threeguesses: ([stock] instant gratification)
[personal profile] threeguesses
Stolen from [ profile] lowriseflare, who got it from [ profile] fated_addiction:

Give me a pairing (or character, or the name of a show) and a prompt (a word, a phrase, a situation, an emotion, a few lines from a song or, hell, even an entire song) and I will do my best to write you a snippet based on your request.

Not sure how well this is going to work, considering this is a fic journal read by very few people, but TOO BAD, I have three seconds of free time and the newfound ability to write only in 200 word chunks. Come at me.

Date: 2011-09-18 09:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Sam/Andy. Boom. Had to be done. The powers of the universe compelled me.

Date: 2011-09-18 09:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh right, AND a prompt. *Learns to read* Hmmm. Movie night.


Date: 2011-09-19 04:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
It’s two weeks into their suspension, and they’ve barely left Sam’s place. It’s—well, it’s weird, to tell the truth, this odd limbo like they’re still in the shitty cover apartment, hiding from the world. Sam honestly can’t tell if the relationship’s on pause or fast-forward. He knows Andy’s body in exquisite detail now—the notches of her spine and those small high breasts, slightly puffy nipples—has never taken her to dinner. Isn’t sure what they’d talk about.

“I think there’s still some cereal.” She’s sitting cross-legged on the kitchen table, panties and one of Sam’s old undershirts. It’s six o’clock. All they’ve eaten today is instant oatmeal, the only food Andy can conceivably make and bring him in bed without burning the house down (she tried for French toast once; it didn’t end well). Sam rubs a hand over his eyes.

“I should go to the store.”

Andy makes a face. “We could order pizza.”

“McNally.” He can’t quite keep the tension out of his voice. “We’ve eaten pizza every night this week.”

Jurassic Park is on in the next room, just quietly; clever girl. Andy’s eyebrows go up. “So?” Like it’s nothing, like it honestly never occurred to her as a problem.

“So? So this isn’t a frat house, Andy.” He wrenches open the fridge, stares down a carton of eggs and some pickles, an old scraped-out jar of strawberry jam. The cold air creeps over his forehead. He leans into it and sighs; counts to ten. When he turns around she’s got her lip between her teeth, one knee curled up under her chin.

“You want me to go?” She’s been back to hers a few times: finalized her mortgage; moved her stuff out of Nash’s place. It’s still all in boxes at the new house, stacked up in the living room. Sam’s pretty sure when he drops her off there she just sleeps. Watches cartoons. They aren’t very good at not being cops.

He sighs again. “No, McNally, I don’t want you to go.” He’s standing beside her before he even knows what he’s doing. (She just looks so unforgivably young, is the thing, no makeup and a messy bun like she’s playing volleyball, neon yellow underwear that says hello there across the ass. He loves her, badly. It’s way too early, but he’s sure. He just doesn’t know what to with her yet.)

“Well.” She sort of shrugs, shoulders up like she isn’t sure whether or not they’re fighting. “What do you want?”

He cups her knee. “Dinner.” And then, because he’s a grownup and that’s the easy way out: “I don’t know. Staying in bed all day and not seeing anybody isn’t normal, Andy.”

She shrugs again. “Maybe. But aren’t you— I mean, I can barely look Traci in the eye.”

That throws him a bit. “What are you, embarrassed?”

Yes,” she hisses. “It’s our job, and now everyone’s going to think— I don’t know.”

“Think we’re sleeping together?” The baby-fine stubble on her knee pricks his palm. He rubs in a soothing circle, like he’s polishing it down. “Andy. We are sleeping together.”

She huffs out a breath. “Not you, me. First Luke, and now—it looks tacky, Sam. Like I—” She screws up her face.

Ah. “You’re a good cop. Nash and the other rookies aren’t going to think that. Best isn’t going to think that.” He cups her chin. “Ollie still thinks I drugged you.” That gets a laugh, watery. “Some idiots down in traffic might think that, but we only let them out of the basement once a month, so.”

