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I hear it is Valentine's Day! So, in honour of the occasion (and also because I may be stuck at a computer all day) a meme.
Give me a pairing (or a 3+some) and I will give you a brief summary of their totally overwrought love story! It will be like a Harlequin romance, except I have very little idea of how Harlequin romances actually work, so probably it won't be like that at all.
(And I actually made some attempt at putting together an offered fandoms list this time, but it's making me want to leave off the whole endeavour, so. The deal is that if I'm not familiar with the characters you give me, I'll ask for new ones.)
Give me a pairing (or a 3+some) and I will give you a brief summary of their totally overwrought love story! It will be like a Harlequin romance, except I have very little idea of how Harlequin romances actually work, so probably it won't be like that at all.
(And I actually made some attempt at putting together an offered fandoms list this time, but it's making me want to leave off the whole endeavour, so. The deal is that if I'm not familiar with the characters you give me, I'll ask for new ones.)
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Okay, this one takes place near your tcoad au. When Shaz is first transferred in, Ray doesn’t read her as a sub, exactly, but she’s tiny and confused and nervous and not an actual copper, so he makes disparaging comments until she gets pissed off and tells him to stop acting like he’s got something to prove.
The whole room overhears her (general consensus is an approving titter) and Ray gets flustered and makes a wholly unsatisfactory comeback. After that it’s official that they don’t like each other.
Especially with how Chris keeps looking at her. It’s not like he ever offered Chris a collar, even when they did have a thing some years ago. It’s not even like Ray’s sure he’d want Chris back, no matter how prettily he begged - they just never *quite* fitted right together. But still... there’s Chris sitting on the floor, one leg outstretched, his back leaning against the side of Shaz’ desk, one of her hands resting lightly on his head as they discus the current case. It looks so natural, and even though it has nothing to do with him, it tastes of bitter personal rejection just the same.
After the pub, Shaz and Chris leave together, and Ray leaves later, alone, leaving the Guv to push against his new piece of tail what doesn’t know her place. Gene Hunt’s taste in subs is fucking mental, if you ask Ray. He’s gone home with a few willful subs himself, if he’s horny enough: people who’d straight up wear leather cuffs to a bar, but who’d talk like they thought you were the one who belonged on your knees. It’s never satisfying, not for anyone involved. Too complicated. Stressful. Confusing.
Not like Chris and Shaz, Ray imagines, alone in the grey reflected streetlight of his apartment. The neon sign on the neighbouring building gives a green edge to his window frame, and it catches his attention every time his eyes move, like his brain is trying to tell him it doesn’t belong there, it’s an exposed seam in the world, there’s something *wrong*. Finally Ray goes over and slams down the blinds, pull string swinging thonk, thonk, thonk against the slats like Shaz’ hand must be right now against Chris’ arse. Maybe she’s got him handcuffed to the foot of the bed, but she’s wouldn’t need to, there’s one sub who knows how to keep position. The blinds rattle think, calming, and maybe Shaz backs up for a moment, admiring the pink imprint of her dainty, strong fingers in pale flesh, before swinging her hand back down, sideways this time, against the sensitized skin.
And Ray’s got his zipper open and his hands in his trousers and he’s halfway through orgasm when he realizes Shaz wasn’t slapping Chris’ arse in his fantasy just now. She was slapping *his*.
The rest of the story involves a lot of awkwardness (between everyone) and sexual confusion (mostly on the part of Ray), until Shaz figures out what’s going on and takes charge of the situation. As is rather the requirement.
It ends on the sex scene. Chris’ mouth is on Shaz’ clit, and Chris’ dick is slick with pre-cum, and Shaz is telling - is ordering - Ray to whip him again, there, harder, and maybe this is what it was supposed to be like all along.
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Somehow I don't think *that's* very different from how it went down in canon. ;)
Naturally.
Goodness, I would hope not--in part because I don't trust Chris to know what's best for him under any circumstances.
No, they wouldn't. Close, and close enough for fuckbuddies, or whatever it's called in this 'verse, but not right.
I'm quite sure this shouldn't sound so damn cute. But it works for me.
They're so much *work.* Ray's too lazy to take on the ones who might fight him and win.
Well, not if one of them's Ray, that I believe. ;)
Brings up all of these "But wait, I want to sub--no I don't!" feelings. Poor Ray.
You can almost see the stars through it.
And that's why they didn't quite work, isn't it? Chris is too bloody ready to stay where he's put, and as much as Ray thinks that's what he wants, he's wrong, deep down.
I'm quite afraid that made me beam all out of proportion to how wrong it is. Or, in proportion to the wrongness, but not to the objective happiness. A spot of schadenfreude, call it; Ray certainly deserves a bit of suffering here and there.
Chris was never going to and Ray's, well, increasingly finding he's incapable of that, at least in the classic sense.
Hopefully he's happier when he works out that subbing isn't giving up.
I was expecting something Harlequin and instead I got something *true.* Thank you so much.
This makes me far more starry-eyed than can possibly be healthy.
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Heh! Well, there was a disclaimer. I'm happy you liked this so much, especially considering I borrowed your universe for it.
Chris sitting on the floor
I'm quite sure this shouldn't sound so damn cute. But it works for me.
Given the givens, it was meant to. ;)
A spot of schadenfreude, call it; Ray certainly deserves a bit of suffering here and there.
Sure, but it's also the turning point to his happy ending. Figuring out what you want, admitting it to yourself, there is no promise these are easy.
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Oh, GOD, Ray. Raaaaaaaay. That is exactly precisely how it went down while Lexa Darling was being a bit preoccupied with her own sexuality crisis to notice, and I am grinning all over my face right now. This is lovely.
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No, really, Gus, he’s got psychic powers now!
Then what did Gus have for breakfast?
Well, okay, Gus had bran cereal in soy milk sprinkled with superhero marshmallows, but anyone could figure that out from the dusting of sugar on the back of his hand and the bran bits stuck in his teeth. When you’re done grabbing your floss and running to the bathroom, Gus, ask Shawn something he couldn’t know without actual for real psychic powers!
Yeah? What is Gus thinking now?
Okay, Gus, that’s just rude. Not that anyone needs psychic powers for that lucky guess.
Though something that Shawn is just now, with the mind reading, realizing is how basically every single person who knows him thinks he and Gus are a couple! Chief Young Mrs. Landingham put them down in a report as an example of how her precinct works just fine with gay people and, sure, Shawn snuck off with a copy of that report before she sent it, but he assumed she was just bullshitting. Juliet: kind of a fag hag. Lassiter: endlessly worried about if finding Shawn THAT annoying means he’s homophobic, or unknowingly homosexual himself, or both, or maybe Shawn is just really annoying? Shawn’s Dad......
Shawn doesn’t BELIEVE this! He and Gus are not having the butt sex!
Shawn, why would you announce that in your outside voice when you and your best friend have just arrived at your father’s house for dinner? There are guests other than the three of you! Gus is pretty mortified right now, even by the scale of someone who has been hanging out with you for decades!
And anyway Shawn’s Dad really doesn’t want to know any details, like, at all.
And now everyone there thinks Shawn is having homosexual relations with Gus, and it is all they can think about the whole meal, and Shawn’s Dad catches him when he tries to sabotage the evening to get it over with faster. Way to go, Shawn!
Shawn’s Dad would like to know what the hell is wrong with Shawn!
He’s psychic.
Fine, Shawn. Don’t tell him. And be an asshole while you’re at it.
Also he’s not having the butt sex with Gus.
Didn’t Shawn’s Dad say he didn’t want any details!? He’s come to accept his son’s lifestyle choices but there are limits!
Later, Gus is driving him home in Gus’s company sedan, and Shawn is so upset he’s quiet for once. Gus wants to know what the problem is.
It’s that everyone thinks Shawn and Gus are a couple, and Shawn can’t convince them otherwise. And sure, Shawn can see where everyone got confused, because they are both far, far too attractive to be unattached, and charmingly eccentric, and Gus pays far too much attention to how his shirts match his shoes, and they are the only ones who understand each other’s senses of humour, and basically they are perfect for each other, but Shawn knows very well Gus is not into him that way!
Well, uh, okay Shawn! But Gus can’t help but notice you forgot to mention you are not into Gus that way either.
oh. yeah. I guess Shawn did.
Hey Shawn, if you are actually for real psychic, what is Gus thinking now?
I could tell you here what Gus is thinking, and what Shawn is going to say in response. But we as readers know the shape of this story, and don’t need psychic powers to guess its happy ending.
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P.S.
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Try again?
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I'm just throwing weird crap out there, actually.
OK, first thing that came up on Google video search when I typed in "Monty":
Tell me the lore, the lovelore, of Vikings and Spam.
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It’s hard to know which moment to begin this story. Is it with the clever and *hungry* young woman - let us designate her, for this moment, as “Kate” - torn between the idea of a lover almost freed and the smooth, unfamiliar telephone voice promising her everything, *everything*, in exchange for one last job?
Or the blue eyed boy practising slight of hand tricks in an empty room? Is this your card, your coin, your wallet. He’s never going to be a magician, but it’s good training for quick, nimble fingers, and the razzle dazzle’s the most important lesson of all.
But no, too early. Choose another beginning. A blue eyed man in another room, his fingers wrapped around an empty wine bottle like they once slid over his lover’s thigh. If someone called out “Neal,” he would answer, but no one does. This room is empty too. Everything, suddenly, is empty. There are footsteps in the doorway, but he knows them. They are not hers.
An FBI agent named Peter, young and clever and hungry himself, tracking - but no, that’s the wrong verb - admiring the career of a con man who specialized in art forgery. The agent will catch the con man, but not for some time yet. In this moment, he’s describing the chase to his wife, her hip leaning against the kitchen doorframe, a cup of gourmet tea in her hands. Her name is Elizabeth, and she’s listening more intently than she does to his other cases, asking carefully leading questions. Is Peter having fun with this case? Does he think the quarry is unusually talented? Has he gotten close enough to see colour of the con man’s eyes?
No, not personally, not yet. But he shows Elizabeth a photo: they are bluer even than hers. The name under the photo is “Nicholas Holden,” but for our purposes, Neal suits him better. There’s a brown haired woman standing at his shoulder, her head turned away. Elizabeth does not ask about her.
Or, this, years earlier, Elizabeth holding a sign proclaiming her love of Italian food towards the FBI’s camera. She knows Peter is watching behind it; she has trained herself to be aware of being followed, but in the relevant case she is barely a suspect. Peter had been coming up with excuses to ask her questions, and Elizabeth had realized she enjoyed answering them. The last time she’d met him, she hadn’t thought he was so charming.
If we asked Peter in this moment, he would claim never to have met her before his current case. We may believe who we like.
Kate is taking notes in a cryptic scrawl of her own design. The voice on the phone is smooth but the reception is poor, and there’s a lag when she asks questions. She’s asking one now. It’s regarding compensation.
For some seconds, the phone transmits static and a faint repeating whine. Then a laugh, broken by compression. Yes, there will be money, the chance for as much money as Kate might want, though the caller suspects that will prove to be a smaller amount than Kate assumes. But more than that, she’ll finally see if the stories are true.
What stories, Kate demands. Of course. There are so many stories in this world. But what stories does Kate care about? What stories consume her curiosity when she doesn’t have another puzzle to distract her? The Curses of Catherine the Great.
The phone call breaks off; it’s a bad connection, or her contact has a flair for dramatic. Kate has no return number, but the caller has found her through 3 discarded cell phones and a temporary email address. It bothers her that she can’t figure out the trick of it. Her notes trail off into a blue inked line that spills off the page, carrying no information except the evidence of her surprise.
