Getcha NOT-DRABBLES here!

[caiusbackup]

So I've noticed lately that I seem to have the most luck writing things more or less on demand.

Also, while something more ambitious than a flashfic (snippet, drabble, ficlet, or whatever your prefered term is for somehting that's Really Fucking Short without actually being any specific number of words) would be a Good Thing to have started writing, um, awhile ago, school is starting soon, so I'm disinclined to begin (or go haul out) anything ambitious just at present.

SO!

Gimme a character, pairing, situation, or whatever (preferably related to something I've discussed here or elsewhere indicated I know something about--rather a lot of the DCU is fair game, and Certain Aspects of Marvel (Cap/Falc!)), and I'll write you a Short Thing. Probably!

Give it a shot. You'll make me feel wanted!

Comments

Options for j000000

[unlovablehands.livejournal.com]

Cap/Falc & their possible marriedness.

Guy/Hal & either filthy stalking or fisticuffs

Anything with Hank King the younger. *crushes*

Re: Options for j000000

[violin-road.livejournal.com]

OH I SECOND OPTION TWO.

Re: Options for j000000

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Cap/Falc & their possible marriedness.

Sam walked down the aisle in a dream, his dress slit down to his waist and Redwing on his arm. The organist played the Star-Spangled banner and Sam glowed as he walked toward the altar. The altar, and the man of his dreams--strong and handsome (and blond and *white* and why was *Sam* wearing the dress?!) and the partner (the love?) of Sam's life.

Sam looked down, in a daze, at the church (half that of his childhood, but with some of the trappings of a military institution) and at the *people*. On one side, his family, his brothers and sisters, and even Leila, *glaring* at him; on the other, White people, Nick Fury and Sharon and Peggy and all the Avengers, with tears and anger and disapproval and even *smugness*.

Sam looked back at Steve, his the only eyes in the room that showed only love and acceptance. Sam searched them, seeking only *respect*.

And then Sam woke, in a cold sweat, cursing his subconscious. Cap was the Falcon's partner, nothing more. *Could* be nothing more.

*Must* be nothing less.

Cap had powers now, and the Falcon must find a way to be equal to him again. Sam might never escape the accusing eyes in his dreams, but at least he could perhaps avoid the wedding dress, next time.

[liviapenn.livejournal.com]

Barry! Mmmm, something where he uses his brain.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

(This request would be easier if *I* had more brains tonight. But here goes nothing, which is to say, random Barry-angst...)

It almost felt like a betrayal, telling Fiona (who he loved enough maybe, but who he'd never love as much), when he'd waited so long to tell Iris. But he'd learned something in the years since he was young, since Jay and Joan had to convince him to tell Iris at all.

"There's something you should know, before you agree to marry me..."

It hadn't happened. He'd *never* told Fiona, and now he never could. If he was regretting, he might just as well regret that he'd gotten involved with (fallen for?) Fiona in the first place.

It was *hard* to stand still and yet be invisible, but Barry'd learned through long practice. He had complete control of the molecules of his body. Increasingly, he had control of nothing else.

At least he could *look* on Fiona, know what he and Eobard (together) had done to her (as they'd done to Iris, and was Fiona better off?). He yearned for a case he could solve with his mind, a rogue who played by the *rules*.

He yearned more for his laboratory, his (somewhat-neglected) job, his life as Barry Allen. He felt almost guilty yearning for this, in place for the lost women in his life--not that he didn't yearn for them to.

If only he could solve Fiona like he could solve a crime. If only he'd known enough to tell her when he could.

If only he'd stuck to his science when he lost his wife.

[poisonivory.livejournal.com]

Boostle! You are shocked, I am sure. Shocked!

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed the Blue Beetle, as he engaged in a *highly* undignified struggle to pry Sue away from the phone.

He'd probably have done better against an unarmed (if experienced!) civilian of Sue's giggling husband hadn't been wrapped around him, valiantly defending his wife.

"Gag him, honey?" she said, dialing. "Hello, may I speak to the lady of the house?"

Ted and Booster had gone too far this time.

****

Five minutes later, it was too late, and Beetle was curled up in a corner, mourning his reputation. ("What reputation?!" "No sympathy around here!.....*whimper*")

Sue wouldn't tell even Ralph the other side of the conversation. She just grinned.

****

Ten minutes later, Booster Gold entered the room. "BEETLE!!! What did you do THIS TIME?!!"

"It was ALL YOUR FAULT," said Ted, from his corner, where he was now decidedly sulking. "And *you're* the one who married the damn woman in the first place. I suppose it's in ALL the papers?"

