Post to help me organize myself...
This is just a post with all those 'prompt me' challenges I issued last month. I rather liked the way some of them turned out, so I put them all in one post to avoid having to click on 'thread' each time. Sorry for those who didn't get into the first fifteen! I didn't think it'd be this popular. I might try it again one day, when I'm not overwhelmed with stuff (so, some time in the next eighteen years, for sure...)
For bandit_genrou, prompt: CrowlyxAziraphale, "Well, there's nothing like a good book burning..."
"I'm moving to England," Aziraphale declared, as unhappy as a wet hen in a downpour.
"Why?" Crowley watched a burst of flame from the bonfire of books arc up clear to the rafters around the plaza. It was kind of pretty against the night sky. "I thought you liked Germany."
"Not anymore."
"They invented the printing press." Crowley knew that scored ten thousand points on Aziraphale's personal score board. The angel had stayed ensconced in the Rhine valley for over a hundred years, all the way to the late 1500s, letting the whole messy Lutheran revolution thing wash around him unheeded as he happily trebled his collection of illuminated manuscripts with printed additions.
"How about France?" Crowley said, wiping some ash off his nose. "I hear the cooking's a lot better than-"
"Paris. 1790. When they abolished the church. Burnt all my first edition bibles."
Oh yeah. There'd been a time when Aziraphale had bookstores all over Europe, but over the centuries, humans had...well, acted like humans. Crowley wished he could take credit for it; for this bonfire illuminating the sky in Mainz in 1937 and all the other fires before that. But the really sad - and almost frightening - thing was that he and his side hadn't had all that much to do with it at all.
"I don't see why you think England will be any better," he eventually said, as the crowd around the bonfire hooted and laughed and sang really boring songs with a lot of thumping refrains. "They were burning books in Manchester just the other day."
"The other day?"
"Other century. Luddites. They were burning manuals on physics and engineering- it was only a hundred and twenty years ago." When one had been around as long as the pair of them had, that really was the other day.
There was nothing but a mournful silence for answer.
"Okay, England." There was no doubt that Crowley would be moving that way soon as well. After all, he and Aziraphale were enemies, Crowley had to keep an eye on him and make sure his opposite number did nothing more ominous than found yet another bookstore where a demon could cage a good meal, a warm, comfy bed and acceptable company during those dull decades where the humans stopped thumping on each other.
Aziraphale sighed dolefully as some enthusiastic kid, who aught to be in school getting his hide tanned by his teacher, dumped another load of books onto the fire. Crowley stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and decided not to wait too long before admitting to the angel that he'd done something underhand and devious and illegal, stealing all of Aziraphale's priceless books on the cabala and Jewish history right out of the crates the enthusiastic crowd were hauling, and replacing them with five thousand copies of Mein Kampf (he'd be denouncing the whole lot of them to the Reich's police in the morning, or maybe even the recently formed Schutzstaffel who were a whole lot worse, because that was full of evil irony and that's what Crowley did).
---
For sasori_katana, LuccixKaku, prompt: "Blood clot"
The doctor told them they were consigned to bed rest for the next three days, no strenuous effort whatsoever, and by the way, considering their injuries and what was left of Enies Lobby, they were lucky to be alive.
Lucci gave the man a stare soaked in the blood of ten thousand murders, and the doctor didn't depart so much as gallop out of the room. Kaku closed the door and wedged a chair beneath the handle before limping back to Lucci's bed.
The two of them had been non-existent since the age of thirteen, records removed, all trace of their passage erased, their actions always deniable by their government. And so much killing...It took very little to make a dead body out of a live one, they both knew that.
So what followed wasn't pretty, and it was certainly not what the doctor had in mind when he mentioned 'bed rest'. It was raw and crude; blood trickled from beneath bandages as barely closed rips in flesh were torn open again. It was painful and smelled of copper and chopped meat, but it was the proof, black on white - or red on white sheets - that they were, in fact, still alive.
---
For vampyreranger, GaaraxLee, prompt: "Leather"
It was funny - the fleeting thought a result of the last firing of Lee's neurones before the whole set shut down under the effect of massive blood flow redirection to other parts of the body - it was funny how Gaara was exciting to look at dressed, and even more exciting to look at naked, but-
Gaara unbuckled his belt and slipped the dark leather of his coat from shoulders the color of pale sand.
- but watching Gaara undress was- was- guh.
---
For tucuxi, Kaku, prompt: someone stealing his hat as a kid.
Every section of the World Government forces - Marines, Cipher Pol, infantry - had special schools where the best of their young pupils were taught high level combat training and, for some, the basis of a martial arts form called Rokushiki. The best of the best were sent to the academy on Enies Lobby to learn the more advanced forms, if they could.
