Found here.

01.	Code Name.	02.	Snow.	03.	Destiny.	04.	Chocolate.	05.	Secret.
06.	Storm.	07.	Everywhere.	08.	Goodbye.	09.	Cherry.	10.	Ice.

11.	Extra:Black.	12.	Extra:Invitation

based on table @ fanfic100

Here are the first two Nessarose bookverse fics I wrote for wicked10:
If Only
Crash End

I can't stand it!!! I LOVE this icon (see above/side/where icon for this post is). It's so sweet and cute. My first drawing ever on the internet. Yay! I think the fact that I drew it (however bad it is) makes me extra happy.  ^___^

Title: Lurlinemas
Fandom: Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
Characters: Sarima and sister Two with Manek, Irji, and Nor along with a mention of Fiyero.
Prompt: 024 Family
Word Count: 101
Rating: G
Summary: Sarima tries to cook for Lurlinemas in an attempt at "happy family and domesticity".  
Author's Notes: I had to re-work in a bit to get at least 100 words so it's not exactly as I'd like it. A bit before Fiyero's rendezvous in the Emerald City. Just a bit though since the rest of his children weren't most older than Liir. Nor is about 2 in this so make of that what you will

LDT

 

Title: Walls
Characters: Elphaba and a little Liir
Prompt: 025: Strangers
Word Count: 614
Author's Note: Another early Wicked fic.

Title: Acid Fingerprints (don't ask)
Fandom: Wicked: the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire
Characters: Elphaba, basically.
Prompt: 075: Shade
Word Count: 745
Rating: PG/ PG-13
Summary: Drabble about Elphaba while living in the Emerald City.
Author's Notes: Another early Wicked writing that I fitted into a prompt instead of writing a prompt for it.

1.
The dark moon rises

In the black sky and

Sinks into the

Ink blue wine bowl

Of humanity

 

 

2.
The cherry moon dips

Into the white cream

 

Of waiting lips ♥

 

3.
The cherry moon dips

Into the vanilla

Cream of waiting love

The room stank. A smell of dried mold, decaying milk and bodies filled her nostrils, making her gag. She held her sleeve to her face, tightly, to keep any wayward moisture from leaking out. This place stunk.
This was her new home?
Temporary, at least. Till the sands changed. Then she would be off, like the wind which moved it. 
Carefully, so as not to step on any bodies, she walked down the narrow hall, clutching her small amount of baggage tightly. The dark sand colored stone of the structure loomed over her, leered in at her, staring, choking, chasing, creeping...She felt bile rise in her throat but fought it down. What was wrong with her? She never use to be so weak...
Perhaps it was that she had never had her senses so assaulted.
The smell. The smell!
Nothing like the smell of her childhood: green, wet, and damp. Birds fluttering across and over reeds to leave droppings of excerement and eggs. At least it was fresh, free, not like this strifling tomb of stone.
It probably hadn't been cleaned in ages. Not since he came to power anyway.
At the end of the creeping tunnel, there was a pale yellow light. Pulling back the oil-filmed curtain of gossamer, she was surprised at what she saw despite her previous knowledge. A small woman, bent like an oak twisted by too much lighting, wind, and rain, sat bowed on rocking chair much too big for her. One eye glowed milk white, pale and unseeing, while the other sparkled as tawny as a cat's eye. That eye was wise, knowing, and penetrating. She shook that thought off. Ridiciolous. Here was just an old woman, her new contact.
For her life underground.

AN: Could imply to Elphaba. The "sands" before symbolisms or metaphors. Originally it was: "since the Wizard came to power anyway" but I liked the amibigousy of the whole piece so I decided to change it. Had vague Dune thoughts while writing it but... ::shrug::  Or could be completely it's own thing. It can be whatever you want it to be. Though the "underground" part refers to underground criminal (or terrorist, if we're talking Elphie) organizations...so yeah.

Damn, damn, damn him. Damn that soft-hearted bastard! He had no idea what he was doing to her. What he was still doing to her, at this very moment, even if he wasn’t here. She was falling in love with him.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Damn!

After a swift kick to the rotten sideboards of her safe-abode, Elphaba, Fae, squatted down to the smooth, hardwood table (the only thing of real value). She stared at the notes, nothing more than scribbles in her eyes now, trying to focus on her work. On anything. Other. Than. That. Man.

