Christmas Comment!fics [2011]

[soera]

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Last year, I offered comment!fic in a number of fandoms as a Christmas present to all you lovely folk out there. I got some wonderful prompts and really enjoyed myself writing ficlets for them, so I’ve decided to do the same this year. For those of you who don’t know how this works, let’s go over things:

How it works:

I’m taking prompts for ficlets in any of the fandoms listed below. Please have a look at what I will/won’t write for each fandom before making your requests.

Leave a comment in this post with the fandom, pairing (if applicable; I’ll do gen for all fandoms too) and prompt you’d like.

Prompts can be anything from random words for inspiration, to a scenario you’d like to see played out. They can be as specific or general as you like, and I’ll do my best to stick to them. Alternate universe/alternate canon prompts are welcome, as are prompts to do with any ‘verse I’ve written about before (i.e. it's fine to ask for something based on one of my posted fics).

ONE PROMPT per post. If you have multiple prompts (perfectly fine), I’ll do the first one first, then go back to the others after I’m done with prompts from other people. So put the one you most want to see done first!

Prompts don’t have to be Christmas/holiday-related, if that’s not your thing. Anything goes!

Porn and I have a love-hate relationship. Sometimes it comes easy; other times, it's hard. (Pun not intended.) Be warned that if you request smut, you may not actually get it – I can give you the prelude and possibly some sexiness, but that might be the best I'll manage.

Prompt-taking closes at midnight on Christmas where I am – that’s UTC+8. Or 24 hours (and 15ish minutes?) from the time of this post, if you want to count it off like that. I'll add a note at the end of this post once prompt-taking is closed.

I will NOT write:
Character bashing.

Character death (except as in canon).

Anything dark/unpleasant. It’s Christmas; let’s keep it happy in here. (This does not mean I won’t take sad/bittersweet/etc prompts – those are fine, but I won’t write, say, a character’s murderous rampage through London.)

Some fandoms also have a specific listing for things I won’t write (don’t break up my fandom OTPs please), so pay attention!

Note:
A slash denotes a pairing (e.g. Jack/Ianto), whereas a plus sign denotes friendship (e.g. Ianto+Tosh).

The latter doesn’t mean you can’t request friendship fics between people I haven’t listed; it just means that I’m particularly comfortable writing those two.

Simple enough, yes? Here are the fandoms I can write for, in alphabetical order:


Harry Potter:

CAVEAT: It’s been ages since I’ve written in this fandom, so any old fics you might have read are vastly out of date with my style now. … You might actually get better fics now than I used to write.
I much prefer writing friendship/gen to anything with pairings.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: The list is actually kind of endless, especially when it comes to pairing Harry up.

I WON’T WRITE: Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Severus/Remus, Sirius/Remus. I would prefer not to write Draco at all.


Hawaii Five-0:

CAVEAT: I didn’t watch S2, and I didn’t particularly like the end of S1 (Danny!). Sticking with S1 is probably best.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Danny/Steve, Danny/Rachel (pre-divorce), ensemble cast

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Danny or Steve up with others (unless it’s pre-H50). Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Komatta Toki ni wa Hoshi ni Kike!:

CAVEAT: While I know the gist of the entire storyline, I’ve only read the scanlations up to Volume 15. I’ve not written extensively in this fandom, and what I do have, I haven’t posted. I think I’ve got a decently good grasp on the characters though, at least up to Vol. 15.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Kiyomine/Takara, ensemble cast

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Kiyomine or Takara up with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Merlin:

CAVEAT: I’m really hesitant about putting this up because I’ve only just started watching it. It feels like the sort of thing I’d enjoy writing, though, so I’ve decided to just throw this out there anyway. Please just stick to S1, though – I know what happens in later seasons, but I haven’t seen them for myself. Also, I’ll probably be best at writing Arthur or Merlin, so request other characters at your own risk. =P
(I’m gonna repeat myself here because it seems particularly apt: remember that AU settings are perfectly fine to request *cough reincarnation fic cough*.)

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Arthur/Merlin

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Arthur or Merlin with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Naruto:

CAVEAT: I haven’t been keeping up with the latest updates (it’s been getting a bit ridiculous for me) so if you want something to do with a specific incident, give me details (at least chapter numbers so I can look it up).
I would prefer to write post-time-skip for anything with pairings (outside of canon crushes). If it’s gen, go ahead and request any time-frame. I’m most familiar with the Konoha characters and the Sand siblings, so request anyone else at your own risk. Also, it’s been ages since I’ve written in this fandom, but I think I’ve got an okay grasp on them.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Naruto/Kakashi, Naruto/Sakura (post-time-skip), Naruto+Kakashi+Sakura, Naruto+Tsunade

I WON’T WRITE: Anything with post-betrayal Sasuke (especially Naruto/Sasuke). I would in fact prefer to avoid writing Sasuke altogether.


Prince of Tennis:

CAVEAT: Only Seigaku members, please. I’m not really familiar with the other schools. Also, I have a tendency to ignore both the manga and anime endings because they both get ridiculous, so feel free to request something set in an AUish ending. I don’t know anything about the second manga series either, so I can’t write anything about that.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Tezuka/Ryoma, ensemble cast.

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Tezuka or Ryoma up with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


The Sentinel:

CAVEAT: I’ve not written extensively in this fandom, though I think my grasp on the characters has improved a little from the few I’ve posted. Still, request at your own risk.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, ensemble cast

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Jim or Blair up with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Sherlock (BBC):

CAVEAT: … Yeah, I got nothing.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: John/Sherlock, ensemble cast

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing John or Sherlock up with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Star Trek (TOS/2009):

CAVEAT: I’ve not written extensively in this fandom, and none of what I’ve written is posted online. Request at your own risk.
Specify if you want TOS or 2009!

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Kirk/Spock, Bones+Kirk+Spock, ensemble cast

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Kirk or Spock up with others. Go ahead and mix and match anyone else if you’d like.


Torchwood:

CAVEAT: I didn’t like S3, and didn’t watch S4. Stick to the first two seasons; I won’t be able to do anything from S3/4.

CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Jack/Ianto, Owen/Tosh, Gwen/Rhys, Ianto/Lisa (pre-Canary Wharf only), team-fic, Ianto+Tosh, Jack+Gwen, Ianto+Owen

I WON’T WRITE: Anything pairing Jack or Ianto up with others (other than pre-Jack Ianto/Lisa). You can mix and match anyone else, and I’ll give it a shot, though.



Enjoy!
(And yes, feel free to share this with any of your friends you think might appreciate this. It's open to absolutely anyone, even people I don't know. =D)

ETA: Prompt-taking is now CLOSED.

