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

#1 Crush, Heroes, Hiro/Ando (unrequited), Secret, G

[sheepfairy.livejournal.com]

If Hiro is going to be honest with himself, he has to admit that he's had a crush on Ando for a long time. He tries to ignore it, though - smash it down into a place where he doesn't have to think about it or let it risk ruining their friendship.

But he lets his crush out in little ways. He invites Ando over to his apartment whenever he can think of a reason, and he makes sure his fridge is always full of the things that Ando likes. He's also pretty sure that they hug a lot more than most other guys who are just friends. And secretly, even though he knows it's not very nice or noble of him, he's glad that Ando doesn't have anyone else in the way of friends. It means that Hiro gets more time with him to himself, and he makes good use of it.

"I have Star Trek!" he says excitedly when Ando comes over, and he doesn't let himself be disappointed when the other man looks skeptical.

"Is it the series with Jeri Ryan in the skin-tight suit?" he asks.

"No, but it's the series where all of the women wear really short skirts," says Hiro, and Ando starts to look a little more interested.

Hiro knows his friend well.

"I guess I can stay for a few hours. But not that long, we both have work in the morning," he says as he settles on Hiro's couch. But Ando will stay late; he always does, because neither of them actually take their work all that seriously.

Hiro settles down next to him, maybe a litter closer than he should, and gets ready for a long night with his best friend and his favorite show.

Re: #1 Crush, Heroes, Hiro/Ando (unrequited), Secret, G

[leyna55.livejournal.com]

Awww Hiro. Very cute little scene.

Bittersweet, Stargate Atlantis, Jeannie, PG

[sapote3.livejournal.com]

It's not following a prompt! I'm really, really cheating! But I got hit by a craving to vid this in the viewing chat today, so it seems like a shame not to at least post it here and give rat_jam the credit.

Vid, 1:30, imeem and download at (http://sapote3.livejournal.com/11830.html)

Re: Bittersweet, Stargate Atlantis, Jeannie, PG

[sapote3.livejournal.com]

this link (http://sapote3.livejournal.com/11830.html)

[pixiecatfish.livejournal.com]

What a beautiful glimpse of Ray! And so true to his character.

Are You In or Out?, Life on Mars, Sam/Gene, bisexuality, NC-17

[loz]

"People are either one way or the other," Gene grunts.

"Not true," Sam retorts, swallowing in a deep breath and changing position.

"That's what we were taught. At school."

"They did not teach you about being gay in school."

Sam twists his hand to the left and bites on his lower lip, smiling at the expression in Gene's hooded eyes. Gene knocks his head back over the top of the car seat.

"Did too. The older kids. Told us it were sick. You were either sick or you were healthy."

"You look pretty healthy right this second."

Gene huffs out a breath and a bead of sweat trickles from his forehead. Sam keeps stroking, speeding up his movements, watching as Gene starts thrusting forward. Sam rubs his thumb over the tip of Gene's cock, spreading pre-come. His breath is ragged as he grips his own cock, pumping in time.

Sam's voice is hushed when he continues. "You look more than healthy, you look gorgeous."

Gene comes with a low sound, his head bashing with a resounding thump. He looks at Sam lazily, displaying curiosity and sated fascination as Sam keeps working his cock, close to coming himself. "What was it called, then? Wanting birds and blokes? Bicircular?"

Sam manages to answer between breaths. "Bisexuality."

"That's a movement I could get behind."

Sam laughs. "Doesn't surprise me."

He comes, hot and sticky, and turns to see Gene looking off into the far distance.

"Shit. Speaking of movement, there's some at number forty, better get little Sammy zipped up. And be careful. We don't want him going through the grinder. He has to be in tip top shape for later on today."

Re: Are You In or Out?, Life on Mars, Sam/Gene, bisexuality, NC-17

[leyna55.livejournal.com]

Hee! Multitasking on a stakeout. Love it.

Unwritten Rules, due South, Fraser, unwritten, PG-13

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Stakeouts were an introspective time. Although Ray started the shift chatting and playing word games, after a few hours they always ended up in a comfortable silence. Fraser's senses focused outwards for evidence of wrongdoing while his thoughts focused inward.

As a child, Ben had been happy. He and his mother had lived in a cabin half a day's journey from their nearest neighbor. The two of them spent days in cooperative story-telling ventures that drew equally on the wilderness outside the cabin and the wildness within them. His father's occasional visits were pleasant but perplexing. Father didn't talk to the fire when he gave it wood. He knew nothing of the gentle snow-whatsit or the fearsome kamikan, which could take on the form of wolf or man, and preyed upon both.