The man with the blue diamonds and blue eyes of the same intensity…

Damn.

Elphaba’s eyeballs roved the room, searching, looking, hoping for a distraction. Malky was no where in sight. Damn cat! ¹ Where was it when she needed it? There was some milk that was only a few weeks old, the elixir of kings, that she could give it. Still…unfortunately nothing.

The eyes that had just wandered the dry barren room, eternally brown with age where the only spot of plant life was the mildew, now burned holes into the parchment.

She shouldn’t have invited him. Back. And certainly not at night. Oh, it wasn’t the principle of the thing. She knew what they’d do, what they have been doing for months now. That wasn’t the problem, not really, because no matter how much someone took you body they could never touch that integrated part of you. And here Elphaba was readying, willing, aching to share her uttermost feelings with the Arjiki Prince.  That was sheer folly though. What kind of fool would trust their deepest fears and dreams to another living being? Much better to keep in bottled inside where no one could take it.

Still she couldn’t control how she felt.

Sighing and shifting her position, one knee under her while the other jutted out, Elphaba stared up into the murky windows wondering when nightfall would come to her. When it would bring with it Fiyero.

Still staring at the agonizing drip-drop of black into blue, she thought a break was in order for the upcoming tide.

 

“He noticed, too, that when she was agitated she was the more liberal in her lovemaking. He began to be able to tell when she was going to say “Not till next week.” She seemed more abandoned, more salacious, perhaps as a cleansing exercise before disappearing for a few days. One morning, as he was stealing some of the cat’s milk for his coffee, she rubbed some oil on her skin, wincing from sensitivity, and said over her shoulder of soft green marble, “A fortnight, my dear. My pet, as my father used to say. I need a fortnight of privacy now.”

He had a sudden pang, a premonition, that she was going to leave him. It was a way for her to get two weeks’ head start. “No!” he said. “That’s not on, Fae-Fae. It’s not all right, it’s too long.”

“We need it.” She explained: “Not you and I, I mean the other we. Obviously I can’t tell you what we’re about, but the last plans for the autumn campaign are falling into place. There’s going to be an episode—I can’t say more—and I must be available to the network at all times.”

“A coup?” he said. “An assassination? A bomb? A kidnapping? What? Just the nature of it, not the specifics, what?”

“Not only can I not tell you,” she said, “I don’t even know. I’ll be told only me small part, and I’ll do it. I only know it’s a complicated maneuver with a lot of interlocking pieces.”

“Are you the dart?” he said. “Are you the knife? The fuse?”

She said (though he wasn’t convinced): “My dearie, my poppet, I am too green to walk into a public place and do something bad. It’s all too expected. Security guards watch me like owls on a mouse. My very presence provokes alarm and heightened vigilance. No, no, the part I’ll play will be a handmaiden’s part, a little assistance in the shadows.”

“Don’t do it,” he said.

“You’re selfish,” she said, “and a coward. I love you, my sweet, but your protests about this are wrongheaded. You just want to preserve my insignificant life, you don’t even have a moral feeling bout whether I’m doing right or wrong. Not that I want you to, not that I care what you think about it. But I only observe, your objections are of the weakest sort. Now this isn’t something to be argued. Two weeks from tonight, come back.” “

(Maguire 204-5)

What to write?
What to write?
Something creative?
Something different?
Something that'll expand my mind
Beyond the borders of reality.
(0.1)

Went for a walk
Down the flowering streets
to a dog kennel.
(0.2 ver.01. 5-7-5)

Went for a walk
Down the flowering streets
to see the blooms.
(0.2 ver.02. 5-7-5)

What is belief?
What is faith?
Hell if I know

{evil, too much more so}
(0.3)

To see my longer, better (and more personal) poems...uh...go here But you'll probably have to ask me to show them to you.

