first lines
6/10/04 03:46![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schmericaI am boring! And predictable! I jump upon interesting new meme going around!
"...it might be cool to start a meme where you list all the first lines of your fics and then people write drabbles in the comments with the same first line."
Which, you know, is pretty cool. Behind the cut tag are the first lines from my due South, Firefly and Everwood stories, and my one each in Sports Night and Pirates of the Caribbean. If anyone wants to play, I'll think you're mega-nifty. Feel free to make it something other than a drabble if you participate, as well -- any length is cool.
First lines
1. The first time Ray and Stella made it, he was seventeen, she was sixteen, and her parents were gone out of town for the weekend.
2. It had been good.
3. When Ray woke up, Fraser was asleep, laying all still and precise on the bed.
4. Ray Vecchio was there to meet Fraser's plane, which was both a pleasure and a relief.
5. I wake up before the alarm can sound -- little surprise, as it has become something of a habit for me these days.
6. It would have been nice, Fraser thought, if they had managed to wait even just another day before calling to check back in.
7. Endless day of school, with the click click click of the big black clock you watch out of the corner of your eye.
8. Dear Ray, I hope this letter finds you well.
9. It's Frannie that kisses Ray, first, but it's Ray who keeps the kiss going, his hand coming up to stroke at her hair with a tenderness she doesn't expect.
10. *Zip* went Fraser's zipper, easy as you please, and
"Ah," went Fraser, all nice and breathy, and
Thump THUMP went Ray's heart, slamming all around his chest like he was running a marathon or hopped up on coke or something.
11. When Fraser and Dief walked in the door, Ray was sitting in front of the fire, writing a letter.
12. This morning in your car, as you drove us to the station, we stopped at a red light.
13. When she was eight years old, Dief got sick.
14. Simon was thirteen the first time he went offworld.
15. Simon awoke at the rasped whisper of his name.
16. The first thing Mal noticed in the morning -- before he even checked for his gun, or made sure all his equipment was working properly -- no, the very first thing he noticed at all was the crazy girl in his bed.
17. In the morning when River wakes up there's blood in her bed.
18. When she finally won, it came as a surprise, even to her.
19. The baby is growing up lovely.
20. It was about two weeks afer Kaylee joined the crew of Serenity when Mal came in to talk to her.
21. River is on a bed, in a room.
22. The first time it happened, I thought I was going nuts.
23. "So the one dude just starts, like, *whaling* on the other dude, right?"
24. There have been more than a few times since he moved to Everwood when Ephram's had the weird feeling that he's wandered into an alternate dimension.
25. It was after Elizabeth lost the second baby that Will began to notice a change.
26. L.A. isn't like Dan thought it would be.
"...it might be cool to start a meme where you list all the first lines of your fics and then people write drabbles in the comments with the same first line."
Which, you know, is pretty cool. Behind the cut tag are the first lines from my due South, Firefly and Everwood stories, and my one each in Sports Night and Pirates of the Caribbean. If anyone wants to play, I'll think you're mega-nifty. Feel free to make it something other than a drabble if you participate, as well -- any length is cool.
First lines
1. The first time Ray and Stella made it, he was seventeen, she was sixteen, and her parents were gone out of town for the weekend.
2. It had been good.
3. When Ray woke up, Fraser was asleep, laying all still and precise on the bed.
4. Ray Vecchio was there to meet Fraser's plane, which was both a pleasure and a relief.
5. I wake up before the alarm can sound -- little surprise, as it has become something of a habit for me these days.
6. It would have been nice, Fraser thought, if they had managed to wait even just another day before calling to check back in.
7. Endless day of school, with the click click click of the big black clock you watch out of the corner of your eye.
8. Dear Ray, I hope this letter finds you well.
9. It's Frannie that kisses Ray, first, but it's Ray who keeps the kiss going, his hand coming up to stroke at her hair with a tenderness she doesn't expect.
10. *Zip* went Fraser's zipper, easy as you please, and
"Ah," went Fraser, all nice and breathy, and
Thump THUMP went Ray's heart, slamming all around his chest like he was running a marathon or hopped up on coke or something.
11. When Fraser and Dief walked in the door, Ray was sitting in front of the fire, writing a letter.
12. This morning in your car, as you drove us to the station, we stopped at a red light.
13. When she was eight years old, Dief got sick.
14. Simon was thirteen the first time he went offworld.
15. Simon awoke at the rasped whisper of his name.
16. The first thing Mal noticed in the morning -- before he even checked for his gun, or made sure all his equipment was working properly -- no, the very first thing he noticed at all was the crazy girl in his bed.
