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28 August 2010 @ 10:39 am
five acts exchange round #2 - my list  
So I really shouldn't have time for this BUT I'LL MAKE IT because I loved it last round. Also, some prompts will be recycled and others won't. Also this new banner I'm using is so shiny. <3

This is how it works!

1. Cut a hole in the box.
2. Post a list of your five favorite acts/kinks/themes/tropes to read about. Check out this list if you need some inspiration. At the bottom, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
3. Go HERE and post a link to your list. Read other people's lists at the master list.
4. Write comment-fic (or longer pieces) based off of other people's lists. Post either the fics or a link to the fic in the person's post. Here's the Delicious Five Acts Master List.

My list:

1. apocalypse/dystopia: so I have a thing for apocalyptic fic, but I have more than one thing for it when it's also set in some dystopian universe. Go wild on the kind of apocalypse. Or the kind of horribly wrong universe you want to set characters in!

2. consensual d/s: taken from last round, but hey, I like it and it's not that common. Anyway, as said last time, give me some fully/entirely consensual d/s and I'll love you forever. I don't care if it's some 24/7 thing or not, or if it's sexual or not. As long as it's consensual I'll be happy.

3. gentleness/protectiveness: I go from kink to utter sap in a second, but I'm a sucker for the both of them combined. During sex or not, in h/c settings or not. Feel free to be as fluffy as you want with this one.

4. crossdressing: God I recycle so bad, but there can never be enough crossdressing. Women dressed as men/pretending to be men, men dressing as women/pretending to be women, it's totally one of my favorite things.

5. hooker fic (or the one I'm sure no one expected): uh, so, I lately realized that I, er, like hooker fic. A whole damn lot. Or fic where you find out that a character used to be a hooker. I don't care if it's angsty as fuck or if the character really likes his damn job and would never change it really, I just like the whole idea. Er, yeah, that's it.

Fandoms and pairings

Lost: Jack/Boone, Desmond/Sayid, Jack/Sawyer, Boone/Charlie, any combination of Jack/Sawyer/Sayid/Boone, Desmond/Penny, Jack/Juliet, Daniel/Desmond, Richard/Miles, Frank/anyone and Jacob/Richard are my favorites, but I'm of open views. I'm not too big on Jack/Kate, Sawyer/Kate or Sawyer/Juliet (and on Locke and Ben shipped), but if it's set after the finale I'm okay with first and third. XD
Supernatural: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Sam/Castiel, Dean/Sam, Sam/Castiel (yeah, I totally have imagination), Ash/Andy (SO WHAT? Random but awesome XD), actually Ash/everyone, screw it, the world needs more Ash XD, Dean/Jimmy, Castiel/Jimmy (hell, Dean/Cas/Jimmy is totally awesome too). Oh, and Chuck/Becky? XD [hint: I prefer it if Dean bottoms if you go for a Dean pairing, but if he wants to top it's fine either way. ;)] Though, if Bobby/Crowley strikes your fancy... I might actually be intrigued. *hides*
The Dark Tower series: Roland/Eddie (I could give a kidney for Roland/Eddie, actually), Cuthbert/Alain, Roland/Eddie/Susannah.
Good Omens: Crowley/Aziraphale, Newt/Anathema if you're feeling bold.
Chuck: Chuck/Bryce, Ellie/Awesome, Jeffster. Platonic or not, as you want. XD
Deadwood: Jane/Joanie (this one is probably hopeless but hey, I'm trying XD), Sol/Trixie.
The Three Musketeers (same as the previous, but again. Let's try it.): Athos/d'Artagnan, Porthos/Aramis, Rochefort/Richelieu (come on, OTP!). Also friendship and not-slash is awesome.
The Vampire porn Diaries: Damon/Alaric, Damon/any male character that isn't Jeremy or Tyler, Damon/John/Alaric and any combination thereof. Damon/Stefan/Alaric would be kinda awesome, too. And I'll throw some Damon/Stefan in just because.
Firefly: Zoe/Wash, Mal/Simon.
Six Feet Under: David/Keith, Nate/Brenda.
Friday Night Lighs: Tim/Jason, possibly set before S2.
Watchmen: Daniel/Rorschach.
Maurice: Maurice/Alec.

