Femslash 2010

All done all done!

2011-04-28T02:29:37Z

It's time for femslash11 - head on over there, we've started looking for fandoms and polling! Wooo!

HUZZAH!

2010-09-17T03:51:10Z

With much thanks to our awesome awesome pinch hit writers, I believe EVERYONE has a story now! The masterlist by fandom is updated with every story (omg please tell me if there are any missing or wrong!!) and yay! HUZZAH! We are all done! See you wonderful awesome people next year!

Fringe, Set Routines, noir!Astrid/noir!Olivia, PG

2010-09-17T03:19:10Z

Title: Set Routines
Author: ALC Punk!
Length: 1200+
Fandom: Fringe
Pairing: noir!Astrid/noir!Olivia
Rating: PG, kissing, mentions of violence
Disclaimer: not mine.
Recipient: sadieflood
Summary: Bandaging Olivia was never Esther's favorite chore.

"That was stupid," Esther announced, and not for the first time. Her fingers were red and sticky now, and despite Olivia's protests, she really did think it was a lot of blood.

Olivia leaned into the scarred leather of her chair, twisted, so her injured shoulder could be bandaged, "It's only a scratch," she said calmly. Almost lightly.

"You got shot," Esther insisted. "You should go to the hospital."

"No." Olivia's tone brooked no argument, but her expression softened when she looked up at Esther, though she winced, too, "I got grazed, Esther. The bullet didn't do much damage."

Esther pressed her lips together on another reply, and hurried to finish bandaging the 'scratch'. As far as she could see, the bullet had done more damage than Olivia wanted to admit, but there was nothing she could do short of knocking the other woman out and dragging her off. And Esther wasn't really fond of hauling her boss around, at the best of times.

At the worst, though... "Do you think they followed you here?"

"No," and Olivia's voice had a grim sort of satisfaction in it as she continued, "I'm pretty sure they're having to find a hospital of their own. We should keep a check on doctors, see if any dealt with gunshot victims tonight."

"Tomorrow," Esther said firmly, pressing the bandage, even though she was done. She was rewarded with a grimace.

"All right. Tomorrow."

"Good." Pleased that she'd won the argument before it truly began, Esther moved away and began cleaning up. If she'd had time, she would have put gloves on--dealing with gunshots wasn't her cup of tea, though, and she'd been too surprised to remember at first. Getting the blood off her fingers took more than a few rags and some alcohol.

"Thank you," Olivia said as she stood up.

Esther made a noise of disapproval and moved to stop her, "You should rest for a little while." She put her hands on Olivia's waist to steady her. "You lost blood, and you're in shock."

"That means I should get warm and put my feet up, right?" Murmured Olivia, as she leaned into Esther.

"Yes." Finding it almost too difficult to hold her boss (she reminded herself that Olivia was her boss every single day, and it didn't seem to do much good) without blushing or doing something she'd later regret, Esther pushed Olivia back into the chair.

Olivia dropped too fast, and yelped as she jarred her wound.

"Sorry--" Esther didn't feel that repentant. She grabbed the trench coat off the rack and draped it over Olivia before patting her good shoulder, "Now stay there until I finish the accounts and then you can help me lock up for the night before I drive you home."

"Are you sure you shouldn't stay with me for observation?"

There was something in Olivia's tone that made Esther's cheeks heat. "We'll see about that when the time comes."

-

It wasn't the first time Olivia had been injured on the job, but as Esther typed up her report (double-spaced, neat lines), she firmly told herself it should be the last. This wasn't the sort of job for either of them, with desperate criminals shooting at them. Or at Olivia. Esther just stayed in the office, sorted Olivia's scrawled notes into order, made mountains of phone calls, and kept the books.

An hour later, she checked on Olivia, and found her napping in her chair, head at an awkward angle. Esther gave a sigh and went to straighten the papers on her desk. They could leave now, and most of her work would be done.

"Olivia," she murmured as she returned, "We can go now."

With a jerk, Olivia straightened and then winced, "God. How long have I been out?"

"Maybe an hour?" Esther checked that Olivia's gun was loaded, then handed it to her. She didn't like it, but not having it might prove fatal if someone was still watching for them. "Let's get you home and fed."

Olivia groaned, "Are you cooking?"

"Yes." It was an easy decision to make. If she didn't, Esther doubted she'd eat before ten that night, once she'd dealt with settling Olivia and helping her get food herself. She raised her eyebrows, "Can you stand?"

Nodding, Olivia slowly got to her feet, favoring her right shoulder. "Why's it always the right?" she groused as she let Esther move in and wrap an arm around her waist.

"They hate it," Esther offered.

Olivia snorted, but remained silent as they negotiated the outer office. Once in the corridor, Esther turned off the interior lights, then locked the door, eyes tracing the gold leaf as they normally did. Olivia had been proud to be able to afford real gold for it, even if it was starting to chip with age now.

A little stiffly, Olivia pulled away and took the lead as they headed down to Esther's car. They saw no one, but that didn't make her relax. Esther opened the door for her, then hurried around to the driver's side while Olivia leaned across and unlocked it for her.

"Should we pick something up on the way, or do you have food?" Esther asked as she pulled smoothly into traffic.

"There's food."

Good. Olivia must have gone for groceries recently, "Straight there it is, then." Besides, trying to conceal Olivia's shoulder while in the store would be harder than it was worth. And Olivia wouldn't have let her go in alone, not after the gun battle earlier.

Esther watched the rear-view mirror for several blocks, making a couple of random, quick, turns before she was certain they weren't being followed. Then she headed straight for Olivia's.

-

"You don't have to do this," Olivia protested as Esther bustled around her kitchen, pulling out food and pots.

"What will you do if I go?"

"Order something."

Esther nodded, "And what if the delivery place is on their pay-roll?"

A snort answered her, but Olivia conceded the logic of it as she sat in one of her kitchen chairs. They were a mis-matched set, scrounged from an abandoned office, but they were sturdy and comfortable. And they didn't show the blood that sometimes got on them.

Finished with throwing together the beginnings, Esther washed her hands and moved to Olivia's side, "I should check and see if it's swelling yet." She brushed her fingers over the bandage and felt no heat.

"It's fine," Olivia muttered.

Esther dropped her hands and leaned against the counter, "If you're sure."

"I'm the one injured," was the irritable reply.

With a chuckle, Esther moved away to pull out plates to set on the scarred Formica table halfway into the living area.

"You know," Olivia said, her voice dry, "You really don't--"

"So you keep saying." Turning back, Esther was surprised to find Olivia on her feet, and a lot closer than she had been. "You should sit."

"Is that what the doctor orders?" With one eyebrow raised, Olivia stepped closer.

"That is what I order," Esther said firmly, fighting the little fluttery feeling in her gut. Really, she was being fanciful, if she thought that Olivia was thinking about that while she was injured.

Then again, Olivia's gaze was fastened on her mouth. "Maybe I don't like taking orders."

"Now you sound like a sulky two-year-old." It was Esther's turn to be dry.

Olivia laughed and then winced, "Laughing hurts, check."

Reaching out, Esther put her hands on Olivia's waist, "Now, sit--"

She didn't get to finish her order. Olivia's fingers slid up her arms, stroking in a way that made Esther's breath catch. "Come sit on the couch with me," suggested Olivia.

Her boss, Esther reminded herself. But she followed Olivia to the couch, letting her sit down first. "Dinner," she started to say.

"Can wait--" Olivia yanked at Esther's wrist, pulling her off-balance and to the couch.

Feeling almost out of control, Esther caught herself on the back, and closed the distance to Olivia's mouth. "This can't be good for you," she murmured.

"I'll decide that," was Olivia's husky reply before she reached up and cupped Esther's cheek, urging her closer again.

The kiss was even better the second time, and Esther found her knees giving out. Sinking to the couch was a good idea, even if it left her half-sprawled against Olivia.

"I think," Olivia said, kissing along Esther's jaw, "That this is speeding my recovery."

"Just what the doctor ordered," mumbled Esther before she leaned against the back of the couch so as not to jar Olivia, and returned to kissing her.

Dinner didn't burn, but it was a close call.

-f-

FIC: And One More For the Road (The Good Wife, Alicia/Kalinda, for bell)

2010-09-16T20:18:13Z

Title: And One More For the Road
Author: tellitslant
Recipient: usomitai/Bell
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairing: Alicia Florrick/Kalinda Sharma
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1200
Warnings: none
Summary: You could tell me a lot, but it's not in a gentleman's code / Let's make it one for my baby, and one more for the road. Set between 1x04-1x08. Alicia, Kalinda, some advice, and the road not taken.

so thanks for the cheer, I hope you didn't mind me bending your ear

Garnet Ambassadors (Chuck, Sarah Walker/Anna Wu, for cdybedahl)

2010-09-15T01:55:38Z

Title: Garnet Ambassadors
Author: voleuse
Recipient: cdybedahl
Fandom: Chuck
Pairing: Sarah Walker/Anna Wu
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,051
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: None.
Summary: You have sent these messengers because I am afraid.
Notes: Set early in the second season.

