1. [personal profile] abbylee: I think that there totally needs to be a Walter + sufganiyot fic. 

“Every culture I have encountered fries,” Walter said. “It is the tastiest human universal.”

Peter shook his head. Not that he was opposed to a good fried treat, but he didn’t believe in giving too much credence to Walter’s claims.

Astrid examined her fingers for a second, probably thinking about whether she’d touched anything else in the lab before she picked up the doughnut-things, and then commenced licking them clean of powdered sugar, neat and careful. “This is really good, Walter. What are we celebrating, again?”

“Hanukah!” Walter said. “The excuse for the frying here is the miracle of the oil.”

“But you’re not Jewish, Walter,” Astrid said uncertainly. “Are you?”

“Ah, but I don’t need an excuse,” he pointed out.

Her brow creased, but then she presumably concluded that this was better logic than Walter conventionally employed, and also that the sufganiyot were tasty, so she took another one.

“Thanks,” he said when Walter wandered off to the bathroom (after describing in excruciating detail what he intended to do there).

“For what?” Astrid asked, swallowing. “Saving you from ten thousand calories?”

He shook his head. “You’re very patient with him. Not many people could be that kind.”

She ducked her head. “I think—not everyone has the capacity to respond to compassion. In some ways, Walter makes it easy.”

“Esther!” Walter yelled—from the hallway, at least, not the bathroom.

They looked at each other. “But not in others,” Peter said, almost smiling. “I got this one.”

“Wonderful,” she said.

Peter snagged another pastry on his way out. Some things he didn’t need saving from.

2. [personal profile] norwich36: any kind of SPN/Vampire Diaries crossover (like the Winchesters meet Damon Salvatore. Or maybe the Winchesters meet Bonnie, and Dean finally figures out there are good witches. Hmm. Maybe Bonnie could save their asses from Damon.)  Note: all of the above?

“Damon!” Bonnie snapped. Sam didn’t see her move, but the vampire was staggering back, hand to his head, turning towards her with—was that a pout? Dean wheezed, deep bruised breaths, and scrabbled for the gun he’d dropped when the vampire had put him up against the barroom wall.

“You never let me have any fun,” the vampire whined.

“You know about him?” Sam asked, incredulous, but not yet ready to change his own aim from targeting the vampire to Bonnie. Still, he was going to have to rethink this whole ‘good witch’ thing. How had she even known to find them in the closed-down bar?

“Damon,” Bonnie said again, a whole world of commands in the name.

Damon’s entire face participated in his eyeroll. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t blame me when these rubes end up making more trouble than I ever do.”

Bonnie’s jaw moved, like she was thinking about blaming him for everything else in the world. “Go bother Ric,” she said.

“Ooh, do the grownups need to talk now?” For reasons known only to himself, Damon waggled his fingers in the air as he spoke to emphasize how much of a dick he was. Sam kind of wanted to kill him on general principles, and Dean all but had steam coming out of his ears.

Bonnie jerked a thumb towards the door, and Damon exited, hips swiveling. “Sorry about that,” she sighed. “He’s—well, he’s not an indiscriminate killer.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Dean snapped. “When were you gonna mention the vampire?”

“When I had a chance to explain the whole story!” she sassed right back, getting up in Dean’s face (minus the six or so inches of height Dean had on her). Dean fell back—Sam was unwillingly impressed that Dean finally got the concept of jailbait, and then he just felt old—and glared, gun still in his hand.

Sam figured that now would be the time to give Dean a beer, so he went behind the bar and found something that looked local. “Dean?” he asked, holding it out.

Dean nodded reluctantly. Once he was properly provisioned, he sat down at one of the booths across from Bonnie. “You wanna talk now?” he suggested, popping the cap with his ring and taking a swig that showed off the line of his throat. Sam saw the look of unwilling admiration cross Bonnie’s face and, in his head, matched Damon’s eyeroll.

He gave Bonnie his most professional let’s-get-to-work face instead, and she jumped a little in her seat. “Okay!” she said. “Remember how I told you that there were different kinds of vampires, just like there are different kinds of witches?”

Dean leaned forward. “Let me guess, you have the fluffy bunny kind.”

Sam snorted, even though he probably should have switched over to good cop. Maybe it was left over from having no soul, or maybe Sam was just jaded, but if he saw one more preternaturally good-looking magical creature getting away with it because of how pretty it was, he was going to do some damage. Yeah, you could call that hypocritical, or you could call it smart.

