Let the Promptathon Begin!

[sansets]

To join the battle, all you need to do is pick a prompt from below (any prompt, even if it's your own) and write/vid/manip/icon/draw/whatever the most creative bit of whatever you can create! And remember - PLEASE feel free to vid or icon or manip or do something non-written. We love ALL kinds of creative output equally!

When you've written/painted/made it, paste it into the comments here. Once you've done that, you can post it wherever else you want.

You may enter as many times as you like, so long as each entry is completely separate (not a series of linked pieces). Also, please do not link to old work - this should be something new, produced for the challenge, based on one of the prompts.

THE RULES

1. It must fit in one comment, so the limit is 4,300 characters (there's no minimum limit). It can be part of a longer piece that you may post elsewhere, as long as it's something new and based on one of the prompts, but all we want here is the part that you are most proud of. If you make art, if it's larger than 350 px wide, please use a thumbnail linking directly to the piece (directly to the artwork, not a post or site). The thumbnail can be up to 350 px wide, and 300 px high, and should include as much of the art as possible. If it is a vidlet or something else requiring dowloading, like a fanmix, please post the link to where we can download. Feel free to post a teaser image, but please confine yourself to the artwork preview rules.

2. Important! Please use the subject line of your comment to identify the snippet, like so: Title, prompt, rating (i.e. Fandom, Pairing, prompt word, rating system of your choice). For example, I might write: "Staying Awake, One Tree Hill, Lucas/Nathan, rain, R", or "The Sun Has Gone Down, Crossover, Torchwood/Stargate Atlantis, Jack/John, under fire, for all ages".

3. You have one week – the post will close for new entries next Sunday, April 1, at midnight eastern standard time. PLEASE be certain to check the World Time Clock to verify the deadline time in your area.

4. Don't forget that these prompts are only written as character one/character two for convience, NOT because of any requirement to make it a relationship story! Gen and friend are very welcome here. They can be interpreted in ANY WAY, so just imagine the FUN possiblities. You can take one prompt and write it, draw it, icon it, fanmix it, AND vid it. (Although if you have the time to do all of that in the week that these prompts are open, I might just have to kill myself out of jealousy :o) And you can use the characters in a different way each time. Don't be afraid to think outside the box!

5. Please don't post anything but your creations or feedback/feedback replies (to individual stories) here. If you've got any questions or comments, please leave them on this post right here, NOT on this post that you are currently reading. We'd like to keep this purely for the creative output (and feedback on the creations - readers/voyeurs, please do show the writers/artists much love for their creative offerings).

The prompts are right here
Thanks SO much to sageness for coding and lending hosting space on her site!

The prompts using only one character were listed first, followed by the prompts for more than one character. ALL crossovers are under both fandoms, so you don't need to worry about looking in multiple places for your crossovers - those listed under Smallville are the same listed under Supernatural, if you are looking for prompts for a Smallville/Supernatural crossover.

Finally! Warning: ALL ratings are acceptable here, from the things that you would show your aged grandmother, all the way up to to the things that would make a sailor blush. Use your own discretion, and please label your stories, art, and other creative output accordingly.

Thank you kindly!

rules stolen from oxoniensis and her AMAZING porn battle

Comments

SAMPLE!! All the Things I Haven't Done, Gilmore Girls, Dean/Lorelei, silly, PG

[sansets]

"Well, I've never been Mrs. Robinson ..." Lorelei said, looking across the couch at Dean. He swallowed, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. "Want to play Dean Hoffmann to my Anne Bancroft?"

Of Childhood Illnesses and Bad Grammar, Rent, Mark and Roger, connect the dots, PG

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

"What do you MEAN, you have the chicken pox?"

"What does it sound like? I have the chicken pox. I never got them as a kid, Cindy had the boys with her, she just called to tell me he was sick, and it explains the itchy red spots on my shoulder."

"Let me get this straight -- you're twenty-three and you have the chicken pox."

"Stop laughing."

"But it's funny!"

"Have I told you today that I hate you?"

"So you say, baby boy, so you say."

"What the hell am I gonna do? Collins won't let me out of bed until I'm... despotted."

"Despotted?"

"Now is NOT the time to make fun of my grammar."

"You could always play connect the dots."

"...I'm hanging up now."

"Have fun!"

"Fuck you."