Any crossovers between any person listed are also okay. ;)

1. Lost, Boone/Charlie, vampire AU + marks, NC17 for toestastegood
2. SPN, Castiel/Jimmy, possessiveness (sorta), PG and SPN, Dean/Castiel, manhandling + dirty talk + possessiveness, NC17 for wandersfound
3. the vampire porn diaries, Damon/Alaric, morning after + forgiveness (sorta) and very sort of rough sex, R for sandrine
4. SPN, Dean/Castiel, h/c + Dean being a terrible damsel in distress and Cas saving his ass + shameless schmoop, PG13 for ciaimpala
5. SPN, Dean/Castiel, begging + fingers + kissing + I tried the other two, too, NC17 for blualbino
6. Lost, Miles/Richard, cigarette sharing and first times, PG13, for bittersweet325
7. the vampire porn diaries, Damon/Alaric with Stefan POV, porn actors + director AU, pining/obliviousness and knifeplay, CRACK-ish, R for gottalovev
8. Lost, Daniel/Charlotte, unexpected meetings + reunions, PG for valhalla37
9. the vampire porn diaries, Damon/Alaric, crossdressing, R or light NC17 for miya_morana
10. SPN, Dean/Castiel, hands, light R for sycophantastic
11. SPN, Pamela/Jo, first times, NC17 for tiptoe39
12. SPN RPS, Misha Collins/Mark Pellegrino, forced bed sharing, R/light Nc17 for temporalranger
13. the vampire porn diaries, Damon/Alaric/Elena (sorta), on the run + dangerous situations + confessions, Nc17 for mollivanders
14. SPN, Dean/Castiel with Sam POV, opposite attract + friendship/antagonism + alike/not alike + outsider POV, PG for bold_seer
15. Lost, Kate & Sayid, amnesia, PG, for aurilly
16. SPN, Dean/Castiel, roleplaying + seduction, NC17, for catyuy
17. SPN, Dean/Castiel, genderfuck + exhibitionism, NC17 for setos_puppy [it's posted as separate comments so just look at the whole post in case ;)]
18. Lost, Jack/Boone, road trip + wet + confessions + spooning, R for ozmissage
19. SPN, Dean/Castiel, kissing + a smish of domesticity, PG for angeldylan628
20. Lost, Jack/Boone, motorcycles + wet, for haldoor
feeling: tiredtired
on rotation: Queen - Don't Try So Hard | Powered by Last.fm
Shonatoestastegood on August 29th, 2010 12:21 am (UTC)
Lost, Frank/Miles/Richard, hookers, protectiveness [1/2]
Because young!Frank was damn pretty!

They're both staring at him as if he just revealed something a whole lot more shocking than a slightly shady past. Lounging in their bed, Frank grins. "What? You asked."

Miles shakes his head: "I asked how you got to be so good at giving head."

"It's not quite the same thing," Richard agrees. He at least sounds calmer than Miles, and less as if he wants to try and bleach his brain. "What did you mean by that?"

"Meant what I said. Used to make a living out of it." He's got no shame about it. "Relax. I haven't done it in years."

But this conversation never goes that smoothly. No one ever takes it in their stride - and Frank wonders why they think it's so unlikely.

They sit on either side of him, trapping him into their large shared bed. Richard's expression is unknowable, while Miles looks like he's trying to decide between anger, disbelief and horror. Frank doesn't think the emotions are aimed at him: they are directed at a mythical dark spectre of his past, as if Miles wants to leap back there and punch his old demons in the face.

"You're saying you were - what? A prostitute?" Miles asks. "A freaking call-boy?"

Frank's grin widens. "I guess so, yeah."

"How old were you?" Richard asks, taking over.

"Does it matter?"

Miles makes a sound that is just a little bit like a snarl. "Fuck yeah, it matters."

Frank tries not to roll his eyes. He decides to scale it up a little anyway. "Mid-twenties. Just paying my way 'til I learned how to fly. And, hell, I had a few habits that took quite a bit of funding." He's never kept it secret that he's got his problems with alcohol - and he's just never bothered to mention that he's had problems with other substances too. Never seems to be any point.

Only now they've got pity in their eyes and he doesn't want that - hates it, actually. He's had a good life; there's no need for pity.

"Did anyone hurt you?" Miles asks. He isn't looking Frank in the face any more, as if he isn't sure what he's thinking.

Frank can remember nights when it had hurt, and he remembers bleeding, and he remembers having his money stolen after doing a damn good job. He remembers being spat on and yelled at and he remembers close run-ins with the police.

He remembers - but he doesn't say anything.

Instead he smiles like it's no big deal, and he shrugs. "What difference does it make, kid? You're not gonna go time-travelling back to defend my honour, are you?"

Miles looks tempted, actually, so Frank reaches out to grab his wrist. With a little tug, he manages to make him over-topple and lie down on the bed beside him, resting his head against Frank's bare, hairy chest.

"I'm not a damsel in distress. You think I'd have mentioned it if it bothered me?"