The door to Peter’s home has just opened, and Neal’s breath hitches very briefly in his throat. Neal is out of his radius, and he thinks correctly that he has a convincing enough excuse that Peter will forgive him the transgression. But when Peter’s wife opens the door for him, it falls from his mind. He notices the shade of her eyes and the texture of her hair, the shading of cheekbones smoothed under his fingers in hundreds of sketches. It’s only years of practise that keeps his face from slackening in surprise.
But it can’t be Kate. Kate is so much younger. And after all, he’s still reeling from her disappearance - his first impressions, trained or not, shouldn’t be trusted. Elizabeth smiles at him like she’s been waiting a long time to see him. He smiles back with his most favourable “trust me, I’m harmless” smile, but Elizabeth’s expression sharpens, like it’s a joke she’s heard before.
Perhaps Peter has told her.
“No secrets,” Peter says. He is pawing through the Neal Caffrey files once again, has been hunched for hours over the kitchen table. He’s weeks away from finally catching and arresting Neal, and while Peter does not know this the way we do, he can feel the difference in the chase. But in this moment he’s not worried about the con man. There’s a photograph sitting slightly to the side of his file. It’s new: Neal Caffrey and a distracted Kate, frowning in the camera’s general direction. Elizabeth wants to laugh at her dismayed expression. It’s hard to believe anyone could look so young. “That was the deal,” Peter says. “No secrets between us.”
“Of course,” says Elizabeth. It’s a rule she was slow to grow into, but she finds that, with Peter at least, honesty has its own solid charm. “Anything you ask me, I’ll answer.” Peter fingers his paperwork, mouth narrowing in contemplation. But Peter has, for all his astuteness, a strong faith in an understandable universe, and the words he needs to say rebel on his tongue. Finally he says, “What’s the question I should be asking.” Elizabeth grins.
Peter is pressing his mouth hard against Neal’s shoulder, and Neal’s head is rolling back. These things are cause and effect. “I still can’t believe you want this,” Neal says, to Peter, or to himself, or to the universe at large.
Elizabeth is working Neal’s pants from his waist, but she pauses to say, “He’s been chasing you for a very long time. What did you think would happen when he caught you?”
Neal starts to say something, gasps as Peter works down to his nipple, tries again. “What about you?”
And Elizabeth grins, in this moment where there is much to grin about. “I didn’t have to chase you. I knew where you’d be.”
It’s hard to choose a moment when every moment trips on itself, its own beginning and its own ending. Let us return to Kate, still clever and still young, as she slips out from the estate of a very rich man. He is rich enough to buy good security, but the woman on the other end of the phone had very good information. Kate escapes, unpersued into the night, Catherine the Great’s music box in a bag under her arm. The promise of it is intoxicating.
As soon as she gets the chance to duck into an empty building, Kate takes the box out and opens it. This is not part of the plan outlined for her, but Kate can’t stand the thought of giving the music box away without first sating her curiosity (nor would the smooth voiced woman who hired her be surprised at this betrayal).
To a soundtrack of tin music, Kate finds two envelopes hidden in a secret compartment. One of the envelopes has her name written on it. Not “Kate”. A name she hasn’t heard in many years. There’s a strange looking key and half a dozen pages folded inside, but the first page she glances at has only a cryptic promise written on it: You will find your way back. The other envelope holds materials for a false identity, unfamiliar names with her description and picture. However, the driver’s licence is an old style, and the credit cards are out of date. Apparently someone stole the box, hid the envelopes inside it, returned it, and then hired her to steal it again. It’s an overly convoluted method of delivery. (It’s the sort of mystery Kate lives for.)
The key is of the same ornate design as the music box; Kate searches for the place it fits. And then...
There are stories of many Curses. Many Gifts.
The name on the envelope was written in her own handwriting. In a cryptic scrawl no one else on the planet could read. (Not even the lover she had been waiting for, his freedom almost, almost, almost in reach.) The music box unwinds itself, its clockwork melody hollow in the empty room.
Of course she turns the key.
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Tim Drake, Lex Luthor, and Andrea Cooper have finally arrived on a planet that the natives confusingly insist is called “Earth”. (Tim tried to get around the mental double-take by saying “Ground”, but no, apparently their translator programs can tell the difference.) “Earth” has a very, very rich supply of a virtually impossible to synthesize molecule that Earth’s scientists believe will allow interstellar travel by people who don’t have the resources of the Justice League (or Tim, Lex, and Andrea). So their purpose for being here on “Earth” to represent the interests of, respectively, Wayne Enterprises, LexCorp, and LilaCo.
When they emerge from the spacecraft, the “Earth”lings who have arrived to meet them stare. They look alarmed, suspicious, disgusted... which is surprising, because they look overall pretty similar to the Earthlings Tim is more familiar with, excepting the longish faces and dark purple hair and single gender.
Finally, one of the “Earth”lings breaks off from a group whispering in alarm and approaches the human standing closest. In this case, Andrea.
“I’m sorry,” the translation engine claims ze says. “You are aliens, and we are confused. Which of these others is your spouse?”
“Oh no,” Andrea says. “I’m not married.”
This was, as it turns out, the WRONG THING to say. After Andrea is chased back into orbit (would have been chased back to Earth if Tim and Lex didn’t still need the spaceship to get home themselves) and sworn to radio silence, Tim and Lex, anticipating the next question, assure their hosts that, while Andrea’s blunder was of course unfortunate, Tim and Lex are totally 100% married. To each other! Happily married, although the people of “Earth” don’t seem to care about that qualifier.
“They’re latent telepaths,” Tim tells Lex later. They’re contemplating their lush, single bedded guest quarters. “When the talent begins to develop, they’re mind-linked to another person, who is then the only mind they can access. Their suspicion of unlinked singles is quite understandable.”
“It certainly worked in our favour,” Lex says, because LilaCo no longer has a corporate voice “Earth” is willing to hear. “Unfortunately, it seems that *we* need to trust one another to play loving husband for the duration of these negotiations.”
“Unfortunately,” Tim agrees.
It would be easy for an observer from Earth to miss the glint of excited calculation in their eyes during this conversation, as they settle on a truce neither intends to keep. An observer from “Earth” wouldn’t have picked up the subtleties either, but they’d recognize the pulse of unspoken understandings that pass between spouses well matched.
So then there are business talks to be had - everyone always moving in pairs - and tours of the seven wonders of “Earth”, and a whole lot of comedy of errors shenanigans because the “Earth”lings assume everything they tell Tim, Lex also immediately knows and vice versa, and Tim and Lex are much more comfortable keeping as many secrets as possible. (Seriously, that shit was hilarious, I feel bad for anyone who doesn’t get to hear about it.)
Eventually, Tim and Lex figure out that they really *are* well matched. They challenge each other, and they enjoy the same (mind) games, and they can predict each other’s mental processes well enough neither of them ever actually *wins* for long. Also, the sex is highly satisfactory....
And finally, Tim and Lex come back to Earth - no finger quotes - with cargoholds full of invaluable molecules and a depressed Andrea Cooper and the news that they had run off to an alien planet and gotten gay married.
Batman stares at Tim for a very long time.
“Canada is closer,” he finally says.
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<3 <3 <3 <3! <--Low-tech hearts instead of heart-filled icon.
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I am pleased you are pleased!
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Although, frankly, I cannot get enough of either tripe, despite my deep and profound loathing of telepaths, so, you know, feel free to use one of those concepts for ALL the prompts! Or just make your next bout of this the Aliens and Mind Fucking Festival. I would totally go for that.
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Okay, I am trying to imagine Aliens Making Them Do ANYTHING.
It... It's kind of the OPPOSITE usually.
