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07 October 2004 @ 01:52 am
Meme.  
I had so much fun doing this in other people's entries, that I thought I'd throw it up here for all y'all to try out. So here's a meme that I totally gacked from...most recently I feel that it was musesfool, though I could be wrong.

I'm a gonna put up a few first lines from my fics (because I am not patient enough to type up ALL of them), and you guys -- if so inclined -- could write little ficlets, using them. *bounces* See? It's fun? Feel free to re-fandomize, or whatever.

ALSO, PS: I write a whole fucking lot of fic, is what this meme has taught me. Dayumn. *eyes website in horror/awe*



It’s been raining for four days, and all that straight green grass bristling against the earth of the Shire is starting to lie flat in the mud.

There’s a little girl in the middle of the pond, waving her arms all around and laughing as her dad pulls her around the surface of the ice.

It’s not like the alley’s sexy or anything – it’s just there.

The record player sat in the corner of the cabin by one of the east facing windows, over the hand-knotted red and white rug.

Ray pulls his parka tight, and sits on the stoop in front of his house, looks at his hands in the thin greenish light.

When Fraser lies down, he can feel his bones settle into place, feel them decompress as his back straightens out and his hips flatten against the cot.

This used to be wine country.

The slow hand of the clock takes twenty minutes to wind itself around the fat, yellow face.

There’s a haze around the moon, and ice on the grey leaves that droop toward the roof, where Sirius lies.

The inside of Chloe’s wrist smells like caramel, and Lana licks her there.

You know when the phone rings that it’s your brother, even if you don’t know what ‘brother’ really means.

It's not like he hasn't done this before, he tells himself before getting out of the car.

Clark might not be the smartest person he knows, but he isn't stupid, either.

The Talon at midday was sluggish, as always – people trickling in and out at odd intervals while Lex and Lana went over some kind of interminably boring contract using words that Clark was sure had been invented for the sole purpose of putting people to sleep.

Clark isn’t quite sure how long he’s been standing in the hallway.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon in September and the weather isn’t great.

You watch the sun come up for what might be the fourth time since the fever set in.

The blanket was soft, blue, and probably hadn’t been washed recently.

Lois has big dark eyes that flash when she’s thinking and hands that never stop moving.

He didn't see it coming, and maybe that's why it had worked so well.

Fire licks out the windows, and up the sides of the building – flames wrap around the thin, square apartment complex like sinuous snakes

Winter comes to the farm, bruise colored and bitter

When Chloe wakes up, she’s kicked the sheets off entirely.

The yard is filled with bones and wildflowers.

The hardest thing, at first, was not to stare.

They had dinner at a downscale French restaurant by the water, and after, he put an arm around her shoulder, and held her tightly next to him as they walked along the riverfront.

There is no salutation.

Lily sleeps on her side, one hand reaching out over their green sheets, fingertips brushing his chest.

Her hair was long, and pale blonde like corn silk where it hung lankly beside her rouged cheek.

This next drink will be his very last drink and his very last drink will be his next drink and so he drink drink drinks until there's nothing left in his glass and his lips curl back from his teeth in a grimace as the vodka sears and burns its sour, loving way down his throat.

Las Vegas isn't what Xander expected.

Most men wait until they've been at sea for several weeks before looking for women in their bunk mates - for soft lips, or fine hands, or long curling lashes, and a nice round bottom beneath the blue breeches of the men they work beside.

Simon wakes up early in his narrow bed and stares up at the low, gray metal of the ceiling.

They are shadows and they make their own heat in the big, cold bed.
 
 
 
Qqe2 on October 7th, 2004 08:41 am (UTC)
Ohmigod. I really must be on drugs. Drugs I don't know about, I mean.

*****

It’s been raining for four days, and all that straight green grass bristling against the earth of the Shire is starting to lie flat in the mud. To see this, of course, Ray practically has to lie flat himself to get one eye to the thing in the middle of the door – oversized peephole? confused window? whatever the fuck it is, it’s impossible to see out of if you’re, like, any taller than the average five-year-old. Not that it’s worth it, either, as Ray discovers once he’s scrunched down there, being as how after four days all that green-and-rolling-hills crap goes the same shit-brown as dirt in Chicago tends to do. Apparently the laws of science — what little Ray groks of them, anyway — work the same way here as back home.

