essbeejay: stock: raven (Default)
essbeejay ([personal profile] essbeejay) wrote2010-08-29 06:30 pm

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup

Sorry about my brief absence; I spent the past two days in such a mood that it's for the best my social interaction was limited. I'll catch up on your comments/posts as soon as I'm able!

To make up for it, two things today; Fic (for Friday) and Song post (for Sunday). "Show off my geek side day" (Sat.) will be taken care of when I can upload pics, probably tomorrow.

Firstly, the song. Today's is from the Greens playlist. I had the album for the longest time and it wasn't until it came up one day, and in listening to the lyrics I realized what a great fit this was for Butch (and his potential feelings for/fascination with Buttercup). It goes from muted and contemplative to loud and screamy, and overall there's something very guttural about it which feels particularly fitting. Not to mention it feels a fair illustration of the bipolarity in their relationship.

Drilled A Wire Through My Cheek by Blue October

Secondly, the fic. I'd been planning on posting something else, but that's a little more involved story-wise and there was no way I could get it done in time to post. I didn't quite want to do a drabble; what wound up happening was a series of them marginally connected by a common theme. Eh, I dunno. I don't know that I executed it quite the way I wanted to, but these Fridays are less about making it perfect (which, let's face it, is a pipe dream) than they are about making me write. I do like that these Fic Fridays so far are inspiring me to write things I don't feel I'd normally do for the fandom. Experimenting is fun!

Title: No Higher Ideal
Rating: K+/PG
Parts: One-shot
Disclaimer: I may like to write 'em, but I sure don't own 'em.
Summary: “One must desire something to be alive.” - Margaret Deland
Notes: An exploration of what various characters want, ranging from superficial/material to something deeper. No timeline. Ultimately I think I liked the idea more than I liked the result. Unbeta'd.

 

No Higher Ideal

-sbj

 

Mojo stares out the window of his observatory at the city that slumbers below him, his hands tightening around his laser gun.

 

One of these days.

 

***

 

A freckled face framed by immense red curls adorns every photo of the Powerpuff Girls pinned to her wall. Princess sneers proudly at her handiwork.

 

“One of these days!” she cackles, stomping on the cutouts of the Girls' heads.

 

***

 

Ace and his gang linger in the shadows, observing the glossy black limousines of the crime bosses that pass by.

 

“One of these days, boys,” he says to them, and they all snicker when Grubber raspberries in response.

 

***

 

Brick nods at Him's orders, grimacing as soon as his back is turned.

 

One of these days, he thinks fervently to himself, relishing the way the wind rushes past him as he takes flight.

 

***

 

Buttercup passes the dealership during patrol, only to eye the sleek, silver convertible on display with want and hunger. It may not compare to flying, but even so.

 

One of these days.

 

***

 

Fuzzy reloads his boomstick, longing for absolute peace, quiet, and utter solitude.

 

One of these dang ol' days, he thinks, and fires at the rustling bushes near his cabin.

 

***

 

Blossom sits back on her heels and stares at the university brochures that litter the carpet of their room.

 

“One of these days,” she determines, her heart swelling in anticipation.

 

***

 

Butch stares at his arm, sheathed in skin that barely scratches or bleeds or gives at the pressure of something sharp.

 

One of these days, he thinks, and clenches his fists.

 

***

 

The nightly news is nothing but bad—kidnappings, gang wars, murders, rapes. Professor Utonium turns off the TV and thinks of his girls, sleeping upstairs.

 

“One of these days,” he whispers resolutely, and shuts himself into his lab.

 

***

 

Boomer lingers in the playground, waiting for the moment when her blue streak zips across the sky and lands at the school's front door.

 

One of these days, he thinks, and stops. He doesn't know where to go from there.

 

***

 

Bubbles hums as she colors in her drawing, her crayons long-since reduced to unidentifiable colored nubs. She blows away the waxy shavings, smoothing her hand over a world covered in little red hearts.

 

ONE OF THESE DAYS, she writes at the bottom in her last blue crayon. She hugs her work to her chest and drifts to the windows, smiling as she takes in the sunshine that blankets Townsville.

 

-fin-


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