Wednesday - Fusions
Nov. 11th, 2009 06:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficToday's theme is fusions. This is where you take a character or characters from one fandom and place them into another. For example, you can take Greg from CSI and place him in Dollhouse where he could be either a handler or an active, but he would not be a CSI.
No more than 5 prompts in a row and no more than 3 prompts per fandom. (Of course, if one of your prompts is answered, you can prompt again.)
No spoiler prompts for a week after it has aired - and, if your ficlet contains spoilers, put a warning in bold and leave three spaces. This is especially important since we've hit premiere season with tv shows.
Please remember our code monkeys and use the correct formatting of prompts, i.e.
CSI, Greg, Dollhouse
Smallville, Clark, Criminal Minds
Leverage, Nate/Eliot, Firefly
If nothing catches your eye today, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts.
tag=fusions
No more than 5 prompts in a row and no more than 3 prompts per fandom. (Of course, if one of your prompts is answered, you can prompt again.)
No spoiler prompts for a week after it has aired - and, if your ficlet contains spoilers, put a warning in bold and leave three spaces. This is especially important since we've hit premiere season with tv shows.
Please remember our code monkeys and use the correct formatting of prompts, i.e.
CSI, Greg, Dollhouse
Smallville, Clark, Criminal Minds
Leverage, Nate/Eliot, Firefly
If nothing catches your eye today, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts.
tag=fusions
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 11:57 am (UTC)Re: Change is Good 2/2
From:Re: Change is Good 2/2
From:Re: Change is Good 2/2
From:Re: Change is Good 2/2
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 07:40 am (UTC)"um...House?"
"Holmes, this is Wilson. Wilson this is Holmes." House made the introduction and then turned back to the episode of monster trucks as if his work here was done.
Wilson's innate good manners had him coming forward and offering the man his hand.
"Um..nice to meet you er...Holmes."
The man stayed seated, staring at Wilson's hand as if he had no idea what it was doing hanging out there.
"Wilson." The stranger's dark eyes appraised him. "A fellow Doctor I see, married several times and recently bereaved, possibly an oncologist, friends with Dr House for a long time and I believe... " his eyes narrowed "yes, almost certainly you have just come from comforting a lady - possibly after the death of her husband?"
Wilson turned to House who grinned at him.
"Isn't he great? I met him at the clinic."
Wilson stood there gaping at him. Holmes sighed.
"And now you shall demand that I reveal how I knew those few elementary facts about you. Quite simple, that you are a doctor is obvious by the prescription pad I can see in your pocket, not to mention your security card that marks you as such. Married several times, you have the marks of more than one ring on your wedding finger, recently bereaved - again obvious by the glance you took at the photo of that lovely looking young lady on the wall, even before greeting your friend. My condolences on your loss."
"Thank you." Wilson had recovered enough to say. "And..the oncologist? House must have told you..."
"Not at all. The first thing you did upon sighting me was to frown at my pipe, I have observed that tendency amongst oncologists in particular. Friends with Dr House for a long time? Childishly simple, the way he is at home in your abode, the ease that you have with him even in a disconcerting situation such as this, and the wear on your shoes, more worn on one side than the other, as if you spend a lot of time walking with Dr House and have picked up his walking pattern." Holmes puffed a few more times on his pipe. "Comforting a lady? The tear stains on your collar, the scent of perfume on your coat. It is all quite elementary."
Wilson sat down on the couch and shook his head.
"Well, Mr Holmes that is all quite, um, fascinating...er House, can I see you a minute in the kitchen?"
House smiled at him, that terrifying little smile he'd picked up since his stint at Mayfield.
"Relax Wilson. Holmes is just waiting for his friend to pick him up - he was stranded at the hospital so I said he could hang out here until Watson came for him."
Wilson wondered if this Watson was taking Holmes back to the loony bin but refrained from asking and the men sat watching the television until Watson arrived.
Watson turned out to be a solid looking, and quite sane, fellow Doctor and Wilson happily chatted with him for a couple of minutes while Holmes gathered his things.
"Farewell Doctor House, Doctor Wilson, no doubt our paths shall cross again one day." With that they were gone and Wilson shut the door behind them with relief.
"House, you can't just pick up strays at the clinic and bring them home!"
House sat back with content and produced a pipe out of his pocket, sticking it defiantly in his mouth.
"I'm reaching out Wilson. I'm forming connections. I'm rejoining society."
