tir-synni's random babblings

Everybody was kung-fu fighting!

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 06:19:52 GMT

Hmmm . . . slightly annoyed right now. I forgot that I had lost a lot of my fics when that . . . incident occurred last year. Only remembered it when I could have sworn that I had written a fic but couldn't find it on my lj. Oh yes. A little annoyed right now. -_-

Been shifting between very listless and very restless lately, so not much has been getting accomplished . . . especially because the listless part has been winning. When I have been in the mood to work on my stories, my dad's awesome computer successfully kills that mood. I hate his computer with a passion. I should be recieving my laptop within the next two to three weeks, though, so that should help.

Making plans to move to Pittsburgh, PA. I have the money put back, I should be looking at apartments next weekend, and I have a job (possibly two) lined up. I love my uncle Kenny, I really do. He's a lifesaver (who just happens to hate this area and would love to get all of us out of it *^__^*). I just have to find some place that accepts animals. Missy should be easy enough; Angel disturbs me a little. Still, I can't leave her behind. If I was all right with that mindset, I never would have had to move back in with my dad. Still, I don't think it'll be too hard, especially with Kenny's help.

...I still wish I had my laptop right now, though.

FMA: Hohenheim & Edward "Balled Up"

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 19:00:35 GMT

Title: Balled Up
Fandom: FMA
Characters: Hohenheim, Edward
Warnings: Inspired by Calvin and Hobbes *coughs*
Rating: A stunning G
Summary: Hohenheim had heard many stories concerning middle children, but this was getting ridiculous.

Balled Up

Hohenheim had always heard stories concerning middle children. Not the baby nor the first born, the middle child tended to be the most dynamic, craving attention and doing almost anything to get it, while attempting to maintain their individuality.

Still, this was ridiculous!

Hohenheim stared helplessly at Edward and wondered what Trisha would do right now. She would surely know what to do. At the very least, she would know what her eldest child was thinking.

…Actually, Hohenheim wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Edward was thinking right then.

“Edward?” he asked hesitantly. No response. “Edward, would you like to go with me back to the apartment?”

Edward didn’t move from his perch on Hohenheim’s chair. Hohenheim still didn’t know how Edward had managed to reach his desk with his real foot, considering how short his legs were (something he had learned to never say aloud), nonetheless how Edward managed to get his awkward prosthetic foot up there, but the lithe blond had both feet on Hohenheim’s office desk, ankles crossed. His arms were crossed, too, loose and casual across his chest. Edward’s head was bowed; Hohenheim still had no idea where Edward had gotten his hat, but it hid his face quite nicely. Hohenheim could only guess he had received it from his strange Asian friend.

“The noisy bird had a lot of words but nothing to say,” Edward intoned. Hohenheim cringed. There he went again. “He cast an inhumanly tall shadow across the office, blocking the already dim sunlight.”

Hohenheim blinked. Curiously, he glanced behind him. Seeing that he blocked the office’s lone window, Hohenheim flushed and stepped to one side.

“The bird finally moved,” Edward continued, his tone and stance never changing. “He looked sheepish: not a new look. I tried to ignore him, but I knew he had more to say. His kind always did.”

Bewildered, Hohenheim started, “Edward,” only to realize he had done exactly what Edward had said he would. He quickly closed his mouth.

“The snap of his mouth closing was loud in the quiet of the office,” Edward said calmly. “Too loud. I considered silencing him, but it was too much effort. I decided that at least he was quieter than some other saps that I knew.”

…Edward actually knew other people? Hohenheim had thought that besides the Asian, Edward’s only acquaintances were books!

“I considered catching some shut-eye,” Edward went on, “but I knew the bird couldn’t keep his beak shut for long.” Hohenheim sputtered but Edward didn’t pause. “I didn’t bother telling him that he reminded me of a lonely dame in a train station waving good-bye to her sheik: we both knew. Instead, I decided to throw him a bone.”

Hohenheim was still sputtering helplessly when Edward raised a hand to the brim of his hat and casually tipped it upward. “Coffee?” he drawled.

Having no idea what to say, Hohenheim could only shake his head. Edward immediately lowered his hat and recrossed his arms.

“Turns out the puppy couldn’t catch. It didn’t matter. I think the puppy had been dropped on his head too many times, but he was still wagging his tail. I decided to give him a break and see if I could catch up on my sleep. I had a date with Morpheus and I was already late.”

That said, Edward fell silent. Hohenheim shrugged weakly to himself. All right: he would let his son sleep. Maybe his time here was stressing Edward more than he had thought.