LINK: Garnet Ambassadors

Masterlist by fandom updated again

2010-09-11T20:14:09Z

Now the masterlist by fandom is updated for all the awesome pinch hits that have been posted. We're nearly done here, folks!

A HUGE thank you to the wonderful writers who wrote pinch hits to help make sure everyone got a story. HUGE HUGE HUGE!

The Beginning, Glee, Sue/Shelby, NC-17 for urban_folk_girl

2010-09-10T19:44:27Z

Title: The Beginning
Author: joanne_c
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Sue Sylvester/Shelby Corcoran
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1739
Disclaimer: The lovely ladies belong to Ryan Murphy and Fox Network, not me.
Contains: Explicit femslash.
Summary: A fight between Will Schuester and someone else at an inter-school meeting leads Sue and Shelby to find their own entertainment for the evening, and then more, with each other.

"Oh god, another fight," Sue said. "Even I get sick of their turning every damn meeting into a fight. Did we ever decide on a way to cope with it?" she turned to Shelby. Sometimes, the inter-school collaborative meetings went smoothly. Others, Will Schuester (it would be him, of course) got into pointless fights with people he couldn't win against. Of course if Sue was having the conversation it was an incisive discussion. But then, Sue would always hate Will. One of the few redeeming qualities of these meetings was a good bitch session with Shelby Corcoran. She knew damn well that the other woman didn't like Will either, and that it was nothing to do with the ridiculous Glee club rivalry, though maybe that was that Sue didn't really care to know if it was. She liked Shelby too much to think that if she were at McKinley she would be Sue's attempt at a rival the way Will Schuester was. So Sue didn't think about that.

Shelby nodded. "They can't even be in the same room, it's gotten beyond ridiculous."

Sue closed her briefcase with a snap. "Well, you know how much progress they're going to make," she sighed. "I'm heading out, and because it's way after five o'clock and we stopped being role models to students at least an hour ago, do you want to come and have a drink with me?"

Shelby looked a little surprised, but nodded. She mouthed 'I'm out of here," to her principal and Sue did the same to Figgins, both of whom were trying to get through this neutrally, which consisted of letting Schuester and the other guy argue it out. There were probably worse ways of dealing.

Neither Schuester nor the other man looked up from the argument as the door closed.

"Your car or mine?" Sue asked Shelby.

"Taxi," Shelby said. "I'll cover it, and it lets us have as much as we want to drink. After that I know I need it, and you deal with Schuester every day - I'm surprised you haven't turned alcoholic."

"I like the way you think," Sue grinned and they made their way downstairs. Shelby got a taxi in just a few minutes, but Sue was sure it was just that she raised her skirt enough. Or maybe that's what Sue thought because she didn't use sex as a way of getting ahead. She'd tried, but it hadn't worked, so she'd gone into bitch mode, which had worked.

The taxi ride to the bar was silent, Sue thinking about Shelby using her sex appeal for even small things like this, and Shelby didn't seem to have anything to say. Sue wondered what it was really like to have the kind of looks Shelby had, to be able to take some things for granted because of her beauty.

Shelby ordered them German beer and she and Sue sat down in a booth in the back of the bar, By mutual agreement, they decided not to talk about anything related to school.

"Sometimes I feel like men are all about the size of their cocks, even in supposedly non-sexual situations," Shelby said.

"It's always about their cocks with men." Sue said. "Silly of them, but all men are sausage led. You'll never go wrong thinking that."

"Very silly," Shelby sighed. "Women are far more sensible, aren't they? Most of the time, at least?"

Sue nearly choked on her beer, then laughed. "Only sometimes, present company included. We're just not sausage led, at least most of the time."

"Probably true," Shelby agreed. She sipped her beer. "I don't compliment sex, but I do compliment men, a lot."

Sue grinned. "There's a lot to compliment for some. There's this one guy I knew, and he was a complete bastard, but there was one thing he did well. He knew how to use his tongue,. God. The first time he went down on me, I think I fainted. Best head I've ever had."

"Really? " Shelby asked, slightly curiously.

"He's the only man I've ever had who's been able to compete with women in that area," Sue said. "A claim I do not make lightly, and not without basis for comparison, either."

"Can't make the comparison," Shelby said. "Haven't had a woman's tongue there."

"You should, it's the one thing women do better," Sue said. She ordered a couple more beers, they were almost finished the first ones. She wasn't sure where this topic had come from, but she was okay with talking about it, and Shelby didn't seem uncomfortable. In fact, she seemed curious.

"Not for me," Shelby said. "I've had a dozen offers - girls wanting to get into Vocal Adrenaline, teachers, parents willing to do anything for their kids' grades, you know how it is," she said. "Just never felt the spark."

Sue nodded. She drank some more. "Because they weren't aggressive enough for you, were they?" she asked, leaning close to Shelby. "I've seen you. I know what it is you like about men. Oh you may play the hardened coach, but you're really looking for someone to take you down. And a lot of women don't know how to do that, or want to, really. When you look like me, though, it's apparently expected..." and Sue placed a deliberate hand on Shelby's leg. "You're going to have to stop me," she said. "If you want me to." And she leaned forward, pressing her lips to Shelby's. She wouldn't do it if the bar wasn't so dark, and they weren't out of the way enough to get away with it, but they were.

Shelby didn't move for a moment, and then she pulled back. But only to cup the back of Sue's head in her hand and smile. "Show me..."

"Not here," Sue said. She put the money down for the drinks. "Let's get out of here before I do make you come right here."

"I don't think I'd mind," Shelby answered, breathlessly. She wasn't even sure where this part of her had come from, but she liked it.

"No, I don't think you would either," Sue said. "But we don't need someone gossiping about us fucking in public. I like to keep my sex life behind closed doors. And well, we are supposed to at least try and make an appearance of responsible teaching."

Shelby nodded. It was all true. She stood up, hand still in Sue's.

"Work your magic on a cab again," Sue said, whispering the words in Shelby's ear. "Know that I'll be touching you as we drive. I may even let you come."

Shelby nodded, and raised her skirt, a cab pulling up a moment later. There was a tumble into the back, Sue rapped out her address and then she took Shelby in her arms, kissing her deeply.

Shelby was clutching Sue's shoulders, holding her tightly, returning every kiss, moaning as Sue explored her body. She would have screamed when one of Sue's hands moved between her legs, but Sue was kissing her, so the sound was muffled. Sue smiled, feeling how wet Shelby was, pressing two fingers against Shelby's clit, rubbing frantically. The first time would be fast and hot. The second, at home, would be long and leisurely. Sue had it in her mind. Maybe after there would be more. Sue didn't want to plan too far ahead.

"I'm... oh, Sue, you're going to make me come," Shelby whimpered, her hair mussed, her face flushed.

"That's the point," Sue said, sliding her fingers under the drenched panties, and pinching Shelby's clit. "You're going to come for me, now, Shelby." Sue smiled as Shelby tensed and came, moaning her name. "Good girl," she said, kissing Shelby, bringing her fingers out from Shelby's folds to taste her. "Oh, but you're delicious," she whispered, head resting on Shelby's shoulder.

"How long until we get there?" Shelby asked after a moment.

"Half hour, I'm a long way from school, deliberately so," Sue said, wondering what Shelby would do.

"Time for me to return the favour," Shelby answered, and she unzipped Sue's pants, sliding a hand inside. "Was just making sure - wouldn't want to have to stop in the middle," she said, echoing Sue's touches to her earlier, fingers rubbing frantically on Sue's clit.

Sue was already so turned on from making Shelby come that it took a lot less than half an hour for her to cry out into Shelby's mouth as she came. While the idea of making Shelby come again was tempting, Sue knew it would be cutting very close, so she chose to wait, and whisper into Shelby's ear the things she planned to do to her.

"Going to make you spread your legs for me, like the whore you are," Sue said. "Fuck you with my fingers and tongue until you're absolutely desperate to come again. And I'll allow it only if you beg me nicely enough."

Shelby groaned at the thought. "Yes... Sue, anything," she whispered.

"Good girlt," Sue said, smiling. She wondered if it would happen again, if she could take Shelby deeper than just fucking her. But she wasn't going to think about that too much while she had a beautiful woman begging for her touch - those thoughts were for the next morning when she woke up alone. She knew she would be.

Those thoughts were pushed aside as Sue and Shelby made their way up to Sue's apartment. As soon as the door closed, Sue undressed Shelby, desperate to see her naked, and she wasn't disappointed. Shelby was beautiful, though Sue didn't say it to her. She made love to Shelby, slow, gentle, tongue dipping inside Shelby and moving up to vibrate against her clit, Shelby begging to be allowed to come, Sue eventually allowing it, swallowing all Shelby gave her. She then wanted Shelby's tongue inside her, and Shelby proved to be a very apt pupil, doing exactly as Sue asked, and using her own initiative to lick Sue to several devastating orgasms.

They lay together, recovering, after bringing each other off with their fingers. "I may stay?" Shelby asked Sue, softly. "Or would you like me to leave now."

"You can stay as long as you want," Sue answered her. She'd think about being alone when she was alone.

