Wednesday: It's Raining, It's Pouring...
Sep. 7th, 2011 03:01 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficWelcome to Wednesday everybody. So, I am your intended host for this week, and while I am currently on a worryingly high dose of pain medication after a ruptured and later removed appendix (it’s not there anymore! Why does it still huuuuuurt?!) I will try to make these last two days as coherent as possible! Contact high from reading my post is possible and as you have been warned, no charges may be pressed. Sorry.
Our theme for the day (yes, there is a theme; I’m just slow to get to it. Oh look… butterflies…) is weather. The weather is rather insane at the moment - at least it is here in America - and it seemed appropriate. Maybe your OTP have a certain ritual for rainy Sunday mornings, or perhaps the snow always reminds that rather angsty leading man you love so much about his losses over the years. The good news? Every universe has some type of weather, so your fandoms are only limited by your imagination. And I’ve been here a while, so believe me when I tell you, there are no limitations.
Most importantly though: Have fun and follow the usual rules! (Of course I didn’t forget the rules! What is this, anarchy?)
*No more than 5 prompts in a row, and now more than 3 prompts per fandom. However, if one of your prompts is filled, you may prompt again!
* No spoilers in your prompts until 1 week after the original air/publication date. If there are spoilers in your response, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces. After that, it’s totally their fault.
* Remember to format your prompts appropriately and keep them to a reasonable length (read: do not post a prompt so long it's a fill in-and-of itself. Yes, it happens). For example:
*And don't forget, there are a bunch of smaller fandoms that need love too, ok?
Nothing in the comments caught your eye? FEAR NOT! These are hardly all we have to offer! Feel free to poke at our Lonely Prompts. (Warning: Wear protective gear. They occasionally poke back.)
[Tag=Weather]
Our theme for the day (yes, there is a theme; I’m just slow to get to it. Oh look… butterflies…) is weather. The weather is rather insane at the moment - at least it is here in America - and it seemed appropriate. Maybe your OTP have a certain ritual for rainy Sunday mornings, or perhaps the snow always reminds that rather angsty leading man you love so much about his losses over the years. The good news? Every universe has some type of weather, so your fandoms are only limited by your imagination. And I’ve been here a while, so believe me when I tell you, there are no limitations.
Most importantly though: Have fun and follow the usual rules! (Of course I didn’t forget the rules! What is this, anarchy?)
*No more than 5 prompts in a row, and now more than 3 prompts per fandom. However, if one of your prompts is filled, you may prompt again!
* No spoilers in your prompts until 1 week after the original air/publication date. If there are spoilers in your response, please warn in bold and leave at least 3 spaces. After that, it’s totally their fault.
* Remember to format your prompts appropriately and keep them to a reasonable length (read: do not post a prompt so long it's a fill in-and-of itself. Yes, it happens). For example:
Sherlock Holmes, Holmes(+/)Watson, The rain has always made Holmes melancholy, but with a week of rain and no end in sight, Watson can’t take this much longer
Suits, Mike/Harvey, They stay overnight to work on a case (at Harvey’s insistence of course) during a blizzard they both underestimate, and get snowed in to Pearson Hardman. Alone.
*And don't forget, there are a bunch of smaller fandoms that need love too, ok?
Nothing in the comments caught your eye? FEAR NOT! These are hardly all we have to offer! Feel free to poke at our Lonely Prompts. (Warning: Wear protective gear. They occasionally poke back.)
[Tag=Weather]
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:35 am (UTC)Fill: "Greenhouse Eleven", G
Date: 2011-09-23 02:29 am (UTC)The major, who had just finished packing up his paint supplies in answer to the first drops of rain. "See what, David?"
Parrish opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head. "Just come see."
Tucking the case of paints under his arm, Lorne allowed himself to be half-dragged down the corridor in the direction of the greenhouses. They stopped at the door to Greenhouse Eleven, a tiny little room at the end of a pier that Parrish had more or less taken over.
With a dramatic flourish, the doctor opened the door, grinning.
It was raining inside the greenhouse.
Gentle drops fell on the plants, sliding along green leaves to form meandering streams along the built-in paths.
"The roof opens, like the Jumper bay!" said Parrish.
"It's beautiful," said Lorne, softly. "Wait, do you hear that?"
