Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously(or not, because we seem to have stopped following this rule) post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work just as well.
2. Anonymous will respond to your post and write it for you! Art and such
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Read more... )
Original thread:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/4155.html?thread=11942715#t11942715
The first comment is what's already been posted of part 8, just for completion's sake, but the rest is new.
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Dan sits in his basement, trying to think as he pries a spring out of an old grappling gun. It’s not that he feels any safer down here-only a lunatic would feel safer around half-finished high-grade weaponry-but he forgot how much tinkering around helps him think, and God knows he has enough crap to tinker around with down here. Whatever he does, he has to act quickly. Dan already knows what he should do, which is hand everything he knows over to a higher authority. In fact, he should be on his way to the station right now, pistol under his jacket in case he runs into Rorschach.
His eyes itch with tiredness. This isn’t even something he needs to think about-Rorschach needs to be put in ( ... )
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I know their regard for each other is very very fucked up, but I'm seeing it all through sunbeams and pink sparkles and it feels like the most romantic thing ever. I want to see them in looove. They're gonna fix each other, and Celine Dion is going to be singing the soundtrack. I KNOW IT.
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(and dude, kudos for making the Comedian cool in this bit!)
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The costume should still be there. Dan sneaks around the garbage, the stench of rotten eggs wafting through the alley. It was right-here-right between a dumpster with red graffiti on its lid and a flat tire. Dan glances up; it’s actually a pretty secluded spot, with enough clutter on both sides that it’s easy to duck out of view of the street. Dan crouches, one hand on the pistol hidden under his jacket. A faint buzz is in his ears. It should be under the moldy cardboard box. Should be-Dan carefully tips it, and there’s the costume, right where ( ... )
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“We don’t have any vacancies,” she says, and opens the office door.
“No, actually, I’m looking for-uh, a friend. He lives here.”
“He didn’t give you his apartment number?” she asks, skeptical.
Dan smooths his hair back. A door opens upstairs. “He did, but I, uh, forgot it. He’s got red hair, on the short side?”
The steps creak with weight. The landlady raises an eyebrow, folds her arms across her chest, and leans against the doorframe. A scruffy, unwashed teenager shuffles past them, and Dan relaxes. “You’re his friend?“Well…coworker ( ... )
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The conversation at the end is some powerful stuff. Is it bad how hot I find it?
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