ETA 2: Done! Thanks for playing, everyone. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! =D

Comments

[amuly.livejournal.com]

Jack/Ianto playing 20 questions with each other (I've had this on my own prompt list forever XD)
By 20questions, you can go either with the game where X thinks of something, and then Y has to guess what it is within 20 Y/N questions, OR basically Truth or Dare without the Dare part, and with more drinking involved (if you don't want to answer, you take a shot).

ETA: UTC+8?! Where do you live, China? Korea? Something Asian?

Oh... maybe Australia?

[soera.livejournal.com]

[Hee! Something Asian, though none of the places you guessed~
Also, this turned out much sadder than I thought it would be. Hope it works for you anyway? *sheepish*]

sorrows know how to swim

Ianto considers the question, then reaches for the salt.

“I guess the answer’s something I don’t want to know,” Jack comments.

Ianto carefully sprinkles a little salt into his shot glass, then pours in equal amounts of butterscotch schnapps and Bailey’s. “Where’s the whipped cream?” he asks. Each syllable is over-enunciated in the manner only a truly drunk person can pull off.

Jack reaches across the table and pushes it over. His eyes are dark with – something. Ianto tops off the drink with whipped cream, puts his glass on the table, folds his hands in his lap, and leans forward.

The drink is sweet and sharp, with the bite of salt chasing into his mouth at the end. Ianto swallows every drop, then lets the glass tip out of his mouth and into his waiting hand.

“It’s called a Cum Shot,” he says.

“Your turn,” Jack says. He’s still watching Ianto. Ianto wishes he’d never admitted to having bar-tended before joining Torchwood. He can’t imagine any other way he’d have gotten tricked into a game that should have been ridiculously childish, but instead is hitting uncomfortably close to home.

“I can’t think of anything to ask,” Ianto confesses.

“Make me a drink,” Jack says.

Ianto obediently pulls over Jack’s glass. If he was capable of thinking clearly, he’d make something with a clever name. Something that would change the mood, lighten the conversation. Convince Jack to ask easier questions. Or better yet, abandon the questioning altogether.

Thinking clearly is quite beyond him at the moment, though, so he just makes a layered Buttery Nipple instead.

Jack tosses it back and immediately asks, “Would you ever leave me?”

Ianto tilts back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t think you’re allowed to repeat questions,” he says.

“Ianto,” Jack says.

“I don’t know,” Ianto lies.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. The ceiling, Ianto thinks, is really very white. Then Jack gets up and comes around to kiss Ianto’s mouth, all cream and schnapps and gin and vodka. Ianto tries a couple of times and finally manages to focus on Jack’s face; it’s kind and sad and Ianto thinks that Jack has heard both the lie Ianto has said and the truth he hasn’t.

I will leave you, Ianto thinks, because one day, I will die for you and your cause and then I won’t have a choice but it won’t matter because whatever I feel, whatever I want, there’s only one way this can end, and that’s with me leaving you.

He kisses Jack desperately, and presses the truth between their lips.

[rocsfan.livejournal.com]

This is so nice! I'd love to read about Steve/Danny on a ski or snowboarding trip!

[soera.livejournal.com]

lesson #1

Steve moves a few feet, then falls over in a heap of limbs and skis and poles. Danny’s still cackling with glee when Steve finally manages to untangle himself and gingerly get to his feet again.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Steve tells Danny.

“I’m enjoying this the same way you enjoyed my surfing lessons,” Danny replies.

“Did you grow up skiing?” Steve asks. Does New Jersey have skiing? He thinks it does, but he really isn’t sure. He carefully shuffles forward, and looks alarmed when a step turns into an inadvertent glide.

“We went to the Alps every winter,” Danny lies blithely. “You’re going to –”

Steve falls. This time, he stays down, staring up at the sky wistfully and wishing he’d never let Danny talk him into this.

“Actually, I didn’t ski all that much,” Danny says, coming over with an easy grace that Steve is not at all jealous of. Danny does offer him a hand up, though, so Steve grudgingly accepts that Danny’s not completely evil.

“You lie,” Steve says.

“I didn’t,” Danny protests. “I snowboarded more. I only rented the skis today because you said you wanted to learn.”

Steve considers that. “You’re not really teaching me,” he says. “More of laughing at me, really.”

Danny beams. “Payback, McGarrett,” he says. “Okay, lessons. You’re leaning back too much. When you’re starting out, the best thing you can do for yourself is work on getting the correct posture down. Saves you time and pain if you don’t have to correct bad habits later on.”

“If there’s a later on,” Steve interrupts.

Danny gives him a sweet smile. “Well, no, it’s rare we get time off together,” he says. “And we won’t do this every time we do. But.”

Steve has faced down things that Danny’s terrified just to imagine. He’s confronted death and shot it in the face. He’s had the strength and willpower and tenacity to soldier on through anything that’s thrown his way. He knows how to make decisions and stick to them. And he has decided that this skiing business is an icy, horrible hell, and all future vacations will be in warm places with plenty of swimming and no snow. Danny can smile all he like; Steve’s not about to fold.

“All right,” Steve grumbles. “Occasionally, maybe.”

[baka-yu.livejournal.com]

Sherlock/John, starting with them to go undercover as Santa and an Elf for a case. Maybe their Christmas Eve after that. :)

[soera.livejournal.com]

naughty and nice

“I just want to say, Sherlock, I’ve done a lot for you,” John says, “and mostly I’m happy to do it. But this? This, you’ll be paying off for months.”

“You’re not the one wearing tights,” Sherlock retorts. “Shut up.”

John grins and adjusts the padding on his stomach. The suit’s made for someone larger than John, even with the padding, and it hangs off him awkwardly. The hat makes his head itch, and the boots are extremely uncomfortable. Then again, at least he’s got plain black boots instead of the curve-toed creations that Sherlock’s miserably pulling on. The bells on Sherlock’s elf outfit tinkle merrily.

“We look ridiculous,” John says.

“We’ll blend right in,” Sherlock says grimly, and stands up. John takes in the full picture – red tights, green tunic, pointed hat, bells and all – and sinks to the floor, holding his stomach as he cries with laughter.

“John,” Sherlock says disapprovingly. “Do you want to catch this thief or not?”

“I,” John says, and then he looks at Sherlock and starts cackling again.

“I’m returning your Christmas present,” Sherlock tells him, and flounces out.

Sherlock spots their suspect while John is attempting to rescue his fake beard from the fifty-sixth shrieking child (he’s been counting). A reindeer display, a sack of toys, an aisle of yoghurt, a table of soup samples and a shopping centre’s worth of traumatised shoppers later, they have him in custody.

John hands the man (swindler, forger, jewel thief and lately, soup connoisseur) over to Lestrade, who politely does not laugh at John’s somewhat bedraggled Santa suit. John suspects that the only reason Lestrade is managing a straight face is because Sherlock had vanished the moment John had said Lestrade was on the way. Stomping all over his dignity for the sake of a case is one thing, John thinks – letting anyone else he knew catch him at it is clearly quite another.

