Get me writing again!
The first TEN people to comment in this post get to request that I write a drabble of any pairing/character of their choosing. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their ability level. (Some other equivalent gift, like icons or mini-fanmixes or quickie meta, would make sense for people who don't write fic themselves
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He showed up six weeks ago, duffle slung over his shoulder, his little mutt, Skeeter, nipping at his heels. "Your mom says Erin's really sick," he says, and his eyes add, "And you look like shit, too."
There's coffee and toast every morning and a plate of dinner waiting for him every night when he comes home after visiting hours. It's man food: Kraft Mac&Cheese, tater-tots, chili, hamburgers, meatloaf, green beans, oven fried chicken.
Noah's little pants and shorts and shirts and socks are not neatly folded and put away, but they're stacked in clean piles, and Jason kind of likes folding them -- it's the sort of mindless chore that's comforting at a time like this.
He finds Tim, Noah and Skeeter sacked out together on Tim's bed, Green Eggs and Ham splayed across Tim's chest, Skeeter snuggled up to Noah. Looks like it ( ... )
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Thanks!
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A part of him can't believe it's happening, a part of him's not surprised it is, a part of him moved beyond the capacity for words that his friends and family would do something so crazy as jack a prison transport bus, because the CHiPs are going to come down on them like a swarm of hornets.
Balaclavas or no, Dom has no doubt that's Tash and Mia at the front of the bus, shotguns trained on the guard and driver, and that's Brian headed his way, bolt cutters at his waist.
As soon as he's off the bus they throw a smoke grenade down the aisle and strip him out of that orange monkey suit. Dom's not a basketball fan in particular, but he's glad for snap side sweats and a baggy jersey.
Brian flips him the keys to the Charger, climbs in the passenger seat, and whips off his balaclava and ....
His his hair's mussed and slightly sweat damp, and his grin goes ear to ear, and his eyes gleam with a mix of ( ... )
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"Huh ... what? Where am I?" Marcus says because he's got memories of infiltrating Skynet's base and then nothing. "I presume the mission was a success, then?" He adds a moment later.
John smiles lopsidedly at him and fills in the gaps. Five years after he died (so John could live) the Resistance hacked a Skynet database and found well, Marcus Wright. (Seems Skynet used him yet again as the basis for yet another Terminator series, the T-1000. Swell.) The resistance figured how to get all of that onto an 888 series chip and plug that into his body, as well as how to get a power supply in there, too.
So he's Metal now. The thought makes him want to vomit, even though he doesn't have a stomach anymore."We've ... converted ... other units, but sometimes they go bad. I can't trust one of them with this mission, Marcus. Just you ( ... )
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And then Kyle, this grown man Marcus comes back to but who provides Marcus with more chances for redemption! And omg, the circular mindfuck of the photograph of Sarah -- that's so trippy I'm surprised Marcus's circuits didn't short right out at the implications.
This is fantastic and perfect, and thank you for writing it for me!!
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Carpe Diem.
"Y'know, you're looking awfully serious there, Sammy," Tim says with a bemused snort. "Were you thinking again?"
Sam turns his head and studies the grinning lunatic in bed next to him. "You say 'thinking' like it's a dirty word."
Quick as a cat, Tim pounces him, straddles his hips, smirks down at him. "Oh, it is." With a saucy grin he continues, "And do you know what happens to naughty boys who use dirty words ( ... )
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either Opie and Lyla's kids hanging out
or Gemma and Unser on the run!
Not feeling SoA?
FNL: Luke and Becky drinking beer
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