--
(118 words)

Re: Of Childhood Illnesses and Bad Grammar, Rent, Mark and Roger, connect the dots, PG

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Hee! Poor bespotted Mark. He must be ill indeed for him to have missed his chance to ask Roger if he wanted to play connect the dots.

Simple Rules, Rent, Alison, how to be a Grey, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

It wasn't hard, really, being part of her family. All you had to do was follow some rules. Guidelines. Easy stuff.

To be a Grey, you had to have money, and you have to make sure everybody knows it. There's no point in being the richest family in your neighborhood if you don't lord it over them. You must not be found in the company of anyone poorer than lower upper class. Art is something to be admired in a museum, something to do as a hobby, perhaps, as a child. And anyone who lives in Manhattan isn't actually classy enough to be friends with, even if you must socialize with them at events. "Friends" are people rich enough to come over for Sunday brunch on a regular basis; whether you actually like or trust them doesn't matter.

And never, under any circumstances, are you to fall in love with one of Daddy's employees. Especially not one who's living in one of Daddy's dirty buildings in Alphabet City. And if you married him... well, then, there's no hope for you and it's just as well your name got changed on your wedding day.

It was easy to be a Grey, you just had to follow a few simple rules. But Alison was never that good at following rules.

Christmas, 1968, due South, Fraser, light, G

[sprat.livejournal.com]

Legs rise up like the trunks of trees, dark against the sun-bright lights inside the auditorium, blocking the way to the stage. Ben's on his knees, his ski pants dragging in the slush on the wooden floor, grit beneath his palms. He's pushing through the forest of legs, trying to get to a place where he can see. It's warm and crowded. The people are talking. Some of them are talking Gwich'in, and some of them are talking Dogrib, but he doesn't know any of their faces.

"Benton," his grandmother says. He looks up. She's tall and wrinkly, older than anybody he knows. She smiles at him, but he doesn't smile back. He doesn't really know her, after all.

"Can you see?" she asks.

He shakes his head.

She smiles again and leans over to speak with his grandfather.

"Eh?" his grandfather says.

"Benton can't see the stage," his grandmother says again.

"Ah," his grandfather says, and his craggy face breaks into a smile. "Come on then. Up you go." He stoops down and grabs Ben under the arms like Ben weighs nothing, swings him high, higher, until Ben's boots sweep the air above the heads of the crowd and the big electric lights blind him. There's a thump and then he's settled, up on his grandfather's shoulders, his grandfather's square hands warm and solid on his legs, just below the knees. "How's that?" his grandfather says.

Ben blinks. He can see everything from up here: the tree they cut and hung with coloured lights, the other kids, crouched at the front, sucking on half-wrapped peppermint candy. He can see the moving rows of adult heads--dark haired and light haired, some of them with hats on. And over by the rear doors, Ben can see his father, standing still and stooped at the back of the crowd, his hands in his pockets. He sees Ben, lifts a hand. Ben waves back.

Then, suddenly, the room is full of sound. Ben takes a quick breath and looks toward the stage. There are people standing there in robes like nightgowns, all of them singing, all at once. The air shakes inside him. Music vibrates in his bones.

"Watch, now," his grandfather says. "It's starting."

Re: Christmas, 1968, due South, Fraser, light, G

[sage]

oh, this gave me chills, it's so vivid. And the distance between young Ben with his grandparents and his father over by the doors -- yes, exactly! :)

Pray to God He Hears You, Rent, Mark, how to save a life, Mark-Roger in the end, PG

[quinby.livejournal.com]

He'd always known that this moment would come. He knew that today would be one of the hardest moments of his life. What Mark didn't expect was it would be harder than he ever imagined.

He'll just say he's not the same

It was the third time Mark had been sitting in the hospital room, ironically, in his eyes, the same room. First Angel, then Mimi, and now Roger. Watching Roger lying there, on the bed, with Collins and himself looking on, Mark bit his lip.

Between the lines of fear and blame

"Listen, guys. I'll be..." Roger tried to finish the sentance, but a cough broke his speech.

Let him know that you know best

"Shut up, Roger. Just shut up for once. Do you actually think we're going to leave you?" Mark stopped before his voice broke.

Try to slip past his defence

Roger shrugged, leaning back in the bed, and closing his eyes. As if taking a cue, Collins shuffled out of the room, leaving Mark sitting on the bed. "Bastard. You're leaving me again."

The things you've told him all along.

"Yup. You're going to have to make it on your own, Cohen."

