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argentum_ls) wrote2011-09-21 04:56 pm
Fanfic: Fic Requests
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fotoshop_cutout:The first five people to comment on this post get to request that I write a drabble/ficlet of any pairing/character of their choosing. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level.
Request #1: Allison/Scott, something with him watching her archery practice.
Word Count: 236
When she concentrated, she pressed her lips into a thin line. No matter what she did, dimples etched the sides of her mouth. She stood up straight, feet planted, assured. She always started with the standing targets, could sink arrow after arrow into the bull’s eye. Sometimes she chose to aim for other places. “This one in the top left corner,” she murmured. Before the arrow left the string, he knew it wouldn’t miss. She didn’t miss. He rubbed his right arm, the phantom wound aching. He hoped she’d never aim for him, feared that she wanted to. When she pulled the bowstring taut, she knew who she was.
He loathed what he was, fought even when the moon pulled his muscles taut. She feared for the monster he could become, hoped he’d never would. She felt the graze of the bowstring against her cheek on every draw, the twinge in her heart at what she must be prepared to do. He couldn’t suspect. They had made promises before either understood how to keep them. He said, “I would never lie to you.” He chose to justify the ends, sometimes. The truth could bend as far as they needed it to, aimed at the standing targets. Resolved, he lay back on the grass, elbows propped. Yellow tinged the edges of his irises no matter what he did. He held his breath like a desperate hug when he concentrated.
Request #2: Lydia/Stiles, maybe how she really does notice him
Word Count: 500
In 9th grade, all the students had to meet with the guidance counselor for an aptitudes and career assessment. Lydia blew off her appointment. When the counselor hunted her down and pulled her out of math class, she scoffed and flipped her hair on the way out the door. No sooner had it clicked shut behind her than she pulled to a stop. The echo of her heels still ringing through the empty hall, she snapped off three letters to the counselor like she was cracking gum: “M.I.T.”
The counselor, a heavily overweight man who was rumored to be a Purple Heart, kneaded his fingers together while he considered. “I’ll speak to Mr. Harris about arranging appropriate independent study classes,” he responded, sighed with obvious relief. Apparently they had both anticipated a fight.
She smiled, thanked him, and flounced back into the classroom as if the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. Before reclaiming her seat, she noticed that the fidgity kid who sat in the far back corner was watching her. His mouth was slightly open, as if he’d forgotten that he’d been about to speak. He tore his eyes away, but not before she saw them narrow in contemplation. She let her own eyes go flat, and smiled vapidly at her current teacher, whom she thought was an idiot, but who at least had the sense to hand back her quizzes face down so that no one could see the 100% marked on them.
It’s always the variables that complicate the equation. Lydia understood that better than anyone, so she dedicated most of her energies toward eliminating them. She controlled for popularity and social standing, crafted a persona of which no one would have expectations—which freed her to pursue her interests without fear of recrimination. She selected her social circle for how they could smooth her path through high school. With only a little regret, she recognized that they would have to be discarded later when they began to impede her progress.
But there was that kid. She didn’t know his name; she’d learn it when she was ready for him. What she did know was better. She observed that his grades rivaled hers, that teachers gave up on him quicker than they gave up on her, that he always seemed to be processing.
He never stopped moving. His jittering legs, tapping feet, and drumming fingers were sometimes all that kept her from screaming in boredom or frustration at the inanity of what she had to pretend not to understand. Sometimes she felt him staring at her, and sometimes she wondered who he saw.
She never let on.
He was still too much a variable, at least for the rules of here and now. Instead she listened to him click his tongue, shift in his seat, and answer question after question much more thoroughly than the teachers expected or wanted.
And she stuck her nose in the air, tapped her manicured fingernail against her lips, and calculated.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Encircle 1/1
He loathed what he was, fought even when the moon pulled his muscles taut. She feared for the monster he could become, hoped he’d never would. She felt the graze of the bowstring against her cheek on every draw, the twinge in her heart at what she must be prepared to do. He couldn’t suspect. They had made promises before either understood how to keep them. He said, “I would never lie to you.” He chose to justify the ends, sometimes. The truth could bend as far as they needed it to, aimed at the standing targets. Resolved, he lay back on the grass, elbows propped. Yellow tinged the edges of his irises no matter what he did. He held his breath like a desperate hug when he concentrated.
no subject
-dances-
Variable 1/1
The counselor, a heavily overweight man who was rumored to be a Purple Heart, kneaded his fingers together while he considered. “I’ll speak to Mr. Harris about arranging appropriate independent study classes,” he responded, sighed with obvious relief. Apparently they had both anticipated a fight.
She smiled, thanked him, and flounced back into the classroom as if the whole thing had been a misunderstanding. Before reclaiming her seat, she noticed that the fidgity kid who sat in the far back corner was watching her. His mouth was slightly open, as if he’d forgotten that he’d been about to speak. He tore his eyes away, but not before she saw them narrow in contemplation. She let her own eyes go flat, and smiled vapidly at her current teacher, whom she thought was an idiot, but who at least had the sense to hand back her quizzes face down so that no one could see the 100% marked on them.
It’s always the variables that complicate the equation. Lydia understood that better than anyone, so she dedicated most of her energies toward eliminating them. She controlled for popularity and social standing, crafted a persona of which no one would have expectations—which freed her to pursue her interests without fear of recrimination. She selected her social circle for how they could smooth her path through high school. With only a little regret, she recognized that they would have to be discarded later when they began to impede her progress.
But there was that kid. She didn’t know his name; she’d learn it when she was ready for him. What she did know was better. She observed that his grades rivaled hers, that teachers gave up on him quicker than they gave up on her, that he always seemed to be processing.
He never stopped moving. His jittering legs, tapping feet, and drumming fingers were sometimes all that kept her from screaming in boredom or frustration at the inanity of what she had to pretend not to understand. Sometimes she felt him staring at her, and sometimes she wondered who he saw.
She never let on.
He was still too much a variable, at least for the rules of here and now. Instead she listened to him click his tongue, shift in his seat, and answer question after question much more thoroughly than the teachers expected or wanted.
And she stuck her nose in the air, tapped her manicured fingernail against her lips, and calculated.
Re: Variable 1/1
no subject
no subject
no subject
FILL: Lull 1/1
Story is here: http://argentum-ls.livejournal.com/5729.html
Enjoy!