Show us your samples!

[multi-madrox.livejournal.com]

It's been a while since we've done this one and just recently someone showed me her sample for an app that reminded me of this meme.

So because it's Wednesday. Because it's raining. And because I've got a boring day ahead of me:

SHOW US THE WRITING SAMPLES YOU WROTE FOR YOUR CHARACTER APPLICATIONS!

Yes. That totally deserved capslock

Comments

[ancientbschamp.livejournal.com]

Before I flee to work, here's Gabrielle's. This is amazingly short for one of mine. o.O

***

Gabrielle had stopped to retrieve her staff from the weapons locker (she'd spent a while entertaining the notion of disguising it as a closet rod so she could keep it in her room, but it seemed like an awful way to treat a gift from her Amazon tribe) before heading down Apocalypse Avenue toward the causeway with her travel bag slung over her shoulder. Another few days off from classes meant another few days to go back to Greece and go off on some adventure with Xena, and that was more than enough reason for her to be humming cheerfully, if horribly tunelessly, as she walked.

She might have packed a few too many blank scrolls into her bag, though -- a few of them fell out and clattered to the cobblestones as she did a particularly goofy little dance.

"No, no!" Gabrielle blurted out, chasing after them. "No, no, no, don't do this to me, I might need you!"

And then one of the wayward scrolls started floating toward her. To Gabrielle's credit, a brief surprised squeak was her only reaction.

"What's the big deal?" asked the girl -- barefoot, even shorter than Gabrielle herself, with a quizzical expression on her face -- who knelt with one hand outstretched as she gathered the rest of the fallen scrolls. "It's just paper."

"Ha!" Gabrielle edged toward the floating scroll, gingerly snatching it out of midair after a few experimental reaches to make sure it wouldn't bite her or make her burst into flames or anything. "Just paper? Do you know how much parchment costs? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a hold of these in ancient Greece, especially most of the places that Xena and I go? All the little backwater villages? I mean, hey. It's hard enough to find patches for Xena's leather sometimes, and don't even get me started on finding shoes for Argo," she blustered on, gesturing wildly with the scroll in her hand.

. . . in reality, she was just horribly embarrassed. Thus the rambling.

The other girl shot her a supremely skeptical look. "If it's so hard to get paper there, why not get it here and bring it back with you?"

Gabrielle just stared at her, as if she'd said something tantamount to blasphemy. Which, to Gabrielle's mind, she had.

"The paper here? Are you kidding me?" The girl opened her mouth to say something, but Gabrielle kept going. "It's just not the same! You can't take out a fresh piece of paper and unroll it and hear the sound of it crinkling, or smell that fresh-parchment smell. You can't practically hear and feel all the potential of what could get written down on it."

"Right," said the girl, shaking her head as she handed the rest of the gathered scrolls to Gabrielle. "It's just paper."

"Not the point," Gabrielle insisted.

The girl snorted, clearly getting impatient. "Do you have one?"

"I always have a point," Gabrielle declared. Xena would disagree, but shh. Ephiny definitely would. And the girl was still eyeing her, looking like she wanted to shake her head and make some kind of sarcastic comment. Gabrielle leaned on her staff and looked down from her lofty vantage point of three and a half inches up. "What?"

"And they said I used to talk too much," was all the girl said. She turned and started to walk away, and added over her shoulder, "Have fun on your trip. Try not to scare the animals."

"Hey!" Gabrielle protested to no effect at her retreating back. "Argo likes me just fine!"

[multi-madrox.livejournal.com]

Okay, I really adore this one. She is just so delightfully dorky...

[flipped-god-off.livejournal.com]

This was Loki's! And my attempt to write Eliza. I somewhat...did decently enough to get accepted!

---

Loki hadn't realized a place could be worse than Wisconsin. Really, how the fuck could anything be as bad as fuckin' Wisconsin? Wisconsin had people who thought wearing cheese on their heads was fashionable (fucking cheese!).
It had started with the random line of naked people who'd tromped through his lobby yesterday, screaming about mutiny and sticking it to the man and tracking mud across the goddamn carpet. If he hadn't been drunk and half asleep, he'd have lectured their asses about how little they knew about a mutiny. Had any of them flipped off God? Did they have a fancy flaming sword to wave around?

Fuck no.

Of course, neither did he (not anymore, thanks Bartleby) but that was beside the point.

So, there were naked people yesterday and today, there was some woman who evidently couldn't spell for shit. Flowrs? Really? Had he been banished to the fucking kindergarten class of the world?

"Hey lady," he muttered as he stalked past, "you spelled flower wrong. I'd offer you a dictionary but it shouldn't take a goddamn rocket scientist to spell flower."

The lady in question turned at the sound of his voice, a mixture of surprise and shock on her face. "It's not an intentional misspelling. My E is simply on backorder."

"Backorder?" Loki repeated, disbelief in his voice. He knew it wasn't a lie. Perks of the job and everything. But, he hadn't played with a human in awhile. Loki hoped he wasn't rusty. "When did the human race start using capitalism as an excuse for being dumb?"

The woman bristled, turning to face him fully. Damn, he missed the days when people were actually scared of him. "Sir, I will have you know that I'm not making excuses. If you're insistent on calling me a liar, perhaps you should go."

"Letters don't go on backorder, lady," Loki said, an easy smile on his face now. "If you're paying money for letters, for things created so all humans can write, speak, form words, form sentences, form paragraphs and then never shut the hell up, you're doing it wrong."

"I suppose I could write my E in," she said, glancing toward her sign, "but that's not what I want to do. While letters may be free, the creation of a business is not. I need my E. I will not write my E in so my sign looks haphazardly made. If that's not right, then maybe I prefer doing it wrong."

Loki fell quiet, wondering if it was even worth it to go further.

Probably not.

"Yeah, all right, whatever, let me get two dozen sunflowers then," he finally said.

The woman tilted her head, looking at him in confusion.

"I thought they'd look nice on the desk in the lobby,” he explained quickly, almost blushing. Stupid human body. It could blush but couldn't have sex. Fucking great. “Just give them to me."

And she did. With a smile.

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

I love the last bit especially and how you managed to show that Loki wasn't always badass and bluster :D

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

Here's Claire's. It's probably my favorite one that I've written.

---

Even though Claire knew she didn't have to keep her abilities a secret in Fandom, she wasn't terribly open about them. Except with one certain group of beings. A group whose help she needed right now. She opened the package of shiny marbles that she had picked up at Turtle and Canary and dumped them on the floor near the vent in her room. Within minutes, a swarm of gremlins came out of the vent and went straight for the objects.

"Stop right there," she said, covering the marbles with her hand. "You can have these, but I need your help."

One of the gremlins bit her hand and gave her an expectant look.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine," she said. "You can each have two bites [i]and[/i] the marbles, but only if you promise to do what I ask."

The gremlins jumped up and down to signify their agreement to this plan.

"I need you to go and bite Sam Winchester," Claire explained. "He hurt Peter and I won't have that. He needs to be punished and I can't think of any better way to do that then have you all go after him."

The gremlins eyed her warily. Sam was big and kind of scary. And related to other big and scary people.

"Come on," Claire begged. "I really need you to do this for me. I'll let you each have three bites. After I get confirmation that you were successful in your mission."

The gremlins agreed to this and scampered off with their prizes.

The next day, Claire was lounging on her bed when the herd of gremlins came through her vent. She grinned at them, knowing they had been successful thanks to the radio. "Okay, guys, line up."

She didn't realize that her door was open just a smidgen and was distracted by reading a magazine while the gremlins feasted on her.

"What the hell, Claire?"