After Mother's death, Ben went to live with his grandparents and became Benton. It had felt like a punishment. His stories were met with admonishments against telling lies. His fervent prayers to God to let him speak to Mother were blasphemous. His tears made everyone uncomfortable.

Benton had tried so hard to learn the rules of his new existence. There were many languages to speak, but only one at a time, never mixed up together as Mother had enjoyed. There was fiction and non-fiction. There was reality and there were childish dreams.

Benton read and reread a pamphlet in his grandparents' library about Amala and Kamala, the wolf-girls of India. Raised by a she-wolf that was later killed by the local villagers, they had never learned how to live among humans. Amala had grown sick and died. Kamala had mourned and died alone. Only by following the rules could he avoid their fate.

Ray's right hand tapped out a complex beat on his denim-clad thigh as he watched the warehouse. Diefenbaker snored in the back seat.

Benton's year of high school in Norman Wells had been difficult. Full and complete answers to the teachers' questions angered the other students. Girls walked close, smiled and touched him. A few of the boys did the same, if more subtly. It was flirting. Benton knew that much, but he wasn't certain how to respond. Benton kissed a girl behind the community center. She responded enthusiastically at first. When he pressed his erect penis against her thigh, she pulled away, insisting that she was not that kind of girl. It was confusing.

He chose to follow in Father's footsteps and become a Mountie. At the Depot, Cadet Fraser developed a clearer sense of the man he wanted to be. The unwritten rules among cadets said he should turn a blind eye to Steve's cheating. Fraser had thought about it over-night. The next morning, he turned Steve in. The cadets rejected him in turn. It was only to be expected.

Fraser's arrest of his father's killer left him exiled to Chicago. He was alone but for Diefenbaker and Father's spirit – fitting companions for a man with only one foot in reality.

In Chicago even the rules of basic courtesy that he had painstakingly learned were incorrect. However, everyone seemed to assume that Fraser's oddities were a result of his nationality, rather than any personal failing. Both of Fraser's partners expressed clearly when he transgressed some local norm, but they never rejected him when he chose to follow his own path.

Of course, that led to Victoria. He had believed she was his true mate; had chased after love with all that was in him. He had thrown aside caution, common sense, and honor; ignored Ray, Diefenbaker, and his father. He had risked all he had to create a world where he and Victoria could be together. Moderation had never been one of Fraser's strong suits.

Which brought him back to Ray. Ray, passionately pursuing and protecting his ex-wife, still never stepped over the line. He sensed boundaries by instinct and danced along them with grace. Fraser envied him that talent.

Ray, somehow sensing that Fraser was thinking of him, turned and smiled. He reached into his pocket and offered Fraser a stick of spearmint gum. Fraser accepted.

All these years, Fraser had tried so hard to be a good boy, a good Mountie, a good partner. As the gum's sweetness burst across his tongue, Fraser wondered if perhaps it was time he learned to be human.

Re: Unwritten Rules, due South, Fraser, unwritten, PG-13

[loz]

♥ I love this.

Circle Jerk, Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Buddy, circle jerk, NC-17 (warning: underage)

[malnpudl.livejournal.com]

It was the only time it was okay to look, when they were all in a circle in the empty storage room up above Dermot Mullaly's uncle's welding shop. They were allowed to use it because Seamus Mullaly thought they were having Scout troop meetings, but what they were really doing was drinking stolen beer and smoking and passing porn around, and on some days, the days Duck lived for, having a circle jerk.

It wasn't okay to look in the locker room. You were supposed to pretend you didn't see the other guys' dicks and their balls and how Buddy's pubic hair was straight and dark and not very thick and looked like it might be soft if you touched it.

And no matter how much you wanted to, it wasn't okay to look at the swimming hole when they went skinny-dipping. You never checked out another guy's bare ass, not anywhere, not ever, not even Buddy's when he got out of the water all streaming wet and his ass looked so round and perfect and it made you dive for deep water because your dick was getting hard.

But here the guys were all sitting with their pants down around their ankles and everything hanging out, and Duck was allowed to look.

He wasn't sitting next to Buddy, he never did, nor right across from him, either. That'd be too obvious. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about it, about how to look without getting caught.

So there he was, just to the left of the door, with his pants pulled down, his legs spread wide, and his bare ass on the dusty wooden floor. And there was Buddy, across the room and a little to his right, his back against the wall and the warm, golden light from the high windows shining on his belly and his naked thighs and on the head of his cock every time it poked up out of his pumping fist.

