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[personal profile] renrenren3
so. earthquake last friday. i'm fine, didn't even feel it tbh, but our phones are down until wednsday at least. typing one handed because i'm at a bar with free wifi rn so also trying not to spill cappuccino on laptop. did i mention there's a snow storm outside. had a minor breakdown one hour ago bc i realized nevermind friends, everyone i fucking know is in another city and i'm stuck inside my house all day bc i'm studying for an exam on friday and i'm so fucking alone. except when i have internet i don't realize it because there's lj and chat and whatever but without internet i'm just cut off and can't cry rn because i'm in public fuck fuck fuck.

ok now let me post this shit here bc without internet all i did for the past four nights was write fic and there's a deadline in 8 hours nbd.

shower sex aka the commentfill that got out of hand and wandered into porny land
Coming up for air
SPN, Dean/Cas, NC-17, 3047w (FDP)

It's not that Castiel is having a hard time adjusting to life as a human. It's more like Castiel has no idea how to adjust to life as a human, and keeps waiting for Dean to solve all of his problems.

One morning Dean steps out of the bathroom and tosses Castiel a towel. "All yours, I left you enough hot water," he says, even though the water is at most lukewarm in this shitty motel. Castiel stares at the towel, puzzlement written all over his face, and Dean has to explain. "For the shower, Cas! I don't know how it is for angels, but if humans don't wash, after a while they start stinking."

Castiel looks offended at the suggestion that he might stink, though first he sniffs the air circumspectly, just to be sure. "Okay," he says. "But I never took a shower, how does that work?"

Dean almost laughs at those words, because there's a limit to how much clueless someone can be. "Turn the faucet, step under the water and get washed," he says.

Castiel nods and frowns at the same time, clinging to the towel in an attempt to ward off the complexities of human life. "Do I have to remove my clothes before taking the shower?" he asks.

Dean almost answers with a sarcastic no, but Castiel would shower with his clothes on if Dean told him that's how you do it. So Dean tells him, in his most serious tone, "Yes, Cas, you have to get naked."

If Castiel was left to his own devices, he would be capable of wearing the same dirty pants and shirt day after day, so Dean gives him a change of clothes: a pair of faded jeans, one of his old t-shirts and a hoodie that Sam isn't wearing any more. Sooner or later Dean will give in to the fact that Cas will be staying here indefinitely and he'll have to buy him new clothes, but Dean's life is already complicated enough and he doesn't have the time or the energy to take Cas shopping.

Armed with his towel and his second-hand clothes, Cas marches into the bathroom as if he was a soldier headed towards the battlefront. After he closes the door, Dean waits a moment in case the former angel comes up with more stupid questions, though maybe this time Cas can manage on his own. He looks at yesterday's leftover pizza and wonders whether it could be today's breakfast too.

From the bathroom comes the sound of running water, and then Castiel's voice. "Dean, the water is extremely cold!"

"Did you turn the faucet to the left?" Dean asks.

"No," Cas replies from the bathroom.

"Well, turn the faucet to the left," Dean says.

A pause, then pouring water. Dean takes a bite from the pizza. Cold and somewhat rubbery, but edible.

"Dean, the water is still cold!"

"Give it some time, it takes a while for the water to heat up," Dean replies. Castiel doesn't reply, probably because he's busy pouting and being all resentful that Dean isn't rushing in with all guns blazing to fix his cold water problem.

At least now he's not bothering Dean with questions any more, which means that Dean can finally have breakfast in peace. He eats two out of the three leftover pizza slices, which greatly improves his mood, and then he turns on the TV and watches a rerun of a rerun of Zorro.

When the episode ends and the credits start rolling, Dean realizes that Castiel has been in the shower for more than half an hour. He puts the TV on mute and turns to the bathroom. "Everything all right, Cas?" he shouts. "Are you done yet?"

"I don't know," Castiel replies, his voice muffled by the sound of running water. "How do I know when I am done?"

Dean hopes that their neighbors can't hear these ridiculous conversations, otherwise who knows what they might think. Though, given his track record in having things go his way, the neighbors can hear them perfectly through the paper-thin walls and have decided they're both clinically insane.
How does one even start to answer a question like that?