17. In the morning when River wakes up there's blood in her bed.
18. When she finally won, it came as a surprise, even to her.
19. The baby is growing up lovely.
20. It was about two weeks afer Kaylee joined the crew of Serenity when Mal came in to talk to her.
21. River is on a bed, in a room.
22. The first time it happened, I thought I was going nuts.
23. "So the one dude just starts, like, *whaling* on the other dude, right?"
24. There have been more than a few times since he moved to Everwood when Ephram's had the weird feeling that he's wandered into an alternate dimension.
25. It was after Elizabeth lost the second baby that Will began to notice a change.
26. L.A. isn't like Dan thought it would be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Due South - actual drabble
6/10/04 05:23 (UTC)But there they were -- still sticking out of the raggedly torn envelope -- a pair of tickets to Rio, deluxe hotel accomodations included. (Thank you, WLIT-FM!)
Frannie tapped a magenta fingernail against her teeth and planned. Call Ma, explain, work out a babysitting schedule. Ma loved having the kids to stay. Marshall Field's, definitely, for a swimsuit and some new summer clothes. Bookstore, for a travel guide. And the station.
She was pretty sure Kowalski would jump at the chance to come along.
(no subject)
6/10/04 06:02 (UTC)When she'd went away to study to be a Companion, nothing more than a dusty little farming girl with tangled hair, Inara had thought that she'd be like Laura. Which was what she'd wanted, all along, ever since she'd fallen in love with Laura when she was just a little girl.
Inara would learn the manners, the rituals, the same lovely slow rhythmic cadence of speech, of movement, and she'd make her family proud of her. And then, when she'd made enough money, she'd buy a nice little house on a green planet, Laura by her side... she'd finally get the life that her mother had always dreamed for her baby girl. Well, she did learn how to act, how to dress, how to speak... and, for a time, she was happy. But then, Laura left her, got married, and Inara was alone. She'd cried herself to sleep for weeks, until something in her died.
That thing in her had stayed dead until she found Serenity. Until she spent night after night in her tiny shuttle, dressed with silks and perfume, with Kaylee in front of her, brushing the girl's lovely hair. Kaylee, who might have been who Inara had turned out to be, if she'd not chosen to became a companion. Bright, smiling, bubbly Kaylee, who never failed to bring a smile to Inara's face, and joy to her heart. Pretty little Kaylee, who had finally brought that part of Inara that was dead, back to life.
Her sweet Kaylee, who even now, slept beside her in their bed. Inara smiled into the darkness, her hand slipping lightly over the fall of Kaylee's hair, spread out over both their pillows. Yes, she'd finally won, and she was happy.
(no subject)
6/10/04 06:31 (UTC)It had been good.
It had been, and then it wasn't, because in high school nothing could be good for long without something going horribly wrong.
It had seemed good, at the time. Limbs tangled with limbs, heavy breathing and smiling and sometimes even letting go enough to moan.
But then rolling over, and the little comments, and the knowledge, suddenly, that this wasn't going to work out.
Because it was one thing to be Gretchen Weiners, heir to the toaster strudel empire.
But it was a whole other thing to be Cady Heron, the most popular girl in school.
I wake up before the alarm can sound -- little surprise, as it has become something of a habit for me these days.
There's too much stress to sleep.
With everything that's happened, from my Plastification to Regina's accident, I'm constantly on display at school. And that's been keeping me awake, from the time I try to go to bed to the minutes before my alarm explodes.
I have school today.
I have to see Regina.
Well, that's... swell.
I roll over and see if maybe oversleeping can take me by surprise.
It never does. But I can dream, right?
Endless day of school, with the click click click of the big black clock you watch out of the corner of your eye.
Karen doesn’t like much about school at all, really; only what happens after it's over. And Regina only likes what happens in the halls.
Gretchen likes class. She likes learning stuff. It goes into this little stockpile of Stuff Regina Doesn't Know. Stuff she can use later, maybe.
But Gretchen's not supposed to like class. So she doesn't pay attention to the lecture on Julius Caesar.
She just focuses on the big black clock.
Click. Click. Click.
When she finally won, it came as a surprise, even to her.
Cady was aware that she wasn't supposed to win, because that wasn't how games like this worked.
Because, well, people didn't get hit with buses, for one thing.
But more to the point, people like her weren't who won these things. In the months since she'd decided to overthrow Regina, she'd watched every teen movies TBS could throw at her.
Exchange students didn't win. They got sent back to wherever they came from.