Anyway, Bonnie was talking fast, curses and herbs—Dean interjected a question about dead man’s blood, and she looked at him like he’d personally coughed a mouthful onto her face—and crystals, a whole new secret world for them to learn. Sam sighed and settled back. Looked like this was going to be more than a two-day job.

3. [personal profile] livrelibre: Fringe-Astrid/Olivia or Astrid & Olivia being kickass. Note: Brown Betty AU, shades of Esther/Olivia.

Peter leaves to sail around the world on a Tuesday. Olivia kisses him goodbye at the docks, waves as the ship slowly disappears into the harbor. Thinks about what it would have been like, to go with him. They probably had an orchestra on board. Maybe there would’ve been dancing.

But Olivia has to stand on her own two feet. She’s gotta work for her rent; can’t take off on a whim the way some can. Maybe Peter will come back with the itch out of his shoes, and she’d like to see that, really she would. Until then, there’s other hearts that need protecting.

Esther takes three days to come back. She would’ve made it in two if Olivia had asked nicely, except that Olivia knew that she was visiting her sisters and didn’t want to interfere. So instead Olivia just hinted that the position remained open, and that she’d hate to have to turn down some needy citizen for want of a good assistant. Sure, there was some cajoling in there as well, promises that the first dollar she saw would go eighty cents to Esther, and so on (at least until she was only a month behind). She knew Esther was good for it as soon as Esther sighed and said, loud enough that Olivia could hear, “I have to take this, Jeannie. It’s my boss.”

After saving Peter, and being saved by Peter, Olivia’s willing to see the bright side of life again, which for her means taking cases that actually pay, and breaking the news gently to the deceived wives and husbands, or in one notable case to the deceived lover—“It’s not that I couldn’t get past her being married,” the client says, weeping, “but she told me she was an environmentalist, and that house was built with coal money!” The world hasn’t magically become a perfect landscape of love and harmony because Olivia’s faith in humanity has been restored, and a good thing too because how would she eat then? But it’s enough for her to know that there are other people out there who turn outwards instead of into themselves; she doesn’t need to pretend that the whole world is like that.

Now that she’s not looking for the secret rot carried in every heart, she pays more attention to Esther. It was easy to tell herself that she was teaching Esther what she’d already learned, that life has no patience for suckers and that wising up was the only solution. But Esther brings daffodils into the office, flash of yellow at the corner of her desk that’s like spring is smiling at them, and Esther stays late to finish typing up the reports that Olivia leaves for her misspelled and hand-scrawled. Esther always carries a sewing kit and a tiny flashlight. Olivia, on the other hand, always carries a gun and an extra clip, plus a packet of peanuts. Esther wears sensible stockings but elaborate shoes. Esther likes licorice best, but she buys chocolate so that Olivia can steal it from her top drawer.

Esther gets pretty terrified when the cheating husband busts into the office. Olivia is around the corner getting lunch when he showed up, which means that Esther listens to him ranting for nearly five minutes until Olivia returns. At that point he turns his anger on her, because Olivia is the one who’d delivered the pictures and Olivia is the one he’s determined to make pay for his transgressions. Olivia could’ve told him, but declined to do so: his mistake is ignoring Esther. (Okay, his mistake was schtupping his wife’s sister, but one thing at a time.) Esther swings the lamp like the bases are loaded at Fenway, knocking the man’s arm so that his shot goes wild, and then Olivia puts him down with a one-two combo she learned from Broyles, a lifetime ago.

Not all the cases are that exciting, though. There’s wayward kids and malfeasance by accountants, and a pet dog so badly behaved that Olivia cannot believe that anyone actually wants it back, but they’re all money in the bank. Or, anyway, money in someone’s bank, given the bills Olivia has to pay.

“Why do you stick around?” she asks Esther one day, after they’ve spent an hour chasing a mouse into a metal trashcan. By mutual agreement, Olivia took it outside while Esther berated the landlord and secured a promise of an exterminator tomorrow.

“Maybe because I keep hoping to get my back pay?” Esther says. But Olivia knows that the small upward curve of her lips really means: you know why.

And yeah, Olivia does.

4. [personal profile] kiezh: Castiel and power/responsibility? Something about how his relationship with power has changed through his existence?

Castiel misses orders. To his shame, he now knows, he never much cared about the source of those orders. Though he worshipped God, he did not expect direct contact. He was content to accept direction with the rest of the garrison. Once the orders were given, he did not question their wisdom.