He bypassed his son’s new trenchcoat—the Asian friend again?—to grab his own coat. As Hohenheim did so, he saw a notebook filled with scribbles beside the coat stand. Curious, he picked it up.

Writing exactly like Edward had been talking. Disturbed, Hohenheim replaced the notebook and hastily left the office.

Considering Edward and the middle child syndrome, it made him wonder about Alphonse. He had heard many stories about the babies of the family.

Hohenheim considered his two eldest children for a moment. Never mind. He was happy being oblivious to Alphonse’s quirks.

RPS: Jared/Jensen "Physical Therapy"

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 02:28:42 GMT

Title: Physical Therapy
Fandom: SPN(RPS)
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: PWP
Rating: NC-17
A/N: First RPS ever and also this fic is pretty much in apology for all the dub/non-con and angst coming via my SPN fics.
Summary: Jensen had strong, confident hands.

Physical Therapy

Jared Padalecki tried to slip out of Sam Winchester’s trusted flannels. No success. He tried again. Failure. He tried again. Still failure. With one final, pathetic whine, Jared let his worn arms drop.

Who knew hauling around one of your fellow actors all day could hurt that much?

Jared heard the trailer door click shut behind him. He didn’t bother turning around. “Tell me you brought drugs,” he said with a groan.

Jensen Ackles chuckled lowly, and despite the pain in his back and arms, Jared couldn’t help a grin. Damn, but he loved that man’s laugh.

“Nope,” Jensen drawled, and Jared’s grin fell away into a pout. The love of his life had let him down. “I brought something better.”

Or not. Jared perked up. “Like what?”

Jensen’s hands were gentle on his back as he guided him to the couch. Jared loved his couch. Not only was it soft, it amazingly accommodated his height. He sighed when Jensen pushed him chest first into it.

He loved the couch even more when Jensen joined him on it. Jared smiled to himself when Jensen straddled his ass. He could feel Jensen, already half-hard, against him.

“Sex releases endorphins,” Jared offered helpfully, and he grinned, delighted, when Jensen laughed.

“Sex is your cure for everything,” Jensen teased, but Jared noticed he didn’t hesitate to slide his hands under Jared’s shirt and flannel. Jared immediately lifted himself so Jensen could slide them off.

“It works!” Jared defended. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice, though. For all he knew, this would make his back hurt more, but sex with Jensen was always worth it.

Except Jensen’s hands were leaving. Jared frowned and tried to turn his head, but the muscles in his neck and shoulders immediately protested. He winced.

“Stop that.” Jensen’s voice was mildly reproving. “Don’t move.”

Before Jared could point out that moving was part of sex, he heard a wet squelch. He blinked, and then Jensen’s hands were back on his skin, now slick with some odd substance. Jensen’s hands glided over his shoulder blades once, as if testing, and then they dug in.

“Ow!” Jared yelped. Jensen’s strong fingers had instantly found the worst of the knots, hard and sure on them. Jensen didn’t pause at his cry, still moving confidently.

Then it was like something had snapped. Jared exhaled sharply at the sudden feeling of relief.

“I was trained as a physical therapist,” Jensen reminded him. His hands kept moving, and for the first time, Jared realized what the slickness was on Jensen’s hands: massage oil.

Damn but Jared loved this man.

Jensen’s hands moved skillfully over his back, moving over skin and digging into tight muscle. Jared moaned weakly. He could feel himself melting into the couch.

He could also feel Jensen hardening against his ass.

“You know what could make this feel even better?” Jared asked with a sigh.

Jensen’s hands didn’t pause. “What?”

Jared smiled into the cushions. “Your hard cock.”

Now Jensen froze. Jared counted it as a victory.

“I think I can do that,” Jensen rasped, and Jared loved when his voice grew low and husky like that. And people thought Dean Winchester sounded sexy.

Jensen brushed his nose against Jared’s temple before Jared felt his calloused hands moving to his waist. Jared obligingly lifted his hips, and Jensen quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He slid them down Jared’s thighs. A moment later, Jared heard Jensen undoing his own jeans. That really shouldn’t sound as hot as it did; Jared couldn’t help a small groan.

“Yeah,” he breathed. A warm, slick finger rubbed Jared’s tight hole, and Jared arched. He heard Jensen chuckling but didn’t care as Jensen pushed that finger in. Jared groaned, feeling Jensen thrust that single finger in and out, in and out. He moved with the motion, groaning when Jensen added a second finger.

