A New Fic Table!
Mar. 23rd, 2009 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crossover_chickYes, I made a little fic table for the minifics I'm writing for Victor/Alice based on the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
30_kisses prompts. Somebody else did it for Ron/Hermione, and I was rather inspired. Here you are:
And here's the first entry, so to speak. I'm still working on titles for some of them, and this one doesn't require me to say a lot. Which is a good thing, since I spent a lot of time watching "The Nostalgia Critic" AND I have a cold, so my brain is pretty much fried at this point.
15. Perfect blue – The Perfect Blue
She’d scrubbed that dress at least fifteen times. Scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands were red, her knuckles sore. But still the bloodstains never quite came out. In fact, sometimes she felt they grew larger, tougher with each scrubbing. Mocking her inability to get rid of them, to let go of her past and pretend to be a normal girl in a normal blue dress.
It was all his fault, she thought bitterly as she dunked the dress once again into the soapy water, swishing it about before rubbing it as hard as she could against the washboard. She hadn’t given tuppence about what her dress looked like before he came along. The bloodstains had never bothered her – in fact, she’d worn them almost as badges of pride. Proof that she’d conquered her problems. But then she’d met him, and there was no way he’d want to be seen with a girl whose favorite dress was covered in blood. The apron, at least, was easy to replace. But the dress –!
It was no use. The bloodstains were set in too deeply. No matter how hard she scrubbed, they’d never come out. Alice stared at the ruined fabric, then started to cry. She couldn’t help herself. She’d worked so hard, and now. . . .
Victor found her a few minutes later. He was instantly concerned for her, asking her what was wrong and offering her his handkerchief. Alice showed him the dress, complained bitterly about the bloodstains, then demanded to know what he thought of it.
He looked at it for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered, “It’s a perfect blue.”
For all his insisting that he was the master at saying the wrong thing, he definitely knew how to remind her why she loved him.
Sweet and sappy. Not something you expect from American McGee's Alice, but. . . .
And with that, I'll be turning in, as I really do want to get enough sleep tonight. Stupid cough. . .
30_kisses prompts. Somebody else did it for Ron/Hermione, and I was rather inspired. Here you are:And here's the first entry, so to speak. I'm still working on titles for some of them, and this one doesn't require me to say a lot. Which is a good thing, since I spent a lot of time watching "The Nostalgia Critic" AND I have a cold, so my brain is pretty much fried at this point.
15. Perfect blue – The Perfect Blue
She’d scrubbed that dress at least fifteen times. Scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands were red, her knuckles sore. But still the bloodstains never quite came out. In fact, sometimes she felt they grew larger, tougher with each scrubbing. Mocking her inability to get rid of them, to let go of her past and pretend to be a normal girl in a normal blue dress.
It was all his fault, she thought bitterly as she dunked the dress once again into the soapy water, swishing it about before rubbing it as hard as she could against the washboard. She hadn’t given tuppence about what her dress looked like before he came along. The bloodstains had never bothered her – in fact, she’d worn them almost as badges of pride. Proof that she’d conquered her problems. But then she’d met him, and there was no way he’d want to be seen with a girl whose favorite dress was covered in blood. The apron, at least, was easy to replace. But the dress –!
It was no use. The bloodstains were set in too deeply. No matter how hard she scrubbed, they’d never come out. Alice stared at the ruined fabric, then started to cry. She couldn’t help herself. She’d worked so hard, and now. . . .
Victor found her a few minutes later. He was instantly concerned for her, asking her what was wrong and offering her his handkerchief. Alice showed him the dress, complained bitterly about the bloodstains, then demanded to know what he thought of it.
He looked at it for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered, “It’s a perfect blue.”
For all his insisting that he was the master at saying the wrong thing, he definitely knew how to remind her why she loved him.
Sweet and sappy. Not something you expect from American McGee's Alice, but. . . .
And with that, I'll be turning in, as I really do want to get enough sleep tonight. Stupid cough. . .