The sound of the rain hitting the pier outside increased but the force of the rain inside didn't change.
"Must be some sort of force field," the major suggested, noticing the faint glimmer where the rain hit. "What did McKay and Zelenka say?"
He turned back to Parrish, who looked slightly sheepish. "I haven't told them, yet," the other man admitted. "I love seeing rain on the flowers, and I... I wanted to show you first."
Lorne grinned and leaned in for a brief kiss. "Well, maybe we ought to keep this to ourselves for a while. Make sure it's safe."
Parrish pulled him in for a second, longer kiss. "Safe. Good thinking, major."
"Safety first, doctor," he replied, lacing their fingers together. "Does an hour sound like enough time?"
"Two, at least," the botanist said.
Lorne laughed. "Lead the way."
no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 03:53 pm (UTC)Lucifer's hand, similar to Castiel's, left an imprint on Sam. However, unlike Castiel, Lucifer chose to hide himself on Sam's soul.
Usually Sam can block him out, the soft whispers that felt too much like a cartoon devil on his shoulder. But when he's looking at the rain and everything is quiet he can still hear that awful voice chanting in his ear.
Dean is snoring behind him and there's work to be done but the devil never sleeps. The rain keeps hitting the window and the clouds keep moving. Who would have thought Sam's own personal hell would have the soundtrack of silence accompanied by roaring commentary? Sam didn't.
He hadn't wanted anything really. He just wanted things back to where they were. And they were. After all, the rain still comes and the days still end, and now Sam still knows he'll always be the devil's vessel.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-09 05:25 am (UTC)So have a little piece of adorable.
Bowling With Angels (http://kennagirl.livejournal.com/2972.html)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:14 am (UTC)Fill: Going 'Round in Circles, D/s themes
Date: 2011-09-23 11:11 pm (UTC)It was raining on that day, too. Blake rubbed at his forehead. The officers had been wearing ponchos and holding a big gray umbrella over their paperwork when they came. It was nine-thirty because his mom had just come home, and she always caught the eight forty – five train. Since he had started middle school, she trusted him to be able to mind himself. He liked that feeling, knowing Mom trusted him to make his own snack and catch the trains all by himself. He had even bought his own metro card. Dad always made him call the station, though, and tell Pam, the dispatcher, that he was home from school. If he didn't, he would get a call from the station and a lecture with the possibility of a spanking.
His mom was in the kitchen making lasagna because they could eat it later in the week as leftovers. He was sitting at the table doing math problems and drawing in the margins.
“Watch the stove,” she had said and left to answer the door.
He remembered her screaming and crying, clutching him close and not understanding.
“But, when's Dad coming home? Mom? Mom, why are you crying? Mom?” (http://kaylynnkie.livejournal.com/26514.html)
no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:54 am (UTC)X-Men: First Class, set during Charles' Oxford days
Date: 2011-09-07 08:22 pm (UTC)He'd lie there, watching the patterns of raindrops as they slid down the windows and he'd let the cadence of the rain lull him into a light doze, simply enjoying the quietening cacophony of voices.
To this day, he's never truly free of the voices. Even when he's alone, if he's the slightest bit distracted and the walls he's built up around his mind to shield himself buckle just a little, he catches a stray thought from an unseen person -- the single mother who lives two flats above and to the left of his own Oxford flat, the butcher half a block down the street or even the paper boy as he makes his rounds. All the noise makes it difficult to concentrate on his thesis paper, and he's never so grateful as the moment he hears the first crackle of lightning, the dissonant rumble of thunder in the distance.
He lays his pen down on his desk and stretches his arms high above his head, then rolls his shoulders before pushing his chair back and standing. Padding over to the couch in socked feet, he curls up and closes his eyes, letting the familiar pitter patter of rain lead him off into a light sleep as blissful quiet settles upon his mind.
OP just not signed in!
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-09-08 08:18 am (UTC) - Expand(no subject)
From:Re: X-Men: First Class, set during Charles' Oxford days
From:Re: X-Men: First Class, set during Charles' Oxford days
From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 04:50 pm (UTC)She tilts her head to the side and then points to the black rain cloud that's hovering over one section of the bridge, right near the door. "It is raining. In the TARDIS. WHY is it raining in the TARDIS?"
