Friday - Free-For-All
Jun. 11th, 2010 11:00 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficHey, guys! It's that time of the week for you to let your imaginations go wild with no restraints, other than keeping it legal... and possibly bending a few laws (*winkwink*). As always, you only need to follow the rules:
Respect our awesome code monkeys, and follow the standard format with your prompts. Like so:
If you don't see any prompts that tickle your fancy, please take a gander at our lonely prompts section here.
TGIF!
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No spoilers in your prompts for at least one week after publication/air date.
If there are spoilers in your story, you must warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces.
No more than 5 prompts in a row, and no more than 3 prompts per fandom. If one of your prompts is answered, you can prompt again.
Respect our awesome code monkeys, and follow the standard format with your prompts. Like so:
Burn Notice, Michael/author's choice, standing on the edge
White Collar/Leverage, Neal/Eliot, playtime
If you don't see any prompts that tickle your fancy, please take a gander at our lonely prompts section here.
TGIF!
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:06 pm (UTC)Brighton (Turned out sorta gen)
Date: 2010-07-04 09:39 am (UTC)It’s oddly homey to sit together, happily discussing what the day has brought, together in the aloneness of an apocalypse.
This is their family now.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:29 pm (UTC)And on the sixth day....
Date: 2010-07-03 06:49 pm (UTC)On his second day, he leads a parade of kindergarteners to the Dairy Barn down the street and pays for cones for the entire class with his sock money. The Principle describes Shawn as ‘high spirited’.
On the third day, he brings home a drawing of Henry dressed as Strawberry Shortcake. Henry uses this as an excuse to take a belt of scotch.
On the fourth day, Shawn pulls a fire alarm to get out of song time so he won’t have to hold a girl’s hand. The principle recommends several excellent military schools to Henry when he stops off on his lunch break to give his son a dry change of clothes.
On the fifth day, he met Gus, and Henry stopped worrying.
Re: And on the sixth day....
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 05:29 pm (UTC)Unless, of course, you took into account the sigils branded in a minuscule size, barely visible to the naked eye.
"Cas!" Sam moved quickly, unaware of how long the demons in charge of the operation would be out of commission, or when Dean would show up. Wherever the hell he was.
"Sam," Cas greeted, calmly, if not a bit strained.
"You okay?" Sam tested the bonds. "What are these markings? Can you get out?"
Cas stared at Sam, steadily, bleeding a little from his nose, and a gash from his above hairline. "I am fine. There will be a second wave of demons shortly."
"And we'll get our asses kicked," Sam says, fingers tugging at the cord. "Dean's MIA, and i need to get you freed."
As if on cue, Cas' binds loosened, and the resident angel stumbles foward, deadweight, into Sam.
"Whoa, okay," Sam adjusted his hold on Castiel. Cas' blue eyes were slightly unfocused, skin hot to the touch. "What'd they do-?"
"I'm fine," Cas repeated, flatly. "We don't have the time to spare," he pushed off of Sam, nearly dropping to his knees.
Sam instantly slid Cas' arm around his shoulder, supporting him.
"Sam," Castiel frowned. "You need to go. Find Dean...I'll be fine ."
"Case in point. You just said you'll be fine," Sam said. "A minute ago you said you were fine."
"I will not argue semantics with you right now, Sam," Cas sounded the closest he could to irritated, body sagging slightly against Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes, shuffling Cas along toward the-
"There was a door there," Sam said.
"There was," Cas agreed. "Now there is a bookshelf." A rather large bookshelf that had seen better days, jammed across the way out.
"Any chance you could.." Sam gestured to his forehead.
"Not in my present state, no," Cas said, mouth set in a tight line, before slipping free of Sam's hold and collapsing.
A few minutes later- or what seemed like hours- Sam was trapped in an abandoned library with an armful of weakened angel.
"Cas," Sam gingerly tapped Castiel's cheek. Was it like waking a sleepwalker? Would Cas snap to and just...smite him?
"I'm awake," Cas' voice was impossibly lower. "I am...resting my eyes, so to speak."
"Since when do you 'rest your eyes'?"
"Since now, apparently." Cas frowned, perplexed, as goosebumps darted over his skin. "It's chilly."
Sam wet his lips, nervously. Cas never complained about the temperature. "You're sweating."
"It's unpleasant," Cas decided. "We need to get moving." he moved to stand.
Sam promptly pulled him back down. "No, we stay here. You're weak, Cas, and there are no demons here. If we go rushing off with you like this..."
"I understand. Dean-"
"Is a big boy and everything Cas," Sam said. "He can take care of himself. He did before us, you know."
Cas was quiet for a minute, head nodding slightly. "Your body heat improves the situation."
"Right," Sam swallowed, briefly, feeling Cas settle against him, boneless, almost relaxed. He shifted his arms, carefully, around Cas. it was weird...the trenchcoat made Cas appear intimidating, but he felt..smaller, suddenly.