She nudges her cheek into his palm; her skin is silky smooth. In the next room, the velociraptors are learning to open doors. “I’m supposed to meet the electrician at 10:30. Want to get up and do a run before?” He swipes a thumb across the hard line of her jaw and she closes her eyes. “Under the Mount Pleasant bridges. There was an attempted rape last week; probably I shouldn’t go alone.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah." Thumb at the corner of her stubborn, little-girl mouth; a kiss. "Yeah, I’d like that.”
Edited Date: 2011-09-19 07:13 am (UTC)

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Date: 2011-09-18 10:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Sam/Andy directly after "I don't know. I have no idea." and maybe a teeny tiny proposal?

Date: 2011-09-18 10:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Just to change it up a little:

Sam/Oliver - coffee.

Unless you really want another Sam/Andy one, in which case, breakfast.

all roads narrow at the border

Date: 2011-09-21 03:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
[Oh man, this almost ended up being Sam/Oliver Sam/Oliver, but I pulled it back.]

We were never that stupid, Oliver says, and okay, fine, but—they really were, is the thing.

(Oliver at least three times over, what with Zoe and the baby— no sleep, for fuck’s sakes, and then the TOs had them running around doing stupid scavenger hunts, fresh paint, hey rookie what street corner is this? Hey rookie, where’s my coffee? Hey rookie, how you feel about jogging home?

Oliver used to get the worst shakes during weapons recertification; he only hit the mum and baby twice, but jesus god, it burned on him.)

Hazing isn’t so bad, now. Ollie doesn’t want to be one of those guys—back in my day, uphill both ways—but whatever, he totally is, so.

He remembers Sammie too; some stupid city boy two years below him, smart-alecky enough to receive the special privilege of two D’s pouring whiskey down his throat the night before first shift. Oliver was still a rookie himself, really, barely even got to drive the fricking cruiser, but he just felt so damn responsible—he had a baby; Sam had a shitty flat up on Jarvis. (Neither of them even had cars; in the end, he walked the dumb kid home.)

So now: “I don’t know, brother, just—go easy on the rook.”

Sam takes the coffee with a sour expression. It’s his first day back in uniform, and he spent the first twenty minutes of it in the locker room, bitching to Oliver about how crappy musty polyester smells. “Which rook?”

As if he fucking doesn’t know. “McNally.” Sam makes a face. “She’s good police,” Ollie insists, which—he doesn’t actually know, true, but her daddy was good police. Ollie’s got a feeling. (He always picks one of the rookies, every year, which Sam says is creepy—they’re not fucking horses, brother, jeez—but whatever. This year, McNally’s it.)

(She’s oddly endearing, is the other thing, ten million times too earnest and then there’s this brash tough-guy act she pulls on for special occasions. So. At least she’ll be entertaining to watch.)

“Wet behind her fricking ears,” Sam mutters. “You know she was actually smiling when she finally made the collar?”

Ollie hides a grin behind his hand. “Sounds about right.”

“Wet behind her fricking ears,” Sam repeats, pushing himself off the wall. Oliver chucks his coffee cup into the trash, overhand, and thinks I walked you fourteen blocks.

Re: all roads narrow at the border

From: [identity profile] - Date: 2011-09-21 12:26 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-09-18 10:16 pm (UTC)
wendelah1: (Scully's cross)
From: [personal profile] wendelah1
Dana Scully, faith

Date: 2011-09-19 05:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Scully believes in god intermittently.

When she’s eight years old and Mel filches one of Bill’s porn mags, spreads it out on the kitchen table and makes Dana look—she believes then, badly. She hides in the downstairs bathroom, nose mashed up against the smelly guest soap she isn’t allowed to touch, and prays so hard she gives herself a headache. She spends all week worrying about hell—what it’s going to look like, if the dark of her closet is any comparison—but at Confession the priest seems bemused. He only makes her say three Hail Mary’s.

She believes a little easier then.

By the time med school rolls around, she doesn’t believe in much. Or, more specifically, her beliefs are restricted; secular. The central nervous system and endocrinology. Biomechanics.

Daniel Waterson.

(One night, when his wife and daughter are away visiting family, he takes her home with him. All the times before have been quick – in his office, against the bookshelf or in his chair, always between classes. Dana is forever sneaking into gross anatomy late, a mess of sticky fingers and aching thighs, her knees still shaking.