"I will," Shelby said.

Sue had no idea where this was going, but she liked the beginning very much.

Fic for sangerin: Victory Is Ours, Glee, Mercedes/Quinn

2010-09-10T07:20:50Z

Title: Victory Is Ours
Author: overthetiber
Recipient: sangerin
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Mercedes/Quinn
Rating: PG
Word count: ~1000
Disclaimer: I hella don't own Glee.
Warnings: underage girls possibly eventually doin' it with other underage girls, but nothing explicit

It begins, as many things do, during a game of truth or dare.

“So what’s Quinn like in bed?” Santana Lopez leans back on her elbows, smirking like the evil bitch she definitely is.

Mercedes blinks. “What?”

“In bed. Is she, like, frigid, or crazy?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” says Mercedes (who, for the record, is pretty drunk by now).

“You haven’t done it,” Santana crows. (She’s probably drunk too, or at least tipsy, because she cannot usually be said to crow.)

“That’s none of your beeswax!”

Brittany looks around wildly. “Where?”

Kurt is passed out in the corner.

“Okay, it’s my turn,” says Tina, trying to defuse things. “It’s my turn, right guys?” Though she’s had five glasses of wine, her words are still the least slurred. Tina’s alcohol tolerance is quickly becoming legendary, at least among those who drink.

Those who drink do not include Quinn, even if she’s no longer pregnant. That doesn’t mean she won’t take Mercedes’ drunk texts and dials, or give her a ride if she needs it.

So the night, at least the parts of it that Mercedes still remembers, ends with a text to Quinn: why haven’t we had sex yet?

Between the baby-daddy drama, the gayventions, and the perpetually-in-motion share-care-learn-grow carousel that is glee club, Mercedes and Quinn haven’t really had time for sex. Right?

Maybe.

Mercedes finds Quinn at the lockers before school.

“Hey, girl, I was wondering—”

“Mercedes?” Quinn says pathetically, and when Mercedes meets her eyes she sees they’re red and swollen.

“What’s the matter?” Mercedes automatically puts an arm around her shoulders. Quinn blinks away tears, smiles briefly up at Mercedes through her lashes, and then her face crumples again.

“Oh, honey.” Mercedes sighs. “Come here.” She pulls Quinn closer, and Quinn sniffles and hides her head in Mercedes’ neck.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, baby girl,” says Mercedes. But after she walks Quinn to class, after Quinn smiles for real and chastely kisses her cheek, she can’t stop thinking how nonsexual the embrace was. How she couldn’t stop the little bloom of desire in her chest, but Quinn felt as solid and unpliable as a stone.

Mercedes’ second and third classes are right next to each other, so she goes to the bathroom during passing period.

As she’s washing her hands, she hears muffled giggles from the accessible stall. Four white sneakers are visible under the door, two belonging to a pair of pale pink legs and two to a pair of nut-brown ones.

There’s shushing, more giggles, the sound of a kiss. It takes a moment for Mercedes to realize the water has turned blazing hot.

Brittany comes late to class, red-cheeked and beaming. Mercedes digs her nails hard into her palms, and then curses under her breath, because they’re acrylic.

At lunch, Quinn has to see Ms. Pillsbury. Mercedes sits with Kurt and Sam. Mistake! They’re so busy eating face, Kurt can’t even finish his pomegranate seed and fennel salad.

Arriving to glee club early, Mercedes walks in on Artie and Tina making out.

“You will never realize how much I did not need to see that.”

“Sorry,” squeaks Tina, smoothing down her skirt.

Artie shrugs. “Be glad you weren’t here five minutes ago.”

“What?” he yells after Mercedes’ retreating back. “We’re hormone-crazed teenagers! It happens!”

After glee club, Mercedes finally corners her.

“Quinn, we’ve been dating for two months now and the only time I’ve seen you naked is in the obstretics ward. What’s up?”

Quinn is immediately defensive. “It’s not what you think, Mercedes.”

“How do you know what I think?”

“I know you.”

“Is it because of Beth?”

“No! At first, but not anymore.”

“Do you find me gross or something?”

“Far from it,” Quinn pleads, but Mercedes can’t believe her.

“Do you just not want to? Because…” Mercedes swallows the end of her sentence. There’s a horrible cold numbness tingling up from her stomach, and every second that Quinn doesn’t answer is another second that it spreads.

“No, I—”

“You don’t have to lie. I understand.” I understand why I’m going to spend the next week in my room, listening to a collection of Billie Holiday’s most depressing hits. I understand why Kurt is going to dye your Cheerios uniform puce green. No, burnt sienna. Poop brown? Something like that.

“I’m just confused, Mercedes. Before we started dating, I didn’t even think I liked girls. Let alone, um, curvier girls.” Quinn fidgets. “But I really, really like you. Honestly, it’s kind of frightening. One minute I’m sandwiched between my boyfriend and his best friend, and the next I’m daydreaming about tying you up and having my way with you?”

“Hang on a sec. You want to tie me up?”

“What? No!! I didn’t say that, did I?” Quinn’s eyes widen in panic, though she does a fairly good job of keeping her expression blank.

Mercedes grins with her whole body, feeling calm settle over her bones. “Just saying, I could get into that.”

“Oh.” Quinn blushes.

Mercedes continues, “Anyway. You think this isn’t hard for me too? I thought I was straight. No matter how much Kurt rocks, there’s a huge difference between being an ally, and actually being queer.”

Quinn stiffens. “Do you have to use that word?”

“What, it isn’t right?”

“I never heard anyone use it in a good way.”

“Fuck anyone.” Mercedes pauses. “I guess you could say, “same-gender loving.” That’s kind of more accurate, I mean…”

“Same-gender loving sounds better. Mercedes?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you were straight, too.”

“Guess I’m stealthy like that.”

The corner of Quinn’s mouth quirks. “I think I want to kiss you now.”

“Yeah, you’ve got something to prove to me,” says Mercedes, and meets her halfway.

It feels different from their other kisses. Like the others were just campfires, but this one is a bonfire. Quinn presses and licks and demands-not-requests, and her hand crawls up Mercedes’ shirt before they break apart. This is good. This is fantastic. I am so gay, thinks Mercedes.

“Let’s move this party home?”

“Mmhmmm,” Quinn purrs, and the hungry look in her eyes is definitely something Mercedes could get used to.

Fic for selenay936: Glee fandom (Quinn/Santana)

2010-09-10T06:34:05Z

Title: but I prayed this word: I want
Author: slammerkinbabe
Recipient: Written for selenay936 in the femslash10 ficathon
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Quinn/Santana
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~1,500
Disclaimer: Still not anybody who is affiliated with anything or gets paid for anything.
Warnings: Sex.

Santana reminds Quinn of the ocean at night.

She seems that mysterious, that unknowable, with her hair like moon-spangled tides and skin like damp sand. Quinn could take the images farther (subtle curves of sand dunes, glimmering seashells and tangled seaweed and the tang of salt on her tongue) but she pushes the metaphor away resolutely. If she keeps on with that line of thought she is going to get that glazey look in her eyes again, and Santana does not like that glazey look. She also doesn’t like romantic metaphors, or romantic gestures, or romantic anything. What Santana likes is fucking, and she likes to fuck with eyes wide open.

Quinn likes that too. She likes that a lot. But sometimes she can’t keep herself from wondering about that mysterious thing Santana seems to keep hidden behind the loose curtain of black curls, the impregnable-steel glint in her eyes. When that happens, it’s not unusual to see Santana’s eyes get even harder, as though she knows what Quinn is thinking.

So Quinn tries not to think.

The not-thinking is easy sometimes. It was easy half an hour ago, when Santana was braced above her on the bed and Quinn’s hands were scrabbling frantically at Santana and Santana was working that hard fast rhythm and the air was all wine coolers and sex and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck how did she do that Jesus fuck before everything exploded and the waves crashing around her ears drowned out every other sound in the room. It was easy then, and it had even been easy an hour before that, when they were in the restaurant with six other Glee kids and Santana’s toe kept sliding up Quinn’s leg and she’d catch Quinn’s eye for just a fraction of a second longer than usual and Quinn was pretty much dead to everything but the wanting. The teasing, the needing, the begging, the fucking: Quinn’s brain tended to shut down. That was what Santana was good at. She ought to be. She seemed to spend every waking moment practicing it.

But now it’s over, and things are quiet, and Quinn’s thoughts are drawn to dark waves and seashell-studded shores. “Santana,” she whispers.

“Hmm?” Santana sounds half-asleep. She likes to sleep after.

“Oh…” Quinn hadn’t actually expected to get any answer at all. It wasn’t a question so much as an affirmation to herself: I’m here with Santana now. She’ll fuck eighteen other people tomorrow, but this moment is mine.

“Do you want a soda?” Quinn says instead. Idiot.

“Nah.” Santana sounds like she’s drifting off again. “Why would I… you’re weird,” she mumbles.

Quinn bites her lip. Santana always makes her feel like that. Like she’s awkward. Like she’s weird.

“Santana,” she says again, and her voice is louder this time.

