Friday Free-For-All
Aug. 19th, 2011 07:56 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
badfalcon.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
comment_ficWhoops sorry for the lateness of the post! *hangs head* But it's time for another Friday Free For All so we are going to go nuts and prompt whatever the hell we want... the only limit is your imagination! Just remember to follow the rules:
Only three posts per fandom, and only five total. If one of your prompts is answered, you may go ahead and post another.
No spoilers for new shows/seasons until a week after airing.
If your fill is spoilery, WARN accordingly and leave enough space for people to pass on by
Please also honor and respect our codemonkeys by following the formula for posting:
Kane RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, but why would you want to tie me up?
Against The Wall/The Chicago Code, Jarek Wysocki & Abby Kowalski, interviewing a suspect
Not finding anything that interests you? Check out our lonely prompts here
Only three posts per fandom, and only five total. If one of your prompts is answered, you may go ahead and post another.
No spoilers for new shows/seasons until a week after airing.
If your fill is spoilery, WARN accordingly and leave enough space for people to pass on by
Please also honor and respect our codemonkeys by following the formula for posting:
Kane RPS, Christian Kane/Steve Carlson, but why would you want to tie me up?
Against The Wall/The Chicago Code, Jarek Wysocki & Abby Kowalski, interviewing a suspect
Not finding anything that interests you? Check out our lonely prompts here
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-24 09:52 pm (UTC)Eliot liked it when they piled into bed after a job. Hardison would be worried about his bruises and cuts and occasional puncture wounds and Parker wouldn't stop poking him until he stopped her by pinning her to the bed while Hardison whined until he joined in. It was a comfort to finally have team members - to have lovers he could trust. And Eliot appreciated that more than he ever told either of them.
For Parker, she loved the cons themselves. She had been telling the truth when she said they worked well together. Eliot and Hardison felt like puzzle pieces. Hitter-hacker-thief - when they were together, they became something bigger and more important than themselves. It was a comfort, too, to know that they had her back and wouldn't let her fall. They were the best of the best on their own, and together they were even better.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:00 pm (UTC)Let the Sorting Now Begin
Date: 2011-08-24 12:08 am (UTC)“Jared, what are you even doing?” Jensen asked from his seat on the couch in Jared’s trailer, busy giving a very insistent Harley a belly rub.
He spun around in the chair, making a full turn before facing Jensen again. “I’m sorting Sam into a Hogwarts house.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. Ever since the last movie premiered, Jared seemed to be holding onto everything Harry Potter for as long as possible. Quizzes, quote pages, rereading the books, even reading fanfiction. He claimed “post-Potter depression.” Jensen said he was delusional.
“I mean, I could see Ravenclaw because he’s so smart,” Jared continued, “but I would think he would be Gryffindor because of the whole bravery, daring, and, well to be honest, recklessness thing.” He stopped and thought a for a moment. “Although, I guess he has the ambition and drive to go after what he wants, so Slytherin makes sense. Want to sort Dean?”
Jensen shook his head fondly and was about to decline when a PA knocked on the trailer door and informed them that the break was over. Instead, he told Jared, “Dean would be Gryffindor, no questions asked.”
Jared snorted. “Please. All his hard work and devotion to his family? Pure Hufflepuff material.”
“Aw, come on. No one wants to be a Hufflepuff.”
“Why not? They’re particularly good finders.”
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:02 pm (UTC)Pocket Full of Sunshine - Blaine/Puck
Date: 2011-09-18 03:44 am (UTC)“So when everyone asks, you had a kickass twenty-first birthday all due to the Puckerman,” Puck propped Blaine against the wall, “Where’s you keys man?”
“My pocket!” Blaine yelled and threw a hand up in the air, “I’ve got a pocket full of sunshine.”
“I’m sure you do,” Puck snickered as he started the process of patting Blaine down in search of his keys. After a fruitless search of Blaine’s jacket Puck went for Blaine’s jean pockets. “Dude how deep are these pockets?”
As soon as Puck caught the keys and looked up he froze. Blaine’s cheeks had grown red, his lips had parted and his breathing had grown heavy. Puck had seen that same reaction a thousand times. His search for keys had turned Blaine on. “You okay?”
Blaine licked his lips slowly before he nodded, still resting against the wall and his eyes focused on Pucks hands that were on his waist. The focus shifted and Blaine’s eyes traveled the slow path up to Puck’s lips and stayed there. Puck barely had time to react before Blaine had sealed their lips together. The kiss was messy; teeth crashing together, tongues massaging each other and hands tangled in clothes.
Blaine broke the kiss with a soft bite to Puck’s lip before stealing the keys from Puck’s hand and unlocking the door without thought and a wide smile on his lips, “Never better.”