"Did you lather and rinse? Did you wash your hair?" Dean asks.

"No," Cas replies. "Should I?"

"Jesus, Cas," Dean says. "What have you been doing all this time?"

Pause. "I have been standing under the running water like you told me," is Castiel's answer.

"What, you mean you just stood there all the time?" Dean asks. "Without moving at all?" He suddenly has this mental image of Castiel under the shower, looking puzzled and staring hard at the faucet in an attempt to gain a better understanding of its mysteries. At that point he laughs out loud, he can't hold it in any more. "You're supposed to use soap," he says when he regains control of himself.

"You didn't tell me that," Castiel says, all angelic resentfulness.

"There's some shower gel and shampoo," Dean says, still chuckling. "The small blue bottles next to the faucet."

The noises from the bathroom change, now it sounds as if someone is moving in the shower instead of just standing under the running water, and this bodes well for the success of this mission. "I see them," Castiel says. "I'm going to wash properly now."

"You do that," Dean says, and he turns his attention to the TV screen, which at the moment is showing a commercial for a vacuum cleaner.

After less than half a minute the bathroom door opens and out comes Castiel, naked and dripping water. "Dean," Cas said, waving his arms around like a madman, "my eyes are burning."

Dean swears. "Damn it, there is a limit to how hopeless you can be," he says, jumping up and dragging Castiel back inside the bathroom before he can create a puddle in the middle of their room. "Hold still," he says, "you just got some shampoo in your eyes." He takes a towel and hands it to the world's most awkward angel, but Castiel's eyes are closed and doesn't even notice it, so Dean grunts and dries off his face for him. "Even young children aren't this clumsy," Dean says.

Cas blinks furiously. "It burns," he repeats, stubborn.

"Don't do that, you'll make it worse," Dean warns him. "Dry your eyes and the burn will go away."

Above the towel, Castiel's eyes are red and filled with tears. "Sorry, Dean," he says, looking very miserable.

It makes Dean feel guilty because after all it is his fault that Cas lost all his angel mojo and got marooned on Earth, and even though Cas is doing his best to adapt, it's not easy to learn in a couple of days all that humans learn to do in the first ten to twenty years of their life.

Castiel is dripping water mixed with shampoo all over the mat and over Dean's clean shirt, and Dean makes his decision.

"Okay," he says, pulling off his shirt and throwing it on top of Cas's pile of clothes. "Tell you what: I'll help you wash your hair, but just this once. And you have to promise me that you'll never talk about this. With anyone. Ever." He punctuates this statement with a glare, because he thinks that if someone found out about this he could die of freaking embarrassment.

Castiel nods immediately, all happy. "I promise," he says with a small smile. "Thank you, Dean!"

Dean shakes his head and takes off his jeans. He has a small crisis because he doesn't know if he should undress completely, on the one hand it's stupid to go in the shower wearing boxers, on the other hand the situation is shady enough. Eventually he decides that, who cares anyway, he was already fucked ever since he met Cas for the first time. He strips completely and pushes Cas under the running water, then slips into the shower and draws the plastic curtain closed.

"Watch and learn, because this is the only time you'll ever get a practical demonstration," Dean says, picking up the shampoo and pretending that the situation is perfectly normal. Nothing unusual here, only two men in the same shower, surely a very common situation, at least if you're the protagonist of a porn movie of a particular nature. Dean resolves not to think about that.

Cas is certainly not thinking about that and seems to find the situation perfectly normal, though that's probably because his knowledge of porn is still limited. He looks alert and attentive, hanging on to every word of Dean's lecture on Shampooing 101. If Dean had known beforehand that he'd be doing this, he could have rehearsed what to say, because how the hell do you explain what is the right amount of shampoo? Even better, if he had known beforehand that he'd be doing this, he would have stayed in bed this morning.

Dean takes the tiny bottle of motel-issued shampoo, pours some of the contents into Castiel's hand and tries to refrain from making sarcastic comments while he explains which movements to do to lather his hair. Cas just keeps patting his shampooed hair, which is less than effective.

