So, I got mansplained to yesterday about how there’s no sexism in the rap music business because Salt ‘N Pepa. OK, white guy! Also the videographer told me that he liked me because I was feisty. All in all a somewhat strange day.

I am still poking away at Eight Crazy Nights, I swear!

[personal profile] giandujakiss : Anything Abbie & Ichabod, snarking at each other over Ichabod's adjustments to the modern world, would make me so happy!


“What are you doing!?” Abbie demanded, rescuing the cellphone from Ichabod’s hand just before he tossed it into the trash.

“It stopped working,” Ichabod said.

“It’s just out of charge! You throw that away, you’re not going to get another.”

“Really? You gave me another gun. I would have been cashiered for discarding such a valuable item. I had assumed that everything was now simply … disposable.”

Abbie side-eyed him, because that was clearly Ichabod for ‘you people are heathens.’ “I cut you some slack because you are new here. But if it’s not food, check with me before you throw things away, all right?”

He smiled, that pure and yet somehow mischievious grin of his, infuriating most of all because it didn’t make her angry; it made her want to—bump shoulders, or something, if their shoulders weren’t a foot apart. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

“Here, I’ll show you how to charge it.”

Ichabod went on for a bit about the fascinating relationship between the electricity that came out of the wall and the battery that stored that electricity, which Abbie tuned out because she figured she had only so much mental storage space, and adding in the Apocrypha to all the forensic science she knew was already asking a lot. She just nodded along with Ichabod’s lecture and checked her email, and one of the department-wide messages made her think.

“Hey, you should get a flu shot. Actually I think maybe you should get all the shots.”

He blinked at her. Damn, he had fine eyes, and his lashes were nothing to sneer at either. On a purely aesthetic level, of course. “I surmise that ‘shot’ has an additional meaning here, or are you still angry about the gun?”

She’d listened to a lecture on the history of epidemic disease as part of a training session on biological warfare—part of the ‘get accepted to Quantico’ project from back when that had been a possibility. From what she remembered, he wouldn’t have known about vaccines at all, and she didn’t recall discussing the issue with him while the ghost-plague kid was dying on them. “I have good news and bad news, Crane,” she said, grinning at him. “How do you feel about needles?”

Mild torment for Ichabod, protecting him from the kinds of diseases that easily could have killed him back in his day—yeah, there was nothing but win-win there for her.


[personal profile] wendelah1: in honor of the twentieth anniversary of The X-Files, how about a holiday ficlet?

Years of working with Mulder had taught her, if not exactly to believe what she was seeing, to believe that she was seeing something, explanation pending. So she didn’t bother to blink at the small green item hanging overhead, just in front of the autopsy table.

Nor did she start when Mulder’s hands covered her eyes, since her finely honed Mulder-proximity alert had already gone off.

“Aren’t you supposed to blindfold me before I see the surprise?” she asked.

“I make my own rules, Scully,” he said, and she leaned back into him fondly.

“Do your rules involve contaminating the evidence? I’m fairly sure that my report shouldn’t mention fragments of mistletoe.”

“You finished an hour ago. You went for a low-fat, low-sugar snack and you’re just back to clean up.”

She twisted out of his grasp, looking up at his guileless expression. Mulder did ‘innocent’ worse than anyone she’d ever known, including her brothers as children. He wasn’t wrong, though, so she let him inch her backwards, maneuvering her under the mistletoe.

As it happened, he’d tied it just at the height that it could’ve poked his eye out, which was either an amusing commentary on his courtship skills or an annoying one on her stature. With the greenery batting at his head as he tried to kiss her and she squirmed just to see it muss his hair again, she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

For Anonymous: It occurs to me that Smallville's Clark got his superhearing very shortly after the events of "Asylum." What if that ability came just a bit sooner?


“I heard him screaming,” Clark said. “I was two miles down the road and I heard him.”

“A new power,” his mother said, her brows already creased with worry, wondering probably if he was ever going to stop adding abilities.

“That’s not the point!” Clark said, even though he knew that, for his parents, it was. “Lex is in there, and they’re making him scream.”

And then it was the same conversation: Lex is dangerous, he may be drugged but he’s also sick, you can’t fix this.

