herzverstreut_bu | Ficlets and announcement (Reply)

First of all, since I'm making this entry public anyway, I want to make an announcement to the people that are expecting Christmas cards from me: You will get them, of course (in fact many of them are already done and lying next to me), but... uhm... they might turn out to be more like mid-January greetings. :"> As most of you know I'm having a few monetary issues at the moment, and I can't afford all that postage. But I will get them out eventually, I swear! Just thought I'd let you know so you don't think I've forgotten you. ♥

Secondly, mostly for me because I want to have them all neatly in one post - the requested ficlets. They're all very short, unbetaed and pretty much just a writing exercise, but feel free to read. ;)

For cala_jane, who gave me the lyrics to A Place Called Home as inspiration. No specific time, I imagine it to be somewhere in late season one, but before the Sayid/Shannon happened:

Sawyer has always been more than one person, he thinks: Sleek businessman and snarky beach boy, scared little kid and cold blooded killer. Sometimes he wonders who the real Sawyer... James... What-the-fuck-ever is, and if anyone will ever understand what it's like to have no identity that is all your own. But with the stubbornness that is most definitely his, he pushes the thoughts back into his mind; it's so much nicer to call others on their bullshit than to deal with his own.

Yet lately he can't help but wonder - though he would never ever admit to it - if maybe there is someone who could have a clue. Someone who tortures him without blinking an eye and then goes away to atone for his sins, who has lost his home, his love, his life more than once. Sawyer doesn't like it, but the damn Iraqi might be the only one on that god-forsaken island who can understand.

So maybe he should give up his pride for once.

Maybe two homeless can find a home in each other.

Maybe he should just put away the fucking book and go over to Sayid's tent and drag him down with him, kiss those damn lips like he has wanted to do for weeks and fuck if he hates him for it. Fuck if he kicks him out, or shoots him or shoves some more splinters under his nails. Maybe he's going to like it. Maybe he wants a home, too.

Maybe.

For aurora_84, who wanted Locke-centric fic inspired by "You talk to me, as if from a distance and I reply with impressions chosen from another time" from Brian Eno's 'By This River':

Everything in life happens for a reason. It has to, otherwise paralyzed legs, betraying fathers, pitiful stares would break you, and people like John Locke refuse to be broken. They know that they just have to endure, keep their heads up and their eyes open, and some day they will be rewarded.

When he clambers out of the plane's smoking ruins, his legs moving as if they had never done anything else, Locke knows that this is what he has waited for.

Later, as he sits in the sun, smiling, almost unaware of what is going on around him, he can hear the island talking to him, the trees whispering from a distance. They tell him of adventure and of second chances, lay down their secrets for him to explore and unveil, enticing tales of power and knowledge.

Locke remembers life-long beliefs and half-awake dreams in a hospital bed, and replies with a simple "I know."

For morgana44, who wanted "Ginny/anyone...though a Slytherin is preferred". I'd say this is set early in GoF or so. I still can't believe I wrote something with Ginny and Gryffindor/Slytherin. :|

With six older brothers and an overbearing mother it was not surprising that Ginny Weasley felt like rebelling sometimes. In fact, a whole summer with her family had made her seriously consider running away to become a Deatheater - or at least enchant her hair a bright blue and rip her clothes, like she had seen in that Muggle newspaper her father had brought home from work.

When school started again, however, and she glimpsed a familiar dark face in the corridor of Hogwarts Express - a dark Slytherin face, to be exact - Ginny realized that she might not have to resort to quite such drastic measures.

In the end it were fleeting glances in the corridors, secret meetings on the fringe of the Forbidden Forest, first kisses in empty classrooms, and none of her brothers was ever the wiser.

But it made her feel a bit like that Juliet she had learned about in Muggle Studies.

For flaming_june who wanted QaF fic inspired by a quote from "Circuit Breaker" by Röyksopp - "You've got a hold on me/ Your ingenuity/ Seems to be driving me down on my knees/ The force you generate/ You reinvigorate/ Your body tells them 'No mistakes'"

After more than five years with Brian, Justin thinks, sex should have gotten boring. Aren't there just so many things two men can do together? Isn't there some sort of best-before date for fucking? And yet he can't help but want to fall down on his knees at the mere sight of Brian sometimes, like he generates a magnetic field that pulls them together. Wanting to taste him, smell him, feel him, familiar and always new.

