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Guys. GUYS. I keep saying whole sentences that surely have never been said before. This is my life.

For instance - this morning? My husband wakes up and asks me what I'm doing out of bed at dark o'clock.

My answer: "Eating oatmeal and reading X-Men porn".


IDEK, Y'ALL. Whose life is really like this? It's almost too awesome. And I'm seriously developing an XMFC UST kink that I worry may devour my fanlife.



The Hypothetical AU Meme: Take any one of the fandoms you know I am familiar with, and give me a type of AU (space opera AU, pirate AU, superhero AU, Ancient Rome, etc). I will then explain what story from your chosen fandom I would write for your chosen type of AU. (NOTE: I am familiar with a hell of a lot more fandoms than I write in, so don't feel like you have to stick with BtVS/AtS).

Prompt, prompt, prompt, and I'll be back to spin hypotheticals!

on 2011-09-01 02:44 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] anxiety-junkie.livejournal.com
OMG, you're alive.

AU, hmmm...how about WWI era Spander?

The Pity of War 1

on 2011-09-01 09:02 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
OMG. The only Doctor Who story I ever never told was based on the "Family of Blood" schoolboys because I had absolutely no clue how to write WWI British public school sex takes to the trenches.

BUT FOR YOU - ANYTHING!

William Pratt joins through the PALS recruitment effort in September of 1914 - he's a Sub-Lieutenant. His battalion is made up of artists because he's sensitive and effulgent and WHATEVS but still WILLING TO DO HIS DUTY.

His battallion spends the rest of 1914 and the first half of 1915 drilling - William spends a great deal of time writing letters to Mama full of ponderous bloviation "I think somehow England is poised on the edge of a terrifying rockface of change and wonder whether we shall ever recapture the beloved days of country summer" blah blah ad nausem.

Cut to Battle of the Somme in July 1916 and it's all terror and shells and tanks. William's PALS battallion loses over half its force in the first day - the British will have over 350,000 casaulties by November of 1916. William's battallion is reconstituted with conscripts, many from London's rough East End.

After a particularly brutal charge through a German entrenchment, William engages in viscious hand to hand combat with a German soldier, stabbing the man through the eye with the spike on his helmet. His actions save the life of Liam O'Connor, a Major with the British 16th (Irish) Division.

Major O'Connor, known to his soldiers as The Angel of Death, thanks Sub-Lieutenant Pratt for his bravery and remarks what thoughtful creatures the Hun are, to carry their own destruction with them on top of their heads. By virtue of his heroic actions, "Angel" O'Connor declares that Sub-Lieutenant Pratt is "one of us now" and he is immediately nicknamed Spike by his men, a name he will carry the rest of his life AND PUT ON HIS CALLING CARDS BECAUSE HE'S A RUFFIAN NOW BUT HE HAS STYLE OKAY?

The Pity of War 2

on 2011-09-01 09:03 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
After the heat of battle, Spike notices he's injured - incredibly minor and not worth talking about but Angel insists he get it checked out at the Red Cross station and Spike's like "What you, my bloody father?" and Angel just glares at him because the working class accent is shite and reminds him about how much he fookin' outranks him.

The Red Cross Station is sort of a joke - it's a hole inside the trench and as Spike notes (TO HIMSELF BECAUSE HE'S A BAMF NOW AND NOT WILLIAM EVEN A LITTLE BIT OMG) "hardly cleaner than the filth he's just come from". There are two young men in French uniforms sitting just outside the little dugout - a broad-shouldered brunet and a slight blond.

So there are introductions and it turns both the men are American volunteers with the French Red Cross - ambulance drivers and medics. The broad-shoulder brunet introduces himself as Xander Harris - "short for Alexander. My little sisters couldn't say my full name when they were little and well, you know how it goes with sisters" and manhandles Spike in to the dugout.

There are pitifully few supplies and Spike's all "tis but a flesh wound" only with more cursing and Xander's like "of course it is and when you die of a horrible infection i'll be sure to mention that in the letter we send home to your poor ailing mother" and Spike's all "you don't know me, you don't know my life and how do you know about my mother" and Xander replies that everybody has a poor ailing mother at home, obvs.