“This is one of the advanced courses,” Jensen commented, sounding incredibly amused. Jared would have commented back, but now there were three fingers inside of him, stretching him, fucking him.

“Ready?” Jensen asked, and the bastard didn’t even sound breathless. That didn’t stop Jared from nodding enthusiastically, though.

It also didn’t stop Jared’s deep groan as Jensen’s hard cock slid inside him. He heard Jensen inhale sharply, and that made him just as hot as the knowledge that his lover was now inside him.

“Fuck,” Jensen sighed, and Jared couldn’t help but agree.

Jensen’s hands resettled on Jared’s back, and to Jared’s delight, Jensen resumed massaging even as he began rocking in and out of him. There were no hard, deep thrusts, just Jensen’s cock sliding, deep and slick and rubbing hotly against Jared’s insides. Jared helplessly found himself rocking, too, his own cock rubbing roughly against the couch cushion.

“Oooooh,” he moaned. Jensen sighed again, his hands moving in time with each lazy thrust.

Jared felt hot and sleep and aroused and relaxed and he had no idea how Jensen did it. He muffled his groans in the cushions. The oil felt almost too hot against his heated flesh, Jensen’s gentle thrusts almost too much against his sensitized nerves. In and out, in and out, Jensen’s heavy balls slapping quietly against Jared’s ass.

Then Jensen leaned over and kissed Jared’s back. “Love you,” he breathed.

That was all it took. Jared shuddered, pleasure sparking every nerve. He felt Jensen grip his hips, as if steadying him, and Jared closed his eyes, trying to feel it all.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing Jared knew, Jensen was kneeling beside him, kissing him awake. “Lunch break’s over, Sammy-boy,” Jensen said, sounding incredibly smug.

Jared blinked dazedly. That was only lunch break? Then he brightened. Hey! That was only lunch break!

Jensen’s smug grin took a hesitant cast when Jared smiled brightly at him.

If Jared remembered correctly, the rest of the day involved shoots in the Impala.

And the camera only ever shot from the waist up.

SPN: Sam/Dean "Somewhere"

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 04:06:36 GMT

Title: Somewhere
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: implied Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst
Summary: He had to find Dean.

Somewhere

He had to find Dean. He had to find Dean.

It seemed like time was flying by, and Sam Winchester was standing outside of it, untouched by everything but his mission.

He had to find Dean. He had to find Dean.

He remembered the jerk’s smile. Dean always did smile at the most inappropriate times. Now Dean’s smile haunted him, taunted him. His last clear memory of his big brother was Dean’s smile.

Dean’s sad, broken smile. Too late Sam had seen it for what it was.

Too late Sam had recognized there was more to his brother than he had ever realized.

Just as he realized what he had, Dean was gone. That quickly, their roles were reversed: Dean leaving and Sam unable to live without him.

It was insane. Dean never purposely hurt Sam, but now Dean had left him shocked and broken in his wake. Had this been how Dean had felt when Sam had left him? Dying inside?

Sam would find him and find out. He would unravel Dean’s mysteries and heal both their broken hearts.

He just had to find him first find him first find him first. After all, Dean couldn’t be dead. Dean wouldn’t have left Sam to survive alone.

And Dean had been smiling.

FMA: Ling/Ed "Won't Fall Forever"

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 02:36:59 GMT

Title: Won't Fall Forever
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: Ling/Ed
Warnings: Angst, no spoilers for recent chapters (as I haven't even looked at them yet)
Rating: PG
Summary: The sky won't fall forever.

Won’t Fall Forever

The house was barely a step above ruins. Shattered chunks of sidewalk led to the front door. Bullets scarred the formerly yellow exterior. What was left of the windows was cracked, some even melted. A section of the roof on the far side was hastily pasted together, blood painting its edges, the rain sliding off the dried red mess like it slid off everything else.

It wasn’t even enough to be called a house, but it had to be a hospital. For the broken souls inside, it had to be enough.

One broken soul sat silently by a bed on the top floor. The figure on the bed rested quietly, sleep made peaceful by the cold hand clutching his own. An IV stuck out of the flesh mere inches away from the intertwined fingers.

Edward Elric had almost cried at the sight of the IV. Now he just clung to it as proof that his brother was truly in the flesh, truly alive and with him.

He wished he had proof of that concerning some others.

The door creaked open. Only Edward’s mouth moved in response. “There’s no sign of him, is there?”

