Thursday - AUs
Nov. 12th, 2009 06:38 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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comment_ficToday is AU day. You can change a canonical event or make your characters completely different people.
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, Warrick/author's choice, Warrick survived the Undersherrif's attempt to kill him
Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, college roommates
Leverage/Supernatural, Dean/Eliot, Eliot is the hunter and Dean is the hitter
If nothing catches your eye today, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts.
tag=au
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, Warrick/author's choice, Warrick survived the Undersherrif's attempt to kill him
Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, college roommates
Leverage/Supernatural, Dean/Eliot, Eliot is the hunter and Dean is the hitter
If nothing catches your eye today, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts.
tag=au
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 11:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-27 08:55 pm (UTC)People have been coming in and out his hospital room for a week now, and as he listens to each one talk, he can hear that they're talking to a ghost - a person that isn't supposed to be alive.
Catherine visits a few times and she cries. She sobs. She's still grieving for someone she thought was dead.
Greg's a little chatterbox, talking non-stop and saying nothing.
Sara doesn't visit. Warrick never expected her to.
Grissom only visits once. Warrick hears the footsteps, smells the aftershave. Grissom doesn't say anything. He doesn't touch. No one touches him.
Well, one person does touch him. Nick still touches him, holds his hand. Nick's always been a tactile person and, of course, their relationship did extend a little further than friendship. When Nick brings his hand to his face, Warrick can feel the uncharacteristic stubble, the slight gauntness that wasn't there before.
A blessing in every curse he supposes. The only thing worse than hearing everyone grieve would be seeing them as well.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 11:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 11:17 pm (UTC)Their dorm was wrecked. Red cups, beer cans, and more clothing than should have been around. At least that's what he could see from his room.
Chris groaned again, this time out of irritation for how much time they were going to have to spend cleaning. He nudged Steve, who whimpered next to him and tightened his grip around Chris's waist.
Chris cleared his throat. "Dude, who was over here last night?"
Steve shifted opening his eyes. "My head is pounding."
Chris nodded, "Mine too. I don't even remember half of this shit. The room is thrashed."
"Blame Rosey. He brought the jagger."
Chris nodded and then heard another groan. He arched his eyebrow and leaned over to look on the floor, to see a half clothed Jensen.
Chris laughed a little, grabbing his pillow and dropping it on Jensen's face. Jensen batted it away, opening his eyes with a glare. "I'll kill you."
Steve laughed a little, leaning over next to Chris to stare a Jensen. "Don't you have class?"
Jensen swore. "I'm sick."
Chris smiled. Yet another Friday in their college careers.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 11:45 am (UTC)I want to reach for your hand as we scale the path - Eliot/Dean, PG13, AU
Date: 2010-10-28 03:26 am (UTC)Dean’s looking for a quick fuck before going sleep for a week, and Eliot’s just after a beer or three, till he can’t remember his own name or the way that little girl screamed when he was a moment too late.
Instead, they end up shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing stories about punkass baby brothers with brains the size of planets and egos to match, and about fathers who wanted something entirely different than reality, and how there are some stains that just will not goddamned come out, no matter what.
They don’t go back to a room together, but they’re both at the same hotel, so they meet up again the next morning for breakfast. And then there’s a movie that Dean'd caught a preview for and wants to see, and Eliot thinks it sounds kinda interesting, and, well...
One thing leads to another, and when Eliot needs a second gun for a hunt, he'll call Dean. And when Dean’s in over his head because the angry thief in possession of the thing he's been hired to retrieve is, in fact, a fucking vampire, he'll send a text Eliot's way and pray he checks his phone in time.
Sammy bitches at him about dangerous and criminal records, but Sammy doesn't really have a goddamned clue about Dean's life. He thinks Dean sells insurance, for fuck's sake.
Sam likes to believe he's the smart one in the family. Dean lets him keep his delusions. They make him feel good.
And Eliot, he's the last of his bloodline, hunters all the way back to Ben Franklin, matter of fact.
The first time Dean brings Eliot home, Dad takes him out back and sees how good he is with a gun. And Mom, well Mom… she looks at Eliot hard and says in cold voice, “My father is Samuel Campbell. Hurt my boy and your body will never be found.”
Eliot nods and murmurs, “Understood, ma’am.”
Dean’s not sure he gets it, but he’s guessing he comes by his talent for weapons honestly enough, from both sides of the family tree.
Mom smiles at Eliot and kisses him on the cheek. “Welcome to the family,” she says.
That night, Dean slowly undresses Eliot in the same room where he lost his virginity and he’s not sure if he’s ever done anything hotter. “Come to Croatia with me,” Dean whispers into his neck. “Help me overthrow a tyrant.”
“Only if you help me go after this bastard demon called Azazel,” Eliot replies, biting into Dean’s lower lip.
“Done,” Dean promises. “The fucker won’t know what hit ‘im.”
Eliot smiles and lays Dean down, and Dean wonders, for a brief, painful second, what life would’ve been like if he’d never gone to that bar that night.
But Eliot recaptures his attention and they have to focus on keeping quiet and he did meet Eliot, Eliot is his forever and ever, and there is nothing they can’t do.
Re: I want to reach for your hand as we scale the path - Eliot/Dean, PG13, AU
From:Re: I want to reach for your hand as we scale the path - Eliot/Dean, PG13, AU
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:23 pm (UTC)Part I
Date: 2009-11-17 11:20 pm (UTC)Sure, she doesn't wear it, anymore. Truth be told, she's not even really sure if it would still fit. She's much further away from being a teenager than the young lady who had taken the mask off for the final time had been. Her body, though still accustomed to the daily grinds that come with her occupation, does not receive nearly the same intense physical workout as it had received when she'd had to keep up with Batman and Robin.
The first Robin, she mentally corrects, out of habit. Because the losses keep mounting in their world, but the memory of that little costume that might well be too tight in the all the places it was always meant to be tight makes her unable to resist from cataloging those losses very carefully, in a part of her mind that is still allowed to give a damn.
The framed photograph of her father that hangs on her office wall, the one that he claims embarrassment over (though Barbara suspects it actually makes him quite proud) looks back at her wearily. He's looks that way more these days than in the past, though Barbara can't ever actually remember a time when he looked any other way. She doesn't fault him; god knows the city tears away at both a person's strength and their sanity, and the chair...well, Barbara can't ever imagine how draining that chair must be.
But there are times that her father looks back at her from that photo with an extra degree of weariness. Tonight's a good night for it, with their city at their lowest point, an idiot in Metropolis gearing up for an actual war, and Barbara indulging in memories of days she really should be over by now.
"Don't look so sad," she murmurs, taking her glasses off briefly enough to rub her temples. "It could be a lot worse. I could be indulging in that drink that I could really use right now."
She could feel the disapproval growing, and he's right, after all, so Barbara turns back to the never-ending pile of papers on her desk.
Three folders later, not so much as a dent has been made, and Barbara's eyes are blurring letters that don't remotely resemble each other. But her tiredness isn't enough to keep her from hearing the heels approaching her office door, and Barbara's gun is raised and at her side as she gets up and creeps to the door.
The outfit might never fit again, but Barbara has never forgotten the lessons she learned during the years she'd worn it. Which is why she's quite proud of the fact that she is able to actually surprise Black Canary.
Or, rather, Dinah Lance. Barbara's not supposed to know the brunette's identity - the wig is back in fashion when Canary goes into battle, after a mini-hiatus - but Canary and her boytoy hadn't exactly been discreet during their time in Seattle. Honestly, Barbara has no idea why anyone who might care even pretends to fall for the Canary and Arrow facade of secret identities.
Not that she has the luxury to care, herself, but on occassion, the part of her brain that delights in mourning a fallen Robin and a suit she no longer wears also likes to pretend that she does have that luxury.
It's the hardest of habits to break.
"Can I help you?" Barbara asks. She puts the gun into her holster, but her eyes never leave Canary's face. It hasn't been that many years since Batgirl and Black Canary teamed up together, but the lines on the brunette's face tell of decades.
Barbara supposes she can't throw stones. The same gray around her temples that finally makes the least slimy of Gotham's finest finally talk to her face probably tells of the same fictional decades.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Commissioner. I didn't expect anyone to be here, this late."
Canary's eyes are equally critical, but Barbara knows they go unseeing; she's never been "Barbara" to this woman. "For a city that's had the past few weeks that Gotham's had, I'd be pretty rotten at my job if I had gone home this early."
"It's not gotten any better with ... Batman and Robin reappearing on the scene?" The emphasis on their names might have gone unnoticed to anyone else. But Barbara knows the real Batman is dead, and that the little boy who had replaced Dick's replacement is gone, too.
Part II
From:Re: Part II
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-02 09:59 am (UTC)Bruce eyed the youth from the window of his car.
The boy leant back against the wall, arching into the stonework to display his taut body to its best advantage. “Looking for a good time mister?”
Bruce climbed out of the Maserati, watching as the youth cocked his head, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his paint-on-tight jeans. “Just looking...”
“Well?” The kid grinned confidently. “Like what you see?”
“Might do.” Bruce stalked towards him, unconscious using the Batman walk.
With a wicked grin, the red-head ran his fingers up the inside seam of Bruce slacks. “So mister?” Bruce gritted his teeth, holding back a hiss of pleasure. “Are we going back to your place?”
Bruce stepped back suddenly, moving out of range of the boy’s touch. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all. “What’s your name?”
“Jay.” Jason watched his mark carefully, tonight had been too slow to risk losing this one. “But my friends call me Jaybird.”
Bruce gave a little huff of amusement, taking this as a good sign. “Well Jaybird.” He smirked, stepping back within Jay’s reach. “Know any good hotels around here?”
no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:36 pm (UTC)Not exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway
Date: 2009-11-12 04:28 pm (UTC)"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier, Veronica?"
"Lilly, she asked me... She told me it was a secret... She made me swear not to tell anyone."
Keith sat down again in front of her.
"But if what you're telling me is the truth, then Mr. Echolls committed a crime," he said in his most gentle voice. "Lilly was just seventeen, that's statutory rape, Veronica."
But Veronica was crying too hard to really react to what he was saying. Keith took her in his arms, trying to soothe her, while thinking about what strategy he could apply in this case.
The prominence of his two suspects - Duncan Kane and Aaron Echolls - made it crucial that he not accuse either of them directly. It was clear to him that Jake Kane was protecting his son and that Keith would have to make him crack. But how could he smoke out Aaron? The only weapon he had was Logan, who as Lilly's ex-boyfriend was a de facto suspect.
Keith thought it was ironic that he was working with opposite forces: he hoped to get Aaron by his love for his son (although, if Aaron had had an affair with Lilly, he feared he didn't have much to go on), and Duncan by calling on his father's self-preservation. He hoped that it would work, or that he at least could find some evidence that hadn't been so obviously tampered with... This case was going to make or break his career, and he hoped he wouldn't make too many bad decisions.
Re: Not exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it anyway
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-18 07:42 am (UTC)But then. She sighed, as James had pointed out, she wouldn't have loved him if he wasn't who he was. Her fingers had itched to slap him when he sounded as confident as that. Now though if he came in alive and well she wouldn't care.
There was a faint pop behind her and she turned to see Sirius and Remus supporting James between him. His head was hanging low and blood was trickling down his cheek. Lily's heart leapt in her mouth.
"Sorry Lily," Remus said in his calm voice. "He got a hex or two but he saved Frank Longbottom's life."
Lily wanted to be furious with him as she darted forwards to James. But she couldn't bear to do it, they looked haggard. She would do what she always did, patch them and feed them and cry only in private.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:50 pm (UTC)and if you need inspiration check out Danny's (Carmine Giovinazzo's) band ceesau. (http://www.ceesau.com/) Their music is pure sex if you're into grundge rock
no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:50 pm (UTC)no fic, but
Date: 2009-11-12 06:10 pm (UTC)Link: http://community.livejournal.com/csichick2_epic/17163.html
no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-13 04:12 am (UTC)---
"Jess?"
"Hi, Sam." There it was - that smile he fell in love with. That smile he fell for all over again as soon as he saw it.
"Lucifer?" He asked again, untrusting.
"Sorry, babe, just me."
"You're dead."
"Hard to die when you're not really alive."
"What?" He didn't understand what she meant.
"It's complicated, Sam." Her eyes fill will sadness, seeing his disbelief.
"Uncomplicate it." His voice was hard, almost angry.
"I'm an angel of the Lord." She closes her eyes and he sees the shadow of wings on the wall grow and flex, and his eyes widen.
He stutters a bit, but doesn't manage to get a full sentence out.
"I was sent to you to keep you safe while you were at Stanford."
"But, the fire, the ceiling-" he stutterd, still lacking words.
"To set you on your path."
He stayed silent for several minutes, trying to process through his memories, factoring in that she was an angel.
Betrayal stung.
Finally, he manages out, "Did you ever even love me?" in a harsh, raspy voice.
She crossed over to him quickly and cupped his cheek in one hand. "Baby I wanted to fall from grace for you," she said softly, rubbing his cheek with her thumb.
"Why didn't you?" He asked, not entirely sure how much he believed.
"Because then I couldn't watch over you."
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:53 pm (UTC)Contrails, John/Cam
Date: 2010-01-05 10:27 pm (UTC)Pain killer hangover. It’s probably why he was dreaming about planes, because he doesn’t, hasn’t since he decided he wanted to keep walking more than he wanted to keep flying. It’s just when the pain’s bad that he dreams about why he had to choose.
The planes roar past again, and they’re nowhere near an Air Force base, somewhere that it would make sense. When he gets awkwardly to his feet, they’ve disappeared over the other side of the building, nothing but contrails.
Mystery for later, if he can mainline enough coffee to wake his brain up properly.
“Hey,” John’s voice says quietly as Cam steps into the den. He starts, nearly loses his sometimes precarious balance, because it’s Friday and John should be at work.
He shouldn’t be curled into an arm chair, bare feet, jeans and one of Cam’s old shirts, looking down at the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Cam asks. He’s already imagining the worst: accident, illness, his family or John’s.
“John?” he prompts again. John doesn’t turn to him, and Cam can’t get in his eye-line when he’s looking down. He leans against the arm of the chair instead, hoping John will look up.
“Everything’s fine,” John says, talking to the floor. “Didn’t feel like going in today.”
It’s an obvious lie, so obvious that Cam knows John wants to tell, except the planes pass over their building again, and Cam doesn’t have to ask, John’s eyes flickering to the window for a split second before he hunches even further into himself.
“Air show tomorrow,” John says, his voice flat. “Practice run. Couple more hours.”
Perils of being a homebody, because it’s the first Cam’s heard of the damn thing. “John,” he says softly, touching John’s shoulder.
John twitches away, half-turning away from Cam to press his shoulder against his drawn up knee. “My own stupid fault,” he says. Cam knows John’s trying to sound angry, at himself, at the Air Force, at the words, but he just sounds like he’s in pain. He wants to touch, but this is still too new for him to know how far he can push, nothing like how they were the first time around, years ago.
“It’s fine,” John says. “I’m fine. You want some coffee? Or breakfast? I’d offer to take you out, but I’m supposed to be too sick to work so –“
“John,” Cam says, risking the tips of his fingers against the bare skin above John’s collar, because he does know John well enough to know that the babbling is never a sign that anything’s about to get better. “Sweetheart…”
John shudders under his hand, and when he looks over to Cam, his eyes are very bright. “It’s worth it,” he says, wrapping one hand around Cam’s wrist like he’s not sure Cam will get it. “And Holland’s parents got to bury him, not an empty coffin…” He looks down, then ducks his head to rest his forehead against the back of his own wrist, the back of Cam’s hand. Cam shifts his weight enough to bring his other hand up to run through John’s hair, and tries not to think about John, crashed and lost and grieving, dragged back to safety only to be thrown out for disobeying orders.
“I didn’t want to leave,” John says, very quietly. “I want to be up there.”
“I know,” Cam says. The planes go by again, and this time John hunches into Cam instead of himself. It’s a little better, but it’s still more miserable than Cam can stand for John to be. “Let’s go away for the weekend,” he offers. “Road trip. The beach.”
John shakes his head without lifting it. “You don’t have to.”
“You don’t have to stay here and be heart-broken,” Cam says. “It doesn’t have to be difficult all the time.”
John makes a neutral sound. It probably won’t be any easier, really – Cam does know that the planes are a trigger, not the real problem – but maybe it won’t be worse.
“I’m not heart-broken,” John says. “Mended, mostly.” He looks up, meets Cam’s eyes with a weak smile. “But okay. Yeah. I’d rather not be here right now.”
“I’m glad you’re here the rest of the time,” Cam says, turning his hand to squeeze John’s, and John sighs, touches Cam’s damaged leg, and says, “Me too.”
Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:Re: Contrails, John/Cam
From:no subject
Date: 2009-11-12 12:54 pm (UTC)Still Me: Cam/John, John never joined the Air Force.
Date: 2011-01-21 01:52 am (UTC)"Hey," he greets Cam. "What'll you have?"
Cam tries to act like he's not imagining this guy on his knees when he answers. "What's your specialty?"
From the smirk on the guy's lips, Cam didn't succeed, and okay, that probably wasn't the most subtle thing he could have said. "John," he offers as he reaches beneath the bar, twists the cap off a Sam Adams, and sets it in front of Cam.
"Cam," he replies, taking a sip of the beer on autopilot.
"Military," John says, sharp eyes taking in the haircut, Cam's sure, and probably the little bit of the chain around his neck that peeks above his collar. He just mods.
"I almost joined up once," John says, a little smile on his face that Cam wouldn't quite call wistful. "Air Force. I wanted to fly like nothing else, but..." He shrugs. "Couldn't not be me."
"It's not easy," Cam agrees.
John looks like he wants to ask a question, so Cam tilts his head a bit, and John asks, "Why'd you join, then?"
Cam smiles his own little smile. "Couldn't not be me."
There's a little moment, sort of, if guys have moments like that, and John pops another beer open for Cam even though his first isn't done and smiles. "I'm out of here in an hour," he says, and it's so casual that it might not be an offer, but Cam's good at the 'what's not being said' game by now.
Cam tips his beer in John's direction and smiles again. "I know a burger place nearby," he replies, and John smiles back and nods as he walks to his next customer.
Re: Still Me: Cam/John, John never joined the Air Force.
From:Re: Still Me: Cam/John, John never joined the Air Force.
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