"Sam." Cas said, low against Sam's chest. "I won't tell Dean."
"Deal," Sam nodded, chin brushing the top of Cas' head, and waited.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:30 pm (UTC)Astronomy, Part I, Sirius/Remus if you squint
Date: 2010-06-11 06:41 pm (UTC)So there were many, many things that Sirius Black was good at buggering up, and one of them was relationships. If it wasn't James pointing it out, he tended to blow it off with mention of his family or just a flat "I don't care."
This was a little bit different.
It had been almost five months since the Whimping Willow incident. He and Remus were talking again, and that was something, but Prongs and Wormtail had been to the Shrieking Shack four times now without Padfoot along, and they were going to do it again tomorrow night. The wolf remembered who had hurt him, but he had an animal's lumbering understanding about it; and the simple conviction that if Moony hurt Padfoot back than everything would be all right. Sirius was generally willing to risk it, if it would get the anger out, but James wasn't, and he'd threatened to gore any great black dogs that showed up on the grounds on a full moon night.
But for once James didn't get it. Remus was closed up, he'd always been closed up, and Sirius had managed to blow any chance of him opening up as Remus all to hell five months before. And James could take a breather and let the aggression go if he really tried, but not Remus. Remus stored anger up for when he needed it, and sometimes the only safety valve was the wolf. Moony needed to beat Padfoot to a pulp, and then Remus could pretend nothing had ever happened, and Sirius could forget how good he was at buggering things up.
James didn't get it, but as usual when it came to Padfoot-and-Prongs showdowns, James had eventually won.
Which was why he was here, another cold bloody night on the astronomy tower with a class rather than a girl. It had been Remus who had convinced him to take it at the NEWT level, on the theory that Gryffindor's resident insomniac Marauder could spend his night in class at least once a week. Sirius had only agreed because Remus planned to take it, too. He'd skipped the last three, because things were just so bloody stiff and uncomfortable without James about, but the professor had finally caught him out in a broom closet twenty minutes before class and told him to put his shirt on properly and show up.
The plan was to hang in the back as though he had better things on his mind than Uranus and stalk off at the first opportunity.
Lily Evans changed that, by slipped back through the crowd and slapping him upside the head.
"Hey! What was that for?"
"For leaving Remus wondering where you are. Seriously, you two slug it out before you drive Potter mad and he does the same to me."
Sirius rubbed the back of his head. "I was with a girl. He knew that."
Evans slapped him again for good measure. "Once I'll grant. Imbecile."
"Aren't you the good little girl who listens to the lectures anyway?"
"Oh, talk to him, Black. He's right there." She gestured.
Sirius glanced at Remus, who was off to the side as usual and scribbling notes that Sirius hadn't swiped from him in weeks, and back at Evans. He could talk to Remus, or he could get slapped in the back of the head again.
He talked to Remus.
Astronomy, Part II, Sirius/Remus if you squint
From:Re: Astronomy, Part II, Sirius/Remus if you squint
From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:31 pm (UTC)Warpaint (Written as Burn Notice; Fiona)
Date: 2010-07-04 09:33 am (UTC)She’d rather turn heads by blowing the world apart than for wearing nothing beneath her skirts. So it’s a little secret for herself and Michael, one that tantalizes her. She’ll let him see – if she feels like it. But only if she wants it.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:32 pm (UTC)Part 1/2
Date: 2010-07-19 08:40 pm (UTC)Easier said than done.
It turned out that Max's newest weapon was a laser that turned any combatant within the target area into a child. Had the team known this in advance they would have blown up the building and run like hell, but they didn't know, couldn't, and so they used standard ops procedure and had Cougar stationed on the building across the street under a water cistern.
When the laser fired, aimed at the supposedly empty building and encompassing the entirety of the structure, Cougar's comm let out a high pitched scream of static and went completely dead. Aisha was closest and she took the fire escape stairs three at a time, listening to the rest of the team frantically trying to figure out what the weapon was and if it had what Jensen called an "Undo Button".
"Cougar!" She screamed, reaching the top. "Cougar!"
A startled squeal had her bellying under the cistern and crawling towards the sniper's last known location. There, instead of a 5'10" grown man who knew a laundry list of ways to kill someone with a paper clip, she found a small child, probably only five or six, kneeling in the pooled remains of Cougar's clothes and clinging to his now oversized hat with both hands.
"Oh my God." She gasped, immediately setting off a string of questioning from the rest of the team. "Guys!" She shouted finally, "I've got Cougar, we'll meet you at the rendezvous."
Cougar, because this was obviously still the same man, eyed her suspiciously, but in typical Cougar fashion did not speak. He went along easily enough, stepping over his clothes and still clinging to his hat. Aisha had enough sense to grab his rifle, knowing how much Cougar prized it and babied it, and as an afterthought snagged the rest of his clothes as well.