Roy Mustang, because only Mustang would dare interrupt the legendary Elric brothers’ solitude, sighed and closed the door behind him. “No,” he admitted. “I doubt there will be, either.”

Edward nodded, staring sightlessly at his and Alphonse’s hands. Yao Ling had everything he wanted now. He had all of Greed’s power without the threat of the Father hanging over him. He had gained all he wanted from his trip to this country.

Edward closed his eyes.

Mustang’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Rest,” he said gently. “Tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”

Edward nodded again. Another day of reconstruction, of building up shattered buildings and shattered lives.

Edward looked up at Alphonse’s peaceful face. Renewal for all of them.

Mustang squeezed once before letting go. “Rest,” he repeated.

Finally, Edward looked up and met Mustang’s dark eyes. In the silence, the two soldiers stared at each other. After a long moment, Edward consented with a tight smile.

Reconstruction. One of the primary parts of alchemy.

Edward always was an alchemist at heart.

Mustang nodded at him and left as quietly as he had entered, his point made. Edward’s eyes drifted from the closed door to the closed window.

Even through the steady rain, Edward could see the smoke rising. The few remaining streetlights created a haunting glow.

Somewhere in the night, Yao Ling lived.

Edward told himself he didn’t care.

Beyond the cracked window, Edward knew, families crawled through the rubble of their homes. He could hear children weeping downstairs. He had seen soldiers cry as they returned from war to nothing. Staring at the world beyond the broken glass, Edward could no longer distinguish between the shadow and the light.

Before Alphonse had fallen asleep, he had whispered, voice broken, hoarse, barely audible but unbelievably there, “It can’t rain all the time.”

Edward smiled bitterly. Even with Alphonse’s flesh hand intertwined with his own, it was hard to believe that love could prevail.

Edward didn’t want to rest. He didn’t want to sleep. If he slept, he would dream. He dreamt of kisses, of a husky voice, of urgent whispers (still believe). In his sleep, he would be safe and warm.

Edward never wanted to wake back up.

The rain pounded a steady beat on the roof above his head. Edward closed his eyes for a moment before squeezing Alphonse’s hand. Not bothering to change, he moved to Alphonse’s other side and gingerly crawled into bed beside him. Alphonse sighed quietly when Edward wrapped his arms around him.

The sky won’t fall forever, Edward thought dimly, staring out the window. The night seems long but . . .

Edward drifted to sleep with the vision of violet eyes in the dark burning behind his lids.

And he dreamed.

And the rain kept falling.

SPN: Sam/Dean "In Love's Name"

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 02:19:24 GMT

Title: In Love's Name
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: Dark stuff ahead
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "We made it. We made it."

In Love’s Name

Sam kissed Dean’s lax lips, at first gently, then harder, his large hands nearly completely enveloping Dean’s face.

Dean didn’t kiss back. Sam didn’t let that deter him.

His tall frame easily towered over Dean as he pushed Dean against the motel wall. The bed—just one, queen-sized—was mere feet away, but he didn’t want Dean lying down yet. As of now, Dean was at least standing on his own. The bed would only offer the man more passivity.

Sam hated it when Dean was passive.

Sam’s tongue slipped easily between soft lips even as he slid his knee between Dean’s thighs. Like his mouth, Dean’s legs easily parted, giving Sam access. Dean’s cock was hard through his jeans, but that was purely a physiological reaction. That wasn’t Dean’s response to Sam.

Besides, it wasn’t sex Sam was interested in.

Sam’s tongue explored Dean’s mouth, licking up the last traces of the coffee Dean had nursed for hours earlier. Dean allowed it, his own tongue neither helping nor resisting. He was like a doll in Sam’s arms, and it chilled Sam to the bone.

It also motivated him to keep moving. His hands slid away from Dean’s face to untuck Dean’s shirt. For a moment, Sam couldn’t resist touching him, feeling hard muscle and warm skin. His fingers caught on new scars. Sam shivered. Then Sam moved upward until his hands rested on Dean’s chest. One hand pressed over Dean’s heart. It thudded steadily against his palm.

Sam gently pulled away from the kiss, though his lips lingered against Dean’s. “You’re alive,” he whispered, not sure if Dean heard him or not. “You’re alive.”

No response. Sam snaked a hand to Dean’s back, keeping his other hand over Dean’s heart. He yanked Dean hard against him, as close as they could be.

“Our hearts are beating,” Sam breathed. “Yours and mine. We made it. We made it.”

This close, Sam couldn’t help but see those distant green eyes close. Dean leaned so his forehead rested against Sam’s. Sam’s heart pounded.

