csi_sanders1129 | need soemthing to do

Tommy/Merton please'm. BWOC needs some love.

They’ve picked up tricks of the trade here and there now that they’ve been doing this for years. Things like rock salt and iron weapons. Things Merton knew about before, yeah, but now they’re things that they trust to work when the wolf isn’t enough.

Vampires, shape shifters, ghouls, witches, trolls… they’ve seen just about everything in Pleasantville now. They’ve even taken trips to nearby towns when there’s enough evidence to support supernatural activity.

This time, though, nothing works. Not the rock salts and Latin enchantments that occasionally save their asses. Not Tommy’s superhuman wolf strength or Merton throwing objects at the creature’s head from his hiding place behind a well-located bench or tree.

Nothing.

“Merton! Move!” Tommy shouts, the words covered by a fierce growl as he makes another go at the invincible creature terrorizing them. They’re heading toward the row of rocks marking Merton’s current hide-out and he never can fight properly when he isn’t sure his partner-in-town-saving isn’t safe.

“Try the spell again!” Merton shouts back at him even while he ducks around the rocks to a really thick tree some ways away. “The new one I told you about.”

Tommy tries. He does. The Latin words roll off of his tongue with surprising ease but they do nothing to affect the sweeping blows and determined swings of his attacker, countering his moves with seemingly no effort at all. “It’s not working, Mert!”

“Noticed!” Is Merton’s frantic reply as he moves again, toward another pile of rocks, this one less defendable than the previous one. “I’m working on it. Not a demon, not a vampire, not a ghost, what is it?”

“Work faster, then! Figuring out what it is and how to beat it is your department.”

The unconquerable beast roars and attacks again, jumping away from Tommy and toward what is obviously the easier prey here. “Merton!” He shouts out, but there’s nothing he can do.

Tommy hears more than he sees – which is more than enough, really – as the unstoppable monster descends on Merton. He hears his best friend scream in pain, hears the sound of flesh and bone being ripped away. Then, he hears nothing.

Nothing.

He doesn’t moved, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe for he doesn’t even know how long.

“Tommy.” He hears, somewhere in the suddenly pitch black and silent forest they’d been fighting in. “Tommy!”

He closes his eyes. There’s no way Merton survived that. There’s no way anyone would survive what they know this creature can do.

“TOMMY!”

Something shoves him hard in the ribs. He fears another attack from the murderous creature who had dared to touch Merton. He wheels around to face the monster only to find himself falling. He lands with a hard ‘thud’ on ground that is not forest floor. Instead, it’s the soft carpet of their bedroom in their apartment. The sheets are tangled around him and Merton – God, Merton’s okay, Merton’s alive, Merton’s here – is staring down at him looking something between amused and irritated.

“What was that about?” The black haired boy demands, rubbing his eyes.

It was just a dream, he realizes. Only a dream, didn’t happen, Merton’s here, with him, safe. He’s back on the bed in seconds as the realization hits, arms tight around Merton.

“Nothing.” Tommy replies.

Nothing.

:D

Scared me for a bit there! I loved it! It had a bit of an spn feel which is a great touch, exciting and sweet at the end. Just awesome!

:D Glad you liked (and yeah, SPN may have aided in inspiration)

General hospital.
Dante/Johnny - Criminal informant.

Edited 2010-05-09 18:00 (UTC)

Dante is lounging on a bed in one of the rooms above Kelly’s when Johnny walks in. The mob prince tosses a sealed envelope at Dante’s feet and leans against the wall in wait.

“Well?”

“I got the shipping manifests for next week. They’ve got something big coming in on Friday, at Pier 17. And Ethan managed to dig up some information on a couple of guys Corinthos is ready to cut out of the organization.” Johnny summarizes the gathered intel report that’s in the manila envelope.

Dante nods in approval at the information, flips through the files and notes and a few snapshots. “Good, good job.”