Wilson threw his hands up in defeat and stomped off to the kitchen. As he glanced out the window he saw Holmes placed a hand around Watson's waist and lay his head on his shoulder as they walked down the street. Watson turned his head to place a chaste kiss on Holme's cheek. Oh. Wilson reconsidered. Maybe Holmes would be a good influence on House after all.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 11:53 pm (UTC)Lex knew that Special Agent Lionel Jethro Libbs took it as a compliment.
For years now, Lex LiNozzo had never wanted anything more than to please his boss. He constantly tried to outdo the former Secret Service agent Martha, who could at any moment become Libbs' favorite. Though he did actually find her kind of hot. But Lex strove to find the right balance between loyal obedience to Libbs, and having enough spine to stand up to him at the right times, just enough defiance to earn a little respect. But mostly Lex was obsessed with learning all he could from Libbs. And what he learned, more than anything, was that it was dangerous to get on Lionel's bad side. Lex would do anything to avoid it.
But lately... Lex was distracted from his previously primary purpose.
It was the Probie's fault. Clark McGent. Clark was so eager to please, eager to prove himself an equal. In some way he was too naive, too softhearted, to be on Libbs' team for long, but Lex knew that he would toughen up eventually.
Though some part of him wished he could stay awkward and and sweet and geeky and Probie-licious forever.
Lex was pretty sure Chloe Sciuto, the sweet Goth lab rat, felt the same way. She would rave to Lex about how smart and sweet and cute McGent was, and would flirt with McGent instead of Lex even. Lex wasn't even jealous -- seriously, who could blame her? But the way Lionel would narrow his eyes, as if forming one of his infamous schemes, when he saw them all laughing together.
It made a tingle run up Lex's spine. And not the good kind he used to feel at the excitement of a new case.
The kind that made Lex wonder if the day might come when he was the only thing standing between an under-attack Clark and a rage-fueled Lionel.
It was a tough choice. Lex wasn't sure if he would be able to consciously choose not to do everything in his power for Lionel's approval.
But if anyone could give him the motive, it was Probie.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-08 02:01 am (UTC)Pogue and Caleb wouldn’t understand. They thought the whole thing was just weird – people with still hearts drinking blood. Reid couldn’t help the overwhelming curiosity he felt when he watched the vampires interviewed on TV or the few glances he caught of them ordering TruBlood at the local bars.
Reid had seen a few vampires before and he’d heard people talk about fangbangers, but he had not been prepared for Fangtasia.
Vampires and humans all dressed in tight black clothing, wearing thick black make-up, rubbing against each other on the dance floor as wild music played, making out and doing much more in corners. He tried not to look as completely freaked out as he felt and made his way to the bar.
There was a boy sitting there, quite pale, but there was no way he was a vampire. He wasn’t dressed in all black – instead he wore tight jeans and a dark green short-sleeved dress shirt, showing slim but toned arms. He had short, fashionably styled dark brown hair, clear blue eyes, and an adorable baby face. No way was that guy a vampire.
Reid made his way over and sat down on the stool next to him, “Hey.”
The guy looked him up and down and gave him a small smile, “First time here?”
Glancing down at his black t-shirt and blue jeans, he smiled back awkwardly, “Is it obvious?”
“Yes,” the other boy replied mirthfully.
“Um, I’m Reid,” he said awkwardly.
The pretty boy sipped his Bloody Mary and replied, “Tyler.”
The bartender walked over and Reid ordered a rum and coke before asking, “Do you come here a lot?”
Tyler shrugged, “Fairly often.”
Reid looked around the room, his eyes growing wide when he looked in the corner and saw a man on a black leather couch drinking a bottle of TruBlood while a boy’s head bobbed in his lap.
“It’s nice,” he said awkwardly, getting his drink from the bartender and drinking a little too quickly.
Tyler chuckled, “No it’s not. This place is awful.” He finished his drink in a quick gulped and turned to look at Reid, “So why are you here? Looking sex or V?”
Reid blinked, “Sorry?”
Snorting, Tyler replied, “This place pulled two kinds of humans – fangbangers and V addicts. Which are you?”
Reid blinked, “I’m just… curious.”
“About what?”
“Vampires,” Reid answered honestly, “When you find out the monsters you imagined under your bed as a kid actually exist, how can you not be curious?”
Tyler grinned, “Let’s get out of here. Maybe I can… sate your curiosity.” For the first time Reid noticed his teeth. That drink hadn’t been a Bloody Mary.
Reid swallowed and replied, “Yeah. Let’s go.”