Re: Pocket Full of Sunshine - Blaine/Puck
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:08 pm (UTC)no fic but
Date: 2011-08-19 11:29 pm (UTC)Re: no fic but
From:Re: no fic but
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:14 pm (UTC)Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the first time he says "I love you" it's in a text
Date: 2011-10-22 08:33 am (UTC)Love ya too darlin
It was the first time Christian had ever said those words to him. Sure, he knew Christian loved him - Chris was incredibly demonstrative and was constantly showing Steve how he felt but he'd never used those words before now. Resisting the urge to ring Christian to hear his voice, or hell tweet to share his happiness (although not the reason for it), Steve sent Christian a quick text back saying i know, and pocketed his phone, a spring in his step for the rest of the day
Re: Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the first time he says "I love you" it's in a text
From:Re: Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the first time he says "I love you" it's in a text
From:Re: Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, the first time he says "I love you" it's in a text
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:15 pm (UTC)No fic, but
Date: 2011-08-19 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-24 09:07 pm (UTC)Hardison was trying to woo her. That was what Sophie said. That was why he did stuff like make her Hardy and write her really bad poetry and pretend he could save her from an avalanche. It was because he liked her and probably wanted to get into bed with her.
And while Hardison wrote really bad poetry, Eliot cooked her really awesome food and bought bags of fortune cookies to keep in everyone's apartments. And he threatened to hurt Hardison if Hardison hurt her and then showed her how to beat people up. She figured that was because he liked her and probably wanted to get into bed with her, too.
And she liked to poke Eliot's wounds and make fun of Hardison's video games. She ate all their food and fell asleep on the couch lying across them because it felt safe. So she figured they knew she liked them and probably wanted to get into bed with them.
So it was kind of funny that they were surprised when she got sick of the waiting game and just got naked for them.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:24 pm (UTC)Star Trek reboot, Jim, whom the gods love dies young
Date: 2012-03-25 05:10 pm (UTC)While Kirk had not been the first human whom the gods had adored, he was a definite favourite--a delightful result of an attempted miscalculation, to see what an anomaly they would make would be like, what would happen if they gave a human this and this. Humans were their favourites. Only they that sought to know more about the other creations. Only they looked at others with fear and hate and perhaps open-hearted curiousity, malleable and tempered by evolution.
Through all his misgivings and his faults, they saw and loved Kirk. They adored him, laughed at his quirks, and made merry and trying his life as much as they could. They directed difficulties his way because they could not have adored a man so else as to let him waste away with nothing, and they saw him at both his best and worst.
It was not until Spock was killed that they decided that Kirk was not meant to be sad with such a wretched twist of the fate they had given him, and searched boundlessly for a way to recreate that Vulcan, but no good. The Spock would not be good without his memories, and the friendship that had so defined Kirk would not come to transpire. The Kirk in that particular universe suffered greatly. They were sorry for such a loss, and made his last days the best that they could. To the good doctor that had spent time with him, they tried to let live longer.
"Let Kirk have his friend," they murmured in agreement. "We can give him nothing more."
After Kirk was gone, they realized that what adoration they felt for him ached inside of them in their infinite and celestial beings.
"We must make another," one of them whispered, and to this they all agreed.
"We must make it so that he will have more, much more," another said, and thus that was agreed to also.
"We must place him in space where he is happiest, and where he is closest to us," one more said, and so it was.
It is agreed that there are many universes, but the gods see the universes as something that can be paused or gone back, continuously changing to their will. They can recreate, they can make--for them, every universe does not exist until it is made, but for the inhabitants of such a universe, that universe was always there.
It was a plan only better suited to those with aeons of time and patience, and absolute control over all life. They knew where it would be in what time and what world, they fitted together peoples of the millennia, coupled them and made children and lives prosper and fail. They influenced so many lives, and through that paired the ancestors of Winona Kirk and a George Kirk, and put them together carefully until the bloodline presented a perfect match of what would conceive a James Tiberius Kirk.
"He has a good name," they said to themselves. His name was beloved among them.
They led the shuttle that carried the babe to safety, best as they could. And to Jim they lavished gifts as they could.
They had placed a bike into the hands of his father as a child. It was only them who made the chance bundle of hay fall to reveal it, and they watched as Jim touched it, made it his with its first ride in decades, and together with it explored the constraints of the Iowa formed at the beginning of the world's creation, just for him. It was tempered in time, worn by the weather as they sent it, and with grand impatience Jim grew up to see it.
"Do you see that!" one of the gods called in delight. "He loves it. He loves the roads, he loves the sky, and he loves the world he plays in!"
"No, do you see that!" another one cried in giddiness. "He adores the night, the stars above, the calling for it in his soul. Do you see how it quivers?"
They conferred amongst themselves, impatiently loomed over the engineers working on the blueprints of the U.S.S. Enterprise, kept a close eye on all of the crew that would ever serve in Jim Kirk's life and made it so nothing was amiss.
But though they loved Jim the best, there was not much they could to interfere. The gods were well aware of all that could and would be, all-knowing and all-powerful.
But the greatest gifts they gave their creations was the gift of free will.
