carmilla: (Slash)
SUMMARY: Two Ways Danny and Brett Probably Didn't Get Married, And One Way They Almost Certainly Did

Read more... )
carmilla: (Default)
PROMPT: Gotta Catch ‘Em All! – Jason Todd has been Robin, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin and Batman. Next: Batgirl!

Some poor hood never saw this one coming... )
carmilla: (Default)
SUMMARY: The Watch have to spend Hogswatch in the Ramtops. This is awkward for Colon, but even more awkward for Angua.

Sergeant Colon was not a happy man. )
carmilla: Rimmer and Lister in their respective bunk beds. Caption reads 'Bunkmates' (Rimmer/Lister)
Being a mechanoid, Kryten just didn’t understand how humans could have such lapses in memory regarding their own pasts. Take Mr. Lister, probably his favourite human ever. Despite the fact he’d done little but argue with Mr. Rimmer for the entire time they’d been together, as soon as Mr. Rimmer had left he’d started to miss him. Started to talk about him, talk about the good times, whatever they were supposed to have been. Started to dream about him; and despite Kryten’s best efforts, it seemed those dreams were persisting. He was depressed.

Kryten hated to see Mr. Lister sad, especially for such an irrational reason. After all, Mr. Rimmer had only ever been perfect for Kryten himself: obnoxious, unpleasant, a total smeee – well, anyway. Entirely unthreatening, unlike the woman on board now. With Mr. Rimmer on board, Kryten had been safe as Mr. Lister’s best friend. After all, there was no way Mr. Lister could ever have fallen in love with him. And yet, Mr. Lister persisted in his stubborn depression; for some unaccountable reason, he wanted Mr. Rimmer back.

At times like this, Kryten was glad he wasn’t human; at least there was nothing wrong with his memory.
carmilla: (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern)
Guildenstern’s face was buried in the crook of Rosencrantz’s neck, his arm flung heavily across his chest. Rosencrantz stirred, rolled over until they were lying nose to nose.

“It’s morning,” he observed, sleepily, “assuming, naturally, that when we went to bed it was night.”

“I don’t remember,” said Guildenstern, unconcerned, and his hand twisted in Rosencrantz’s hair as he leaned forward and kissed him.

For one moment, in the sunlight and the rumpled bed and the unruly tangle of limbs, there was perfection. Then the peace was broken.

Somebody was banging on the window. Someone who was calling their names.