“Eventually, he’s gonna figure out who’s informing on him. You’re safe, you’re his kid, but I’m fair game – he already wants me dead and he doesn’t even know I’m doing anything.” Johnny says, a very real threat what with Spinelli’s skills in the mix, too. “Then what?”

“Corinthos and Morgan will be in jail before that happens, with any luck.” Dante says with a non-committal shrug, but Johnny shoots him his ‘don’t bullshit me’ look and he amends his statement accordingly. “He certainly won’t find out from me. So I guess you’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Thanks.” The other snorts. “Always a pleasure working with you.” Why had he agreed to this anyway? Oh, right, to get out of going to jail. How could he forget? Jail would probably have been the safer alternative. But, then, it does have its perks…

“Until next time, then.” Dante grins, grabbing up the evidence Johnny has confidentially provided him with before making for the door.

“Not so fast,” Johnny smirks. “If you want the information that’s –not- in the envelope, then I suggest you stay for a bit.” His eyes drift between Dante and the bed since they both know where this goes next anyway. “Relax, have fun.”

You know this pretty much makes you my hero, right?

Loved it!

Glad you liked! :)

Psych, Shawn/Lassiter; seduction via the medium of pineapple =D

Carlton Lassiter has, in all fairness, seduced someone before. A couple of someone’s actually, if he counts that one very pretty gentleman in the academy that he always pretends he doesn’t remember. But, that is all beside the point.

Because Shawn Spencer, fake psychic extraordinaire, does not and never should be qualified in the same category as normal people. And thusly, seducing him will not be as easy as seducing someone who is not clinically certifiable.

Which is the reason why Lassiter is currently sneaking away from the psych offices in the dark with near a dozen gourmet pineapples left behind him.

***

Shawn looks utterly befuddled when he arrives at the station the next morning, snacking on one of the delicious pineapples he’d discovered upon stopping into the Psych offices to pick up the bag of Bugle chips he’d left there.

“Would anyone happen to know why the very generous Fairy Godmother of Pineapples paid me a visit last night?” He inquires, rather loudly, and everyone in the station stops what they’re doing to turn and star at him. “No? Alright then.”

“Shawn!” Gus snaps, having walked in a few paces behind the not-psychic. “Don’t eat that! What if it’s poisoned or something? Whoever left the pineapples broke into our offices! Who knows what they did!”

“Oh, Gus,” Shawn chides, staring deliberately at Lassiter as he speaks – really, if the man is going to go about sneaking into places he’s not supposed to technically be, he should probably check for footprints before he leaves… and probably remember to make sure no one else is there when doing it. “Don’t be the stoned out pink elephants from Dumbo. I’m 87.42% certain that these pineapples were not meant to kill me.”

Gus frowns and walks away.

“Only 87.42%?” Lassiter dares to question from his desk.

Shawn grins. “Seduction by pineapple.” He hums to himself. “I approve, Lassi-face, I approve.”

:3

Adorable and fluffy like I'd hoped for. Plus, you have really good Shawn and Lassie voice =D

Thanks. I'm not sure how the show writers manage to think up stuff to use for the 'Gus, don't be....' lines. I spent forever thinking of something that was just barely funny. xD

Glad you liked :3

Cougar/Jensen AU!highschool fic.
Yeah. I went there. Thank me later.

Jacob Jensen’s first day at his new school starts out on a bad note.

His sister’s new baby, now all of two months old, kept them up all night with her screaming and fussing. He can’t even be mad about it since she’s a baby after all, and she has that really obnoxiously adorable thing going for her – but he’s basically dead on his feet and he’s not even in the building yet.

He collides with someone – a rather preppy looking fellow with designer clothes and really expensive looking sunglasses – on his way in the door and receives a biting, “Watch where you’re going, geek,” in response to his unintended actions. But he just shrugs and keeps walking.

The only thing keeping him going at all are the headphones that are half on his ears. “Ooh, the flood is threatenin’ my very life today… Gimme, gimme shelter – I’m gonna fade away…” He hums out the familiar lines of the Rolling Stones song as he heads toward his newly assigned locker and spins in the combination. 20, 34, 20.