“We’re alive,” Sam repeated. “We’re alive.”

Sam kissed Dean again, and this time, Dean tentatively responded, never opening his eyes. The kiss was slow and deep, only their mouths moving.

Sam had expected Dean to taste different, to feel different, but no: it was Dean, warm and alive, in his arms.

Dean was the one who broke the kiss, never opening his eyes. He rested against Sam. “We’re alive,” he whispered, his voice dull.

Gently, Sam kissed his brother behind his ear. Not even Hell itself could stop then or separate them. It had tried and it had failed.

Feeling Dean’s heart beating steadily against his palm, Sam closed his eyes, hiding the abrupt glow there.

Hell had tried to take Dean away from him. If Sam needed to bring a little Hell to earth to keep them together, then so be it.

They were alive. Heaven help any who tried to interfere with that.

FF7: Zack/Cloud "For the Sake of a Smile"

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 02:13:31 GMT

Title: For the Sake of a Smile
Fandom: FF7
Pairing: Zack/Cloud
Warnings: Just Zack (and implied sexual content)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Zack likes it when he can make people smile.

For the Sake of a Smile

“Private Strife! What by HEL is so funny?”

Too late, Cloud Strife realized he was grinning and straightened his expression. Judging by the drill sergeant’s thunderous face, he wasn’t nearly fast enough. Behind the man’s awesome bulk – three times his size, he noted bleakly – he knew Zack was laughing.

Stupid Zack.

“Well, Private?” The man snapped and Cloud realized he was expecting a response. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Drill Sergeant.” Rather than loud and strong, it came out rather sullen. Cloud flinched inwardly as the man’s eyes blazed. Zack was right: he did have a death wish.

“What was that, Private!” The man roared, and Cloud reflected that it no longer sounded like a question anymore; it wasn’t even human. The veins pulsing in his forehead didn’t seem very human, either.

Before Cloud could formulate a response that didn’t come off as a snarl – he’d never have Zack’s charm – the private beside him giggled. Actually giggled.

Cloud could have sworn he saw steam coming out of the drill sergeant’s ears. He decided then: Ragnarok was coming.

“Privates!” The man howled. “Drop!”

Over an hour later, Cloud still couldn’t lift his arms as he limped to Zack’s room. He had seen the brunet slip out sometime after he had begun “cherry picking” (how could something that sounded so benign be so brutal?) and he wanted to have a “talk” with him.

One that involved his fist.

... provided he could lift it.

Still, Cloud could manage a growl as he stalked – limped – up to Zack’s door. He lifted his hand, ignored the agony pulsing through his bicep and shoulder, and prepared a commanding knock.

Except the damned door opened.

“Za~ack!” Zack’s rough kiss cut him off, but Cloud valiantly attempted to voice his complaints. However, Zack’s warm, calloused hands roaming under his PT shirt proved to be a clever counter-attack. Cloud was still moaning when Zack yanked him into the room.

“I love watching you grin,” Zack panted between kisses, quick hands working at Cloud’s belt. “I love watching you laugh even more.”

That reminded Cloud of why he had been pissed in the first place. Disgruntled, he tried pulling back. “Za-”

Zack didn’t bother stripping Cloud. He tore off Cloud’s belt, unbuttoned his combat pants, and slipped his hand into his boxers. Cloud cut off with a gasp.

“But I love it best when you scream,” Zack growled.

Cloud had no idea how much time passed before he remembered again why he was pissed. By that time, he was naked and resting against Zack’s chest, both of them tucked under Zack’s blanket.

“You got me in trouble again today.” To Cloud’s resentment, his voice came out more sated than pissed. Apparently Zack caught it, because he laughed.

“Ah, today was nothing.” Cloud could have sworn Zack nuzzled his hair. The bastard probably did. “If I could make SOLDIER, you definitely can.”

Cloud’s satisfaction faded, but he tried not to change his expression lest Zack notice. He didn’t bother pointing out the large gap between him and Zack; Zack would just ignore him again.

Zack’s arms tightened around him, but he didn’t start with his stupid encouragements again, so Cloud hoped he hadn’t noticed. Instead, the brunet grinned and began to reminisce.

“First time I met Sephiroth, I pinched his ass.”

Only Zack’s strong arms kept Cloud from jack-knifing on the bed. “Wha?”