Santana rolls over. “What,” she says, annoyed.

“Why do we do this?”

“Why do we… wait, what?” From the way Santana’s brow is crinkling, Quinn can’t tell if she’s getting madder or if she genuinely doesn’t understand the question. “What are you even talking about?”

Now Quinn is saying things she doesn’t mean to be saying. “Why me, Santana? Why are we here? You’re fucking half the student body. Why me?”

Santana crooks an eyebrow at her. “Because... I’m fucking half the student body?”

“No! Is that seriously what you –? No. That’s about them. I don’t care about why you’re fucking any of them. That’s their business. I am talking about me. One person. Me. Why are you here with me?”

Santana stares at her for a minute, then turns away, tossing her hair back over her shoulder blades. “I’m hungry. I’m getting nachos.”

“Damn it, Santana –“ Quinn is not going to let Santana see how close she is to tears. She just isn’t. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m not good at this. I’m not cut out for this.”

“Cut out for what? What is even going on here? One second I’m half asleep and the next minute you’re crying at me and – what? I so don’t get this at all. Do you want nachos?”

“Do I want nachos? You know what – just – no. Fuck this. No.” Quinn struggles out of the bed, disentangling herself from the sheets as fast as possible, and begins throwing on her clothes. Jeans, forget the panties; bra – where’s her shirt? She can’t find it. She grabs after one of Santana’s.

“Quinn.” Santana has crossed the room and is taking Quinn’s wrists in her hands. Quinn jerks away.

“Quinn,” Santana says again, and her voice has an odd tone to it, not one Quinn’s heard from Santana before. Quinn thinks that if Santana were capable of demonstrating vulnerability, this is what it might sound like. That isn’t actually it: Santana is who she is, and a weird moment of early-pregnancy hormones from Quinn is not going to change that. As it is, it’s more like Santana is leaving Quinn some room to be vulnerable. But it’s more than she’s given in the past, and Quinn isn’t too proud to take it.

“Quinn.” A third time. Quinn realizes that she must have been spacing out for quite awhile. And that Santana really is being patient with her. She should have been long gone for the nachos by now.

“So why aren’t you?” Quinn asks softly.

“Why aren’t I what?”

Quinn shakes her head, tries again. “I’m pregnant, Santana. I’m trying to keep Finn around, I’m trying to deal with Puck, I’m trying to – forget it. What I’m saying is, I don’t have room for –“ She gestures around randomly. “For this.”

She waits for Santana to ask “For what?”

Santana doesn’t.

“It doesn’t take up much room,” she says eventually, and if there’s emotion in her voice Quinn can’t find it.

“Not for you! God, Santana, how many people have you got jerking around on a string like this? Don’t answer that,” she says warningly, as Santana starts to open her mouth. “I don’t know how you – whatever. I can’t just separate this stuff out like that, okay?” She pulls the shirt over her head, a gesture of finality. “I can’t just fuck around and have it not matter, okay? I never – it fucks with my head. I’m not built for it. I just can’t deal.” She slings her purse over her shoulder, starts heading for the door.

“Quinn.”

She looks back over her shoulder.

“Don’t go.”

Santana is naked and moonlit and too beautiful to ignore and the mystery Quinn has always groped after is flooding her eyes right now.

“Why?” Quinn asks softly.

Santana considers. “Because I don’t want you to?”

“Santana, please.” Quinn makes a half-turn towards her. “Give me something.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t know exactly what you’re asking,” Santana says eventually. “I’m not going to stop fucking half the student body, if that’s what you want.”

Quinn exhales.

“But – look, when you’re all on about how you can’t fuck around and not have it mean anything… yeah, you’re right, I do that with, like, practically everybody.” Santana raises her eyes to Quinn’s. “But not with you.”

“So…” Quinn is trying to parse this out. “What are you trying to tell me? That –“ And she breaks off and laughs, because the sentence she was about to come out with was Because you care about me, and that is anathema to everything she knows about Santana Lopez.

But Santana’s face is set in a pained expression, and that particular expression is anathema to everything Quinn thought she knew about Santana Lopez, too. “All I’m saying is that I really don’t give a shit if any of the rest of them throw me over, okay? It doesn’t matter. They can do whatever the fuck they want.” She stops, seeming to be drawing the words out with difficulty. “But I’m asking you… to stay?”

It’s the stupidest thing Quinn’s ever heard and the dumbest deal she’s ever been offered. I won’t stop fucking other people, but I don’t mind if they dump me, so that’s okay. But I don’t want you to dump me, so you shouldn’t. It’s a deal that makes no sense in an adult world, that will make less than no sense in seven months when Quinn has this baby, the sort of deal that exists in this world that Santana has constructed entirely around herself and that was never built to house other people’s emotions.

But she's trying, Quinn senses. For the first time in maybe ever, Santana is trying to let someone in. And she is too beautiful to lose, and Quinn is already so tired of losing things.

And so she takes off her purse, and she says “Okay,” and Santana kisses her and pulls her to the bed, and over they go again.

FIC: This Thin Veneer, for selenay936

2010-09-10T06:22:29Z

Title: This Thin Veneer
Author: ladydreamer
Recipient: selenay936
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Quinn
Rating: PG
Word count: ~3627
Warnings: none
Summary: Mercedes is suddenly ‘Hot Chocolate,’ and Santana can’t stand it.
Notes: Set during “Laryngitis.” I actually love Mercedes lots and lots. No hate, just jealousy from the pov character.

Link to the fic!

femslash10 @ 2010-09-10T00:02:00

2010-09-10T04:02:56Z

Title: Several Things (Not Five) That Liz Lemon Might Have Prevented with a Simple Google Search
Author: slammerkinbabe
Recipient: Written for cinaed in the femslash10 ficathon
Fandom: 30 Rock/The Office (crossover)
Pairing: Liz/Karen
Rating: PG
Word count: ~3,000
Disclaimer: I am not Tina Fey, which will be evident when you read the fic and discover that I am not as funny as Tina Fey. Same goes for the Office staff . And all the rest of the people involved with 30 Rock. And… basically, I’m not anybody, except a person who is making no money off this and does not want to get sued.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Takes place after the “Lecture Circuit” episode of The Office, and during that period when Liz is trying to adopt a kid. In this ficverse, Karen has moved back to New York.

Read at Dreamwidth:

In retrospect, Liz could recognize that it maybe hadn’t been the greatest idea, showing up at her first Mommy and Me childcare class with a two-foot spiny-tailed lizard instead of a child.

By Second Nature (Veronica Mars, Mac/Veronica, for harborshore)

2010-09-10T03:49:11Z

Title: By Second Nature
Author: voleuse
Recipient: harborshore
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Veronica Mars/Cindy Mackenzie
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,077
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: None.
Summary: And though I hated it then, a part of me wanted it to live.
Notes: Post-series, a few years in the future.

LINK: By Second Nature

Doctor Who/Torchwood, Down to a Fine Art, Toshiko/Martha, PG13/R

2010-09-10T02:19:24Z

Title: Down to a Fine Art
Author: ALC Punk!
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Pairing: Toshiko Sato/Martha Jones
Recipient: alizarin_nyc
Length: 1000+
Rating: PG13/R, language, adult situations, sexual references
Set: pre-Exit Wounds
Summary: Tosh and Martha embark on an affair, while aliens sometimes invade.

It starts after Owen, when Jack says there should be cooperation and liaising with UNIT more. Tosh figures it's a way of expiating his guilt at his inability to change things (Owen being mostly-dead and the most brittle member of the team seems to be all about Jack), but she doesn't volunteer.

Jack sends her without asking, and Tosh is relieved to find that it's Martha she's meant to brief, even if Tosh's feelings about UNIT as a whole are more brittle than Owen.

They leave it mostly business the first few times, until they're both comfortable.

Wine and booze on Jack's tab are always an easy sell for both of them, and Martha holds hers better than Tosh.

"I don't like UNIT," she confesses late one night, at an hotel that isn't going to slide her into the past. "Not after--"

Martha's hand touches hers, "I've read your file. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Cold concrete floors and a sense of futility are gone, but Tosh still shivers. She downs the last of her white wine and smiles, "Shall we get an expensive suite and spend lavish amounts of money as retaliation?"

Martha laughs, and something about it makes Tosh lean over and kiss her. In thanks, if nothing else.

But the kiss isn't what she expected, and Martha's hand cups her cheek, holding her still.

It's not like Mary, with its instant explosion of chemistry, want and need. It's something comfortable, something not-quite-sane, something unreal all at once. Tosh slowly brushes Martha's mouth with her own then pulls back.

"Sorry, uh, that--"

"I'm engaged," Martha fumbles, but her fingers close on Tosh's.

They don't get the expensive suite, and Tosh considers telling Jack to put someone else on this job.

-=-

"So, the world hasn't ended yet!" Martha shouts over the wind. "Good on Torchwood!"

There's a platoon of aliens bearing down on them, and Tosh's fingers are cramping on the grips of her pistol. She'd like to have something sarcastic to say, but the adrenaline rush is too painful, and she can't hear over the sound of the gun anyway.

