TUESDAY - LUCK OF THE IRISH

[galor5.livejournal.com]

Happy St. Patricks Day, Everyone!

Today's theme is in honor of (you guessed it;) St. Patricks Day!

Anything Irish goes: Shamrocks, leprechauns, pot o'gold, beer/ale, luck, green, parades, Notre Dame, etc.


It doesn't matter what fandom or pairing you choose, so long as the prompt (song lyrics, one word, a picture, whatever) somehow is Irish related.

Please make things easier for the codemonkeys and their pinch-hitters, please code your prompts correctly:

Examples:
~ LOTRIPS; Viggo/Orlando, Kiss me I'm Irish
~ RPS; Gerry Butler/JDM, Lucky
~TW; Jack/Ianto, Parade route

Also, please make sure that you only have one prompt per comment as it makes it easier for everyone and gives you more chance of getting a fic in return for leaving the prompt :)

You can leave and answer as many prompts as you want to, or even write your own.

If you don't see anything that strikes your fancy writing from the prompts left today, feel free to head on over to the Lonely Prompts page and see what fun you can create from them ;)

Send your writer friends over to join in the fun!!

Comments

[galor5.livejournal.com]

LOTRIPS; Viggo/Orlando, Kiss me I'm Irish

[galor5.livejournal.com]

RPS; Gerry Butler/JDM, Lucky

[wendyr.livejournal.com]

(my apologies, somehow I don't think this is exactly what you meant by Lucky, but this is what came out -- who am I to argue with the muse? LOL)


“…and if I stay lucky then my tongue will stay tied
And I won’t betray the things that I hide
There’s not enough years underneath this belt
For me to admit the way that I felt…”

Gerry eyed Jeff as he played his way through some American song Gerry had never heard before. He couldn’t remember the name of the band, only that it was Mary something and a bunch of numbers. It pained him to admit that Jeff was actually a decent singer. It pained him even more that Jeff had picked up both the guitar and the Irish accent more quickly than he had himself.

The thing that drove Gerry crazier than any of that was the fact that Jeff and Harry were thick as thieves over in their own little corner, singing and joking and generally not paying one bit of attention to the rest of the world – Gerry included. Damned Americans.

Jeff finished his song and set the guitar aside, flexing his fingers. For a moment, Gerry’s attention was completely focused on Jeff’s hands, until his mind decided to inform him in graphic detail exactly how those hands would feel on his body. He bit back a curse and stalked over to talk to Jeff, who was laughing at something Harry had said. Thankfully, Harry was on the way to get another round of drinks.

“What, exactly, are you hiding?” Gerry breathed in Jeff’s ear, using surprise to his advantage.

Jeff eyed him very seriously for a moment. “I didn’t write the song,” he stage whispered, amusement lighting his eyes, making flecks of gold dance in them.

“Still…there must be some reason why you chose that one.”

“Harry likes it. So do I, actually.”

“Harry likes it,” Gerry repeated, eyes never leaving Jeff’s. “You and Harry have been spending a lot of time together.”

“We’re friends. Friends do that.”

“Just friends…”

“Okay, yeah. Harry’s hot, if that’s what you’re getting at. The whole ‘straight’ thing kind of puts a damper on it, though. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Stop laughing at me, Morgan.”

“Stop giving me a reason to laugh….you and your ridiculous insecurity. You stare at me across set, you get pissed off at me for spending time with my friends, you apparently think I’m sleeping with Harry…a fact that might be a little shocking to Jill and the kids…” Jeff shook his head, biting back laughter. “You are really, really transparent, Butler…. And if you don’t do something about it, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn into a caveman, bash you over the head with this guitar, and drag you back to my place.”

Gerry pulled Jeff to him, nearly knocking both of them onto the floor. There was nothing gentle about the kiss they shared. It was all male, and more of a marking of territory than real show of affection. They were both going to have bruises, Gerry thought idly, refusing to release his grip on Jeff’s shoulders all the same.

“You two get a room,” an amused voice interrupted.

Gerry let go of Jeff and glared up at Harry, who was grinning.

“Took you long enough,” Harry teased. “I told Jeff he was better off going after one of those guys he worked with on Supernatural, but for some reason his taste runs to clueless Scotsman. I’ll see you two on Monday. I have to go call Jill and tell her that apparently I’m having a fling with Jeff. She’s gonna laugh her ass off at that one.”

Gerry shot a glare at Harry’s retreating back, but didn’t resist when Jeff pulled him to his feet and led him toward the door. The thing that drove him crazier than anything was that Harry was right. Damned Americans.