Little Cougar stood in the shadow of the cistern, obviously remembering enough of his training to know to stay out of plain sight during an op, his bare feet poking out from under his t-shirt dress.
"Can you walk?" She asked him, stopping to bundle his things together for easier transport. "The fire escape is our best bet, but the steps are pretty far apart."
Cougar moved to the side of the building carefully, leaning over the side to examine the stairs for himself. Aisha was right, they were fifteen stories up and the metal steps were definitely built for an adult to manage. He shook his head, scuffing one bare foot over some loose gravel.
"Great." She muttered, shouldering her make-shift pack and offering him her arms. "You're going to need to hold on so I can climb."
Cougar nodded, climbing up and wrapping his tiny arms around her neck. He was careful to keep his face on her shoulder rather than the more comfortable surface of her breasts, something Aisha appreciated.
Part 2/2
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:32 pm (UTC)Warning: Smut! NC-17! PWP!
Date: 2010-09-10 06:29 am (UTC)Jethro figured, after this, that he'd never be able to smell chlorine again without remembering Tim. And not necessarily in an appropriate fashion.
...Definitely not in an appropriate fashion.
Skin still a little damp from the pool at his gym, flushed from his neck on down to his chest, head thrown back and panting, trying to catch a full breath.
It was a Saturday with the same basic routine. Got up, had breakfast, ran with the dog, then Tim went off to the gym and Jethro went down to work on his boat. Well, sometime between working on his boat and Tim coming home, his libido decided to kick into overdrive.
And Tim always came down to see him before going to clean up after a work-out. Was more than happy to let Jethro sweep the tools off his workbench and let him strip them down.
A few hard and bruising kisses, fingers and lube later and Jethro had buried himself to the hilt in Tim, barely pausing before pounding Tim into the table top.
Jethro wasn't quite sure were he found the energy to keep up the relentless pace, but he loved it and from the way that Tim was coiling, tighten, arching with every thrust, he wasn't the only one loving it.
He was so close when Tim finally caught a breath. "I-I..." Groaned when Jethro grabbed his cock, stroking it, and at the same time, Jethro somehow managing to pick up his already furious pace.
Didn't take very long until Tim was half shouting his climax, coming all over Jethro's hand and Jethro thrust in as far as he could, his own world hazy and shattered with orgasm.
Took a minute to realize Tim was giving him a quiet chuckle. "Did I do something to earn that, or were you just happy I was home?"
"Wait to my brain works and then I might be able to answer that."
Here's some smut for you! It just dawned on me that I never wrote you any before. LOL.
Re: Warning: Smut! NC-17! PWP!
From:Re: Warning: Smut! NC-17! PWP!
From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:32 pm (UTC)Strength (1/3)
Date: 2010-06-14 12:39 am (UTC)They should have known, Castiel thinks, as he makes his way towards the building before him. They should have known by the way he was too, too quiet when Sam suggested his plan to trap Lucifer. They should have known that just because he had said No once did not mean this was over. They should never have let him out of the house, out of the room, out of the cuffs.
But they did, and now they are split up, searching, frantic. He slipped out in the middle of the night; he left no note, no word, but there is only one thing he would have gone to do without telling them, without leaving word.
And Castiel is, is about to be, the one to find him. But it doesn't matter. He knows, glass crunching under his feet as he walks towards a building with its windows all blown out, knows with a dull certainty, that it is already too late.
He stays anyway, when he finds the figure curled unconscious on the ground at the centre of the chaos. Because he might as well let Sam and Bobby hope a little longer. Because this is the end of the line. Because there is nothing left to do, nothing left to try. And because whoever is truly here now, the form he kneels beside still looks like Dean.
But the eyes that at last open and stare through him, the deep voice that says "Castiel," those are not Dean's.
"Michael," Castiel says, and he bows his head and waits. He has disobeyed, he has fought with Man against Heaven and Michael and all the angels; he knows what is coming now. He does not even try to move away from the hand that whips out to seize his shoulder in a bruising grip. Because there is nowhere left to go.
The world fades around him - fades and then reforms, and Castiel cannot help raising his head in surprise to see where Michael has taken him. Metal walls, a table, a single metal-frame bed. And something, something in the walls perhaps, on the outside where he cannot see - something that will not let him leave.
"Stay here," Michael says, drawing himself to his feet. "You will be safe here."
And then he is gone.
You will be safe here. Perhaps Michael is mocking him. Michael's sense of humour is not as obtrusive as Gabriel's, but it is just as cruel - crueler - in its way.
Castiel pulls himself off the floor to sit on the bed and await his execution. He looks around at the walls of his cell.
It's... familiar.