Thus, they could only watch him as he led himself to his own death, and wept piteously as his body was pulled from the wreckage of the Corvette.
Re: Star Trek reboot, Jim, whom the gods love dies young
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:25 pm (UTC)Fill: Untitled
Date: 2011-08-20 12:29 pm (UTC)It used to be worth it, he thinks. Can't quite remember past the image of his brother gorging on demon blood and a necklace burning a hole at the bottom of a rubbish can, but he's sure that at one point in time - everything had been worth it.
But he's just so fucking tired now.
Tired of condensing salt into rounds and wiping blood off of blades. He wants out of this war that never should have been theirs and out of this mother of a cluster fuck that is known as his life.
He seeks freedom, beyond a 'no' that leaves him human and willful and a 'yes' that hovers on his shoulders, pushing him down harder and harder with every passing day.
Half the world, maybe more, is depending on him not to utter one single, little, tiny confirmation and the sheer responsibility of that notion is killing him, devouring his soul, inch by inch, with every cheap hotel they take refuge in.
He's only a vague husk of the man he used to be, filling shoes that don't feel like his and bantering with a brother that on most days he swears isn't his own. He'll wake up before sunrise some mornings, wake and just watch. Palm caressing the handle of a knife, Dean will assess the being sleeping in the opposing bed, weigh him, judge him with his eyes. Most of the time, he'll look and the only thing he can see in this man's expression is his baby brother, his Sammy, and he can tuck the knife away with a self deprecating sigh.
Foolish, his mind says, Who else could it be?
Some mornings, there is a stranger laying in the bed. He'll continue the day like he would any other, but Ruby's knife will be an extra weight at the small of his back.
Who else could it be? His mind whispers even then, a nasty, paranoid cackle that keeps him far from sleep.
Doubts plague his existence. As does pain. Bloodshed. Torture. Betrayal.
But above all, exhaustion. He wants to wipe his hands of this world and sink into an abyss of nothingness where nothing goes right but certainly nothing goes wrong.
Dean is ready. Dean is done.
So when that stray bullet comes his way, Dean doesn't even pretend to try and move out of the way. His muscles loosen and unwind, settle down in a relaxed, welcoming pose.
Death is coming and he's pretty sure he may just very well be smiling.
He wonders if this is what peace feels like.
--
The sound of fluttering feathers and Dean is ripped from salvation and left staring into the enraged eyes of a severely pissed off higher being.
Castiel's grip burns in the ghost of the mark he left before, unrelenting and possessive.
"Death is not an alternative." he sneers, "They would have only brought you back."
As the other's hold tightens around him, Dean ponders why 'they' sounds so much like 'I' when Cas says it.
I don't know. I just started writing/rambling and this is what happened. I hope OP is alright with it.
Re: Fill: Untitled
From:Re: Fill: Untitled
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:25 pm (UTC)(It all comes down to what’s physical,
this missing her—her face, voice, and skin.
I imagine my daughter dancing in Madrid , Barcelona ,
and Seville , climbing the mountains of Andalusia .
I had not imagined how far away faraway would be.
.
Happiness, unhappiness—the same,
my sweet Zen master says,
and I wonder if the top of my head
supports heaven, or is this a migraine
coming on?
.
I circle back to the place where precision
and ecstasy meet, remember how I carried the tadpole
of her body, long before the first flutter, holding her
like a secret inside me.
.
I wake in the night missing
a body part, my arm stretched across the ocean,
hooked to the past, and I wonder,
as Achilles’ mother must have,
Which part of you did I not dip in the water?
.
Heavy with absence, I hang curtains in her windows,
yards and yards of delicate Irish lace.
I hide behind the door, ear pressed to the wood,
and watch my daughter’s life—her evening paseo,
late dinners in Saragossa ’s village square.
The room fills with the smell of gazpacho, paella, sangria.
.
Something like grief washes through me, something like joy.
I slip into the waves, feel the ebb and flow of her,
my water sprite, my sea nymph, remember the way
she glides through a room, the low-tide
of her voice, how she leaves us,
breathless, all fish at her feet.)
no fic, but....
Date: 2011-08-19 07:43 pm (UTC)This is so true that it HURT.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:26 pm (UTC)Never Too Old
Date: 2011-08-19 10:47 pm (UTC)"There was a time," Hammond panted as he ducked for cover, "when I thought I was too old for this."
Bra'tac grinned at him, a touch maniacally, and switched his staff weapon for a zat gun in either hand. "Hammond of Texas," the old Jaffa replied, "one is never too old for valor."
Hammond matched the alien's smile and together they ran out from behind the rocks, shooting like madmen and screaming at the top of their lungs. Hammond was half certain that this whole insane fight would be the death of him. But it was more activity than he'd had in years and, he had to admit, it was pretty damn fun.
Re: Never Too Old
From:Re: Never Too Old
From:no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 07:40 pm (UTC)