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Flashslash

Title: Flashslash roundup
Fandom: various
Pairing: various
Summary: Stuff from flashslash. Fandoms include TPM, SGA, SPN, PotC.



1: TPM

Obi-Wan ducked under the low-hanging bough of the tree, shaking his head to clear the fallen pollen-heavy blossoms from it. His robe was dusted with a scattering of yellow-white powder like fairy dust. Ahead of him, Qui-Gon stood, arms folded, leaning against the smooth white trunk.

"What are they doing?" Obi-Wan whispered, as he came up behind his master. Qui-Gon didn't move at his approach or at his words; a faint smile played briefly across his lips.

"I'm not entirely sure."

"You don't sound bothered by that."

"There are some things," Qui-Gon said serenely, "that will always be beyond our understanding." He turned his head then, regarding Obi-Wan with a solemn expression that didn't quite mask the amusement dancing behind it. "What would you say they are doing, Padawan?"

"Dancing," Obi-Wan replied promptly. "Naked."

"Ah." Qui-Gon's gaze went back to the cat-people in the meadow before them, swaying and dancing to a silent music.

"Ah?" Obi-Wan squinted, trying to see what his master saw. "Am I wrong?"

"No," Qui-Gon said, "and yes. What you see here, Padawan, is politics."

"..." Obi-Wan squinted harder. "Politics."

"Yes." Qui-Gon's mouth twitched with a quickly-suppressed smile. "In fact, this is a congress of the tribal elders, deciding on how the coming harvest will be run."

"Politics," Obi-Wan repeated, frowning. Politics meant boring people standing around having boring conversations. "It can't be politics; they aren't even talking, and they look too /happy/." Politics was never about happiness. Success, maybe, if you got what you want, but...

"Not all politics is as tedious as you might expect," Qui-Gon said, and though he continued to watch the dance in front of him, Obi-Wan could feel his master's attention settle on him, expectant.



2: SGA

It was amazing how many worlds in the Pegasus galaxy looked like Earth. Green grass, green trees, blue sky. Oh, sure, there was the whole scientific explanation for it, chlorophyll and oxygen and all, but still, sometimes, you could stand there and pretend it was home.

Well. Not home, any more. Home was a city in the water, a place of a thousand mysteries that they even yet hadn't completely explored. Home was the sound of waves, the odor of long centuries, the sight of the night sky sparkling with constellations that were losing their unfamiliarity.

But old home-- Earth-- so many places here reminded Rodney of it, though the pang of homesickness that he sometimes got, like a mental toothache that you focused on despite (or because of) the hurt, lessened with time, as home shifted from there to here. Some places had benches just like those in parks on earth, and if you closed your eyes and let your mind drift, you could almost hear the rumble of traffic passing in the distance, or the yap of those annoying little dogs as their equally annoying owners took them out for a walk.

This place, though?

Rodney eyed the purple grass, the strange tree-things with multiple trunks coming together into a feathery explosion of varying shades of pink, the near-white sky. This wasn't anything like home. At all. Either home.

It was somehow a refreshing change.



3: TPM

Obi-Wan tilted his head at what was labeled a 'race', but really didn't seem to be. "They aren't moving," he whispered to Qui-Gon.

One of the Mewlings heard him, and leapt up, a head-sized ball of fuzz sproinging with excitement so that each leap was several times its own height (but barely brought it up to Obi-Wan's shoulder). "mew," it said, and "meep."

Obi-Wan blinked in bafflement, and turned to Qui-Gon for translation. His Master had the infuriatingly serene look that he put on when he didn't really have a clue but was going to pretend he just wasn't telling the secret. "Fine, then," he muttered, and turned to the bopping Mewling. "...um. Meep arp?"

The Mewling squeaked and bounced forward to latch itself onto Obi-Wan. He had no idea where the fuzz was aiming, but it landed squarely in his pubic area, and clung to Obi-Wan's tunics, purring and vibrating. Obi-Wan winced. "Master? Did I just ... say something I'm going to regret?"

Qui-Gon looked down at his Padawan, and smiled at the picture of bewildered (and slightly uncomfortable) bafflement that faced him. "I doubt it, young Padawan," he said, though amusement sparkled in his voice like sun on water. "I am sure you can extricate yourself from this situation. Mew," he added gravely to the Mewling that bulged happily against Obi-Wan's groin. With another serene smile at Obi-Wan, the older Jedi swept away, robes swishing unevenly with the weight of a Mewling snug against his ass.



4: TPM

The colored tissue paper hung in shreds, ripped by the winds and torn further by the pelting rain that had come down like the hand of the gods. Water dripped down into many-colored puddles, ripples expanding to chase the one left by the drip before.

The two Jedi had been trapped here by the storm; they were free now to leave, but they chose not to. "We will wait for the ceremony to resume," the older one said, with a slight bow.