This put teenagers from very different milieus and academies, all used to being the best of their respective schools, into a small, closed group with the knowledge that only the top five of them would still be here after six months. Needless to say, establishing the pecking order was going to be murder, and started right there in the dorm on the very first day, the instant the teacher had his back turned.
It was also needless to say who the first victim would be; whoever had sent that kid to Enies Lobby must have been mental. He was at least two years younger than all the other candidates, no more than twelve, smallish, and he just looked...ugh, he looked cute. Big wide eyes, silly long nose, adorable sandy curls peeking from beneath a too-large cap...this kid was dead meat, and it was only a matter of who would be quick enough to pick on him first.
"Hey, kid. Nice hat." One of the bigger predators was already closing in. Others ringed the victim, ready to challenge for the rights to be big dog, or falling to heel behind one of the likely contenders for protection and to avoid winding up in the infirmary like this pitiful kid.
The resulting fracas ended in three broken fingers, a few wrenched arms, a cracked skull and a couple of early drop-outs from the program.
The kid put his cap back on and said, oddly formal but with a genial smile. "Yes, it is a nice hat, and it's mine, thank you."
Nobody looked ready to contest that anymore.
Out of sight, the teacher found the kid's name on a list and wrote 'CP9' next to it.
---
For jame_alec, UsoppxLuffy, prompt: anything sexual!
Luffy was strong. The smoking remnants of the World Government's stronghold could attest to that. Luffy had drive, determination, he had stamina that had out-endured a god, he could bend in all sorts of interesting directions and do amazing things with that rubber body of his, and he'd really, really missed Usopp, dammit.
Usopp stared at the brand-new ceiling of the Thousand Sunny and made sure, for the third time that night, that he was indeed still alive.
"Hmmmm..." Luffy uncurled himself from his impossible tangle of limbs, yawned widely, and then his eyes popped open with an enthusiastic 'plink!' that could be heard all over the ship. "Want to do that last thing again?!"
Yup, still alive, but probably not for long.
---
For melisandre013, SanjixZoro, prompt: Farmhouse
The day's first argument was well under way. The cutting, disgusted edge to Sanji's voice put it pretty high on the scale of such things (it was only ten in the morning, so that was to be expected; the arguments tended to heat up, get louder and yet somehow less bad as the day progressed until it ended up with a - coughcough - fight in the storeroom some time around midnight when the two idiots thought the rest of the crew was asleep).
"-out of my kitchen once and for all, you have the manners of an ill-bred farmhand- fuck, that's an insult to farmhands everywhere, you have the manners of a shitty pig. You certainly eat my food with the appreciation of one."
"You done, dumbass?"
"Far from it, shithead. Why, you want the rest of the barnyard? You've got the ego of a fucking rooster, you swill liquor like a goat, you've got the brains and carriage of an ox, and- and-"
"And I fuck like a stallion, I know," Zoro sneered as he uncorked the bottle he'd filched, standing right there by the open kitchen door.
The argument heated up way before schedule. Out on deck, Nami idly lifted the chalkboard listing the day's chores, turned it over and put a score mark in the 'Zoro' box. "That puts him back in the lead. So Chopper's still on track to win this week's pool," she announced, and then went to check on the helm.
---
For dethorats, Kalifa, prompt: thoughts on Miss All-Sunday's wardrobe
Breep breep breep-click.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Talk."
"Ah, good evening, Lucci."
"Have you made contact with the suspect?"
"Yes, finally. It took a lot of work, but my cover as a weapons dealer got me into a meeting with the vice president of this Baroque Works today. I was able to play the 'woman to woman' card to arrange to meet her face to face without going through a middleman. But I'm afraid I couldn't ascertain if this Miss All Sunday was the target we are looking for."
"What is this person like?"
"Intelligent, I guess. Most certainly intelligent, yes. Charming, though in a rather grating way."
"Have you been able to get her to reveal any clue as to her identity?"
"No, sir, but then again, Baroque Works seem to cultivate paranoia to a fine art even within the ranks of the organisation. Hence these ridiculous code names. Why any self-respecting woman should accept to be named after a frivolous holiday when her male counterpart-"
"I fail to care. Is there anything else you can give me on this All Sunday? We have to leave for Water Seven within the week, if this is a valid lead we need to follow it now."
"I'm afraid I don't have much more, sir. We only had the one meeting. This woman is smart and cautious. Doesn't seem to like the government much - but then again, she is the vice-president of a criminal organisation. She speaks like someone who has a good education, but when I dangled a little snippet of information about ponyglyphs, she showed absolutely no interest."
"I see. And physically?"
"Oh, she's good looking, definitely, and does she ever know it, but she dresses like a tart. Skirt slit right up the side, with thigh-high boots. No class."
"..."
"Sir? Hello-"
"Kalifa."
"Yes?"
"In the future, keep such trivial assessments to yourself. Does she resemble Nico Robin?"