Sherlock does not know that John has photos. John is rather looking forward to sharing that information with Sherlock. And to what Sherlock will agree to in return for John not posting every last beautiful picture to his blog.

Sherlock’s gone off without John again, but John finds himself still humming happily as he walks home.

[tess-faulkner.livejournal.com]

Steve/Danny, it turns out Danny's not actually all that great of a swimmer, despite his claims? XD

[trialanderror12.livejournal.com]

Oh, that is a great prompt! I cannot wait to read this one : D

~T

[soera.livejournal.com]

distraction

“That could, maybe, on another planet, be called swimming,” Steve tells Danny.

“I hate you,” Danny says, and splashes messily over towards the shore.

Steve yanks him back by the band on his swim trunks. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve taught you to swim, Williams,” he says firmly.

“Can you not just shoot me in the head?” Danny asks plaintively. “Same outcome, but quicker.”

“The point,” Steve says, “is to keep you alive.”

“You have a funny way of going about it,” Danny says.

“I thought you said you could swim,” Steve says.

“Like a fish,” Danny confirms. “Like a fish floundering on land. Like a fish that doesn’t like swimming. Possibly a lungfish. Do those swim?”

“Your metaphors are breaking down,” Steve tells him. “Look, deep breath, lie back, I’ll support you.”

“Lie back,” Danny says mockingly. “I’ll support you, Danny, don’t think of the whopping great body of water you’re currently floating in that’s rife with animals that want to kill you and possibly, probably, all manner of disease and danger, and is the last place you should be because you, unlike certain other people of your acquaintance, were not born with gills and therefore cannot be expected to –”

There are two ways of shutting Danny up. One is to say or do something so spectacularly reckless that even Danny’s momentarily lost for words. That’s temporary, though, and the ensuing reactions are usually terrifying, so Steve’s quite glad he’s found the second method.

Danny’s lips are distractingly warm and salty-wet, and possibly, Steve thinks, this is not such a good idea because there’s no way this swimming lesson is continuing now.

“Home?” Danny asks, and licks the outer curve of Steve’s ear.

“Home,” Steve agrees, and hauls Danny towards the shore.

He pointedly does not comment on Danny’s triumphant grin.

[rattyjol.livejournal.com]

fem!Sherlock+/fem!John (I don't know your policy on femslash so m!John is fine as well), fem!Sherlock is frustrated by her hair and fem!John helps.

[soera.livejournal.com]

Working on it, but first - do you have any preferences for fem!Sherlock's and fem!John's names?
[ETA: Because if you don't, I'm probably going to go with Rowena and Joan...]

[soera.livejournal.com]

no gems of any kind

“I don’t know why you don’t just cut it off, if you can’t be bothered with it,” Joan says.

Rowena’s given up any pretence of de-tangling her hair and instead, is staring intently at the table, thoughtfully tapping the comb against her hand. Probably solving a dozen crimes at once, Joan thinks, and steps forward to take the comb away from Rowena.

“Here, let me,” she says. Rowena doesn’t protest, so Joan moves to sit behind her.

Rowena complains incessantly about her hair – it gets in the way during her experiments, it hampers her when she’s fighting, it frizzes up horribly with the slightest hint of humidity, it’s unwieldy and inconvenient. The only reason she hasn’t already lopped it all off, Joan thinks, is because she’s just too bloody lazy to go to a salon.

Of course, that works out well for Joan, who’s always had a thing for long hair. Rowena’s is the prettiest she’s seen in a long time, and if Rowena’s too lazy to comb it out herself, that just gives Joan the perfect excuse to bury her fingers in those luxurious black curls. It’s not like she’ll get her hands on them any other way.

They would look beautiful, she thinks, spread out on the sheets. She industriously works through each section of hair and imagines it spilling out around Rowena’s pale skin, down her long neck and sharp collarbones and small breasts. Such sweet curls, which a thoroughly unscientific study has convinced Joan are the perfect barometer of Rowena’s mood. When Rowena’s in a black mood, they’re sad and limp, and when she’s just got her hands on an interesting case, they’re vivaciously bouncy.

And somewhat intractable. The knots take a while to give way, but when they do, her hair springs free and instantly falls into its normal wildness. Rowena’s in a good mood, Joan thinks.

“You do enjoy this, don’t you?” Rowena says, a smile edging her voice. Joan is suddenly, instantly, terrified that Rowena knows exactly how much Joan enjoys this.

“Have you got a new case?” Joan asks carefully.

“Mm, yes,” Rowena says. “It does sound interesting. It’s in Dover, though, and it will likely take a few days. Feel like a trip?”

“Of course,” Joan says, trying to remember if there are any meetings or appointments she needs to cancel. The last of the knots vanish under her fingers, and she briefly runs her hands through Rowena’s hair, checking for any more tangles.

Rowena arches contentedly under her. Joan freezes.

“Go pack, then,” Rowena says, turning and pressing a kiss to the corner of Joan’s mouth. “We’re leaving now. I want to make sure we have plenty of time there.”

[sariagray.livejournal.com]

Jack/Ianto, Ianto finds something in Jack's bunker or office that makes him realize or question something about their relationship. Can be a Christmassy something. Vague prompt is vague. ;)

[soera.livejournal.com]

[Not a Christmassy something, but I hope you like it anyway. =D]

boxes

The thing about being immortal is that you forget.

Ianto knows this. He doesn’t begrudge Jack the forgetting, either. Ianto can’t remember anything from before he was five, and he only remembers five to university in bits and pieces. He can’t even tell you with any degree of accuracy what his university classmates had looked like. When you face end-of-the-world scenarios on a regular basis, unimportant things like what your old room-mate’s comfort food had been tend to slip out of the attic of the brain.

That’s what photographs are for, of course, and videos and journals and all that sort of thing. What Ianto doesn’t remember, his old journals remind him of. He cringes to think of the stupid brat he’d been back then, but at least they evoke memories.

And that’s why Ianto understands the importance of Jack’s boxes. He has copies all over the place – definitely a few in different safety-deposit boxes around Britain, and Ianto suspects overseas as well. There’s one that Jack keeps in the Hub as well, and whenever he brings it out, Ianto finds something to do elsewhere.

It doesn’t feel right to be intruding on those memories. It doesn’t feel right to sit with Jack as he goes through the photographs and notes and letters and remembers people who died long before Ianto was even born.

Jack keeps his most precious memories in his boxes. One day, even those will be reduced to anecdotes. And then perhaps he’ll forget the stories altogether. Even if he sees the photographs, perhaps he won’t recognise the people in them. Ianto suspects it will happen, even if Jack won’t acknowledge the possibility.

But for now, Jack has his memories, stored not so much with care as with love. These are memories Jack wants to keep, longs to keep. These are the important ones.

