What I wrote for the First Lines Meme
May. 11th, 2007 10:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
browngirlI wrote these all into comment boxes, and have resisted the urge to edit since, and argh. But anyway. Let me post them before something else prevents me from doing so. And you should click through and find the links to these memes on people's journals, and read the spectacular results from others.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glossing: In a Gotham minute, PG.
One minute, everything's normal. People rush through grimy streets, flakes of snow sink into muddy slush. A normal, dreary Gotham afternoon, and Jen hunches her shoulders inside her jacket, looking forward to reaching home.
A siren, a bang, a bright flash blinding her; she slips, and a big arm scoops her up, a loud voice shouts in her ear, something cold and round dents her temple, and she's shaking, kicking, can't breathe---
She hits the pavement, a meaty 'thwock' and a whisk of heavy cloth over her head, and her eyes're still fuzzy but a fast-moving blur of red-yellow-green rises up out of sight, just as several cops arrive.
They lift her to her feet and roll over the big guy laid out in the slush. Jen blinks, shivering, and laughs with hot tears rolling down her cheeks. In a Gotham minute.
Forpetronelle, Batman needs a Robin. PG.
[typed directly into comment box, way long because I don't have time to make it shorter.]
The only good thing about being Batman is getting to work with Robin a lot. Dick knows he deserves everyone's resentment, and he is honestly proud of Tim for becoming Nightwing, and he shouldn't miss the Other Bruce, the Other Babs, the other universe so badly.
And if he'd been here maybe his Bruce still would be. A raindrop rolls off his nose, as if to punctuate the thought.
These days, Tim looks at him the way Babs had right after she dumped him. Dick has no idea how Babs would look at him--- he hasn't actually seen her since he got back. Or heard her, just Oracle. Even Alfred is being so chilly liquid nitrogen should be condensing off him. The only person who's not still mad at Dick is---
"Still brooding, Bossman?" Steph --- Robin --- walks balance-beam style along the raised spine of the gargoyle, her hair still fluffy even in the rain, her cape lining bright around her. "O says there's a sitch at Wellington and Fifteenth, armed robbery, maybe hostages." She flips down, spinning in midair, and sticks the landing on the ledge. "C'mon, let's go break some heads."
"Let's go help people," Dick reminds her, because he's Batman.
She just grins, wide and bright even in the rain. "That too," she says, and leaps, and Dick watches her fall for a moment, flaring colors against the darkness, before he makes his own leap. At least he gets to work with Robin.
Forsister_wolf: Interspecies relations. PG-13.
[typed directly into comment box, likely sucks, voice is *terrible*, this would be better as fanart] [ETA AND I change tense amidships. I apologize for my ineptitude!]
Wally looked at the alien octopus. There wasn't much else to look at in the windowless room-- chamber-- whatever, considering its tentacles were curled all around him, his arms and legs and his waist. The octopus itself, especially its main-- central-- its body, was covered in slowly rippling patterns of pink and cream, which pulsed gently under Wally's cheek as they streamed by. If it had a nose it would probably be snoring contentedly. A nose, and lungs, and anything like human anatomy.
Speaking of anatomy, Wally isn't really sore anymore. Anymore. The coils of tentacles around him are loose, shifting exactly like the way a person sleeping next to him might cuddle him, but every time he's tried to move they tighten, holding him still. It took a surprising amount of speed to get one hand free.
When he vibrates, the ripple-patterns just get brighter and faster for a minute, before fading again.
Wally is stuck here, cuddling an alien octopus in the afterglow. On the other hand, he had a really good time, and so did the octopus, as far as he could tell. And on the third... tentacle, well... this is kind of comfy. If weird. But comfy.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes with his free hand, closes them, and grins.
Forjubilancy: The Top Ten story I've been wanting to write since I read the graphic novel. PG-13.
Glenn was dancing faster than light, hearing faster than sound, and he could see the stitching in everyone's costumes. There was nothing but this, breath and music and bodies moving all around him: not Scorchy's red eyes or Sun Woman's cold smile, not Kingfisher's pathetic apologies or the bite of the Hound's whips. The singer whooped the lyrics and Glenn howled from his core outwards, everything he hadn't said, all the noise he couldn't make, all the times he hadn't left.
He fell to his knees in the surging crowd, still swaying and twitching, colored lights flashing around his head. Music and mongoose blood. Finally, a way out.
Formiakun: Odd and even Robins. PG.
"What was that?"