Zack laughed, warm and bright as sunshine in Cloud’s ear, as he hugged the blond close. “I swear I won him over when I convinced my platoon to serenade him he came for an inspection, but he just babbles about courage in the field or whatever,” His voice turned wistful. “I did more push-ups that day than most recruits do in a year, but it was worth it.”

After a quiet moment, Cloud told himself he shouldn’t be surprised. What was the point? “Really?” he said politely.

Cloud felt Zack’s nod. “Yeah. Got more on the president’s visit, but I think he appreciated his gift.” Zack’s fingers drummed thoughtfully on Cloud’s ribs. “More than I was expecting.”

Cloud decided not to ask. “Uh-huh.”

“Yep.” Zack sounded a little disturbed before he literally shook it off. “His gift later that year went better, thought.”

Cloud hummed, scared to encourage him too much. Still, that hum was enough for Zack.

“Yep!” Zack said cheerfully. “Why do you think Midgar doesn’t celebrate Yule anymore?”

Cloud didn’t wait to hear more. He simply slithered under the covers until he could slip Zack’s half-hard cock into his mouth. He didn’t expect to be able to shut Zack up, but he hoped to change the direction of his dialogue.

Judging from Zack’s enthusiastic encouragement, Cloud had succeeded.

snarls

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 01:09:58 GMT

Okay, I have no idea why, but AIM hates me tonight. Everything else on my computer is completely fine: it's just AIM. *twitches violently* So! If I was just chatting with you, sorry. *kicks aim*

Yeesh

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 21:22:58 GMT

The large rock is currently a back-up plan. The warm kitty on my lap is the main pain-relieving plan . . . and the Claritin my dad's supposed to bring home. And ibuprofin, of course.

Still, I've succeeded in getting something done fic-wise today. Hopefully, I'll have something up tonight and several ficcies up over the weekend. This depends on a couple things, though, mostly RL sticking to its agreement to stay over there. It can be stubborn, though.

And I have more fics hidden in the notebooks that I ever-so-smartly put in my duffle bags. Ugh.

grrr

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 03:35:52 GMT

Well, the plan was to get on and chat tonight. This obviously did not occur. That plan was replaced by this plan: go outside, find a very large rock, and drop it on my head. Me not like headaches much, thankies.

So! On that note, tomorrow is pretty much dedicated to ficcies, either finally typing them, checking over the ones that are typed, or working on ficcies via aim. If you don't see me tomorrow, then I either went with the large rock plan or I've OD'd on pain killers. One of the two.

FMA: "The Gas is on the Right"

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 00:14:01 GMT

Title: The Gas is on the Right
Fandom: FMA
Pairings: None
Warnings: slight crack, loosely based on real-life events *coughs*
A/N: For kageotogi, and the last line by the sergeant is an exact quote ^^
Rating: PG (slight language)
Summary: Edward and a humvee: need I say more?

The Gas is on the Right

Despite his occasional rants concerning God and religion—particularly organized religion that relied on donations—Edward Elric rarely encountered avid religious practitioners. He met a lot of people who invoked God’s name (Mustang was one of those, especially after reading Edward’s last report) but rarely met someone who actually prayed and stuff. He guessed it was because of that that he didn’t really know a lot about prayer.

Still, he had never guessed that prayer sounded like this. It made Edward actually interested in religion. Or something. It sounded fun, anyway.

“Oh dear God please—dammit, other way, other way!—please just let me—slow down!”

Edward shrugged and obligingly took his foot off the gas. Then he remembered the sergeant had yelled at him earlier for completely taking his foot off the petal, so he put his foot back down.

Actually, he kinda slammed it back down, but he was still getting used to the petals. That’s why they were practicing, right?

The sergeant actually squeaked when the humvee jerked. Edward looked away from the road to grin apologetically at her. Hey, it wasn’t his rule that all alchemists had to learn how to drive these things. He was just the one getting paid for it.

“Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!”

Edward shrugged and turned back around. “Am I the first person you’ve taught?” He had to shout to be heard over the engine. It was louder than he had expected. She was still louder, though. He decided that she might want to get that checked out.

And if he was the first person she taught, that would explain why she kept shrieking when he went around turns.

“Slow down! Slow down!”

All right, then, don’t answer the question. Edward forgot to be indignant, though, when he saw the logs were coming up. If he remembered correctly, he had to turn the wheel a little so the wheels didn’t take on the logs straight on—

“Oh dear God please I have children!”

Just a little. Humming to himself, Edward jerked the wheel back around so they weren’t turned as much. Yeesh, it wasn’t like they were going to run into that bank or anything. He was still getting used to the turning. He grinned proudly to himself as they thudded over the logs. He thought he was starting to get a good handle on the gas and brakes.