"No, if you do that you'll get it in your eyes again," says Dean, wiping away a blob of shampoo that has fallen on Castiel's forehead and hitting his elbow against the wall in the process. This is uncomfortable as hell, there's no room for movement at all and they both keep bumping against the wall or against the plastic shower curtain. Or worse, they keep bumping into each other, but Dean is still trying to ignore the embarrassment and the absurdity of the situation.

He can't pretend nothing happened, though, when he feels something brushing against his thigh. So far he has tried to keep his gaze up and focused on the region of space above Castiel's shoulders, but he just can't take it anymore, and so while Cas closes his eyes and tilts his head back to rinse the shampoo from hair Dean quickly glances down and... Fuck me. Not in that sense, though. Really, not in that sense. Dean wants to laugh and cry at the same time, how can this be his life, he can't handle this, he didn't sign up for this, his stint in hell looks like a fucking walk in the park compared to having to deal with this.

He clears his throat. "Cas, I think we have a problem," he says.

Castiel frowns, runs a hand through his damp hair and follows Dean's gaze downwards. "Oh," he says. A short syllable which is simply not enough to express how fucked up Dean feels right now. "This is strange," Cas adds after a while, "Nothing of the sort ever happened before."

Dean is thrilled at the idea that he's the first person in history to make Castiel horny. In other news, the same angel who failed to lose his virginity in a brothel can get it up in no time for Dean Winchester. "Awesome," Dean says. "The day keeps getting better and better."

The sarcasm is lost on Castiel. "This is a good thing?" he asks, still looking down. Dean would like him to stop staring at his own hard-on, this is already awkward enough as it is.

"It's not good or bad," Dean says, refusing to go into further details. "It happens sometimes."

"This situation is very strange," says Cas.

Dean takes his face in his hands. He can't take any more of this. "You tell me, Captain Obvious," he says. "Listen, er... I'm going in the other room. You... you take care of your small problem, okay?"

Some remote part of his brain points out that Castiel's problem is by no means small. Dean decides that he's going to need therapy to get over this and that his life sucks. Castiel appears to have reached the same conclusion because he grabs Dean's arm and stops him from leaving.

"Then it really is a problem?" he asks, sad, worried about doing the wrong thing yet again. "How do I make it go back to how it was?"

"Jesus, Cas, jerk off!" Dean exclaims, exasperated. "Masturbate! What else can you do?"

The former angel still doesn't understand, not even when Dean mimics the gesture, drops of water flying away from his hand, it's a universally recognized gesture and how the fuck does one not know what to do in this situation. Castiel's fingers are almost exactly over the mark he left on Dean's arm years ago when he raised him from hell. He's not shaking, but it's taking him a visible effort to remain calm: his face is red, his breath is shaky. Most of all, he looks so damn lost and out of his depth.

Dean groans and already knows that he'll regret this, but his hands are already moving on their own. One hand goes around Castiel's waist to support him, the other moves over his dick.

The first unexpected touch makes Cas shudder violently. "Dean," he whimpers in a strangled voice, his eyes widening.

"Shhh," Dean says softly, "relax and let me take care of this."

He moves his hand up and down rhythmically, as gently as possible because Cas is terribly nervous at the beginning. Dean is practically a world champion of jerking off, it's one of the few things that can get rid of all the stress he builds up thanks to his damn job. Handjobs are not exactly the same, he needs to angle his wrist in a different way and figure out how Castiel likes it, but that's easy enough. In a short time Dean has Cas is fully erect and moaning as he thrusts his hips forward, fucking Dean's fist.

Dean allows himself a smug grin and picks up the pace, while with his other hand he traces Castiel's backbone from shoulders to buttocks, chasing a stray droplet. Castiel clings to Dean like a dying man. "Dean, Dean," he says, and then he moans. "Don't stop ... Dean, I want to ..."

"Don't worry," Dean says, because it's not in his style to leave things half-done. He leans forward and whispers in his ear, "I know exactly what you want."