Unfortunately, the locker marks the end of the music so he braces himself for what will inevitable be pure exhaustion by the end of first period and trudges off to his first class of the day – Biology.

He slips into the room after navigating the complex maze of hallways with surprising ease and finds all but one seat claimed. Second row, far side of the room. Silently, he crosses the room, adjusting his glasses and fidgeting nervously as eyes land on him.

“Hi.” He says to his neighbor as he claims the seat. Beside him sits a boy his age, who pointedly ignores him but does a moment to take in his neon yellow ‘International Order of Gorillas’ t-shirt. The guy makes some noncommittal noise and turns away, tilting the edge of his cowboy hat down over his eyes. Why is he even wearing the thing in here, anyway? “I’m Jake Jensen.” He says, because he never did know when to shut up. “I just moved here and I hope you don’t mind me sitting here but it was the only seat and are you ignoring me on purpose or-”

The stranger turns to level him with a glare that very, very obviously says ‘shut up now or else,’ and then he’s back to ignoring Jake again.

Any continuations of his lengthy diatribe are permanently killed off when the teacher walks in. Had Jake not already met up with all of his teachers, he might’ve been worried when she started rattling on about an upcoming test.

“And, Mr. Jensen, if you need any help, I’m sure Mr. Alvarez there would be glad to catch you up before Friday.” She says, gesturing to the boy with the long, dark hair and the cowboy hat beside him. “Isn’t that right?”

“Mm.” The boy, last name Alvarez, grunts in acknowledgment.

“Good, then, if that’s settled, I suppose we can get back to DNA transcription and translation, yes?” With that, she turns to the board, chalk in hand, and sets to work on the lesson for today.

Fifty minutes later, the bell rings, and the other boy bolts as soon as it does, leaving Jensen with several questions (none of which actually have anything to do with biology) and no answers.

His next two classes are uneventful – English, which he finds incredibly boring because he’s already read the book they’re discussing, and Math, which he flies through with ease since his love for all things computer related tend to require it.

By lunch, his eyes are drooping and he’s near ready to fall asleep in his food. His headphones are back in place, this time with the Eagles playing rather loudly. “On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…” Singing lightly under his breath, he feels something kind of like fractionally more awake so he lifts his head enough to look around the large cafeteria.

Across the room, he spots the boy from his biology class sitting with two others, a guy and a girl. Alvarez – he really needs to find out a first name – is staring at him. Rather, observing, as one might do with a potentially volatile chemical or a suspicious website.

Jake Jensen, in all his bravery, raises a hand, waves. Alvarez rolls his eyes and looks away.

The bell rings again what seems like mere minutes after he sat down, but the whole thirty minutes has indeed passed by. So he gets up and trashes his stuff, intent to visit his locker again before heading to gym.

He’s late, but he’s saved by the fact that he doesn’t have to change his clothes because his uniform hasn’t come in just yet. “We’re playing a game of dodge-ball, so if you’re up for it, feel free to join in.” The coach says, waving him off toward the already gathered class.

Jensen freezes when he spots the cowboy-hatted figure amongst the players. They’re on the same team, and while the rest of the players on his side introduce themselves, Alvarez says nothing.

“Ready, guys?”

The game starts with all the brutal force two dozen teenage boys would be expected to use. There are three balls in play, and Alvarez gets one nearly immediately. Somehow he takes out two guys on the opposing team with it. And, yes, Jake is watching him more than he’s watchning the game.

Which is exactly the reason why it takes him so goddamn long to see the ball hurtling toward his head. With well-practiced skill, because Jacob Jensen is way more than just a geek, he dodges out of the way, catches the ball and hurls it back at the guy who’d thrown it and gets him out.

“Woo! Nice!” One other guy calls at him – he’d introduced himself as Pooch -and he claps Jake on the back as he runs after another ball. “Cougar, catch!” Pooch yells at Alvarez. Cougar. That’s new.

