It Started with a Journal

I just saw that! :"> How very cool of you!! I think, since I've already started this, I'll wait and see if anyone takes me up before announcing fandom wide. It's a bit daunting to vie with fic if you think you're up against 1,000 people who may pre-empt you at any moment. :))

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tropes.livejournal.com

:)) All right. I don't even know if it'll catch on. Just wanted to spread the word.

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Y'know, you didn't specify "new" or "your own" - technically I could post Jade's stick figure smut or the revised Doppelganger and qualify.

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DAMN YOU TRICKY PEOPLE.

*edits* *grumbles*

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*Smooch* I started something new anyway, but I have to go into Savannah to pay the gas bill, so I may be too late.

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so I may be too late.

I think that's highly unlikely. >:D

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It'd be, like, almost time for you to go home from work by the time I got home and could work on it again. In any case, we shall see.

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Oh, now I'm sade that I already have a gmail account. I could have done some more of my splendid fanart for you. Alas!

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I am sade as well, Amelia. I am sade as well. *s8gh*

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SHUT IT.

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And, uh, by "sade" I mean "sad" of course.

Shut up.

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Too late.

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:-L

EYE H8 U.

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gianfared.livejournal.com

*ponders* Did you know I'm moving? I need to disconnect my ISP (and email) in two days in exchange for something temporary until we move into the next house in two months. I'm thinking this may be a nice way to go... hmmm. I will be at SlythCon and I could possibly be creative there. *considers*

Which would you prefer, amateur fan art *is not the talented Megh* (here is very quick sketch (http://img40.photobucket.com/albums/v124/gianfared/dracotom.jpg) - but I can do much better) or a fic? Of course, I'd have to put my current WIP on hold - only 11 more installments left (approx. 16500 words) if I write, or I could be more attentive in the art. *has been itchy to do D/G t00by love anyway*

What says you? :D

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Eeeee, I can't choose!! Seriously, you should do whatever you most feel like doing. If you're ficc'ed out, I would love to see more art from you, or if it's easier to write something, go for that! I love both. <g>

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gianfared.livejournal.com

Oh, silly me! *facepalms* The rewards are for the first three people to complete the mission. I can't do anything until after Friday. Well, good show to those who accomplish the mission. I'll still draw a t00by love D/G picture for you AND me. :D

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Well then I might have to give you an invite anyway. :-*

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gianfared.livejournal.com

Awww, too sweet! Thank you. Now, I'm going to keep my paints out and create a nice picture - once I'm at the in-limbo abode. Still, a sketch on Friday or Saturday will be forthcoming. :D

Thanks! *Snoopy Happy Dance*

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Never mind that before, I finished before I left. Now to break your comments section.

----

Once upon a time there was a girl, and she was rather ordinary. She had bright red hair, or perhaps bright orange might be a better description, and more freckles than could possibly be counted, and more brothers than she wanted to count. She had a very long neck and a small head, and her left eyebrow had a funny quirk in it. It didn't seem like nature was ever going to endow her with great height, or the kind of figure that graced the magazines her brothers had hidden in every corner of their home. About the only thing that made her different from normal witches was that she had once had a brush with evil, and that wasn't exactly the sort of thing one advertised. Well, at least, she didn't care to; she thought that her roommate at Hogwarts, who insisted on wearing black lace dressed and heavy black eyeliner and a thick coating of white rice powder on her face to give her a suitably tragic pallor... Well, it was just silly. There wasn't anything romantic about being gloomy, no matter what "Clytemnestra" insisted on thinking.

Still, the girl thought, there were worse things she could be. She wasn't particularly ugly, or stupid, and sometimes being unnoticeable had benefits, such as when she could skip class with no one the wiser. Except Snape's class. She shuddered a bit at the memory of the detention she'd had the one time she'd tried. On the benefit side, though, no member of her family had ever had such good marks in Potions as she did, due to the impetus of wanting to avoid the full wrath of angry Snape directed at her ever again.

More importantly, though, it meant that no one noticed when she spent her time staring, or if they did, that she wasn't simply staring off into space. She'd made a habit of staring in all sorts of situations, usually picking a spot on the wall and gazing fixedly at it, so that nobody would ever notice the times when she was most definitely staring at something. Or rather, someone.

He wasn't beautiful. His nose was too long, and his chin too pointy. He was thin - bordering on weedy - and she didn't know what he used in his hair, since it looked like he coated it with lard, but of course a Malfoy would never touch such a plebian substance. He had a wretched sense of humor, and she hated it that most of the time, it made her laugh, although that had to be hidden, too, before everyone thought she was just as daft as Luna.

