hey, why not.
Except that Brendon had kind of forgotten what an asshole Ryan could be. He wanted fruit, and Brendon didn't have fruit, except a couple of green apples left, and now Ryan was stomping around Brendon's kitchen like Brendon was personally responsible for fulfilling his daily Vitamin C requirement.
"They're inedible," Ryan said, and Brendon felt that old desire to punch Ryan rise up in his gut again.
"Oh, I don't know," Brendon said. "I keep them for people I don't really want to feed." That was a lie. He hadn't been expecting Ryan, and he used them for juice and smoothies.
"Where's Spencer?"
"Out."
"Out where?"
"I'm not his keeper," Brendon retorted automatically, and Ryan pulled a carton of juice out of Brendon's refrigerator, filled a clean glass with the same long-suffering motions he'd perfected when he was eighteen, and fuck, that was long ago.
"Of course you aren't," Ryan said. "I only asked because you might know. And I thought you might know, because you guys lived together."
"Are you always this obnoxious?" Brendon asked. Without being quite aware of doing it he'd placed a hand flat on Ryan's chest and shoved him lightly against the wall, and Ryan started back, flush rising high above his cheek, before he smirked. Brendon dropped his hand. He could still feel the warmth of Ryan, through the fabric of his shirt.
"Only around you," Ryan said, and Brendon felt sixteen and stupid, the same way he felt when he fell in love for the first time, all over again.
In conclusion: I wrote some stories yay! & thank you for prompting me! Sorry if I didn't get to yours, I would have liked to write Ryan & Spencer & Z on the beach plus Johnny/Stéphane long-distance pining, but I suck like a sucking thing.
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I still love this miserably. Just so you know.
Edit: Well, you know. Where 'miserably' means 'awfully', which means something rather different!! :)
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ps. But I am glad you are not really miserably, because. <3
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Oh ♥_____♥
And Ryan/Z, the bank robbers! :DDDDDDDD
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And Ryan and Brendon, oh. ♥ Still the OTP I will never get over.
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I love the Brendon/Ryan snippet a whole hell of a lot, and the Johnny/Stephane bit is adorable, as always (damn you for making me like your OTPs).
ALSO - your letter came in the mail today! I am terribly excited; I plan to sit out on the back porch with some iced tea later and read the book. (Speaking of, is this a gift or are you lending it to me? Because I'll treat it differently, depending.
Also, did you ever find Richard Siken's book of poems, or am I going to have to get it for you?)
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This is a gift, duder! I hope you like it. I have the Siken, so anything else you were thinking of is fair game. :D
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Oh, thank you! Tell me you love Siken. And alright, I'll have to find you something else...
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and I do love Siken! I like him and want to be like him, my hands no longer an afterthought, oh man.
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Trees outside the window and a big band sound that makes you feel like
everything's okay,
a feeling that lasts for one song maybe,
the parentheses all clicking shut behind you.
(I get that stuck in my head all the time.)
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Oh man, I don't even know! I think it's a pretty canon-adherent thing -- maybe way back when they were kids they made out a couple of times, but nothing huge ever really happened, and none of them ever knew why. And even after the bandsplit, they kind of retain a sort of push-pull dynamic even without the songwriting. They keep fighting even though there's nothing to fight for.
But Brendon & Ryan right now -- they hadn't been speaking for nearly a year, and Brendon thought things were going to be different because they were both older and hopefully more mature -- and now being in the same room as Ryan is just driving him crazy all over again.
It's the equivalent of seeing your ex at a high school reunion, Brendon thinks.
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Look, any combination of 1.)your writing abilities + 2.)Johnny/Stephane is 150% win in my book. So no problem about the promt. I loved the drabble, they [J&S] were just so precious and cute in it.
You really weren't supposed to talk or pass notes in choir -- breathing was only just allowed, under Mr Carroll's stern eye, by virtue of helping with the singing.
:-D :-D :-D :-D
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