Martha says something else that gets lost in the backwash of sound as the spaceship that had brought the scouting party goes up in an explosion that will be reported as a gas leak.

They always were. It was hilarious how many people will believe in gas leaks.

Joining Martha in the bar after giving Jack her report, Tosh finds that her hands are steady again.

"So, that happen often?" Martha asks as Tosh slides onto a stool.

"Could say that. The Rift likes tossing up as much as it can--we usually get a good blip on the read-outs beforehand."

The conversation slides into the technical, with Sontarens, Daleks and things that go bump in the night giving them lots to discuss. Tosh lets Martha buy the last round and walks her to her room.

They stagger inside, Tosh's hands shaking, and Martha's mouth hot and desperate against her throat.

-=-

It's almost a routine, after three months. Toshiko knows it shouldn't--can't--last. Martha has a fiancee, Tosh has Owen (or would have liked to have had, once. After all, even Gwen had him before he died). They both have their work. But none of that interferes with their visits. It's business to sit in the bar, discussing aliens and the latest technology being hybridized.

What happens after, isn't. Tosh on her knees, Martha on her back--sometimes, it's not sex, sometimes it's just flopping on their backs, naked and talking about nothing until the sun comes up.

Tosh always leaves first; Martha's legitimately staying at the hotel (the crown is springing for it, good inter-departmental politics and all that). Her apartment is always cold when she gets there, even if the heat's on and the sun is shining brightly.

"I have a fiancee," Martha says. But it's a feeble excuse. Neither of them talk about wedding days.

"There's always Owen," is Tosh's sometimes reply. Martha wasn't blind before, and there's no point in secrets, now. "And I hate UNIT."

She does. Hate UNIT, still. It's hard not to when she still wakes from nightmares, clawing her way to the surface and tasting cement at the back of her throat. Explaining that to Martha isn't easy, and so she simply doesn't bother. Not at first, anyway.

-=-

"I got into your file," Martha tells her one spring evening.

The alcohol is fresh, the conversation had been sparkling. Tosh looks away, "I think that's the last of the intell--"

"Did you really build a sonic disrupter from spare parts?"

"Yes."

Silence descends for a while, and Tosh wonders how deeply Martha got into her file. Tosh knows what's in it, she and Jack put it there long ago. It's a sort of morality tale, half fiction, half truth, for young and budding scientists. Don't play with what you don't understand. Don't get caught. Don't get your family in the crossfire.

"Now I understand. At least, I think--"

Tosh shakes her head, "It's past," she says, "Let's talk about something else."

"Have you heard the latest scores?"

Talking about football is an Ianto and Gwen thing, but Tosh can keep up, even if she doesn't really care.

-=-

"Going to see Martha again," Owen sneers, and the look in his eyes says he's thinking about Martha stripped off, but not necessarily Tosh.

Tosh is all right with that, she has no claims on Martha (even if she thinks Martha would have resorted to kneeing Owen in the groin after a while, and she wonders a little if it still feels the same, now he's dead).

"Routine meeting," she says instead, waving cheerfully at Gwen, who seems to be the only one to have noticed there's more to it than that.

It was the most awkward conversation Tosh has ever had, but she gathers Gwen is afraid Martha and UNIT are using her for something unsavory. "Rest assured, I'm fine," she'd said.

Gwen hadn't looked convinced, even if she seemed happy that Tosh was happy. But Gwen was a worrier, one of those people who liked to know everything about everything, and Tosh had learned to live with that. To let her in, just a little. She didn't think of telling her about Martha's fingers clawing at her skin, though, anymore than she would have shared pictures of Martha naked with Owen.

If Ianto knew, he didn't ask.

"Have fun," Gwen calls, half-serious, half-joking in that way of women everywhere who know a girlfriend is on the pull.

Tosh smiles enigmatically, "Try not to destroy the Hub while I'm in conference."

-=-

"We've got to be more careful with the expense account," Martha tells her another time.

Tosh almost laughs at the thought that UNIT is subsidizing her affair with one of their operatives. She grins and stretches out, "No hundred year-old scotch, then?"

"No," says Martha firmly before she dissolves into giggles.

Tosh loves it when Martha laughs, the carefree sound something to bask in. It's different from her own laughter, because Martha doesn't seem to have the same things in her past, and Tosh is all right with that. She wouldn't wish her past on anyone, even if she still loves her family.

Sometimes, Tosh thinks about ret-conning Martha to before they met in Torchwood, and the thought tears at her until she convinces herself it would be stupid to take her outlet away.

-=-

The problem with a routine is that it's easy to fall into. Sometimes, there's a crisis. Sometimes, there isn't, and it's just them, kissing like schoolgirls until they're breathless with laughter.

Sometimes, it's remembering this can't last. There's Tom and the him Martha never elaborates on (just like Jack), and Owen. There's saving the world and there's remembering Tosh is still considered a fugitive in some quarters (Tosh could only hack so far, and Jack's influence is small, in this day and age).

And sometimes, Tosh wakes to find Martha watching her, fingers idly tracing shapes across her skin. Blushing at being naked early in the morning is silly, but Tosh does it anyway.

"Shhh," Martha says, then, mouth following her fingers.

"Not again," groans Tosh, even as she shifts onto her back, arms over her head and skin aching to feel more. This isn't like Mary, and Tosh is glad of that. A slow burn, a careful deciding of boundaries and movements is better than a flash in the pan that leaves her aching forever.

The morning gets forgotten.

-f-

The Good Guys (DC Universe) Renee/Barbara

2010-09-10T01:12:18Z

Title: The Good Guys
Author: rysler
For: beardsley / lena
Source: DC Universe/Batman
Pairing: Renee Montoya/Barbara Gordon (Batgirl)
Rating: PG-13 for coarse language
Notes: 1200 words. No spoilers. I'm sorry it's so late! I love these girls.

"Ow, stop--" My head throbbed. I knew if I opened my eyes I'd see the anvil surrounding me, crushing my skull. I kept them closed. I'd been knocked out before. More times than I chose to remember. But gentle hands touched my face--

I'd felt that before, too. My eyes flew open. Pain lanced me. "Shit!"

"Hey, close your eyes."

I did. But I made note of the voice. A woman's voice. That was interesting. I could think. As long as I didn't move.

She tapped my pants pocket. So she'd looked in my wallet. "Officer Montoya. You got hit on the head pretty goddamn hard."

And I'm the detective. "Yeah."

"Do you know what hit you?"

A woman's voice, and young. My age, maybe. Or younger. Hard to tell when my eyes didn't work.

"I was chasing a purse snatcher. I mean, how many times do you see a purse snatcher? When you're just buying coffee and donuts, you know?"

I hadn't been that close, really. Up the street and half a block away. Out of uniform. I'd heard the shout of, "Stop, thief!" and then "Police!" and thought I might show up for once, just on a lark, see if I could beat whatever street vigilante had the daytime shift that day. Not hard to see the thief--twice my age, twice my size--running down the street. I ran after him, cornered him in a blind alley, and then whack! Something hit me from behind.

"They hit me from behind," I said.

"Who?" she asked.

"Hell if I know." I'm some detective.

"You're safe now."

As if I was safe, blind and wounded in some stranger's lair--I could smell leather and oil, and I could tell I was on a couch by the angle of my neck against the pillow--thanks a lot, lady--and the lumpiness under my legs. I stretched. My back popped. My head screamed. I decided to give into its bidding and go back to being unconscious. I relaxed. I could worry about escaping the lair later.

I heard her voice as I faded, from somewhere far away. "Strange that someone would someone would attempt even a petty crime in the daylight..."

Daylight. I pried open my eyes and forced them to focus. The eyes that met mine widened, but she couldn't duck fast enough for me not to see her. Red hair. Decent cheekbones.

I'd landed on the couch of Barbara fucking Gordon.

* * *

I'd last seen her a few months ago at the annual policeman/fireman softball tournament. The bosses mixed the teams to promote comradeship. Which meant my team had a shitty third baseman.

And when I was at bat, Commissioner Gordon was at the mound.

His daughter, Barbara, sat on the sidelines. We all peeked at her, this ravishing heir to the big man himself. Barely legal. I knew she was in college, but I didn't know which one. She sat on the bleachers, ready to cheer for daddy, when it was any of us that would fall on our swords for her.

The red hair was the signature, but there were other things to notice. Her long legs, crossing and uncrossing, bare in denim shorts. Her tan. Her smile.

Not that any of us had busted her or anything, not even for speeding, but we all knew she was trouble. She gave off a dangerous vibe. Today though, in short shorts with her hair in a ponytail under a GCPD ball cap, she was behaving herself. She and the commissioner did the normal father-daughter taunts. After the second inning she became part of the scenery. She became another voice shouting from the stands, like my own parents.

Except I kept stealing looks at her. A ball whizzed past my elbow.

"Hey, Montoya, stop looking at your girlfriend and focus on the ball!"

If they only knew. But Barbara pursed her lips and waved at me. Mockingly, maybe. But cutely.