Startled, she looked over to see Ben Skywalker standing in her doorway. "Oh, hey, Ben. Um, what's up?"

The gremlins immediately perked up at the presence of a Skywalker. "Why are you letting those foul beasts bite you?"

"Don't even think about it," Claire warned, noticing a few of the gremlins heading towards Ben. She gave him a sheepish look. "Their bites don't have any effect on me. So I let them bite me once in a while."

Ben gaped. "You let them bite you? And you don't end up doing embarrassing things? I think I hate you."

Claire smiled. "Aw, come on," she said. "I'll make a deal with them that they can bite me instead of you?"

It was worth a shot at least.

[awakestheghosts]

I still think this one is one of my favorites.

[life_inshadow]

I really liked Tara's:

****

It took Tara Maclay three weeks to participate in a Magic Reserves gathering.

The first week, she saw the signs but couldn't believe the meeting was really open to everybody, and not just people a lot better than she was who had been in Fandom a lot longer. Plus, it felt weird to her, walking up and saying "I'm a witch," the way she would say "I'm a Libra" or "I have blue eyes." Her magic had always been a family secret -- she'd never actually told anyone she wasn't related to except one girl in she kind of had a crush on in seventh grade, and that girl seemed to have regarded it as yet more evidence Tara was weird. So she spent the meeting time in her room, using a locator spell to find a lost earring and wondering if she could talk her roommate into getting a kitten.

The second week, she'd gotten someone to reassure her that yes, really, everyone was allowed at the reserves, and no, they weren't all crazy good and throwing fireballs around or summoning Hecate. So Tara came and spent the meeting standing at the far edge of the group, studying her sandals and hoping nobody would ask her to do a spell. Or answer a question. Or -- actually, it would be nice if nobody noticed her at all.

No one did. Tara thanked all the gods.

The third week, Tara was giddy by the time she got to the meeting. There'd been an invasion of giant hummingbirds the day before, and she'd actually managed to get a "freeze" spell to immobilize them in the air so somebody could scoop them up with nets. It had been hard; she was sticky with sweat and grinning ear to ear when the last bird was gone.

"How come you haven't said anything at the reserves meeting yet if you can do that?" Tony Foster asked her, and Tara, still high from having done something right, managed to agree she'd come and talk about her magic the next day almost without stammering.

The stammering came back full-force when Tony grinned and asked her to introduce herself to the group. "H-hi, I'm Tara," she began, trying hard to look at people and not at the trees. (Nice trees. Pretty trees. Being a tree would mean no public speaking. Why wasn't Tara a tree?) "I've been st-studying the craft since I was little, and yuh-yuh-yesterday I used a freezing spell against the birds...."

She watched the group as she talked. No one was throwing anything yet. Some of them even seemed interested.

Maybe they just wouldn't ever notice she was part demon?

[ancientbschamp.livejournal.com]

OMG, I love that. It's perfect.

[awakestheghosts]

Chloe's was fun to write:

************

Chloe had only been in the area for about two weeks when she decided that she should try to get a job or something to earn her own money. She didn't want Andrew to think he had to keep paying for stuff for her while she was here. It wasn't his responsibility, and since she didn't dare contact her father, a job would have to be the solution. She was hoping that no one in a town next to a private boarding school would have trouble with hiring a fifteen year old girl.

The first hint that she had that this was not your normal town and obviously not your normal school was that there was what appeared to be a bar there. There was no one at the door checking IDs like she was used to seeing on TV and in New York, so out of curiosity, she decided to step inside. The worst that could happen was that they'd tell her to leave for being underage, right?

Feeling bolstered by courage she wasn't even sure she really had, she went into the bar called Caritas. There were a few people that looked like they were around her age in there already. Shaking her head in bemusement, she approached the bar and made herself comfortable on one of the stools. The bartender came down the bar to her and she smiled.

"What can I get you," he asked in a bored tone.

Chloe started to ask him for a soda when she felt that strange prickling sensation along her skin. She had begun to recognize it and turned to see what she had accidentally brought with her this time.

The sight that greeted her caused her to squeak and almost fall from her stool.

Chloe looked from the bartender in shock back to the four zombies that were watching her with what she assumed to be smile. "I didn't do it," she stammered. "I just came in to ask for a job! I didn't mean to bring them. Stop. You guys need to go back--"

She probably would have fallen if it wasn't for the fact that the bartender had grabbed her by the collar and held her in place.

"Don't freak out, girl," he said. "They won't hurt you. They're the band."

"B-band?" She managed to get out as she stared at them.

"Yeah. Band. You know, they perform music and sometimes sing." The bartender was looking at her like she was an idiot.

Chloe moaned in embarrassment and dropped her face in her hands. That was so not the best impression to make on somebody that she was hoping would hire her to work for them.

As the bartender moved down the bar to get her something to drink, one of the zombies came over to her carrying his microphone. Chloe looked at him in confusion, not sure what he was going to do. Could she make zombies go away that she hadn't woken up in the first place?

"So, you make zombies and call them forth or something?" He asked.

"Yeah... why?" No point in telling a zombie that she didn't have control over her budding powers yet.

"We're in need of a new bass player. Or even a couple of girlfriends and --"

Chloe banged her head on the bar. It was going to be a long year.

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

*giggles*

Oh, poor Chloe.

[bitten_notshy]

Jack's. I was mean to Claire in it.:

... my Claire.

***

Twelve hours at boarding school, and Jack Priest was starting to feel that he had his legs under him. He'd neatly deferred his "big sister"'s prying questions, handled with grace the odd news that he'd leapt 110 years into the future, and charmed his shy, dark-haired roommate so thoroughly that he was certain he wouldn't need to go far if his bed should prove a lonely one.

At his desk, he tossed off a quick and completely unnecessary note to Sebastien. Ostensibly the letter was to let his guardian know he'd managed the short journey from entering the carriage in Baltimore to the school gates; in more practical terms, he hoped it would keep him in the vampire's thoughts, and remind him how very soon Jack would be home again. That done, he wandered out of his room in search of a companion who might know more about the school.

Jack found his way to what seemed to be a sort of parlor full of students. A few of them talked; most of them stared rather intently at some strange, glowing box. Jack crouched down beside a girl -- a redhead who looked as if she was born bored with everything and hadn't yet been jolted out of that state.

"Excuse me," Jack asked with a smile. "What is this?"

"Huh?" Claire now looked stupid as well as bored.

"What is this?" he repeated, looking to the box again and drawing a hand through his curls. "I'm a bit new to this time. I can tell it's moving pictures, of course, anyone could see that much, but ... what is it called and how does it work?"

"Oh! Right!" Claire blinked rapidly at him, temporarily drawn out of her apathy. "It's called television. Like you said, it's moving pictures -- um, filmed plays and news and stuff? This is a really stupid show called 'Darkest Knight.' It's about vampires. And I ... don't really know how it works. It's electricity. Sorry." She shrugged on the last word, not seeming too terribly sorry. "Where are you from?"

"Europe, 1899," Jack said, distracted by his need to see what lies about vampires the television was telling. Fiction, even when it was based on Sebastien himself, was always amusingly embroidered. "Are vampires common as subjects of these stories, then?"

"Uh, yeaaaaah," Claire said; Jack could tell from her tone that she thought that was information everyone should already know. "Are you into vampire stories? This one's kinda cheesy."

Jack shrugged. "If they're any good, but stories never seem to have much in common with what I've heard about real vampires."

Claire's attention was diverted from the screen by that. "You're from one of the worlds with real vampires or something?"

"There aren't many. But they're as real as I am, if not more," Jack told her, settling in to watch the program.