Ray tries to find this reassuring, but he can’t quite pull it off: the flash of red he was hoping to see somewhere in all that wet brownness is stubbornly refusing to appear, and he’s getting a little concerned. Fraser’s been gone since before the rain started, off somewhere with the neighborhood mayor-type person (a big guy for around here, Ray gathers, which means he comes up to Ray’s nipples rather than Ray’s belly button), looking for someone Mayor Fuzzyhead says will be able to get them back to Chicago. Who this guy is and how he’s gonna pull that off is not something Ray knows the answer to, but that’s okay, because as long as Mr. MIA Solutionmeister can get them the hell out of here and back to the mean streets he could fucking wave a wand at them and make them vanish in a puff of smoke and Ray would be just fine with that.

Meanwhile, Ray is so over this view he’s, like, around the corner from it already, so he straightens out as much as he can and turns. He grunts in pained irritation when he bumps his sprained ankle against the wall, a sound that morphs into an embarrassingly squeaky surprised noise when he realizes he’s once again groin to face with the owner of the — burrow? yeah — where he’s taken shelter.

Shit.

Okay, see, this is what’s really worrying Ray, to be totally honest, is this guy. All the rain’s a minor downer, right, but Ray’s kind of used to rain by now (hello, Windy City, lake they call Michigan, hello?) and he’s sure it’ll end pretty soon, since no one who actually lives around here seems to be afraid of, say, drowning in their beds. And Fraser – yeah, Ray misses him six ways from Sunday, separation from one another obviously being another thing that works the same way here as back home. But he knows Fraser can take care of himself, and he checked out Mayor Furryfeet pretty thoroughly back when the two of them were preparing for their trip – yeesh, Fraser can spend hours talking anyone’s ear off when it’s quality camping equipment on the table – and he doesn’t have a lot of concerns on that score either.

He’s not even all that worried about getting home. When it comes right down to it, Fraser’ll find the solution. Fraser always does.

Ray would be so okay with Fraser and Mayor Funnyface making like Mr. Fix-Its a little faster, though. Because here’s Ray’s host, the future star of Ray’s personal anti-wet-dream, eyeball to balls on Ray and leering at him like the last girl at the bar after closing time’s called. Ray’s having a lot less trouble than he wishes he was having figuring out exactly how this dude would like to spend their fourth rainy afternoon together in a pretty small space: after four years with Fraser, Ray knows from subtle, and the hints that have been dropped have not exactly fit that description.

Evidently, however, the hint-ER thinks he’s failed to get his point across, because he’s clearly geared himself up for a new effort. Ray braces himself, back against the door (which he can’t really move away from anyhow, given that the front hall is about the size of his desk), and tries to remember all the good reasons Fraser would have for not kicking members of another species in the head as the face at his belt buckle prepares for speech.

“Well, Mr. Kowalski, I’ve shown you the first and second kitchens, the garden, the formal dining room, the informal dining room, and the snacking area.

"Perhaps now you’d like to see the rest of my...hobbit hole?”
shayheyred: Bitchesshayheyred on October 7th, 2004 08:47 am (UTC)
You. Are insane. Just sayin'.
And I love that.
Qqe2 on October 7th, 2004 09:07 am (UTC)
Hey, I resemble that remark!

::composes self::

::accepts love happily::
(Deleted comment)
Qqe2 on October 7th, 2004 09:09 am (UTC)
Why, thank you kindly, ma'am :-).

I do think Kroger's must have put some LSD in my Zoloft or something...
lastscorpion on October 9th, 2004 09:14 pm (UTC)
O. M. G.

I'm just saying...

LMFAO!!!
Qqe2 on October 10th, 2004 07:25 pm (UTC)
Heh.

::is pleased::
pure FORESHADOWING: CRAZY EYES!nifra_idril on October 12th, 2004 06:45 pm (UTC)
I love how cracked out your brain is. Seriously, this is just -- gales of laughter, baby. *snugs you tightly and giggles more* Frodo and Rayk in the same room = me on the floor clutching my stomach as I shriek with giggles.
Qqe2 on October 12th, 2004 08:34 pm (UTC)
I love how cracked out your brain is.

Oh, THAT's what it was. CRACK. Of COURSE.

::is grateful to nifra_idril for clearing that little mystery up::

*snugs you tightly and giggles more*

::grins with pleasure::

::snugs you back and enjoys being giggled on::

I sort of envisioned the hobbit in question being Bilbo, or maybe Lobelia's son (can't remember his name) - but it's even weirder with Frodo in the hobbity lead :-).

So glad you enjoyed!