"That?" Jason turns a cartwheel along the parapet. "That was a picture-perfect example of an ass-kicking."
"I meant, before the ass-kicking." Dick folds his arms. He wants to smile along with Jason's grin, to high-five him and slap his back. But those aren't freckles on his nose, they're spatters of blood, and Dick would rather not deal with Bruce if he doesn't bring Jason back in one piece. "The bit where you didn't even look before you leaped, as it were."
Jason spreads his legs a little wider, folding his arms to match Dick's, scowling as . "I looked, long enough to see the size of that thug compared to the lady."
"Did you even check to see if he had backup?" It's like lecturing Beast Boy or Terra, complete with the pout and the frown. Dick doesn't sigh, and takes another breath---
--which huffs out in surprise when Jason grins again, turning his head a little, looking sideways. Dick pictures him without his mask, glancing through his long eyelashes. "Nah, I knew I had backup."
Dick can't help smiling at that. Jason smirks, and yells loud enough to echo off the buildings as he jumps, and Dick gives up on the scolding and laughs as he follows.
Bonus forpetronelle: Robin and her Batman. Probably a sequel to the second. R.
"Whoa," Steph says. Dick snickers warmly over her forehead, and thrusts a little harder without shifting either of them an inch. He moves ways normal people can't, he's got joints other people don't. He has to. Because Steph's sure she couldn't figure out, even if she weren't riding his fingers and hoarse from screaming and arched back over a gargoyle, how else he can hold her up and keep himself from falling off-- off-- oh, she thinks, and maybe shouts, and she's coming again with Dick's bare fingers pushing inside her and his teeth just perfectly denting her ear and his cape thick and black as the night over them. She grits her teeth and groans and squeezes until he breathes, until his chuckle opens out into a moan buzzing through her nibbled ear, until his gauntleted hand tightens just that last bit on her breast. She bucks, and there and she comes again, thrashing and shaking between Dick's armored body and the rounded back of the gargoyle, a foot of stone between her and a fifty-foot drop.
Steph gasps and blinks, sparks flying across her vision, the only difference between open and closed eyes the rain on her lenses. Dick kisses her ear, and her cheek, and her jaw, somehow still pressing her just tightly enough against the gargoyle that she knows there's no chance she'll fall. Because Batman's got her. Because Dick's holding her up. After all, she stopped holding onto anything but him after the second time he kissed her.
For
glossing: In a Gotham minute, PG. One minute, everything's normal. People rush through grimy streets, flakes of snow sink into muddy slush. A normal, dreary Gotham afternoon, and Jen hunches her shoulders inside her jacket, looking forward to reaching home.
A siren, a bang, a bright flash blinding her; she slips, and a big arm scoops her up, a loud voice shouts in her ear, something cold and round dents her temple, and she's shaking, kicking, can't breathe---
She hits the pavement, a meaty 'thwock' and a whisk of heavy cloth over her head, and her eyes're still fuzzy but a fast-moving blur of red-yellow-green rises up out of sight, just as several cops arrive.
They lift her to her feet and roll over the big guy laid out in the slush. Jen blinks, shivering, and laughs with hot tears rolling down her cheeks. In a Gotham minute.
For
petronelle, Batman needs a Robin. PG. [typed directly into comment box, way long because I don't have time to make it shorter.]
The only good thing about being Batman is getting to work with Robin a lot. Dick knows he deserves everyone's resentment, and he is honestly proud of Tim for becoming Nightwing, and he shouldn't miss the Other Bruce, the Other Babs, the other universe so badly.
And if he'd been here maybe his Bruce still would be. A raindrop rolls off his nose, as if to punctuate the thought.
These days, Tim looks at him the way Babs had right after she dumped him. Dick has no idea how Babs would look at him--- he hasn't actually seen her since he got back. Or heard her, just Oracle. Even Alfred is being so chilly liquid nitrogen should be condensing off him. The only person who's not still mad at Dick is---
"Still brooding, Bossman?" Steph --- Robin --- walks balance-beam style along the raised spine of the gargoyle, her hair still fluffy even in the rain, her cape lining bright around her. "O says there's a sitch at Wellington and Fifteenth, armed robbery, maybe hostages." She flips down, spinning in midair, and sticks the landing on the ledge. "C'mon, let's go break some heads."
"Let's go help people," Dick reminds her, because he's Batman.
She just grins, wide and bright even in the rain. "That too," she says, and leaps, and Dick watches her fall for a moment, flaring colors against the darkness, before he makes his own leap. At least he gets to work with Robin.