Sebastien, he decided, might have even laughed.

[golden-rising.livejournal.com]

I love all of those things that people from different times aren't used to. Catching him with a vampire show is amusing.

[doesnt-vomit.livejournal.com]

Brennan's. This was an app I wrote on a whim, and the writing sample's short even though I stole Anakin for it. But it is very Brennan.:

***

"A Jedi shall not know anger, nor hatred, nor love," Dr. Temperance Brennan echoed dutifully as her new teaching buddy at Fandom High explained his cultural beliefs. It was the most interesting thing about the tour of the school so far; after a decade of teaching the brightest students at the college level, a summer with high schoolers at a boarding school was a bit of a comedown, and she took only slight delight in the fact the school was in a castle. "So your culture are like perfect scientists. You rely on rational evaluation of the evidence before acting. I admire that."

Anakin Skywalker gave her a sidelong look. "Usually this is where people start telling me it's not how human beings function."

Brennan shrugged a little. "Well, I'm an anthropologist," she began. "I try to take a more rational approach to evaluating other cultures. Encouraging members not to waste energy on anger, or hatred, or the biochemical social construct we call love, strikes me as an excellent way to ensure a military corps experiences minimal distractions. It's brilliant, actually, though I wonder how celibacy works long-term. Are sexual relationships banned if there's no pretense of love?"

"I have two children and one more on the way," Anakin said tightly, hoping that would get the woman off this train of interrogation. "I wasn't always a very good Jedi."

"But you still espouse their belief system," Brennan said, a wondering note in her voice. "Or was your marriage arranged for the propagation of the culture? Because that, clearly, is necessary."

"My wife's name is Rory," Anakin said, skipping over the more complicated bits of his life story. "We met when we were both students. And if you told her you thought we got married to propagate the Jedi order, she'd ... most people would hit you. Rory would pout."

"Oh," Brennan said thoughtfully. "So you're a hypocrite."

[awakestheghosts]

I love Brennan so much. :)

[decoder-rings.livejournal.com]

Hannibal's is still my favorite.

---

Hannibal didn't much like libraries. They were too quiet, too dusty, too...filled with books. But, girls came to the library and, thus, Hannibal King came to the library. Honestly, he didn’t even know what the hell the book was in front of him. He'd read the same page three times and had understood none of it.

There were more important things to do. Things like watching Sam Winchester talk quietly to Lucas Scott over there in the corner. Their heads were together and Lucas was holding a book in one hand, close enough to Sam that they could both read it.

Even someone like Hannibal, someone who thought relationships were meant for those generously proportioned women on the covers of romance novels and men who worked as accountants by the day and house husbands at night, could tell what was going on between Lucas and Sam. Please, you only needed eyes to see what was going on and Hannibal had eyes.

It was kind of perfect, Hannibal mused to himself. Sam was eighteen feet tall and Lucas was...well, Lucas reminded him of a troll doll. Maybe Sam had a thing for troll dolls. Hey, a person's kinks were their own and it wasn't Hannibal's place to go passing judgment.

Still, a troll doll. It was better than a Barbie doll. At least Lucas, probably, had all the right parts. And Hannibal didn’t want to think about what Sam did if Lucas wasn’t...correctly built. That was a kink he didn’t even want to touch, not with a seventy foot, insulated pool.

Ew.

John Sheppard slid into the chair next to Hannibal and said, "Whatcha looking at?"

Hannibal pointed his pen at Lucas and Sam, who were now smiling at each other. "What do you see?"

John squinted at Lucas and Sam and then said, "Lucas and Sam. Reading."

Hannibal scoffed and then patted John on the shoulder. "Oh no, my friend. That's Lucas and Sam. Falling in love."

[missed-the-gate.livejournal.com]

*claps* HOW HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS BEFORE?!!

[spiritandsword]

Annja's was pure crack for me

*******

Annja should have known that Roux wouldn't be happy about the fact that she hadn't called as she was supposed to last week. She sighed, giving her roommate a faint smile as she once more listened to the messages left on her phone from Roux.

"You should just tell him the truth, you know."

She made a face. "Oh yeah, I can see that going over really well. Hey Roux, sorry I didn't call you last week, but I was turned into a neurotic chihuahua because I apparently angered the island gods of Fandom..."

...The fact of the matter was that she hadn't been doing anything too dangerous or threatening when the weirdness began. She had heard different stories from her new schoolmates about the odd things that tended to happen at the school, but she had laughingly dismissed them. After all, how could all of those stories be true? Really, the island moving itself around all summer... tiny green gremlins biting you and causing you to purposefully humiliate yourself?

You would think that someone who had accidentally reconstructed the sword of Joan of Arc simply by touching it would have more of an open mind. You would be wrong in this case.

It happened when she was alone in the preserve. She had been practicing calling the sword to her at will -- instead of just having it show up when she thought about it randomly. She had managed to consciously call the sword to her three times in a row when she felt an unusual surge of something go through her. It was strong enough to drop her on her ass in surprise. When she had opened her eyes and cleared her head, she had been looking up at the tall trees.

The very tall trees.

She was pretty sure those trees hadn't been so tall when she had first come out here. She realized she was no longer holding the sword and looked down at her paws in the grass...

HER PAWS!

"What in the hell?" She demanded out loud. Unfortunately, what managed to come out of her throat was a shrill series of barks.

She recognized that sound. She loathed that sound. That shrill noise that she made was the sound of one of those tiny yappy dogs that people in New York carried around in their purses. She hated those damn things.

She was one of those damn things!

Freaking out and panicking would get her no where, but she did both of those things any way. The situation seemed to her to call for it. After she had exhausted herself, she let her tiny yappy body collapse in the grass and she covered her face with her paws.

This sucked! What if she never turned back to herself? What would happen to her? What would happen to the sword? What if Garin found her in this state?

What if no one brought her doggie treats?!

Shaking her head, chihuahua Annja had gotten to her feet. Letting out one more frustrated yip, she started back towards the dorms. If someone there couldn't fix this, she may well be the first chihuahua that killed itself...

Now she shook her head as she looked at her roommate. "He would never understand -- or believe me. We'll have to think of another excuse for why I didn't call."

[fabulous-secret.livejournal.com]