But. She'd won. She'd beaten Regina.
And no one was as surprised as she was.
And now I get ready for class, so I stop.
*hugs*
Re: Due South - actual drabble
6/10/04 08:41 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 08:41 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 08:42 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 10:41 (UTC)Endless days of school, with the click click click of the big black clock you watch out of the corner of your eye. (http://www.livejournal.com/users/nightchik/3026.html)
(no subject)
6/10/04 11:58 (UTC)And, typically, it had happened in a men's bathroom in a dive bar with a guy who didn't even speak English, and sure as hell wasn't who Ray had wanted him to be. Even if he was a *dead ringer* for Fraser, this guy was definitely *not* Fraser, but Ray'd managed to forget that long enough to orgasm himself into practically a coma.
First times are usually awkward fucks, and Ray's never done this before -- this fuck a total stranger thing -- but he figures that generally those are maybe the most awkward first times of all. Because that one fuck is first time, last time, a whole relationship between the space of time it takes you to unzip and then re-zip.
But from the first touch, it'd had been good. It had been phenomenal -- a real, honest to god, out of body experience, because this guy, this fucking Fraser-clone, reached out, and grabbed Ray's hand, and then their eyes met, and then they were naked and the door behind them was locked, and this guy wasn't shy about where he put his tongue and his hands (Fraser's hands, so much like Fraser's hands) were damned good at what they did. Ray had wanted to suck his cock, Ray wanted to suck cock, Ray wanted to suck *Fraser's* cock so bad, but this guy wasn't Fraser, so he didn't.
But this guy was good. It had been *good*. Ray keeps thinking that. He can't stop, for some reason, and it's been weeks. Long, hard weeks -- and Ray's so horny he's even thinking in double entendre.
And he keeps looking at Fraser, and thinking, "What if I?" but he doesn't, because Fraser's not that guy, and that guy wasn't Fraser.
Ray hasn't gone back to that bar, either. Because, good as the sex was? Ray doesn't think he could handle it again, the day after at work. When Fraser walked in, cheerful as you please, sat down across from Ray, and Ray kept thinking, "We did it! We did it last night!" except they hadn't. And the day would go on, and Ray would shift in his seat, sore from banging against a wall coz he's not seventeen anymore, and Fraser wouldn't know why. Fraser would look at him, and not see what Ray saw, which was the two of them (or close enough, anyway) sweating and naked and clinging onto one another in a hot, messy, dirty fuck. Fraser just saw Mountie and Cop, partners buddies.
Far as Ray's concerned, there isn't any sex in the world worth that morning after.
It had been good, though.
(no subject)
6/10/04 13:10 (UTC)I tried four or five different times, and I'm still not thrilled with what I ended up with.
My humble apologies... 120 words of River.
***
River is on a bed, in a room.
It always starts this way. She even has a little song she sings, because she knows it scares them.
They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re here. Two by two, hands of blue.
But this time it’s different. This time, it’s Simon, and Simon will never hurt her. He gathers her in his arms and whispers in her ear, it’s going to be all right. She’s going to be all right. She lets him think she believes the lies, because he needs to. He needs to believe he can fix her, and she needs to believe he wants to.
He’s still there when she wakes, and she knows this time it’s not a dream.
(no subject)
6/10/04 13:49 (UTC)This morning in your car, as you drove us to the station, we stopped at a red light. A little girl screamed, and I jumped out of the car. All I could think was, "A little girl is screaming, and I will save her this time." You yelled at me, but I didn't hear you, and cars honked at me, but I didn't hear them, and I hopped a fence and went down an alley to find her. When I got there, she was giggling, laughing and smiling, and her friend had been tickling her. I don't know how I heard her from the street. They looked at me with curiosity and a little fear, a panting man in a suit and tie barging into their games, and I mumbled something and fled. When I came back to the car you were standing there, the car slightly over the curb. You looked at me with pity and sympathy, but I can't take that, so I looked away. You already know that I will see her, that dead little girl I couldn't save, in everything I do. There's no need to explain.
[Homicide: Life on the Streets. Tim Bayliss.]
(no subject)
6/10/04 14:12 (UTC)Because, you know. I have strange ideas of fun.
But, oooh! I don't care if you're not thrilled, yo, because River! And Simon! Yay!
(no subject)
6/10/04 14:13 (UTC)*loves on you like whoa*
(no subject)
6/10/04 14:15 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 14:18 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 14:48 (UTC)But then they're both staring up at the stars, so many of them, like another kind of alternate dimension and Bright leans over and kisses Ephram. And Ephram thinks Bright probably knew that all along, too. It's definitely nefarious.
