HAPPYFEST III
Yup, this is it, folks, the complete list of prompts for this year's Happyfest. The rules haven't changed from last year, the first of which is:
READ THE RULES BEFORE WRITING!
(there are notes about spoilers that I NEED you to read)
(
The rest are under here )
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Afterwards she lay perpendicular to him on the giant hotel bed, some ridiculous sense of irony inducing her to choose the honeymoon suite. They didn't look at all like they were on a honeymoon. They looked like a prostitute and her pimp, or maybe two tired old blue collar workers going to a funeral. They had the room, of course. All those amenities they'd never touch. It was depressing. The sex had been good, though. Real good.
His fingers brushed over her shoulder, up and down, up and down. It was tender. That surprised her somehow, she wasn't sure why. He had been tender right up until he wasn't, until she'd said no, the almost-first time. He was capable of something other than his laughing, smoky brutality.
"Whatcha thinking, Sal?"
He sounded like he meant more than the usual small talk, which meant either he was feeling as trapped by the silence as she was or she had somehow let him know what she was thinking. He could read people sometimes. He wasn't smart. Not like Adrian or Dan, ( ... )
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“Shit,” he whispered. His roommate didn’t stir. He bit his lip and sat up, scrunching his face up and blinking hard. The images didn’t fade. The pain was still there.
*
Alakolia was a civilisation built on trade. Four hundred years of trade, they were fond of saying, has made this planet what it is.. And Chekov was possibly inclined to agree with them. It was a beautiful place, with massive, translucent towers and thundering artificial waterfalls. The markets brimmed with exotic foods and odd alien technology. The Federation had wanted trading rights with them, and the Enterprise had been sent to negotiate. The Captain had smiled, worked his usual charm, and backed up by some rather canny bargaining from Spock, both the Federation and the Alkolians had come out of the negotiation hall a good deal better off ( ... )
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Booth groans, slapping a hand over his face. “You're still on about that stupid hat?”
Brennan quirks a brow, she's unused to her partner asking stupid questions. “Of course I still want to know! You never explained it to me Booth, and I'm a scientist: every aspect of my life is bound in curiosity. At this point in our relationship, you should already know that about me.”
“I do know that about you Bones,” Booth moans, “which is why I'm sick of you asking ( ... )
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“Meaning I'm hideous and I'd be single my whole life?” Yes. Yes, Booth, you're hideous, absolutely. *eyeroll*
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