The Doctor pops up from an open panel in the deck on a dry side of the console. "Ah, yes, that. Well, it's a bit of barometric displacement due to timey wimey wobbly bits falling down a tube." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis before straightening his bow tie and giving her a grin. "Don't worry, I'll have it fixed in a jiffy!"
Amy grins and laughs lightly as she walks over to the cloud, which is unleashing a steady stream of droplets. "I kinda like it," she remarks.
~*~*~
When Rory comes onto the bridge some time later, drawn by the sounds of laughter and shrieks, he finds the Doctor and Amy playing in what appears to be a rain shower. Amy is twirling round and round with her arms outstretched, her clothes and hair drenched, and the Doctor laughs, hair plastered to his forehead as he watches her.
"Why's there a rain cloud in the TARDIS?" Rory asks, blinking when Amy just laughs and shakes her head. He makes a protesting noise as she grasps his wrist and pulls him forward into the rain, and he's surprised to find it's cooling without being overly chilled. It's the soothing rain of a summer afternoon, washing away tepid air.
"Who cares?" Amy says as she draws him in for a soggy kiss.
Eventually, the Doctor will remember that the electrical components in the TARDIS hate water and the ever-present doom that seems to follow them wherever they go will settle in, but for now, they're just enjoying a little impromptu rainstorm.
(no subject)
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From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-08 05:19 am (UTC)The first thing he sees when he walks into their shared flat is the neat stack of blue cylinders in the middle of the sitting room floor, like a battalion of giant batteries. The next thing he notices is the array of wires leading from each one...and disappearing out the open window.
"John, could you pass me the pliers on the sill?" comes a voice from outside.
He runs to the window and looks up just in time for a fat droplet to land in his eye.
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing up there?" he yells, hand up to shield the growing onslaught of raindrops.
"Providing a solution to our little problem on the dining table," comes the calm response. "Pliers, please?"
John walks swiftly to the table and picks up the only opened letter of the day's mail. It's their electricity bill, and the number at the bottom makes John's hand shoot to the table to steady himself.
"Is this just for THIS month?" he shouts.
"Yes. It seems ELD Electric won't overlook any charges just because their services have been used to make scientific breakthroughs...but no matter - Mother Nature will be providing our energy needs from now on."
John almost feels reassured, until he remembers that Sherlock is standing on their roof (how did he even get up there?) in the middle of a thunderstorm.
"Sherlock, this is absolutely mad! Get back inside before you get soaked, or worse!"
"The storm is still half a mile away. I just need to secure the rod, and then when the storm hits, we'll be able to store up to three hundred-fifty volts in the capacitor bank I've assembled in the sitting room."
There's a shuffling sound, and then Sherlock is staring at him upside down in the window, his dark curls hanging away from his vast forehead.
His eyes are fixed on John as he extends an arm down, and points a finger at the window sill. "The pliers, John?"
The doctor sighs, walks over to the instrument, and places it in Sherlock's open hand.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:57 am (UTC)Very mini-fill
Date: 2011-09-07 02:23 pm (UTC)"Sherlock poked holes in it."
Re: Very mini-fill
From:no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 08:57 am (UTC)untitled - pre-Chuck/Bryce
Date: 2011-09-08 03:39 pm (UTC)Chuck delves into his computer programming assignment, detailing out what he needs to do on a small notepad, tearing out the pages and sticking it throughout the book. Bryce watches him, instead of opening his own book.
The boy is beautiful. Funny, smart, and kind. When he smiles, Bryce can almost forget that he's not the dumbass kid Chuck met a year ago.
"What's wrong?" Chuck asks, looking up, tilting his head. "You okay, Bryce?"
"Yeah," Bryce says, flipping through his book, looking for the right page. They just started the War of 1812. Fascinating stuff. A tornado saved DC from burning.
(Chuck's like a tornado sometimes. Bryce is pretty sure he won't be saved from being burnt alive.)
Chuck’s smiling at him again. The sun is warm, the breeze gentle, and they’re so young. Bryce can almost think he’ll survive, and be able to keep Chuck safe, and one day, he’ll tell Chuck the truth and Chuck will love him anyway.
Re: untitled - pre-Chuck/Bryce
From:Re: untitled - pre-Chuck/Bryce
From: