SPN AU (1)

I don't know if he's supposed to be in here, but I'm not going to stop him. I don't care enough, and it's not my library, anyway.

A large head bent over the biggest book I've ever seen. Is he actually reading that?

He's been there for awhile. Now I'm curious.

Going to ask him.

"Whatcha reading?"

His chair falls over. That's kinda cute. But whoa, this guy is tall.
Very tall.

LOTR HS AU (1)

That pass was perfect.

It had to be; I accept nothing less from myself, but now they're going to blame the little guy. I don't see how it's the kid's fault either. This is going to tear him up, and his brother, too. We lost.

It's not like I ever wanted to take over. I just . . . wanted what was best for the team, and with Boromir's arm out . . . It just happened this way. He wanted it too badly, pushed too hard, and all for nothing. I couldn't even give it to him. Couldn't win for him.

I'm sorry. Sorry that we lost, sorry that he couldn't be where I am. Sorry that the pass was perfect.

LOTR HS AU (1)

He dropped the ball again.

And it hurts just to look at him, to see the shock morphing to realization collapsing to resignation. That's my little brother who should be smiling, and I wish I could make it better, but nothing I say will change what's happened, and everything I do just makes it worse.

I hear Dad on the bench, all the way from across the field, and I wince. If he stopped yelling for just a minute and actually looked at the play . . . but he won't. He'll never see that it wasn't even Faramir's fault, and neither will Faramir. It's another mistake, another mark against my little brother that I can't wipe out, no matter how hard I try.

LOTR HS AU (#1?)

He dropped the ball.

Literally.

As the crowd rushed onto the field, cheering wildly, not a single person wore his colors; he was buffeted in all directions by shoulders of green and pom-poms in gold; game over. Game lost. Well done, Faramir.

The half of the stadium that remained in the bleachers were either on their feet, faces red and glaring, mouths wide in angry shouting, or collapsed on the bench, rows of heads bowed in disappointment.

He didn't bother looking at the bench.

Dad was livid.

THIS IS AN ANNOUNCEMENT

This is not a feelings blog or a creativity blog or really a blog for people to look at/read that much at all...

It is a place where I am storing my scraps of 'verses that I concoct on very...fragile? temporary? easily destroyed...bits of paper or napkins or plates or what have I on hand when the fit takes me.

None of what is being put up here is complete by any stretch of anyone's imagination, and mine is particularly fertile, just so we all have some idea of what I mean by NOT COMPLETE, and that includes inside my fertile imagination. I am the worst at ending stories; I honestly have no idea where these bits of ridic-ness are headed, so if anyone is reading this, I suggest they ***STOP HERE***






if they want a complete story. Also if they are inclined to make comments on said bits of incomplete ridic-ness, because honestly, if I realize someone is reading these, I will probably stop writing them. That is how contrary I am.

Hmm. Just realized I could definitely just do this on Word and save the documents and save myself the hassle of interneting it all.

Well, now I have a new blog for it and everything. Gee. This is a ponderable conundrum.

I'll keep the blog. I'll type in Word. I will upload when I get something typed up and presentable. I think this solution sounds reasonable. Huzzah.

END ANNOUNCEMENT