For
sister_wolf: Interspecies relations. PG-13. [typed directly into comment box, likely sucks, voice is *terrible*, this would be better as fanart] [ETA AND I change tense amidships. I apologize for my ineptitude!]
Wally looked at the alien octopus. There wasn't much else to look at in the windowless room-- chamber-- whatever, considering its tentacles were curled all around him, his arms and legs and his waist. The octopus itself, especially its main-- central-- its body, was covered in slowly rippling patterns of pink and cream, which pulsed gently under Wally's cheek as they streamed by. If it had a nose it would probably be snoring contentedly. A nose, and lungs, and anything like human anatomy.
Speaking of anatomy, Wally isn't really sore anymore. Anymore. The coils of tentacles around him are loose, shifting exactly like the way a person sleeping next to him might cuddle him, but every time he's tried to move they tighten, holding him still. It took a surprising amount of speed to get one hand free.
When he vibrates, the ripple-patterns just get brighter and faster for a minute, before fading again.
Wally is stuck here, cuddling an alien octopus in the afterglow. On the other hand, he had a really good time, and so did the octopus, as far as he could tell. And on the third... tentacle, well... this is kind of comfy. If weird. But comfy.
He pushes his hair out of his eyes with his free hand, closes them, and grins.
For
jubilancy: The Top Ten story I've been wanting to write since I read the graphic novel. PG-13. Glenn was dancing faster than light, hearing faster than sound, and he could see the stitching in everyone's costumes. There was nothing but this, breath and music and bodies moving all around him: not Scorchy's red eyes or Sun Woman's cold smile, not Kingfisher's pathetic apologies or the bite of the Hound's whips. The singer whooped the lyrics and Glenn howled from his core outwards, everything he hadn't said, all the noise he couldn't make, all the times he hadn't left.
He fell to his knees in the surging crowd, still swaying and twitching, colored lights flashing around his head. Music and mongoose blood. Finally, a way out.
For
miakun: Odd and even Robins. PG. "What was that?"
"That?" Jason turns a cartwheel along the parapet. "That was a picture-perfect example of an ass-kicking."
"I meant, before the ass-kicking." Dick folds his arms. He wants to smile along with Jason's grin, to high-five him and slap his back. But those aren't freckles on his nose, they're spatters of blood, and Dick would rather not deal with Bruce if he doesn't bring Jason back in one piece. "The bit where you didn't even look before you leaped, as it were."
Jason spreads his legs a little wider, folding his arms to match Dick's, scowling as . "I looked, long enough to see the size of that thug compared to the lady."
"Did you even check to see if he had backup?" It's like lecturing Beast Boy or Terra, complete with the pout and the frown. Dick doesn't sigh, and takes another breath---
--which huffs out in surprise when Jason grins again, turning his head a little, looking sideways. Dick pictures him without his mask, glancing through his long eyelashes. "Nah, I knew I had backup."
Dick can't help smiling at that. Jason smirks, and yells loud enough to echo off the buildings as he jumps, and Dick gives up on the scolding and laughs as he follows.
Bonus for
petronelle: Robin and her Batman. Probably a sequel to the second. R. "Whoa," Steph says. Dick snickers warmly over her forehead, and thrusts a little harder without shifting either of them an inch. He moves ways normal people can't, he's got joints other people don't. He has to. Because Steph's sure she couldn't figure out, even if she weren't riding his fingers and hoarse from screaming and arched back over a gargoyle, how else he can hold her up and keep himself from falling off-- off-- oh, she thinks, and maybe shouts, and she's coming again with Dick's bare fingers pushing inside her and his teeth just perfectly denting her ear and his cape thick and black as the night over them. She grits her teeth and groans and squeezes until he breathes, until his chuckle opens out into a moan buzzing through her nibbled ear, until his gauntleted hand tightens just that last bit on her breast. She bucks, and there and she comes again, thrashing and shaking between Dick's armored body and the rounded back of the gargoyle, a foot of stone between her and a fifty-foot drop.
Steph gasps and blinks, sparks flying across her vision, the only difference between open and closed eyes the rain on her lenses. Dick kisses her ear, and her cheek, and her jaw, somehow still pressing her just tightly enough against the gargoyle that she knows there's no chance she'll fall. Because Batman's got her. Because Dick's holding her up. After all, she stopped holding onto anything but him after the second time he kissed her.