He speak softly because he absolutely does not want the people in the next room to hear, but Cas has no such compunction and is panting loudly. Dean wants to shut him up but both his hands are busy, so he leans forward and kisses him. It means nothing, Dean tries to convince himself. Any man can happen to kiss a friend, maybe while they are both naked in the shower and one is giving the other a handjob. It means absolutely nothing, apart from the fact that now Dean is a bit confused, Castiel's eyes are heavy lidded and incredibly blue and full of surprise, there's drops of water trapped between his eyelashes, his lips taste a bit like shampoo.

Dean closes his eyes and pushes the tongue against those soft lips and Cas opens his mouth, pliant, and lets himself be kissed like never in his life. Dean knows that Jimmy kissed other people at some point, he even has a daughter so he's not exactly a virgin, but Jimmy is just Castiel's vessel. No one has ever heard Castiel make noises like this before, or seen the look on Castiel's face when Dean does that thing where he traces his thumb over the head of his cock.

When the kiss ends Dean doesn't move. "Fuck," he murmurs, his face only a breath away from Cas.

Cas doesn't even hear, his eyes are still closed and he's repeating Dean's name like a prayer, but when Dean lets go of his dick his eyes snap open and he glares at Dean.

"Give me a moment, Cas," Dean says, his voice more than a little hoarse. He readjusts his body around Castiel's and takes both of their erections in his hand. The friction of Castiel's skin against his own is almost enough to make him come there and then. Dean doesn't want to think that he hasn't felt like this since he was fifteen, later there will be time to worry about that, about his sudden crush on Castiel, but right now Dean's brain just doesn't have enough blood to think. He focuses on their irregular breaths instead, on how Castiel throws back his head as if to showcase the prefect curve of his neck and collarbone.

Dean leans forward and kisses him again. It's sloppy, just pressing their lips together and swapping saliva, because he's too far gone for anything more complicated. His whole world has been reduced to his dick pressed against Castiel's, slick with soap and precome.

"Dean," Cas says, so softly that Dean almost doesn't hear, but he can feel Cas's lips moving against his cheek and guesses the word. Then Cas is coming, clinging to Dean and covering his hand and his stomach and the shower wall with spunk.

It's the sight of Castiel looking utterly wrecked that sends Dean over the edge. He makes almost no noises when he comes, just moans and collapses against Castiel as if the world has just gone out from under his feet. They both fall sideways, Dean against Cas and Cas against the tiles of the bathroom, and for a while nobody says anything.

When the water turns from lukewarm to freezing and they start shivering, Dean cleans himself and Castiel as best as he can and then he turns the water off. He manhandles Castiel out of the shower and wraps the towel around his shoulders.

"Dry off or you'll catch a cold," he says.

Castiel still looks like a mess, his face is flushed and he's shuddering in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature, but he's beaming when he catches Dean's eyes. "Dean," he says after a while, "this thing between us..."

Stupid motel with its stupid lack of towels. If only he had another towel, Dean could hide under it and wouldn't have to face Castiel. Dean wants to say that this thing is a terrible idea, that it's not so easy as a handjob under the shower, that it's never so simple, that they'll end up regretting it and Dean couldn't stand it because the last thing he wants is to hurt Cas.

Instead he hugs Cas, and Cas opens his arms and wraps Dean in his arms and in the towel, holding him close.

"Not bad for a first time," Dean says, and lets the afterglow lull him for another while.

34) moresome
Last Friday Night
Glee, Rachel/Jesse/Puck/Santana/Brittany, PG-13, 189w (FDP)

Nobody is sure of what's happening exactly, but the general consensus seems to be that it's all Rachel's fault. Puck points out that it's Rachel who invited Jesse in an attempt to get back together with the treacherous slimeball (though the exact words that he uses are more colorful and unprintable), and he was only trying to protect Rachel. Jesse slings one arm around Rachel's shoulders and says, in a slightly slurred voice, that it's Rachel's fault for stealing his heart away, and by the way, Puck has a great ass. Santana says it's Rachel's fault because her clothes are so ugly it should be a crime against humanity to wear them, they should be grateful that Auntie Tanny was around to separate Rachel from her fluffy pink sweater, and from her tartan skirt, and from everything else. Rachel herself doesn't say anything because she's too drunk to form sentences, and just giggles while Brittany goes down on her.

It's four in the morning on a Saturday and, even though most of the guests have already left, the second Rachel Berry house party extravaganza is only now getting into full swing.

78) "Puoi andare ovunque nel mondo, ma senza radici, affondi." (Eleonora Abbagnato)
Grimm, Nick & Monroe, PG, 560w (FDP)

Nick is one of the worst house guests ever. This is a lot, considering that Monroe comes from a family of Blutbaden, and your average Blutbad isn't really a stickler for etiquette, but Nick takes the proverbial cake. Hello, Nick! Please, barge in uninvited. I wasn't busy and, even if I was, your problems take precedence anyway because you're a very important person and all. Have a cup of coffee. Use me as your own personal Grimmopedia, never mind that have an actual grimoire that you could be reading instead. Want me to risk life and limb for you again? No? Are you sure? Maybe next week, then. Run off to save the world now, leave your coffee unfinished, it's not as I made it especially for you.

Still, Nick has some redeeming features, such as his ability to buy back his way into Monroe's graces with gifts of alcohol. One evening he shows up on Monroe's doorstep with a very nice bottle of Riesling and an ingratiating smile. "I figured I owed you one," he says.

"Is that a 'thank you for your help on this week's case' or a 'sorry you got beaten up on account of me'?" Monroe asks, dragging him inside. "Because I reckon you still owe me for that one."

Nick looks guilty, even more so when Monroe looks up and down the street and then bolts the door. "Any news?"

"Nothing on that front," Monroe says, heading for the kitchen. It's been two weeks since he was attacked and his mysterious assailants seem to have disappeared into thin air. The bruises faded quickly, but the paranoia is still there. "Can't be too careful, though."

He searches for the corkscrew while Nick takes two glasses from the cupboard. Monroe opens the wine and pours. "A toast?" he asks, raising his glass. "Here's to not being killed in a painful and gruesome way."

"I can drink to that," Nick replies, tilting his own glass and drinking.

For a while nobody speaks, which is a blessed relief because sometimes Nick's questions drive Monroe up the wall. He tops their glasses again.

"Listen," Nick says, all of a sudden. "If it gets too dangerous, I can get you protection. I can tell the police that you're my informant, you'll be put in the witness protection program. That way nobody will be able to find you."

"I'm not sure about that," Monroe says. "Those guys knew who I was and were I live and how to get me. If they want to find me again, they will." Also, he doesn't trust the police nearly as much as Nick does, but he doesn't want to argue about that.

"Just think about it," Nick says, leaning against the table.

"I have thought about it," Monroe replies, because he has, he's been this close to just packing his bags and running away for so many times in the past few weeks. It's what he always does when it gets too dangerous. It's his survival instinct kicking in. His instinct also told him to rip off Nick's head on their first meeting, though, and instead here he is, standing next to the sink and drinking a rather excellent Riesling with a Grimm. Screw instincts. "This is my home. I'm not leaving," he says.

It's the first time he's stayed in the same place long enough for someone to learn where he keeps the glasses.

73) "Le favole sono le cose più importanti della nostra vita. Anche da grandi si scrivono favole." (Roberto Benigni)
Grimm tales
Grimm, Nick & Monroe, PG, 314w (FDP)

"I've got something for you," Monroe says, just as Nick is about to leave. He takes a cream-colored folder from the coffee table and hands it to Nick.

"What's this?" Nick asks, curious, opening it. Inside there's just a bunch of loose sheets of paper. "'Once upon a time, in a land far far away'," he reads from the page right on top of the pile. It looks as if it's been written using an old typewriter, which is at odds with the whiteness of the paper.

Monroe looks away when Nick stares at the writing. "Yeah, sorry about that," he says. "It's the traditional phrasing. Nobody really uses it nowadays, I could've done without it."

With a frown, Nick starts flipping through the pages. There's no names and at first he doesn't get it, but then it dawns on him. "Those are my cases," he says, staring at a paragraph about the killer bees in the warehouse. "You wrote down an account of all my cases that involved supernatural creatures!"

"Someone had to!" Monroe snaps back. "Do you really think your big Grimm book is just for show? You're supposed to write down an account of all the creatures that you meet, to help out your successor." Then he whines and takes his head in his hands. "And now I'm not just helping you, I'm also helping future generations of Grimms," he mutters. "Great."

Nick hadn't really thought about that, but it makes sense. It's strange to read about things that he did, even though Monroe never used names, he just wrote 'the Grimm' and occasionally 'the Blutbad' when he couldn't help but mention the part that he'd played in the events. "It reads a lot like a fairy tale," he says.

"Where do you think fairy tales came from?" Monroe replies. He shakes his head. "Seriously, do I have to teach you everything? Just update the book already."

14) genderbending
Inception, genderbent!Arthur/Eames, PG-13, 262w (FDP)

When Arthur wakes up in the dream, he can feel that something is off. He's not sure of what it is. The loft looks just as it should from the schematics and the photos of their mark's home, there's no projections in sight, in fact there isn't anyone here save from Eames, who is sprawled on the sofa wearing a smug grin. Arthur frowns, then catches sight of his own reflection in one of the windows. "Oh," he says, and his voice comes out different. That explains it. "Really, Eames? I thought we were professionals."

"Hello to you too, Arthur," Eames replies. "Or would you prefer a new name to go with your new look?"

"Not really," Arthur says.

"Do you want to know how I did it?"

"Not really," Arthur says again. If Eames can change his own appearance at will, changing other people's appearance can't be much more difficult, especially in his own dream. Later he'll find out how Eames did it, and he'll make sure that he can't do it ever again, but he doesn't want to give Eames the satisfaction of explaining how exactly it is that Arthur looks like a small brunette woman now.

"I can turn you back if you say pretty please," Eames says.

"I'm fine," Arthur replies. He sits down opposite from him and crosses his legs, and doesn't fail to notice that Eames is staring.

"Do you want to know why I did it?" Eames says. His smile looks more like a leer now.

At that, Arthur smirks too. "I think I've got a few ideas of my own, Mr Eames."

18) Un viaggio è l'occasione per X per mettere ordine nella sua vita.
Going nowhere
SPN, Dean/Cas, PG, 395w (FDP)

There's a sort of unspoken agreement that after stopping the apocalypse (again, as if once wasn't enough) everyone needs some downtime. The host of their angelic and demonic allies has thankfully vanished overnight, which is good because Bobby's living room was getting crowded, though they could have at least said goodbye. Rude, Sam says, but at least nobody killed anybody else.

Bobby just wants a break from everything Winchester, he's armed with a book of Japanese poetry and a shotgun and threatens to shoot Sam and Dean if they dare to bother him any time soon. Sam promises that they'll stay out of trouble and Dean crosses all of his fingers and hopes it'll be true. Bobby pulls both of them in a hug that threatens to crush their bones.

Sam asks Dean to drop him off at the nearest bus station. Dean doesn't ask him where he wants to go, he's seen Sam look at the bus routes for Stanford on his laptop the other night. He doesn't offer to drive him either, or ask him why Stanford, he just tells Sam to take care. Sam might be a grown ass man, but in a corner of Dean's mind he'll always be twelve and prone to getting bullied and scraping his knees. Sam grins and shoulders his bag and goes.

Then there's just Dean and the Impala and the road ahead. He avoids the cities, because he hates urban driving, but other than that he just picks a road at random, and he drives slowly because he's in no hurry to go anywhere. There's nobody around in the country roads he chooses and, most importantly, nobody in the car to judge him, so he hums along to the radio and drums the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel. At lunchtime he stops at a tiny restaurant in a tiny town where they make a really good apple pie. He gets a second slice of that.

Several hours and three states later, Castiel is standing on the side of the road looking like the world's worst hitchhiker. Dean stops the car and leans across the passenger's seat. "Where are you going?" he asks by way of a greeting.

Castiel hunches down and stares at him from across the window. "Nowhere in particular," he replies.

"Then we're going the same way," Dean says, and opens the passenger's door for him.

57) passato remoto
Before time
DW, Doctor/Master, PG, 557w (FDP)

Even the Master has to agree that the dinosaurs are brilliant. Those are not his exact words, not really, his exact words are more along the lines of "not a complete waste of time like everything else", but coming from him it means he's enjoying himself. The Doctor grins as he watches him feed a magnolia branch to a huge long neck dinosaur (an Apatosaurus) while half a dozen smaller carnivores (Coeluruses) hop around in the distance. Then again lately he's always grinning, even more so than usual, can't help it if he's in a good mood. He's still in a good mood when, some time later, a big mean dinosaur with too many teeth that they haven't bothered to identify chases them back to the TARDIS.

"Next stop?" the Doctor asks as soon as he catches his breath.


"What's the furthest back that you've ever been?" the Master asks. "Did you ever go to a time before the dinosaurs?"

"Once or twice," says the Doctor, who has been most everywhere and everywhen in this universe.

Despite himself, the Master is interested. He leans forward and peers at one of the screens on the TARDIS's console. "How far back can it go?"

The Doctor grins. "Want to see?"


The Master doesn't ask to go anywhere. As much as he wants to, he never actually says "I want to go there" and "take me to that time", he's almost childlike in his refusal to admit that he's curious too, that he wants to see it, all of time and space. Sometimes the Doctor turns it into a game, suggesting that they visit random places and times instead (never boring places and times, because nothing is ever boring, just places and times that aren't quite as interesting as what the Master has in mind) just to see how long it takes for the Master to outright admit that dinosaurs aren't too boring, let's go see the dinosaurs instead.

Sometimes the Master has a great idea and the Doctor can't wait, doesn't tease him one bit, he just punches in the coordinates and off into the time vortex they go.


It's a bit like going to see a newborn baby, except without all the family members fussing around and worrying that you might drop the baby on its head. (A valid concern given his track record, the Doctor has to admit.) They open both doors and sit side by side, legs dangling into the void, staring at the newborn cosmos.

"The colours are very pretty," the Doctor says. "But it's not that big. More like a small bang. And no noise either because there is no air to carry it, so really it should've been the small noiseless event." The Master doesn't say anything, so the Doctor adds, "Small noiseless event doesn't roll off the tongue, though."

"What happens before?" the Master asks after a while. "Could we go further back?"

The Doctor shrugs. "You don't want to do that, it's dull and there's not as many pretty colours," he replies. "Popcorn?"

The Master stares at the proffered bowl. "Popcorn?" he asks, lifting an eyebrown. "You're witnessing the beginning of this universe and you brought popcorn?"

"I like popcorns," the Doctor says, propping one into his mouth. The Master takes a handful.

For a while the only sounds are popcorns being munched and a universe being born, which, as stated, doesn't make any sound.

54) ogni sette anni
Once every seven years
Glee, Kurt/Blaine, PG, 507w (FDP)

Kurt parks his Navigator in front of the Lima Bean at ten past three and is more than a little surprised when he doesn't see Blaine's own car anywhere. He's been back at McKinley for a little over one week and it's the first time he's arrived before Blaine for their afternoon coffee. It's strange, because Dalton is much closer to the coffee shop, and Kurt checks his phone to see if Blaine texted him.

It's not like Blaine to be late, not even by a few minutes. Kurt is halfway through typing 'are we still on for coffee?' when he catches himself and deletes the message without sending it. He's not an expert at long distance relationships (or any kind of relationships, truth to be told) but this kind of clinginess can't be healthy.

He's only a little upset that he doesn't get to see his boyfriend yet, see the way his face lights up when Kurt walks in. Kurt is sure that's not clinginess: he can't help it, seeing Blaine has become just as necessary to his survival as eating, or sleeping, or color-coordinating his outfits.

Blaine arrives a few minutes later, as Kurt is about to order. "Hey," he says. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"Good afternoon, Blaine," Kurt replies, not quite managing to hide a huge smile, because Blaine just made his day just by being here. He really, really needed to see Blaine, especially after all that drama with the school newspaper and the gossip.