It didn't seem possible to stop watching him, though. Even her crush on Harry had never been this bad, and that was pretty bad. So her eyes were on him always when they were anywhere in each other's vicinity, and even sometimes when they weren't supposed to be, but she was hidden underneath the stands watching him practice at quidditch, or in a dark booth at the back of the Three Broomsticks where everyone knew only the Slytherins sat. She watched him and she wondered why, but then she watched him more, and when she was honest with herself, she knew.

She didn't watch him because she enjoyed it, or even because she wanted to, although both were true. Rather, she watched him for the same reason that a magnet always pulls together with its opposite, or the reason why witchlight and water merged to make something that was neither, but something entirely different which made the basis for the most efficacious of potions. She couldn't resist it, and there was no use in trying - all that she could do was hope that it was only temporary, some sort of aberration, and that it would go away eventually, leaving her in peace.

Sometimes, though, he would look back.

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At first, she hadn't thought anything of it; everyone's eyes had a tendency to drift, and she'd met many gazes that considered and dismissed her as they passed. That his happened to pass over her wasn't all that surprising, considering how much she looked at him, although whenever she would notice it happening, she would take care to switch her attention for a while, to focus on the way that his long fingers would move, or the gleam of his shoes which were always perfectly polished, or the way that the expensive fabrics he wore moved and stretched over his shoulders.

It changed one day, when she really had been absently staring off into space, just in his general direction, and then when she finally came out of her reverie his eyes were on hers and he winked. She had blushed furiously, determinedly looking away from him and firmly scolding herself every time her eyes tried to drift towards him. She'd skipped watching him practice that afternoon, hiding in her room and trying to concentrate on the transfiguration homework she'd ignored in favor of getting her potions work done.

He hadn't winked at her again, or said anything to his friends, unless he'd done so when she wasn't there to read his lips. But then, if he had, they'd all stare at her or laugh or something, and they didn't. The only thing that had changed was that sometimes, when she would stare at Draco (for that's what she thought of him as now; she'd developed a habit of saying his full name out loud so that no one would notice that she didn't automatically say 'Malfoy' in tones of disgust)... Sometimes, he'd stare back, and they'd stay caught in each other's eyes until something happened to make the outside world intrude.

It was strange. She felt like she knew him, but they'd barely ever exchanged a word, and even that had never been what might be called conversation. Still, it existed, and she didn't know what to call it, or what to think of it. She just kept watching him, and ignoring the little voice inside that said that this wasn't going away. The school year dripped away, minute by minute, interspersed with endless moments lost in his eyes.

They never spoke. She noticed that he still teased Harry, Ron, and Hermione mercilessly, but she also noticed that he stopped making generalized comments about the Weasleys, choosing instead to focus on her brother's many deficits. Some days, she heartily agreed with Draco's assessments, although it didn't mean she loved Ron any less. He still called Hermione names, although she noticed that, after a few times when she had scowled at him for a particular word or phrase and then refused to look at him, that his choice of epithets tended to focus on her looks or study habits rather than her birth. This realization had caused her to smile blindingly, and for him to look unbearably smug in return.

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It was quite possible that she should be horrified, because one day she found herself thinking that he wasn't bad looking, at all. His face was still thin and sharp, but now she thought 'aristocratic' rather than 'pointy'. She had caught herself mentally describing his eyes and stormy and mercurial and quicksilver, and scolded herself firmly for being so unbearably soppy, but she still thought it. The body beneath his robes didn't seem stringy anymore, especially since he'd developed the habit of flying shirtless during practices on hot days, so she'd had a chance to study his musculature in detail that she would vividly recall when laying in bed at night, the covers over her head so none of her roommates could ask why she was blushing.

Now it was time to go home for the summer, the leaving feast done with, the trunks packed, and the Express trip over. She had thought, perhaps, that she might go looking for him on the train, but then what would she do? All she knew how to do was stare at him, and she wasn't sure enough of her welcome to take the chance. Now the ride was over and she was holding onto a battered suitcase which held most of her clothes, her trunk having been stuffed to overflowing with books and potions materials for the extra homework she'd been assigned. She stood on the fringes of her family, looking around, hoping to at least be able to look at him one more time before she couldn't see him for months.

She caught sight of him stepping off the train and her eyes followed him as he moved. A quick look around showed that his mother was standing behind and apart from the Weasleys, so that he would have to pass close enough to Ginny that she could reach out and touch him, if she had the courage. She didn't think she did, and looked down at her feet so she wouldn't see him leave her behind.

However, instead of sweeping past her he turned abruptly, one hand tilting her face and the other going around her waist to crush her to him in a kiss that struck like lightning, burning through all of her senses so that all her world was made up of him. She dropped her suitcase, uncaring that the old latches popped open on the impact and spilled her clothes all over the floor of the station. She didn't hear the gasps of her family, or his mother saying his name in shocked tones, just his breath against her skin and the sound of their mouths working frantically against each other as months of tension resolved themselves.