"That's the problem," Richard answers, still sitting beside him. Frank considers pulling another wrist-maneuver, but Richard seems to see it coming: he shifts out of reach. "We've been living together for a year, Frank. We didn't know."

"It's not the kind of thing that comes up in casual conversation," Frank points out. He'll yell and snap if he has to. "I shouldn't've told you."
Shonatoestastegood on August 29th, 2010 12:22 am (UTC)
Re: Lost, Frank/Miles/Richard, hookers, protectiveness [2/2]
"That's not what we're saying." It would be easier to start shouting if Richard didn't sound so damnably calm. It kinda makes Frank want to throttle him just to unravel that serene surface again. He hasn't seen Richard panicking since they'd left the island. "We're glad you let us know. That means a lot."

"Means nothing," Frank argues in return, but that's not quite right. He can't make sense of it himself.

"Who cares? Frank's a fucking whore. We knew that already," Miles says - too light, too bitter, like he's putting it on. It's all an act, and Frank thinks Miles isn't half as okay with it as he's pretending to be. "We just didn't know he got paid for it. Whatever. No need to fight about it or whatever."

"We weren't fighting," Richard protests, but he lies down beside Frank now and lets his arm trail over his waist.

"Pretty damn close," Frank grumbles.

Miles presses his mouth against his chest as if he is trying to keep the peace - and Frank knows that they're screwed up when Miles is playing peace-keeper. "Quit it," he instructs, in a tone of voice that implies he will knock both of their heads together. "We can talk about it later, alright?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Frank insists - hackles raised now, there's no way that he's going to spill his life story to the pair of them. What's the point? It's gone now; it's in the past. Maybe, if they're lucky, he'll talk about the good clients: the repeat customers who bought him gifts, the closeted husbands who needed release, the rich old women who wanted a toyboy. He'll let them into the bright side and let them pretend that his past is sunshine and goddamn roses. Tinted spectacles, that's all they're getting.

Richard's eyes are too attentive, even as the three of them settle down as if they are ready to go to sleep. Frank doesn't think that any of them are going to get much rest tonight, but he doesn't say a word about it - their domestic bliss is shattered, for now. He thinks that if they pretend real hard, they can act as if none of this ill-conceived revelation ever happened at all.
ciaimpala: mattjordanciaimpala on August 29th, 2010 02:41 am (UTC)
The Three Musketeers, Athos/d'Artagnon, gentleness, hurt/comfort
(So this is one of my favorite books of all time, and one of my favorite friendships of all time, but I haven't read it in a while, nor do I have any talent at writing historically accurate dialogue, so please excuse any suckage here)

d'Artagnon stirred, wincing as the slightest shift in position caused a deep ache all down his side.

"Lie still." Athos' voice rang out from above, and squinting into the light, d'Artagnon could just make out the relief in his friend's eyes as he came closer. A cool cloth made its gentle way over d'Artagnon's forehead and he sighed softly, letting his eyes close again.

When he awoke the second time, it was to the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread and wine. This time, it did not hurt as much to turn, but still, Athos was there, hands under him, supporting him to a half-raised seated position.

"You should eat if you can," Athos said softly, handing d'Artagnon a hunk of bread and a piece of meat. As d'Artagnon took a bite, Athos gently prodded his side, halting at the hiss of pain escaping from d'Artagnon's lips.

"You're lucky pain is all you're left with," Athos said, rubbing a hand over his haggard face. "The guard's swing may have been lucky, but his strike was still hard. It was an unfortunately deep cut from a sharp sword." He leaned back against the wooden post, bread lying forgotten in his hands.

"You haven't slept," d'Artagnon spoke, the wine warming its way down his parched throat.

"No," Athos stated simply. "You needed looking after."

"Thank you," d'Artagnon said softly, meeting Athos' eyes. Athos held his gaze for a moment, then laughed, ruffling d'Artagnon's hair before laying down on the floor and closing his own eyes.

the female ghost of tom joad: the three musketeersjanie_tangerine on August 29th, 2010 07:24 pm (UTC)
Re: The Three Musketeers, Athos/d'Artagnon, gentleness, hurt/comfort


I really didn't have much hope that someone would pick that fandom at all AND THIS MAKES ME GLEE SO MUCH! Omg it's just lovely. And it's my otp. You rule, jsyk. And the dialogue worked just fine if you ask me. And they were adorable, and the ending totally melted me and seriously, H/C AND ATHOS/D'ARTAGNAN, I'm a happy camper. I loved it so much, thank youuu! :DDD

(also props for liking that book. it's like my second-favorite ever, not to mention a slash treasure of indecent proportions.. ;) )
Aurilly: frankaurilly on August 29th, 2010 06:39 pm (UTC)
Lost, Frank/Sun, apocalypse, protectiveness Pt. 1
An AU in which Sun was on the Ajira flight in the finale

Two times Frank’s found himself stuck on that crazy-ass island. Two times Frank’s managed to get himself and a bunch of other people safely off it, and now… Now he’s trapped in the zombie-freakin’-apocalypse.

Well, if that just isn’t his fucking luck.

If Frank were the kind of guy who believed in fate mumbo-jumbo stuff, he’d say that the universe has it out for him. But he isn’t. He’s a pragmatist, an optimist, the kind of guy who looks for the silver lining in every situation.

In this case, the silver lining is easy to find; it’s sitting right beside him, coolly loading a shotgun like she’s been doing it her whole life.

This time, it isn’t his fault she’s single; this time, the only person---thing?---responsible for Jin’s death has already gotten justice. She’s okay this time, at peace, able to let go. Three years have gone by (it’s always in threes, isn’t it?), which is long enough for Frank not to feel skeevy by making a move on her.

That’s what he’d come all the way to Korea to do: to woo her the old fashioned way, take it slow, gently win her over. He’d come with all sorts of date ideas in mind, figuring he’d try all of them and see which one worked best: flowers (she liked gardening, right?); board games and gin (that’s when they’d bonded properly, that night alone in those funny houses on the island); baseball (fine, that one was mainly for him, okay?).

Obviously, it hasn’t worked out that easily. Nothing ever does, and he doesn’t know why he ever expected it to. He’d been on his way from the flower shop to Sun’s apartment building, trying to calm his rampaging nerves, when this crazy, drooling, blood-thirsty piece of shit had stumbled out of the bushes.

“The hell?” Frank had asked, as the thing lunged at him.

“Rawrgh!” it had replied, as zombies do.

Frank didn’t know why there were zombies in Seoul, but he’d taken it in stride, as he took pretty much everything. He’d lashed out with the stem side of the roses, slashing the zombie’s face open on some thorns, before running into Sun’s lobby and barricading the door behind him. Well, he thought to himself as he rode the elevator up to her apartment, at least I’m not nervous about this anymore. He’d rung the doorbell, the remnants of his bouquet still in his hand. Given that she’d answered it with a gun, he figured she already knew what was going on.

“Frank?” she’d asked, lowering the gun, and he’d been gratified to see relief suffuse her face; maybe all wasn’t lost, after all. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, the original plan was to ask you out. But right now I’ll settle for you letting me in. Don’t worry, I haven’t been bitten.” She smiles grimly as she steps aside to let him inside. “These were supposed to be for you,” he’d said, gesturing with the flowers before throwing them out the window, “but I got zombie blood on them. Sorry.”

In some ways, though, things couldn’t have worked out better. He doubts he’d have been invited to spend the night under normal circumstances. And it turns out that he does get to carry out at least one of his date ideas.
Aurilly: frankaurilly on August 29th, 2010 06:40 pm (UTC)
Re: Lost, Frank/Sun, apocalypse, protectiveness Pt. 2
“It’s your move,” he says, drunkenly scrambling to his feet in order to get more tonic water for the Tanqueray they’re drinking.

She finishes loading the shotgun with a loud click (ever since the island---the first time---she’s kept an arsenal in her apartment, because you never know, she says) and stares hazily at the board. “I’m passing Go. Collecting my $200.”

“Like you need any more money,” he quips as he refreshes her drink. “I’ve already got three houses mortgaged to you.” They probably shouldn’t be doing this, not with the dull roar of chaos wafting up to where they sit, fifteen stories above it all, not with the news stations going dark one by one as the studios get attacked. But this is, sort of, what he came for, what he’s been dreaming of for too many years, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything, even the zombie-pocalypse---especially the zombie-pocalypse---get in his way. If he’s going to die, he might as well go out in style, living the dream.

“You could always foreclose,” she says, desperate, hysteria lurking behind her serene expression.

“Well, everybody else is doing it, why not me?” He keeps it easy-going and sarcastic, not just because that’s his natural temperament, but because he can tell she needs him to. It’s nice to be needed.

She laughs, and they make eye contact, not for the first time that day, but for the first time in that way---the way that makes his stomach hot and his head confused.

“The flowers were pretty… what was left of them,” she says, trying to sound casual. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged what he’d mentioned about asking her out.

Frank shrugs, also pretending to be nonchalant, even though his palms have started sweating again. “They made a pretty good weapon. I’ll get you a replacement bunch if we ever get to go outside again.” As he thinks more about it, he realizes that the flowers are a lot like the woman sitting across the table from him: pretty, sweet-smelling, and unexpectedly fierce.