Who knew abusing Hannibal in Adora's writing sample would find her a bff?

~~~~~~

It was the strangest thing Adora had seen in her life, this box with tiny people inside who sang terribly.

“What magic is this?” She squatted directly in front of the box, her hand stroking along the smooth glass surface. “There seems to be a whole universe of tiny singers trapped inside.”

Spirit let out an unamused breath as he looked over her shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas about rescuing them. We’re not here to start anything, Adora.”

“If there’s a way to help them, we’ve got to do something, Spirit!” Adora was not about to sit back and let these poor people be taken advantage of.

Lucky for Adora and Spirit, Hannibal was passing by the common room and witnessed the girl stroking the television. “You know that’s for watching, not touching.”

“Oh!” Adora’s hand jumped away from the screen in surprise at the newcomer. “But the little people inside, shouldn’t we do something to help them?” Maybe he was their captor.

“Like what? Smash the TV open and set them free?” Sometimes it was fun to go along with newbies.

Adora rose to her feet, hands resting on her hips. “That’s a start, but who’s put them in there? Are there more of these prisons? Tiny people should have rights, too, you know!” Everyone had rights in Etheria, and it was Adora’s job to make sure those rights weren’t taken away by the Horde.

“One on every floor of the dorms,” Hannibal supplied, flashing a bright smile.

“Why that’s criminal!” Adora looked meaningfully at Spirit. “I think this is a job for She-Ra.” Spirit sighed. He’d hoped he’d get to go a few days without the wings and horn.

“Who’s She-Ra?” Hannibal asked, wondering how far off her rocker this girl was.

Right, people here didn’t know. That was going to take some getting used to. “She’s a friend of mine from back home.”

“And she’s going to save the tiny people in the television?”

“Did you have a better idea?” Adora didn’t have time for questions when there was a huge Fandom-wide conspiracy to deal with.

“We could just turn off the power if it’s bugging you.” He lifted the remote and pressed a few buttons, causing the television to go dark.

Adora stared at the strange boy. “What!? Where did they go?”

“First, let me explain what a television is…” This was going to take a while.

[decoder-rings.livejournal.com]

HAHAHA I STILL LOVE THIS. She was so concerned about the people in the teevee!

[iknowstuff.livejournal.com]

She was busy at work in the park, laying down a pool of epoxy. Events were unfolding just as they were supposed to happen and she had worked out all the possibilities. Including Merlin-

"Hi Layla," the boy wizard said walking up behind her. "What are you doing with that gooey stuff?"

-showing up to ask questions.

"Saving the universe," Layla said cheerfully.

"... With gooey stuff?"

"Well it's a bit of a stretch," Layla said spreading said epoxy on the ground and then opening the hardening tube of epoxy. "You see earlier today I placed a rock on Apocalypse avenue that Lindsay Boxer tripped over, spilling coffee over Dale Cooper. Dale then went home to change his shirt and Charlotte ended up taking it to the cleaners. While she was there she ran into Jolee who was there dropping off one of his robes because Tino spilled mustard on one of his robes last night from a hot dog I gave him."

Merlin frowned. "But what does that have to do with the gooey-"

"Well you see Jolee gets delayed five minutes talking to Charlotte about tending bar at her wedding so he misses running into Anakin who's a bit upset because he found out that Jaina and John slept in the flight shed again."

"How did he find out about that?"

"I might have let that slip to Francine who was making cookies in the common room last night," Layla said now spreading the hardening agent over the other "gooey stuff" as Merlin had called it. "Anyhow that means that Anakin didn''t get a chance to vent to Jolee about his grandchild and the boy with the hair so he was more angry than he would be when he got to his Flying workshop. As a result he accidentally sent a coffee mug into the simulator console."

"Accidentally?"

"Well he was aiming for John's head," Layla explained as she stood up to admire her work. "Which means class got canceled."

"And that saves the world?"

"Not quite," Layla explains as she took Merlin's arm and dragged him behind a bush and motioned him to be quiet. "You see since class is canceled, Worf decided to go hunting in the preserve but has to pick up his bat'leth from Minsc who borrowed it to train Boo in the art of mok'bara."

"Does Worf know that Boo is just a-"

"No, he doesn't know Misnc well," Layla said waving for Merlin to be quiet. "Now, hush."

And there was Worf walking along the park when he stepped onto the epoxy just at the right moment of hardening, causing the Klingon to trip and fall violently to the ground.

"Oh my!" Merlin said standing up, only to be pulled down again by Layla. "Shouldn't we help him?" he asked.

"Wait," Layla hissed quietly. "Just wait."

And a minute later a shirtless boy who just happened to be visiting the island appeared gasping in amazement upon seeing Worf. "Worf! Are you okay?" he said helping the alien to his feet.

The Klingon shook his head, looking unsteady on his feet. "Worf? Who is this Worf you speak of?" he asked looking woozy.

The shirtless boy patted him sweetly on the shoulder. "That would be you," he said licking his lips. "Here. Let me take you back to my room to check you out."

"Are you a doctor?" The amnesiac alien asked.

"I can certainly play doctor," the shirtless boy replied happily.

Smiling in victory, Layla stood up from her hiding spot. "There we go. Mission accomplished."

"Accomplished what exactly?" Merlin asked popping up beside her.

"Well eventually it'll lead to a boy named Torf being born but that's a longer story," Layla said cheerfully.

"And he saves the world?" Merlin asked looking confused.

"Eventually," Layla replied. "But first he has to go to school here and learn how to knit dildo cozies from Arthur."

"Arthur knows how to knit?" Merlin wasn't about to ask what a dildo cozy might be used for.

"Not at the moment," Layla explained as she began to walk away. "First he has to learn from Ronon Dex."

"How do you know all this?" Merlin asked.

"Because I'm Layla Miller," she called out. "I know stuff."

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

*dies laughing*

[justlike_a_girl]

In a sense, you've already seen Dani's writing sample...

---

"This is freakin' unbelievable," Dani muttered to herself as she walked down one of Fandom's narrow streets, pulling her suitcase behind her. "What kind of place has streets where you can't even drive a car?"

Thankfully, the Arms Hotel wasn't very far from the causeway. Dani needed a hot shower and 800-thread count sheets like it was nobody's business. She flounced through the front doors and went straight to the little Asian girl at the front desk. "The name's Davis. You're supposed to have a reservation for me."

The girl checked something on her computer. "Yes, I do have a reservation for you, Ms. Davis. However, I don't see a check-out date for you. Did you want the monthly rate for long-term residents?"

Dani frowned. "Absolutely not. I'm only staying long enough to check out a business opportunity. If I want to stay, I'll find myself a house to live in. They do have houses on this little island, right?" she asked in a sharp tone of voice.

The Asian girl didn't even blink and Dani had to give her credit for that. "They have plenty of housing available, from apartment buildings to a couple of mansions. I'm sure you won't have a problem," she said. "I should warn you, though, that if you order room service, our chef can be kind of cranky." To illustrate her point, there was a stream of colorful language coming from the kitchen.

Dani decided right then and there that she needed to find an outside restaurant. "What's good to eat around here?" she asked as she signed "D. Davis" on the register.

"Luke's Diner is pretty good, or there's Pizza Planet. If you want something fancier, I'd check out Cafe Fina. Just, um, be aware that the wait staff are a bit unusual," said the girl.

Dani rolled her eyes. "Unusual how? Are they all gay men who do a floor show wearing feather boas and high heels?" she asked.

"No, they're more like singing and dancing plates and silverware," answered the girl. "Oh, and there's a cheese grater in there somewhere. They do a floor show, but I don't think that there's any feather boas or high heels involved."

Dani just stared for a moment. Finally, she asked, "Excuse me, but can I have your name?" It was her duty to report this lunatic to the management.

"I'm Hoshi Sato, and I work here every Thursday," said the girl. "I cook also, if you ever feel like having Japanese food."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," said Dani, gathering up her belongings and turned to head for the elevators. That's when she stopped dead in her tracks. There was a short, green, ugly-looking creature with sharp teeth right in her path. "What the hell?!"