"She wants to watch."

"........NOOOOOOOOOO!"

"She'll cut off my allowance!"

"You're problem! Not mine!"

"And tell all the papers." (Beetle paled.) "Also, possibly file for divorce. With no alimony!" (Beetle glowered.)

By this point, even Mary Marvel was in stitches across the room. Beetle broke off to glare at them, too. "Couldn't we discuss this in *private*, at least?"

"Is that a maybe?"

"It's an you've given me as much humiliation as I can take for this YEAR." He stood up and walked toward Booster.

"That sounds like another 'no'. And hey!" as Beetle pulled him toward the door. He followed, however, figuring he might have a *slightly* better chance without the entire Superbuddies team watching.

Beetle hauled them into his room and slammed the door. He sat on the bed and put his face in his hands. "So what are we going to do?"

"Well. It could be just the once and then I would give you half of that weeks money?"

"Not. An. Option. I'm not a GODDAMN PROSTITUTE."

"Would you RATHER have me be out on the streets and EVERYONE thinking we're sleeping together?" Booster spread his arms out.

"I'm not sure anyone even *cares*. God, it's not like we're Superman and Batman."

"....they're sleeping together?"

"No! Or, well, not the point!"

"Which is?"

"Never *mind*." He put his face in his hands again. "Point is, I'm NOT sleeping with you in front of your WIFE!"

"What about NOT in front of my wife?"

"What....?! What would THAT solve?!!"

"What would it HURT?" Booster went over and sat on the bed, seductively.

"Point." Ted sighed.

"Besides. Gladys thinks we've had practice *anyway* and if you *still* can't do it--well. YOU can marry me!"

"I can--what?!!" This conversation was WAY ahead of Ted.

"Marry me. Because I'll need someone else. And you have enough money to support us both!"

"....you want to MARRY ME FOR MY MONEY?!!"

"Well. You're also much better looking than Gladys and a MUCH better conversationalist."

"No WONDER you can't get dates."

Booster sighed. Twentieth century courtship etiquette defeating him again... "Well, then." He went on his knees in front of a bemused Ted. "I love you. I have for years. Will you marry me?" He slipped his flight ring on Ted's finger. "Until I can get you a proper one." He smiled hopefully upward.

"Booster, you are..."

"Yes?" Booster asked, somewhat apprehensively.

"....really, remarkably endearing."

"Is that a *yes*?!"

"It's a maybe. We have to DATE first!"

Booster beamed. And hopped up on the bed to kiss his maybe-fiance.

[notpoetry.livejournal.com]

Eel and Matches. Of course.

(Or, alternativey, Plastic Man and Batman. Or Patrick O'Brian and Bruce Wayne. Or any and all permutations of those characters, shuffled around. Readysetgo!)

[brownbetty]

(Am I to give up all hope of extracting such from you?)

And um, seconded!

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

(*You* owe *me* some of that, IIRC. However!)

The good thing about being Plastic Man was that it was easy to talk while being strangled. (Though how the anatomy of this worked, Plas didn't know; he'd long since stopped wondering that about so *many* aspects of his powers.)

The *important* thing was that it allowed him to beam proudly at a livid Batman, exclaiming, "I *told* you I can change colors! Thank you SO MUCH for the inspiration..."

Sadly, plasticity was no permanent defense against the Bat-glare of Doom, and Plas flinched back, saying, "Okay, so maybe I should have chosen a BETTER way of testing this, but I wanted to show off for you!

"...and besides, you have such a *nice* Bat-codpiece..." Plas smirked for just a *second*.

"Okay, okay! No more impersonating your tights! NOW WILL YOU LET GO OF ME?!!!"

A request.

[rayshell22.livejournal.com]

How about a Hal/Barry drabble? I'd love to see how you would write them.

Re: A request.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Barry dreamed he slept again in Iris's arms. He drifted, not wanting to wake up, clinging to the warmth, the presence...

But it was *morning* and habit wouldn't let him stay unawares too long. Eyes still closed against the light, he remembered that his wife was dead. He was alone.

Except...he wasn't. He was, somehow, clinging to another warm body. A body, necessarily that...wasn't his wife's.

Barry's eyes popped open and he remembered everything. Coast City, the fight with Star Sapphire--and the man who, somehow, was in his arms.

Hal Jordan. His best friend. Who was looking down at him in concern, as Barry eyed him in confusion.

"You're awake. I'm...sorry for the imposition, I was on the couch but you kept having nightmares..."

"No...need to apologize," said Barry, still trying to assess the situation. Not his wife. But his best friend.

Barry didn't move out of Hal's arms, and Hal didn't move, either.

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

L.E.G.I.O.N., Vril Dox and (if you can) interaction with Kyle Rayner. On an alien world to both of them sounds good, or failing that, tea and territorialness.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

How exactly Vril Dox had gotten in on the post-Rann-Thanagar-war negociations wasn't exactly clear, but somehow, he was there. And profitting impressively from the situation, at that; L.E.G.I.O.N. had picked up many fat new contracts from planets still rebuilding from the conflict.

Kyle, representing the interests of the newly expanding Green Lantern corps, felt helpless and confused.

Captain Comet just smiled. "Don't worry, everyone feels like that when they deal with Vril. And he *does* live up to his bargains. Generally."

And now, having squeezed all he could from the tired galactic powers, Vril was descending on Kyle.

With tea. Genuine earth tea, at that. (How and WHY Vril had gone to the trouble to import the crappy-but-ubiquitous Lipton teabags all the way to Alpha Centauri, Kyle wasn't sure, but they were comforting, in a disconcerting kind of way.)

Less conforting was the clear indication that Vril knew a lot more about galactic geography (if that could *remotely* be the right word) and politics than Kyle did, and wasn't the least hesitant to use it to intimidate.

Kyle added another bag of sugar to the tea, politely refusing to agree to another suggestion of territorial parameters that he didn't even *understand* (and the little holomap on the table next to the cream wasn't helping much, either). Kyle'd *traveled* in space, it couldn't really be *that* difficult, could it?

Next time, he was totally sending Kilowog. Or maybe Guy; not with any authority, but because Vril *deserved* him.

Kyle sighed, turned down a job offer, and became increasingly homesick.

[thete1.livejournal.com]

OOH OOH OOH.

I'm not going to have time to actually read the ones you've already done for a while, but I'm STILL GOING TO BE SELFISH AND GREEDY.

Why?

Because I want to know how, in your head, an average night (post-crime-fighting) with Hal and Barry went when Barry *wasn't* late for a date with Iris. Like, what do they talk about? Thingy!

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Oh dear. Barry-fic in which he's NOT being tortured? *g* You do ask the hard questions.

Well, this isn't definitive, but...

****

Barry sat back and listened, Hal's discussion of touchdowns and tackles and scores washing over him as it had in so many other discussions in his life. If more contentedly than most. It filled the time as well as discussing the weather, and less anxiously than talking shop (and today the former topic was far too close to the latter).

The important thing was that they'd won, they were safe, they'd captured Major Disaster and the Weather Wizard, for a wonder, without any fatalities or major properties--plus it was a nice sunny evening. And, for once, Barry wasn't late for dinner.

As of yet, he pondered, expressing polite appreciation of Hal's home team's victory, of their chances at the Superbowl, small regret at Coast City's lack of same. "Although. If Jay could have played for Keystone, more than the once--"

Hal grinned. "He'd have had to face Alan, to make it fair."

"Now *that* would be a game. Though *you're* counterpart would prefer to broadcast it, I'm sure."

"And *that'd* be a game you'd require no encouragement to watch."

"When I was a kid, I begged my parents to take me to a game, once."

"And?"

"I got the promotional comic and left during halftime, after I'd read it."

Hal laughed. "Barry, you're worse than Pie. Why doesn't anyone I know enjoy football?"

"Remind me to tell you about Flash comics, next!"

"Spare me!" Hal said, jokingly. "But hey, it's your turn. And it's *almost* gossip, for us...what's your hero done now?"

In not too long, they would finish their drinks, the summer sun would go down, and Barry, inevitably, would be late for dinner. For now--there was Barry, there was Hal, and despite sharing so little other than their mutual avocations, there was conversation.

[kerithwyn.livejournal.com]

Alan fic! And how much he doesn't know about his kids, maybe. :)

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

This was the day.

It was time to take his son home from the hospital. Alan almost--*almost*--fidgeted in his cape. It was a trip he might have prefered to do as Alan Scott, private citizen, but Todd remained in the custody of the JSA, so Green Lantern of the JSA must pick him up.

Molly, of course, noticed the almost-fidget. This *would* be one of the reasons Alan had married her. "It's really too bad Jade couldn't be here for this. You *are* sure you don't want me to come along?"

"No. He's my son. Besides, officially it's JSA business." Alan put a hand on Molly's shoulder and allowed her to pull her into a brief hug. He'd had to defeat Todd himself, in the end. He could take him home, himself.