He was, in retrospect, an odd choice for the messenger to retrieve Dean Winchester, the righteous man and host presumptive for Michael. The oddness had only increased when he realized that Dean could not hear him in his celestial aspect.

Then there was Sam Winchester, who demanded explanations for the orders from On High. Castiel had never thought to ask, much less demand, but Castiel understood that humans were different in this respect, and had been since they’d eaten of the Tree. From a human perspective, Sam’s questions were quite reasonable (though Sam himself was an abomination, that was not mainly his fault). When Uriel and Zachariah had demanded that he remain silent in the face of Sam’s questions, that had pushed Castiel much further towards the point where he found his own doubts too great.

The archangels’ plan had been cruel indeed, Castiel judged, relying as it did on Sam’s human stubbornness and Dean’s human faith to split them apart and ensure that Sam broke the last seal.

And then the last betrayal, to seek God and find nothing but His face turned away, silent and dead as any golden calf ever worshipped.

If the fighting ever died down long enough for Castiel to spend the time in contemplation, as the host had been accustomed in ages past, Castiel thought that he might be very angry indeed. But why fight, when it was all corruption and absence? This was something he could not entirely explain to himself. Part of it was the Winchesters themselves: they fought because they could not in the end do otherwise, despite all their attempts to change themselves. They were too well-formed in the appropriate image. Possibly that was Castiel’s weakness as well.

Castiel had once asked why Dean bothered hunting the minor supernatural predators they encountered, mere distractions when angels and demons alike hovered just out of sight. “Somebody has to,” Dean said, and the fact that the claim was self-evidently untrue had not deprived it of any of its talismanic power.

Somebody had to put Heaven in order, and Castiel didn’t approve of any of the alternative candidates. If that was presumption, then—at long, long last—he presumed.

If God disagreed, He was welcome to return and educate Castiel on the error of his ways. (Did Castiel, secretly, hope that his defiance would invite a response, provoke his Father to anger the way Sam Winchester had routinely done the same? Uriel would have laughed at the idea that human psychology had any lessons for the angels, but Uriel was now a charcoal outline so obviously he’d had something more to learn.) If Castiel couldn’t get orders from any being worth obeying, if the hierarchy was in flux, then he was going to stand on the side of the humans, who mostly didn’t deserve apocalypse. He was going to get them to a new world, independent of Heaven and Hell. Free of commands from a higher power, the way he was free.

And if they screwed it up then, well, at least he’d have even more in common with them.

5. [personal profile] melisande431: Lex is getting married again. When Clark makes an astounding discovery, he rushes to interrupt the ceremony.

“Stop!” Clark yelled.

The orchestra ground to a halt and five hundred heads turned towards him. Not that he wasn’t used to scrutiny, but this was a little different, not least because no one in the room but him was wearing anything but black, silver and white. A theme wedding: that should have been proof enough that Lyla was evil.

Up at the altar, Lex raised a hand to his head, almost exactly like a heroine in a silent film serial. He needed rescuing just about as much, Clark thought dourly, even though he spent half his time tying other people to the tracks. Metaphorically speaking.

“We didn’t even have the part where the officiant says ‘speak now or forever hold your peace,’” Lex said, addressing the air rather than Clark himself. “I knew better.”

Clark glanced around. This was the part where Mercy and her goons usually rushed him, but he didn’t sense any Kryptonite.

Well, he’d better get on with it. “Lyla Lerrol is not who she claims to be!” he announced, his voice booming down the marble hall.

Silence.

At last, someone in the front row cleared his throat.

Clark frowned and put his hands on his hips. “She’s not a Kryptonian. In fact, she’s from an alternate universe where, instead of Lex Luthor, Lyla Luthor was born!”

Lyla put her head against Lex’s shoulder, her body shaking, her expression hidden behind her veil. (Lead-lined? Who on God’s green Earth lead-lined a veil?)

Lex met his gaze at last. “Do you want a prize for your investigative reporting?” he asked.

Clark almost stepped backwards in surprise. Lex was never that open about Clark’s secret identity; he liked to insinuate and threaten, but he’d lose too much leverage if everyone else knew who Superman was.

“You can’t marry her, Luthor!”