He hadn’t meant to peek. He honestly hadn’t. But Jack had left the box open and out in plain view in his bunker, and Ianto had looked over as he stepped out of the shower, and the first thing he’d seen had been a photograph. Of himself. He’s sleeping in it, the sheets halfway off his body and shadows twisting around him. He looks peaceful, and young, and happy.

Ianto doesn’t know what to do with this new information. He dries himself off and gets into his sleep-wear.

Jack comes down the ladder just as Ianto’s climbing into bed. “Done for the night?” Jack asks.

“Yep,” Ianto says. “Sorry, I’m exhausted –”

“So am I,” Jack laughs, rapidly shedding his clothes. “I just want to sleep for about a week. But don’t tell anyone –”

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation,” Ianto says with a smirk.

“So nice of you to look out for me,” Jack says. He wanders over to the table, smiles down at the box, then closes it and puts it away. He didn’t, Ianto thinks, remove the photograph first. It hadn’t been an accident.

“Good night,” Jack says, slipping into bed and wrapping himself around Ianto. Ianto sighs contentedly and lets his eyes slip shut.

[silverfoxflower.livejournal.com]

Merlin reincarnation!fic, Arthur/Merlin

CEO!Arthur and his longsuffering personal assistant!Merlin are snowed in at the office

ty <3

[soera.livejournal.com]

warmth

“Turkey sandwich, crisps, there’s drinks in the vending machine but they’re horrible and I’m not getting them,” Merlin announces, kicking the door shut behind him. “Also, I think everyone else is commandeering the third floor for a party of some sort. There may have been alcohol involved, but since I have no clue where it came from, I didn’t grab any. It looked a bit dubious anyway.”

“Do you have any matches?” Arthur asks. “Or a lighter?”

“No,” Merlin says slowly. “We’ve got these things called electric lights, you see, and radiators –”

“To set these bloody papers on fire,” Arthur adds. Merlin takes a step back, and Arthur vainly attempts to tamp down the murderous glare.

“No,” Merlin repeats. “The last time something caught on fire here, we were lectured for three hours on proper safety protocol.”

“Last time was your fault,” Arthur says sulkily, and tosses a folder at Merlin’s face. The folder stops in mid-air, then obediently floats back onto the desk. Merlin turns reproachful golden eyes on Arthur, who determinedly ignores him. “Sign those,” Arthur says.

“No, Arthur, I am not going to commit forgery for you,” Merlin says. “Sandwich or crisps?”

“Either,” Arthur says. Merlin deposits the sandwich into his hand and sits down opposite Arthur. For a moment, Arthur remembers wooden tables, firelight and maps of a kingdom that no longer exists. Then the vision fades and he’s left staring at a contract he suddenly can’t remember anything about.

“When can we get out of here?” Arthur asks, looking out at the blizzard that has them trapped in his office.

“Technically, anytime,” Merlin says, and wiggles his fingers significantly.

Arthur tosses his untouched sandwich aside. “Let’s go,” he says.

“You said you weren’t leaving till you were done with that,” Merlin says, frowning at the papers on Arthur’s desk.

“They’ll keep,” Arthur says shortly, going around the desk to stand before Merlin. “I have better things to do on Christmas Eve. Come on, Merlin. Do I have to make it an order?”

“Because I listen to those so well,” Merlin laughs, standing up and pulling Arthur closer. A whispered word, and then magic surges up around them, familiar and warm and strong as always. It’s comforting, Arthur thinks, that no matter how many bodies or lives they’re reborn into, he and Merlin always find each other and are always, always the better for it.

He closes his eyes and lets the magic bring them home.

[les342.livejournal.com]

I'd love a H50 fic. I'd like to read a fic with Steve, Danny, and Grace spending time together after a close call with a bad guy for Danny.

Thanks for this. It's very nice of you to offer!

[soera.livejournal.com]

the splendid ones

“It makes me feel almost afraid,” Steve reads, “as if something strange was just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make me feel like that.”

Danny gently strokes Grace’s head. “I think she’s asleep,” he says quietly. “Let’s leave the rest for the next time.”

Steve marks the page and sets Grace’s book aside, then leans back against the head of the bed and looks down at Danny and Grace, who are both comfortably sprawled over the bed. Grace has tucked her face against Danny’s neck and wrapped her body around his chest, carefully avoiding his right leg. The bandages are hidden by Danny’s hospital gown and sheets, but they still loom large in Steve’s mind.

He can still remember the blood. The knife had lodged itself in Danny’s thigh and Steve had known it had to have nicked an artery. He’s seen men die of similar wounds, felt their lives slipping through his fingers. A part of him had expected Danny to die there on that street, surrounded by useless gawkers, even as he’d frantically wadded his shirt against the wound and yelled for Kono to call for an ambulance.

The doctor tells him, afterwards, that he’d likely saved Danny’s life.

From where he’s sitting, Steve can catch whiffs of hospital shampoo and soap. It’s disconcerting. He’s gotten used to that particular blend of sandalwood soap and Davidoff cologne that Danny always smells like. He suspects that until Danny gets home and takes a shower, Steve won’t be able to scrub the taste and smell of blood from his mind either.

It was so close.

“Babe,” Danny says. “Stop it.”

“Not doing anything,” Steve says.

“You’re… fretting,” Danny says. “It’s done, I’m alive, a few weeks of PT and I’ll be good as new.”

Steve shifts a little so that his hip bumps up against the side of Danny’s head. Danny lets out a snuffly sort of laugh and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Steve’s thigh.

“I’ll be fine,” Danny says. “Thanks to you, babe. So stop worrying.” His voice is going fuzzy with the meds again, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain or distress. And he’s right, he’s alive and he’ll be fine, and Steve hasn’t lost him like he has so many others, and all Steve has to do now is forget the certainty of Danny’s death. It’s a strange feeling, but not a terrible one.

Grace murmurs in her sleep, then turns a little and sighs. Steve leans down and kisses the top of her head softly, careful not to wake her.

“All right,” he says, and carefully looks away from the warmth in Danny’s eyes.

[trialanderror12.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is excellent! : D Comment!fic is always fun. I can't wait to read it all!

As for a prompt...hmm. Okay, I know this has been done before, but I seriously *never* get tired of reading it, so would you please write something Steve/Danny that involves the repeal of DADT? Preferably they're not in a relationship yet and this is when they get together, but established relationship works too : D (And also I didn't like the whole Danny/Rachel thing at the end of S1 either, so you can just pretend that never happened ;D).

Thank you so much for doing this, it's awesome! Can't wait to read all the H50 and Torchwood comment!fics you write :)

(Though I am curious--you like Torchwood but not Doctor Who? Just wondering, as I adore them both. And agree with you in that S3 of Torchwood made me sad and I didn't finish S4 because of...well, lots of things. xD)

<3 Merry Christmas!