Hoshi leaned over the desk until she saw it too. "Oh no, a gremlin! Stand very, very still, ma'am. You don't want it to bite," she squealed, pulling out a baseball bat from behind the desk. She leapt over the front desk and charged full-speed at the creature, swinging the bat. The thing had enough sense to run down the hallway in the opposite direction of the elevators.

"What happens when it bites, other than the need for a tetanus shot?" Dani yelled at Hoshi.

"Their spit causes hallucinations and then you usually do something embarrassing," Hoshi shouted back as she chased the gremlin.

Dani almost ran as well, except she wanted to run for the door and get out of this madhouse.

[cuff-me-once.livejournal.com]

The scary part is, given half a chance, Rick would actually do this.

---

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call..." Anakin began as he turned, only to stop and stare at him, jaw hanging loose. "What are you wearing?"

Rick didn't exactly preen, but he did adjust the sleeves of his robes, smoothing the slightly scratchy material. "They're Jedi robes," he replied with a smile. "Well, as close as I could get them using materials from around here."

Anakin knew they were Jedi robes. Of course they were Jedi robes. He could recognise Jedi robes after all. "How? Why?"

"I asked," Rick replied, his tone indicating that he thought that it was obvious. "I asked Tahiri, Ben, Jolee...oh, and that Sheppard kid, the one with the hair. He was eager to help."

Anakin just bet he was. He wondered briefly if Rick could hear his teeth grinding.

"As to the why, you told me to."

"I did?"

"Well, not in so many words, but you did say that before you'd tell what being a Jedi was all about, that I would have to prove that I was was being serious, sincere, and respectful about it."

Anakin decided he preferred it when the eye twitch was the result of being called 'Ani'. "So you made your own set of Jedi robes?"

"Exactly. Do you have any idea how much these things itch?" Rick assumed as respectful a pose as he was capable of. "So, Master Skywalker, teach me about being a Jedi."

Anakin stared. Then gestured. It was wrong, but he couldn't really think of a more suitable response.

Arms flailing, Rick's body described a graceful arc through the air that ended in the duck pond with an impressive splash.

Shaking his head, Rick blinked water out of his eyes. "That was so cool," he called out as he stood back up. "Can you teach me to do that too?"

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I would love to see this happen for realsies :D

[death-and-pies.livejournal.com]

Ned's! I tend to use John Sheppard a lot in my samples.

---

It was the same thing every morning, Ned thought from his position half hidden under his blanket and under Digby. His roommate would get up, shower, and then spend the next hour in front of the mirror, fixing his hair. Ned didn't sleep much anymore so he was, often times, awake for this ritual and he'd surreptitiously watch John style his hair with his fingers.

One morning, John happened to flick his eyes over his shoulder and caught Ned watching him. Instead of being angry (as Ned thought he'd be), John just smirked and turned around.

“Got any tips?”

Ned almost pretended to be asleep, almost let out a few loud snores to get John's attention off of him but figured that was a stupid plan since he was currently blinking owlishly at John and looked wide awake.

“No,” Ned said. Squeaked. “I don't think anyone should ask me for haircare tips and tricks. I don't even own a brush.”

Fingers were quicker and easier.

“You like my hair?” John asked, crossing his arms and smirking. Ned didn't know why he was smirking. He chalked it up to some private, inside joke that he wasn't privy too. That was normal. He was never part of inside jokes. Hell, he was never part of jokes, period. His sense of humor left something to be desired.

“It's tall,” Ned said, going with the first thing that came to mind. “Is it tall for a reason?”

At that, John scowled and turned back to the mirror where he minutely flattened his hair. “I'm not compensating for anything.”

This time, Ned almost smirked. Almost. “I didn't say anything like that.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it,” John said, frowning at himself.

“No, I wasn't.” He hadn't been. He was now. “Honest.”

“Right,” John said gruffly and finally pulled his hands away from his hair for a second time. “Better?”

“It was fine the first time,” Ned told him. Digby picked his head up, eyed John and barked.
“Glad to see Fido agrees,” John said, a smile reappearing on his face.
Ned didn't have the heart to tell John that Digby probably didn't care about John's hair. “Yeah. It's good hair.”

John sighed and shook his head. “I don't usually do this but wanna touch it?”

Ned shrank back immediately, hands tightening on his blanket and head already shaking his negative answer. “No. Thanks, but no.” He cleared his throat. “It's not my hair to touch.”

John shrugged and headed towards the door. “Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't offer.”

As soon as John disappeared out of the room, Ned let out a calm, controlled breath and tried to relax. And then he started running his fingers through his hair experimentally.

He wasn't doing anything but attempting to see if his hair would stand on end. That's all. Honest.

[missed-the-gate.livejournal.com]

LOL! It's like you've seen inside my brain!

[pastmewrong.livejournal.com]

I think Effy's is the only one I haven't shared before (that I can still FIND -- three years down the line and Shawn and Mac's are lost forever, THANK GOD).

Also, I have somehow managed neeeever to use another FH character in one of these. I find it just too weird to write, omg.

---

Parents.

It all began and ended with parents. More specifically, hers. House was like a fucking warzone between them, and without Tony around, everything was falling apart around her faster than ever. Then there was 'that fucking incident' as her father so eloquently put it. Their principal had gone all but purple trying to explain that one. She'd thought maybe the woman's head would explode. It would've been funny.

And now she was here. Leaning out of the passenger side of a rental car, staring out at an island. An island with a castle, of all things. One she'd have to live in for the next... God knows how long. Until her parents considered this rebellious streak to be out of her system, at least.

"Place looks like it fell out of fucking Disney," her father remarked dryly.

Effy said nothing, just exhaled a long stream of smoke. What exactly did he expect her to say to that anyway? It wasn't that she didn't agree, more that she hated admitting that she agreed.

"And will you put that sodding thing out, Eff," he added, slamming his own door open.

She rolled her eyes at that, taking one last drag before she stubbed it out. Like he didn't have worse habits than that. She knew he did. Swearing every other word was just one of many. Her family could keep a talk show going for weeks with their issues. It was better when she ignored them.

A hand got dug into her jacket pocket at a harsh tone, and Effy eyed the caller display of her mobile for a long moment, purposefully ignoring the stream of curses and insults directed at the American automobile industry now coming from her father at the realisation he couldn't even shut his door properly. It was probably his own fault. Moron.

Another moment, and she lifted the phone to her ear. "... Yes?"

"I wanted to talk to you before... before anything else," Freddie's voice was low, and there was a lot more feeling in there than she wanted (or even could) deal with. Always was with him. Not even in the same country and that was still true. Boys were such hassle, sometimes.

"I'm not talking," she told him simply. It was a strategy that had worked out well for her for so long. She almost wished she hadn't bothered starting again sometimes. So much damned effort.

"You don't have to, I just--"

"Did you not hear me?" Simple. Detached. Direct. It was all that was needed with most people.

In the background, her father had moved on to kicking the car door roughly. At least he wasn't swearing at the thing anymore. Progress?

"Wait, Effy... Effy, I--"
That icy exterior never had worked on him. He was as bad as Tony, seeing right through. She listened a brief moment longer before deliberately hanging up and getting out of the car herself. Freddy had too much fucking heart.

... "Who the buggering tits was that?"

Effy rolled her eyes, without a word and turned heel towards the school.

Parents.

"Wankers," she muttered, and didn't even glance back.

[doesnt-vomit.livejournal.com]

Awwww. This is a lovely piece, and it gives a great sense of Effy.

[trigons_child]

I find this horribly amusing now since as it's turned out, Raven thinks Anakin is all that and a bag of chips. ;)

------

