1. [personal profile] tehomet: SPN: You could write crack in which Marcy, the nice lady living next door to Bobby, the one who was chatting him up with the cobbler, turns out to be the real tooth fairy, a benign individual, of course. Bobby has to redeem his faux pas in drenching her in woodchipper'd baddie blood, by volunteering himself, and recruiting Dean and Sam as well, to assist her in bringing peace, love, small denomination coins, free toothbrushes, and calcium-enriched sugar-free baked goods to the inhabitants of a small especially-sugar-afflicted village (perhaps one where most of the adults have jobs in a chocolate factory and hence all the kids have dental issues) and overcome the predations of the cavity demons. The cavity demons can only be thwarted, once you've wrenched the drills and pliers and caramels out of their claws, by lassoing them with mint-flavoured dental floss and then banishing them back to their own special hell dimension, the eternal dentist's waiting room o' suffering. If Bobby and Sam and Dean have to dress up for ritual reasons at some point in the traditional uniform of glittery tutus and sparkly eyeliner over their usual jeans, boots and stubble outfits, so much the better.


“You’ve got—” Dean swiped at his own cheek in illustration, then felt his mouth twist in disgust when his fingers came away coated with glitter.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m sparkly. You’re sparkly, Sam’s sparkly, we all sparkle.”

“Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion,” Dean intoned, and both Bobby and Sam stared at him like he was the one who’d gotten them into this mess, not Bobby and his Fargo moment with the freakin’ Tooth Fairy. At least Dean had ripped off his tutu as soon as they’d finished, though he suspected that Cas had taken a page from Crowley’s playbook and made sure to save pictures.

“Whatever,” Bobby said. “I’m gonna have the first shower. Put newspaper down before you sit anywhere, I don’t want this twinkly shit to stick around.”

Dean opened his mouth, but then decided that Bobby didn’t need to hear what Dean knew for a fact from a year of little kids’ birthday parties: glitter was fucking forever, especially when it came to carpet. Bobby’d find out soon enough, and who was Dean to deprive him of the pleasure of bitching about it?

“Are you sure we’re not out of our minds on drugs?” Sam asked plaintively, when Bobby’s glittery ass had disappeared up his stairs.

Dean shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Raises the question of what exactly I got stuck to the bottom of my boots, if it’s not those cavity demon fuckers, but honestly this isn’t even the weirdest shit we’ve seen this year.” Plus the demons’ caramels had been delicious, a fact neither Bobby nor Sam seemed to appreciate, which had left Dean quite literally holding the bag. So, even with the glitter, he thought the day had been basically a win.

Especially since he’d gotten to see Sam in a tiara.

2. Anonymous: Jared POV from Full Service Firm

Even after an hour in the hotel gym and a run all the way to the Washington Monument and back, Jared was still overfull with energy. He’d spent the afternoon playing whack-a-mole on the latest deal with that old coot Johnson—the guy had stepped up his game, or at least hired better lawyers this time around—and after that kind of mental workout he needed something deeply physical to match.

After a quick shower, he fired up his browser and looked for clubs. There were three that looked plausible. He picked Glitter because it had the silliest name, then walked there so that he wouldn’t be arriving too early.

The music was tolerable and there were plenty of cute young things around, but nothing really turned his dial.

Nothing, that was, until him. Jared could’ve sworn that someone hit the mute button, and whether by accident or design he was standing directly under a light like a Broadway star about to bust into his solo. Worn, touchable jeans, tight black T-shirt revealing a chest solid enough that Jared wouldn’t worry about squashing him—but more than that, the mouth on him, full and shiny, lower lip pouting like it was in desperate need of something to fill it up, framed by just enough stubble that he’d be soft and rough all at once. Dark lashes, long and thick, and a scattering of freckles across his face visible even through the harsh strobing of the club lights. Hair short and gelled into spikes, the kind that would eventually sweat into softness after you’d spent a couple of hours working at it.

Jared watched, pretty much stunned into immobility, while the man gently discouraged several admirers, including two good-looking enough that Jared would have rated his own chances at pulling them at only about seventy percent (okay, eighty). They’d yell in his ear, and he’d say something back, and then they’d leave, disappointed. He kept looking around, eyes never alighting on any one person, seeming uncomfortable despite being dressed up like he was just waiting for the right guy to push him to his knees.