"Oh. Sorry, sir. Yes, she does, but the only ID we have of Nico Robin is fifteen years old, so I'm not sure we can rely on that."
"I see. Very well, come back to Enies Lobby. We don't have the time to dig her out of her organisation on such slim grounds."
"Yes sir. Ah, Lucci..."
"What?"
"This Baroque Works. I investigated them along with All Sunday. The bounty hunting is definitely a front to smuggling, contract killings and such, but....it seems they have grander aims than that. I think they might be planning a coup in Alabasta. Fostering dissent, arming the rebels, pitting them against the army. Hundreds of thousands of people could potentially be involved. Possibly assassination of the royal family; they have the people to do it."
"So?"
"...Shouldn't we intervene?"
"We have no orders to that effect. One of the other Cipher Pol agencies can handle that, assuming they can follow up on your leads without exposing your cover. The secrecy surrounding CP9 is important to our government, probably more important than some small country whose main export is sand and camels. Put it in your report if it makes you feel better, but I want you back here in forty-eight hours. We have a train to catch."
"Yes sir."
Click.
---
For keiko_kichi, GaaraxLee, prompt: betrayal.
Lee isn't particularly handsome. Gaara knows this, though his grasp of aesthetics is dodgy and he doesn't really care either way. Lee is a dedicated Shinobi, but most people Gaara knows are dedicated. Lee is not the brightest person of Gaara's acquaintance, or the strongest, and he's not the one who understands Gaara the most; that distinction would belong to Naruto.
Gaara watches Lee and tries to analyze the feeling between them, as he does most nights when Lee sleeps and Gaara doesn't. His contemplations have yet to produce any valid results. Love is like a butterfly; catch it and dissect it, and the beautiful fluttery thing turns into a chopped bug and no more. Yet still Gaara pokes and prods the feeling, trying to corner it. He can't seem to help himself.
Why does he feel this way towards Lee? Is it because he knows Lee would never betray him?
Like a cloud passing over the moon, the memory returns; also a nightly occurrence. As a child, Gaara had always been unstable and wild, but it was the betrayal that turned him into a monster. Scarred his soul the way the Sand scarred his forehead. Naruto dragged him out of the darkness, but it's still there in Gaara's core and a second betrayal would send him plunging again.
But he knows Lee wouldn't betray him, simply because Lee would be so very, very bad at it. Lee could never pretend to love him, pretend to be his friend and secretly let hate gather like poison in a wound. The very thought is an antithesis of Lee's nature.
Gaara pokes and prods the butterfly. And realizes that no, once again he's failed to capture the essence of the feeling between himself and this sleeping man. Lee wouldn't betray him, but that's not why Gaara loves him. It just makes it safe for him to do so.
---
For priestess123, IruKakaGai, prompt: Strength training
When Konoha learned that the three of them had gotten together, there wasn't so much as an eyebrow raised in the entire village. After all, ninja led rather unusual lifestyles from day one, and the concept of 'normal' was best left to civilians. As for Kakashi and Gai falling into bed, that wasn't a surprise to anyone; hell, there'd been a pool running on when they'd get together since they were both sixteen and challenging each other every two weeks. But that they'd shacked up with Iruka...well, Konoha as a whole thought that was odd. Kakashi and Gai were equals, seasoned Jounin and amongst the five strongest in the village, that was a good alliance by Shinobi standards, but Iruka...he was a Chuunin, nowhere near their level, and not even a field man, just a teacher. Bit of a disparity there, some said.
It was also odd how Kakashi and Gai's challenges didn't abate despite them getting it on; indeed, they spent most of their free time either training intensely or battling each other with more fervour (at least on Kakashi's part) than ever before.
Finally, Jiraiya decided to get to the bottom of this (and hopefully collect scrumptious details for his next Icha Icha series, 'The Gay Volumes'). It took an order from a Sannin, a chummy evening and a surprising number of bottles of sake before Iruka was pickled enough to spill the beans.
"It's because of our arrangement," Iruka said, negotiating his way around the word 'arrangement' like someone who'd had a good deal too much to drink but was too much of a teacher to slur.
"Ah? And what's that? Here, have some more."
"Thanksh- thanks. Yes, it all works out for the best," said Iruka with the solemnity of the truly toasted. "They get a lot of good training out of it, and there's a lot less argument now that whoever wins gets to be in the middle and top the other. And they're both too tired to bitch about me getting them both. Shay, this is good, are you shure it's not too strong?"
The next morning, once Jiraiya spread the word after a reasonable six hours of keeping his promise to not tell anyone, ever, Konoha got a collective realignment of their estimation of the get-together, as well as a reminder that in ninja terms, strength was a relative concept.
---
For amatsubu, Gundam Wing, author's choice of prompt.