Now though, now they have time. He drags her through the front hall and up the stairs (Dana is left with only the briefest impressions of plush carpet and painted spindles), and dumps her on the bed. The bedspread is paisley. She can smell Mrs. Waterston’s perfume on the pillows the entire time he is going down on her.

Afterwards, he falls asleep almost immediately. Dana pads through the dark house on bare feet, peeking into rooms. There is peanut butter in the fridge and the shoes are lined up neatly in the closet. Mrs. Waterston uses ivory soap and Dana’s brand of tampons. When Dana leaves at five a.m., buttoning up her jeans and slipping out the door, she borrows one for the road.

She does not feel guilty.)

When she confesses that sin, nearly twenty years later, she’s told to think about what she’s done and pray to the Stations of the Cross until she thinks it’s been enough.

Mulder’s gone missing and she’s three months pregnant. It’s never enough.

And God remembered Rachel, and opened her womb.

After William, she doesn’t believe in anything.

After Mulder comes back from the dead, she believes so bright and hard it’s practically blasphemous (Mulder’s just a man; you shall have no other gods before me).

And after it’s all over—an unremarkable house, an unremarkable job—she believes quietly, only on Sundays and then just during Easter, Christmastime. Lapsed, Father McCue would say.

Scully likes to think she’s happy then.

December 22nd, 2012 dawns sunny and cold. Mulder has a shotgun and water purification tablets; around her neck, overtop of the cross, Scully has a pouch and two cyanide pills. She says the Our Father, and when she gets to the end—forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us—she tries to mean it. She does.
Edited Date: 2011-09-19 06:43 am (UTC)

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Date: 2011-09-18 10:26 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
You are awesome.


"Hold on, what's the rush, what's the rush we're not done are we?
Cause I don't need to change this atmosphere we've made if
You can stay one more hour, can you stay one more hour?

You know I'm gonna find a way to let you have your way with me
You know I'm gonna find a time to catch your hand and make you stay"

Find A Way by Safetysuit. So much amazingness wrapped up in a song.

Date: 2011-09-18 10:26 pm (UTC)
idella: (kalinda (glasses))
From: [personal profile] idella
Alicia/Kalinda, we live to survive our paradoxes

Date: 2011-09-18 11:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Sam/Andy, snow

An excellent way to get new Rookie Blue fic into the world. Yay you!

Date: 2011-09-19 12:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
HEEE, ALL THESE PROMPTS, way to be on top of shit, Internet.

Luke/Jo, look what the cat dragged in

(but, uh. Probably you should write all those other people's first)

bow out gracefully, you’d think by now I

Date: 2011-09-20 08:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

Jo leaves because she doesn’t want it--babies, a ring--but also because she doesn’t want it yet. She may never want it, sure, but hey. Contingency plans.

(That’s the other thing: she leaves because she knows he’ll take her back.)

She’s selfish, Jo.

(But. Not wrong.)

The second time they fuck, he brings her a glass of water in bed. Jo rolls her eyes and thinks, too nice for his own good. She thinks, god, I’m going to break his—

It doesn’t particularly bother her, at the time.

She hears he got suave, after she left. The first time he kissed her--four months into their partnership, the kind of crappy stakeout Jo thought she’d never see again out of uniform--it was awkward, all knocking teeth and coppery blood in Jo’s mouth. He had such pale eyelashes. Bright hometown-boy smile.

(A farm outside of Brantford, he told her later, when they were at that stage of fucking that’s all getting-to-know-you pillow talk, holding hands in public.

Jo hates that stage.

Still: “Explains a lot,” she’d said, and kissed him. His mouth tasted like the Clean Air Act.)

Now, though-- A new rookie each year, someone mutters.


(It’s why Jo doesn’t mind so much at first; McNally.)

How she knows (thinks she knows, thinks, it would be almost criminally insane to be sure after--):

That first time, in the surveillance van, holding her split lip and laughing at him until the blush travelled all the way to his ears; the way his eyes got wide when she stopped laughing and reached for his belt.

She’s not his first love, sure--Maggie Farrow, eleventh grade--but she was his partner, and they shared each other’s colds and cutlery for four fucking years, could break a perp’s alibi in under twenty. He used to keep an extra hair elastic in his desk for her.

So when she takes the transfer--don’t do this to us, he’d said, Jo please--Jo doesn’t really think she’s doing anything irrevocable.

