sundays are the worst days for this kind of feeling

[jade_sabre]

pick a--a world, any world I've written in or that you've seen me write in, fandom or original, whatever. And then prompt me on it. Any prompt, be it something you've always wanted me to write, or something you've always wanted to read, or--whatever. Anything.

Hit me with it. I wanna write something.

(example:

Quark: hmm
zuko
"know that aching pull"
Jade: it's the stretch of the burn scar on his chest
it itches when Mai touches it, and tugs when Katara is near.
the end)

Comments

[loquaciousquark.livejournal.com]

Finish that Nevalle, "blank" one.

this is actually a "write me a Nevalle wedding" response, oops

[jade-sabre-301.livejournal.com]

also: gratuitous icon usage

wedding: a drabble in three

She refuses to get married in the City in the autumn in the grand temple of Tyr, but agrees to host half the Neverwinter Court in her Keep in the dead heat of summer at an outdoor wedding. Neeshka steals the pearls for her neck and Khelgar makes the rings; Gann coaxes spirits out of the silent Sword Coast earth and weaves a canopy, reluctantly, while Safiya's servants try to learn the lay of the land before the guests arrive. More than once he finds them twitching on the ground after hitting a wall where they thought there ought to be a door; their sense of logic is keen, but fails to place reality in their equations.

***

She says she'll do her own hair and find her own dress, and anyone who knows the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep is surprised at this insistence. Not that she is independent, but that she would fail to grasp the riches at her command. Her groom-to-be, with riches of his own, is unable to escape the ministrations of his fellow courtiers, and though she is the hostess he is the one who does the hosting, showing everyone to their rooms while she hides in his tower behind his locked door. He catches glimpses of her, but the women who cannot flock around her are at least determined to flock around his door and keep them apart.

***

Their engagement is a short, fickle thing, dismissed by some as a spring love but known by others to have survived a fall frost and a deep snow. She is a dandelion tossed on the wind and he is the dry earth on which she lands, and what grows between them is a surety that needs no words. If she stumbles, he steadies her with his hands; if he frowns, she flicks it away with her fingers; in the spaces between, they laugh.