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If you wing it with Toro and Ann you really can't go wrong as they are minor and there's not much. Uhh he's a fire mutant that fought during WWII and she married him afterward. He then died in like the 70's and was resurrected in the 2000's
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Hastur ♥ Ligur :D :D :D
It’s not that Hastur doesn’t know *what*s changed in what we shall generously describe as a life, but no self respecting demon wants to admit that he cares enough about another entity for it to *matter*. Still. This can’t go on. Or at least he can’t go on with it.
If this were a human story, Hastur would brave the depths of Hell to rescue his lover, but braving the depths of Hell sounds more like Hastur’s standard Thursday afternoon. Anyway, he checked around, and no one’s seen Ligur since, well, we do not speak about it. Where *do* demons go when they die?
Before he’s willing to admit to himself what he’s up to, Hastur’s searching out passage to the other side of the sky. It’s not easy, even for a demon, and Ligur’s probably not waiting there to be
rescuedrecovered, but it’s damn sure (and Hastur would know) he’s not anywhere more local either.Unfortunately, while Hasur’s attempting to earn passage, he runs afoul of an angel named Lezeiel. He’s not one Hastur recognizes from his own angel days, but he’s powerful and has that streak of cruel viciousness the way angels often do. He also seems to permanently have an air of someone who’s forgotten what they came into the room for, but whatever, all those feathery assholes are lacking in brains anyway. Don’t even have brains, technically.
That’s what Hastur tells himself after he escapes annihilation the first time (smugly... and yet also a bit disappointed on a level he tries to burn away with anger, because there’s *one* sure way to find out where demons finally end up). But the second time, the third time... is Lezeiel *hesitating*? (Yes, though confusedly.) And never mind that, is this angel *following him*? (Well. Not at first. But for an angel, he’s got a talent for lurking.)
It turns out Lezeiel is also fighting the sense of missing something, although he’s still at the stage of trying to figure out what it is. He can’t remember. He can’t remember a lot, really. Between the creation of the universe and events we do not speak about, it’s all rather a blur. And Hastur knows there’s a breakdown in the natural order of things when he’s listening to an angel’s sob story and awkwardly saying things like, “there, there” but it turns out Lezeiel’s his kind of bastard after a few beer kegs.
Hastur maybe mentions why he wants to get to the other side of the sky (it’s a bit fuzzy later, maybe Lezeiel just spent a few thousand years ass over wings drunk?) and Lezeiel maybe invites himself along, and maybe there would have been some exciting adventures but then we find out that Lezeiel is Ligur reincarinated. Honestly, by this point, no one is actually surprised.
Memories returned, Ligur is *really resenting* being an angel. He’s ready to jump back into the Pit, but Hastur wants to do it with paperwork. He would get *such* a commendation for signing up an angel’s equivalent of a soul. Probably get a medal or a ribbon or something. Ligur appreciates this ambition, but is not about to sign himself under anyone’s control for all eternity. So he agrees on the condition that Hastur signs the equivalent of *his* soul to Ligur. Simultaneously. And they’re both practised enough they can leave out the loopholes (except for the ones they try to slip in anyway, ‘cause you can’t blame a demon for trying).
...Most marriages are less binding.
And everyone lives happily ever after, except Hastur and Ligur's underlings who'd been enjoying the freedom from terrifying bosses, or the souls getting extra torture thanks to the extra demon, or the ones who wouldn’t have been damned in the first place if not for Ligur and Hastur’s renewed joie de vivre, or Crowley because they owe him a certain amount of revenge. But, you know, it was really always that sort of story.
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Re: Hastur ♥ Ligur :D :D :D
braving the depths of Hell sounds more like Hastur’s standard Thursday afternoon.
Heeeee!
And I love their mutually binding
pre-nupsensible and sober legal contracts.Thank you ♥!!
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Re: Hastur ♥ Ligur :D :D :D
Ah, no worries. I am also bad at keeping track of messages. So bad!
And I love their mutually binding pre-nup sensible and sober legal contracts.
Well.
They do have ALL the lawyers.
;)
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