Wufei walked towards Heero as if a hail of bullets weren't spattering the wall a little over his head. Most of the shots were wild; the militia on the other side of the no man's land didn't have much formal training. Just numbers and a whole lot of guns.
"Has the commander changed his mind?" Heero asked without looking up from where he was reassembling his own weapon after a quick clean; Pilot 01's version of twiddling his fingers.
"No. Commander Dickson is still persuaded that a squadron of Preventers should do the job, rather than two teenage ex-terrorists who are inexplicably wearing the same uniform."
Heero checked his magazine. "Is his squadron still pinned by enemy fire?"
"Yes. And running out of ammo. I've offered to do something about that."
Heero glanced up, the motion of his fingers momentarily arrested. "Oh?"
"I think Commander Dickson believed I was offering to go back to where we left the trucks and bring back as many belts of rounds as I could carry."
"But the trucks are three miles away," Heero said, calmly racking the magazine and standing up.
"While our enemy is only a few hundred meters," Wufei said just as calmly, unholstering his own weapon. "Seems reasonable to go get the ammunition from them."
"Let's do it."
---
For you_create, GaaraxLee, prompt: Drive You Home, by Garbage
Gaara avoids being alone with Lee, and rarely talks to him about anything other than the diplomatic business that brings the Leaf Jounin to Suna. Despite three years of this treatment, Lee tries with unremitting cheer to be friendly without the least sign of discouragement, but then again that's just Lee. Gaara is never rude, tries not to be hurtful, keeps his distance.
When Lee returns to his lodgings, or even when he takes the three-day hike back to Konoha, Gaara follows him, the power of Shukaku roiled around him like a cloak of darkness, keeping him hidden in shadows beyond Lee's perception. It's a somewhat pointless gesture, since Lee will go on missions for Konoha as soon as Gaara returns to his own duties, but the Kazekage can't seem to help himself. Lee is something precious to him; Gaara will do his best to make sure he gets home safely and protect him from the dangerous things out there.
Including Gaara.
---
For red_rahl, GaaraxLee, prompt: sand sex at the beach
Gaara thinks he loves the ocean. It's so big his feelings can't fully encompass it, but he does believe he loves that immensity, that calm, passive power, so deep it's drowned the moon in its water, so great it's broken up the starlight and washed it onto the beach in waves. Gaara feels tiny, insignificant besides it, he feels powerless, and all these are very unusual but rather nice feelings for the bearer of Shukaku.
"Lee," Gaara said, without glancing away from the play of moonlight on waves, "get out of the water, it's freezing. If you're having a hard time getting rid of that sand, just tell me and I'll deal with it."
There's a small embarrassed 'Yeep!" and the sound of hasty thrashing around in the water. Gaara, who can't swim, goes back to his contemplation while his lover tries once more to clean up (sex at the beach wasn't all it'd been made out to be).
---
For sesshiyuki, Gaara and Lee, prompt: ghosts, in connection to Gaara's gourd.
The fundamental nature of ghosts is that someone is still there, still cares strongly enough to defy death itself.
After Naruto shattered all of Gaara's beliefs with one punch, he took that one, too. Gaara spent the night staring at his gourd. This...wasn't his mother; her spirit wasn't what had protected him all this time. Maybe she'd imbued the Sand with some of her hate for the village, some will to protect the living vengeance she'd left behind, but it wasn't her. What had moved the Sand since was loneliness and fear and hate, it was Gaara himself.
Gaara stared at the gourd and forced himself to realize there was nothing in there but sand and a shitload of chakra. Nothing haunted it but the past.
Gaara would have preferred a ghost.
---
For dragonsrose4, GaaraxShino, prompt: "I know what it's like to be a container"
Shino runs his hands over Gaara's unblemished skin and feels ugly, alien chakra patterns run beneath it. Shino doesn't mind, is used to skittering under the skin, but as he caresses a smooth back with no scars or holes, he wishes his lover had openings in his flesh like he does, to let it out. It wouldn't be so bad if, from time to time, Gaara could let it out...
---
For jordi124, GaaraxLee, prompt: Fairy (which I totally mangled)
"Fairies are great! They're cute, they flit around giving people good advice and- and- fixing shoes and- and leading lost travelers back to the road and making flowers bloom and- Gaara, please let him go, it will have all sorts of consequences if you kill an envoy, even from Mist. Um, I mean, any envoy, really."
Fortunately for the Mist ninja currently pinned to the wall by a crushing wave of sand, Gaara hadn't truly understood why the man's taunt to Lee - 'oh, you're the Konoha fairy who hangs around Suna, right?' - had been an insult; Gaara had only reacted to the tone. That being said, he really hadn't liked the tone, and had reacted predictably for one who was fairly new at love and all the messy, protective instincts that went with it.