With an almost physical shock, Jared figured it out: he was trade. Maybe he was facing a month-end funds shortage or maybe his story was entirely different, but he wasn’t here to pick the prettiest face, that was for sure.

Well, okay. Jared would’ve preferred a cheaper date, but he pretty much had to have that mouth.

Jared fought his way across the floor. The guy (Jared was thinking of calling him the Mouth) looked up as he approached, and Jared had the satisfaction of getting an appreciative once-over. Okay, so he wasn’t just gay for pay, that was a major plus.

He leaned down a couple of inches to yell in the guy’s ear. “I’ll pay you twice your regular rate if you leave now!” He had the fleeting thought that if he’d made a mistake about the level of professionalism at work here he was either going to get punched or blown right there; he liked the thrill of the gamble.

The guy’s eyes (glass-bottle green, Jared could see up close) widened in something like shock. The ambient noise washed out the tone of his shouted reply, but Jared didn’t care, because it wasn’t “no,” and he could afford six hundred an hour. He wasn’t going to pass up the chance to see what that mouth looked like all open and panting on his sheets.

Sure, he thought as he pulled the guy out of the club, it’d be nice if he could find someone who could keep up with him in every part of his life. But, failing that, there was plenty of fun to be had in the world, and six foot one of it was trailing him back to his hotel.

3. [personal profile] marfisa: A sequel to last year's Eight Crazy Nights ficlet about Lex finding out that his and Clark's genetically-engineered/cloned(?) son Kon exists and suing Clark for custody of him unless Clark agrees to move into chez Luthor with Kon.

“How come you’re sitting funny, Lex?” Kon asked, and took another enormous bite of his cereal.

Clark nearly swallowed his own tongue, and even Lex had to pause for a second, his face going as blank as if he were testifying before a congressional committee.

Okay, so maybe Clark had gotten a little enthusiastic last night, when he’d spent the day fighting forest fires and then had to sit through a two-hour League meeting and then Lex wanted to lecture him about compromise versus self-righteousness, or some such. Only after Lex had said his piece did he come to bed, at which point Clark had been more than ready for some uncomplicated pleasures. It wasn’t like Lex had been protesting, then or when he’d gotten out of bed.

Clark had never given a moment’s thought to whether Kon would notice. Just because he never stopped asking questions didn’t necessarily mean—oh God, Lex needed to install lead shielding in the bedroom before another night went by. Kon was fast-grown and there was no telling when the X-ray vision would kick in for a clone.

During Clark’s freakout, Lex was clearing his throat. “I had a vigorous workout last night. As you’ve seen, Mercy is an excellent sparring partner.”

Clark had to admire the smoothness of the dissimulation. Two truthful statements, only false by implication.

“So what did she do to your butt?” Kon continued.

“Kon!” Clark interrupted, before Lex could graduate to full-on lying. “Did you finish your homework?”

Kon gave him the ‘duh’ look that Clark was morally certain came from Lex’s side of the gene pool/galaxy. Clark still didn’t know how he’d become the dad with all the rules. No, that was untrue: Lex almost never made rules because Lex thought that if he gave Kon a single hint of disapproval he’d be turning into Lionel. Clark couldn’t say the fear was unfounded, but Lex’s method of dealing was suboptimal, and the last therapist they’d tried had changed her name and moved to Switzerland. Clark was working on finding a new one, but the process of getting appropriate security clearances from the Justice League (to discuss Superman) and from the U.S. government (Lex having taken the phrase ‘military industrial complex’ to an alarming extreme) was slow and nearly as annoying as Lex’s neuroses.

Not that Clark was winning any Parent of the Year awards himself. Unless they gave a special category for Kryptonian ones, in which case he’d win by default. He shifted in his chair. “What do you have coming up at school today?” Clark still wasn’t happy about having lost the private school battle, but given that it had been a literal battle, casualties and everything, he’d had to agree that Lex Luthor and Superman’s son couldn’t go to a normal public school.

Kon swirled his few remaining Cheerios in their sea of milk. “Nothing much.”

Clark shot Lex look #10—This Whole Thing Was Your Idea, Or At Least It Wasn’t Mine.