Todd was sitting, not lying, on the bed, and when his father came into the room, he stood up, looking at his father. Vaguely acknowledging Pieter's greeting, Alan looked back at his son.

With Jade, at least, it was easy to see that they were related, from her powers and the coloring they lent her, if nothing else. With Todd--it would have been so easy to perceive him as a stranger, as none of Alan's fault--although he could see features in common, could see his *guilt* written on Todd's face. He suspected Pieter could see something in common in their stances, just now, as well.

Fighting his son was too much like fighting himself. Caring for his son? Alan hardly knew how.

"I see you really *are* on your feet."

Todd nodded. "Yes, I've recovered nicely," he didn't, say, from what you did to me.

"Ready to go home?" Alan forced himself to cross the room, unhesitantly, to put his hand--in a caring, but strong and manly, fashion--on his son's arm.

"...yes," said Todd. "Anything I own's there already, I hear. And I've said my good-byes here, for now." He didn't pull away, but didn't make a move to hug his father, either.

"Well, then. Molly's expecting us for dinner." Alan moved his arm and turned to lead Todd out of the sickbay. "See you at the next meeting, Pieter."

One the way back, Todd asked only one question. "When will Jen be there?"

"Soon," said Alan. Not soon enough. Jen had failed to defeat her brother; maybe at least she could succeed in saving him, when his father could not.

[sparklebutch.livejournal.com]

I can't choose. I have a million ideas. And I like what you wrote so far, so much.

I can drop my own problems on you:

Bruce/Ollie [Green Arrow]: includes fisting with that fist arrow.
Bruce/Olly [sockpuppet of lurve]: includes sock.

But you don't have to.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

You seem to have done those two better justice than I would! Do you want my version, still, or do you have another suggestion?

[mizzmarvel.livejournal.com]

Connor Hawke, gen, please.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Connor lifted his bow, slowly, carefully. Without the urgency of combat, he could truly *focus* on his technique. On shooting with his full soul, his--

*CRASH!!!*

"OLLIE! YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO CLEAN THE FRIDGE YESTERDAY!!!"

Connor paused, thrust rudely out of his concentration. Only for a second. He frowned at himself and continued, nocking the arrow and bringing his focus back to--

"HEY! Would it KILL YOU to take some RESPONSIBILITY AROUND HERE?!!"

--the target. His family should be *part* of his awareness, it was important to--

"LAST TIME I cleaned out the refrigerator, I GOT YELLED AT!!!"

--be aware of his surroundings, but the important thing *here* was to be at one with bow and arrow and--

"You mean when you THREW OUT ALL THE CHILI?!!"

--target. Connor refocused and loosed the arrow. It went to the bullseye. Still, not quite the effect--

"IT WAS INEDIBLE!"

"You ALWAYS say it's INEDIBLE! That doesn't mean you can THROW MY FOOD AWAY!"

--Connor had been looking for. He frowned slightly, taking out another arrow--

"Well, then, DON'T BLAME ME WHEN IT WINDS UP ON THE FLOOR!!!"

--placing it on his bow, pulling back--

"It was BALANCED PERFECTLY WELL this MORNING!!!"

--and letting go.

After all, if he'd wanted quiet practice time, he'd have stayed in the monastery.

As it was--well. If he stayed down here, he was less likely to wind up scrubbing the floor.

[calliopes_pen]

Batman/Superman. A funny mood where Batman jokes and actually shows his Bruce side to Superman.

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Here goes nothing. [Watchtower era, post-Crisis]

****

Strictly speaking, neither Batman nor Superman was a full member of the Justice League. And yet.

It was, somehow, the third time that week they'd been on the Watchtower alone together.

Clark was starting to wonder if it was a plot. Batman, detective that he was, appeared to be taking it in stride. Possibly the plot was his.

But, whatever the reason, there they were. Ralph was home with the flu, and Green Lantern, who was to have taken the next shift, had an emergency to deal with on a small planet halfway around the galaxy. Or so Batman said, when he showed up--half and hour early--for Hal's shift.

"Promptness is important," Batman had said. "Especially when I'm here so infrequently." Clark's supersenses assured him that, improbably enough, Bruce was smiling at that statement, and there was an unmistakable note of levity in his voice.

It was, in fact, looking *increasingly* like the plot was Batman's.

Not that Clark had much attention to give the problem.

Monitor duty was absorbing enough when he *wasn't* receiving a blow-job.

[ex-rubyliss861.livejournal.com]

PERFECT!!

[caiusmajor.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

(Are you responding to anything in particular? The post at large? Or is this a request of some sort?)