~T

[soera.livejournal.com]

[I’ve watched a little Doctor Who, but it never grabbed me the same way Torchwood did. I liked some of the episodes, but I was mostly just ambivalent about it, so I didn’t make it past… mid-S2, I think? Which is funny, because I honestly think the acting’s better in Doctor Who than in Torchwood – I just liked the tone of TW better, that blend of darkness and cheesiness and humour. The change in how Torchwood was handled in S3 is the main reason why I went off that, too. =P]

inarticulate

Steve’s been odd all day, and Danny’s not quite sure what to make of it. Nothing particularly earth-shattering had happened recently, and there weren’t any anniversaries he was aware of that might be affecting Steve’s mood. It could, of course, be something related to Steve’s time in service, but if that was the case, there was probably nothing Danny could do about it.

All the same, Steve’s strange mood is bothering Danny more than he cares to admit. Danny also doesn’t have Grace this weekend, so on the presumption that misery loves company, he buys a six-pack and heads over to Steve’s house.

Danny lets himself in and leaves the beer in Steve’s fridge. He doesn’t even bother checking the rest of the house, and heads straight out for the lanai instead. The way Steve’s been the whole day, surely he’ll be out swimming.

Danny’s only half-correct, as it turns out. Steve’s outside and soaking wet, so clearly he’s just been swimming. But right now, he’s just sitting on the beach, well within the wash of the surf. The waves keep rolling up around him and then pulling back, and Steve just sits there and stares out at the water.

Danny finds himself trundling down the sand without even thinking about it.

“I brought beer,” he says, once he’s near enough to talk without shouting.

“Hand it over, then,” Steve says lazily.

“It’s inside,” Danny says. “You gonna go out in there again?”

Steve watches the waves for a few long seconds. “No,” he finally says, and hauls himself to his feet. Danny tries not to stare at the way Steve’s tattoos move as his arms flex. “Let’s go in.”

Subtlety is lost on Steve most of the time, and Danny suspects that now more than ever, he won’t get any answers if he skirts the question. “What’s wrong with you?” he asks bluntly.

“Nothing,” Steve says.

“Bullshit,” Danny says. “Something’s been bothering you all day.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Steve says, and just as Danny’s about to launch into a complaint about Steve brushing him off, he continues. “That’s the thing.”

“What’s the thing?” Danny asks, thrown. “That nothing’s wrong with you? I hate to break it to you, babe, but anything who thinks that grenades are an appropriate answer to a locked door has something severely wrong with them –”

“I can date a guy now,” Steve says, his eyes crinkling in that way that means he’s trying not to laugh. “And the Navy can’t say there’s something wrong with me for wanting to.”

“Oh,” Danny says. And then, just because that’s kind of a huge revelation, he adds, “Oh.”

“Is that a problem?” Steve asks. His voice is casual but his shoulders are tense.

“Nope,” Danny says. Not in the ways Steve’s probably expecting, anyway. It’s a problem in the sense that now Danny’s wondering what Steve’s taste in men is like, and if it can possibly run to short, built blonds with a temper problem and a hatred for all things pineapple.

“Really?” Steve asks, turning and walking backwards so he can look at Danny properly.

“Really,” Danny says. Steve studies his face for a moment, and then stops abruptly.

“Oh,” he says, and a delighted smile slowly starts spreading across his face. Danny considers that for a moment, and then finds himself grinning like an idiot as Steve steps closer and repeats, “Oh!”

“We’re really good with words,” Danny says, and laughs into Steve’s kiss.

[trialanderror12.livejournal.com]

Aaand just because you said we could leave 2 prompts just in case, I'd love some angsty Steve/Danny hurt/comfort with a happy ending. : D Never get sick of reading that either, haha. <3

~T

[soera.livejournal.com]

[Um. Nooot quite sure this is what you were thinking when you requested h/c, but I hope it works for you anyway?]

like children, we never stop hoping

Danny’s always an odd mix of contradictions after Grace goes back to Rachel’s after the weekend. On the one hand, he’s still delighted from the time he recently spent with his daughter; on the other hand, he’s sullen that he won’t see her for another two weeks. He fluctuates wildly between these moods, but Steve’s gotten used to it. Danny being out of sorts on Mondays after Grace-weekends is normal.

This, though. This is strange even for Danny.

All day, Danny’s worked diligently. He hasn’t grumbled once about the paperwork, about having to creatively describe Steve’s less than sedate approach to law-keeping, or about the numerous ways in which Steve is directly responsible for Danny’s reduced life expectancy. He’d let Steve take away his malasadas without complaint and eaten his chicken salad without launching into an anecdote about Grace, even when Steve had given him the perfect lead-in (“You don’t want to make Grace worry about your cholesterol again, do you?”).

Actually, Danny hasn’t mentioned Grace at all today. Normally he can’t shut up about everything they’d done, and every little word that had come out of his princess’s mouth. Steve is suddenly positive that Danny’s Mood is related to Grace in some way or other.

Asking Danny will probably get him exactly nowhere, but Steve’s a SEAL. He’s used to being sneaky.

He kicks everyone out of the office early, accepts the jokes about the approaching apocalypse with grace and magnanimity, ensures that Danny’s going nowhere but home, then makes a call.

Rachel’s happy to talk to Steve, largely because Grace has also been out of sorts since Danny dropped her off. She won’t talk to Rachel or Stan, though, so they don’t know what’s happened. All that’s clear is that something has happened, and Danny and Grace are both miserable about it. It might, Rachel says cautiously, have been something to do with the apartment Danny lives in. Grace had told Rachel on Thursday that she didn’t much like it.

Steve thanks Rachel, hangs up, and thinks of Grace earnestly asking her father why he couldn’t move somewhere nicer. He thinks of how much Danny struggles to make ends meet. Moving to Hawaii hadn’t been easy or cheap, and Steve knows that Danny’s still paying off loans he can ill afford. Danny’s proud, though, and reluctant to accept help from any quarter. It’s only for Grace’s sake that he’ll give up his dignity and accept tickets to a hotel stay and dolphin show, or an invitation to a private beach. It’s been for Grace’s sake that Danny’s done everything he has, these past nine years. For Grace’s sake, Danny would be persuaded to move… except that he genuinely can’t afford to.

Steve finds himself knocking at Danny’s door, with no idea what he’s going to do afterwards. Danny opens the door, takes one look at Steve, then groans. Apparently, Steve’s not very good at hiding anything from Danny.

“Oh, god,” Danny says, but lets Steve in anyway.

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve says.

