Fandom Stocking
Jan. 10th, 2016 02:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdFandom stocking went live Friday.
Mine is here http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/572369.html
Words cannot express my fangirly squee today. I got three Star Wars fic, a Once Upon a Time fic (Huntsman/Queen that is exactly, exactly what we all envisioned) recipes and pretty cards and knitting patterns.
I am happy.
And there have been many lovely thank you notes for things I left as well.
Some of the things I left. Alas, i didn't manage to get the Criminal Minds/Sentinel fic written.
Wild Youth, Potter fic, Dumbledore/Grindelwald
Summer in Godric's Hollow was a thing of misty mornings and bright noons, of flowers drifting on the breeze int the cool of the evening. And Albus had never noticed before. He had never seen the way the stars gleamed just so or known the way the night breezes brought him every little sound.
Not before Gellert.
He climbed down the drainpipe, an old muggle trick that was far less noisy than apparating. Soundlessly he crept across the yard and slipped along the darkened street. There, in the shadows of the hydrangea bush, the most beautiful boy in the world waited for him.
Gellert's almond eyes sparkled in the light of the quarter-moon. "You came."
Albus gave him a wicked grin. "Perhaps."
The wild taste of Gellert's kisses, the not-quite human flavor leading him to believe the legends of sidhe in the boy's ancestry, drove out all the details of the night. There was only love...and the greater good.
Good Omens drabble
They come every day to the park. They sit on the bench and watch the ducks.
If the spies, who also meet in the park, had any opinion on the matter, they woul;d say the men are lovers, but they are never seen leaving together.
"Nice day," observes Aziraphale.
"You always say that." Crowley interests himself in a package of chocolate biscuits, which he opens with unnecessary rattling of the cello, making an elderly woman on the next bench wince and glare at him.
"That's because any day without an apocalypse in it is a nice day."
Crowley says nothing but offers Aziraphale a biscuit.
The Walk. Millennium drabble
There are always the walks.
Jordan sees as Frank sees, and from the first day he took her hand in his and said "let's take a walk," this has been their time.
Over the years, her tiny hand has grown, and she no longer stretches up. From twelve to fifteen, she wouldn't hold his hand at all. She went to college in town, lived at home, and they walked.
She followed his footsteps in too many ways. And her work with the FBI took her far away. But she always called Frank, and he would walk around the block with her on the cell, listening as she walked around her own block, in LA, or DC or New York or Chicago.
Now, she is home, one last time to the big yellow house. Frank waits, sitting up in the bed in what used to be his office. He hasn't been able to manage the stairs for a long time now. The Group pays for a nurse who takes him out and about. They won't have to pay for her much longer, the doctors say. That's why Jordan is home.
He hears her on the porch steps. She comes in wet, older and smiling. She unfolds his wheelchair, the cancer in his brain having robbed him of mobility, and sits beside his bed.
"It's supposed to clear off this afternoon, Daddy. Let's take a walk."
Mine is here http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/572369.html
Words cannot express my fangirly squee today. I got three Star Wars fic, a Once Upon a Time fic (Huntsman/Queen that is exactly, exactly what we all envisioned) recipes and pretty cards and knitting patterns.
I am happy.
And there have been many lovely thank you notes for things I left as well.
Some of the things I left. Alas, i didn't manage to get the Criminal Minds/Sentinel fic written.
Wild Youth, Potter fic, Dumbledore/Grindelwald
Summer in Godric's Hollow was a thing of misty mornings and bright noons, of flowers drifting on the breeze int the cool of the evening. And Albus had never noticed before. He had never seen the way the stars gleamed just so or known the way the night breezes brought him every little sound.
Not before Gellert.
He climbed down the drainpipe, an old muggle trick that was far less noisy than apparating. Soundlessly he crept across the yard and slipped along the darkened street. There, in the shadows of the hydrangea bush, the most beautiful boy in the world waited for him.
Gellert's almond eyes sparkled in the light of the quarter-moon. "You came."
Albus gave him a wicked grin. "Perhaps."
The wild taste of Gellert's kisses, the not-quite human flavor leading him to believe the legends of sidhe in the boy's ancestry, drove out all the details of the night. There was only love...and the greater good.
Good Omens drabble
They come every day to the park. They sit on the bench and watch the ducks.
If the spies, who also meet in the park, had any opinion on the matter, they woul;d say the men are lovers, but they are never seen leaving together.
"Nice day," observes Aziraphale.
"You always say that." Crowley interests himself in a package of chocolate biscuits, which he opens with unnecessary rattling of the cello, making an elderly woman on the next bench wince and glare at him.
"That's because any day without an apocalypse in it is a nice day."
Crowley says nothing but offers Aziraphale a biscuit.
The Walk. Millennium drabble
There are always the walks.
Jordan sees as Frank sees, and from the first day he took her hand in his and said "let's take a walk," this has been their time.
Over the years, her tiny hand has grown, and she no longer stretches up. From twelve to fifteen, she wouldn't hold his hand at all. She went to college in town, lived at home, and they walked.
She followed his footsteps in too many ways. And her work with the FBI took her far away. But she always called Frank, and he would walk around the block with her on the cell, listening as she walked around her own block, in LA, or DC or New York or Chicago.
Now, she is home, one last time to the big yellow house. Frank waits, sitting up in the bed in what used to be his office. He hasn't been able to manage the stairs for a long time now. The Group pays for a nurse who takes him out and about. They won't have to pay for her much longer, the doctors say. That's why Jordan is home.
He hears her on the porch steps. She comes in wet, older and smiling. She unfolds his wheelchair, the cancer in his brain having robbed him of mobility, and sits beside his bed.
"It's supposed to clear off this afternoon, Daddy. Let's take a walk."