I winked. I was going to hit the next ball out of the park, whether this guy was my boss or not.

Of course, I didn't.

* * *

"I know who you are," I said when I came to. My head ached dully and I knew I'd be a bit fuzzy, but I felt better. I'd interrogated women while feeling like crap before.

I learned all sorts of things about them.

"Of course you do," she said. She stood over me, in a tee shirt and jeans, but I knew. I knew what vigilante smelled like. If I squinted--my head swam, making me see things--there could be a mask creasing her face. Horned and molded.

I raised my eyebrows.

"I'm sure dad's got my picture in his office. And I know every cop, too. Good and bad."

I wondered which side I was on. That was like asking which side Batman was on. Probably not a question Barbara Gordon could answer. Not if I couldn't. We were probably too young, or whatever, compared to the assholes that bossed us around.

"Thanks for rescuing me," I said. "What were you doing there?"

"I was getting donuts too," she said.

"Small town."

She smiled.

"Why didn't you just call an ambulance?"

"Who says I didn't?"

I glanced around at the little room. Besides the couch, there was a coffee table made of cement blocks and a television. College chic. I got up. She stepped back to let me pass. In the hallway beyond, an open door showed an elaborate computer set up and in the shadows beyond the glow, more books than I'd seen in a library. I wondered where she kept her gear. Maybe in the food pantry.

"Hey, Renee?"

I turned around. No one called me Renee.

"Is it true? What they say about your reputation?"

I walked back to her, watched her expression tighten as my own did. I watched her turn to steel. I wanted to learn how to do that, too. I stood toe to toe with her.

"You know goddamn well it is."

"You should buy me dinner sometime." Her gaze didn't waver. "For saving you."

"I know a great little Italian place."

"I know how to pick a really good wine."

I smiled. "I bet you do. And we could have a little tiramisu..."

"Or we could just stay in--"

I inched closer as she talked, until I couldn't see her lips anymore. Just her eyes, the intense color I wanted to keep staring at. Her hand moved to the back of my neck.

"--Watch a movie," she said.

"I bet you have all the cable channels."

"Anything you want to watch."

I closed my eyes and let her pull me closer, until her breath was on my lips as she said, "I'm pretty good at getting what I want."

I wondered what it was like to know what to want, to know how to choose. Beyond the moment, of course. I didn't care about secrets. Right now all I wanted in the whole world was to watch the commissioner's daughter come undone.

END

Fic: On Hold, Mandatory Evacuation (Criminal Minds, Emily/JJ)

2010-09-09T02:10:03Z

Title: On Hold, Mandatory Evacuation
Author: hivesix
Recipient: urban_folk_girl
Pairing: Emily/JJ
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1105
Disclaimer(s): I don't own Criminal Minds, etc.
Comments: Written as a pinch-hit for urban_folk_girl. I wasn't sure of what you particularly like or dislike, so I guess this is just my brand of angst. Huge thanks to abrandnewboom for the beta.

Emily goes home to D.C., to an empty apartment and no messages on the answering machine. There's a nice view of Capitol Hill and a manicured lawn, and a bed that is never slept in any more.

Lately, she's been sleeping on the couch. It's not really long enough to hold her legs, but it's closer to the door and she doesn't ever have a chance of rolling over to find it half empty.

She sheds her jacket and kicks off her shoes, hesitating slightly before unhooking her gun belt. She makes sure it's still in her line of sight before arranging her body among the cushions.

She closes her eyes, but she doesn't sleep.

-

Reid is adding some coffee to his sugar and nods in greeting when she enters the pantry. JJ smiles at her. "Hey, Emily. Briefing in five."

"Sure." She pours herself a cup of coffee, grimacing when she sees how much of the instant powder has escaped the filter, and heads out to her desk. Tucked away behind the paperclips, the stash of Splenda is dwindling. Emily grabs two precious sachets and heads to the briefing room.

Gideon passes her on the way. "Prentiss," is all he says, or grumbles, but she can never be sure.

What did she expect? Truth be told, she doesn't really know. But she knows that Strauss will be calling to collect soon. Morgan's wrong; it's not just a job -- it's a way of life. A way of life she wanted so much from behind her desk job — she'd dreamed of travelling for work, but wanted an anchor. Emily's already been pretty much all over the world, she's seen it all, but nothing has been as eye-opening as the BAU.

She sits, and JJ promptly begins to distribute folders containing images of teenage girls, riddled with bullets and showing signs of strangulation. Their limbs are askew, their eyes are open.

Emily forgets about the Splenda.

-

They are two days into Arizona, with no more leads but no more dead girls. Emily utters a silent thanks to a God she doesn't believe in.

JJ walks up, the heat shimmering around her like a blanket. "They're ready to give the profile."

"You want me to drive?"

"It's fine."

It's twenty minutes from the pizzeria to the station and they travel in silence, apart for the grumbling of the air conditioner. Back at the police station, standing in the doorway of the cramped little side office they've been set aside, Emily's mind slides into gear as Morgan and Hotch deliver the profile.

"—to achieve sexual gratification—"

"—has extremely low self-esteem—"

She looks over and sees JJ hugging a folder to her chest, face expressionless. Then, when Morgan and Hotch are finished, JJ steps up to the podium to address the media. Emily watches her become a different person, confident and clear, eyes staring directly at the camera as if she is the only person there, luring the UnSub into their hands.

Six hours later, they're on the jet back to Virginia. From the sofa, JJ makes a small sound and kicks her legs restlessly. Emily watches her for the rest of the flight.

-

The cushion flies out of her loose grasp, glancing off the half-empty bottle of wine and nearly knocking it off the table. In a moment of recklessness and a backward glance, Emily leaves her gun where it is while the knocking persists.

JJ stands behind the fish-eye peephole. "JJ, hi." Emily squints into the dark hallway, wondering if this is just another part of the dream where the Ambassador was skulking around with a cat in her arms. "Uh, come on in."

It's an uncomfortable moment; Emily moves around, clearing things up a little bit while JJ stands in the middle of the foyer with a glass of water in her hand, hugging herself. Her eyes look wild, distant and disengaged, and her hair is a silken disaster. It doesn't look like she's changed since they got back, and she hasn't even brought an overnight bag. "JJ," Emily tries again, tossing the cushion back where it belongs, "You can take the bed. Do you want me to get you your—" She suddenly remembers, and nearly chokes on her saliva. "Um. I have something you might fit into."

JJ's hands fall to her side and she fumbles at nothing. "I was so tired, it was— I just—"

Emily stops JJ with a gentle, but firm hand on her forearm. "Hey," she says, "It's okay. Really."

-

L.A. is a hostage situation. It's pushing a hundred and Emily is sweating pools around her gun.

"He doesn't want to kill them," she hears Hotch explaining to the local uniforms. She catches the tinge of impatience slipping in like the sweat on her trigger finger. "It's the specific type he wants — petite, brunette, professional. If you go in now, he's going to panic and start shooting people."

"You just expect us to keep sitting back on this, Agent Hotchner?"

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to." Hotch's voice is calm, controlled, steel. "Prentiss."

"Yes, sir."

"The wife is here. Go with JJ and explain the situation, see if we can connect the cell."

JJ is already with the gunman's wife (a stay-at-home mother, blonde) in the trailer where S.W.A.T. is set up. They are conversing, JJ in low, reassuring tones, the wife in near hysterics. "—not Steve, he doesn't even own a gun—"

"Mrs Richards, please sit down," JJ says, not unkindly. She crouches beside the chair and offers up a bottle of water while the S.W.A.T agents whip out a tangle of wires and vests. "We would like you to talk to Steve..."

*

"You all right?"

"I'm fine."

"There was nothing you could've done."

"I know."

"I'm here, Em." JJ's hand touches Emily's shoulder, so light Emily thinks she may have imagined it.

-

The kiss is a prelude.

-

"You've been sleeping on the couch?"

Emily turns her head and looks sideways at JJ, whose blue eyes are wide without judgement. Milan Kundera wrote, there is no perfection, only life, but for the moment Emily believes in both. "It was easier," she offers simply.

"Reid said your posture looked off." JJ's smile seems to brighten the room, and Emily is caught off guard by her own laughter. JJ's eyes are full of warmth, and they're innocent, as if she doesn't see everything in every folder that is tossed like a burden across her desk every day.

The bed is an unruly mess of sheets and pillows and sweat. Emily closes her eyes and falls into a dreamless black.

Masterlist by fandom

2010-09-07T03:52:48Z

Is, I think, finished. Masterlist by fandom - please let me know if I've missed your story or gotten something wrong!

Masterlist by author/recipient

2010-09-06T19:51:50Z

I've posted a masterlist, alphabetical by recipient, here on Dreamwidth. If you've written/received/casually observed a fic that is not on the list, or if I have spelled your name wrong, or whatever, please comment there.

If you have not received a fic yet, I am working right now to make sure you get one by the end of the week.

Masterlist!