(lyrics from Jeff’s song are from Lucky by Seven Mary Three)

[ravensword.livejournal.com]

SPN, Sam/Dean, leprechauns

[alldunn.livejournal.com]

"Dude, the beer is green," Dean says dryly while looking at the tables surounding them.

"Yeah, Dean. It's St Patty's Day." Sam settles his long limbs on the stool at the high table. He looks expectantly at Dean, waiting for whatever weird comment Dean can come out with.

"You know they probably use food dye. It'll stain your tongue green."

"Yeah, and..."

"It'll look like I've spent the night licking leprechaun butts. So not cool."

Sam huffs and shakes his head unable to think of a response. He does smirk though when Dean makes a point of asking for a bottle of beer. No pitcher, nothing on tap, a bottle.

"Licking leprechaun butts," Sam inquires once the waitress has taken their orders.

"There skin is green, so not right. It would have to rub off."

"There skin is not green, Dean."

"No, when's the last time you saw one?"

"When have you seen one," Sam fires back.

...

"Uh-huh."

"Still not right."

[galor5.livejournal.com]

TW; Jack/Ianto, Parade route

[galor5.livejournal.com]

LOTRIPS; Orlando/Sean B, Irish Stew

[galor5.livejournal.com]

LOTRIPS; Karl/Orlando, green ale

[nverland]

LOTRIPS - Viggo, Billy - Green Lube

LOTRIPS - Viggo, Billy - Green Lube

[galor5.livejournal.com]

Viggo rounded the corner in the small New Zealand apothecary and nearly ran into Billy who was standing in front of a display of condoms and a wide variety of lubricants.

"Hello there, Hobbit," Viggo greeted his friend with a soft pat on the shoulder. "Find anything interesting?"

Billy chuckled at the teasing tone in Viggo's voice. "Aye, looks like a new supply of flavored lube came in." He reached forward and slid a box of lime green lube off the shelf. "This happens to be Dom's favorite."

Billy winked with a cheeky grin at Viggo before tossing the package into his basket and heading off toward the front of the store.

Viggo thought about what the younger man said and decided he'd try out the green lube on Orlando tonight in honor of Saint Patrick's Day.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Dollhouse, Victor/Topher, an Irish imprint

A gift from an irish bastard, topher/viktor, spoilers for ep 1.05

[cyphersushi.livejournal.com]

(My OTP! This hits a bit to the left of your promt but I hope you like anyway)

Topher was on the edge. Watching all those hours of Viktor in the shower had not been good for his psyche. He's always slept uneasily but now that his dreams was littered with images of that well toned body with a "man reaction" sleep was something he was both dreading and yearning for.

Then Viktor came back from an assigment all roughed up. He's been imprinted as the companion for a wealthy Irish businessman who apparently was a closet masochist. Viktor had been extracted in time but he was bruised and had shallow cuts over most of his torso. And Topher's hearth was breaking. It wasn't the first time an active came back bloody and it certainly would not be the last but this was different.

"Hello Viktor"

"Hello"

"How are you feeling?"

"It... hurts..."

"...would you like me to take care of you?"

"Can you make it not hurt?"

"I can try..."

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Demons, Galvin/Luke, good luck

Good luck, Demons, Galvin/Luke

[entropynchaos.livejournal.com]

Galvin pulls Luke into his hold every time they go out smiting – holds him close for just a minute before each job. He tilts Luke’s head up with a finger under his chin and holds his gaze while he leans in and takes Luke’s mouth in a kiss, humming in satisfaction when Luke moans and opens under his touch.

When Galvin lets go, releases Luke and steps back, Luke usually sways for a second before catching his balance, opening eyes that he thinks are probably dazed with lust to see Galvin’s smirk. Galvin will reach out and brush the pad of his thumb over Luke’s wet, kiss-swollen mouth, wiping the dampness away even as Luke’s tongue will flick out of its own violation to taste Galvin’s flesh.

“Good luck,” Galvin tells him, and then they turn, all business until later.

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

Lost, Daniel/Juliet, John Phillip Holland (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Phillip_Holland)

[elebridith]

Leverage/Torchwood, Eliot/Capt. John Hart, Guinness

[summerstorm.livejournal.com]

How I Met Your Mother, Ted/author's choice, lucky clover

[gladdecease]

The first time they meet is entirely by accident. She smiles politely in his direction while walking in opposite directions, and he doesn't notice. He is by this point in all-but-hometown a New Yorker, and New Yorkers never notice strangers in the street. Especially not when it's raining.

She pauses on street corner and huddles under her umbrella as a strong gust blows by, and wishes for summer. She hears a man swear and turns around to see the same guy scrambling for an umbrella that's gotten out of his hands. It flips around in mid-air, headed her way. Without thinking, she reaches out and grabs it.