Below all that, Clark knew, was the same refrain they’d had from the beginning. When we raised you to help people in need, that song went, we didn’t mean Luthors.

But how could that be right? Lex was screaming. And Clark had just walked away.

Clark had these abilities for a reason. If he didn’t help people with them, there was no point at all; he would be no different than a meteor mutant who only looked for what was in it for himself. He got the superhearing when he heard Lex, in pain. That was a message, in its own way.

If he confronted his parents with the fact of Lex, they’d have to help hide him from Lionel. Especially since Lex knew his secret. They’d have to be nice to him, or anyway as nice as Lex ever expected anyone to get.

As he approached the asylum, he paused to try to listen in on Lex again. He got a babble of voices—ten or twenty. He closed his eyes and concentrated. This was just like his other abilities; it could be controlled because it had to be.

A voice was completely individual, Chloe had told him once when reporting on an overheard conversation between the assistant principal and a sheriff’s deputy. There was always something individual, even with identical twins. He focused on one voice, imagining it as one thread among a tangle at the bottom of his mom’s sewing box. It was an orderly, on the phone to his girlfriend.

Another: a doctor, giving instructions for someone who’d just come in that night.

Another: a voice he knew, talking with—it was Ian and Eric, together. They were planning to steal his powers, with the help of meteor rocks. They’d paid a guard to smuggle some in. They’d killed Van, and they wouldn’t hesitate to kill again, Clark knew.

His plan to get Lex out was twice as dangerous now. But Lex was also in twice the danger, from his father’s scheme to destroy his brain and from Ian and Eric out to get anything they could from him. And Clark had a new advantage: he knew what they were planning. He listened carefully and did some planning himself.

He was going to have to trust Lex to keep his secret. He wasn’t going to be someone who could listen to Lex, crying quietly in his cell, and walk away.


For [personal profile] ceares: It's sad that's I've burned out on TVD and have no idea what's going on but I'd still love some Bonnie/Matt/Jeremy if you're so inclined.

If you’d asked him a year ago, Jeremy would’ve said he was the jealous type. He’d hated seeing Vicki flirt, for sure. Maybe all the killing and dying had made him less inclined to resent happiness, or maybe it was that when Vicki flirted it meant she hadn’t really wanted to be with him, at least not full-time.

Or it could have been that, what with Vicki being Matt’s sister and Elena being Jeremy’s, there was already enough trauma packed into their relationship that jealousy didn’t have room to shine.

Plus, there was Bonnie. She’d taken so much on for them, lost so much, that if she wanted both of them there was no way Jeremy could’ve said no to her.

He hadn’t realized how much Matt had needed them, too. It started with them just a little drunk, hanging out at Matt’s place while Elena and the Salvatores were off doing dramatic vampire things. Bonnie had her feet kicked up into Matt’s lap while Jeremy rubbed her shoulders.

“Y’know, as bad as it turned out, I’m not even sorry I went with Rebecca,” Matt mused. “I mean, I’m hugely sorry I got possessed, but that wasn’t even her fault. And Europe … it was amazing. I never thought I’d get to see those places. Or have a threesome,” he added, with a gleam in his eye that said he didn’t mind scandalizing his friends.

Bonnie snuggled deeper into Jeremy’s embrace. “So what’s left on your bucket list?”

“Not to kick the bucket for another sixty years,” Matt said immediately. “And to go a year without anybody I care about getting killed or turned into a vampire or a werewolf or … whatever.”

“Whoa, way to aim high,” Jeremy said, but that was too true, and the silence became uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “What about you, Bonnie?”

Her face showed the determination he felt to lift the mood. After a moment, she bit her lip and lowered her eyes, which was enough to start revving him up (hey, he was a teenager). “Well …” The speculative tone was enough to make him shift uncomfortably on the couch. “I have wondered what a threesome would be like.”

Jeremy almost didn’t hear Matt gulp over the sound of his own indrawn breath. “Yeah?” It came out high and not at all cool.

“If it was someone we trusted,” Bonnie said, quietly, just for him. Her eyes were bright. She’d just taken a huge risk, and not the magic kind.