“Kon,” Lex said patiently, “you know we get the schedule from your teachers.”

“Then why are you asking me?” Kon shot right back.

Kon,” Clark said. Unity in front of Kon was just about the only thing they agreed on.

“Sorry,” Kon sighed, adding a few extra syllables in the middle to emphasize how much he was suffering by being asked to be minimally respectful.

Clark had never imagined this for himself. For some reason, the strained relationship with Lex where they tried to solve all their problems with sex and the sullen preteen who seemed to want something different from him every day, so that yesterday’s tactics weren’t just ineffective but actually harmful, were much weirder than the intergalactic monsters and billionaire intrigues that made up his day jobs. And yet, watching Lex distract Kon with a game that involved constructing some sort of intricate machine out of the cutlery (“Cheval de frise, Clark,” Lex said without looking up) and using it to deliver Cheerios through an improvised obstacle course of fruit and paper-thin teacups—

Clark thought maybe he was doing all right.

4. [personal profile] kiezh: Negotiating a poly relationship, preferably m/m/f, any fandom. Note: I picked Chuck.

“This! Is not! The time!” Sarah managed to hiss most of the words in the midst of a truly spectacular roll-kick combo that sent a chair straight into one of the guys shooting at them, taking him out of the equation. She fired a couple more shots in the general direction of the largest clump of bad guys, and then ducked down behind one of the cubicle walls next to Chuck.

Chuck ignored the bullets whizzing over and around him and talked around the flashlight. “Thif—is abfolutely—the time!” He moved a wire in the bomb, waited, and when they didn’t die, he continued. “Thince you won’t talk about it wifout a gun to your head, I fought—I thought maybe a literal gun would help!” Now he was through to the keypad, and he concentrated for a second, then entered the manufacturer’s reset code in. The bomb beeped and fell silent. That was a relief—now there were only twenty heavily armed thugs and the fact that the helicopter was going to take off, ten floors above them, in under five minutes.

He removed the flashlight from his mouth and glanced over to where Casey was resolutely ignoring them both, shooting at anything that moved. “You could help, you know! You are a part of this! A fairly crucial part!” Part, heh. Casey’s lip twitched as if he’d heard Chuck’s mental commentary.

Chuck sighed and stuck his leg out, tripping the bad guy who was trying to sneak up on them and striking him hard enough on the back of the neck that he wouldn’t be giving them any more trouble. “I just think—look, it’s one thing to be locked in a very small closet together for four hours. Things happen, whatever, no harm no foul. But when it happens three times in two weeks—and it’s not like we can blame it on the drinking, I mean I get a little silly after three beers, but the two of you don’t let your guard down that far—” he ducked and let Sarah take out the black-clad heavies who’d been trying to flank them—“and, really, it’s time to, you know, set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Sarah repeated.

“Yeah! Casey likes rules, right?” Chuck tossed Casey another clip, and Casey even managed to nod in acknowledgement. “So I was thinking, right now, I’d have some jealousy issues if the two of you wanted to get together without me, which is something I can work on if you want, but communication is the key here, at least according to my research.”

Sarah fired three times through a wall, and was rewarded with two sets of groans. She moved into a crouch, ready to go when the first opening came. “You did research?”

“I’m a geek, it’s what I do,” Chuck pointed out, then had to crawl beneath a desk while Casey went after the guy charging them. “But, substantively, are you okay with that? Kind of as a guideline, subject to negotiation?”

Sarah made a sound of deep frustration, and then she was a flurry of movement, launching herself between three men and as far as Chuck could tell taking each one out with a separate limb simultaneously. “Come on!” she yelled, and they broke for the stairs, Chuck clutching the purse with the purloined files inside in his hand.

Sarah didn’t say anything until they were all in the helicopter. Fortunately, since Morgan wasn’t around, everyone had managed to hang on to their respective earpieces, and the transmission was audible despite the roar of the wind. Chuck thought that maybe it was easier for her to talk when it felt like nobody else could hear.

“It’s hard enough for me to admit that I love you, Chuck. I don’t—I trust Casey with my life, all right? And the thing that scares me most about making rules is that it means it’s going to happen again.”

