i_am_tl_dr: (gunplay)
Title: Everybody Sees the Wind Blow
Character: Dewey Ceinion
Rating: PG
Word count: 461
Notes: [livejournal.com profile] itsproductivity 4/14: losing love is like a window in your heart (Paul Simon, "Graceland")


Dry heat, he can take. Even the sweltering sweaty days, humidity dripping down his spine, those can be bearable. But it's the wind that gets him, hot driving wind with sand coming in, that gritty feeling in his mouth and the sting of sand on his eyelids, wind that steals away every breath.

hard wind blowing )
i_am_tl_dr: (gunplay)
Title: Therapy for Tips
Character: Dewey Ceinion
Rating: PG
Word count: 535
Notes: [livejournal.com profile] itsproductivity 4/5: Write about eating a meal.


Dewey has been in Las Vegas for ten months and three weeks. He has eaten from every single fast food joint in the city, and most of the affordable restaurants; he has a stack of delivery menus as tall as his hamsters' cage piled in his kitchen, and he's circled his usual on each one.

Even when he hardly tastes the food for exhaustion, or haste, or simply not wanting to eat but having to if he's not going to collapse, he goes for variety-- no same place twice, even if he picks the same things off near-identical menus. Chicken calzones, beef and broccoli, samosas and chicken tikka, meatball subs. The good places get pinned to the fridge with bare magnets, plain black disks; the bad ones go into the trash with the bag and the cartons. He has yet to go through the stack in its entirety, and there are new menus added to the stack weekly.

not a healthy eater. )
i_am_tl_dr: (tl;dr)
[livejournal.com profile] itsproductivity, January 23, 24 and 28.


You were the first one I loved.

Sure, maybe we were only six at the time, and to me love meant sharing nicely during play time and agreeing to use the seesaw together and not let each other fall, but isn't that a pretty solid basis for love even later in life? You were the first one I loved, and the first one I could share with and support. I didn't even share with my cousins like that. I couldn't trust my own brother on a seesaw, and I had the scars to prove it, but you didn't hurt me.

I slipped away from class every day, too smart for the A-B-Cs, and I sat tiny and brave in with the second graders while you and everyone else puzzled through 'cat' and 'hand', and when you're six years old no one knows hate well enough to hold that against you. When I was six, I was cool because I was smart.

When I was seven, I was in a new school, the one that picked the smart kids out of other schools in the city. By the time I was eight, I hardly remembered my kindergarten friends, too busy with new ones, and no one ever teased me again about my little Asian boyfriend with the name of a kitchen spice. I heard you moved to Canada, to England, to Texas; I heard that you never left New Bedford. We never really said goodbye, because who thinks that summer vacation means goodbye? It's see-you-later, even kindergardeners know that.

You were the first one I loved, Basil, and everyone knew it. You were the first one I left, all wide-eyed and ready for a new adventure, and moved on from sharing and playing nice to chasing scared boys around to threaten them with kisses. It didn't take long for affection to become a weapon, for closeness to be used in all the wrong ways, for the lack of spice in my life to turn bitter from blandness.

When I was little, I thought that a house with a library room, a big yard, a dog and a pool and someone to love were as good as it got, the image my parents set out for me an unsurpassable ideal. When I was little, all I needed to fly was a swingset, or a seesaw, and someone to help me into the air.

I've lowered my standards since I was a kid. I can settle for an apartment, a bookshelf, a window flower box and a bathtub, a cat for company. I'm scared of flying, too big for swings, traumatized from being let fall from seesaws too many times, too scared to let anyone try and help me up. I look back on where I've been, everyone I don't know any more, and I try to convince myself that sometimes it's good not to dream too much, not to care.

I don't know what you're reaching for any more, Basil. I just hope that you've let yourself flourish. I hope you still trust people to balance you out, still believe in see-you-later and not goodbye. I hope you're happy. And I hope that if your parents made you get braces like mine did, that you actually wore your retainer like I didn't, because even with baby teeth you had a beautiful smile.
i_am_tl_dr: (fucked)
Title: Finding Common Ground
Characters: Doug Walker, Eugene Ziegler
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3800
Notes: Combining two prompts for [livejournal.com profile] itsproductivity: January 6 (you're standing in the doorway) and January 11 (you're in a motel room). Second-person perspective, which sometimes I get the urge to write. Doug Walker again, this time back to his actual age.


You've been lonely for so long, it seems normal. Love is a faint memory that flits occasionally through your dreams and lasts as a dull, empty ache you've pushed to the lowest part of your mind, a space you try to bury under medication and forced optimism. You do a good job of it, too-- your students would never guess what's going on, and your friends, the few you have, only know if you tell them, and they've each got their own problems. Still, the ache sharpens more these days-- you're ten months away from fifty, your eyesight's deteriorating and your hair's gone grey, you're nobody's catch even if you played the market.

and your friends are all yentas )
i_am_tl_dr: (fucked)
Title: Play Again, Get Lucky
Character: Warren Clement.
Rating: G
Word count: 761
Summary: Okay, I haven't slept, and I have this poor guy sitting around in my head for the past two weeks waiting for something to happen. So: sort of an introduction to a man on the go.
Notes: For [livejournal.com profile] itsproductivity, prompt January 3: Write about a person who wins something he or she does not want.

Warren's a lucky enough guy. Considering all the driving he does and the fact that he's never been in an accident, he counts that as incredibly lucky on its own; he sticks his name in for raffles and sweepstakes and guess-how-many-jellybeans-in-this-jars, and he's won more than a few times-- nothing big, but hey, free jellybeans, or movie passes, or crazy promotional stuff. He's learned a lot of things since he's been on his own, and one of those things is that free stuff is good.

but that doesn't include stolen stuff. he's a good, upright citizen. )

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