Maybe it's because Brian was the first man he had ever been with, who had formed him and shaped him until his tastes became Justin's own. Maybe they're just creative. In his sappier moments, Justin likes to think that it's because they were made for each other, sculptured to perfection by God - or whothefuckever is responsible for things like that.

Because no matter how much they screw up otherwise, in bed there are no mistakes. Their bodies talk when their voices can not, and they say just the right things.

kaworu_ wanted Wallace/Keith Mars. Blame him, not me.

An amorphous swirl of colours with no features. Then perfect dark skin, sleek touches of pale hands, fingers tangled in strands of black hair. Red tongue sneaking out of pouty lips, sliding down his chest and ever lower, then back up again, pulled by the need too see, to connect. Brown eyes meeting almost-black. More touches, slow and sensual, down the neck, a rib, cupping firm buttocks, sliding forward again to stroke her moist...

Cock?

Looking up at a smiling...

Wallace?

Keith Mars awoke with a start. Now that was a dream he would certainly not share with Alicia.

For galeena, who gave me the quote "Tell me who admires you and loves you, and I will tell you who you are." This ficlet has not much to do with it. :| I haven't seen 2x10 yet, but I still imagine this to be set sometime after 2x09. Concrit is very welcome, because I like some of the dialogue, but I'm not happy with this thing, overall.

Veronica Mars was annoyed, and by whom else but... that's right, Logan Echolls! Applause, and a hundred points to candidate number one. She should just stop caring and walk away once and for all; but in the end he was not only her ex-lover, but also a friend - or some permutation thereof - and she didn't like to see him suffer. Not always, that was; and as immune as she should have been to tragedy by now, the shit that kept happening to Logan was enough to make even the hardest ex-girlfriend sympathetic.

Which was exactly why Veronica was standing in the middle of Duncan's appartment that afternoon, trying to talk some sense into Logan's thick head. Unfortunately, gruesome tales of how he would end up dead in a ditch somewhere, if they didn't finally jail him first, hadn't done the trick. He just brushed off her arguments with careless remarks about corruption and money and friends in the right places.

"Oh come on, Logan, stop kidding yourself. Except for Duncan you have no friends right now."

"You might not have noticed, being busy snooping through other people's lockers, but yes, I do." His slightly irritated, yet almost bored expression had stayed in place for five minutes now. Veronica was beginning to lose her patience.

"Who? Dick? Beaver? Madison? Kendall? Please." She couldn't believe he really thought any of them would care whether he went to jail, or was murdered by Weevil, or spent the rest of his life on the couch, watching cheap horror movies. "Ever heard the saying 'Show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are'?"

"What about you?"

"Let me see... Duncan, Wallace..."

"No, I mean you and me."

Oh no. He wouldn't. Not here, not now, not when she was right on the brink of launching a major rant about associating with the wrong people, and the need for support that even idiots like him must possess, and about how she didn't want to see yet another person close to... to Duncan murdered.

"There is no 'you and me', Logan. Not anymore."

As his face arranged itself into another perfect smirk after a split second of vulnerability, she lost it.

"Why do you do that? All those smirking and raised eyebrows, what is your problem? No, wait, let me correct that, I know perfectly well what your problem is. But do you really think you're fooling anyone, Logan? I know you, as much as I sometimes wish I didn't, and that stupid bravado is..."

When he suddenly pulled her close, she was too shocked to react, and the crush of lips on lips was still familar; enough so to drive all thoughts of Duncan and murder and wrongness out of her mind. Tasting salt on her lips she almost rolled her eyes and barely refrained from sighing "Deja vu!" Instead she held Logan close and stroked his head and figured that she had made herself understood.

And maybe if they were friends, Logan wasn't such a bad person after all.

As I said, they were done just for fun and in a matter of minutes, but concrit is of course welcome. :) And if you want to give me more prompts, feel free to do so.