Thrusday - Help, I'm Alive
Jan. 6th, 2011 06:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficHello everyone, I'm ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crimson_antics and this is my last day of hosting.
Today's theme is Help, I'm Alive, where characters have to deal with help, whether they are offering/needing/refusing it.
Don't forget the rules:
* Three prompts per fandom, and no more than five total. If one of your prompts is filled, you may post another.
* No spoilers for new shows/seasons until at least one week after airing.
* If your fill do contains spoilers, please warn accordingly and leave enough space for people to pass by.
Please think of our codemonkeys and use the following format for your prompts:
* SGA, John/Rodney, This time, Rodney had to admit he needed help.
* Supernatural, Gabriel(/any), He watched helplessly while his family tore each other apart.
* Criminal Minds/Supernatural, BAU Team + Winchesters, The FBI might need a little help with that particular case.
If none of today's prompts inspire you, feel free to browse through the Lonely Prompts.
[theme=help]
crimson_antics and this is my last day of hosting.Today's theme is Help, I'm Alive, where characters have to deal with help, whether they are offering/needing/refusing it.
Don't forget the rules:
* Three prompts per fandom, and no more than five total. If one of your prompts is filled, you may post another.
* No spoilers for new shows/seasons until at least one week after airing.
* If your fill do contains spoilers, please warn accordingly and leave enough space for people to pass by.
Please think of our codemonkeys and use the following format for your prompts:
* SGA, John/Rodney, This time, Rodney had to admit he needed help.
* Supernatural, Gabriel(/any), He watched helplessly while his family tore each other apart.
* Criminal Minds/Supernatural, BAU Team + Winchesters, The FBI might need a little help with that particular case.
If none of today's prompts inspire you, feel free to browse through the Lonely Prompts.
[theme=help]
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no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:34 am (UTC)Filled: + Night World
Date: 2016-05-15 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:37 am (UTC)1/2
Date: 2011-01-20 09:26 pm (UTC)Elliot Spencer is a hitter, he calls himself a retrieval specialist but he was trained as a hitter and it’s usually what he ends up doing. As a rule Neal generally dislikes hitters violence is not an intellectual pursuit, but most hitters haven’t spent three weeks dragging him out of a jungle. Granted Mozzie had hired him to get Neal out when it became clear that he’d been a little to good at pissing of a South American warlord. But softly singing old country songs for him while he’d been delirious from the fever he’d caught, had earned Elliot a spot firmly on Neal’s good side. Besides they at least have the same stance on guns.
So when he sees Elliot’s face in the third picture in a line of surveillance camera mug shots, he starts feeling a little more reluctant to be helpful on the newest case, especially considering that when Neal meets the apparent mark he acts like the kind of ruthless bastard he used to take pleasure in conning. That reluctance might also have something to do with the second time he’d run into Elliot, although he prefers to think that he’d be able to look beyond two weeks of great sex, if his own life was on the line, which it will be if Peter or Hughes figure out he knows Elliot and didn’t mention it.
The problem with his decision to be obstructive though is that Elliot isn’t the one he meets when he goes undercover. Nate Ford is supposedly the groups mastermind; however considering the hints he’s missed so far Neal is beginning to doubt that he’s still as sober as his file claims. So eventually he fumbles his name and changes the tint of his accent and hopes to god that someone behind the coms he’s spotted in Fords ear will pick up on it. And that the ones behind his own won’t. His prayers appears half answered if the look on Fords face and the quick exit him and his “daughter” makes is anything to go on, the curse and questions in his own ear means that Peter unfortunately noticed too though.
2/2
From:Re: 2/2
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:38 am (UTC)Fill 1/3: band!AU, sexytimes plus drama times (and background McKeller)
Date: 2016-07-22 03:41 am (UTC)And then John got stuck, because in his impatience he was trying to pull a button-down shirt over his head, and what had started as a sexy strip act turned into a bit of a comedy routine as John tried to get free, failed, tried to get free, and then made a sad whimpering sound.
Cam laughed softly, reached out and ran his hands up John’s ribs, watched him squirm because he was ticklish.
“Cam,” John protested, voice muffled.
“What?” Cam asked, tracing the lines of muscles along John’s chest and abdomen.
John began struggling to get free more vehemently, but he was good and tangled in his shirt.
“Cam,” John said sharply, and his breath hitched when Cam smoothed his thumbs over John’s nipples. They hadn’t gone very far, just making out and rubbing off against each other, occasionally daring to sneak hands between them to stroke and squeeze through jeans, but Cam was feeling brave tonight.
“What, John? I’m just enjoying some mighty pleasant scenery. If there’s something you want, you’ll have to use your words.” Both bands had been on tonight, hit every note, every cue perfectly, and Cam could still feel the buzz from the audience singing in his veins. He slid his hands lower, circling John’s navel with his thumbs and watching, entranced, as John rocked his hips forward.
“Cam,” John said weakly, “help.”
“Help you what?” Cam slid his hands even lower, cupped John through his jeans, and was gratified when John thrust into his touch with a moan.
“Help me get free.”
“There you go.” Cam sat up, tugged John close so they were skin to skin, and reached up, unfastening the buttons on John’s twisted shirt with quick, deft hands. Cam might not have been one of the guitarists for the Snakeskinners, but his hands were just as dexterous and sure as Vala’s and Hailey’s. “You can use your words after all.” He freed John from the shirt at last, and John tugged him close for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss, hips circling and grinding even as he sucked on Cam’s tongue like the dirtiest promise.
