dramaturgy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dramaturgy) wrote2004-07-25 07:04 pm
dramaturgy) wrote2004-07-25 07:04 pm
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Nicked from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
parcae DOOOO IIIIIIT!
1. Pick any one of my user icons.
2. Write a drabble about the one you picked. Yes, you . :D
3. Post it for me? Pretty please?
(Then post this in your journal and I'll do the same for you.)
I have 50 userpics. Let's put them to work, yo.
parcae DOOOO IIIIIIT!1. Pick any one of my user icons.
2. Write a drabble about the one you picked. Yes, you . :D
3. Post it for me? Pretty please?
(Then post this in your journal and I'll do the same for you.)
I have 50 userpics. Let's put them to work, yo.
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---
DJ woke suddenly, as she always did. She was never one of those people who lounged in bed for a few minutes before finally waking - she was asleep and then she wasn't. Simple as that.
However, this time was odd.
She looked down, and saw Fabian burrowed in the covers of her bed, resting on her stomach. She smiled faintly, stroking the top of his head gently.
Fabian stirred briefly, his eyes opening momentarily before he burrowed deeper and seemed to fall back asleep. As he did so, DJ smiled again, making sure they were both covered against the cold.
Classes be damned.
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You will get More. Promise. :)
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---
From his corner in Minas Tirith, the cheese man watched. He watched the running, the general hysteria. It was so sad, really.
"Oh dear," he said, and winced as Denethor's flaming body came into view and dropped. He winced again when he saw it hit the ground. Of course, Denethor had always been something of a crazy, but to think that it all could have been avoided ... .
He'd tried, a long time ago. He'd wanted to alleviate the insanity before it happened, but it hadn't worked. He'd been given some idiotic story about the lactose intolerance the Steward suffered from, but he knew the truth. Denethor didn't like cheese.
Alas, if he had only bought a cheese tray.
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Caution: I wrote this first thing in the morning. *clings to coffee*
-----
As they walked through the long hall, veiled in eerie darkness, Hermione thought of bicycles.
It was an odd thought to think at a time like this, but it concoled her.
She remembered how she was five and mounted a bicycle for the first time. She could hear her younger self in her head, "Daddy, don't let go. I'm scared." "I won't, of course I won't."
She remembered the safety, the comfort in knowing that her father- someone she loved- was protecting her.
She glanced over at Ron, and she knew, even in the darkness, that his eyes showed fear as much as hers did. She also knew that he was thinking the same thing, as they walked closer to the door. The door to the Death Eaters' residence. If we'll die, it'll be together.
"Ron," she whispered as she took his hand in hers, feeling his sweaty palm. "Don't let go. Never let go."
"I won't."
With one hand in Ron's and gripping her wand with the other, she kicked the door open.
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R/Hr winter
Hermione has never remembered being so peaceful, so content, and so happy. Usually she doesn’t like the cold and snow: that’s why she prefers her summer vacation going to places of southern regions, but today she doesn’t mind the cold at all. Her fingers are numb and her nose is tingling with red, and perhaps it is due to the numbness, her blood feels warm inside her veins and it is creating a boldness and courage worthy of a Gryffindor. Impulsively, she grabbed Ron’s mitten hand. “Come on Ron, I want to see the Shirking shack.”
Re: R/Hr winter
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No one that is, except the boy who stood across the dance floor, seemingly mesmerized by the wallflower. Once he thought he caught her eye, just to see her gaze keep shifting over to a pretty blonde girl and her prince and back across the room, until it passed over him again.
Sending her a small smile he took a step forward, willing her to meet him halfway. She seemed to accept his message as she gingerly took several slow steps in his direction.
His smile widened as he reached for her hand and kissed it gently, causing a blush to appear on both faces.
"We deserve each other." He commented as they both began swaying to the music and resolving to dance through life.
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Not a rat?
The girl blinked. "...yes, he is, his name's Stanley and he's -"
"He's an Animagus! By the name of Peter Pettigrew!"
She peered at the old man. He was obviously unbalanced; she took comfort, however, in the fact that he was confined to a wheelchair and could therefore do no harm.
"Come on, Sirius, we've got to be getting along." A middle-aged man with unruly hair and thick glasses.
When they'd got away from the poor Muggle girl, Harry sighed. Ever since Sirius had hit his head against that Veil column in the battle at the Department of Mysteries, he hadn't been quite right in the head.
"You're right," muttered Sirius. "James would never have... never have... James?"
Harry patted his hand. "He's dead, Sirius. Wormtail is dead." This was not, in fact, true - Wormtail had ended up turning traitor against the Death Eaters at the last minute and saving Harry's life, but Sirius never listened to him when he'd said that; it was better just to make something up.
Indeed, the old man gave a snaggletoothed grin. "Good. Bastard got what was coming to him."
Re: Not a rat?
Re: Not a rat?