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:Love and the Beauty of Destruction [Clex, Preslash, PG]
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 02:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:14 pm (UTC)Leverage, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur
Date: 2009-11-12 08:41 pm (UTC)"Merlin, guards coming up the hall. ETA ten seconds."
Arthur's voice over the comm in Merlin's ear, and Merlin reaches for the paperwork, stuffing it in his bag and shutting the safe quickly and silently. A ceiling panel moves and Morgana pops her head through, hanging upside down in the gap.
"Quick!" she hisses and Merlin jumps, catching Morgana's hands and lets her pull him up and into the crawl space with the bag. It's a good thing he's so skinny, or she'd never be able to lift him. They've just got the polystyrene tile back in place when Arthur's countdown finishes and the office door clicks open below them.
They lie there in the dark in silence and Merlin thanks God - again - that he's not claustrophobic. He seems to be thanking God a lot like this since he joined Arthur Pendragon's team, and sometimes Merlin has to wonder if it's worth it.
They make it out, of course, although Arthur had Lance standing by...just in case.
Arthur berates Merlin - of-fucking-course, Merlin thinks, and he rolls his eyes. Was it Merlin's fault the bloody guards had decided to do their rounds early?
He calls Arthur a prat, Arthur wonders out loud about whether or not Merlin's stupidity can in any way be excused by a mental affliction, and Gwen breaks up the argument before it devolves into a slap fight in the back of the van.
It may have happened once before...
...Okay, maybe twice, but they'd both sworn not to tell the others about that one - especially not what the slap fight had turned into...
Morgana would be smug for days if she found out about that, and Merlin subsides and casually leans against Arthur, his hand finding Arthur's between their legs on the seat, their fingers linking together and squeezing gently where the others can't see.
Re: Leverage, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur
From:Re: Leverage, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 01:02 pm (UTC)-
“Statistically speaking the presence of so-called ‘ghosts’ is far more likely to be the result of alcohol, drug or insanity fuelled hallucinations, or the interference of magnetic fields on the human brain, or, as in most cases, the credulity of the masses who disregard science and facts for such tenuous and logically worthless ideas such as ‘intuition’ and the so called ‘sixth sense,” said the tall, slightly transparent man as though he were lecturing a child.
“But… you’re a ghost!” George said, his voice rising an octave.
“No… after death the human body is dead. There is no such thing as the spirit. Even if there were, I see no reason why it would choose to hang around the earth and communicate with humans.” He paused, looking thoughtful for a second before continuing. “In the unlikely event that there is an afterlife I have to assume that it would also include far more interesting things than watching the mundane lives of those still alive.” The man continued, turning to the wall that was covered with equations as though it were somehow the most interesting thing in the world.
“You… you honestly believe that?” Mitch asked from where he leant in the doorway.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.” He stared at the vampire with such blank conviction that even Mitch had difficulty thinking of what to say next.
“But… you’re a ghost,” George repeated, a little frantically.
“Mere repetition of a point does not constitute an argument.”
“You’re see through,” the werewolf wailed gesturing to where he could see the equations through the man’s stomach. “And the other day you disappeared.”
“Have you taken any narcotic substances recently?”
George threw up his hands in disbelief and gaped at Mitch, silently pleading with him to help. The vampire just shrugged, dropping onto the sofa.
“That’s my spot,” the ghost said, firmly. Mitch ignored him.
“Sometimes it takes time for a person to admit they’re dead,” he pointed out, lifting up a magazine and beginning to flip it open. Suddenly the bookcase behind him began to shake and the lights flickered on and off. George immediately swivelled round again holding his hands up, fingers splayed wide.
“That’s you,” he pointed out, “the lights and the book case.”
“Or… if I may present an alternate hypothesis, the lights are the result of faulty wiring by the landlord of this house, who is dreadfully neglectful of his duties and the shaking is actually because of a heavy goods vehicle passing by the house, causing vibrations in the walls and floor. Of course, if you want to believe in ghosts then who am I to stop you from being ignorant?”
“Look down,” Mitch commented without looking up from the magazine.
“You’re in my spot.” Mitch rolled his eyes, but obligingly shifted to his right. The ghost smiled before looking down at his hand. His face creased in confusion.
“That’s odd,” the ghost muttered, “I appear to be able to see through my own hand.” He thought for a moment. “I haven’t ingested, inhaled or injected any narcotic substances recently.”
