kyle/any, supermodel

Date: 2013-03-20 05:41 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Kyle Rayner is a supermodel at the top of his game until one day rival supermodel ______ joins his agency and somehow (magic or alien science idc what) makes Kyle grow a long scaley tail and fangs that might ruin his career.

You can choose a different thing that Kyle grows but nothing cutesy or pretty like wings!

Date: 2013-03-20 05:55 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Temple prostitute. They can all be, or it can be about a single prostitute and a worshipper, whichever floats your boat anon and hopefully mine too!

for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-15 05:11 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
"I didn't choose you."

Mar'i halts her movements for only the space of a sweep of her long eyelashes, then continues filling the bathing pool with ewers of warm water. "No," she says, "the Priestess selected me on the wishes of your father. You will bring bountiful blessings of the Goddess onto your family--"

"I don't believe in any Goddess."

That stops her. Mari feels one edge of her filmy, floaty gown trail into the water like the thick magnolia petals scenting the air. The man, Ibn, is young, her age, and he leans against the white marble wall with an expression that would be called a sneer were he of any class other than nobility. Mar'i understands, suddenly, why Priestess Kate offered her to the father for this task. It will be a challenge.

Mar'i doesn't mind a challenge. It brings her closer to the Goddess with each poorly-tempered man she makes scream her name in ecstatic release. Ibn will be no different.

Putting down the ewer, she moves to the opposite end of the bathing pool and begins descending the steps, her gown drinking up the water as she moves. "It makes no difference if you believe in the Goddess, or do not believe, or wish to be convinced," she says as she steps further into the warm water, never pausing, moving through the length of the small pool. When she begins ascending the stairs on the other side, closer to Ibn, her dress is wet, transparent, molded to her body; the slight chill of the air makes her nipples push against the drape. Despite himself, Ibn's nose flares as if he's scented her, eyes drifting lower to the shadowed area between her legs.

Mar'i stops before the top step and lifts her arms, unfastening the tumult of dark purple hair that is her blessing and glory. Ibn watches it tumble to her shoulders, looking slightly dazed, and Mar'i holds out one strong arm towards him. "Come," she says, quietly but firmly. "It does not matter if you believe or not. For her blessing, I am yours this night."

The dazed look in Ibn's eyes darkens into hunger, and before Mar'i can say anything more he's moved forward, against her, taking her face in his hands as he kisses her and kisses her and walks her backwards down the stairs, the elegant dark fabric of his clothing soaking up water as he plunges into the pool. Mar'i would stop this here, undress him slowly and sensually, but -- nobody has ever behaved this way in the temple before. The idea of elegant, arrogant Ibn wanting her so badly that he walked into the water fully dressed to get his hands on her wakens something inside of Mar'i, a matching fierce desire, a fire low in her belly.

The thick flower petals bump against them, kissing perfume against Mar'i's flushed skin as Ibn tears her flimsy gown from her body entirely, wrapping it twice around his hand before holding her again. The wet fabric slaps against Mar'i's back, her rounded behind, and when she yelps he swallows the sound greedily. "If you are going to be mine," Ibn growls, "I will have you the way I want you."

A perverse, instinctive knowledge in Mar'i bids her to stop and consider, make him wait, and Ibn's practically snarling when she says, "Yes, of course. The blessing of the Goddess grants you this," and reaches to unfasten his trousers. If he's uncomfortable in his sodden finery, it doesn't show in his handsome, almost cruel face; he seems to only be focused on Mar'i, her hair and her body, her fingers working on his hardness. He lifts her by the waist, pulls her against him, and Mar'i is after all a temple prostitute and knows how to position his length and her legs so that she sinks down onto him smooth, silken, holy and glorious.

-- and then Ibn moves, again, forward through the pool until Mar'i's back hits the tiled wall and his cock thrusts fully inside her with a force that makes her cry out, ripples in the water from their wake lapping the edges of her scream. Ibn smiles then, his strange intense eyes pleased but still carnivorous, and thrusts once more. "How blessed am I now?" he demands. There's something in the way he says it that's touching, despite all this, and when Mar'i spreads her legs wider around him, digging her heels slowly into his back to press him deeper into her still, she sees the look on his face change from a spoiled lordling's mean pleasure to astonishment and a truer desire.

"The Goddess finds you precious," Mar'i says, softly, holding his face now and letting the tips of her nails curve into his skin. The touch of pain sparks even more heat in his eyes, his hips twitching, and she adds more. "She finds you precious and so do I." She kisses him, and it's as though they'd never stopped, as though she'd never been chosen to become a temple prostitute and leave the life she'd known out there. "You always have been, Damian."

When she says his name he sobs, one ragged, uncontrolled sound before he wraps his arms around her and slams into her body, face against her breasts as he moves into her again and again and again. "You're mine," he's murmuring in a long, ceaseless, desperately angry growl, "mine mine forever you've been mine." Mar'i cradles his head and throws hers back so her hair brushes his fingers, feeling him grab onto it as he pounds her against the tiled bath wall, her toes splashing through the water with each thrust and jerk. The room echoes the sounds of their coupling, wetness and heat and her voice bursting and dripping down over his low scraping grunts until his mouth finds one of her nipples and he bites as he reaches completion inside her, Mar'i's body responding and taking him in, taking all of it.

She curves down over Damian, her hair forming a curtain, the magnolia and salt scent of them thick inside. "We have all night," Mar'i says, making her shaking voice as soothing as she can, even though she feels her heart's blood might as well be streaming from her lips.

Damian lowers her into the water, hands cupping and caressing her body, eyes soft and pained. When he speaks again, it's only with his mouth against her ear, face hidden. "We have nothing, except the blessing of your Goddess."

"Come," Mar'i says, and her voice is smooth as marble now, hands swift and clever. She is a temple prostitute. She knows what her place is in this world. It would have been foolish to forget. Priestess Kate was right to choose her.

"Take off your clothes, Ibn."

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-17 09:37 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I'll be in my bunk, anon. Lovely and evocative.

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-19 06:44 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Blistering hot and gorgeous, sumptuously so, all that thick, wet fabric and the magnolia petals in the water

My hand flew to my heart when she called him Damian <3

Re: for the devout - damian/mar'i

Date: 2013-04-19 06:46 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Oh my god this is so wonderful, I will be re-reading this forever, good lord.

Date: 2013-03-20 06:27 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
rose finds out cassie isn't the perfect little angel she thinks she is

f/f obviously methods are your choice


Date: 2013-03-20 06:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I am leaving this prompt and hoping that EVERY possible pairing gets love!!

~Write your pairing of choice doing it any way you see fit, as long as it's a "what happens in [place] stays in [place]~
From: (Anonymous)
"It's practically traditional," Helen says, lifting one leg high enough to hook her knee over Bill's hip. The movement drags his already undone trousers lower and he grasps at them in alarm. This is going faster than he can keep up with. Helen's long fingers are in his hair, scrubbing it back and forth, strands catching painfully in her ragged hangnails, and her eyes are huge and dark and seem to swallow up all the meager light in the silver pantry.

"It's traditional for the best man and the maid of honor to do it in a cupboard while everybody else has cake and champagne?" Bill tries to keep his voice level but it's hard with Helen latching on to his ear with her teeth. She snorts, shifting her hands to his chest, nails scraping down the clean crisp front of his tuxedo shirt.

"Of course," Helen scoffs in that careless tone she has. Sometimes, Bill thinks, it increases in direct proportion to how worrying his own tone gets. "We'd bring down bad luck on their heads if we didn't bang in the cupboard at their wedding." Her Green Lantern ring catches against one of his shirt buttons and Bill feels a sudden rush of heat. Helen's always snagging parts of him, in one way or another.

Bending his head, he catches her open, upturned mouth with his and moves his hands from smacked hesitantly against the polished mahogany wall to curve around her familiar hips. His knuckles take the brunt of it when Bill turns, lifting Helen, pushing her against the wall. "Fine," he says firmly under her wild, triumphant laugh. "But I'm doing this for the sake of Damian and Lian's wedded happiness. Not because I believe in curses and trouble."

"Oh, you believe in trouble, baby," Helen purrs, her long hair falling across his face as she presses her forehead to his, and Bill's snagged all over again.
From: (Anonymous)
ahhhh, so cute! suddenly, new OTP! <3
From: (Anonymous)
The Martian Manhunter had faced many excruciating tortures in his lifetime. The loss of his family, the alienation from his home planet, the loneliness of Earth and prejudices of people around him. But none had ever been as simultaneously glorious and gruesome as this one, visited upon him in an aisle of the closed Piggly Wiggly.

"Tell me how much you want it," Kate Spencer demanded, standing over the Martian's prone, undressed body. Her hair was loose around her face and she had one foot planted on the ground on either side of J'onn's form, her hands on her hips, waiting for his response. When it was too long in coming, Kate Spencer lifted one expensive ruby colored Louboutin (the only clothing she was wearing) and placed it on the green man's exposed stomach. "Tell me, or you get nada."

"Kate!" J'onn groaned, the woman's name coming from the depths of his soul. He wanted this so much, more than anything he could remember at this moment. He could not believe the force of the hunger inside him, desire such as he had never suffered. Could there be anything more acutely painful than this, more of a religious ecstasy? Collecting himself with a shudder, the Martian finally formed his green lips around the words: "I want it more than I have, to this date, wanted anything in all the worlds."

A smile curving her lips, Kate Spencer lowered her body onto his. As she came closer, out of the dim light, J'onn's heart sped up at the sight of her nude skin and the Chocos stuck over her bikini areas, each adhered with a dab of icing. The dark sweet chocolate aroma of them mingled with the scent of Kate herself, and the Martian moaned his longing. There would never be anything better than this.
From: (Anonymous)
Keep going! I need to know things! Like did he eat the Chocos? Did he share the Chocos with her? How many Chocos were there? Will there be more Chocos? Tell me!
From: (Anonymous)
Bai won't stop moving. Which makes sense when Mar'i stops to think about it but in the present situation she can't decide whether it's annoying or incredible. "None of these will hurt me," Bai insists, her flat chest pressed against Mar'i's decidedly NOT flat chest as she tries to squirm enough to look at the plants all around them, some of them caged for safety.

"They're poisonous, Bai," Mar'i tells her, tightening her grip on the speedster just enough for Bai to go still. "That's why this is called the Poison Gardens. I don't give a fuck if you think you could outrun Conium maculatum, I'm not letting you touch them. Or eat them. Or rub them all over yourself."

"Why would I do any of that," Bai says, but the shifty look on her face means that she was considering doing exactly one of those things. Mar'i sighs and kisses Bai's flat cheekbones to calm her, pulling them both to a patch of firm springy green grass to lie on. "Here, we can do this instead." The Tamaranean holds up a bell of datura over their faces, shaking it just enough so pollen falls lightly on them. "It might not affect us that much because we're not oh whoa hey did you just grow another three arms?"

"No," Bai giggles, "but I like how your hair is singing to me." She curls around Mar'i with her long gangly limbs, sucking circles into Mar'i's skin wherever her lips land. "Look! I'm making whirlpools in you!"

"I am an irresponsible botanist," Mar'i realizes loudly as a hundred pounds of high, horny speedster start to vibrate and shake all over her. For some reason she can't bring herself to feel bad.
From: (Anonymous)
"There is no way in all of earth, heaven, and whatever seven thousand hells you come from that you can ever adequately repay me for this, Blood."

The deathless magician paused his motions with the sacred athame to stare incredulously at the blond man within the chalk-inscribed tetragrammaton. "Are you taking the piss?" he demanded. "The only reason we're even IN this mess is because of you, you wanker! What kind of bloody tosspot flirts with a woman who has one COW HOOF?"

Fidgeting in his place inside the magic circle, Ollie mumbles to himself but otherwise stops complaining, because when you put it like that yeah it does sound kingsize boneheaded. He watches as Blood chants and sprinkles all kinds of powders in patterns outside the circle, finally clapping his hands in a big show and shouting three magic words. A boom echoed through the dark room, extinguishing the candles, and Ollie blinked into the resulting darkness in confusion.

"That's it," Blood's voice said. He struck a match and lit his candelabra and Ollie frowned.

"That's it? Then why the hell am I dressed up like-" the archer looked down at himself, in a big flouncy low-cut dress that showed half his hairy chest, teetering on heels, a feathery fruity hat flopping down into his face, "--a Carmen Miranda drag queen?" Blood paused halfway up the stairs out of the dank room.

"Purely to see the look on your face when I tell you there's no reason at all," Blood said, grinning, and blew out his candelabra. The sound of Oliver Queen swearing up a storm and falling flat on his bearded face in the resulting darkness was well worth the effort.
From: (Anonymous)
I bet this is how Ollie got dongwarts!!


Date: 2013-03-20 09:54 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
They check in and she doesn't finger his hair.

They walk down the carpeted hotel lobby and her hand doesn't go for his.

The wait for the elevator is excruciating between the slight tightness in his pants and the extreme tightness of her dress.

This was a mistake, he thinks to himself as he avoids the urge to look at her, examining some stupid potted plant. But then he remembers the way her manicured nails scraped the back of his neck behind that crowded stage and her lips had formed the words "nice show" and "we're going to a hotel" long before he was articulate enough to tell her that, yes, that was exactly what he wanted, too.

The ding of the arriving elevator distracts him enough that after the door close, he doesn't expect her mouth to meet his jaw. And yet, suddenly, there it is, a hot little mouth and the dark pink wet lips attached to it trailing kisses down his jawline. She turns on like a damn light bulb and suddenly he's on too, and they're groping like horny teenagers in a store dressing room.

She's already undone his tie--15 floors left--and she's pushing the few top buttons apart to get at his collar bone--10 floors--he pushes the top of her dress down so the left cup of her dark red bra is exposed--5 floors--her right leg slides between his silk pants and pushes his hard cock up even more--DING

And just like that, she's detached again, bra still visible, dress twisted, ridiculously tall heels making no sound on the carpet as her ass swings side-to-side. He swipes them into the room, she puts her clutch on the nightstand. He pulls off his topcoat, she slips out of her heels.

She turns ever so slightly and smiles at him. His chest is not broad enough, and his eyes are fresh leaves, not liquid gold, but fuck, he can get whatever he wants as long as he keeps that attitude. That fucking little cocky smirk did it for her the first time they met and it'll keep doing for her as long as she wants it to.

He takes a step towards her, and she lets out a raspy laugh. Suddenly he's falling backward onto the bed. She doesn't even let his body bounce before she crawls on top of him and grabs his mouth with her own. It's their first kiss, he thinks like the teenager he barely isn't, and something in the back of his mind chastises him for this thought. Her tongue tastes like pomegranate and he wonders who is the Persephone and who is the Hades. He isn't sure anymore.

The grind of her pelvis on his makes them both moan. She pulls their mouths apart long enough to smirk at him as she hands slide into his dress pants. He groans as she cups and massages his balls before moving her attention solely to his cock. Long, thick strokes and she's got her heat pressed right against the mound his cock and her hand are making and they both are making that noise in each other's mouths.

He bites and tugs her bottom lip until she winces just so, and suddenly her hand is out of his pants and trying to undo his belt. His fuck-addled brain know he can't help her, so he slides his own down to first palm her panties before slipping a thumb underneath the dark lace. Her breath comes out in a huff when he rubs her clit, and he is just barely tuned-in to his own body to hear the rip of leather as she removes his belt the best way she knows how. This done, her arms suddenly go up and back and the brightly patterned dress slides up and over her head, leaving only dark red underwear for his appraisal.

The bounce of her clothed breasts as she brings her arms back down reminds him that, yes, she has those too, and suddenly he forces himself to sit up, sliding her a little down on his lap. She starts to make a disappointed whine but the touch of his hands removing her bra cuts that short and she can only gasp and then purr as his mouth envelops one dark peach nipple. He lifts his hips to pull his pants down and she assists as best she can with them still connected at her breasts.

By the time he presses his tip against her wetness she is seeing constellations all around his face. She feels and she feels HARD and all she needs is just a little press and--he sheathes himself into her and she lets out a soft little cry. Her body spasms around him, and he stops thinking.

The pace starts off too fast, and they both barely realize how much the other person must want them before they settle into something a little slower. He moves back from her breast to her mouth and she accepts him with open arms that wrap around his chest and scratch at his back. The thick, wet sound of breathing and pumping fills the room and the bed begins to hit the wall heavily. He takes advantage of her light laughter to grab her hips and shove them down on him. She arches and cries out, his mouth silencing the sound as he explores her mouth with his tongue.

He sinks down onto the bed, still sliding in and out at their unspoken perfect pace, and she kisses him until the last second when their lips have to part so he can fully lie down. She sits back up, breasts bouncing in their newly found freedom and his head resting more than comfortably against the stark white pillows. Did Hades get this view of Persephone, he manages to wonder looking up at her before she intentionally clutches the wall of her pussy around him and everything starts fading to white.

Her nails scrape across his abdominal muscles, and when she leans over to tongue and suck his collarbone, the curve of her ass come up just enough to change the angle of his thrusting. He pins her hips in a vice grip, enjoying the newfound angle, and she writhes and mewls like a cat as he thrusts closer and closer to her g-spot. When he finally hits it, she shoves their mouths together so hard their teeth clink and cries out into him, hips rolling to soak up every single moment. Every centimeter of her cunt is quivering and sliding around him and it goes bright-white around him except for the shape of her face--it's beautiful he thinks and chides himself again for the rush of sentimentality--and they pull apart to scream each other's names...



By the time they register that they didn't call out the right names and weren't called by the right names either, she's already resting beside him. They don't look at each other and the silence draws out until she finally sighs and pulls herself off the bed. He watches her search for her panties while the white murky liquid slowly slides down her legs. It seems stupid that he still sometimes forgets condoms, and she follows his glance.

"I'm on the pill," she says casually as she pulls the dark red panties up. "Ex-girlfriend?"

He raises up on the bed, still looking at her and wondering if he'll ever see her like this again. "Dead girlfriend," he finally says, like the words burn his tongue.

The next thing that happens confuses him. She starts crying. It's not sobbing, her lips don't quiver, and no gasps escape her mouth. It's as if someone has turned the faucets on behind her green eyes and won't turn them off. She dresses in silence, the tears rolling down her cheeks, the rest of her face as normal as if she were hanging out with their friends. He finally builds up the courage to ask, "dead boyfriend?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "No, just dimensionally once-removed. Life is just so fucking painful."

It's only then that he realizes she's leaving. He's always been the one to leave first, long before the girl wakes up. Now, sitting here watching her pull her dress down over her lingerie does he realize how shitty a move that really is.

The tears have stopped now and she leans back over the bed, placing her hands on his shoulders. She smells like flowers and sex and if he could get hard and pull her back into bed again he would, just to keep him company until the memories of short choppy blonde hair and a swollen belly fade away.

She has to get away before those eyes start changing colors and the scent of sandalwood and jasmine catches up to her. She's touched that dark hair once too much, she's realized, and now she's burnt herself.

"It's a defense mechanism," she apologizes as she kisses his forehead slightly and then pulls back away, collecting her clutch and leaving the room in silence. He leans his hand into his hands and cries, left alone with only his memory and a warm spot on the bed.

Re: Mamihlapinatapei

Date: 2013-03-20 10:20 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Uh-oh I didn't add the prompt title part.

Mamihlapinatapei: What happens in Room 1506 stays in Room 1506

Damn anon status making it impossible to edit.

Re: Mamihlapinatapei

Date: 2013-03-20 10:23 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Sex scenes that hot should not be that sad, anon!! Also this in now a new OTP, thank you for that lol

Re: Mamihlapinatapei

Date: 2013-03-21 01:53 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
It started out so hot, so tantalizing, and then *my heart*

In this context, these two make a lot of sense together
From: (Anonymous)

"Sshhhh." Mia hissed has she pushed Gar down onto the chair falling to her knees and crawling under the desk as she swiveled Gar around.

"Oliver is going to walk in any minute."

Mia shushed him again but she was giggling and trailing her fingers up his thigh. "Do you think you can be quiet?"

Gar glared down at her and Mia laughed again leaning her head closer to the crotch of his pants. "You can't tell me to be quiet if you're going to keep laughing."

The door to the office flung open and Gar's head shot up so fast he hurt his neck.

"Where's Mia?" Ollie asked looking around.

Gar bit the inside of his mouth when he felt Mia's fingers snake past his pants and underneath his boxers. "She is-- She went to the bathroom." He said and Oliver nodded his head apparently accepting that answer.

"Alright. Can you tell her to hurry her butt up. We don't have all day." Gar pressed his lips together and nodded his head slowly trying to ignore the fact Mia had managed to unzip his pants for better access. "Thanks"

When the door clicked closed Gar sighed with relief. Unfortunately Mia pushed the chair away and moved from her spot under the desk.

"I guess we have to go now!" She said making her way to the door like she hadn't been doing what she had just been doing. "C'mon. You heard him. Hurry your butt up." She smirked at Gar and rolled her eyes when he gave her a pout. "Aw, don't give me that sad puppy look. It doesn't work on me."

Gar managed to take hold of Mia's hand when she reached down to pat his face and pushed so she was sitting down on the desk. "I just don't want to leave until we're on the same page." He said running his fingers up her thigh pushing her skirt up with them.
From: (Anonymous)
heh heh perfect Gar and Mia, especially all the teasing!

What happens at Carr stays at Carr [Clark/Ollie]

Date: 2013-03-21 04:40 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Ollie first kisses Clark because he mistakes Clark for his dog. It's not that he's in the habit of frenching Lola, but when Clark shores up in Ollie's bed like he does sometimes, after long hazy nights of boozing and partying, Ollie snuggles up with him instinctively. Like he does at home with Lola when she hops in his bed in the middle of the night.

But when it's a six-foot-something dude in your bed with you and you start petting on him, it's not that much like your dog anymore, to stretch the overworked analogy even thinner. Suffice it to say that warm body reacts to warm body, and Ollie ends up kissing Clark until they're both fully awake.

"Oh, shit...Ollie, man, I musta got in the wrong bed! Sorrrrry." Clark laughs in the darkness of the room. It's still early morning, when nothing's light yet and everything seems half-real, and that's why Ollie murmurs, "S'okay, man," and presses his mouth against Clark's again. Before he knows it his fist is clenching in the front of Clark's t-shirt, fingers bunching into the neckline where it's slightly damp from sleep, and Ollie can't resist snuffling down into that fabric and the warmth of Clark's skin, slightly oily and remarkably smooth. He smells like rye and ginger, the Thursday night special at the pub. He tastes like it too. Ollie pushes up closer against Clark, which is roughly like snuggling a Volkswagen Beetle that's covered in moleskin. Or something to that effect.

What's peculiar (or maybe not, because this magic early morning hour is catching) is that Clark is making no move to leave. Instead, he rubs his cheek against Ollie's close-cropped, brushy hair and makes a noise of pleasure, one hand heavy on Ollie's arm. And before Ollie can do much else, Clark is reaching down between them, rubbing his knuckles along Ollie's cock and then pushing his hand into the cutoff sweats that Ollie sleeps in. Clark's eyelids are half-mast, the blue of them barely visible in this low light, but Ollie can see his mouth just fine and the way Clark's tongue is only slightly poking the corner makes him suddenly prickly-hot all over.

It's just the two of them here, Ollie reasons, and. And, well, what the fuck ever. Not like either of them is likely to go blabbing about this.

So he shifts more firmly against Clark, those sleepy but strong fingers, until both of them are hard and pressed into each other, grinding their hips to get the perfect angle and pressure and pace, Clark in long measured strokes and Ollie more a fast-fast-slooow-FAST kinda guy. Clark has one hand twisted in the waist of Ollie's sweats and the other viced around his bicep, holding him in place, and Ollie groans and growls and sucks and bites his way up and down Clark's throat like he's in heat.

Ollie comes first, tension draining abruptly out of him. He loops his arms around Clark to pull him in harder, arch against his thrusts, lick hot drowsy dirty words of encouragement against Clark's ear. Clark's hands tighten and he goes rigid, grabbing Ollie up and rolling over with him until the shuddering climax subsides and they're both panting for breath and half-trailing limbs off Ollie's too-small-for-two-jacked-guys bed.

It takes a minute or two for Ollie's heart to stop racing, and the room's looking lighter already, morning sun threatening to take it over and make all of this way too real. "Hey, Clark," he says, voice feeling sticky and rough in his throat. Clark makes a little sound, which is then followed by the longest contentedest snort Ollie's ever heard.

Grinning, Ollie tugs half the pillow from him and falls dreamlessly asleep.
From: (Anonymous)
From: (Anonymous)
Any mentor and sidekick characters, but in the Star Wars universe as a Jedi Master and his/her Apprentice! I don't care if it's platonic or not, but hurt/comfort or fluff preferred!

Stuck, Damian + Kate

Date: 2013-03-20 11:24 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

The voice is low but soft, sliding past the tall red flares of pain in his head, soothing them as it goes. It's enough to urge Damain to try opening his eyes, past the blood sealing them shut, but a warm dry hand covers his aching eyelids. "Don't yet," he hears that voice say, and then she's licking the blood from his eyelashes. Of course. They have no water, out here in the Jesart Desert.

His eyelids tear open almost of their own accord, with the haste that got him captured and tortured by Separatist forces in the first place. It's Master Spencer, of course, who is tending to him, and she moves back to regard him with her impassive gaze, crouched easily on her haunches. Damian has never seen any being with the threatening grace that Master Spencer possesses. It is only one of the reasons he works so hard to impress her.

The other reason...remains his own secret, locked into his heart and seared into memory.

There's blood on Master Spencer's lips and Damian shudders. "How long?" he asks, and she doesn't lie to him. "Two weeks since Zhellday."

"I've missed my birthday," Damian blurts and is instantly appalled. What does that matter at this point, here in this tweare skin shelter, with bruises singing pain across his flesh every time he breathes?

Master Spencer smiles, though, the curve of her reddened mouth almost lovely. "So you have, Padawan. But you should know by now that a Jedi is always prepared for the important observances." She reaches inside the intricate bandagework of her clothing, under her Jedi robe, and extracts a carved clip the length of her small finger, handing it to Damian without any other preamble.

He can't sit up yet, but Damian twists himself for more light as he examines the clip, fingers clenching it tightly so they don't shake. His vision is still reddened, blurry, but he doesn't need his vision right now. The memory of this clip against long, sinuous, fragrant dark hair is one he has never lost. Not in all these years.

The clip slips from his fingers, but Master Spencer catches it easily, moving close again to slide the clip securely onto his own tunic. "I am glad," she says, "to have you with me for another year, Damian." Her lip tremors, or perhaps it does not. It doesn't matter. Damian's blood streaks her words with truth, and he will never forget them.

Re: Stuck, Damian + Kate

Date: 2013-03-21 01:31 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I would never have imagined this, and I love it so! Jedi Master Kate, YES

Re: Stuck, Damian + Kate

Date: 2013-03-21 02:56 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
OP of the prompt here. This was great, I could totally see them both as Jedi! Thank you!

Re: Stuck, Damian + Kate

Date: 2013-03-21 08:33 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

Re: Stuck, Damian + Kate

Date: 2013-03-22 12:34 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

Date: 2013-03-20 10:07 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Songfic time!

Any one of the rich boys based on the lyrics here -

Date: 2013-03-20 10:49 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Cassandra has synesthesia and it keeps her from being able to quickly learn English

i want some descriptive flowery language and attention to linguistic details, if possible

Sexual Education

Date: 2013-03-20 11:58 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
The kids at the Tower School are now about Middle School aged and it's time for Sexual Education. Taught by whoever you think would be the funniest and most awkward person who you think could teach it. Either because the inappropriateness level, they're just out of their element, or are just very awkward.

It's up to you. But I want some hilarious times to happen.

Batfamily with Damian as a Dog!!!

Date: 2013-03-21 04:12 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
so idk how it happens but somehow Damian's a dog??? and teh batfam have to take care of him?? maybe a small scene with all the family or just one with one i'm not picky just omg Damian as a dog so cute!!!!!

No Best Friend of Mine, Bruce + Damian

Date: 2013-03-21 11:02 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Bruce and Talia get a dog.

"If I ever hear you refer to him as our 'furkid' I will leave him in the nearest ravine," Bruce intones direly as Talia hugs and strokes the collie. She kisses the top of its head.

