Drabble: Cliche (Imagine Me & You, Rachel/Luce, PG)

Title: Cliche
Info: written for dollsome in the Gay As In Happy comment-a-thon. Prompt was Christmas.

Even as Luce is reaching for the box, Rachel let’s go a torrent of words, twisting her hands together in her lap and leaning closer to her girlfriend. “I know it’s terribly cliche, doing this in the holidays, but I couldn’t think of a better time, honestly, because I don’t want this to have anything to do with the last time and…” the words drop off as Luce’s fingers finally work the paper undone.

“A ring,” she says, her voice thick. Luce runs a fingertip (calloused from handling flowers) over the top of it, a graceful circle decorated with inset diamonds, a ruby in the center. “You know, I thought you were done with marriage.” The words come out in a husky rush, as if Luce is afraid of what they mean.

Rachel settles against Luce with a sigh. “Not if the right one came along, mm?” She slides her hand against Luce’s, plucks the ring from its casing. She offers it to Luce’s bare finger, a tentative smile blooming on her face.

“You would go and ask me first, before I had the chance to sort you out.” Luce shakes her head, but a smile starts there as well. The ring fits; some devilish handiwork on Rachel’s part. Luce turns her hand this way and that in the light, the white catching, then the red. “It’s a yes, by the way.”

Rachel squeezes Luce’s hand, nudges her way in for a kiss. “Happy Christmas,” she whispers.

“Happy always.”

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Drabble: i will be your lightning rod (Luce/Rachel, Imagine Me & You)

Drabble: i will be your lightning rod
Info: Imagine Me & You, Luce/Rachel, prompted by poey. A real drabble! 100 words, straight up.

Words exist for what she’s feeling in other languages, some combination of longing and guilt and simply knowing. Only it isn’t simple at all.

Rachel leans against the door of Luce’s apartment, her whole body going weak. By the time she hits the floor, divorce papers flying, she’s sobbing.

They drink together when her name fills in every blank line, and Luce’s hand rests on Rachel’s abdomen.

“You can do this,” is all that Luce says, knowing the words are out there, in other languages, hanging in the silence.

Rachel kisses her, wet with salt, and it’s simple after all.

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Drabble: fading (The Ruins, Amy/Stacy, PG)

Title: fading
Info: Amy/Stacy, The Ruins. For immortality.

A series of photos. Photos somehow not covered and tinted with green. Photos aged, and clear, and pristine.

First, they are five years old, looking at each other instead of the camera: Amy on the right, Stacy on the left. Stacy is knee-deep, covered in mud. Amy is laughing.

Then, seven or eight. Amy isn’t sure. Amy, in the picture, is pushing Stacy on a swing. They don’t start the planned photos until 8th grade. On the cusp of high school, on the cusp of adulthood. On the cusp of something…

Fourteen. At the last minute, Amy reaches to tuck back a loose hair, brushing her fingers against Stacy’s ear.

Fifteen, and their hands almost touch between them.

Stacy’s mother takes them to DC, to see all the museums. Sixteen: on the steps of the memorial, in the street, looking over the pond.

Twenty-one, sunburnt and drunk and smiling.

Twenty-two. Lipstick smudged. Hands held tight. Waiting for something to happen.

Amy recognizes that these are pictures of her. That she is the girl in these images. She knows these things and yet does not. She’d hold up a camera if she had one, point it down her arm at her face, and see, later, the space next to her.


They are all she has left, and even that is missing so much.

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Drabble: Lullaby (Sucker Punch, Blondie/Rocket, PG-13)

Title: Lullaby
Info: Sucker Punch, asylum!verse. Blondie/Rocket. PG-13.

Blondie has the sweetest voice of all the girls. It’s only on the bad days that she gets cat calls and gnashing and pillows hurled in her direction for her soft melodies at dusk. (They call her Blondie because that is what the men say, laughing, between dark noises, behind closed doors.) Rocket doesn’t have the nightmares (the knives, like flashes of lightning), sometimes, when she wraps herself in the scratchy sheets and lets Blondie’s songs settle down over her like thick snow. She asks once, Where do they come from? She remembers the right words to say, but doesn’t recognize her voice. Blondie has the sweetest voice of all the girls, and the saddest story. They can see it, sometimes, looking into her eyes. Rocket is the only one who doesn’t look away.

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Drabble: (i’m not) one small atomic bomb (Sucker Punch, Rocket/Baby Doll, PG-13)

Title: (i’m not) one small atomic bomb
Info: Originally posted at for the Sucker Punch Kink Meme, but I’m not afraid of identifying myself, and I’m actually pretty proud of this. Response to “Baby Doll/Rocket, showing her the ropes” – original link. Brothel-verse.