Fic: Songs That Get Stuck In Your Head: A Discourse (Skins, Katie+Emily+Naomi)

2010-09-06T05:55:56Z

Title: Songs That Get Stuck In Your Head: A Discourse
Author: templemarker
Recipient: hac92
Fandom: Skins
Pairing: Katie, Emily, Naomi
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1000
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
Notes: Set in series four.
Summary:

"I don't understand you," Katie said over her second Long Island Iced Tea. Naomi didn't know how Kaite had managed to get the bartender to serve her--it probably had something to do with her boobs--as Naomi was stuck drinking flat Coke without even the slightest hint of rum. The whole situation was fucked: no booze in a stuffy bar chatting with someone she didn't even like most of the time. The only reason she hadn't gone outside for a fag yet was because Katie had promised, under duress, that Emily was on her way. In the mean time, Naomi was suffering through her present situation.

"What don't you understand, Katie?" Naomi said as dryly as she could. "I'm the same girl you've known for ages, apart from the bit where I'm fucking your sister."

Katie made a face in Naomi's direction and closed her lips around her straw; another couple centimetres of her drink disappeared. "Not that," she complained. "I mean, I don't understand that either, but I don't get you. What's so great about you? Why did Emily get all crazy over you?" She squinted a bit, looking Naomi over in the darkened room. "I guess you're pretty, but what, can you do some clever thing with your tongue, is that it?"

Naomi stood up, pushing up her sleeves and grabbing her bag. "This is rubbish. I'm going to wait outside."

"Oh, Naomi, wait--" Katie said, a mocking tone in her voice. "Wait, never mind. Go on in the rain, then, get yourself all wet."

Naomi closed her eyes, breathed deep, and tried to remember the part where playing nice with Emily's sister meant she and Emily were in better form. It was worth it. Most things made having Emily worth it. But damn it all if Katie Fitch was still the irritating twat she always had been and forever would be.

"Use you amazing boob-related powers to get me something with liquor in it," she said shortly, sitting back down in her chair. "Otherwise I will not be responsible for the next ten minutes, when I throw you out the door and watch your mascara run down your face."

"It's waterproof," Katie said smugly, but she ordered Naomi a rum and Coke anyway.

"Honestly," Katie continued, as if the threats had made no impact whatsoever. (Of course they hadn't.) "I've kissed a girl before, and it wasn't much to write home about. We're not the same person, me and Emily, but it can't be that different." She waved her straw in Naomi's general direction, flinging drops onto Naomi's face. Naomi grabbed a bar napkin and wiped them off, grimacing as her lipstick came off with it. She pulled the tube from her purse and was just about to re-apply when Katie's pointy-tipped hand reached out and grabbed her blazer, yanking her nearly off her chair.

The next thing Naomi knew, almost-familiar lips covered in cherry lipgloss covered her own and Naomi was flailing for purchase on the bar. She could hear catcalls and shouts around her, and grunted a protest, finally grasping at Katie's hand and shaking it free. Naomi jerked back, running the back of her hand across her mouth and glaring at Katie. "What the fuck was that?" she nearly shouted, anger bubbling up.

Katie's glassy eyes stared at her, her mouth still in a slight moue. "It's not different at all," she said, sounding a bit disappointed. "It's just like any other girl, your kissing." She righted herself a bit, self-consciously smoothing her skirt and her hair and bringing her drink to her lips as if what had just occurred was nothing at all. Which, Naomi supposed, it was.

She huffed out a sound of displeasure and knocked back half her drink, making a motion for the bartender to bring her another. He was considerably more accommodating now. She hunched her shoulders a bit, resisted the impulse to see if anyone was still looking at them, and hissed out, "I am not a Katy Perry song. Do not ever do that again."

"But I didn't like it," Katie said, a bit petulant. "That was the point."

"I don't care, you stupid bint," Naomi said very carefully. "Go play your kissing game with someone else. I'm sure there's a truth or dare going on somewhere in Bristol."

The door swung open and in came Emily, only a bit wet and pushing back the hood of her waterproof mac. She smiled wide when she say Naomi and Katie sitting together, and Naomi tried to muster up something in response.

"Hello, girls," Emily said warmly. "Did you two survive without me?"

"Barely," Naomi muttered, and pulled Emily in for a hug. "You are much-need interference."

"I kissed a girl, and I liked it" Katie sang, dancing a bit in her chair.

Emily winced. "On the Katy Perry kick again, are you?" she said. "Honestly, Katie, if you put that song in my head again I will murder you in your sleep."

"I'm going to the toilet," Katie said abruptly, sliding out of her chair and somehow landing smoothly on her very high heels. Emily just laughed and stepped in close to Naomi. She smelled like wet skin and pear body spray.

"Your sister is bonkers," Naomi said honestly, threading an arm around Emily's shoulders and squeezing.

"Aren't we all?" Emily asked, and leaned up for a kiss. There was the familiar mouth, the happy sigh and the press of tongue against Naomi's own. There was no lipgloss at all, just Emily pressing even closer and Naomi wishing it were closer still.

They reluctantly parted to whoops and cries again, and Emily just laughed. "I suppose we gave them a show, didn't we Nay?"

"You have no idea," Naomi said, and pulled Emily in again.

What Are Kisses Made of, a Santana/Quinn (Glee) Ficlet

2010-09-06T04:30:39Z

Title: What Kisses Are Made of
Author: shyath
Recipient: ladydreamer
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Santana/Quinn
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,935
Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Seriously.
Warnings: Ambiguous AU (sort of).
Summary: It is all about kisses.
A/N: Thanks to Zangy for looking this over. You’re awesome for doing this even if you dislike Glee. And I really, really hope you like this, ladydreamer! Thanks, mods, for being so understanding too!

It had been the first time Quinn Fabray ...

Fic: Human-Girl, (True Blood, Pam/Sookie) for _bellisima

2010-09-06T01:09:50Z

Title: Human-Girl
Author: urban_folk_girl
Recipient: _bellisima
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Pam/Sookie
Rating: R
Word count: 3,144
Author's Note: Written for Femslash Ficathon 2010. I love the banter, but I’m terrible at sex scenes, which is where this went! Sorry if sexy = fail.
Summary: Eric & Bill travel to Louisiana on a mission. Sookie is left with Pam at Fangtasia.

--------------------------------------------------------

Pam is used to dealing with impetuous behavior.

Fic: Going home (Merlin, Morgana/Nimueh, PG)

2010-09-05T21:49:05Z

Title: Going home
Author: modestroad
Recipient: shopfront
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Morgana/Nimueh
Rating: PG
Word count: 2013
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
A/N: A huge thanks to ladyithildiel and kitty_writer for their beta help. netgirl_y2k offered her help, but I send her the story at the last minute. I had to re-write the story since my computer died on me. ~~and what a crappy job I did~~
Warnings: N/A
Summary: AU. Morgana was kidnapped when she was six. Thirteen years later she finds her way back home.

Going home

Fic: Laughs With You (Skins, Jal and Cassie)

2010-09-05T06:27:37Z

Title: Laughs With You
Author: templemarker
Recipient: honeymink
Fandom: Skins
Characters: Jal, Cassie
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1000
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
Notes: Set in series 2, before episode 8.
Summary:

Jal wasn't normally a smoker, but sometimes she made exceptions.

She and Cassie were the first ones to leave this party, not because it was a shit party or anything, but Jal had her private tutoring lesson in the morning and Cassie had jumped on the excuse to leave. Jal hadn''t asked why. Sometimes Cassie needed an out from them, from people. Sometimes Jal gave her an out.

You're not supposed to smoke when you're pregnant, but Jal tried not to care in that moment. No one had noticed that she'd given up drinking, or smoking, or the occasional hit off a blunt. She had never been much for any of that anyway; more than once Jal's been surprised to find herself in thick with a group of mates who define themselves as much by what they do in college as which party they are planning to attend (or create) next. Poor influence, her mum might say if she hadn't run off. Poor influence, you smoking, you getting pregnant. What were you thinking, Jalander?

No one ever used her full name, not even her dad. Not even when he was angry with her, which wasn't all that often. He might be angry with her if he knew she was up on a roof off the high street, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette whilst spending time with a girl she'd taken in to hospital for nearly dying last year.

Then again, maybe he'd just ask whether she was going to be around for dinner or not. She never knew when he was going to bother taking an interest in her on a given day.

"I'm pregnant," she said into the chilly Bristol air.

"I figured," Cassie said after a deep inhale on her cig. "It was either that or someone was dying."

Jal turned her head to look at Cassie, who was tracing the sky with a bony finger thrust in the air. "I wasn't too obvious, was I?" she said. Cassie was occasionally the most perceptive person in the room, which is inconvenient as she was often also the least likely to be listened to. Just because she had noticed didn't mean others had. Didn't mean that Chris had. A lorry would have to hit him full-on for that news to penetrate.

"Nope," Cassie said. "But you usually have chips with vinegar, and you ordered mushy peas at the chip shop the last three nights out. It was a tell."

Jal closed her eyes. For Cassie it was a tell. Jal hadn't even noticed herself, but the peas had looked better than the chips.