You stare politely right on through.

"Like hell I am. Roger... I..."

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend.

"I know, Mark." Roger reached out and took Mark's hand. "You're a good friend... brother."

Somewhere along in the bitterness and...

"You too... brother." Mark smiled at Roger, who leaned back, closing his eyes.

I would have stayed up with you all night

Mark just watched for a moment, before he realized. Roger was gone. He'd gone to be with April and Mimi and Angel. It was better for him there.

Had I known how to save a life...

Standing, Mark looked back at the bed. Part of him wished it was himself there, but he realized. Someone had to survive.

Re: Pray to God He Hears You, Rent, Mark, how to save a life, Mark-Roger in the end, PG

[dawning-star.livejournal.com]

First reaction: WAUGH

Second reaction: awesome. Completely awesome.

Nightwing Entangled, DC Comics, Ivy/anyone, sex pollen, PG

[leyna55.livejournal.com]

(http://photobucket.com)

Larger colour version : here (http://i177.photobucket.com/albums/w223/leyna55/poison-ivycolour.jpg)
Pencil sketch: here (http://i177.photobucket.com/albums/w223/leyna55/PoisonIvylarge.jpg)

Re: Nightwing Entangled, DC Comics, Ivy/anyone, sex pollen, PG

[sansets]

And I know NOTHING about the DC fandom, but these are SO very beautiful. I epsecially love how lush your coloring is without loosing any of the detail. Thanks so much for playing!

[wh1ps-scums.livejournal.com]

OZ- Beecher/Keller- "Sweet Hereafter" PG

(http://pics.livejournal.com/wh1ps_scums/pic/0000qr05/)

[wh1ps-scums.livejournal.com]

OZ- Beecher/Keller- "Broken" PG
(http://pics.livejournal.com/wh1ps_scums/pic/00018dzx/)

[sansets]

Oh both of these are beautiful! I especially love the subtle interpretation of the prompt in this one. I think I might just be snagging this to use as wallpaper. Thank you SO much for playing!

Lesson Learnt, Sports Night, Dan/Dana, look but don't touch, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Consider it a lesson learnt from the Casey Affair. Well, not affair since they never made it further than a handful of kisses and they hadn't even done that until well after his divorce had been finalized. Debacle then. Consider it a lesson learnt from the Casey Debacle. The one that started with her subconsciously pitting Casey against Gordon and ended in the ridiculous epiphany that had been the Dating Plan.

The lesson was a simple one: don't confuse friendship and the occasional playful flirting with romance and don't risk a sure thing on what ifs. That she and Casey had salvaged their friendship and returned to where they'd been before didn't mean that she'd be so lucky a second time.

She could look -- it was her job to keep an eye on everything, afterall. Her job to watch the way the camera framed Dan's face; her job to make sure wardrobe and makeup had him looking his best; her job to notice the grin that lit up his face every time he or Casey had a particularly clever turn of phrase. Well, that last one might be pushing it and the "just part of the job" excuse fell apart when she realized that even off air and out of the studio she noticed when he walked into the room, that she tracked him with her eyes, that whenever he smiled, she found herself smiling too.

She allowed herself the what ifs -- gazing out her office window lost in thought, stealing glances across the bar when she knew Natalie was too distracted (or too drunk) to notice, in bed as she drifted to sleep -- but that was all she would allow. Anything more would mean risking what she had, and that was a lesson she'd already learnt.

Re: Lesson Learnt, Sports Night, Dan/Dana, look but don't touch, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

*SQUEE*

It's gorgerifious.

Yes, I just made up a word. It's THAT good. :D

...yeah, coherency is so not happening. Love.

A Sure Thing, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, inevitable, R

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Dan had known this was inevitable for some time. He'd started thinking it might be in the cards not long after meeting Casey and knew it was a sure bet a few years ago. He hadn't known when and had no idea that tonight was the night until he'd shown up for work and found "casual touch" Casey replaced by "outright groping" Casey. After that, it'd just been a matter of getting through the day and not tearing each other's clothes off until they were back at Dan's apartment.

Casey twisted underneath Dan, grinding up to meet him and rambling about how long he'd wanted this, wanted Dan. He shuddered when Dan took him in his mouth and gasped his name in a way Dan had never heard before but had spent many nights imagining. Dan took his time tasting Casey, revelling in the moment he'd long been anticipating.

