Tuesday | Opposites
Oct. 6th, 2009 06:01 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficToday's theme is Opposites. This could mean it's 'opposite day' for your characters, or you could make good use of the old adage 'opposites attract'.
Please remember not to leave more than five prompts in a row and no more than three per fandom per prompter. You are, of course allowed to come back later and add more once yours have been answered.
If either the prompt or the fic contains spoilers please mark it clearly and leave at least three spaces before the prompt/fic.
Don't forget to format your prompts correctly, for example:
Glee, Quinn/Rachel "she wears short skirts, I wear tee shirts; she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers."
Chuck, Chuck/Casey, geeky in high school
If you can't find the perfect prompt for you here, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts! There are loads of wonderful prompts just begging to be written!
[theme tag=Opposites]
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 10:03 am (UTC)Glee, Quinn/Rachel "she wears short skirts, I wear tee shirts; she's cheer captain and I'm on the bl
Date: 2009-10-07 06:44 am (UTC)She was serious. She was focused. There was no room for messy things like Finn, or like... or like Quinn Fabray, with her perfect hair and evil smile. So she told no one about her crush on Quinn, which was a lost cause if she'd ever sung about one. And she wouldn't be more of a joke than she was. She could imagine the headlines now. It would only be expected of the girl with two fathers, they would say, and that would just be the beginning.
She was Rachel Berry, queen of sudden slushy attacks, whereas Quinn was queen of the Cheerios and Celibacy Club. And any high-school girl who could make Celibacy Club cool had something that might be even stronger than Rachel's will. Popularity, that nebulous force that ruled high school, rested in Quinn's hands.
And Quinn squeezed. She would continue squeezing until she stole Finn back (and Finn, Finn, he was a great guy but he wouldn't last in more ways than one).
Rachel went to the games anyway, watched Kurt dance and Finn sweat and Quinn's skirt fly up, but she wasn't going to give up.
Music would last longer than any of them. Music was forever. She would be the star.
And then maybe she could turn Quinn down, just for the novelty. Then they could have a glorious, tearful reunion, and someone would buy television rights, and she'd never get blueberry ice to the face again.
So Rachel sang and waited for her chance.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 10:03 am (UTC)Leverage, Eliot/author's choice
Date: 2009-10-06 10:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-07 06:26 am (UTC)He tells Parker to be more careful. To not do cartwheels on the ledges of buildings when she's not wearing her harness. And what does she do? Wears her harness but doesn't attach it to any lines. Just to mock him, he's sure.
He tells Nate and Sophie to just tell each other. To just get over it, to just be together or not, but none of this leaving-the-other-person-hanging crap. It's clear though that his advice did less than nothing.
He tells Parker and Hardison the opposite when he notices the way they flirt with each other. He tells them that sleeping with someone you work with is asking for trouble - Nate and Sophie already have a past and it's even messing them up, and they have way more experience and professionalism. He tells Hardison that Parker is too crazy a girl to mess with, he tells Parker that Hardison is too naive and innocent to handle her, he tells them both that they are in for a world of hurt.
And what do they do? They get together.
And when Eliot swallows his fears and reservations and grits out that he's happy for them and wishes them well and promises not to interfere with their relationship?
Still they don't listen.
They just roll their eyes. And ignore his advice. And drag him to bed with them.
Sometimes Eliot's really glad that no one listens to him.
(no subject)
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Date: 2009-10-06 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 10:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 10:52 am (UTC)Criminal Minds, Morgan/Reid
Date: 2009-10-06 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 10:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:22 am (UTC)The Violin and the Listener (Holmes/Watson, 1/2)
Date: 2009-10-06 05:34 pm (UTC)Sherlock Holmes has a nasty, wonderful habit of turning my life upside down.