Jake turns to grin at his teammates, who all seem impressed by the fact that he is not completely useless.

“Hey! Head’s up!” Someone shouts at him, he doesn’t know who, because he’s too busy ducking, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because the bouncing, red ball clubs him in the back of the head despite his efforts to evade it again. His glasses fall off of his face and he hears an all too familiar sound as they hit the ground. Broken, then. And his head is pounding.

He turns to ineffectively glare at the offender who’d hit him – entirely fairly, since he was the idiot who’d turned his back, but still, his glasses…

“Jensen.” The coach snaps at him, and gestures him over – a move which Jake has to squint to see correctly from across the huge room. “Go get your head checked out.” He says, and points the kid out of the gym before he can injure himself further.

The remnants of his glasses in hand, he blindly heads off to do as told, navigating carefully through the locker room to head toward the maze of hallways that somewhere hide the nurse’s office. “Awesome job, Jake. Wonderful job. Break your glasses on day one. Perfect.” He rambles to himself as he walks.

Somewhere just behind him, he hears someone exhale deeply, as if sighing in irritation. He whirls around to see Alvarez.

“Never quiet, are you, Payasito?” A thick Spanish accent carries the words to him from some distance away.

“Cougar, yeah?”

He shrugs, nods his head towards the next hallway and marches on, obviously expecting Jake to follow him to the nurse’s office. Whether Coach sent him or he came by himself, Jensen is not inclined to complain, so he follows.

Maybe today isn’t so bad after all, thinks Jacob Jensen.

I loved this! Will you be writing more?

Also fics and icons can be found at
http://the-losers-2010.dreamwidth.org/347.html
and
http://community.livejournal.com/losers_fic/
You should in no way view this as a bribe for more Jensen/Cougar, except of course, in the event that it works.

And thanks for the links :3

Yeah, there'll be more later, once I finish the other requests. And two more papers I have to do. -_-

Yeah, I feel your pain on the papers. Good Luck. Think Slashy thought every twenty to thirty minutes; it'll help you stay awake.

This is so awesome. I can't wait for the next part!

Thanks, hopefully I'll have more soon. Once finals stop attacking me with pointy objects and scaring off the plot bunnies.

I am so excited for more. I really enjoy what you've written so far. :D

Thanks, I'm glad you like. :3 There'll be more soonish. Once finals are over and done with.

This is awesome! I hope that you're planning on writing more :).

Lady Starhawk

Yup, there'll be more. But finals week is annoying and distracting me from the fun that is fic writing. *mopes*

Oh my god, I love this so much. There definitely needs to be more. :)

I thank you now. :)

Haha, thanks! XD Isn't it a great fic? I keep bugging her to write more, but she keeps saying shit about having finals. Lame excuse when she's got such an awesome story going, but whatever.

I can actually prompt twice if you want and if you don't, then just pick one of the two:

1. Jaspin-Spinelli disappears from PC and the next Jason hears of him is six months later and he's in jail in Turkey.

2. Zombieland-Tallahasse and Columbus: Columbus saves Tallahasse's life and doesn't understand why the older man seems more angry than grateful.

It took him six months to track down Spinelli.

He could still remember the day he disappeared. Like it was yesterday. He’d come home to an empty Penthouse, quiet and dark, it wasn’t right from the moment he’d entered. He’d looked everywhere, talked to everyone, but no one had seen the quirky computer hacker all day. After a while, Jason thought maybe he’d just had enough, finally gotten smart and left while he still had the chance. It hurt, losing Spinelli – they’d just started this unnamable thing together, where Spinelli would slip into Jason’s room after a particularly messy situation with rival mobsters or the always interfering Johnny – but he pushed such feelings aside. He was Jason Morgan, Spinelli’s Stone Cold, and so he put up his emotionless-robot-façade and tried to move on. There was no evidence to suggest anything nefarious had happened.