(no subject)
6/10/04 14:53 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 14:55 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 14:58 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 15:33 (UTC)I hope this letter finds you well. I understand that we will be working together this afternoon on the Hughes case, so a written missive may seem gratuitous, since surely we could talk about whatever it is I wish to say. However, I am afraid that, should I ask you this in person, it would put you in an awkward position. Hence, the written word, while still difficult, is preferable.
Ray, there is a circumstance -- a situation -- developing, and it no longer seems fair to keep you in the dark about it. I must proceed -- or not -- with caution, but I must proceed. Or not. I assure you, Ray, nothing is immutable. If the situation discomforts you, I'm certain that steps can be taken to remedy it and return the state of affairs to its pre-situation situation.
Oh dear. Perhaps I should speak plainly.
Ever since you took asylum at the Consulate, I've been bereft. The nights here are long and empty, and too quiet. Diefenbaker provides some relief, but frankly his point of view is rather lupine. I miss your company, Ray. We see each other amidst the clutter of the day, this city pressing in against us with its crowds and noise and smells and reflective buildings, but we rarely spend time together alone and, well, I am sorry for that. I'm not entirely certain of your feelings on this matter -- you have your own life to lead, after all -- but I wonder whether you would consider the possibility of sharing an apartment with me. As room-mates. This would be quite economical, of course, and have a number of other advantages, not the least being that I am a competent cook and am even able to make green vegetables palatable, I believe. However, this suggestion may not suit your plans or desires, or you may not wish to suffer my constant presence. If that is that case, I will quite understand.
That is not all, but perhaps it is enough.
Diefenbaker sends his regards.
Yours,
B. Fraser
(no subject)
6/10/04 15:54 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 15:58 (UTC)"Who was it?" mumbled Ray from where he was burrowed deep into the quilt. Fraser could only see sticky-up blond hair and the top of one ear. He wanted very much to lick that ear.
"Huey."
"What did he -- " Ray stops. A bit more of his head appears out of the quilt. He is eyeing Fraser.
"Primarily to know what I was doing answering your phone at four a.m."
"Oh."
"Indeed." A short silence while Ray digests the news. Then:
"Fraser," says Ray, "It's cold. My head is cold."
"Get back under the blankets, then." In fact it is cold, but just bracingly so. Ray can be such a baby about the cold.
"Fraser," says Ray. "I might have hypothermia."
"Don't be silly, Ray. Hypothermia only occurs under such conditions as -- "
"Fraser." There is infinite patience in that voice. "Get in here with me."
Fraser smiles. And does.
(no subject)
6/10/04 16:16 (UTC)Ohhh, it was really good. *g*
(no subject)
6/10/04 16:43 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 17:03 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 17:04 (UTC)A short silence while Ray digests the news. Then:
"Fraser," says Ray, "It's cold. My head is cold."
Hee.
(no subject)
6/10/04 17:15 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 18:43 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 19:18 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 19:23 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 19:28 (UTC)"Dear Ray and Ben, I hope that you are both doing well and enjoying Canada. Did you finally manage to get everything unpacked?" Frannie bit her lip, wondering if funny was really the way to go. A deep breath, and then she tossed the paper aside.
"Dear Ray and Ben, I don't really know what to say in this letter, so I'll say this: I wish you both the best of luck in Canada, and I know that everything will work out for you just wonderfully. After all, you have each other. Good luck, and lots of love. Congrats on the wedding. Love, Frannie."
She smiled, nodding her head. Yes, that was perfect. There was no reason to be all complicated and formal. These men were her friends, and she loved them both dearly. As long as they were happy, well, then, she'd be fine. After all, hadn't she known something was going on, even back before the two of them had? What she'd felt for Fraser had been nothing more than a schoolgirl crush, and she'd known it, even when she'd been throwing herself at the poor man. But, crush or not, Frannie couldn't be angry with Fraser for falling in love and finding happiness. She was glad for that at least. Ray would never let anything happen to Fraser.
And she knew, deep down, that Ray and Fraser would be happy together. After all, as much as she fought it, Frannie was a romantic at heart, and true love truimphing... well, it didn't get anymore romantic than that, did it?
(no subject)
6/10/04 19:29 (UTC)(no subject)
6/10/04 22:01 (UTC)*****
When Ray woke up, Fraser was asleep, laying all still and precise on the bed. Typical, Ray thought, unfolding his creaky-kneed self from the “comfortable” chair in the corner and wincing as various joints reminded him he’d passed 40 a while back. Even bandaged and taped, Fraser was carefully tidy; even injured, he was so self-contained it practically hurt to look at him, unless you knew where to look to find what lay under the stillness.