It took another two minutes of Lee talking very fast and being very persuasive for Gaara to let go of the envoy, who appeared to have changed his mind about being scathing and insulting in underhand ways and attacking and embarrassing the Kazekage through his dubious choice of boyfriends.
For bandit_genrou, prompt: CrowlyxAziraphale, "Well, there's nothing like a good book burning..."
"I'm moving to England," Aziraphale declared, as unhappy as a wet hen in a downpour.
"Why?" Crowley watched a burst of flame from the bonfire of books arc up clear to the rafters around the plaza. It was kind of pretty against the night sky. "I thought you liked Germany."
"Not anymore."
"They invented the printing press." Crowley knew that scored ten thousand points on Aziraphale's personal score board. The angel had stayed ensconced in the Rhine valley for over a hundred years, all the way to the late 1500s, letting the whole messy Lutheran revolution thing wash around him unheeded as he happily trebled his collection of illuminated manuscripts with printed additions.
"How about France?" Crowley said, wiping some ash off his nose. "I hear the cooking's a lot better than-"
"Paris. 1790. When they abolished the church. Burnt all my first edition bibles."
Oh yeah. There'd been a time when Aziraphale had bookstores all over Europe, but over the centuries, humans had...well, acted like humans. Crowley wished he could take credit for it; for this bonfire illuminating the sky in Mainz in 1937 and all the other fires before that. But the really sad - and almost frightening - thing was that he and his side hadn't had all that much to do with it at all.
"I don't see why you think England will be any better," he eventually said, as the crowd around the bonfire hooted and laughed and sang really boring songs with a lot of thumping refrains. "They were burning books in Manchester just the other day."
"The other day?"
"Other century. Luddites. They were burning manuals on physics and engineering- it was only a hundred and twenty years ago." When one had been around as long as the pair of them had, that really was the other day.
There was nothing but a mournful silence for answer.
"Okay, England." There was no doubt that Crowley would be moving that way soon as well. After all, he and Aziraphale were enemies, Crowley had to keep an eye on him and make sure his opposite number did nothing more ominous than found yet another bookstore where a demon could cage a good meal, a warm, comfy bed and acceptable company during those dull decades where the humans stopped thumping on each other.
Aziraphale sighed dolefully as some enthusiastic kid, who aught to be in school getting his hide tanned by his teacher, dumped another load of books onto the fire. Crowley stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and decided not to wait too long before admitting to the angel that he'd done something underhand and devious and illegal, stealing all of Aziraphale's priceless books on the cabala and Jewish history right out of the crates the enthusiastic crowd were hauling, and replacing them with five thousand copies of Mein Kampf (he'd be denouncing the whole lot of them to the Reich's police in the morning, or maybe even the recently formed Schutzstaffel who were a whole lot worse, because that was full of evil irony and that's what Crowley did).
---
For sasori_katana, LuccixKaku, prompt: "Blood clot"
The doctor told them they were consigned to bed rest for the next three days, no strenuous effort whatsoever, and by the way, considering their injuries and what was left of Enies Lobby, they were lucky to be alive.
Lucci gave the man a stare soaked in the blood of ten thousand murders, and the doctor didn't depart so much as gallop out of the room. Kaku closed the door and wedged a chair beneath the handle before limping back to Lucci's bed.
The two of them had been non-existent since the age of thirteen, records removed, all trace of their passage erased, their actions always deniable by their government. And so much killing...It took very little to make a dead body out of a live one, they both knew that.
So what followed wasn't pretty, and it was certainly not what the doctor had in mind when he mentioned 'bed rest'. It was raw and crude; blood trickled from beneath bandages as barely closed rips in flesh were torn open again. It was painful and smelled of copper and chopped meat, but it was the proof, black on white - or red on white sheets - that they were, in fact, still alive.
---
For vampyreranger, GaaraxLee, prompt: "Leather"
It was funny - the fleeting thought a result of the last firing of Lee's neurones before the whole set shut down under the effect of massive blood flow redirection to other parts of the body - it was funny how Gaara was exciting to look at dressed, and even more exciting to look at naked, but-
Gaara unbuckled his belt and slipped the dark leather of his coat from shoulders the color of pale sand.
- but watching Gaara undress was- was- guh.
---
For tucuxi, Kaku, prompt: someone stealing his hat as a kid.
Every section of the World Government forces - Marines, Cipher Pol, infantry - had special schools where the best of their young pupils were taught high level combat training and, for some, the basis of a martial arts form called Rokushiki. The best of the best were sent to the academy on Enies Lobby to learn the more advanced forms, if they could.
This put teenagers from very different milieus and academies, all used to being the best of their respective schools, into a small, closed group with the knowledge that only the top five of them would still be here after six months. Needless to say, establishing the pecking order was going to be murder, and started right there in the dorm on the very first day, the instant the teacher had his back turned.