But, he was wrong. So, so, so, so unfathomably wrong. He had to be wrong. Because there was no way Spinelli would have ended up like this otherwise.

He found Spinelli in Turkey, off all inexplicable places. A Turkish Prison for the Clinically Insane, to be more specific. He’d had to bribe four different people just to verify that someone matching Spinelli’s general description was there at all. And it took another eight rather considerable monetary incentives to gain access to the place.

He’d taken the first flight he could get, didn’t even stop to find a hostel to stay in, just went straight to the prison. Jason was torn on what he wanted to find there. On the one hand, if Spinelli was there Jason would know where he was, could fix this and find out what had happened. On the other, that would mean something, something bad, had happened and Spinelli had ended up somewhere terrible.

A guard– one Jason had paid off – Berker, his name was, waved him through the main gates and motioned him toward a set of double doors that led him into what was essentially just a row of cages too small to comfortably house anyone excepting someone roughly the size of a small child. The guard walked beside him, scowling at the inmates as they passed by cell after cell. No one was familiar, none of them were Spinelli.

“No one else?” He asked, aware that the guard knew marginal amounts of English.

“Infirmary.” The guard grunted and pointed down the hall to another set of double doors.

Now he really hoped Spinelli wasn’t here.

But, he was.

Kind of.

He seemed caved in on himself, skinny and sickly pale. He was dirty and he had bruises all over, it seemed. A busted lip, and a nurse was wrapping his wrist in an elastic bandage.

“Spinelli.” He said softly, barely audible in the cold room. How could this have happened? How could Spinelli end up here? Who’d done this to him?

Spinelli’s head shot up at Jason’s muted call. Eyes – one of them blackened, both of them red and puffy – wide and terrified. He squirmed away from the nurse’s touch and tried to get up, but a move from Berker stopped him, froze him in his tracks.

“He leaves with me.” Jason said, voice harsh and hiding edges of panic he couldn’t let Spinelli hear. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, but he’s not staying here.”

“Talk to the Boss.” Berker said, shrugging in such a way that Jason knew this went over the guard’s head.

“Have to go. Boss will be in soon to talk.” Berker told him, one hand curling around Spinelli’s shoulder to lead him out of the room. Spinelli winced, kept his eyes on Jason, begging for escape.

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”

***

It took him two more days to reach an agreement with the Warden at the Turkish Asylum. Jason would pay a staggering fee and Spinelli - or whatever name he was here under – would be released. Escaped, the warden would say, if asked.

Berker brought Spinelli to him late that night just outside of the prison compound. He had a car waiting to take them to the airstrip where a private jet would take them back to New York. They had him in a straight-jacket, which Jason promptly removed.

“Spinelli,” he said, once Berker had left them. He found himself tackled by the hacker, arms thrown around his shoulders as Spinelli all out sobbed against his shoulder. “I’ve got you, it’s okay. We’re going home.” He assured the younger man, a hand moving carefully over his back.

Sigh, I should have guessed that this is what would happen...You write this piece about Spinelli basically ending up in hell on earth for some unknown reason. All we get are tantalizing little tidbits and are left with many, many questions. Now I impatiently await the answers. I am glad that Jason got Spinelli out, at least I can take solace in that outcome. Now I just have to figure out how to manage until the next installment.

Extended version: here

Tallahassee hasn’t spoken to you in three days. Won’t even look at you or acknowledge that you exist. This is exceptionally annoying now that it’s just the two of you, now that Wichita and Little Rock have run off on their own again. So, you ramble on at the windshield as you drive through ruined town after ruined town, with no real destination in mind.

“You know, you should really be at least kind of grateful, asshole. I saved your life and all and this is the thanks I get? The silent treatment? Really, Florida, how old are you? Six? Jeez. At least a ‘thank you’, but no…”

Tallahassee ignores you, stares out the passenger’s side window as nothing passes by. You’re in Bumfuck, Nowhere now, driving through field after field of overgrown crops.

“What the fuck were you doing, running in there unarmed, anyway? I thought I was the mindless idiot here, after all.”