Well, maybe not. He cringed and held the wheel a little tighter as they went flying over the mound of dirt. All four wheels landed safely again, though, so he just shrugged and headed for the next obstacle.

“Oh dear God.”

Edward didn’t hear her, too busy grinning with glee. He had watched the other alchemists drive this course first, and this was the one he had been panting about: one humvee, one new driver, one sergeant, and one slope leading into three feet of water.

Oh, if only Alphonse could be fit into the humvee.

The sergeant was shrieking her prayers now, and Edward considered telling her that no religion he had ever heard of said that the volume of the prayer mattered, but then they were sliding down—

“Ride the brakes!”

--the slope into the water. He laughed happily when the water splashed around them, and for some reason, the sergeant began to shriek again. Thrilled, Edward didn’t care. No one else had splashed nearly that much water. He hoped Alphonse was at least watching this.

“Speed up, speed up—not that much!”

And this sergeant really had to lay off the coffee. Starting to whistle a song he had heard Alphonse humming early, Edward held the gas petal to the floor as the humvee roared up the embankment. Water flew up again—yes!—before they cleared it completely. Grinning, Edward drove the humvee to where the next group of wide-eyed alchemists was waiting.

Actually, he didn’t remember the last group being quite that wide-eyed. Edward shrugged. Oh well.

The sergeant was shaking when Edward unbuckled his seatbelt. “God rest the soul of your next instructor,” was all she said.

Stepping out of the humvee, Edward lit up. He had completely forgotten there were two parts to the humvee qualifications.

He just hoped his next instructor was a little quieter.

SPN: "Your Sacrilege for Today"

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 20:53:28 GMT

Title: Your Sacrilege for Today
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warnings: Smutty language, thoughts, and implied action, all in a church
Rating: R
Summary: "I just had a revelation," Dean Winchester announced. "I need to get laid."

Your Sacrilege for the Day

“I just had a revelation,” Dean Winchester announced. “I need to get laid.”

Sam froze. In front of him, no one seemed to notice Dean’s statement: they were too busy praying. At the front of the room, the priest didn’t even pause, his monotone unceasing. No one seemed to notice Dean’s comment.

His own head bowed in prayer, Sam abruptly remembered why he never brought Dean to church.

“Shut up,” he hissed. Dean’s head was bowed, too, and since they were sitting in the back, only Sam could see Dean’s mischievous grin.

Sam had a really, really, really bad feeling about this.

“Now’s a good time,” Dean offered. Sam knew Dean was going to say that. “No one’s looking back here.”

Above that mischievous smile were wide, hopeful green eyes. Normally, Sam caved when Dean flashed those eyes at him, but not this time. Oh no. He had committed enough blasphemous acts, thank you!

Undeterred, Dean scooted closer until his warm thigh pressed against Sam’s. His head was still bowed, hands still locked in a pretense of prayer, but a quick glance revealed Dean was hard.

And dammit, Sam was getting that way, too. Damned suggestibility.

“I’m so hot,” Dean murmured, keeping his voice low enough that it couldn’t be heard over the priest. “We’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had a chance to suck your cock, to swallow you down, to make you scream. At breakfast in the diner all I wanted was to bend you over the table and fuck your brains out. Think that waitress would have enjoyed the show? Watching you sweat?”

Sam swallowed. He gripped his hands tighter to keep them from shaking. Dean had a hot mouth to go with the rest of him.

Church, church, Sam reminded himself. Just because Dean didn’t have any religious respect didn’t mean Sam had to be the same.

But now he couldn’t even hear the priest. He vividly remembered the diner table from earlier. He could easily imagine Dean bending him over and pounding his ass.

He could easily imagine himself bending Dean over and pounding his ass.

Sam bit his lip to keep from whimpering.

He never should have given Dean that opening. Still in his humble position of prayer, Dean kept going. “It’s been too long since I’ve had my hard cock in your ass, fucking you open,” he whispered. “It’s been too long since I’ve had you in the shower, all hot and slick, my mouth sucking the water off your stomach. It’s been too long since I leaned over and sucked you off in the Impala. You remember the last time I did that? Remember the way you screamed?”

Sam couldn’t help it; he began to shake.

“You came in my mouth and I swallowed you down,” Dean continued softly. “Your spunk was all over my chin. Remember licking it off? That made me so hot. You barely had to touch me and I came all over the steering wheel.”