“Nothing you can do,” Danny says, turning his back on Steve. “I mean, I knew it was coming, okay, it’s not like I didn’t know, how could she possibly be happy here? It’s just –”

Steve wraps his arms around Danny, leans down and drags him backwards until they’re pressed together tightly, and then he holds on until Danny stops trying to get loose and just sinks back into Steve’s hold. “You’re a good dad,” Steve murmurs. “The best I’ve ever known. I didn’t know dads could be like that, like what you are.”

Danny tilts his head back, closes his eyes and breathes out a resigned sigh.

“She’ll see it too,” Steve tells Danny quietly. “Maybe not right off, but she’s a smart kid. She’ll see it.” He doesn’t think before he kisses the side of Danny’s forehead, and then the corner of his eye, and his cheek, and his lips, as Danny twists in his arms and holds on and lets himself forget.

[trialanderror12.livejournal.com]

@.@ Since I just read your AMAZING fic, "Textual Analysis; or, How a Book Changed Danny's Life", and because it has kind of melted my brain and left me with a pile of mush, and because posting a zillion prompts can't actually *hurt* anything because you don't actually have to write anything you don't want to.... I come bearing another prompt @.@ It is this: "Steve (or Danny, or both of them), completely by chance, come across Jeff in a bar. They have...rather a lot to say to him."

: D I just think this would be funny, haha. <3

~T

[soera.livejournal.com]

truth in books

“Married?” Danny demands, dropping his drink on the table and leaning over the two startled people sitting there.

“Uh, no, we’re engaged,” the woman says, giving him a strange look.

“Not you,” Danny says, and fixes his best glare on Jeff. “Me and Steve. Seriously, Jeff? Married Couple? That’s what you decide to go with?”

“It seemed to fit?” Jeff says sheepishly. “Um. It was just a metaphor, really.”

“A metaphor that the entirety of Hawaii has decided to take literally,” Danny says. “The governor congratulated me. My daughter wants to be a flower girl. I have been asked about my happy marriage by the bad guys I lock up. As far as metaphors go, this one’s done far more than it intended to.” He squints suspiciously at Jeff. “You didn’t intend this, did you?”

“No, of course not!” Jeff exclaims. His fiancée has lost the slightly disturbed look she was wearing when Danny first showed up, and now just looks like she badly wants to start laughing. Danny appreciates her restraint in not actually giving in to the desire.

“It’s still happened,” Danny says with a sigh. “I know Steve and I get along and all that, but – you really couldn’t come up with any other description?”

“Sorry?” Jeff says meekly. He does not look at all apologetic. He actually looks kind of amused, Danny thinks. Bastard.

“You should be,” Danny says. “Oh, hey, give me your email address, there’s something I want to send you –”

Jeff types his address into Danny’s phone with far more dexterity and speed than Danny will ever display. “What is it?” he asks curiously as Danny tucks his phone back in his pocket and picks up his drink again.

“Wedding invite,” Danny tells Jeff, and saunters off, leaving behind hysterical laughter.

[jo02]

Having just watched Love Actually for the umpteenth time, I'd love a fic where Ianto accidentally finds a beautiful piece of jewellery (or something similar) in a bag with a receipt (to show he'd just bought it recently) in Jack's desk drawer or coat pocket - then for Christmas present-giving in the Hub Gwen unwraps that present from Jack.

*looks shifty* what's better than Ianto!angst for Christmas :)

Thank you and a merry Christmas!

[soera.livejournal.com]

[I’m… sorry. I have never watched Love Actually so I Wikipedia-ed it to find out what the scene’s supposed to be about. I’ve got a (very) brief and (very) vague idea now, but this is totally getting reinterpreted. And you did say Ianto!angst, so…]

would you wait?

It’s clearly a woman’s bracelet, and Ianto’s stomach does an unpleasant sort of rolling flop when he sees it. The receipt stares up at him mockingly from the bag. It’s beautiful and expensive. Perfect.

Afterwards, they all exchange their presents in the Hub, and Gwen coos over her gorgeous new bracelet. Ianto doesn’t say anything as he makes sure everyone’s drinks stay topped up. They might have to refrain from alcohol for now, until they can be sure nothing’s going to go drastically wrong with the Rift (it does have a tendency to act up every bloody Christmas), but he can at least ply them with enough good food and coffee and alcohol-free punch to stop Owen and Toshiko from giving him pitying looks.

Ianto puts on the simple, attractive watch Jack has bought him, and reminds himself that he’s not so materialistic he’ll start comparing the prices of gifts. The thing is –

The thing is, it’s not just the presents. It’s not just that Gwen gets the most expensive, pretty thing he’s ever known Jack to gift anyone. It’s that Jack constantly pays Gwen that kind of attention, that Jack always listens to Gwen, that Jack lets Gwen change his mind, that Jack dances with Gwen at her own bloody wedding and looks like he wants to be in Rhys’ shoes.

Toshiko sidles up to Ianto, ostensibly to ask for a refill of punch but actually to pet his hand consolingly. Ianto sighs, fills her glass, and lets himself wallow for a moment.

He barely ever calls Jack out on anything he does. He does so occasionally, very occasionally, when it comes to work and he thinks Jack’s really going way too far and needs to be reminded to step back. But after – after Lisa, Ianto doesn’t feel like he has the right to critique Jack’s decisions. Somehow, that reluctance has spilled over into his personal relationship with Jack. And so he knows, with weary certainty, that he will never ask Jack what he was thinking of when he gave Gwen that bracelet. He’ll simply take what Jack gives him, and turn a blind eye when, inevitably, what he gives Jack isn’t enough.

Ianto feels like he should be writing bad, anguished poetry about the state of his love life. His journals from when he was a teenager prove he’s very capable of it. Really, though, he’s just too tired to bother with anything, even getting the hell out of a relationship that can’t possibly go anywhere.

“Surely you can leave the drinks unattended for a while,” Jack says teasingly, coming up behind him with a half-empty glass.

Ianto carefully places the ladle back in the bowl. “Want a refill?” he asks.

“I’m good,” Jack says. “Come on, you’ve been hiding here long enough.”

“I do prefer peace and quiet,” Ianto says, but lets Jack tug him back towards the others. Gwen and Owen are currently engaged in a rapid-fire war of insults, Toshiko appears to be keeping score, and Jack happily joins in the moment he gets there. Ianto pulls over a chair and sips at his drink to avoid being drawn into conversation.

Gwen’s wrist glitters every time she moves. Ianto doesn’t look at it, but he can’t stop wondering when this will all end.

[avalon-joan.livejournal.com]

Could you do a Jack/Ianto established relationship fic where one of them is ill and the other does their best to make sure that they have an enjoyable Christmas, regardless? oh man I'm such a h/c sucker.

Thanks!

[soera.livejournal.com]

christmas traditions

When Rhiannon was nine, she was hit by a car.