“What else did you have in mind? Before all this started,” she asks. She leans on the table, staring intently into his eyes. He couldn’t escape her gaze, even if he wanted to.

“Pretty much this,” he replies. “Without the guns, though.”

“I would have said yes,” she says softly, reaching out and resting her little hand atop his.

Frank lifts himself out of his chair to kiss her from across the table, and knows he’d fight a million zombies to keep this moment going forever.
Re: Lost, Frank/Sun, apocalypse, protectiveness Pt. 2 - aurilly on August 31st, 2010 11:35 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
the female ghost of tom joad: lost frank ships r/mjanie_tangerine on August 31st, 2010 12:10 am (UTC)
Re: Lost, Miles/Richard, Gentleness/Protectiveness, PG-13
Awwww THIS WAS AMAZING, thank you! :D I just loved how you approached the prompt, with both of them being protective of each other. It makes so much sense, and they're so precious I can't even. <333 Also your Miles voice is spot-on, I could so hear him in this. And Miles having freaks out about Richard being nostalgic and trying to shrug his uneasiness off was just gold. Also ha, Richard selling him cheesy bullshit lines was brilliant. XD Miles, you know you like it. Also Richard not knowing about Bond movies but knowing a whole lot about sex felt so IC. In conclusion I really loved it, thanks so very much! :DDDD
(Deleted comment)
the female ghost of tom joad: supernatural dean/castieljanie_tangerine on August 30th, 2010 11:16 pm (UTC)
Re: SPN; Dean/Castiel -- gentleness/protectiveness, hookers (NC-17)
bold_seer: in bedbold_seer on September 1st, 2010 03:30 pm (UTC)
SPN, future!Dean/future!Castiel, hooker fic, R
This Free

“How could you –”

“Trade my precious human body for this worthless substance?” Cas pulls the bottle out from his pocket and laughs – a sharp, but harmless junkie laugh. “No idea.”

“You were an angel.” Dean’s voice is low and unemotional, like the glassy surface of a lake before the storm. Everything is still deceptively calm, but the weather changes fast tonight.

“And now you’re a fucking –”

Yes. Cas would sell his soul for a smoke, and his integrity for much less than that.

“Ah, Dean, it’s not a dirty word.” Cas turns his head away from Dean, who’s looking at him as if he were a particularly disgusting bug. Such a pathetic little creature, you almost feel sorry for it, but then there’s a certain fascination in watching its destruction, being squashed by something – or someone. Of course, Dean doesn’t have a whole lot of pity left these days, and Cas is pretty sure he wouldn’t want it wasted on him, anyway. He’s resilient. Like a bug.

Touching, though. Times like these, it almost sounds like Dean cares. Or at least Cas can fool himself into thinking that it’s real, raw anger he sees and not Dean’s usual shield of apathetic fury directed at the world and everyone in it and no one at all. That if Dean broke Cas’ nose or jaw, or gave him a black eye, it would mean something.

Having spent so much time, feeling so little, Cas understands the importance of real emotions. There’s indifferent hate, he’s learnt, that men with rifles and a dead look in their eyes carry with them, and it spreads and leaves you cold. There are arguments and insults flung at each other, but with some kind of a spark, a knowledge that there’s some heat behind the hate.

Sometimes real emotions need a little help, though.

“I got happy pills,” Cas says and gives Dean his most radiant smile. “He got a happy blowjob. How could I? It’s easy; you just swallow.”

He does that.

Pills don’t dull anything. It’s this pathetic little life that’s dull, Cas thinks, and this – this pill, this high – is how he lives, senses sharp, familiar. He wonders what Dean’s fist in his face would feel like. Wonders how many steps they are from there. Not that many, he decides, and takes his chance. “Win-win-lose,” he says in a mocking tone, “for Dean, who isn’t getting any from –” He lets the sentence hang in the air. “Risa?”

Something suspiciously close to hurt flashes on Dean’s face.

“Dean,” Cas starts, sounds sorry, but Dean’s already half way out the cabin, and the light, happy feeling that most likely never was very happy is gone with him. “You shouldn’t judge me,” he says softly. He knows. “I could’ve done worse things.”

Like you had to.

the female ghost of tom joad: supernatural future!cas ;___;janie_tangerine on September 1st, 2010 07:47 pm (UTC)
Re: SPN, future!Dean/future!Castiel, hooker fic, R

That was... uuuuh. Like, uhm, one of the best f!Cas povs I ever read. Seriously. The dialogue was so perfect I can't even, and God I want to quote it all back at you really. And Dean's reactions are so perfect in this, ohgod. You even make me half-appreciate future!Dean, there's some skill you have. No, but. The whole bug metaphor was genius, if you ask me.