Finally he stepped back, and they stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before he smiled. "Don't forget me over the summer, Weasel."

"As if I could, Ferret."

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Dude. <33333333

The first section could really have stood on its own as a drabble and it would have been great already. (Never mind the word count min. for the moment.) However, once we got past that, I wanted to keep going and going and have it never end. <g>

You posted a bit of it before, right? Before you officially finished? The end, w/ the hot kiss? It still qualifies, I just want to make sure I'm not crazy. I love that kiss. :-*

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Yeah, the kiss you'd seen before, but I figured it could use a fic around it. Hopefully that it's only about 1450 new words doesn't change my status as rocking. ;)

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fearthainn.livejournal.com

I read it and went "I know I've read that kiss bit before...where did I read it?" I'm glad I'm not going crazy. :)

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Indeed not. The rocking status has been chiseled in. And I agree, a kiss like that definitely deserved some background story. <3!

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Here we go S/S. Ok this is my first piece of fanfic. Im not too sure if Im good at it. It's told from Wiess' POV. Also its now 4:25 in the morning. Sorry if it's terrible. Sorry, sorry, sorry :

Because it's there are a lot of people here they don't think I notice. I do. I would see it regardless of where it happened. On a street, on the backseat of a bus, in a parade. When they are together it's like a little bubble of quiet surrounds them, protecting them from what others expect them to do. Im more suprised that more people don't know what is going on. Then again they're more interested in seeing than watching.

I've spent my whole life watching.

Im not sure when I realised what was going on. Before Jack, maybe even before Syd did. There was that tension between the two of them, like taut, wet rope strung up, and every time he said something to her, it would twang. Vibrating and flicking water. Rippling around the room. It got worse when she started to ripple back.

Vaughan hates him, although to be fair, the guy does seem to steal away the women he loves. Or sleeps with at least. Or maybe loves. Who knows. Vaughan spends so much of his time alternating between wounded, beaten down dog and self-righteous anger, its hard to tell whether he even knows what the hell he feels toward others. Especially Syd. But Michael doesn't even know that Syd is with him, although looking at it from where I stand, that is probably a very, very good thing.

So I had suspected for a while, nothing tangible, just lazy grins, half-hearted snips at each other, comfortable silences, but I did get proof. I saw it the first time in Kabul, they had to get something, or take something, you know how it is, all wigs and running and accents. It was a dangerous as they always are and I saw the look he gave to her before they parted ways in some corridor, I saw it even on a grainy half-assed television monitor, but that isn't the important part. It was that she gave him the same look back.

I saw them kissing around a corner a week later. His hand was on her stomach and his other held her face. Her hands flicked at the ends of his hair at the base of his neck. They kissed each other like it was air, and as I stood and watched I saw what made it true, he held her like china. Precious and rare and delicate. And she did the same. And she knew I was looking.

The next day she told me that it was nothing. That he meant nothing, but she could fuck whoever she wanted. I told her I didn't care, that I wouldn't tell anyone but she should be careful. She lost her defensiveness, looked at me for a moment and said she didn't care enough to be careful, but her eyes were sad and her hands were clenched. I let them do what they wanted on the next mission.

Months later it became a little more obvious. Not that they weren't both very careful, and not that they didn't have experience in deception. But Syd's mother started to be around more and maybe the parallel between them and her mother and father? I don't know Im just guessing, but the thing is whatever they had stopped. Just like that. Suddenly, swiftly it ended with no one the wiser. He came in the next day the same, except his hands shook a little, and he didn't say anything rude to Vaughan, and the back of his eyes were vacant.

Syd and I went out that night and got drunk on tequila again. I had to carry her home.

Im not sure when they got back together again. Somewhere after the horrible knock-down, drag out fight that Syd and Michael had over the trustworthyness of some people. After she shot Kevin the little computer tech guy who was actually not on our side after all. Before he was captured and tortured and ended up in the hospital for two weeks. She came to see me, and asked me to find out how he was doing, she couldn't see him she explained to me in a horrible broken voice, they might be found out. When I told her later that he was going to be alright, she sagged a little against me, and her eyes swam, and I knew that it had started again.

I stayed at home and got drunk by myself this time. On vodka, not tequila.

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I took to seeing if they were obvious. They weren't. Yet, like before, if you knew what you were looking for it was easy. Of course it was different on missions. Usually it was just him, Syd and me, and I didn't really care what they did, so they took full advantage of it. When Vaughan asked what they were doing I was vague. Research. Resting. It's easier to lie when people don't expect you too. They kept it hidden, a smile here, joke there. I saw him tuck her hair behind her ear once in an empty office, and their hands would brush when they crossed paths. Apart from that...well they were good at their jobs.