For a long moment he doesn't understand. When he was, briefly, confined in Heaven, they did not confine him in physical form, kept him in nothing as mundane as a metal cell. There is no reason his cell should look familiar.
But it does. Because this isn't a cell.
It's a panic room.
It's Bobby's panic room.
For a moment he thinks it might be actually, literally, Robert Singer's panic room. But no. It is a little larger. It is a little darker. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels out. Bobby's panic room is not warded to keep angels in.
Bobby's panic room has a door.
Before he can begin to contemplate what Michael intends in bringing him here of all places, there is a rustling and the archangel is once more standing before him.
His clothes are torn, and there is blood, a great deal of blood, painted across the fabric and across the skin the torn cloth reveals, but Castiel thinks very little of it is his.
The blood on the sword in his hand certainly isn't.
Michael is staring at the bloodied blade, and without thinking Castiel finds he is standing and drifting towards him, his eyes too fixed on the sword.
"It is done then," he says, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears. "Lucifer is dead."
"Lucifer?" Michael says. He sounds... surprised. He blinks and looks away from the blade, looks at Castiel. "No. Raphael."
"Raphael?" Castiel stops in his tracks. He doesn't understand. After a long moment, he asks "Why?" Quiet and careful, but he asks, because he doesn't understand. He wants to understand. Michael is going to execute him anyway. He has nothing to lose.
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From:(no subject)
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From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:37 pm (UTC)This prompt brought to you by (not so great) old country music...
Date: 2010-06-11 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 05:24 pm (UTC)Okay, so this is from Maggie's perspective
Date: 2010-06-12 11:46 pm (UTC)After a while, Maggie stops struggling against the cuffs, slumping bonelessly. They are in an elevator with a bomb. They are going to die. She is going to die chained to her ex-husband and next to her currently sobbing (ex)boyfriend. “Nate,” she struggles to get out as the door closes with a sickeningly cheery ‘ping’. Her eyes are itchy and she blinks a few times to get rid of the sting. “I don’t want to die,” she finally admits in a hushed voice, chin shaking with the sheer effort to keep herself under control. Alexander is doing enough blubbering for the three of them, and she would be damned if she was going to die crying like a baby.
Nate looks at her, eyes cool. He’s calm and collected and there is a bomb at their feet. She envies him as much as she wants to hit him. “We’re not going to. My team is going to save us.” He’s so smug, so confident, and she wants to claw his eyes out.
“Nate. The last time we were, y’know,” she still can’t say ‘that one time I helped you steal all those paintings and avenged our son’s death’. “Sophie helped. She helped a lot. Sophie’s not here.” She doesn’t know what conclusions she’s jumping to, but she has a need to tell Nate of her worries, her doubts.
“Sophie’s not the only part of my team, Maggie,” he reminds her gently and she thinks back to the time when their marriage began to fray and he went off on his own. She never had that complete confidence in him like he has in his team. Even now, she has her doubts, but she decides to trust in this brand-new-Nate (even though he smells like the old-Nate-she-knew: whiskey with a touch of lies) and say no more, tugging him to her lips. Sure enough, Parker comes flying down from the zip line, interrupting their passion-born kiss, to grab the bomb. She disappears with one sharp tug as Maggie and Nate shy away from each other as far as the handcuffs would let them. Maggie toys with her hair, feeling like she just got caught by her parents and she didn’t even know why.
Parker slides back into their elevator, holding a tiny silver case. “Go,” she commands to no one and tugs off the rope. The elevator starts again and the movement jolts Maggie, who can’t even remember when it stopped. She avoids Nate’s eyes for the rest of the trip and settles on Alexander’s trembling arms. She wishes she could sneer. When the door opens, Eliot steps into the elevator. Parker and he share a little look and Parker smiles, freeing a pasty-looking Alexander and bounding away. He kneels between them; he takes up a lot of room physically as well as metaphorically and Maggie feels an animalistic urge to move away. Eliot fiddles with the handcuffs until they come loose.
“You okay?” He’s looking only at Nate. Nate nods. Maggie busies herself with rubbing at her raw wrist. Alexander runs straight for a trashcan and throws up.
“…first bombs the hardest,” she hears Parker try to console him and awkwardly not-touches him.
“How did ya do it?” Nate asks, even though Maggie has a feeling that it’s for her shell-shocked benefit. Eliot explains as Maggie notices how relaxed he becomes the more he talks. She feels her body relaxing in response and she smiles.
“You know…people underestimate you.”
Nate bumps her with his elbow gently. “That’s the point.” Maggie watches her ex-husband and the hitter share an overly fond look. Her breath catches.
Now she gets it.
Re: Okay, so this is from Maggie's perspective
From:Re: Okay, so this is from Maggie's perspective
From:Re: Okay, so this is from Maggie's perspective
From:no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-11 05:28 pm (UTC)