Being the daughter of a demon, raised in another dimension, and from a world where superheroes and supervillains lived in every major city, there wasn't much that could shock Raven. Then again, she'd never been to Fandom. So now, eyes wide and mouth open in shock, she stared at her Ethics teacher as he pranced around in cut-off denim shorts and a low-cut top. He did not appear distressed by his sudden affliction; in fact, as far as she could see he was very pleased with himself. But from what she had experienced of this teacher so far, she could safely say this was not his usual behavior.

Joan flashed her a grin. "Isn't this great?" she said. "I already got some good pictures. I don't care if he gives me detention for it."

"This is . . . unexpected," Raven said, tilting her head. She was reluctant to use her powers to delve into his mind, so she asked Joan instead for an explanation instead. "Is he drunk? Or did he consume some sort of drug?"

"Nope," Joan said, shaking her head. "Gremlin bite."

"Gremlin?" Raven repeated. "They are creatures out of folklore who like to sabotage mechanical devices." Well, so far as she knew.

"Around here, they like to bite," Joan explained. "And it usually makes you think you're someone else, act totally ridiculous, and be very embarrassed the next day."

"I cannot allow that to happen," Raven insisted, shaking her head.

"You don't really have much choice in the matter," Joan shrugged. "They're sneaky and fast. It's just one of those Fandom things. But it's usually just embarrassing, no one gets hurt."

"You do not understand," Raven said. "It is dangerous for me to lose control. The results could be catastrophic." She had no idea how thinking she was someone else would affect her powers and emotions, and she had no wish to find out.

"You'd better start wearing armor then," Joan said. "Particularly around the ankles."

"There is no way to keep them at bay?" Raven asked. She could attempt to use her powers to instill fear or pain into the creatures to make them flee in panic, or perhaps her soul-self would protect her or allow her to expel the gremlins to another dimension before they could bite her if she were attacked. But those tactics might only work if she saw them coming.

Joan jerked her head toward Anakin. "If there was such a thing as gremlin repellent," she said, "don't you think Professor Skywalker would bathe in it?"

Raven regarded their usually serious and humorless teacher. "That is an excellent point," she sighed.

[awakestheghosts]

*dies of giggles*

Poor Raven.

[maythrowuponyou.livejournal.com]

Here's McCoy's!

----------------------------------

The shitty thing about being a student while Jim was an adult was that McCoy was actually forced to spend time with others while Jim got to have an apartment to himself. A fact that he was currently complaining to Jim about over his communicator.

"You're going to have to sit tight until we figure out this whole time travel thing, Bones," Jim said through McCoy's communicator. "Why don't you find a girl, have some fun?"

"Have some fun? Have some fun?" McCoy spat out. "Do you know what kind of diseases they had in the 21st century? These girls could be riddled with hepatitis B and there wouldn't be a goddamn way to cure it! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Bones--"

"Not to mention the fact that they are girls and I'm thirty--" McCoy stopped speaking when he noticed that someone had come upon the campsite and was staring at him. Great. Just great. "I've got to go, Jim."

McCoy shut his communicator and glared at the person staring at him. "Is there a problem?"

"That is the weirdest fucking cell phone I've ever seen," the guy at the campfire said. "That new?"

"You could say that," McCoy half-mumbled. He didn't say anything else for fear of being stuck in a conversation with this guy. He was in no mood (was he ever?) and this guy looked like he was carrying one of the many diseases that McCoy was afraid he was going to catch from one of the girls here. Was that a cold sore on that guy's lip or a zit? It was hard to tell from this far away. He was going to go with cold sore for the time being.

"Bones is a cool name."

McCoy frowned. "It's not my name."

"But that guy--"

"That guy is a pain in my ass," McCoy snapped. "Just like you're starting to be."

And there was a cheeky grin coming from the stranger. "So I can call you Bones then?"

McCoy glared. "You should really get that cold sore checked out."

The guy immediately put a hand up to his mouth. "It's not a cold sore."

Like that was going to stop McCoy. "It's a sign of herpes. There's no cure for it in this century, you know. Cold sores are just one of the symptoms. Swollen lymph glands in the groin, headaches, fever, back pain. And you don't even get me started on the blisters you get on your--"

"I've got to go!" the guy shouted, standing up and walking away quickly.

"You may be able to run from me but you can't run from the herpes!" McCoy yelled. "It's with you forever!"

A loud sigh came from McCoy's communicator. Apparently he hadn't closed it hard enough. "You're a twisted man, Bones."

McCoy lifted up the tiny box and frowned at it. "Don't start, Jim. Teenagers are STD breeders. I need to start wearing shoes in the shower."

"You already do that!"

"Thicker ones then!" he shouted before closing the communicator. Tightly.

[multi-madrox.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHHAHAAHHAsd;lfahsdkjfasdhlfkasjf

Oh that's just awesome.

[bitchprince]

In retrospect, I am nooot so happy with this one now. But hey, I got my boy:

---

This had not been Arthur's idea of a good time. In fact, it had been such a smashing disaster he had half a mind to demand that Merlin clean up the indoor outhouses again. He shot the boy an annoyed glance as he stalked into the common room, tossing his gloves down at the table in the middle. "What was that?" he demanded.

"It was green, Arthur," Merlin said, patiently, if with a bit of a whine, and sat down.

"I know it was green, Merlin, that's why I was trying to kill it," he snapped, "Honestly, how many more times do I have to explain to you the essence of hunting--" It was like the boy had a gap where his mind was supposed to be. Honestly. "--It involves not only stalking, but also shooting the animal. Which is a bit hard to do if your manservant insists on being a girl."

"You do remember what happened the last time you shot and killed a mystical animal," Merlin replied, wisely, "You wouldn't want to damn a whole school full of people just because you insist on being a prat."

Oh, of course he had to get lippy. Arthur shot him an absolutely foul look. "Go clean my boots, Merlin," he said, "They seem to have gathered some sort of mud. I wonder how that might have happend."

"You'll thank me later." Merlin got up and left. Good. Arthur settled more comfortably into the couch, brushing a spot of mud from his trousers. He had more important things to deal with. Well, alright, he hadn't, but the entire situation was still utterly ridiculous. Did the boy live to ruin his sport, or did it simply come naturally?

The couch dented next to him. He glanced up at whoever had intruded his thoughts this time. A face that could have belonged to a nobleman, an expression doubly so. Oh, brilliant.

"I'm Chuck Bass."

"Really," he said, with a roll of his eyes, "I hope that works out for you, because it means so little to me you could just as well not be here at all."

So perhaps he was a touch ornery.

[flashesforinfo.livejournal.com]

Eh, and why not share the other one again. The irony of her having the hots for her unidentified roommate rather amuses me now.

---

"Oh!" Angela sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she muttered, prying the small monkey from her hair.

She'd been here a week. One. Single. Week.

And her room was absolutely teeming with wildlife. She liked wildlife, let's not get that wrong... But she liked it better when it wasn't near her new shirts, and her laptop, and her bed.

These little miniature primates were near all three, and it wasn't like there were only a couple. There were tens of them. Everywhere.

People told her this was normal. Normal?

Nowhere was this normal.

... Okay, maybe on an island that moved and was currently in the vicinity of a tropical island it was, but Angela's common sense was still getting in the way of connecting that thought. She was suspending her decision on all of that, simply because the whole thing made her head ache and her feel unexplainably nervous.
"Hi. Yes, very cute," she said, looking down at the creatures clinging to her feet. "But now, you know I can't move?" She paused, as if waiting for an answer. What? Talking to animals, perfectly normal, thank you very much. "I have class in a half hour, so you better be, y'know, unclingy by then."

"Also, if you poop in my roommates shoes, he won't be happy, so lets not do that, huh? I am all for harmonious living, and I also don't wanna get blamed."