It became more obvious when Sydney was captured. In all honesty I thought it would have been her who broke and gave an indication of their relationship, she's always been more...emotional than him even though she likes to think she's made of stone. I think stoic is the word she uses. He was always the one who could hide behind his eyes, except this time he couldn't. He stayed awake for 48 hours and broke my coffee cup when he threw it against the wall after Vaughan said something to him about it being his fault. He slipped a little, but only a little. He waited until everyone but me had left the room.

When we got her back, the first eyes she sought were his, and I was amazed again that no one else saw what was there. He smiled at her, even when Michael ran to hug her, and he kept smiling as he turned and walked away. He and I knew Michael didn't have a chance. Jack cornered me an twenty three minutes later and demanded to know if anything was going on. I played dumb, made a joke and wandered off. Syd found me thirteen minutes after that and thanked me for not saying anything, then she leaned in and whispered that tonight was their one year anniversary. I think she just needed someone to tell.

Nineteen days later Jack and Syd had a fierce, angry whispered arguement in the middle of the control room, they seemed incapable of containing their arguments to private, enclosed spaces. Marshall beckoned me over form where I was watching on the other side of the room with Michael, and asked me if I'd heard about what Sloane was up to. I had. I had heard that morning. It was what the fight happening that very moment was about.

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Sloane was going to do something big, something very big and they needed someone to go in and try to find out what it was. Syd volunteered herself, but they were more interested in placing someone else in Sloanes path. Someone who was seen to be expendable, someone who no one would care about. Except Sydney did care about him, and she begged him not to go. To at least take her. To let me be his aide, not Vaughan. She pleaded and asked and threatened. When she finally told him that if he did this, like this it was over, he tried to explain. If he did this, they could never doubt his loyalty. He could be with her forever. Her voice held steady, and she left without saying goodbye.

It was a Friday morning, three days later when they found out what had happened. It had, of course, been a trap. Sloane had shot him, with a tiny silver gun. When Syd found out the news, she stood still, so very still for a moment, and then she walked away. Marshall thought it because Vaughan was still on his way back, shot in the shoulder, that she was worried because of that. I found her sitting on a park bench thirty nine minutes later, and she cried hot tears into my shirt that didn't seem to end. And made tiny noises like her heart was breaking. Then she stood up and walked away, and I didn't see her for five more days.

His memorial service was nothing really, seven people, five of which didn't like him, and me and Syd. No readings, no hearfelt goodbyes. Just a burial. Afterwards she stopped me, and asked me if I would mind if she gave me something that she had written about him. She couldn't read it out loud, they were still a secret, but she wanted someone to know how she felt, and he liked me. Had liked me. Though I was funny and loyal, an alright guy. So I said yes, and she handed me a piece of paper, before walking away, tossing a "Don't forget to burn it" over her shoulder, with a tiny smile.

*

The next day she came back to work, looking the same, if you didn't know what to look for. And she did her job, and she never mentioned him again. But I kept the letter and it sits in my drawer at home, where I pull it out and look at it sometimes, and grieve for those two people who never quite made it.

Sometimes when Im not careful, when it's quiet, when he's looking at me like that, I thinks that I might be in love with him.

I not sure when it happened. Certainly not the first time I saw him, in a photograph.

Certainly not the first time I met him, she thought he was rude. Distant. Abrupt. Able to hide things.

Not the first time I kissed him. Although I did have the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen slightly, of throwing him off guard.

Not the first time he kissed me, which came out of nowhere. He kissed me in the rain, pinned me to a wall outside a store.

No Im not sure when it happened, or even if I can hold it down.

But it's there now, when it's quiet. And his eyes are hot on me.

When it's noisy, and he's arguing with me.

When he's using that cold logic which means he's angry at me.

When we kiss each other, and Im not sure who started what or when or where it will end.

Because he's so damn smart, and he sees me. He makes me feel something, even if it would be better if I felt nothing at all.

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Yay for your first fic! I'm glad something spurred you to write. Now there's no going back. :D

Oh, the story's so sad! :( But really, Sarkney ain't ever going to end happily ever after, is it?

Love this line: It got worse when she started to ripple back.

LOL @ this, and amen: the women he loves. Or sleeps with at least. Or maybe loves. Who knows.

And it's Sarkney, with Weiss POV! Love both those things. Interesting decision -- glad you went that route. There were some SPaG issues, but considering the hour of the day for you, I'm not overly concerned. Great first attempt! : ) I couldn't find an email address -- where would you like for me to send the invitation?

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