It never lasted long enough – it was all about speed, and whoever came first won. Buddy's balls were bouncing furiously between his spread legs, and Duck wanted to grab his hand and make him slow down, slow down, make it last.

It was never enough.

"I bet I can shoot farther than all you guys," Duck said, startling himself with his own words. He felt his face go hot.

"A dollar says you can't," Paul Andersen shot back, and a chorus of voices chimed in.

"You're on," Duck said, his breath coming short. "Gotta slow down, though. Build up the pressure." He said it like he knew what he was talking about, hoping that they'd buy it.

"Yeah," Dermot said. "He's right. Shoot too soon, it won't go anywhere."

"Okay," Buddy said, looking at Duck. His hand was moving more slowly now. "A buck apiece. Guy who shoots the farthest takes it all."

Duck barely heard the rest of the guys agreeing, because Buddy was staring him down like he was challenging him one on one, man to man. Dick to dick.

Buddy spread his legs wider, and the muscles in his thighs flexed as he thrust up into his own hand.

Heat coursed through Duck, and he closed his eyes. Not yet. Please God, Jesus please, not yet.

When he opened them again, Buddy was still looking at him, his eyes wide and a little wild and his face flushed deep pink. His hand was moving faster again, and Duck could see Buddy's balls going hard and tight, pulling up against his body.

"Gonna shoot," Buddy said, breathless. "Gonna shoot so far you'll be wearing it."

"Fuck," Duck gasped, and he lost it, felt it take him and make his cock pulse hard and his back arch and his chest heave. "Fuck you," he managed to choke out, trying desperately to make it sound like a challenge instead of a plea.

By the time he got his breath back and opened his eyes again, Mike Flynn had already grabbed a roll of twine off a shelf and was measuring for distance.

"Buddy won," he declared. "Must be three feet. Jesus."

They pulled their pants up and mopped their hands with the paper towels that someone had thought to bring, and Buddy heckled them genially as he collected their money.

Duck hung back as the other guys filed out of the room. He fished the crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket and lit one up with shaking hands.

When he finally left the room, Buddy was waiting for him outside the door; he fell into step beside him. "You would've won," Buddy said with a sidelong grin, "if you'd shot out instead of up."

Duck's face went hot. "Next time," he said, "you're going down."

Re: Circle Jerk, Wilby Wonderful, Duck/Buddy, circle jerk, NC-17 (warning: underage)

[revbiscuit.livejournal.com]

Mal. Wow.

Move On, Rent, April/Gordon, regret, PG

[starletfallen.livejournal.com]

"What's your biggest regret?" she asks you, her head in your lap. You don't answer right away, just running your fingers through her hair.

"What's yours?"

She laughs and pokes your chest. "I asked first!"

"I'll only tell if you do," you say calmly, smiling a tiny bit as she sulks playfully.

"Fine," she relents with a sigh. Thinks. "I don't know, actually. Probably... probably giving up when I did." She's suddenly rather serious. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Mmm." You have to restrain yourself from twisting your fingers into her hair, clinging tightly so she can't get away again.

"What about you?"

"Probably--" Your alarm clock rings. You open your eyes and sigh, looking sadly at the hand that had been tangled (gently) in her hair. It's clutching at the pillowcase. "Probably not telling you I loved you," you whisper to her ghost.

And you move on.

Better Than Wine, Green Wing, Mac/Guy/Caro, value, R

[leiascully.livejournal.com]

When it came down to it, three people in one bed was a little bit awkward. There were so many hands (fingers kept getting wedged between bed and bone when someone rolled over) and so many balls and not really enough breasts and a confusing number of mouths and knees.

On the other hand, it was maybe the best thing that had ever happened to any of them, so that worked out. The orange light from the sodium lamp outside washed everyone's skin with gold and the room smelt of sex, musky and rich, and whatever cinnamony perfume Caroline had on.

"You are the most precious things I've got," said Mac.

"Save it for daylight, wanker," Guy said, "you can tell us how wonderful we are when we're not having sex," and he and Caroline shut Mac up with lips and clever fingers.

Re: Better Than Wine, Green Wing, Mac/Guy/Caro, value, R

[catwalksalone]

Mmmmmmmmm.

On the other hand, it was maybe the best thing that had ever happened to any of them, so that worked out.

I think I shall take this line to bed with me.

Set in Stone: House M.D., House/Wilson, apology

[out-there.livejournal.com]

"So you apologised."

Signing up for detox involves a commitment of weeks. While he knew that when he came here, he hadn't expected the time to pass this *slowly*. Or to be trapped in frighteningly cheerful decor for the entire time.