“You haven’t ingested or inhaled anything recently,” George said. “Because you’re dead.”
“That can’t be right…” He stopped again. “I had toast just the other… I… no.”
“You’re dead.”
“Well, that’s inconvenient,” he said, “I had been wanting to order Chinese tonight from the tandoori palace.”
“You’re dead and you’re worried about Chinese food?” George asked.
“Well yes… it’s Thursday… Thursday night is Chinese food night,” the ghost said as though that should be patently obvious to everyone with half a brain.
“It’s Wednesday.”
“No… it can’t be. I distinctly remember getting up this morning and… is this a joke or a prank at my expense?”
“No,” Mitch said, looking up for once. “It’s really Wednesday.”
“Being dead sure makes keeping to a schedule difficult… Well, then it must be Halo night.”
George sighed and collapsed onto the sofa.
“What?” he asked the world in general. He let his head roll back until he was staring at the ceiling, exhausted.
“You’re in my spot…”
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:17 pm (UTC)Dead Like Me, Southland, John/Ben
Date: 2009-11-12 10:00 pm (UTC)Ben Sherman was twenty-five years old and, three minutes before he had pulled his official weapon, Ben had bumped into a civilian fleeing the scene.
Of course, while Ben Sherman died and gave up on life on the shitty concrete concourse of a rundown gas station with a hold in his side and his uniform tacky with his spreading blood...didn't mean life, the universe and what-the-fuck-ever was finished with Ben.
*~*~*~*
Now Ben is no longer with the LAPD - on account of the whole 'dead' thing - and he doesn't live in a nice house up in the hills. Now it's a tiny one-room apartment with a very friendly family of cockroaches in one of the worse parts of LA. He can't contact his mom or his step-sister or his dad (not that he'd want to, particularly) or his girlfriend Daisy. Ex-girlfriend now, Ben supposes. Not that they'd recognise him if he went up to them on the street.
It's that whole fucking death thing.
And every morning Ben catches the bus to a different part of LA where he sits in a tiny coffee/diner place with three other dead people. They chat and mock each other mercilessly and with genuine smiles on their faces and Ben comes away every morning with at least one Post-it note with a name and a time and a place scrawled on it in Cooper's distinctive handwriting.
And then Ben goes off to his job - the one that pays the bills - his fifth since he died. It's hard to keep a job down when you're constantly clock-watching and you have to skip out at least once a day. There's only so many doctor's appointments you can claim to have before people start to get nosy, and only so many 'relatives' you can kill off before people get suspicious.
He's good, though. He's surviving. And it makes up for most of the crap when he gets to go back to the shitty little diner at the end of the day and swop insults with Dewey and reassure Chickie that he's eating okay.
(She brings him cookies, sometimes, and Ben thinks that maybe Chicke was a mom before she died. He doesn't like to ask, though, not when her eyes get watery when she sees him sometimes and not when he misses his own mom so very much.)
The best part of Ben's evenings, though, is Cooper. John Cooper who, back when Ben took his first soul, sat him down for a pep talk filled with swearing that nevertheless managed to help Ben get out of bed the next morning and get on with the job.
Cooper, who looks at Ben sometimes like he knows everything about him, who ruffles Ben's hair and calls him Boo just to piss him off and always makes sure there's a free seat for Ben at the diner, even if neither of them mention it. He kick's Ben's heartrate up to the quick thumpthump that Ben remembers from the times he chased a perp down on foot and he makes Ben harder with just a look that Ben's ever been in his life...and he knows exactly what he's doing, Ben knows - can see it in Cooper's laughing, mocking, fond eyes...
...And he's not doing a fucking thing about it.
Ben narrows his eyes across the table at Cooper, who smirks back - then Ben feels someone, very slowly and deliberately, rest their leg against the inside of Ben's, pressing Ben's legs apart just a little further, just until it starts to burn the muscles a little and Ben has to press his fist into the meat of his thigh to stop that tremble of his muscle from the strain of keeping his legs spread open for Cooper.
Beside him, Dewey is bullshitting away, as per, and Chickie's off at the counter flirting gently with the sweet guy behind it like they've been doing since Ben's known them, and Cooper...
Cooper's meeting Ben's eyes, stare hot and heavy and full of something Ben never knew he wanted until now.
Ben presses his leg carefully back against Cooper's, returning the pressure and thinking 'oh'.
Looks like his death isn't going to be so boring after all.
I kinda really want to continue this now! lol
Re: Dead Like Me, Southland, John/Ben
From:Re: Dead Like Me, Southland, John/Ben
From:Re: Dead Like Me, Southland, John/Ben
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:24 pm (UTC)Duty of the Eldest
Date: 2009-11-13 06:18 am (UTC)The sound of Tim's muffled whimpers froze time and became the only thing Jason could focus on.
Tim was crying.
"Tim- Timmy-"
Jason heard the crying stop. Replaced by a hateful glare burning into his back.
"You relishing the moment," Tim hissed.
The feel of the gun in his hand worked its way back into Jason's focus.
"You get to shot him," Tim choked. "You've always wanted to, and now you've got a god damn airtight excuse."
Jason looked past the barrel of the gun. Dick lay sprawled on the ground maybe 10 feet away. Five of Tim's tranquilizer darts were embedded in his chest.
"They're just sick," Tim had reasoned when he'd picked out his weapon. No one had argued then. Knocked out worked as well as dead when you could run. However, when one of your brothers had a broken foot, knocked out no longer worked.
Jason took one step closer to Dick, as though another inspection would change the truth of what had happened.
His upper arm still oozed blood from where teeth had torn into flesh. The skin around Dick's fingers was still shredded pulp from his crazed effort to rip the boards off the wall. His mouth was still smeared with -
"Fuck," Jason snarled. He ached to smash something, anything. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to block out the feel of Tim's accusing glare.
Breathing hard, he looked at Dick again.
"This is you fault!" he snarled. "We could have gone one more night without food you fucking idiot. You didn't have to-."
"We could tie him up. Drag him with us." The sound of Tim's voice, like a pleading child, was worse than his crying.
His resolve flickered, but then his gaze fell on the savaged barrier to their safe spot.
"Tim-"
"We could. Until there's a cure."
Jason didn't answer. He was too busy fighting to refind his resolve. Too busy Justifying.
Dick had sworn to protect his younger brothers.
Jason was just helping him keep is promise . . .
"Look away, Tim," Jason whispered, tightening his grip on his gun.
"Fuck you." Tim's words were garbled, distorted by his straining throat.
Jason held the gun up. His hand shook too badly for a clean shoot. He brought his other hand up to steady his gun hand.
"Dick-" he began, lowering the gun, but then stopped. What was there to say.
He began to raise it again, but as he did Dick's eyes snapped open. With an inhuman snarl, Dick launched himself at Jason.
Cover your face!
Jason reacted before he had even finished his surprised gasp. His jacket flew in front of his eyes, mouth, and nose just as two shotgun blasts rang out.
He heard the blood splatter against the black leather, followed by the familiar thud of a body hitting the ground.
Lowering the jacket that now dripped with Dick's blood, Jason looked up to see Damian, a gun half his size in his hands. There was no emotion at all on the 10 year old's face.
Damian went to Dick's body, nudged it once with the barrel of the shotgun. When there was no movement, he bent down and and pulled out an orange bottle from Dick's coat pocket.
"Pain medication," he said, tossing it to Tim.
Jason went to his youngest brother and began to check him for blood that was not his own. Dick insisted on doing it every time they'd gotten through an attack.
Damian scooted away and snorted back at Jason. "Idiot, I'm not the one covered in blood."
"oh," Jason muttered, "Right."
"The infected are swarming toward this area. Dick thought we'd better leave in the morning." Damian said.
"I think we'd better leave now," Tim whispered.
Jason nodded, watching Tim pop the pills out of the corner of his eye.
"You good?" Jason asked.
"No," Tim whispered. "But I can walk."
Damian made a tsking noise, but held a hand out to help Tim get up. "I brought some ramen back, and oranges," he muttered.
He and Tim began to walk toward the pre-determined safest exist.
Jason hesitated a moment, his gaze moving back down to Dick. He made himself look away from the gaping hole in Dick's chest. Dick had fallen on his back, and his empty eyes looked up at Jason. In death, he looked like himself again.
Jason slipped out of his coat -it was a biohazard now anyway- and laid it over Dick's face.
"I'll keep them safe," he whispered. "No matter what I have to do."
Re: Duty of the Eldest
From:Re: Duty of the Eldest
From:Re: Duty of the Eldest
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-11 12:26 pm (UTC)Fear the Black [Xmen, Scott, Gen, PG]
Date: 2009-11-12 04:07 am (UTC)It's unbetaed but if you notice any issues just let me know in a comment and I'll fix it right up.
http://chibifukurou.livejournal.com/26858.html
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: