40fandoms: Fandoms 39 and 40
Apr. 19th, 2014 11:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tallulahgsAnd that's a wrap. Thank you and goodnight :D
[Title] Bringing Her Out of Herself
[Fandom] Malory Towers
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] Mary-Lou is nervous about going to boarding school.
Mary-Lou wants to hide behind Mummy, or at least hold her hand. She grips her night-case tighter so she can't cling on to anyone. As they walked down the platform first they saw just one or two, and then suddenly dozens and dozens of girls in the brown-and-orange uniform. The clothes had smelt newer than anything she'd ever worn before and putting them on at home she'd tried to pretend they were like armour, or like she was building a new her who wouldn't be scared of everything.
But now on the platform she knows it hasn't worked. Her heart is thudding in her chest and she feels if she opens her mouth it will fly out and leave her gasping and collapsing onto the ground. This isn't the worst fear ever – seeing a spider or being in a storm is icy-cold and crying – but it just sits there heavier with every minute.
There's a teacher – Miss Potts, she tells Mummy her name is – and a little group of other new girls – none of them looking like she feels, although at least they're not as laughing and happy as the older ones waving to each other or leaning out of the train window to call to their parents. Mary-Lou clings onto her night-case and stares at her feet as Mummy gives her a quick hug and a kiss goodbye. It's all right, Mummy will know why she's not hugging back or talking.
And then she's all alone with Miss Potts and these new girls and this is the bit she was most scared of (well, no, there are lots of bits she's scared of but this was definitely one of the actual things) and she's not crying yet but she can't say anything because she thinks if she tries she won't be able to breathe -
Another girl is hurrying down the platform towards them, night-case in one hand, coat falling unbuttoned. A woman behind her is calling, “Irene, your shoelaces, what have I told -”
The girl trips and her case flies out of her hand. She keeps her balance by doing a funny little stumble forward, one hand clutching her hat to her head, like she's used to fall. The case skitters along the platform, hits a railing, and bursts open, scattering pyjamas and soap and hairpins across the ground.
Mary-Lou finds herself already there, kneeling down to help the other girl – Irene – pick the things up. And Irene is saying to her, “Gosh, thank you – I knew something like this would happen, it always does – but I was sure I'd locked it -”
And Mary-Lou has said, voice shaking, “I... I think your things are all right... I hope they haven't got too dirty...” She sounds like such a little mouse, but she's speaking, and that's the important part.
[Title] Greater Good
[Fandom] BBC's Through The Dragon's Eye
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] The Veetacore Guardians lose a friend. (This is pretty much all fanon conjecture about Charn's origins, developed withstill_lycoris's assistance.)
Click. Click. Click.
Morris is huddled in the chair, knitting. Doris stands by the window, arms folded, a scowl on her face. Boris doesn't know whether he wants to try and distract them (Anyone for cricket?) or whether he wants to actually talk about what just happened.
All right, he does not want to talk about what just happened, but it's impossible not to think about it and that's even worse.
“Maybe he'll come back,” he says, trying to sound jaunty. “You know, once he's had a chance to calm down...”
“Don't be so silly,” Doris snaps at him. “And besides, don't think I'm letting him in if he does come back.”
“But he's our friend,” Boris has said before he can think, and of course Doris jumps on it: “Friends don't try and kill each other's pets because they think it's interesting. Friends don't try and kill each other, Boris, you saw what he was going to do to me!” She looks over at him, and he sees that she's pale, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “It's just lucky whatever that power he's developed is, it's not working properly!”
“Yet,” Morris said from behind them.
Boris wished he hadn't said that.
“We should tell Gorwyn,” he says instead.
“He'll say the same as me,” Doris says. “We can't risk having someone like him anywhere near the Veetacore, not any more.”
Boris had more meant that they should ask Gorwyn if there was a way to make this better. Because he didn't really see one right now. Because Morris's pets, his caterpillars and snails, had been going missing for days, and anyone with a brain could see how much it was upsetting him – and Horris had been... looking different, his colour changing from red to a darker brown-black, and he'd been keeping the gloves Morris had made him on all the time and – not just those things, but he'd seemed so angry, so tired, complaining that the three of them were obsessed with knitting or cricket or petty house rules just to distract themselves from the emptiness of everything -
“He was sad,” he says. “We should have... asked him if he was all right.”
This could change everything! Horris had shouted. Don't you see? None of us has been able to do this before! His fingers longer, sharper, his nails clawed. I had to test it on something! I thought you'd understand, this is hope, at last -
“If you're sad,” Doris says, “then you cry. He wasn't sad. He was angry, and unkind, and dangerous. And I don't want to talk about it any more.” She turns, pulls the curtains over the window with one sharp movement. Outside, there's a growl of thunder. Morris keeps knitting. Click. Click.
[Title] Bringing Her Out of Herself
[Fandom] Malory Towers
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] Mary-Lou is nervous about going to boarding school.
Mary-Lou wants to hide behind Mummy, or at least hold her hand. She grips her night-case tighter so she can't cling on to anyone. As they walked down the platform first they saw just one or two, and then suddenly dozens and dozens of girls in the brown-and-orange uniform. The clothes had smelt newer than anything she'd ever worn before and putting them on at home she'd tried to pretend they were like armour, or like she was building a new her who wouldn't be scared of everything.
But now on the platform she knows it hasn't worked. Her heart is thudding in her chest and she feels if she opens her mouth it will fly out and leave her gasping and collapsing onto the ground. This isn't the worst fear ever – seeing a spider or being in a storm is icy-cold and crying – but it just sits there heavier with every minute.
There's a teacher – Miss Potts, she tells Mummy her name is – and a little group of other new girls – none of them looking like she feels, although at least they're not as laughing and happy as the older ones waving to each other or leaning out of the train window to call to their parents. Mary-Lou clings onto her night-case and stares at her feet as Mummy gives her a quick hug and a kiss goodbye. It's all right, Mummy will know why she's not hugging back or talking.
And then she's all alone with Miss Potts and these new girls and this is the bit she was most scared of (well, no, there are lots of bits she's scared of but this was definitely one of the actual things) and she's not crying yet but she can't say anything because she thinks if she tries she won't be able to breathe -
Another girl is hurrying down the platform towards them, night-case in one hand, coat falling unbuttoned. A woman behind her is calling, “Irene, your shoelaces, what have I told -”
The girl trips and her case flies out of her hand. She keeps her balance by doing a funny little stumble forward, one hand clutching her hat to her head, like she's used to fall. The case skitters along the platform, hits a railing, and bursts open, scattering pyjamas and soap and hairpins across the ground.
Mary-Lou finds herself already there, kneeling down to help the other girl – Irene – pick the things up. And Irene is saying to her, “Gosh, thank you – I knew something like this would happen, it always does – but I was sure I'd locked it -”
And Mary-Lou has said, voice shaking, “I... I think your things are all right... I hope they haven't got too dirty...” She sounds like such a little mouse, but she's speaking, and that's the important part.
[Title] Greater Good
[Fandom] BBC's Through The Dragon's Eye
[Rating] G
[Notes/Summary] The Veetacore Guardians lose a friend. (This is pretty much all fanon conjecture about Charn's origins, developed with
still_lycoris's assistance.)Click. Click. Click.
Morris is huddled in the chair, knitting. Doris stands by the window, arms folded, a scowl on her face. Boris doesn't know whether he wants to try and distract them (Anyone for cricket?) or whether he wants to actually talk about what just happened.
All right, he does not want to talk about what just happened, but it's impossible not to think about it and that's even worse.
“Maybe he'll come back,” he says, trying to sound jaunty. “You know, once he's had a chance to calm down...”
“Don't be so silly,” Doris snaps at him. “And besides, don't think I'm letting him in if he does come back.”
“But he's our friend,” Boris has said before he can think, and of course Doris jumps on it: “Friends don't try and kill each other's pets because they think it's interesting. Friends don't try and kill each other, Boris, you saw what he was going to do to me!” She looks over at him, and he sees that she's pale, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “It's just lucky whatever that power he's developed is, it's not working properly!”
“Yet,” Morris said from behind them.
Boris wished he hadn't said that.
“We should tell Gorwyn,” he says instead.
“He'll say the same as me,” Doris says. “We can't risk having someone like him anywhere near the Veetacore, not any more.”
Boris had more meant that they should ask Gorwyn if there was a way to make this better. Because he didn't really see one right now. Because Morris's pets, his caterpillars and snails, had been going missing for days, and anyone with a brain could see how much it was upsetting him – and Horris had been... looking different, his colour changing from red to a darker brown-black, and he'd been keeping the gloves Morris had made him on all the time and – not just those things, but he'd seemed so angry, so tired, complaining that the three of them were obsessed with knitting or cricket or petty house rules just to distract themselves from the emptiness of everything -
“He was sad,” he says. “We should have... asked him if he was all right.”
This could change everything! Horris had shouted. Don't you see? None of us has been able to do this before! His fingers longer, sharper, his nails clawed. I had to test it on something! I thought you'd understand, this is hope, at last -
“If you're sad,” Doris says, “then you cry. He wasn't sad. He was angry, and unkind, and dangerous. And I don't want to talk about it any more.” She turns, pulls the curtains over the window with one sharp movement. Outside, there's a growl of thunder. Morris keeps knitting. Click. Click.