He's out of breath when he reaches her, thanks her for saving the umbrella. When he asks for it back, she smiles at him and gives him her umbrella, then runs across the street just as the walk lights turn red.

He calls the number she scribbled on the tag of her umbrella the next day, and the first thing he asks is why she'd taken his.

Looking at the yellow umbrella, she smiles and says that it had been hers first.

After their second month of dating, she walks upstairs back with him to his apartment, where he introduces her to 'the folks'. Even though she's only known him this long, she already knows that meeting his friends' approval is way more important than meeting his parents'.

She both loves and hates Marshall and Lily from the start; those kinds of real life college sweethearts are the sort of people that almost make her believe in all the true love fairytale happy endings she writes. Robin and Barney are no better. The epic story of a manwhore who falls in love just begs to be written.

Really, she could write her next novel based entirely on any of their experiences, and the public would eat it up.

But she'd promised herself not to use her friends in her work, and if this thing with Ted is going to last, his friends are going to be hers. So, instead, she starts to write a piece about a girl who loses a yellow umbrella and the boy who finds it. She shows Ted the start, and he asks her not to spoil the ending for him.

She never finishes it.

On their third anniversary, Ted asks her how she'd known he had the umbrella she'd lost. With a smile, she shows him the four leaf clover sticker someone at that party had stuck to the underside of the umbrella. When it had gone flying, she'd seen it and knew.

He smiles, huffs a little surprised sound. "I guess," he says with a good deal of bravado, "that makes it my good-luck charm. It led me to you."

She punches him in the shoulder for being so corny, but kisses the bruise later, grinning.

[mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, end of the rainbow

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

Merlin chewed on a piece of grass and looked up at the colors up above. He didn’t mind the wetness, it was a light sprinkle of summer rain. Arthur hadn’t been too pleased to be caught out in it, but he was always not pleased about something or other. Merlin never took it to heart when he was grumpy about little things.

Now the rains had stopped and everything smelled clean and fresh. The rainbow was really just to top it off, really. Merlin studied the color up there and thought of a tale he’d once read, about little green men and buried pots of gold.

“Do you really think there’s really gold at the end of the rainbow?” Merlin said.

“It’s all bosh, Merlin,” Arthur said. He was out of armor now, in only a borrowed shirt of Merlin’s as that many grass stains would be hard to get out – and explain.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Merlin said.

He could feel the brush of Arthur’s – well, his – shirt and heard a rustle with a bit of swearing about wetness. Merlin smiled up as he saw Arthur move a bit closer and then bend and block out the colors and light until he was shaded by just his face, Arthur’s lips brushing over his own.

Merlin blinked.

“I just felt like it,” Arthur said. “That’s all.”

“Oh,” Merlin said.

The day was getting better and better.

[eleanorb.livejournal.com]

RPS; Gerry Butler/JDM, Don't Call me Harp.

[summerstorm.livejournal.com]

Pushing Daisies, Ned/Olive(/Chuck), green outfits or other St Patrick's Day traditions in the Pie Hole

[fyere.livejournal.com]

Stargate SG-1, Jack O'Neill/everyone, kiss me, I'm Irish

[sid]

"Hell-o," Daniel commented when he first saw them, eyebrows raised high.

"What?" Jack said. "Oh, these? Sure, and it's the time of year, Danny Boy, when a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of...."

"Fellatio?"

Sam, padding out of the shower area wrapped in her robe and pink from scrubbing away the mud of PX2-253, froze in her tracks. "What?"

"Look!" Daniel said, pointing.

Jack, never one for modesty, turned to give Sam a good look, smirking.

Sam turned a little bit more pink and snickered. "Hoping to get lucky, sir?"

"I'd be wearing my lucky shamrock shorts then, now wouldn't I?"

"Oh, instead of the incredibly witty briefs?" Daniel questioned. "I mean, come on, Jack. 'Kiss me I'm Irish?'"

"You are not," Teal'c said, coming into the room with a towel slung inadequately around his hips and heading for his locker next to Jack's.

Sam pointed at Jack's underwear wordlessly.

Teal'c bent down to take a closer look.

"Hey, don't take it literally," Jack said, grabbing his shirt and holding it in front of him.

"You wish me to disregard your undergarment?"

"Absolutely. I wish that with all the Irish blood that's in me."

"Then I must respect your wishes," Teal'c said with a small bow and an even smaller smile.

"I appreciate that, T."

Daniel came over to put a hand on Teal'c's shoulder. "He's such a tease," he said in a confidential tone.

