number one: better than you

5 Acts Meme

+ Post a list of your five favorite acts/kinks to read about. Check out this list if you need some inspiration. At the bottom of your post, add what fandoms/pairings you're interested in.
+ Read other people's lists; the master list of lists is here.
+ Post comment-fic based off of other people's interests.

1. Women rescuing or protecting men, physically or emotionally
2. Interaction between unexpected combinations of characters, whether it be friendly, romantic, or sexual
3. Strong ladies who like to be a little submissive in the bedroom
4. Queer themes
5. Food (erm, not actually food and sex; I just like reading about food)

Fandoms: Star Trek XI, BSG, Torchwood, Harry Potter
Star Trek: Gaila/Sulu, Pike/One, McCoy/Uhura, Amanda/Sarek
BSG: Lee/Kara, Adama/Roslin, Sharon Agathon/Karl Agathon
Torchwood: Tosh/Anyone, Gwen/Jack/Ianto, Gwen/Rhys
HP: Snape/Narcissa, Narcissa/Lucius

Genfic for any character in any of these fandoms is welcome!
"Well, this isn't going well," Sulu tells the wreckage of his shuttle. He thinks about trying to move, but every time he shifts the pain makes him scream, so staying put is the way to go. The edges of his vision are blurred and darkened and he's broken in so many places he's not sure which is the most serious.

The eject button is not a good idea. He still can't believe the Romulans shot him out of the sky, keeps thinking about the shuttle, how the shuttle is a smashed up ruin around him and it's easier to think about fixing that than about how many bones he might have broken.

He can taste blood in his mouth. When he tries to breathe, all that happens is a wet splutter. That isn't a good sign on its own, nevermind accompanied with a million other injuries.

Deep down, he'd always expected to die young.

He spits blood out. It spatters, painting the control board red, and he takes a deep, gulping breath before tugging at the belts holding him in the cockpit. He's seeing double, everything warping and blurring, even the pair of green-skinned hands that reach down to untangle him.

"Hikaru, stay still," Gaila says, and she's got his katana. She's cutting him out of the wreckage with his own katana, and Sulu's last concious thought is that it's possibly the most impressive thing he's ever seen.

When he wakes up, he's flat on his back in a biobed, and his entire body still hurts, but the taste of blood is a distant memory, and the pain is dulled down to something managable, something that he associates with healing, not slow death. McCoy has worked his magic.

Gaila is sitting beside his biobed, and she clears her throat when his gaze settles on her.

"You will be fine. Doctor McCoy said to tell you so. And also to call you an idiot."

"His bedside manner just keeps getting better," Sulu says, shifting himself into a seated position. For a minute, they're quiet, before Sulu continues, "Thank you. For saving me."

"You would do the same for me," she replies, with effortless affection, and then takes his hand in hers, twining their fingers together. She smiles at him, wide and open, and there's nothing left for him to do except smile back.
Wow, this is so vivid! I loved Sulu's interior monologue -- wry and maybe just a little frightened. Thank you very much :)
Written on my iPhone so excuse all errors please!
There's a picture of Gaila, buried in the Holonet archives. You can't really tell it's her; she was ten years younger, and you can't see her face clearly anyway. No, the only thing connecting her now to the body in the picture is green skin and red hair. But she knows, and she hates that the picture is out there for anyone to see. Hates that it was taken at all.

In the picture, the green-skinned girl is sprawled prone across rubble. While her face is turned away - really, the force of the blast had nearly snapped her neck - the rest is clearly visible: long legs crumpled and useless and smeared in blood, one arm resting with delicate grace across the rip in her gut, the other stretched out like she was reaching for salvation. It's a dramatic image. She can appreciate why and how it became one of the most memorable of that day, the alien green girl child bleeding out over Terra Firma.

The other iconic image is of a man. A boy really. Gaila would never forget his face, even if it didn't always come attached to that one she hates. He had short spiky hair, dark with a hint of blond in the tips. She remembers his unsmiling mouth and the chill blue of his eyes. She remembers thinking he was quite cute.

Until he fired a phaser in the air, Gaila had never heard of and didn't care about anyone called George Samuel Kirk, son of the late, great Captain George Kirk. Gaila was 14 Terran years old, a self-emancipated Orion slave newly arrived in Federation space. Her previous addresses, as written on the forms submitted to the Federation Refugee Processing Committee included Orion Prime (14 years), the odorous waste disposal tank of the Marcy Gray (4.3 months), and the Refugee Processing Centre itself (3 weeks exactly). She could barely speak Standard.

And yet when George Samuel Kirk spoke, bellowed really, over the screams and squawks of a hundred beings or more, she understood enough to listen to his body language. Tired slump of slender shoulders, dull glint in his too blue eyes, the nervous jittery flutter of his hands like birds tethered. He talked for what seemed like forever in a voice that was harsh and grating to her ears. Those who knew Standard trembled and wept at his words. Those like Gaila could only watch.

There's something about the whine of a phaser that sets a shiver up Gaila's spine even now. Maybe it was the shrill sound of overload, or the click of his jacket buttons on the tiled floor when he revealed the charges around his chest. Gaila only remembers turning, away from this worn-down boy and the unhappy slash of his mouth. She caught the full brunt of the explosion across her side. Her body rode the wave of hot air like she was flying high over chairs and bodies and shattered walls.

The photo, the one she hates, was taken in the few minutes Gaila was unconscious on the floor, human blood spattered and sticky over her legs. She didn't have a concussion, just whiplash and the gaping hole in her side, and was blinking awake soon after.

There was smoke, and dust, curling into the air like ion streams. Over the ringing in her ears Gaila could detect the murmur of shellshocked beings. She coughed and flinched and battled upright, hands pressed over the wound. Blood dribbled through her fingers anyway. The building had been compromised by the explosion, and though her brain felt rattled in her skull, she could plan her next steps. Get out. Get help. Live.

As if George Samuel Kirk and his vicious earth-centric actions could stop her.
Re: Written on my iPhone so excuse all errors please!
Thank you so much for this! It's such a creative, unique situation, and what you've written about the media seems very real :)