"What do you want to do, then?" Cassie asked, flicking the remains her of her cigarette away towards the edge of the roof. She sat up and pulled paper for a new one. Jal's was burning down towards her fingers, unsmoked, so she ground it into the cement and sighed. "Dunno yet."

"Are you going to tell Chris?"

"I didn't even know I was going to tell you until the words were out of my mouth," Jal said with a frown.

Cassie paused, setting her tobacco and papers aside. She turned to face Jal, took Jal's hand in her own. Cassie's hand was cool to the touch, and Jal could feel the bones rest carefully in her own hand. Cassie felt as fragile as she looked; as fragile as Jal felt.

"I don't know if you actually need this or not," Cassie said, eyes roaming over Jal's face and around the rooftop and into the sky before coming back to meet Jal's eyes. "But you should know that I will be there for you if you need me. I'm not terribly good at this supportive business," she said, a smile wavering around her mouth, "but for you, Jal Fazer, I will figure out how to do it well enough."

Jal swallowed; it meant something to hear that, to know that she wasn't alone with her thoughts and her fears and the growing worry that she'd fucked up her entire future by saying agreeing to say "yes" for Chris instead of her instinctual "no." And something else, to hear Cassie say those things when it wasn't so long ago she was watching Cassie burn herself out like a bright star in a far-off sky.

"Okay," she said. Her lips felt dry and she licked them, hoping she wasn't going to do anything terribly embarrassing like cry in front of the one person with whom she wouldn't lose respect. "Thank you."

Cassie leaned down and placed a careful kiss on Jal's lips; there was a smile on her face when she pulled back. "I've never gotten to say something like that before," she said, a little surprise in her voice. "How odd. I think I like it a bit."

Jal laughed, a small sputter. They were still holding hands, and Jal wanted another cigarette, and everything was still really fucked up. But it was a little better, with someone else knowing. The knowledge wasn't as much of a weight on her chest anymore. She looked into Cassie's eyes, which were rolled upwards towards the stars, and gently squeezed Cassie's hand. Cassie wasn't going to break, and neither was she, no matter the appearances.

Cassie slipped her hand out of their clasp and finished rolling her cigarette, resting it in the sharp turn of her mouth as she pulled another paper out. "Another?" she asked Jal, and Jal hesitated a moment before shaking her head.

"The one was bad enough," she said, and turned her head towards the stars again. She heard Cassie shift and move to lie beside her, and Jal reached out her hand again and took Cassie's. They watched the stars move over the sky of Bristol and let quiet reign, until tomorrow.

Fic: One Good Line (Glee, Brittany/Santana)

2010-09-05T05:46:44Z

Title: One Good Line
Author: templemarker
Recipient: voleuse
Fandom: Glee
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1200
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
Warnings: N/A
Summary:

"Do you ever think about, like, babies and stuff?"

Santana peers over the edge of Teen Vogue, seeing Brittany twirl a perfectly pressed curl of blond hair around her finger. She's right in the middle of answering a completely vital quiz that will tell her whether Puck was going to have sex with her this weekend or not, and she seriously does not want to be thinking about babies at the same time.

"No," she says shortly, ducking back behind the magazine defiantly.

"Babies' heads are all squishy when they're born," Britt says. "Did you know that?" If Santana didn't know better she'd think Brittany was actually looking at something, but they'd spent so much time together Santana could tell the difference between Britt's spaced-out look and her trying to focus on something look. That is kind of specialized knowledge.

"You know I didn't read those creepy pamphlets Quinn was carrying around," Santana snaps. "Pregnancy is like the last thing I ever want to think about, Brittany. You double-wrap a dick for a reason." At least, you did once one of your closest friends showed up pregnant to cheerleading practice and pretended nothing was happening for months.

"I know," Brittany says. "That's why I switched to carrying around extra-large condoms. But, babies. It's weird. Quinn's having one, and it's all created out of nothing and stuff. I don't get it."

"I don’t get why we're talking about this," Santana says. She tosses the magazine to the floor and pushes herself up on the bed, crawling over to Brittany, who’s still twirling her hair, jesus christ. One track mind, and Santana’s just irritated enough that getting Britt’s mind onto something else will pose a challenge. She runs a hand up Brittany's leg, stopping just short of her skirt, and Brittany still isn't getting with the picture here, so Santana huffs out a sigh and pulls Britt to her.

When Santana traces her tongue along the seam of Brittany's lips, it's like a switch is flipped and Brittany finally seems to understand that Santana would like her mind to run around on other topics, please and thank you. Brittany kisses like she breathes, like it's the most normal thing in the world for her to be doing at that very moment. As if she and Santana didn't spend two months in seventh grade figuring out how to make it all work and feel okay before ever testing it out on a boy.

They've gotten better with practice--with a lot of practice--and now they work through undressing (just enough) and touching (never enough) with ease. Santana pushed up Britt's skirt to skim hands over her spanky pants and the nothing that lies beneath them. It's actually not that awesome, because the pants are polyester and they don't breathe, but Brittany never listens to her.

Brittany is hot and slick and Santana knows just how to crook her fingers and circle her thumb get Britt excited. Not that it takes much; hell, Santana is already raring to go and that dildo she bribed one her college guys to get her (not that he'll ever get to see her use it) is ready and waiting for her. But she likes to get Britt through it first, get her all tense and shivery until she's melting into the comforter and so fucking focused and eager on giving Santana what she needs. It's why they've been so good at this for so long--they work without a lot of the talking bullshit that guys are always tripping her up on.

Britt starts making that panting noise that means she's getting close, and if Santana works it right she can get some for herself and then get another in for Britt before they have to be at Britt's house for dinner. She pushes the pads of her fingers against soft flesh and spreads them a little, feeling Britt stretch; sure enough Britt gasps and shudders, bucking a little with the feeling of it. Santana watches as she slowly relaxes, mouth open and eyes shut, before pulling her fingers out and rolling to one side to get her own pants off.

She starts herself off, because Britt needs a second to reset. She's good, but Britt's better, and she watches Britt slowly come back into herself. She smiles, and Santana almost smiles back; instead she nudges Britt with her toes and jerks her head to the side of the bed. Britt takes the hint and grasps for the shoebox that's tucked under there, pulling out the dildo and the little vibe she sometimes wraps around it.

"Yeah," Santana says, and she can hear the breathiness in her own voice; but Britt knows how much she likes this, so they don't do it too often. The dildo is an okay size--the college guy had tried to suggest something bigger, but she threatened to do something to his dick the next time she gave him a blowjob and he got something decent. It feels good going it, not a stretch but good, like it fills something. Brittany's hair falls against Santana's stomach, and Santana opens her eyes knowing she'll see Brittany watching the thing go in and out of her. Brittany likes to watch. That's come in handy a couple of times.

The vibe clicks on and the hum coincides with the rough moan that escapes from her mouth. Santana likes making noise, but her stupid younger brother is supposed to be home from soccer practice soon and she doesn't really want to give the little shit any more blackmail material. Britt uses her other hand to rub it over Santana's clit, and fuck, it feels so good when it's like this. Santana can smell the scent of Britt's strawberry shampoo, and she clenches around the dildo as she grasps the bedsheets.

When she comes, it's like everything goes blue and glittery for a moment. Like she's underwater or something, can't hear anything but the pulse of her heartbeat, can't see anything but water. It takes her a second to come down, and Britt's already cleaning up the dildo and putting it away.

"Hey," Santana says, her voice a little rough. "I was gonna fuck you with that next."

Britt tucks it into the shoebox and reaches over to give Santana a chaste little kiss. "Next time," she says. "Hey, do you think something can come from nothing?"

Santana closes her eyes again and doesn't bother to push Brittany away when she curls up next to her on the bed.

Fic for viciouswishes: The Thing With Feathers (The Authority, Angie/Shen)

2010-09-04T23:18:32Z

Title: The Thing With Feathers
Author: mosca
Recipient: viciouswishes
Pairing: Shen/Angie
Fandom: The Authority
Rating: NC-17 for sci-fi sex
Warnings: None standard.
Continuity: set circa "Earth Inferno" (Millar/Quitely era).
Summary: Shen is molting, and Angie wants company.
Word Count: about 1,000.
Disclaimers: The Authority is the intellectual property of DC Comics/Wildstorm. This original work of fan fiction is protected in the USA by the fair use provisions of the Copyright Act of 1976, and I am giving it away for free. It is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License; attribution should include a link to this Livejournal post.
Notes: Thanks to thistle90 for looking this over. Title is from Emily Dickinson.

[ The Thing With Feathers ]

Mod note/future home of masterlist

2010-09-04T23:08:31Z

This is a placeholder post for now; later tonight it will become a masterlist by author/recipient. callmesandy and I accidentally planned the due date for a weekend when we both have RL responsibilities, so we've both had limited computer time. We're really sorry about that, especially if you've been trying to reach us, and especially especially if you haven't received a story yet.

We have lots of pinch hits coming in (one more going up in a minute!) and will be figuring out and assigning the last few tonight. If you're in the mood to write a quick fic for someone who hasn't received a story, send an email to femslashmods @ gmail or leave a comment here, and you'll be first on our list.