the drabble-by-request project!
over at the "main" journal, i asked people for characters/pairings/yadda and a quote. now i'm writing them drabbles, which will be added here as they're written.

the rules: 100 words, baby, and it greatly appeals to the girl who loves sestinas but can't seem to get past free verse. it's an experiment in form and function and how much we can say within those limits.

the requests:
for zazuomgwtf: either aeryn/t'pol or t'pol/hoshi. "how have you managed to survive surrounded by so many of these stupid humans for so long?"
for dz_crasher: chiana and rygel. while she's blind.
for nostalgia_lj: sam/jack/mckay pr0n. "this is a lot like on the west wing."
for konstantine03: daniel/janet. "you can't ignore me forever, janet."
for moireach: river. "you think you know. what you are. what's to come. you haven't even begun."
for skywaterblue: any ds9 or tww josh/donna/sam.
for mandysbitch: svu. olivia/alex. olivia/elliot. whatevah.
for anr: john/aeryn. "so this is love."
for suzvoy: londo. "it seemed to him to be incredibly unfair that attractive women didn't walk around naked."
for cappuccinogirl: carmella/melfi. "does this qualify as a freudian slip?"
for projectjulie: aeryn/zhaan, "not so different" and/or "does it hurt?" and/or "i did, once" OR olivia/cj crossover, "don't point that thing at me" and/or olivia's gun used as a sexual object.

the drabbles, thus far:

for daygloparker:
Touching Evil, 100 words, Creegan/Branca.

Susan bites her lip and turns her head away, refusing to respond. Eyes wide open, not blinking, breath harsh. The ice machine warm against her back, wheezing and rattling like an emphysemic old man. The whole room echoes, and he frames her head with his arms. Leaning in, no concept of personal space, he whispers into her neck ("the ice machine is broken").

His voice vibrates.

She doesn't moan. Her lip bleeds.

His mouth moves against her skin, his monologue unceasing, and she vaguely considers responding before giving in to the feel of his tongue on her ear. His teeth.

*fin.

for leksa:
Harry Potter, 100 words. "You're not the same now."


Hermione Granger no longer dreams. No longer-

-his heart in her hand, blood everywhere, fumbling for her wand. Screaming until her voice stops. The skies crackling opening and-

-wakes up in a cold sweat after thrashing across her bed all night.

It was an easy enough potion to concoct, once she found a dealer for the dragon's blood. She counts to three, takes a deep breath, recites the incantation. Removes the cauldron from the fire.

"You're not the same now," he says, and she recognizes him by the scar.

"Well, neither are you, Harry." He's not. The dead rarely are.

*fin.