drabble meme

[beachland]

Via neveryourmask and ravenna

Pick one of my characters. Pick one of yours. I shall write a snippet of their relationship. It can be established or hypothetical, just as long as I have some familiarity with the character!

Here is a list of prompts, some of which I am probably lacking the pop-cultural reference knowledge for. Choose '33%' at your own risk.

Comments

blivinsky nov-dec 2016

[pillz]

[1]

Maybe it wouldn't feel so good if he'd gotten laid in the past month. But he hadn't. It's the longest he'd gone without fucking anybody in years, and maybe he was beginning to resent it a little, ramping up for some pointless trivial bicker about Marie Claire's shitty advice for young women who want to control their men through the paternalistic yoke of sex negativity, like, way to be a victim, Cavendar, but then it's Tuesday morning in his apartment when she slips a hand under the covers and touches his thing.

He almost stops breathing, thinking giddily that, maybe, she got confused, is dreaming about stirring crust batter. Maybe his dick is about to be in for a painfully literal twist.

But she turns closer, the T-shirt sinking over her shoulder, her faintly freckled breast. Her fingers quicken with unmistakable intent. And like a twelve-year-old, he's hard in two seconds. She blinks at him, her eyes wide and dark and beautiful as some grand metaphor that just means a pretty girl remembered to lick her palm before she stuck it down your boxers. Fuck, he thinks. Subtle as he can, he tries to dig his nails into his own thigh. Tries to focus on the sore half-moons forming pink in his skin. Tries not to come too soon. Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to concentrate, pun intended; the most of all, when she inchworms nearer, so he can pick out the notes of his own shampoo in her hair. When she says, "Hey, Kavinsky. I can't kiss you from here."

[2]

She likes his Nicordistide present. Flying fucking rollerskates: of course she likes his present. They go out to Benson park to practice, over the lake, where Alanis will catch her if something gets fucked up; a good plan, a safe one, insofar as that magical water dragons are good and safe. Somehow, Kavinsky ends up being the one clinging too tight to her hands as she floats up, her feet shuffling elegant circles in the air, and her laughter shimmering even higher up, an auditory aurora in the winter sunshine. He's supposed to be anchoring her down, but the rowboat begins to turn under his feet. His hands are sweating. You'd think he would have learned by now, after a hundred white Mitsubishis and two fire monsters, to stop gifting people with ways to get away from him.

[3]

At some point, he allows himself to be cautiously happy. Contrary to the opinions of local vampires, he is not reckless about it; there are few good things in his life, and he doesn't like for anybody to bother the ones he has. He skips a few meet-and-greets, pragmatically, avoiding the revelation (or five) about who Caleb's trying to fuck now, and also somehow not too tempted to see the look on Caleb's face once he saw who'd replaced him.

He does more parkour, drags Minho up there with him a couple of times. He smokes less pot, hangs out with Ash on nights he can't sleep. He takes a beta-blocker so avoid psychic fucking any astral projectionists that accidentally wander into his head. #dreamthiefproblems. There are too many things he doesn't tell Bliss, but he makes up for it by coming by the Pie Hole most days before his shift at the nightclub. He brings her coffee and open-mouthed kisses and star-shaped fairy lights and some weed and town gossip and a tire pressure gauge, normal boyfriend stuff. Most of the time, he suspects it's trite. Worse, he suspects she knows it's an act. He suspects it's an act, himself; he wonders if that's why he likes doing it. The props, the performance. Perhaps the pretense. His therapist tells him that, "Nobody would ever fall in love if they hadn't read about it first," and he guesses she's reassuring him because she thinks that he's embarrassed by all this shit. The normalcy, the vulnerability that she's always talking about. Kavinsky sees it in other people: the precarious balance in Vex's frame when he's wrapped his drunken arms around Mark, the trite heart-shape that Wylan and Caleb's profiles had framed when they had kissed in the Jade Shrine. How fucking fragile the possibility of healing, when Ivy dismisses Jason, talks about the people she's seen since Jason. Fragile, like if you breathe on it too hard, all these good lines she's giving you are gonna fall inward, and maybe you'll find out underneath, she was still fucked up over him all along. But maybe not, you know?

The truth is, he doesn't feel vulnerable. He feels happy.