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witticaster1. Reply to this post, and I will pick six of your icons.
2. Make a post (including the meme info) andtalkwrite a drabble about the icons I chose.
3. Other people can then comment to you and make their own posts.
4. This will create a never-ending cycle of icon glee.
"You're kidding me," Catherine said, a tube of red lipstick hovering an inch away from her lips. She didn't bother to turn away from the mirror in the bathroom. Ivy watched her as she got ready, a half-naked silhouette against the sink. (Catherine insisted on putting on her makeup before her pants, an eccentricity Ivy had no complaints about.)
For her part, Ivy didn't bother to get up from where she was lying on the rumpled bed, just outside the pool of light spilling from the half-open bathroom door. Too fucking early for this, and if the way Cath's eyes drooped half-closed was any indication, she didn't like getting up for work at five-thirty in the morning any more than Ivy liked watching her go, on those nights she stayed over. Such is the life of a high school teacher, she'd said on their first date, and laughed a little (and Ivy had decided she liked the way so many of Catherine's sentences ended with a laugh).
"Nope," she called back. "Not kidding at all."
Catherine did turn then, and her dark hair framed the mock-pout on her face beautifully. "You're the one who's so into this anniversary thing. What do you mean, you're not going to tell me what we're doing tonight?"
Ivy grinned. "You'll have something to think about while the kids're being a bunch of shits."
NNNNNNNNGH MAYBE I WILL DO THIS ONE LATER I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ALL EVENING.
"Come on, you're my last hope," Yorick told the girl. She couldn't see his winning smile underneath the gas mask, but he was hoping the tone of voice came through. "Please?"
Three women had told him they didn't know this gibberish thing. One had said she did, but there hadn't been time to actually talk about it. And he didn't really want to ask his traveling companions. So here he was, outside what used to be a convenience store, asking a fifteen year old girl about some secret girl language.
"All right," she answered, sighing. "It's not really hard. I thought everyone knew how."
"Deprived childhood," he offered in return and listened attentively as she explained it.
When he muttered an annoyed fidiguckidiging hidigell a few weeks later, 355 gave him a raised eyebrow.
Summertime came to Papen County early that year, and it brought with it one of the worst heat waves in living memory. Emerson Cod looked consistently uncomfortable and only ventured out of the range of the fan in his office for absolute necessities, which were generally either cases or the occasional slice of rhubarb pie. Olive Snook spent much of her time noting exactly how warm it was in the kitchen of the Pie Hole and suggesting that cranking the air conditioning up a little might not be a bad choice. And Charlotte Charles celebrated the arrival of long afternoons and late, humid nights with sundress upon sundress, most of them sleeveless--and a few, strapless.
Ned continued to wear black from head to toe, no matter what kind of heat he faced, and more than once wished that Chuck would do the same. She flitted through the Pie Hole with a brilliant smile on her face--and the creamy skin of her bare shoulders and calves was as intrusive a thought as the current rash of tourists who rarely tipped, albeit an intrusive thought that was quite a bit more welcome. He longed to touch her, even as he knew he couldn't, and spent more time than he liked to admit (even to himself) imagining the feeling of her without a barrier of plastic separating their bodies.
She seemed to know, even though he didn't say anything, and one evening after turning the sign on the door of the Pie Hole to closed, Ned turned around to see Chuck sitting on the counter, her legs swinging freely off the edge. (Olive had run off the minute business had ended for the day, off to sit in an ice-cold room with Digby, Pigby, and a glass of iced tea.) He smiled at her, and she at him, and it was only when she slipped down to the floor (and her skirt slid up momentarily, and he stopped thinking for a moment in favour of noticing) and began to walk toward him that he noticed the rectangle of plastic wrap fluttering in her grip. He met her halfway, hands clasped carefully behind his back.
A half-minute later, she smiled against his mouth. "I've got a surprise for you upstairs." Ned could feel the words as she spoke them.
She likes to borrow his hats sometimes, particularly the dark grey hat he uses when he's in a mood for physical comedy. It perches jauntily on her head, and she gives him a crooked grin from beneath it, eyes bright with it. He smiles back, leans forward to kiss her...and the hat somehow ends up on his head when they break the kiss.
While Joon is content to let the how of most of Sam's tricks remain his secret, she does not rest until he's taught her this one and she has likewise mastered it.
We were at Coney Island, me for some hardcore hotdog eating and Niko because I was going. There wasn't really too much to do this time of year; the dead of winter isn't exactly prime time for going to the amusement park. Not really prime time for hotdogs, either, but there was a place that had good ones even when it was around freezing and even spending an hour and a half on the subway wouldn't deter me.
Niko suffered all of this with good grace, and even got some grading done on the train. We ate--or I did, and made an extra show of relishing it whenever he made a mystery meat comment. It was all kind of out of season, and maybe a little forced on both our parts, but it wasn't bad. The Coney dogs were great.
There was one of those automatic fortune-tellers near the hotdog place, and I dragged Niko over to it. C'mon, it'll be like Big, weak cracks like that, so it felt more like old times. I put in a couple coins, it waved its robotic arms around inside its plexiglass box, and it spit out a piece of paper.
Your lucky number is two. Your lucky color is dead. Motto: Fidelitate Coniuncti.
Oh, let's be honest, cut text. This is why I shouldn't write any fic. -______-;;; Most of them don't really have endings, I know, and might or might not have anything to do with the icons, and you can tell that I did them out of order and lost my attention span after a while, and and and YOU KNOW, they are just kind of eh. But they're something, probably.
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:05 am (UTC)I LIKE ALL OF THEM.
pick six more icons for me? /greedy >>;;
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:25 am (UTC)AND I'M GLAD YOU LIKE THE OTHER ONES, TOO because I got lazy on them sooooo yeah.
Of course! ♥ But I might demand more from you when you post them, just so you know. >>
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:34 am (UTC)ffff.
YES I get to write Janefic and 355 fic sexay. But what to do about androgenousogenous :| and Smith, I don't do bandom XD
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:39 am (UTC)fff fff fff did not even include dialogue in the last one, man. XD
WELL, IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE ABOUT MR. SMITH. It could be aaaaaaaaanyone drinking that champagne, which is why that Tara icon is probably gonna be another story about Ivy when I am not busy looking for other things for us to do tomorrow. >> And I look forward to both Jane! and 355!fic, even though I still don't technically know anything about the former. XD And write us some Cardinal!fic for androgenousogenous or something, idk. Just write us something neat, so, um, really, just write something.
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:44 am (UTC)hey at least you weren't dialog-over-reliant.
...hahahah Cardinal. Who might bet sucked into Faidrian's thingummy, or something, maybe. Well, okay >>
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:46 am (UTC)because the reverse is awesome in comparison?
Oooooooooooh. :O and yey yey yey /o/
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:53 am (UTC)because it's cheap and often ooc.
\o\
no subject
on 2009-07-22 03:55 am (UTC)Either way, probably is. SIGH, sudden inability to write Cal well.
/o/