"We shall call him Damian, and he will sleep on our bed," Talia declares as if she hadn't even heard him. Bruce harrumphs.

"On the bench at the foot of the bed," he clarifies. Talia makes an impressed noise as the dog lifts its paw to shake her hand. "I will put a special blanket on the bed for him," she continues, and Bruce finally says, "...he'll stay outside when we make love?"

Talia looks away from the dog for a half-second, only long enough to roll her eyes at him, before going back to cozzening and canoodling their new pet-slash-interloper. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd say Damian looked triumphant.

++ == ++

Mealtimes are especially aggravating. Bruce tries to set some ground rules - the dog can only eat in the mudroom, from his own dishes, and only at his own feeding times in the morning and evening. But by the end of the week, Damian is sitting on a chair next to Talia as she converses with it with more animation and interest than she's ever shown when he talks about creating a more inert char on Nomex or deferment of capital gains taxes.

"I believe I've found a way to make our decel cords indestructible except for a compound that only we will know the chemical composition of," Bruce attempts. Talia makes a kissing noise at Damian and feeds him a morsel of tagine lamb.

"Last night I thoroughly disobeyed the laws of thermonuclear dynamics," he says two mornings after. "How nice," Talia says while Damian puts his sleek head into her lap and eats morsels of bacon that she selects for him.

"I'm ready to try that scenario that you mentioned on our wedding night," Bruce says desperately near the end of the week. Alfred brings out a silver platter with specially-shaped pate treats on it, and watches with obvious pleasure when Talia claps in delight and feeds them to Damian one by one.

Bruce gives Alfred a dirty look as the man passes him on the way back to the kitchen. "Really, Master Bruce," Alfred sniffs. "This is even more childish than the time you became jealous of the walk-in cold pantry."

Damian woofs under the table, and the other two laugh gaily. Bruce clenches his fists.

++ == ++

Clark and Oliver have, separately, informed Bruce that he will warm to the dog unexpectedly at some point. They both said this while holding their own human babies, Oliver dandling his daughter on his knee and Clark circulating the triplets along his crooked elbows, both with the same indulgent sound to their voices and warm, amused smiles.

Bruce is starting to despairingly think that perhaps having a human baby would have been better than getting the dog.

He avoids it, which is ridiculous, and he feels ridiculous creeping past a doorway and seeing Damian lift his pretty, long-nosed head, looking towards the door with clear-eyed alertness. Bruce's one tiny victory in all this is that Talia soon found she didn't like the feel of a heavy dog on her feet at night, so now Damian sleeps on the foot bench. On his special blanket. Laughing.

This is reaching absurd proportions, Bruce tells himself as he practically runs down the stairs into the cave. Get it together, man. Stop projecting all of these feelings onto a mindless animal-

Damian is standing in the cave, wagging his feathery tail and looking at Bruce.

"How did you get in here," Bruce asks, so horrified that he can't even inflect his sentence. Damian instantly turns and leads Bruce on a merry trail through fissures and crags that it takes all Bruce's contortion training to get through. They reach a shallow, wide underground stream at one point and Damian pauses to make sure Bruce is following before grimly trotting through the freezing water. Bruce stares after him and then at the stream. Damian had been dry, in the cave. He had probably leapt nimbly from stone to stone to cross the stream; Bruce has seen Damian do it with Talia on walks. But now, in front of Bruce's eyes, he marched through the cold water.

When they emerge from a crooked opening obscured by a drooping exposed tree root, man and dog look at each other for a long, long moment. Damian holds his tail straight and erect, his wet nose quivering.

"Do you enjoy strawberries?" Bruce says eventually. The dog's tail wags.

Re: No Best Friend of Mine, Bruce + Damian

Date: 2013-03-22 12:29 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
SO CUTE, and omg the triplets!

Re: No Best Friend of Mine, Bruce + Damian

Date: 2013-03-22 03:02 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
adorable!!! OP here and i love it! Damian as a dog is perfect and adorable and wonderful and puppyyyyyyy! and AHAHAHAHA poor Bruce!

Titans Tower Party

Date: 2013-03-21 05:19 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
What about Titans verses Titans Beer Pong tournament! You can use any Titans former or current, it's up to you.



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