Touching, though. Times like these, it almost sounds like Dean cares. Or at least Cas can fool himself into thinking that it’s real, raw anger he sees and not Dean’s usual shield of apathetic fury directed at the world and everyone in it and no one at all.


“Dean,” Cas starts, sounds sorry, but Dean’s already half way out the cabin, and the light, happy feeling that most likely never was very happy is gone with him. “You shouldn’t judge me,” he says softly. He knows. “I could’ve done worse things.”

Like you had to.

were like, uh, hi, they totally summed f!Dean/f!Cas in a nutshell. And Castiel trying to get Dean to punch him? Ohdear yes.

In conclusion, I love you and I love this and I want to give Cas a hug of indecent proportions. XDDD ♥ ♥ ♥ no, but. I'm not coherent. *goes to re-read*

Re: SPN, future!Dean/future!Castiel, hooker fic, R - bold_seer on September 4th, 2010 03:21 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Lou: damon alaricgottalovev on September 4th, 2010 05:13 pm (UTC)
TVD, Damon/Alaric, protectiveness, PG
There are so many of them - and they are so fucking fast - that Alaric has to stop thinking and just trust his reflexes, killing before they get to him. It's a deadly dance, but he has the best partner in Damon, who's never far away and unsurprisingly graceful in the mayhem. For one of the renegade vampires Alaric stakes, Damon destroys five.

"Stay behind me!" Damon urges, snarling at the attackers when they step forward.

"I can take care of myself," Alaric snaps right back.

"There's too many of them, we've got to get out," Damon says. "Go, I'll be right behind you."

Alaric is not stupid; he knows that Damon's trying to get him to safety. He's also pretty sure that for all of Damon's posing that he's the bad guy, he'd sacrifice himself to give Alaric a couple of minutes head start. But it's not like Alaric has a choice, so he runs towards the back door and opens it, hoping Damon won't do anything stupid (it's asking for a lot, to be honest).

The flaw in the plan is that Alaric's not even over the threshold that pain explodes in his chest. With blinking eyes Alaric looks down to see an arrow sticking out of him, and he staggers back even more when two more hit, hard. It hurts like a motherfucker and, still disbelieving that this is now his life, he's slumping to the door.

"NO!" he hears Damon yell.

Everything goes black.


"-me on, come on you lazy ass!" a discombobulated voice is saying. There's someone pawing at his chest, too, Alaric is pretty sure. Pain? Still there, shit. Coming back to life hurts more than dying, paradoxically enough.

"There you go!" Damon says - of course it's Damon - and Alaric blinks his eyes open to see him hover just above him, grinning and relieved. A quick look around tells Alaric that they're still in the house, so they better get a move on.

"Just help me up," Alaric says, but his voice is scratchy. "We should regroup with Stefan and see from there."

Damon waves away Alaric's concerns as if they're annoying bugs.

"Oh, we have time," Damon says, fingers now ghosting over Alaric's ribs where one of the arrows used to be. He's pulled Alaric's t-shirt up to assess the damages, probably.

Frowning, Alaric looks around and... if the place was a mess before, it's straight out of a gore movie now. There is blood everywhere, and desiccated corpses littering the floor. Alaric's wondering where the cavalry is - it's oddly silent - when it dawns on him: Damon did this.

"You got them all?" Alaric says, disbelieving.

Damon's face changes as that, lip curling up in disgust to show pointy teeth.

"Yeah. They killed you!" he says, voice still laced with cold fury. "No one kills you but me." Damon scolds, making Alaric chuckles.

"They tried," he admits. "But see? It doesn't stick. I'm fine."

Or he will be when his headache goes away. He's absolutely unprepared when Damon bends down to kiss him, a soft brush of lips that sends Alaric's heartbeat into overdrive.

"You better be," Damon says, eyes surprisingly soft when he pulls back.

Trust Damon to redefine personal boundaries after a massacre; the most surprising thing of all is that it took so long, Alaric guesses. But if they're done with the UST, Alaric wants more, way way more. He manages to reach Damon's neck to pull him back down in a scorching kiss this time, fierce and passionate.

One - everyone - might say that it's a stupid move on Alaric's part, getting involved with a cold blooded killer with attitude. But Damon's also a gorgeous fucked-up mess with a gooey center, which shouldn't balance things off but kind of does anyway.

Clearly, Alaric's lost his mind. Oh well. He fists a hand in Damon's soaked shirt (deliberately ignoring what makes it this way) and hauls him even closer, maddening smirk and all.