So he's now Gregory House, M.N.B. Those initials being Mind-Numbingly Bored. Next time Cuddy orders business cards, he's going to get that added right after the M.D. But that would require actually using the business cards Cuddy ordered for him, instead of handing them out at strip joints with Cuddy's office number on the back.

He'll think about it.

"I never knew my workload was this light," he says, avoiding the topic at hand and reaching forward to take a handful of peanuts from the snack-sized bag.

"On average, you see one to two patients a week," Wilson replies, picking up his bag of peanuts and cradling them on his lap, just out of House's reach. "Not counting clinic hours, of course."

"Yeah, but I never have this much free time. If I knew there was so little requirement for my face-to-face wisdom, I would have taken up a hobby years ago."

It's a blatent lie. Firstly, he already has hobbies: Gameboy, PSP and a satisfying interest in soap operas. Secondly, he doesn't normally have this much free time. Seems oddly fitting that as he's sitting here, mind slowly rotting from sheer, utter boredom, this week's patient had the bad taste to actually *have* Lupis.

Wilson raises one perfectly dark eyebrow. Then he eats a peanut. "A hobby?"

"I'm thinking sky-diving. Bungy-jumping might strain the leg," he says, tapping his bad thigh and stretching out a little further on the bed. They're both sitting on House's single cot: Wilson at one end, House at the other. It's just long enough that those peanuts are still out of reach.

"Maybe you should play it safe and take up something more sedientary. Something you could start now. Knitting, for example."

"They don't like giving us needles in detox. Weird, huh?" As he says that, he picks up the bottom of his cane and uses the handle to swipe at the bag of nuts. He'd hoped that with enough force, the nuts would spray towards him and he could gather them up off the cheap polyester bedspread. Instead, they scatter across the carpet. "Not worth picking those up. You don't know what that carpet's seen."

For a long moment, Wilson blinks at the random sprinkle of nuts, then he licks the last traces of salt from his fingers. "Strangely enough, this brings us back to the actual topic of conversation."

"My over-abundance of free time?"

"Apologies. And the rarity of you making them."

(The rest is here. I ran over the word-count. (http://out-there.livejournal.com/869156.html?mode=reply))

[indiehobbitlass.livejournal.com]

I love your GW fics - your characters just ring so true!

[indiehobbitlass.livejournal.com]

Heee. Lovely ending after typical Guy/Mac manly banter!

Evidence of Things Unseen, Green Wing, Mac/Guy, proof, R

[leiascully.livejournal.com]

"You are such a pouf," Guy says.

"Yeah?" Mac says. "Why do you say that?"

"It's obvious," Guy says, rolling his eyes. "The hair. The pointing. And you're terrible at sport."

"Surely not all gay people are terrible at sport," Mac says. "There was that one chap. What's his name, the diver. Louganis."

"Pff, well, divers," said Guy, as if it were obvious. "All those little trunks. I'm surprised more of them aren't diving, if you know what I mean. Anyway, it's not a sport. It's just-" his hand described a somersault in the air "-falling with a little bit of intent."

"Runners, boxers, footballers," said Mac. "Some of them have got to be batting for the other team."

"Only a pouf would say 'batting for the other team'," Guy complained.

"You've got to have more proof than that," Mac pointed out. "Can't have me struck off for poor figures of speech. On the other hand, I have got my hand down your pants."

"There is that," Guy said, biting his lip. "And that was going to be my next point."

"My question," Mac said carefully, his hand working a little faster, "was why we are doing this in the shower without the water even turned on?"

"Every now and then you make a good point," Guy said, seemingly unable to focus, given that his first couple of grabs for the faucet missed by several inches, but then warm water spilled down over them. He wrestled with the wet edge of Mac's scrubs and passed a palmful of liquid soap over Mac's stomach and back. Mac arched into the touch.

"Theoretically," he said to Guy, who was rapidly losing mental ground, "that would also make you a pouf."

"It's not gay unless there's kissing," Guy panted, and jammed his soapy hand down Mac's trousers, fiddling inside his boxers, wrapping long fingers around Mac's erection. Mac groaned and leaned forward and somehow his mouth ended up against Guy's, which was hot and hungry and didn't pull away. And magically continued not to pull away as Guy thrust into Mac's hand, grunting and urgent, and continued not to pull away even after Mac's hand got considerably warmer and stickier. In fact, Guy's lips didn't draw away until Mac himself had groaned his way to adding to the slick coating on Guy's hand, and even then, Guy didn't pull away entirely, just trailed his lips across Mac's cheek.