Horses gather or more to the point, humans on horses gather. Of course horses would never waste time and energy to kill one another.
Granted they are grazers, which implies certain placidity. It would be different with say a wolf, or a bear, or a hawk. They understand that life is nothing short breathing and not getting killed. It is an endless cycle of death, birth, and destruction. Everyone knows this.
Except humans, of course. As a rule.
They don’t seem particularly fond of me in any regard. Perhaps it has something to do with those cold stone trees that are not trees and will be anything like trees. I don’t much care. What I do care about, and know, is that whenever a human sees me it’ll scream and shriek or sometimes the young attempt to catch me as a matter of bravery. Pfffttt.
But this, this now is different. Many, many humans lined up like seeding grass in a field. The odor of fear, anger, sadness and aggression form a rich and conflicting mixture on my tongue. What do these humans want? To kill each other, of course, or at least to kill each other even if that is not what they desire. Much too complicate for me. Why make lines and boundaries over things that should be simple? You hunger, you kill, and you eat. Humans make a game out of death, like it is some big spectacle of which they have no part.
They don’t understand, of course. As a rule.
Living and breathing is so complicated to them. They try to shape and mold it to fit whatever world they think they are living in but they don’t see where they really are.
As I move closer, through the grass, I sense individual presences. There is one: dark and foreboding, full of pain and sorrow but most of all of that red violence found in all predators. The other: lighter but sterner, full of pain as well but also anger turn inward. That will serve it no good.
These two I know. My life in these fields has brought me in contact of many of the humans lined up to a death game they do not appear to want. I never liked either of them. I never liked the dark one. Always burning us or catching my brothers and sisters for “observations”.
And the angry one is just as bad with that old human latched on like a leech. The old one was always snooping around, poking his head where it didn’t belong, into trees, lakes, fields and stubs.
I know all this and I’ll let them be. After all, it isn’t my fault they’re playing these games of illusion where they must kill each other.
Moving through the grass, intent of leaving (it reeks of oppression and anger most near those two), one subtle horse stops me. It does not whiny in fear or stamps its hooves (it has been well broken in by humans). It backs away slightly, round white eyes fixed on me.
I am almost out of this human field of death but I don’t like the way the horse is looking at me. To long among humans, perhaps, has made this horse vehemence. It seems to be struggling against its “master’s” control.
Suddenly a hard mass of hoof comes rushing down by me almost squashing my head. I slither quickly to the side, to the horse’s other, docile, front leg and bite the horse.
Certainly that won’t kill it but the horse will feel it. There is no ill will but I am not one which whom should be trifled.
But then the horse rears and runs, like a pack of wolves are after it. There is quite a stir among the humans. The scent is red. The red of anger, aggression. There are shouts by the humans in their own tongue that barely register as I slither away.
I seemed to have caused that, I think but it hardly matters. If the humans…Blood and death rises in a stench behind me.
Oops.

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She knew he didn’t love her. He didn’t, couldn’t. There was someone else with long golden tresses and a spit-fire personality to match. She knew he could never love her as he did that golden flame. Like her perhaps but not love. Not love. Not for her.

He wasn’t really with his golden blaze. That one seemed indifferent to him yet the fire seemed unable to burn him. Perhaps he loved that one too much. What was it people said? Love is blind? That was it. Yet despite his golden flame’s unresponsiveness he persisted. The why wasn’t known but he still continued much like a fly to a candle. Maybe he couldn’t stop.

She told herself it didn’t matter, because it didn’t. Maybe she loved him or maybe she didn’t. It didn’t matter since he didn’t love her. He liked her, flirted, played, talked with her; made her heart beat with warmth but he didn’t return the affection. She was alone in her love.

And she did love him. Of that she was sure, in her heart of hearts. It had been more than six months since she had had these warm, tender feelings that threaten to burn. There was nothing she could do; she must let herself burn.

Despite all this she had convinced herself she loved him so much that his happiness was all that mattered. That would be enough for her. Let her own heart shrivel up and burn in ice. His bright smile and warm eyes were enough for her…even if not directed at herself.

At least she had thought so…

When she saw them together, him with his golden flame, she had felt nothing. It was when he called the flame his girlfriend that a sliver of pain slipped in through a crack in her impenetrable fortress. She had left them feeling uneasy, not knowing yet since (as she thought) she was okay with their love. But as she walked she felt her heart squeeze, her throat choke, and, worse of all, her eyes become dangerously moist.

Hardly ever had she cried yet now she felt tears dance just on the inside of her eyelids. They threaten to overwhelm her and she couldn’t breathe. There was such a weight on her shoulders, her heart. There was that paper for English class…but her heart wasn’t into it. She kept seeing his face, shining, smiling, golden, fresh, overflowing with love, happy, looking at that golden fire of a woman. At that woman.

And it broke her heart.

Testing...testing...1, 2, 3.

Anything but that.