Sanity is overrated, anyway.
the female ghost of tom joad: the vampire porn MY SHIP OMGjanie_tangerine on September 4th, 2010 11:52 pm (UTC)
Re: TVD, Damon/Alaric, protectiveness, PG
... I love, no, I do.

YOU HAD DAMON BEING PROTECTIVE OF ALARIC, PLEASE HAVE A COUPLE OF INTERNETS. Also I love how you write Alaric srsly. He just sounds so IC. And I utterly lol-ed at

hoping Damon won't do anything stupid (it's asking for a lot, to be honest).


"No one kills you but me."

and at the Damon redefines UST after a massacre bits because oh dear so really true. And I loved poor Alaric hating coming back to life, that did sound painful when it happened. And AW NO SERIOUSLY DAMON HAVING AVENGED HIS RIGHT TO KILL ALARIC was too great for this world. And the ending was just the most lovely thing ever and yeah, Alaric, sanity is totally overrated, I say hit that hard. ;) Also I love that he's the one that did the fierce kissing. Ah, Damon, your center is so gooey indeed. *sighs* Seriously, I loved it so much, thank you!! <333333333333 *smishes fic and goes re-reading*
Re: TVD, Damon/Alaric, protectiveness, PG - gottalovev on September 5th, 2010 01:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
ozmissage: Lost. Sawyer/Jack.ozmissage on September 6th, 2010 02:50 am (UTC)
pray to god we won't live to see the death of everything that's wild, Jack/Sawyer, apocalypse (1/3)
Crap this got crazy long and umm…happy it’s not. Sorry about that. Also, it’s wildly AU. ;)


The island is five years behind them and the memory of it is just starting to fade, to blur at the edges. They can almost pretend it was just a dream, a mass hallucination shared only by two now. That makes the lie easier, the fact that they’re the only two who made it home.

Jack went west, back to California, back to Los Angeles. Sawyer went east and worked his way down the coast until he landed in Miami. Seemed like a good place to cool his heels. They went their separate ways, lived their separate lives until the bottom fell out.

News of the virus started out slowly, just another bad strain of the flu, nothing to concern yourself with. Then the rumors started. Loved ones died, blood pouring from their noses, their ears, eyes going red---it was a fucking nightmare. They didn’t stay dead long though. That was the problem.

The news dubbed them The Walkers. Something about the word zombie made people cringe.

By the time the officials were ready to cut the crap, the world was over. Or at least as good as. The final estimate before the television went silent was twenty five thousand Americans unaffected. Jack and Sawyer were two of them.


They meet in Colorado. That’s where the survivors are holing up. Jack climbs out of his old, beat up Jeep with a gnarly ass beard and vacant eyes. Sawyer smirks and leans against the hood of the ’68 Mustang he lifted from a parking lot in Mississippi.

“Damn Doc, you trying to get mistaken for a walker or just trying out a new look? Gotta say, the beard ain’t doing much for ya.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Sawyer.”


The word from the road is there’s a compound up in the mountains. At least six hundred people with a full arsenal and no infections. Jack wants to find them; Sawyer doesn’t like the idea of joining the crowd. He mutters something about sitting ducks that doesn’t surprise Jack at all.

There’s another option. A sprawling hotel too far off the beaten track for the dead or the living to try to reach it, it’s the kind a place people only know about if they can afford to stay there in the first place. Sawyer ran a con there once a lifetime ago and nearly got his ass hauled off to jail.

“It might as well be fucking Fort Knox.”

“And what if it’s occupied?”

“Closes in the winter. Chances are this thing hit long before any Daddy Warbucks types had time to charter a jet up there. Might be a games keeper, but my bet is we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

Jack looks skeptical, but he relents.

“How long will it take us to get there?”


It takes a week of driving all day and hiding from the walkers at night. They amble through the darkness, blood still oozing from their mouths, looking for a fresh kill. The further up the mountain Jack and Sawyer make it the fewer of them they see. They don’t see many of the living either. After awhile, it feels like the world consists only of them, their car, and the endless blanket of snow covering everything in sight.

When the hotel finally comes into view Jack breaths a sigh of relief. It’s even bigger than he imagined it would be. It’s a sprawling modern day castle with dozens of rooms and a gate that’s at least twelve feet high.

“You ready for a climb, Doc?”

Jack nods.