Jack's outraged "Hey!" was very nearly lost in the high peal of Sam's laughter, and the low boom of Teal'c's.

Daniel grinned from ear to ear.

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

author's choice, author's choice, Unofficial

Fic: author's choice, author's choice, Unofficial; R

[aravistarkheena.livejournal.com]

Prompt:author's choice, author's choice, Unofficial
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Tim Drake/Bernard Dowd
Ratings: R
Warnings: sex



“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Bernard started in, hands on his hips and that light in his eye that told Tim this was an argument he probably wasn’t going to win. “I thought you were a man of traditions! I thought you were a man of convictions! I thought you were a man who watched out for his boyfriend when he went out to get hammered at two in the afternoon!”

“Bernard, I really don’t think,” Tim began, but Bernard cut him off.

“No, Timothy, you did not. You did not think about my feelings, about my plans, about my needs. All you’re thinking about is yourself! You should be ashamed,” Bernard hissed at him and looked tragically hurt.

Tim rocked back on his heels and gave his boyfriend a considering look.

“If we’re home by ten I’ll blow you in the men’s room of one of the bars.”

“Deal,” Bernard agreed and grabbed Tim’s hand to pull him out the door.

[lorilann.livejournal.com]

Friday Night Lights, Tim Riggins/Matt Saracen, green lips

[meredevachon]

RPS, JDM/author's choice, Irish whiskey

[darling-lisa.livejournal.com]

So this kind of just stops at the end, sorry. /o\ I will try to pick it up later if anyone is interested, but I wanted to post before I had to leave...

----

There is something about Jeff's laugh. You hear it, and you just have to smile and laugh along with him. Everyone has noticed it, how expressive it is, just like Jeff, bigger than life. But Jensen has noticed something else. Maybe it's the way Jeff's whole body is involved in it, how his shoulders hitch and his arms flail, how he throws his head back and exposes the long column of his neck, but every time he laughs, damned if Jensen doesn't have to remind himself to look away before he is caught staring, to shift the way he is sitting so no one can see the tightening in his pants, to stop himself from wondering how expressive Jeff might be in other situations.

And tonight, when it's just the two of them three quarters of the way through a bottle of irish whiskey one of the crew had given Jeff as a thank you present awhile back, Jensen is finding it harder and harder to remember to look away. His eyes devour the way Jeff's fingers wrap around the glass, and when he takes a drink, its near to impossible not to stare at the bobbing of his adams apple as he swallows. Jeff is telling some story about chasing Bisou in the snow and falling on his ass, and there is that laugh again. Jensen throws back the last of his whiskey, and it must be the warmth of it filling his system that makes him do it, but he can't help himself when Jeff accidentally knocks his glass against the edge of the table and whiskey sloshes over the edge, covering his hand.

Because before he can think about it, before he even realizes he is doing it, he is grabbing Jeff's hand and pulling it towards his mouth. For a second, he thinks Jeff is going to resist, but instead he just tilts his head slightly and there is this soft smile on his face, and a heat in his eyes that Jensen is sure wasn't there a few minutes ago. But it doesn't matter, because he has Jeff's hand now, and its wet and warm and rough, and he could stop now, give Jeff a paper towel and forget this all happened. But instead, he leans his head down and licks tentatively at the webbing between thumb and forefinger, curling his tongue down to flick lightly at Jeff's palm before tracing up onto the back of his hand, licking at the whiskey droplets caught on Jeff's skin.

He hears Jeff's indrawn breath, but its a distant thing as he focuses on the tastes exploding on his tongue. The smooth burn of the whiskey and the slight salt from Jeff's skin. When he peers up from under his lashes, the heat from before in Jeff's eyes has been replaced with a smoldering fire, and when he licks his way down his hand and slowly starts sucking Jeff's index finger into his mouth, he stops worrying about what Jeff might think and starts worrying about making a mess in his pants. Because the sound Jeff is making... that low moaning growl? God, Jensen would do just about anything in the world to keep that sound going forever.

[katbcoll.livejournal.com]

SPN, Dean/Sam, green will wash out, eventually

[morgan-cian.livejournal.com]

"Well...." Sam trailed off. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried again. "You were right about the leprechauns. They were scary."

Dean's green eyes glinted dangerously.

Sam couldn't help it, "At least it matches your eyes." He took a hasty step back to make sure he was out of arms length. Unfortunately he forgot about the wall behind him.

Dean just glared at him and stormed out of the motel room.

Huh. Not like Dean to walk away at least not before he had dealt with the problem with his fists.

He found him sitting on the hood of the Impala staring at the stars. He hoisted himself up beside his brother. Tentatively, he ran his fingers through the soft, dyed strands.