The most notable instance, as all my readers should know, would be when we first met, and within a single day of his piercing eyes catching mine he'd shown me a way to see the world that had as much to do with a surgeon's knife as it did a poet's pen. Being both surgeon and poet myself I should perhaps be affronted at the ease with which he sliced into pieces of the world and laid them out before my eyes, and at first, perhaps I was. The assumption that I would need such a concession, such a gift of knowledge, that mine own eyes were not so startlingly keen, rankled slightly. But as I grew to see just how keen his eyes were and just how much joy he took in teasing me, in paring down the mysterious into a neat pile of everyday segments, I could do naught but stare and gasp in amazement.
Even after being in his - I hesitate to say "employ", as never once has the issue of money crossed between us, though I am a thousand times repaid with his simple companionship for any small service I might offer - company, I suppose, for many months, he remains capable of completely upending my every idea about the world - even about himself, upon whom I am, if I say so myself, an expert.
I had known he was a fan of the violin, and it fit with my views of him - he would listen close to the strains of its songs and perhaps pick meaning from it, glean the little emotional messages that all music holds. I was certain he was using it as a bit of a game - learn all he could about composer and artist both, just from the scrape of their bow.
Until I heard him play.
I'd seen the case in his room before, stashed away 'neath a dusty shelf, but never had I seen him take it up, and thus assumed it was something of sentimental value rather than practical.
Foolish, I know, knowing Holmes' views on sentiment, but I find myself slipping sometimes into the hope that if objects are kept around after they have outlived their interest than perhaps I mightIt was a stormy sort of evening and Holmes' mood was high, for we'd just come off an astoundingly difficult case and he had solved it with alacrity and wit, even for him. He seemed filled with a fey sort of energy, almost jocular, not able to sit still long but pacing gleefully in front of the fire. The lamps were low - we hadn't bother to turn them up, for neither of us had the patience nor the inclination for reading or writing - and his long, slim form was painted with the firelight's red glow on one side and the flashing darkness of the storm on the other. I admit it cast me into shivers, and never had his rather frightening reputation seemed more fitting.
The Violin and the Listener (Holmes/Watson, 2/2)
From:Re: The Violin and the Listener (Holmes/Watson, 2/2)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:23 am (UTC)No fic (yet) but...
Date: 2009-10-06 04:30 pm (UTC)Re: No fic (yet) but...
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:37 am (UTC)Quick note before the fic...
Date: 2010-04-25 05:43 am (UTC)Explorations of Unfamiliar Territory (DCU; girl!Jason Todd; sequel)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 11:41 am (UTC)(personally I think it should be Misha's words, but I won't complain if it'll be any other way :))
no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-16 08:29 pm (UTC)The girl had the sharpest tongue in the whole family. Not even the twins could match the speed at which she could tear down an opponent. And only in the privacy of his own mind would Draco admit that it utterly pissed him off as much as it turned it him on. That a girl a year younger than him could beat at him at his game of verbal sparring. It had gotten to the point that Draco would seek the girl out, corner her and the insults would fly. She was never scared, never back down, and most usually could walk away with a smug grin on her face. Because no one winning was her winning. They both knew that.
Then she threw him a loop one day.
His Mathematics class let out at the same time as her English Composition class on Wednesdays. It was a perfect time for a small match between them before the next bell would ring.
Toe to toe Draco felt he was getting the upper hand when she paused, a smile coming over her face. She pushed against him, and when had the girl started to become a woman?
"Tell me, Malfoy," she practically purred, wetting her lips, "when are you going to stop insulting me and just push me up against this wall and kiss me?"
Draco would die before he admitted that he was struck speechless. Her pink tongue danced across her lips again and Draco's eyes followed it's path, his own tongue coming out to wet his suddenly very dry lips.
She backed away, leaving a few scant inches between their bodies. She huffed, "I didn't take you for yellow."
Draco growled, he would not take crap from this poor blooded, frizzy hair- He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her against the wall. Attacking her lips with his own he forced his tongue into her mouth, determined to kiss her speechless.
She kissed the same way she verbally sparred. Fast, hard and dirty.