Dan woke and found himself alone, Casey having skipped out in the night to slip back into his role as loving father and husband. At the office, he found "casual touch" Casey and they went to work with no mention of the night before. This, too, Dan had known was inevitable.

Re: A Sure Thing, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, inevitable, R

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

*wibble*

That's so... sad-yet-perfect. It's just... well, inevitable, and god I'm a writer and I can't come up with words.

That might just be today, though. *looks at reviews from weeks past* No, no, it's me.

Honest Living, Rent, Squeegeeman, honest living, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

It wasn't that he had to make a living washing windshields at stoplights. Just because he hung out in the East Village, putting up with yuppies driving through, being assholes to him just because his clothes were worn, didn't mean he didn't have options. Hell, even if no one would believe him (he knew they wouldn't), he was a genius. Got his MD at 23, did his residency in Boston, got fed up with it all and moved to New York with nothing but a duffle bag full of videos and the clothes on his back.

It was honest work, washing windows. Sure, it didn't pay well (he had a shitload in savings anyway) and it wasn't exactly what you'd call a job with any "upward potential" (he really didn't care about that anyway), but it was honest. None of the meandering around the point so you don't have to outright tell someone they're probably going to die. No suggesting procedures that people didn't reallyneed, "just to be safe" - just to get their money, more like. No more competing for the "top spot" when he just wanted to help people.

So he was on the street, in his old (but clean, not that anyone noticed) clothes, with his bucket and squeegee, on Christmas Eve, trying to get people who thought they were better than him to acknowledge him, and let him work. Usually they just drove past. Sometimes they nearly ran him over. He should've been frustrated. He should have been annoyed.

Instead he just smiled at the next car. "Honest living, man!"

Re: Honest Living, Rent, Squeegeeman, honest living, PG

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

...Yeah, this was practically the REASON I put this prompt in: to get something like this from you. And anyone else who wanted to write it, but I love Norbert and I just ... sltjw. Wow. Ah. Dafds. Happy. Making. Ness. And. Inexplicable sadness. But. Yeah. Um. Rambling. Done.

Valentine's Day, Rent, Roger/April, paper hearts, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

On Valentine's Day, April had decorated the loft with streamers and flowers and hearts she'd cut out of construction paper. She bought those kid's valentines with Snoopy and Woodstock on them and cheesy little one-liners and set one out for each of them, a little chocolate heart taped to each envelope.

Maureen had squealed and praised April on coming up with such a good idea before dragging Mark off for a pre-dinner quickie. Mark had smiled and filmed the room and various reactions - leaving the camera running on the table when Maureen dragged him off. Collins had given her a hug and proclaimed her the sweetest thing since sugar. Benny had quietly wondered if they really had the money to spend on all this, but Collins shut him up pretty quickly. And Roger had laughed at her - lovingly, of course - and teased her the whole evening.

But that night, after everyone was asleep and they were still up whispering and kissing, she'd slipped out and plucked one of the paper hearts off of the fridge and brought it back in. She kissed the middle of it and then folded the edges in, covering the spot she'd kissed. "Save this kiss for when you really need it," she'd said, pressing the folded paper into his hand.

It was Valentine's Day again, now, and Roger sat on the edge of his bed staring at that piece of folded paper. April's kiss was, theoretically, still trapped in there, because every day he needed it more than the day before. But now... now was the time to take that last kiss and really honestly move on. He unfolded the paper slowly and carefully, then just stared at the heart. There was a tiny smudge of darkness where her lip gloss had stained the paper. Roger swallowed hard, took a shaky breath, and gently pressed his lips to the paper.

"I love you, angel," he whispered, tucking the paper into the nightstand. The pretty hispanic girl behind him shifted a little.

"Roger?"

"Go back to sleep baby," he said. She murmured something and rolled over, falling asleep again almost immediately.

Roger didn't sleep that night.

Re: Valentine's Day, Rent, Roger/April, paper hearts, PG

[sonneta.livejournal.com]

Ouch. Nicely done.

"Stopwatch" - Torchwood, Jack, loss - G (repost because I fail at html)

[etcetera-cat.livejournal.com]

Two hundred thousand and one hundred years, one month, six hours and fifteen minutes in the future, Captain Jack Harkness dies. Fourteen minutes and seven seconds later, he lives.

