lb_lee: A pencil sketch of me drawing/writing in my sketchpad. (art)
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I am cold, cranky, and my brain is hitching in that special way that tells me I probably shouldn't be at work right now.  (Don't tell me to go home.  Mornings are always the hardest, and at this point, it'd be HARDER for me to drag my ass the hour commute home than it would be to wait it out.)

Last year, I did pornathon.  Y'all remember that.  Well, it was so much fun, and with V-Day coming up, I decided to do a similar thing this year, only instead of porn, it's love.

So, gimme a prompt to write love for, and I'll do it. (Better than Laurell K. Hamilton, even!) In the spirit of the thing, I highly encourage you to give me prompts for love that our traditional Valentine's Day ignores: poly, ace, what have you.  I will do fanfic if you request it, but keep in mind that it'll have to be a fandom we know. (Primarily: Justice League International and Unlimited, Empowered... my brain isn't working so hot right now, so just ask if we know it and I'll let you know.  Superheroes, animated movies, and random books are your best bets.)

I can't promise speed, due to lack of Internet, but I'm hoping to have 'em done by Valentine's Day, after which I'm headed to New Orleans and out of range.

So!  Loveathon!  Make me write something gooshy, y'all!

--Rogan

this took a few days to agree on, sorry!

Date: 2012-02-10 03:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] aubergine-pilot.livejournal.com
Genderfuck-y fantasy adventurer type and his girlfriend, and their husband... it's not so much that the guys are in love with each other as they are both with her, and just really close friends.

Yes this is a broad, broad prompt, but we want to see what you're going to do with it.

A Fiery Orgy of Wormflesh 1/2

Date: 2012-04-21 03:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lb-lee.livejournal.com
It was fire season, when the damned gas worms dug themselves up everywhere for a frenzy of mating that'd often set fire to everything what'd burn in a quarter-reach radius. Normally, Shenda and her husband Redrick wouldn't have been caught dead out in the open on fire season, but the damned worms had come early and caught them on the steppe unawares. It'd been a drought season too, to make it all the worse, and Red was a war mage, not a dowser, while Shenda didn't have the magic to fill a thimble, and things looked to be getting pretty dicey.

Red swore quietly in Westie, but otherwise, his grim soldier's face remained impassive, but Shenda laughed through her tears—not from grief, but from the smoke—and said that she had to give the gods credit; she always figured it'd be the war what killed them, not a fiery orgy of wormflesh. And Red snorted and took her hand and Shenda thought that if she had to die ridiculously, at least it'd be with good company.

And then, over the roar of brushfire, she heard the crack of thunder.

That was all the warning they got before the water hurled itself out of the sky. The soil, brittle and loose from the drought, came up under Shenda's feet like the earth itself was shedding its skin, and she clung to Red around the middle to keep from falling.

Not much could get the attention of a gas worm in heat, but that did the job. With a slithering lurch, they disengaged and burrowed back into the ground, leaving smoldering scrub, billowing smoke, and two very wet pilgrim-herders. The downpour halted as suddenly as it'd started, leaving the ground cloaked in smoke and steam.

“Hello? Is someone there?” A voice called.

Red was busy shaking the water off his back, but Shenda said, “Just us two.”

Out of the wreaths of mist darted a figure dressed in the blue gown of a dowser. “Mercy! I must apologize, I didn't realize there was anyone but gas worms out here!”

“There wouldn't have been for much longer, you hadn't shown up,” Red said. “I'm Redrick, and this is my wife Shenda.”

That was the first thing that got Shenda's attention. Red didn't do introductions. Most of the time, he let Shenda do the talking, self-conscious of the Westie accent that he'd never managed to shake.

The dowser exchanged bows with them, in a style Shenda didn't recognize, but she now got a good look at the stranger's broad-brimmed wicker hat.

“Oh!” She said. “You're a follower of Lujow.”

A Fiery Orgy of Wormflesh 2/2

Date: 2012-04-21 04:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lb-lee.livejournal.com


The dowser hesitated. “Is that an issue?”

“No, no,” Shenda hastened to say. “You just don't see much of them in these parts.”

She saw Redrick's brow furrow inquiringly. She took and squeezed his hand to reassure him she'd explain later, and also to keep him from asking a well-meaning but rude question. “What do we call you, dowser?” She already knew, from the hat, but no need to let on she could read and Red couldn't.

“Wen, if you please. And it's just 'understudy,' for now. I'm finishing my education under Waishin in Laripa.” Laripa was the nearest town, scratching rice and money out of the arid steppe. As for Waishin... well, she'd been a great dowser once. Now the water you could wring out of her was less than the wine.

“Earning your pay, for sure,” Red said. Shenda glanced up, surprised. Red wasn't free with his compliments. “Our thanks, understudy.”

Wen didn't bow so much as sweep. “My duty and pleasure. My intention was only to keep down the brushfire but I'm glad to have assisted you. Please, stop by and visit me in Laripa sometime.”

“We may at that,” Shenda said, giving Red a knowing squeeze.

With a tip of the hat and a swirl of robes, Wen turned and headed towards Laripa, presumably to resume more mundane duties. Red watched, and Shenda nudged him.

“Someone has a liking for the understudy,” she said, and smiled when Red's dark skin darkened further. “It's fine. It's me you're married to.”

Red didn't confess directly, but he never did. “What's Lujow?”

“It's a who, not a what.” She watched Wen's silhouette fade into the steam. “Founded some cult over back east with some crazy ideas about 'boy' and 'girl' meaning whatever you want. You can tell them by their titles always being written on their hats. Bunch of cranks, but,” she looked up at the sky, where the clouds were clearing, “I'll give them this, they do put out good dowsers.”
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