There's no time to talk about that, though, because the baristas are nice but the queue is long and Kurt doesn't want to push his luck by making out with his boyfriend in front of half a dozen coffee-deprived Ohio citizens. They place their usual order, grab their mocha and latte and retreat to a table in the corner.

"I'm really, really sorry I'm late," Blaine says as soon as he sits down. "Say that you forgive me?"

Kurt grins, he can't help teasing him a bit. "I'm not sure I can," he says. "I've got very high standards, and you were late by at least twelve minutes and a half."

Blaine brings one hand to his chest. "I'll make up for it," he says and, okay, now he's definitely joking too. This is a whole new territory and Kurt is always worried that he'll make a fool of himself. Blaine has no such qualms. He flings out one hand dramatically. "I've never been late before," he declares. "I am sincerely repenting for my mistake!"

"Then you're forgiven," Kurt says. He takes a sip of his latte to hide his grin. "As long as you promise that you'll never be late again."

"Never ever?" Blaine asks, nudging Kurt's feet with his own.

"Well," Kurt says. "I suppose I could tolerate it, every once in a while. You're allowed to be late once every seven years."

"Then I swear that I'll be a paragon of punctuality for the next six years, three hundred and sixty-four days," Blaine promises.

(He breaks that promise after two years and a half, but Kurt doesn't care.)

24) "Io mi perdo nei dettagli, nei disordini, tu no . E temo il tuo passato e il mio passato, ma tu no. " (Tiziano Ferro, La Differenza Tra Me E Te)
The difference between me and you
Avengers, Tony/Steve, PG, 335w (FDP)

On Sunday morning, Tony wakes up to the sound of Steve's voice blabbering about putting free time to good use and the benefits of fresh air. Steve, Tony decides, is insane.

"Go away," Tony mutters, throwing one pillow at Steve and missing completely. "'m sleepy. 's early."

"It's not," Steve replies, sounding all chipper and bright. It should be a crime to sound so chipper this early. Tony would murder him, but that would require getting out of bed. All he can manage is to grab another pillow and throw that one too. "It's almost midday," Steve says, catching the pillow with one hand.

Having run out of ammo, Tony hides behind the covers and wonders where it was that his life went wrong.

Thing is, Tony's past isn't precisely squeaky clean, and thanks to the wonders of the internet it's all out there for everyone to see. He used to get a kick out of how many hits Google found for 'Tony Stark sex tape' but not so much now that he's in a relationship. Sort of. Not to mention that he can't even go out for a walk without some supervillain trying to blow up the whole neighborhood.

Steve has got his own skeletons in the closet, so to speak, Tony's never had the courage to ask just how close Steve was to his father but he's got his own suspicions. It's all complicated, and their relationship should be complicated too, it should be at least ten times more complicated than all of Tony's previous relationships put together, and those were a total mess.

Instead it just happened, one day Tony is a genius millionaire playboy philanthropist and the next he's a genius millionaire philanthropist whose boyfriend kicks him out of bed at the crack of dawn and cooks him pancakes. And Steve, after being updated on the fact that he won't be covered in feathers for having a boyfriend in this day and age (probably), is totally fine with it. Tony is happily freaking out about the whole situation.

Date: 2012-01-31 05:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
:( I'm sorry to hear you're so alone. *hugs* And ugh, phone lines are down. How fucking rude. =/ Glad it wasn't some kind of hugeass omg-we're-all-going-to-die earthquake though.

Date: 2012-01-31 07:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Aw. Aw. Omg ok don't worry about a thing! I gotcha covered.

I'm sorry bb, feeling lonely is the worst :( ILU!!


Date: 2012-02-01 08:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Is ok! I turned all the points in and posted AOTM.


Date: 2012-02-01 09:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
COME BACK TO ME SOON! I will have fic recs and art recs and order things and Triwizard tournaments and drunken karaoke songs and FUN \o/

Date: 2012-02-01 02:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh wow, all those fic snippets are a lot. You rock for writing so much.

Also am sorry to hear that you're feeling alone. *Hands over a virtual shock blanket and a basket of kittens and a cup of tea and chocolate*

Also that snowstorm sounds pretty scary.


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