It was also needless to say who the first victim would be; whoever had sent that kid to Enies Lobby must have been mental. He was at least two years younger than all the other candidates, no more than twelve, smallish, and he just looked...ugh, he looked cute. Big wide eyes, silly long nose, adorable sandy curls peeking from beneath a too-large cap...this kid was dead meat, and it was only a matter of who would be quick enough to pick on him first.
"Hey, kid. Nice hat." One of the bigger predators was already closing in. Others ringed the victim, ready to challenge for the rights to be big dog, or falling to heel behind one of the likely contenders for protection and to avoid winding up in the infirmary like this pitiful kid.
The resulting fracas ended in three broken fingers, a few wrenched arms, a cracked skull and a couple of early drop-outs from the program.
The kid put his cap back on and said, oddly formal but with a genial smile. "Yes, it is a nice hat, and it's mine, thank you."
Nobody looked ready to contest that anymore.
Out of sight, the teacher found the kid's name on a list and wrote 'CP9' next to it.
---
For jame_alec, UsoppxLuffy, prompt: anything sexual!
Luffy was strong. The smoking remnants of the World Government's stronghold could attest to that. Luffy had drive, determination, he had stamina that had out-endured a god, he could bend in all sorts of interesting directions and do amazing things with that rubber body of his, and he'd really, really missed Usopp, dammit.
Usopp stared at the brand-new ceiling of the Thousand Sunny and made sure, for the third time that night, that he was indeed still alive.
"Hmmmm..." Luffy uncurled himself from his impossible tangle of limbs, yawned widely, and then his eyes popped open with an enthusiastic 'plink!' that could be heard all over the ship. "Want to do that last thing again?!"
Yup, still alive, but probably not for long.
---
For melisandre013, SanjixZoro, prompt: Farmhouse
The day's first argument was well under way. The cutting, disgusted edge to Sanji's voice put it pretty high on the scale of such things (it was only ten in the morning, so that was to be expected; the arguments tended to heat up, get louder and yet somehow less bad as the day progressed until it ended up with a - coughcough - fight in the storeroom some time around midnight when the two idiots thought the rest of the crew was asleep).
"-out of my kitchen once and for all, you have the manners of an ill-bred farmhand- fuck, that's an insult to farmhands everywhere, you have the manners of a shitty pig. You certainly eat my food with the appreciation of one."
"You done, dumbass?"
"Far from it, shithead. Why, you want the rest of the barnyard? You've got the ego of a fucking rooster, you swill liquor like a goat, you've got the brains and carriage of an ox, and- and-"
"And I fuck like a stallion, I know," Zoro sneered as he uncorked the bottle he'd filched, standing right there by the open kitchen door.
The argument heated up way before schedule. Out on deck, Nami idly lifted the chalkboard listing the day's chores, turned it over and put a score mark in the 'Zoro' box. "That puts him back in the lead. So Chopper's still on track to win this week's pool," she announced, and then went to check on the helm.
---
For dethorats, Kalifa, prompt: thoughts on Miss All-Sunday's wardrobe
Breep breep breep-click.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Talk."
"Ah, good evening, Lucci."
"Have you made contact with the suspect?"
"Yes, finally. It took a lot of work, but my cover as a weapons dealer got me into a meeting with the vice president of this Baroque Works today. I was able to play the 'woman to woman' card to arrange to meet her face to face without going through a middleman. But I'm afraid I couldn't ascertain if this Miss All Sunday was the target we are looking for."
"What is this person like?"
"Intelligent, I guess. Most certainly intelligent, yes. Charming, though in a rather grating way."
"Have you been able to get her to reveal any clue as to her identity?"
"No, sir, but then again, Baroque Works seem to cultivate paranoia to a fine art even within the ranks of the organisation. Hence these ridiculous code names. Why any self-respecting woman should accept to be named after a frivolous holiday when her male counterpart-"
"I fail to care. Is there anything else you can give me on this All Sunday? We have to leave for Water Seven within the week, if this is a valid lead we need to follow it now."
"I'm afraid I don't have much more, sir. We only had the one meeting. This woman is smart and cautious. Doesn't seem to like the government much - but then again, she is the vice-president of a criminal organisation. She speaks like someone who has a good education, but when I dangled a little snippet of information about ponyglyphs, she showed absolutely no interest."
"I see. And physically?"
"Oh, she's good looking, definitely, and does she ever know it, but she dresses like a tart. Skirt slit right up the side, with thigh-high boots. No class."
"..."
"Sir? Hello-"
"Kalifa."
"Yes?"
"In the future, keep such trivial assessments to yourself. Does she resemble Nico Robin?"
"Oh. Sorry, sir. Yes, she does, but the only ID we have of Nico Robin is fifteen years old, so I'm not sure we can rely on that."