"I have a great self-preservation instinct," Angela added, skritching behind the one she was holding's ears. "And so should you. He's scary."

"Hot... but scary." She quirked a smile as she thought about that. There really was just something about bad boys that got her. She should probably not be thinking about that in relation to the guy she was living with for the next month or so. "Mmm."

Oh well. Too late.

She shook herself, forcing her attention from attractive men, to small animals. "You wanna come with me to class?" she asked the monkey petting it with a lopsided smile. "It's fashion, so I bet you do. We can get coffee first." And weren't the barrista's just gonna -love- that.

Angela bent down, to remove the remaining tiny monkeys from her shoes, and tucked them all into her open bag. She might have to clean that one out later tonight.

Hopefully, no one would mind if they accidentally got unleashed in class. They wouldn't, right?

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

"Hot... but scary." She quirked a smile as she thought about that. There really was just something about bad boys that got her.

IT'S LIKE YOU KNEW!

[fratboybitch.livejournal.com]

Not the best thing I've ever written but it has Chuck Bass!
_____

At the end of another monotonous day, Alex found himself heading to the roof. It seemed to be the ideal place for both quiet and a quick smoke. Couldn't get quiet with a yapping roommate, couldn't smoke without the smoke detectors going off. So, roof. Of course, his hopes of a quiet few minutes to himself were obliterated upon finding a familiar face already on the roof. Just fucking great.

"Oh, Karev." The disdain in Chuck's voice could probably be heard in space. "I didn't know there was a meeting for homeless people up here tonight. My invitation must have gotten misplaced."

Alex snorted and said, "Nice shirt, Chuck. I saw one just like it in the junior miss department of the local Target." Any man that wore pink and thought he looked good in it obviously had mental problems. Alex had no doubt that this was the case with Chuck too.

"Very original," Chuck said, shaking his head.

Alex didn't answer and, instead, focused on something he actually liked. Cigarettes. If Chuck could keep his mouth shut, Alex could do the same. It wasn't like they didn't go through this every time they saw each other. Alex distinctly remembered calling Chuck 'a guy who probably sucked at his mother's tit until he was ten' a few weeks ago and Chuck, in turn, trying to deck him. He'd missed, of course, and Alex had gotten a lot of satisfaction from poking Chuck in the eye and watching him glare with his other eye. It'd been pretty hilarious.

Mommy issues. They seemed to be in style around this place.

"Seriously, who the hell dresses you? Barbie?" Alex, kind soul that he was, held the cigarette away from Chuck. Secondhand smoke was a bitch. No need to leave himself open to some inane lawsuit. Chuck seemed like the type to claim lung cancer and sue someone who had no money just for the satisfaction of getting the advantage.

"I would tell you except I don't think you have the intelligence or education to pronounce the designer's name right," Chuck answered, smirking smugly.

It was incredibly tempting to wipe that smirk off his face with a fist but Alex held himself back. Chuck probably wanted that. He could go crying to his daddy's lawyers and that would be the end of Alex's stay here. So, he refrained. It could wait.

"Hey, Chuck?" Alex said, flicking the cigarette away.

"What?"

"You're leaning against bird shit."

It wasn't true, not even close, but it was worth it to watch Chuck spring forward from the ledge and brush at the tails of his expensive jacket whilst muttering curse words in Alex's direction. Alex left the roof without a word, letting his laughter follow him out.

[chosehumanity]

"So that's Laurel and Hardy," Mitchell finished, grinning not-quite-manically but something that looked like it could go there if he just felt the need to amp it up a notch. "Watch more of it. You'll laugh so hard you'll be crying in no time. Any questions?"

It didn't take him more than a split second to notice George waving his hand around the sky like the complete puppy dog that he was. He ignored it, grinning at the next student. Fair that he was here, but he did have other kids. (He had kids. That was mindbogglingly amazing) "What's it, then?"

"Would you mind telling me how they fit in the box again?"

"Ah, see," said Mitchell, holding his hands in a sort of square shape to make his point, "They take the camera and point it at people, and it reflects the light in. The TV just reflects it straight back out, like a mirror." Pause. "They've got mirrors when you're from, right?"

"Of course we've got mirrors," said the blonde guy, and sat down.

He could tell George still wanted to ask a question. It was kind of hard not to, by the amount of wriggling he was doing. So obviously, he picked the next person in line. Finish them up like that, most of them didn't know so much about the basic principles. "Yes?"

"Why's it in black and white this time?"

"Excellent question," Mitchell said, nodding his head, "They didn't have the cameras for it, you see? When they finally got colour for TV, it was a big thing. People flocked to the stores in crowds, I had to wrestle one just to get my hand on a set." He grinned. "It was a bit like those iPhones now, really. Colour TV."

"Mitchell," George squeaked.

"Oh," Mitchell said, with barely disguised glee, "George, did you have a question?"

"YES!" George exclaimed, flailing a limb or two. "We're going to need curtains. And ooh, a table to go with the TVs, but it'll have to match the couches. Some of your couches don't actually match, Mitchell--"

Oh, he knew where that was going.

"I'm still not going out there."

"But--"

"No, I am not going to the Isle of IKEA. You know how I feel about that place," he started, then finished, off-handedly, "I really do think they make death in there."

The rest of the class blinked at him owlishly.

"Nevermind. Who's up for crisps?"

[rocksthescarf.livejournal.com]

Chuckles! And, for the record, this bitch still can't do laundry. And the funny thing is Ed Westwick didn't know how to do laundry until he got to America and Chace Crawford showed him how to do it :)

----------------------------------

Chuck wasn’t used to doing laundry himself. Actually, Chuck wasn’t used to do anything himself. He had considered getting one of the poor kids to his laundry for him (that’s what they were there for, right?) but after Blair had given him grief he decided to man up and try to do it himself. Besides, they were only clothes. If they were ruined he could always go out and buy new ones.

…Just to be on the safe side though Chuck decided not to wash his trademark scarf. That was one of a kind.
Chuck had managed to find the laundry room with little trouble. It wasn’t exactly the cushiest of rooms but at least it didn’t look like the dungeon type laundry rooms he had seen in the movies. Still, he hoped it wouldn’t take long. How long could it possibly take to wash clothes? Ten minutes?

Chuck threw all of his clothes into a machine, making sure to pull out anything that said “dry clean only” on the tag. After carefully reading the bottle of detergent, he poured in what he thought was the correct amount and shut the lid to the machine. Then he pressed the “start” button.

Nothing happened.

“Go,” Chuck said, pushing a couple of buttons on the machine. Nothing happened. “Come on, move. Make noise. Do what you were built to do.”

Still nothing.

“Come on!” Chuck growled, kicking the machine. He groaned in frustration. He was grateful that Gossip Girl wasn’t here. He could see it now: “Spotted: C having a fistfight with a washing machine.” Nate would never let him live it down.

“This is f’ing ridiculous. Mexicans do laundry all the time, it can’t possibly be that hard,” Chuck said to himself. Then he grinned. Right. Why didn’t he think of that before?

He flipped open his cell phone and punched in his house number and waited for one of the staff to answer. “Hi, it’s Chuck. Is Rosa there? She’s doing the laundry? Perfect. Put her on. Yes, now…Rosa? Hola! Senor Chuck needs your help….no, no, not that kind of help. I’m in Virginia and to be honest I’m not in the mood right now. But I appreciate the thought. Now let’s say hypothetically I’m doing a load of my own laundry. What button would I push to make it go? …Okay. Uh-huh…”

Chuck turned the dial on the washing machine and pressed the start button again. He was pleased to hear the sound of rushing water. He grinned and hung up on his maid without saying goodbye.

“Hell yeah, shove it, Blair,” he said, smirking. “Of course I can do laundry. I’m Chuck Bass.”

[golden-rising.livejournal.com]

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Serena snorts in amusement.

[baskiceball.livejournal.com]

And Marshall's! I'm too shy to share any of my other ones (and I'm too lazy to go find 'em, heh)

-------------