“You,” John said between kisses, “are such a tease.”
Cam reached around and grabbed John’s ass, yanked him in tighter for more delicious friction. “Says the pretty, pretty boy writhing on my lap.”
John leaned in and nuzzled behind Cam’s ear, nipped his way down Cam’s throat to that spot where neck met shoulder and bit, and Cam groaned, hips snapping upward reflexively.
“I’m not the only pretty, pretty writhing boy,” he whispered.
In some ways, John was cosmopolitan, worldly and world-weary. In other ways, he was delightfully innocent.
So when he rubbed his chest against Cam’s and said, “Can I taste you? I wanna taste you,” Cam had to bite back a scream, because he knew John had never done that before, and the thought of being John’s first, of plundering his pretty mouth, was almost too much.
“Let me taste you first,” Cam whispered back, “and show you how it’s done.”
John nodded frantically, scrambled backward on the bunk and tried to undo his jeans, but his hands were shaking and his dexterity was shot, and it was going to be like his shirt all over again.
“Easy, cowboy,” Cam drawled, soft and gentle, stilling John’s hands. “I got this. You sit back and relax, enjoy, and maybe try to learn a thing or two.”
John nodded, chest rising and falling rapidly, and sat back against the wall, spreading his legs, watching Cam with wide, dark eyes, lips parted in awe.
Cam smiled and slid off the bunk to his knees, reached for the button of John’s jeans, and -
There was a thump on the other side of the door.
Damn. The rest of John’s band was back.
Cam cringed, waited for the Mitchell, get a damn room! from Ronon.
Instead he heard Rodney cry out. “Jennifer? Jennifer! Evan, help me - she’s collapsed! Of course the only one of us with medical training has collapsed.”
Fill 2/3: band!AU, sexytimes plus drama times (and background McKeller)
From:Fill 3/3: band!AU, sexytimes plus drama times (and background McKeller)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 11:39 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-06 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 01:55 pm (UTC)Favors Owed - Star Trek/Firefly/Leverage/Heroes/Inception, McCoy, PG
Date: 2011-01-08 10:51 am (UTC)That wasn't what the message had said, but that was exactly was McCoy heard. He heard that Captain James T. Kirk, after being kidnapped by the very people he'd been trying to save (liars and thieves, all of them) was not going to be rescued. Not with all the power and money and underhanded dealings the Malcross Syndicate could bring to bear. That was something the Federation could take no part in.
McCoy listened to the message once, and walked out of the briefing meeting, ignoring Spock's token protest. Token, because Spock wasn't stupid.
Leonard McCoy knew people. He'd treated every kind of patient there was. And there were no greater favors owed than those of life and death.
Captain Malcolm Reynolds owed McCoy a lung. And Simon Tam had been a resident when McCoy had been dirtside. Their ship could get close to the Syndicate where any Federation ship would fail.
Eliot Spencer had done dozens of rescues in his day, and McCoy had patched him back together more times than either of them cared to recount. Not to mention the merry band of do-gooders he was hooked up with now specialized in poetic justice against the rich and powerful.
Nathan Petrelli could get Spencer's team inside, the double-dealing back-stabbing shark that he was. His wife owed her spine to McCoy, and Petrelli hated having debts hanging over his head.
If McCoy was feeling generous, and Jim was completely unharmed, he might leave off calling Cobb's team on Malcross himself to destroy the Syndicate from the inside out afterward.
Maybe.
Re: Favors Owed - Star Trek/Firefly/Leverage/Heroes/Inception, McCoy, PG
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 01:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 02:10 pm (UTC)Above Ground | Jason/Tim | 1/2
Date: 2011-01-06 05:31 pm (UTC)* * *
Tim has been here almost every night since Jason was buried. A couple of times he had to dodge Bruce, but surprisingly, the man has only been a handful of times, and usually during the day. It's sad.
Even sadder that it's been six months since Jason died, and Tim is the only one here to mark the occasion. Bruce should be here. There should be flowers.
But since Tim can't risk Bruce knowing he was here, he doesn't have any flowers to lay on the grave, either, nothing to show that the second Robin is remembered, loved. It's not fai—
Kneeling at the graveside with a hand on the granite marker, Tim stills. He could swear he heard a faint cry for help in the distance. A... a scream.
He can't help whoever it is. Only Robin could. Or Batman. If only Batman was here.
The scream comes to him louder this time, but... muffled. It's not....
A cold dread spreads through him as he realizes the screams aren't anywhere out in the night air, but—he bends down to put his ear to the ground—underneath him.
“Bruce!”
His heart in his throat, Tim does the only thing he can think to, and starts digging, his fingers sinking into the soft earth and pulling it out in clumps. Not fast enough. Not fast enough!
“Help! Bruce!” And there's knocking, scraping, and Tim realizes Jason is really down there, alive. Alive! And... and trying to get out.
Oh gods, he's gonna suffocate!
A quick look around, hands still moving earth as fast as they can, and he spots the caretaker's shed not too far off. Shovel! he thinks wildly.
It takes less than a minute to get to the shed, pick the lock, grab a shovel, and get back, his heart racing as he starts in on the grave again. His arms start burning entirely too soon with the work, his chest burning with the need for more oxygen, but he knows Jason needs air worse than he does. He has to keep going!
(cont'd in next comment)
Above Ground | Jason/Tim | 2/2
From:Re: Above Ground | Jason/Tim | 2/2
From:Re: Above Ground | Jason/Tim | 2/2
From:no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 02:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 02:18 pm (UTC)