“You are, trust me.” The older man gripes at you, and you don’t even care that it’s an insult because it’s something and you were starting to worry that he was actually going to keep this stupidity up. “Now stop talkin’ about it.”

“Why? When you save my ass you brag about it and never let me go off on my own again for weeks.”

Tallahassee just grunts and nods toward the windshield you’re not looking out of anymore.”Zombie.” He says, when you don’t react, though he doesn’t look terribly concerned.

“What?”

“Zombie.” He repeats, but you’re more or less already on the thing and all you can really do is swerve to the side and he takes great pleasure in opening his door and clubbing the once-human. And just like that, you’re moving again because that’s just life in Zombieland.

“God, why are you so phenomenally pissed off about this?” You ask again, because Florida has successfully managed to avoid answering your question.

“Why do ya think, spitfuck?” He answers, and again you chose to see the brightside. Yeah, he’s yelling at you – and it’s not like that’s abnormal behavior or anything, anyway – but at least he’s talking now. “How about ‘cause I’m supposed to protect your sorry ass, huh?”

You snort in disbelief at such ridiculous claims. But Tallahassee’s eyes narrow at you and he turns away again and then you kind of regret being a jerk about it.

“Look, kid.” He says. “I lost Buck. The girls are gone, maybe for good this time. You’re all I got left, as pathetic as that is, so it’s my job to protect you, got it? Not the other way ‘round.”
“I had the situation under control.” You say, in your own defense even though it’s… not entirely true. “I didn’t need help, I was fine. You put yourself in danger for me for no reason at all.”

Tallahassee laughs. “No reason? You were screwed. I knew you were outta ammo, s’why I came in in the first place, ‘cause I saw you took the wrong gun, you brainless moron.”

“And throwing yourself at a bunch of rabid zombies was going to help how, exactly? What makes you think I want to be wandering around Zombieland alone? What if you got biten? You want me to have to be the one to shoot you or hit you with a car door going 70 miles an hour?”

“And what if you got bit?” He counters you, valid point that is.

“…It’s going to happen to one of us eventually.” You remind him. It’s inevitable, really, that one or both of you will get attacked by something you can’t beat. There’s no way it can be avoided forever, not unless the zombie-epidemic is ended and quarantined or otherwise done away with and that doesn’t seem like a highly probable event.

“If I can help it, it won’t be you.” Tallahassee mumbles out and you just barely catch the words. “Pull over, lemme drive.”

Edited 2010-05-14 02:52 (UTC)

This was a wonderfully realized little slice of life in Zombieland. Tallahasse sulking, them speeding along taking out the odd zombie and the story unrolling as they go. A lovely and delicate delineation of the relationship between the two of them and Tallahasse's unquenchable need to be the protector, to make absolutely sure that Columbus' survives no matter what befalls him in the process. Also, I can't remember the last time I read something written in the second person, it was intriguing.

hmm... GH Johnny/Michael beyond that you decide ;)

Michael never does figure out exactly what happens that day – actually scratch that. He eventually figures out the how, but never the why, though he supposes that isn’t as important as he thinks it is, really. But, the why remains a mystery, even years later when it’s all over and done with.

---

The last thing he remembers is sitting in the back of the prison transport vehicle on his way to Pentonville and the next thing he knows, he’s waking up on a couch in a dark room in a cabin in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

The lights are all out and the blinds on the few scant windows are drawn.

“Hello?” He calls out, doesn’t see anybody, but then again he can’t see anything that’s more than a foot away from his face.

“Don’t get too loud.” A voice says in the darkness and a dim flashlight switches on. If Michael hadn’t recognized the voice, the barely illuminated figure would have cemented it. Johnny Zacchara. “no one should be searching yet, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“What’s going on?” Michael whispers back, moving to sit up and it is then that he realizes his head is absolutely pounding. As he raises a hand to the bass drum currently residing in his skull, he feels a raised bump. “God, what’d you do to me?”