It wasn't until a voice cleared and they ripped away from each other that Draco realized that she had wrapped her legs around his waist and they'd been nearly rutting in the hallway. The head of Draco's dormitory and their Chemistry teacher was standing there one eyebrow raised. "I believe you two are late for your next class?"
Draco released the she-Weasley and it would have been more fitting if she had fallen to the floor instead of gracefully to her feet. She smiled to Professor Snape and pecked Draco on the cheek before sauntering off. Draco's face inflamed and he didn't look at Snape as he sprinted off to his next class.
He stuck his hand into his pockets, to keep from fidgeting when he found the note: Meet me in the empty classroom on the fifth floor, 10, don't be late
He smirked, looking at Weasley two rows in front of him. Things were going to be taking an interesting turn.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 12:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 12:22 pm (UTC)Campbell and Masters, D.A., Sam/Dean, PG-13
Date: 2010-03-30 12:43 pm (UTC)----
“—Trespassing on private property, desecration of a grave site, carrying a concealed weapon, carrying an unlicensed weapon, grievous bodily harm and murder.”
Sam stills, hand clenching under his chin. That explains why this case was referred to them.
“Multiple counts on murder?”
Meg Masters, his supervising district attorney, raises her eyebrows at him across the desk.
“Hmm… No. It was just the one murder, actually.”
She spins the thick folder around and there’s no photo, but her finger is on page one of nine on the perp’s charges. That’s no small feat.
“Dean Winchester is a ticking time bomb, but while he’s a simpler menace to society, the boss thinks it’s a good case for you to sink your teeth into,” Meg pushes the file across the desk with a wink, “Freshie.”
Sam pulls a face that tells her just what he thinks of Azazel’s consideration, but he takes the file and flips it back open with a huffed breath.
“So, you want him?” Meg asks like she’s just asked him to confirm his order off the lunch menu.
Sam scans the guy’s known history: dead mother, absent father. Apparently Dean Winchester had been living on and off the streets for most of his life, but had developed a reputation as something of a vigilante with at least seven alter egos across three counties.
“Who did he kill?” Sam asks and flips the page to the details of that case which had brought Dean Winchester to their attention in the first place.
“Son of the Eastlake senator, claimed he was possessed.”
Sam glares at Meg over the folder. “His defence is going to plead insanity.”
Meg smirks, cocking an eyebrow and her dark eyes reflect steel. Sam’s seen that look many times right before a triumphant closer.
“Wait until you see him, no jury will believe an insanity plea. And he’s being represented by that blowfish Novak from Michael’s firm; you’ll tear right through him."
Sam slowly pages through the file. It seems too easy.
"The evidence is damning, Sam, all you have to do is walk in there and deal the sentence," Meg says.
The file shuts in Sam's lap.
“... I’ll take him.”
Two weeks later they’re waiting for the defendant’s arrival in District Judge Zachariah’s court. Sam’s suit is pressed, his hair perfectly coiffed, and he glares at Meg when she sweeps the lock back that always falls across his forehead.
“By the way, Azazel’s told us to go for life on the combined charges.”
Sam startles, but Meg only nods in response to his stare. “Life?”
“The order came down this morning. We can expect the senator leaned on him. He did lose a son.”
The side doors swing open and Sam watches the armed guards lead in a tall man in a deep blue suit.
Dean Winchester is strong, clean-shaven, and shockingly handsome. He has a frame suggesting he should be out hunting in the wild with a shotgun tucked to his shoulder or maybe rolling punches in a boxer's ring. Sam can see that Dean’s dangerous and he’s capable from the way he holds himself, controlled, but taut. There’s real power coiled there.
They lead Dean to his side of the court and his defence, Jimmy Novak, leans in to murmur in his ear. Dean nods and his attention flickers to his prosecution; he visibly double takes and his lips part in surprise.