Nine months, twenty two days, eleven hours and fourteen minutes ago Captain Jack Harkness finished his first day of work for the Torchwood institute. He spent the day sitting behind a desk, making up the answers to the questions on a variety of official documents.

Six months, one day, five hours and two minutes ago, Torchwood Four vanished right in front of Jack’s eyes. He was pouring himself a coffee in the staff room, trying to think of reasons why he shouldn’t punch the branch director and then—

—he was lying on a windswept hillside, his left hand enclosed in the solidified remains of the coffee pot like some strange glass glove. It was raining and there was heather in his hair. Jack stood up, stared at his glass and plastic coated hand and walked down to the entrance of Torchwood Four.

The cave was just a cave; weird rock formations, pools of icy-cold water and a profusion of stalactites. The fake visitor centre and displays were gone. The doorway hidden behind them was gone.

Torchwood Four seemed to have lost itself.

Five months, twenty eight days and seven hours ago, Jack became the branch director of Torchwood’s Cardiff office. Looking around at the underground base; all mock-gothic tiled Victoriana cut with industrial scaffolding and beyond-modern technology, Jack thinks it looks… uneasy, cobbled together.

The plentiful amounts of pterodactyl shit all over the place reinforce this.

No matter what Jack tries, the pterodactyl doesn’t get lost.

One month, twenty nine days, twelve hours and fifty three minutes ago, ghosts began appearing all over the world and Jack really began to scour the Torchwood data streams.

Nothing screams The Doctor will come! like the whole planet suddenly becoming a ouija board.

As far as Jack’s concerned— as he reads the data bursts and runs search after search for blue box, doctor, rose— the rest of the world can get lost.

Five hours and thirty one minutes ago, Jack nearly caused a multiple car pile up on the M25, just outside of Heathrow when a ghost appeared in the outside lane and suddenly became a Cyberman.

Three hours and fifty nine minutes ago, Jack crawled out of the totalled remains of the SUV and up the grassy embankment to the road.

He stands up and he stares. There is not a whole vehicle left on the road. There are fires. There are bodies. There is a Cyberman laminated over about 500 yards of tarmac.

One hour and two minutes ago, Jack introduced a Dalek to the reason why Network Rail are adamant that you Stay off the tracks— live rail in use at Lewisham’s DLR station. He then spends a further twenty minutes unsuccessfully looking for survivors.

A little known fact about Time Agents is that they have to learn how to drive practically anything from any time period from at least twenty of the major civilisations this side of Alpha Centurai.

Twenty three minutes ago, Jack crashed a DLR train into the barriers at Canary Wharf DLR station.

Earth was not one of the twenty civilisations Jack picked.

Nineteen minutes ago, Jack ran into the ground floor of the wreckage that had been Torchwood One.

Four minutes ago, Jack found a dazed looking Torchwood operative with a clipboard. He had dark hair and was bleeding heavily from a wound on his forehead. His eyes were reddened.

One minute ago, Jack relieved the man of his clipboard and found himself staring at a smudged, roughed out attempt at a list of the dead.

Twelve seconds ago, Jack read two names in a row.

Right here, right now, Jack is losing himself.

Re: "Stopwatch" - Torchwood, Jack, loss - G (repost because I fail at html)

[talk-back.livejournal.com]

I've never seen the show, but I really like this. :)

"Say" - Xmen, Rogue/Wolverine, tease - PG13

[talk-back.livejournal.com]

They say teenagers are innocent of the world. They say teenagers don't really know, they just think they know.

They lie, because every time Logan sees Marie he knows that isn't so.

She runs a hand down her stomach, sometimes, or she licks a finger coated with syrup from the pancakes Storm serves for breakfast. She walks, runs, stumbles and catches herself. She drinks from a water fountain, bending over and flicking her hair back, body bent just so. She smiles, leans in to say something to her friends, sits back and laughs.

She lives and breathes in his presence, and with each action she takes he knows there is knowledge.

She touched him twice, before she took the cure. Not once after, because he's been angry with that choice (but not her, no- never with her, not quite) for a long while.

She touched him twice and drank up his thoughts. And though the power may be gone, she still knows exactly what he likes.

Re: "Say" - Xmen, Rogue/Wolverine, tease - PG13

[sansets]

Oh this is BEAUTIFUL. I love your interpretation of the prompt, and the understated power implicit in your interpretaion of their relationship. I think that this is not something I will be forgetting soon. Thank you for playing! :o)

Shalom, Rent, Mark-Roger, shalom, G

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

"Mark?"