He couldn’t do less for her. “Yeah?”

She understood, and twisted in his arms so that she could kiss him, deep and wet. He could feel Matt watching them, and he was blushing so hard he could’ve been seen from space, but Matt wasn’t laughing it off or getting up to leave.

When Bonnie broke the kiss, now seated in his lap and rubbing against his very interested hard-on, they both looked over at Matt, who was staring with his mouth hanging open.

“Nothing you don’t want to do,” Bonnie said, soft and careful.

Jeremy watched Matt think about it. Whatever Rebecca had wanted to be for Matt, Matt had never really felt much back, and so it hadn’t mattered nearly as much. But they trusted Matt, and Matt trusted them.

Matt had always been able to make up his mind, and when he scooted closer on the couch, all hesitation was gone.

“If I remember right,” he said, smiling at them, “it’s the lady’s choice.”

Jeremy processed that for a second. “I thought—”

“I told you I was with Rebecca and Nadia.” Matt smirked. “I didn’t say that was the only time.”

“Oh, man,” Jeremy said, impressed enough that Bonnie smacked his arm.

“Okay then. This lady would like to see some guys without their shirts. And pants.”

That was easily done, and then she returned the favor, still wearing her underwear for now. She pushed Jeremy back on the couch and wriggled amazingly on top of him, while Matt kissed his way up her back to her neck. When his legs tangled with Jeremy’s, Jeremy felt the zing of connection, and it wasn’t weird—not compared to the rest of his life, anyway. Hairy, yes, but also very sexy.

Bonnie pulled up and back long enough to remove her bra, and that was a sight so gorgeous that Jeremy lost track of everything else for a while, until she tugged his boxers down to free his aching dick. He was making incoherent moaning noises now, not capable of anything more, so he was grateful beyond measure when she made her panties disappear (seriously, magic might or might not have been involved; there was no way he was capable of checking) and sank down on him, rocking herself in the rhythm he was starting to learn from her.

Matt’s hands covered her breasts, which was sad, but then he watched how Matt squeezed her flesh, her skin showing in flashes between his paler fingers, and how she arched her head back against Matt’s shoulder, and that was better than ever. Matt’s weight on his legs kept him from doing much except pressing his fingers to where Bonnie was wet and slick above him. She was so beautiful, so strong, so amazing to share this with him.

He came the moment she cried out and clenched around him, unable to wait any longer (and secretly proud he’d lasted as long as he had), and then Matt shuddered and grabbed her waist as he got there with them.

They all collapsed more or less on top of Jeremy; he oofed but didn’t otherwise protest. They were warm, and he was a healthy young guy, and relatedly if they stayed in place there was every chance he’d get to go again before the night was finished.

Above him, he heard Matt snort.

“What?” Bonnie asked for both of them, not exactly worried.

“My life,” Matt said, and did something that made Bonnie shiver. “My crazy life.”

“Right there with you,” Jeremy said.

Bonnie kissed his nose. “Yeah,” she agreed. “We are.”

END


From: (Anonymous)


Beautiful little Asylum-Clex fixit fic! Yay!
serrico: It's like TPTB were writing fic with the rest of us. (svhowcsaysl)

From: [personal profile] serrico


Few things in life are better than Abbie and Ichabod messing with each other. :D

And then there's Clark, refusing to accept ANYONE's distress. Oh, Clark. *nostalgia*
ceares: cookie all grown up (Default)

From: [personal profile] ceares


oh yay! thank you. I really miss these characters and this is awesome and hot and contains glorious visuals and is almost enough to almost make me watch the show again.
ceares: cookie all grown up (Default)

From: [personal profile] ceares


lol, that's because real teenagers are spotty and awkward and no one would be enthralled with them. I used to rag on shows for going with people in their 20s but now, I appreciate uit.
wendelah1: (Default)

From: [personal profile] wendelah1


I recced it in my journal but I think I forget to thank you for the sweet TXF holiday story.

As it happened, he’d tied it just at the height that it could’ve poked his eye out, which was either an amusing commentary on his courtship skills or an annoying one on her stature.

Or both...

Thank you!
.

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