Rocket shrugs, smiles. “I know it’s scary, but we’ll help you.” She hands Baby Doll a broom, taking a dust cloth for herself. Baby Doll doesn’t say anything. “We all have jobs, in addition to the dancing, and… the other stuff,” Rocket continues as they walk down the hall. “Like, one day you might be assigned to scrub the floors. They can get pretty dirty. Or help in the kitchen.” She pauses, suddenly seeing in her mind the way Cook looks at her while she peels potato after potato. “I get that job a lot.”

Baby Doll finds a corner and starts sweeping. It’s halfhearted. It’ll have to be redone. “Does it always feel so awful?” she asks.

“Which part?” Rocket laughs, not cruelly. Instead of waiting for an answer, she strides over to Baby Doll and puts her hands over the other girl’s on the broom. “Look, you’re going to have to put a little more ‘oomph’ into it if you don’t want to get in trouble.”

Baby Doll lets go, and watches Rocket take over, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Her eyes are like cool fire, and Rocket focuses on the back and forth of the broom and the little hurricanes of dust that fly up around Baby Doll’s feet. She hands the broom back, and lingers a little too long.

“No,” Rocket finally answers, “It doesn’t always feel this awful. Not if you play your cards right, not if you make friends with the right people.” Her thumb brushes over Baby Doll’s knuckles, and she smiles.

Baby Doll doesn’t say anything, but her eyes change. There is a softness in her face, some small muscle in her mouth fighting for dominance over a smile.
Rocket doesn’t think (she rarely does) but leans in for a quick taste. “You’ll recognize the moments of paradise when you find them.”

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Drabble: the space between your bed and wall (Sucker Punch, PG-13)

Title: the space between your bed and wall
Info: Sucker Punch, Rocket/Baby Doll, Rocket/Sweet Pea, PG-13. Title and epigraph are from Bright Eyes’ “The Calendar Hung Itself”

you make me happy oh, when skies are gray and gray and gray.

you should clarify: you aren’t sure if she’s real. of course, to say this, that you aren’t sure, acknowledges that maybe you’re in the right place. but sweet pea, she cups your cheek and she says that a place like this will do things to a girl, do things that even the world outside hadn’t managed already.

(you got a hold of a pair of scissors, once, and stared at your wrists, at the little rivers there. it didn’t seem right, to put something so cold against something so warm. you chopped your hair instead, watched the limp pieces fall to the ground, some catching in your uniform. it was like a ballet. your head felt lighter after that, even when they bruised your arms shaking the scissors free, dragging you away. you thought you saw a hint of a smile on sweet pea’s face.)

so when you say you aren’t sure if she’s real, you should clarify that you are in an asylum. currently, not living there. living implies home. living implies life. this place is neither.

you don’t remember her arriving. sweet pea does, the once or twice you’ve snuck to her bed and whispered “baby doll” in each other’s ears, your fingers tracing codes into her palm. you remember four things, a fifth, something she couldn’t name. you remember the curve of her mouth, the blush of her cheeks.

dr. gorski tells you to lay back, let the music wash over you, and baby doll is there, knife in her hand. she’s there, in an instant. you barely have to scream.

and after, she touches your forehead and says “there, there” and you lean into it, your hands in her lap and your eyes closed. you don’t cry, because it’s useless to cry in a place like this. there’s a taste of something bitter on your lips, dry and cracked. and across the theatre you see sweet pea nod, and you think you see a hint of a smile.

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Fanmix and Drabble: my manic and i (Black Swan, Nina/Lily, NR)

Title: my manic and i
Compiler: aphrodite_mine
Info: Black Swan, post-movie, Nina/Lily. For theroyal_e.

1. I Clipped Your Wing – Michael Nyman
2. Such Great Heights – Iron & Wine
3. Pirouette – Lisa Mitchell
4. My Manic and I – Laura Marling
5. Midnight Swim – Javier Navarette
Download here

Nina holds her breath and pulls herself through the pounds of pressure and water over her, pressing down on her lungs. Her heart starts up again, slow at first, sluggish. She can feel herself flying in reverse, her fingertips grazing the warmth of a cheek.
There, on a precipice again.
She falls back onto the hospital bed, counting out the rhythm of a heart monitor.
“You scared us all, you know. The whole company, practically is waiting outside.” Lily’s voice. She cups Nina’s hand in hers, a layer of heat. Caught like a butterfly in a safety net.
“I’m not afraid,” Nina says. She can feel her skin again.

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