He’s caught Sam watching and Sam forgets to stop staring, because he’s fascinated by the way Dean’s expression softens in shock at whatever he sees on Sam’s face. In a moment, Sam sees more than a capable murderer, he sees a man with a notion of purpose, despair, mercy… and hope.
Sam has never seen this man before in his life, but he can’t help feeling as though he’s recognised a friend. The thrill in his chest plunges when Meg’s fingers close around his elbow, drawing him back.
Sam tears his eyes away and it’s like a wrench in his chest.
What was that?
He sucks in a deep, quiet breath and glances down one more time at the notes for his opening. He carefully does not look to his left at the defence as everyone takes their seats and Meg brushes his shoulder.
He can hear the smile in her voice and for the first time, it guts him.
“Make me proud, Campbell.”
Re: Campbell and Masters, D.A., Sam/Dean, PG-13
From:Re: Campbell and Masters, D.A., Sam/Dean, PG-13
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-07 06:13 am (UTC)The murderer, who thought he could get away with killing his chief rival at the garden show if only he got rid of the 'psychic' who sensed his guilt, loomed large over Shawn, ready to strike again, more lethally. But Gus swiftly grabbed a branch of Cerellium Rapacae blossoms from a nearby vase and shoved the pointed bottom of the but branch right into the murderer's chest. Immediately, the man started convulsing and and soon he fell to the floor.
"Dude!" Shawn said as he put pressure on his injury, "How'd you do that?"
"Everyone knows Cerellium blossoms come from trees with highly poisonous wood," Gus said as he helped Shawn stop the bleeding on his arm.
"Seriously, Gus? How do you know this stuff?"
"People know basic facts about the natural world, Shawn!" Gus snapped before turning kind again as he said, "Now how does your arm feel?"
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 12:24 pm (UTC)Next Time Around 1/2
Date: 2009-10-06 11:20 pm (UTC)It had never occurred to him that she had a birthday at all.
His circle consists of his father, his sister, his uncle and a couple of acquaintances – friends? No, acquaintances – from Cambridge who he keeps up with because they’re useful business contacts. He has nearly a thousand people who work under him and, as a group, their well being and happiness is paramount.
As individuals, he couldn’t care less about them.
This makes it all the odder that he spends so much time each day looking out of his office window and watching the Big Issue seller across the street. He’s never spoken to him – never even bought a Big Issue from him, come to that – but he can’t help looking. There’s something about him that Arthur can’t put his finger on. Something familiar, something he thinks he should be able to recognise from way back, from when he was a child, perhaps. He tries to remember if the man reminds him of someone at prep school; perhaps one of his teachers.
No-one comes to mind.
Jane-Jean-Joan knocks on the open office door, and it strikes Arthur that there are other things he should be doing on a Monday morning than staring at the street.
By noon it’s gone so dark outside that even in his airy corner office the lights come flickering on. The first spots hit his window as he turns in his chair to look, and by the time he reaches the window the heavens have opened, and the wind is blowing furiously. He looks down at the swarms of people, their umbrellas blown inside out, their folders and newspapers held futilely over their heads, fleeing before the rain like a defeated army.
He wonders briefly how he would know what a defeated army would look like.
The Big Issue guy is huddled in a wholly inadequate doorway, hair plastered to his head. Arthur wonders why he doesn’t go somewhere drier. There’s a bus shelter round the corner, he’d have a better chance of staying dry there. Presumably he can’t afford to go into the Costa whose doorway he has appropriated.
Arthur is on the move before he thinks about it. He heads downstairs, nodding in acknowledgement to the interchangeable people he passes, and out into the street. It takes him a moment to get his bearings – normally he steps out of this building and straight into a limo – before he spots the coffee shop and crosses the road.
Next Time Around 2/2
From:Re: Next Time Around 2/2
From:Re: Next Time Around 2/2
From:Re: Next Time Around 1/2
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Date: 2009-10-06 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 02:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2009-10-06 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 01:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-06 01:15 pm (UTC)