(What she thinks she’s doing: pressing pause.)

“I didn’t think you were that guy,” she says to him one night, side-by-side paperwork like old times. He still uses the same fucking brand of pen.

He doesn’t even look up. “I’m not any guy. I love her.”

(Their second year together, some asshole working Gangs suggested Jo’s main contribution to the partnership was bending over.

Luke knocked out two of his teeth.)

“Okay,” Jo says. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

So when she gets him down on that hotel bed--finally, finally, she’s been itching since she saw that ring, McNally’s skinny little-girl fingers--Jo breathes a bit easier, because yes, yes, her contingency plan is still in place.

Selfish. Yeah.

(But also: she loves him, she loves him, of course she--)

She still doesn’t want the ring, is the problem.

(She just doesn’t want anyone else wearing it.)

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Date: 2011-09-19 01:38 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

~ the "I got yelled at, and then I got suspended" Sam and Frank fill-in-the-blank scene.

~ Sam/Andy + stakeout make outs.

~ Andy going undercover with Sam in the first place ("Why, you wanna come with me?" IF ONLY.) and the alternate sexy times scenario that creates.

Date: 2011-09-19 01:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Matt/Archie -- jealousy


Date: 2011-09-19 04:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
if we were supernatural

Date: 2011-09-19 04:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Just gonna throw a bunch of prompts out there so feel free to use what you want and ignore the rest. :) I see a chance for fic from you and I have to be eager!

- Andy's in a car accident when driving his truck
- they run into Luke when they go our somewhere for dinner
- Sam's sister calls and Andy picks up the phone
- Andy taking care of him and coddling him while on suspension

Date: 2011-09-21 04:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I don't wanna interrupt your latest fix by replying up there but Ben/Missy fic = FUCK YES! I love love love you two. You make my friggen week, I tell ya!

Date: 2011-09-27 03:07 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Hee, thank you! We are having some fun, let me tell you.

Date: 2011-09-21 06:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
HOLY SHIT. You can't just let rip with the rpf commentfic without giving a girl a heads up. It's like all my birthdays and Christmassy wishes have arrived at once. PLEASE CONTINUE.

Date: 2011-09-27 03:09 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh, trust, we are not stopping.

Date: 2011-09-21 03:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
DUDE. I've been wondering when the rpf was going to show up.

Also, will all the commentfic, I'd just like to let you know that you two are kinda my heroines. Just saying.

Date: 2011-09-27 03:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I TOO HAVE BEEN WONDERING THIS. Eventually we had to take it into our own hands.

Date: 2011-09-21 06:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
That RPF is everything I never knew I wanted. Gold stars for you both!

("a perfectly nice girl!" she kept telling everyone, until finally Enuka made her switch to water) ♥


Date: 2011-09-27 03:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
THE SAY ANYTHING REFERENCE IS MY FAVOURITE PART OF THIS FIC SO FAR. Stroke of brilliance, [ profile] lowriseflare.

Mr. Rochester

Date: 2011-09-21 09:28 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
1. I am in love with both of you, please never ever stop writing Rookie Blue fanfic of all kinds, okay thanks.

2. As per usual with your commentfics, I had no idea I wanted RPF until you started writing it.

3. OH MY GOD, the wedding photo. Your comments made me curious, so I went and found it online, and basically that is the worst decision I have ever made in my life. He DOES look like Mr. Rochester and/or an Edwardian vampire, and he's, like, holding her...elbow? And also she's MAYBE twelve? She makes Missy look MIDDLE-AGED. Good Lord. I'm going to wipe my memory.

Re: Mr. Rochester

Date: 2011-09-27 03:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
That wedding photo, seriously, not something I needed in my brain. BUT ALSO SOMETHING I REALLY NEEDED? I don't even know.

Date: 2011-09-21 10:24 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Look at our fandom, all grown up!!!
*wipes tears*
But seriously - this RPF made my day.
*G* Thank you.

Date: 2011-09-27 03:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Heh, I guess we popped the RPF cherry all right.

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Date: 2011-10-12 10:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I just need to say that 'AND THEN SHE SNEEZES' is my new favourite quote OF ALL TIME. I don't want to interrupt up there. CARRY ON!