"I see. Very well, come back to Enies Lobby. We don't have the time to dig her out of her organisation on such slim grounds."
"Yes sir. Ah, Lucci..."
"What?"
"This Baroque Works. I investigated them along with All Sunday. The bounty hunting is definitely a front to smuggling, contract killings and such, but....it seems they have grander aims than that. I think they might be planning a coup in Alabasta. Fostering dissent, arming the rebels, pitting them against the army. Hundreds of thousands of people could potentially be involved. Possibly assassination of the royal family; they have the people to do it."
"So?"
"...Shouldn't we intervene?"
"We have no orders to that effect. One of the other Cipher Pol agencies can handle that, assuming they can follow up on your leads without exposing your cover. The secrecy surrounding CP9 is important to our government, probably more important than some small country whose main export is sand and camels. Put it in your report if it makes you feel better, but I want you back here in forty-eight hours. We have a train to catch."
"Yes sir."
Click.
---
For keiko_kichi, GaaraxLee, prompt: betrayal.
Lee isn't particularly handsome. Gaara knows this, though his grasp of aesthetics is dodgy and he doesn't really care either way. Lee is a dedicated Shinobi, but most people Gaara knows are dedicated. Lee is not the brightest person of Gaara's acquaintance, or the strongest, and he's not the one who understands Gaara the most; that distinction would belong to Naruto.
Gaara watches Lee and tries to analyze the feeling between them, as he does most nights when Lee sleeps and Gaara doesn't. His contemplations have yet to produce any valid results. Love is like a butterfly; catch it and dissect it, and the beautiful fluttery thing turns into a chopped bug and no more. Yet still Gaara pokes and prods the feeling, trying to corner it. He can't seem to help himself.
Why does he feel this way towards Lee? Is it because he knows Lee would never betray him?
Like a cloud passing over the moon, the memory returns; also a nightly occurrence. As a child, Gaara had always been unstable and wild, but it was the betrayal that turned him into a monster. Scarred his soul the way the Sand scarred his forehead. Naruto dragged him out of the darkness, but it's still there in Gaara's core and a second betrayal would send him plunging again.
But he knows Lee wouldn't betray him, simply because Lee would be so very, very bad at it. Lee could never pretend to love him, pretend to be his friend and secretly let hate gather like poison in a wound. The very thought is an antithesis of Lee's nature.
Gaara pokes and prods the butterfly. And realizes that no, once again he's failed to capture the essence of the feeling between himself and this sleeping man. Lee wouldn't betray him, but that's not why Gaara loves him. It just makes it safe for him to do so.
---
For priestess123, IruKakaGai, prompt: Strength training
When Konoha learned that the three of them had gotten together, there wasn't so much as an eyebrow raised in the entire village. After all, ninja led rather unusual lifestyles from day one, and the concept of 'normal' was best left to civilians. As for Kakashi and Gai falling into bed, that wasn't a surprise to anyone; hell, there'd been a pool running on when they'd get together since they were both sixteen and challenging each other every two weeks. But that they'd shacked up with Iruka...well, Konoha as a whole thought that was odd. Kakashi and Gai were equals, seasoned Jounin and amongst the five strongest in the village, that was a good alliance by Shinobi standards, but Iruka...he was a Chuunin, nowhere near their level, and not even a field man, just a teacher. Bit of a disparity there, some said.
It was also odd how Kakashi and Gai's challenges didn't abate despite them getting it on; indeed, they spent most of their free time either training intensely or battling each other with more fervour (at least on Kakashi's part) than ever before.
Finally, Jiraiya decided to get to the bottom of this (and hopefully collect scrumptious details for his next Icha Icha series, 'The Gay Volumes'). It took an order from a Sannin, a chummy evening and a surprising number of bottles of sake before Iruka was pickled enough to spill the beans.
"It's because of our arrangement," Iruka said, negotiating his way around the word 'arrangement' like someone who'd had a good deal too much to drink but was too much of a teacher to slur.
"Ah? And what's that? Here, have some more."
"Thanksh- thanks. Yes, it all works out for the best," said Iruka with the solemnity of the truly toasted. "They get a lot of good training out of it, and there's a lot less argument now that whoever wins gets to be in the middle and top the other. And they're both too tired to bitch about me getting them both. Shay, this is good, are you shure it's not too strong?"
The next morning, once Jiraiya spread the word after a reasonable six hours of keeping his promise to not tell anyone, ever, Konoha got a collective realignment of their estimation of the get-together, as well as a reminder that in ninja terms, strength was a relative concept.
---
For amatsubu, Gundam Wing, author's choice of prompt.
Wufei walked towards Heero as if a hail of bullets weren't spattering the wall a little over his head. Most of the shots were wild; the militia on the other side of the no man's land didn't have much formal training. Just numbers and a whole lot of guns.