Lex took a deep breath. “Actually, my lawyers and I are fairly sure that I can. Under the Uniform Multiverse Family Law, she’s not my sister and I’m not her brother. Yes, the drafters were worried about inheritance battles, not holy matrimony, but I’ll take what I can get. In any event, it’s no business of yours.”

Lyla turned her head so that Clark could see her profile, and she wasn’t crying. She was laughing, shaking with it.

“Her world was destroyed, Lex! She’s obviously here to take over from you!”

“Really,” Lex said, looking down at her fondly, one hand spread over her back, bare where the dress dipped low. “So, nothing at all like my previous wives, then. I’ll take my chances, Superman.”

“But—”

“If you’re that concerned, I believe there’s a bookie in Vegas taking bets on how long it is until she tries to kill me or I try to kill her. I wonder how this revelation changes the over/under,” he mused.

“Could go both ways,” Lyla said, turning fully towards Clark now. Her blue eyes danced with vicious amusement, and Clark wondered how he hadn’t seen it earlier.

Lex smiled. “So, unless you plan to add assault to trespass, I think we’ll continue with the ceremony.”

Clark felt like a block of Kryptonite the size of a house had landed on him. Which reminded him, where was Mercy? Was this some sort of trap? Or diversion? He wanted to warn Lex that he’d regret this, but that would make Clark sound like the mustache-twirling villain of the piece. ‘You’re doing this just to get at me’? Probably true, but that had the kind of bitter ex feel to it that prompted all those nasty, nasty rumors in the Inquisitor, and Clark just couldn’t deal. Not on a day Lex got married.

So instead he said the only thing he could: “Be careful.” The words felt ripped out of his chest, coming from a much younger man, aimed at the Lex he used to know.

Lex’s mouth twitched. Clark noticed the scar, still there after all these years. “Superman,” he said, and anyone who didn’t know him would have thought he was being kind, “you know you wouldn’t like me half as much if I were.”
abbylee: (Default)

From: [personal profile] abbylee


Sufganiyot! Walter just going for it, whatever it is, every time! Astrid loving Walter and his wackiness, even as he frustrates her to no end! Peter being just like his father, in that he loves life and wants to just go for it, but he has no idea how to handle it! <3 <3 <3 I have so much love, thank you <3 <3 <3

Also, yay, Olivia + Esther: I love some women kicking ass, regardless of whether it's a physical ass-kicking.

I am pretending there is a happy ending to that Clark and Lex fic, because no matter how much they break each other down, there is somehow always a way to come back.

I do love these nights :D :D :D
livrelibre: DW barcode (Default)

From: [personal profile] livrelibre


\0/ Esther/Olivia in the Brown Betty AU is one of favorite things ever and this was lovely! I like Olivia getting her hope back and Esther being by her side, buying her chocolate and swinging for the fences:) And Astrid, Walter and Peter with sufganiyot is pretty sweet too (sorry, puns, can't help myself)
giandujakiss: (Default)

From: [personal profile] giandujakiss


Hee! These are awesome and I cannot express how much glee I get from seeing Bonnie, Damon, and the Winchesters!!
kass: Clark and Lex at a distance (Clex 1)

From: [personal profile] kass


Oh oh oh oh, I love Walter and the sufganiyot. And Astrid being awesome. And I draw giant sparkly hearts around them all.

Also, the Clex one cracks me up. Poor Clark.
ceares: cookie all grown up (Default)

From: [personal profile] ceares


So okay, Lex is marrying himself? That's pretty much the perfect match.I think threesomes with Clark are in order though. And considering what I know of DC canon, frankly I'd believe all of it. *sigh* I really do miss SV and Clex. It's always a treat to see something new.
wendelah1: (Astrid Farnsworth)

From: [personal profile] wendelah1


Fringe! And Olivia and Astrid in the Brown Betty universe are so cute together.

Lex Luthor marrying himself really is a perfect match.
ciaan: (notice when you begin to disappear)

From: [personal profile] ciaan


I too must comment that Lex marrying his alternate universe self is awesome.
melisande431: Michael Rosenbaum wearing "I *heart* my Meli t-shirt (Default)

From: [personal profile] melisande431


Given Lex/Lex (or Lyla) I might almost be willing to do without Clark! Poor Clark. I see misadventures ahead. Thank you! Maybe next year I'll ask for a sequel. Meanwhile, I'll imagine a happy ending.
grimorie: (Default)

From: [personal profile] grimorie


I love stories in the Brown Betty-verse! Thanks for writing this!
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