"The water was a good idea," Guy panted.

"That the proof you needed?" Mac gasped.

"Might need to gather some more evidence later," Guy said, dragging his hand out of Mac's scrubs and rinsing it under the spray. "For now we should get clean, though. Theatre this afternoon."

"I'm supposed to be the responsible one," Mac grumbled.

"Don't worry," Guy said. "No chance of me reforming any time soon. Wouldn't want to deprive the world of my depraved magnificence."

"Thank God for that," Mac said. "Want me to wash your back?"

Guy stripped off the top of his scrubs and threw it into the corner of the showers. "Don't touch the hair."

Re: Evidence of Things Unseen, Green Wing, Mac/Guy, proof, R

[catwalksalone]

\o/

"On the other hand, I have got my hand down your pants."

Ahahahahahahahahaha!

So very funny and so very hot. ♥

*smooshes you and boys*

for tidying up purposes faucet should be tap

[pixiecatfish.livejournal.com]

That was beautiful! What a lovely glimpse into Fraser's past.

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

I'm going to, perhaps optimistically, assume that this is a respose to "Unwritten Rules" and say thank you!

[grey853.livejournal.com]

OMG, that is porny and I can so see it, too. Well done. Maybe you could put the whole thing, the part that you cut along with it on you own page or something for those who want to read the original.

Dr. Who, Hourglass Glued to the Table, Madame Pompadour, clockwork , for all ages

[bipagan.livejournal.com]

(http://i7.photobucket.com/albums/y263/bipagan/madameclockworks.jpg)

Click on the image for the full picture

"Promise" DC, Tim/Kon, dream, G

[ilyena_sylph]

...no matter what, echoed in the silence of the cave below the Tower, despite the lack of anyone with that low baritone.

//Always the same dream... I promised.// Robin thought as he straightened from the slump, looking up at the computer banks. "Computer, status?"

The computer's voice informed him of another failure. He moved to the keyboard to change another variable, trying to work the miracle Cadmus had only managed once, again.

//Let this work...// Prayer was useless. Only will had a chance.

The words from his dream echoed through his mind again. //We stick together, no matter what, Kon.//

Comsets and Conspiracies, Vorkosigan, Miles-Gregor, hiding

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Imperial Auditor Vorkosigan stood on a large piece of paper covered with diagrams, notes, and contingency plans. Barrayaran terrorists still seemed the most likely suspects, but Cetaganadan operatives or Komarran revolutionaries might try to kidnap or control the Emperor of Barrayar.

He needed fresh information. Gregor had ordered the cameras in his quarters disabled years ago, but men were inserting sensors now. The comset beeped. Miles smacked the receive button, expecting a report.

Gregor's voice jerked him towards the screen. "What can I do for you tonight, Miles?"

"Gregor?" Miles studied the image of his Emperor and friend. Gregor appeared unharmed, a dark brown robe gaping open across his bare chest. If he was being coerced, there was no visible sign of it.

"I need to report to you on the Torren Peaks project, Sire. Can we meet tonight?" 'Torren Peaks' was code for Emperor under duress.

Gregor's forehead wrinkled. "I'm fine, Miles. Or at least I was until you started spewing code words at me. Is there something wrong?"

The pieces of the puzzle started rearranging themselves into a different scenario. One that was less menacing, but far more embarrassing. "You didn't answer when I called earlier, and your assistant wouldn't put me through. You always take my calls!"

Gregor shrugged, a hint of apology in his voice. "I'm married now."

Miles nodded. "I know. I was there." He waited for Gregor to explain.

Gregor waited, too. A flush slowly spread across his face and down his throat. "We were… busy," he finally hissed as he clutched his robe closed. "We just wanted a night together, man and wife instead of Emperor and Empress. Was that too much to ask?" His voice was angry, but something in Gregor's eyes suggested that, yes, it had been too much to ask, and he knew it.

Miles felt his own face heat. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "When you didn't answer, I assumed…" Miles gestured broadly, allowing the man who had lost both parents to the violence of Barrayaran politics to fill in the gaps.

Gregor buried his head in his hands and groaned quietly. "Has it ever occurred to you that you may be a bit paranoid?"

"Sometimes," Miles admitted, "but Mother assures me that it’s a perfectly rational response to Barrayaran stimuli."

Gregor chuckled dryly and emerged from his hands, looking calmer. "Alright. How many people now believe that I'm in imminent danger?"