Mark rubbed his temples and didn't look up from his textbook. "What now, Roger?"

"What's shalom mean?"

Mark looked up, finally, frowning. "It means peace. Why?"

"Just -- heard you say it to Cindy yesterday, and I was curious." Roger tilted his head slightly, wearing one of his thoughtful looks. "Peace. Huh. Okay."

***

"I'm gonna go get Collins and -- and I'll be back tomorrow. Okay?" Mark doesn't wait for an answer. "Okay. I'll be back. Promise. Love you, Rog. Good night."

"I love you too," Roger says softly, struggling to get the words out, the way he always does now. "Shalom," he adds even softer, struggling to breathe.

Mark leaves quickly, before he can cry, before he can break and tell Roger that there won't be any peace for him tonight.

--
(127 words.)

Through the Glass, Rent, April, watching, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

(Note: AU ficlet)

He can't move, staring through the glass and almost not noticing the almost stinging smell of antiseptic that permeates the hospital, just like every other hospital he's ever been in. He can't stand seeing her like this, being unable to do anything about it. He can't reach out to press the buzzer that would let a nurse know he's there, so they can come unlock the door and let him in.

So he just stands outside the door and stares through the glass.

She's wearing what looks like paper scrubs, dark blue, and socks with tread on the bottom so she doesn't slip on the linoleum floor. Not that she's walking around now - now she's just sitting in a chair, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms - almost entirely white from the bandages wrapped around the stitches they had to put in to keep her alive - draped gingerly around them.

A nurse walks up to her with a tray, handing her a little sample cup and a cup of water. Pills. She takes them, her movements a little too slow, her eyes far too dull. She shouldn't be locked up like this, but then again she shouldn't have tried to leave them the way they did.

He knows he should go in, talk to her, let her know she's not alone and that he's there for her, that he loves her, but he can't make himself do it. Because there's no way he can explain to her why the person she would want to see isn't coming, why he's the only one visiting. He can't bring himself to be the one to break that news.

A nurse sees him through the glass and starts towards the door, but he shakes his head and steps back. He glances at her one more time, looking so young and lost and alone, and his heart breaks even more for her, and he has the most overwhelming urge to go in, to hug her, to tell her he loves her and that it's going to be alright.

But he doesn't. So Mark just turns from the door and walks away.

The Truth About Bohemia, Rent, Alison/Mark, bohemia, G

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

This, Mark's come to realize, is the truth about bohemia: It's a state of mind, not your living conditions.

He had bohemia so many years ago, with six people crowded into a loft meant for four at the most, laughing and talking and feeling more alive than he'd ever feel again. He had bohemia again after that ended, living technically alone in the same loft, with people constantly coming to see him or calling him out of it, almost completely happy.

And both those times, he knew it, and everyone around him knew it.

But he's found out that now -- now, in his early thirties with everyone he'd loved then dead or almost out of contact -- now, in the same apartment fixed up, paying the heat, paying the electric so the lights never go out anymore, working a steady job alongside his filming, living with a professionalrichgirl/gymnast/notquitepainter with tastes occasionally so different from his he's amazed they don't argue more often -- now, he's living in bohemia again.

And the amazing part about it all is, he's happy. Maybe not as happy as the first time around, but definitely as happy as the second. It's nice to have a real apartment, instead of a crash pad. It's nice to wake up next to the same woman every morning, to fall asleep with her every night, to know she'll be there with a kiss and his jacket when he's got work and to be sure she'll be around long enough to learn all his little quirks and signs.

It's not perfect; it's not true-love-forever. But then again, neither is bohemia.

--
(267 words.)

Re: The Truth About Bohemia, Rent, Alison/Mark, bohemia, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

Yay for textures-verse! Because it so totally is.

And yes, dearling, you got him spot-on.

Do The Wrong Thing, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Danny/Suzanne, hero worship, PG

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

Suzanne's always had an issue saying no, anyway, to anyone. Keeping the boys in line at Studio 60 doesn't count -- it was her job. When it came to people wanting things from her, wanting her to do things, she couldn't say no. And Danny... Danny was her hero, after she got to know him. He was... strong. In the way that he'd never consider himself strong, the people around him could see it. Suzanne wanted his respect, she wanted him to like her, she wanted to make sure he noticed her.