Oh God. Same whined low in his throat. He remembered that. Fuck. He definitely remembered that.

Sam wasn’t the only one who screamed.

“I just want to lean over and slide your zipper down,” Dean breathed, his voice growing rough. “Suck you into my throat, take you as deep as I can. I want to swallow you whole and hear you scream. I want everyone to turn and look and know you’re mine.”

It was the fiercely possessive tone that did it. With a low groan, Sam came in his pants.

He came down, shaking like a leaf, to see the old woman in the pew in front of him turn and stare at him. Sam paled. Oh please no.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the old lady said gently. “His sermons can be very inspiring.”

Sam swallowed weakly and forced a pained smile. “Very inspiring,” he agreed.

The bastard was snickering beside him. Sam stayed hunched over, pretending to pray, as the service finally filed out. The priest was the last one to leave. He clasped a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Take your time, child,” he said soothingly. “Communion with God can be a very moving experience.”

Sam could only nod, not daring to move. His pants were wet and sticky.

Dean was shaking with laughter, the bastard. Sam waited until the church was empty except for them; then he turned around and punched Dean in the shoulder, hard. Dean yelped but his green eyes were still sparkling.

“The confessional is free,” Dean said cheerfully. “You ready to be bent over yet?”

Dean barely finished before Sam grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Later, he swore, in the shower, he would pay Dean back tenfold. Oh yes.

For now, he was holding Dean to that promise that he could make him scream.

FMA: "The Act of Translation"

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 18:58:47 GMT

Title: The Act of Translation
Fandom: FMA
Pairings: None/Gen
Warnings: Ah, slight crack?
Rating: G (unbelievable, ain't it?)
Summary: With one clap of his hands and a touch from his fingers, Edward Elric could create a duck from the desk surface.

The Act of Translation

With one clap of his hands and a touch from his fingers, Edward Elric could create a duck from the desk surface. True, it was a small duck, as he didn’t want to mess up the desk too much (Alphonse was right beside him, after all, and his baby brother was finicky about the oddest things), but its lines were smooth and every detail clear. A work of art.

“Ah, Major Elric, sir . . .”

But it was a boring piece of art. Another clap and a touch and Edward had a police dog. For a moment, he had considered a cat, but again, Alphonse was beside him. Sometimes, you had to look at the bigger picture.

“Keep talking,” Edward sang out. “I’m listening.” Clap, touch: one of the bigger police dogs, teeth bared. For some reason, they all liked Edward. The bastard said it was because he looked like one of those cheap, miniature chew toys. Edward had chased him around the office for two hours before Hawkeye had come into work.

“O-of course, Major Elric, sir. As I was saying . . .”

Claptouch. Military dog. The military liked to breed them very big. Edward suspected alchemy. It was the only reason he could think of why a dog was bigger than him.

“A-as I was saying—”

Claptouch. Armstrong standing behind the dog, the only person Edward knew who could make those dogs look halfway normally sized. Edward paused a second to admire the picture. Did combat alchemist ever work with the canine unit? If not, Edward would have to suggest it.

“Um—”

Beside him, Alphonse made an odd, aborted noise. Edward had asked repeatedly over the years if he was all right when he made that noise: it sounded painful. Alphonse would only squeak out that he was fine. Eventually, Edward took his word for it and stopped asking.

“I’m listening,” Edward repeated, his voice still in sing-song. Clap touch. The dog in mid-lunge, Armstrong unleashing a devastating attack beside it. Poetry in motion.

“Ah, ah . . .”

Eh, why not. With another claptouch, Edward added the Bastard in his full smirking glory. His hand was outstretched, fire sparking from his fingers. Edward nodded in satisfaction. Only his alchemy could make Mustang look halfway decent.

Edward heard Alphonse whimper a little. After this interview was over, Edward would have to pull his brother aside and question him. Surely those noises couldn’t be healthy.

After a moment of thought, Edward claptouched again. He leaned back and grinned to himself, fangs peeking out. The masterpiece: himself beside Mustang, automail arm transformed into a very large, very sharp, jagged blade. Perfect.

“Yes!” the mayor abruptly wailed. Edward looked up in time to see the mayor fall out of his chair, tears streaming down his ample cheeks. “I embezzled funds from the town treasury. Please, don’t kill me!”

Edward grinned cheekily, keeping one eye on Alphonse as his little brother groaned. “All we wanted to know!” Edward said cheerfully. “Thanks for your cooperation!”

And Mustang doubted his interrogation techniques. Ha!