"Well, I contacted Ivan first." Gregor nodded. "When he didn't have any information, I called on General Allegre. His agents and analysts are involved. I also had the head of Imperial Residence security scramble his men in case anyone tried to remove you from your quarters."

"Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that I called when I did." Gregor paused a moment. Miles watched possibilities flicker behind his eyes. "Give it another half hour, observe everyone's reactions, and then declare the drill a resounding success. Or a horrible failure. You decide."

Miles smiled. "Letting me off the hook?"

"Well, I can't have people thinking that my newest Imperial Auditor is twitchy, can I?"

Miles allowed himself a good, full-body twitch. Gregor coughed behind his hand. "Luckily they don't know you as well as I do. Just be sure you call off the commando teams," he joked.

Miles was sure nothing showed on his face, but Gregor stiffened. "Miles – commando teams?" he demanded incredulously.

"No, I didn't request any Imp Sec teams," Miles denied.

Gregor shook his head. "You had me worried for a moment there."

The secure message Miles had sent to Quinn requesting Sergeant Taura's strike team was still in Komarran space. It wasn't too late to intercept it.

"So, why did you com me in the first place?" Gregor asked.

"Oh, it can wait until tomorrow. Say hello to Laisa for me?"

Gregor's face relaxed into a fond smile. "I will. Goodnight, Miles."

"Sleep well, Gregor," he responded, hitting the disconnect button.

Miles' report should be meatier by then. Today he'd just had suspicions about which conservative Barrayaran terrorist groups were being leaked information from inside Imp Sec. Tomorrow he'd know which groups had displayed increased comset traffic when Miles kicked the hornet's nest.

Re: Comsets and Conspiracies, Vorkosigan, Miles-Gregor, hiding

[leyna55.livejournal.com]

Vorkosigan fic - Yay!

Poor Gregor. It must be so trying to be around Miles *g* I adore sneaky paranoid Miles, who manages to turn an embarrassment into an intelligence coup.

Leyna (imagining the scene if Gregor hadn't called Miles just then, and snickering)

Forever Haunted, Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, haunted, PG

[xfirefly9x.livejournal.com]

So many stolen moments had crept up on Sam and Jack, despite their attempts to push them away. Interrupted almost-kisses that were never supposed to happen in the first place were among them, as were the tender looks that showed everything they felt for each other and more.

It would be stupid to think that they would come to a point where the moments no longer flooded them and threatened to pull them under. Despite that, they strived to make the impossible possible – they did everything in their power to deny the existence of whatever it was between them and made sure that they were able to prevent anything more from happening.

Rejecting any thoughts of what could be between them was the only option they had, given their careers and military statuses, after all. Any potential that may have been there could only be ignored.

In all likelihood, it seemed that they would be haunted by their feelings for the rest of their lives – or at least for the remainder of the time that they spent working together. Either way, they were trapped in their desire for each other.

Stolen moments, as far as they could tell, would haunt them always.

[lamentables.livejournal.com]

OK, I need a cold shower now, because that? Hot.

And yeah, poor Duck - so many years of frustration to look forward to.

[malnpudl.livejournal.com]

Thanks! :-)

Poor Duck, indeed. It must be very hard to grow up gay, inevitably wanting so many people who will never want you back. I'm so very glad he finally found Dan.

Trudging Slowly Over Wet Sand, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, gone, 15

[catwalksalone]

In the end, it was Casey who left.

Dan stayed exactly where he was, the world shifting around him in jagged, kaleidoscoping patterns while he remained steady at its centre, the point of no change. It still surprised him that this was the case. Every day he would wake and wonder how he was still in the same bed, in the same apartment, getting up to the same breakfast, heading into the same job, exchanging the same banal conversation. It scared him a little, this lack of capacity for change, but not enough to do anything about it.

He should have known it was coming: professional partnerships are forged from a different set of needs than personal ones. He couldn't really have expected to work with Casey until the networks retired them to the old anchors' home in the desert. He couldn't have expected it, but somehow he did and when Casey had moved on (moved up, moved away) Dan had felt betrayed. He'd had the common sense not to show it, to wish Casey well, to smile at the airport gate and to not shake him until his teeth chattered and he promised to always stay. It was only afterwards, after he had watched the plane lifting towards the sky, after he had found himself an anonymous bar, an anonymous bottle of vodka and an anonymous mouth on his cock that he allowed the full weight of his loss to hit him. Gone.