So Spike gets all patched up and Xander lets him know that hey, I'm the next trench over, don't be a stranger. Spike is like "oh yeah, all the bloody comforts of home here what with the dirt and the more dirt". Xander flashes him the wounded eyes and Spike's like "bloody hell, might do if we get a moment between fighting for our lives".

So they spend snatches to time together and Xander shares his wine ration with Spike and they listen to French music, which Xander informs Spike is the music of pain and Spike lets him that he JUST DOESN'T GET IT because it's art and Xander is an American barbarian and Xander smirks and lets him know that his fake accent slips when he says that.

The Pity of War 3

on 2011-09-01 09:04 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
It starts raining in October and the trenches become huge mudpits. They are losing the battle and one night after more wine than really Xander is comfortable with having because his mother was a Temperance woman and his father was ruined by the drink but the monsters of war have really shaken him, Spike has to carry him to his cot but it's more of a drag really because Xander's larger than he is and the mud squelches underneath their feet and it's a huge mess.

They both tumble into the tiny cot and Xander presses a very sloppy kiss against Spike's cheek and Spike tries to whatever it away because ROMANTIC IDEALS. Xander slumps into sleep and Spike spends the next couple of times being avoidy and WHAT DOES IT MEAN.

But the wine comes out because it's rainy and awful and war and the next time Spike takes him back to his cot, Xander isn't as drunk but his eyes are all Hey Soldier and he's very handsy. Spike is all hey that's cheating and Xander's like no sir, not unless one of us is married and we aren't and also death around every corner which is a terrible line, but Spike is trying to keep hold of his BAMF and doesn't notice.

Spike's body responds, it's all instinct and his mouth moves to cover the soft skin of Xander's neck because what is it with necks, they are so damn inviting with curves and hollows and the heady pounding of pulses and HANDS, HANDS IN NEW PLACES. Spike actually gasps a little and Xander laughs, rough and kind of broken, because he's terrified and this is new and good and bad and if Spike could please do something like touch him or kiss him or maybe stab him through the eye, Xander would be really grateful.

There's a kind of admiration for his bravery in coming here voluntarily, both in terms of the war and in bed with another man that Spike isn't willing to admit and a metric fuckton of lust, which he also isn't willing to admit but becoming willing to act on. Their bodies bang together, sloppy and frantic, cocks rubbing and mashing as they push towards a dirty quick come.

The next day Xander is called to move towards Verdun - the French are making progress but the casualties are heavy. The British forces are stuck in the mud, but still holding and Spike's battallion is ordered to keep the German forces from diverting to Verdun to assist the besiedged German troops there. He and Xander don't say good-bye because - UHM - they have SO MANY FEELINGS and it would distract them from their serious war work.

War happens and they never reunite - Xander eventually returns to the States and joins the Roaring '20s construction boom in NYC where he marries a hot flapper named Anya who works as cigarette girl and refuses to stay home and raises babies, which Xander is kind of okay with as he secretly feels he'd be a shit father. Spike goes home and the life he lived is completely destroyed - his mother died in the Great Flu Pandemic of 1918 and the girl he was planning on marrying because that's what you do has been committed to an asylum after watching her entire family die in the same pandemic. So he joins a poetry collective dedicated the memory of Wilfred Owens and spends his life drunk and angry,and there's no resolution and somehow this would end with Wilfred Owen's poem about the pity of war and Spike and Xander secretly wanking to their one hot sex time for the rest of their lives THE END OMG.
Edited on 2011-09-01 09:08 am (UTC)

Re: The Pity of War 3

on 2011-09-01 11:11 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] anxiety-junkie.livejournal.com
Okay, I love you like whoa - but fuck, did you have to make the end all sad and shit? One of these days I'm going to pelt you with fluffy pink bunnies until you give in and write me a happy, romantic ending. Dammit. :)

and Angel just glares at him because the working class accent is shite and reminds him about how much he fookin' outranks him.

Srsly, I can't believe you came up with that in just a couple of hours. So much fun!

Re: The Pity of War 3

on 2011-09-01 11:34 am (UTC)
Posted by [identity profile] sevendeadlyfun.livejournal.com
I don't do romance - me and Spike are all angst all the time. I almost veered into bromance, but I know how you like your pr0ns. :D

It was so much fun. Here's hoping there are more fun prompts to come!

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