“Sarah—”

“What Walker means,” Casey cut in, “is, she’s good with that rule, and so’m I. As long as you don’t do it in my apartment, I don’t care what you two get up to while I’m gone. If anybody tells Alex, it’s gonna be me. Those are my rules.”

“Easy-peasy,” Chuck said, so grateful that Casey was going along that he could’ve kissed him, except that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? “Sarah?”

Radio silence, which meant that the sound of the chopper filled the world. After all the disasters they’d survived, romantic and otherwise, Chuck didn’t want to think that this would be the breaking point. Casey wasn’t Bryce and he certainly wasn’t Shaw. Casey was with them, in more ways than the naked ones. Casey made them stronger, and not just in the lifting-heavy-things department (though Chuck planned to take advantage of that, too, especially with Ellie deciding to rearrange the baby’s room every three days now).

Sarah made an unclassifiable sound. “Right. Okay.” The next sentence came out so fast that it took Chuck a few seconds to figure it out. “If I want I get to watch you.”

Hunh? Sarah watched him all the—Casey purred, honest-to-God purred, and Chuck got it right then. “Oh! Yeah,” Chuck agreed, and shifted in his seat. “Those are all good rules! I think we can all work with those!”

“Great,” Casey huffed, impatient in that way that was a hundred percent serious and a hundred percent bluff; how did he do that? And why was it so sexy? Great mysteries both; maybe Chuck would ask Sarah later. “We done now?” Casey continued.

Chuck looked over at Sarah, who looked right back, her face flushed, from the combat or from the conversation. He reached out his hand and she grabbed it, hard. He smiled, because Agent Sarah Walker might be afraid, but she never let that stop her.

“I sincerely hope so,” General Beckman’s voice came through the earpiece, and Chuck probably would have fallen out of the helicopter if he hadn’t been strapped in, “because this is an open channel.”
dodificus: (Default)

From: [personal profile] dodificus


“I sincerely hope so,” General Beckman’s voice came through the earpiece, and Chuck probably would have fallen out of the helicopter if he hadn’t been strapped in, “because this is an open channel.”

ahahahaha awesome:D
abbylee: (Default)

From: [personal profile] abbylee


Oh, man. TONIGHT. These are great bits. I really loved Full Service Firm and so it's nice to see it again. And I really like how the focus in the SV story is almost on what *other things* are happening. I'd stopped watching Chuck, and so wasn't going to read that one, but I did anyway, and it made me grin. I miss Casey's gruffness, and how Sarah's also gruff but in a completely different way, and how Chuck just throws himself at everything. And you really brought that all out :D :D :D
kiezh: Tree and birds reflected in water (Default)

From: [personal profile] kiezh


I haven't seen Chuck, but having the relationship discussion during a firefight was hilarious. Also the open radio channel. *snicker* I think those crazy kids might just work it out!

Clark and Lex parenting together is always delightful. I'd snicker at them too, but Lex would probably pull out the orbital lasers. ;)
celli: Chuck's Awesome, Ellie, Chuck, and Morgan in a group hug, captioned "group hug. awesome." (Chuck awesome)

From: [personal profile] celli


*makes ridiculous flaily noises* I DO NOT KNOW WHICH ONE I LOVE MORE WAIT IT'S THE LAST ONE. AAAAAAH OPEN CHANNEL.
melisande431: Michael Rosenbaum wearing "I *heart* my Meli t-shirt (Default)

From: [personal profile] melisande431


As always, I love your Clark and Lex!

the strained relationship with Lex where they tried to solve all their problems with sex

This makes so much sense to me for them.
sherrold: Rse from Dr Who, smiling and full of love (Default)

From: [personal profile] sherrold


> “So what did she do to your butt?” Kon continued.

Oh, don't I wish I spent more time around teenagers? No!

All of these were hilarious -- I've only seen 10 minutes of Chuck, and still loved it.
livrelibre: DW barcode (Default)

From: [personal profile] livrelibre


I'm loving all of these but the Chuck one was faaabulous! Of course Sarah would only talk about this under fire and of course Casey is good with rules:) And that last line was genius!
Edited Date: 2010-12-14 06:15 am (UTC)
jenna_thorn: little girl reading to her teddy bear (reading)

From: [personal profile] jenna_thorn

*applause*


The Chuck one is wonderful, but nothing beats Sam in a tiara.
.

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