There were too many things to miss. Too much history. Too much potential. All vanished. All packed on the plane with Casey's hand luggage. Of course, there were the modern miracles of phone and e-mail but Dan didn't know how to do this. How to move them from what they were to what they could be. So it was easier to do nothing and nothing is what he did until nothing became the norm and he stopped being an actor in his own story, remembered only how to react.

Then came a day, an ordinary day, nothing special, nothing marking it out as significant. Just a day. But when he woke, Dan felt different. Like someone had shaken the kaleidoscope and now there he was right in the middle of things, transforming. He stared at the sun shafting across his bedroom walls and had a revelation. Every day did not have to be like Sunday. Casey was not the only one who could leave - it didn't have to be an either or. Dan could go too: could take just the parts of himself that he wanted, the best of him, and leave the rest behind. And the excellence of this plan was that he didn't have to go anywhere to get started, because just by accepting the possibility he was already on the road.

There was just one thing he needed to do first.

Re: Trudging Slowly Over Wet Sand, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, gone, 15

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

Oh, Danny. *hugs him*

I love that you gave this the optimistic end. You're a better person than I would've been with a story that started out this bleak. *twirls you* :-)

Tacit Promises, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, promise, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

A gay bar -- "Not a gay bar, a regular old club that just happens to have a gay DJ on tonight and will probably have a more mixed crowd than usual but rest assured there will be lots of women there so you'll be able to make it through the night with your masculinity safely in tact, geez, Casey" -- was the last place Casey wanted to be but Lisa and Dana had been emphatic.

He stood with his back to the wall, relegated to official drink holder for the evening. Every two or three songs, Lisa or Dana or both together would take a breather from dancing and take another swig from their drinks, asking Casey if he was sure he didn't want to join them on the dance floor. He was. Every single time they asked.

The patrons weren't quite as scary as he'd imagined but still not at all the kind of people he generally associated with. Take this one kid for example -- if hard-pressed, Casey'd have to admit that the boy probably wasn't that many years younger than himself, but he certainly looked like a kid. He danced through the crowd openly flirting with everyone he passed, female and male. If what he was doing could be called dancing. Casey was hardly one to talk -- it was painfully obvious from the ballroom dancing lessons that Lisa insisted they take in preparation for their wedding that he had two left feet -- but this kid was barely able to hold the beat and even the most charitable person wouldn't describe his dancing as good. He was enthusiastic though. Maybe that's why all the more talented dancers indulged him as he worked his way across the floor, ignoring the music to rest a hand at his waist and match his swaying until he moved on to the next person.

Lisa and Dana took to him immediately, closing in on either side until the three of them moved as one. Casey fixated on Lisa's hand where it tightened on his side. He couldn't help but notice the rhythm and roll of his hips, silently promising that any clumsiness he may have on the dance floor did not carry over to the bedroom. Casey forced his gaze back to Lisa.

The kid must have said something funny because suddenly all three were laughing. Lisa pointed and waved at Casey and he quickly turned his head, embarrassed to be caught staring before remembering that it was perfectly acceptable for him to be watching his fiancée. And anyone she may be dancing with. He waved back.

They started walking over and Casey groaned to himself. Lisa and Dana obviously wanted to introduce their new friend to him, but could Casey possibly have to say to someone who hung around in places like this? He'd agreed to come along, what more did they want from him?

"Danny," the kid said, half-shouting over the music. Casey took his hand, somewhat surprised by the firm grip. Lisa and Dana downed the rest of their drinks and left arm-in-arm to weave their way back to the bar. Casey smiled awkwardly at his new charge.

"So, what do you do?"

"Student. You?"

"Fact checker for sports radio."

"No kidding."

Casey hadn't thought it possible that the kid's -- Danny's -- face could light up anymore, but it did and he was suddenly off talking a mile a minute about his plans to get into sports journalism. Casey had to tell himself not to roll his eyes at first, but it was not long before he could tell that Danny was not only seriously, but he knew his stuff too. They barely noticed when Lisa and Dana returned and Danny absent-mindedly waved off their attempts to drag him back out dancing.

Casey found himself swept up in Danny's enthusiasm, nodding and grinning along when Danny's ramblings about the future changed from "hey, maybe we'll run into each other at awards shows and industry banquets and stuff" to "we could do a show together: the Casey and Danny Sports Hour." It was all crazy fantasizing from someone he'd just met and would probably never see again, Casey knew this but couldn't help adding in his own "what ifs."

...continued here (http://community.livejournal.com/snarchive/115505.html)

Vinegar and Brown Paper, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, tumbling after, PG-13

[catwalksalone]

Dan and Case went to his place,
Where there was beer and laughter,
Dan fell on the bed and bumped his head,
And Casey came tumbling after.