When Marshall had gotten there the bar was empty save for a weird looking band and the grumpy looking bartender. Marshall got a beer and sat down at a small table near the band. He could get used to hanging out here. A few minutes passed with Marshall bobbing his head to the music, wondering if Lily would be interesting in coming down for karaoke one night. He didn’t even notice that zombie!Yoko was coming up to him until it was too late.

“Oh…um…hey,” Marshall said, trying not to look the woman in the eye. She was hideous. Marshall sat back in his chair a little. Zombie!Yoko was seriously invading his personal space. “Can I help you?”

Zombie!Yoko, of course, didn’t answer. She did, however, throw her leg over Marshall’s and started doing what was unmistakably a lap dance. A very disturbing lap dance.

“Oh god!” Marshall threw his hands up as to avoid touching the smelly lady. “Please stop! Dear lord, please, please stop! I’m married!”

But Zombie!Yoko kept on going. Marshall made little gagging noises in the back of his throat. Words could not express how disturbed he was right now. There was only one way to get out of this with his mental state in tact. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

“Oh god, take it!” Marshall said, shoving the money in Zombie!Yoko’s gross hand. “I have more if you want! Just get off of me!”

Money in hand, Zombie!Yoko slid off of Marshall and with a flip of her hair, she walked back towards the band. Marshall was frozen in his chair, took shocked to move. “No amount of soap will make me clean again.”

Just then Barney came into the bar with a smug look on his face. It didn’t take Marshall long to figure out just who told Zombie!Yoko to give him that godawful lap dance. Making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, Marshall got up and walked up to Barney. Then Marshall slapped Barney in the face as hard as he could.

“That’s three,” Marshall said, holding up three fingers. He walked out of the bar. He needed a long shower.

[multi-madrox.livejournal.com]

HA! I love this one.

[awalkingfelony.livejournal.com]

Eeee! Here's Elle's. I need to stop feeling nervous shy about sharing these things! Also I used Dinah and Katchoo because they just seemed to fit in so well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi, guys!” Elle exclaimed cheerfully, waving to the small group of girls gathered in the far corner. She hadn’t been to the roof yet (not the shiniest of places) but where there was talk of girls hanging out, she was going to be there. She didn’t want to miss any nail painting, hair designing, or slumber party planning.

“What’s up?” she asked, worming her way into their circle with soft clicks of her strappy three inch heels. She was fluffy blonde decadence in pink Prada petal pushers and a spaghetti strap tank that encased her perfect perky boobs.

“Nothing much,” said Dinah, flashing a quick grin while stepping in front of Katchoo. That one mumbled choice words about the sappy-happy bimbo. “Guy troubles,” Dinah added, blushing.

Elle gasped. “Omigod guys! I can totally help with that!”

Eyes narrowed, brows raised, and curse words that were surely just invented flew from the nicotine addicted seriously in need of a total hair-care makeover, girl. What was wrong with her? Everyone liked Elle Woods.

Undaunted, she continued: “It’s called the Bend and Snap and it’s a maneuver my mom taught me in junior high school. It's super fun!” she replied confidently with a toss of lustrous blonde curls.

“In my experience it has a 98 percent success rate on getting boys’ attention--” firm nod “--and an 83 percent chance on a dinner invitation. Guy troubles solved!”

Stepping into position, she demonstrated: “Oh! Look, I’ve dropped something on the floor. Beeeeend…” She slowly bends down, sticking out her backside, with knee bent. Then she slides her hand down her leg until she touches the floor and snaps back up. Boobs bouncing. “And snap! Now you guys try.”

A few of them were all for it, especially Dinah, but Katchoo was definitely heartless in her sinful slang. Elle thought she needed serious help. She felt it her duty as a sister of Fandom to educate and train the less fortunate. She would totally lend Katchoo back issues of Cosmopolitan; put them in a gift basket with chocolates and a cute bow.

“That’s it girls! Come on! Attitude, smile, work it out! Beeeend… and snap!” It was done no less than ten times and Elle was exuberant. “Now if done in front of the guy you like there’ll be an instant dinner invitation, yay!”

There was a derisive snort. “Can I throw her off the @#$%!& *@#!$%# roof now?” asked the one killing her lungs.

Dinah sidled up to Elle and whispered, “I think she’s serious. Oops?”

Elle blinked, plastered a brilliant smile on her face, and exclaimed: “I almost forgot! I have a super huge exam to study for but come by later, girls. I just bought this fabulous shade of pink polish. Okay, bye guys!”

[wantstocheer.livejournal.com]

LOLOLOL Oh poor Elle.

[famous-gut.livejournal.com]

Probably the most serious thing I've ever wrote for FH.

And my favorite

*********


Gibbs was back in the basement working on his boat. He had been told about the weekend well in advance. In fact his teaching "buddy" had blurted it out five minutes after Gibbs walked onto the island. Gibbs had taken the whole thing with a grain a salt. Especially since this particular "buddy" wore pajamas and carried weapons with him wherever he went.

So when the stranger things he mentioned actually happened on the island, this particular weekend made him wonder if she would show up.

When she did, it wasn't as much a surprise as a bittersweet moment. The gray hair confused her. As did the island. Gibbs tried to come up with the simplest explanation he could without delving too much into the weird. When Monday came and he had to walk her back to the portal... well he never realized how hard it was going to be to let her go.

Which is why he had canceled class this week. And why he didn't go into the police station for a shift. And why he didn't go out for his evening drink at the place with the musical corpses.

It was him and his boat. Just the way he wanted. That is until one of his roommates walked down the steps. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah," he replied as he continued to use the planer to shave away on the ribs of his boat.

"You coming out of the basement anytime soon?" she asked as she sat down on the steps to watch.

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied in a tone of voice that would have normally sent McGee and DiNozzo back up the steps in about two seconds flat.

Unfortunately Lindsay wasn't cowed by his tone. "You've been down here almost a week."

The shavings continued to fly off the wood. Gibbs didn't look up. "Really," he said dryly. "You noticed."

"You want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No."

"Because, you're not the only one who-"

Gibbs stopped and slammed the planer down on the edge of the boat with a loud "thwack". "What part of 'no' did you not understand?" he demanded.

Boxer again wasn't scared off by this. In fact she just looked sympathetic as she got up and moved into the room. "She seemed really sweet."

Gibbs sighed. Was she really going to make him do this? "Yes," he said flatly. "She was."

"Who was her mother?" she asked.

"No one you know," he replied in a tired tone. "What is this? Therapy?"

"You know most people around here have no idea about their kids when they show up," Lindsay continued. "Their likes or dislikes. Just what they tell them."

"Is there a point to this?" Gibbs snapped.

"You knew her. Everything about her. You suggested going for a ride on a horse. Talked about her friends at school. You knew her. And I mean before she came to the island," Lindsay said watching Gibbs carefully. "Am I right?"

Gibbs didn't reply. He just glared at Lindsay in annoyance and then turned his attention back to his boat.

"She was your real daughter, wasn't she?" Lindsay asked quietly. "I saw your reaction when she left. Something happened to her, didn't she?"

Gibbs didn't say anything. However the frame of the boat was taking a beating from the work he was doing on it.

Lindsay sighed. "Look. If you don't want to talk about it, I-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Gibbs growled.

"Fine," Lindsay said in exasperation and slapped an envelope down on his workbench. "If you change your mind I'll-"

"I won't,y" Gibbs replied sharply.

Lindsay glared back at him and started up the stares. "There's pictures of her on your workbench. Enjoy," she snapped back over her shoulder.

It was a full five minutes later before Gibbs pulled himself away from his boat to look at the pictures. A few minutes later he pulled down the bottle of cheap whiskey that he kept with the wood varnish and poured himself a drink. He sat down on the couch and stared at the girl in the photo.

For the rest of the night the basement was dead quiet except for the muted sounds coming from the old TV.

[tyler_gone]

Oh, man, poor Gibbs. That would be wrenching.