And she knows, right now, that he's not thinking clearly and this isn't right. Your best friend just died, she wants to tell him. Of course you're going to make mistakes. But don't hurt yourself like this.

He smiles at her and holds out his hand. "C'mere."

"Why?"

"I wanna dance with you."

Reluctantly, she takes his hand (only until she figure out how to get him out of here, she tells herself) and lets him pull her close, closer than the song really calls for. She can smell the alcohol on his breath, alcohol and who-knows-what-else-there-could-be (she can see his arms, at least, and she's pretty sure there's nothing new there, but that doesn't mean anything really).

"You're a beautiful girl," he tells her, and her heart speeds up.

"You need to go home."

"Are you coming with me?"

And she hears the invitation in his voice, and she knows she should say no, or at least that she should only say yes to get him back there, but he's looking at her with that smile and if anyone needs somebody right now, it's him, and there's so many excuses to justify what she knows she's about to do that she can't stop herself.

"Yes."

--
(288 words.)

Considering, Rent, Alison/Mark, hold, PG

[enterincolor.livejournal.com]

There isn't a moment she can point to when she started loving him, but there's a moment she can point to where she started thinking about it.

She woke up one morning -- a day he was off work that morning and she was off work last night, a day they were going to spend together after a night they'd had sex for the first time in two weeks -- and her head was on his chest. His heart was beating against her ear, and his arms were more tangled around her than the blanket, and he was smiling like he was having a good dream, and for the first time she thought that maybe there was something more to this than comfort and loneliness.

Things weren't suddenly passionate, they weren't suddenly attatched at the hip, she didn't start considering making it to have and to hold till death do us part I do -- but she started considering. And that was enough.

Enough, Rent, Alison/Mark, hold, G

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

Their relationship wasn't about the things most people though a relationship should encompass. It wasn't about passion, attraction, or even love. It was about safety, contact, knowing that there would be someone there for you no matter what. They were friends, and they were alone, and so they'd decided to ease the loneliness by being together.

It was years, literally, before he thought that maybe it had turned into more. Sitting on the couch watching a movie on cable they actually didn't get illegally, his arm around her shoulders and their fingers twined together, and he was so happy. It wasn't some explosion or epiphany, but just a comfortable warm unlonely feeling in his chest. A feeling that he wanted to protect her, more than just being there if she was broken - prevent her from being broken.

It wasn't fireworks or skywriting or his love up in lights - their relationship was still about safety and comfort and lonliness - but there was something a little more, something that had grown slowly.

And maybe they wouldn't be a fairy tale romance, but when he went to bed with her warmth next to him, knowing she would be there in the morning, he knew that it was enough.

If at First (or Second or Third), Sports Night, Dan/Casey, persevere, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Dan said no.

"It's not that I don't want to," he explained. "Believe me: I want to."

"Then what's--"

"I've been down this road before and I know where it goes and I can't go through that again, Casey. Not with you."

Casey nodded and watched Dan fidget with the cuff of his sleeve. He tried again. "It'll be different. I'll be different."

"No, you won't." Dan smiled and patted Casey on the knee to take the sting out of his words. Then he got up and left.


***


"All I'm saying is--"

"Stop."

"What?"

"I'm not changing my mind, Casey." Dan signalled Jack for another drink.

"I was talking about basketball."

"You were going to use a longwinded history about the rule changes in basketball as a means to argue that things can change for the better and then turn that into an excuse to ask me out again."

"Maybe," Casey allowed.

"I said no last week. I said no the week before that. I'm saying no tonight. Can we just take it as given that I will continue to say no and skip to the part where you let it be?"

"No."

"Casey."

"I'll drop it for tonight though."

"Thank you."

"I still think reducing the time restriction from ten to eight seconds was a good example."

"It was."


***


"60 seconds live."

Casey cleared his throat and bent his head to speak directly into the mic. "I have an announcement I'd like to make."

Dan's pre-show high was replaced with apprehension. Announcements were never a good thing.

"I want everyone to know that I am pursuing Dan--"

"Oh, God."

"--to a romantic and sexual end."

Dan dropped his forehead to his hand and repeated himself. "Oh, God."

Nothing but silence filled the studio and control room for several long seconds -- a rare event so close to going on air.

"30 seconds live."

"I just wanted everyone to know because I have nothing to hide and I'm not ashamed or embarrassed. And while I think that it'd probably be best for our careers, and therefore your careers, if this didn't go beyond the floor, I wanted to be completely out in the open about this because it's not some dirty little secret."