"Has the commander changed his mind?" Heero asked without looking up from where he was reassembling his own weapon after a quick clean; Pilot 01's version of twiddling his fingers.
"No. Commander Dickson is still persuaded that a squadron of Preventers should do the job, rather than two teenage ex-terrorists who are inexplicably wearing the same uniform."
Heero checked his magazine. "Is his squadron still pinned by enemy fire?"
"Yes. And running out of ammo. I've offered to do something about that."
Heero glanced up, the motion of his fingers momentarily arrested. "Oh?"
"I think Commander Dickson believed I was offering to go back to where we left the trucks and bring back as many belts of rounds as I could carry."
"But the trucks are three miles away," Heero said, calmly racking the magazine and standing up.
"While our enemy is only a few hundred meters," Wufei said just as calmly, unholstering his own weapon. "Seems reasonable to go get the ammunition from them."
"Let's do it."
---
For you_create, GaaraxLee, prompt: Drive You Home, by Garbage
Gaara avoids being alone with Lee, and rarely talks to him about anything other than the diplomatic business that brings the Leaf Jounin to Suna. Despite three years of this treatment, Lee tries with unremitting cheer to be friendly without the least sign of discouragement, but then again that's just Lee. Gaara is never rude, tries not to be hurtful, keeps his distance.
When Lee returns to his lodgings, or even when he takes the three-day hike back to Konoha, Gaara follows him, the power of Shukaku roiled around him like a cloak of darkness, keeping him hidden in shadows beyond Lee's perception. It's a somewhat pointless gesture, since Lee will go on missions for Konoha as soon as Gaara returns to his own duties, but the Kazekage can't seem to help himself. Lee is something precious to him; Gaara will do his best to make sure he gets home safely and protect him from the dangerous things out there.
Including Gaara.
---
For red_rahl, GaaraxLee, prompt: sand sex at the beach
Gaara thinks he loves the ocean. It's so big his feelings can't fully encompass it, but he does believe he loves that immensity, that calm, passive power, so deep it's drowned the moon in its water, so great it's broken up the starlight and washed it onto the beach in waves. Gaara feels tiny, insignificant besides it, he feels powerless, and all these are very unusual but rather nice feelings for the bearer of Shukaku.
"Lee," Gaara said, without glancing away from the play of moonlight on waves, "get out of the water, it's freezing. If you're having a hard time getting rid of that sand, just tell me and I'll deal with it."
There's a small embarrassed 'Yeep!" and the sound of hasty thrashing around in the water. Gaara, who can't swim, goes back to his contemplation while his lover tries once more to clean up (sex at the beach wasn't all it'd been made out to be).
---
For sesshiyuki, Gaara and Lee, prompt: ghosts, in connection to Gaara's gourd.
The fundamental nature of ghosts is that someone is still there, still cares strongly enough to defy death itself.
After Naruto shattered all of Gaara's beliefs with one punch, he took that one, too. Gaara spent the night staring at his gourd. This...wasn't his mother; her spirit wasn't what had protected him all this time. Maybe she'd imbued the Sand with some of her hate for the village, some will to protect the living vengeance she'd left behind, but it wasn't her. What had moved the Sand since was loneliness and fear and hate, it was Gaara himself.
Gaara stared at the gourd and forced himself to realize there was nothing in there but sand and a shitload of chakra. Nothing haunted it but the past.
Gaara would have preferred a ghost.
---
For dragonsrose4, GaaraxShino, prompt: "I know what it's like to be a container"
Shino runs his hands over Gaara's unblemished skin and feels ugly, alien chakra patterns run beneath it. Shino doesn't mind, is used to skittering under the skin, but as he caresses a smooth back with no scars or holes, he wishes his lover had openings in his flesh like he does, to let it out. It wouldn't be so bad if, from time to time, Gaara could let it out...
---
For jordi124, GaaraxLee, prompt: Fairy (which I totally mangled)
"Fairies are great! They're cute, they flit around giving people good advice and- and- fixing shoes and- and leading lost travelers back to the road and making flowers bloom and- Gaara, please let him go, it will have all sorts of consequences if you kill an envoy, even from Mist. Um, I mean, any envoy, really."
Fortunately for the Mist ninja currently pinned to the wall by a crushing wave of sand, Gaara hadn't truly understood why the man's taunt to Lee - 'oh, you're the Konoha fairy who hangs around Suna, right?' - had been an insult; Gaara had only reacted to the tone. That being said, he really hadn't liked the tone, and had reacted predictably for one who was fairly new at love and all the messy, protective instincts that went with it.
It took another two minutes of Lee talking very fast and being very persuasive for Gaara to let go of the envoy, who appeared to have changed his mind about being scathing and insulting in underhand ways and attacking and embarrassing the Kazekage through his dubious choice of boyfriends.