"The green will wash out, Dean," he said softly, "Eventually."

Dean just shrugged. "If it was that much of problem, Sammy, I'd just shave it off."

Sam frowned. "Then what"

Dean wouldn't met his gaze. "Don't like being laughed at."

Sam was speechless, his smart ass, smart mouthed, never back away from an opportunity...his feelings were hurt? They had always given each other hell. There was that time he had even ended up bald.

But that was before...

Oh.

"C'mere," He pulled Dean into his arms. "Something this silly isn't going to change things between us. It was just a joke.

"It's too new, Sammy." Dean bit out. "You could still walk away."

Sam covered Dean's mouth with his own and didn't pull away until his brother was kissing him back.

"Not going to, Dean."

[yoruichiyoshi12.livejournal.com]

Dark Angel, Normal/Alec, kilt

As far as I know, people don't actually dress up for Burns Night

[trinityday.livejournal.com]

Normal vaguely remembered his father telling him once, when he had to do a genealogical project at school, that his ancestors came from Scotland, but as a young boy Reagan never cared. He had been born in America, and so had his father, and his father's father, and he was proud of that. He didn't know how to speak Gaelic, he'd never eaten a sheep's stomach (not even after the Pulse, when the good cuts of meat were hard to come by; some habits were hard to break) and he'd only had two glasses of whisky in his life, thirteen years apart.

Still, he blamed the dream on some kind of genetic memory. How else could he explain the image of Alec, coming over a rugged and green hill wearing a kilt and sporran, his chest bare despite the briskness of the Scottish afternoon. It had been a windy day in the highlands, too, with not a single sheep in sight. He woke up just as Alec was proving that old rumour about what Scotsmen didn't wear beneath their kilts.

The next day at work, he remembered how poorly his Golden Boy had reacted to the gladiator dream, so kept his mouth and instead started plotting ways to get him back into the ring, since that was a more realistic goal.

Still, he thought, after yelling at Missy Miss to get a move on (she threw him a sullen look, but at least started sauntering up to dispatch) maybe he should introduce the degenerates he worked with to Robbie Burns Night.

[griffndor.livejournal.com]

rps Karl Urban/Jensen Ackles, Sláinte

[oteap.livejournal.com]

Boondock Saints, Murphy/Connor, shamrock

[sybaryte.livejournal.com]

Boondock Saints, Murphy/Connor, shamrock

So much for a low-key St Paddy's. A few off colour jokes, a few more beers, maybe some embarrassing singing, all that would have been fine.

But Fuck Ass has decided he needs to celebrate his one year anniversary of not-quite-closing and he's 'livenin tings up for the youngsters.' And he didn't mean setting people on fire.

Connor and Murphy are feeling slightly betrayed.

As if the piped music and the green beer weren't enough, they're handing out temporary tattoos in the bar. As a result a lot of people are walking around with smudgy shamrocks where their skin is visible.

Mostly it looks dumb as fuck so Connor raises an eyebrow when Murphy snags a couple.

"We can match again." says Murph by way of explanation.

Connor offers his bare hand but Murphy looks at him as though he's monumentally fucking stupid and very obviously pockets the tats.

"For later." mutters Murphy under his breath. The 'dumbass' is heavily implied by his tone of voice.

"Why later?" pushes Connor.

Murph's eyebrow twitches in irritation.

"You have to lick them and rub them on." This time he actually says 'dumbass' while he watches the implications sink in.

Connor's hand briefly, restlessly, rubs at his own neck. He drops it and looks toward the doorway in almost Pavlovian response.

"Lets go, yeah?" he eyes Murphy's pocket.

"Yeah."

The next day there's a shamrock on Connor's ass. It's okay because it's a secret. And because Murphy has one too.

[maab-connor.livejournal.com]

SG-1, Paul Davis/Cammulus, Irish snakes

[maab-connor.livejournal.com]

Buffy, ranting!Willow/everyone (gen plz), anti-pagan holidays with pagan symbolism

[vampedvixen.livejournal.com]

Easter meant coloring eggs to Buffy, and hiding them later for the kids to find-- hopefully before they got rotten and started stinking up the house. To Willow however, the holiday was another mockery of her Wiccan roots.

"Did you know that the name Easter actually comes from the Pagan holiday Ostara?" She dipped her egg into the red dye as she spoke to Buffy's five-year-old daughter. "And if you search the bible you'll find absolutely no reference to eggs. The eggs are actually a fertility sym--"

"Willow!" Xander covered little Sarah's ears quickly. "Ixnay on the fertility-ay!"