Ray cracked his neck hard, left and then right, the noise amazingly loud in the early-morning silence of the ward. Funny, he hadn’t had that habit before Fraser and his backpack walked into the 2-7 bullpen all those years ago. Then again, before that day he hadn’t had a lot of things – wolf hair on his upholstery, encyclopedic secondhand knowledge of First Nations legends, a leather fetish, the biggest queen-sized bed in Chicago. Not to mention a lover who was also a partner and a nutcase and, let’s not forget, fucking addicted to danger. Though you’d never guess that last part from looking at him lying there now, weirdly quiet for Fraser and all scraped up like a kid who couldn’t quite get the hang of his first bike. Knees, forehead, elbows – and the cracked ribs for extra, courtesy of the stumble into the wall he’d taken when the stairs had gone out from under him there at the very end.
And one small burn, right along the top of his cheekbone.
It was the burn that did Ray in, that sent him to those creaky knees by the side of Fraser’s hospital bed like someone in a film he wouldn’t have let Fraser drag him to on a bet. He’d always figured losing it like that was something people did for the effect, to make themselves look good in some weird chief-mourner way. He hadn’t known that sometimes losing it like that happened without the person’s permission, happened because the person suddenly figured out that the incredible good luck staring them in the face could so easily have been something different and much, much worse, and that at times like that staying upright stopped being all that important and just breathing more or less took over. Times like now.
Ray’s breath hitched a little, but he got it under control, there by the side of Fraser’s bed, close enough to hear Fraser breathe in and out, a little raspy but mostly fine. After a while he realized he was breathing when Fraser did, which he thought was kind of sappy but who cared, really. And a while after that Fraser’s breathing changed, just a little, and the hand with the IV in it lifted and came down with gentle precision on Ray’s hair. Ray’s breath hitched again, and then they were both still, together.
(no subject)
7/10/04 09:15 (UTC)That would not surprise me at all.
Anyhow, I'm very happy you liked it. *g*
(no subject)
7/10/04 11:32 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 12:22 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 12:22 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 12:29 (UTC)It was nice to write, actually - much more so than the comment fic I wrote for
(no subject)
7/10/04 12:34 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 13:17 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 13:32 (UTC)He gasped, and reached for the light next to his bunk, starting when he saw River crouching at the foot of his bed, like the ghosts of that shadow play years ago, her head dipped low and her eyes eerily wide.
"Simon..." she whispered again, just before reaching for his throat.
(no subject)
7/10/04 14:08 (UTC)(no subject)
7/10/04 14:09 (UTC)Re: Due South - actual drabble
8/10/04 04:59 (UTC)(no subject)
10/10/04 13:31 (UTC)*
"So the one dude just starts, like, *whaling* on the other dude, right?" the self-consciously fabulous kid in the transparent blue shirt says to the kid that, in simpler times, might have been called a gym bunny.
It's not even that George is getting too old for the L.A. gay scene; it's that he's already too old. He overhears their conversations, and he's almost relieved that he doesn't understand a word they're saying. In L.A., a gay man over 30 is a gift nobody wants, unless he has a net worth over ten million. Once in a while, someone will start to look interested, but he'll stop as soon as George admits he works in child care, not television.
One Saturday a month, he sets aside for Sarah, as if he had something better to do the rest of the time. He remembers when he wouldn't have been able to imagine choosing a quiet night with cable and a toddler over an evening of club-hopping.
Sometimes, he sees that change straining Kevin, too: the responsibility holding him down while the boredom beats him up. George would give up all his Saturday nights, happily, if he knew Kevin would be there. Even if all he got to do was gaze. No man that beautiful wants to have sex with George, gay or straight. But when George is with Kevin, he doesn't find himself constantly wishing that Kevin would shut up, which gives a clear advantage to the straight guy.
George leaves a tip and escapes from the bar. Despite the noise of traffic, the world seems that much quieter now that nobody is saying "dude." He gets in his car and drives toward Kevin's apartment complex. He will offer himself up for babysitting, or company, or whatever Kevin is willing to give.
(no subject)
5/11/04 09:26 (UTC)He hadn’t known that sometimes losing it like that happened without the person’s permission, happened because the person suddenly figured out that the incredible good luck staring them in the face could so easily have been something different and much, much worse, and that at times like that staying upright stopped being all that important and just breathing more or less took over. Times like now.