The festival had to be performed on a certain day, or it would not please the gods. We'd held on for as long as possible, but finally the weather drove us inside, where we watched the destruction of a month's worth of setup. I looked at the Elder who was speaking to the Jedi, watched his face as he struggled with the words to explain to the Jedi that the ceremony would not resume until next year's time.

"We will return, then, in a year."

"We will not be here in a year." The Elder again struggled with words -- how to explain this to someone who did not even believe in our gods? "The festival, it is necessary for the gods' pleasure -- without it, we will not survive the winter."

The younger Jedi spoke up then: "How much is necessary for the gods to be pleased?"

"As much as possible," the Elder said sourly, and then: "Just the dance."

The two Jedi looked at each other, conversing in a glance, communicating much more than could be said in words; then they turned, and bowed, and walked out into the colorful remnants of our festival.

"Wait," the Elder said, hovering at the edges of the shelter. "The rain will come again-- you will die--"

The younger Jedi began to dance solo, simple movements that grew more complex. The older Jedi returned to the shelter, and said, "We will dance for you, because you cannot." He returned to his partner, and wordlessly, seamlessly, joined in the dance, whirling and leaping in ever-more-acrobatic movements. I longed to join them, to dance with them, but I did not have the communication, and the rains were beginning again; the Jedi could survive it where we could not, because they were larger and lacked the delicate membranes of our kind, and so I simply watched, as they danced to our gods.



7: SPN

It was a child's game, nothing more. Harmless.

It was a hole, dug shallow and long, a tiny version of a grave; it was a twig, resting in the 'grave' like a body needing to be burnt; it was marshmallow, melted and dribbled over a pretzel stick to be a spirit. It was a piece of paper, colored with red and orange and yellow crayon, a rough approximation of fire -- because they weren't allowed near real matches, not yet at least -- laid with care and precision on the twig-body, so that the marshmallow-spirit could wither and die (or at least be eaten, as generally happened).

It was a child's game, and it might have meant nothing. Would have, in other families. But this was not another family, and John was never entirely sure how much of the game was because of his nudging, and how much was because his children were just so damn /good/, born to be hunters the way their daddy was.

It was a child's game, and it was prelude to the reality of the world, their world, their hunt.



8: PotC

He had worn his duplicity like raiment, like a king's cloak and crown. Unashamed of what he was doing, with the blissful certainty of one who knew everything would come out right in the end. Cross and double-cross and triple-cross, until no one was sure quite whose side he was /on/.

Except for one.

James knew. James had always known. There could be no doubt: Jack Sparrow was on his own side, and he made up the rules as he went.

Of course, making up the rules wasn't nearly as effective as following rules -- which is why James, treading the path of what-was-right with as unwavering a belief in rightness and righteousness as Jack had in himself, had won. Why Jack was in chains, prisoner of the law. Finally.

"I should," James murmured, half to himself, "be more content with the situation."

Jack cracked one eye open, squinting at his captor. "You seem fairly ecstatic to me, mate," he said dryly. "Having second thoughts, are we?"

"No," James said sharply, but he clamped his mouth down on any following words. Jack may have been a pirate, and a half-crazed one at that, barely aligned with reality, but he was remarkably perceptive when he chose to be.



9: TPM

A Jedi did not act with haste, Obi-Wan reminded himself sternly.

Well, except for when it was necessary. And this? Wasn't necessary.

Technically.

Still, it was a little embarrassing to be wandering around the Temple without clothes on. Not all that unusual, but not all that /usual/ either. Each time someone looked at him, their gaze felt like physical contact. Slaps, or pokes, or sometimes caresses, before they looked away again.

Qui-Gon had promised him that he would discover the value of serenity. Internal serenity -- the sort that came with supreme unshakable confidence in yourself, not the external sort of serenity that came with the approval of others. "A Jedi must learn faith," Qui-Gon had said, a slight smile on his face. "In himself, in the Force; in all circumstances, in all places, in all ways."

Obi-Wan had insisted that he /had/ faith, he did; but still, Qui-Gon had sent him on this. It was a training exercise, of sorts: one circuit around the hallways of the Temple, slow walking speed, unclothed. "Faith will be your clothing; you must act as though nothing is different."

If Obi-Wan were to be honest with himself, he would admit that the only thing keeping him here, strolling through the Temple as though he didn't have a care in the world, was the promise Qui-Gon had made of what would happen /after/ he completed the exercise.

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( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
pingback_bot
May. 8th, 2011 05:51 pm (UTC)
[Stargate Atlantis] Feels Like Home (The Green Planet Remix)
User paranoidangel42 referenced to your post from [Stargate Atlantis] Feels Like Home (The Green Planet Remix) saying: [...] places that didn't remind Rodney of home and one that did. Notes: Remix of Untitled SGA drabble [...]
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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