Or something.

Anyway, now Dan is lying in bed next to a naked Casey and there has to be a reason that they got there. Other than the fact that he's wanted to get into Casey's pants for some number of years that he's not going to count because then he'll have to face the fact that he's old, old, old and it's way too early in the morning for that. At least, he's assuming it's the morning but he's had blackout curtains since forever because he can't sleep if it's light and working the hours he does that's a problem in the summer months. On second thoughts it might not be morning because he is most definitely rambling and rambling is what he does when he's drunk. Or nervous. He glances at the apparently sleeping man in the bed next to him and his heart thumps in a way that is not entirely pain free. Oh, he's definitely nervous.

He stretches out a hand to touch Casey's hair but stops before he reaches it, hand hovering in mid air. He's not sure he's ready to deal with the consequences of an awake and probably freaked out Casey. Alcohol can only explain so much. For example, it can explain the headache that's settled in between his eyes and appears to be making itself quite comfortable there, but it doesn't explain the throbbing at the back of Dan's head somewhere in the general vicinity of the top of his right ear. Dan pulls his hand back and aims a cautious prod at the area. Ouch!

His head is in Casey's hands, bodies manoeuvring through the dark, hands too busy finding their way under things to be concerned with putting the light on. He stumbles hard against the bed, falling awkwardly, hits his head on the bed post. Casey collapses on top of him, giggling, apologising, promising to make it better. Makes it so very, very much better.

Dan can't say who instigates the first kiss. Actually, that really gets him pissed when people are telling him their stories and are all 'it just happened.' No. It didn't. Someone says something and then someone moves in a certain way and then signals are passed and then whatever 'it' is happens. It's never out of the blue, never from thin air, it's just descriptive laziness and an unwillingness to accept responsibility in case anything goes wrong. Or so he's always thought. But he thinks about him and Casey and he can't say. They're laughing at The Daily Show which Dan has taped and sharing some new-fangled European beer, just being Dan and Casey, Casey and Dan, and then his arms are around Casey's neck and Casey's tongue is in his mouth and it's like coming out of suspended animation, everything switched on and turned up to eleven. It just happens.

Jack doesn't throw them out of the bar; it's more of a suggestion. Casey doesn't exactly invite himself back to Dan's place either and neither does Dan, but there must have been a suggestion because he's there, they're both there. And Casey has toed off his shoes and is sitting on the couch, knees bent, head lolling backwards and looking exactly like he belongs there. Dan hands him a bottle of beer and sits next to him, legs splayed. It's comfortable here. It's home. He reaches for the remote.

Re: Vinegar and Brown Paper, Sports Night, Dan/Casey, tumbling after, PG-13

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

*hearts* And not just because of the non-chronological order of it, which I love.

This is one of the prompts that I took one look at and went "what the hell can be done with this?" before moving on to other prompts. I'm happy someone else figured out something to do with it.

And Dan! And Casey! And kissing and more! And boys being comfortable and things just happening! And Jack (who, in my mind though I've yet to write it, totally wears Dan/Casey slash goggles!

*hearts* No, wait, I already said that.

Furrowed, Firefly, River/Simon, lines, G

[quiesce.livejournal.com]

River traced the creases on her brother's face, grooves far deeper than should be seen on someone so young. He shushed her when she tried to turn her thoughts into words, claiming long shifts in the trauma wing to be the sole cause. He lied. She knew before he opened his mouth and then saw it confirmed in his refusal to meet her eyes. She'd done this to him. First by leaving, then the notes, then the rescue that had turned them into outlaws. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his forehead, trying to smooth the lines away.

[nos4a2no9.livejournal.com]

This was really good. I love that you made Caroline the storyteller in the Fraser family - it makes sense he'd get his love for Inuit culture from her, since Bob wasn't around to impart the lore and his grandparents probably focused on the European canon. I also really liked that Fraser envies Ray his ability to "sense boundaries by instinct and dance along them with grace." Beautifully written. That last paragraph was great, too.

Aaaaand now I need to go do that beta for you ;-)

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Thank you, nosferatuno9!

Fraser's mother is such a blank slate, canonically, that it's tempting to play with her.

[nos4a2no9.livejournal.com]

Good stuff here - it was very hot and a little angsty, and it was great to see how the mechanics of Duck's closeted life in high school are expressed when he's around boys he desires. Because holy fuck, Buddy would have been *irresistable* in high school. So would Duck, of course (wee Callum!) but I like the way you made Buddy a focus of desire. Terrific.