Put that way, it sounds a lot more dramatic than it was. Their neighbour had reversed into her and knocked her down, but she hadn’t wound up with anything worse than a broken leg. Ianto hadn’t seen that a broken leg was worth crying about the way Rhiannon did. He’d broken his leg earlier that year, himself, and he hadn’t cried.

With the benefit of hindsight, he thinks he’d probably been too much in shock to cry.

At any rate, it had been the first time the family had spent Christmas in the hospital. It had taken a while for the doctors to see Rhiannon, and then they’d spent another bit of time waiting till she could go get a scan done of her leg, and then yet another bit of time waiting till a doctor could come put a cast on for her. In the end, they spent the whole of Christmas day stuck in the hospital, and their mum had called home and told their grandparents they wouldn’t be able to make it for dinner.

It hadn’t been the last time, though. Three Christmases after that, it was Ianto’s turn to wind up in hospital with a terrible case of pneumonia. His mother didn’t stop lecturing him on the perils of getting wet and cold in the rain for months after. Six years after that, his father had had his first heart attack. Two years after that, his family had been holding a vigil by his grandfather’s bed. The year after, another vigil for his grandmother. Five years after, when Ianto had come home from London especially for Christmas, his father had had his second heart attack.

All things told, it’s unsurprising that Ianto’s gone off the day a bit. It’s turned into a family joke, and these days he and Rhiannon have phone conversations that run something like this:

“Are you coming over for Christmas, then?”

“I don’t know, yet. Depends on whether I can get away, we’re always a bit swamped at Christmas.”

“Well, let me know if you can and I’ll tell you which hospital we’re at.”

“Sure. We’ll meet up outside the hospital and get a bite to eat first. Unless it’s you in the bed, of course.”

“Or you! I’ll not hold your hand if you wind up nearly dying of a cold again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking. Pity dad went and died in June. He’s the only one who made it twice, would have been great if he’d managed a hat-trick.”

He gets some odd looks whenever people catch his end of the conversation. He wonders what it would be like if anyone overheard the conversations in their entirety. It’s a litany of woe and dismay, and utterly hilarious to them. Ianto privately hopes that when he dies (and it will probably be soon), it’s on Christmas. He sort of wants to keep the pattern going, and he knows that Rhiannon at least, will laugh at his funeral.

The point is, he’s just not used to Christmas being anything but misery, something to be reflected on later and laughed at because the only other possible response is a wretched, anguished bawl of despair. Theoretically, the day is meant to bring family together, but he’s used to that being around a hospital bed. This year is better in the sense that he’s not in hospital – but he’s still miserably sick, which is only one step up from a hospital stay.

He’s also enjoying himself, which is something rather rare for a Christmas.

Jack hands him another tissue and doesn’t even look disgusted when Ianto noisily blows his nose. Their planned Christmas dinner is cooling in the fridge because Ianto doesn’t think he can keep it down. Jack’s done a quick grocery run and got them some soup and soft bread and hot tea, all of which sit much more easily with Ianto. There’s a bad Christmas movie on the telly for a vain stab at a normal Christmas. And Jack is letting a phlegmy, snotty Ianto lean against him, and is even petting his sweat-slick hair, which makes Ianto think that Jack’s a lot more invested in this relationship than he’ll ever admit. It’s really very sweet of him.

Ianto tosses the tissue into the rapidly-filling rubbish bin that Jack’s pulled up next to the bed. Yeah, this Christmas might initially have seemed to fit the usual pattern, but it’s really turning out pretty good after all.

[hidden-longings.livejournal.com]

I was hoping for some Sherlock/John with John being a BAMF and rescuing a smug Sherlock. I have no idea why he'd be smug I just kind of love him like that. Hopefully this is an okay prompt.

Merry Christmas and thanks for doing this!

hidden-longings

[soera.livejournal.com]

damsel in distress

“You’ve rather miscalculated, you see,” the stupid guy says.

“You’re the one tied to a chair with a gun to his head,” Jake says, frustration colouring every word. Andy watches him cautiously. Jake’s got a hair-trigger temper, and he’s liable to mess things up if he loses his cool now. Not that Andy blames him. The idiot they’ve kidnapped has the sort of face you want to beat up on, just because. What’s his name? Something weird, Sher-something. Makes Andy think of Sherwood Forest. Maybe he’ll just call him Robin Hood. No, Maid Marian. Just for fun.

“Yes, and the knots are quite poorly done, really,” Maid Marian says. “Given another fifteen minutes, I imagine I could get free of them.”

“Another fifteen minutes and you’ll be dead,” Jake growls. “We’re just waiting on the boss.”

Andy circles around cautiously to check the knots. They look like they’re holding firm. Maid Marian’s just trying to psyche them out. Definitely. He’ll be glad to be rid of this one. He’s too bloody mouthy. It was lucky they’d managed to grab him when there was hardly anyone around – just that washed-up old guy coming out of the restaurant down the street. One witness isn’t gonna do jack, especially when Maid Marian’s gonna be dead in ten minutes when their employer shows up.

If they’d had a little more time, Andy would’ve planned it so there wasn’t even a single witness. They were working on a time limit, though. That was the problem with hiring out. People could get so bloody demanding when contracting murder.

Andy doesn’t try to sugar-coat what he does. It’s how he keeps his feet on the ground. He’ll never make the mistake of thinking he knows more than he does, or taking on more than he’s capable of. He’s the one who’s kept Jake out of prison so far, and he intends to keep on in this line of work just as long as he can. Retirement comes early in this profession, and he intends to have plenty to live on by the time he’s forced to quit. He’s been kicking around the idea of hiring out to the younger guys just starting out. Making the plans for them so they don’t get caught. It’s a thought, anyway.

Is Maid Marian smiling at him?

“What’s so funny?” Andy asks in a friendly voice. Always good to be friendly. It’s nothing to do with the good cop-bad cop routine some of the marks accuse them of playing. Andy just thinks it’s hilarious when they try and work out if his being friendly means they can convince him to let them go, or if it means he’s just a total psycho.

“It gives you a rush of power to think that you’re a contract killer,” Maid Marian says. “You enjoy thinking of yourself in those terms, probably to make yourself feel better about your childhood. What was it, abuse? Neglect? Yes, definitely neglect at least, your fingernails are proof of that. You want to think of yourself as stronger and more powerful than you were. Your suit is expensive but you haven’t realised your supposedly gold cuff-links are fake. A man of true taste and good bearing would know better. You’re fake, and you feel fake. You know that you’re a poor boy pretending to be rich and in control and you live in fear of the moment when it all falls apart and you realise you’re nothing.”

Andy stares at Maid Marian. Jake stares at Andy.

Their employer wants to watch as Maid Marian dies. They’ll get another five thousand for letting him shoot the bastard in the face. Then again, it’s only five thou.

“Kill him,” Andy tells Jake casually.

Maid Marian outright beams at Andy, and for a moment, Andy really wants to break his neck. Then he realises he knows the look in Maid Marian’s eyes – it’s that look that says, I know something you don’t, and it’s going to be a painful lesson for you.

Jake raises his gun.

“For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, stop getting kidnapped,” says the washed-out old guy from down the street, and then shoots twice with barely a second between shots to switch targets.

Jake’s head explodes over the floor. Andy tries to stop the blood gushing from his shoulder and dimly thinks that he was right. It’s a very painful lesson indeed.

[twilight-near.livejournal.com]

A continuation/snippet from your fairie!Ianto verse? I love it so much <3 Its such a wonderful mix of dark/romantic

[soera.livejournal.com]

No problem! Anything in particular you'd like to see done? =D

[tarnishedangel2.livejournal.com]

Hi, Soera

My prompt is Danny/Rachel + Grace: Grace's first Christmas. I want to know how the santa suit tradition got started. : )

Happy Holidays!!! : )

Tarnished

[soera.livejournal.com]

lending a hand

“No, see, my dad would basically put on this stupid Santa Claus outfit every Christmas, right,” Danny says.

“Let me guess,” Rachel laughs. “You caught your mum kissing him?”

Danny growls at her playfully. “It wasn’t for sneaking around and sticking presents under the tree at night,” he says. “He’d dress up like Santa and give out our presents on Christmas morning. We always knew it was him.”

“Why dress up, though?” Rachel asks.

“I asked him once, when I was – what, seven, eight, something like that,” Danny says. “He said that for one, even great men need help, and he’s happy to lend a hand for a good cause.”

“And for another?” Rachel asks in interest. Danny rarely talks about his family with her – it’s not that he’s ashamed of them, but she thinks he’s still somewhat over-awed by Rachel’s upper-class upbringing. He never thinks his stories are as interesting as hers, and so it simply doesn’t occur to him to bring them up. Rachel has never known quite how to ask him to speak of his family more often, so she loves moments like these when Danny forgets to be awkward and tells her stories about his childhood.

Grace yawns and blinks sleepily up at her mother. Rachel manoeuvres her so that she’s propped up a little higher and can see Danny, dressed up in a rented Santa suit and beaming at her.

Grace stares at Danny silently for a few moments, then lets out a happy shriek.

“Kids always either laugh or bawl when they see the outfit,” Danny tells Rachel, who looks like she’s torn between cringing at the noise and laughing at Grace’s obvious delight. “Either way, they’re always loud.”

“I can tell,” Rachel says, and gives in to the latter impulse. Danny tickles Grace’s cheek; she promptly grabs his finger and starts chewing on it.

“What’s the other reason?” Rachel asks, watching Danny and Grace with what she thinks might be a disturbingly soppy look. She can’t help herself. It’s Grace’s first Christmas, it’s just the three of them, and Rachel couldn’t love it more.

“What?” Danny asks distractedly, as he tries to rescue his finger.

“The other reason your father would dress up as Santa,” Rachel prompts. “To help out, and?”

“To remind himself that pride and dignity’s worth nothing if you can’t make someone happy,” Danny says. He glances up at her and smiles lopsidedly. “I didn’t really get that part till later. A lot later.”

Rachel tugs on Danny’s hat, and feels a swell of love for this ridiculous, huge-hearted man she’s had the good fortune to find. “I’d say you’ve understood him quite well.”

[black-shiro.livejournal.com]

I know it's cliche like whooa but i love jealous/possessive Jack - Some guy is trying to pick up Ianto so jealous Jack decides to mark his territory ;)

Merry Christmas! ;D

[soera.livejournal.com]

being seen

Ianto knows that he looks decent enough. He also knows he’s not stunning or eye-catching in any way. His face is the sort of face that blends into the crowd, and he rather likes it that way. It makes his job simpler, at any rate, and he quite likes watching the world go by without feeling constantly stared at. People’s eyes glide right over him and land on Jack, or Gwen, or really anyone else who’s attractive and confident and invites attention. Ianto’s just – average, and he’s gotten used to his utter mediocrity.

For this reason, it is always something of a surprise to him when someone flirts with him.

“I am, yes,” he tells the guy who’s just asked him if he’s here with someone. Random Guy (as Ianto mentally dubs him) looks slightly disappointed, but not in the least put off.

“At least let me buy you a drink,” he says, leaning into Ianto’s space. Ianto takes a discreet step back and glances at the bar-tender. He’s still putting Toshiko’s cocktail together.

“Actually, I’m the designated driver today,” Ianto says politely. “Sorry.”

“Buy you something without alcohol, then?” Random Guy asks.

“Um,” Ianto says. The disadvantage of being very rarely hit on is that he’s not very practiced at escaping anyone determined.

(Though – that might be how Jack had eventually lured him into bed, and Ianto’s not complaining about that outcome.)

“Hey, got the drinks yet?” Jack asks, as if summoned by Ianto’s stray thought.

“He’s making them now,” Ianto says, nodding towards the bar-tender.

“Good,” Jack says, and places an open-mouthed kiss on Ianto’s neck. “I’m parched. Friend of yours?” he asks, cocking his head towards Random Guy, who is now wearing a somewhat pole-axed look.

“Oh, we were just talking,” Ianto says. Jack wraps an arm around Ianto’s waist and gives Random Guy a smile that’s all teeth. “This is Jack,” Ianto adds, to Random Guy.

“Mike,” Random Guy says, through a rather fixed smile. “Your boyfriend, I take it?”

Jack hates that word. Ianto’s still not surprised when Jack agrees with another shark-like smile, and tucks his hand into the back pocket of Ianto’s jeans.

Their drinks arrive just then and Random Guy aka Mike takes the opportunity to scarper.

Ianto considers calling Jack out on his behaviour. If Jack can flirt with everyone in sight, surely he should extend the same courtesy to Ianto. But frankly, Ianto feels far too disgustingly gooey and sentimental at the moment to be able to properly dress Jack down for his little display of possessiveness. Jack’s not one for overt gestures, so Ianto will take what he can get.

“Grab the beers, will you?” he asks Jack, as he scoops up the other three glasses and expertly begins winding his way back to the rest of the team. He feels Jack hot on his heels, and a quick glance back tells him that Jack’s eyes are fixed firmly on Ianto’s rear.

If Ianto adds a little swagger to his walk – well, surely no one else will notice.

[jsks.livejournal.com]

jack/ianto+tosh- tosh helps the boys take mica to see santa and christmas gift shopping for her family and her favorite uncles and aunt tosh

[soera.livejournal.com]

Thanks for responding - unfortunately, prompt-taking was already closed when you posted, and I don't think I have the time to fill this prompt. You've made me consider leaving prompts open for longer if I do this again, but it's just not feasible this year. Sorry I can't fill this for you! =(