Johnny shrugs. “Had to knock you out. Sorry about that. Knocked your guards out, too.”

Such a statement gets his undivided attention. He forces eyes that are seeing double to zero in on Johnny. “What!? Why?”

“’Cause I’m not letting you go to jail.” Johnny says simply, as if he alone can make the decision that allows him to. Michael takes in his surroundings again, now that his head is spinning a little less. Maybe he does.

He has a concussion, he decides. Has to. There’s no way Johnny is actually risking his own freedom to help his sister’s murderer, whether or not Johnny testified on his behalf at his sentencing hearing. This is just too much. “…Why are you doing this? Helping me, I mean…”

“Because you still have a chance to not become your father. And I don’t want you to lose that.” Johnny explains, choosing his words carefully as he levers himself to his feet and crosses the room to sit beside Michael on the couch. “The guards who were with you on the trip to Pentonville were guys I paid off. It’s all set up so that it looks like the truck flipped and you managed to escape. And this is where you get a choice.”

Michael watches the other boy warily, waiting for the catch, the trick in this plan. It has to be somewhere. “A choice?”

“You can do just that – escape. I can get you out of the country without anyone ever knowing anything.” Johnny supplies. “Or, we can go back to the truck. My guys are still there. You can play hero, stick around, maybe get a reduced sentence for doing the right thing. I’ll say I saw it all, saw you save them just before the truck blew – we have it rigged – they’ll say you saved them.” He shrugs as if the options are equal in the end-game. “I’ll back whichever play you want to make.”

Michael just stares at the dark floor. How is he supposed to make that decision?

“Whatever you decide, but it has to be soon.” Johnny presses when a long moment passes and no answers comes.

“Dad would run.” He says aloud. “Wouldn’t he?” Johnny doesn’t answer which is all the response he needs – after all, that’s what Sonny had made him do before. “Stay.” He says, voice somehow calm and level despite the sheer amounts of panic he’s feeling.

Johnny grins at him, as if he’d known what Michael would pick all along. “C’mon, then, hero. We have a show to put on.”

---

So, that’s the how.

Michael acts the hero just as the news crews Johnny summoned show up. Johnny backs his story, challenges the judges and lawyers to send him off to prison now, when he could have so easily just run away from the wreckage and been in the wind. With that as a precursor, Claire and Diane talk the judge down to a few months of probation. Sonny and Jason are fuming mad about having failed at getting Michael out of the situation themselves and even more ticked off when Michael’s loyalty sways from Corinthos-Morgan morals and values towards Johnny’s way of thinking.

Maybe someday he’ll figure out why. Why Johnny chose to act to save him, why Johnny had faith he’d make the right decision, why his allegiance lies with his father’s sworn enemy.

That was AWESOME. No worries on the delay since you did it so well. ^_^ I've already read it 3 times.

You write the two of them really well, if you ever need a break from JaSpin, vacation with this duo for a while.

It's funny when I first read it at the end I was stumped, I could totally see this being a series and it either being:

1) Johnny trying to save Michael from the life he had
2) Johnny turning Michael against Sonny for revenge
3) Johnny slowly using and corrupting Michael to avenge Claudia's death

^Don't mind me, just throwing out more plot bunnies for ya lol^

need soemthing to do

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never played with dante/johnny before, so i hope it's okay. :3

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Day One --- loooong commentfic is looooong (i need a losers icon)

part 2

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Prompts

Asylum - (this is only a snippet of it, as it has morphed into longer fic that i'll post later)

Re: Asylum - (this is only a snippet of it, as it has morphed into longer fic that i'll post later)

ignore this. just linking so i can keep track when i archive stuff

Inevitable (I dunno why I went with second-person... xD)

Excellent vignette

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Allies 1/2 (Johnny/Michael) - hope I did it justice - (sorry for the delay, finals eat my brain)

Allies 2/2 (Johnny/Michael)

Re: Allies 2/2 (Johnny/Michael)