They don’t have much by way of supplies. A couple of blankets, a couple of guns, and a small stash of food and water. They shove it all into backpacks before they scale the fence. The metal is ice cold and it bites into their hands, Jack slips three times before he gets a good hold. It takes a few tries, but they both make it over the fence in one piece.

ozmissage: Lost. Sawyer/Jack.ozmissage on September 6th, 2010 02:52 am (UTC)
Re: pray to god we won't live to see the death of everything that's wild, Jack/Sawyer, apocalypse
The place is blissfully, albeit eerily empty. The kitchen is fully stocked with food, the water is still clean, and they find enough guns and ammo to keep them in business for months. It’s cold, full of drafts, but there’s wood for the fireplaces and books to burn if it comes to it, although Sawyer balks at the idea. It almost seems too good to be true, but Jack knows better than to say it. His father always told him not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s one piece of advice he happens to agree with.

They sleep in the library even though there are plenty of beds. It’s easier to keep warm and the windows give them a good view of the gates. A pile of blankets and pillows serves as their sleeping area. They make no pretenses of sleeping separately. It reminds Jack of the island a little, the way they huddle together on the floor, their bodies wrapped around each other for extra warmth.

“You asleep?” Sawyer mutters one night.

“No,” Jack answers.

“Me neither.”

In the darkness, Jack begins to laugh.

“No shit.”

“Bite me, jackass.”

Outside snow is falling, it’s always falling. The old hotel creaks and groans. Jack’s glad he’s not here alone.

“This place would have scared the hell out of me when I was a kid,” Jack says.

“Hell, it scares me now. I keep expecting to find redrum written on the walls.”


“Redrum,” Sawyer says. “From The Shining.”

“I never saw that.”

“Are you fucking with me, Doc?”

“I’m really not.”

Sawyer snorts.

“Well, you just let me know if you get the urge to write any novels, alright?”


Two weeks later they see the first mushroom cloud reaching for the horizon. It’s far off in the distance, but Jack knows the radiation will reach them eventually. It looks like the rest of the world wasn’t going to take any chances.

Sawyer stands beside Jack at the window, just watching.

“This how you thought it would end?” he asks hoarsely.

Jack thinks of the island, of the roiling, clanking mass of smoke they called the monster.

“No,” Jack replies.


The walkers make it to the gate in a week flat. Whoever’s dropping those bombs drove them right to Jack and Sawyer’s door. The things are too stupid to climb, at least for now, but Sawyer and Jack both know their borrowed time is running out.

They sit in the library passing a cigarette between them and listening to a Dylan record when Jack kisses Sawyer. He does it roughly, urgently. It’s not pretty; they’re teeth clash, lips sliding against each other with too much force, too much desperation. Jack pulls Sawyer to the floor without speaking and they shuck off their jeans and fuck as Dylan sings about the changing times.

Jack comes inside of Sawyer, his hips thrusting erratically, too unpracticed to find a good rhythm. It’s their first time since they came back. Their last time before it’s all over.

Afterwards Sawyer rests his head on Jack’s chest and Jack wraps his arms around him. It’s not something they would have done before. Not something they would do now if they thought they had any time left.

Fangirlage like WHOA.: FNL // 6&33 - Preggershopelessfangirl on September 7th, 2010 09:21 pm (UTC)
Friday Night Lights, Jason/Tim, gentleness/protectiveness (PG)


The boys threw around a pigskin in East Dillon’s abandoned field, sunlight and summer fading fast. Tim would become a Panther in a few weeks; it wasn’t a question, it was just fact.

Gravel on the unkempt field slid beneath Tim and his knee skidded across broken glass from a beer bottle. (Probably one of theirs.)

Jason came running, sliding on his knees to close the last gap between him and his best friend.

Shit, Riggs.

He examined the wound on Tim’s knee, lightly touching the skin around it.

I’m alright.

Tim’s knee hurt like hell, but he didn’t mind.
the female ghost of tom joad: fnljanie_tangerine on September 8th, 2010 07:01 pm (UTC)
Re: Friday Night Lights, Jason/Tim, gentleness/protectiveness (PG)
AWWWW THIS WAS SO LOVELY. *SMISHES THEM* and now I want to dig out my S1 dvds, though I should actually dig out my S3 downloads instead...

No, but really, this was adorable and it was such a great snapshot of those two, and it packed so much, I loved it. <333333333333 thank you so much! :DDD (also I loved all the details like the bottle being theirs. <33) and the ending line. ;___; Tim ilu.
a geek in such the wrong way: lost-boone-let it burnhaldoor on September 9th, 2010 06:58 am (UTC)
Lost: Sawyer/Boone, R, hooker fic, gentleness/protectiveness
Umm, this got a bit longer than comment fic... and so I posted it on my fic LJ:

Leaving New Orleans

Hope it's to your taste! *hugs*

(thanks again for mine, I love it!)