Casey turned to Dan to flash him his best "aren't you proud of me?" grin. Dan's head stayed down with his eyes focusing intently on the desk in front of him.

"In 3, 2..."

Dan's head shot up and he faced the camera, only his still-red face belied his air of professional calm.

"Good evening, I'm Dan Rydell alongside Casey McCall."


***


A bouquet of flowers lay on the desk.

Dan stepped back out to the newsroom to see if Casey was lurking around a corner watching him, but Dan couldn't see him. He returned to their office, took off his coat and hung it up. He eyed the flowers suspiciously.

With a sigh, he picked up the card and read just enough to confirm it was addressed to him. It was. He grabbed the flowers, walked over to Kim's desk and got down on one knee, holding the bouquet out to her.

"What?"

"Can't a guy get flowers for his favourite secretary?"

"Bite me." She glared at him, then smiled and gladly took the bouquet.

Dan stuck the card in the desk drawer.


***


Casey grabbed a can from the bar fridge as Dan loosened his tie and flopped on the couch.

"Can I come over tonight?"

"Sure," Dan nodded.

"Pizza?"

"Yeah."

"Mock West Coast?"

"Of course."

"Fool around a little bit?"

"No."

"Pepperoni?"

"Yes."


***


Casey called as soon as the noon rundown broke.

"You're sick?"

Dan groaned in response.

"It's pretty slow here at the moment; I've got time to come over. I can pick up soup or something on the way."

"You won't try to take advantage of my weakened state to talk me into anything, will you?"

It was a joke, Casey knew, but his answer was serious and subdued. "I want in for the long haul, Danny. I think we can make a real go of it -- I know we can -- but only if it's what you want too."

"Ok, soup," Dan replied after a pause. "Anything but chicken noodle."


***

...full story here (http://community.livejournal.com/snarchive/113942.html)

Dissolution, Stargate SG-1, Cameron/Teal'c, earth, PG

[ana-grrl.livejournal.com]

"You smell like Earth," Cam says, his foot nudging at Teal'c's ankle. "How does that make sense?"

Teal'c doesn't look over. His eyes stay closed. "It does not."

Doesn't matter, though – even here, where the ozone is a little too strong, the dirt a little too chalky, Teal'c still smells like home. Like Earth. Cam leans closer, takes a deep breath. Yep. Teal'c smells like hours at the SGC, too much talk and not enough sunshine. Or kicking back in Cam's living room, three of them drinking beer while Teal'c sticks with water.

Something about the way he smells makes Cam think of walking through the 'gate – successful missions and welcomes and stepping onto to familiar ramps, smiling at familiar personnel.

– and maybe if Sam and Jackson were here, they'd also –

He shakes the thought out of his head, and shifts again, getting even closer. Not quite touching.

In the morning, the Alpha Site will again be buzzing with activity, full of people with things to do, places to be, questions to ask, contingency plans to make. New shelters will need to be put up, new duties to be allocated. Cam will speak with person after person – generals, majors, civilians, doctors, engineers – taking orders, or giving them. So many faces, but half of the ones he still expects to see will be missing, lost.

He'll be surrounded by familiar gear and rations. Surrounded by other humans, other refugees, each with their losses, their own histories, their own memories of Earth.

But none of it – them – will smell like home. Not quite. Not the way they should.

Re: Dissolution, Stargate SG-1, Cameron/Teal'c, earth, PG

[sage]

oh, ow. And lovely! And ow, so heartachey! ♥

Icon, Heroes, Hiro/Ando, friendship, G

[thefannishwaldo.livejournal.com]

Icon free for the grabbing.

If the online translator is to be believed, the Japanese text, says "friendship". (If someone out there knows Japanese and it doesn't PLEASE let me know.)

Icon, Heroes, Mohinder, searching, G

[thefannishwaldo.livejournal.com]

Icon free for the grabbing.

Icon, Heroes, Hiro, timely, G

[thefannishwaldo.livejournal.com]

Icon free for the grabbing.

Re: Icon, Heroes, Hiro, timely, G

[sansets]

I kind of really love all of these! Thanks so much for playing!!

Don't worry a thing about spamming! It isn't spam, but BEAUTIFUL creation! And thank you SO much for doing the headers - it really helps me out when I go to do the nightly round up posts. :o)